#And then Look Out To The World. See What It Has To Say About Men And The Preferred Gender To Rule

[bbydoll18xx]

I'll Be Your Temporary Fix

Paige Bueckers x Media Team Reader

Based on this request: 

'Could you do a Paige x media team reader. Where Paige and reader are fake dating because Azzi is uncomfortable with the fans shipping her and Paige. Reader does it cus she owes Paige a favor (you can make something up).'

Word Count: 2.3k

I absolutely loved this request! There will be a second part posted in a few days.

Thanks for reading!

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You look up from your camera as the sounds of an argument cut through the bouncing of basketballs and squeaking of sneakers against the floor of the gym. 

Azzi and Paige are at it again.

This was not the first time you had seen them sniping at each other this past week, and sure it was concerning. They were best friends. 

What could possibly be the issue?

Being the head of the media team for the women’s basketball team at UConn meant you had formed some very close friendships with the girls. Today, you were attempting to finish filming shots of this week's practices to post on Instagram. The new season was soon beginning, and it was crucial that the rest of the world was able to see what you saw in these girls. However, that was proving to be a challenge with the incessant bickering coming from Paige and Azzi.

“C’monnn, just please go ask her,” Azzi whines loudly, looking over in your direction. You frown, confused as to why their arguing would have anything to do with you. 

“I can’t just ask her to do that. She’s too nice, and you know it’ll make her feel all weirded out!” Paige retorts, equally as loud.

They really were not subtle.

As practice ends, you put away your equipment, feeling Paige’s eyes on you. Looking up, you see Azzi retreating back in the direction of the locker room, with Paige slowly sauntering towards you looking nervous. 

That was odd. Paige never really looks nervous. She was smug as hell, pretty much always. It was something you envied and admired.

“Good job today, P,” you say as she comes to stand in front of you, eliciting a broad grin that caused your belly to do several happy flips.

“Thanks, gotta have someone to show off for,” she responds with a wink and laugh. She continues after a beat, “Listen, I have a weird request and feel free to say no, but I kinda promised Azzi I would ask.”

You nod for her to continue, wondering what the blonde could possibly need from you.

“The fans are kinda obsessed with the idea that me and Azzi are in a relationship, and Azzi is super uncomfortable with it. She has a bit of a crush on one of the guys on the men’s team, and even he thinks we’re together.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the information, trying to process what she was saying. 

“Okay…so how do I fit into all this?” you ask puzzledly.

Paige bites her bottom lip apprehensively, “well we thought maybe if the fans saw me with someone else, they’d forget about ‘Pazzi’.”

You look at her blankly. “Wait, me?” you ask. “You want to pretend to date me?”

“Only if you want to. We just thought it’d be a good idea. The fans love you, you’re actually gay, and you’re not exactly bad looking,” Paige mutters the last bit, causing you to turn a bright shade of pink. 

This was certainly not a good idea. It was a terrible one.

You had harbored secret feelings for Paige since showing up day one with your camera and a head full of ideas. 

Pretending to date Paige Bueckers was a surefire way to fall head over heels, and that was something you had spent a generous amount of time trying to avoid. 

You sigh, going over the pros and cons in your head.

“Pleaseee,” Paige pouts, drawing out the syllables dramatically. “Ya know, you kinda owe me. I did introduce you to Steph Curry that one time…”

Your eyes narrow at that. She really decided to pull that card. “Fine,” you clip, in a way that was more hesitant than you actually felt. 

Paige throws herself against you in a joyous hug, whooping loudly in your ear. You giggle at her antics.

“Thank you so, so much. I promise Imma be the best fake girlfriend you’ve ever had! Why don’t you come over tonight, and we can start planning,” she smirks excitedly.

You agree and go your separate ways, your stomach already rolling at the idea of doing anything romantic with the tall blonde. 

Later, you walk towards the door to Paige’s apartment feeling thoroughly fucked. You had gone over every scenario in your head just about a million times since your conversation earlier. Your pessimistic disposition could not see this ending well. 

The noise levels were alarming, and as you peered your head around the corner of the door, you saw multiple girls from the team lounging on Paige’s couch. They whoop as you make your presence known, feeling grateful for a buffer. Sure, you loved being alone with Paige, but the idea of having to feign intimacy was so foreign. You weren't sure if you were capable of that.

“She’s here, P,” Azzi shouts towards Paige’s bedroom door, causing her to quickly emerge with a shy smile. 

“I hope you don't mind, but I figured we could go live with the girls tonight and get these rumors rolling,” Paige explains to you. 

“Course not,” you respond breezily, wanting to keep up an air of indifference. You secretly hoped everyone else thought you were chill and not at all dying at the thought of people thinking you and Paige were together.

Azzi gets up from her spot to stand next to you. “Thank you so much for doing this. It’s not going to bother you, is it? People talking about you?” She has the eyes of a puppy dog, and you immediately feel better agreeing to the scheme.

“Nah, nothing really bothers me,” you shrug noncommittally. ‘Except having to fake intimacy with the person I want most,’ you add in your head bitterly.

Considering it was Ice who was live the last time shit had gone down with Paige and Azzi, everyone thought it would be hilarious for her to do it once more. It was so fitting.

KK, Ice, and Azzi were sitting on the couch in the living room of the apartment, leaving you and Paige the small armchair in the corner. It felt like something out of a cheesy movie. The girls giggle as you realize that you both cannot comfortably sit side by side in the chair, your cheeks aflame once more as you put the pieces together in your head. Paige takes a seat first, basically manspreading, as she does, before patting her lap tantalizingly. 

Shit. 

Before you can protest, Paige is grabbing your hand and pulling you to sit down on your lap. Her muscular arms circle your waist in a way that has your pulse racing instantaneously. Despite her skinny build, she is so fucking comfortable, and she pulls you towards her chest, encouraging you to melt into her body. This had to look natural to work.

Satisfied with your positions, Paige gives Ice the green light to start the live with a nod. 

“Hey y’all, what’s everyone up to?” Ice begins, giving you and Paige a sly nod. You struggle to hold back a snort at the absurdity of the situation you’d gotten yourself into. 

KK, Azzi, and Ice take turns answering questions, showing off the tiktok dances they’ve been practicing and being straight-up obnoxious. After 10 minutes of sitting on Paige’s lap, the lack of action was making you feel antsy. The unknown of what was coming was eating at your anxieties.

Suddenly, KK reads out ‘We wanna see Paige,’ causing her to dramatically flip the phone toward where the two of you were nestled together. Paige gives a wave, smiling smugly, as if she could see the faces of the fans already.

Feeling shy all of a sudden, you bury your face in Paige’s neck, trying to disappear from the camera and the hooting girls holding it. You try to ignore the way Paige lets out a tiny moan as your lips accidentally meet the pale, smooth skin. You think you’d spend the rest of your life wanting to pull that noise out of her lips again. 

Ice grabs her phone back out of KK’s grasp and continues asking questions, as if nothing had happened. You let out a breath, and come up for air, looking around at the girls. 

Azzi looks pleased, watching the comments carefully and gauging the reaction of Paige’s loyal, and extremely passionate, fans. Out of reach from the camera, she sends an enthusiastic thumbs up, signaling that the first phase of the plan was a success. You just didn’t realize how successful it would end up being. 

Phase two was deemed ‘Project Bow Bow Bow’ by KK. You had protested, saying, “what the hell does that even mean?” KK had just shrugged, so you went along with it. 

It was decided that you and Paige had to be seen in public together, showing considerable amounts of PDA. “Ya gotta really sell it,” the girls had said with a laugh. Again, you just went along with it, but the idea of people seeing you with someone so loved by the public terrified you. What if people thought you weren’t good enough for Paige? 

Foregoing your usual bar, Paige decides a house party would be a more intimate place to delude the UConn students into your fake relationship. Trusting Paige to take the reins, you accompanied her into a colossal, and if you were being honest, ostentatious, house just outside of the university’s campus. Your eyes widened at the stately staircase, its grandeur diminished by the drunk students already perched upon it. The noise of the house pounded through your ears, almost distracting you from the way Paige had intertwined your fingers together, rubbing soothing circles onto the top of your small hand. It was blissful.

The tall blonde leads you past hoards of students through the house. You’re too busy avoiding the looks you’re earning to question how Paige knows her way around so well.

A tall and muscular guy bumps into you, causing you to stumble in the heeled boots you wore. Paige glares at the kid, eyebrows furrowing harshly, and removes her hand from yours to wrap protectively around your waist. She pulls you in, making sure you are fine before continuing to lead you into the kitchen. 

“Want a drink?” Paige asks, leaning into you, struggling to converse over the pounding noise of the bass.

You nod, grateful to have something to dull your overwhelmed senses. Paige pours you a drink, making you wince at the amount of vodka that ends up in your cup. She holds the cup to your lips, encouraging you to tentatively sip the beverage. You welcome the burn that slides down your throat, settling into a warm pool in your belly that makes you feel more relaxed in seconds. 

As the kitchen fills up with numerous people, all looking for refills, you and Paige take solace in a sitting area in a more closed off area of the house. You are pulled onto her lap once more, a wink reassuring you that everything was going to plan.

You talk over the noise of the party, faces close together. One of Paige’s hands settles on your inner thigh, almost possessively. She rubs slow, teasing circles onto the sensitive flesh, the pressure deepening in a way that had you holding back moans of pleasure.

“I-I gotta run to the backroom. Be back in a sec,” you stutter, feeling suddenly appreciative that the darkness of the party hides your blush. Before Paige can even respond, you shoot off her lap, and run to the bathroom. 

It takes a few tries to actually find the bathroom, accidentally walking on several horny couples getting it on in random rooms. As you lock the bathroom door, you sigh and slide onto the floor, feeling overloaded with the fake intimacy. It had been awhile since you had dated anyone, and stress of it all was starting to get to you. 

You had to get it together. Taking a few deep breaths and giving yourself a pep talk, you walk back out into the chaos of the party. As you find your way back to where you and Paige had been sitting, you see some girl talking to her. Jealousy settles into you, before remembering you had a role to play; you were actually allowed to stake your claim on Paige.

Walking up to the two girls, you plaster a sultry smile to your face and take a seat back on Paige’s lap as if it belonged to you. Paige’s eyes widened in surprise; this week she had initiated nearly every touch between you two. Little did you know, she was secretly very pleased at this new behavior, arms immediately wrapping around you once more. 

Without saying anything, the girl rolls her eyes and walks away You try desperately to keep up the act of nonchalance; the smirk that crawls over your face ruins it real fast. 

No one bothers you the rest of the night, but you continue your act. You play with her fingers and she traces patterns onto your thigh. And despite the commotion transpiring around the two of you, the entire world disappears.

Paige drops you back off at your apartment that night with bright blue eyes, hazy under the spell of intoxication, but she was drunk off of more than just the alcohol. She places a small kiss on your cheek, lips grazing the corner of your mouth before bidding you a good night.

You spend the whole night dreaming about it, over and over again.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #paige x reader #uconn women’s basketball #paige #fake dating #fluff

[bikiniarmorbattledamage]

So, naturally we had to, now the game is actually out, bingo the CENSORED outfit in Stellar Blade. Credit to HarryNinetyFour for showing all seventy-four outfits, and Kotaku for this article where they propose that Eve is at her sexiest when she's got more on.

Okay... maybe not that but...

Seriously, if you're playing to fap - this game has you covered. But it also has a few really interesting, covering outfits that seem to reflect fantasies of fashion and comfort.

The only thing that's really not present is any sort of actual military like BDUs or combat jumpsuits. That's kinda weird, even Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain let you put BDUs on Quiet.

And that bit is weird is, based on what I've seen people who've been playing the game saying - there is really a story about her being a soldier and fighting for a cause there. But you'd never know that based on the ongoing outrage.

The outrage is weird and sad

So as you can probably guess, the continuing riot of "censorship" here is pretty absurd. It's got to the point where they even bullied the Stellar Blade's X/Twitter account to un-repost the Kotaku article that praises the game.

But here's the thing, in all the years I've had to deal with brodudes doing this kind of nonsense in various online platforms etc, I have never seen one that is happy.

YouTuber Moon Channel did a two part (1, 2) series on a different drama in South Korea involving a Gacha game that dared not to be pointlessly horny, but here's the general take away.

English speaking brodudes in this situation are imagining that Stellar Blade is some sort of iconic work coming from the anti-woke wonderland where everyone is happy. The reality is:

South Korea has a deeply hierarchical society which essentially tells young people they are to obey and not to speak up

The economy and nepotism is such that unless you are born into a rich family, your employment prospects are downright depressing

Many young men in South Korea develop a lot of resentment toward women primarily because they are told that in order to enter a (heterosexual) relationship they will need to demonstrate they have the ability to be a great provider, and then are denied those opportunities by the economy and nepotism

On top of all this, the government takes a "we know whats best for you" approach to the extent that not only is porn banned but you will be expected to supply your identity information if you want to look up basic sexual educational materials

They would find it to be an absolute nightmare realm.

The reality is that in the "woke" world that brodudes fear, we'd probably see a lot more eroticism in art, including games, and it'd be of the more focused, sincere variety rather than that directed by creepy marketing guy.

All we really need to do is accept each other as people, appreciate each other's humanity and boundaries. Then we can both enjoy a sexy paradise, but also unite and deal with the assholes who keep oppressing us economically and socially.

Wouldn't that be nice?

-wincenworks

#stellar blade #eve #female armor bingo #bikini armor #science fiction #video games #commentary #image #Bikini Armor Battle Damage #BikiniArmorBattleDamage #BABD

[peterman-spideyparker]

Stolen Glances (College!Matt Murdock x College!Fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I've been on a writing hiatus after feeling uninspired after a long while, and I think it's kind of helped reset my creative juices. I'm entering my busy season at work, so I don't know how much time I'll have for writing in the future, but I'm back to feeling more like myself. I figured one of the best ways to return to writing was with some College Matt! Enjoy! :)

Summary: Your best friend convinces you to go out with her to a bar to celebrate the start of spring break, and to your surprise, the night takes an unexpected turn for the better when your friend calls over two people she knows from her law classes—one of whom you just so happen to have a huge crush on.

Warnings: Flirting, swearing, reader nickname (not-name specific) drinking, kissing, getting caught in the rain, smut (oral-f!receiving, Matt's mouth being a menace, praise kink, Matt being a lil' tiny touch possessive, Matt lightly biting at Reader's shoulder, p in v protected sex, aftercare)

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, OFCs

Word Count: 6,084

“Stop staring,” Amy says as she sips her drink. 

“I’m not,” you murmur as you roll your beer bottle absentmindedly on the sticky bar counter of Josie’s. How Amy even got you out tonight is beyond you. You don’t go to bars. You’re not even a big fan of going out in general. But tonight, you caved, and followed her in the rain to a dive bar in Hell’s Kitchen for cheep beer, gossip, and people watching. And it’s people watching that lead your eyes to land on one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. Matt Murdock—enter frantically smitten swoon here. He’s a law student with a voice like honey, a smile that could light up a room, and the best ass in the entire world.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you had to stumble into the one that he was in.

“You are,” Amy counters. 

“Not.”

“Are.” 

“Fine,” you sigh. “Glancing. Let me have this.”

“He’s single, you know. Broke up with the girl he was dating all last year.”

“Which means he’s not looking for anyone.”

“Or he rebounds fast and wants to get under someone. Er, have someone get under him. Hell, I don’t know what he’s in to.”

“Ames.”

“What? I’m just speculating. Just like you are ogling him.”

“Again, not ogling. Glancing. Besides, he’s way out of my league. And you know what? This, right here, is a perfect situation for me—it’s a crowded bar, he’s blind, no one here knows me or cares about me and won’t think twice of me looking in that direction. This is the only time I can pine after someone and not get flustered and weird if he looks in my direction or watch Cindy from my Brontë’s class try to show off her cleavage to get his attention. And she totally would, event to the one guy that literally can’t see it. Which brings me back exactly to my point—he can’t see us here or the undoubtedly big heart shapes my eyes are in.”

“What if his friend does?”

“He has his back to us, he won’t—.”

“FOGGY!”

“You are a major asshole, you know that?” you hiss as you whip your head around to scowl at her.

“Well, now, you can glance up close, see the finer details. Maybe accidentally touch his big arms?” she says with an innocent smile and delightfully raised eyebrows. “Or something else big.”

“Be nice.”

“I’m always nice. Besides, they’re my friends. You survive Professor Murphy’s class together, you’re blood brothers for life—Hey, Fog! Murdock!”

“I didn’t know you guys came to Josie’s,” Foggy smiles as they get close enough to where the two of you sit. “If I had, I would’ve invited you to some of our post-test outings.”

“Well, Kitty here is a lightweight, so it’s not often I get to bring her to bars. I think I finally convinced her because it’s the Friday before spring break and she doesn’t have to do homework right this moment,” Amy hums. She so knows what she is doing, and you don’t know if you should kick her in the shins or be eternally grateful for how Matt turns his head to you next. 

“Kitty?” Matt smiles, and it makes your cheeks burn. He wets his lips lightly as he turns his body toward you, and you can’t help but duck your gaze and shrink in on yourself a bit. 

“An unfortunate nickname that has followed me since I was four and can’t seem to shake,” you explain. “Now that I’m not four, (Y/N) just fine.”

“It’s cute, though. Maybe you’ll tell me the story.”

Fuck, why’d he have to say it like that? You’d tell him absolutely anything he’d want if he spoke to you like that again.

“Maybe,” you breathe. “Maybe not.”

The smile he flashes you is soft, dreamy, and alluring. “Someday it is, then.”

“Why don’t you two take a seat with us?” Amy asks as she swallows the last of her drink. “Have a few rounds with us. I mean, you guys know me, but let’s include (Y/N) into the fold. Probably good that you two legal goobers befriend an English major. Help you guys avoid being duped in a contract or something because of semantics or syntax or something.”

“Offense,” Foggy scoffs.

“(Y/N)’s worst is still better than your best, and you know it.”

“Down, Ames,” you chuckle, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Remember what I said about being nice?”

“Amy? Nice?” Matt smirks. “I’m afraid we haven’t earned that privilege.”

“So, how long have you known Amy?” Foggy asks as he waves Josie over for another round. 

“Too long,” you chuckle, earning you a playful kick under the bar.

“Harsh,” Matt hums.

“For someone who’s basically my sister? Nah. We’ve been friends since we could toddle around,” Amy shrugs. “You two should understand that one—I mean, roommates for two years and essentially an identical course load? You’re as good as brothers.”

“Very true,” Foggy smiles as he opens his next beer. “I mean, sure, Matt got all the good looks, but I have the boyish wit and knack for sarcastic comments.”

“Seems like a pretty perfect pairing to me,” you add. 

Foggy claps Matt’s back with a big smile. “See that, pal? Even the people that just meet us can see we’re a perfect match! Murdock and Nelson, taking New York City law by storm! Rolling in the money, the biggest of the bigs wanting us on retainer!”

“A real life Harvey Spector and Mike Ross,” Amy says with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Take it from a blind man, Nelson and Murdock has a better ring to it,” Matt hums as he sips his beer. “And while money is nice, there’s still something really nice about saving the world.“

“Matty the Martyr,” he sighs. “You know, (Y/N), my parents wanted me to be a butcher.”

“Fog, please, not the butcher story!” Matt begs. 

“Yeah, please,” Amy seconds. “(Y/N) doesn’t need to hear it.”

“Ugh, tough crowd tonight,” he sighs. “You’ll hear about it, (Y/N) . . . someday.”

“Mildly ominous. Definitely non-threatening,” you grin before everyone starts to laugh. “So, what brings you guys out? Is this a post-test outing?”

“Nah, just a Friday night,” Matt smiles. 

“Well,” Amy says, holding up her new drink. “To just a Friday night.”

You all clink the necks of the bottles together before you drink, chatting briefly before Amy playfully insults Foggy’s pool playing skills. The two of them down their drinks before they make their way to the pool table to prove one another wrong.

“I don’t know how those two are friends, sometimes,” Matt chuckles. 

“Well, Amy has three brothers,” you hum. “She loves pushing people’s buttons like that.”

“And Foggy doesn’t back down from challenges like that. Although, I agree that Amy could wipe the floor with Fog at pool.”

You laugh, biting your lip from laughing too loud in the bar. “I won’t tell him you said that.”

“Eh,” he squeaks. “I think he knows where I stand on his pool skills. I mean, a blind guy can beat him.”

You feel your face grow hot with the attention he’s giving you, but it’s all very welcome as you both begin to chat about whatever comes to your minds. For how pretty he is and how flustered you get talking into to people you find attractive, conversation comes so easily with Matt. You feel like you could tell him anything. But that’s the dangerous thing—there’s no way this could work, as a friend or for whatever your brain could dream up. He’s too . . . magnetic. You’d misread something, and in the end, you’d be the one getting hurt. Besides, if you’ve learned anything from Amy, part of being an attorney is learning how to charm the pants off of whomever you’re talking to. And unfortunately for you, you’re just the girl at the bar he’s trying to schmooze only to never see again.

“(Y/N)?” he asks, trying to catch your attention.

“Hm?” you hum, snapping out of it. 

His face is soft, but definitely concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter. “I was just thinking of something.” 

He raises his eyebrows, silently asking if you want to talk about it, but a small pang in your chest makes you want to run away and hide in a corner. 

“I don’t think pool is supposed to take that long,” you say, changing the subject and craning your neck around the bar to try and spot your friends. “I have absolutely no idea where Amy went. It looks like Foggy’s gone, too.”

Matt lets out a small, breathy laugh with a knowing grin.

“Do you want to share the joke with the class?”

“Fog’s been on my case lately about meeting new people. I wouldn’t be surprised if he conspired with Amy.”

“You know, I’d say that’s impossible, but Amy is always trying to set me up and calling me Hermit Homebody.”

“Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue like 'Kitty'.”

“It’s more alliterative, though.”

“So,” he hums, turning his body toward yours. “What’s the story behind Kitty?”

“You’re gonna judge.”

He holds out his pinky to you. “No judgement. Promise.”

You lick your lips before you move your hand to lock your pinky with his. 

“I really loved Hello Kitty when I was little. I basically wanted to be Hello Kitty. Like, absolutely obsessed—alarm clock, bedsheets, plushies, the whole shebang. I even dressed like Hello Kitty. Yellow shirt, blue overalls or an overall dress, and a red bow in my hair, and I had Hello Kitty socks to wear with my sneakers or little Mary Jane’s. It made getting dressed easy, but it definitely annoyed my mom after a bit.”

“That’s really cute.”

“It’s really not,” you chuckle.

“It is, trust me. And, if it makes you feel any better, a lot of free public domain braille texts were legal documents; after the accident that blinded me, that’s all my dad could really get me between hospital bills, trauma therapy and recovery, and our regular bills. I read a lot of Frederick Douglas while he did boxing practice. Between reading those and my dad’s hope for me to get a good job and use my brain instead of my fists, that’s what drove me to be a lawyer. I’m not sure I would have applied to law school if not for that.”

“Wow. That’s . . . amazing. Honestly.”

His brows furrow slightly as he tilts his head down slightly. “I like to think that I’m making him proud. But I’m afraid that I’ll end up letting him down eventually. He . . . He gave me so much, he gave up so much. For me.”

You place your hand on his that’s resting atop of the bar, giving it a squeeze. “The fact that you know the extent of your dad’s sacrifices and you’re worried about letting him down means that you couldn’t possibly disappoint him.”

Matt nods and you see his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows hard. You could swear that you see a tear roll down his cheek, but you’re distracted when he turns his hand over to hold onto yours better, lacing his fingers in yours. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, taking a deep breath. “Hearing that . . . it means a lot.”

“It’s just the truth as I see it.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” Matt hums as he turns his head toward you. “We could grab a bite, just walk around.”

“No ulterior motives?”

“Not unless you want me to have ulterior motives.”

You look at him, your heart beating so loudly in your chest, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Okay,” he breathes. “Then no ulterior motives.”

“I’m not opposed to stopping at the soft pretzel cart that’s a few blocks over, though.”

He gives you a small smile.

“Something funny?”

“Beer and pretzels,” he hums. 

“Har har.”

“C’mon,” he says with a little jerk of his head. “Lead the way.”

Putting some money on the counter to cover your drinks, you slide off of the barstool, your hand still in Matt’s as he mimics your movement before unfurling his cane. You both walk in comfortable silence, recalling little anecdotes from your childhoods as you stroll along the route. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you laugh.

“I’m not,” he says with a big smile. “I got so much hell from the nuns for it. Father Lantom put on a little show and was a little mad about it, yeah, but the ‘talking to’ that he gave me was about the Yankees game. In fairness, I honestly did worse when I was younger—probably took years off of all of their lives. Probably still do, when they think too hard about it.”

“Gosh,” you say with another laugh. “You’re such a daredevil.”

“Hey, I’ve turned out just fine. For the most part.” 

“Yeah, you’ve got a point. You seem pretty alright.”

“Pretty alright?” he croons. “I’ll take it. Any pointers for how I can increase my ranking, though?”

“Well, if I told you, it’d be too easy,” you smirk as you approach your destination. “Heya, Boyd.”

“Kitty!” he beams. “Long time no see! You’re usual?”

“That’d be great. School’s been busy.”

“You know she’s in Columbia?” he starts to tell Matt. “Smartest girl I know.”

“She is amazing,” Matt says, and you feel your cheeks burn hot.

“Matt’s one of my classmates,” you explain. 

“Ah, so you’re a smart one, too. Kitty here is one of a kind—don’t do anything stupid to loose this one.”

“I’ll do my best not to,” he smiles.

“D’you want anything with yours?”

“Mustard, please.”

Boyd hands Matt his pretzel, but puts his hand up when you try to pay. 

“Not tonight, Kitty,” he says. “My treat.”

“Don’t be silly, Boyd,” you counter. “You know our rule, only on birthdays.”

“Yeah, but you included me on your date. I feel real special. All warm and fuzzy like.”

Your cheeks burn even hotter when he says “date”— you appreciate that Boyd thinks you’re in the same league. 

“Please?” you try.

“Alright. But you’re getting your change back. This one, she always tries to scurry away before I can give her her change back!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t escape,” Matt chuckles, his hand resting on your waist, the gentle touch sending goosebumps up your spine.

“Atta boy. You know, I like this one. He ain’t that bad. Here, Kitty. Have a nice night, you two!”

“Night, Boyd!” you smile. 

“Nice to meet you,” Matt adds. Once you’re out of earshot, he asks, “How come he can call you Kitty?”

“Because Boyd has known me since I was six,” I chuckle before I take another bite of my pretzel. “You’ve gotta earn it.”

“Oh, so now you’ll let me earn the chance to call you Kitty?”

“If you play your cards right.”

“Sounds like a challenge.”

“You seem like the kind of guy that likes challenges.”

He grins and raises his eyebrows as if conceding to your point before taking a bite of is pretzel, licking up the mustard at the corner of his mouth. The absolutely obscene thoughts that cross your mind when he does that would even make a sinner in church blush—but also appreciate the sentiment. You finish your pretzels quickly, continue to walk aimlessly around and talk about whatever comes to your mind.

“Wow,” you hum as you look at a clock on the other side of the park we’re walking through.

“What?” he hums. 

“It’s almost three.”

“Seriously? No.” You feel Matt’s arms shift, and you watch his fingers slide over the face of his watch. “Shit. It’s almost three. I didn’t think we were talking for that long.”

“Me either. Not that I’m complaining about it.”

“Neither am I.”

“Maybe we’re just really slow walkers?”

Matt laughs. “It is a really nice night.”

There’s a comfortable silence before you speak next. “I don’t do this, normally. Go out—go out to a bar, no less—walk with guys aimlessly around the city.”

“Tell people the story of your nickname? Or bring them to meet your pretzel godfather?” he teases gently, and you chuckle softly and nod. 

“Definitely not either of those.” You take in a deep breath before you continue. “Something feels different tonight, though, and I like it. And I only started liking it when you and Foggy joined us at our table.”

“Yeah?” he says so softly you almost don’t hear it.

“Yeah,” you confirm. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I like it, too.”

Your gaits slow before Matt turns into you, a relaxed, dreamy look on his face. It’s not a face you’ve seen him flash the girls on campus—the cocky, over-confident swagger that’s usually there replaced with something almost dreamy and entirely genuine. Your heart starts to race as he leans in, but you both freeze in place when the sky opens up and you get caught in a sudden downpour. You squeak and he lets out a soft grunt before Matt hand grabs yours, and you rush toward the sidewalk. You raise your hand to wave down an oncoming taxi, and as you both slide in, Matt gives his address to the cabbie. 

The ride is short, but it’s definitely better than making the trip in the pouring rain. When the cabbie pulls to the curb, Matt hands him the fare and the tip, opening the door and sliding out first, waiting for you to follow. He uses his large frame to try and shield you from the rain as you run into the lobby of his dorm, tracking in puddles into the elevator. 

“Would Foggy mind if I crash here for the night? I mean, what’s left of it,” you ask, your arms hugging yourself as you shiver in front of his door. 

“You don’t need to worry about him. He’s staying with his family for the first half of break,” Matt says as he slides the key into the lock, leading you into the very nice dorm apartment. “It’s just us here.”

“Ah,” you hum softly, looking around the space. “I wish my dorm looked like this. I think I chose the wrong major.”

Matt chuckles softly as he moves about the space. “Well, each year we get better housing choices, and the ADA complaint dorms were updated a few years ago. Foggy just reaps the rewards of being my friend.”

“Well, it is very nice. Definitely decorated by boys, though.”

Matt chuckles softly, walking into what you assume is his room before coming back out in pajamas, a folded set of clothes in his extended hand. 

“Thanks,” you smile as you take the sweatshirt and sweatpants out of his hands.

“Can’t have you be chilly,” he hums. “Let’s face it—Amy would kill me if I let you catch a cold.”

“You, Foggy, and then me. In that order,” you laugh. “You know, I honestly thought it was done raining for the night.”

“I’m just glad we caught a cab. And that you let me pay.”

“Well, you gave them the address to your dorm. Seemed right that you foot the bill.”

Matt chuckles as you turn to side off your wet clothes and put on his fluffy sweater and sweats. Yes, it feels a little odd to change in front of him, but it’s not like he can see you in your underwear, and you need to get these wet clothes off. And if tonight has taught you anything, Matt is someone you feel comfortable and safe around.

“Let’s hope these dry by the morning,” you say, folding your soaked clothes and putting them over the stool in the kitchen area. 

“You can keep them as long as you need. Something tells me I’ll get them back eventually.”

You blush deeply. “In a timely manner. Promise.”

“I’m not gonna force you out when the sun comes up, you know,” Matt continues. “We can go down and throw your clothes into the dryer in the morning. Maybe go grab breakfast after they’re out.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Want to go to the living room?”

“No ulterior motives?” you smirk. 

He laughs, and you swear you just made him to blush. “No. Not unless you want there to be,” he responds. 

“I don’t think I’d be opposed to some.”

Matt slides off his glasses, placing them on the kitchen table. His eyes sparkle in the moonlight coming through the window, taking a half step forward and placing his hands on your waist. You lean in to help close the space between your bodies, and when his lips finally meet yours, you feel your heart skip a beat as electricity shoots through your veins. You slide your hands up his body to cradle is face as he pulls you in even closer. The kiss is passionate, tender, and everything that a kiss should be. When he pulls back, you’re breathless and dizzy in all the best ways. His forehead rests on yours, and you desperately wish he’d lean in for another kiss. 

“Are those acceptable motives?” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours.

“Mm,” you hum. “Very.”

He smiles, leaning in for another kiss, the force of the embrace knocking the back of your legs against the sofa. You pull him into you, knocking the pair of you down on the couch, his body crushing yours in the most glorious of ways for a moment until he can position himself better on the furniture. His hands have a firm grip on your body, sending wave after wave of chills up your spine as you chase his lips for more kisses. One of his large hands cradles the back of your head, holding you closer so he can gain better access to the kiss, and you realize his glasses aren’t perched on his face anymore. You don’t even know when he would’ve have a chance to take them off. But do you really care? 

No. No you don’t.

As you make out, Matt slides you onto his lap, giving you a bit more leverage as you embrace. You lips mirror one another’s, curving up into smiles. You take in a sharp breath as you feel his hands slide under the sweater and up your back, the simple action sending goosebumps up your spine. You moan into the embrace and lean forward to deepen it, accidentally nipping his lower lip between yours. It elicits a strong response from Matt, his fingers digging into your skin, sure to leave little bruises as souvenirs before moving up to tug at the hair at the nape of your neck. His fingers should have their own insurance policy, because wherever they trace on your body feels like a million dollars—the warmth, the strength, the grip—goes straight to the apex of your thighs. Firm, relaxing, and downright sinful.

You pull back from the kiss, Matt’s swollen lips chasing yours as you lean away, turning your head to yawn. 

“Am I putting you to sleep, sweetheart?” he smirks, softly kissing your neck before moving so his face points toward yours. 

“You’re definitely relaxing me, that’s for sure,” you tell him as you look back at his face. “It’s just been a really long week.”

“We can stop if you want.”

“You stop, and I’m telling Amy and Foggy.”

“Oh, well, we can’t have that.”

“No, we can’t.”

With more smiles, you lean back into the kiss. Matt’s grip is firm on your waist before sliding his hands down and over the globes of your ass, moving to your upper thighs before lifting you up. You’re too focused on his lips to try and watch where he’s taking you, even though you have a good idea. You moan into his mouth as you feel Matt lay you down on his mattress.

“At least if you get a little too tired to keep going, you can fall asleep in a bed,” he whispers before he starts to kiss your neck.

“So kind of you.”

“I try.” He presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Can I keep going?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

Matt flashes you a devilish grin before leaning back in, his hands sliding up under the borrowed sweatshirt tracing the curves of your body.

“You can take it off, you know,” you murmur against his lips. “It’s your shirt, after all.”

He hums in delight, doing as you ask and ridding the fabric from your body and pushing it to the side. “You’re chilly now,” he hums kissing all over the exposed skin, pulling soft moans from your throat. 

It’s your turn to slither your hands up against his rock-hard body under his clothes, lightly raking your fingernails along his skin. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“Then show me.”

Matt’s lips slot back over yours, tasting every ounce of your mouth that he can. He pulls back, whipping his shirt off. You’re unable to prevent your jaw from dropping when you see his exposed chest, a little wooden cross hanging from a cord around his neck a strong contrast from his fair skin and rippling muscles. It doesn’t hang too long, the space between the two of you closed just as swiftly as it was created before his hands deftly undoes your bra. Matt’s hands slide the straps down your arms, tossing it to the side before his large hands palm at the fleshy mounds, his hips inadvertently beginning to roll against your legs. 

“Mm,” you hum as you start to mark his neck. “I’d say we’re moving fast, but, I like where we’re moving. Seems like you do, too.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Let me lay you down and make you feel good, angel.”

“Mm, ‘angel’,” you smirk as you pull him on top of you. “Sounds better than ‘Kitty’. Better not be calling any other girls that.”

“It’ll be just for you. Swear.”

“Good.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna try and stop earning the right to call you Kitty, though.”

“Consider it earned. Can even call me Kitten. Now, please tell me you have some condoms here.”

“Mm, I do. But, the thing is, that pretzel left me hungry, angel. I need to eat a little more.”

Your brows furrow before Matt holds your face in his hands, kissing you deeply. He trails his kisses down the column of your neck, moving lower with each embrace, down your chest and torso until his lips reach where your skin and his sweatpants meet. 

“Is it okay if I pull these down, sweetheart?” he asks, pressing feather-soft kisses on your stomach. “Can I kiss you there? Can I taste you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathe a little too quickly, moving your fingers into his soft hair. “Please.”

He smiles, kissing your belly button before curling his fingers round the waistband of the sweats and underwear and sliding them down your legs. His strong hands gently part your legs, exposing yourself to him, his soft, pouty lips kissing back and forth along your inner thighs until his nose brushes the slick folds. A soft moan escapes your throat, so quiet that you almost don’t hear it. As soon as it leaves your lips, you swear you hear Matt growl a little before diving in between your legs. This time, you moan louder, your back arching off of the bed and your fingers clutching the sheets. 

“Matt!” you squeak. His hands are firm on your hips, keeping his face buried in your core, tasting and savoring you like you’re the sweetest of desserts. Your chest heaves as you squirm against him, but each movement of your body only spurs him on to hold you tighter. He hums into your pussy, the vibrations working all the way up your body. 

“M-Matt,” you stutter, feeling yourself get wound tightly as he works diligently between your legs. “Matt, I—oh, fuck!”

Matt just hums, keeping pace and enjoying the taste of you on his tongue. You continue to whimper, whine, and squirm, biting your lip harder as you get closer to your release. You suck in a sharp breath when you feel Matt pull away from you, his face in your direction, his mouth and chin shiny with your slick.

“Don’t hold back, angel. I’ve got you,” he pants. “Make those pretty noises for me. It’s just you and me, okay? Don’t worry about if anyone else can hear. It’s just you and me.”

“Okay,” you say breathily with a frantic nod. “Okay.”

“Good girl.”

You could cum with those two words, and the quick twitch at the corner of his mouth tells me that he knows it, too. With a lick of his lips, he dives back down without missing a beat, sliding two thick fingers into you, gently pumping them and curling his fingers to squish against the perfect spot that makes your vision go spotty. You let out your loudest cry of the night, the sheer volume hurting your throat a little. It elicits a deep growl from Matt, and with one more lick, you’re quaking and unraveling on his face. Little tremors continue to jolt through your body as Matt works to lick up every last drop of you before pressing a soft kiss on your swollen nub and kissing his way back up your body. 

You lean up and crash your lips into his, desperate for him. Matt eagerly kisses you back, letting you taste yourself, exploring how you mix with him. 

“Are you up for more?” he pants as he pulls back, trying to smooth down your tousled hair. 

“Please,” you say, the faintest hint of a whine in your voice. “I’m ready.”

Matt smiles, pecking your lips quickly before leaning back and taking his sweats off. Your eyes involuntarily widen when you see just how big he is. If tonight with Matt hasn’t ruined other men for you yet, the feeling of him inside you and how it will undoubtedly linger for days will.

“You okay?” he pants as he works to slide on the condom.

“I’m doing great,” you swallow, trying to remain coherent through the bliss. 

His laugh is like warm tea with honey.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

With the condom firmly on, he leans forward to kiss you slowly. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Matt kisses you again, adjusting the pillows behind you as he lines himself up with your entrance. He places his hands on you gently, forehead resting on yours, before carefully starting to slide in. You bite your lip as your eyes flutter shut, your head suddenly becoming too heavy as you let it roll to the side and rest against his neck. 

“Matt,” you breathe.

“Prefect,” he pants as he slowly pushes forward. “Perfect.”

“M-Matt,” you whimper as you stretch around him. “Big.”

“Do you need me to stop?” he whispers. “Does it hurt?”

“N-No. ’s great. So great.”

“Say the word if you need me to stop, okay? If it’s too much?”

“Okay.”

Your faces turn toward one another, and for the briefest of moments, Matt’s eyes lock onto yours. You feel your heart skip a beat and jump up right into your throat. This is ridiculous—tonight is the first time you’ve actually met him rather than stare at him and wish from a distance, and it’s like your entire universe is on its head. Matt tenderly leans forward, his lips on yours, fueled with a softer passion than what has dictated your embraces for the night. The roll of his hips is slow, and you feel everything ten times over. You hold onto Matt as if your life depends on it, and you let him work as he marks up your neck and shoulder with little bites. 

“Don’t stop,” you plea. “Don’t stop. Matt, please don’t stop!”

Your pleas and whimpers spur Matt to pick up his pace. As he does so, his own soft moans grow louder in your ear, and it drives you wild. The springs of the mattress move from a quiet creak to an all consuming squeak, perfectly punctuated by the headboard hitting the wall.

“Matt!” you cry out, pulling probably harder than you should at his hair. 

“Such a good pussy,” he grunts. “All for me. You’re so good for me, angel. Feel so perfect.”

“Please!”

“Hm?”

“Fuck, Matt! You’re—oooohhhh!”

“Perfect f’me, angel. Such a good girl. My good girl.”

The sound of your slapping skin adds to the erotic symphony in the room, sweat quickly lining your bodies. You whimper as you nuzzle into him, muttering incoherent sentences as his pelvis rubs against your sensitive core, building you up to knock you over with intense pleasure. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and pull a deep growl from the back of his throat. He nips at the sensitive skin behind your ear before slotting his lips over yours.

“Matt,” you whimper, really drawing out the vowel in his name. “Matt, ‘m gonna cum.”

“Let it out,” he encourages. “Cum for me. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good. Let me hear you, angel.”

Matt kisses the sweet spot on your neck and pulls a needy whine from you. A stuttered whine pulls from your lips as your eyes pinch shut and you claw your fingers into Matt’s back. You cry out at the top of your lungs as a second wave of pleasure washes over you. With Matt in you, dragging against every right spot, it feels so much better than with his mouth. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and you cry out in pleasure even louder. The pace of Matt’s hips move even faster, albeit at a more unsteady rhythm with an increased sense of urgency as he tries to soothe the sting of his teeth. His moans turn into grunts, a delight to your ears. 

“Harder,” you beg. “Harder, Matt.”

You feel Matt nod his head against yours, doing as you ask, his lips brushing faint kisses against your cheek. You cry out once more, Matt’s hips pulling one more orgasm from you as he hits his high, spilling into his condom with punctuated thrusts.

Your breathing is heavy as your bodies still, sweat clinging to your skin and soaking the sheets. You chuckle softly as Matt places gentle kisses along your neck, his nose tickling you just so before pulling himself off of you and sliding out. He does it slowly, and you moan softly from the sensitivity and the loss of him. He ties off the condom, shuffling out of bed to throw it away. Matt briefly rounds the corner, coming back with a towel in hand. Without a single word, he carefully spreads your legs, gently cleaning the mess between your thighs. His lips softly kiss your knees and thighs has he works, and you can’t help but smile. He tosses the cloth to the side, it landing perfectly on the edge of his hamper. Matt slides back into bed, wrapping his arms around you and letting you adjust in his hold, kissing your forehead.

“What?” he whispers so softly you want to melt.

“You have freckles,” you whisper back just as quietly as you look up at him. “They’re a little hard to see, but they’re there.”

“Yeah?” he says with a tender smile.

“Mm.” Carefully, you move your fingers against the skin on his cheek, tracing over the faint constellation on his fair skin. 

“What?” he whispers again with a little smirk. 

“How do you know I’m thinking?”

“Call it a hunch.”

You smile softly. “It’s just . . . I wasn’t planning on coming out tonight. I don’t go out. I don’t go to bars. I don’t do this. Any of this.”

“I think you mentioned that earlier,” he hums with a cheeky smile. God, his voice is like a warm blanket that you just want to snuggle up in. 

“It just felt right, with you. I’m really glad I came out tonight.”

“Can I let you in on a secret?” You give him a hum in response. He pulls you closer and presses a long, slow kiss to your lips. “I’m really, really glad you came out, too.”

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[coco-loco-nut]

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

Pairing: None

Summary: Being a woman in F1 has it's challenges, especially when you are constantly seen as a threat

A/n: McLaren history revision, actually, a lot of it might not make complete logical sense, just ignore that. i’m not great at angst

requests open masterlist ttpd masterlist

_________

You've scared everyone in the F1 world since you started driving in 2014 for McLaren, more dominant than Max Verstappen, the only driver other than Lewis Hamilton to challenge you. Your aggressive driving style and ability to get the most out of your car has lead you to three championships. Men don’t like that.

You are in a bit of a slump this year after moving to Mercedes, not having won one of the first three races, but you are poised for attack, ready to take your place at the top.

“Daddy, who’s that?” you hear a little girl ask as you walk to the paddock.

“Y/n L/n, we don’t like her,” his fragile masculinity practically yells the comment into your ears. With a smirk you look at the pair, walking over and bending to the little girls level.

“What’s your name?” you ask, your voice bordering on being sickly sweet.

“Sarah,” she squeaks, eyes wide with fascination. You remove your team hat and pull out a sharpie from your pocket, signing your hat.

“Don’t let any man tell you you can’t be better than the boys. You can do anything, you’re a girl,” you smile, putting the hat on her head. You wave over your assistant. “Get her sizes and buy her some team gear, charge it to me,” you tell the assistant, who eagerly nods. Of course, the F1 social team caught the incident and posted it.

“Y/n! How does it feel to be in a slump, as some are calling it? Some fans are even calling you washed. Quite sad isn’t it,” one reporter asks.

“You guys keep saying I am in a slump, or I’m being replaced by younger drivers. My bare hands paved their paths, you don’t get to tell me about sad. If you wanted my career to be dead so bad, you should’ve just said so,” you roll your eyes. Nothing makes you feel more alive than driving, but annoying the media is a close second.

“What about your move to Mercedes next year? Why switch?” another reporter asks. Couldn’t you just get to your motorhome without being hounded by reporters for once?

“It was a mutual decision, it was time for us to part,” you walk away, reflecting on the last few months.

You hadn’t planned your exit from McLaren to Mercedes, the scandal regarding your exit being contained by NDAs. You had punched one of the engineers who made a sexist joke at your expense. You promptly decided you didn’t want to be there anymore, especially when they didn’t fire the engineer.

“I feel bad that this is how it has to happen,” Zak said at the end of last season.

“You don’t get to tell me you feel bad, if you actually did he would’ve been fired and I wouldn’t have to leave,” You told him, visibly upset.

“It was one joke and he was reprimanded. You don’t have to leave,” Zak says, you sharply inhale.

“It wasn’t one joke. It had been ongoing for years, it’s a wonder it took me this long to break. What did you want me to do? Laugh until I cry?” you asked Zak, who seemed shocked.

“Then I truly am sorry, I’ll launch an investigation to see why it wasn’t reported to me before. You will have always have a friend here,” Zak tells you, a small comfort.

“Thank you,” you give him a small smile. You spend the whole offseason steeling yourself and working to be the best driver you can be. You stayed longer at the gym and sent more time on the sim.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Daniel asked one day over a glass of wine, he’s known you since you both were karting, and he’s watched you spiral the past few years. Daniel is your best, and one your few friends.

“It’s so hard being a woman in F1. I am a completely different person than I was before I joined,” Daniel doesn’t comment, he knows you felt like a caged animal so you acted like one.

“Why did you leave McLaren?” Daniel asks, knowing you wouldn’t leave unless there was a good reason.

“I signed an NDA, so you can’t share any of this. After I started at McLaren, an engineer was hired who would say sexist remarks all the time. Over time I stopped being nice and just got mean back, and I finally snapped. I gave him a nice right hook to his face,” you sip the wine, giving the shortened version. “Zak didn’t know, no one had reported the engineers behavior, so we signed NDAs and I left.”

“I’m sorry, That plus the media circus of being a woman in F1 can’t be easy,” Daniel sympathizes.

“That’s why I forced myself to be like this. If I can make myself seem untouchable, it doesn’t hurt as much. Being the villain is easier,” you tell him.

“So how will you approach Mercedes?” Daniel keeps you talking, knowing you need a good trauma dump.

“Lay low for the first couple weeks, let the drivers think they took out my claws, hung me to dry. It won’t be enough to ruin my season, but enough to catch them off guard. During the fourth or fifth race, I’ll leap from my gallows and crash their party, exposing the sexism within Formula One,” you smirk.

“The old ‘who’s afraid of little old me’ tactic,” he smiles, enjoying your plan.

“They should be afraid,” you say, explaining your interview with Suzie that is going to break the internet, after all, the NDA only kept you from talking about the punch.

Just like you predicted, the media and fans were divided. Some called for a public apology from McLaren and the FIA for the treatment of female drivers, most called you over dramatic, and said you only wanted to attention to distract from your poor performance and waning stardom. They said not everything is about you and the people who hurt you didn’t do it to hurt you.

You wanted nothing more than to argue back and show the media and fans just how disturbed they had made you, but Toto told you to let your driving do the talking. That race you said one thing to the media, “you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.”

“Chills, your interview was phenomenal. Thanks for citing me as one of your biggest supporters by the way. Scooch over, let’s see what insecure men are tweeting,” Daniel hands you a glass of wine and sits beside you on your couch, air playing his phone screen.

“I like that one, I’m always drunk on my own tears,” you laugh. Daniel logged into his spam account, letting himself reply to the haters.

“I like this one. Y/n L/n is the kind of person to sue you for stepping on her lawn,” Daniel laughs.

“The reply is better: she’s fearsome, wretched, and most importantly, wrong,” you both think of a funny reply.

You show up to the track and win, and win, and win, until you are holding the trophy for your fourth world championship.

In your post-championship interview with the F1 media team, you make what may be your biggest announcement yet.

“In the wake of people calling me crazy after sharing my experiences as a woman in motorsport, I’d like to make a very special announcement. I am who I am because you trained me to be like this, so to make sure no other girl has to go through what I did, I will be sponsoring two F1 Academy drivers with added mentorship and sponsorship opportunities. I’ve seen the work that Susie Wolff has done, and I cannot wait to help grow the presence of women in motorsport,” you say, sitting beside Susie.

“We will make sure she doesn’t terrorize the girls too much,” she jokes at your request.

“Who’s afraid of little old me?”

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo #the tourtured poets department #who’s afraid of little old me #f1 x female driver

[star-anise]

So, Easy Beauty by Chloé Cooper-Jones is not by any means a straightforward tale of the specific traumas and experiences of being a disabled woman. In many ways, it's an examination of how holding onto those traumas too tightly can keep you not just from positive chances for connection and experience, but understanding when your choices and behaviours are hurting other people.

But. It does talk about the trauma. And specifically, this splinter I've spent months now slowly drawing out of my soul, because this never happened to me except for the version of it that did happen to me. In her case, it was a conversation with a friend in high school:

I approached him in the library of our school. He was studying for a geometry test. He saw me, closed his notebook, and smiled. “I feel like,” he said, teasing me, “there might be something you want to talk to me about.” I told him yes, there was, and I said that I wanted to go to the homecoming dance with him and would he take me. “Of course,” he said. Relief flooded through me so quickly it turned my stomach. “But,” he continued, “there’s something very important I need to talk to you about first.” He proceeded to tell me that our female friends had been pressuring him for weeks to ask me to the dance, not wanting me to feel left out. “They love you,” he said, “but they pity you and their pity won't help you in the world.” I can, to this day, recall the exact even tone in his voice, his smile. He reached across the table and took my hand. “I want to tell you something as your friend,” he said. “I want to protect you. When you ask a man like me on a date, you put us in a bad position.” He was still smiling; I was having a cute delusion and was in need of his loving, if uncomfortable, correction. “It’s just the truth,” Jim said. “No man will want to date you unless he, too, is desperate or ugly.”

What I've felt, since I was very young, was this sense not just that no one would ever love me, but that I was so pitiful, so unlovable, such a complete failure of femininity, that expressing interest in another person was tantamount to forcing them to pity-fuck me. And how could I do something that horrible to them?

Well, at least in the years since then, I've learned that actually people feel no compunction about rejecting me!

I have almost always felt like such a complete failure at femininity, to the point that discussions about the female experience feel hypnotically surreal, because these things never happen to me. Y'all get catcalled and hit on? I'm struggling to dredge up memories of experiencing that firsthand. I grew up with grownups always warning me about men who'd want me for sex but didn't actually love me, and now I'm like... being wanted for sex? What's that like? I have literally ten seconds of experience of my desire for someone else being something that excited and interested them.

This is my own personal neurosis, not a prescription for widespread behaviour. But I've always kind of hated when people talk about slowburn romances and stories with pining as "two idiots in love" because on a visceral level, it doesn't feel stupid to me to believe you're repulsive and nobody will ever want you. It has always felt like the natural and obvious conclusion to enter adulthood with.

Up until two weeks ago I've always been very careful to describe my feelings about my body as part of me being crazy--I hate the way I look, I don't like seeing or hearing recordings of myself, I think I'm not pretty. Because obviously that means I'm actively working to rid myself of those emotions and attitudes! I've got it handled! I've admitted that I have a problem!

And that's because I always had it locked away in my heart that if I tried to make a factual claim about being ugly, people would say "No you're not!" just to make me feel better, and then I would never ever know if anyone who found me attractive really meant it, or if they were just doing it out of pity.

That is crazy. That's holding onto the lesson of that fucking shitbag who found Chloé attractive and fuckable two months fucking later once he got over himself. That's sitting around waiting for someone to come climb up into my unfuckable tower and do all the work of establishing a relationship themselves. That's lesbian sheep behaviour.

It's only just begun to feel possible that I could begin to take steps to seek people out and express interest in them, instead of holding perfectly still and making someone else do all the heavy lifting to get to me, when I haven't even made it known I wanted them to.

But this doesn't get talked about as part of "the female experience". When men talk about women's experiences in the dating market, they absolutely never mean women like me. Why bother with the experiences of women they wouldn't want to fuck anyway? It's not like we're people or some shit like that.

#staranise original #body image tw #ableism tw #feminist discourse #easy beauty #chloé cooper jones

[leslie057]

rating things owned by nancy elizabeth wheeler

because she’s got a lot of little things. mostly they are very cute and strange little things.

starting off strong we have the prettiest tissue box in the world. 9/10, i think if i were sick it would make me feel better to have such a nice tissue box.

i’m fairly certain this is her diary beside it because her diary looks pink in the upside down version of her bedroom. so this is probably it? 11/10, i want to read it so bad. and very sweet pic with mom—7.5/10.

next up these pinstripe pants !! 10/10 i love them so much. oh and the index finger ring is there obviously, 8/10, such a consistent piece of her character.

a ribbon for being the bestest girl ever in the world. 10/10. also the card of cardinals: 6/10, probably just a christmas card or something rather than a symbol of her love for birds. but i still like it.

mr rabbit gets 11/10 for the name alone. and why does he look dead. i love him. he’s me.

descent from xanadu: QUITE LITERALLY 0/10. at first i was SO excited to cheer her on for reading a sex and drugs book at school but as it turns out? bizarre and gross. seems to go heavy on nonconsensual stuff. i snagged a free pdf and command f’d for whore and bitch. lots of results obviously (one use of c*ck crazy bitch…lovely). it seems men in this book say a lot of sexist stuff that the women pretend to hate but love which i can’t imagine is great for a teenage girl to consume. also just not sexy at all.

literally so bad, and this is not the worst of it.

sooo bad. the author was what 70 (??) writing that his female character got clinically DIAGNOSED with being a slut for every guy she comes in contact with. i know options for sexy literature were probably limited at this time but…please go check out something else. i wanna bonk her on the head with this book (paperback) and hug her. you don’t need to read this to be cool and sexually aware. moving on.

on the other side of that, the blondie calendar gives us a sense of the GOOD media she’s consuming!! a 10/10 no questions asked. we don't really get to see many of her hobbies or interests outside of investigation so this is a much appreciated detail.

of course like all good things in life the blondie calendar does get replaced. its replacement is what i will call Weird Antinaturalist Art Piece #1 seen in her room in s4. i give it a 4/10 because idk what’s going on really.

and here is a very crunchy screencap of Weird Antinaturalist Art Piece #2 from s4 which i will give a 5/10. note the boyfriend typical photography above it, for sure a 10/10.

there is also Weird Antinaturalist Art Piece #3 which gets an 8/10 because i like the composition and the piano player. where did she get this and why. interior decoration is her passion.

the sleeping bag and crochet pillow setup. 7/10. would take a cat nap here.

pluto!! 15/10, the best mickey mouse character i would say. i hope her cousin is taking good care of him.

bulletin board 10/10. i love how obvious it is that she has had this up for forever. probably a nice constant in her life.

and my favorite pic up there is this precious one. look at herrr. 5000/10.

her floral weekender bag. 6/10, i like it, but not as much as i like the speedwalk and the toss into the backseat. she was SO ready for her lab takedown road trip.

trapper keeper is a 9/10 because they probably put anything and everything on trapper keepers back in the day and yet still she chose this lovely understated hot air balloon. elegant.

tom cruise poster is 1000000/10 actually. she is so loyal to that man. actually though not a great pic of him all things considered so maybe i give it a 999999/10. (i love it so much because i know for a fact that jonathan byers works proactively to never acknowledge this poster, because he is more mature than that.) (he is not more mature than that, in fact he is a little pouty about mr cruise.)

KITTY FIGURINE. 10/10. i thought it was just in s4 but i found it on her other nightstand in s1. very very adorable. i imagine it is now one of the first things she sees in the morning (well that and her blue telephone: 8/10) which is bizarre and cute. the mixtape drawer gets a 10/10 for reasons that i don’t think i need to get into.

white fingerless gloves! 10/10. so chic for monster hunting.

black fingerless gloves from s4. hmmm 3/10, they're cool i guess but they don’t feel very nancy and the white ones are so much better. especially because you may get the splatter effect of monster blood on them in a battle scenario, which would be badass.

piggybank (with her name on the side). 2/10 unfortunately i don’t like him. he looks at me like i took out his whole pig village and i just need some quarters. also did she paint this herself? in that case, 3/10 for customization lol.

pastel underwear drawer: 10/10. her committment to the hollistic aesthetic and color palette of her room is impressive here. it was a good idea to use this drawer as a deterrence against her little brother and a money hiding place but clearly he has no manners and is a THIEF.

STRIPED SOCKS. 10/10. i realize it's hard to see because she's moving so fast (slow down he is not going anywhere) but they are indeed stripey even though i would have guessed solid white. and wow what good sleeping socks. stripes are just cozier. hope she got lots of sleep in those.

#long post #bedroom analysis #stranger things #nancywheeleredit #character analysis #nancy wheeler #karen wheeler #mike wheeler #stranger things details #jancy #< target audience #jonathan byers #jonathan x nancy #screencaps #ballet slippers necklace coming in part 2

[reduxulousoctopus]

Logan: “Whatever Chuck did in there, it worked. I don’t know how he faced that thing. He never loses his cool.” Rogue: “Forget it, hon. In our business, we all get shook up every now and again.” Logan: “I don’t.” — X-Men: The Animated Series, season four, "Proteus"

~4500 words, immediately Post-Episode, Morpherine established relationship, The Most Traumatized Man in the World dealing with the fact that he is now Slightly More Traumatized

If you missed my last fic, Morph has in-universe (he/him) and out-of-universe (they/them) pronouns because I think that's funny.

--

After watching waves crash against the island’s rocky shore for a moment, Logan stuffs his hands into his pockets and starts walking in the direction of the tarmac where they left the Blackbird. He’s ready to go the fuck back to Westchester, find his favorite seat at the bar, and drink until he forgets he even exists. Plenty of ye olde pubs to be found on the mainland, of course, but he’s had more than enough of bonnie Scotland for one day.

Too bad some force out there—be it God, the Devil, or the whims of an uncaring universe—seems dead set against ever letting Logan have what he wants.

“I think the professor’s gonna want to stay a while longer,” Rogue pipes up behind him. “Y’know, to make sure Kevin’s really okay, and to make sure Dr. MacTaggert’s doin’ alright, too. We probably got at least an hour to kill before it’s time to head home.”

Holding back an enraged scream, Logan instead grunts out through gritted teeth, “Uh-huh.”

“Why don’t you pay Morph a visit?” Rogue suggests with a smile. “That might make you feel better. Even if you don’t wanna talk to him about what happened, he always puts you in a good mood.”

Despite her words, Logan’s mood somehow turns even more sour at the thought of seeing Morph again. He crosses his arms and grumbles under his breath, “Morph’s already got more than enough to deal with—he doesn’t need me dumpin’ a load of my garbage on top of everything else.”

Rogue rolls her eyes. “For some reason, Morph actually seems to like your garbage. I already told him you’d come see him before we left. You gonna make a liar outta me, or do I have to throw your sorry butt in through his window?”

How in the hell did Logan end up surrounded by so many females who think they can boss him around? Jean, Storm—even Jubilee’s gotten real bold about demanding rides to the mall.

They’re completely right, of course, but they don’t always have to rub his nose in it.

“I can walk.” Logan gives her a mocking bow. “By your leave, ma’am.”

“Go on, now, get,” Rogue says, nodding her head towards the research center’s entrance. “Surly ol’ polecat. Don’t know how Morph puts up with you.”

Thing is, Logan thinks as he grudgingly makes his way back inside the building, he isn’t so sure Morph wants to put up with him anymore. Three times now, he’s had to watch Morph walk away and not look back, even as Logan called his name.

Kinda hard for a fella not to start taking that personally.

Upon entering the laboratory where the others have gathered, Logan immediately locates the cause of his bad day—across the room, playing some kind of hologram puzzle game with Cassidy, too busy to notice him—before very deliberately looking away and approaching Dr. MacTaggert instead. “Hey, Doc. I’m gonna head upstairs. Unless now’s a bad time…?”

She’s understandably reluctant to tear her eyes away from her son. Even when she manages to meet Logan’s gaze, it takes her a second to actually register what he said.

“Oh! Of course you’ll be wanting to see Morph.” She checks her watch. “He should be nearly done with his morning round of mnemotransience therapy. I’ll call the supervising nurse to let her know you’re on your way.”

Logan frowns, wondering what the fuck ‘nemo-transients’ are, but nods politely when she tells him which room Morph’s in. Not that he needs directions—as usual, Logan opts to trust his nose, letting Morph’s familiar scent lead him through the building, instead. But when he arrives outside the closed door at the end of the trail, something makes him hesitate.

He reaches for the knob. Pauses.

Reaches again, before pivoting on his heel and walking back the way he came.

Stops. Runs his hand through his hair. Returns to the door.

Hesitates again. Growls in frustration.

“Just leave him alone, old man,” Logan mutters to himself. “He’s here to heal.”

Not listen to a whining, yellow-bellied coward like me.

With that bitter self-recrimination, Logan turns away from the door again—only to nearly jump out of his skin when he hears it suddenly open behind him.

“Are you that ‘X-Man’ come to visit Morph?” asks the middle-aged woman with frizzy grey hair and coke-bottle glasses. “Sorry love, Moira called ahead but I only just remembered the door was locked. Must not have heard your knockin’ over my headphones, either. Come on in, love, he’s almost done with his treatment, shouldn't be more than a minute or so.”

Now there’s no chance he can sneak away without word getting back to Morph. Reluctantly, Logan follows the nurse into the room. As soon as he’s through the threshold and he hears the door automatically lock itself behind him, his breath catches and a bolt of sick terror shoots through him, followed quickly by rage.

He hates hospitals, and he really hates laboratories; this room is some hellish combination of both. Sterile metal walls, acrid chemical smells, computers and machinery blinking and blooping with obscure purpose in stalagmite-like clusters rising from the floor. Seeing Morph unconscious on a slab, hooked up to those machines—it makes him want to break things. His pulse is a war-drum in his ears.

This can’t actually be helping Morph get better. They’re hurting him, experimenting on him maybe. Ripping him apart to learn how his shapeshifting powers work. Maybe that’s how MacTaggert figured out how to make her son look normal, because that’s all humans ever want from mutants: to use them, or make them normal.

His claws itch at the underside of his skin. He’s gotta get Morph out of here, run away as far and fast as they can because if they can’t trust MacTaggert then they can’t trust Xavier then they can’t trust the X-Men—

Logan closes his eyes. His thoughts are spiraling in on themselves like a dog chasing its tail; he grabs that dog by the chain and forces it to heel. Maybe he can’t trust MacTaggert—the fact she managed to hide her mutant son from Xavier all these years proves she’s good at keeping secrets, who knows what other skeletons may be hanging in that woman’s closet?—but he damn well knows by now that he can trust Xavier and the X-Men. There’s no point in speculating to the contrary. May as well start doubting that the sun will rise or the tides will turn; may as well send himself to the funny-farm, too, while he’s at it.

“You can sit in that chair while you wait, love,” the nurse says suddenly. Logan’s body jerks in surprise as his eyes snap open. She doesn’t seem to notice, though, already taking her own seat behind a desk not far from the door and picking up a well-worn paperback romance novel. “That one there, by the window.”

“Thanks,” Logan grunts.

The nurse puts on her headphones and presses the play button on her portable tape-player. Logan blinks as his acute hearing picks up shredding guitars, crashing drums, and guttural, growling vocals.

He would not have guessed from looking that she was a metal fan.

Although he moves towards the window the nurse mentioned, Logan doesn’t sit down in the squashy-looking armchair. Instead, he slides the window open and just stands there a while, breathing deeply. No ocean-view this side, but he can smell the brine and feel the cold wind against his face. He can hear crashing waves.

He can still smell Morph, too, which is always a balm—even if he can’t bear to look at him while he’s hooked up to those machines. He can hear his heartbeat and his calm, soft breaths.

Eventually, the room stops feeling quite so much like a trap snapping shut around him.

Morph trusts Dr. MacTaggert. Trusts this place, even if it makes Logan’s skin crawl. He clearly feels safe enough to recover here. Safer than he felt at the mansion, apparently.

Safer than he felt under Logan’s protection.

Some ‘protection.’ Not even one whole day back and I let him go up against Sentinels again.

Yet even when confronted by his worst fear, Morph ran in literally guns-blazing and faced an entire squad of Sentinels almost single-handed to save the team. A true X-Man, through and through.

And what does that make me? Just the guy that turns tail and runs while his friends are in danger, all because he let himself get spooked by a snot-nosed teenager with daddy-issues.

Logan hasn’t forgiven Morph for leaving again—hell, he might even hate him a little—but he’s still so proud of him. That pride only deepens his own shame.

Bamboo and steel, like Master Oku used to say. Guys like Morph, like Xavier and Beast and Nightcrawler, too: they’re bamboo. Strong enough to bend, able to grow back when cut down. For all that Logan’s bones are plated in adamantium, as often as he’s tried to change his nature, he knows he’s made of steel. Tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. And if even one crack appears—he breaks.

Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.

Something beeps on the console by Morph’s bed. Eerily, he seems to instantly snap from asleep to fully alert, like he isn’t so much waking up as activating. His eyes open and he takes a single, sharp breath, which he holds for a moment before releasing it in a sigh.

Logan crosses his arms and leans back against the window-sill, content to watch that long, lean body stretch and those pretty brown eyes flutter.

When Morph eventually sees him standing there, to Logan’s relief, he smiles. That’s gotta count for something. “Hiya, Logan…”

“Hey, kid,” he says softly.

I miss you.

I hate you.

Something terrible happened.

Come home.

I don’t know how to be afraid. I don’t know how to bend.

I don’t deserve you.

“Nice helmet,” Logan says. “You look ridiculous.”

Morph laughs as he sits up and starts to remove the strange device strapped to his head. “You think this helmet looks ridiculous, you should have seen my first and only attempt to design my own costume. There’s a reason why I opted to go with the generic uniform, instead.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta see it. You can’t say that and not show me.”

“And lose what little respect for me you have left? No thanks.” After setting the odd helmet down on the side-table, Morph taps it with his finger. “This is a new thing we’re trying out. Moira says it might help make my nightmares and flashbacks less intense.”

Logan nods like he knows anything about anything. “Nemo-transients therapy, right.”

Morph laughs again. “Right.”

“What’s it do?”

“No idea. Moira tried to explain the science but there were a few too many five-dollar words,” Morph admits. “Basically, it’s meant to make some of my bad memories fade away a little over time, the way the memories of other people do.”

“That perfect recall of yours givin’ you trouble?” Logan guesses with a regretful sigh. It’s a necessary side-effect of Morph’s powers. He can just glance at someone and remember every single detail of their appearance; listen to a brief recording of a voice and replicate it flawlessly; watch anyone perform a physical skill, from a martial arts maneuver to a complicated dance-step, and immediately add it to his own repertoire.

He could probably tell you how many rivets were used to construct the Sentinels that killed him. Or remember the exact moment—month, day, hour, minute, and second—when he realized that no one was coming to rescue him from Mister Sinister; that the X-Men, his friends, the people he trusted most in the world, really had left him for dead.

“On the bright side, I never had to study back when I was in school. You win some, you lose some.”

“Morph…” Logan uncrosses his arms and takes a step towards the bed, but stops himself from getting any closer. Although the nurse is thoroughly distracted by her kissing book and her metal music, she could glance up at any moment. Besides, there’s a security camera looming in the corner of the ceiling, pointed directly at them.

As much as Logan might want Morph to come home, he won’t do it by making this place unsafe for him, should someone at the research center react poorly to seeing two men be a little too affectionate with each other. His hands fall uselessly to his sides.

“I can’t say I like the idea of you lettin’ people tamper with your memories,” Logan admits after a moment.

“It doesn’t erase anything. Just sorta gives me a little breathing room, so the other therapies actually have a chance to stick. That’s all,” Morph assures him. When Logan still looks unconvinced, he adds, “The professor helped design it, if that makes you feel any better.”

It does, actually. Logan can’t understand any of this modern, high-tech psychology mumbo-jumbo. Back in his day, when a fella got a case of shell-shock, the brass would just put a gun in his hands and shove him back in the fight. If Xavier and Morph both agree that this is the best way to help Morph get better, who is Logan to question it?

“I don’t know how much longer we’ve got before it’s time to catch my ride back to Westchester,” Logan says.

“Oh.” Morph shoots him a knowing smile and a wink. “I get you.”

Well. That wasn’t what Logan was getting at, but he definitely isn’t going to say no…

Morph yawns and stretches again. This time, there’s nothing innocent in the arch of that spine or the flex of those lean muscles. “Goodness, these sessions sure take it out of me.”

“How ‘bout I walk you to your room,” Logan offers.

“Thanks, Logan,” Morph says with a shameless grin. “You’re a good pal, y’know that?”

As they walk towards the exit, Morph pauses to drum his fingertips across the nurse’s desk. She jumps and removes her headphones with a slightly guilty-looking smile. “All done, then, love? How was the session?”

“Good. How are Fae and Tavish?” Morph asks. After a moment of confusion, Logan realizes those must be the names of the woman with the heaving bosom and the oiled-up, tartan-clad highlander and on the cover of the nurse’s romance novel. “Have they sorted out that little misunderstanding at the clanmeet yet?”

“Aye, things are finally heating up again,” the nurse replies with a grin. “So if you wouldn’t mind maybe holding off telling Moira you’re done with your session, that’d be grand.”

Morph literally zips his lips shut. After Logan and the nurse have a good laugh, he unzips to say, “Don’t work too hard, Doreen.”

“You know I’m in no danger of that, love!” she calls after him as they leave the room.

Although the two of them don’t speak as Morph leads Logan through the halls of the research center, their eyes keep meeting as anticipation builds. It’s been too long—even longer, if you don’t count that cramped, awkward quickie in the mini-jet en route between Morph’s welcome home party and the trashed polymer factory.

When they arrive at Morph’s guest room, Logan doesn’t have long to re-familiarize himself with the scenery. The door is barely shut and locked behind him before Morph slams him up against it with enough force to rattle the hinges. Logan growls appreciatively around the tongue in his mouth and slides his hands down Morph’s back to grab his ass.

There’s surely no better cure for what ails him.

–

Glaring up at the ceiling several minutes later, Logan thinks he’s going to kill someone. Possibly himself.

“It… it’s fine, Logan. Really.”

“Shut up,” Logan snaps. He flops back against the scratchy hospital sheets covering Morph’s bed and hides his eyes in the crook of his arm.

“Everybody has trouble, uh, performing sometimes,” Morph insists. “Especially older—er, I mean—”

“Stop. Talking.”

Morph sighs and turns away, looking frustrated, worried, and worst of all, guilty. That last one breaks Logan’s heart a little. This sure as hell isn’t Morph’s fault. He doesn’t deserve Logan’s anger.

Too bad anger is just about all he ever has to offer.

“I should go,” Logan says, wishing he’d stuck to his guns and stayed away instead of letting Rogue bully him. He’s no good for Morph like this.

Not enough of a man to stand and fight. Not enough of a man to fuck. What good am I for anyone?

Logan stops in the middle of looking for his clothes to shut his eyes, clench his trembling fists, and wait for the wave of rage to pass over him before resuming his search.

“Oh… okay,” Morph says. Logan can’t bear to look at him. He has his jeans buttoned and is in the middle of shrugging on his flannel shirt when Morph asks, “How’d the mission go, by the way?”

A pure, wimpering-animal dread creeps into his chest. Morph keeps talking—Logan hears Rogue’s name, and the phrase ‘made of glass’—but nothing else sinks in. His stomach turns. Sweat beads on his brow. Although he can feel air rushing in and out of his lungs, he can’t breathe.

“Why do you care?” Logan snaps. He can barely hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears. “Thought you turned your back on that life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Morph demands. “Of course I care—you’re still my friends, I’m still an X-Man! Do you think I wanted to leave?”

“I… I don’t know why I said that,” Logan lies. His vision blurs, but he can still see his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes as hard as he can. They have to be playing tricks on him. He’d be able to smell that monster coming.

Right?

“Besides, I didn’t turn my back on you! You turned your back on me, left me to—” There’s a soft thud behind him as Morph punches the mattress. “No… no, that’s not true. Especially not about you. You did more than anybody to… But don’t you see? That’s why I had to leave! I’m no good for the team like this. I thought you understood that.”

Logan nods, although gun-to-his-head, he couldn’t say what he’s agreeing to. He stands up and staggers a few steps away from the bed on legs that feel like jelly. He needs… he needs… to button his shirt. Find his boots.

Grab your gun and head back out there, soldier. The war ain’t over just because you’re scared.

“Logan…?”

“What?!” Why can’t he find his fucking boots? Why can’t he see anything besides his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag.

“Why are your claws out?”

Logan blinks. Looks down at his hands.

His claws hiss back at him like angry snakes.

He retracts them, feels them squirm all the way back up into his arms, alien and repulsive in a way they haven’t felt since they were brand-new.

He blinks again, and suddenly Morph is standing in front of him, between Logan and the door. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Logan should be the one closest to the door. When that monster comes in here—

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Morph says. He offers a smile completely devoid of amusement or joy. “And I’m heading that way, too, so lets see if all these boring counseling sessions I’ve had to sit through are worth the time I could have spent watching TV.”

Closely observing Logan to gauge his reaction, Morph takes his hand and guides it to his bare chest. His heartbeat is a little too fast, his breaths shaky and hitched. Holding Logan’s hand in place, Morph takes as slow and steady an inhale as he can manage, holds it for a few seconds, then releases a sighing exhale. Again and again. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Although Logan doesn’t mean to join in the breathing exercises, he finds himself subconsciously matching Morph’s pace.

Over the course of what somehow feels both like several hours and no time at all, Morph’s heartbeat gradually slows to something approaching normal. As it does, the worst of Logan’s terror fades, leaving him exhausted, angry, and embarrassed in its absence.

The monster—the kid is still downstairs with his mother, Cassidy, Beast, and Xavier. The only thing tormenting him is a few bad memories.

“Sit down,” Morph says, pushing him a few steps backwards until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed. Logan doesn’t sit so much as collapse. His muscles twitch uselessly with unspent adrenaline. “Easy, big guy. A panic attack can really take it out of you. Believe me, I know.”

“You take it easy,” Logan snaps without any heat. “I don’t get panic attacks.”

“Uh-huh,” Morph says dryly, not buying what Logan’s selling even at a discount. Standing between Logan’s spread knees, Morph reaches out and runs a hand through his hair. Logan nearly growls at him—until he feels blunt fingernails scratch over his scalp just right. All the fight bleeds out of him until he can only slump forward and rest his sweaty forehead against Morph’s belly.

While he continues to play with Logan’s hair, Morph speaks again: “You and I aren’t great at this mushy stuff. And I know you too well to bother asking if you want to talk about what’s wrong.”

Logan shakes his head.

“Just… know that if you did want to talk, I’d listen. Okay? I know what it’s like to go through this stuff, and I know it feels like you have to tough it out alone, but—”

“You don’t.”

Morph’s hands go still. “…What’s that?”

“You said you know what it’s like. But you don’t,” Logan repeats, gritting his teeth, “because nothing happened to me.”

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” Morph asks, taking a step back so he can look Logan in the eye. “Wait, so this isn’t about Weapon X, or Sabretooth and Fox, or—”

Of course Morph would assume that, because that might actually make some goddamn sense, but no. Some of the worst things that ever happened to him, yet they only ever made him tougher and stronger and angrier. Instead, it’s a kid throwing a temper tantrum that finally managed to break the Wolverine.

—he’s falling apart, weeping at the feet of a stranger he nearly killed, begging her for answers she can’t give him. Why did they do this?—

—pretty brown eyes stare up at him, brutalized and afraid. What’s the matter, punk? Can’t take care of your woman?—

—he sees his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. Where are you, Logan? Wolverine!—

“I ran away during the mission,” Logan snarls. There it is, the ugly truth.

A long, terrible silence hangs between them, until—

“Oh.”

Logan cringes and looks away like a scolded hound. Shame burns acidic in the back of his throat.

After a moment, Morph moves to sit next to him on the bed. Logan watches out of the corner of his eye as he leans forward, braces his elbows on his knees, picks at his hands.

Then, to his dismay… Morph quietly chuckles.

—high, mocking laughter echoes through the dark jungle. Who could ever love a freak like you?—

“Funny,” Morph remarks. Unlike the corrupted thing he became under Sinister’s control, there’s no sign of cruelty in his voice, his face, his pretty brown eyes. “I used to think you weren’t afraid of anything.”

“I’m not,” Logan insists, before amending: “I shouldn’t be.”

“Why? Is it so terrible to find out that you’re just as human—er, so to speak—as the rest of us?”

Logan frowns down at the floor between his bare feet.

“Or was all that stuff you told me after the Sentinels came back just bullshit to make me feel better?”

His gaze snaps up to meet Morph’s cold, flat stare. “It’s not the same.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because…” Logan starts, and then doesn’t know how to finish.

Morph, the absolute bastard, smirks like he’s already won the argument. “So you ran away. So what? Did you come right here, afterwards?”

“No,” Logan growls.

“In the time it took you to turn around and get back to the mission, was anyone killed or maimed?”

“The professor fell in a pit of fire.” Morph’s eyes go wide, which is a little gratifying at least. All the more unfortunate that Logan has to tack on a reluctant, “Dr. MacTaggert and I caught him.”

“Jesus… Don’t scare me like that, you asshole. Okay, you almost let Xavier fall in a pit of fire; I almost let Xavier’s brain get stolen by Sentinels,” Morph says with a shrug. “We’re as bad as each other. Anything negative you have to say about yourself, you may as well say about me, too.”

It’s a tidy little trap Morph’s caught him in, without a doubt. Hell of a catch, that catch-22.

“Alright, put it away,” Logan grumbles, and covers Morph’s entire smug, cackling face with one hand.

“What, my dick?” Morph asks, muffled against Logan’s palm. “Talking about some guy’s emotions while my whole hog is out. I feel like I’m in a student film.”

Logan laughs. “You coulda changed that at any point, shapeshifter.”

“Hey, I wasn’t complaining.” Despite his words, Morph shifts back into his uniform as he rises from the bed. “Alright, no bars on the island, but there’s probably a boat somewhere we could steal. Or I can turn into a whale and swim you across to the mainland.”

“Can’t,” Logan says regretfully, shaking his head. “My ride home is leavin’ soon.”

“I’ll buy you a plane ticket. Even better, I’ll pull a guilt-trip on Scott that'd put a Jewish grandmother to shame, get him to come visit me tomorrow, and you can fly back with him after. In the meantime, we’ll rent a hotel room for the night and see if Little Logan has recovered from his stage-fright.”

Logan chuckles. Seeing Morph play Summers like a fiddle would be worth the price of admission alone; that he’d be doing it so Logan can play hooky and drink beer and have sex is just gravy. Still, he can’t help but ask: “You sure it’s a good idea for you to leave?”

“I don’t imagine we’ll see Mister Sinister or any Sentinels having a pint down the pub in a random seaside village in Scotland,” Morph says with a laugh. “What about you? Any chance we’ll run into whatever freaked you out?”

Logan thinks of young Kevin MacTaggert, happy and safe with his mother and Xavier—the man who’s been a better father to him in the past two days than Joe MacTaggert has for the boy’s entire life. In a strange way, maybe that makes the kid a bit of an X-Man, too. “I’ll take my chances.”

Morph grins as he pulls Logan to his feet. He doesn’t let go of Logan’s hand right away, almost absentmindedly stroking the thick, rough callouses, the knots of scar tissue, the bulky pugilist’s knuckles.

Steel is tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.

Luckily, for all that Logan’s bones are plated in metal, he isn’t made of steel. Flesh bleeds, flesh breaks; then it heals and grows back stronger.

Logan is pretty damn good at healing.

#x men #wolverine #morph #morpherine #my stuff

[elviraaxen]

ive really been loving the pacing of your story and i enjoy the concept and the bits that have been released about the plot! youre doing really well, and i admire it greatly!!

ive been having trouble figuring out an overall plot in my own work, i just have character ideas and the vaguest idea for a storyline. i try to just write but then i usually end up taking a break (re: dumping it) because i don't have anymore ideas for how to complete the plot. i've laso been curious about how you go about writing for a comic (do you write then do thumbnails? do thumbnails then go back to figure out dialogue? a third thing?) so i was wondering if you had any advice or resource tips for writing? both for comics and for overarching plots, if that's okay

if you don't have any ideas tho, no worries. i was just curious. good luck with Felt World! i love everything that's coming out so far, thank you for gifting us it!!

Oh thank you so much!! I can't say I'm a comic book artist at heart because I really don't have much experience, I was only an illustrator for a short while and never wrote anything myself, but learning from past mistakes (i.e. I don't stick to plans), I've so far done this and it seems to work:

I'm one of those that don't like to plan strict layouts for the entire thing, because chances are I will not stick to it, so what I've done for felt world is just write a sketch for the overarching plot, the b-plot and c-plot, with rough estimates in what order I want the major plot points and settings to be. My current sketch looks like this;

(which is done in Miro) and as you can see there aren't that many plot points, because I want to have the wiggle room to come up with something on the spot. And also, my comic focuses a lot on interpersonal relationships, character development, and themes rather than the plot, which means it needs to be concise or else the comic is gonna take 6 million years to finish.

And now,, I think this might just be how I work, but I think it's easier to be creative when you have strict restrictions rather than all the choices in the world.

for me, personally, I restrict an update of 10 pages tops, because instagram only allows max 10 images per post! This means I have to 1) fit all I want to say in 10 pages, 2) it has to be concise or else I infodump on readers, and 3) I have to answer some sort of question within the update, or else I said nothing and I start over.

As for scripts, I tend to write one or two sentences of what's going to happen for the update, and then I get to thumb-nailing and sketching right away! I come up with most of the dialogue on the spot too.

And also, I think what's most important, is that you take your damn time! If you aren't immersing yourself in your own world, how do you expect your readers to do the same?

I'm very much a believer that the stories you are telling are something that comes to you naturally if you just sit with it and listen rather than demand that it makes itself known to you. When I brainstorm for felt world I quite literally sit in my bed and go "omg!! And then what? :0" TO MYSELF LMAO as if I'm not making everything up myself! I think that's extremely important that your story is engaging to you first and foremost!

And as for more practical tips

carry a notebook with you or use your notes app AS SOON as you get ideas to write them down! No you will not remember, lol.

set rules of what you're not allowed to do with your story so that you don't fall into lazy trope territory! You can do that when you brain storm, but finesse the story post brainstorm to just make it.. smarter.. if that makes sens For example, don't kill your gay characters, don't make sensitive men the butt of the joke, don't make your women fight over men (unless it's the point), etc.

set physical restrictions! For example, max amount of pages per upload, max amount of pages for the whole story, max amount of characters, etc.! That literally forces you to problem solve, which by definition is creativity! Like, oh you can't do this the obvious way? Do it the creative way! That's way more fun!

I could probably go on, but this is too long already! But I hope it at least helped somewhat!

#asks #comic tips

[smartest-avenger]

The Symbol of Peace: An Analysis of Masculinity in My Hero Academia

Izuku Midoriya runs through the city toward the site of a villain attack, excitement on his face as he knows what this means. He elbows his way to the front of the crowd and up to the very front line the heroes set up as they battle their foe, watching in awe and excitement as the heroes he looks up to are locked in battle.

This scene plays out in the beginning of the hit anime series My Hero Academia. Set in a fantastical version of Japan in which heroes are a part of every day society, the series follows the story of Izuku Midoriya, also known as Deku, as he strives to become a great hero using the power passed on to him by Japan’s number one hero, All Might. The first chapter of the manga series was published in Shonen Jump in 2014, and was adapted into an anime in 2016. Both the manga and anime are still in progress, and have a great level of popularity. According to Parrot Analytics, My Hero Academia is “ranked at the 99.9th percentile in the action genre, indicating that it enjoys exceptional demand compared to 99.9% of all action titles in the United States” (My Hero Academia YTV). Due to its outstanding popularity, I believe this is a relevant text to analyze.

From the very beginning scenes of the series, as Midoriya watches this battle unfold, the audience is shown what the image of a hero looks like. They are strong and powerful, with physiques that look like action figures. They are something for the ladies to swoon over. Notably, they are men. It is not until the very end of the fight we see our first female superhero, who is shown as “stealing the spotlight” from the men in her skintight suit, and immediately subject to objectification and sexualization by the media on the sidelines. To those who know comics and superheroes, these types of hegemonic masculine messages are to be expected. While these messages are seen as such a norm that it’s just a part of the superhero genre, there are real impacts to this. In a study conducted by Coyne et al. about the effects of superhero media on kids, research found that “early superhero exposure was indirectly associated with weaker egalitarian attitudes toward women and greater endorsement of the muscular ideal” (Coyne et al. 634). This shows that superheroes have a real impact and are worth studying. This analysis will look at masculinity in the world of My Hero Academia, as shown through the lens of All Might, the Symbol of Peace.

Who is the Symbol of Peace? All Might is one of the top heroes in the version of Japan this story takes place in, and has been for years by the time the series starts. He is rated the number one hero in the in-universe hero popularity polls, and has one of the greatest powers that citizens in that world have ever seen. As such an important cultural figure in this world of heroes, he is the ideal, the standard, the one everyone looks to when they want to see what it means to be a hero, and we know that what it means to be a hero in this world is to be masculine. That is why I have chosen All Might as the subject of this analysis, and to begin I would like to look at Kimmel’s tenants of masculinity. In his documentary Guyland, Kimmel breaks down four basic rules of masculinity: “No sissy stuff”, “be a big wheel”, “be a sturdy oak”, and “give ‘em hell” (Kimmel). Let’s explore what these mean, and how they are evident in the character of All Might.

When Kimmel says “no sissy stuff”, what he means is that there can be no sign of femininity or weakness. In societies where masculinity is seen as the ideal, femininity and weakness have become synonymous with each other when it comes to the measurement of masculinity. This is apparent in All Might’s appearance. He is the perfect picture of the classic superhero, with bulging muscles and a towering, hulking figure. When he speaks his booming voice resonates and shakes you to your core. It is not just his appearance that this is evident in, however. We can see this line of thinking, “no sissy stuff”, in the way All Might acts, especially toward the beginning of the series. In season one episode 3 “Roaring Muscles”, All Might passes on his power, known as a “quirk” in this world, to the protagonist Izuku Midoriya. As he does this, Midoriya’s eyes welled up with tears as the emotions of all of his dreams finally coming true overwhelm him, All Might says “Seriously! You gotta stop crying so much if you want my quirk” (My Hero Academia). This is a common theme, as Midoriya is very outwardly expressive with his emotions while All Might begins their mentorship with a much more hegemonic view of masculinity.

To “be a big wheel” means to have lots of money, power, and status. This is probably the tenet that All Might intentionally goes after the least, but that does not change the fact that he fully embodies it. As the number one hero in Japan he holds a very important status, and the Symbol of Peace is a name anyone in the world of the show knows. In season three episode 49 “One for All”, All Might is fighting against the main antagonist of the show in a large display that is being televised to all of Japan. He has lost the last of his power that allows him to stay in his superpowered form, but he continues to fight on despite this. His mentor urges him to stay strong, saying “No matter what you look like, you’re still everyone’s number-one hero!” This is just one of many illustrations of the status All Might holds in the eyes of the citizens of Japan.

Arguably the most prevalent of the four tenets in All Might’s story is “be a sturdy oak”. All Might specifically created the idea of the Symbol of Peace to be an unwavering force of help to those in need. This is evident even in his catchphrase. We see him use a variation over and over, a common theme throughout the series, going all the way back to his first appearance as a hero: “Fear not, citizens. Hope has arrived. Because I am here” (My Hero Academia season one episode one “Izuku Midoriya: Origin”). When Midoriya is talking about what he looks up to so much about All Might he says “There’s always a smile on his face, no matter how bad things get. Even when things seem impossible, he never gives up” (My Hero Academia season one episode one “Izuku Midoriya: Origin”).

The last of the tenets is “give ‘em hell”. This comes down to a reckless sense of daring, always throwing yourself in no matter the danger and being willing to do things no matter the risk. This is seen as bravery, the opposite of being a “sissy” as mentioned in the first tenet, even at the cost of the person performing these acts. We see this in All Might’s willingness to throw himself into any battle, no matter the cost to himself, and how he sees that as admirable. In his backstory preceding the events of the show, All Might was injured in a battle with All For One that left him only able to use his power for a finite amount of time each day. During the time All Might first meets Midoriya he has reached his limit on his power use for the day when a villain attacks a student. All Might is on the sidelines in his disguised form, watching this go down while cursing himself for not being able to help because of his limit. When he watches a powerless Midoriya rush in to help, All Might says “I have to do something, no matter the cost” before pushing past his limit to use his power. He tells Midoriya “Pros are always risking their lives, that’s the true test of a hero!” (My Hero Academia season one episode two “What It Takes To Be A Hero”). He uses his great power to blow the villain away with a single hit. After things have calmed down from this battle, All Might talks to Midoriya about this and what it means to be a hero. He tells Midoriya “There are stories about every hero, how they became great. Most have one thing in common. Their bodies moved before they had a chance to think” (My Hero Academia season one episode two “What It Takes To Be A Hero). This becomes a recurring line in the show when people talk about what it means to be a hero, and it truly highlights the reckless and daring action described by the tenet “give ‘em hell”.

These are only a handful of examples of how All Might embodies the tenets of masculinity in each and every episode. However, these tenets do not go without cost to All Might. We can see as his adherence to these tenets broaches the realm of toxic masculinity-”a particular version of masculinity that is unhealthy for the men and boys who conform to it, and harmful to those around them” (Flood).

In season four episode 67 “Fighting Fate” All Might tells his protege about that time from his past. His sidekick, a hero named Sir Nighteye with the power to see the future, warned All Might that if he were to keep fighting, he would die a horrible death at the hands of villains. All Might acknowledges this, but he presses forward despite the warnings in an attempt to uphold the Symbol of Peace. He says “For the sake of this world, I have to be able to say that I am still here” (My Hero Academia season four episode sixty-seven “Fighting Fate”). As he tries to uphold the tenets, particularly “be a sturdy oak” here, he only begins to break himself down and harm himself as he exacerbates his injuries and puts himself at risk again and again. This is often rewarded in the show, saying he is a good hero for doing these things.

This line of thinking gets passed down to his protege Midoriya as All Might trains him to become the next Symbol of Peace. Here we can see the effects of gender socialization on the story. As defined by Dipti, “Gender socialization is a process by which individuals develop, refine, and learn to ‘do’ gender through internalizing gender norms and roles as they interact with key agents of socialization” (Dipti 9). All Might passes down his ideas of masculinity, such as in the “no sissy stuff” point when he tells Midoriya he needs to stop crying so much. In season two episode 19 “The Boy Born With Everything”, Midoriya is competing in his school's sports tournament and is nervous for his upcoming battle. In his pep talk, All Might tells Midoriya “Whenever you’re scared or nervous about a fight, just try to deal with it by smiling!”, passing on the ideals of being a “sturdy oak” that never wavers even in the face of fear.

Midoriya internalizes these messages, and it all comes to a big culmination in season six. The main antagonist appears to be on the winning side, the world has fallen to ruins, and Midoriya is working as a vigilante trying to take on the world and save everyone himself. All Might was initially in contact with him during this, until Midoriya runs off leaving All Might behind to fight the main antagonist alone. In doing so, Midoriya embodies the traits of “be a sturdy oak” and “give ‘em hell'' by rushing off without regards to himself to take everything on his own, and makes sure there is no “sissy stuff” as he insists he is fine, shoving down any emotions and refusing to ask for help. These are all traits he learned from All Might, and in season six All Might has the realization that the messages he passed down to Midoriya were toxic. As Midoriya speeds away, too fast for All Might to catch up, All Might cries after him, saying “I get it! I know what a heavy burden this is to carry alone! Which is why I want to scream at you, ‘Don’t work too hard. It’s okay to take a break when you’re tired.’ Young man, I’m sorry” (My Hero Academia season six episode 135 “Friend”). Later that same season, Midoriya is confronted by his classmates and close friends in a stunning display of emotional vulnerability that warrants an analysis of its own beyond the scope of this paper. Toxic masculinity is broken down as the characters show that it is leaning on others and being vulnerable that shows true strength.

The vulnerability in this show was not lost on viewers. One article details the reaction audiences had to this scene on social media as people shared their thoughts and breaking down their own toxic masculinity. The article states “Many users openly expressed how much they sobbed wholeheartedly alongside Deku and the gang during this segment of the storyline, without a worry in the world about how ‘unmanly’ their confession may be perceived” (Chester-Londt). It is clear that audiences hold a place for this type of breakdown of toxic masculinity, even in superhero stories where that is perceived to be the default.

For a long time superhero stories have been a place of traditional, hegemonic masculine ideals, and My Hero Academia is no exception to that. The leading figure in the hero society, the Symbol of Peace, exhibits clear signs of all four tenets of masculinity talked about by Kimmel. He passes on these masculine ideals to his students, as evident through the character of Midoriya, and the strict adherence to these ideals proves to be quite toxic. What makes this series unique for a hero story, however, is the recognition of that toxic masculinity and a changing of messages saying it’s okay to rely on others, ask for help, and not always live up to unattainable ideals. We know from audience reactions that there is a want for these types of stories, and I hope to see more like it in hero media going forward.

Works Cited

Chester-Londt, Levana Jane. “My Hero Academia Is the Cure for Toxic Masculinity.” Game Rant, 1 Apr. 2023, gamerant.com/my-hero-academia-is-the-cure-for-toxic-masculinity/.

Coyne, Sarah, et al. “Making Men of Steel: Superhero Exposure and the Development of Hegemonic Masculinity in Children.” Sex Roles, vol. 86, no. 11/12, June 2022, pp. 634–47. EBSCOhost, https://doi-org.dmacc.idm.oclc.org/10.1007/s11199-022-01293-2.

Dipti. “Gender and Socialization.” International Journal of Recent Research Aspects, vol. 9, no. 2, June 2022, pp. 9–12. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=asn&AN=158174861&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

Flood, Michael. “'Toxic Masculinity': What Does It Mean, Where Did It Come from – and Is the Term Useful or Harmful?” The Conversation, 21 Sept. 2022, https://theconversation.com/toxic-masculinity-what-does-it-mean-where-did-it-come-from-and-is-the-term-useful-or-harmful-189298.

Kimmel, Michael S., and Media Education Foundation. Guyland : Where Boys Become Men. Media Education Foundation, 2015, http://www.kanopystreaming.com/node/144408.

My Hero Academia, created by Kohei Horikoshi, Bones, June 2016.

“My Hero Academia (YTV): United States Daily TV Audience Insights for Smarter Content Decisions - Parrot Analytics.” Parrot Analytics, tv.parrotanalytics.com/US/my-hero-academia-ytv. Accessed 24 Apr. 2024.

I hope everyone enjoyed!! I have so much more to say about this topic that I didn’t get to due to the page restraints on the paper. This version already goes over the page limit and still manages to cut out about two thirds of my initial points. So if anyone wants to discuss further with me, please do!!!! I love talking about this stuff!!

And for those who asked to be tagged:

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs

@anna-pre

@0im-kinda-dumb0

@ghostspace37

#my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha #analysis #meta #my hero academia meta #mha meta #boku no hero academia meta #bnha meta #deku #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #all might #yagi toshinori

[blood-mocha-latte]

literally just realised someone else asked you that already 😅 so...fave webgott headcanons instead?

bestie i am happy to answer ANY ask of yours do not Fret. anything for u truly. now!! have some post-war webgott <3.

- they don’t end up with each other. at least in a conventional way: there’s no staying at the same house, or eating dinner together, or even being on the same coast.

- even when it’s been years, and there’s no reason to fear something happening, or either of them being caught, or they could do it, maybe, they could maybe make it, it doesn’t matter. because in their heads, maybe they can’t.

- webster still comes down to california, of course. liebgott tends to not find himself in the east, he says it’s too cold and it’s the same thought of not making it that keeps webster from complaining.

- they’ll spend maybe a week together, fighting and annoying and bothering each other.

- web leaves, doesn’t write to liebgott and liebgott doesn’t write to him. then one of them will call and have the same conversation about california and webster is buying a train ticket all over again.

- and so the cycle begins anew.

- liebgott is prone to anger. to fighting back. always has been, but after the war it seems to become drier, like a husk that he can’t peel away from his organs.

- and, well, websters father was prone to dry anger. he isn’t real good at fighting back against it.

- they clash against each other and into each other and with each other but it’s always dry anger, and on the offset that it’s more gentle than thought doesn’t matter because the anger comes right on back with the nightmares and lost thoughts of guilt and grieving and the whole cycle starts all over again.

- webster reads and re-reads and re-re-reads the hollow men by ts eliot. next to him in a too-small bed, liebgott puts a cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand and tells him that if the world is going to end, it sure as hell won’t be with a whimper.

- there’s a bell in the kitchen that webster thinks that liebgott might have stolen from a restaurant; he likes to ring it to make the other come out and make him breakfast.

- liebgott never does, so webster rings the bell to entertain himself and then sorts through the cupboards that he memorized years ago to find pans and mugs and plates.

- web may not be catholic anymore, but a cross isn’t a skin that can be shrugged off. it isn’t a coat or an idea, it’s as core to someone as the knowledge that lungs inflate when someone inhales. it’s believing with every atom in your body that something doesn’t exist, but still having a small part in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like a child asking are you sure?

- he carries around a bible, the only tab in it opens onto leviticus 18 22.

- the cover is dusty and hardly seems to have ever been opened. liebgott sees it only once, carefully packed into websters back with ts eliot and oscar wilde and doesn’t say a thing on it

- once, when webster came down in november, he opened it. read where the tab marked and closed the book again. he didn’t touch it, after that.

- webster was awake when he flipped through the bible. the next time he went down to california, he left it at home in a box under his bed.

- guilt is a funny thing, and he has a lot of it.

- over the book. over his own thoughts. over a war that ended a millennia ago that he missed out on, and doesn’t regret, but does look back on and wish. for what, he doesn’t know, but he’s always been an outsider, so he supposes it doesn’t matter.

- of course, it doesn’t matter. it never did, it never will, it never has.

- liebgott pretends that he forgets websters first name. won’t say it, ever, and webster can’t figure out why. it makes him angry, but not the angry that liebgott is, that his father was.

- a shakier kind of upset, that’s more grief than rage. all it seems to do is prove an argument he made inside his own head.

- webster always leaves the same way. in a huff. slams the door shut, liebgott won’t accompany him down to the train station. he won’t call him, either, and webster had given up on writing to him years ago.

- but maybe liebgott sits down and writes a letter, one day. maybe he writes, and it’s the first thing he’s ever written to web and the war ended twelve years ago and there’s a bell sitting in his kitchen, deathly quiet.

- and webster always tends to be predictable. he always has to get the last word in.

- the next visit down to california is much, much longer.

#rie answers #alexa play winters come and gone by charles wesley goodwin #which is what i listened to whilst answering this #i hope this isn’t Too painful but my webgott moods are often rather dramatic n angsty tbh. sorry about that 😭 #are these headcanons???? idk #band of brothers #webgott #david webster #joseph liebgott #joe liebgott #hbo war

[usareiis]

Not listening to her album because I can't bear hearing one song about liking a man 🙏

#seeing that tatooed golden retriever line sent me over an edge this morning 😭 #breaking up with a man is the least interesting thing in the entire world to me idc idc idc #her and i have fallen off hard and i don't even care #with the last album it was like well it was bad to me but different phases at different times etc #but the rerecordings have gotten increasingly boring and i don't care about the men like normie straight girls do #and her fandom was already massively lesphobic but she has gotten increasingly comfortable with going oh my god don't say i am a lesbian... #...please god that's the worst thing in the world you could be oh my god stop look at my puppy boyfriend uwu #i don't even give a fuck if she is or not or what any of the songs have ever been about but being a lesbian it's like uh well actually... #... it's really bothersome to hear women upset at the idea of being a lesbian like it's so terrible and freakish #i like being a lesbian more than i want to hear her music now #and the way her popularity being bigger than it ever has been right at the time she's doing the worst things ever has just made a cult of.. #...normie girls who are just reveling in her being the face of being straight normie is very off putting #the racist guy and the planes and the being a billionare while making the most soulest music you have ever made... #some of this has been going on all along and i guess i was at a point where i was ignoring it that i have grown out of but it's gotten worse #anyway <3

[pepprs]

i will shut up abt this i promise but like. the concept of being in a stable safe mutually loving whatever relationship is INSANE . like how can you ever feel bad about yourself or wounded or whatever again. it’s like a superpower or somethi ng. <- doesn’t know what she’s taking abt bc she’s never experienced it or the absence of it after having it merely the negative space of it and is filling in the gaps w logic or something. but it’s INSANE to me. like of course i feel like shit about myself i am catcrumb unloved.jpg!

#purrs #imbeing insane about it i know it’s not that simple / reductive and i will still feel like shit abt myself once im in a relationshp (if i #get to be ♥️) and there are lots of other legitimate reasons to feel shit agtbyiurself. but it’s like no ficking wonder i feel inadequate i #am a 24 year old who lives at home and has never held a hand or whatever next to two 50sometjinf year old married men with pets and phds. of #course i am going to feel inadequate and stupid and lonely. like i canttttt 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 and th w worst part is you can’t just go out into #the world saying that and looking for that it has to find you so i will not join any dating apps or whatever but i don’t fucking go anywhere #so im not going to meet anyone and i knowi am so young and stupid and just having a horrible day that is reminding me of horrors. but the #way i am mentally shoving my whole fist in my mouth. OF COURSE I FEEL LIKE SHIT I DONT HAVE A LIFE PARTNER!!!!!!!!!!!! I DONT HAVE THAT #SAFETY AND STABILITY AND TRUST AND UNCONDITIONAL LOVE!!!!!!!! AND I NEVER HAVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #delete later #like this is what makes me crazy abt parents and kids too and whyi don’t think ihave kids. bc i think (and i know this is wrong / unhealthy) #it is a primal human need to be mutually someone else’s number 1 person and when you have kids it’s like you’re gonna love your partner more #than the kids and then the kids (read: me) watch that and get fucked up over it. but also that could just be me reacting to the UNSPEAKABLE #psychological damage of being a twin. which again is ridiculous bc it’s n out like abuse i just had to share something with someone else si #since before i was born and ofc there was more like actually kind of abusive stuff on top of it LOL but that aside. idk what im saying i #just feel so crazy. the amount of composure it takes me every day to not start SCREAMING with frustration and envy when i see ppl being #RIGHTFULLY DESERVEDLY visibly confident and loved. like ok valentines grinch go sit in the drainage pond forever please. but it’s so crazy #like how are you supposed to go through the world unaware of how much love you’re missing out on because you’re young and then you realize I #it and then somehow you miss the train and you are scared you are going to d*e alone ♥️ im normal

[they-call-me-hippie]

Yeah I can tell people have lost their grasp on basic ongoing forms of oppression when they say things like "hatred of men and masculinity is one of the reasons trans women, BIPOC and Jewish men are persecuted" like what a non-sequiteur. Imagine being so ignorant of power structures in your attempt to """progressively""" defend men that you become transphobic

#Truly astounding. Your brain is empty read a book on transphobia instead. Acclimate yourself to that concept #Try moving on to misogyny next. You might learn things there! Like actual feminism! #Now for a real challenge: try out this wholly new intersection of oppressions called transmisogyny #And then Look Out To The World. See What It Has To Say About Men And The Preferred Gender To Rule #You know it would be funny how bad people have become in writing an argumentative text on here if it wasn't so sad to see #how they think writing assertively is all they need to make your point #People online will posit any observation as an immutable fact of reality when it’s just their misconceptions contributing to a flawed view #of the world #Even if it would be quickly deconstructed by actual theoretical frameworks like feminism 101 and intersectionalism and privilege theory #They don't even know they don't know. What a Dunning-Kruger effect. It's become Plato's cave in here #Anyways you might see that post out in the wild. Exciting! #Also how would that first point even apply. Literally the only ones who might fit in are transphobic women but then you might notice #It's not the man-hate that's directly responsible for the transphobia! #Now I'm not a fan of negative feminism posting more than anyone else but if I have to keep seeing that garbage you'll have to keep hearing #me insult this. The least it deserves after making me mad Online

[gyudons]

despicable

updates as of 22 oct

Travis Dermott knew that he would draw attention with his actions in the Coyotes’ home opener against the Anaheim Ducks at Mullett Arena on Saturday. The Arizona defenseman just hoped that the spotlight might shine on the issue that he was addressing, not on him.

“You don’t really want to go against rules that are put in place by your employer, but there’s some people who took some positive things from it,” Dermott said. “That’s kind of what I’m looking to impact.

“You want to have everyone feel included and that’s something that I have felt passionate about for a long time in my career. It’s not like I just just jumped on this train. It’s something that I’ve felt has been lacking in the hockey community for a while. I feel like we need supporters of a movement like this; to have everyone feel included and really to beat home the idea that hockey is for everyone.”

“I won’t lie,” said Dermott, who is playing on a one-year, two-way contract. “From the outside, it’s easy to see that I’m putting my career on the line for something. I definitely went through some emotional ups and downs that night, not regretting anything by any means, but I’d love to have maybe done a couple of steps a little different by making sure that everyone was aware of what was going on before I did it.

“I don’t want to put my teammates or my coaches or my GMs or the equipment managers in any kind of bad light when it’s their job to kind of look out for something like this happening. It was definitely something that I did just by myself and was prepared to kind of deal with whatever repercussions the league decides to push towards that. I’m not going to back off and say that this battle is won, but we’re going to find better ways to do it.”

As Dermott noted, LGBTQ+ inclusion is an issue that he has supported for a long time. Without getting into specifics, Dermott said the issue is personal for him because it impacts people close to him.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t shed tears about this on multiple occasions,” he said. “So yeah, it’s something I’m definitely very passionate about.

“I’ve met a lot of people that from the outside, it looks like they have everything going right in their life and they have a smile on their face every time they talk to you. But sometimes when we get closer to people and get comfortable enough for them to open up to you, you can see that there’s some pretty dark stuff happening to some good people. It doesn’t take too many times encountering something like that for it to really change someone.

“I’ve been blessed to have some of those opportunities put in front of me to really change my view of what being a good person means; what being a good father and a good example and role model means going forward. You really see how people are hurting and it’s because of a system that maybe no one’s intentionally trying to be malicious about, but until you’ve really had that first-person experience seeing people hurting from it right in front of you, it’s tough to kind of take steps.”

It would be a surprise if the league handed down any sort of punishment. The optics alone would add to the public relations damage that the original ban created. Even so, Dermott reiterated his desire to bring the entire franchise into the fold before he takes similar actions in the future, but he also made it clear that he will not be silenced on the topic.

“It’s not like I’m shutting up and going away,” he said. “I know more questions are going to be coming. We’re just going to be as prepared as we can be to just spread love. That’s the thing. It’s gay pride that we’re talking about, but it could be men’s health. It could be any war. It’s just wanting world peace. Everyone’s got to love each other a little bit more.

“Like my parents said growing up, ‘How awesome would it be to be the guy that people look up to?’ That’s what really hit home when I was a kid, especially from my mom. You want to grow up and be that guy. You want to be the guy that’s having the impact on kids like NHL players had on you. If they had been racist or bigoted, that’s going to have an effect on you.

“With how many eyes are on us, especially with the young kids coming up in the new generation, you want to put as much positive love into their brain as you can. You want them to see that it’s not just being taught or coming from maybe their parents at home. They need to see it in the public eye for it to really make an effect.”

#nhl #pride #lgbt #gay #queer #hockey

[churipu]

"SHUT UP, MAMA." 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru, toji fushiguro, nanami kento

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. fem! reader, husband! au, i made names for your children but feel free to disregard it

note. i remembered this tiktok trend, just figured i should write about how the jjk men would react to their child doing this.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

gojo had a day off. it's rare for a jujutsu sorcerer like him — being the strongest, he's an asset to the jujutsu world. so him being in a day off is like a miracle to both you and your seven year old son, who might i say, is an exact carbon copy of your husband.

"honey, you need to put your toys away. it's almost dinner time," you said from the kitchen, gojo by your side, ready to help you with anything.

"let me take that," he sings out, grabbing two plates from your grasp — you chuckled, letting him take the white colored ceramic disk, "looks good, baby."

as you and gojo walked out of the kitchen, placing the plates on top of the dining table. gojo pulled out your seat for you. habits die hard, the male has always pulled your seat out for you since the very first date.

your son. marise gojo. a boisterous little boy, absolutely loves to play with his rocket toys, and somehow believes he's a little astronaut. there he sat in front of the TV, playing with his toys, an astronaut helmet covering his small head.

"buddy," gojo calls out to the boy, "it's dinner time, clean up your toys. mama made some good food."

when gojo's call didn't work, you tried doing it next, "marise, your food's going to get cold, honey."

the young boy didn't make any visible movements, but you heard him yell out with his high pitched voice, "shut up, mama!"

gojo looks at you briefly. i mean — as a father, he couldn't believe his own son said that. to his mother. gojo wasn't one to get mad, in fact, marise is a total daddy's boy. but he felt angry, frustrated, annoyed, all at once.

he wasted no time leaping up from his seat, approaching the young boy. his smile no longer visible; gojo was unhappy. the male used one of his hands to take off marise's astronaut helmet, tossing it aside before grabbing the young boy by his small waist.

marise didn't complain, and he still has no idea of what his father is about to do. so he just sat still in gojo's embrace — until gojo puts him down beside you, "say sorry."

marise's bright blue eyes stared up at gojo in confusion, "say sorry to mama, marise."

it wasn't "baby" or "buddy" like gojo used to address him by, and marise wasn't stupid. he knew he did something wrong, but he just didn't get what or why his father is telling him to apologize to you.

"sorry mama . . ." marise's soft voice resounds.

"do you know what you did wrong?" gojo questions sternly.

marise shook his head, his eyes watering at gojo's tone of voice, "no papa . . ."

gojo sighs, he squats down and gazes into his son's eyes, "you should never say 'shut up' to mama or papa, okay? not to anyone, 'ts not polite. don't ever do that again, now say sorry to mama for saying that."

marise nods his head and turns to look at you, his eyes watering — it's not everyday that you get to see papa gojo get angry, "'m sorry mama, i will never do that again," the young boy finally cried, letting his tears fall out of his doe eyes.

you can't help but to smile at the young boy, pulling him onto your lap to cradle him, "don't do that again, baby. 'ts not polite," your fingers grazed his chubby cheeks, wiping his tears away, "and if mama or papa tells you to stop playing and eat, what do you do?"

marise sniffled, "stop playing and eat."

"good boy," you kissed his little forehead, "go give papa a kiss."

and that marise did, gojo immediately picking the boy into his arms with a big smile, "give papa two kisses, buddy."

sure, gojo is a fun parent. but he knows how to teach his children boundaries — what to do and what not to do. he's scary when he's angry.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

megumi is the child that made you and toji think you both should have another child — fukuo is the child that made you and toji stop wanting more children. not saying that fukuo is a bad kid, but the boy is relentless.

with a pretty large age difference between megumi and fukuo with six years, sometimes megumi had to teach fukuo some manners, telling the younger boy what's right and wrong. when fukuo misbehaves, it's megumi and you to the rescue — while toji would usually chuckle it off since, well, he's a little minus on the manners part as well. but you're working on that.

toji said so himself, he wouldn't mind fukuo misbehaving on some things. but the male did set some boundaries up for both of his boys and how they should act well towards you (and him).

today, megumi is twelve and fukuo is six. both of your boys look alike, "mama, 'm gonna be staying late at school because we have a play coming, 'm gonna help my classmate decorate the stage," megumi tells you as he puts on his shoes.

"alright, baby. have a good day at school, i love you," you pressed a kiss on megumi's head, waving him goodbye.

as megumi disappears behind the front door, you walk back inside the house, "toji, wake fukuo up, please. 'm getting his breakfast ready," toji who had his eyes on the television curtly nodded, sluggishly walking towards the boy's room.

"hey, champ." toji approaches the boy, who was sleeping soundly, "your mother's made some good food f' you. if you're not gonna eat it, i'll steal your portion."

fukuo squirmed a bit, but his eyes were still shut tightly, "fukuo," toji gently shook the boy, poking his cheek.

like anyone, fukuo didn't like his sleep disturbed, "papa, stop . . ." he mumbled out, shifting his small body so his little back was facing toji, "five more minutes."

toji sighs, "five more minutes."

he then went out of the room, "he asked for five more minutes," he informs you — sitting back down on the couch.

"five more minutes," was not an unfamiliar statement to you, especially coming from fukuo who had always managed to, of course, butcher the concept of time right after. it was either an hour, or more.

so you waited five minutes, and when the young boy didn't emerge from his bedroom, you found yourself walking towards it, "fukuo? baby, come on, mama made you breakfast . . ." you turn on the light, which made fukuo subconsciously twitch.

"fukuo, come on, papa will eat your breakfast . . ." you shook the boy gently.

"shut up, mama."

you blinked in surprise, but only managed out an exasperated sigh at the boy's sudden outburst, until all of a sudden toji appears beside you — his hand wet, and he slides his palm across the boy's face with a serious look on his face.

"wake up, fukuo. i won't tell you this again," toji mutters out, "three."

oh, god. the countdown was every kid's nightmare, "two," including fukuo's — shown by how the young boy immediately sat up on his bed, "apologize to your mother."

fukuo furrowed his brows, "why?"

"you don't tell her to shut up. apologize." you were just there silently, a little shocked at how toji had become so serious when he's usually so laid-back with the boys, "say sorry and eat your breakfast."

fukuo swallows his saliva nervously and scoots over to you, "'m sorry for telling you to shut up mama, i promise i won't do that again . . ." he whispers, throwing his short arms around your neck — burying his face into the crook of your neck.

you pulled him close, carrying the young boy in your arms, "'ts okay baby, no more telling people to shut up, okay? 's not nice, it'll hurt people's feelings."

"okay mama . . . 'm sorry for hurting your feelings," fukuo pulls back slightly, pressing a chaste kiss on your cheek before facing toji, "'m sorry for hurting mama's feelings, papa."

toji placed his palm over the boy's face, covering it entirely, a sheepish smirk plastered on his lips, "go brush y'r teeth and eat your breakfast, mama made some pancakes."

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

nanami is such a girl dad. ever since he found out that both of you were going to have a baby girl, he's delighted. just knowing that he'd have a mini version of the both of you made his stomach churn in happiness.

hoshi. nanami hoshi is her name. it was a very peaceful six years of raising her — but they said there will be a devil baby phase, and here she was. whining, throwing tantrums over things she didn't get. it was honestly tiring, but you knew this was a risk of raising a child.

"hoshi, baby, please stand up." you cooed down at the girl who was lying down on the ground. in the middle of a mall, "mama and papa will buy that toy for you next time, i promise."

nanami was by your side, holding onto the baby stroller. his eyes were unreadable, you don't know what he had in mind, but the look he peered at your daughter was plainly and eerily terrifying.

yes, there are moments where he spoils hoshi with what she wants. toys, food, drinks, you name it. but there are times where he declines because he didn't want her to grow up too spoiled, "i wan' that toy, mama!"

you inhaled sharply, trying to slide your hand underneath her armpits to pick her up, but hoshi refused by kicking your hands away. her little kicks barely scratched you — but the people looking at your small family as they passed by definitely got a little kick to you.

"baby, people are looking at you . . ." you whispered.

"i don't care, shut up, mama!"

that was the last straw for nanami who had been silent. he grabbed your arm and tugged you up gently, nodding at you as if telling you to leave this one to him.

you backed away slightly, taking a hold of the stroller nanami had let go a few seconds prior as he squats down. forcefully but gently slipping his hands underneath hoshi's armpits, carrying her into his arms.

"mama said we will buy that toy for you next time, okay?" he sternly said, eyeing his little girl who was now silent as she gazed into his eyes, "and you never. never tell mama to shut up, do you understand?"

hoshi nods her head slowly, lips quivering at her father's sudden lecture, nanami's eyes visibly softened and he rocked her in his arms, "papa's not angry at you, hoshi. but papa wants you to know that telling mama to shut up is not polite, okay?"

again hoshi nods her head.

"go and say that you're sorry to mama," he pecked her chubby cheeks before letting her down onto the ground.

hoshi's little legs ran towards you, hugging your leg, "'m so sorry mama," she muffles into your leg, "i don't want the toy anymore, mama. 'm sorry for being a bad girl."

you squat down, nuzzling your nose to her, "you're not a bad girl, baby . . . mama and papa will buy you that next time, okay? we promise."

"okay, mama. i love you."

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #fluff #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #jjk #gojo satoru x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento fluff #nanami fluff #nanami kentor x reader #fushiguro toji #toji fluff #toji fushiguro x reader #toji #nanami #gojo

[satorusugurugurl]

JJK Men Making Up With You After A Fight

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna, FAB!Reader

Content Warning: sex, makeup sex, fighting, public sex, choking, dirty talk!

Word Count: 5,453

A/N: Hot diggity damn, makeup sex time. Gojo’s had me cackling!! As always, requests are open!! I don’t bite. . unless you ask nicely 😈

Gojo Satoru

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you ignored it, much like the other ten times it rang. You instead headed for the concession stand at the theater. Your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo, had pissed you off beyond all means. He'd forgotten all about your date. The specific date you had been planning for a month. You intended to celebrate at the fanciest restaurant and made reservations two weeks ago. All for him! Because they had world-class desserts.

You got there before him; they took you to your private table. Where you waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, forty-five minutes later, you called him.

“Hey, babe!” He said over the sound background chatter. “What's up? I'm out at the new cafe with Suguru and Nanami!”

“Oh?” Gritting your teeth, you tapped your nails against the table. “Are you having fun?” The tone of your voice was bitter and cold.

Your boyfriend hesitated, “Uhm yeah, the desserts are delicious.” Rage boiled in your gut.

“You know who else has delicious desserts?” He hummed, but you didn't give him a chance to answer. “The restaurant I'm at! You know the one I made reservations for three weeks ago?!”

You could practically see the fear in your boyfriend's voice. “Oh fuck, shit! That was tonight?! Stay there; I'll be there in a couple of minutes.” Your eyes stung with unshed tears.

“No, you can come, but I won't be here.”

You had done just as you said, quickly paying for your tab before hurrying out of the restaurant before Gojo could teleport there. You crossed the street, heading towards the movie theater. There was not a chance in hell he would find you in here. You were heartbroken; all the effort you put into your date was wasted.

You sat in the very back of the empty theater. You were feeling some ease that there was no one here. Then again, they were playing older movies anyone could stream nowadays. You seriously doubted anyone would be joining you to watch Titanic. You could zone out, cool down, and try to figure out what to say to Satoru the next time you see him.

As the opening credits started to play, you heard a door slam open. Peeking down, you choked on popcorn as you noticed your boyfriend scanning the theater. Bright blue eyes seemed to glow as he held his blindfold in one hand. Fuck! Fuck! Fuckin stupid Six-Eyes! Those blue eyes instantly found you, and you could see the relief wash over Satoru. You hid your face behind the bucket of popcorn, internally groaning as you heard him bounding up the stairs.

“Y/N! Why didn’t you wait for me?!” You ignored him, slowly lowering the bucket to stare at the movie screen. “Hey, hello?”

“Shh!” You scolded before stuffing more popcorn in your mouth. Avoiding his questions altogether.

His shoes stepped over the soda-sticky floor, blocking your view of the screen. “We need to talk.” His hand gently reached out, index finger lifting your chin to look up at him.

“Fuck you.” You said, getting up and moving further down the row, plopping down in a seat.

“Y/N baby!” The groan he let out had you rolling your eyes. “Please, I’m sorry I forgot!” He bounded after you, only for you to get up stepping into the lower row. Your action had Gojo stopping in his tracks, the two of you staring at each other. “Are you playing keep away?”

A rich laugh escaped him, one that was full of humor and delight. It had him hunching over as he cackled. You hated it, but you found your smile tugging at your lips. Here he was, groaning and whining like a child, and you weren’t any better. You were running away from him, pouting like a toddler that didn’t get their way.

Gojo’s laughter the tears forming in his eyes, had your heart feeling lighter. God, he was such a cutie. A cutie who forgot all about your date. A date you’d spent time, money, and energy on! All for his benefit. Holy shit, the Gojo charm almost had you forgiving him!

“No!” You snapped, stomping down your foot like the mature adult you were. “Shut up! I’m mad at you.”

Turning to head further down the row, you gasped as Satoru jumped over the row, landing right in front of you. “Look, just give me a chan—“ he started before you threw a handful of popcorn in his face, “okay, and here I thought I was the immature one.” His tongue darted out, licking at the salty butter off the corner of his mouth.

“You are! Toru, seriously! I put all that time and effort into planning that for you!!” You threw another piece directly at his forehead. He allowed the abuse with the popcorn to continue. He was staring at you as you tossed another piece at him.

“Are you done now?” He asked as you hugged the bucket to your chest. “Awesome, cool.” He reached out, ruffling your hair. “I can’t make up for missing the date that I seriously appreciate you planning and paying for. I can, however, make the most out of the night I fucked up.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” You flung one more piece of popcorn at him. It hit infinity before he snatched the bucket from you, placing it in one of the empty chairs.

“You’ll see.” A childlike smile was plastered across his face as he ran down the stairs, grabbing two bags before running back up to you. “We might not be at the fanciest of restaurants.” Your heart soared as he held out a take-out bag from the restaurant where you had made reservations. “But dinner and the Titanic?” He learned by pressing his forehead against yours. “Sounds like a great fuckin’ date to me.”

Taking the bag out of Satoru’s hands, you sighed, your fingers grazing over his longer ones. He didn’t have to pick up dinner from the restaurant you planned to take him to. Satoru didn't even need to try to find you when he knew you were angry, yet here he was—trying to prove to you just how sorry he was. Those were some of the things you loved about him. Cocky, annoying, and charming in more ways than one.

With your free hand, you grab onto Satoru’s wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Has anyone told you that you're a charming asshole?” Seeing your smile, Satoru let out a sigh of relief before intertwining your fingers.

“Nope, that one's new.”

“Don't push it.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He grabbed the popcorn bucket before following you back to the top row. The two of you cracked open the takeout containers, eating the delicious food while whispering as you watched the movie.

Halfway through the food and movie, you hummed, watching the infamous steamy car scene before you turned to Satoru, who yawned. “Hey, Toru.” he tilted his head, turning to look down at you. “Do you think we could recreate this scene?” He perked up. “In a veil?”

“Oh, holy fuck!” You yelled, hand gripping Satoru’s shoulder as you bounced up and down on his cock. “Fuck, oooh fuck!”

Your boyfriend's head was tilted back against the chair. Whines and whimpers escaped his pressed lips as you slammed yourself up and down as hard and as fast as you could. The tiny viel Satoru had put around the two of you was keeping you concealed, and the heat within the small space.

The thick, musky, almost sweet smell of sex was getting to you, making you hotter and hornier. Knowing the two of you were fucking in such an open space, without people knowing, God, it was so hot. You were going to fuck Toru’s brains out as both punishment for forgetting your date and for making it one you would never forget.

“Y/N, please,” Satoru cried out, “please fuck.”

“Please, what, Toru~?” You cooed, rocking yourself back and forth on his dick, making his jaw drop into a wide ‘O’. “Tell me what you want baby~”

“I wanna cum; I wanna cum in your pussy.” He begged, his hands groping and massaging your breasts. “Please, baby~?”

You giggle just before you can respond to the people entering the theater. The cleaning ushers, no doubt. Your body seized up, clamping down on Satoru’s cock, causing him to growl. Your hand flew up, covering his mouth as you listened to the staff talking. While they couldn’t see you, the thought of strangers walking around while you had sex, god, it made you wetter than wet.

Keeping your hand over Satoru’s mouth, you fucked yourself down on him like he was your own personal dildo. His whines grew louder under your hand as he gripped your ass, helping you fuck yourself on him. He was so close, so, so close.

All he needed was a little push. That push is your twitching cunt. You rocked faster, your free hand resting over his chest, as you felt your orgasm coming in fast before your back arched. A silent scream etched your face as you came hard. Satoru gaped into your eyes, eyebrows furrowed together, as one hand gripped your ass and the other smacked into the veil.

Or rather, through it.

A bloody murder scream came from one of the workers as a disembodied hand popped out of thin air. The co-workers followed her out, screaming and yelling. At the same time, Satoru pulled his hand back inside the veil. The two of you were coming down, your bare chest resting against his. You just stared at each other for a long moment before you both started to giggle loudly.

“G-Guess the handprint scene doesn't work well in the veil.” Satoru chuckled, cupping strands of hair behind your ear.

“Guess not.” Was your confirmation, as you slowly pulled yourself off of Satoru’s lap with a wince. “Such a shame. I was hoping for better results.”

“Hmm, it might not work with the veil, but I have an idea where we could try because I’m not done yet. I still haven't apologized to you in the way you deserve.”

“Oh?” You both picked up your trash and readjusted your clothes as Satoru lowered the veil.

“Yeah, I wanna apologize to you in the shower, in our bed, fuck even the balcony.” The two of you ran for the exit door. “It's a good thing that the restaurant you picked out is known for the aphrodisiac desserts.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oooh, sweetie,” Satoru sneered down at you with a mischievous chuckle.“Why do you think I kept bugging you to take me to that restaurant?”

It was going to be a very long night for you.

Nanami Kento:

“Damn!” The soft curse woke you up; you rubbed your eyes, watching your fiancè searching for something on the dresser.

“Kento?” Your groggy voice drew his attention towards you. “Welcome home.”

Your beloved fiance had been gone for two weeks. He'd just gotten home last night; Gojo had picked him up for you. You had been working your ass off for the previous two weeks. You picked up the work of another co-worker who had just walked out without notice. Gojo knew you had been running around for two weeks filing paperwork, assigning missions, and helping Shoko. He was instant on you getting some sleep. He assured you he'd get Nanami, and you were thankful for him doing that for you.

This way, you could spend more time with Kento.

“Where are my cufflinks?” Nanako snapped, his eyes full of annoyance.

His tone had you blinking in stunned silence. “Right there,” you motioned to the box he always kept them in, “was your mission rough?” That would explain his cold, sharp tone.

“Yes, Y/N, it was rough.” He opened the box, grabbing the links before slamming it shut. “You wouldn't understand.”

His words sliced through you like a hot knife. “Excuse me?” You three the sheets off your body, standing to face him. “What the hell do you mean I wouldn't understand?!” Nanami Kento rolled his eyes at your anger.

“I'm simply stating the truth. You don't understand what it's like to go out on missions, fight, and do more than paperwork.” His hand ran through his still-damp hair. “So I'm just trying to understand why you couldn't pick me up last night. Gojo told me that you were burning the candle at both ends. I fail to see how that is even possible.”

The bedroom was nearly silent. The only sound that you could hear over the boiling rage was your heartbeat in your ears. “Get out of my way.” Was all you could manage as you pushed past him, digging through your drawers for clothes.

“Honestly, why are you acting like a child?”

“Why are you acting like a dick?!” Nanako was seconds from snapping back, but his words evaded him when he saw you crying. “You have no idea how hard my job is!” Your hands wiped uselessly at the stream of tears. “My worthless coworker quit. So I'm stuck doing my job and hers!”

“Y/N.”

“Yes! I do loads of paperwork, and I sit in front of a computer most of my day.” You pulled on your pants, stepping out of Nanami’s grasp. “It may not be physically demanding, but in a mental aspect, I'm drained. Paperwork, mission assignments, and death notices!” Honey-brown eyes went wide. “Yeah, that's why my coworker quit! She couldn't handle it!”

“Love, I—”

You held a hand up, silencing Nanami. “So last night, Gojo picked you up instead of me because I was in Kyoto. Telling a mother and father that their eighteen-year-old son died!” Flashes of Yu Haibara flashed through Nanami’s eyes.

He could barely handle his death, imagining what his parents went through. When someone in your position told them that their child was gone, he couldn't even begin to imagine what that must have been like. Emotionally and mentally draining. He had no idea how much your job consisted of because you hardly brought it up. More concerned with him.

“Y/N, I had no clue—”

“No, fuck you.” You turned on your heel, racing for the door. “Welcome home! Kindly go fuck yourself.” With those words, you left, leaving Nanami alone in your apartment.

It took you a couple of hours to cry out your feelings. The exhaustion and stress of the last two weeks hit you all at once with Nanami’s cruel words. He had no clue what you went through without him here. It didn't matter if he was just as exhausted as you were. Both of you had been ground to bones in two weeks apart.

Despite all of those factors, he still had no right to talk to you the way he had.

But as much as you wanted to stay away from him, your apartment, reality, you had to go back. Your engagement ring glimmered as a stupid reminder, even if he had crossed a line today. Nanami was still the love of your life.

The second you unlocked the door to the apartment, you sighed. “I'm home.” Your voice was barely audible.

Just as you finished removing your shoes, you looked up to see Nanami. His cheeks and neck flushed as he looked at the floor. Your fiance looked like a dog that had been scolded, as he should. Despite wanting to throw yourself into his arms and cry out your frustration, to hit, to beg him to hold you tight, you just walked past him.

Entering your living room, your heart lurched into your throat as you gasped. A large bouquet of roses is on your coffee table, surrounded by all your favorite snacks. The words ‘I’m Sorry’ were spelled in rose petals on the floor.

You had thought you were incapable of crying anymore, yet fresh tears spilled over your tear-stained cheeks. Nanami’s body looked over you, his hands hesitantly rubbing your shoulders. To Nanami’s relief, you didn't attempt to pull away.

“Y/N, I'm so, so, sorry.” you leaned back into his chest, sniffling as you wiped at your eyes. “The way that I acted this morning was utterly disgusting. I took my frustration and anger out on you, the last person I should ever hurt.” His fingers began kneading and rubbing at your sore muscles. “Could you ever find it in your heart to forgive me? For being an irrational ass?”

”A major ass.” Nanami’s whole body relaxed at your soft voice.

He turned you around to face him, his strong arms holding you flush against him. “Yes, a total and complete asshole.” Once your arms wrapped around his waist, he fully relaxed. ”Are you okay?” His smooth voice whispered, his chin resting on top of your head. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“No, I just want you.”

Pulling away to look up at him, he noticed the dark circles under your eyes. “Yeah? Do you need me to help you fall asleep?” His hand trailed down, gripping your hips. Your nod was the only confirmation he needed.

Sprawled out over the bed, candles burning, soft music playing, you gasped and whimpered. Nanami’s face was buried between your thighs, kissing and sucking at your drenched folds. Those honey-brown eyes that had been filled with concern and worry earlier were now drowning in lust. His needs could wait until later. This was all about you, making you feel better.

”Fuck Ken!” Your fingers grazed over his undercut before gripping the longer strands of hair. “Don’t stop, please, fuck.” Obeying your wishes, Kento’s tongue moved faster. Sucking and slurping at you. Quenching the thirst he had been craving for the last two weeks. “Yes, yes, yes!’

Feeling your cunt clenching, Kento shoved two fingers inside of you, his tongue focusing on your clit. You gasped, eyes wide as his two fingers rubbed expertly against your g-spot. You swore he nearly sent you to heaven as white spots flooded your vision. You screamed before squirting all over his face. The sensation, the taste of your cum had him rutting his hips into the mattress. His tongue did not once let up. It was your orgasm, the content sigh that left your lips that had him stiffening. His cock spurting cum all within the confines of his boxers and sweats.

Your dazy eyes trailed down over your nude body, focusing on Kento’s rutting form. Humping the mattress until the last waves of both of your orgasms came to an end. Kento hummed, his voice vibrated against your still trembling pussy. When he found the strength to pull away, You smiled as he trailed soft kisses up your thighs, hips, stomach, and chest before finally landing on your lips.

You kiss back softly, his arms pulling you close as he pulls you to lay on his chest. His hands gently caressed up and down your back, a slight frown gracing his face. “Ken,” you kiss his chest, “it’s fine. Please don’t worry about it anymore.” His eyes glanced at you before back at the ceiling, his fingers never once pausing.

“I know, I just, I didn’t know your job consisted of so much.” His eyes shut tight, eyebrows scrunching together. “You do all those reports, help Shoko, inform families of deaths, and on top of that, you take care of our home.”

His words from over, repeated over and over, on a loop. Just a desk job? You didn’t know what he went through. When it was the other way around, he didn’t know what you went through daily. His words were cold and cruel. All because he had taken his exhaustion and frustration out on you. The most important person in his life.

Your slender finger gently rubbed up and down the bridge of his nose. Grounding him, pulling him out of the deep void of his thoughts. Opening his eyes, he was met with your glimmering Y/E/C eyes. Your sleepy gaze and gentle smile had his heart clenching in his chest.

”Ken, it’s okay. You didn’t know, much like I don’t know about all of the struggles you go through.” Your gentle touch had him relaxing against the mattress. “Let’s just agree not to downplay each other again. We both work hard, every day, to make this life for us to share.” Slowly pulling your hand away, you leaned up, kissing his lips. “As long as we come home to each other at the end of the day, that’s all that matters.”

Kento smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Y/N.” Your warm, tired smile had him melting. “I’m home.”

“Welcome home, Kento.” You whispered against his lips.

Ryomen Sukuna:

You loved your boyfriend, really you did. But for the last week, he’d been almost insufferable. His younger brother Yuuji was on Spring break. His best friend Megumi had invited him to join him and his family for the week on the beach. Sukuna all but packed Yuuji’s bags for him, ushering the twerp out of the apartment before locking it up, heading to spend the week with you.

It was like his own personal spring break away from his brothers.

Which also was the start of a week from hell for you. At first, the weekend was lovely. The two of you stayed in, had crazy, animalistic sex, and just enjoyed each other. But when Monday rolled around and you left for work, things took a turn.

You came home to find Sukuna’s clothes all around the room, the dishes from breakfast still in the sink, and he was snoring on the couch. At first, you were upset. The poor guy was raising his young brother while their other brother, Choso, was on vacation with some college friends. Sukuna truly did bust his ass for his brothers, so it made sense that he was beat.

So you let it go, picked up, washed the dishes, and made the two of you dinner. It had been somewhat annoying, but it was alright. You wanted to make sure Sukuna got as much rest as he could before he went back to work the following week.

Tuesday afternoon, you came home to a similar situation: clothes everywhere, dishes in the sink, only Sukuna had just returned from the gym. When he got home, he started helping you before taking a shower. Maybe he had just been so interested in getting to the gym that he forgot to do the dishes. That sort of thing happened when you were in a rush, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.

But when you got home today, it was the same damn story. You looked around the apartment, groaning out loud as Sukuna scrolled briefly through Netflix. There were empty soda cans, trash, and, of course, his gym clothes all over the floor. This was not the man you knew.

“Ryomen Sukuna!” Your sharp tone had him turning in your direction. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find something to watch on Netflix?” He raised an eyebrow as if it wasn’t obvious what he was doing.

“I can see that!” You scrubbed a hand over your face. “I meant all the trash, clothes, and everything!”

“Oooh,” he looked around the apartment, “I’ll get to it.”

You tugged at your hair with an exasperated groan. “That’s not the point! Why are you trashing the place to begin with?”

“I’m on vacation.”

“So?!” Your tone had his full attention now. “When I have a day off, I don’t trash your place.”

Sukuna pinched at the bridge of his nose with a grumble. “Are we seriously going to fight about this?” He narrowed his gaze at you, those eyes you normally adored full of irritation. Irritation that had no right to even be there!

“Yes, we are! How is it fair that I make us breakfast, go to work, come home, and make dinner? On top of that, you expect me to come home and pick up your trash and clothes?”

“Well, I mean, yeah.” The answer that came out of his mouth far faster than you thought. “I mean, that’s your job. It’s what you’re good at.” Sukuna rolled a shoulder as he twirled the remote between his fingers. “I exercise spirits, and you—“ He finally turned, seeing the rage and darkening of your cheeks. “You—are good at caring for the house and cooking.”

Oh, he’d fucked up.

You didn’t say a word. Instead, you scoffed and stormed to the bedroom, slamming the door. Sukuna winced and turned his head to face your room. Perhaps that wasn’t the best choice of words. He had meant to say, well, that you were a good caretaker, wifey material. Now that he was looking around the room, truly taking in the state of your usually well-kept home, your words were beginning to settle in his gut.

Had he been that lazy and messy? The take-out containers, his gym clothes, and empty cans confirmed that, yes, he had. Ever since his brothers left, he didn’t have to move constantly. He didn’t have to take Yuuji to school, helping Choso with homework. He had time to himself, where he didn’t have to ensure everything was in tip-top shapes. This was a chance for him to mellow out and relax.

He’d wanted to spend this mellow time with you, his girlfriend, the most amazing woman he’d ever met. But instead, he’d gotten lazy, stuck in a rut of not having to do such a damn thing. This wasn’t how he normally acted, so why now? Fuck, and to tell you you were nothing but a maid, that it was your job. Yeah, no, he totally fucked up.

You were his girlfriend, partner, and the woman he wanted to spend his life with. Most of his other partners hadn’t been able to handle the fact he was a single dad. He had raised his two brothers, just the three against the world. But you, god, you were an angel. You helped him out, making dinners and teaching him the best ways to cook and stir certain foods, which grocery stores had the best sales. You had made him a better man, a better brother.

And he’d gone and turned himself into a shitty boyfriend, trashing your apartment, making misogynistic comments, hurting you. He had to fix this. Or he might very well end up losing the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Without a second thought, he got up, executing his plan.

You needed an hour and a half to yourself before you had completely calmed down. You glanced at your reflection, whipping at your tear-stained cheeks before entering the living room. All you needed to do was grab something to eat and go back to bed. When you walked out into the messy living room, you stopped.

The trashed room scattered with clothes was completely picked up, and the coasters and books were neatly put back into place. Sukuna was nowhere to be found. So you headed into the kitchen, which was also spotless. No crumbs were on the counters, and the dishes had been cleaned and put away. There was still no sign of Sukuna.

Part of you was still angry and didn’t want to see him. The other part of you wanted to thank him and hear what he had to say. Just as you were pulling your phone out to call him, your door opened. Sukuna stepped in with a bag of takeout. He took his shoes off, placing them where they were supposed to go before he locked the door.

“Suku?” He jumped, startled by your voice. But he slowly turned to you, giving you a remorseful smile.

“Hey,” he put the takeout on the counter, “Y/N, I—“ his cheeks flushed as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “You know I’m not the best with apologies, and I suck at fucking using my words.” With a heavy sigh, he grabbed your hand. “But what I said earlier was fucked up, and I’m sorry. I don’t see you as some maid, I just.” You couldn’t help but smile as he struggled to find the right words. “I don’t want you ever to feel like I don’t appreciate everything you do. You’ve made me a better man, and I unfortunately haven’t been like that this week.”

You hummed, nodding in agreement as you interlaced your fingers with his. “Yeah, you’ve been a manchild. Yuuji would have been more mature than you.” He cringed, dropping his head down. “Then again, you did clean up your mess and pick me some dinner.” Your thumb brushed over his knuckles. “So maybe you haven’t been as bad as you think.” Sukuna was leaning in to kiss you, but you squeezed his hand tighter and tighter until it was almost painful. “But if you ever tell me it’s my job to take care of you or the chores again, I’ll put you in my trunk and help people look for you.”

Your boyfriend winced before nodding in understanding. “Right, yes, understood.” The second your hand softened, he pulled you towards the bedroom. “Come on.” You blushed, watching his back. His neck was a soft, rosy color.

“What are we doing?”

“You’re not doing anything.” He said, pushing you back against the bed. “I’m going to show you how much I appreciate you.”

Oh, and Sukuna did just that. He licked and sucked on your clit until you came. His fingers slammed in and out of you, fucking you until you squirted all over his hand. His smirk was sinister and hungry each time you came. Only when you were fucked out of your mind did he decide to fuck you with his cock.

“Please~ please, Suku~” You panted as he rubbed his cock head up and down your entrance. “Please.”

“Why are you begging?” He grunted as he slid his entire length into you. “You want my cock that bad.” He smirked at your tiny whimpers, his cock stretching you in the most delicious way.

“Yes, yes, I want it.” You grabbed his hand, and he went to hold it, only to watch as you placed it over your throat. “Give it to me.” You felt his cock throb inside of you.

He squeezed without having to be told twice. “Such a dirty slut I have.” He squeezed harder as he pulled out. “Here I’m trying to be romantic.” He slammed into you, the bed creaking under the force. “And my slutty little Y/N wants me to fuck her pussy like I normally do.” You whimpered, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, that’s the best way to show you how much you mean to me, right? Fuckin’ that tight cunt until you can’t walk. Making sure you’re ruined, only I can satisfy you and your needs.” He grabbed your thighs, pressing them to your chest, forcing you into a mating press.

“K-Kuna!” You cried out as he released your throat, his hands fisting the sheets.

“That’s right, scream my fuckin’ name.” He groaned, pressing a searing kiss against your swollen lips. “Scream it, let everyone know how much your boyfriend appreciates you, how good he fucks you.”

His words, the deep thrusts, and your already sensitive pussy clenched. “I-I’m so close.” You cried out, eyes locked on Sukuna’s.

His hips sped up, cock throbbing hard as he growled. “Go on then, cum for me again.” You screamed as he slammed harder and harder into you, sending you over the edge. Your screams were muffled by Sukuna’s growls as he kissed you desperately, fucking you through your orgasm right into his own.

He stilled, lips pressing harder against you as his hit cum filled you. Your soft whines of pleasure had Sukuna’s hips moving slowly until he was sure your pussy was done milking him. Pulling back, Sukuna panted, smirking at the blissed-out look in your eyes—a look he always wanted to see.

“Love you, Suku.” You breathed out, leaning up and kissing him. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. But his large hand cupped your face.

“And I love you and everything you do for me.” Without another word, his lips were on yours, his hips slowly rutting against yours. He intended to make you know just how much you meant to him. Even if that meant you’d have to call out of work tomorrow.

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