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celestie0 · 11 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

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When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time.

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago.

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile.

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

But why was he remembering all of that now?

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision.

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines.

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door.

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles.

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once.

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on.

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings.

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you.

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter.

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time.

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him.

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning.

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either.

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid.

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.”

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside.

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass.

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away.

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment.

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high.

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him.

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime.

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game.

3-2. UTokyo’s win.

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink.

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again.

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe.

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

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metamorphesque · 4 months ago

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September 19, 2023, marks one of the darkest chapters in Armenia's modern history.

As a result of another large-scale military aggression by azerbaijan, the entire population of Artsakh, native to the land for over 3000 years, was subjected to ethnic cleansing and was forced to leave their homeland. This operation followed a nearly 9-month blockade of the Lachin Corridor, the only land route connecting Artsakh to Armenia. The blockade created a severe humanitarian crisis, cutting off food, medical supplies, and other necessities for the people of Artsakh. Even after nine months of illegal blockade, the armed forces of Artsakh fought with exceptional heroism in defense of the homeland, inflicting heavy losses on the enemy.

While ethnic cleansing was taking place, the azeri government arrested eight former members of Artsakh’s government and advocates for the self-determination of Artsakh, including Ruben Vardanyan, an influential Armenian philanthropist who in 2024 was nominated for Nobel Peace Prize.

Mr. Vardanyan and the seven others join over 50 Armenians arrested during the conflict, some of whom have been held for years by azerbaijan. Anyone acquainted with azerbaijan would not be shocked to learn that political prisoners are held in conditions that breach basic standards for the treatment of detainees.

The occupation of the Republic of Artsakh has resulted in staggering material losses, impacting both cultural heritage and essential infrastructure. The recorded damage includes:

12 cities

241 villages

13,550 houses (30% over 100 years old)

11,450 apartments

60 factories

15 plants

200 cultural centers

9 cultural hubs

25 museums

232 schools

7 colleges

4 universities

11 art schools

400 medieval cemeteries

385 churches

60 monastic complexes

2,385 khachkars (cross-stones)

4 reservoirs

5 canals

37 hydroelectric power stations

48 mines

11 hospitals

230 medical centers

This extensive damage reflects not just a loss of property, but an assault on the cultural identity and historical legacy of the region.

Eternal glory to the Armenian heroes who sacrificed all for their nation and their homeland.

#artsakh is armenia #artsakh #azeri crimes #genocide #turkish crimes #break the chain of ignorance #world politics #world history #armenia #armenian history #baku #azerbaijan #turkish tv series #turkish drama

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ultrabean · 6 months ago

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REDEEMER'S PATH MASTERPOST

Well, since the last masterpost got buried, I figured I might as well make a new one, with some easier navigation.

A short synopsis of this AU would be: This AU takes place after chapter 2 of deltarune, except the epilogue never happened. This story was basically the result of the question: "What if the player was a calm and reasonable person?"

>>>START<<<

[Chapter 1]

Homeless arc / story beginning

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14

(Mini arc)

Rising suspicions

15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20

[Chapter 2]

To the darkworld / First meeting

21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 /27 / 28 / 29 / 30 / 31 / 32 / 33 / 34 / 35 / 36 / 37 / 38 / 39 / 40

The masterpost will update as I complete more pages, but please do keep in mind one thing:

Do not expect this comic to have a consistent update / upload schedule. To put things simply: shit happens in life, and in order to make this AU the way I want, it's likely going to take a loooot of time. And in life, plans can change, I might be busy with stuff , especially considering I'm starting college already.

That being said, I thank you for your patience and the support on this comic. <3

#deltarune #utdr #utdr AU #deltarune au #deltarune comic #redeemer's path #art #deltarune vessel #deltarune player #kris deltarune #kris dreemurr

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ppeonppeonhan · 1 year ago

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The Sexiest 2023 BL Scenes

I think we can all agree that there is an art to executing a sex scene -- and not everybody's an artist. This year, we (and, by that, I mean you) gif'd a couple of masterpieces that range from romantic to...educational. Here are the ones that live in my head rent free, in order of PG-13 to NC-17:

BEST ROLE-PLAY SEX: Bed Friend

If you had told me last year that incorporating cat ears into foreplay would result in one of the hottest scenes in BL, I would've given you bombastic side-eye. But James, the actor who plays Uea, pulled it off, and is probably responsible for a lot of Amazon orders till this day. (Episode 6)

BEST BEACH-SIDE SEX: The Eighth Sense

This entire sequence was so beautifully lit in golden tones, with soft touches, and romantic moments. It almost made you forget about the depression plot. Almost. (Episode 6)

LONG-AWAITED SEX: Hidden Agenda

Joke yearned for Zo in a way that was borderline comical. From the moment Zo kissed Joke like he was trying to give him CPR and then promptly shoved him out of his apartment, I knew every kiss after that would have to come with a parental warning. I'm surprised Joke didn't move in. (Episode 8)

DO-OVER SEX: Love Class 2

The music for this sex scene was so perfectly matched with the caressing and hand closeups. And the fact that it happened after the initially-ghosted Joo Hyuk got Sung Min to reconsider made it even sweeter. (Episode 9)

BEST WET SEX SCENE: Kiseki: Dear to Me

I may have enjoyed Ai Di and Chen Yi's love story more, but Fan Ze Rui and Bai Zong Yi were helping us all live out our tall boy fantasies. When he mounted him with a soft bounce, I knew the gif Gods would giveth. (Episode 7)

BEST EUPHORIC SEX: Only Friends

Ray looked like he reached nirvana when he made love to Sand in that sardine can of trailer, so of all their sex scenes, this was my fave. (Episode 9)

BEST INSECURITY-INDUCED SEX: Only Friends

Say what you will about Boston -- and the fandom has said a lot lol -- but if you had to choose a cast member to get you off, you'd choose him in a heartbeat. And yes, this scene was grimey. He f*cked his friend's potential boyfriend in the backseat of his car after manipulating him into believing he was cheated on, but can you blame him? He was probably tired of always having to give and never receive. Plus, Top did this vibrating move that made me wonder who told Force to do that... (Episode 3)

GIF by wanderlust-in-my-soul

BEST CENSORED SEX: Wedding Plan

I'm still mad that this scene wasn't in the Youtube cut. It paints an entirely different picture of their dynamic and their personalities. But thank God for the gif'ers, otherwise I would've missed how ravenous they were when they weren't...wedding planning. 😳 (Episode 6)

BEST WHIPLASH SEX: Be Mine Superstar

To be clear, WE were the ones getting whiplash. One minute, we were watching a sweet love story between an innocent college kid and his idol crush, and the next minute we were watching a masterclass on how to bang your one-night stand (consensually) until he agrees to date you. It's like...Sir, I'm on the train. Could you give a bitch a heads up? (Episode 8)

***

While I am generally envious of every single one of these experiences, I'm even more envious of everyone's knee strength and flexibility. I could never. Rollerblading has ruined me. If I tried half of these positions, I'd have to get physical therapy. 🙃

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cuteandhughesy · 28 days ago

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Under The Mistletoe | John Marino

summary: john can't help but keep his hands off you, resulting in a very scandalous christmas party sneak off.

5.4k

a/n: welcome to the 3rd fic of cute and hughesy’s christmas special! this was so fun to write and i’m so excited for you all to read it - let the john girlies feast 🥰 thank you to this request - you are my inspo ✨🎄

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

there was something in the air tonight - something besides the warm, comforting smell and sounds of the christmas season. it was a lingering feeling, laced with sultry and sweet undertones, and it was all due to your boyfriend john marino.

you and john met the literal day he'd first come to new jersey following his departure from the penguins. the day started like any normal one for you, which consisted of waking up late and rushing around your tiny apartment to make it to work. you had been not long out of college - graduated with a sports journalism degree- and had landed a job working behind the scenes with the devils administration team.

like every other time you'd get into work, busy with finishing the previous days work on your phone and not paying attention to your surroundings, ran into john - knocking your phone right out of your hand and almost knocking you onto your ass. but like the gentleman you've learned your boyfriend is, he saved you from the embarrassment of falling and grabbed ahold of your arm to prevent the tumble. and like the complete romantic you are, you blushed and instantly developed a crush on the new member of the new jersey devils.

it didn't take long for you and john to start dating - I mean, neither of you were shy about your feelings or intentions with one another. you wanted to date him and he certainly wanted to date you - case closed. your relationship blossomed quickly, and you found yourselves completely and sickly enamoured with one another. your personalities perfectly complemented one another, and so did your values and priorities. it was perfect - is perfect.

you'd quickly fallen into one another's routines and traditions- forming one big and complete circle that you wouldn't trade in for the world. you knew john was your person, so when the trade to utah came, there was no other choice than to go with him.

leaving your parents and friends back in jersey was hard, especially around the holidays, but with john and his sweet and reassuring smile at your side, you've been able to properly prepare yourself for that missing piece of holiday magic you’d left back home.

one of your favourite christmas traditions of hosting a christmas party was something else you'd been upset about missing, and you had been frowning about it since the calendar changed to december 1st. but, in some miraculous fashion, john said the guys on the team were wondering if you and him wanted to host the utah party - and obviously you jumped off the couch and shrieked a yes.

which brings you back to the cinnamon scented kitchen of your and johns utah apartment, adding the finishing cheeses, meats, nuts, crackers and other miscellaneous foods to your wooden santa shaped charcuterie board.

you pull away once you perfectly placed the last green olive, perfectly shaping the olives into a holiday wreath pattern in the middle of the board, and you smile and hum triumphantly.

the house is filled with only the sound of the hum of a new megan moroney christmas song, mixed into your holiday party playlist. nobody has showed their faces yet, but you weren't expecting them until 7 - so that makes sense.

your wipe your hands against one another, saved from rather wiping the crumbs off on your curve hugging trousers. you've paired the black pants with a festive shade top, accompanied with your favourite gold jewelry and snowman socks - because comfort mattered. your smile doesn't falter as you glance at the digital clock on the front of your microwave and- oh shit, it's almost 7.

you feel yourself start to bubble with a hosting panic, frantically double checking all your picky food trays to ensure they looked presentable, and making sure respective drinks were in the fridge - including your white wine that you, as well as marissa kerfoot, preferred chilled.

just then, the sound of johns socked feet pad into the entryway of your shared kitchen. the floor creaks right where you pass into the living room, and the loud noise has you jumping slightly - your anxious adrenaline off the roof.

"looks great babe." johns voice is a soothing hum as he leans against the archway, his gaze overlooking the array of food on your long dining room table.

you pick up the last tray you'd been working on and shuffle over towards the table, placing the santa board in the middle of everything. you knaw your lip anxiously, and look over towards your boyfriend with questioning eyes. "are you sure? not too much?"

john analyzes you quickly and subtly - so much so that you're not even aware that he's assessing your body language. without saying anything yet, john walks over to you with practiced ease, and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you up against his chest gently.

you allow your boyfriend to move you easily, enjoying the domestic peace that always comes with johns presence. your anxiety about wanting to host the perfect holiday party for johns teammates and their significant others subsides as he starts to stroke along your spine with his thumb, and his easy smile comes as beautiful distraction.

"don't stress," john breathes, continuing his rhythmic movements against your back. "everybody is going to be so impressed with your gouda display."

you're still not convinced, and your eyes fall back towards the table as you check over everything for the hundredth time - your boyfriends joke going right over your head. john sighs gently, because he knows once you get into your own head, it can be hard to get you back out.

he leans down and presses a firm kiss to the junction of your neck. johns lips are warm and soft, and the feeling has your eyes fluttering closed with pleasure. he moves farther up your neck, continuing to kiss and gently suck along your scented skin - your vanilla perfume setting comfortably in johns senses.

to further his attempt at what seemingly feels like trying to distract you, johns hands snake down your lower back, passing over the round of your ass before taking a handful of flesh, squeezing you with his long fingers.

which brings you back to the lingering tension through your apartment - the desire and poised touches from john all coming back to you.

john has been very handsy with you all day. which isn't necessarily odd for him, because your boyfriend has always been flirty and touchy with you - but today specifically was amped up to another level. it started in the morning while you were both brushing your teeth and john couldn't help but grind his morning wood into your backside. it continued throughout the morning and into the afternoon, with john always touching you with his hands and/or mouth - your neck, your waist, your thighs, you ass, your tits - anything john could get his grip on, he would.

"think we can fuck quick before people start arriving?" johns words are rushed and muffled against your jawbone in between sloppy kisses. his breathy question has you blushing a deep red, matching the shade of your shirt.

a knock on the door echoes throughout the apartment, followed by the roudy laughter of some of johns teammates - you can even hear the muffled voice of clayton keller telling them all to behave.

you pull away from john. "don't think so."

—

johns wandering hands continued throughout the night, even with an apartment filled with your new friends and teammates - he didn't care and their possible wandering eyes didn't stop john from touching all up on you. anytime you'd step away to prep more food in the kitchen, or make sure everything was still somewhat neat and in an organized manner on the dining table, your boyfriend wasn't far behind you.

as you're crumbling more feta for another bowl of greek salad (a house favourite), john pressed into you from behind, his arms enclosing around your torso as he suckles and nibbles below your jaw.

"you smell so good." john says against your skin, lips tickling along the shell of your ear. you giggle at the feeling, slipping out of his grasp and opening the refrigerator.

"johnny..." you warn him gently, hands enclosing on the head of iceberg lettuce and bringing it out of the fridge. you close the door with your hip before making your way back to john - who is still lingering by your cutting board and empty salad bowl. "you can't do that right now."

it seemed that anytime you'd pass through the archway that separates the hallway from the living space of your apartment - constantly checking everything is neat and organized around your home - john would be there, constantly reminding you that the archway was decorated in a beautiful garland with a dangling display of mistletoe.

john, completely unbothered by his teammates and their wives and girlfriends all around you, wraps his arm around your waist, keeping you from escaping. he waggles his eyebrows down at you, smiling sneakily. "looks like we are under the mistletoe."

you give him a deadpan look. you can't tell if you're annoyed or amused by his constant attempt's at kissing you - but with the faux innocent look on his face combined with his rosy cheeks and glimmering gaze, you're sure it's the latter.

you sigh gently, but pucker your lips at him. it's a silent invitation for your boyfriend, and the sight has his grin deepening. john leans down, connecting your lips in a seemingly innocent peck.

but, you're wrong. john's hand slides up towards your face, grabbing ahold of your warm cheek to keep you in place. his tongue slides along your plump lip, asking for entrance and attempting to deepen the kiss.

someone who sounds like liam o'brien cat calls you from a few feet away, which starts a chain affect in which the rest of johns teammates start hollering at you both. you laugh against johns kiss - which he still hasn't attempted to stop, and gently push off his chest, but not without a playful smack against his peck first, serving as a scold.

you would even catch john watching you from across the room anytime he wasn't attempting to cop a feel. his eyes were darker than usual, and you could see that even with the distance between you - practically undressing you with his eyes while jack mcbain talks about his new dog.

you flick your hand in his direction, a dismissive motion as if you're telling john to stop and pay attention. it has your boyfriends smirk growing, hiding it behind the rim of his can.

you flush deeply, all too familiar with the sultry gaze in johns eyes. you clear your throat, taking a sip of your white wine as you turn your attention back towards some of the ladies, easily sliding back into the conversation about countertops and cabinet colours.

it's not 20 minutes later that your phone alerts you that it's on low battery, and without wanting to risk forgetting to plug it in before falling asleep, you go to plug it in.

you excuse yourself from the group conversation in your kitchen, hovering over the sandwich platter, and slip down the hall - quickly ascending up the small set of stairs that leads to the upstairs hallway. one of the main reasons you and john chose this apartment specifically was because of the size and layout of the place, and you loved how it felt like a mini home rather than a bachelor pad style apartment.

you softly close the door, but don't properly latch it, leaving a small gap of light between the mahogany wood and the matching door frame. you pad towards your side of the bed where the charging cable is dangling over your beside table, and plug the end into your dangerously low phone.

the door clicks shut behind you, and the noise has you jumping in surprise, spinning on your heels quickly to find the source of the sound. you should've known immediately who would've followed you upstairs, the sight of johns seductive, but still boyish grin looking back at you.

with a hand held to your beating chest, you exhale - the sound a mixture of adrenaline and laughter. "jesus, babe. you scared me."

"sorry." he chuckles. the sound of the lock turning is a very faint click in your ears, and immediately you know what he's up to. john moves towards you, his sneaky grin still tugging at his lips, and gently takes your palms in his.

john guides you towards the bed, and once the pit of his knees hit the edge of the plush mattress, he sits down. you stay standing, just watching your boyfriend with an unimpressed quirk to your eyebrow. john's legs spread, and he's immediately pulling you into him further, keeping you close. his fingers trail off your palms and slowly find their way up your legs and hips, settling over the waistband of your pants.

john gently squeezes your torso, right against the seam of the pants, and tucks his bottom lip in between his teeth. his eyes wonder over your body, drinking in every curve, bump, amd fleshy round. "fuck." he breathes the curse, his hands slipping around until he can grab onto your ass, squeezing it firmly. "you look so sexy today."

you squint at him accusingly, "we can't start john - people are here."

johns brows come together tightly. "screw my teammates - I wanna fuck my girl." his words send your stomach into a whirlwind of cartwheels and somersaults, making you feel warm and fuzzy. you flush a deep maroon, and you find yourself mirroring john, taking your lip between your teeth and gently nibbling.

to accentuate his words, john's then lifting the hem of your top up, exposing your belly and the bottom of your wired bra. he leans in and begins to kiss along the expanse of your skin, delicately marking and tickling your sensitive tummy.

you breathe a pleasant hum, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of your boyfriends mouth on you without the constant worry and fear of feeling exposed or getting caught. behind your locked door, it's just you and john with no prying eyes or ears. your hands slide up your boyfriends biceps and up around his shoulders, gripping the strong muscles to keep your knees from buckling.

john's mouth detaches from your stomach, and he rest his chin gently between your boobs, looking up at you with a hopeful and mischievous glint in his eyes. with his thumbs stroking your rib cage, occasionally teasing you by slipping them underneath the wire of your bra and grazing your tits, john quirks his eyebrow in question. "please sweet girl, I can't go another second without sinking into your pussy."

you shutter pleasantly at his words, letting yourself feel the butterflies all over your body flutter around - sending tingles and small shock waves through your system. quickly, your eyes bounce back towards the locked door - making sure nobody was looking for you or john or lingering in the hallway.

nobody is there.

with a reluctant nod, you whisper okay. "we have to be quick though."

johns grin widens. "oh trust me, i've been half hard since you walked out of the closet in these pants - I can't wait to take them off." with his words, john grabs the back of your thighs, pulling you onto the bed. your knees rest against each side of his muscular thighs, effectively straddling him.

the pull in your inner thighs is a slight burning sensation, but it's also so so good. your clothed pussy nestles perfectly on johns hard on, and instinctively you begin to grind against him, your body already searching for that release. john groans, pulling your face back in for a kiss. it's a heated exchange, with a mixture of careless spit and teeth, your lips moving together frantically and knowingly. it's messy and hot - perfectly crafted to further turn you both on.

johns fully hard underneath his jeans, providing the perfect stimulation to your throbbing clit and sticky entrance. you can already feel the wetness pooling in your thin underwear, and so can john, your pants doing nothing at hiding the damp mess leaking through the fabric and transferring to his jeans.

without wanting to wait any longer, john's grasp on your body tightens as he prepares to move you both, flipping you over and onto you back. you squeak at the sudden movement, your lips disconnecting for your boyfriends as you push yourself further up the bed.

john is soon back over you, hovering on top of you heavily. the press is intoxicating, and makes the thrill of the whole thing so much more intense. "I wanna taste you."

you shake your head, breathy as you remind him, "no - we have to be fast."

"I don't care." with that, he tugs your pants down with practiced ease, revealing your bare legs and soaked underwear. john throws your pants behind him, landing somewhere on your bedroom floor - you're sure you'll probably struggle to find them after. "need to taste you."

your thighs part automatically, already anticipating the upcoming actions that your boyfriend is about to perform on your body. john smirks as he settles onto his belly between your legs, and his hands immediately wrap around the backs of your thighs, keeping you spread.

over your wet underwear, john leans down and presses a lingering kiss on your clothed clit. you watch him breathlessly, and your hips buck upwards in search of more friction.

he smirks quickly before going back in, licking a flat strip against the sheer material of your tiny panties, his tongue dragging from your dripping entrance and back up to your swollen clit.

"fuck, johnny please." you whine, fingers carding through his curly hair. you tug his roots as john's tongue swirls over your clit, the combination of your underwear and his tongue providing a rather powerful amount of stimulation.

john let's go of one of your legs in favour of reaching for the seam of your underwear, roughly tugging the string to the side and exposing your glistening pussy fully. your boyfriend audibly groans at the sight of your slick folds and the aroma of your arousal, and he quickly dives back in, his tongue dipping into your entrance to collect your wetness before he firmly licks back upwards to your tingling bundle of nerves.

you borderline scream, and your head falls back into the fluffy pillows as you're no longer able to watch as john eats you out - feeling too fragile to keep yourself up right. he's always been so good at pleasing you with his mouth - knowing the perfect combination of licking, sucking, and teeth that never fails to bring you to the finish line.

against you, john moans and the sound vibrates through you deliciously. when he adds two of his calloused, skillful fingers into the mix, sliding them with ease into your dripping entrance, you just about pass out. you cover your mouth with a shaky hand, muffling the sounds of your mewls - eyes downcast to once again watch john pleasure you.

his eyes flicker up your body, finding your gaze. your pure flushed and blissed expression has him even more turned on, subtly grinding his aching cock into your shared mattress as he continues to hold your thighs open, lapping up your juices and plunging his digits into your hole.

john release your clit with a gentle pop, a thin string of spit mixed with your arousal trailing between his puffy mouth and your pussy. it's all so erotic and sneaky, and the sight has you approaching very quickly to your boiling point. "you 'gunna cum for me sweet girl? can feel you flutterin' around my fingers baby - fuck."

you nod once, "yes - oh my god keep doing that."

john doesn't need to be told twice, and he goes back down on you, suckling on your clit - swirling his tongue and moving it over and around your bundle just the way you need him to. it's not long before you're snapping, clenching down on johns fingers as you cum, dripping onto the bedding as you release rushes out of you.

he hums in satisfaction against you, beginning to slow his stimulation on your throbbing pussy - helping you ride out your high with sweet and comforting movements and kisses against you.

finally, you feel yourself come back to reality, breathing heavily in the quietness of your shared bedroom - nothing but the wet noise of john slipping his fingers out of your heat and the muffled conversation of the party floating up the stairs. "fuck."

john crawls back up your body, his boyish grin pulling at his lips, still glistening with your release. "good?" he questions cockily, one of his brows quirked a knowing raise.

you grin lightly, cheeks flushed. "you know it was."

he licks his bottom lip gently, because he knows he's being cocky - but john also knows that you love it. he leans down, attaching your lips in another hot and bruising kiss. you can taste yourself lingering on his tongue - that slightly sweet but almost salty flavour that john loves so much invading your tastebuds.

you pull away with a smirk. "I wanna ride you. i'm aching for it johnny."

he quirks a brow. "look who's aching now?"

"shut up." you laugh through your scold, gently shoving johns shoulders so he gets off you. contradictory to his words, you can feel his rock hard cock bobbing against your inner thigh, a reminder that he hasn't yet gotten off.

you direct john to slouch back against the padded headboard of your bed, and as he does you pull off your shirt, exposing you completely to john in your empty bedroom. the change of temperature has your nipples hardening further, and it sends signals right down to your pussy. you crawl over to your boyfriend, positioning your knees between his thick thighs as your lean forward on your hands.

you gently suck under his ear - a spot that always has him falling apart. like predicted, he lets out a deep groan, eyes fluttering closed as the sensation runs through his body. you pull back, you lift off his shirt. "gunna sick your dick, 'kay?"

his brows raise in surprise, face blushed as he smirks at your words. "be my guest." john helps you with removing his jeans, pulling them down his muscular thighs until they pool under his knee caps. you're too eager to take them off completely, and you waste no more time, taking ahold of his oozing dick in your closed fist, guiding the head towards your lips. you gently smack his angry red tip against your puffy lips, to which he grunts. "such a tease."

you swirl your tongue around the beating tip a few times, before licking a flat strip over his dripping slit, collecting and tasting the dribble of salty pre-cum. john moans once more, watching through lidded eyes as you take his tip fully into your mouth. it's a sight he'll never get tired of, and he can't help but collecting your hair for you, keeping the curled strands out of your face - for your benefit and his.

slowly, you take his full length into your warm mouth, hallowing out your cheeks to elevate the sucking motion over johns dick. you begin to bob your head, continuing to take his full amount into your mouth as you do. you take breaks from the up and down motion every now and then, switching up the stimulation as you slip him out of your mouth and lick the underside of his dick - tracing veins and further teasing him.

"i'm - fuck - i'm close. need to cum inside you." john gently tugs the base of your roots, pulling you away from his throbbing dick. using his thumb, he wipes the lines of spit from your face, cleaning the mess from your lips and chin. you grin at his sweet action - even if everything else about the situation is dirty.

john mimics your smile. "come up here."

you do has he says, assuming your earlier position of straddling johns spread legs, your knees sinking into the soft mattress beneath you. your core bumps against the still leaking tip of johns dick - standing high and hard, brushing his lower abdomen as he moves. immediately you let your glistening lips slide over his cock, further slicking him up with a mixture of your lingering saliva and arousal.

johns perfectly sized dick feels ridiculously good against your throbbing clit, sliding perfectly between your folds as you rock over him. it has you both moaning, breathless as you continue to grind against his dick. "gunna put it in baby?" john breathes teasingly, "or you need me to take control?"

you don't answer him, but instead lift your hips slightly, creating enough space for you to reach between your legs and take ahold of johns hot and heavy cock. you grip him with expertise, guiding his head to prod against your soaking entrance. and with that, you let yourself slide down his length, your grip automatically releasing as you balance your hands on his chest - lowering yourself onto john.

he curses, hands immediately flying to grip the fleshy sides of your hips, ready to help guide you through your ride. "you're so fucking hot."

"mhmmm - yeah?" your clit presses against johns pubic bone, an added stimulant that already has you feeling worked up and spent. you take your lip into your mouth, biting on the puffy flesh to keep ahold of your grunts.

you begin to move, slowly at first to build up your pace. it's hard to keep a steady pace though when johns dick perfectly hits all your sweet spots - pulling you closer to the edge. "oh god," you mewl, letting your head roll back, "feel so fucking good."

john smirks up at you, clearly pleased with your breathless statement. you look so good, your bare breasts swaying as you grind yourself on his hard cock. your hair is sex messy, giving you that wild and beautiful look he loves so much - your skin glistening with a combination of a sheen of sweat and the shimmery body lotion you'd applied after your shower. john can feel your juices soaking his lower half, matting down his littering of pubic hair to his skin - you're making a mess on him and yourself.

"yeah baby," john encourages, his eyes dancing between your blissful expression and where your bodies are rapidly connecting. "you're doing so good - my good girl." his grip on your hips tighten, guiding you up and down on his cock - switching and helping your momentum.

"shit johnny, i'm gunna cum again." you all but whine, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure intensifies, warming your belly amd increasing your heart rate. the way john is practically moving you by himself, combined with the movement of his dick sliding in and out of you and your clit smacking against his pelvis has you approaching your second climax.

john doesn't slow down, and if anything he increases the movements. he pulls you closer to him so that your breasts are pushed against his strong, bare chest - stomach's touching. all without stopping the guiding force that has you riding him, john kisses you. "cum on my cock baby."

his whispered and breathless words on your lips are the final push you need, and you release over his throbbing length. you let out a pornographic scream, head falling to johns shoulder as the pleasure completely overtakes your body.

john wraps his arms around your torso and flips you both over, and he's once again hovering over your flushed body. the movement has his dick slipping out of you, and the loss of that full feeling has you whining. "you did so good sweet girl. you gunna give me another one?"

you're too overwhelmed to speak - still dealing with the aftermath of your last orgasm, and processing johns request. you're still so turned on that it's not even funny. all you can muster is a moan and a quick nod and john immediately smirks, leaning down and pressing a sweet kiss to your sweaty hairline.

you breath a smile at the gesture - but as john begins to manhandle your legs, spreading you once again, your smile is taken over by a gentle groan. he pushes your legs towards your chest, and on instinct you grab ahold of the back of your thighs, keeping them in place.

not a second later john is guiding his dick back into your heat, pushing into you fully. it feels like he's splitting you in two with the way he slips into your spent pussy, nestling into your tight and spasming walls deliciously. "shit baby you take my cock so well - you feel what you're doing to me?" john breathes, eyes tranced on the sight of your pussy sucking him in.

his hands push against the back of your thighs, and the shift on your legs allows him to push his length either deeper. you moan, your walls clamping down on john automatically.

john squeezes your thighs between his fingers, beginning to pick up his pace - diving his perfect cock in and out of your slippery entrance. he hits all your sweet spots once again, perfectly moving his length into your weeping pussy. still built up from your last orgasm, your walls begin to flutter around his thrusting member once again, the coil in your stomach ready to snap for the third time.

your boyfriend smirks knowingly at the feeling of your clamping walls, and he looks down at you cockily. "knew you could do it - c'mon sweet girl." john's thumb slips up your folds, landing on your puffy clit and he circles the bundle of nerves tightly.

"yes yes yes yes - don't stop." you plead, desperately close to falling over the edge.

"i'm going to cum." john tells you through a groan, picking up his pace rutting into your heat. with one more pass over your sensitive clit, you cum with a exhausted whine, eyes fluttering closed as stars begin to dance in your vision. "good girl." john praises.

your arousal leaks out of your fucked hole, dripping and trailing down your ass, pooling on the bread spread. john shutters in pleasure at the sight, and with four more sporadic thrusts into you, he cums - hot ropes of his seed shooting into your entrance, coating your walls.

he pushes into you one last time, letting his entire release into you and making sure it doesn't escape. john groans in satisfaction, eyes closing as he basks in the feeling of your walls fluttering around his twitching cock. "holy fuck."

you nod, still catching your breath. without a verbal response from you, john grows concerned, looking towards you with pulled eyebrows. "you okay?"

a smile tugs at your lips, and you nod again. "yeah."

"good," he smiles, "you did so good."

you flush even deeper at his praise - never failing to get flustered from a compliment that comes from your smoking hot boyfriend. john's smirk deepens at the sight of you, and he quickly presses a kiss to your ankle before helping you lower you legs back down.

at that time, john slowly slips out of your pussy, and you both hiss at the loss of the contact. you begin to feel johns seed migrating down your walls, ready to spill from your entrance. "I gotta get up before your cum coats our bedding."

"let it," john kisses your neck once, a firm but yet somehow soft press that has you tingling all the way down to your toes. "you already made a mess - we gotta wash the blanket anyways."

just then, somebody laughs downstairs and the sound of a group of your boyfriends teammates doing a karaoke cover to a justin bieber christmas song is all you can hear. "yeah and we also have a party to get back to."

you watch the recognition flash on johns face as he recounts how your shared apartment is currently filled with his hockey team and their significant others - some of which are probably beginning to wonder where the two of you have gone. "oh yeah."

you laugh, "oh yeah."

you both get dressed again, after you make sure to deal with your business in the en suite. you speed through getting your clothes back on, making sure you both look presentable before heading back to your party. you make john leave before you, claiming you don't want to look suspicious walking down the stairs together - that would definitely give away what the two of you had been up to.

while you wait the few minutes before heading back downstairs, you grab ahold of your phone - now charged and ready to go. the sight of a text from melissa kerfoot lights up your lock screen.

melissa kerfoot

🍆 ????

you blush - so much for secrecy.

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andhumanslovedstories · 7 months ago

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The bookstore near my college ages ago had these baskets of pins, each with a different five or seven syllable phrase, so if you picked out three pins, you'd assemble a haiku. I found mine while unpacking, and they gave me an idea.

I'd like to make a crowdsourced tumblr haiku. I'd put a bunch of 5 syllable and 7 syllable phrases in separate polls. Each line gets voted on independently, and the haiku is the resulting winner of those three polls. I think this would be way more interesting if they weren't all phrases I wrote, so I'd love if anyone wanted to submit some! Any phrase, any tone, preferably a line that can stand alone. For example, "The jumping kitten," is harder but not impossible to flow nicely into a random next line, versus something like "The cat stretched then jumped."

You can reply here or message me, and I'll credit you at the bottom of the post with the poll your phrase is in, unless you specify you don't want me to. I can't guarantee your phrase will get used, depending on how many I get. (Also if it isn't the right syllable count. Five syllables or seven syllables please). Let's make poetry!

#writing #haiku #poetry #i was writing out the phrases myself #i got to like 15 and was struck by how boring they all were next to each other #im actually most curious to read the haiku assembled from the least voted on phrases

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 16 days ago

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Teen Villain Alliance

Chapter 7

Jazz had been against the Teen Villain Alliance.

As proud as she felt for Danny creating a safe place for meta teens to go, it… it was still villainy. These were still kids, broken, strong, powerful kids, and the fact that so many of them fall into lives of crime was a tragedy. So the fact that Danny was explicitly allowing and even teaching these children to commit crimes… Words had been said. Loud, angry words that shook the walls with their rage.

Words that their parents didn’t hear all the way in the basement. As always too busy with their work to pay attention to their children–

Well. At the very least she made her feelings known.

Armed with her best psychology textbooks and two years of Stanford classes, Jazz prepared for her greatest challenge yet: infiltrating a criminal organization. Run by her baby brother.

It hadn’t been easy. After their argument, Danny had been keen to keep her away from his “project.” And Jazz couldn’t just suddenly pretend to be onboard with crime. Despite his low self-esteem, Danny was smart and definitely would figure out that she was faking. With Danny gray-rocking her and the mental health of all the children he could help at stake, Jazz did something drastic, something no one would ever expect of her and something that would horrify Danny.

She transferred to Amity Park Community College and moved back home.

Stanford hadn’t understood. Her new friends didn’t understand. Danny, spitting mad and accusing her of spying on him, didn’t understand. But with her less strenuous classes, and extra income from online counseling sessions, Jazz was able to track down their meeting places and help set up the Teen Villain Alliance.

It had taken a long time to convince Danny that she wasn’t going to turn them in to the Justice League. That was her fault; she’d reacted viscerally to Danny’s pitch for the TVA and broken his trust. For someone already as untrusting as Danny, the fact that she even had it was the result of years of being there for him instead of their parents.

Now, she was older. She’d gone back to Stanford after the TVA took off and started making a profit and gotten her degree. She spent days in the Ghost Zone looking after the kids that ran through the halls of her brother’s haunt. She held regular individual and group therapy session and was in charge of a whole slew of children who didn’t want to commit crimes–there weren’t many, but kids often took long breaks in between missions and she chose to count them among her number.

It wasn’t an ideal life, nor was it one she could have prepared for, but it was hers.

Returning to her warm and inviting office in Phantom’s Haunt, Jazz checked her itinerary. She had an interview with a new teacher: Red Hood, set to teach riflery. She checked his file; there hadn’t been many interactions between the Alliance and the rogue, but most of them were neutral, and his open desire to protect children made him a shoo in for the position. Damian had brought him to her attention when discussing potential allies with Danny, and Danny had handed the list off to her without a second thought.

Her office, designed to look like the old-timey library of her dreams, lit up red as the clock struck 3 (in the afternoon, she wasn’t a heathen) and the automatic summoning circle flared to life. A rush of light spun around the interior of the circle, spinning and flickering until it fell back down, revealing… a normal man holding groceries. He promptly dropped them and pulled a gun on her, pointing it at Jazz’s head as he demanded to know where he was.

Jazz frowned. She suppose it made sense that Red Hood wouldn’t be in uniform 24/7, but she’d hoped to catch him while ‘on the clock.’ Oh well. “You’re in my office, Mr. Red Hood. Please don’t try to shoot me; the ecto-barrier will hold, and I’d rather not replace the carpet again.”

“The fuck are you talking about!?” Red Hood barked. He didn’t lower his weapon. Jazz made a note of it on her chart. “Who are you? How did you kidnap me!?”

“I’m Jasmine, human resources director of the Teen Villain Alliance. I’ve summoned you for an interview today.”

He looked out of his depth. Jazz could understand; most of the human instructors she hired were (and one had been enraged by the idea that a villain organization had a human resources department). “Summoned? I’m not a fucking demon! What the hell are you even interviewing me for?”

“Field teacher on projectile weapons and pyrotechnics, Mr. Al Ghul. We need more teachers who can take the kids out to the human world, and–”

“What did you just call me?” Now he looked disturbed.

“Mr. Al Ghul? Your name?” Jazz checked her documentation again. Jason Al Ghul was listed at the top under Name. “Your younger brother, Damian Al Ghul has recently joined our organization and recommended you… Are you not the Red Hood?” She reached under her desk where she kept an ectogun charged.

The man tucked away his gun and held up his hands, eyes locked where Jazz’s hand held her pistol. “...Yeah, that’s me. So this is where Damian ran off to?” Jazz relaxed and let go of the ectogun. Red Hood tried to walk out of the summoning circle, only to bounce off an invisible wall. “What the hell?”

“Sorry, but I’ve had interviewees try to attack me before. It’s safer to keep you in the circle until an agreement has been reached.” Jazz turned to her interview questions. “Now, before we begin, do you have any questions for me? I’m sure this has been very confusing for you.”

“Yeah. What does a villain organization need teachers for anyways?” His eyes narrowed. “Thought all of your kids were already villains.”

“Most are, but most teens… well, they end up caught quickly unless an older villain teaches them. And those villains aren’t exactly someone we’d trust not to hurt them in a training environment. Our school–”

“You have a school? Why the fuck do you have a school!?”

She sighed. “Mr. Al Ghul. If you label a child a villain and give them no way to prove otherwise, no way to grow or change, what do you think they’ll become?”

“Lady, you’re literally trying to recruit me to teach kids to shoot people. Don’t you fucking try to convince me you’re trying to help them.”

“I learned to shoot when I was 4, long before anyone called me a villain.” Admittingly, she wasn’t, and still wasn’t, a good shot, but he didn’t need to know that. “Most of our students didn’t wake up one day and decide, ‘I want to be a villain.’ They were labeled that way by society, their families, even the heroes they tried to stand up to. Here, at least, they have a place to belong.”

“Where they’re committing crimes on Phantom’s orders!”

“Less than 10% of the Alliance actively commits crimes at any given moment.” Red Hood paused. “Of those, we only take volunteers, and only those who are physically and mentally capable end up in the field. Most of the teens just live here, go to school here, recover here. It’s a safe place.”

“...Kids shouldn’t be committing crimes.”

“Kids also shouldn’t be stopping them.” His fist clenched. “Labels like 'villain' and 'hero' are meaningless when you’re dealing with teenagers who’ve already been written off by society. The TVA isn’t about teaching kids to rob banks or take over the world. It’s about giving them a place where they can survive—and maybe even thrive—without being hunted or killed for the circumstances they were born into.”

“And you’re putting ‘em in school.” He huffed a laugh. “You really think algebra and english class are gonna help them? Fix them? Put ‘em back together after the heroes shat all over ‘em?”

She shook her head. “It’s not about fixing them. It’s about giving them a second chance, and, for many? The first safe home they’ve ever had. Now–” She straightened her papers. “If you’ll content to an interview, we can get started. But if you’ve already decided to reject our job offer…”

He studied her with his narrowed green eyes and scoffed. He sounded just like Damian. “Ask your questions,” he spat. “Get ‘em over with quick, I got perishables over here.”

Jazz smiled, fangs peeking out past her lower lip.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dpxdc #c: jazz fenton #c: jason todd #c: damian wayne #teen villain alliance #tva #Also #if anyone follows my Get in the Water AU #I'm planning to update it before the livestream tonight!

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sqh3e · 2 months ago

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Say It, Zhong Chenle ` — ୨୧ ?!

you and Chenle are in the same music class at SMU, you write the songs, he sings them. for a few weeks you stopped showing up and no one realized you hadn’t been showing up until your friend mentions your name.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

: pairing - singer!chenle x fem!reader

: genres - social media au (smau), college au, written, slow burn, fluff, strangers to lovers (they know of one another but don’t really know each-other outside of the music class), a little angst..?

: more - y/n face claim is Yunjin From Le Sserafim (just for photo purposes, y/n can be your imagination)

: warnings - use of profanity, kys/kms jokes, weed smoking.

: authors notes - this is my first smau and first post! i hope you enjoy it! i am also taking requests… soo tell me your ideas.

status : taking a break

taglist : opened (lmk if you wanna be added)

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

{ profile 1 } { profile 2 }

chapter 1: WAIT WAIT WAIT (part one and part two)

chapter 2: he couldn’t and he wouldn’t

chapter 3: no jennie allowed 🔥🔥

chapter 4: as long as the end result is with you (written)

chapter 5: just one fumble after the other (part one and part two)

chapter 6: isn’t y/n at the party??

chapter 7: and i want you to be happy but with me! (written, slight smau)

chapter 8: like wtf did she expect.

chapter 9: i write, you sing. (written, filler chapter)

chapter 10: nothing pretty, just keep talking. (written, filler chapter)

chapter 11: stalkers (did you get in)

chapter 12: what he couldn’t do in 2 years chenle did in a few weeks

chapter 13: you’re getting around (part one, part two)

chapter 14: match maker mark

chapter 15: wednesday (smau and written)

chapter 16: pride and egos (smau and written)

chapter 17: all about timing (written)

chapter 18: chenle chenle chenle (part one, part two)

chapter 19:

chapter 20:

chapter 21:

chapter 22:

#chenle smau #chenle #chenle x reader #chenle x y/n #nct chenle #nct dream #nct smau #nct x reader #fluff #kpop smau #kpop #fanfic

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unforth · 2 months ago

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I keep seeing posts comparing this to 2004 or other past election losses and how this feels the same or similar to those past times.

As another Old who voted in 2004 (and I missed voting in 2000 by a month and was furious about it) I really can't even put into words how vehemently I disagree.

In 2008, I remember very earnestly sitting down with some friends and saying that if somehow McCain beat Obama, I'd have to join the fucking revolution, because I couldn't believe that this country would elect a Republican AGAIN after the previous 8 years of bullshit. I look back now and think how incredibly naive I was, but I also look back now and think, damn, why aren't I 25 NOW? I can't join the revolution now, I'm 41 and I own a house and have two young children and one old parent depending on me.

Because honestly, truly, as someone who has been studying American history since I was 7, as a Civil War buff with expertise on the years before the Civil War, as someone who has at least some memories of every election since 1988... guys, this isn't the same as 2004. I was furious then. Swift Boat bullshit I swear to fucking dog. And I was and still am fairly convinced that the 2000 election was deliberately stolen. But also I still had every reason then to believe in the rule of law.

In 2004, I still believed term limits would be respected.

In 2004, I still believed a person who wasn't elected would demure gracefully to the winner.

In 2004, I still trusted the courts.

In 2004, I still believed that we'd made progress on bigotry.

I could go on, and to be clear, my point isn't "I thought these institutions were ~good~" in literally any objective sense. Y'all are cynical but my generation was raised by, surrounded by, Vietnam vets and trust me, there was no way to be a kid, seeing what the 70s did to this country, and not come out as cynical and furious as the best of um. (My grandfather was a World War 2 vet, as were his close friends. My father and both his brothers are Vietnam vets, tho my dad didn't go overseas.) But I did believe that even corrupt institutions, even broken racist systems, even fucking Republicans, would follow basic norms of democracy. They said they believed in the constitution and I believed them. I believed that, like Nixon, truly getting caught doing something insane would at least force a mea culpa and turn public opinion. I believed...

Well, I guess it doesn't matter.

Because I no longer believe any of that.

I have watched the guard rails disappear over my lifetime. I have watched the party who once spent 2 years pursuing a guy over a BJ in the oval office elect a convicted rapist. I have watched and at times I've participated and I've voted and I've organized and I've protested and I've read the news more days than not and I've lived and I've grown and I've learned.

I have been an adult, legally, for almost 24 years now.

Guys... there are no norms remaining on the far right. The guard rails are gone. The Fascists control the White House, the senate, the Supreme Court, and things aren't looking promising for the House.

The bus has no brakes anymore. They think they have a mandate - and I can't blame them, as horrifying as this mandate is, because if things had gone the other way and Harris had gotten these results I'd also think it was a mandate.

Please sit with what this means: Trump and the Republican party said, "hand us the reins and we'll make everyone you hate hurt," and more than half the people who bothered to vote said "sure buddy, here goes." We don't have a usurper this time. This is the country that the majority of Americans said they wanted. Whether they come to regret that or not, they saw open Fascism and went "oh yes, count me in." And it wasn't because of the electoral college this time. It was because this country is so bigoted and misogynistic that they'd rather have this than a woman of color in the office.

I'm sick of "well she didn't run a good campaign." (Lie.) I'm sick of, "well we didn't get a primary." (Who cares?) I'm *extremely* sick of "well, Palestine." (Yes! Democrats actions have made the suffering there so much worse! It fucking sucks! You know what's about to suck so much worse?)

15 million people who showed up for Joe Biden couldn't be fussed to place a vote for Kamala Harris. Whatever their reason for not voting, we all knew the outcome if she lost. And seeing open fascism didn't fire them up enough to make the effort, and that's fucking pathetic. The consequences of the worst happening mattered so little to them that they couldn't be fucking bothered to make the minimum effort to stop it, and now millions of people will suffer as a result.

Because here we are: the huge swathe of the country who wanted a strongman now have one.

Look, I don't know what happens next. But I do know, and remember keenly: after 2016, Trump did, or at least tried to do, most of the things he said he'd do. When he was stopped, it was often because of career government employees: judges, bureaucrats, etc. And this time, he's said he's going to purge those people. I don't know if he'll succeed, but I certainly believe he'll try.

This is not 2004 again.

This is 2024. The Republicans have ripped the mask to shreds, shredded apart the book of political norms, and empowered hate, and they've been handed a governmental mandate for stamped "have at with our blessing!" in exchange.

And now they'll use that mandate to make everyone they hate suffer: people of color, queer people, trans people, immigrants, non-Christians.

Don't assume the worst can't happen. I am a Jew, and I have a photo album full of black and white photos of dead people that constantly reminds me: the worst has happened and it can happen again.

Do not despair. Despair is enervating. Be furious. As we should be. These douche bags are repulsive. Be prepared to fight. Be prepared to flee. Be prepared to defend. Don't assume you simply can't do something. There's always something to do, and even the smallest act of defiance can help. There's never any knowing until after which acts of resistance will end up galvanizing the good and just out of their apathy. But that apathy is the enemy.

Because none of this is normal. None of this is "just like when..." Please stop saying it is.

And before anyone screams "privilege" at me, yes, I am in many ways. I'm white. I have access to some generational money even tho my own family lives paycheck to paycheck - we won't be rich but have enough of a support network to be comfortable. I live in a blue area of a blue state. But I'm also a woman (legally speaking, at least) married to another woman - since before Oberkfell, and yes I remember exactly what steps we had planned any time we wanted to leave our state. My wife has physical disabilities. We have two children. Both are biracial (half black). One is trans. We are caring for an elderly parent. I am Jewish and as my kids' birth parent, so are they. I own a publishing company that publishes the exact kinds of queer and kinky lit these people intend to ban. We tick so many boxes of what these people hate.

I know ya'll are scared. Trust me, I'm terrified. But fear is paralyzing. And that won't help. Whatever happens, don't lie down and take this shit.

When Gore lost I was one month shy of my 18th birthday and already in college. I have been fighting my entire adult life, and I'm exhausted. I'm much less able to fight now, much more tied down with responsibilities. But the fight isn't over. I'm checking our passports. I'm packing a go bag. I've convinced one vulnerable friend to move here and I have another who wants to and we're figuring out how to make that happen. I'm protecting who I can, starting with putting on my mask first. I don't know what will happen but if in the end all I can do is uproot my entire life to protect my children then I am preparing to do so. I can at least save them if no one else.

None of this is normal.

And I'm not sure, after Trump's in office, that anything will ever be normal again in the US. At least not the old normal. And there are ways that's a good thing, so many ways that the old normal sucked for so many people, and I'm optimistic that there's a bright future ahead, but man it looks far away right now. I don't want to go back to the old normal, and I want to be part of establishing a kinder, more just, more equal new normal, but we're a long way from there.

Whatever happens, we must endure. We must survive. We must support each other. We must find our allies and be prepared to compromise with them. Don't try to save everyone. You'll fail. Help even one person and you can change the world. Everyone things they can't do everything and so do nothing. That's insane. Do a single thing and it will be better than nothing. One phone call. One letter. One act of defiance. Very few people get the opportunity to grand gestures that matter, and the rest of us will die waiting for that moment. But the secret is that what makes those moments - the time when one person is in the right place at the right time for their action to matter - is built on millions of small moments by millions of people doing what little they can to make things slightly better. Think of every iconic photograph of a Sole Resistor you know of and think about every single tiny thing that had to happen for that moment to occur. Most of us will never me that one person, but that one person is a myth anyway. Countless tiny unseen moments create those myths. Doing literally anything is better than doing nothing.

And tooth and nail, quietly and loudly, in our homes and our towns and cities, during protests or when they come for our neighbors, we must fight.

#unforth rambles #politics #uspol #i probably shouldnt post this #and it probably wont get traction even though i am #but stop telling people that the normal methods of hunkering diwn and waiting for a 2026 blue wave will help #stop telling people this is just like something before #its not its not its not its so fucking not stop it

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