#but I think it was more about doing a post about this rather than a whole fic

[ireverie]

girls goon too

pairing ↠ stepbro!sunghoon x (f) reader x stepbro!heeseung

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, stepcest, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving) / face fucking, virgin! reader, dubcon

summary ↠ sunghoon can't take it anymore. you just won't stop gooning in your bedroom for all the world to hear, and he's tired of it. he's pretty sure all you do with your spare time is watch porn. heeseung suggests that he just jerks off, but his morals won't let him; until he decides that he can't hold back anymore. he has to shut you up.

wc ↠ 5.3k

a/n ↠ nohyuck version of this fic originally posted on my blog revehae. i am not plagiarizing myself. this is my apology for missing my friday night drabble post. as always, feedback is appreciated!

don’t like it, don’t read.

“she’s doing it again,” sunghoon grumbled, walking into heeseung’s bedroom. only because the door was ajar, though. he knew the sight he’d walk in on if it was completely closed would be worse than what you were surely doing.

heeseung snickered, eyes fixed on his computer. “what’s the occasion? sixth-month gooning anniversary?”

sunghoon scoffed. he didn’t know why you did it. he thought jake was bad, but you were next level. “i thought surely she would give us a break for november.”

“and she did,” heeseung quipped, moving his mouse. “for all of three days.”

that was true. for the very first three days of november, the house had been relatively quiet apart from heeseung’s shouting when he was losing. then, on the fourth day, it was back to hearing your annoyingly perfect fucking moans in the afternoon.

and god forbid your parents would be coming home late. you were relentless on those days, touching yourself to no end. sunghoon couldn’t stand it. he hated minding his business, trying to rest or work or do anything that didn’t require thinking about the sounds you were making as you persistently edged yourself.

but he couldn’t help himself. sometimes, he could hear your moans even when you weren’t there, and that was when he knew he was finally losing what little bit was left of his goddamn mind. 

heeseung, on the other hand, didn’t seem as miffed. sunghoon was certain his brother could hear the noises you were making down the hall, but he was sitting here without a care in the world, typing an email to his professor of all things. which made no sense to sunghoon, considering he knew how much heeseung liked noisy sex.

“okay, i’ll bite,” sunghoon said, crossing his arms. “how in the hell are you okay with this?”

heeseung shrugged, trying and failing to suppress a smirk. he was well aware of the fact that sunghoon always got worked up when it came to you, which was fair. you were the biggest minx this world had ever known. “well, first of all,” heeseung started, snickering again. “there’s a thing called jerking off. i’m sure you’ve heard of it. it’s really popular amongst guys we know.”

sunghoon looked almost scandalized. “i’m not jerking off to my stepsister.”

“then, you’re an idiot,” heeseung retorted. “she’s given us enough material until new years. of the year after next.”

“it’s wrong.”

heeseung rolled his eyes. “you’ve got such a stick up your ass, like a proper princess or something.”

“i’ll beat your ass, hee,” sunghoon warned. 

heeseung threw his hands up. “i’m just saying. i’m not telling you to stick her in a washing machine, bro. but the answer’s obvious. just jerk off. you know you want to.”

sunghoon sighed. had he thought about it? obviously. but he couldn’t shake how wrong it felt, even if you made him perpetually horny. “i want to smack the shit out of you right now, but i haven’t done it yet.”

rather than recoil, heeseung laughed. that asswipe finds humor in everything, sunghoon thought to himself, irritated. “and i commend your patience, man,” heeseung replied. “but it’s only making you more frustrated when you could just bust a nut and be happy.”

sunghoon was thinking about it now. well, he had thought about it countless times, but he had never allowed himself to stoop that low. you were his younger stepsister and it was his responsibility to take care of you. not picture your face as you moaned and imagine how you would feel, tight and sticky and creamy as you wrapped around his…

heeseung broke the silence, musing more so to himself, “maybe we should put her in the washing machine.”

sunghoon’s eyes flickered. “what the hell, man?”

“my bad,” heeseung replied, although he didn’t look very apologetic. “i was just thinking out loud.”

fuck, now sunghoon was picturing that too. your house had one of those washing machines that opened from the top, not the front. too many times had sunghoon seen you struggle to take your clothes out, dangling over the washing machine and nearly falling inside. he would offer to help, every now and then, but he liked watching you climb the washing machine just to get your clothes from the very bottom.

it was much more realistic for you to get stuck in it then the kinds of washing machines in porn. 

heeseung broke the silence again, still thinking. it was his greatest skill and simultaneously his worst habit. “if you’re so against it, why haven’t you just asked her to shut the fuck up then?”

that was a good question. sunghoon wasn’t the kind of guy to shy away from an altercation, not with friends and not with family. he had certainly never shown heeseung any mercy. he loved his brother, but he was annoying as all fuck.

“i see,” heeseung said, smirking. see, annoying. “it’s because you don’t really want her to stop.”

sunghoon sighed. “yeah, fine. i don’t want her to stop. happy?”

heeseung burst out laughing. always laughing, always scheming. he was going to get a stocking full of coal for christmas. “i have an idea.”

“oh, god,” sunghoon groaned.

heeseung finally pressed send on his email and turned around in his desk chair. “hear me out. we should fuck her.”

sunghoon gawked in disbelief. then again, none of heeseung’s ideas were ever truly brilliant. “you’re insane,” he murmured.

“thanks,” heeseung chirped, the insult rolling off his shoulders. “just sleep on it.”

“you know what? sure,” sunghoon replied, walking out of his brother’s room and shutting the door. he didn’t want to hear another word.

he went about his day like everything was normal, going on a walk so that he didn’t have to hear you, eating dinner and watching netflix in the living room to ignore the fact that you existed altogether. and then he went to bed.

sunghoon couldn’t fucking sleep. on it, over it, under it. he couldn’t sleep whatsoever. 

it wasn’t like you were just loudly moaning all day long, that would be absurd. but every now and then, there would be a whimper you’d let slip. sunghoon could tell that you were actually trying to be quiet. but this was one of those nights where your parents wouldn’t be back and you were taking advantage of that. again.

sunghoon decided that he was at his breaking point. the need for you was too goddamn strong and he was tired of pretending that he was better. he couldn’t ignore it anymore. he couldn’t fight it, suppress it.

he threw the blankets off his bed and went to heeseung’s room, the door closed this time. he knocked on the door and called out, “stop jerking off and get your ass out here.”

sunghoon heard a groan, one of the disgruntled sort. a few seconds later, heeseung opened the door, a scowl on his face. “what the hell, man? your voice ruined my nut.”

it was sunghoon’s turn to laugh. he clasped a hand on heeseung’s shoulder. “don’t worry. you’ll be in the mood again in no time.”

heeseung lifted a brow. “are you saying what i think you’re saying?”

sunghoon nodded. 

“we’re gonna teach her a lesson.”

“we’re gonna put her in the washing machine?”

sunghoon’s smile instantly dropped and his hand fell from heeseung’s shoulder. “why the fuck are you both so addicted to porn?” he asked.

the excited shimmer in heeseung’s eyes died a little. “no, i was… i was just kidding. let’s go.”

sunghoon sighed and started down the hall to your bedroom, deciding not to argue heeseung on that. it would be a waste of valuable time.

sunghoon knocked on the door and called out your name. “can we come in?”

there was audible shuffling as you called back, “just a moment!”

heeseung glanced over at sunghoon. “so, how we doing this?”

sunghoon looked calm, collected. as if fucking his stepsister was something he did on the regular. “just follow my lead.”

you opened the door, a towel thrown around you. but your skin looked damp with sweat, not water. your face was a little flushed. it was obvious that you were naked. “um, can i help you guys?” you asked, somewhat breathless. 

sunghoon looked you up and down subtly. heeseung, on the other hand, was damn near ogling you. the former repeated, “can we come in?”

“um, i guess,” you murmured, stepping out of the way so that they could enter your bedroom.

heeseung closed the door behind himself, not that there was anyone to worry about. it was only the three of you in the house at the moment. 

sunghoon glanced away, looking for traces of what you had been doing. he found them very quickly; your laptop shut on your bed, the blankets messily thrown on top to conceal the damp spots in your sheets, and your shirt and shorts on the floor by your bed, implying you were only in your underwear.

“is there something you guys need?” you asked, a bit annoyed at having been interrupted. 

sunghoon walked towards your desk where your laptop probably should have been, though he saw something fearful flash in your eyes. his brows furrowed, but he didn’t inquire about it. he would figure it out on his own. “do we have to need something to want to visit you?” sunghoon asked, a small smile on his face. “i haven’t seen you all day long. we just wanted to make sure you’re still alive.”

“oh, that’s… very sweet of you,” you murmured. “as you can see, i’m perfectly alive and breathing.”

“yeah, you’re breathing a lot,” heeseung commented. 

sunghoon chuckled. he moved away from your desk and instead towards your nightstand, noticing your eyes still watching him like a hawk. “relax. what’s got you so worked up?”

“i’m not worked up,” you lied, eyes darting between him and your bed. 

that was when it clicked in sunghoon’s brain. the bed. you didn’t want him to see the bed. he chuckled again, sitting down on top of it. “are you okay? you look a little… flushed.”

“yeah,” heeseung chimed in, moving your hair out of your face. you jolted. you had been paying so much attention to sunghoon that you failed to notice heeseung had creeped up behind you. “and sweaty.”

you released a shaky breath. you were nervous, but you couldn’t tell them that. because then they would start asking questions. “i’m okay, guys. you can go.”

“why are you trying to get rid of us?” heeseung asked, leaning in a little too close. “it’s almost like you’re hiding something.”

“what are you watching?” sunghoon asked, grabbing your laptop. 

your eyes widened in horror. “no, wait!” you exclaimed. you tried to stop him, but heeseung was quick to pull you back against his chest. 

sunghoon opened your laptop, being met with a twitter porn browser. he feigned surprise. “oh, wow,” he said, merely blinking. “wow.”

“what is it?” heeseung called from the other side of the room. 

sunghoon turned the laptop to face you and heeseung. “guess she’s really into… creampies, sucking dick, and doggy style.”

your face was hot with embarrassment and you thrashed in heeseung’s arms. “this is an invasion of privacy! you guys jerk off, don’t you?”

“jerk off? sure. watch porn for hours on end? no, i don’t,” sunghoon answered, setting your laptop down. he moved your blankets out of the way, revealing a few damp spots on your bed. “how long did you have to sit here for this to happen?”

you felt very exposed at the moment. like your deepest, darkest secret was steadily reaching its way around the whole world. “i’m not that bad,” you murmured, shy. 

heeseung laughed. he tugged at the towel and brought his hand to your chest, pinching your nipple. “not that bad? you almost gave poor sunghoon over there an aneurysm with how enticing you’ve been.”

your whined when heeseung squeezed your chest, tearing your gaze away from sunghoon to look up at him with wide eyes. “what are you doing?”

“fuck. yeah, that’s what i’m talking about, princess,” heeseung groaned, pressing himself against your ass. “those sweet sounds have been driving him mad.”

any other moment, sunghoon would have narrowed his eyes at heeseung and called him disgusting. but this was different. sunghoon didn’t care about what was right or wrong anymore. maybe he never truly had. what was certain right now was that any desire to behave in a morally acceptable manner was outweighed by the desire to fuck you brainless.

“bring her over here,” sunghoon said, shoving your laptop of the way to make room. 

heeseung grabbed your waist and led you towards the bed, pushing you towards his brother. sunghoon grabbed your chin, smoothing his thumb over your cheek. “gooning isn’t healthy,” he told you straightforwardly. “you know what you need?”

you glanced at him, fretful. the towel had completely fallen at this point, leaving you solely in your water, just as sunghoon had pieced together. “what?” you whispered.

“a fuck,” sunghoon replied unabashedly. “you’re so damn touch-starved. always complaining about how you want a boyfriend, but you never go out, because you’re too busy playing with your clit.”

your face was hot. honestly, they hadn’t given you the opportunity to cool down. but you had to admit that he was right. compared to how much you touched yourself, you didn’t go out enough.

“have you ever even had sex?” heeseung asked, running his hands up your thighs. 

you wanted to hide so fucking bad, but that clearly wasn’t an option. “no,” you replied, ashamed.

sunghoon snickered, because apparently that was funny. “obviously,” he said, moving his thumb to your bottom lip. “this pretty body has gone untouched for too many years, that’s all. once you get fucked, you’ll be as good as new. worked for jake. didn’t it, hee?”

“yep,” heeseung chirped, nodding. “he was the biggest gooner i’ve ever seen. jay had so many roommate horror stories. then, we got him some pussy, and he’s all better now. actually goes outside and gets light that isn’t from his laptop.”

“so, what do you say?” sunghoon asked, turning your head back to him. “want something other than your fingers inside you?”

your heart racing. were you really about to agree to getting fucked by your stepbrothers? when it was over, you could blame it on the fact that you genuinely were touch-starved and desperate for a release for all this pent-up frustration.

and because you really, really needed to come after having avoided it for hours, you nodded your head.

“words, princess,” heeseung said, his hands still gripping your thighs as he thought about how soft they were. “say it. say, ‘i want you to fuck me, heeseung.’”

you swallowed, but you weren’t going to disobey. “i… i want you to fuck me, heeseung.”

“jeez, you don’t have to beg. i’ll do it,” heeseung replied, playful as ever. “and because it’s your first time, i think we should do missionary. is that okay, princess?”

“that’s… fine,” you murmured timidly. it didn’t really matter to you how he fucked you. you just wanted someone inside you. 

heeseung was beaming, like he had prayed for this day and it was finally happening. “good. and if you ever want me to fuck you on all fours, you know the way to my room.”

the way heeseung was looking at you was entirely overwhelming, so you glanced over at sunghoon instead, though he was also watching you intently. “what about… you?” you asked. 

sunghoon chuckled, thumb sweeping over your lips. “i don’t need to fuck your pussy. i’ll leave that to heeseung. i just want to fuck this pretty little mouth that’s been keeping me up at night.”

heeseung, growing impatient, tugged at your panties. you lifted your hips, watching him drag them down your legs. “jesus,” he murmured. “they’re fucking drenched.”

“they better be,” sunghoon replied with a chuckle, stepping out of his pants. “long as she’s probably been wearing them.”

heeseung spread your legs, wanting to get a good look at the treasure hidden between them. he moaned at the mere sight of your pussy, dripping with arousal. “fuck, you don’t even need prep,” he mused.

as if you couldn’t get any more embarrassed than you already were. they knew exactly what to say to make you want to hide your face beneath a pillow and hopefully suffocate to death.

despite his declaration about you not needing prep, heeseung couldn’t help but drag his tongue along your folds, which made you gasp in surprise. it wasn’t a tentative lick, either; he was confident and unreluctant. you were clearly sensitive, but he didn’t seem to care, eager to suck and lick at you.

“heeseung,” you whimpered, involuntarily trying to close your legs. he swore his dick twitched when you said his name like that. 

all the while, sunghoon was stroking himself beside you, half hard. for the first time thinking about you at the same time that he touched his dick, and god, he really should have done it sooner. just the thought of you made his blood pump harder. 

heeseung pulled back after a moment or two when he was finally sated. “sorry,” he apologized, completely inauthentic. “just wanted a taste.”

sunghoon tapped your cheek. “open up, baby.”

you slowly opened your mouth, wide enough for him to push inside. which sunghoon seized the opportunity to do as soon as it presented itself. he was impatient now, tired of waiting. you had tortured him long enough with those pretty noises; it was time you paid him back for tolerating your horniness.

“fuck,” sunghoon cursed upon feeling the warmth of your mouth around his cock.

heeseung snickered. it was amusing to him that only a few hours ago, sunghoon said he was insane for suggesting that they fuck you. and now here he was with his cock down your throat. a few hours could truly change a man, for worse and for better. “how’s it going?” heeseung asked.

sunghoon closed his eyes, trying to go slow before he started fucking your throat with a purpose. he didn’t necessarily want to hurt you, but damn, he was getting pretty damn close. “how do you think?” he retorted.

you watched sunghoon as he slowly moved inside your mouth, though his patience was obviously dwindling by the second. part of you wanted to see what it would look like when he lost it all, but the other dreaded it, uncertain whether or not you could handle it.

you were still a virgin, after all. in the important and unimportant ways. you had never been fucked. you had most certainly never had your throat fucked until this very moment. the furthest you’d ever gone with a boy was a little bit of groping while kissing and even that was awkward.

heeseung licked his lips, appreciating that they were coated in your arousal. “taste so good, princess,” he said, dropping his hands down to his shorts.

you would have gawked when you glanced down and noticed the dent in them, even if it weren’t for the fact that your mouth was preoccupied. when did he get so hard? 

heeseung started to undress himself, pleased now that he had gotten a taste of you and eager to be inside you. he was quick to shed his shorts and the layer underneath, unafraid to show just how desperate he was. for him, it was easy to accept his attraction to you and even easier to act on it now that he had your consent.

he climbed onto the bed, grabbing your thighs again and spreading them apart. he gave them a few affectionate, departing kisses and sat up to grab his cock, bringing it between them. “say ‘goofer gooner’ if you’re ready,” heeseung joked, knowing you couldn’t speak.

you furrowed your brows, but you couldn’t even focus on his nonsense because sunghoon was noticeably forgoing all restraint. could you blame him? your mouth was warm, alive, and everything about you seemed to drive him straight through the brink of insanity. 

“you know, sunghoon,” heeseung started, gazing down at the little distance between your bodies. “you were right. i’m already in the mood again.”

you had that effect on him, on them. heeseung knew he probably should have fought it better, but he truly saw no point. it was easier to fold and surrender to the fact that he found you infuriatingly sexy, despite your tendencies. and with nothing more to say, he slowly but surely pressed himself inside you.

heeseung tipped his head back, already moaning like a bitch and he wasn’t even fully sheathed inside you yet. “holy fuck,” he said, his grip on your thighs tightening.

you whimpered, the sound muffled by sunghoon’s cock as his balls slapped against your chin. you immediately pulsed around heeseung’s cock, clinging to him like now that he was there, you would never let him go.

“holy fuck,” heeseung moaned again, stopping for a moment as if the breath had been completely sucked out of him. “so fucking wet, my dick just slides in.”

he was damn near flabbergasted. maybe there was benefit to you gooning for hours on end, a benefit that he got to reap. he had never seen anyone this wet before, much less felt anything this wet, and it was taking a toll on him. his head was already reeling.

“okay,” heeseung said, more so to himself. he was adjusting. “okay. fuck. i’m gonna move.”

and he did, growing more and more mesmerized with every thrust of his hips. his mouth hung open, moans of your name and explicit curses dangling from his lips with a shrill touch to them that only made you even more aroused.

to say nothing of the sounds sunghoon was making, almost directly in your ear. he was so close to your face that you could explode. he was finally moving comfortably, fucking your throat with a rhythm that almost made it hard to breathe. 

though you had no intention of making him stop. you had fantasized about making yourself available for this purpose many, many times. not necessarily to your stepbrother, but well, it wasn’t like you were discriminating. especially not when he sounded so goddamn sexy and his face was tensing the way it was in pleasure.

it was strange, but you found yourself going from solely craving the experience to wanting to pleasure them. and it would appear that you were doing a fantastic job without hardly even trying, all things considered.

heeseung was gripping on your thighs for dear life as if without the support, he would get blown away into the eighth dimension. or maybe drown in how wet you were, gushing around his cock, if not for him using your soft thighs as an anchor to keep him afloat.

“this sweet fucking pussy,” he sighed, losing himself in the vice of you. he had set a pace too, fucking you without intention of stopping. with every fiber of his being, deep and hard. “i could fuck you forever.”

you could sit here and take it forever. you had never felt so full in your life. your fingers hardly did the job, always reaching just shy of where you needed them instead of completely offering you the satisfaction you’d long craved. and here heeseung was handing it to you on a silver platter.

the only problem was that you felt slightly overwhelmed with so much happening at one time in two different holes. you didn’t know who to pay attention to; sunghoon fucking your throat with a vengeance, eager to gain something out of your mouth for once, or heeseung railing you to kingdom come, making you feel hot everywhere.

you found yourself trying to juggle both, eyes flitting between them, moaning around sunghoon’s dick at heeseung’s angled thrusts and throbbing around heeseung at every guttural groan that slipped from sunghoon’s mouth. you couldn’t help yourself; it was too goddamn arousing.

sunghoon noticed how fucked out you looked, eyes rolling back to another timeline, and it was doing unimaginable things to his cock. you looked better than he could have ever imagined and he knew that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he left you hoarse and rasping.

with that thought, he grabbed your hair to push you down and started to fuck your head against the mattress rather roughly, which caught you by surprise. you tried to take it, you really did, but it was overwhelming. you could barely breathe.

“take it,” he hissed, holding your head in place. you looked pretty like this, struggling to keep up with his hectic movements.

your eyes were watering as his cock went too deep for you to handle, and you started gagging. sunghoon moaned, but pulled your head off him to let you relax for a second, a string of saliva connecting your mouth and the head of his cock.

“breathe,” he said, letting one hand run through your hair almost tenderly.

you nodded, willing yourself to relax. all the while, sunghoon marveled at how pretty you looked with saliva on your face and tears strolling down your cheeks.

“you guys okay up there?” heeseung asked from between your legs, having noticed the action. 

“we’re fine,” sunghoon answered on your behalf. he moved his hand from your hair to your cheek. “you ready?”

you nodded your head. you couldn’t shake the urge to really make him proud, to satisfy all his inappropriate cravings. it was the least you could do when you had been tantalizing him for months on end.

“good girl,” sunghoon whispered, guiding his cock back to your mouth and this time using your hair to push your head onto his cock as he fucked your throat.

you moaned at the pet name, because something about the way it sounded coming from him made your head spin. maybe you were just horny and in dire need of a fuck like he’d said. maybe after you came, all of these feelings would wear off, and you would feel somewhat sane again. 

but you couldn’t deny that you were somewhat indulging in your fantasies here. you didn’t necessarily hate the the way sunghoon was treating you, even if it was a little beyond your limits and more than a little rough. but limits were just boundaries you’d yet explored.

heeseung was a different situation altogether. your pussy was still sensitive from the hours of playing with it and you were already about to come much before him. there was a familiar heat in your stomach and festering throb of energy in your core, only more intense than you had ever experienced.

but heeseung recognized it, even without being able to hear your sweet moans of his name. he could see it in your body language and it flattered him in a way; he always felt proud when he lasted longer than the person he was fucking, especially without necessarily even trying to finish them quicker.

“she’s gonna come,” heeseung pointed out, grinning. “come for me, princess. come on this dick. you know you want to.”

it was like he your voodoo doll or something, because merely seconds after those words parted from his mouth, you were shuddering and tightening around his cock with climax, your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your toes clenching.

heeseung let out the pitchiest moan ever when you throbbed around him repeatedly. words could not describe how good it felt, but sounds could. and the sounds he was making were sensational, only contributing to the mind-numbing pleasure wrecking you from within.

“goddamn,” heeseung said, mesmerized by how hard you came. it was probably warranted after hours of resisting.

but the other thing on heeseung’s mind was how much wetter your pussy sounded, sticky with your release. he whined, literally going mad. he knew that his own orgasm wasn’t far out and just the squelch of your cunt could easily finish him off.

sunghoon was facing a similar predicament, fucking your mouth without restraint and not letting you escape his thrusts. “fuck, i’m gonna come,” he groaned. “swallow it. or don’t. it’s your sheets.”

the last thing you of all people cared about was having your sheets ruined. at the moment, you were more burdened with how sore your throat felt and how overstimulated your pussy was being fucked despite having already orgasmed. it literally felt like you’d had the soul fucked out of you.

you didn’t even know it was possible at this point, but sunghoon’s hips went faster. it was a brutal but steady pace, which was somewhat admirable. he was trying to get himself there, right over the edge, knowing release was only seconds away.

with a few more smacks, sunghoon released down your throat with the sexiest groan you’d heard, one that claimed every award. when you’d milked him of every drop, his hands tight on the sides of your face, his grip on your head slacked and he slowly pulled your mouth off him.

you swallowed what you could, but he had came so goddamn much at once, it was borderline ridiculous. what you couldn’t take dripped down your chin, blending with the saliva from the messy fucking.

heeseung glanced up at you and the sight of your cum-stained face triggered something so primal in him that he knew he wasn’t going to last another minute. “princess, where do you want me to come?” he asked breathlessly.

“inside,” you replied with maybe half your voice, if even. it hurt to speak. the sound pleased sunghoon.

the thought of coming inside your pussy had heeseung levitating and was the last push he needed to bring himself past the cusp of ecstasy. his hips stuttered as he came inside you, crying out half of your name, leaning on top of you as he buried his load inside your warm, wet, gushing, sticky hole.

a satisfied hum escaped you when you felt his cum seeping inside your pussy. why did it feel so good?

“d-don’t move yet,” you whispered, because it was all you could muster.

heeseung glanced up at you, recognizing the look of pleasure on your face. if he had the energy, he would tease you about how you wanted to feel him cum inside you, but he needed to catch his breath. so he answered with a nod.

sunghoon whistled. this had gone better than he’d hoped. “well goddamn. you’re just a virgin slut aren’t you?”

heeseung chuckled breathlessly. “she took that shit like a champ. i’m impressed.”

sunghoon kissed your forehead. “you did so good,” he whispered, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “i’ll get you some water in a second.”

you nodded, appreciating the tender side after all that had just happened. your heart felt a little lighter than usual, despite its racing. you had so many questions, but you didn’t want to strain your voice. was it normal to feel like a different person after having sex for the first time?

heeseung was going to pull out, but seeing the look on your face, he decided to stay nestled inside you for a little longer. “you okay?”

you bobbed your head. “i’m good.”

heeseung snickered and teased, “whoa there, batman. what have you done with my sister?”

you rolled your eyes, but giggled. sunghoon joined in on the laughter, but he added, “don’t speak. you’ll make it worse.”

heeseung sighed contentedly. knowing that you wouldn’t say anything in response, he decided to tease, “our little gooner.”

you glared at heeseung wordlessly, conveying a lot of different things with your eyes. 

sunghoon translated playfully, “i think that means ‘fuck you.’”

“again?” heeseung joked. “what can i expect from a gooner. but hey, i guess girls can goon too.”

[missdynamighttt]

asking bf! katsuki what he feels about prenups makes you fall in love with him all over again.

you were lounging on the couch, legs draped across katsuki’s lap as the tv played some random show neither of you were really watching. his hand rested on your thigh, thumb tracing absentminded circles while you scrolled through your phone.

the thought hit you out of nowhere, and before you could second-guess yourself, you blurted it out.

"hey, what do you think about prenups?"

katsuki froze mid-circle. his eyes shifted from the tv to you, brow furrowing. "the fuck?"

"a prenup," you repeated, sitting up slightly. "y’know, legal agreements before marriage, just in case things go south. if we get married."

"when we get married," he corrected automatically. his brows drew together. "why the hell are you askin’ me about prenups?"

you shrugged, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. "i dunno. i was just curious. a lot of people get them."

katsuki scoffed, sitting up straighter. "yeah, greedy assholes who don't trust each other."

"not always," you countered. "sometimes it's just making sure both people feel secure. it doesn't mean you don't trust each other. to protect assets, just in case—"

katsuki scoffed, cutting you off. "just in case? you plannin’ on leaving me or somethin’?"

your eyes widened. "what? no! i'm just saying—"

he made a face, the kind he always did when he thought something was bullshit.

"tch. i don't need some dumbass piece of paper to tell me what's yours or mine."

"'sides..." he shifted, his hand sliding from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face toward his. "everything i got's yours anyway."

your heart skipped a beat. "everything?"

"yeah. the apartment, the money, the dumb shit i spend on workout gear. all yours. even me," his thumb brushed over your bottom lip. "especially me."

you swallowed hard, warmth flooding your chest. "that’s... really sweet."

his lips twitched into a smirk. "yeah? so does that mean i get all your shit too? ain’t that how it works?"

you grinned. "sure. you can have my stuffed toy collection and my 2 digit savings account."

"fuck yeah," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "knew you were a catch."

you laughed, swatting his chest. he caught your wrist easily, kissing each and every knuckle. his face softened as he looked at you, calloused hand cradling the back of your head.

"don’t need a prenup, pretty," he said, quieter this time. "what we got... it ain't temporary. i'm all in. always."

your heart melted on the spot. "yeah?"

"yeah," he leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours. "if things do go south, we talk. ‘cause i’d rather die than let you go."

your heart stuttered in your chest. you were expecting some casual discussion, maybe even some banter, but instead, you got this—your boyfriend looking at you like he’d burn the world down before letting anyone take you away from him.

"...so, no prenup?" you squeaked.

katsuki huffed, pressing a firm kiss to your lips. "no fucking prenup."

"now quit talkin' about stupid legal shit and kiss me."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ hii! inspired by @gojosprettyprincess 's post about opinions on prenups and thought this up >< i PROMISE i will do some requests before i get to the twitter porn links with katsuki^^ hope you guys enjoy!!

[gloomwitchwrites]

aftercare with the boys???

Okay, but I love this question. The wonderful thing about aftercare is that it doesn’t need to be complicated and intricate for it to be effective. Good aftercare is tailored to the couple (or multiples if there are more than two people engaging in sex). But also, not everyone is great at aftercare, and figuring out what works for you might take some trial and error. And let’s also be realistic here, not all of the 141 is going to knock it out of the park…they are human after all.

MDNI

written w/ gn!reader

John Price

Seasoned and experienced, Price understands that aftercare is the standard, not the exception.

Whether it’s just a casual one-night affair, or a long-term relationship, Price goes out his way to make sure aftercare happens.

Price doesn’t assume what your needs are. Instead, he presents options before sex happens. There are a few things that come standard like getting you a glass of water, but there are more specific things he wants to know like whether or not you want a shower afterward, and if you want to take that shower alone or with him.

His favorite form of aftercare involves physical touch. If you’re open to it, Price wants a good cuddle with lots of intimacy.

He’s more than happy to chat you up afterward if you need that. Or, if you just need to yap and for him to stay quiet, he can do that, too.

Affirmations, affirmations, affirmations.

Will follow up with you the next day via text or call to make sure you’re doing okay.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

A firm supporter of aftercare.

He’s not one to fuck and leave. Kyle prefers the long-term commitment. He likes the intimacy.

Won’t ask you before sex what you need for aftercare, but will ask after it’s all done. Kyle keeps a list of different options and will cycle through them depending on how intense the sex was. If the two of you engaged in rougher sex, he’s more likely to try and focus on taking care of you physically.

Will take the initiative on a few things like getting you a glass of water and providing snacks (or ordering delivery.)

Prefers giving massages instead of cuddling (but doesn’t hate the cuddling.)

Does enjoy watching a movie or television show after as a distraction.

Conversation and closeness post-sex is extremely important to him.

John “Soap” MacTavish

This goober doesn’t even know that aftercare is an important part of sex. It takes him a bit to figure it out y’all.

That being said, it’s not until Johnny becomes entangled in a serious relationship that the pieces start to fall into place for him.

While others may go for a more sensual approach, Johnny is all about comfort and having a laugh.

When he cuddles, he cuddles hard, and if you try to wiggle away, think again.

Lots of talking, chatting, and verbal affirmations. This man isn’t only telling you how much he loves you, or that he had a lot of fun, but also is doing his best to make you smile and even laugh.

He is the kind of aftercare partner that is absolutely looking up memes and funny videos for the two of you to watch together.

Would have edibles at the ready (if you want them) and endless snacks.

Open to watching something on television or a movie but make it low stakes. Needs to be a comedy or a trashy reality show.

If the two of you bathe or shower, it’s together. No exception.

Lots of touching.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Aftercare is a complicated topic when it comes to Simon.

If he’s only there to get his dick wet, don’t expect aftercare. He will get you off, and find his own release, but don’t expect too much after the fact. But he won’t be a brute or an asshole either.

Aftercare comes when you least expect it, when the casual starts to become serious.

It happens almost accidentally, or rather suddenly, and completely on Simon’s terms.

Perhaps the two of you were engaging in some rough sex—at least rougher than normal—and Simon notices some bruising/tender skin. Maybe when he bit down, he drew blood, even if he didn’t mean to.

He immediately starts cleaning you up, tending to any marks he finds. It’s not a quick dab of a cloth but a full onceover. Simon observers every inch of you, checking to make sure you’re fine.

He does a verbal check in as well, because he understands that a physical check isn’t always enough.

Afterwards, he’s taking you for a bath or shower.

Then, it’s an ice pack or heating pad if you need it.

Don’t expect an outpouring of affection, but he will provide a few affirmations to reassure you.

And he will cuddle. It won’t be anything tight or super close, but rather an arm around you to draw you closer to him.

main masterlist

[ithinkicantdie]

I'll put a little bit of text here that felt too long to put in the tags but I know it doesn't really matter that much to other people what I think so I won't force myself to make any of the words I'm putting down make sense.

First point I wanted to make in the tags I started writing out was that I don’t think "girls' girl" should be included in this list because it’s a newer variation of the term "women supporting women" which I very much prefer as a positive counterpart in order to replace others like the extremely widely used "pick me girl" or just "pick me" because I think it is more important to celebrate the solidarity rather than use shame to point out when someone’s internalized misogyny is being a little too external.

"Girl math" as a term could be replaced with a different term for the logic that people are putting behind it but most of the posts are about consumerism and spending money so any far-left leaning people who identify with communism, socialism or just anti-capitalism (ily all, keep fighting for change) likely wouldn't use terms like that anyway so there wouldn't be much of a point. I do genuinely think we can let that whole trend go with just the superficial analysis of "people are trying to justify spending money by saying they aren't actually spending as much as they could be" but we could also go further into why we are made to feel shame for buying superfluous things or why we have to use the money we need to live in order to be happy and being happy when you're trying to stay alive feels impossible but the shame of spending money on things that make you happy compounds on top of that.

I associate bimbocore with Chrissy Chlapecka the most and she is very unapologetic about the bimbo videos to my knowledge because they make a lot of anti fascist posts but there are some problems she has to deal with due to being an influencer with low self esteem and rarely posting to social media at all without a full face of makeup while not wanting to encourage other people to also be that way. I also think the general public are trying to move away from saying things like whore and slut and skank because social media is all about being aesthetically pleasing and it's not about how much of a whore you are on the inside but how much of a bimbo you look or act like on the outside. The connotations of bimbo do point out how often sensuality and intelligence are thought of as at odds with one another in women but thought of as being found together very often in men and you could make an argument that women are being strong-armed into once again giving up when it comes to trying to be respected and revered for their personal accomplishments and they are actively being told to revert back to striving for superficial beauty standards to reach any amount of success. I could dive into that for hours honestly.

"Girlfriend brain" in the contexts I've seen it in (used in posts by normal people and not the 'stay at home girlfriend' influencers who scare me) is very similar to the whole trend of having "scary dog privileges" where you’re able to walk around without fear of getting harassed because men who don’t see you as a person will see your boyfriend as a person and you will not be as debilitatingly anxious about your personal safety in a public space. These trends alone can point out a lot of problems with how we are expected to "solve" problems by temporarily making it safer for only one individual at a time and not dismantling the culture that makes men feel entitled to women as a whole.

"Girl dinner" I think is heavily related to diet culture with people either purposefully eating less food to restrict the number of calories or eating junk food in the privacy of their own home without fear of backlash or judgement but it could even be fatigue of constantly cooking for other people because you have that expectation placed on you and you find brief respite in not wanting to cook for ‘just’ yourself but all of those options are insanely depressing no matter what. The expectation to be a sexy twig that eats nothing but also cook hearty meals for those around you to enjoy at any given moment is too exhausting and people break away from that where they can but also not every person participating in a viral trend is required to be actively experiencing any of the shame that the audience could be projecting onto them from personal experiences so does it really help at all or does it just hurt more people?

I do genuinely think clean girl core and DFE are heavily associated with white supremacist shit so I will not defend those at all, I think I've even seen some people call DFE a nazi tradwife dogwhistle so I'll just put that out there for other people to think on because I do not want to touch that with a ten foot pole.

And other people understand the whole "I’m just a girl" thing just fine obviously based off of most of the notes. Thank you No Doubt for providing such a banger that is infinitely better than the way people are abusing the phrase now.

"I'm just a girl", "girl math", "girl dinner", "divine feminine energy", "bimbocore", "clean girl", "girl's girl", "girlfriend brain" SHUT UPPP!!! SHUTT THE FUCKKKK UPPPPPP !!!!

[lalunanymph]

💭 thinking about . . . . ex-husband caleb

tw. colonel caleb x fem!reader, suggestive content, smut, mentions of angst, divorce, cross-posted from x, yandere-ish caleb, ex-husband, whiny caleb, begging, pathetic caleb, second chances, 2k+ words

The day you married Caleb was the happiest day of your life. 

You still remember the excitement in the air, the hush wedding reception filling up with closest friends. Those in attendance swore to keep this a secret—Caleb’s clandestine occupation as Colonel of the Farspace Fleet deterring from any illusions to a safe, stable job, not when he had enemies all around.

Gideon stood as his best man while Tara was your bridesmaid and makeup artist. 

A handful of Hunter colleagues, Jenna, and Professor Lucius who surprisingly sniffled quietly into his silk handkerchief, watched the two of you say your vows and promise before the law and men alike that you would always protect and cherish one another, for better or for worse. 

But, that was a year ago. 

While vows don’t change, people do. 

Sad story short, not even a year into your marriage, Caleb and you got into a huge, marriage-altering argument which resulted in six days of no-contact. You can say the divorce was mostly your fault.

Your husband of 342 days reluctantly agreed and while you two remained childless, he still insisted on paying the necessary support as per the pre-nup he insisted you get. 

The nascent, sharp ring of the doorbell distracts you from the rest of your straying thoughts, and you look up from the bouquet of flowers you’re halfway arranging. For a moment, your idle mind blanks and your heart trembles in your chest. 

It must be him… 

Your throat tightens at the prospect of seeing your ex-husband again. 

While the two of you didn’t have the most pleasant relationship, you had mostly agreed to keep things civil. That is, until you open the door to find Caleb beaten up and bloody with your ring in a velvet box. 

“... what the fu—?” 

You don’t get to finish your sentence, not when he ushers you inside with a scowl. Towering over you with his 6’2 frame, you remind yourself not to be thrown off by his boyish charms and playfully bright violet eyes, even as a trickle of blood runs down his chin. 

“Sorry, princess. Got caught in a tussle. But, I’m here with your ring as you requested.”

His voice is light, deceptively casual. 

You gape at him. “... care to explain to me why you're bleeding out all over my foyer?” 

In answer, he pats your head and breezes past you. “You mean the foyer of this house I pay with my own money so I can put a roof over my dear old ex-wife’s head?” He arches a brow. “I say I can bleed on these floors all I want. But, you—”

Your ex-husband scrutinizes you from head-to-toe. “—don’t look too hot. Not sleeping well?” 

You bristle at his glib comment. “Oh, shut up, you big dummy.” 

The bravado doesn’t last long. Your eyes betray you, and your concern flares at the sight of more sanguine red seeping into the carpet. Without a hint of warning, you grasp the lapels of his thick, embellished jacket, and tug it down his shoulders. He relents, your sudden show of concern drawing a pensive silence across those deep set eyes; a furrow in his brow.

You gingerly lead him to the couch, and tell him to stay there, as you make a beeline for the first aid kit up in your kitchen cabinet. Setting to work, you clean up his wounds, and bandage them, focusing on the gash of his arm. 

“You’re practically untouchable,” you shake your head. “How did you get this sloppy?” 

Caleb grunts, wincing when you tighten the makeshift tourniquet around his injury. “They… got me when I had my back turned.” You know better than to press him for details—Caleb is adamant on not drawing you deeper into his bullshit, any more than necessary. You do the best you can; despite not being married to him, Caleb was—is—still your friend first, and you would rather take care of him than risk him not seeking out proper medical attention for himself. 

As you bring his heavy-duty military jacket into the quaint laundry room, you scrub it, lost in your thoughts, the egg-shell white walls pressing down on you. With a stealthiness that belies his broad frame, Caleb slips right behind you, and you feel the heat of his broad chest seeping into the thin, old shirt you wore.

“Is this mine?”

He runs his fingers over the frayed hem, and you bristle.

“... no.”

As much as your stubbornness infuriates him, the dark-haired man can also admit how it amuses him to no end. “Sure?” He raises one brow. “Says ‘DAA’ right here—”

“Fine. You want me to take it off and give it back?” you seethe. He laughs, gives you a faint smile that doesn’t exactly touch his eyes.

“Nope,” he sighs. “Can’t risk you getting cold. I’m just messin’ with you.” 

Silence blankets the both of you in reassuring waves. There’s nothing awkward about being in the same room with Caleb, and you don’t think twice when he inches closer—close enough for his chin to hook over your shoulder. Warm palms tentatively slide down your sides, and you stiffen, but don’t push him away.

“I…” his voice breaks, and all his bravado brought on by the adrenaline from before starts to dissipate. “I missed… you.” He finishes lamely, and you resist the urge to snort. Your tender heart bleeds behind a wall of brambles and you put on a front. 

“What? Already getting sad I’m mooching off your Fleet paycheck?” 

He hears the forced derision in your tone and doesn’t comment on it. If you’re stubborn, Caleb is downright bull-headed. Never one to take ‘no’ for an answer, he spins you around, soapy water sloshing down the front of your shirt as he tilts your chin up to look at him. 

Purple eyes that remind you of bruises bore right into yours, and your heart catches in your throat. 

“You're going to be the death of me someday ” he murmurs huskily. 

“Caleb—”

“Come back to me,” he murmurs, wearing his entire heart on his sleeve; begging you to take him back with those sad, puppy-dog eyes.

“You know I can't be your wife again.”

That irrational part of him which loses control every time he's around you rears its ugly head. 

“Why not?” he bites out, almost a whine. 

He leans in closer, the scent of blood and his skin grazing your nostrils. 

Despite the complications that might arise, you're freefalling right into the gravity of his plush lips, feeling the chapped softness pressing to your mouth. Caleb groans, the sound soft and frayed with yearning, his kiss full of pain and love. He caresses your cheek softly, the rough pads of his fingers smoothing down your jaw. 

“Why,” he whispers hoarsely. “Why are you so stubborn? Why do you always insist on hurting me?”

“I don't mean it,” you whisper. “I just… I don't want to lose you again.”

He glides the tip of his nose down your jawline and huffs. “Y'know I would never do that again. I'm not gonna be the same stupid bastard the second time, Pipsqueak.”

The old nickname brings a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You can barely keep eye contact with him. 

“Caleb… we tried and it didn't work out…”

You trail off and the guilt inside his chest grows heavier and heavier.

He's torn between respecting your wishes and giving this a second shot. Caleb is nothing if not a determined man, and he can't accept failure when he hasn't fully assessed the problem and determined its roots. A part of him desperately wants to fix this… to fix things between you two before it's too late.

He was an idiot who let go of the most precious person in his life. The young Colonel had already lost you once, and he's not going to stand around as you move on with your life and forget about him.

“Stop defying me… I know you want this, too,” he mutters hoarsely, pressing his lips to your neck. “I know you miss me… call out for me… need me as much as I need you and no matter what it takes—”

His tone is rough with suppressed need and stubbornness. 

“—you will come back to me. We will be together again.”

It was a mistake. 

You knew it from the roots of your head to the tips of your toes, and yet, you fell for his charms (again) and let him carry you into the bedroom, where he lays you down on the soft mattress like it’s your honeymoon—again. 

Caleb’s larger build presses down onto you, nimble and sure fingers inching off his old DAA shirt from your frame as he gazes down at you with pure hunger in his eyes. He slots himself in between your thighs, warm palms kneading the fleshy dough of your breasts as you gasp and writhe.

Stupid, you chastise yourself as he leans forward to trap your turgid nipple in between his teeth. Stupid, you groan inwardly when his free hand pinches your other swollen bud. You absolute idiot—you suck in a huge breath when he feathers kisses down your sternum, mentally berating yourself on how you got here. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. And, yet, you could never say no to Caleb, not when he’s hellbent on claiming you as his again. 

But, that’s fine, right? 

Ex-spouses sleep with each other all the time, is what you’re trying to delude yourself with as he removes the rest of his uniform, leaving him just in his thick military pants. You squeeze your thighs around his waist, and he grunts, letting you drag him deeper into your ardent embrace. 

Caleb kisses down your neck and you lose yourself in his scent—his presence.

He hitches your thighs around his waist and it’s all over for you. Warm and slightly chapped kisses feather down your thighs, and he kisses the sole of your feet before he enters you; a worshipper at your altar.

And, oh—how you’ve missed his devotion.

When the electric storm of desire has passed, you lay in his embrace, sated and warm, a wreck looking for an anchor. He gently smooths his hand down your hair, the motion comforting and reminding you of all those times he would hold you tight in the afterglow.

“Marry me,” he whispers, just as your eyes droop close. 

They shoot wide open again and you gape at him like he’s lost his marbles.

Maybe he did. Maybe Caleb’s not all that right in the head.

“What did you say?”

“I said: marry me,” he mumbles and perches his head on one arm to look at you. The lovesick foolishness in his gaze must’ve been contagious, for you to find yourself falling back into the delusion that everything is as it once was.

You close your eyes, all the walls you’ve erected after months of trying to get over your ex-husband showing the cracks of your crumbling resolution. “Caleb, we—“

He covers your mouth with a palm, and the look in his eyes is nothing short of stubborn misery. “It’s okay if you say ‘no’, but… can you give me this one night, Pipsqueak? Just one night…”

You’re not some heartless monster to deny him an innocent delusion. And besides, you have to tend to his injury and you can’t do that when he’s away from you again. 

Wordlessly, you hold onto him and Caleb exhales as if he’s been holding his breath for a long time. 

As night gives way to morning and weak sunlight pours in through the wispy curtains, you wake up in bed with him beside you. 

Rubbing your eyes, you can’t believe he’s actually here—that he stayed.

He never used to stay in bed past 7 in the morning. 

Caleb tightens his grip on you and nuzzles your hair, stuck in a light doze. He slowly stirs when you muffle a yawn behind your palm, and shakes off the grogginess in those pretty, purple eyes. 

When you move your hand from your face, you notice something sparkly on your ring finger. On closer inspection, your heart skips a beat when you realize it’s your wedding ring. 

The familiar band around your finger fills you with a maelstrom of emotion, and you take a moment to forlornly study the modest cluster of diamonds—a testament to your love for Caleb that sadly never met its defining end. 

“Did you—?” The question dies in the back of your throat. He takes a deep breath and nods.

“I was serious before, princess,” he murmurs softly, and tenderly strokes the band with his thumb. “Want you to marry me—again.”

Caleb is never going to take your refusal as an answer. Maybe you can convince him not to repeat the same mistake twice.

“But, the Fleet—“

“Will never come between us again,” he promises. The firm slant of his brow never wavers, and so does the resolution in his tone. “I made the mistake once of trying so hard to keep two parts of my life separate that I lost the only person who ever made anything make sense. I know that now.” He tenderly strokes your cheek, those mercurial violet eyes fixed on you with unwavering devotion.

“I want us to try again. Can we do that, princess?” 

The earnest hope in his tone breaks your heart, but the steadiness of his adoration strengthens it.

“Okay,” you whisper after a moment. Hope lights his gaze, lifts your heart to soaring heights. 

“Let’s try again.” 

♡ feedback and reblogs are appreciated

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[kitbunnyroo]

thinking about...abandoned android boyfriend....

lemme apologize from now...this is a looong one. it could be structured better, but it's literally just me updating this over the course of some hours/days (?). hope you enjoy this ridiculously long tidbit thooo! <3 (help y'all hit that 30 fast....tyyy!)

also omg thank you all for all the love on the centaur man post??? we love big strong bby fr, 100% will bring him back if y'all wanna see more of him 🤍🤍 (also, not proof read nothing i write is, so forgive any errors plsss)

like picture it, you just find him in a scrap yard cause your pet ran into it or something right...and you can tell that he's functioning, so you're confused as to why he got put for scrap? considering these things are crazy expensive, and the people who threw him out were ever so kind enough to leave all his original packaging, you took him back home.

it did take a while to get his station set up in a little corner, but it wasn't too bad, especially as you looked into the illuminated green eyes of the android who stood a good head or two taller than yourself once you figured out how to get him up and running again.

after you explained in even greater detail how he came to be in your possession, you could almost hear the mechanics in his brain recalibrating all the missed system updates as he now addressed you as master/mistress. not ideal, but who are you to complain once he fixes the drip in your sink that almost cost you hundreds of dollars. maybe having an android in your home wouldn't be so bad.

time flies and you come to find out he was scrapped cause beyond functionality, he had somehow developed a conscious of sorts. which when you think about it, anybody else would be freaked out by their machine suddenly smiling and showing human emotions. was it freaky? hell yeah. was it bad?....not so much.

there was lots of reassurance to be done...he thought that once he started to slip and his consciousness shone through again you'd dump him to be scrap metal too...well, after they remove the scarily realistic skin-like material that outlines his hardware. "So...you're not going to power me off and box me up like the last family did..?" he'd find himself asking after long conversations about how you don't really care he got more human-like as the days went on. living on your own it isn't that bad to feel like you have extremely helpful company rather than a machine in your empty halls. and when he looks at you oh so sweetly? how can you not tell him this is his home too.

android housemate, doing his best to make sure you're always happy. always stress free. always well taken care of. always healthy. always satisfied. so when he's cleaning your room and finds a vibrator, he's everything and appalled. why would you have this when he's right here? was he not good enough? did you not want him to help you? was it his fault? but he simply places it on it's charger and closes your door. when you get home that day you can tell something's off, it's the same air as the early stages when he thought you'd throw him out. so you just make sure to be extra sweet to your caring housemate.

android housemate, now doing research on human pleasure, watching porn, reading all sorts of articles and Quora forums. this seems easy enough to do...he just doesn't understand why you wouldn't ask him to help. darling android housemate realizing that his fans start to go double time when the pixels start to look like you instead of whoever is actually in the videos...even more so when he realizes that's what an imagination is like and that his is picturing himself with you in these videos...he wonders if that can happen....

yandere (???) android housemate who's suddenly gotten all clingy once you're home. as usual, dinner is hot and plated, desert already lined up, but as you shower you can hear him making the time to pick out your outfit from your drawers instead of double checking all is well in the rest of the house...odd, but you don't pay the particularly revealing choice of clothing much mind. dinner goes as usual, till he offers you a much more...inviting? smile after you tell him about your grievances of the day. his eyes never leaving you, even as you eat and he updates minor software...you ask if he can close the windows cause there's a much too warm of a breeze coming in, and he's suddenly glad he has the capabilities to hide the blush that threatened to rise to his fabricated cheeks since it was just his fans. he was getting a bit too much enjoyment from the sight of you wearing an outfit he had picked, enjoying his meals that he makes you everyday, you chose him from the scrap yard that he's convinced held many other androids...

yandere (??) android housemate that's gotten cold to you since you brought home another human and claim that they're your partner. he'd thought that he was being clear with his consecutive months of flirting since his research began, but apparently not clear enough. now he's forced to watch as you bring this human over, it is nice to hear you brag about how lovely he treats you though, especially when he sees them almost shrink where they sit, obviously he can already tell they won't be able to treat you better than your housemate. how could they? they're just a weak human, and he's an android that's learnt every last one of your tastes.

yandere (?) android housemate that's gotten over his chilly attitude in favour of comforting you after your breakup and every proceeding one from then on. on one hand he doesn't enjoy seeing you hurt, but on the other hand he knows the only one meant for you is him, so he'll continue to let these humans know that they won't ever hold a candle to him when it comes to your affections. you don't have to be in pain, you just have to realize he's the one for you. and you can go back to your blissful life.

yandere...android housemate who's worried after you stumble through the door after a work/college party, clearly intoxicated out of your mind. he effortlessly picks you up and takes you to your room, laying next to you when you refused to let him go cause his generated warmth was nice compared to the cold of the air conditioned room. he listens to you babble on about who knows what, and then about your latest break up, and then he's shocked when you blurt out that he'd make such a good boyfriend if he wasn't an android...and somehow, somewhere in his wiring, that hurt? but it also lit something cause you went on to praise all he does for you, especially highlighting his advances and he comes to the conclusion that you only started looking for a human partner because you had assumed that although he had a conscious, he couldn't feel romance. and boy was he now determined to prove you wrong.

yandere. android housemate, now doing everything possible after that night to display romantic affection. sensual massages after particularly aggravating days where his fingers work wonders to the tension coursing through your body, at first you don't think much of it, but when you feel the spikes of breeze specifically from him after every one of your moans, you try to keep your voice down. he downloads them to his software though, and is quickly researching the different modifications available for his kind.

yandere android housemate that gets tired of being referred to by his model name and demands you give him a proper one. and you do. and he loves it. thankfully, he's still linked to the cards of his previous family, so he can make purchases using their money instead of yours without suspicion. he gets his "personal" modification made under their card, leaves right after you do for school/work, and he's back before you're home, already getting things sorted for when you're back. now he just has to hide the tent that forms whenever you call him by the name you gave him....

newly named yandere android...you're not sure anymore. after walking in on him far too many times since you're used to him usually being smooth, but now he has an...enticing, length of dick just hanging between his legs now, it's kind of awkward. even more so when you find yourself outside his newly appointed bedroom to ask him to do something, and end up overhearing his whiney voice floating through the air. now you can't help but wonder how it feels if the rest of his skin feels like regular human skin...maybe an android boyfriend won't be so bad after all...

your android housemate, putting in extra work to keep you happy once he realizes you're not bringing home any more humans. even the vibrator and any other toys you might've had are stored away rather than readily available near your bed. maybe if he does a good enough job, you'll finally ask him for help. you swear you see a subtle throb in his pants sometimes when the thought runs through his not so little android brain.

your android boyfriend with fans so loud when you finally ask him to touch you, that you could've sworn you misread his intentions. but as soon as you try to back out of the situation he's pulled you against his chest with one of hands deeply entangled in you hair while the other hugs you close to him, if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was desperate for that moment...that and the fact that once you're finally in bed he takes initiative to slip under your blanket next to you instead of going to his own room, his hands finding their way snugly around your waist to cuddle you but surely making their way lower down, quicker when he realizes that not only are not trying to stop him, but you're basically leaning into his touch. the frenzy he goes into when you whisper his name that you gave him has your legs quivering on his shoulders, toes pointed every which way as those same illuminated eyes stay glued to your body, confusingly realistic tongue moving more enthusiastically with every sound you make.

your android boyfriend. who now takes any chance he can get to ask if he can fuck you. if his tongue game was this good...what else was he capable of? the thought barely has time to run across your mind because as soon as you agree he's gonna have you folded in half and stuffed full of the most realistic dildo you've ever felt. it didn't feel fabricated in the slightest. from the throb of the veins in your walls to the way it drags so fucking good inside of you, and he makes sure to study your body as he goes. this particular spot made your eyes roll? he's going right back there. you like having you sensitive bits teased while his balls are slapping your skin so hard you can hear them through the wet mess? he's abusing them. by the time he's done you've came enough times to lose count, and best believe he makes sure to endlessly thank and praise you through every bit of it. comments of how good you make him feel, the dimming of his eyes enough to let you know he really does feel it, thanking you for letting him be this close to you, begging you not to go when you try to squirm away from the overstimulation (he calms down a bit so you can catch yourself whenever it's really too much), not to mention the starved kisses he gives you whenever the position allows (all the time). he'll have your back against the wall and hold you up so the only place you can go is further onto his cock while his tongue finally gets to explore your mouth. you'd never believe an android could be so adorably vocal. the moans, the whimpers, the whines. (he can't bring himself to degrade you though, sorry </3)

your android boyfriend making sure he puts the utmost effort into after care. if you let him hit, he's sure to run you a shower or bath of your preference, and trust that when you're out he's already got you a freshly made meal with an accompanying drink. he always makes sure to ask if he was too rough with you, gently massaging your muscles while you relax after your meal. if there's anything, anything at all you desire, he already does it for you, but now he'll go the extra miles if it means you'll be even happier.

your android husband, proposed after years of taking you out on the most wonderful dates, planned more of the wedding than you did since he only wanted you to worry about looking your best, he does let you help if you want though <3. android husband who can't cry, but you almost swear you see him sobbing as you walk (or he walks if you'd prefer) down the aisle, the tears slowing down but never to a complete stop till it's finally time for the "I do"s. your android husband who takes you on a splendid honeymoon of nothing but relaxation, good sights and food, and even better sex. he knows he can't get you pregnant, but that doesn't mean he can't try extra hard once the topic of children roll around. if you do want children though, he's not against adoption (or a sperm donor once their background checks out)

(for his family he invited his previous family, who were surprisingly chill with him using their cards to fund your vacations and now wedding...talk about rich rich)

your android husband <333.

this totaled to 2,264 words (woah??), and i can NOT lie?? i like it. hope you enjoyed this terribly long read and tysm again for all the support like hello!!🤍✨

[worldoshaking]

I find Y’shtola so interesting; I think she exemplifies some very fascinating dilemmas, but what’s unique about her is that they’re externalised as ways of seeing the world rather than internal emotional states. Her perspective is also a really important aspect of the story and the world.

The most fundamental thing about her is that she’s a scientist. It’s not just what she does, it’s who she is. It represents her strengths, her ambitions, her temperament, and the way she interacts with the world.

Unlike the other scions, she’s a scientist who grew up outside of Sharlayan’s academic structure, and is unbounded by its strictures and politics. She represents unbounded theoretical curiosity, independent of institutions and all their dampening considerations. It’s a beautiful, idealised vision of what science could be, if unbound by considerations like institutional approval and funding. It’s something Y’shtola learned in part from Matoya, who rejected the confines of Sharlayan academia and accomplished stupendous things in her cave.

I think this complements G’raha Tia, who represents an idealised vision of what academia could be: he explores the limits of what people can achieve together if they can throw aside clout-chasing, nepotism, petty politicking, biases, and the other things that cloud the idealism of academic institutions. G’raha is someone who fell in love with what Sharlayan represented, and came back to point out how they fell short of their own ideals. G’raha is someone who works to reform institutions; Y’shtola simply works independently of them, pushing the limits of what one person can accomplish.

Another very scientific characteristic of Y’shtola is her refusal to acknowledge limits: when she finds a thing that can’t be done, she hammers at it until it budges. She is convinced that there are answers to everything, and that science can find them. This is really something that’s fundamental to the scientific method: the idea that there’s always an answer to the question of ’why,’ and that that answer is something we can find and comprehend. What are atoms made of? Why are there only so many fundamental particles? Why do voidgates form? What is the fate of the universe? There is an answer, and she’ll find it. This is part of her initial clash with G’raha; she is insistent on the truth, and doesn’t like his keeping secrets.

She is also committed to seeing the science through, no matter what she’ll learn from it. She was ready to hear the Ea’s answer about the fate of the universe, no matter how terrible it was. And when she finds it, she’ll greet the unknown with delight; when she meets Zero, she looks the void in the face and smiles.

She’s also just a little remote, in the way of one who has spent too long staring into the heart of things. This doesn’t change the fact that she is a brave, steadfast, loyal companion to her friends, and a staunch champion of what’s right in the world. It’s something very personal; she sees things beyond the others’ sight, and her heart is preoccupied with things that are very removed from the considerations of everyday.

The Sharlayans’ performance of scientific objectivity is shown to be rooted in their very human prejudices, something that’s very true of institutional science in our world too. Y’shtola’s objectivity isn’t that sort of cold, inhumane objectivity; it isn’t a pretext for bigotry, or an abdication of responsibility. It’s something much more remote and whimsical, a commitment to a way of approaching things rather than a badge of superiority.

These are all, in a way, things that characterise the WoL, and I think they underlie the curious solidarity that builds between them post-Endwalker. The WoL, in a different way, is someone who doesn’t acknowledge the limitations of common sense, someone who looks truth in the face without flinching.

It’s also a delightful contrast, because the WoL is someone who repeatedly defies the limits of possibility, and that makes it even more interesting that they’re drawn together. Y’shtola is someone dancing at those very limits; the point where the preposterous becomes fact is where scientific discovery is born.

It’s also a very fun way of seeing science. Science as an institution is actually preoccupied with a kind of individualism - with the performance of individual merit, with the idea of the lone genius. (As we see in post-ARR, Alphinaud is misled by their accolades of the Studium to disastrous hubris.) Y’shtola might be fiercely independent, but she also isn’t that lone genius. She is utterly preoccupied with finding the answers, and not at all with any idea of personal success. The thing that lets her transcend her limits, the thing that lets her accomplish more than Matoya could, is friendship. When she works with the Scions, or Nidhana, or Zero, she can accomplish more than she ever could on her own.

I also think it’s very relevant that she’s a woman; in both our world and theirs, academia is largely male-dominated, and a lot of its flaws have to do with upholding that hegemony and not being open to more diverse perspectives. The ideal of the lone genius is overwhelmingly associated with men.

I think there’s something deeply idealistic and joyous about this unfettered spirit of scientific curiosity persisting through and after the events of Endwalker. We met the god of everything and defeated her in a duel; that doesn’t mean we know all the answers, or even all the questions. We cross paths with a far more technologically advanced civilisation, and Y’shtola is still able to have interesting scientific conversations with them. Even if many things about our world are arbitrary and uncaring, Y’shtola holds to her belief in the scientific method, and is still wholly, exuberantly committed to seeking out truths.

[beeseverywhen]

#there's other deadly bacteria in raw milk but otherwise i mostly agree #i think the thing is you should be able to make the choice of whether you want preservatives or not. you should be able to walk into stores #and choose tobuy bread with preservatives or bread without. the preservatives should be for just that - preserving. not cutting corners. #not that this is new - basically since things starting getting industrialized food began getting stuffed with fillers #chalk and food dye to make things look fresh and literal toxic ingredients. it's why the fda was created. #i have friends with soy and corn allergies that struggle because everything is full of corn and soy #but also sometimes preservatives are in food genuinely to make it last Ionger. to keep it fresh for longer. so that itmakes it out of the #factory and off storeshelves and into yourhouse with enough time to be eaten

Just to clarify here. Food preservatives are absolutely used to preserve them so they can make it out of the factory and in to your home. The question has never been what are they being added for rather than why that is necessary. The current food supply chain makes preservatives necessary because profits are put first. Food travels further and is mass produced because it is more profitable. Food produced in that way needs preservatives because it can't get to the table quick enough to be eaten.

Yeah there's all kinds of pathogens that can be found in milk that hasn't been pasteurised. Not limited to bacteria even! However tb is the one that always comes up.

Adding additives to food isn't new you're totally right. Industrialisation brought capitalism which led to chalk being added to flour to bulk it out. It's a profit issue. Victorian bread is a great example, they added anything! And yeah, lots of people got ill and worldwide many regulations were put in place to combat this. We got to this point by people asking why. Asking. 'Ok even if it's not toxic, should it really be in bread? Are we going to accept profiteering?'

I've made a lot of posts about this stuff and as I've said before. I'm not trying to lead anyone. Alarmist panic helps nobody. What I am saying is. I think that it's healthy that we're curious about these things. That we adjust our perceptions as new evidence comes to light. We SHOULD be doing studies to check these things aren't harmful and those studies need to be conducted by people without links to food companies and conflicts of interest.

It's important that we question things. Ok they're saying this is being done for health. What other reasons might they have for saying this? What other Benefits do food companies see from this. And really importantly for americans: how are other countries doing this? Can we use data from those countries to see if our way really is best?

people who for very silly reasons want to market prepared food products without preservatives in them who then discover why we started putting preservatives in prepared food products in the first place (because without a preservation method food quickly grows stale, and frequently also moldy or downright toxic) is a consistently good bit. like people really seem to think we put Evil Chemicals in food on purpose for no reason.

[cei1ne]

—What the MHA men do for you on Valentine’s Day, aka the most romantic holiday! Pt.2

*♡∞:｡.Summary: Headcanons and Scenarios of a few MHA men on Valentine’s Day and what they’re doing and how they’re acting. Part 2!

✧༻Pairing: Shouta Aizawa (Erasurehead) ; Keigo Takami (Hawks) ; Enji Todoroki (Endeavor) ; Shoto Todoroki; Tenya Iida

❀°:.•Tags: Fluff ; Cute ; Love life ; Valentine’s Day ; Married ; Dating ; Tsundere ; Quiet lovers ; Gift giving ; Loving

•∘ɷ∘•°✿Wordcount: 13k

⑅*⑅୨୧⑅*A/N: Part two even if it isn’t Valentine’s Day anymore! And I hope I included everyone and if someone wants another character included, write it below and enjoy it! I tried my best and English isn’t my first language! I literally fell asleep while writing this so I didn’t post it yesterday I’m sorry!!! Anyways doing this omw home from school rn.

Part 1!

«───── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»

—Headcanons of the MHA men

Shouta Aizawa

1. Minimalist but Meaningful: Aizawa isn’t one for flashy displays of affection. He believes love is shown through actions rather than extravagant gifts, so his Valentine’s Day efforts are always subtle but deeply personal.

2. Quality Time Over Everything: He cherishes a quiet evening with you more than anything. A cozy night in, wrapped in blankets with a cup of tea and a good book (or cat videos playing in the background), is his ideal way to spend Valentine’s Day.

3. Handwritten Notes: He’s not one for grand speeches, but he’ll leave you little notes throughout the day. Some are simple reminders like “Don’t forget to eat” or “Be safe,” but on Valentine’s Day, they’re slightly softer—things like “Thank you for being my peace” or “I love coming home to you.”

4. Subtle Protectiveness: Aizawa shows his love in quiet ways, like keeping you on the inside of the sidewalk or placing a protective hand on your back in crowded areas. On Valentine’s Day, he might not say much, but the way he instinctively reaches for your hand when walking tells you everything you need to know.

5. Soft but Rare Romantic Gestures: Every once in a while, he’ll surprise you with something small but meaningful. Maybe it’s a gift card to your favorite café, or a book you mentioned weeks ago. He remembers every little detail about you, even if he doesn’t always say it outright.

Teigo Takami

1. Over-the-Top Romantic: Hawks doesn’t do anything halfway, and Valentine’s Day is no exception. He’ll go all out—think extravagant gestures, surprise dates, and dramatic declarations of love. He wants to make sure you know just how much you mean to him.

2. Loves Giving and Receiving Affection: He thrives on physical touch, so expect lots of hugs, kisses, and playful touches throughout the day. He’ll tease you endlessly but will also drop unexpectedly heartfelt compliments that leave you flustered.

3. Sky-High Dates: If he could, he’d spend the entire day flying around with you in his arms, showing you breathtaking views. He loves the idea of sharing his world with you—literally. Sunset flights are his personal favorite way to celebrate.

4. Acts Like He’s Effortless (But He Secretly Plans Everything): He makes it seem like he threw the whole day together last minute, but in reality, he’s been planning for weeks. He wants everything to be perfect, even if he pretends he’s just winging it.

5. Loves Spoiling You: Expect a ridiculous number of gifts. From your favorite snacks to limited-edition merch of things you casually mentioned once, Hawks remembers every detail about you. He enjoys seeing your face light up when he surprises you with something special.

Enji Todoroki

1. Traditional but Awkward: Enji isn’t great with romance, but he tries. He’ll stick to classic Valentine’s traditions—dinner reservations, flowers, maybe a small gift—but there’s an underlying awkwardness to it because he’s still learning how to express affection properly.

2. Acts Stoic but Cares Deeply: He won’t openly gush about his feelings, but his actions speak volumes. Whether it’s making sure you’re safe, subtly adjusting the temperature so you’re comfortable, or paying attention to the little things you like, he shows love in his own quiet way.

3. Prefers Private, Intimate Moments: He’s not a fan of public displays of affection, but in private, he’s surprisingly tender. He enjoys peaceful evenings at home where he can relax and just be with you without the weight of his hero persona.

4. Overprotective Without Realizing It: If he sees someone flirting with you, his mere presence alone is enough to scare them off. He doesn’t mean to be intimidating, but his intense aura makes it clear that you’re his and no one should overstep boundaries.

5. Struggles with Words but Means Well: He might not say “I love you” often, but when he does, it carries a lot of weight. Instead, he expresses his feelings through thoughtful gestures—cooking for you, making sure you’re taken care of, or pulling you into a firm yet warm embrace.

Shoto Todoroki

1. Understated but Thoughtful: Shoto isn’t one for grand gestures, but he makes sure whatever he does is deeply meaningful. He’ll remember little details—your favorite flowers, a book you mentioned wanting, or a place you’ve always wanted to visit—and incorporate them into his plans.

2. Still Learning About Romance: Since he didn’t grow up around affectionate relationships, he sometimes struggles with expressing his feelings. He might ask his friends (or even Google) for advice, but in the end, he always puts his own quiet, genuine effort into making you feel special.

3. Prefers Private, Intimate Dates: He’d rather spend quality time with you in a peaceful setting than go somewhere loud or extravagant. A cozy evening at home, a walk through a snowy park, or a simple but meaningful outing is more his style.

4. Gives Sentimental Gifts: He doesn’t just buy random chocolates or flowers; whatever he gives you has personal significance. It might be a piece of jewelry with an engraving, a hand-written letter, or something that reminds him of a special moment you shared.

5. Subtle but Deeply Loving: Shoto isn’t the type to gush about his feelings, but he shows them in quiet ways—holding your hand just a little tighter, making sure you’re warm when it’s cold, or brushing your hair behind your ear when he thinks you’re not looking.

Tenya Iida

1. Extremely Organized and Thorough: Tenya treats Valentine’s Day like an important mission. He plans everything—the schedule, the restaurant, backup plans in case something goes wrong. He wants the day to go smoothly because he believes showing appreciation should be done properly.

2. A Perfect Gentleman: He insists on doing everything chivalrously—opening doors, pulling out chairs, walking on the side of the street closest to traffic. He sees it as his duty to make sure you feel cherished and respected.

3. Loves Meaningful Gestures: While he enjoys classic gifts like chocolates and flowers, he prefers giving things with significance. He’ll write you a heartfelt letter, compose a list of reasons why he admires you, or craft a personalized itinerary for a day that’s all about you.

4. Gets Flustered Easily but Tries His Best:He isn’t the smoothest when it comes to romance, and any teasing on your part will make him short-circuit a little. But he’s genuine—every nervous compliment, every overly enthusiastic gesture comes from the heart.

5. Believes in Long-Term Commitment: He doesn’t view love as something fleeting. If he’s with you, he’s serious about it. Valentine’s Day isn’t just about romance to him—it’s about reaffirming his dedication to you, now and in the future.

«───── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────»

—Scenarios of the MHA men

Shouta Aizawa

Valentine’s Day had never been a big deal for Aizawa.

He had always seen it as just another commercialized holiday—an excuse for florists to double their prices and for restaurants to be packed with couples forcing awkward, overly romantic gestures. But you? You had a way of making things different.

It wasn’t about the flowers or the chocolates. It wasn’t about expensive gifts or elaborate dates. It was about time—something Aizawa cherished more than anything. And if there was one thing he wanted to give you today, it was just that.

Which was why, instead of planning something extravagant, he left a simple note for you that morning.

“Meet me at home after work. Don’t be late.”

He didn’t need to say more. He knew you’d understand. Period we know our man

When you arrived that evening, the apartment was unusually quiet. The usual hum of the city was muffled through the closed windows, and the space was dimly lit by a few warm lamps.

You found Aizawa sitting on the couch, his hair still damp from a shower, dressed in his usual loungewear with his capture weapon loosely draped over his shoulders. The scent of freshly brewed tea lingered in the air, and next to him on the table was a second cup—waiting for you.

“You’re late,” he murmured, though his tone held no real annoyance.

You rolled your eyes, setting your bag down. “By like, five minutes.”

He hummed in response, patting the empty space beside him. Without hesitation, you sank into his warmth, letting out a content sigh as he pulled the blanket over both of you.

“This is nice,” you murmured, taking the tea into your hands. It was your favorite blend—just the way you liked it.

Aizawa exhaled, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your arm. “You work hard. You deserve a quiet night.”

A pause.

“And I wanted to spend today with you.”

Your heart swelled at the softness in his voice. You tilted your head up, pressing a small kiss to his jaw. “You’re kind of a romantic, you know that?”

He scoffed. “Don’t start.”

You laughed, settling deeper into his warmth. If this was his idea of Valentine’s Day, you wouldn’t change a thing.

_________________________________

He wasn’t one to make long, heartfelt declarations. He wouldn’t shower you in grand romantic speeches. But love, in its truest form, was woven into everything he did.

It was in the way he woke up earlier than usual to make sure you had coffee before work. The way he made sure you never skipped meals, even if it meant shoving a snack into your hands before you left the house. The way he always pulled you closer in his sleep, even if he swore he wasn’t a clingy sleeper.

And tonight, it was in the way he planned this—a simple, quiet night in, just the two of you.

“Did you eat today?” he asked after a while, his fingers still idly stroking your arm.

You gave him a sheepish smile. “Uh… kind of?”

Aizawa sighed, already expecting that answer. Without a word, he reached over to the coffee table and grabbed a small takeout bag, handing it to you. “Figured as much. I ordered your favorite earlier.”

Your eyes widened as you peeked inside, finding neatly packed containers of your go-to comfort food. The warmth of the meal seeped through the bag, making your stomach grumble in anticipation.

“You’re the best,” you mumbled, already opening the first container.

Aizawa smirked slightly. “I know.”

You nudged him with your elbow, and he let out a low chuckle before settling back into the couch.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with constant conversation. The occasional clink of utensils and the soft hum of the city outside were the only sounds that filled the space.

It was simple. Uncomplicated. Perfect.

And when you finished eating, Aizawa gently pulled you back into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you with quiet possessiveness.

“Comfy?” he murmured.

You nodded against his chest. “Very.”

Aizawa let out a content sigh, his chin resting atop your head. “Good.”

Because this? This was everything he needed.

_________________________________

At some point in the night, Aizawa shifted, reaching for something on the coffee table.

You blinked as he handed you a small envelope, the edges slightly creased from being in his pocket all day.

“What’s this?” you asked, turning it over curiously.

He shrugged, looking away as if he wasn’t mildly self-conscious about it. “Just open it.” We know damn well you got sweaty ass hands rn

You carefully tore the envelope open, pulling out a simple piece of paper. It wasn’t a store-bought Valentine’s card or anything fancy—just a plain sheet with his handwriting scrawled across it.

“You’re the best part of my days. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It wasn’t long. It wasn’t overly poetic. But it was him. Straightforward. Honest.

And it meant everything.

Your chest tightened as you looked up at him. “Shouta…”

Aizawa cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s dumb, I know. But I figured you deserved more than just dinner and a quiet night.”

You smiled, carefully folding the note and holding it close to your heart. “It’s not dumb. It’s perfect.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, as if reassured by your reaction.

You set the note aside and leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. Aizawa responded instantly, his grip tightening around your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss was deep, unhurried—filled with unspoken words that neither of you needed to say out loud.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your fingers tracing gentle patterns along his jawline.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Aizawa hummed, his fingers tangling in your hair. “For what?”

“For loving me in your own way.”

His lips quirked up at the corner. “You make it easy.”

You laughed softly, curling back into him as he pulled the blanket tighter around you both.

And as the night stretched on, wrapped in warmth and quiet love, you knew one thing for certain—Aizawa didn’t need grand gestures to show how much he cared.

Because love wasn’t just about words. It was in the little things. The quiet moments. The simple gestures that spoke louder than anything else.

And Aizawa Shouta loved you in every way that mattered.

Keigo Takami

You should have expected something extravagant from Hawks.

You’d barely woken up when a knock sounded at your door. Still groggy, you shuffled over, cracking it open to see a delivery worker holding an absurdly large bouquet—bright red roses with golden-tipped petals.

“Delivery for Y/N,” they said cheerfully.

You accepted the flowers, your sleepy brain still processing the fact that Hawks had gone this over the top already. Tucked between the roses was a small note with his signature scribbled across it.

“Get ready, babe. Your wings arrive in 10 minutes.”

You didn’t have time to question it before, true to his word, Keigo himself swooped down from the sky, landing on your balcony with a dazzling grin.

“Morning, beautiful!” he greeted, stretching his arms out as if waiting for you to run into them. “Ready for the best Valentine’s Day of your life?”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Keigo, it’s barely 9 AM. How did you even—?”

He held up a finger. “Ah-ah, no questions! Just trust me.”

With a dramatic bow, he extended a hand toward you. “Your ride awaits, my love.”

You sighed, shaking your head, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips as you took his hand. “This better not get too crazy.”

Keigo laughed. “No promises, babe.

And with that, he wrapped his arms securely around you and took off, the wind rushing past as he carried you into the sky.

_________________________________

Keigo’s idea of a Valentine’s Day date was anything but ordinary.

He took you to a private rooftop garden—one you were pretty sure he technically wasn’t supposed to have access to, but when had that ever stopped him? The space was beautifully set up, a cozy little table adorned with your favorite breakfast pastries, fresh fruit, and, of course, more flowers.

“Keigo…” you breathed, taking in the scene.

He beamed, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Pretty sweet, huh? Thought we’d start the day off right—with the best view in town.”

He wasn’t wrong. The city stretched out beneath you, bathed in the golden hues of the morning sun. It was peaceful up here, away from the noise and chaos below.

As you both settled in, Keigo wasted no time in teasing you. “Sooo, on a scale of one to ‘I’m totally in love with you,’ how much do you adore me right now?”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest made it impossible to deny how much effort he’d put into this. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned, leaning in closer. “That’s not a no.”

You took a bite of your pastry, pretending to ignore him. “Mmm, this is good.”

Keigo pouted. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll take that as an ‘I’m swooning but too proud to admit it.’”

You snorted, and he laughed, reaching across the table to brush his fingers against yours. His playful energy softened for a moment, his golden eyes warm as they met yours.

“Seriously, though,” he murmured, “I know I joke a lot, but I really do mean it when I say you’re the best thing in my life, Y/N.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Keigo might’ve been all about grand gestures, but moments like this? The quiet sincerity in his voice, the way his fingers lingered against yours—those were the things that truly made your heart soar.

_________________________________

The day had been a whirlwind—after breakfast, Keigo had taken you on a literal sky tour, swooping through the clouds, pointing out places below with a childlike excitement that was contagious. He’d surprised you with little gifts throughout the day, each one something personal and thoughtful.

Now, as the sun began to set, the two of you sat on a high-rise rooftop, watching the city lights flicker to life.

Keigo exhaled, stretching his arms behind his head. “Man, today was perfect.

You laughed. “I think you just like showing off your flight skills.”

He smirked. “Guilty. But mostly, I just like making you smile.”

You turned to him, your heart full. “You do that every day, Keigo.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.

Your breath hitched.

“Relax, it’s not that kind of ring,” he teased, flipping the box open to reveal a delicate golden band—a simple, beautiful design, engraved with tiny feathers along the inside.

He took your hand, slipping it onto your finger. “Just a little something to remind you that no matter where I am—whether I’m on duty, flying across the country, or caught up in hero work—you’re always with me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your eyes stinging with emotion. “Keigo…”

He tilted his head. “Too much?”

You shook your head, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Keigo chuckled, wrapping his wings around you, cocooning you in warmth. “That’s my line, babe.” WHOAAWHOHOAAAA

As the city buzzed beneath you, as the stars blinked awake in the sky, you realized something—this wasn’t just another extravagant display of affection.

This was Keigo, in all his chaotic, loving, fiercely devoted glory.

And you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Enji Todoroki

Enji wasn’t the kind of man who put much thought into holidays.

Or at least, he never used to.

Valentine’s Day had always seemed like an unnecessary, over-commercialized event—something flashy and superficial. But then you came into his life, and suddenly, things he never cared about before started to matter.

Which was why, despite his usual reluctance toward romantic gestures, he found himself standing in the middle of a flower shop, staring at a display of roses with an intensity that made the store clerk nervous.

“Do you… need help, sir?” the clerk asked hesitantly.

Enji exhaled through his nose. “What do people usually buy for… these occasions?”

The poor clerk stammered out a few suggestions, but Enji barely listened, his mind already preoccupied with something else. He wanted to get this right. He wanted to try.

By the time he left the shop, he had a bouquet in one hand and a small, neatly wrapped box in the other. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

And for you, he was willing to learn.

_________________________________

When you arrived home thoat evening, you were surprised to find Enji already there, standing in the kitchen with an almost uncertain expression.

“You’re early,” you noted, setting your bag down.

He cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “I took the evening off.”

Your eyebrows raised. Endeavor? Taking a break on purpose? That was rare. But before you could comment, he stepped forward, handing you the bouquet without a word.

You blinked, looking between him and the flowers. “Are these… for me?”

He gave a small nod, his gaze flickering away as if embarrassed. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I figured…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair before exhaling. “I wanted to do something for you.”

Your heart softened at the effort.

You took the flowers carefully, brushing your fingers over the petals. “They’re beautiful, Enji. Thank you.”

There was a noticeable tension in his shoulders, like he wasn’t sure how you’d react. But at your gentle smile, he relaxed—just a little.

“There’s more,” he muttered, stepping aside to reveal a carefully set dining table. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was clear that he had gone out of his way to prepare a meal.

Your chest tightened with warmth. “You cooked?”

He grunted, crossing his arms. “I tried.”

It was such an Enji way to approach things—no grand declarations, no overly sentimental words. A quiet effort. A steady, unwavering presence.

And that meant more to you than any extravagant gesture ever could.

_________________________________

After dinner, the two of you found yourselves sitting together in the dim glow of the fireplace.

It was rare for Enji to have a moment like this—where he wasn’t burdened by work or his own self-imposed expectations. But tonight, he let himself relax, leaning back against the couch as you curled up beside him.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder.

His arm tightened around you slightly. “I wanted to.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows across the room.

After a moment, Enji reached into his pocket and pulled out the small box he had bought earlier. Without a word, he handed it to you

Curious, you opened it, revealing a delicate pendant in the shape of a flame—elegant yet understated, just like him.

Your breath hitched. “Enji…”

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the vulnerability of the moment. “It reminded me of you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, fingers tightening around the chain. “It’s perfect.”

For a man who often struggled to express himself, this was his way of saying everything he couldn’t put into words.

You turned to him, reaching up to gently cup his face. “Thank you. For this. For tonight.”

His eyes softened, and for once, he didn’t look away. “You deserve it.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his jaw before settling back into his embrace.

Enji Todoroki wasn’t a man of grand speeches or poetic words.

But his love was a slow-burning fire—steady, unwavering, and fiercely protective.

And as you sat there, wrapped in his warmth, you knew one thing for certain.

This was enough.

Because Enji didn’t need to say “I love you” for you to know that he did.

Shoto Todoroki

Shoto had never celebrated Valentine’s Day before.

Growing up, it was just another day—no warm memories, no traditions, no excitement. But now, with you, things were different. He wanted to make this day special for you, even if he wasn’t sure how.

Which was why, two weeks before Valentine’s, he found himself sitting in the dorm common room, quietly taking notes as his friends debated the best ways to celebrate.

“Chocolate is a must,” Kaminari declared. “Girls love chocolate!”

“Not just chocolate, though,” Kirishima chimed in. “It’s gotta be thoughtful. Something that means something to her.”

Shoto frowned slightly, tapping his pen against the notebook in front of him. He had already planned to get you chocolates, but clearly, that wasn’t enough.

“What are you writing?” Midoriya asked, peeking over his shoulder.

Shoto casually closed the notebook. “Nothing.”

Midoriya gave him a knowing smile but didn’t push.

By the time February 14th arrived, Shoto had everything planned. He wasn’t sure if it was perfect, but it was the best way he knew how to show you how much you meant to him.

_________________________________

The morning of Valentine’s Day, you woke up to find a neatly wrapped package waiting for you outside your door.

Curious, you picked it up, carefully unwrapping it to find a beautiful scarf inside—soft, thick, and woven with shades of deep red and icy blue. A small note was tucked inside.

“It reminded me of us. Meet me at the front gates at 5 PM. –Shoto”

Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness. It wasn’t just a random gift; it was something personal, something that reflected the two of you.

When the time came, you made your way to the front of UA, where Shoto was already waiting, his breath visible in the crisp winter air

“You’re wearing it,” he noted, his voice quiet but pleased.

“Of course,” you said, adjusting the scarf around your neck. “It’s perfect.”

His lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. “I’m glad.”

Without another word, he took your hand, leading you down a quiet path toward a secluded park. Snow had begun to fall gently around you, dusting the ground in a thin, glistening layer.

“I wanted to take you somewhere peaceful,” he admitted. “Just the two of us.”

You squeezed his hand, touched by his consideration. “This is perfect, Shoto.”

For a while, the two of you simply walked, the silence between you warm and comfortable. Every now and then, he’d glance at you, as if making sure you were enjoying yourself.

Eventually, he stopped near a small clearing, pulling out a thermos from his coat pocket.

“I made hot chocolate,” he said, a little hesitant. “I wasn’t sure if it would taste right, but… I wanted to try.”

Your heart melted at the sight of him—so earnest, so genuinely trying to make this day special for you.

Taking the cup from his hands, you took a sip and smiled. “It’s perfect, just like everything else today.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his heterochromatic eyes reflecting the snowfall around you.

“I never really understood what Valentine’s Day was supposed to be about,” he admitted. “But now… I think I do.”

You tilted your head. “And what do you think it’s about?”

His fingers tightened around yours, his gaze steady.

“Being with the person who makes everything feel warmer,” he said simply.

Your breath caught.

And then, before you could say anything else, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

_________________________________

After your walk, Shoto took you back to his dorm room, where he had one last surprise waiting.

On his desk sat a small wooden box, carved with delicate patterns along the edges. He picked it up, holding it out to you.

“I made this,” he said, a little shyly. “I’m still learning, so it’s not perfect, but…”

You opened the box, your eyes widening at what was inside.

It was a collection of small, folded notes—each one carefully written, each one meant just for you.

You picked up the first one, unfolding it to read.

“I admire you more than I know how to say.”

Swallowing thickly, you reached for another.

“I want to be someone who makes you as happy as you make me.”

Your hands trembled as you looked back up at him. “Shoto, this is…”

He shifted, a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. “I’m not good at saying how I feel sometimes,” he admitted. “But I wanted you to know. So… whenever you need to hear it, you can read one of these.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the quiet but powerful way he showed his love.

Setting the box down carefully, you stepped closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He stiffened slightly at first, then melted into your embrace, his arms coming around you, his warmth seeping into your skin.

“You don’t need to say anything,” you murmured against his chest. “I already know.”

He sighed softly, resting his chin on top of your head.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, so quiet you almost missed it.

Your heart clenched, and you pulled back just enough to look at him.

“I love you too, Shoto.”

His lips twitched, and then, for the first time that night, a full, genuine smile broke across his face.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, as his warmth surrounded you, you knew that this—this—was what love truly felt like.

Tenya Iida

Valentine’s Day was not a day Tenya Iida took lightly.

If he was going to celebrate love, he was going to do it right.

Which was why, the night before, he had mapped out everything. The perfect date, the best restaurant, even the precise timing of each event. His notebook was filled with color-coded plans and contingency strategies—because if there was one thing Iida disliked, it was unforeseen obstacles.

So when February 14th arrived, he was ready.

Or at least, he thought he was.

Because the moment he saw you walking toward him, dressed beautifully with a bright smile just for him, every ounce of structure in his brain short-circuited.

“Tenya?” you tilted your head, amused at his frozen stance.

He quickly snapped out of it, adjusting his glasses. “A-Ah! Yes! You look absolutely stunning! I—I mean, I knew you always looked lovely, but today you look particularly—uh—let us begin our scheduled itinerary!”

You giggled, slipping your arm through his. “Lead the way, Mr. Class President.”

And just like that, his carefully crafted plan began.

_________________________________

The first stop on his itinerary was a highly-rated restaurant, one he had called weeks in advance to secure the best table.

Except when you arrived, a flustered hostess greeted you with an apologetic bow.

“We’re so sorry, but there was a mix-up in the reservations, and we’re currently at full capacity.”

Tenya stiffened. “Impossible! I confirmed my reservation three times!”

“I—I know, sir! But unfortunately, the system—”

Before she could finish, you placed a hand on Tenya’s arm, soothing him instantly. “It’s okay, we can go somewhere else,” you reassured him.

Tenya inhaled sharply, composing himself before turning to you. “I refuse to let this minor inconvenience ruin our evening. Allow me to activate Plan B!”

You bit back a smile. “Plan B?”

“Yes! I anticipated the possibility of restaurant complications and have prepared an alternate location!” He straightened proudly, adjusting his tie. “Come, my love, we shall proceed to the next venue!”

Your heart melted a little at the title—he rarely called you that out loud.

Plan B turned out to be a charming little café with a rooftop garden. Though it wasn’t his original plan, the cozy atmosphere and twinkling fairy lights made it feel even more special.

As you sat across from him, sipping your drinks, he exhaled in relief. “I apologize for the mishap earlier. I wanted today to be flawless.”

You reached over, taking his hand. “It already is, Tenya. Because it’s with you.”

The redness that spread across his face was immediate.

_________________________________

After dinner, Tenya’s itinerary included a peaceful evening walk, but the universe seemed determined to test him once more.

It started raining.

Not just a light drizzle—a downpour.

Tenya groaned, gripping his umbrella tightly. “This was not in the forecast!”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, absolutely delighted by the turn of events. “Maybe we should just go with the flow, Tenya.”

“But—but our plans—”

You reached up, cupping his face gently. “We don’t need plans. As long as we’re together, that’s enough.”

His blue eyes searched yours, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting. “You’re right,” he murmured, covering your hands with his own.

Then, in a rare moment of spontaneity, he tugged you close and pressed a firm, passionate kiss to your lips.

The rain poured around you, but neither of you cared.

Because in that moment, the only thing that mattered was each other.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pluralistic is five

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in SEATTLE TONIGHT (Feb 19) for with DAN SAVAGE, and in TORONTO on SUNDAY (Feb 23) at Another Story Books. More tour dates here.

Five years and two weeks ago, I parted ways with Boing Boing, a website I co-own and wrote for virtually every day for 19 years ago. Two weeks later – five years ago from today – I started my own blog, Pluralistic, which is, therefore, half a decade old, as of today.

I've written an annual rumination on this most years since.

Here's the fourth anniversary post (on blogging as a way to organize thoughts for big, ambitious, synthetic works):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

The third (on writing without analytics):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/drei-drei-drei/#now-we-are-three

The second (on "post own site, share everywhere," AKA "POSSE"):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/19/now-we-are-two/#two-much-posse

I wasn't sure what I would write about today, but I figured it out yesterday, in the car, driving to my book-launch event with Wil Wheaton at LA's Diesel Books (tonight's event is in Seattle, with Dan Savage):

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/cory-doctorow-with-dan-savage-picks-and-shovels-a-martin-hench-novel-tickets-1106741957989

I was listening to the always excellent Know Your Enemy podcast, where the hosts were interviewing Chris Hayes:

https://know-your-enemy-1682b684.simplecast.com/episodes/pay-attention-w-chris-hayes-OA3C8ZMp

The occasion was the publication of Hayes's new book, The Sirens' Call, about the way technology interacts with our attention:

https://sirenscallbook.com

The interview was fascinating, and steered clear of moral panic about computers rotting our brains (shades of Socrates' possibly apocryphal statements that reading, rather than memorizing, was destroying young peoples' critical faculties). Instead, Hayes talked about how empty it feels to read an algorithmic feed, how our attention gets caught up by it, sometimes for longer than we planned, and then afterward, we feel like our attention and time were poorly spent. He talked about how reflective experiences – like reading a book with his kid before school – are shattered by pocket-buzzes as news articles came in. And he talked about how satisfying it was to pay protracted attention to something important, and how hard that was.

Listening to Hayes's description, I realized two things: first, he was absolutely right, those are terrible things; and second, I barely experience them (though, when I do, it makes me feel awful). Both of these are intimately bound up with my blogging and social media habits.

15 years ago, I published "Writing in the Age of Distraction," an article about preserving your attention in a digital world so you could get writing done. We live in a very different world, but the advice still holds up:

https://www.locusmag.com/Features/2009/01/cory-doctorow-writing-in-age-of.html

In particular, I advised readers to turn off all their alerts. This is something I've done since before the smartphone era, tracking down the preferences that kept programs like AIM, Apple Mail and Google Reader from popping up an alert when a new item appeared. This is absolutely fundamental and should be non-negotiable. When I heard Hayes describe how his phone buzzes in his pocket whenever there is breaking news, I was actually shocked. Do people really allow their devices to interrupt them on a random reinforcement schedule? I mean, no wonder the internet makes people go crazy. I'm not a big believer in BF Skinner, but I think it's well established that any stimulus that occurs at random intervals is impossible to get used to, and shocks you anew every time it recurs.

Rather than letting myself get pocket-buzzed by the news, I have an RSS reader. You should use an RSS reader, seriously:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

I periodically check in with my reader to see what stories have been posted. The experience of choosing to look at the news is profoundly different from having the news blasted at you. I still don't always choose wisely – I'm as guilty of scrolling my phone when I could be doing something more ultimately satisfying as anyone else – but the affect of being in charge of when and how I consume current events is the opposite of the feeling of being at the beck-and-call of any fool headline writer who hits "publish."

This is even more important in the age of smartphones. Whenever you install an app, turn off its notifications. If you forget and an app pushes you an update ("Hi, this is the app you used to pay your parking meter that one time! We're having a 2% off sale on parking spots in a different city from the one you're in now and we wanted to make sure you stopped whatever you were doing and found out about it RIGHT NOW!") then turn off notifications for that app. Consider deleting it. Your phone should buzz when you're expecting a call, or an important message.

Note I said important message. I also turn off notifications for most of the apps I use that have a direct-messaging function. I check in with my group chats periodically, but I never get interrupted by friends across town or across the world posting photos of lunch or kvetching about the guy who farted next to them on the subway. I look at those chats when I'm taking a break, not when I'm trying to get stuff done. It's really nice to stay on top of your friends' lives without feeling low-grade resentment for how they interrupted your creative fog with a ganked Tiktok video of a zoomer making fun of a boomer for getting mad at a millennial for quoting Osama bin Laden. There's times when it makes sense to turn on group-chat notifications – like when you're on a group outing and trying to locate one another – but the rest of the time, turn it off.

Now, there are people I need to hear from urgently, who do get to buzz my pockets when something important comes up – people I'm working on a project with, say, or my wife and kid. But I also have all those people trained to send me emails unless it's urgent. You know the norm we have about calling someone out of the blue being kind of gross and rude? That's how you should feel about making someone's pocket buzz, unless it's important. Send those people emails.

I visit my email in between other tasks and clear out my inbox. If that sounds impossible, I have some suggestions for how to manage it:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2010/dec/21/keeping-email-address-secret-spambots

Tldr? Get you some mail rules:

add everyone you correspond with to an address book called "people I know"

filter emails from anyone in the "people I know" address book into a high priority inbox, which you just treat as your regular inbox

look at the unfiltered inbox (full of people you've never corresponded with) every day or two and reply to messages that need replying (and those people will thereafter be filtered into the "people I know" inbox)

filter any message containing the world "unsubscribe" into a folder called "mailing lists"

if you're subscribed to mailing lists that you feel you can't leave because it would be impolite, filter them into a folder called "mailing lists" unless the message contains your name (so you can reply promptly if someone mentions you on the list)

The point here is to manage your attention. You decide when you want to get non-urgent communications, and mail-app automation automatically flags the stuff that you are most likely to want to see. For extra credit: adopt a "suspense file" that lets you manage other peoples' emails to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo

Now, let's talk about algorithmic feeds. Lots of phosphors have been spilled on this subject, and critics of The Algorithm have an unfortunately propensity to buy into the self aggrandizement of soi-dissant evil sorcerer tech bros who claim they can "hack your dopamine loops" by programming an algorithmic feed. I think this is bullshit. Mind-control rays are nonsense, whether they are being promoted by Rasputin or a repentant Prodigal Tech Bro:

https://conversationalist.org/2020/03/05/the-prodigal-techbro/

But I hate algorithmic feeds. To explain why, I should explain how much I love non-algorithmic feeds. I follow a lot of people on several social media services, and I almost never feel the need to look at trending topics, suggested posts, or anything resembling the "For You" feed. Sure, there's times when I want to turn on the ole social TV and see what's on – the digital equivalent of leaving the TV on in a hotel room while I unpack and iron my suit – but those times are rare.

Mostly what I get is a feed of the things that my friends think are noteworthy enough to share. Some of that stuff is "OC" (material they've posted themselves), but the majority of it is stuff they're boosting from the feeds of their friends. Now, I say friend but I don't know the majority of the people I follow. I have a parasocial relationship (these get an undeserved bad rap) with them.

We're "friends" in the sense that I think they have interesting taste. There's people I've followed for more than a decade without exchanging a single explicit communication. I think they're cool, and I repost the cool stuff they post, so the people who follow me can see it. Reposting is a way of collaborating with other people who've opted into sharing their attention-management with you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/27/probably/

Reposting with a comment? Even better – you're telling people why to pay attention to that thing, or, more importantly, why they can safely ignore it if it's not their thing (what Bruce Sterling memorably calls an "attention conservation notice"). This is why Mastodon's decision not to implement quote-tweeting (over a misplaced squeamishness about "dunk culture") was such a catastrophic own-goal. If you're building a social network without an algorithmic suggestion feed (yay), you absolutely can't afford to block a feature that lets people annotate the material they boost into other people's timelines:

https://fediversereport.com/fediverse-report-104/

Remember how I said the affect of going to read the news is totally different (and infinitely superior) to the affect of having the news pushed to you? Same goes for the difference between getting a feed of things boosted and written by people you've chosen to follow, and getting a feed of things chosen by an algorithm. This is for reasons far more profound than the mere fact that algorithms use poor signals to choose those posts (e.g. "do a lot of people seem to be arguing about this post?").

For me, the problem with algorithmic feeds is the same as the problem with AI art. The point of art is to communicate something, and art consists of thousands of micro-decisions made by someone intending to communicate something, which gives it a richness and a texture that can make art arresting and profound. Prompting an AI to draw you a picture consists of just a few decisions, orders of magnitude fewer communicative acts than are embodied in a human-drawn illustration, even if you refine the image through many subsequent prompts. What you get is something "soulless" – a thing that seems to involve many decisions, but almost all of them were made by a machine that had no communicative intent.

This is the definition of "uncanniness," which is "the seeming of intention without intending anything." Most of the "meaning" in an AI illustration is "meaning that does not stem from organizing intention":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

The same is true of an algorithmic feed. When someone you follow – a person – posts or boosts something into their feed, there is a human intention. It is a communicative act. It can be very communicative, even if it's just a boost, provided the person adds some context with their own commentary or quoting. It can be just a little communicative, too – a momentary thumbpress on the boost button. But either way, to read a feed populated by people, rather than machines, is to be showered with the communicative intent of people whom you have chosen to hear from. Perhaps you chose unwisely and followed someone whose communications are banal or offensive or repetitious. Unfollow them.

Most importantly, follow the people who are followed by the people you follow. If someone whose taste you like pleases or interests you time and again by promoting something by a stranger to your attention, then bring that stranger closer by making them someone you follow, too. Do this, again and again, and build a constellation of people who make you smile or make you think. Just the act of boosting and virtually handling the things those people make and boost gets that stuff into your skin and your thoughts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/31/divination/

This is the good kind of filter bubble – the bubble of "people who interest me." I'm not saying that it's a sin to read an algorithmic feed, but relying on algorithmic feeds is a recipe for feeling empty, and regretful of your misspent attention. This is true even when the algorithm is good at its job, as with Tiktok, whose whole appeal is to take your hands off the wheel and give total control over to the autopilot. Even when an algorithm makes many good guesses about what you'll like, seeing something you like isn't as nice, as pleasing, as useful, as seeing that same thing as the result of someone else's intention.

And, of course, once you let the app drive, you become a soft target for the cupidity and deceptions of the app's makers. Tiktok, for example, uses its "heating tool" to selectively boost things into your feed – not because they think you'll like it, but because they want to trick the person whose content they're boosting into thinking that Tiktok is a good place to distribute their work through:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

The value of an algorithmic feed – of an intermediated feed – is to help you build your disintermediated, human feed. Find people you like through the algorithm, follow them, then stop letting the algorithm drive.

And the human feed you consume is input for the human feed you create, the stream of communicative acts you commit in order to say to the world, "This is what feels good to spend my attention on. If this makes you feel good, too, then please follow me, and you will sit downstream of my communicative acts, as I sit downstream of the communicative acts of so many others."

The more communicative the feeds you emit are, the more reward you will reap. First, because interrogating your own attention – "why was this thing interesting?" – is a clarifying and mnemonic act, that lets you get more back from the attention you pay. And second, because the more you communicate about those attentive insights, the more people you will find who are truly Your People, a community that goes beyond "I follow this stranger" and gets into the realm of "this stranger and I are on the same side in a world of great peril and worry":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Which brings me back to this blog and my fifth bloggaversary. Because a blog is a feed, but one that is far heavier on communications than a stream of boosted posts. Five years into this iteration of my blogging life (and 24 years into my blogging life overall), blogging remains one of the most powerful, clarifying and uplifting parts of my day.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/19/gimme-five/#jeffty

[fairwrite]

ITS ALWAYS BEEN YOU | QH43

| pairing: Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

| summary: just neighbors who stopped being in denial

| warnings: use of y/n, kissing, romance, older brothers best friend trope

| a/n: this is my first tumblr post!! Yayyyy

Main master list

𓆉

I don’t remember a time in my life where me and Quinn Hughes weren’t neighbors.

Me and Quinn Hughes have been neighbors for what felt like a lifetime

He was always in my life I was always in his.

It wasn’t any better that both of our dads were pretty good friends either

From the moment I met Quinn Hughes I knew he would be the death of me

But some of my earliest memories of him - messy haired and wild running wild through the grass while my older brother chased after him

Did I mention that he and my older brother were best friends- like stuck to the hip

Well that just makes it 10 times worst for me, I can’t like my older brothers best friend that’s just wrong in so many ways

Quinn wasn’t just Quinn he never had been I tried to see him as just Quinn but I couldn’t I saw him in a different way but I could never tell my brother or him NEVER

𓆉

“You’re late”, my older brother grumbled as I slid my way through the party that my dads girlfriend had organized

I rolled my eyes and looked around “it looks like I didn’t miss much”

My brother sighed “that’s not the point, none of my friends are here and my sister wasn’t here, I got pretty bored”

I chuckled “wow my brother admitting he loves my company”

he groaned “I never said that, I rather be annoying you than talking to all these old people who I don’t even remember meeting when I was like 4 years old”

I laughed than I got a good look at the crowd and I see Ellen Hughes

She’s been like a mom to me ever since I could remember, since my mom left when I was a little girl.

I had to go talk to her it’s felt like ages since we’ve talked

I turned back to my brother “I’m gonna go talk to Ellen, see ya” I turned to walk towards Ellen’s direction before my brother tried to bribe to stay with him

Ellen saw me before I could say hi, she excused herself from the conversation she was having and met me half way and gave me the biggest hug ever

“Y/N it’s so nice to see you, it’s felt like ages” Ellen said with the biggest smile on her face

I smiled “ I know I’ve just been so busy with college and hockey”

Ellen smiled and nodded with understanding “oh yes if heard going number 1, in the PWHL draft next year after you graduate college”

I smiled “oh stop I don’t even think I’ll be drafted”

Ellen shook her head “of course you will, I’ve seen the way you’ve played all these years and I know you’re gonna do a lot of great things for women in sports”

Ellen always knew what to say to make me believe in myself, I mean she did raise 3 successful NHL players she had to know what to say and she never failed to make me smile

“Thank you Ellen that means a lot to me, I hope I could just encourage girls to pick up that stick and play a damn game”

Ellen chucked and we started talking about all sorts of things

𓆉

As the party continued it had gotten more and more packed, my dads girlfriend really did invite a lot of People

I was in my own thoughts until saw a certain someone enter the room with his brothers

Quinn Hughes

God he looked so good, why did he have to look this good especially today when I’m here

Then I see my best friend Gabriela and all the thoughts about Quinn go away

“Is that Y/N L/N the PWHL Number one prospect” my best friends gasps

I chucked Gabriela always knew how to make me laugh especially when Quinn was around

“Omg is that famous New York Times author Gabriela Robert’s” I copied her enthusiasm

We both laughed and we hugged deeply

“God I’ve missed you so much Y/N, you don’t even know I really wish we went to the same college”

I sighed, it’s true I should of just went to university of Michigan I mean it’s a good school, but I just needed to get away from Michigan I’ve lived here my whole life I needed a change and that’s what drew me to commit to University of Wisconsin

“I know gabs and I’m sorry, I just couldn’t stay stuck here for the rest of my life” I sighed sadly

“Of course I’m not mad or blaming you, you do you I just miss you but hey if you did attend u of m you might not have the opportunity’s you have now, so it’s for the better” Gabriela smiled at me

She always knew what to say and I loved her for it.

Me and Gabriela continued to talk but I still felt myself looking for him and Gabriela noticed this

“So when are going to tell Quinn how you feel” Gabriela looked at me with those concerning eyes

“Gabriela come on, we both know he doesn’t and will never see me like that” I’m sad but it’s the truth

Quinn only will ever see me as his best friends annoying little sister who hasn’t even graduated college yet

“Oh my god Y/N if only you could see the way he’s looking at you right now” i blinked what, i thought as I looked in her eye direction

And then I saw him staring right at me with so much love in his eyes and then he saw me where my eyes were looking and looked away

“He was probably staring at someone behind me or something” I try to convince myself that what I said was true

“Sure Y/N keep telling yourself that, I just hope you guys can stop being in denial and just admit your feelings to each other one day” Gabriela was right I had to tell him I just didn’t know how.

𓆉

I found myself thinking while outside at the end of the dock of my dads lake house he bought a couple summers ago

The sum was just setting, the lake looked beautiful and the smell of tree and nature was just amazing

My thoughts were interrupted my someone taping my shoulder and it was him, Quinn

My palms got sweaty and my feet stoped dangling and we’re just straight

“Mind if I sit with you?” He asked, he didn’t even need to ask

“Sure, I always enjoy the company” I shakily replied, my hands gesturing to the spot beside me

He sat down and our legs touched just for a second and I felt my heart beating so fast

“So how’ve you been” I asked first to get rid of this tension we had

“I’ve been good, you know just focusing on hockey and my captaincy” he replied while looking at me for a second

“Oh yeah I heard congrats on becoming the captain, how’s that been” I replied

“It’s tough and has its ups and downs but I’m managing” Quinn sighs and looked down

“So what have you been up too?” He asked to get the tension off of him

“ you know, hockey and trying to keep up my academics at the same time” I replied as I chuckled a little

He laughed “hey I heard your the top prospect for the PWHL that’s huge, congrats” he nudged my shoulder

Oh my god.

“Yeah trying to keep myself humble instead of bragging about it” I replied while laughing

He laughed and looked at me for a couple seconds before I looked at him

“What?” I asked first

“N-nothing, you’re just beautiful” did he really just say that

I didn’t know what to say, we just kept on looking at each other and he moved first

He connected our lips together I put my hand on his check while as he put his left hand around my shoulder to deepen the kiss

I pulled away first and looked up at him in the eyes

He spoke first “I think it’s always been you Y/N, ever since we were kids I think apart of me was in-love with you and I just didn’t want to admit it” he spoke softly with so much love in his eyes

“Will you do me the honor and letting me be your boyfriend?” I could cry but I didn’t I just pulled him into another kiss

As I pulled away “is that a yes” got he’s such a idiot but he’s my idiot

I laughed “yes Quinn Hughes, you can do me the honor of being my boyfriend” he looked down at me and kissed me and we pulled away we were wrapped in each others arms as we looked at the sunset

Thank you for making the first move Quinn Hughes, it’s was nothing less than I imagined.

[fiercestpurpose]

I don’t like this post for 3 reasons:

1) I think it’s generally mean-spirited to post a screenshot and make fun of someone in a way that can be passed around. OP didn’t expect this to get notes, but the fact that it’s at 1.8k notes and it’s still rebloggable seems pretty mean to me. I love being a hater and a bitch, genuinely, but I try to not do it in ways that are public, especially when the person is not being outright racist or anything but just seems a little cringey to you.

2) I think the most online part of the screenshot is that OOP feels the need to put a disclaimer at the beginning. What’s online about it is that they need to say “Hey, I know this might be considered bad by some people, but -” because the Internet will be mean about any little error. Which is what’s happening here, but now the error is putting a disclaimer rather than not putting a disclaimer.

Identifying as AFAB is somewhat transphobic and I think there’s a criticism you could make there, but the criticism is not “you’re too online,” and is closer to “you’re grouping people together by AGAB and that’s usually not a good idea.”

3) I’m very frustrated by the people in the notes saying some variation of “You can tell they don’t know anything about the book,” when the original post that has been screenshotted in fact demonstrated a pretty good grasp of the book’s characters and themes. The automatic jump by rebloggers to the idea that they are intellectually superior to OOP based on three lines of text is frustrating to me. I think in some ways reblogging this post serves to signal that someone is in the in-group of the more intellectually superior people who know this kind of disclaimer is stupid. And of course we’re all guilty of doing this sometimes, but this post in particular seems like something not worth doing this over.

[iamquiantrelle]

GOLDEN BOY (chapter 7) ────── iamquaintrelle

⌗ pairing : trent alexander arnold x black oc ⌗ wc: 8.5k

⌗ summary : trent is having a quarter life crisis but will a smart-mouthed girl whip him into shape?

⌗ warnings : 18+ only!! (☁️☔️💕)

⌗taglist: @trentswrld, @trentpov @judesvirtual @sailurmewn @football-and-fanfics @eriks-girl @preetykookie @4ngryssgf @endlessmuse @noturbabe22, @sucredreamer@bbgkoo @hollablkgrl @notzara @chrisoppar @letmeapologise @amrx1

The coffee bar in Anfield's canteen was dead quiet this early. Trent scrolled through his latest Instagram post while waiting for his order - just match photos from Plymouth, him celebrating the free kick, that moment during warm-ups he'd already gotten proper stick for.

His notifications were crazy. Everyone from fan pages to gossip blogs reposting and analyzing every detail. DeuxMoi had gone full detective mode:

"SPOTTED: Liverpool's golden boy getting soppy at FA Cup match. Sources say mystery photographer GF has him properly whipped. We're living for this soft era TAA!"

The comments were even worse:

"That 'A' celebration I can't 😭😭" "He's so gone for her" "Who is she?? Drop the skincare routine sis" "Mans really blowing kisses now? She must be something else 👀" "Remember when he tried being posh with that Sophie girl? This feels more real" "She's too alternative for him" "That's our boy growing up 🥺" "Those sunglasses are Prada SS24 collection someone's got TASTE"

Some proper weird ones too: "Step on me queen" "They would make beautiful babies" "I know what she got him doing behind closed doors 😈"

If they only knew.

His coffee arrived just as another blog posted: "TAA's New Romance: From Bad Boy to Soft Boy? A Timeline."

Proper violation, all of it. But he couldn't help grinning at his phone like some teenager.

Even if the Daily Mail's "Liverpool Star TAMED By Photographer?" headline was a bit much.

The training ground was buzzing more than usual. Trent could hear the lads before he even reached the dressing room, all huddled around someone's phone.

"There he is!" Ibou's voice boomed. "Our romantic hero!"

"Seen the Daily Mail?" Darwin waved his phone. "They're calling you 'whipped.'"

"Proper soft lad now," Robbo grinned. "What happened to Mr. Posh London?"

"Better than that Sophie era," Mo said quietly, pulling on his boots. "You seem happier."

That’s because he was happier. Ecstatic even.

The session started intense - Slot had them doing drills that had Trent's legs burning. But the chat wouldn't stop.

"That 'A' celebration though–" Darwin started.

"For Aura," Trent cut in.

"Sure mate," Robbo laughed. "Nothing to do with a certain photographer?"

Even Virgil was smirking now, watching Trent try to focus on his crosses while the lads proper rinsed him.

His phone buzzed in his bag - probably April seeing all this shit online. She'd been finding it funny, all these blogs trying to figure her out. Kept sending him the wildest theories with laughing emojis.

"Oi lover boy!" Slot called out. "Less daydreaming, more crossing!"

The lads actually cheered at that.

Proper long day ahead.

"You know what's mad though?" Darwin said during their water break. "All these blogs thinking they've figured her out. Calling her 'alternative' and that."

"Should see what they're saying on Twitter," Robbo added. "Proper CSI investigation about her style choices."

"Saw one calling her the 'mysterious bad girl photographer who's tamed Liverpool's playboy,'" Curtis scrolled through his phone.

"Playboy?" Now Trent properly laughed. "When was I ever-"

"Remember that time with the London lot?" Joe cut in. "All those posh clubs and that?"

"Rather forget it."

"This is better though, right?" Mo said, that knowing look in his eyes. "Being yourself?"

Before Trent could answer, his phone buzzed.

April: Your mentions are hilarious. April: Apparently I'm a witch who's enchanted you. April: If they only knew my actual methods 😈

"Look at that smile," Darwin crowed. "She's texting you dirty things isn't she?"

"Shut up."

"Back to work!" Slot called out. "Save the romance for after training!"

The lads were never going to let this go. But watching them try to figure April out… entertaining that. Even if half their guesses weren't nearly as wild as the truth.

The tactical session after water break was insane - working on new set piece routines for their next league match. Trent's mind stayed sharp though, even with the lads still taking the piss.

"Maybe we should all get a photographer watching training," Darwin called after Trent placed another perfect cross. "Might play better."

"You'd need one who can handle you lot first," Trent shot back.

"True that," Robbo laughed. "Not everyone tells Nike to fuck off when they don't like the concept."

"Wait what?" Ibou perked up.

"That was her?" Curtis joined in. "The one who binned their campaign?"

Trent just grinned. That was his April alright.

"No wonder she's got standards," Robbo continued. "If she can tell Nike to get bent-"

"Oi!" Slot's voice cut through. "Less gossip, more football!"

But even their gaffer was smirking now. The whole club had gone proper soft over this thing with April.

His phone buzzed again in his bag.

"Don't even think about checking that," Virgil called out, but he was grinning too. "Save it for after training."

Violation, all of them.

But Trent couldn't stop smiling either.

Slot ended training with shooting drills - competitive stuff that had everyone trying to outdo each other. Trent's deliveries were getting sharper each time, like he'd unlocked some new level of precision.

"Ready for Everton then?" Virgil asked as they headed in.

"More than."

"Bringing April?"

"If I earn it."

That made Virgil pause halfway through taking off his boots. "If you what?"

But Trent was already heading for the showers, pretending he hadn't heard. Some things were better left unexplained to his captain.

His phone lit up as he was getting dressed - April had sent through a video. Just three seconds of her at some photoshoot, directing some poor player. But the way she was giving those commands…..

"Your face has gone red," Curtis noted. "She sending you work stuff or 'work stuff'?"

"Shut up."

But his hands were already fumbling with his keys.

"Tell her thanks by the way!" Robbo called after him. "Your crosses are ten times better when she's got you trained– I mean focused!"

The lads' laughter followed him out to his car.

The drive to April's studio felt longer than usual. She'd taken over some massive space in the Baltic Triangle for her latest athlete series - proper artsy setup that had Tyler excited about brand possibilities.

His phone buzzed at a red light.

April: Glad training went well.

April: Those commands really working for you, aren't they?

His collar felt tight suddenly. She was never going to let him live down how well he responded to orders, was she?

The studio door was open when he arrived, music drifting out - some jazz thing she always played during shoots. He found her behind her massive camera, directing some rugby player into position.

"Chin up," she commanded, and Trent's stomach actually flipped. "Little to the left."

The rugby lad - a real massive unit - followed every instruction perfectly. Made Trent feel slightly better about how quickly he'd fallen into taking April's orders.

"We're done," she announced finally. "My assistant will sort the rest."

The way she said 'done' had Trent's skin tingling. Because that tone meant–

"Ready for your private session?" She turned those eyes on him. "Got some new directions to try out."

Fucking hell.

The rugby player gave him an odd look as he left, probably wondering why Liverpool's right back was blushing in a photography studio.

If he only knew.

April locked the studio door with that click that always made his stomach flip. Her assistant had scampered off too - probably used to these "private sessions" by now.

"So," she turned to face him, all business suddenly. "That free kick technique."

Not what he was expecting. "What?"

"The way you looked up at me before taking it." She moved closer, professional photographer face on but something else in her eyes. "Want to analyze that focus of yours."

"Thought this was a private session?"

"It is." Her smile turned dangerous. "I'm studying your form."

She had him sit in one of her fancy studio chairs, then started circling him slowly. Proper predator mode now.

"You see," she continued, voice dropping lower, "there's something fascinating about the way you respond to... direction."

His collar felt too tight again.

"That look up to the stands," her fingers traced his jaw. "Seeking permission almost."

"I wasn't–"

"Don't lie." Not a suggestion. "We both know exactly what you were doing."

Fuck.

"Now then," she moved behind him, hands on his shoulders. "Let's see how well you follow instructions when there's no crowd watching."

His breath actually caught.

"Color?"

"Green," he managed. "So green."

"Strip to your boxers," she commanded, suddenly all business again. "Want to see those muscles that had everyone at training impressed today."

The studio air was cool against his skin as he complied. April's eyes tracked every movement like she was composing shots in her head.

"Good boy." She circled him again. "Now, about that celebration..."

"For Aura–"

"Don't lie to your dom." Her nails traced his shoulders. "That 'A' wasn't just for your niece, was it?"

His face heated. "No ma'am."

"Mmm." She moved to her camera setup. "The whole world trying to figure out who's got Liverpool's golden boy making love declarations during matches."

"Wasn't a love–"

"On your knees."

His body responded before his brain could catch up.

"That's better." She adjusted her lens. "We’re going to see if you can be a good boy when there's a camera involved."

Fucking hell.

"Going to document that focus of yours," she continued, that photographer's precision mixing with her dom voice. "Show you exactly what you look like when you're being good for me."

The camera clicked.

This was going to be an interesting session. Though these definitely weren't the kind of shots Tyler had in mind for his brand deals.

April reached for her hair, pulling it free from that complicated bun. Her curls cascaded down, longer than when they'd first met. Something about them drove him mental - wild and untamed, just like her.

She shed her clothes with that same grace she did everything, down to matching black underwear. The camera clicker in her hand made his heart skip - professional and dom all at once.

Beautiful didn't cover it. She was art herself, the kind that belonged in galleries.

April moved toward him like she had all the time in the world, each step calculated to drive him mad. When she straddled his lap, his hands found her waist automatically.

"Kiss me." Her eyes locked with his, command clear.

He obeyed instantly because that's what good boys did. The kiss was electric - all the tension from their public teasing finally breaking. Camera flashes caught the moment in his peripheral vision, but he was lost in her - the taste of her lipstick, the soft sighs she made.

Then she caught his bottom lip between her teeth, pulling just enough to make him groan.

"Hands behind your back," she murmured against his lips. Even her softest commands had him obeying instantly.

The camera clicked again, catching him looking up at her like she hung the moon. Which she probably had, knowing April.

Her curls fell around them like a curtain as she kissed along his jaw, following the path to his ear. "Such a good boy for me."

His whole body shuddered at the praise.

"Though that celebration..." She pulled back, studying his face. "Very bold of you. Making the whole world wonder."

"Wasn't thinking straight."

"No?" Her smile turned wicked. "Too focused on impressing me?"

"Always."

The admission made her eyes darken. Another click of the camera.

"My good boy," she whispered, fingers tracing his muscles. "So eager to show everyone who you belong to."

His hands twitched behind his back, desperate to touch her curls, to pull her closer. But he stayed still because that's what she wanted.

"Color?"

"Green, ma'am. Still green."

The camera caught that moment too - him properly gone for her, following her every command.

"Tell me what you were thinking," she said, rolling her hips slightly. "When you looked up at me before that free kick."

His brain wasn't working proper now, not with her moving like that. "Just... wanted to make you proud."

Click. The camera catching his confession.

"And were you thinking about your reward?" Her lips brushed his ear. "About what good boys get?"

"Yes ma'am."

Her curls tickled his chest as she moved to his neck, finding the spot that always made him weak. The same spot she'd marked before Plymouth.

"Should I mark you again?" Her teeth grazed his skin. "Give everyone something new to speculate about?"

His "please" came out embarrassingly needy.

Click. Another photo of him falling apart for her.

"Such pretty begging." She pulled back to study his face. "But I think..." her smile turned dangerous. "I think we need to work on your control first."

His hands were shaking behind his back now.

"After all," she continued, "can't have you getting distracted during matches just because I'm watching."

Jesus Christ.

"Stand up," she commanded suddenly, sliding off his lap. "Against that wall."

His legs were shaking as he obeyed, back pressed against the exposed brick. April watched him move, that photographer's eye mixed with something darker.

The clicker still dangled from her wrist as she approached. Her curls were proper wild now, matching the look in her eyes.

"Beautiful," she murmured, more to herself than him. Like she was composing the perfect shot in her head. "Now stay still."

Click. Him pressed against her studio wall, looking at her like she was everything.

She traced the muscles in his chest, following the path down to his abs. Each touch deliberate, calculated to drive him mental.

"The whole world thinks they know what we do," she said softly. "All those blogs speculating..."

Click. His reaction to her words, to her touch.

"If they only knew..." Her nails scraped lightly across his skin. "How perfectly you submit."

His head fell back against the wall, overwhelmed.

"Look at me."

His eyes snapped to hers instantly.

"Good boy." She smiled that smile that meant trouble.

The camera definitely caught everything - every command, every reaction, every moment he fell deeper under her spell.

Her lips found his again, deep and demanding, each kiss punctuated by the camera's click as it captured their profiles - her curls falling around them, his hands still obediently at his sides. One last perfect shot.

Finally, she pulled away to head to her set-up. The sound of the camera powering down felt like permission to breathe. She set the clicker aside, each movement calculated.

April moved back over to him, smile wide and genuine as her fingers traced his cropped hair. Different April now - still commanding but with something else mixed in.

"You've been so good," she murmured. "Time for your reward."

His whole body went hot at her tone.

Trent’s breath hitched as April stepped back, her gaze never leaving his as she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. The straps slid down her arms, and the black lace hit the floor, leaving her bare under the soft glow of the studio lights. His hands twitched at his sides, the urge to touch her damn near unbearable, but he stayed put. He knew better than to move without her say-so.

Her panties followed next, a slow, deliberate slide down the curve of her hips. Then, with a tilt of her head, she gestured toward him. "Take off your boxers."

Trent obeyed without hesitation, pushing them down in one smooth motion. His dick stood hard and aching, but April didn’t reach for it. Instead, she ran a single finger down his chest, tracing over the ridges of his abs, lower and lower, before stopping just short of where he wanted her most.

She smirked. "You were so good for me earlier," she mused, tilting her head. "It’s only right I take care of you."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, muscles tensing as she gave him a slow once-over. The way she looked at him — like he was something to be studied, savored — made his pulse race.

Then, without another word, April placed a hand on his chest and pushed him to the left. Trent let her guide him until the back of his knees met the cool leather of the chaise nearby, his body sprawled under her gaze.

She moved between his legs, climbing onto the seat with the same grace and precision she brought to everything she did. Then, with that same teasing smirk, she lifted one knee and settled herself above him.

His eyes darkened as the realization sank in. "Yeah?" His voice was rough, hopeful.

April hummed, running her fingers through his short curls before gripping them tight. "Yeah," she confirmed, shifting forward until her thighs framed his face. "This is your reward."

Trent didn’t need to be told twice.

His hands, finally free to move, gripped the backs of her thighs, pulling her fully onto his mouth. April gasped, her head falling back as his tongue flicked against her clit, slow and precise. He was a menace — taking his time, making her feel every deliberate movement.

"You taste so fucking good, ma’am," he murmured, voice muffled against her skin. His hands squeezed, fingers digging into her ass as he pulled her closer, deeper until she was grinding on his face. April barely had time to catch her breath before he doubled down, tongue slipping lower to her hole before working its way back up, circling, teasing.

Her nails raked over his scalp, her grip tightening as she rocked against his mouth. "Just like that," she panted, legs trembling as heat coiled deep in her stomach. "Don’t stop."

Like hell he would.

Trent groaned against her, the vibration sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through her spine. His grip tightened, his movements growing hungrier, sloppier. His nose pressed against her folds, his tongue relentless as his senses grew drunk on her scent, her taste, her sounds.

April swore, her thighs clamping around his head as she rode out the waves crashing through her. Trent didn’t let up — not even as her body shuddered, not even as she whimpered from the overstimulation, not until he caught every drop she was giving him.

His tongue slowed, softening, easing her down from the high. When she finally lifted herself off him, her body still buzzing, she took a moment to exhale.

Trent wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, lips swollen, pupils blown wide. "Best reward ever, ma’am."

April laughed, leaning down to press a kiss to his slick lips. "You earned it."

*******************************************************

They got dressed slowly, April's curls even wilder now as she pulled them back into some semblance of order.

"Come here," she called him over to her massive computer screen. "Want to show you something."

The photos loaded up - proper artistic color shots that looked like they belonged in some fancy magazine. Him looking up at her with complete devotion, her curls creating shadows across his chest, their profiles caught in perfect contrast.

"These are…" He couldn't find the words.

"Better than those boring brand shots Tyler keeps pushing?" She scrolled through more - each one like a Calvin Klein ad but more intimate somehow. More real.

Some were proper hot - the kind that would never see daylight. But others… the way she'd captured them together. Like proper art.

"Your face here," she pointed to one where he was gazing up at her. "That's what I want to capture in our next shoot."

"That look's just for you though."

She turned to him, smile soft. "I know. These private ones stay private. But that intensity…" Her fingers traced his jaw. "That devotion. That's what sells."

He looked back at the screen - at himself completely under her spell, at her looking like some kind of goddess.

Maybe Tyler was onto something with these photoshoots after all.

"You hungry?" The words came out weirdly nervous, considering what they'd just been doing.

April's eyebrow arched at his tone. "If you want me to sleepover, then just say that."

His brain properly short-circuited. This wasn't how it usually worked. April was all about earning rewards, about proving himself worthy of her time. Not just...

"You're still on a reward," she said, like she could read his confusion. That smirk playing at her lips.

"Still?" He couldn't hide his shock.

"I mean unless you–"

"No, no, great." The words tumbled out too fast, making her laugh.

Mental how she could still surprise him like this. One minute proper dom photographer, next offering to stay over like it was nothing.

Though based on her smile, this extended reward probably came with its own set of commands.

"Need to stop at my hotel first," she said, gathering her things. "Get clothes."

"Could always wear mine again." The memory of her in his jersey at Plymouth made his stomach flip.

"Bold of you to assume you've earned that privilege." But she was smiling as they made their way out of the studio. "Besides, Marcel's seen enough of our dynamic for one lifetime."

True that. His brother was probably still traumatized from their last encounter.

April's Ferrari purred to life outside the studio. "Meet me at the Hope Street Hotel then? Unless..." that dangerous smile again. "You want to ride with me?"

The last time she'd driven him anywhere, he'd nearly lost his mind. Something about her controlling the wheel, deciding their speed, choosing when to make him grip his seat...

"I'll follow."

Her laugh echoed across the car park. "Smart boy. Don't want you too worked up before dinner."

The drive to Hope Street had him thinking about how different things were now. Over a month ago he was trying to be some posh London footballer for Sophie. Now he was following a photographer who'd changed his whole life, ready to do whatever she commanded.

Morning light caught the silk of April's bonnet, making her look angelic as she slept. Mad that - considering what she'd done to him last night. His body was still tingling from her rewards, but it was this moment that had him grinning like some teenager.

Thank fuck Marcel had been out when they got back. The sounds she'd pulled from him would've scarred his brother for life. Though the best part came after - April letting him be soft, cuddling into her like some touch-starved puppy.

Dead embarrassing how much he loved that part. The mighty TAA, Liverpool's right back, turning into a cuddle monster the second April opened her arms. But something about being held by her... it was like his brain finally shut up. No Arsenal thoughts, no pressure, no expectations. Just her curls tickling his face (before the bonnet went on) and her heartbeat under his ear.

Mental that really - how someone who could have him begging one minute could make him feel this peaceful the next. Like some kind of mad anxiety medicine, but one that also happened to be the sexiest woman he'd ever seen.

She stirred slightly, those long eyelashes fluttering. Even half asleep she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Proper gone for her, wasn't he?

But watching her sleep in his bed, wearing nothing but that bonnet and a satisfied smile... he couldn't bring himself to care how whipped he looked. Some things were worth looking soft for.

"You're being a weirdo," she muttered, eyes still closed.

"Not a weirdo. You're just beautiful."

That got a laugh out of her. She stretched, all languid grace like some expensive cat, before turning those eyes on him. Her fingers found the strings of his durag, playing with them absently.

"We're so Black," she said, properly giggling now.

"What?"

She gestured between them - her in her silk bonnet, him in his durag. "Look at us."

"Ah... we are." He couldn't help grinning too.

Her fingers traced his features next, lingering on his cheekbones before finding his lips. They were still swollen from last night's activities.

"You really like the taste of me, huh?"

"I love the taste of you." The words came instant, honest. Maybe too honest for this early, but he didn't care.

And he did - everything about April Tanisha-Marley Goodplenty was addictive. Her skin, her essence, just... her. Like some drug he never wanted to quit.

The way she looked at him then - soft but still with that edge that drove him mental. Like she could read every thought in his head and liked what she saw.

Proper gone for her didn't even cover it anymore.

"M'goin' to make breakfast," he said, watching her stretch again. "If you're hungry."

That got her attention - dom mode flickering across her face even as she looked surprised. "You can cook?"

"Just breakfast," he mumbled, feeling proper shy suddenly. Like he hadn't had his face between her legs hours ago.

She propped herself up on an elbow, watching him slip out of bed. His boxers and sweats were somewhere on the floor where she'd thrown them last night.

"Plantains or no plantains?" he asked, pulling them on.

Her eyebrows shot up, properly impressed now. "Yuh nah real Jamaican if yuh nuh eat plantain."

His whole face lit up at her patois, grinning like he'd scored at Anfield. "Mi proper Jamaican, seen?"

The way she looked at him then - mix of dom and something softer. Like he'd surprised her in the best way.

He leaned over the bed to kiss her, tasting morning and last night and something that was just April.

The kitchen was calling though. Time to show her what else this scouse-yardie could do.

His gran would be proper proud, using her recipe to impress a girl. Though maybe not this specific situation.

His massive kitchen felt different this morning — warmer somehow with April padding down behind him. She'd nicked one of his training tops, the fabric falling to mid-thigh. Still had that bonnet on though.

"Proper chef's kitchen this," she said, hopping onto his counter like she owned it. Her legs dangling as she watched him move around the space.

He pulled out the plantains he always kept stocked - some things you just didn't forget from childhood. Proper ripe ones too, black spots all over like his gran taught him.

"Look who's prepared," April's voice had that dom edge creeping back. Like she was proud of him even for this.

His hands moved on autopilot - slicing plantains at an angle, getting the oil right. Years of watching his dad and gran in the kitchen coming back.

"You're actually decent at this," she observed, stealing a piece of raw plantain. "Full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Got many talents me."

"Oh?" That dangerous smile. "Like what you did with your tongue last night?"

He nearly dropped the spatula. Even after everything, she could still make him blush.

"Careful now," she laughed. "Don't want you burnin' my breakfast."

The way she matched his accent, teasing but fond... crazy how she could switch from dom to playful so quick.

But watching her steal more plantain pieces, looking cozy in his kitchen... Yeah, he could get used to this.

"Callaloo in the fridge an' all," he said, pulling out the tin. Not as good as fresh, but it'd do.

"Saltfish too?" April looked really impressed now.

"Course." He was already soaking the fish from last night - some things you learned to prep ahead.

Her eyes lit up watching him work - seasoning the callaloo just right, getting the saltfish ready. Even had some hard dough bread in the freezer.

"Festival?" she asked hopefully.

"Nah, that's pushin' it. Can't have everything."

"Uncultured."

But she was grinning, still perched on his counter like some queen overseeing her domain. The kitchen smelled homey now - plantains frying, callaloo steaming, that specific scent that reminded him of Sunday mornings at his gran's.

"Johnny cakes instead?" he offered.

"Now you're just showing off."

He was though - wanting to prove something about their shared culture maybe. Like yeah, he might be a scouse footballer living in this massive house, but he knew where he came from.

"Your dad teach you all this?"

"Gran mostly. Proper strict about keeping traditions."

April's smile went soft. "Mine too. Used to make me help in the kitchen every weekend."

Mental how something as simple as breakfast could feel this intimate. But watching her steal another piece of plantain, looking at him like he'd done something special just by remembering their roots...

Yeah, this was more than just cooking.

"Rice and peas though," April said, watching him work. "Your gran make it with coconut milk or just water?"

"Coconut milk. What you take me for?"

They went through their list - proper Jamaican food chat. Jerk chicken debates (April swore by Boston Bay style), ackee and saltfish preferences (they both agreed it had to have the right amount of peppers), patty loyalties (he was Tastee ride or die, she claimed Juici was better).

"Curry goat's the best though," Trent said, plating up their breakfast.

"Oxtail."

"Nah, you're wrong."

"Excuse me?" That dom eyebrow went up. "Want to rethink that statement?"

"Even with all due respect, ma'am," he grinned, "curry goat's clear."

April actually rolled her eyes. "Your taste is questionable. Like your crossing sometimes."

"Oi!"

But she was laughing now, proper genuine. Something about her sitting cross-legged on his counter, arguing about food in his training top... it felt right.

"Maybe I'll have to cook for you," she said suddenly. "Show you how oxtail's supposed to taste."

His brain properly short-circuited. April "I don't cook for no man" Goodplenty offering to make him food?

"That good last night, was I?"

Her smile turned wicked. "Guess that tongue's useful for something after all."

Still mental how she could switch from soft to sexy that quick. But watching her steal more plantain off his plate, looking at him like he'd done something special...

Yeah, he'd put that tongue to work any time if it meant more mornings like this.

*****************************************************

Perfect Tuesday this - just him and April chilling between rounds of her having him begging. Crazy that she was his girlfriend now. Like yeah, there were contracts and commands and rewards, but there was also this - her curled into his side on the massive sofa, some Netflix thing playing that neither of them was properly watching.

They'd finally put clothes on after spending most of the day naked. Him in his Nike tracksuit, her in this crop top and leggings combo that had him thinking about starting another round. The way those curves looked in that fabric should be illegal really.

Girlfriend. The word still felt new in his head. Different from the dom/sub thing but connected somehow. Like April had found a way to own every part of him, not just the bits that liked following orders.

The front door clicking open broke through his thoughts. Marcel appeared, took one look at them cuddled up, and pulled a face.

"You two decent this time?"

"Shut up," Trent threw a cushion at him.

"Just checking!" Marcel dodged it easily. "Heard enough last night before I had to leave again."

April just smiled that dom smile of hers. "You're welcome."

"Violation, the pair of you," Marcel muttered, but he was grinning. "Just keep it down yeah? These walls aren't that thick."

"No promises," April said sweetly, making both brothers choke.

Watching her wind up his brother while practically sitting in his lap was perfect - she fit right in.

"There's leftovers in the fridge!" April called out to Marcel as he sauntered off.

The excited "YES!" that came from the kitchen told them he'd found the plantains and saltfish. Trent shot April a look - she was playing house now?

"Fix your face," she said, but her eyes were dancing.

He couldn't help grinning, turning back to whatever was on TV. Mental how domestic this felt.

Marcel appeared again, plate in hand, still chewing. "April, you're welcome here anytime if you're cooking like this. Tastes just like Gran's."

"Actually," April's smile went wicked, "Trent made it."

The way Marcel's eyebrow shot up had Trent bracing himself. He knew that look - his brother was about to be starting shit.

"You're cooking now?" Marcel's voice went high with glee.

"Marcel–"

"You're cooking for a woman?"

Trent ran a hand down his face. Trust his little brother to take it there.

"Mar–"

"I'm telling mum and Ty!" Marcel was practically bouncing. "Holy shit, Trent is really whipped!"

He disappeared, probably running off to violate Trent in the family group chat like the snitch he was.

"You do like to be whipped though." April's voice was pure innocence.

He turned to stare at her.

"What?" She patted his cheek affectionately, laughing. "You do. It's okay to like it, baby."

Fucking hell. The way she could just say shit like that, looking all sweet while properly violating him...

She was the maddest woman he'd ever met.

And he was gone for it.

The Merseyside Derby was always mental, but this was taking the piss. Trent sat on the bench, working the massage gun on his dodgy hamstring, watching Everton park the bus like they were defending the fucking Alamo.

17-1-6 formation. Proper embarrassing that.

When Beto scored in the 11th minute, the Everton crowd lost it. Five minutes felt like forever until Mac equalized, shutting them up.

Then it all kicked off.

Doucoure went in on Curtis like he had a personal vendetta. Nasty challenge that had everyone losing their heads. Before Trent could even process it, both teams were in each other's faces, testosterone going mental.

He was up and in the mix before his brain caught up - hamstring forgotten because that was his teammate getting proper violated. His family.

The whole thing was dead embarrassing really. Grown men squaring up like it was closing time at Liverpool ONE. And April was up there watching all this nonsense from the family box.

Some welcome to her first Merseyside Derby this.

"Sit down!" Slot bellowed at him. "Your hamstring!"

But how could he sit when Curtis was getting targeted like that? When Everton was trying their usual shithouse tactics?

Proper violation, all of it.

And his girlfriend was watching him hobble around on the sidelines like some PE teacher trying to break up a playground fight.

Not exactly the impression he was trying to make.

The second half kicked off with Mo doing what Mo does - a worldie that had the away end going mental. But then Tarkowski equalized and everything went to shit…..again.

CuJo and Doucoure were at it once more - something about a tackle being "too rough." Proper rich coming from Doucoure who'd been trying to end careers all match.

Red cards for both of them.

Slot lost it completely - arms going everywhere like one of them inflatable things outside car dealerships. The fourth official didn't rate it though.

Red card for the gaffer too.

What the actual fuck was this match?

By full time, Trent's hamstring was screaming from all the times he'd jumped up to get involved. 2-2 draw felt like a violation after all that drama.

The away dressing room was dead silent until Virgil stood up. Their captain looked proper fuming.

"What the fuck was that?" His voice was scary calm. "Acting like children out there. All of you."

No one dared speak. Even Mo was studying his boots.

"Derby or not, we're Liverpool Football Club. We don't lose our heads like that."

Trent caught Curtis's eye across the room. Both of them proper chastised.

"Sort yourselves out. Because that..." Virgil shook his head. "That was embarrassing."

He wasn't wrong. And somewhere upstairs, April had watched that whole circus.

A long night ahead explaining this one.

The shower room was tense - everyone still processing Virgil's words and that match. Trent's hamstring was giving him grief from all the times he'd jumped up during the chaos. Stupid that, making it worse when he was supposed to be resting.

"Your girl's waiting outside," Robbo grinned as he left, hair still damp from the shower.

The lads all turned to stare at Trent, who was trying to get his tracksuit on without aggravating his hamstring more. The way they were smirking, you'd think they hadn't just got bollocked by their captain.

April was indeed waiting, looking editorial even in casual clothes, that fucking lollipop in her mouth again. The way she was working it had him forgetting about his hamstring for a second. But the second she saw him...

"Yuh mad or wha?" Her patois came out sharp. "Jumpin' round like pickney when yuh hamstring mash up?"

Something about her telling him off in patois was doing things to his head. Shouldn't be hot, but it was. The way her accent got stronger when she was vexed.

"Yuh supposed to rest, but no. Had to play big man." Her voice was eerily calm, which somehow made it worse. "Now di injury worse dan before. Like yuh nuh have sense."

Then Virgil walked out, followed by Mo and Ibou, and April switched up so fast it gave Trent whiplash. Her whole face brightened, voice going sweet as anything. That dom energy vanishing like it was never there.

"Hi boys!" Like she hadn't just been scalding him in Jamaican. Like she hadn't been ready to give him the telling off of his life.

The way she smiled at Virgil had Trent confused - especially when his captain smiled back, all that locker room fury gone. Gone where? What was this?

"Take care of this one," Virgil said as April hugged him goodbye. Then, in what he thought was a whisper but Trent definitely heard: "Don't punish him too harsh."

Trent's eyes went proper wide. What the actual fuck? Since when did his captain know about...

April just rolled her eyes at Virgil's comment, but there was something there - like they shared some secret Trent wasn't in on. Some inside joke he wasn't part of.

After the others left, Trent just stood there, brain trying to process what he'd just witnessed. His captain and his dom having some sort of understanding? About punishment?

"What the actual fuck was that?"

April just popped the lollipop back in her mouth, smirking. "Get in the car. We need to discuss your behavior."

Proper mad, this woman. The way she could switch between personas like that - angry Jamaican girlfriend to sweet WAG to dom in the space of minutes.

But watching her walk ahead of him, already planning whatever punishment she had in mind... yeah, he was even more gone for her now.

Though he really needed to figure out what was going on with Virgil.

A lad stopped them before they reached the Ferrari - a young guy with a Liverpool jersey and phone ready.

"Trent mate! Could I get a quick photo?"

His hamstring was screaming and April's punishment was waiting, but some things you just did. Proper part of the job.

"Your girlfriend's proper fit," the lad said as Trent signed his jersey. Then, with that dumb confidence only certain men had: "If you don't treat her right, I will."

Trent's jaw clenched, but April's hand was already on his chest. Looked sweet to anyone watching, but he could feel the warning in her touch.

"That's sweet," she said, voice dripping honey but eyes pure danger. "But I'm good where I am. Besides…" her smile went sharp. "You couldn't handle me."

The lad actually brightened at that, like the melt he was. Nudged Trent's shoulder with a grin. "Mate, keep this one yeah?"

Yeah, I'm trying to, Trent thought, watching April walk ahead to the car.

If only this muppet knew exactly what "handling" April meant. Man probably couldn't last five minutes following her commands.

But watching her slide into the driver's seat, that dom energy already creeping back…

Yeah, he'd keep her alright. If she let him.

Trent winced putting his duffel in the trunk, hamstring proper giving him grief now, then slid into the passenger's side. The stadium lights were fading behind them as April's Ferrari purred to life, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel like she was composing her thoughts.

"I really don't like seeing you hobble around when you're not at one hundred percent," she started as they pulled out of the lot. Liverpool's nighttime traffic moved around them, street lights and shop fronts painting shadows across her face, making her look even more intimidating somehow. The lollipop was gone now, but her lips still looked red from it.

"But CuJo-"

"Don't interrupt me."

"Yes, ma'am."

She was calmer now though, voice less sharp as she drove. The Ferrari handled like it was made for her, just like everything else in her life. "You weren't being a good boy. Not thinking things through. Though…" her tone softened slightly. "I understand wanting to help Curtis. That match was a proper clusterfuck."

"Tell me about it."

"And Slot getting a red? Who does that? In a derby of all matches?"

"Refs must've been on Everton's payroll."

"Wouldn't put it past them. That whole match was a circus."

The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the engine's purr and distant city noise. Trent couldn't help himself though - that interaction outside the dressing room was doing his head in. "So… that thing with Virgil…"

"Jealous?" Her smile was knowing, catching the glow of passing headlights.

"No," he said too quickly. But he was though - what kind of secret understanding did they have? What inside joke was he missing?

"He's a cool person," she said like she was reading his mind again. "And his wife is very cool."

The way she emphasized 'very' made his ears perk up. Something about her tone… Wait…

"April…" He squinted at her profile, illuminated by the dashboard lights.

"Yes, baby?" So casual as she took a turn, the Ferrari handling like an extension of her will.

"What is going on?"

Her chuckle was dark, echoing in the car's intimate space. "With what, baby? Speak plainly."

Fine. "Did you know Virgil before-" he gestured between them, at this thing they had become.

"Nope, never met him before our arrangement." She drove in silence for a few seconds, the city moving past their windows. "But… I had my… uh, let's call them 'dom senses' I guess, about Virgil. And I met his wife and my senses were right. As usual."

What the actual fuck? Was she saying his captain-

"My guess is he's a switch, given his wife's… tendencies. She's very assertive, isn't she? Very sure of herself, takes lead… remind you of someone?"

Holy shit.

His captain's wife was literally April.

"No fucking way." He scoffed. Not Virgil. Not his massive, intimidating captain. The man who'd just been properly bollocking them in the dressing room.

"The evidence is there, baby." Her smile was pure evil now, reflected in the windscreen. "Makes sense to me because a dom/dom together could never work, but a dom/switch… oh yes…"

His brain was properly broken now. His captain… his massive, intimidating captain…

Every interaction they'd had lately started replaying in his head. The knowing looks, the comments about April being "good for him," that whispered line about punishment…

His brain was still trying to catch up as they drove through his neighborhood. Like one of those videos where someone points out something obvious and suddenly you can't unsee it.

Virgil and his wife. All those "yes dear" moments at team gatherings. The way she'd give him that look and he'd just… comply. Everyone just thought it was normal marriage stuff, but now…

"How did I not see it before?" The words came out without permission.

April's laugh was knowing. "Because you weren't looking for it. But think about it - the way he leads on the pitch but follows her lead at home. How he can switch between commanding the team and taking direction."

Fucking hell. Even the word 'switch' hit different now.

"Those training sessions where he's proper strict…" Trent's mind was racing. "Then at dinner parties he's all 'whatever you say, love.'"

"Starting to get it now?"

All those times Virgil had seemed to understand about him and April. The comments about her being good for him. That knowing look when April commanded attention in a room.

His captain was a switch. His massive, intimidating, tattooed, throw-you-under-the-bus-in-training captain liked being told what to do by his wife.

God, he didn't know if he could ever look at him the same ever again.

"Your face right now," April was proper enjoying this. "Processing that your big strong captain isn't always in charge?"

"This is…" He couldn't even finish the thought.

"Welcome to the lifestyle, baby." Her hand found his thigh. "There's a lot you haven't noticed yet."

His head snapped toward her. "What else?"

But that smile just turned wicked as she drove on.

Proper violation, this woman. Always keeping him guessing.

Their conversation about Virgil had him so fucked up he barely noticed they'd reached his place until April was punching in his gate code. Mental that - how naturally she did it now, like she'd been doing it forever.

The Ferrari's headlights swept across his massive house as she pulled into the drive. Everything looked proper quiet - no lights on inside. Marcel must be out again.

The engine died, leaving them in this weird silence. April's hand moved to his thigh, thumb making these small circles that had his brain short-circuiting between thoughts of Virgil's apparent submissive side and what punishment she had planned for his match behavior.

"Still processing?" Her voice was pure amusement.

"Can't believe I never noticed."

"You'll start seeing it everywhere now." She turned to face him, and even in the dark her eyes had that dangerous glint. "But right now… we need to discuss your hamstring situation."

The way she said 'discuss' made his stomach flip.

"Inside." Not a suggestion. "We have things to sort out."

His hamstring might be fucked, but he'd never moved faster.

******************************************************

The PT's hands were working his hamstring while Trent scrolled through Instagram, trying not to wince. Someone had actually managed to film April going off on him in patois outside the dressing room - proper HD quality too. His face in it was embarrassing, looking at her like she hung the moon even while she was telling him off.

The comments were going proper mental:

"Mi nuh see no chancla but bro ducking like his Jamaican mom bout to launch one 😭" "Every yardie watching this having war flashbacks" "He's looking at her like 'yes mommy sorry mommy' 💀" "That's a proper Liverpool relationship if I ever saw one" "Scouse man getting checked by his girl, nothing new here" "Someone tell her to yell at me next PLEASE" "TAA found his match finally" "The way he's just accepting the cussing 😂" "No English subtitles needed, that tone is universal" "My Jamaican gran watching this like 'she too soft with him'"

Then there were the confused ones: "What language is this???" "Is he okay? She seems aggressive" "Someone translate please!"

The Liverpool fans were having a proper field day: "Local lad gets proper telling off, tale as old as time" "That's how we show love on Merseyside" "Only in Liverpool do we call this romance 😍"

Last night's punishment hadn't been too harsh - his hamstring saved him from anything physical, but having to write "I will make responsible decisions while injured" one hundred times like some naughty schoolboy… proper humiliating that. April had sat there watching him write each line, making him start over if his handwriting got sloppy.

Though he'd be lying if he said he hadn't enjoyed it a bit. Something about her overseeing his punishment, being strict but caring…

The PT room door opened and Trent nearly dropped his phone. Virgil walked in, all captain's presence, and everything got awkward.

How do you look your captain in the eye after finding out he might be a switch? After realizing all those "yes dear" moments had deeper meaning? After understanding why he always seemed to get April's commands?

"Hamstring okay?" Virgil asked, casual as anything. Like he hadn't whispered about punishments to April last night.

"Yeah…" Trent's voice came out weird. "Just… getting treatment."

"April sort you out last night?"

The knowing look in Virgil's eye had Trent wanting to disappear into the massage table. Every interaction they'd ever had was replaying in his head now, filtered through this new understanding.

"Nothing too harsh I hope?" Virgil continued, and Trent could swear he was enjoying this. "Given the injury."

"Just… lines."

"Ah." That knowing smile again. "Classic."

Proper violation, this whole situation. His captain giving him that look, probably thinking about his own experiences with discipline…

Nope. Not going there. Some things you just didn't need to know about your captain.

"Lines are better than what my wi-" Virgil caught himself, clearing his throat. "Than what you probably expected."

Trent's brain properly short-circuited. Was his captain actually about to share…?

"Listen," Virgil sat on the treatment table next to him, voice going quieter. "About last night…"

"We don't have to-"

"No, we do." Captain voice now. "Because you're looking at me like I've grown two heads and we need to sort this."

The PT had mysteriously disappeared, probably sensing this wasn't for their ears.

"April told you, didn't she?" Virgil wasn't really asking. "About her… suspicions?" Trent nodded, not trusting his voice. "Good. Then we can skip the awkward bit." Virgil actually grinned. "Because watching you try to process this is painful."

"But you're…" Trent gestured vaguely at all of Virgil. "You know. You."

"And? Dom at work, different at home. You telling me you don't understand that now?"

Well fuck. When he put it like that…

"Just…" Virgil stood up, back to captain mode. "Don't let it affect things on the pitch. What we do in private is private."

"Yes cap- sir- uh…"

Virgil's laugh echoed through the PT room. "Now you're just taking the piss."

But something had shifted between them. Some new understanding that went beyond captain and player.

"Oh, and Trent?"

"Yeah?"

"Lines are just the start mate. Trust me."

Fucking hell.

Trent sat there for a second after Virgil left, still feeling like his brain was running five minutes behind the conversation.

Lines are just the start, mate. Trust me.

Trust him?

He scrubbed a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. How the fuck was he supposed to process all of that? Virgil — his captain, his mentor — had just casually confirmed what April had suspected, and now, apparently, they shared... what? An understanding? Some secret code of conduct?

Trent wasn’t even sure how to feel about it, except he knew his brain was running through the last twenty-four hours on a loop, connecting things that he probably wouldn’t have noticed before. The way Virgil handled things. The quiet control. The way people listened to him without question. The way he never raised his voice, never needed to.

Dom at work, different at home.

The words settled in his gut, heavy but not unwelcome. If he’d had any doubts before, they were gone now.

A slow smirk curled at the edge of his lips. April was going to lose her mind when he told her.

Speaking of…

His phone buzzed on the table next to him.

April: You alive? Or did Virgil eat you alive for breakfast?

Trent: Debatable.

The typing bubbles popped up immediately, disappearing just as fast.

April: Need me to come kiss it better?

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

Trent: You just wanna know what he said.

April: ...Maybe.

Yeah, she was going to eat this up.

Trent stretched his arms over his head, rolling out the tension in his shoulders. His muscles ached still, but under it was something else, something looser. Like he’d passed some weird initiation he hadn’t even known he was part of.

His phone buzzed again.

April: Come home and tell me everything.

His dick twitched in his shorts. Jesus, this woman.

Trent: You’re actually evil.

April: And yet you love it.

She had him there.

He grabbed his things and headed out, already thinking of the things he could get her back for when he got home.

Maybe he'd make her beg for it this time, as if she'd ever let him, of course.

..............tbd

[orbital-inclination]

Any little tidbits from Molten!Dreams you’re willing to share?

Sure! Let’s talk about Molten!Dream’s Dreamtale. Long Post Incoming!!

The village and the Great Tree (the Tree of Emotion, but I’m calling it the Great Tree here because I think it sounds better) were surrounded by a vast old growth forest. In summer, the climate surrounding the Great Tree was dry and hot. In winter, it was wet, rainy and chilly, but snow was incredibly rare. It was not unheard of for forest fires to happen here.

Prior to the Apple Incident Molt and Rem never went so far that they couldn’t see the Great Tree. To them, the extent of Dreamtale is/was a massive, endless forest. If the forest had an outer boundary, they never saw it, only heard "unbelievable" tales of it from traveling merchants who insisted their world had an end to it. crazy talk. (and then Nightmare/Rem started reading. turns out, those merchants were telling the truth! it still felt an outlandish tall tale, but perhaps a little more believable outlandish tall tale.)

There were some aspects of the original Dreamtale that I don’t particularly care about; Neil the Cat, may or may not exist in the Molten!Dreams Timeline, if he does exist, he missed his chance to mentor, watch over or influence Dream in anyway (fate adverted!) because the brothers fled in the immediate aftermath. (more on this later. i want to make a comic about it.) The Tree of Life, the Tree of Magic and by extension, Lanny and Quetzalcoatl, aren’t relevant to Moltendreams, so I don’t seen them existing within Moltendreams’ canon. I think their involvement would be... whats the word? It doesn't make sense to my brain. They don't fit.

At some point I plan to revise Reapertale to better fit Moltendream’s multiverse. I say this now because I rather lean into Reapertale than use the Tree of Life. (the Tree of Magic feels a bit redundant on this note. why do we need a Tree of Magic when we have Creators? or even Ink, in some case. in Molten Dreams, Ink is a Muse of Creation rather than a being that actively creates AUs but my point still stands. etc. etc.)

The Apple incident was preceded by a string of misfortune.

The village was struck by a drought the previous winter. And the following spring and summer were unusually hot. Crops withered under the blistering sun. Food reserves plummeted. Wells dried up. Things got tense.

Despite the drought and the fires, the Great Tree was unaffected. While trees in the surrounding forest and in the village turned brown, the Great Tree was green. It bloomed flowers in spring while whole fields struggled to sprout. And when crops failed to produce anything that summer, the apples of the Great Tree were plump and ripe. The contrast between the immortality of the Great Tree and the fragility of life within the village, seeded resentment and bitterness...

Tensions between Dream and Nightmare, and the villagers, grew as a result of it. But that is neither the end nor the beginning of that story.

On the Village itself:

You’ll have to excuse the sketchiness, I haven’t drawn in a while, I’ve spent the last month and half trying to pick up my tablet only for my brain to tell me I’m apparently allergic to it. is the floor lava? noooo my TABLET IS LAVA!!! Any-who, moving on!

Notes:

Local architecture uses geometric shapes with lots of sharp angles and straight lines.

Windows are tall and narrow. No glass is used.

General construction materials will typically include stone, clay, hardened mud, and stucco. Wood is used sparingly.

Originally I played with the idea of the villagers using thatch for their roofs but on second thought, decided that idea didn’t fit the aesthetic.

i have tentative plans for the monsters who lived in the village to thematically follow mythology from the same regions I'm taking inspiration from for the architecture.

real world inspiration takes a lot from ancient Armenian, Roman and Mesopotamian architecture. Unfortunately, i am bad at drawing buildings and actively avoid it, but in the future i want to lean into this more. at least visually.

[alpacaradio]

There really is no excuse. Taken with much generosity, its constant discussion of transmisandry is coming from a place of hurt - but as soon as it's talking about trans women, you can immediately tell that OP has never really understood one.

I've never met a trans woman who hasn't grappled deeply with the expectations of masculinity on her and indeed often that very thing led her to identify her own womanhood. I found my own way to recognizing who I am through grappling with the expectations on me and how uncomfortable I was with them!

It was a role that I always implicitly rejected and was uncomfortable with. This story is so common I think it more likely than not you've heard it if you know even a single trans woman. To know many and not be deeply familiar with it seems ... almost impossible. I can only conclude that the OP hasn't really listened.

And in all of this, "if transmascs need to sit for hours and unlearn transmisogyny, fine. but" but nothing at all, because you clearly haven't done the work to put anything after that sentence making demands of a community. You're talking about us like you've done the work to really know and understand trans women, and you've even appealed to multiple evil tranny behaviors, behaviors I've literally never seen from any trans woman, to the point where I think the problem is mostly you.

It is so easy to see that so much of what is in genderqueerdyke's response is specific issues with specific trans women being projected onto an entire community, including so many things which are obviously a consequence of simply not listening to or refusing to believe us.

Yes! I know sex workers, too! Yes, our bodies are constantly fetishized for our maleness even though we are not male. And yes, there are clients who seek out trans women specifically seeing us as men. We're surrounded by chasers. What I find surprising is not that a sex worker you knew had clients who told her they were attracted to her for her maleness, but that you refused to believe her, because I'd say it's more likely than not that any trans woman who's ever done sex work has been told that very thing. But you refuse to believe the things women have told you, and so you put doubt on that part of our experience too. You had to make our lived experience sound impossible, so that describing our experiences sounds like bigotry rather than fact.

I'm so annoyed I popped into second person, but I do not really want to talk to it at all. I don't want it to talk to me or anyone else; I want it to stop talking about trans women entirely until it can fucking believe even one of us and not talk over us and decide our experiences for us.

Any time someone says, "I need to unlearn X? Fine, but" your hackles should be raised. This is someone that really should not be trying to speak about the community of trans women.

I guess this is something the community has generally known about Equinox, but damn, this isn't a mistake or something you can just apologize for; this is evidence of an entire way of thinking that underlies every rant I've ever seen about transmisandry. How am I supposed to believe any differently when I've only ever seen it post through all of this and never really actually grapple with it? How are we supposed to get "solidarity" when solidarity means putting up with the abuse of being bombarded with this belief system the moment we let our guard down? the moment we're comfortable with ourselves? @genderqueerdykes is not someone who can truly be in community with me, and I think not someone to feel comfortable around as a trans woman. If I were its friend I would hold my cards damn close to my chest.

Pretend you didn't see that.

This is a level of transmisogyny that is somewhat hard to comment on because the things that one would normally point out as transmisogynistic implications are said so brazenly that there can be no pretense about any of the involved parties being unaware of it. The authors know, the readers know, everybody understands that this is pure transmisogyny. There is no plausible deniability.

It's an attempt to establish proximity between transfems and cis manhood in every way possible. Their bodies, their histories, their "socialization", the way they are treated by others, the way they treat and view others, their ways of thinking, even their self-conception. Every aspect of their being is cast as essentially male. Transfems are being called "men" in all but name - and not just any "men", they are made into embodiments of the worst aspects of hegemonic manhood. Not just male socialized but continuing to benefit from male socialization. Not just engaging in abusive behaviors stemming from male socialization but being afforded the freedom to do so because they continue to be treated as men. (Suffice it to say that this does not align with reality)

This is unadulterated sex-essentialism and it's intentionally being used to delegitimize and devalue the standpoint of transfems in feminist discourses. It's clear that the author is projecting transmisogynist ideas onto transfems and simply assumes that these ideas must be correct without considering any alternative. (The fact that transfems do not internalize "male socialization" has been reiterated many times over and should not have to be continually reasserted. This is a baseline level of understanding that we should be able to expect and demand from members of our community.)

Misogyny is framed as being contained within the realms of sexed bodies and gendered socialization in such a way that it allows for the casting of transfems as people enacting misogyny without being primary targets themselves - like cis men.

The claim that the animosity some transfems exhibit towards men comes from wanting to "prove" their womanhood serves the double purpose of casting their womanhood as inauthentic and denying the misogyny they suffer at the hands of men. One would be hard pressed to find a more cruel mischaracterization of transfems' experiences than this.

The cynical misappropriation of the standpoint of the people this screed is directed at by the use of "we" despite making it abundantly clear that the behavior that is being criticized and its supposed causes exempt people such as the author from the possibility of engaging in it should also be noted as an attempt at weaponizing a compromised version of standpoint epistemology against transfems.

The only plausible target audience for this kind of rhetoric are those who carry extreme ressentiment towards transfems and are susceptible to softened formulations of TERF ideology. These are the same kinds of ideas that TERFs have tried to push into trans spaces numerous times, e.g. under names like "sex-conscious feminsim".

A formulaic "retreat" from this post consisting entirely of platitudes has been published after the author received backlash for it but nobody is under any obligation to accept it and they absolutely should not. A person who was very obviously attempting to promote TERF ideology in trans spaces and in the same stroke accused transfems of being uniquely prone to making false accusations is not trustworthy, even if that person backs down upon realizing that the reception is more uniformly negative than anticipated.

@genderqueerdykes @gateway-2000 is a transmisogynist, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Its entire worldview is permeated by transmisogynistic assumptions, ideas and biases at a fundamental level. It has straightforwardly expressed an understanding of transfems' interiorities, their experiences and their social positions that is so incorrect that one has to wonder how someone holding these views could have navigated trans communities for a considerable amount of time without encountering the many transfeminist rebuttals to all of its demagoguery. How could someone with even a passing level of familiarity with TERF ideology or "gender critical feminism" read and espouse these ideas without recognizing them? It's completely unthinkable. It's not unreasonable to assume that it simply misjudged the consensus within its audience as being sufficiently anti-transfeminist for ideas such as these to fall upon fertile ground and it is now going back to waiting until the time is ripe to reintroduce them and to expressing them in more subtle ways until then.

But you can't un-ring a bell.

We can and should assert boundaries against reactionaries engaging in obvious subversion such as this. Refusing to do so is a deleterious error in judgement. This is very far beyond the limits of what any trans community that wants to consider transfems a part of itself can be allowed to tolerate.

[lordfancy]

My quick take on ShadowVanilla

(not a negative post/ask me anything)

This is kind of random, but I can’t stop thinking about the dynamic between Shadow Milk Cookie and Pure Vanilla because I do honestly really enjoy it. Also, this is mostly just my opinion, so please bear with me.

Overall, I don’t ship them. No matter how much I think about it, I just can’t see them in a romantic relationship.

However, I really love the idea of them having a strong, loving friendship instead. There’s still care and compassion between them, but in a way that feels more natural rather than romantic.

I think another reason I’m not the biggest fan of the romantic ship is that I’ve seen their pairing and dialogue reduced to nothing but "really gay yaoi," which is kind of upsetting. It feels like their dynamic gets dumbed down to that; but I’m not saying all shippers are like that, of course.

Most importantly though, I don’t have anything against anyone who does ship them I’ve just had trouble finding more content that focuses on their platonic bond.

Honestly, I’d love for anyone to ask me questions or just talk to me about this because, overall, I think ship wars are childish, unless someone’s shipping something borderline illegal, you know? I like understanding different perspectives, even if we don’t see eye to eye. Just because someone likes cheeseburgers doesn’t mean you have to hate them cause you don’t like cheeseburgers.

But yeah, that’s all my rambling. Feel free to drop your opinion I’d love to hear other people’s takes on this from both perspectives 🙇‍♂️🙏