#i mean they consumed my thoughts every single day for years

[phillieladybird]

i am feeling so weird i mean nothing feels real

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.6 devil's advocate

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

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

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

ᰔ chapter. 6/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 10.7k

a/n. so sorry for the wait! i'm really excited for this chapter, it's one that i've been waiting for since before i even started the series, and it was a lot of fun to write. i hope you enjoooy <3 if there are typos, your mind is just playing tricks on you

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

Life after realizing you had feelings for Gojo Satoru seemed to pass by in slow-motion, as you spent a significant portion of the day consumed by thoughts of him. Although it was against your better judgment, it was nice to have your mind occupied by something that wasn’t career stress, school stress, or financial stress. It’s been a minute since you’ve felt this way about someone, and it was healthy to indulge in some escapism, right? 

You find yourself scrolling through his Instagram page for the second third time today, captivated by the attractive photos of him in his soccer uniform, kicking at the ball with a determined look on his face. Your gaze fixates on the blue follow-back button staring back at you on his page, remembering that you still haven’t followed him back. Pulling your phone away from your line of sight, you glance up at the ceiling, take a deep breath, and swiftly tap the blue button. You clutch your phone to your chest right after, surprised by the butterflies in your stomach, but it’s only ten seconds before you’re back to perusing his photos. 

You sigh dreamily from where you were laid back on your bed. Mina looks up at you from her desk with an irritated expression on her face. 

“What’s with the dreamy sighing every thirty seconds? I’m trying to study here,” she says to you.

You throw her a look. “Oh please, I’ve had to deal with your dreamy sighs every single time you were on the phone with Todo for the past two weeks. You can handle a few of mine.”

Mina’s eyes widen at your words and she turns in her chair to look at you intently. “Wait…who are you dreamily sighing for?”

You blink in response. “Oh, uh. No one? I mean, what’s that one actor’s name–the one in that show we were watching?” You tap your finger to your lip, pretending to be in deep thought, but Mina wasn’t buying any of it since she promptly stood up from her chair and snatched your phone out of your hand. You yelp and sit up on your bed to try and grab it back from her but she has that I was the eldest sibling in my household grip on your phone. 

“Is this…Gojo Satoru’s Instagram page?” she asks, extending your phone out in front of her and tilting her head to the side at the screen, as though she was trying to wrap her head around it.

“Stop! You’ll accidentally tap on something,” you’re squealing at her, arms flailing out in an attempt to grab at your phone. She eventually hands it back to you and you’re sighing with relief before flopping back down onto your bed, fingers eagerly swiping up on the screen to make sure she didn’t accidentally like one of his posts from four months ago. 

“Are you crushing on Gojo Satoru?” Mina asks with her hands on her hips.

You meet her gaze with a hint of guilt. You haven’t kept Mina up-to-speed on a lot of the things that have happened within the past three weeks, including the night last week when Gojo stayed with you out on the road after you got your flat tire and then kissed you. It’s been about five days since then, and you feel that if you fessed up now, she’d be mad that you didn’t tell her right away. 

“I’m…” you start as you look at her and she raises an eyebrow at you that makes you sheepishly sit up on your bed, pretty much kneeling in front of her. “Maybe. A little bit? I don’t know.”

She looks at you with surprise before walking backwards and sitting onto her bed, facing you. She presses her lips together, deep in thought, and there’s an almost concerned expression on her face. “When did this develop?”

You end up explaining pretty much everything that has happened between you and Gojo as of recently, her face staying neutral through even the most surprising details, and by the time you’re done explaining and waiting for her to give a response, you realize you’re tensing your shoulders and holding your breath.

She sighs, sulking a little and her bed frame creaks underneath the mattress. “I can’t believe you kissed Gojo Satoru and you didn’t tell me about it, like, practically the second after it happened. Also, you never told me that’s why you called me that night! It makes sense now why your car has been in ‘service’ for almost an entire week. I feel so horrible you went through that and I wasn’t there for you.”

“It’s okay,” you assure her with a small smile. “I’m fine. It was really nerve-wracking in the moment,” you say as you glance down at your hands, twiddling with your thumbs as the memories of that night flash through your mind. “But having him there really helped calm me down,” you admit in a hushed tone. When you look up at Mina, she wears a soft and knowing expression on her face.

“That’s good, I’m glad,” she murmurs and returns your smile with one of her own, but her eyes still look at you with caution.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. 

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just I don’t really know Gojo that well. From what you’re telling me, he seems like a nice guy,” she comments, “but the fact he’s been really diligent in following-through with this whole film photography assignment of yours makes me wonder where his head’s at with you.” She finishes her sentence, but you continue to watch her since you could tell she had more on her tongue. “I just hope he’s not messing with you.” 

“Messing with me?” you ask her. There’s a part of you deep inside that’s wondering the same thing, but the thought of having to confront that feeling in order to get an answer makes you want to stay in blissful ignorance instead. 

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth and looks at you for a few seconds. “Maybe I’m overthinking it. It’s just a crush, right?” Her phone chimes with an alarm noise and she grabs it to turn it off. “Oh shoot, I’m going to be late for class,” she groans, leaping up off of her bed and stuffing all of her things on her desk into her bag. She gives you a goodbye over her shoulder just before she heads out of your shared room and then you’re all by yourself. 

Mina’s last question to you hangs in the air. You didn’t really know how you would’ve answered, because you didn’t know what you expected to come from your feelings, if anything at all. You’ve had feelings for plenty of other guys before, some turning into something more and others turning into nothing at all. Having feelings for someone wasn’t really something to worry about or complicate. 

You lay back down onto your bed with a sigh and go to the messages on your phone, clicking on Gojo’s name. It was so bizarre that he was now in your list of actual text messages since you had his number now, but the two of you have only exchanged a few texts since that night you last saw him. He sent over his practice schedule for the week, which was pretty packed and busy since their big game on the 28th was in just two days, and when you zoom in on the picture you see that he has practice in about ten minutes from now. You assumed that since he never texted you about it, they were probably just doing drills out on the field or some other exercises. But you missed him, and you wished that you did have an excuse to visit him. You didn’t care about tweaking your camera angles, fixing the exposure, or trying out different light sensitivities for your photos so they come out immaculate. You just wanted to see him again.

Tossing your phone to your side, suddenly frustrated by how mentally drained you feel, you look around the room and decide to tidy up a bit to distract yourself from all your emotions. As you start to pick things up off your desk and place them back on the shelf, you notice that you still have a netted bag full of washed laundry to fold. You dump all of the clothing onto your bed, consisting of sports bras, multiple pairs of jeans, your nice panties and also your grandma undies. One of the articles of clothing catches your eye, and you pull it out from the pile. It was Gojo’s jacket. 

Your heart skips a beat in your chest as you take in the sight of it, all the memories of that night flashing back into your head. You remember the chill of the air, the deep sound of his voice beside you, the gentle look in his eyes, his lips pressed against yours. Gojo had kissed you, so that had to have meant something, right? Maybe it was a spur of the moment thing, an emotional decision because the two of you were alone, and it was dark, and it was cold, and you two were reveling in each other’s warmth, but it was still something he initiated. It was so brief, the moment cut so tragically short that you still find yourself craving more despite the fact it happened almost a week ago. Mina wasn’t home that night, and instead of spending the rest of it curled up by yourself like you ended up doing, you could’ve easily invited him inside. You wonder if he would’ve taken you up on the offer, and how far you two would’ve gone. And now, because you were imaging it, you find it in your heart that you wanted it. Before you know it, those feelings you swore you wouldn’t complicate started to feel complicated. If all the novels, movies, poems, and folklore of this world have been any indicator, when it comes to matters of the heart, it’s always impossible to defy. 

You bring the jacket to your chest, the fabric now smelling like the laundry detergent that all of your other clothes smell like, and no longer of him. It was the polite thing to do to wash it, but the absence of his scent on the soft material just made you miss him even more. 

Closing your eyes in disbelief at the thought that crosses your mind, you resolve to act now and deal with whatever comes later. If you wanted to see him, you were going to see him. Besides, wanting to hand his jacket back to him wasn’t so bad of an excuse to drop by, right? What if it was a deeply sentimental article of clothing that is agonizing for him to be apart from? (a/n. he doesn’t even realize you still have it lol)

You grab your tote bag as well as his jacket and head out of your apartment, down to the ground floor, and walk down the street until you reach the bus stop that takes you to campus. You make it there in about forty minutes, the bus dropping you off near the central area. As you start walking towards the expensive art sculpture near the practice fields, you pass by the school’s mini convenience store and the bottles of strawberry vanilla soda splayed out in the display case catches your eye. You then find yourself inside buying two cans. One for him, one for you. Maybe he’ll be open to hanging out after practice, and you could properly treat him to something nice for all of his help. 

Soon enough, you’re walking across the grassy hills that lead to the field. It was a slightly gloomy day today, with the sun only peaking through the clouds every five minutes or so, but it was still beautiful and something about the fresh air made your chest swell with ease. Just as you get closer, you notice Geto and Nanami walking together in your direction.

“Oh, it’s y/n!” you hear Geto say when you approach them.

You greet the two of them with a smile. “Hello, it’s nice to see you two. Are you finished with practice?”

“No, we’ve still got about two hours left, but we just finished a pretty intense set of drills so coach is giving us a fifteen,” Geto says through strained breathing, and you finally notice that the two of them looked sweaty and spent. “What’s that in your arms?”

You look down at the strawberry vanilla sodas you were carrying and then back up at the two of them. “Oh…I just wanted to bring some soda for mr. center forward, as a thanks for getting me referee permission to be on-field on Thursday.” 

Nanami crosses his arms across his chest and Geto’s eyes widen. “Damn, wish I had a cute girl go out of her way to bring me strawberry-flavored soda mid practice,” Geto muses.

“I don’t think Satoru deserves this level of kindness, y/n,” Nanami tells you with a shake of his head. Geto looks over at him with a wry expression before letting out a small laugh. 

You give the two of them a smile. “No, really, he’s been helpful. Is he out on the field?” you ask, standing on tiptoes to try and peer over their shoulders towards the field.

“Yeah, he is, I think he stayed back since Coach Yaga was yelling at him about something,” Geto answers and he takes a glance at his watch, “he usually doesn’t stick around to take the lecturing for longer than two minutes so he’s probably somewhere hanging around nearby.” 

“That’s good. Coach Yaga scares me,” you admit to the two of them, pretending to shiver at the thought of him yelling, and this earns a smile from Nanami. 

“He’s really not that scary of a guy, just pretends to be one,” Geto informs you then lets out an exhale and places his hands on his hips after fully regaining his breath. “So, you’re going to be on the field with us on Thursday? That’s awesome, please cheer for us. Also, you should come out to the house party the night before the game.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You guys still party before your big games?”

Geto laughs. “I always forget you’re not in a sorority. Yeah, we do, I think the frat just wants an excuse to go crazy and picks our game schedule to go off of. You’ve no idea how many of our players have been in massive shit by showing up hungover to games.” 

Nanami lets out a disgruntled noise. “It’s irresponsible, honestly.”

You give an apologetic laugh before fidgeting with the soda cans in your arms, eventually throwing them into your tote, and then peering over their shoulders once more as an impatient feeling washes over you, the desire from earlier to see Gojo consuming you in a way that was entirely distracting. Nanami seems to notice this as he uncrosses his arms and slightly nudges Geto with his elbow. Geto sends him a curious glance before looking back at you.

“Well, anyway. If you’re free tomorrow night, come by. Pre-game parties are usually pretty hype. Yuuji’s bouncing, so he’ll let you in,” Geto says to you, giving you a kind smile.

“Yeah, I’ll try to make it,” you say, returning his smile. The two of them walk past you and you continue to trek forwards until you reach the large hill that oversees the field. 

Once you’re at the top, your eyes immediately scan the field for Gojo, and you quickly spot him at the foot of the hill talking to some people. You notice the group surrounding him weren’t wearing athletic clothing of any sort, so you assumed they were just his friends. He had a bright smile on his face and just the sight of it created a warmth within you. As you begin to stumble down the hill, your legs hasty in their stride, you see him leaning down forward towards one of the girls in the group with a playful look on his face. The girl looks up at him with a tilt of her head and you hear feminine, high-pitched laughter in the air as she steps closer to him, swatting at his chest from something he says. He’s fully grinning at her now, and it’s so painfully obvious they’re flirting that the feeling in your chest that was so excited to see him quickly turns sour. 

He somehow catches you standing at the bottom of the hill in his periphery and his eyes widen. There’s a moment where you hesitate, but eventually take a deep breath and make your way through the crowd. A few within the group let out confused noises from the disruption and then you were standing right in front of Gojo. 

“Who’s this?” one of his friends asks, particularly annoyed since you had accidentally nudged him to the side in your stride. You could feel the wide eyes from the men and the curious glares from the women. 

Gojo’s standing there shocked, likely from the fact that he wasn’t expecting you to be here, and then glances around to the people in the group. “Oh, just someone I…” he starts, his facial expression softening slightly when he looks back at you, but you’re giving him a guarded expression, “...know.” 

Your mouth opens slightly in disbelief, before you quickly close it. It’s true that you didn’t really know what you and Gojo were at the moment, it’s possible you would’ve answered the same, but his description of the nature of your relationship with him still hurts. He could’ve at least said your name or introduced you. And your disappointment from his words made you realize an unsettling truth, which was that you did want more from him, and you weren’t sure if that was something he was interested in at all. 

The girl he was talking to earlier is glaring daggers at your side, and you suddenly feel suffocated surrounded by a group of people watching you with interest. The man in front of you, despite getting to know him for the better part of the past three weeks, started to feel like a stranger to you all over again. You shove his jacket to his chest, and he looks down at it with surprise before hesitantly grabbing onto it. 

“Just wanted to return your jacket,” you mumble to him, trying so hard to sound neutral and sane. “I washed it for you.”

You hear a few of the men surrounding you coo something suggestive, a few laughs making their way between them as the women in the group scoff in denial. You ignore them and keep your gaze on Gojo. He’s looking straight down at you and scanning your features, and you notice his face briefly contorts into one of guilt when he registers the disappointed look on your face. 

Reaching into your bag, you pause when you see the two cans of strawberry vanilla soda sitting at the bottom, the smiling cartoon mascot faces on the labeling staring up at you like some pitiful conscience. You reached in and grabbed one regardless, then extended it to Gojo. He blinks at it before looking up at you. When he doesn’t immediately grab it, you also shove it to his chest until he does. When his fingertips make contact with your hand as he takes it from you, the contact sends a shiver down your spine. 

You bite your lip, faltering before you speak again. “For your help. Officially even now.” Then you turn around and push through the strangers spectating the whole scene to make it over to the grassy hills. You vaguely hear Gojo call your name out from behind you, his voice quickly drowned out by the voices of those surrounding him as they continue conversation, and soon enough you’re out of sight over the hill. 

—

“So, you’re telling me that this guy goes out of his way to help you for this class assignment, in a way that’s unproportionate to the favor that you put in for him, he flirtatiously teases you any chance he gets, drives out late at night to stay with you when you’re stranded with a flat, has an earnest conversation with you about life, kisses you, diligently takes care of you until you’re home safe, and then when you run into him in front of his friends, he says you’re just someone he knows?” Mina’s recounting every single painful detail as she paces around in your shared room. “I know you both haven’t had a conversation about anything after that night, which is insane because you should’ve, but at least he could’ve said you were a friend?” 

You scoff from where you’re laid down on your bed. “I caught him sliding his hands up a girl’s top in the bathroom at that SAE party last week, and when he tried to explain the situation to me he said that he and that girl are just friends. So, by his definition, we’re definitely not friends.”

Mina sighs. “Honestly, y/n, I know he’s charming and he’s been nice to you, but he still has a reputation for being a player.” 

You look up at the ceiling, your pillow clutched in your arms for emotional support. “He almost looked like he didn’t even want me there. Like I was an unwelcome interruption. Some sort of nuisance.” You weren’t sure exactly how to read the expression he had on his face from your unexpected visit, but your brain had a habit of settling on the worst. 

Mina sits down at her desk, turning her chair to face you. You were fully sulking like a heart-broken teenager and you didn’t understand why. He wasn’t any sort of title to you, and you haven’t even known him for that long. Barely a couple weeks ago, you were still resolved to the fact that he was some sort of mystery. An urban legend around campus that you couldn’t believe you were talking to because people like him didn’t usually talk to people like you. 

“Why don’t you just ask him how he feels about you? Put an end to the guessing game. Be like ‘hey, jerk, I know it’s common-place for frat dudes to kiss girls like they’re a dime a dozen. But that’s not gonna fly with me, so fess up on your intentions’. Something like that,” Mina suggests, waving a finger in the air.

You glance at her annoyed. “Were you trying to do an impression of me? I don’t talk like that.”

“You kind of do, love,” she says with a smile on her face. 

You look back up at the ceiling. “...I don’t want to have that conversation with him. It’ll hurt my pride. He should’ve been the one asking me what we are now, since he’s the one that kissed me.” You turn to gauge her opinion at your words, but her expression isn’t giving any hints. “Is that petty? I feel like I’m being petty.”

“No, girl, I agree with you,” she says with a sigh, “that’s how it should be, but almost never ends up being the case.” She looks up at the ceiling briefly, a thought forming in her head, before looking down at you with a sly smile. 

“What?” you ask, already wearily anticipating her response.

“You want to know how to find out how he feels about you without asking him how he feels about you?” she says like it was some sort of sales pitch.

You turn onto your side and perch yourself up on your elbow, a little too interested. “How?”

She snaps her fingers. “Make him jealous.”

You look at her apprehensively. “Jealous?”

“I mean, that’s the foolproof way to tell how a guy really feels about you. Based on how he reacts when he sees another guy’s tongue shoved down your throat,” she says with a playful shrug.

You flop down on the bed again. “Now that’s petty.” You hug your pillow to your chest again, considering the option. You didn’t even know if Gojo would feel jealous if you tried to make him jealous, it’s possible he wouldn’t even care at all if he saw you with another guy. 

“Yes, petty, but so what? We’re seniors in college, now’s our last chance to be petty. After we graduate, we’ve got to be fully functioning members of society,” she sighs, “you only get to be a petty college chick once.”

“How would I make him jealous?” you ask, still dwelling on her suggestion.

“Well, SAE is having that pre-game party tonight, he’s definitely going to be there. It’s your chance,” she says, tapping at her phone to glance at the time. 

You hum to yourself. The mature part of you is telling you that it’s a ridiculous idea, but the angel on your shoulder that has weathered the pain of all your confusing feelings as of lately was starting to play devil’s advocate. After a minute’s silence, you cover your face with your hand and groan. “Oh god.”

Mina looks up at you again. “What?”

“I’m gonna do it,” you say, swinging your feet over to the edge of the bed so you’re sitting up, pillow still hugged to your chest as you look at her. “I’m going to go find out how he really feels about me.”

Mina’s smiling at you and hops onto her feet. “Finally. I’ve been waiting for the toxic version of you to make her appearance.”

There was still a couple of hours before the party, so you take a shower and spend some time doing your hair as well as makeup. Wearing your robe, you walk over to your dresser and open it to pull out a pair of jeans when Mina looks over at you and sighs. You send her a look and she makes her way over to you, nudging you to the side with her hip and shoving your jeans back into the drawer.

“You’re not wearing jeans to this party,” she groans, “do I seriously have to teach you everything?” Mina starts shifting through the clothes you had hung up on your hangers, eyes landing on something that was tucked away to the side. She pulls out your black dress, the one that had long, skin tight sleeves with a sweetheart neckline and the short hem that barely fell to the middle of your thighs. She pats at the soft and silky material, pulling on it in an attempt to smooth out one of the wrinkles. “Oh, yes, honey. This will definitely do.”

“It’s wrinkled,” you say in a poor attempt to get out of wearing it. 

“Nothing my straightener set at 350 degrees won’t fix,” she says to you with a wink.

It takes Mina three minutes to prepare your dress for you while you anxiously pace around the room, fidgeting to yourself, and she eventually hands it to you to wear. The dress had an A-line silhouette cinched at the waist and the top half was tight, so you decided not to wear a bra with it. Just as you’re about to pull on a pair of biker shorts underneath to cover a bit more since the short fabric was hardly doing much, Mina sends you another disappointed look. 

“y/n, please, you’re killing me here,” she says. “To make him jealous, you’ve gotta get other guys to look at you. That might mean being a bit risque with the attire tonight.”

You sulk your shoulders before sighing and tossing your biker shorts back into your closet. You turn around to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress over you and tousling with your hair before gasping a little as you take in your entire appearance. You looked good, and Mina’s playful cat-call from behind you only gave you a greater kick of confidence. 

“Love it, cute but sexy at the same time,” she says with a smile. “It’s your turn to be the hottie at the party.”

You two decide to take an Uber to the frat strip, arriving at the host house close to 10pm, and you can already hear the loud chanting and music inside. As you make your way up to the driveway, a gust of wind breezes by and your hands immediately hold down the fabric of your dress in an attempt to not flash the group of people walking behind the two of you. Mina looks over at you with a mischievous smile. You make eye contact with Yuuji at the entrance and he straightens his posture when he sees you and Mina approaching.

“Hello, ladies. I see we’ve switched roles here tonight,” Yuuji says with a tip of his head. “Bombshell friend,” he gestures to you, “and-”

“If you call me a casual tomboy, I can’t guarantee I won’t smack you,” Mina says to him.

Yuuji blinks at her. “Head on in,” he mumbles and you two walk past him.

It hits you as you walk inside that this is the third SAE party that you’ve been to within the past three weeks, and yet the atmosphere still surprises you every time. The music was loud, but at this one, the people chanting was even louder. You notice there were posters and flags with the school’s colors and symbols plastered up and hanging from the staircase, as well as pinned up jerseys on the walls that looked a lot like the ones that the soccer players wear during matches. Oh, and derogatory insults for the opposing school were drawn across all the decorations.

“I’m going to go find Todo,” Mina says to you with excitement and then she’s skipping off into the heart of the party, leaving you alone.

You sigh and fidget with the sleeves of your dress, looking around the party, your heart beating fast in your chest at the prospect that you’ll lock eyes with Gojo but you don’t see him anywhere. As you walk inside, you notice that people are looking at you, and when you make eye contact with some, you notice a lot of them were men, and the attention has you itching for a drink. You quickly make your way into the kitchen and are satisfied when you see the insane amount of options that you can reach for on the island. You grab a White Claw, crack the can open and when you turn around, you jump a little from the sight of a person in front of you.

“Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the man in front of you says with an apologetic look on his face, and you recognize him as the one that was bouncing the last SAE party that you went to last weekend. “Just going to reach around you to grab…that.” He reaches around you to grab an entire bottle of tequila, his arm brushing against yours and his eyes meet yours with a smile on his face. “I remember you from last week. You’re stunning by the way, what’s your name?”

You tell him and he’s nodding his head slowly, a cheeky look on his face that you’re used to seeing when guys attempt small talk to distract from the other less-than-innocent things they have floating around in their heads. “Nice, I’m Ryota,” he says as he adjusts the snap-back he was wearing on his head, “you, uh, in a sorority?” He leans back against the kitchen counter in front of you and you wonder if grabbing the tequila was just an excuse to talk to you.

You find yourself turning away from him slightly, taking a huge gulp of the White Claw you had in your hands to realize that 8% ALC./VOL was not going to be enough to get you through the night, so you turned to face him again. “No, I’m not. Are you going to drink all that tequila by yourself or are you looking to share?”

He smirks at you. “There’s enough for two.” 

You and this man you met literally two minutes ago cheers a few shots, throwing them back, and you notice that he does them almost effortlessly while you’re wincing from the fact that it’s been a long time since you’ve had hard liquor. He’s chuckling at your reactions as your face scrunches up from your third shot and you wave your hand in front of your face from the burn. A few people that walk in and out of the kitchen periodically give the two of you amused looks before walking back out into the loud party nearby. 

“Can’t handle your alcohol?” Ryota asks and you sigh, your face already feeling flushed.

“I can, I swear,” you whine.

“Here, wanna?” he says to you as he hands you another shot and then he holds his outstretched arm up. You think he’s trying to cheers, so you tap his shot glass, and then he’s laughing. “No, hold your arm out.” You do as he says and he holds his arm against yours and soon enough he’s taking a step closer to you and you’re interlocking your arms at the elbow. You let out a small gasp from his proximity but his eyes on you are unwavering. He brings his shot glass to his lips and you do the same and then you both tip your heads back, the burn in your throat making you unwind your arm from him and shake your head until you’re leaning back against the island counter and you hear him laugh again in front of you.

“Y/n?” a familiar voice calls out that instantly sobers you up from the four shots of tequila you so valiantly threw back. 

The two of you turn your heads to look at the source of the voice, and you see Gojo standing at the entrance of the kitchen. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him and you feel your heart skip a beat in your chest, still so shocked at just how breathtaking he was anytime you saw him. He was holding an empty bottle of alcohol in his hands. You straighten your posture but Ryota still leans against the counter nonchalantly.

“Hey, what’s up dude. Sorry, I was about to circle back with more tequila, but I got caught up in here,” Ryota says and flashes you a smile. “Do you know y/n here?” 

You observe Gojo, who wears a tense expression in response to hearing his words, and then he locks eyes with you. A look of surprise swiftly passes across his face as he takes in your appearance, and you feel as if you're practically burning under his gaze. He looks back at Ryota and furrows his brow. 

“Yeah, I do,” he mutters and rudely pushes right in between the two of you to make it to the fridge. “Seems like you do, too.” 

Ryota seems to pick up on something from Gojo's tone that you don’t, because suddenly he’s standing up straight from the counter and turns to look at you with a contemplative expression. "I'll bring the tequila, or what's left of it I guess, out there," he mentions to Gojo, excusing himself with a brief glance in your direction. As he leaves and turns around the corner, a noticeable weight hangs in the air from how you and Gojo are alone in the kitchen now.

You lean back against the island, reaching for the White Claw you had opened earlier and take another sip. There was a muted buzz lingering in your head, and it felt good, offering a pretty welcome distraction from the fact that Gojo was standing just a few feet away from you, searching for something in the fridge. When he doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for, he closes the fridge door with a louder-than-normal slam, startling you, and then he turns around to face you.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” he declares with an edge to his voice, and you’re already rolling your eyes.

“Sorry, pal, should I send you a notarized attendance letter three business days in advance so I don’t end up cock-blocking you in a bathroom again?” you sneer at him. 

He leans back against the fridge, facing you as he crosses his arms across his chest. Damn it, don’t stare at the muscles. Don’t do it. “What’s with the attitude?” 

“I don’t have an attitude, this is just how I talk to my acquaintances,” you retort as you take another sip of your drink.

He takes a step forward to you, eyes shamelessly dipping to the neckline of your dress and then a little bit further to where the hem grazes your thighs. He places his palm on the counter behind you that you were resting back on and then he’s leaning closer to you, your grip on the can in your hand tightening. He was so close that you can’t think of anything but him. His eyes are on your lips when he speaks. “Are we just acquaintances?” 

You narrow your eyes at him, all of your anger from yesterday and earlier today resurfacing at his question as you look up at him straight in the eyes. “Yes, I’m only someone you know, right?”

He’s sighing and you can tell he wants to pull away from you to display his annoyance, but he stays right where he’s at. The hand that was placed on the counter slowly inches towards your waist until his thumb is brushing against the fabric of your dress just underneath your rib cage. He starts to draw slow circles on the material, pressing into your skin occasionally, and you‘re breathless from the contact. “I’m getting the hint that you’re mad at me about something, but it’s hard to care when you’re looking like this.”

You let out a scoff at his words. You’ve spent the past two days suffering from his behavior, and he’s trying to get away with it by practically seducing you. But there was also a part of you that was entirely aroused by how little he seemed to care about your attitude and how much more he seemed to care about the way you were worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “Looking like what?”

The thumb that was pressing against the clothed skin of your waist retreats and his hand moves back to where it was before, laid flat on the counter next to you, except this time his other arm reaches out for the surface too. And now he’s got you caged-in, looking down at you like he’s trying really hard to not get even closer. “Looking hot as fuck? You’re kind of vain for making me say it out loud.” 

You’re effectively dazed out of your goddamn mind at this point, using all the self-control you’ll have for the rest of a lifetime to not grab onto his shirt and pull him into you, all inhibitions lost to the wind. You wouldn’t even care if anyone walked in, you just needed him on you, touching you, kissing you right now. But there’s a tiny part of you that’s still mad at him, and fortunately that tiny part of you pulls through. “If you think trying to seduce me is going to make me not angry anymore, you’re out of luck.”

“I’m not trying to seduce you. You think this is me trying to seduce you? If that’s so, I’m starting to worry you won’t be able to take it,” he whispers that last part so suggestively that you’re weak in the knees from his words. He seemed so different, entirely preoccupied by taking in the sight of every inch of you in front of him that any sense of shame or guilt has left his body, and he’s just looking at you with desire. 

“Satoru…” is all you manage to say as you look up at him, your thighs clenching from the arousal of just his presence surrounding you. 

You see him close his eyes for a second and exhale before he opens them, his pupils all the way dilated and wild when he looks at you again. “Yeah?” he responds, his head dipping down towards yours slightly, lips just inches from yours, like he’s waiting for your permission to act. 

“I…” you start, blinking up at him through your lashes, “...I was having a lot of fun earlier throwing back shots of tequila, and you kind of ruined that. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to it.” You place a hand on his chest, his gaze dropping to it in surprise as he watches you push him away from you all the way until his back hits the fridge with a thud.

“What the fuck?” he utters, his face contorted into a confusion you found incredibly comical.

You press up against him, looking up with round eyes and innocence, and you feel him immediately tense up. “Also, very inappropriate to treat someone you barely know like that. I’ll let it slide, though.” 

The last thing you see before you turn away from him is his shocked expression, blinking at you with the rest of him practically motionless, and you skip out of the kitchen towards the main party happening around the corner out of his sight. 

There were bustling people, a few guys coming up to you to talk to you, but you ignore them until you spot Geto, Nanami, some of the other soccer players, and a bunch of other people huddled around in a circle. You tap on Geto’s shoulder and he turns around to face you.

“Oh! Hey, what’s up, you made it,” Geto greets you, pulling you in for a brief hug which surprises you but was also pleasantly received as you hugged him back with a friendly pat. You could smell the alcohol from him. When he pulls away from you, he’s beaming. “We’re all doing rounds of shots, wanna join?”

“Oh my god, the words I’ve been wanting to hear all night,” you say and you join the circle, a bunch of people cheering as they usher you towards the center and you grab a shot glass from the small round table. A group of maybe fifteen people all raise their shot glasses up in the air, you included, and say some incoherent, non-rehearsed words of luck for the soccer team’s game tomorrow before everyone throws back their shots. You’re squealing and jumping up and down in excitement with Geto and watch as Nanami pretends to throw back his shot before dumping its contents into a red plastic solo cup in his hand instead.

“This is so much fun!” you’re yelling. “Can we do another?”

“Hey! New girl wants to do another,” one of the frat dudes calls out, which is followed by cheers and then messy pouring of tequila all over the table as people extend their shot glasses out to be filled. 

Two, three, four, eventually five is your limit until you wander away from the circle, entirely tipsy at this point, over to where people were dancing in front of the DJ’s booth. You bump into some couples that were grinding up on each other, your drunk conscience shamelessly watching their movements, and then accidentally bump into a man so hard that it almost sends you falling back onto the ground but he grabs your arm and keeps you upright. His drink spills a bit out of his hand and onto your dress, making you giggle like a freak. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he’s yelling to you over the music.

“No, I’m sorry,” you yell back, and then you notice he’s wearing a jacket that mimics the patterns of the school’s soccer jersey and has an embroidered player’s number on the chest. It hits you that you’ve seen him on the field before briefly during the practices you’ve been to. “Are you on the soccer team?”

“Yeah, I am,” he says and he tells you his name but the music is way too loud to hear it, and you’re also sort of drunk at this point to register it anyways. But he was cute, and you decided you wanted to dance with him, and dance away is exactly what you do. 

When he twirls you around and presses his chest against your back, your line of sight falls straight ahead to where you see Gojo sitting on a couch. Your heart sinks in your chest when you see a girl place a hand on his thigh and lean towards him, practically sitting in his lap, but the look on his face tells you he’s entirely distracted by something else. His eyes search the room for a few seconds, and when they land on you, he stills. When he tilts his head up to peer behind you and sees who you were dancing with, a look of shock crossed his face. 

For fucks sake, you wouldn’t flirt with one of his teammates, right?

In your drunk, hazy mind, Mina’s words flash by in your head. The foolproof way to tell how a guy really feels about you is based on how he reacts when he sees another guy’s tongue shoved down your throat.

You turn around, reach up and pull the man you were dancing with down towards you, and you kiss him. The man hesitates, clearly surprised, before moving his lips against yours and just when you feel his hands make their way to your waist, you’re being yanked away from him by the arm. When you turn to look at the perpetrator, you see a very viscerally angry-looking Gojo in front of you and a chill runs down your spine.

Oh god, he looked pissed. If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under right now. 

He pulls you by your forearm over to the stairs, and you’re protesting, trying to yank away from his harsh grip, but he doesn’t budge as he takes you up to the second floor and just when you two have made it into the secluded hallway, he pushes you up against the wall, caging you into it with his body.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he scowls at you, leaning in closer, tone so searing it’s enough to set you on fire.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you yell back at him, anger rising within you.

“You’re seriously turning out to be a real fucking pain in the ass,” he hisses the words, his eyes darting across your face before settling on your lips.

“Why do you care? I’m just-” you start but he interrupts you when his lips crash down on yours, taking you by surprise. His kiss was hungry, ravenous, all-consuming. So different from that night when he kissed you for the first time with nothing but tenderness. This one felt like he wanted to take everything from you, leaving nothing behind. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer to him, and your arms slide up past his shoulders, locking behind his neck, and he’s groaning against your mouth before biting at your bottom lip. When you grant him access, he deepens the kiss and the taste of him intoxicates you.

“If you imply that you’re just a stranger to me one more fucking time,” he’s growling against your mouth, “I’ll make sure we get real well acquainted with eachother against this wall right now.” His hands find the flesh underneath your ass and he easily hoists you up, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist. “Ask me if I give a fuck if anyone sees.”  

“Oh my god,” you’re gasping, his words hitting you straight to your core, and when you feel his clothed erection pressed against the flimsy cloth of your panties, the self-resolution you once had was all but a distant memory. “Satoru, bathroom, please, not here.”

When you tip your head back, giving him access to your neck and he immediately indulges, peppering kisses down your skin, you roll your hips against his and he squeezes the flesh of your ass hard to reprimand the motion before he takes you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, then setting you up on the counter. 

His kisses get lower until he’s at your collarbone, and he pulls you forward towards him on the surface to where you’re sitting at the edge and he has his hands digging at the soft flesh of your thighs. You’re squirming in his grasp, gripping onto his shirt for any sort of purchase. When his kissing reaches the neckline of your dress and his finger hooks the fabric, threatening to pull it down, he looks at you. 

“Please,” you ask him simply.

He raises an amused eyebrow, pulling down the fabric slowly to just above where your nipples would be set free. “You think you’re in a position to ask for anything from me right now?”

“Oh my fucking god I swear, if you don’t yank my dress down, I’ll choke you,” you threaten him. 

“Careful, pretty, I might be into that,” he chides, pressing a kiss to your chest.

You grab the wrist of the hand that was still hooked inside your cleavage, and pull it down harshly so your tits are set free and he leans away from you to take in the sight. He’s mesmerized for a moment, his hand wrapping around your rib cage and thumb poking the softness from the side before it eventually reaches your nipple and starts to play with it. “God, you’re so beautiful. Remind me why we didn’t do this the first night we met?”

When his mouth latches onto your nipple, you tip your head back with a moan and you’re not able to come up with an answer to his question. Because he was right, it was insane that the two of you didn’t. Your hand runs through the short hair of his undercut at the nape of his neck and then grips at the soft strands a bit higher as he sucks and licks at your breasts. You wrap your legs around him tighter, pulling his hips to you, and from the edge of the counter you start to roll your wet panties against the bulge at his front to get relief. He groans against your chest before pulling away. 

“You need to relax. Real fuckin’ desperate now compared to when you were pushing me away in the kitchen thirty minutes ago,” he scolds, his lips finding yours again and one of his hands trails up the skin of your thigh. You open your legs even wider for him sweetly and he smiles against your lips, his fingers brushing the skin of your inner thigh and then finally pressing against your clothed core. You instantly jolt, entirely stimulated by the contact, and he pulls away from the kiss to watch you. 

“S-Satoru…” you whimper because it’s all you can manage to say, your hips pushing forward, craving more of his touch, but he withdraws from your heat all together and steps away from you, his grip on your hips dragging you forward until you step down from the counter and you’re standing in front of him, looking up like you don’t even know how to breathe unless he talks you through it. He turns you around to where you’re facing the mirror, and it’s the first time you take a look at how messed up he’s gotten you. Your cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, eyes a little teary from the lust consuming you. Your tits that appeared plush and perked by the haphazard way the neckline of your dress was tucked underneath them were glistening with his saliva and you felt like you were about to go insane at the sight. You take a look at his face in the reflection, and he too looked like he was about to go insane at the sight. 

“Bend over the counter,” he demands with a rough voice, but you don’t have much of a choice since he’s pushing down on your back anyways. You’ve risen up onto your tiptoes to accommodate the position and he lazily flips the fabric of your dress up over your ass before his hands hook into the side of your panties at your hips, pulling them down, and you feel the fabric practically peel off of you from how wet you were. And then he was on his knees behind you.

“Fuck, why didn’t we do this the first night we met?” he laments, marveling at the sight of you bent over for him.

“You already asked that question,” you mumble. 

“Cause it still doesn’t make any fucking sense to me,” he sighs and then he drags his index finger into your folds, from your entrance that was sopping wet all the way down to your clit. You’re wiggling, pushing your hips out towards him, and you hear him let out a low, guttural sound in his chest at the sight. His finger experimentally pushes into you and you’re gasping, hand slamming against the mirror.

“You’re so sensitive. Need a second?” he asks like he’s genuinely looking out for you, and yet he doesn’t wait before pushing another finger into you regardless. 

“Mhh..n-no, just need your tongue,” you say through a shaky breath, panting from where you were on the counter. 

He groans at your request and pulls his fingers out of you, instantly making you whine, before giving you a different reason to whine when his tongue presses against your clit.

Your mind was going insane, still registering the shock that this was happening as you moaned from the feeling of his tongue on you, mouth latching on and sucking harshly at your sensitive core that has you writhing and grasping onto anything you could find for purchase. The man that was making a mess at the most intimate part of you right now seemed so different from that kind man last week that pressed that chaste kiss to your lips. This was like you had just summoned the devil and he was on his knees behind you.

You make a mental note to never doubt any of Mina’s advice ever again.

When his hungry lapping at your clit turns into slow, lazy licks against your folds, you whimper above him and attempt to grind against his mouth so his tongue is where you want it. “Mm…p-please, stop teasing, I wanna cum.” 

He pulls his mouth from you and you feel how slick he’s made you, nothing but a mess of your arousal and his spit, before he pushes two fingers inside you and stretches you out inside with them. “But do you deserve to cum, is the question, sweetheart,” he drawls, curling his fingers inside and pressing on that spot that had your walls fluttering around him and building that tight knot in your lower tummy. 

“Yes, I do, fuck,” you’re moaning as he slowly starts to pump his fingers in and out of you, “less talking, more licking my clit.”

His other hand finds your clit, fingers beginning to rub agonizingly slow circles, and you can feel the texture of his calluses across every single nerve ending of the aching bud. “What was that, baby? You want me to be stingy with my tongue? Alright, whatever you say, princess,” he sighs it like he has no choice but to be a fucking dick right now.

“No, oh my god, don’t be stingy with your tongue,” you cry out, your cheek pressing up against the mirror from the sheer desperation of wanting a release, “I’ll kill you.” 

“Can’t make you cum if I’m dead,” he purrs. “God, your pussy’s going crazy right now, clenching around my fingers like it’s got a mind of its own. Can’t wait to fuck you,” he’s groaning, “so sweet, so tight, so wet. Exactly how I imagined it.”

“Y-You’ve imagined this?” you whimper to him when he starts to fully fuck you with his fingers. 

“So many fucking times,” he grumbles, his other hand now gripping your ass and thumb spreading you more open. You blush from how exposed you felt to him, but the noises he was making from the deepest part within his chest made you realize he was a freak for it. He pulls his fingers out of you and then uses both hands to spread your folds apart as he laps at the wetness that was practically dripping from your entrance. “What your world would be like if this was your little ‘terms and conditions’ favor instead.”

His tongue latches onto your clit again and your knees almost buckle. “M-Make me cum and maybe I’ll finally regret the fact that it wasn’t,” you say to him, desperate to coax something feral from him that finally grants you release of the tension building at your core. You’re unable to stay still, squirming and squealing above him, so hopelessly at his mercy.

“Say you’ll never kiss another guy except me ever again,” you hear him grumble with his face still buried in your cunt.

“w-what…” you say, exhaling incredulously, “S-Satoru…you don’t make any sense…we’re not even dat-”

“Say it, and I’ll let you cum,” he tells you simply, pulling his mouth from you again just when you felt like you were about to topple over and you’re about ready to kick him in the face at this point. You try to look over your shoulder to read his facial expression but when his fingers take their position over your clit and he starts to draw stars, you quickly give up and rest your forehead on the mirror. Oh god, this was good, if he just kept going-

As if he could read your mind, he pulls his fingers from your clit entirely, leaving your core agonizingly empty from any part of his touch, and it makes you gasp. You’ve never felt more betrayed in your life.

“Oh my god, okay okay okay!” you’re screaming, sticking your ass out to him and he’s chuckling at the sight. “I’ll never kiss another guy again! Fucking hell, Satoru, please, just make me cum,” you beg, whimpering and almost crying, your thighs twitching from the urge to clench together for some form of relief in his absence.

He seems satisfied by your begging, because he immediately grabs your ass with both hands, one of his thumbs pushing shallowly into your drenched entrance, and then his mouth finds your clit again. You close your eyes shut, and you could feel that you were just seconds away from cumming as he simultaneously sucks and licks relentlessly on the sensitive bundle of nerves. It’s when he groans against your center with such a primal frequency, sending shockwaves of vibrations to your center and throughout your entire body, that you fall apart for him and you come undone so violently that your knees entirely give out, and you’re screaming his name. He wraps an arm around your legs to keep you from falling as you squirm on the counter, your walls pulsing and clenching, hips twitching, and then you’re finally calming down. You lay blissfully on the surface, head down, breathing heavily with soft, remnant whimpers leaving your lips.

You hear Gojo let out a short exhale from behind you that almost sounds like he’s in disbelief. When you turn slightly to look back at him, you see he’s palming himself through his pants and looking directly at your cunt. “You’re dripping onto the floor, fuck.” He catches a drop of slick, clear arousal as it falls from your entrance, immediately bringing it to his tongue and licking it off his finger before standing up. 

You barely manage to push your upper body up so that you’re standing, shaking arms working overtime to hold yourself up, and he comes up behind you to press his chest against your back, looking at you in the mirror. He was breathing heavily too, his mouth near your ear and his eyes lidded with lust. You reach your arm up and behind him to grab at the soft tufts of hair at the back of his head, your back arching from the motion, and he groans as he pushes his clothed erection against your ass, head dropping close to your shoulder from the pleasure and he presses a kiss to your skin. The image in front of you, with his broad shoulders and frame completely engulfing yours whole, your hips slightly rocking forwards and pushing against the counter from his indulgent grinding behind you, his hand reaching up to pinch and play with your nipple, it was all so erotic that you were already aching for more. He effectively finger-fucked, licked, and sucked the anger out of you, and that was a dangerous fact. 

His fingers grazed up the side of your waist that the fabric of your dress still clung tightly to, and he loosely held onto you, sighing against the back of your neck which sent shivers down your spine. His eyes meet yours in the mirror. “So pretty like this. Turn around and face me, baby, reflection’s not enough,” he says to you and you do as he says, twirling around. His eyes take in the sight of you, his thumb coming up to press at the soft flesh of your breast and you can see it in his eyes that he was worshipping you. 

You finally take in the entire image of his appearance. His chest was heaving, hair disheveled, shirt was wrinkled at the front from when you were grabbing onto it earlier. There’s a crease to his brow when he looks at you, and you realize that this is not the first time you’ve seen him look exactly like this in a party bathroom. Except the last time, it was from reasons other than your own.

And then there’s that sinking feeling in your chest again.

Just when you observe that spark of intense lust in his eyes, pupils dilated like wild, see it flash through his mind that he thinks he’s about to get lucky with you tonight, you find yourself pushing him away from you for the second time tonight. You’ve got him with his back pressed up against the wall while he looks down at you with confusion, and this time there’s desperation and panic there too.

You look up at him with a discerning softness, and all those tender feelings you’ve been experiencing for the past week come crashing down on you all at once, but your heart aches with their memory. When his eyes study your face, there’s a brief second where he’s surprised to see the way you’re looking at him, and his jaw clenches slightly. 

“Thanks, I really needed this,” you whisper to him, hand patting his chest reassuringly as you try to keep your composure in front of him despite the hollow feeling in your chest, “gave me some clarity. Don’t follow me.” And then you step away from him, pull your panties back up into place, adjust the neckline of your dress up over to cover your chest, then you make your way to exit.

“What? Wait-” he scrambles, sounding stunned from behind you as you open the bathroom door, walk right out into the hallway and close the door behind you, not all the way but just enough so you were out of his line of sight.

You sigh to yourself for a second as you step to the side, fixing at your hair, then take a deep breath as you walk down the hall. It registers in your mind that he listens, never following after you. 

a/n. reader is soooo messy for doing this to him right before his big game lol i'm like scared for her even though i'm literally the author hahha. i hope to see you in the next one! much love

➸ take me to chapter seven!

tag list: @who-can-touch-my-boob @getitsatoru @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice (decided to tag all interacts too just so it's not missed if that's ok! love you all sm)

[soshhy]

I was just reading an ADHD post about breaking tasks up into smaller chunks, and I wanted to share something that helped me.

Once upon a time, I was sitting at my desk at 3am, having procrastinated all day, and finally got to the stage where I was so desperate to meet my 9am deadline I made an itemised list of every single thing I had to do, to the level of "1) Open this document. 2) Open this web page. 3) Arrange the windows so you can see both at once... Etc." It took me hours, and I was beating myself up the whole time because I knew I was spending three times as long making the list as I would doing the task, good god, what's wrong with me, this is so stupid...

I finished the list. I went through it step by step. And then I was done.

It was a revelation. It was so incredibly easy, once the list was there.

Since then I've thought: so what if making the list takes three times as long as doing the task? That's what it takes. That's PART OF THE TASK. It's the most important part, because it's the bit that means you can start at all.

Now if I'm struggling I give myself permission to use the most time consuming strategies, to hold my own hand like I'm a two year old, to guide myself through the tiniest of baby steps, because that's a skill I've fought for and it works.

Maybe this is obvious to everyone else. But if there's anyone out there like me, perhaps not yet diagnosed, beating themself up for not being able to just get things done like a normal person, I want to say this: make that list even as the clock ticks down to your deadline. It's not a waste of time. It's part of the task.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Netflix wants to chop down your family tree

Netflix has unveiled the details of its new anti-password-sharing policy, detailing a suite of complex gymnastics that customers will be expected to undergo if their living arrangements trigger Netflix’s automated enforcement mechanisms:

https://thestreamable.com/news/confirmed-netflix-unveils-first-details-of-new-anti-password-sharing-measures

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/2023/02/02/nonbinary-families/#red-envelopes

Netflix says that its new policy allows members of the same “household” to share an account. This policy comes with an assumption: that there is a commonly understood, universal meaning of “household,” and that software can determine who is and is not a member of your household.

This is a very old corporate delusion in the world of technology. In the early 2000s, I spent years trying to bring some balance to an effort at DVB, whose digital television standards are used in most of the world (but not the USA) when they rolled out CPCM, a DRM system that was supposed to limit video-sharing to a single household.

Their term of art for this was the “authorized domain”: a software-defined family unit whose borders were privately negotiated by corporate executives from media companies, broadcasters, tech and consumer electronics companies in closed-door sessions all around the world, with no public minutes or proceedings.

https://onezero.medium.com/the-internet-heist-part-iii-8561f6d5a4dc

These guys (they were nearly all guys) were proud of how much “flexibility” they’d built into their definition of “household.” For example, if you owned a houseboat, or a luxury car with seatback displays, or a summer villa in another country, the Authorized Domain would be able to figure out how to get the video onto all those screens.

But what about other kinds of families? I suggested that one of our test cases should be a family based in Manila: where the dad travels to remote provinces to do agricultural labor; the daughter is a nanny in California; and the son is doing construction work in the UAE. This suggestion was roundly rejected as an “edge case.”

Of course, this isn’t an edge case. There are orders of magnitude more people whose family looks like this than there are people whose family owns a villa in another country. Owning a houseboat or a luxury car makes you an outlier. Having an itinerant agricultural breadwinner in your family does not.

But everyone who is in the room when a cartel draws up a standard definition of what constitutes a household is almost certainly drawn from a pool that is more likely to have a summer villa than a child doing domestic work or construction labor half a world away. These weirdos, so dissimilar from the global majority, get to define the boxes that computers will shove the rest of the world into. If your family doesn’t look like their family, that’s tough: “Computer says no.”

One day at a CPCM meeting, we got to talking about the problem of “content laundering” and how the way to prevent it would be to put limits on how often someone could leave a household and join another one. No one, they argued, would ever have to change households every week.

I put my hand up and said, “What about a child whose divorced parents share custody of her? She’s absolutely going to change households every week.” They thought about it for a moment, then the rep from a giant IT company that had recently been convicted of criminal antitrust violations said, “Oh, we can solve that: we’ll give her a toll-free number to call when she gets locked out of her account.”

That was the solution they went with. If you are a child coping with the dissolution of your parents’ marriage, you will have the obligation to call up a media company every month — or more often — and explain that Mummy and Daddy don’t love each other any more, but can I please have my TV back?

I never forgot that day. I even wrote a science fiction story about it called (what else?) “Authorized Domain”:

https://craphound.com/news/2011/10/31/authorised-domain/

I think everyone understood that this was an absurd “solution,” but they had already decided that they were going to complete the seemingly straightforward business of defining a category like “household” using software, and once that train left the station, nothing was going to stop it.

This is a recurring form of techno-hubris: the idea that baseline concepts like “family” have crisp definitions and that any exceptions are outliers that would never swallow the rule. It’s such a common misstep that there’s a whole enre* called “Falsehoods Programmers Believe About ______”:

https://github.com/kdeldycke/awesome-falsehood

In that list: names, time, currency, birthdays, timezones, email addresses, national borders, nations, biometrics, gender, language, alphabets, phone numbers, addresses, systems of measurement, and, of course, families. These categories are touchstones in our everyday life, and we think we know what they mean — but then we try to define them, and the list of exceptions spirals out into a hairy, fractal infinity.

Historically, these fuzzy categorical edges didn’t matter so much, because they were usually interpreted by humans using common sense. My grandfather was born “Avrom Doctorovitch” (or at least, that’s one way to transliterate his name, which was spelled in a different alphabet, but which was also transliterating his first name from yet another alphabet). When he came to Canada as a refugee, his surname was anglicized to “Doctorow.” Other cousins are “Doctorov,” “Doctoroff,” and “Doktorovitch.”

Naturally, his first name could have been “Abraham” or “Abe,” but his first employer (a fellow Eastern European emigre) decided that was too ethnic and in sincere effort to help him fit in, he called my grandfather “Bill.” When my grandfather attained citizenship, his papers read “Abraham William Doctorow.” He went by “Abe,” “Billy,” “Bill,” “William,” “Abraham” and “Avrom.”

Practically, it didn’t matter that variations on all of these appeared on various forms of ID, contracts, and paperwork. His reparations check from the German government had a different variation from the name on the papers he used to open his bank account, but the bank still let him deposit it.

All of my relatives from his generation have more than one name. Another grandfather of mine was born “Aleksander,” and called “Sasha” by friends, but had his name changed to “Seymour” when he got to Canada. His ID was also a mismatched grab-bag of variations on that theme.

None of this mattered to him, either. Airlines would sell him tickets and border guards would stamp his passport and rental agencies would let him drive away in cars despite the minor variations on all his ID.

But after 9/11, all that changed, for everyone who had blithely trundled along with semi-matching names across their official papers and database entries. Suddenly, it was “computer says no” everywhere you turned, unless everything matched perfectly. There was a global rush for legal name-changes after 9/11 — not because people changed their names, but because people needed to perform the bureaucratic ritual necessary to have the name they’d used all along be recognized in these new, brittle, ambiguity-incinerating machines.

For important categories, ambiguity is a feature, not a bug. The fact that you can write anything on an envelope (including a direction to deliver the letter to the granny flat over the garage, not the front door) means that we don’t have to define “address” — we can leave it usefully hairy around the edges.

Once the database schema is formalized, then “address” gets defined too — the number of lines it can have, the number of characters each line can have, the kinds of characters and even words (woe betide anyone who lives in Scunthorpe).

If you have a “real” address, a “real” name, a “real” date of birth, all of this might seem distant to you. These “edge” cases — seasonal agricultural workers, refugees with randomly assigned “English” names — are very far from your experience.

That’s true — for now (but not forever). The “Shitty Technology Adoption Curve” describes the process by which abusive technologies work their way up the privilege gradient. Every bad technological idea is first rolled out on poor people, refugees, prisoners, kids, mental patients and other people who can’t push back.

Their bodies are used to sand the rough edges and sharp corners off the technology, to normalize it so that it can climb up through the social ranks, imposed on people with more and more power and influence. 20 years ago, if you ate your dinner under an always-on #CCTV, it was because you were in a supermax prison. Today, it’s because you bought a premium home surveillance system from Google, Amazon or Apple.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/29/impunity-corrodes/#arise-ye-prisoners

The Netflix anti-sharing tools are designed for rich people. If you travel for business and stay in the kind of hotel where the TV has its own Netflix client that you can plug your username and password into, Netflix will give you a seven-day temporary code to use.

But for the most hardcore road-warriors, Netflix has thin gruel. Unless you connect to your home wifi network every 31 days and stream a show, Netflix will lock out your devices. Once blocked, you have to “contact Netflix” (laughs in Big Tech customer service).

Why is Netflix putting the screws to its customers? It’s part of the enshittification cycle, where platform companies first allocate surpluses to their customers, luring them in and using them as bait for business customers. Once they turn up, the companies reallocate surpluses to businesses, lavishing them with low commissions and lots of revenue opportunities. And once they’re locked in, the company starts to claw back the surpluses for itself.

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

Remember when Netflix was in the business of mailing red envelopes full of DVDs around the country? That was allocating surpluses to users. The movie companies hated this, viewed it as theft — a proposition that was at least as valid as Netflix’s complaints about password sharing, but every pirate wants to be an admiral, and when Netflix did it to the studios, that was “progress,” but when you do it to Netflix, that’s theft.

Then, once Netflix had users locked in and migrated to the web (and later, apps), it shifted surpluses to studios, paying fat licensing fees to stream their movies and connect them to a huge audience.

Finally, once the studios were locked in, Netflix started to harvest the surplus for its shareholders: raising prices, lowering streaming rates, knocking off other studios’ best performing shows with in-house clones, etc. Users’ surpluses are also on the menu: the password “sharing” that let you define a household according to your family’s own idiosyncratic contours is unilaterally abolished in a quest to punish feckless Gen Z kids for buying avocado toast instead of their own Netflix subscriptions.

Netflix was able to ignore the studios’ outraged howls when it built a business by nonconsenually distributing their products in red envelopes. But now that Netflix has come for your family, don’t even think about giving Netfix some of what it gave to the MPAA.

As a technical matter, it’s not really that hard to modify Netflix’s app so that every stream you pull seems to come from your house, no matter where you are. But doing so would require reverse-engineering Netflix’s app, and that would violate Section 1201 of the DMCA, the CFAA, and eleventy-seven other horrible laws. Netflix’s lawyers would nuke you until the rubble bounced.

When Netflix was getting started, it could freely interoperate with the DVDs that the studios had put on the market. It could repurpose those DVDs in ways that the studios strenuously objected to. In other words, Netfix used adversarial interoperability (AKA Competitive Compatibility or ComCom) to launch its business:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Today, Netflix is on the vanguard of the war to abolish adversarial interop. They helped lead the charge to pervert W3C web-standards, creating a DRM video standard called EME that made it a crime to build a full-featured browser without getting permission from media companies and restricting its functionality to their specifications:

https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/

When they used adversarial interoperability to build a multi-billion-dollar global company using the movie studios’ products in ways the studios hated, that was progress. When you define “family” in ways that makes Netflix less money, that’s felony contempt of business model.

[Image ID: A Victorian family tree template populated by tintypes of old-timey people. In the foreground stands a menacing, chainsaw-wielding figure, his face obscured by a hoodie. The blade of the chainsaw is poised to chop down the family tree. A Netflix 'N' logo has been superimposed over the man's face.]

[blueskittlesart]

I’m so sorry how much bullshit HP fans are continuing to putting trans people through, Im so fucking sick of it. I mean its international news that jkr is almost single handedly bankrolling the transphobic movement in Scotland and for the second year in a row Ive had to explain to a ‘well meaning’ friend of mine that her harry potter halloween party isn’t just poor taste and I don’t care if she has trans friends who are cool with it I’m not fucking going and its fucking embarrassing. I just wanna shake people. Fucking stand up for something. Consume other media. Sorry not sorry your comfort characters are trash and so are you until you grow the fuck up

what really gets me is that i WAS a huge harry potter fan back in the day. my best friend mailed me a hogwarts letter on my 11th birthday. I got picked to do the wand-choosing thing at universal, and of course i made my parents buy me that fucking $40 wand afterwards. I dressed up as hermione for halloween like 3 years in a row. I've read every single book. I've watched all the movies. I bought the fucking lego sets. but you know what i did when she lost her shit on twitter? i STOPPED FUCKING BUYING HER SHIT. what is so hard about that. genuinely. idc if you used to love the characters. i did too. they don't stand for what we thought they stood for and that sucks but you are an adult and you have to come to terms with the fact that sometimes things aren't what they say they are. find something else to love. or at the very least SHUT. THE FUCK. UP.

[tasteracha]

kinktober — day four

kink: body worship with changbin

warnings: smut - MINORS DNI. implied thick!reader (but can be read with any body type). mentions of body insecurity. afab!reader.

when changbin get home from work, he finds you wrapped in a big sweatshirt and a blanket, hood pulled all the way up and your entire body a shapeless lump on the couch. it’s one of those days - not especially bad, but the kind of day that left you not wanting to be perceived. if you could have become one with the couch, you would have. 

living together is new - being together in general is new. you’ve been friends for years and years, but only took the plunge into a relationship recently, falling into each other in fast forward until you were moving in with him after just a few months. him coming home to you every day just felt so natural though, and with the frequency of how often one of you stayed the night at the others it just made sense. 

“hi, beautiful,” he greets you as he flops next to you, bone-deep tiredness clear in the way he melts against your side. he makes your heart squeeze as he nuzzles his head into your chest, and it threatens to beat right out of your skin.

“‘m not,” you mumble out, unable to keep it in. you’re usually so careful about separating your insecurities from him, scared to show them to him even though you know he would be nothing but sweet to you about it.

“excuse me?” he says, sitting up so quick you’re surprised he didn’t get whiplash from it. he left you no time to regret your words as he frames your face with both of his hands and turns your head to face him. “say that again.”

“i just,” you try and look away but he nudges your head back towards his face again. “i don’t think i am. beautiful. i guess i’m not ugly but i’ve never felt like i was something special, you know?”

“no, i don’t.” he says with intense ferocity, finality on his tongue like he was begging you to try and argue with what he knew was truth. “i’ve always thought you were gorgeous, even before we were together.”

“i guess i just don’t see myself that way,” you sigh, wishing you simply hadn’t opened your mouth. 

“every single part of you is beautiful, do you understand?” he rubs his thumbs against your cheekbones before sliding his hands down past your shoulders. 

“these arms?” he squeezes your upper arms with both of his hands, using his thumb to caress the skin there. “i dream about them, the way you wrap them around me when you’re happy or excited, it’s my favorite place to be.”

“but yours are too-“

“this isn’t about me,” he cuts you off, sharply but not unkind. he moves to your breasts, caressing them more gently than he ever had before.

“these? do you even see how many people stare at you when we go out at night?” he asks, pinching a bit at your skin. “it makes me so jealous, makes me want to take you home and keep you all to myself always. no one should be able to appreciate you but me.”

his hands roam further down, slotting themselves over your hips and squeezing with his fingertips. 

“see these? they’re what i use to hold you down when you’re on top of me. how else would i be able to get you in the exact position i want you, hmm?”

your breath picks up as his fingers ghost over the swell of your lower belly, and you have to resist the urge to curl up around yourself so that he doesn’t see you. 

“this?” he leans down to pepper kisses against your burning skin, leaving invisible marks that you can feel as though they were tattoos. “this is perfection. i want to bury my face in your stomach and suffocate in it, this isn’t a flaw to be hidden. it’s not something that you need to get rid of, not something that you shouldn’t have. it’s part of you, and that means that it’s perfect.”

his words are washing over you like tidal waves, wiping out your thoughts and replacing them with his. it’s all complimented by the scorching touch of his hands on your skin, you can feel him everywhere, consuming your entire being. 

“your thighs?” he continues, kneading at the skin around your quads. “they were made to be on a goddess, do you get it? i want to sink my teeth into them and never let go. i want to cover your thighs in bite marks until you can’t see your skin anymore, so they’re all mine.”

he grabs your ass with both hands, his long fingers covering a surprising amount of surface area as they dig into your muscle. 

“and do not get me started on this ass. this belongs in museums, on display so everyone can see what perfection looks like and feel bad about themselves for not being this perfect.”

and it’s a bit silly that you start crying because of that, but you can’t contain your bubbling emotions anymore. salty tears leave your eyes and you move to cover your face, but he stops you before you can.

“i don’t love you despite these things,” he says, caressing your face with the gentlest touch, feather soft. “i love you because of them. i’m sorry that i’ve never told you like this how obsessed with you i am. i think you are the most exquisite person that has ever walked this earth. do you understand?”

“yes,” you breathe out, finally understanding. finally accepting what he was saying.

“good,” he lets a smile creep onto his face, cheeks filling out. “now, will you let me make my pretty girl feel good?” 

you nod, taking in a gulping breath as he slowly undresses you, taking time to run his hands over your skin reverently. when he takes off your panties you’re surprised by how wet you are, the cold air hitting your pussy and making you shiver. he runs a finger through your folds, collecting the slick there and spreading it to your clit. 

“this perfect pussy? how could i want anything else when this is all mine?” he circles around your clit one, two three times before sliding one finger into you, slow enough that it makes you shiver. he crooks his finger inside of you, massaging your walls languidly like he’s mapping out every single millimeter of you to memory. it’s almost more overwhelming than when he bends you over and takes you on the kitchen table, hurried and frantic, because at least then you didn’t have time to think. now, you have all the time in the world to focus on the way he feels inside you, the way his free hand is warm on your thigh where it’s squeezing, the way his own breath catches when you clench around him like he’s the one with a finger inside of him. 

“i could keep my fingers inside of you all day, that’s how much i love it.” he slips another inside and you sigh at the stretch, your muscles tensing when he finds the spot inside of you that sends sparks running through your nervous system. he smiles at you, almost wickedly, before speeding up his movements, accentuating them by pressing his thumb to your clit. almost too fast, you feel your orgasm approaching, much slower than you’ve ever felt it. you can almost see it taking over your body, a golden light starting at your fingers and toes and spreading up your limbs to your core, slow inch by slow inch. you forget to breath, gulping in air when the light finally snaps into place, squeezing your legs around his hand as you ride it out for what feels like straight minutes. 

you come back to yourself in his arms, his fingers stroking the wispy strands of hair across your forehead out of your eyes. he’s looking at you with the fondest smile you’ve ever seen, like he can’t believe that he gets to hold you in his arms like this. 

“don’t hide these things from me anymore, okay? i can’t make you feel better if i don’t know that you’re feeling bad in the first place.” 

kinktober masterlist

[justwinginglife]

Wrapped Around Your Finger

Happy Birthday to my friends @ouiouimochi and @hoshinasblade. Here is a lil bday fic I wrote for yall. Love youuuu!

After two years of dating, you thought you knew almost everything that there was to know about Soshiro Hoshina. You thought you knew the way he took his coffee, how early he liked to get up, how many laps he liked to do as a warm-up; he was a man of routine and you had his routine memorized. So you thought there were no more surprises in store for you. 

But then, one day, at a particularly monotonous cross-divisional meeting, your beloved Soshiro had nothing better to do than fidget with the ring he’d stolen from your pointer finger and when the meeting ended, before he bounded out the back door, eager for escape from his boredom, he casually slipped your ring back onto your finger. 

He was long gone before you could confront him about the fact that he put the ring on the wrong goddamn finger. 

You sat in the conference room, stunned, just staring at the gem on your ring finger, just wondering if he’d known what he’d done, just wondering if he was the type of man to drop subtle clues like this or if the nonchalant manner in which he’d done it should’ve hinted that he had no such thoughts on his mind. 

In the span of a few seconds, with this one single action, he’d consumed your every waking moment. Did this mean something to him? Did he secretly have a proposal up his sleeve? Or did he just pick a finger, any finger, to deposit the ring on? Did he even look when he put the ring on? If you asked him about it, would you get nothing more than a chuckle and a disbelieving shake of his head? You spent hours trying to decipher the puzzle that he’d laid out for you, piecing together every bit of information that you knew about him. And after two years, you realized it still wasn’t enough. You wondered if any amount of time with him could’ve prepared you for the shock -and the joy- of him gracing your ring finger with a ring. You wondered if he was laughing to himself somewhere, giddy about all the turmoil he’d caused. You wondered if you were overthinking this, if maybe he hadn’t thought about his action at all. Years of knowing the man, and suddenly you knew nothing about him. At this point, the only thing you were certain of was that you were never taking the ring off again, at least not until he replaced it with his own. And if that took years, you could both laugh about this silly situation together later. 

But for now, you decided to enlist the help of your friends. 

Pretty soon Okonogi, Nakanoshima, Shinonome, and even Captain Ashiro began to file through the doors of the conference room- the same conference in which you’d had your earlier meeting, the same conference room that you still had not left since the incident.

Ashiro cleared her throat. “Alright, troops. It is 1500 hours and the meeting to decide what on God’s green earth is going on in Hoshina’s brain has commenced. I’m handing the spotlight over to our number one data analyst, Konomi Okonogi- take it away. What have you got for us?”

Okonogi pushed her glasses up in all seriousness. “Thank you, Captain. Let’s review the facts. At 1200 hours, the aforementioned suspect placed a ring, an object with marital ties, on the victim’s ring finger when it had previously been located on the victim’s index finger. Now the question is, would someone as disciplined as the Vice Captain knowingly engage in this act, aware of all that it could perpetrate? Now my gut tells me that because the Vice Captain is well versed in traditional customs having been raised in a traditional household, there is no denying that he would have to know the implication behind placing a ring on the ring finger and therefore, did it on purpose. Do I hear any arguments?”

Shinonome raised her hand. “Look, I don’t know the guy as well as the rest of you, but isn’t it possible that maybe he’s just a dude and didn’t remember which finger he took the ring from? And did anyone else see that he was rushing out the door? Maybe he just picked one at random, in a hurry to get out.” She concluded, shrugging. 

Nakanoshima shook her head. “Have you ever thought that maybe he was just making it seem like he was rushing out the door so that when he quickly shoved the ring on, it would seem less obvious that he had intended to put it on her ring finger all along? I mean, the Vice Captain is like a child sometimes, but I’ve never seen him fidget before. Maybe he took the ring from her in the first place, under the guise of fidgeting, always intending to put it on her ring finger.”

Okonogi frowned. “But now that you mention his childish behavior, would the same man who proposed allowing Kafka into the Third Division merely as ‘comedic relief’ really be capable of masterminding such a plot? Nakanoshima clearly didn’t like the thought of her argument being disproved, because she was already standing up out of her chair, fired up for another round of debate. “But what if he wants you to think him childish, to think him incapable of devising this scheme, are we really going to let him get away with this on a technicality?”

“Here’s a thought- why don’t you just ask him?” Shinonome voiced aloud.

All chatter silenced as everyone’s eyes blazed their way through her skull.

She coughed. “Okay. So that’s a resounding no. And why aren’t we asking him?”

“Because we’re smart enough to figure this out on our own,” Nakanoshima argued.

“Because we don’t want to make things awkward in their relationship if we’re wrong.” Okonogi chimed in. 

“Because I don’t want to get laughed at.” You finished. 

Ashiro nodded thoughtfully. “You all bring up valid points. How about we revisit the topic from the beginning, start fresh, start with what we know for a fact.”

You sighed, exasperated, “We already did that earlier, and look where it got us. It got us nowhere.”

“But it doesn’t hurt to try again. Maybe we missed something the first time. Come on, don’t give up, let’s figure this out together. We’ve got all night, after all.” Ashiro said encouragingly. 

“I just don’t understand- what is going on in his head? Does he even know how much time this is taking up??” As soon as you said the words, something clicked in your brain.

“Captain Ashiro, how are you available right now?”

Ashiro blinked, not understanding your meaning. “I’m sorry, could you explain what you mean by that?”

“You’re a Captain. You’re always busy. And yet, you just… came when I called. Almost immediately.”

Ashiro blushed, “That’s because we’re good friends and I wanted to help.”

You stepped closer to her, eyes like a hawk, examining every inch of her reactions. “Yeah, but you said you had all night. This just happened today, how could you have cleared your schedule for the entire night? Unless you knew this was going to happen.”

She rolled her eyes, but all you could focus on was the shift of her gaze away from yours. “That’s ridiculous, I have the night free because I wanted to have the night free. Because, as you mentioned, I’m the Captain and I’m always busy so I needed a night off to rest. Now I’m wasting my free time trying to help you, and here you are, accusing me of masterminding this whole operation.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Well? Are you?”

All eyes stared at her expectantly.

“No, of course I’m not.” She scoffed, crossing her arms.

“Where’s Soshiro?” You asked, starting to feel a burst of adrenaline in your chest. 

She shifted her stance. “I don’t know. How would I know?”

“You always know. He’s your Vice Captain; it’s your job to know. What if you need him?”

The girls had started to pick up on what you were insinuating and soon, you’d all formed a circle around poor Captain Ashiro.

If she could’ve traded this situation in for a battlefield, she would’ve in a heartbeat. She’d never had close girl friends growing up, and she wasn’t used to this kind of peer pressure. She could look a Kaiju dead in the eye and show no fear, but four girls with expectant eyes? It was only a matter of time before she caved in.

“Ashiro, come on, we’re all good friends, you said so yourself, right? Tell us the juicy gossip. What’s going on with Hoshina? Where’s he at? What’s he doing?” Nakanoshima inched closer.

“Yeah, Captain, it’s just us. You can tell us, we won’t tell Hoshina.” Okonogi made her way beside Nakanoshima.

“You know something, don’t you, Captain Ashiro? What is it that you know?” Shinonome questioned, joining the fray.

You didn’t even have to say a single word more, your friends had done enough. 

One helpless look at you and soon, Ashiro was sighing, slumping into a chair as she massaged the stress-induced wrinkles out of her forehead. “I suppose this is why you’re a Platoon Leader, Y/N. Nothing gets past you.” She looked at her watch. “Oh well, he better be ready by now. It’s about time anyway. He’s at the pier.” 

You saluted her. Then, for extra measure, gave her a wink. “Knew I could count on you, thanks Captain!” And with that, you took off running. 

Your lungs ached and the salt-stained air stung your cheeks as you made your way closer to the ocean, but you pressed on, desperate to find him. You reached the pier as the sun started to dip below the horizon. For a moment, you thought you’d misunderstood which pier she’d meant, as the lights had been dimmed and this particular pier, which was always active and bustling with crowds, had suddenly fallen quiet. 

Then something caressed your ankle, fluttering by as you stepped onto the boardwalk. It was a flower petal. And another. And another. After following the trail of petals, all the lights along the boardwalk flickered back on, music floating through the air, the scent of fresh food riding the breeze, as though they’d known you were coming. 

And there, at the end of the dock, in a dashing suit, was your love. 

“I suppose it’s a good thing I work fast and the pier workers are easily bribed,” Soshiro joked as you made your way to him, admiring the glimmering lights and the scattered rose petals. 

“So you roped the Captain into your schemes, how very devious of you.” You laughed, taking his hands in yours. 

“To be fair, she was supposed to buy me significantly more time than she did, so I feel pretty proud with what I’ve got so far.” 

“And what have you got so far?” You teased.

“You’ll see. Come on.” He led you through the deserted boardwalk that had been lit up and over decorated, through stalls of vendors with food made fresh for you and only you, past carnival games that you were now sure he’d probably rigged so you could win, and the thought that he must’ve spent at least half his salary to buy out the entire place for the night made you tear up. All this for a date. What a man. And what a lucky woman you were. 

When he finally led you to the Ferris Wheel, you couldn’t hide your excitement anymore. You squealed like a little girl, and even pulled ahead of him to dash into one of the pods. He chuckled and followed close behind you, his hand never leaving yours.

For a moment, you sat in silence together, admiring the view as you slowly rose up into the night sky.When you reached the top, the Wheel stopped and your brows furrowed in confusion.

Then he got down on one knee.

“My love. I remember our first mission together, we were fighting a Kaiju right off of this beach and when we’d finished, you’d begged the Captain to let you ride this same Ferris wheel, practically on your hands and knees.” He smiled fondly at the memory. “Just once you said, you just wanted to ride the wheel once. And I thought, god, this rookie has some nerve- to be drenched in blood and guts and still walk right up to the Captain, just to ask for something as silly as that. And then I thought to myself, god, she's gonna have me wrapped around her finger, one of these days, I can just feel it. And one of these days I’m going to take her to the top of the Ferris Wheel. I’m going to make all her wishes come true. I’m going to make her mine. I’m going to make her happy.” He squeezed your hands. “I’m sorry I’m two years late on the Ferris Wheel, but I’ve never once stopped trying to make you happy, and I swear if you’ll let me, I’ll never stop making you happy, I’ll never stop trying to make all your wishes come true. So, darling, will you please marry me? Make my wish come true?”

He popped open the ring box, eagerly awaiting your answer.

“You think after bribing an entire boardwalk full of people and coercing the Captain of the Third Division into aiding and abetting your little scheme that there’s even a sliver of a chance that I’d say no to you? Well think again because Soshiro Hoshina, you are stuck with me for life. I will marry you as many times as it takes for you to know that I’m completely and utterly in love with you; I am completely and utterly yours.”

“I know, I just like hearing you say it.” He teased, bending down to replace the ring on your finger with the new engagement ring. “It really took you that long to figure out I put the ring there on purpose, huh? Getting slow in your old age.” He chuckled as he rested his head in your lap, admiring the ring glimmering on your finger. 

You flicked his head. “Hey, isn’t that why you love me, because I take my time to think things through?” You pouted.

He laughed again, kissing your knees in apology. “I do love you. More than anything.”

Then he paused, looking over the edge for the first time tonight (he’d been watching you the whole way up). 

“Now let’s get off of this Ferris Wheel before I discover I have a fear of heights.”

[chvoswxtch]

an adjustment

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: adjusting to a new normal with frank presents a few challenges, including one you thought you had put to rest.

warnings: swearing, lil angst, frank's voice (yes that needs a warning)

word count: 2.6k

a/n: a certain someone is making a cameo that will have a bigger role in the next chapter, but y'all know I love to tease. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

As much as the two of you wanted to stay in the cozy little bubble that existed in his cabin, reality had come knocking. Madani informed you that your place was no longer an active crime scene decorated in bodies, bullets, and blood, and Billy needed Frank for a new assignment. Some guy running for Senator had a lot of controversial opinions that pissed a bunch of people off and apparently warranted 24/7 security, and Anvil was at the top of his list for protection. Since Frank was the best at what he did, unfortunately he was at the top of that list too. Adjusting to a new normal had been…well…just that; an adjustment.

A difficult, confusing, thought consuming adjustment.

For over half of the past year, Frank had been by your side. You started and ended every single day with him. The sudden absence of his presence was jarring, and you still found yourself immediately confused when you glanced up from your computer screen to tell him something only to realize he wasn’t there. Frank didn’t always talk a whole lot, but your office suddenly felt so much more quiet and empty without him. And despite a full blown security system installed by him on your behalf, it was hard for you to feel safe in your own home with the lingering scars of what had happened etched into the walls beneath a layer of new paint. 

Frank called you at least once every day, just to hear your voice, but between both of your complicated schedules, time was not in your favor. You had spent the past three weeks adapting to Frank’s vacancy, but found yourself spiraling anytime you were left alone with your own thoughts. What if this was over before it had even really started? What if it wasn't anything anyway? There hadn’t been a moment for you and Frank to sit down and actually talk about what your relationship was since the cabin. You know what it meant to you, and you knew what you wanted it to mean to him, but you wanted to hear what it meant to him from his own mouth. 

A part of you felt childish for wanting to bring it up. What were you supposed to do? Send him a text saying “are you my boyfriend, check yes or no”? Another part of you felt valid in needing reassurance. It was reasonable to want to establish a relationship with someone you were dating. But were you and Frank dating? He hadn’t technically asked you out on an actual date, but he had risked his life to save yours on several occasions. That had to count for something. You hadn’t dated anyone seriously since Steven, and Frank was not only a widower, but also your former bodyguard, so the normal rules of dating felt like they had been completely thrown out the window.

A knock at the door abruptly pulled you out of your chaotically indecisive inner monologue, and you saw a guy that appeared to be fresh out of high school standing in the doorway of your office.

“You Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Uh yeah, that’s me. How can I help you?”

The kid took a few steps forward into your office and practically shoved a sealed brown envelope in your face. He looked bored and annoyed, as if you were somehow inconveniencing him because he had to deliver something to you. It made you want to make a snide comment about how your name was clearly listed outside your office door and ask how the hell he managed to graduate without the ability to read. 

“This is for you.”

Reaching for the envelope, your brows pinched together as you turned it over. There was nothing written on the front of it, no address, no name, not even a stamp.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, lady. I’m just the messenger. Open it and find out.”

Before you could reply with a smartass comment, the kid had already walked out of your office, leaving you alone with the mysterious brown envelope. Clenching your jaw, you refrained from chasing him down the hall and asking who the hell raised him. Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you had to remind yourself that you were a grown woman that would face charges for decking a teenager, even if he was legal and a complete dick.

“Asshole.”

Muttering under your breath, you pinched the aluminum prongs together on the seal, flipping the top of the envelope open to reach inside and pull out a stack of documents. When you turned them over, five big bold letters instantly caught your attention.

LETTER OF INTENT TO SUE.

During your time as a journalist, people had threatened to sue you over stories several times. It came with the territory. The first time you had gotten a letter like this, you nearly had a complete meltdown. Ben had found it far more amusing than you did, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin on his face while sipping at his coffee and chuckling.

“Ah, I remember my first lawsuit letter. You get used to ‘em. You can either frame that one or forward that to the uh legal department. It’s in the blue recycling bin outside.”

And he had been right. People had tried to sue the paper, and you specifically, several times over the course of your career, but nothing ever actually went anywhere. You normally wouldn’t have thought twice about it, and you were about to toss it into the trash bin on the floor next to your desk when your eyes skimmed over who sent the letter, and your blood instantly began to sizzle.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Steven fucking Price.

Gritting your teeth harshly, you narrowed your eyes as you read over the first paragraph on the page.

This letter of intent to sue shall hereby be considered formal notice that STEVEN PRICE intends to file a lawsuit against you if you do not comply with the settlement demands set out in this letter.

The storm of anger brewing inside you had your hands shaking violently, and you were clutching onto the paper in your hands so tightly that your fingernails had left indents in the crinkled sides that were held captive in your vice grip. When Homeland took him away in custody, you thought that was the last you would ever have to deal with him or see him until the trial. But here he was, still making demands of you, from federal prison. 

Frank’s gruff voice sounded on the other end of the line after one ring before you even realized you had called him.

“He’s fucking suing me.”

“What? Who?”

“Steven.”

There was a brief shuffling noise on the other end of the line, and you faintly heard Frank mutter an “excuse me” before his deep baritone sounded once again in your ear.

“The hell you mean he’s suin’ you?”

“Some kid came and dropped off an envelope, who was a real dick by the way, and then I opened it and saw it’s a letter of intent to sue. I didn’t think anything of it at first because I get these all the time, but then I saw his fucking name.”

“Suin’ you for what though?”

Tossing the documents onto your desk, you began to pace back and forth in your office as you ran your hand through the roots of your hair in pure frustration.

“I don’t fucking know, a load of bullshit? I didn’t even read what his ‘demands’ were. He can’t…he can’t do that, right? I didn’t do anything.”

Pausing for a second, your hysterical rant subsided momentarily as one possible reason for a lawsuit popped into your head.

“I mean…I did punch him in the face. But he’s going to sue me for that? There’s no fucking way. Putting it on public record that a girl half his size punched him? His ego couldn’t handle it.”

“You did break his nose.”

“He fucking deserved it, I should’ve broken more.”

Frank’s deep chuckle of amusement sounded from the other end of the line, and it instantly made you forget what you were so pissed about for a brief moment.

“I ain’t disagreein’ with you there. Look, take a deep breath, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?”

Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you closed your eyes for a moment and enjoyed the soft tone of Frank’s rough voice as you followed his gentle instruction. With your eyes closed, it was almost like he was there with you. Once Frank could hear your breathing even out a bit on the other end of the line, he spoke in a delicately low tone that had your toes curling in your shoes.

“Attagirl. Send me the letter and I’ll talk to Madani ‘bout it, yeah?”

“I don’t even have a lawyer-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that right now, alright? Just take another deep breath, relax, and let me handle it.”

“You’re always handling things.”

“That’s kinda my job, baby.”

One little pet name and you were blushing like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Thankfully Frank wasn’t in your office at that moment to see the intense heat in your cheeks and the goofy smile splitting your lips. He would’ve definitely had a field day teasing you about it.

“You’re pretty good at your job. Maybe a little too good. If you were kinda sucky at it, everyone wouldn’t want you so bad.”

“The only one I want bad is you.”

A fluttering feeling erupted in your lower belly at those words, coupled with the way his voice had dropped an impossible octave lower, and you found yourself clutching at the edge of your desk to keep your knees from giving out right from under you. If Frank was here, you would’ve gladly let him bend you over it.

Clearing your throat, you attempted to change the subject before you got too worked up. 

“How’s the new guy?”

Grabbing the iced coffee sitting on your desk, you held it against the heated skin of your neck. Droplets of the cool condensation slowly cascaded down your flesh, causing you to shiver while trying to balance your internal temperature.

“Not as pretty as you.”

Letting out a soft snort, you rolled your eyes and leaned back against the edge of your desk.

“Well I would hope not.”

Frank chuckled deeply again, and you could clearly picture the look on his face in your mind; an expression of playful exasperation with a faint smirk on the edge of his soft lips.

“He’s more of a pain in the ass than you. Didn’t think that was possible.”

“You’re really great at this whole flirting thing, you know that?”

The dry sarcasm in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by Frank, and it tore a deeper laugh from low within his chest that made you grin.

“Hey, I been outta practice for a while. Gimme a break.”

“Speaking of flirting, how’s Billy?”

“He’s uh…he’s good.”

Something about Frank’s tone suddenly seemed off, and you wanted to ask him about it, but there was a faint rustling on the other end of the line, like Frank was pressing the speaker against his chest, and you could barely make out his muffled voice speaking to someone. When he lifted his phone back to his ear, you caught the end of a deep sigh.

“Listen I uh…I gotta go, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That was a lie. You didn’t have anything pressing deadlines at the moment. You would’ve stayed on the phone for the rest of the day with Frank if you could’ve, maybe convinced him to sneak away and come see you. He was still in New York, luckily, but anywhere that wasn’t right next to you was still too far. 

“Send me the letter. I’ll talk to Madani and take care of it, alright?”

“Okay. I…thank you.”

“You ain’t gotta thank me.”

“You keep saying that, but then you keep giving me reasons to. So, we can have this argument until eventually you give up I guess.”

Frank chuckled deeply once more, and you could picture him in your mind shaking his head with a light grin. He sounded normal again, but you made a mental note to ask him about what was really going on when you spoke to him next.

“Same time tomorrow then, yeah?”

»»———　　———««

According to Madani, Steven didn’t have a case, and you technically had nothing to worry about. However, you were admittedly curious about what the hell he wanted, and Frank had said that if you did want to go talk to Steven, he would go with you. Actually, he respectfully insisted that you not see Steven without him present, and while you didn’t want to see Steven at all, you did want to see Frank.

You suffered through almost three years with Steven. You could suffer another five minutes if it meant you got to spend time with Frank.

It wasn’t your first time visiting a prison. A few years ago when you were still working with Ben, he had been interviewing a death row inmate that had been declaring innocence for fifteen years, and Ben had managed to prove that the evidence for his case had been tampered with and that the man had been telling the truth the entire time. Despite how daunting it felt to be in a place that kept violent people caged like animals, you felt safe with Ben then, much like you did with Frank now.

Currently, you were pacing back and forth down the hallway in pure irritation.

“What is taking so long?”

Frank had his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall outside of the meeting room that was typically reserved for inmates and their lawyers. The guard had said he would bring Steven in shortly, but that was twenty minutes ago. Since Frank had met you at the prison, and due to all the prying eyes, you hadn’t had a private moment to do more than smile at him when he arrived. It was the first time you were able to see him in person in three and a half weeks, and he somehow looked even more attractive than he ever had, and you were being forced to endure an interaction with your ex, who tried to have you killed, just to get Frank alone.

It was torture.

“Told ‘em we’re waitin’ on your lawyer.”

Pausing mid-step, you glanced over at Frank with a look of complete puzzlement.

“I don’t have a lawyer, I told you that.”

As Frank turned his head to look at you, he suddenly lifted his gaze to stare directly above your head as someone behind you caught his eye. He stood up straight and uncrossed his arms as he gestured with his chin in the direction behind you.

“You do now.”

With your brows knit in threads of confusion towards the center of your forehead, a light tapping sound behind you caused your ears to perk up, and you turned your head to find the source of the noise and Frank’s attention.

“Miss Y/L/N, my name is Matthew Murdock. I’m your attorney.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[sturnsreckless]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆,, c.sturniolo

summary: chris tried so hard to support you through your drug addiction that had been ongoing for a year, every time he got you out, you fell back into the hole. one day chris had finally had enough and had a talk with you about wether or not you were willing to change for him, but once you say can’t, he leaves your relationship behind for good.

cw: angst, drug addiction (doesn’t go into any sort of description), crying, breaking up.

a/n: this took like two months to finish and i’m so relived i finished it, but enjoy. also, spread kindness and love, you never know what someone is going through in life. i love each and every single one of you guys.

ever since you turned 18, life took a dark turn that no one saw coming. the thrill of adulthood quickly faded, replaced by an insatiable craving for drugs that clouded your mind and overwhelmed your spirit. chris, your boyfriend, stood by your side, determined to help you break free from the chains of addiction. he offered support, kept you away from parties to avoid drugs being in your possession, and even tried to distract you with adventures, hoping to rekindle the joy you once had in your life.

but each time he thought you were making progress, the grip of the addictive substances would pull you back in. you'd promise him it would be the last time, but the cycle continued, leaving chris feeling helpless and heartbroken. he watched as the vibrant person he once loved slowly faded away, replaced by someone consumed by the highs and lows of addiction.

after countless attempts of trying to reach you, chris had finally reached his breaking point. he stood in front of you, eyes filled with a mix of frustration and sorrow, and said, "i can't do this anymore. i can't keep watching you destroy yourself like this."

those words hung heavy in the air, echoing the painful reality that your relationship was now teetering on the edge of collapse.

you felt the weight of chris' words crash down on you like a tidal wave. the hurt in his voice was unmistakable, and for a brief moment, you felt a flicker of clarity amidst the haze of addiction. you wanted to reach out, to tell him that you were sorry, that you didn't want to lose him, but the fear of vulnerability held you back.

chris turned away, his frustration evident as he paced his room. "i've tried everything, but i can't keep sacrificing my own well-being for you. you need to want this for yourself." his voice was tight, strained from the emotional burden he had been carrying. you could see the pain etched on his face, a painful reminder of how far you had fallen.

in the moment, you realised that your addiction had not only trapped you but also threatened to destroy the most important relationship in your life. you took a deep breath, fighting back tears, and finally whispered, "i don't want to lose you, chris. i just don't know how to stop." the vulnerability in your voice hung in the air, a desperate plea for understanding and a lifeline back to the person you used to be.

chris paused, his back still turned to you, and you could see the tension in his shoulders. slowly, he turned around, his expression softening just a fraction. "you need to take that first step, even if it's the hardest thing you've ever done," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "i can't fight this battle for you, but i'll be here to support you every step of the way if you're ready to try."

you felt a rush of conflicting emotions — fear, hope, and a deep seated anxiety that gnawed at your insides. the thought of facing your addiction head-on felt overwhelming, but the idea of losing chris was even more terrifying. "what if i fail again?" you asked, your voice trembling, "what if i let you down?"

chris took a step closer, his gaze steady and sincere. "you might stumble, but that doesn't mean you've failed. it means you're human. what matters is that you keep trying. i believe in you, even when you don't believe in yourself." his words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. maybe, just maybe, this was the moment you could begin to reclaim your life.

you took a deep breath, the weight of chris' words hanging heavily in the air. "i don't know if i can do it," you admitted, the vulnerability of the moment crashing down on you again. "what if i just end up hurting you more?"

chris looked at you with a mixture of concern and frustration. "you're not the only one hurting here. i can't keep watching you spiral down this path. it's tearing me apart." his voice was strained, and you could see the toll this had taken on him. the reality of the situation settled in like a thick fog, suffocating and unyielding.

as silence enveloped the room, you felt a sense of despair creeping in. you wanted to believe that change was possible, but the shadows of doubt loomed larger. "maybe i'm just not meant to get better," you whispered, the hopelessness creeping into your heart. chris' expression faltered, and for a moment, you both stood there, caught in the truthful pain that sometimes, despite the love and support, not every story has a happy ending.

chris ran a hand through his hair, frustration and sadness mixing in his eyes. “you can’t think like that. it’s not true. but i can’t keep doing this if you’re not willing to fight for yourself,” he said, his voice firm yet pained. “i’m here, but i can’t be your crutch forever. you have to want this y/n.”

you felt a sting of his words, each one a reminder of the reality you were trying to escape. “what if i don’t know how to want it?” you replied, your voice cracking. “what if im just too far gone?” the tears began to well up, and you fought to keep them at bay, not wanting to show chris just have vulnerable you felt.

he stepped closer, his expression softening again, but the distance between you felt insurmountable. “i can’t answer that for you. all i can do is stand here and hope you find the strength to take that step. but i can’t keep waiting.” he said, the finality in his tone hitting you like a cold wave. you realised then that this moment might be a turning point, but it could also be the beginning of the end for what you both had fought so hard to hold onto.

you felt a knot tightening in your stomach as his words sank in. “so, what happens if i can’t?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. the uncertainty clawed at you, and the thought of losing chris loomed larger than ever. “is this really it?”

chris sighed, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. “i don’t want it to be, but i can’t keep sacrificing my own well-being. it’s not fair to either of us,” he replied, his tone heavy with regret. “you have to choose, but i can’t make that choice for you.”

the silence that followed was deafening, each second stretching out painfully. you could see the hurt in his eyes, the flicker of hope battling against despair. “i just… i wish things were different,” you admitted, feeling the tears finally spill over. “but i don’t know how to change.”

as you stood there, the reality of the situation settled in, and you realised that sometimes, no matter how much you want to hold onto something, you have to confront the possibility that it might slip away.

you took a step back, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. “chris, i don’t think i can do this. i want to, but it feels too big, too overwhelming,” you said, your voice trembling.

chris’ expression shifted, a mix of understanding and disappointed clothing his features. “i get that, but i can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out. i need to take care of myself too,” he replied softly, the hurt evident in his eyes.

as he turned to leave, a part of you felt like it was breaking. “wait, please don’t go,” you called out, desperation creeping into your voice. but he paused for just a moment, looking back at you with a heavy heart. “i have to, for both of us,” he said before walking away, leaving you standing there, feeling more lost than ever.

you felt a surge of panic as you watched him walk away, and without thinking, you rushed after him, your heart pounding in your chest. “chris, please!” you shouted, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night.

when you reached him, you grabbed his arm, turning him to face you. the tears that had been threatening to spill finally broke free at a rapid pace, streaming down your face. “i can’t let you go like this. i’m so scared of losing you,” you cried, the weight of your emotions crashing down around you.

chris’ eyes softened as he took a step closer, but the distance between you felt insurmountable. “i don’t want to hurt you, but i can’t keep holding on when you’re not ready,” he said gently, his own tears now falling. the pain in his voice only made your heart ache more, and you felt completely vulnerable, exposed in your grief, “i need you to understand,” he continued, but the words felt like they were slipping away as you broke down in front of him, feeling utterly lost.

chris stepped closer, pulling you into a warm embrace, his presence a comforting balm against the pain swelling inside you. “i know this is hard,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “i care about you so much, and i want to be here for you.”

as you leaned into him, feeling the warmth radiating from his body, you thought maybe there was hope. but then he pulled back slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and resolve. “but i can’t keep doing this. it’s tearing us apart, and i don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he confessed, his voice trembling.

you felt a lump in your throat as you tried to process his words. “chris. please…” you started, but he shook his head gently. “you need to find you own way, and so do i.”

in that moment, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss that felt like a goodbye. it was tender and filled with all the unspoken words between you. when he finally pulled away, there were tears in his eyes, but he forces a small smile. “take care of yourself, y/n.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. then, with one last look, he turned and walked out of your house, leaving you standing there, feeling the weight of forever in his absence.

@sturnsreckless

[thesparklingwriter]

eternity

tags: smut, afab! reader, fem!reader, vanilla, gentle zhong, i think this is still kind of fluffy tbh

word count: 1.6k

a/n: merry Christmas to you all if you celebrate and an early happy birthday to zhongli. this year, i am celebrating two years of him consuming my every waking thought, dream and state of being

masterlist | taglist

You're always so surprised by how gentle your husband is with you. You're surprised that a being with so much raw power could look at someone like you, someone so fragile in comparison, and make the conscious choice to always be so careful. To always cherish everything you do with so much care.

He has never once raised his voice at you, even in times of stress or panic. His word choices are even gentler than the caring tone of his voice, or the warmth of his hand around yours.

Even after days apart, the way he kisses you is gentle, as if he knows he has all the time in the world to be with you. The way he slides his hands to the front of your silken pyjamas, a gift from him once he noticed you kept stealing his, is laced with tenderness and care. His eyes latch onto yours before he continues, and even though you can see the fire burning behind his pupils, the soft look on his face takes precedence.

You nod, answering his silent question as he pulls your lips to his, his hands lazily busying themselves with your buttons as you feel yourself being led to the bed. You know that if you did not want to follow, there would be no complaint, no pushback, and that knowledge warms you. Any attempts you make to return the favour Zhongli does for you as he frees you of your shirt are quietly ignored as he chooses to wholeheartedly focus on you.

His fingers are cautious as they glide over the bare skin of your chest, and even though he's touched you a thousand times, his eyes still seem as fixated on you as they had been the very first time.

"Is this alright?" he asks, and you reply yes, the same way you do almost every time, and his slight, serene smile finds itself on his face again as he gently pulls you towards his lap. Somewhere along the line--when, you don't remember--Zhongli's own shirt has been discarded, and you rest your hands against his bare chest as you lean in for another kiss. If you pay attention, you can feel the steady beat of his heart and the quickened pace of his breathing under your fingers, and if you hadn't felt it for yourself, you wouldn't have believed it. His fingers calmly massage circles into your back before they sneak down to the waistband of your trousers and pause there.

"Waiting for permission?" you tease quietly, pulling away from zhongli for a single second. His heavy lidded eyes are filled with a slight mirth as he smiles at your words.

"I was simply enjoying the moment," he replies, his voice low and rumbling. "I can continue, unless you have other plans?"

You smile at the way he doesn't take offence to your teasing, the way he languidly pulls the waistband of your trousers further down and helps as you try to navigate getting them off while straddling him. You're grateful that he had the foresight to remove your underwear at the same time as your trousers--you wouldn't have to figure out how to get those off.

Even the way he moves to lay you on your back is graceful. His fingers gently find their way up your thighs, and you're already agreeing to let him touch you before the words 'may I?' leave his mouth. He's careful with his ministrations, slipping one finger into you first, and letting you get used to the feeling--or rather, teasing you with it--before he adds a second, watching your face carefully to gauge his movements. He knows you like the back of his hand, he knows what the quiet whimper that escapes your mouth means, but chooses to pretend he doesn't.

"Tell me what you need, dearest." he whispers. "I'd be happy to oblige."

You fidget under him, another half-formed whimper escaping your lips before you manage to force out a single word.

"More," you whisper. "Please." your hand grips at his arm, but Zhongli doesn't seem to care as he curls his fingers inside you.

"More?" he repeats under his breath. if it weren't for the telltale rasp in his voice, you would have assumed he was unaffected by your desperate whines. "More what? I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, my dear."

But his words are just for show and he does exactly what you know you want, a smile creeping up on his lips again as he feels your walls tightening around his fingers and your nails dig into his arm.

"Go on," He whispers. "Make a mess for me." Your eyes meet his, and even though his words are a command at face value, you hear the quiet inklings of a request in his voice, as if he needs you to cum on his fingers more than anything else in this world. The look on his face when you oblige him with a quiet whimper is nothing short of fascination and pride--he's infatuated with you, your smile, your eyes, the way you fidget under him desperate for more than one release.

"Good girl," he whispers, gently massaging your hip with his hand, scanning your face for discomfort. He doesn't find any.

He brings his other hand to his mouth, and you cover your face, the sight of him licking you off his fingers too much for you to bear.

"Hmm? What's the problem, beloved?" he asks gently, using the hand that was once massaging your hip to reveal your face to him.

"It's embarrassing," you whine, and Zhongli can't help but chuckle a little at that. He finds it humourous that this is where you draw the line but doesn't question you further, turning his attention to undoing his belt.

You hear him discard his trousers as he leans over you and captures your lips in a gentle kiss.

"Stop teasing me," you complain, and Zhongli once again chuckles, amused by the slight frustration in your face.

"I am in no particular hurry," he smiles. "Is it a crime to want to savour this moment with you?"

"Yes." you reply immediately, and Zhongli realises that perhaps his actions up to this point have been bordering on cruel.

"Very well."

Zhongli gently takes your hand in his as he lines his cock between your folds, and begins to roll his hips at an agonizingly slow pace. You think that once again, he means to tease you, to rile you up, but when you look up at up and see the devotion in his eyes... You're embarrassed for even thinking that way in the first place.

"Are you alright, love?" He whispers, gently burying his face in the crook of your neck after asking, and you nod breathlessly.

"More than alright," you reply between moans, wrapping your legs around his waist, and your arm around his neck. "You're always so good."

Your words have a stronger effect on him than he'd ever thought any person ever could, and his hips stutter and still for a few moments, disrupting the lazy rhythm he'd cultivated. He kisses your neck in response "And you always take me so perfectly."

When Zhongli lifts his head from your neck to focus his attention elsewhere, and the steady pace of his thrusting speeds up, you lace your fingers through his hair. Zhongli notices the signs of the familiar tension building in you, as you squeeze his hand tighter.

"Li, I'm—" you whine, but Zhongli doesn't even need you to finish your sentence to know what you're about to tell him. His intense gaze locks onto yours, telling you everything you could ever want to know, and you pull him back down to your neck as your orgasm consumes you.

You barely even notice when Zhongli's movement still entirely, distracted by the way his teeth catch on the soft part of your neck. You want to laugh. Zhongli has bitten on that same spot on your neck maybe a hundred times, and yet, he's still worried he might hurt or startle you. He attempts to pull away from your neck for a second to look at you, but you drag him to the side instead, wrapping your arms and legs around him tighter.

He begins to ask if you're alright, but the content sigh that slips from your mouth as you attempt to pull him even closer answers his question for him, and he takes a moment to appreciate the movement in its entirety.

He is always surprised by you, by the way you treasure him, by the way you see and appreciate the power he holds, yet treat him the same as you would had he been entirely human. He has lived for thousands of years before you, and will live for thousands of years after, and you know that, but you've never let that knowledge harden your heart or make you believe that he deserves less of you because of it.

Your fingers gently drag against his scalp, the other hand absentmindedly stroking his back, and more than anything, Zhongli is grateful that with you he doesn't have to be an archon or a god or an immortal being with all knowledge of the world and its idiosyncrasies. With you, he is just himself, and he knows you would never begrudge him for that.

"Just a little longer?" You whisper, when you feel Zhongli attempt to move again, no doubt to carry you to a bath that was designated for you, but one he would ultimately find himself in too at your wishes.

"If I were able to," Zhongli whispers back, gently moving your hair out of your face. "I would gift you eternity."

© 2023, thesparklingwriter. please do not copy, edit, repost, or translate.

notes: drops this, runs, hides, doesn't open tumblr until the 31st of dec

[ln4bub]

Smut Prompt List: GEORGE.

25, 39 and 43.

A/N - This one takes a while to get started, I got a bit too into the story :/

Word count - 1.4k

--------------------------------------

There was very little about the relationship between you and George that could be deemed simple. You'd known George for years, growing up with him and watching him race against Alex and Lando since you were all kids. But this George, tall and breathtakingly gorgeous George, he made things difficult. You adored him, after all he was your best friend, but you wanted him in ways you could never explain, needed him; biblically. And here he was, sat in front of you, sticking his tongue out to be fed, like a whore. You couldn't help but stare, feeling a jab in the ribs from Alex before he whispers "Close your mouth Y/N."

"Only if he does first." You whisper back, feeling George's stare burning into the side of your head. Alex snorts lightly, falling back into his chair to continue his conversation with George. Before you know it you're in the Mercedes garage, watching George race. Your mind is still consumed by the sight of his tongue, so much so that you don't even register the chequered flag as George crosses the line in P1. It's only when the entire garage erupts in celebration that you're snapped out of it, beaming with pride at his first race win. Everything passes in a blur of champagne and cheers, barely seeing George in order to congratulate him.

The pair of you get your first moment of peace in the car on the way to the hotel, George sleeping quietly on your shoulder, the adrenaline slowing leaving his body. Your hand smooths through his hair, relishing the way he nuzzles closer to you. "Glad you were by my side today Y/N." He whispers, "Never want anyone else there." Your heart skips a beat at his words, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head.

"You have no idea how much I want you." He mutters before dozing off for the rest of the journey, your mind reeling with the meaning of his confession. You pull out your phone and text Alex, 'Code White, George is confessing in his sleep again.'

Alex shoots back a laughing emoji, 'Can't be worse than what he told me in Monaco.'

'Will you ever tell me what he said that day?' You send, a pleading hands emoji at the end.

'Absolutely not, I'm sworn to secrecy on the life of the Albon zoo.'

You don't see George again until you get to the club, being escorted straight to the V.I.P. booth with Alex and Lily. You're dressed in a silky black slip dress, silver chains replacing the usual spaghetti straps. Mercedes' colours. George is slightly tipsy when you arrive, sipping what looks to be a vodka lemonade through a straw. He pulls you in for a hug, "You look insane." He yells over the music. You blush, "So do you." You yell back, taking the opportunity to look him up and down. He's dressed in black trousers with a white button up, the top few buttons open, exposing his toned, tan chest. You catch yourself staring too long, looking back to his face only to find a sinful smirk painted on his lips. He winks at you and you have to look at Lily to make sure it was real. Her and Alex stand side by side, jaws hanging in shock at his boldness.

George is practically glued to you all night, constantly finding a way to touch you. He doesn't let you pay for a single drink, a hand on yours stopping you from pulling your card out of your bag. A hand on your thigh or arm when he leans in to listen to you. Brushing your hair out of your face. The last straw comes when he drags you to the dancefloor, holding you close to his body as you dance to the music. He consumes every thought, every sensation is him, you can't escape, and you're 100% certain that you don't want to. You manage to slip away from his hold for a brief moment, heading to the bathroom to splash some cold water on your face. You look wrecked in the bathroom mirror, hair slightly tousled from where your head was thrown back against George's shoulder, your cheeks pink with heat and arousal.

The night passes and soon you find yourself in George's suite with him, Alex, Lily, Lando, Charles, and both Max Verstappen and Max Fewtrell. Slightly tipsy, you and Lily manage to convince everyone to play a game of Truth or Dare. So far, Lando has confessed to putting laxatives in Max's coffee once, Alex has given Lily a lapdance, you and Lily have told the story of the time you got stuck on a boat in Monaco, and Charles and George have both taken a shot in replacement for an answer.

It was back to Alex, and he chooses truth. "What did George confess to you in Monaco?" You ask, alcohol giving you a newfound courage. Alex, George, and Lando seem to have a silent conversation, weighing up Alex's options. After a heavy minute of silence, he sighs, "He told me that the girl he hooked up with the night before had slapped him in the face for calling her the wrong name when he, uh, finished." Alex hurries out. George's cheeks are tinged pink as he chooses dare for his turn. Charles speaks up, "I dare you to tell his whose name it was." Everyone bursts out laughing, but George holds eye contact with you. "It was Y/N's."

Your jaw drops as 'oohs' and whoops fill the room.

You stand up, "Everyone leave right now." Confusion clouds everyone's faces. "Unless you want to see George and I naked, get out." Almost everyone scrambles to leave, except Lando, who lingers on the floor before being pulled up by Max F. "I wanted to call her bluff," He whines, the door shutting behind him as everyone exits.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" George asks, stepping closer, "Because once we start, I might not be able to stop." He tells you, placing a hand on the back of your neck.

"Please don't stop." You whisper, breathless at the proximity.

His lips slam onto yours, stealing any remnants of breath you had. His hands support the back of your neck, pulling you down on top of him as he takes a new position on the sofa. He kisses down your neck, your back arching and hips grinding down against him. "Please George, need you." You whimper, reaching for his belt. He pulls himself out as you remove your underwear, both of you too desperate to remove your clothes fully. You ache to feel George inside you, whining as he rubs the head of his cock against your lips, feeling your wetness.

"Oh my god, you're soaked. Have you been this desperate all night?" He groans, pressing himself into you. You slide down onto his length, relishing the burn as you finally get what you wanted. "Since you were fed that food before the race and you stuck your tongue out." You whine, bottoming out. "My dirty girl, if I'd known you were this needy I would've bent you over in the bathroom of the club instead of waiting this long to fell you." George tells you, thrusting up into you.

He maintains a harsh pace, thriving on your whines and pleas for him to not stop. "Believe me I'm not planning on it, you feel so good." He whimpers the last part, your walls squeezing him.

"I'm not gonna last much longer my love, tell me what you need." George whispers against your lips. You grind against him, "Choke me George." You moan and you swear his eyes turn black. He smirks filthily, "Such a whore." He groans, squeezing the sides of your neck. Your walls continue to flutter around him as he urges you to cum around him, one final squeeze is all it takes before your eyes are rolling back and your thighs are shaking.

George pulls himself out of you, finishing partly on your thigh and partly on his stomach, panting with the force of his release. You collapse on top of him, head buried into his shoulder. "I always thought we were just friends, I didn't think you liked me this way." You mutter, pressing a kiss to his neck.

"We're not just friends and you know it, we never have been." He sighs.

"Oh please, the girl from Monaco knew more than I did, you idiot." You huff out a laugh, feeling George's chest shake with his own laughter.

A knock sounds on the door, bringing you out of your stupor. The quiet voice of Lando comes from the other side.

"Are you guys done? I left my phone."

[soapybutt17]

Do I Wanna Know?

Summary:John has blood on his hands, just as much as you did. But this was something different. He has his secret, just as much as you did in your line of work. But this was different, he has committed a war crime and the blood on his hands was something you held along your bloodied own.. Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Word Count: 1,209 Chapter Warnings: Mention of Murder. Mention of Kidnapping and trauma associated with it. Mention of Survivor's guilt. Price is just a bb boi here that needs a lots of hugs and kisses. AU. Soap is alive here, but was hospitalized from the encounter.

Based on this ask:

Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Request are Open || Join My Taglist || 500 Followers Celebration

John Price was a lot of things. But to this day, he would have never thought he would murder a man without an order of anyone but for his own intentions. He had blood on his hands and there were only two individuals that knew.

Laswell that had orchestrated his ability to be in the man’s office. She who had ensured that he would do his deeds and leave without anyone knowing otherwise. Laswell knew what it meant to him, how John had to fight tooth and nail with the guilt of almost losing Soap because of the mission with Makarov. It was inevitable that he had to do this, he had to kill Shepard if he wanted to ensure the safety of everyone he cares for.

Then there was you, his wife, and his most trusted partner. He could do no wrong in your eyes. How even in your hesitation for the plan he and Laswell had devised had trusted him that it would not be placed back on him when the fire begins to spread. You trusted him even when you knew it was not the right thing to do.

“Hi,” He slipped back to your shared home.

You were in your pajamas tonight, with your daughter asleep on your lap and your son cradled in your arms fighting the last ounce of strength to keep awake. He could see the tiredness in your eyes but there was a darkness in your eyes that seemed to consume you as you looked at him.

“John.”

He gave a quick nod, kissing you at the top of your head but refused to touch you just yet. He feared the metaphorical blood still in his hands needed to be washed. He refused to hold onto you or his children when it painted him still. He refused to soil the very reason why he did what he had to do.

Walking upstairs to your shared bedroom, he shed himself of his clothes, refusing to place them in the hamper as the fire place would be a better end to them. He stood bare in his own bathroom, his eyes glued onto the mirror to the sight of him. Worn and torn by the war, never hesitant to pull the trigger if it means the mission is done and over with. How it had been so easy to pull the trigger and kill Shepard. It truly scared him, what he was able to do and even if he knew it was for the greater good.

He killed a man. It wasn’t accidental, it was not in the fields nor was it due to self-defense. He murdered a man in cold blood and as the night grows on, the guilt was coming at him with full force.

How the actions—or lack thereof had become a domino effect that he was trying his best to clean up, to pick the pieces back up and move on. He should have allowed Soap to kill Makarov all those years ago. He should have never trusted someone like Graves to be involved with his team. He should have never placed you in his taskforce.

All his actions led to where he stood now. A broken man that never knew what it felt like to be this broken until he looked at the mirror. How the tears came in floods, consuming him from the inside out. He was pathetic. A captain that could not even ensure the safety of his own team.

“John.”

He turned and he did not bother to wipe away the tears as he looked at you. He was wrapped in your arms as his sobs grew louder. He was weeping for the pain and torment his actions has caused you and every single one of his team.

Soap was barely alive. You had closely escaped death from being held captive. The world was almost about to begin world war three. Everything was going to shit and he genuinely did not know what he could do to stop it all.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” You reassured stripping yourself of your clothes and pulling him into the shower.

The cold spray brought a deep shiver down his spine as it finally hit his skin. Standing in the middle of the shower, you had allowed him to wrap his arms around you as he continued to sob. All the pain of everything in his life slowly faded away as he held you in his arms.

Slowly as the tears no longer feel and he was hiccupping, you pulled away with tears in your own eyes. Your hands gently wiped the water on his face and kissed him in the cheeks and nuzzling your face against the crook of his neck.

“You did the right thing.” You assured him. “It was for the better.” You continued as you began to wash him.

Your movement was gentle—loving. You washed him with so much gentleness that he knew all too well that he didn’t deserve. He never deserved your love anymore after what he had put your through.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked him, lathering your palms with the shower gel.

“Do you want to know?” He quipped right back.

“If you want to me to know, I am more than willing to carry the weight with you, John.”

“I don’t deserve you.” He whispered holding onto your hands.

How bloodied and battered his hand was so easily cleansed by your touch. He held onto your own, intertwining them together as he pulled you in for a kiss. All the memory of the last few months momentarily faded away in your arms.

~

“I finally did it.” John spoke as he laid in bed with you in his arms.

All you could do was nod realizing what that had meant, what it would finally mean after all was said and done.

“Who knows what you did?” You inquired for a moment fearing the aftermath when all was said and done.

“You and Laswell. No one more.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around him. Hands rubbing against his naked skin. You felt the goose bumps litter his skin from the memory more than from your touch. You know what had caused this, knew what it was for the best.

“Johnny’s finally awake.” You whispered to him, with him finally pulling away from a moment to look at you and the tears of relief flooded him.

“That’s—that’s good to hear. How’s he holding up?”

“His head hurts and making sure Simon’s head is too while he’s looking after him.”

You hoped that even just a glimpse of good news would appease him and the guilt that weighed so heavily on his shoulders.

“I’m glad…” He trailed off, moving his body until his head nestled against the plush flesh of your chest. “I’m so glad…”

Slowly you had felt his breathing slowly calm as his grasp around you slowly loosen. You laid still from where you laid hoping that in this moment everything would finally go back for the better. For your husband’s sake and for the rest of the team that was now ghosted by everything that had anything to do with Makarov and Shepard.

[smilesatdawnmain]

ETERNAL LMK AU (Part 1) (Interactive Story)

Hello everyone! I welcome you with another interactive story. Instead of hand-drawn art, I am going to do some writing for this one.

This story will be using my "Eternal" au concept. ( I dunno if I'll ever post this as a fanfic, so might as well let those curious viewers get a chance to see this some way or another)

If interested you can go to my Au's listed at the top of my homepage to learn a few details of this au, or simply let the story play out to figure out what is going on.

The rules are simple.: I will give the written passage, and then at the bottom there will be a vote on how the characters act next!

Story: Eternal

Ships: Shadowpeach

Angst: You betcha

Fluff: With enough choices, maybe we'll get there.

------------story below------------------------

We often take for granted our senses until they are taken away. Touch and smell, these are the few things that we rarely go without as living beings in the world.

Ah, but he wasn't really living anymore, was he?

Liu'er Mihou, the Six-Eared Macaque, shadow of the King... quite literally now.

For years, he had observed Wukong struggling to understand death and desperately trying to avoid it. Time after time, the King collected and consumed immortality, hoarding it for himself without any intention of sharing it with others. Macaque supposed in his conquest to ensure he never died, Wukong didn't quite consider that those around him didn't hold the same invincibility. Macaque being one of those few who lingered around the King. He was a demon, of course, which naturally granted a long life span- but not eternal.

Perhaps that is why Wukong fought with such wild abandon when he struck the Moon Monkey down. And perhaps that is why Wukong's face contorted into a ghostly mask of shock and horror the moment he heard the bone wrenching snap of Liu’er Mihou’s skull.

The trembling of his hands as he held Macaque up, fingers stained red and eyes quivering like a leaf in the wind.

"I-I didn't mean- I thought you were- No... No!!"

Poor excuses to cover up that Wukong just wasn't aware enough to realize he had never once shared a peach of immortality with the raven furred monkey. Never shared a small cup of immortal elixir. Never mattered enough to the King who had everything.

Perhaps Macaque was just too good at pretending that he didn't fear for his life every time he followed the invincible Monkey King out into the world. If he was just a bit easier to read, maybe Wukong would have realized that is oldest friend, the holder of his heart, was just as afraid of death as he was.

So it didn't matter how desperately Wukong tried to stop the bleeding, or sobbed his name, there was no undoing that bludgeoning force that had bashed Macaque's head in two.

After that, a period of darkness ensued. The world turned cold and he couldn't feel the ground beneath him anymore. He couldn't even taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth; all that filled his ears were wet whimpers and the sound of his own heart beating erratically before slowing into silence.

Then even the crying faded away.

He thought the Diyu would claim him then. For what felt like years he waited in that darkness for something to happen. To realize the horrors that always left Wukong quivering in his boots when death took you.

There was nothing. Perhaps this was the punishment? Or was this just what death was- Nothing. How boring. How lonely.

“——-”

If his ears could move, they would have flickered. For a moment, a single moment, undoubtedly insanity, he heard faint murmurs and sounds?

Sometimes they sounded like people talking, a scolding tone or a bout of laughter. Other times it sounded like a battle or conflict. There was the sound of a trotting horse, clinking metal, and a crackling fire. He thought his own mind was torturing him when he swore he heard Wukong laughing.

It wasn't until he heard the sound of running water and a trickling waterfall one day that Macaque recognized a sound. It was hard to ever forget the sounds of one’s own home, after all.

Flower Fruit Mountain.

The sound of the waterfall that marked the entrance to his and Wukong's home was forever etched in his memory. Without hesitation, he traced the source of the sound. It was like swimming through mud, but it led him upward.

Then there was light and he could see!

He was home. He was within the mountain, in the safety of their hut- could he even call it “their” hut anymore. It didn’t matter.

He knew this place. He could see the colors and hear the noises- it only lacked it’s smell.

Dazed, he turned left and right, pinching his own cheeks but finding no sensation as he did so. It had to be a dream...

...a fleeting illusion framed by the memories of life he once knew. He blinked at the vibrant colors around him—the greens of the foliage, the warm browns of the wood, and the brilliant orange of a sunset spilling through the door just ajar. Oh, he was home.

He was home!

Then...

He saw Wukong.

He emerged from their- from the bedroom, removing the armor that adorned his shoulders. Glittering gold that matched his hair and eyes. Macaque staggered back in surprise.

When their eyes locked, he expected Wukong to say something- to glare or sneer- anything...

Wukong's steps were slow, but purposeful as he advanced towards Macaque. A sense of panic gripped Macaque, causing him to involuntarily retreat backwards in fear. Fear of pain. Of going from pain, to nothing, and then back to pain was an unbearable thought.

He inhaled sharply, his own skull aching- reminding him of what Wukong had done. What he could do again. What he would do again! "G-Get away-!" he threw his arm out with little avail to his murderer, his lover, his everything, "Wukong, please!" The tremor in his voice betrayed him, ringing hollow against the walls of their home.

One step, then two, unstopping and unrelenting. Uncaring…

And then moving past him?

Macaque gasped as Wukong’s form, sold and unbreakable, phased right through him. Eyes wide he hiccuped, turning to where Wukong was still walking down that hall. He hadn’t even batted an eye.

Macaque touched his own chest, finding he could, his eyes still glued to Wukong’s back. Eventually he tore his gaze away and looked himself over.

What?

The question held no answer. He heard the door open, and then close- Wukong had left. He was going somewhere. Leaving a mess of scattered belongings and clothes, armor strewn here and there… left to be examined and the house to be freely explored.

How long has Wukong been home? Was the journey over? Where was he going now? Why hadn’t he said anything? Too many questions to investigate.

Next part

[loukaiitis]

Notes and Journal Entries by Kip Kinkel

A compilation of writings by Kip Kinkel. This is for informational and educational purposes only. Post is below the cut.

Disclaimer: the majority of his writing pieces (that have been released to the public) are only available in a typed transcript format, provided by PBS. Because of this, I am only able to include a few images of the original writing. This post will be updated if any new images come out!

Journal Entry by Kip:

"I sit here all alone. I am always alone. I don't know who I am. I want to be something I can never be. I try so hard every day. But in the end, I hate myself for what I've become.

Every single person I know means nothing to me. I hate every person on this earth. I wish they could all go away. You all make me sick. I wish I was dead.

The only reason I stay alive is because of hope. Even though I am repulsive and few people know who I am, I still feel that things might, maybe, just a little bit, get better.

I don't understand any fucking person on this earth. Some of you are so weak, mainly, that a four year old could push you down. I am strong, but my head just doesn't work right. I know I should be happy with what I have, but I hate living.

Every time I talk to her, I have a small amount of hope. But then she will tear it right down. It feels like my heart is breaking. But is that possible. I am so consumed with hate all of the time. Could I ever love anyone? I have feelings, but do I have a heart that's not black and full of animosity?

I know everyone thinks this way sometimes, but I am so full of rage that I feel I could snap at any moment. I think about it everyday. Blowing the school up or just taking the easy way out, and walk into a pep assembly with guns. In either case, people that are breathing will stop breathing. That is how I will repay all you mother fuckers for all you put me through.

I feel like everyone is against me, but no one ever makes fun of me, mainly because they think I am a psycho. There is one kid above all others that I want to kill. I want nothing more than to put a hole in his head. The one reason I don't: Hope. That tomorrow will be better. As soon as my hope is gone, people die.

I ask myself why I hate more than anyone else. I don't know. But my head and heart want him dead. He only knows who I am through reputation, and I know he is scared of me. He should be. One bad day, and there will be a sawed off shotgun in his face or five pounds of Semtex under his bed.

Oh fuck. I sound so pitiful. People would laugh at this if they read it. I hate being laughed at. But they won't laugh after they're scraping parts of their parents, sisters, brothers, and friends from the wall of my hate.

Please. Someone, help me. All I want is something small. Nothing big. I just want to be happy.

End. New day. Today of all days, I ask her to help me. I was shot down. I feel like my heart has been ripped open and ripped apart. Right now, I'm drunk, so I don't know what the hell is happening to me.

It is clear that no one will help me. Oh God, I am so close to killing people. So close.

I gave her all I have, and she just threw it away. Why? Why did God just want me to be in complete misery? I need to find more weapons. My parents are trying to take away some of my guns! My guns are the only things that haven't stabbed me in the back.

My eyes hurt. They hurt so bad. They feel like they are trying to crawl out of my head. Why aren't I normal? Help me. No one will. I will kill every last mother fucking one of you. The thought of you is still racing in my head. I am too drunk to make sense.

Every time I see your face, my heart is shot with an arrow. I think she will say yes, but she doesn't, does she? She says, "I don't know". The three most fucked up words in the English language.

I want you to feel this, be this, taste this, kill this. Kill me. Oh God, I don't want to live. Will I see it to the end? What kind of dad would I make? All humans are evil. I just want to end the world of evil.

I don't want to see, hear, speak or feel evil, but I can't help it. I am evil. I want to kill and give pain without a cost. And there is no such thing. We kill him - we killed him a long time ago. Anyone that believes in God is a fucking sheep.

If there was a God, he wouldn't let me feel the way I do. ....Love isn't real, only hate remains. Only hate."

Essay about love, written by Kip

"Love Sucks

No, I don't believe in love at first sight because love is an evil plot to make people buy alcohol and firearms. When you love someone something it is always taken away from you. I also would like to add that I hate each and every one of you. Because everything I touch turns to shit. I think if you think you fall in love with someone at first sight it might just be lust. Love at first sight is only in movies. Where the people in the movies are better than you. That is why you go to a pone [pawn] shop and buy an AK-15 because you are going to execute every last mother fucking one of you. If I had a heart it would be gray.

It is easier to hate than love. Because there is much more hate and misery in the world than there is love and peace. Some people say that you should love everyone. But that is impossible. Look at our history it is full of death, depression, rape, wars and diseases. I also do not believe in love at first sight. But I do believe in hate at first sight. Therefore love is a much harder feeling to experience."

Monologue written by Kip for a homework assignment. This monologue was written for the character Tybalt of Romeo and Juliet.

"But you know me, I loathe all of them. I am no longer blind in my hatred, I can see with my hate. Blood will flow until they are all dead. This was the first moment in my life where I had taken the life of another. I loved it. It dispelled all the anger and animosity I was feeling."

Note written by Kip, confessing to the murder of his parents. This was found on a coffee table in the living room of the Kinkel's home.

"I have just killed my parents! I don't know what is happening. I love my mom and dad so much. I just got two felonies on my record. My parents can't take that! It would destroy them. The embarrassment would be too much for them. They couldn't live with themselves. I'm so sorry. I am a horrible son. I wish I had been aborted. I destroy everything I touch. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I didn't deserve them. They were wonderful people. It's not their fault or the fault of any person, organization, or television show. My head just doesn't work right. God damn these VOICES inside my head. I want to die. I want to be gone. But I have to kill people. I don't know why. I am so sorry! Why did God do this to me. I have never been happy. I wish I was happy. I wish I made my mother proud. I am nothing! I tried so hard to find happiness. But you know me I hate everything. I have no other choice. What have I become? I am so sorry"

A concerning note written by Kip on a Spanish worksheet

Another concerning note by Kip

"Respect Sheet" filled out by Kip

[nevadancitizen]

-> TEASER: WHY DOES EVIL WEAR A FACE SO FAMILIAR?

synopsis: you and logan were taken by the federation years ago.

word count: ~550

ships: Keegan Russ/Reader, Ghosts team & Reader

notes: just a quick thing to establish relationships and to see if anyone is interested because i want a ghosts sequel. so i figured i might as well write it. please lmk if you're interested <3! i'd love to talk to people about this lololol

Elias lied.

Elias was a lot of things – a husband, a father, a captain. But above all things else, he was a fucking liar. 

He parroted stories of the Federation not forcing people out of Houston, San Antonio, Fort Worth, Dallas, and every town in between, but butchering them. Slaughtering everyone who wasn’t fast enough to get away. The elderly, the ill, children, those who stopped to help the wounded. It made no difference to them – age, race, military or civilian or someone wearing a red cross. Every American in the vicinity was shot, stabbed, or bludgeoned to death. Each soldier in the Federation had one unifying trait – that none of them could be reasoned with. They were relentless in their pursuit of slaughter.

Living in willful ignorance is an ugly thing. But you have been enlightened. Through what Elias called “poisons and tortures” of the flesh, mind, and soul, you have seen the truth – as has Logan.

The day you both were rebirthed was a blessing. You were both made siblings in arms, codependent but thriving by each other’s sides. 

Your eyes were opened – the Federation isn’t the USSR’s second coming, but something better. Something revised and edited and molded to be superior in both technology and execution. The leaders of the USSR were selfish men who got off to the idea of hoarding wealth under the guise of communism. The Federation is too cutthroat for the slightest shift outside of the status quo. Moles and double agents aren’t tolerated. The bloodstains on the bullet traps on the firing ranges are evidence enough.

Of course, Keegan doesn’t know this. Because where you are fighting for a righteous cause, he is a threat to the precious collective. 

You don’t love him. Not anymore.

When you and Logan were dragged away on that beach, the world turned dull for both Keegan and Hesh. 

Hesh felt the grief for his brother in a full-bodied ache – something that tore at his heart and collapsed his lungs. Rorke took every single person that was left of his family. His world became The Fire That Consumes My Brother by Thích Nhất Hạnh. He hoped that the torch of Logan’s body burned bright enough to be seen through the denseness of South American jungles. 

He silently begged in the rain, praying that Logan could hear him. With every clap of thunder, he heard something that sounded like Logan’s raspy, barely-used voice crying for help. And Hesh sat, and he listened. The rain hid his tears well enough, anyway. 

For Keegan, it was a dull hurt. Something that permeated every thought and action in his life. His world became Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden. Keegan didn’t want anything to do with a world that didn’t have you in it. Even though there wasn’t a funeral, as both you and Logan were marked as MIA, Keegan still felt as though he was the only pallbearer, shouldering the weight of your coffin by himself. 

The world was no longer beautiful with this unrelenting shadow over him. The stars weren’t as bright, the moon wasn’t as wonderful, the sunshine wasn’t as nice and warm as it once was. You were his North, his South, his East, his West – his noon, his midnight, his every hour in between. But cardinal directions don’t have as much meaning anymore, and neither does time.

Keegan thought love would last forever. Keegan was wrong.

[jesterwriting]

characters: vampire!shanks x gn!human!reader x vampire!mihawk

contents: flirting, reader is old enough to have wrinkles, seemingly unrequited love, communication issues, an entire decade of pining, shanks sleeps around a lot, also spreading my bisexual shanks agenda, reader is oblivious and i mean oblivious, jealous shanks, meddling mihawk, you could make the case that shanks is an a jerk and id agree, its not on purpose hes just an idiot

word count: 3.4k words

note: happy late halloween!! i meant to finish this yesterday, but i was so exhausted after my trip to the amusement park, i needed a day to recover. plus, this was a lot to write. im excited it's finally done though, ive been sitting on this for a while now :33 i hope all who read enjoy this. theres some things left unsaid by the end of this, i do wanna do a part two though hehe

playlist: lust for a vampyr - i monster

When the sun rose, it was time for the humans of Red-Haired Shanks’ crew to work.

It was a simple arrangement, one that was built on necessity rather than any need for control. As the majority of the ship were unable to step into the sun, Captain Shanks included, human familiars were needed to keep things running in tip-top shape during the day. The idea was: if you work for Shanks for a few years, or prove your worth, in time, you would be turned. Eternal life was quite the sell, especially if it meant centuries of adventure under the Red-Haired Pirate’s jolly roger. It drew countless humans to a life of piracy.

That wasn’t what enticed you, though.

You were happy as a human. The idea of drinking blood and never feeling the warmth of the sun did not appeal to you. What drew you in was the natural charisma of your captain. His voice, his presence, his charm, you fell victim to it all. After one night at a bar together, you knew you would follow him to the ends of the earth, all he needed to do was ask.

And ask, he did.

You knew enough about vampires to know it was easy to fall under their spell. Equipped with an uncanny knack for mind control and manipulation, all it took was a glimmer in their eyes before you were putty in their hand. You had seen it happen before. A single word to a marine back in the East Blue had them leaving in a daze. You recognized that this power could explain your willingness to leave everything behind.

The truth was you trusted Shanks. You never regretted your choice, not for a second. Besides, what use was a captain you second-guessed?

A part of you believed that you were made for him, crafted from the same clay that he was. A bigger part of you wondered how you could ever fall in love with such an idiot. Maybe it was the thrill of wanting someone you could never have, or maybe the attention he gave you left you pliant. Either way, you knew where you belonged. You’d been in his crew for a decade now, following him from the East Blue to the New World, and you had no intention of leaving it any time soon.

Not even as you dragged Shanks’ intoxicated ass in from the deck and to his room before the sun rose.

He was more muscle than man, way too heavy for you to carry so you settled on linking your arms under his armpits and dragging him as fast as you could. Shanks groaned, his stomach surely churning under the weight of the grog and blood he’d consumed throughout the night. You had always found the combination to sound unappetizing, you wondered how Shanks could stand it every night. Then again, he did have a more “refined” palate.

The first pale rays of the sun crested the horizon right as you shut the door to the captain’s quarters. Now all you had to do was dump him in his bed and you’d be free from him for the rest of the day. Your heart panged at the thought. Gently so as not to wake up, you brushed a strand of hair from his forehead.

Shanks’ lips twitched, eyes squeezing enough for you to yank your hand back as if he burned you.

“You’re awake.” You tried to keep the indignation from your voice to no avail.

He pursed his lips to keep from smiling. “If I say no, will you still help me to bed?”

With a scowl, you dropped him in a heap on the floor, ignoring how his laughter caused a hoard of butterflies to erupt in your chest. Embarrassment at being caught warred with the natural affection you held for your captain. It left you dizzy.

The room was pitch black. Even with your eyes adjusted, it was hard to see anything that wasn’t in front of your face. You listened to your captain shuffle to his feet, still unsteady from his earlier drink. Sighing, you offered him your arm. His grip on you was firm, but not rough as he hauled himself upward, still chuckling under his breath. It was easy to forget how he could break your bones with a squeeze of his fist. Shanks could rip you apart like tissue paper if he wanted.

His hand was freezing, even through your shirt. In the dim light, you could barely see the glint of Shanks’ fangs as they poked from between his lips. You couldn’t help but shiver. If Shanks noticed it, he didn’t say anything leaning against your side as you led him to the mattress.

“You’re lucky I like you, captain.”

Shanks ignored you with a hum and buried his nose against your neck. It felt like there was an ice placed directly against your sensitive skin. You swallowed thickly as he took in a deep inhale, his hand curled in your hair, pulling you closer.

“Let me turn you. It’s been too long.”

You rolled your eyes and patted his stubble ridden chin. Shanks leaned into your touch ever so slightly. This was your least favorite conversation, one only brought up when he was drunk these days.

Two years after you joined, Shanks had been incessant. You’d proven yourself time and time again, it was time for you to be given the “gift.” The first time you turned him down, his jaw dropped and you wondered if anyone had ever denied him before. Shanks must have assumed you were shy, offering to drink from your wrist instead of your neck. As time passed, his requests tapered off. Sometimes, though, he would trace your wrinkles, something akin to sadness in his eyes. You tried not to think too hard about those moments; the one’s where you could delude yourself into thinking you were more than a friend.

Tonight was the first night in a long time that Shanks hadn’t taken someone to bed with him. While you didn’t judge him for being promiscuous, it reminded you of where you stood. He could have you anytime he wanted, all he had to do was chase you. You supposed you simply weren’t worth the chase.

“If you want to feed off me, I’ll donate some blood later. For now, bed,” You said, covering up your grown captain with a blanket like he was a child.

“You’re getting old,” Shanks slurred.

You shrugged. “It happens to the best of us.”

After a final pat on his cheek, your captain passed out, drool spilling from his lips. It was easier to ignore his offers when he slept. The more you aged, the more your body ached.

An eternity of pining after a man who would never love you sounded like torture.

—

Once night fell, the ship came to life.

Lights lit up the night, and the smell of booze filled the air as music played. You didn’t know if it was the vampirism or the piracy, but Shanks’ nighttime crew was a rowdy bunch, always yelling, always drinking, always singing, always <i>something<i>. Sure, the human crew were boisterous in their own way, however, they were completely outshone once the moon rose and stars blanketed the velvet sky.

With a yawn, you stretched your aching arms over your head, and waited for the inevitable.

A familiar pair of footsteps approached “Are you headed for bed soon?”

You turned to see your captain staring down at you with a smile, mug filled to the brim with blood. When you patted the spot next to you, Shanks sat down, legs crossed. The red liquid sloshed in his cup, some dribbling down the side. It smelled fresh, likely from today’s drive.

“Is that mine?”

He smirked and took a sip, rolling it around in his mouth as if it was a fancy brew. “What can I say? You’re the most delicious human on the ship.” Shanks’ eyes glimmered before he prodded you on the side. You shrank back with a giggle. “I could just eat you up.”

“Then who would drag you inside when the sun’s coming up.”

Shanks’ eyes softened slightly, his eyes reflecting the moon's rays enough to make them glow. “That is true. Where would I be without you?”

“A pile of ash in the middle of the deck,” You laughed.

“Then where would you be without your beloved captain?”

Knocking your shoulder against Shanks’, you stood with your hands on your hips, “Don’t get too big for your britches. When did I ever say you were beloved?”

Before Shanks could respond, the call for land rang out. You squinted your eyes to see the bundle of lights approaching on the horizon. If you could see it from here, it was sure to be a good sized town, hopefully primed to be overrun by the undead for the night. Or two. Or several. It all depended on how much supplies were needed.

Despite the promise of excitement, your heart sank. You knew what a new island meant. Shanks would party it up in a pub, flirt with people who weren’t you, and inevitably, bring someone to bed. It was a tale as old as time. You would nurse your heartbreak at the bar while your captain drank his worries away, in blood or beer, it depended on if there were any consenting humans around.

Shanks tugged on your arm in an attempt to get you to sit back down, a playful glint in his eyes. “Come drink with me once we land. You always go off by yourself, you don’t have to be so lonely.”

Sit with Shanks so he can see your heart break in real time? You’d rather eat glass. With a laugh, you shook yourself free, though you sat back down next to him, taking care to leave some space between the two of you.

“Nah, I don’t think so. I like my alone time,” You replied.

He chuckled, “And I think you’re lying.”

“What do you know about me, captain?”

Shanks turned to meet your gaze, head tilted to the side and an eyebrow raised. “More than you think.”

It was the cold night air that made you shiver. Nothing more.

“Whatever, you say.” You averted your eyes, unable to stand his stupid grin for much longer. Sharp canines poked from between his lips and you wondered how it would feel to have the graze against your skin. Your face felt hot.

As the ship approached the island, you soaked up Shanks’ presence like a sponge. He was physically cold, but his jokes made you laugh and his smile made you warm. You would only have his attention for a short while before it was turned to some pretty young thing that you could never live up to, it was better to enjoy it while you could.

For now, though, you would take comfort in the fact that no matter who went home with him tonight, it’d be you Shanks spends the early hours with.

—

Three hours later, you wished you were back on the ship.

There you were, as you always seemed to be, hunched over your drink, and glaring daggers at the far wall. Behind you, Shanks had his good arm around a man with a woman leaning against his other shoulder. He was laughing, mouth stained red to match the bite mark on the woman’s collarbone. She looked a little pale, but no worse for wear. Shanks was always careful never to take too much.

Not that you would know. Your worst fear, on the off chance he ever fed off you directly, was that you would make an embarrassing noise. A whine, or god forbid a moan. That would be something you would never live down. Shanks would tease you to hell and back.

“Is this seat taken?” An unknown voice, smooth like butter, asked.

You didn’t bother to turn. “Knock yourself out.”

You heard the stool squeak as it was pulled out. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a dark shape settle next to you. A pale, almost dainty hand cradled a wine glass full of rich, red fluid. You shook slightly when a pair of golden eyes landed on you, realizing who had settled himself next to you.

While you knew of Mihawk, though you never met him personally. He was an old rival (friend?) of Shanks’ who visited the crew every so often. Mihawk never stuck around too long. You figured the captain got to be too much for him to handle, not that you could blame Mihawk for his frustration. As much as you loved the captain, Shanks was especially annoying sometimes.

A booming laugh from behind you made your eye twitch as Shanks pulled the man closer against his side.

Like right now.

“There’s no need to glare. I don’t believe your drink is going anywhere. ”

Your head shot up, blinking a few times at the swordsman. “You never know, odder things have happened.”

Like your captain, he was a vampire. If you didn’t know that before, you sure as hell knew that now. Mihawk was almost ethereal in his beauty, with piercing golden eyes and alabaster skin that seemed to glow in the dim light. His fangs were longer than your captain’s. Where Shanks could almost pass for a human, you knew from a glance what Mihawk was. There was no mistaking it. He was a vampire in peak form and you had his full attention.

You watched Mihawk cock his head to the side, sizing you up. “Odder than a walking mug?”

“We are sitting in a bar full of vampire pirates. My mug could start flying and I wouldn’t blink an eye.”

His lips twitched upwards into an almost imperceptible smile. “What is truly odd is why a beautiful creature such as yourself is sitting all alone. Don’t you know there are predators about?”

“I’m with Shanks.” You didn’t have to say anything more than that. Both of you knew no one would dare feed from a human that belonged to Red-Haired Shanks.

“Are you now? It’s a shame it took me so long to make your acquaintance.”

Narrowing your eyes, you studied Mihawk while he watched you in return. Though your gaze was intense, your smile was easy. You were enjoying the banter. “That’s funny, because I know you know who I am. I’ve been on Shanks’ crew for over a decade now, and I wouldn’t have escaped your notice for so long.”

Mihawk’s expression shifted to what could only be described as pleased. “You’d be right. Shanks talks about you <i>incessantly<i>. Now I see why.”

You couldn’t help but flush. It hadn’t processed that Mihawk took your hand in his until his lips pressed against the back of it. That only served to make your face burn hotter.

Before you could respond, Mihawk’s lips twitched into a smirk. “That expression on you is enchanting.”

“A-Are you flirting with me,” You stammered. It had been a long time since someone had shown interest in you. Sure, people were friendly, but genuine flirtation was hard to come by. To have someone as beautiful as Mihawk giving you attention made your head spin.

He gave you a slight smirk, muttering into his skin, “Now I see your captain isn’t the only one at fault here.”

There was a sharp prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Mihawk must have felt it too because his eyebrow twitched. Whatever you expected when you turned, it wasn’t Shanks glaring daggers at the man in front of you, his pupils barely visible slits. He looked dangerously mad.

Mihawk gently turned your hand over to reveal the inside of your wrist. Right on your pulse point, he took a deep inhale, savoring you as if you were a fine wine. “Ignore him. He’s a child who's had his favorite toy taken away.”

“Y/N is not my toy.” Before you could blink, your back was pressed against Shanks’ chest. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you against him as Mihawk’s fingers tightened around your wrist. Shanks pressed his nose in your hair, lips against your ear. “Is he bothering you? Say the word and he leaves.”

“No, no not at all. We were just talking.”

Shanks squeezed you against him. “He was looking at you like you were a meal.”

“Hilarious coming from the captain who forbade his crew from drinking their blood,” Mihawk said. “I always knew you didn’t like to share your food, Red-Hair, but this is ridiculous.”

“Wait, were you flirting or were you hungry,” You asked, trying to keep the disappointment from your voice. Both men noticed, Mihawk responding with amusement and Shanks by tightening his grip on your shoulders.

“Why couldn’t it have been both?”

A low growl rumbled in Shanks’ chest. “You are not eating my crewmate.”

Mihawk ignored him, piercing your eyes with his own. “Originally, I introduced myself with the intention to meddle, but you have captivated me, Y/N.” His thumb rubbed cool circles around your pulse. “What do you have to say about that? Surely, you can take responsibility.”

“Um.” Stuck between two gorgeous men, one audibly snarling at the other, you couldn’t begin to reign in your thoughts. “That’s very sweet.”

Shanks must have felt you trembling and assumed it was from fear. His hold on you loosened, hand rubbing soothingly against your upper arm.

“It’s not sweet, it’s creepy,” He argued. “You’re scaring them.”

“Actually, he’s been very kind.” You leaned your head back to look at his face in time to see Shanks’ eyebrows jump in surprise.

Mihawk cocked his head to the side. “Unlike you, Red-Hair. How many times have you left this adorable little human by the wayside to take others to your bed.”

“They don’t care about that, we have our thing.” Shanks looked at you, expectant. “Right?”

Your brow furrowed. “What ‘thing?’”

“Our thing,” Shanks insisted. “Our cat and mouse. I chase, you push me away, I keep chasing. It’s been going on for years.”

Flipping around to face him, you fought to keep your jaw off the floor. “Shanks, are you telling me that you think we have had a ‘cat and mouse’ romance brewing for the better part of a decade?”

“Are you telling me you don’t know?”

“You sleep around all the time, but you never make any advances towards me! How am I supposed to know you’re interested in me when you flirt with anything that has a pulse?” You hung your head and sighed. “I’ve spent all this time pining over an unrequited love that isn’t even unrequited.”

“I always thought you weren’t ready for that step, I was waiting for you to initiate.” Shanks looked more flustered than you’d ever seen him. It was strange to see your normally confident captain flounder. “I can be patient when I want.” He paused for a moment, swallowing hard. “I had no idea that was how you felt. I’m sorry.”

Mihawk interrupted by slipping around you to stand beside Shanks. “As amusing as this is, I have a proposition for Y/N.”

You ignored Shanks’ pout and turned your attention to Mihawk. “And that is?”

“Allow me to take you on a date.”

Shanks butt in before you could respond. “Let me take you on a date. I want to make it up to you and I have ten years to make up for.”

You had two options before you. Your long time love, who idiotically strung you along with his poor communication skills, or the handsome vampire you met at the bar who may or may not eat you. You were a lowly human in the face of a supernatural choice. At times, you were sure you would wake up back at the ship, the entire night having been a dream.

Truthfully, it wasn’t hard to make your decision, you already knew what you wanted.

With a smile, you said, “Why don’t you both take me out tomorrow night?”

The two men shared a glance, the spark of old rivalry flashing across their faces before they gave you their answer. Shanks with a one-armed hug, and Mihawk with a final kiss to the back of your hand.

“It’s a date.”