#i wish i could have made this analogically

[shadows-of-almsivi]

His eartips flicked upwards ever so slightly, his brow releasing a little of its unconscious tension at her begrudging acquiescence.

“It is not that they do not care for you, Haleth,” Moraelyn assured, reaching into a tied pouch at his waist for a stub of candle, an old but well-shined brass bowl, a little twist of dried hackle-lo bought dearly from a Riften spice trader. “To hear the calls of the living can be very difficult. It is like…” He brushed aside the dust that had gathered upon the Waiting Door’s offering table, setting forth the bowl carefully at the very centre as he reached for a fitting analogy for Haleth. “...Like being inside by the fire, while a lost child calls out through a howling snowstorm. Though he cries for help, his voice alone simply is not enough to make out above the wind. But we can make it easier for them to hear us.”

Moraelyn folded his fingers lightly around Haleth’s hand, drawing her with him before the Waiting Door with the patient imploring of a Temple tutor. “You have been kind to me.” He smiled  for her with gently-hidden teeth, truer than most of his smiles. “Let me do you so much favor in return. I could hardly live with myself if I did not help you with this.”

And that was not a lie, true. He did not lie to children-- though Haleth would no doubt bridle at the categorization-- and every child deserved the comfort and protection of their family’s shades. 

His own living blood bought only so much proof of lineage, however; even when spilled in desperation upon the offering plate to amplify his intent, without anything else to anchor his beseeching to specific ancestors, his summoning rituals were unstable. He made of himself an open door to… Anything. 

A door snaps open. A light shines. Skin prickles. Time slides sideways…

Kneeling upon the rug before the altar, jaw tensing against the barbs time had sewn into his joints, he gestured to the offerings laid out before them. “Smoke, fukahn, to please the spirits. Candlelight, hla-sil, to draw their eye. Their relics, deif kulint, to call them by name. Our blood, molkhun, which calls to itself.”

The fragrant hackle-lo rustled and crackled between his fingers, crumbling some into the bowl at the centre. His sister used to help him fill the beshe'm, crushing up the leaves and spices in pudgy toddler's fists. He allowed himself a moment to breathe in the scent.

“Do you wish to start?”

He cradled the portrait in his hands as tenderly as he might a newborn bird, his eyes wreathed in cloudy memory. He’d been young, then, so young, wearing the cream and blue of the Covenantal Vimeri priesthood, his long and unshorn hair strung with river-pearls and oiled glossy with bug musk. Chitin lanterns had hung overhead, and lush river blooms had piled the tables in fragrant abundance, counterpoints to the incense and liquor. And the poetry, the singing, the music of lyre and wheel-harp, and the laughing face of the Armiger at his side offering his hand to dance. A mer of his mother’s House. A Redoran…

Moraelyn started from his reverie with a quick inhale of breath, his eyes flicking back up as though just woken from deep dreaming. “Eldras Serandas,” he said, half under his breath, “of House Redoran… Sixth, four removed…”

…Was that true?

Was it the sugar softening his memory, letting these new images suggest themselves into the gaps in his threadbare recollections? Perhaps. After all, how direly unlikely would it be to run into not one familiar name after two centuries, but two in two days? Suspicion was more familiar a taste than the sting of hope laid low, more safe…

Faithless cur, to speak of coincidence and happenstance! Take the gift as it is given and shy no more from its hand.

He flinched from his own thoughts, raised his head to look again upon the face of the girl who watched him somewhat worriedly. The sorrow that struck him was sudden and deep, a heartstopping plunge into icy waters. Severance, to be without the Dunmeri birthright of the Ancestors, had been among the worst punishments the Temple could perform. But Haleth was barely more than a child… How could she possibly have done anything to warrant such a thing? No, this was something else, something… Worse.  

 “Oh, Haleth,” he said quietly, softly, not in pity but in something more like horror, “no one taught you…”

There simply wasn’t any Temple mer left to teach her, was there? None but him, and he so far from a true and well-skilled master of that discipline. But, for better or worse, he was not willing to leave this child to suffer– whether she recognised her suffering or not.

And of course… There was one way to test whether his memory was lying to him. Dangerous, certainly. Foolish, most definitely. But it would be certain… And perhaps, even useful…

“I could show you, you know,” he murmured. “How to wake the spirits.” He offered one long hand to the young mer. “Would you like to learn?”

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Down Bad — Spencer Reid x Fem Reader (Smut 18+)

Summary: After seeing that her ex boyfriend is engaged to his “rebound girl”, Reader finds herself missing the comforts and pleasures of sex.

Notes: ahh!! @reidsbookclub thank you my absolute love for reading this ahead of time. your enthusiasm and support and love is so so so appreciated <3 and this is my piece for @imagining-in-the-margins Friends with Benefits challenge

Word Count: 6 K

Content Warnings: Alcohol consumption (not drunk), oral sex (female receiving), p in v sex, (kinda) dom Spencer ( hopeful ending?), unprotected sex, some negative self body image (reader), finishing inside with birth control, breeding kink, possessive language, dirty talk/crude language (I know Spencer's probably a tab bit OOC but this is me trying here)

Down Bad

There was no way for my situation to turn crappier. My finger stood, haunted and frozen above my phone screen. The bathroom sink ran unattended as I attempted to defrost my heart. It had dropped to my stomach as my eyebrows shot up.

I still followed Lydia, my ex's younger sister on Instagram and Facebook. Her brother might have turned out to be a terrible communicator, but she was cool.

Just a couple of months ago, she was a student in Geology and the last time we spoke she was writing a paper on Ancient Rocks in communities that used aqueducts systems. What you could do with a Master's in Geology was beyond me and my office job. I'm sure she hears too many "you must live under a rock" joke from her dad. He was always cracking the most dad jokes that have ever dad-joked; I missed it. And Lori's South Chocolate Gravy Pie. I didn't even want to know how many sticks of butter it took.

Lydia had her arms thrown around a tall, leggy, blonde girl that looked like her name was Sarah or Hannah. The post was in black and white and Hannah/Sarah showed off her gorgeous ring.

lydia-nielson99 The best honorary sister ever <3!

When my ex and I dated, the idea of fine dining was a night out at a movie sharing a bucket of popcorn and an honest-to-God-attempt at moving hopping. We talked about marriage; he'd slip on fake rings made from grass blades braided together meticulously on my finger, kiss it, and promise me that he'd earn me something worthy of my finger.

The post had only been up for 43 minutes and already had gotten a hundred or so likes. I scrolled the comment section, ignoring the rushing tap, to read the comments from my friends, our couple friends. They must've liked Sarah/Hannah better, or at least liked her and Shane better together then Shane and me. I haven’t heard from them since the breakup.

Aren't most geologists analog? I slipped my phone back into my pocket and washed my hands, wishing that I could crawl under a rock, one of those ancient ones that Lydia studies.

I couldn't decide. I couldn't decide between a red that would give me a headache I could feel in my teeth or straight gasoline that would make my face, and heart, as equally numb.

I wanted something quick and something strong. I was so, so, so over Shane it wasn't even funny. But that didn't stop him from being the love of my life, to the loss of my life. I just wondered, as I roamed the supermarket with my metal carriage holding tequila, limes, Kraft Mac and Cheese, and frozen pizza bagels, if he told Hannah/Sarah the same things.

If he would sit across from her, now probably able to splurge on a dinner fancier than Taco Bell or Denny's, and hold her hands. Would he move her ring from her middle finger to her ring finger like he did on mine?

God, I cringed, dropping in a box of Double Stuffed Oreos, I let him, shit talk me under tables with promises of rings and cradles in the other breath.

I reached for the pint of strawberry as another text pinged. Internally I knew that I would soon face an onslaught of future wine moms just jumping at the chance to "check in with me" during "such a challenging and emotional time" for me. I ignored the message, but it pinged again.

Spencer: Penelope said that the new season of that show you like is on. We can watch it tonight. I think that Hotch is actually gonna let us out at a normal time.

Spencer, my roommate, always texted with formality and correct grammar. I actually think that it would be impossible for him to do anything, but use proper spelling and grammar.

Unlike certain geologists, Spencer is actually analog. When I was searching for a roommate after my break-up, our mutual friend Penelope put us in touch. And just mere months later we've formed a friendship that most days is closer to a partnership than it is to anything else. Friends were hard for me, and relationships even harder. Looking back, I think that allowed Shane to bulldoze through boundaries I didn't even know I should have.

Spencer, a certified genius and self-described technophobe, couldn't tell me the purpose of Instagram, let alone that my ex-boyfriend's sister posted a picture with her newest soon to be sister-in-law, Sarah/Hannah.

I dropped a pint of Rocky Road ice cream and looped around for an extra box of Kraft Mac and Cheese before replying back to Spencer.

Me: Worst. Day. Ever!!! Ice cream & carbs @ 7

I stared at the bottle of tequila, understanding that ever since my 31st birthday, me and excessive drinking due to external crises would result in bloating, headaches, backaches, anxiety, and an entire weekend of recovery. Maybe instead of several shots, but I already finished half of the bottle of red I bought as a bottom of the ninth decision.

"Tequila?" Spencer mused, dropping his bag on the table. "This must be like Defcon 4? And I should know, I work in national security."

I grunted, my fingers drumming against the table. The cheap speaker connected to my phone plays sad breakup music. I saw Spencer's wheels turn as he sat down with me at the table.

"Want boxed Mac & Cheese?" I asked, standing up to scoop some of the dinner into a plate for myself. I didn't seek it out often, but there was something familiar and comforting about Kraft Mac & Cheese. "I know it's got a lot of shitty stuff in it. But I'm actually going to lose my mind tonight."

My voice turned shrill and unsteady. And my eyes flooded with sharp, salty tears. Spencer stood and then backed away, his eyes and face melting in mutual pain. "What happened?"

"Shane's getting married."

"That explains the tequila."

I laughed. Spencer didn't offer any condolences as the seconds ticked and ticked. Instead he looked at me. He must've noticed the groceries. The Oreos, ice creams, and boxes of incredibly processed macaroni and cheese all screamed classic crisis for me. Being as smart as he is, Spencer could probably have told something about me within weeks of meeting me.

"Well, I already drank some of that red wine." I said. "The tequila doesn't sound like a good choice. But bad choices can be fun choices when you want to hide under a rock for the rest of your life."

Spencer still didn't offer anything, he kicked off his shoes and grabbed a bowl from the cabinet. "No tequila."

“You’re no fun." I huffed, grabbing my bowl and heading to the living room. "You promised me new episodes of The Queen's Court."

Spencer still frowned, his arms crossed as his steaming bowl of processed cheese pasta sat to his side on the counter. "I didn't think that Shane still was someone you thought about."

I sighed.

“It’s understandable. He’s marrying the girl he started dating right after breaking-up with you.”

I didn't think about Shane, not that often though. But he still was my first love. The love I shared with Shane was something he stole from me. I had given him all that youth for free; now I was thirty-one. Don't get me wrong, thirty-one is young, I don't feel old. But it's this weird, almost off-putting subliminal feeling when all of my friends either smell like weed or little babies.

"I don't love him. I don't want to be with him."

Spencer had rolled up his sleeves, revealing his forearms. He had a couple pictures of himself when he was younger. Him with his mom at one of his many post-graduate celebrations. One with his co-workers at a bar. He changed a lot; in pictures of the past he was thin and lanky. But now, when he would wear pants or cardigans or button downs with the sleeves rolled up, I found it difficult to not stare in appreciation. My sex life with Shane was good, consistent, and effective. While it might sound clinical to some, I think we both enjoyed knowing that we both knew how to, simply, get the job done for each other. I must be missing sex an awful lot to be getting flushed at the sight of Spencer’s arms.

Two years older than me, Spencer had had a life harder than most people. Penelope explained to me that he was finding it hard to live alone after he was falsely incarcerated. And working the hours he did at the BAU, he found it hard to find someone okay with someone coming home all hours of the night.

Like Spencer, I hated living alone. So together, we built a little home as roommates, as friends, and somewhere along the lines, as partners. And over the last couple of months, Spencer had never brought a date home. I had one hook up about two weeks after we moved in together. It was fine, but not enough to tempt back onto the horrid, vapid, devoid of anything promising landscape that was Bumble and Hinge.

"I just..." I bring my face into my hands in embarrassment. "I miss having someone to come home to who wants to see me."

Spencer crossed through the living room, bowl in hand. He sat criss cross on the floor like he did most nights. "I want to see you. I always want to see you, Y/N."

"You know what I mean, Spencer…And if I'm being honest...sex. God, I miss sex. Good, consistent, effective sex from someone that knows me."

Spencer and I never talked about sex. When we would watch movies that had sex scenes in it, neither of us would talk. One time we watched a movie starring whatever current Hollywood Pretty Boy had captured the hearts of the Internet at the time, and I commented that I would "ride that cowboy into the sunset." I remembered looking at Spencer for his reaction. Usually he would blush or roll his eyes or kick me playfully in the shin for being crass.

But that time he didn't. Instead, his jaw set, grinding firmly and unyieldingly. After that I didn't make sexy jokes or talk about sex in front of him. I thought it made him uncomfortable, till now I suppose

The music changed, and the breakup anthem of the century played. I stood up on the sofa, solo cup in hand and swayed to the music as Spencer stood below.

"You want sex?" Spencer asked. "We can have sex on this sofa right now if that's what you want. I mean, how much wine have you had?"

I busted out laughing, sipping the red wine from my solo cup. I didn't bother for a fancy wine glass. Besides, it was cheap and . And clearly it was working if it made me imagine Spencer Reid, my hot, stoic roommate with dreamy brown eyes, offering me sex.

"Spencer! Come, dance. Please!" His eyes shifted over my body. And he must have noticed the way my knees wobbled under the insecurity of the sofa cushions or the way my eyes must have been glazed and sparkly.

He obliged me, and his hand wrapped around mine. He raised my hand above my head to twirl me and then walked me down from the couch. "Let's get you on level ground. I hurt my leg a couple years after I started the BAU and it's no fun healing up."

He sat me down on the couch and placed a throw blanket on my lap. My bowl of Mac & Cheese was missing, but returned back to my lap, reheated. Spencer also replaced my solo cup, cutting me off, thankfully, from alcohol for the time.

"Peach flavored electrolyte water. And tomorrow I'll make you breakfast." He offered, sitting down on my right as he started the show.

"I didn't mean to be annoying and buzzed. I know you don’t like it" I said, not looking at Spencer. "I don't love him. Or like him. Or even want to be with him. Ugh. No, I just...I want…sex."

Spencer nodded, not even looking at me as the scene between the Queen and her lady's maid wore on. I kept trying to convince Spencer that the Queen was actually the villain and the warring clan would take over and let the series run on and on for an infinite amount of seasons. But it was campy and dramatic and exactly what I needed as I licked my, apparently, very open and painful wounds.

"What's the matter?" I asked, pausing the television. "You look pissed off."

"You know that he was the one that lost out when you guys broke up." Spencer's eyes didn't meet mine, even though the television remained paused. "He didn't deserve you. Not if he didn't know how goddamn lucky he was when he had you."

I don't let my heart think this means anything."What?" But I feel my cheeks prickle with

heat, just like they did when Spencer, albeit jokingly, offered to have sex with me.

"I said, it's his loss. If I had you, I wouldn't ever lose you, Y/N."

"I'm nothing special." I admit. I wasn't the most positive or confident girl, in my mid twenties I went to therapy for a good three years to sort out some baggage from my childhood. We all have something and mine was having a hard time seeing myself. I couldn't maintain positivity, to my brain it was better to remain neutral than to jam positivity down my throat that I couldn't honestly accept.

"You're not nothing special, Y/N." Spencer's voice cut through, sharp and confident. He sat up, his body sliding so close to mine that his knees touched my thighs. "You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And you're smart. And funny. You make me laugh like no one has during a time in my life when I was convinced no one would be able to."

Our apartment isn't big, but it's enough space for Spencer and I to feel like we're could interact when we wanted, which was most of the time. But there was enough space for us to find our alone time when needed.

As Spencer's knees rubbed against mine and his soft eyes met mine, the room seemed to collapse. It was as if all the air was sucked out.

“And I am so...I've never been happier to have you be the last person I see before I go to sleep and the first person I get to see when I wake up. And if I...and if I had that with you the way he did? I wouldn't have messed it up."

"Spencer…" He raised his hand, showing me his palm, a sign that I think signified he meant no harm, but as he words, heated and charged sliced through me, I could feel them ricochet upon impact.

"I know…But, when I said I would fuck you on this couch, Y/N, it wasn't an empty promise. I meant it. And it wouldn’t have to mean anything.”

Spencer shifted on the couch. It creaked with his weight. The bowl of Mac & Cheese burned against my leg— even through the throw blanket. My heart was racing and racing till it skipped a beat. It nearly stopped. He sounded so sure of himself. I wanted to laugh it off again, as if the thought of me and Spencer hooking up…no fucking on the sofa was something comedic or entertaining.

“Are you…Spencer…are you sure?”

I tried to keep my voice steady, unwilling to let him know that the thought of his hands on my body lit a fire inside of me, a fire that I had yet to challenge. But God do I want to tame it. Sex with Spencer would be messy and complicated.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed in on my face. I would’ve thought that being stared at so intensely would have made me want to sink into the couch so I’d be as forgotten as stray hair ties and pocket change. But I wasn’t. Spencer’s brown eyes, liquid bronze bore into me. I felt a hot excitement wash over me that I knew was arousal.

“Yes.”

“Is it bad that I want you to kiss me?” I sighed. “It’s bad timing for either of us. But…”

“But you want me to kiss you?” I nodded and Spencer moved closer to me on the couch. “You want me to help you forget how that man has made you hurt.”

“Spencer…” Before I could rescind my desire, not that I would ever think about it, his hand cupped my cheek. Spencer’s thumb brushed against my jawbone as his eyes scanned my face. I could smell his lavender mint body wash; crisp and clean.

His mouth was anything, but crisp and clean. It was hot and dirty. Spencer kissed me with a hunger that couldn’t be sated with just one kiss. I knew for the moment his lips touched mine, I was done for. I wasn’t a whiskey drinker; I hardly knew what it even tasted like. But Spencer’s kisses felt like it. He doesn’t drink, but his warm body was flush against mine and I tasted the heady, smokey warmth of a strong cocktail. His arms and torso were thick and solid.

I brought my hands up to his neck and carded my fingers through his scalp. He groaned, the vibrations tingled against my lips as he kissed me. Spencer’s teeth tugged at my bottom lip, pulling it out before he kissed it again. He shifted so his back was against the couch and I was hauled up to his lap.

“There you go, baby.” Spencer said. His hands were large and imposing against my back and I could feel their heat through my shirt.

My muscles and resolve transformed to liquid when he called me that. I could feel my heart surge and lurch and leap as Spencer’s lips nipped against my skin. It was so good, so warm, so achingly wonderful that I felt myself wondering if I could do this over and over. I loved my vibrator and I would continue to love my vibrator long after this once-in-a-life-time situation with my roommate would end. But there was nothing like straddling a man’s lap.

And Spencer Reid was a sight to behold. I knew he used to be skinny, but in the years that I didn’t know him, Spencer had grown up. He filled out his pants with his strong thighs and softer stomach. His pants were strained and tented. I grinded down, enjoying his haughty moan in my ear.

I arched my back, exposing my neck as Spencer’s wet, hot mouth pressed kissed along the column of my throat. Feeling him grin as he kissed me I tugged at his hair sharp and hard. His grunt is a mixture of surprise and pleasure. I didn’t think that he’d be this vocal but with me writing in his lap I felt him try to hold back.

“Just touch me.” I whined, kissing Spencer. “Please just touch me.”

His pants tented against my core. I tensed at the feeling of his erection. My pajama pants and underwear, though thin, offer only a sliver of the friction I desired. Spencer’s fingers, quick and nimble, didn’t hesitate to undo the drawstring bow.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Spencer murmured, kissing my temple. His lips are like a tattoo kiss as he resurrects something inside of me that I had long buried. “Sit on the couch.”

I scrambled to sit, my body acting of its own accord as Spencer’s words rattled through me. He was so confident, so sure, so certain. And his hands never left my body. It was as if there was some internal pull between the two of us. He sank to his knees and swung my right leg over his shoulder. I lifted my butt and he slid my pajama pants off my legs. Tossing them to the floor, Spencer licked his lower lip and looked at me as if I was good enough to eat. I supposed that we were about to find out just exactly how good I was.

“Open up for me, baby girl.” Spencer whispered, his breath landed on my skin and made me jump. “Let me see just how pretty you are.”

Spencer Reid had a dirty mouth. My cheeks and chest and belly burned with arousal. He kissed along the edges of my panties. Spencer’s middle finger dragged along my underwear, teasing my clit through the cotton fabric. With the patience of a saint, Spencer tormented both of us. He looked at me as if he could commit me to memory. His eyes were heavy with lust and something that I swore could mean something more. But that line of thinking had red wine written all over it. It wasn’t drunk. Hell, I wasn’t even buzzed anymore.

“Jesus, I’m a lucky fucking bastard.”

Yet, I sat there. With my legs spread, held open by Spencer’s large hands, practically humming with need and desire.

“Please. Please. Just touch me.” I begged, beyond caring if I sounded wanton with need. Spencer smirked as he hooked a finger underneath my panties and slipped them down my legs. And there I sat, legs spread. Finally he obliged. With two fingers, Spencer dragged them up my exposed core. The heel of his hand brushed against my clit. His skin was soft and his fingers deft and skilled. I closed my eyes as the pleasure took control of my body.

Spencer slipped a fingertip inside of me. He could feel the wetness dripping from my cunt. I grabbed his wrist, forcing him to hold his hand against my core. Our eyes met and I could not tell which one of us decided to let his finger sink inside of me. I watched as he slipped inside and released a throaty moan. My cries were extinguished by Spencer’s unyielding mouth. He pumped in and out, in and out, before slipping out of my cunt all together. I lunged forward at the sudden loss and was met by Spencer’s wry chuckle.

“I am going to eat your pussy. And you are going to cum against my face with your legs around my shoulders.”

I groaned. It’s as if Spencer knew that my brain needed to be switched off. He nipped at my inner thigh. Blood rushed throughout my body and I felt my pussy heat at the sensation. Spencer’s soft breath was hot against my skin as he kissed. He licked a line up my aroused core before flicking his tongue over my clit. It was a teasing, tormenting motion that coaxed a wave of pleasure to build. He’s a man possessed, so far gone that I didn’t even attempt to hold back as a moan rises in my throat.

“Jesus. You are a sight to behold. I’m going to show you how a man takes his time.”

As if he could possibly spread me apart even further, Spencer squeezed my thighs. Clearly he wanted to see all of me. Taste all of me. I could feel a coil tighten in my lower stomach and as Spencer lowered his mouth to my core, I felt the coil snap.

His licks aren’t shy and timid like I imagined. They’re purposeful and powerful. And threaten to melt my carefully crafted guard. He’s already gotten me well past the point of foreplay. I’m so wet that I’m sure cock that tents his pants can slip inside without much resistance. But he didn’t stop. His tongue continued lick and nip and suck against my most intimate area.

“Is this all for me? So wet. So pretty, sweetheart. Your cunt is dripping for me.”

I panted, unable to form a coherent thought as Spencer’s heated gaze spread over me. “All for you. Only for you.”

“Well in that case, I think I have a job to do.

All I could see was red. His hands gripped my thighs. I hated my thighs, usually. They’re too soft and squishy and usually ruin most pairs of pants eventually.

“Fucking hell.” Spencer cursed as he sunk two fingers into my needy cunt. “You’re so hot and tight for me, Y/N. Look at you. All splayed out. All for me.”

“You don’t have to do it until I finish.” I blurted out. “I—I know this isn’t….I want tonight to be for you as much as it is for me.”

Spencer’s eyes shifted.

“Ssshh, shhh,” He cooed. He looked up at me with his eyes big and blissed out. It was almost too much for me to handle. I watched as he kneeled in front of me; pants had become too tight from the moment my fingers groped him. At this point it was nearly impossible to withstand.

“I’ve thought about this way too much for us to rush this. I’m going to take my time with you, baby. You are going to ride my face like a good girl.The only thing that’s keeping me from cumming in my pants is the thought of burying my face into your pulsing cunt followed by my fucking you raw with my leaking cock.”

I yelped as he and sucked along my inner thigh. My skin was impossibly soft and tempting. “Fuck. Fuck, baby. You’re perfect. You are a fucking dream.”

I fisted his hair, feeling the familiar rush of pleasure from my head to my toes. For a while it only set my own bedsheets ablaze, but now it spread to Spencer. He groaned against my core, still lapping me up as the wall of pleasure threatened to come crashing down.

One second I was moaning, feeling myself toe the precipice before I teetered over. The feeling built and crashed before I could even enjoy it.

“Fuck! No. Damn it.” I cursed myself for not being able to climax, despite the down right sinful things Spencer was hell bent on doing between my legs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t…sometimes I have a hard time.”

“Don’t worry,” Spencer assured, his thumb brushing against my kneecap, “We’ll find our rhythm. Together. Anything you want. And I think I might actually die if I don’t get inside you this second.”

I laughed, dragging Spencer up by the shirt collar. He placed his hands against my hips and pulled me forward for a kiss.

I tasted myself against his lips and it turned my on beyond belief. “I want you. I’m on the pill and I want you. It’s awful timing because I don’t have any condoms and it’s a terrible idea but—”

I’m cut off by Spencer’s lips again. His mouth seared against mine, hot and needy. “I’m clean. I want this. I want you. So badly, sweetheart. So bad.”

I nodded, my mouth unwilling and unable to leave Spencer as he knelt in between my legs. He stood to his full height and took my hands. “I know I have promised to fuck you on this couch, but I have a bad knee and once I’m buried inside you, baby, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back.”

“My bed’s made.”

Spencer’s hands didn’t leave my waist as I walked him to my bedroom. I should’ve been more embarrassed as I walked with him, considering I looked more akin to Winnie the Pooh than a sexy hook up. But once I felt a sharp sting on my ass, I quickly realized that Spencer thought the opposite.

“Don’t blame me.” Spencer said. “With that ass you’re lucky I haven’t had the sense to take you over my knee already.”

I turned, facing Spencer and standing with just an oversized pajama shirt covering my chest. His hands hovered over my waist, pulling me towards him by the fabric of my shirt. “I need to see those tits, baby. They drive me fucking wild in the morning. When you’re sitting on that damn counter with your messy hair and no bra. You’re a sight to behold, baby.”

“On one condition.” I presented, attempting to act as if the dirty words that fell between us had no effect on me. “Those pants? They find their way to the hamper. And fast.”

Spencer chuckled as his fingers brushed stray pieces of my hair away from my face. He touched me with such tenderness that I could feel myself craving it long after it was gone. He dropped his pants, followed by his boxers. I meant to tease him about the mini double helix DNAs printed all over his boxers, but I was effectively silenced by his erection.

I felt him the entire time I sat and made out with in his lap. I could feel how hard and thick and long he must be, but seeing him out in the open made my body lurch with need. He devoured me with his lips, pushing me down into the bed as his quick hands rid me of my shirt. Spencer’s teeth met my nipple, nipping and twisting it to elicit the dirtiest moans from my lips. He smiled, sucking marks into my skin that would last even after all what stood between us shattered.

Licking my lips, I could still taste myself from his kiss. Never feeling anything quite this intense with anyone, I suddenly felt so naked and bare. But Spencer’s calm hands, big and gentle, soothed me wordlessly.

“I need you.” I begged, wanton with need, “I need your cock so bad.” I wasn’t a begging woman, but as Spencer pressed the tip of his cock at my entrance I figured that anyone can learn how to relent now and again.

Sweet kisses to my sweaty skin replaced his dirty words that made me flush. As Spencer hovered above me, I drank him in. His eyes were hazel, but sometimes, depending on what he wore, they were brown or green. I quickly unbuttoned his top, eager to have his warmth spread all over him. He was thick and solid— all man. From the muscles in his back to the furrow of his brow and the slight curl pattern to his hair, Spencer sucked all the air from my lungs.

I was weightless. I was floating. I was soaring.

When he finally slid into me it was with an excruciatingly slow speed. “Don’t wanna hurt you.” He mumbled, a hand brushed my hair and a pair of lips kissed my forehead. “Give ya a chance to see what you can handle.”

Emboldened, I wrapped my legs and interlocked my ankles around Spencer’s butt. He lunged forward and his forehead dipped towards my breast. His kisses were fast and erratic as I felt him sink deeper and deeper inside of me.

“You’re so thick…ah!”

“Oh fuck.” His voice was as raw and as affected as mine. “It’ll be fine, darling. You’re so perfect like this. Taking this cock like a good girl. I know how to make it better for you.”

His thumbs, rough and sharp, circled around my clit helping me to take his cock deeper and deeper. I whined, desperate for the relief and embarrassed at the way I’m at center stage. Spencer took me, made me his and I’m nothing but a mess for him. My bones are liquid as he reaches out for my hand.

It was like there was a blueprint to my body. I had it locked away somewhere. But somehow, somewhere along the way Spencer figured out where it was stored. He read the blueprint. And he knew exactly what to do to make my foundation crumble. With each stroke of his fingers against my clit or pulse of his cock in my pussy, he knew exactly what I needed.

Spencer’s lust filled voice rang clear. “You feel close. I’m so close. Can you come for me? Huh? Show me how you play with that pretty little pussy. How do you do it, Y/N?”

His hands and fingers dug into my lush body with an unrelenting desire I wasn’t accustomed to. Magic fingers. God. And I magic fucking cock. I grabbed his hair, dragging him down to my lips as I teased my clit. Looking down to where our two halves met nearly sent me over the edge. My cock swallowed Spencer’s thick cock, it was hot and erotic and I watched with my mouth hanging open in pure, unadulterated desire. My pussy, wet and hungry for more, begged him for more. I grabbed his ass with my unoccupied, dragging my fingernails down his skin as I begged for him to fuck me harder.

“Harder. Spencer. I need it.”

Spencer brought his face into my neck, kissing and biting my neck as he pounded into me. The angle set rockets of pleasure from my core to my toes, spurring me on as I practically chanted his name. Spencer moaned, his teeth sharp and mouth hot and heady as his kisses grew more and more frantic.

His thrusting was still sharp and calculated as his cocked continued to fuck me. “God, you look gorgeous when I fuck you. All fucked out from my cock. My girl.”

I liked the way he called me his. It was nice to be claimed. To be wanted and desired so badly that two letter little words were tacked on. It was a tiny word, but it changed the entire meaning. It was the sort of word that could make foundations falter and buildings collapse and roommates morph into something else entirely. Endorphins and hormones and who else knows what coursed through my veins.

It was just me and him. Together in a limitless space that neither of us would care to ever leave.

“So close.” I groaned and Spencer knew well enough to just continue rather than to change anything up. “That’s it, baby. Oh! Fuck. Spencer.”

My high came crashing down around me. I felt my cunt clamp around Spencer’s cock as he continued to thrust into me. His eyes watched me with an analytic level of observation. I knew he had a good memory; one that refused to allow him to forget much of anything. But as he watched me fall apart, naked and vulnerable and oh so aroused, it was like he was trying to commit me to memory.

“Come inside. Fuck! Spencer. Please. I need it. I want it.” I begged him, desperate for him to climax inside of me. I wanted to see what it would feel like to have his cum dripping from my needy, spent pussy. I wondered if it would feel different, if it would change something, something fundamentally.

His voice was hoarse and strained as he came, shooting spurts of hot cum into my cunt. It was unabashedly erotic, watching him fall apart with his bare cock stuffed inside me. “Fucking, hell. It’s never been like that before.” He kissed my jaw, holding me in place by my chin while still sheathed inside of me. It was a lovely feeling. Full and safe. I must have been so drunk on him because I thought I could stay like this forever.

The silence that fell between the two of us lingered for several months. Spencer’s fingers danced along my hip bone and up to my rib change. His eyes were closed and his hair was matted with sweat against his forehead. He had creases near his eyes and deep, well set-in bags under his eyes. I wondered how inappropriate it would be for him to spend the night with me. Naked of course. I don’t think either of us could handle having it any other way.

I never fucked my roommate. Nor have I been ballsy enough to have “feel better” sex with a friend. It’s not like I expected him to lay out a red carpet and get down on one knee after he gave me a handful of (earth shattering) orgasms.

“Y/N.” Spencer breathed. A beat passed before I dared to reply.

“Spencer.” He stirred beside me, his hand resting against my thigh.

“I think…I think we’re gonna need to try that again and again and again…” He rolled over onto me, kissing along my jaw. I felt the pads of his thumbs against my bare breasts and sighed.

God, help me. He’s my man.

Taglist: @foxy-eva @reid-ingandweeping @andiebeaword @boldlyvoid

(I know several people asked to be tagged, but if you didn't have that you were above 18 in your blog you won't be tagged in this one!

Please reblog, comment, and like! Feedback and encouragement and interactions are wonderful to receive. Thank you!

[moondirti]

blue collar simon x gn! reader. implied cnc.

Simon finds a journal on his lunch break.

It's inconspicuous. A5 black moleskin with an elastic holding it's contents together, bits of paper sticking out like nails on a poorly constructed house frame. He only notices it because his cooler slips off the bench when he blindly places it atop the fat book, sandwiches and packets of crisps now strewn across the dirty pedway.

The day's already been shit. A motley of blows, each made worse by the torrid sun overhead, sweat to cling to his grievances. An uptight site manager. A near loss of life after some tenderfoot got caught in between an excavation truck and the wall. Even his too-long hair, which curls around red ears – having not had a chance to buzz it off since being called in for this job. It's no wonder, then, that the tiny mishap stirs as severe of a reaction as it does; he chucks his hard hat across the road, satisfied only when it finds its fate mid-lane, an obstruction to inevitably fuck the tires on a white collar's new car.

When his rage settles as smouldering ash in his chest, he picks his food off the floor and cracks open the source of his animosity.

With no name or number, the first page holds just a chicken-scratch address. Interesting. Its owner hasn't made this easy on him, crafting it like one would a game. A skewing of traditional acquaintance. Granting nothing of their superficial identity, yet unrestricted access to their innermost thoughts. Thus he's forced to paint his own picture of the figure behind the words.

And what a picture indeed.

The first entry is brief.

13.02 – My therapist expects at least three pages a week. I'm not doing any of that, so don't get your hopes up.

It's evident that you don't stick to your guns. Though the next one is dated several months later, so he see's the attempt had been made. Written in a whole new hand, like you'd picked a dry pen off the floor and practiced your non-dominant grip:

08.05 – I broke my arm playing tennis. The umpire called a match-point in my opponent's favour and I threw the racket at his head.

I am no longer allowed to play tennis. What good is that resolution? My radius has a greenstick fracture. I'm already out of the game.

His laugh is abrasive and sudden, like it'd been pried from his chest by a pair of careless hands. Or as close to that analogy as it can get – your anger is intoxicating and only grows more potent across the pages. Inadvertently amusing. Simon chews through the tough crust of his torpedo roll as he reads, time wearing away under the stiff comb of your words.

There's hardly any variation in your cataloguing –

10.06 – The universe must need more bad people in it, because it tests my limits everyday. Can the fuck next door snore any louder? It's 2 am, goddammit. I wonder if it'd be overkill to ship nasal strips to his mailbox.

26.06 – Dad called today. Didn't pick up.

04.07 – I'm close to killing Kathleen. There's a reason the food in the fridge is labelled as MINE. GET YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF OF IT!

13.07 – The world is a shitty, stupid, crappy, icky, lousy, rotten, stinking, stinky, bad place. I hate my coworkers and friends and parents and landlord and etc etc. It's like everyone is out to get me.

– so it's like the honed curl of a hook. Whiplash-inducing, reeling his attention so quick that his neck strains in phantom pain. Simon stops everything, elbows settling onto his knees as he fixates on one entry in particular.

30.07 – I stand by what I said. The world is uniquely horrible. I think that's because I make it that way for myself. Whatever this exercise was meant to do for me, rage relief or introspection or whatever, it's clearly not working. I'm just as angry as I was before. Maybe burning these pages would help. I wish I could play tennis again. I don't know what to do with my hands anymore. I got fired last week. Need groceries. Eggs, spinach. Spinach always goes bad and I never make use of it. I keep buying it though. Dad keeps calling. I've got a migraine and I've run out of advil.

I just need someone to put me in my place.

And it ends there. No more entries after the fact, just a handful of blank pages before the journal wraps to a close.

He flips back over to the address at front. Looking at it a second time, he can tell the ink is still fresh.

Perhaps he misinterprets it. Perhaps it hits a little too close to home. It wouldn’t be the first time he looks for salvation in the empty lines someone leaves behind. Perhaps it’s just been a bad day, and he should go home before he does something he’ll regret. Perhaps it’s nothing at all.

Or–

Perhaps he sees it for what it is.

Here are all my colours. What you choose to do, or think, is no longer my concern.

[g0niki]

camera's on: take two ── y.jw p.js

camera's on (pt.1) (read me first!!!)

pairing: bf!jungwon x afab!reader x classmate!jay

word count: 2.3k+

content: no protection (don't be like them.), oral (m&f receiving), mxm (no penetration, but more than kissing), exhibitionism, dom!jay, switch!won, sub!reader, jw and reader are no thoughts head empty, creampies, recording. lmk if i missed anything! minors dni.

a/n: i was feeling silly and i didn't proof read🤸. please share your thoughts with me in the comments, reblogs, or my inbox! I also won't be adding more to 'camera's on' (at least as of right now) but i will still write for jaywon and other duos!! going to try and write more about the other members 🤞

jungwon had been standing on the tip of his toes for the whole week, eager for the upcoming friday. 

won bit on the end of his pencil, uninterested in his lecture about the mayan empire and the legacy they left behind. his focus was completely locked in on the analog clock dangling above the exit. the hands ticking and taunting him with every passing second, the pencil sitting in between his teeth being bent up as he bit down harder and harder.

unfortunately, the first tape had been lost but luckily for him, jay was feeling generous enough to allow another session free of charge (as long as he would have a feature). 

he knew you would already be home getting ready, probably letting jay get comfortable and set up while he’s forced to miss out on even the smallest of interactions. 

the thought of you and jay getting started up without him almost being enough to make him leave his lecture early.. yet at the same time he wouldn’t mind.

god, he hopes that’s what the two of you are doing. 

and just before he could get lost in the thought, imagining jay’s name rolling off the tip of your tongue as he rushes down the hall of your shared apartment, his professor is dismissing the class.

【☆】★【☆】

jungwon fumbles with his keys, struggling to get the right one into the keyhole. his bag tugging down on his shoulder as he fumbles with the doorknob, forcing his way into the small apartment.

only to be welcomed by silence. 

he knew you were home, you hadn’t told him about a change of plans. he lets his bag fall onto the floor next to your couch, eyeing the two pairs of shoes next to the entrance, clearly indicating the presence of both you and jay. 

“baby? did you guys set up?” he calls out as he creeps towards the room, the only place you and jay could be.

his stomach turned, anticipating what was going on behind the closed door. he could hear jay’s hushed whispers, the conversation between you too being inaudible. 

jungwon opened the door to the very scene he was wishing for. you were sitting between jay’s legs, your own splayed open as the older boy spread your folds,  the camera pointing directly towards the two of you. 

“good girl, you held in your sounds til jungwon could make it home.” jay used his free hand to push back the sweaty strands of hair off of your face. 

your cheeks were flushed, your face scrunched up as you used all your might to try and not make a single sound. 

“she’s waiting on you won,” jungwon's jaw slightly dropped, admiring the sight of the two of you. your naked forms pressed up against each other and waiting for him.

“you can let it all out now pretty.” the moment you heard your boyfriend’s smooth voice you were throwing your head back against jay’s shoulder, a strained moan leaving your throat as your back slightly arched and you forced your pelvis further into jay’s hand.

jay hadn’t even put his fingers inside of you, only playing with your clit and tracing the outsides of your hole lightly. he wouldn’t go as far as penetrating you in any sort of way without your boyfriend around and he was glad he didn’t. the way you were dripping down onto his fingers and leaving his hand soaked was amusing to him. 

you were so easy to toy with, almost as if you had never been fucked. and that made him want to tease you even more.

“why don’t you come warm up too jungwon?” jay so easily picked you up, moving your body next to him and signaling won to him. “this week looks like it’s been hard to you, hasn’t it?”

jungwon dumbly nodded, walking over to stand in between jay’s open legs. 

“mm, both of you are too dumb to use your words today. maybe if i help you relax a bit you’ll start speaking up, yeah pretty boy?” 

jay’s hands found jungwon’s, the older boy standing up to now tower over him. moving the two of them around and giving jungwon his former place on the edge of the bed. 

you watched in awe as jay tugged down jungwon’s loose sweats. freeing his painfully hard and swollen member, letting it slap against his hoodie. 

won moaned at the feeling, his sensitive tip rubbing against the cotton material and leaving a dab of precum. 

“both of you are so needy, look at this.” jay lightly blew on jungwon’s tip, his cock jumping in response.

“please hyung.” won’s voice was whiney, and you clenched your legs together watching. your boyfriend’s needy response has you pouting, you hated seeing him not get taken care of.

“come on jay, he’s asking nicely.” you crawled up behind your boyfriend, sitting on your knees and placing light kisses and licks along your boyfriend’s neck. 

“oh, so you can speak?” jay laughed lightly, slapping jungwon’s thigh just to get a reaction. “lucky i’m feeling extra nice today.”

before the two of you could even process it, jay is wrapping his lips around jungwon’s cock. his tongue gently tracing the underside of his tip, won’s body shuddering in response.

jay didn’t bother to take any more of jungwon in his mouth, only paying the swollen end any attention. the both of you knew not to ask for more.

jay’s eyes looking up at the both of you. you were doing your best to feel included, marking up every open surface and leaving the prettiest purple marks on jungwon’s neck, but jay could see the subtle pout on your face. he knew you wanted to feel included. 

he slowly pulled off of jungwon’s tip, letting it rest against his bottom lip for a moment. the saliva serving as a gloss for his lips, jungwon’s member getting more excited by the moment, jumping as jungwon let every single groan and moan leave his throat.

“oh my fucking gosh hyung.” jay wasn’t even doing anything at the current moment yet won felt like he was about to spill all over the cameraman’s face. 

“hey pretty, go grab the camera for me.” your eyes immediately lit up at jay’s command, pushing yourself off the mattress and grabbing the device. “now hand it to jungwonnie and get down here with me.” 

won felt like he was going to faint. the image of you sitting on your knees next to jongseong sends his brain into overdrive. the evident size difference between you two, the rough and dark look jay had in comparison to your soft and head-empty appearance giving him whiplash. 

he watched as jay grabbed the back of your head and had you lean closer to jungwon’s stiff cock, forcefully placing you face-to-face with it.

jay places the tip of jungwon’s cock onto your lips, tapping it against the bottom of your mouth a couple of times, the both of them groaning at the sight.  

“i can’t take this anymore.” 

almost as if it were on cue, jay is leaning forward and sandwiching jungwon’s tip between the two of your lips. his tongue coming out to fight with yours and caress the sensitive end all at the same time.

jungwon’s hands gripped the camera. he could’ve sworn he was hearing colors at this point. 

the way you whined against him was driving him insane. the two tongues providing extra stimulation and the whole view being displayed on the camera’s monitor getting him even harder. 

he could see the tears pricking your eyes, how desperate you were to please him and keep up with jay. 

he felt bad looking at his pretty girl lack so much attention, so he did what any good boyfriend would do. 

he pushed his leg closer to your core, watching as you immediately used it to get yourself off. the material of his sweats rubbing against your clit and giving you the extra energy you needed to drool on his cock and start kissing down the base. 

won tangles his hand in the older’s hair, pulling the boy off of him and admiring his lustful eyes and sharp jaw. 

“what won?” he looked uninterested in what jungwon had to say, if it wasn't for the bulge firmly pressing against his pants jungwon would've almost thought he didn't want to be there.

“look at her. she’ll take anything right now.” won gave jay a fake pout, the two of them watching how you licked up and down won’s member, paying special attention to your favorite vein. 

jay quickly grabbed the camera from won’s hands and focused the lens on you. capturing your eyes pinched tightly together as your hips desperately rutted up and down. 

"holy shit..." won’s neck was thrown back, his member shooting out cum and decorating your cheeks and eyelashes. 

the two of them watch as you swipe the fluid off your face and scoop it into your mouth instead, locking eyes with the camera and giggling.

“camera’s going back up, get on the bed.” jay moves towards the tripod, setting up his camera once again, slightly zooming in and only keeping the bed within the frame. “look at you two, so desperate.”

the camera displays both you and won laying on your sides and sloppily making out. won’s hands clutch at your waist, pulling you closer and rubbing his cock against your clit. the repeated nudging of his head making you whine into his mouth and he can’t help but suck up every single noise you make.

jay lets his cock throb at the view, his head dripping beads of precum as he uses his pointer finger to lightly graze the end of his cock. 

“go on jungwonnie~ fuck her already.” 

you pull away for a moment, hands in his hair and admiring his glassy eyes. “I want it so bad, give it to me please~” you slide your hand between the two of your bodies,  lifting your leg and lining up his member with your entrance. 

jungwon’s hips jump forward on instinct. his dick pushing into you and feeling the warmth of your velvety walls, squeezing his eyes shut and rutting into you. the thrust are short, only pulling out maybe an inch or two before slamming his hips back into yours as he eagerly chases his release. 

“please, fuck- fuck i’m going to cum.” he buries his face into your chest, kissing the tops of your breast. his kisses become messier and messier, leaving marks behind as he speeds up the pace of his hips, his pelvis coming into contact with your clit every time he fucks up into you, ticking you closer and closer to your high . “i’m filling you up- fuck…”.

the warm thick liquid coating your inside, sending you over the edge. he pushes this face into your boobs more, biting down on the supple flesh. his teeth sinking in hard enough to have you squirming, possibly drawing a bit of blood. 

the both of you panting in silence for a moment before jay speaks up, startling the both of you. 

“let’s get our final scene, okay?” he gets in the bed behind you, grabbing your smaller frame and sliding you off of won’s sensitive cock. “gonna make you feel real good princess.” 

he lays flat on his back, pulling you on top of him and pressing your back on top of his chest. his dick now aligned with your cunt, the mixture of you and jungwon dripping down onto his thick shaft.

without warning he’s pushing you down onto his length, won’s cum helping ease the stretch.

“so fucking tight, no wonder he cums so quick.”  jay uses his hand to lightly apply pressure on your lower stomach, heightening the feeling of his dick.

won dumbly watches, his mouth slightly hanging open in awe at the sight. 

“won… need more~” you squeak out to him. you were so close to being gone, his pretty girl being so so good for jay. taking him so well and still wanting more. 

no one would ever be able to satisfy you the way he does. fucking jay, yet still needing him. 

and who was he to deny you?

jungwon crawled over and settled himself between the tangled mess of legs.

leaning down so closely to your stuffed cunt and blowing against it. your body jolting at the feeling, making his eyes light up and a light smirk settle on his lips.

“look at that pretty, the way you clench around him is so cute.” your back arches against jay’s chest. the older wrapping his arms around you to hold you still.

looking down you see won lean in and wrap his soft lips around your clit. suckling on it softly, giving you the last bit of pleasure you needed, but he doesn’t stop there. 

his tongue lolling out of his mouth and moving down to circle your cunt, bringing pleasure to both you and jay. 

jay’s thighs shake at the feeling, and jungwon likes that reaction. 

the younger boy moves down even further, taking jay’s balls into his mouth and sucking on them for a moment before pulling them out of his mouth with a pop. won sticks out his tongue and licks jay from his balls up to where he is inside of you. 

sliding his wet muscle into your cunt alongside jongseong’s cock, sliding against the sensitive vein. 

the feeling of won’s nose bumping against your bruised clit making you squirm and scream, tears welling up in your eyes as you babble out nonsensical begs and pleases as you cum. 

 jay adding more to the mess inside you with the final flick of jungwon’s tongue against his thick cock. 

jungwon sits back, watching the two of you grab onto each other and ride out your highs with a satisfied smile on his face.

“that was better than the take we lost.”

“oh yeah about that, i never lost the take.” you and won snapping your necks to look at jay. “what? i couldn’t pass up on another threesome with you two.” 

ᯓ★

@g0niki all rights reserved. do not translate or post my work anywhere without permission.

🏷️: @pansies-garden

[atrwriting]

selfish - frank castle x reader

hey y'all back in action with another porn no plot one shot

all i'm saying is,,, they knew who their target audience was with this (or are we just all mentally ill?)

summary: frank shows you what it means to be a real, selfish man.

informal warnings: frank is the selfish man in this, but I was the selfish woman writing this. couldn't get this out of my head as I started season two of the punisher, and frankly (haha get it -- sorry) after this scene you wouldn't be able to either

as always, the actual warnings: vulnerable frank, #sadboihrs for both the reader and frank, smut, porn no plot, choking, dirty talk, and ROUGH frank

anyway... selfish:

“what’s your type?”

the million dollar question. the one that you had been troubling yourself over for years.

“my type?” you repeated, eyeing the man who asked you. “or my pattern?”

he tilted his head in curiosity. “both.”

you chuckled. “my pattern… well, they’re usually useless. man babies.”

it was his turn to chuckle. “you like taking care of them, yeah?”

you shrugged. “i love taking care of people, but not men that de-age into babies as time goes on. did you know a guy i dated asked me how to boil water once?”

“you’re joking,” he took a swig of his beer, eyeing you. “no way that’s true. made that up.”

“i wish,” you laughed, rubbing a hand over your face. “i’m also not making it up that i stayed with him two years after that.”

“sounds like your fault.”

you nodded. “the pattern made me realize what my real type is.”

“what?”

“it’s corny.”

“say it.”

a smirk attempted to appear on your lips, but you pushed it back down. “i don’t like selfless men.”

he let out a laugh in disbelief at that. “you and every other chick.”

you chuckled too. “i heard this an analogy once… if you’re falling over a cliff, would you want your person to save you? or someone else about to fall on another side of the cliff?”

he stopped talking then, listening intently.

you kept going. “obviously, i’d want the other person saved… but in my head, when i’m all alone and there’s no one that has to be saved… sometimes it’s nice to think that someone would be so selfish that they would save me over doing what’s right.”

“you could live with that though?” he asked, narrowing his eyes, a bit of judgement lacing his words.

you shrugged. “never been the person that was saved, so i’m really not sure. it’s not that i want to be saved or anything — that’s super fucking corny. but man, a fucking masculine man, putting you over other things? deciding that in that moment, you’re what matters to him? i spend all my days being selfless, putting myself in danger so other people are saved… and i’m tired.” you took a swig of your drink. “i’m really fucking tired.”

“why don’t you save yourself, then?”

“for the same reason you’re here,” you sighed. “when have we ever been selfish, frank?”

he laughed at that, but almost scoffed. “i don’t do anything i do for anyone but me.”

you swallowed then, clenching your jaw. “so many people have wronged you… but you’ve only done what you’ve done because of how people have wronged those you loved. hate to break it to you… but you’re as selfless as anyone could be.”

he folded his lips underneath his teeth and stared aimlessly off into the distance. there were bags under his dark eyes, and no amount of sleep or beer would ever take them away. the man would never know peace, and your heart broke at that. however, it was nice to know someone was going down the rabbit hole with you.

“i don’t think i’m selfless,” he finally spoke after a bit.

you raised an eyebrow at him, calling his bluff.

“i did the things i did because my family was what was most important to me,” he admitted. “that’s selfish.”

you swished his words around in your mouth a little, and decided he was right. the spin on your words made you nod, agreeing with him. “i see your point.”

“so, what?” he asked. “you want a man that would choose you over innocent people?”

you huffed, standing. “i know you know that i never said that. i’m saying that in the back of my mind, it would be nice, just once, for a selfish man to decide that i’m all he wanted. it would be nice to know that i don’t always have to carry the weight on only my shoulders.”

he didn’t say anything then, staying planted on his seat on the floor. he twisted the bottle in his hands and listened to you.

“if i’m being honest with myself…” you began, swallowing your heavy statement. “i would prefer if they saved the innocents, but only so i could die, as i probably would falling in that situation, with a clear conscience. all i’m saying is… it’s a heavy fucking burden always doing things so i don’t feel guilty.”

you walked away then, not muttering a goodbye. frank didn’t say anything either. you heard him raise the bottle to his lips once more before you shut your bedroom door behind you.

it would be an hour or so before you heard a gentle knock on your door. there was no yelling or screaming outside, so you were grateful to hear there was no imminent danger present. in your tiny pajamas, you answered the door to find none other than frank. he was leaning against a wall in the hallway that led to your door, only a couple feet from you.

he didn’t say anything when you came face to face with him. he just stared at you, placing all of his focus on your confused face. it would be a few moments of silence before he finally stepped closer to you, and placed a calloused hand on your face.

you froze. frank castle never touched you, especially in that way.

“wanna know my type?”

you stared at him and swallowed thickly. your lips parted to whisper, “sure.”

“an escape,” he whispered back. “i know what you meant by always having the dark cloud of duty hanging above your head, ready to kill any moment of peace you happen to get your damned hands on. i’ve done everything i’ve ever done for the people i loved, and i know the only way for me to experience any fuckin’ joy is with another person.”

his dark eyes held your gaze, and you soon grew lost in them and his words. you swiped your tongue across your lips and stepped closer. you could feel frank’s breath on your chin, but you couldn’t breathe. his scent, his stare, and his fucking words were more intoxicating than any alcohol you had before.

“you want an escape, frank?” you softly asked, eyes darting to his lips.

“i do,” he stated, before he lowered his head and kissed you.

his free hand immediately came up to the other side od your face and pressed against your cheek. there, he held you in the palms of his hands as you rested your hands on his thick, muscled chest. his lips were dry and cracked, but you didn’t care. the fire that brewed from his affection was enough to fill any of the cold, dark, and lonely places inside of you and you greedily drank from anything he offered.

“you want someone to want you, darlin’?” he asked in between kisses.

you hummed in agreement, not wanting to break apart your kiss for anything — even words.

“can’t get you out of my head, sweetheart,” he spoke, dipping his tongue into your mouth. “need to feel those long legs around me.”

you whimpered at his words, letting his tongue dance with yours. you could taste the heineken on his tongue and savored every bit. “please, frank… i need to feel you so badly.”

“i’ve got you, darlin’.” he picked you up by the backs of your thighs and you wrapped your legs around him. the pads of frank’s finger tips dug into your flesh and a warmth spread throughout you. “those fuckin’ legs.”

you would’ve giggled, but you were too consumed with the very touch of frank to even care. you pulled at his shirt and threw it over his head, sad to break the kiss for even a second. you immediately went to his neck and began to nip at the thick skin, causing a growl to rumble in the deepest parts of his rib cage.

“y’drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he grunted. “sweetest fuckin’ kisses.”

“oh, frank…” you moaned against his neck before he threw you onto the bed. you turned over onto your back to face him. he locked eyes with you as he stood over you, muscles naturally flexed as he undid his belt. your mouth watered at the sight of the fucking man before you, taking off his belt for only you. the way his shoulders, pectorals, and arms worked in the dim light of your room… that man would be the death of you. you hissed, “you’re such a tease.”

he smirked at that, throwing the belt somewhere in the distance. “think you’ve just never been with a real man before,” he replied, before engulfing you into another kiss.

frank’s hand dipped into your shorts and immediately went for your slit. your body fucking sang at finally being touched the way you needed to be as you arched your back into frank, his chest pressed against yours. when frank began to run rough circles around your clit, nothing could hold back your moans or him swallowing them whole.

“only took off my belt, and this is how wet you get?” he asked, biting down on your neck. his long, thick middle finger dipped inside of you as his thumb worked at your clit. he tapped against your upper wall and you keened into his touch, whimpering his name. “now i know it’s the men before me. barely doing a fuckin’ thing and i’ve got you like this.”

you nodded pathetically, just wanting him to continue. “it feels so good,” you gasped, bucking your hips into his hand. “please, please — don’t stop, frank.”

he leaned over and pressed his chest against yours before his lips found your neck once more. his kisses were wet and sloppy, and there was nothing better than feeling the weight of a strong man above you working at your needy pussy. his rough movements against your sensitive skin were sending you into a frenzy as if nothing mattered in the world besides frank — your world started and ended there. your body felt hot — steaming from everything this man was doing for you with barely any effort. your whimpers and gasps fueled frank’s movements as if he couldn’t get enough of them.

“such a good girl f’me,” he said before he bit down on your neck and kissed the spot. “y’get so worked up, i want to see what it’s like when you fall apart.”

“i’m so close, frank…” your voice was hoarse and full of lust, and you were about to break any moment.

“that’s it, baby, yeah,” he spoke, slipping a second finger inside of you. “cum all over these fingers baby. let me taste you after.”

“fuck, fuck, fuck —!”

your world came crashing down onto you. your strength was no match for frank’s, but with the way your back arched and body curled into him, your chests both rose off the bed. he wrapped a strong arm underneath the curve of your back as you fucking sobbed his name, holding you to him and supporting your weight.

“that’s it, darlin’,” he grunted against your ear. “yeah — that’s it. keep cumming for me, fuck…”

your hands grabbed at his thick biceps and you grew lost in his movements against the most sensitive parts of you that never ceased. your hips were rolling in circles with his fingers and your vision went hazy.

“so beautiful like this f’me,” he groaned. “might be mean and not let you stop.”

“fuck, frank,” you cried, whimpering for him. your body fell limp against his arm, and he lowered your bodies back down to the bed. during your comedown, frank kissed at your neck as his free hand ran up and down your body. his other hand continued to rub against your pussy and it was driving you fucking crazy. “let me ride you — please.”

your voice was full of desperation, and frank smirked down at you. he slipped his fingers out of you and rolled off of you onto the bed. you tugged his pants down to his thighs, not wanting to waste any time. you were so greedy, but he didn’t care. he smirked as he watched you pull down your tiny shorts. you straddled him, pressing his chest to yours, as you sank down onto his thick cock.

“my fucking god —“ you gasped, your pussy stretching around him.

frank immediately grabbed your throat and you sucked in a sharp breath at the sight. he placed the tips of his fingers in his mouth, and tasted your juices that remained on his skin. there you were, impaled on his cock, hovering over him as you watched the most sensual thing you had ever seen him do. his dark eyes were locked on yours, but your lips parted as you watched him taste you. only a smirk remained on his lips.

“sweetest fuckin’ pussy i’ve ever tasted,” he spoke. “now show me how she rides me.”

he roughly pushed you upwards so you stood up straight. the angle made a whimper leave your lips, as he was now fully inside of you and the deepest anyone has ever been. you planted a limp hand on his stomach, and began to roll your hips against his.

his calloused hands found your hips as he threw his head back against the bed. the tendons in his neck were on full display as he stretched his head back as far as he could. the pleasure he felt was spreading all throughout his body, and he couldn’t help but go taut at the feeling. you watched his mouth fall agape and his eyes close as a moan pushed passed his lips.

the pads of his fingers dug into your hips and pushed you forward and back. even his fingers were strong and had control over you, and you couldn’t help but willingly give everything over to him. your whines filled the room, getting lost in your own pleasure with him. there was nothing like the sight of being thrown into vulnerable pleasure with the man under you, succumbing to your touch.

“fuckin’ god —“ he moaned, raising his head back up to keep his eyes locked on where your bodies connected. “never felt so fuckin’ good.”

his hoarse voice caused you to move faster as you ground your hips against his. his hands were rough and desperate as they pulled you up, down, back and forth — until you didn’t know which way was anything. all you knew were the directions of frank’s hands, and you followed in suit as he dragged you down another road of ecstasy.

“greedy fuckin’ pussy,” he groaned. “never enough for her, huh? needs more, even after what i did?”

“yes, yes,” you whimpered pathetically. “your cock feels so good, frank. so fucking good.”

“yeah, darlin’, that’s it,” he grunted, brown scrunching together. “such a good fuckin’ girl f’me.”

“fuck, frank — don’t say that,” you cried loudly, biting your lip. “feels too good when you say that — i can’t cum yet.”

he immediately reached for your neck and pulled you down to him. you gasped at his rough touch, but your hips never stopped. he bent his knees so your ass could bounce off of them, giving you more leverage. his cock curled deeper into you, hitting your cervix.

“oh my — god —“ you sobbed so close to his lips.

“nah, baby, that’s not how this works — you’re gonna take everything fuckin’ i give you,” he grunted. “i know y’want to be a good girl f’me, yeah?”

“yeah, yeah, yes —“ you were incoherent at this point, ready to tell frank anything he wanted to hear as he bucked his hips into yours. “frank, i’m so close — how —“

“love a needy pussy like this,” he spoke, pulling you closer by the throat for a kiss. “you gonna be good to me? you gonna cum around my cock?”

“fuck, yes —“ you sobbed. “i want you to cum with me, baby, fill me up.”

that set him off. he rolled both of you over before you even knew what was happening. he had you pressed against the bed, hand still around your throat. you grabbed at his arm, loving having the feeling of his strong muscles hold you down. you wrapped your legs around his back as he threw his hips into you. over, and over, he drove himself inside you.

“dirty fuckin’ girl,” he growled, biting down on the skin of where your neck and shoulder met.

that was it. that was how you crumbled a second time for frank that evening.

you fucking wailed his name.

you grabbed at every part of him you could, struggling to hold on for dear life. your body shook with convulsions as your pussy tightened around him, locking his cock in place. nothing could stop his strong hips as they continued to rut into you — riding out your second orgasm of that evening.

you fell back against the bed, fucked out and gasping for air pathetically. frank pressed several kisses to your neck before he stood up on his knees, leaving your weak body below him. you pushed yourself to your elbows with whatever strength you could muster. frank grabbed you by the hips and you watched him slam his hips into yours.

you watched his forehead scrunch as his mouth fell agape. his chin was almost tucked to his neck as his eyes never left where his cock fucked into you.

“use me just like that, baby,” you cried. “i want your cum inside me.”

his strong, trim body went taut as his orgasm hit him, and you watched hungrily as the man before you fell vulnerable to the only pleasure he could allow himself these days. you watched as his conscious mind slipped further and further into the sensation until every ounce of stress and exhaustion left his face. you couldn’t help but bite your lip in pride and satisfaction — knowing that you will never see a more beautiful sight like frank castle using your body to get off.

you fucking loved selfish men.

----

DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN NOW EVERYONE GO WATCH THIS SCENE -L xox

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Ortho Shroud - Platinum Gear Voice Lines

When Summoned: Land of Dawning National Museum of Art data, download complete. Commencing supporter role.

Summon Line: Why would people come to a museum to look at paintings that they can see online anytime? ...This is my chance to verify the reason!

Groooovy!!: The Son of the God of Thunder failed miserably a ton of times. Want me to tell you what all they were?

Home: A 100th anniversary is amazing!

Home Idle 1: Even when looking at the same painting, it'll resonate differently to each person... In other words, the impressions it gives off can change depending on who looks at it. That's pretty cool.

Home Idle 2: Malleus-san told me a tale of the Thorn Fairy that I hadn't ever heard before. I liked being able to hear something that couldn't be found online!

Home Idle 3: The more you figure out a painting's expressionism, the more fascinating it becomes. Like when they use colors for the scenery different from what would be the norm to represent a character's feelings.

Home Idle - Login: Give me a shout if you need something explained! I made sure to put together all the info on the exhibits here at the museum.

Home Idle - Groovy: I had a ton of fun listening to all of Jade-san's stories about the exhibits! I'd love to be able to go on a dolphin-riding tour sometime.

Home Tap 1: Even if I could meet the Thorn Fairy, I wouldn't be able to carelessly get too close to her. If I made her angry and she summoned lightning, I could short circuit...

Home Tap 2: It's said that the Lord of the Underworld always spoke with an abundance of humor. If only there was the technology to record voices during his time... Too bad.

Home Tap 3: Riddle-san was gazing at a painting of the Queen of Hearts... I could really see just how moved he was by it. That sort of emotion is still difficult for me to reproduce.

Home Tap 4: It's still hard for me to create something from scratch, so I have a ton of respect for people who can do that. Particularly, my brother!

Home Tap 5: Don't you think this gear is pretty stylish? I feel like I could just go to a dance party in this thing!

Home Tap - Groovy: I'm currently analyzing the difference in emotions people feel from the artwork. Can you tell me about the paintings you liked?

Duo: [ORTHO]: Jade-san, I've figured out their weakness! [JADE]: Ortho-kun, you've done well.

Birthday Login Message: Rolling... Action! Okay, give me my birthday wishes with a biiig smile! This? It's a film camera I borrowed from the Film Research Club. I thought I'd capture my birthday memories on here. It could be a little difficult developing the film, but I thought it wouldn't be bad to try something analog once in a while... Huh, you'll lend me a hand? Thanks!

Requested by Anonymous.

[yurinaa-world]

Helloo ☆ I hope youre having a nice day 💫🌸 I was wondering if I can request Blade, Ratio and Sunday with reader who appears stoic/reserved and seems disconnected but is actually soft and cries/smiles easily around them 🥹 thank you!!

- 🪻

"𝒜 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Blade, Veritas Ratio & Sunday x Gender-neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader who appears reserved and disconnected but is actually soft around him

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓃 𝐻𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈"

You are both soulmates from the outside, both reserved and disconnected….except you aren't, and he is, the complete opposites of each other. He likes it better when you’re alone anyway, you’re more expressive that way and only he enjoys that.

He likes that reassuring smile on your face the morning after you fixed up his wounds, asking him if he’s alright and if he’s feeling any pain but he can’t think about that right now, forget the pain for now.

He can’t help but get a little clingy—though his face just screams he’s going to murder someone, even if his body is sore he wants to see your face close-up, maybe even steal that smile off of your face.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Be careful, blade,”

Him Showing up late last night and injured wasn’t exactly in the cards for you there you were, and now you’re like his personal nurse, taking care of him in the morning. His chest and arms were all cleaned and bandaged to the best of your ability, all while he groaned at the sharp pain his body was in.

“Open up, it might taste a bit weird.” You smiled, trying to make him feel better as you spoon-fed him a bitter medicine, even the colour looked like complete muck, which just made him frown at the taste of it, injuries may not be a big deal to him but nothing is killing his tastebuds. 

“Disgusting.”

“Please bear with it,” 

He won’t bear with it, not in the slightest, instead, he’ll be selfish and want something more to clear his throat, getting rid of that bitter, disgusting taste, and you’ll be the victim of it. Touch his bandages all you want but he’s not going to let you leave, he’ll grab your hand and drag you down on top of him.

“Is something wrong?”

He’s a silent man, rather than doing something useful with his mouth instead of saying unnecessary things that you already knew, shoving his mouth on yours was more important, you could taste the bitter medicine in your throat, the taste getting more apparent the more he doesn’t want to let go of you.

“It’s better to bear with now.”

💫𝒱𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓈 𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐼𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈𝒾𝒶 𝒢𝓊𝒾𝓁𝒹"

You may be the only answer to his problems, he feels exhausted by his students, and after a long break they have forgotten everything he’s been teaching, and the vein on his forehead might explode.

His anger gets bad to the point he can’t help but rant to you about his terrible day of reviewing with his class.

He may calm down a little when you smile and laugh a little about his complaints, it’s not your fault the way he talks.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“I wish to bash my skull on the table, these students will be the death of me.”

He's been ranting for a while now…and the whole time—going unnoticed by him since he’s very into his anger—you just wanted to laugh so badly, hearing his analogies with his complaints were truly testing you. 

“Idiots, they incurable, truly I’ve failed as a teacher,” his monologue was cut short when you started laughing—it was like a jolt of realization, seeing you laugh at him like that yet he wasn’t very pleased.

“Seems like you’re enjoying this.” He stares back at you blankly as you calm down from your laughter. “I’m not but Veritas, if you keep stressing out so much, you might just grow gray hair already,” you smile, your hand gently creasing his hair to express your point more.

 “I don’t want you to get wrinkles in the next few years.” you smile, it was a very gentle and natural one, not forced in the slightest which just made his heart skip a beat, your smile always made the tips of his ears red when you both alone with each, it might’ve also made him go soft as well.

“Any expression can contribute to wrinkles, even you’ll get some,” 

In a low whisper, all under his breath so it wouldn’t reach your ears. “Yet even with wrinkles, you would look even more charming.”

Seeing this side of you makes him grateful of what he gets to see.

💫𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒪𝒶𝓀 𝐹𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎"

He’s gotten many personal questions about you from many people outside of your relationship. It's insulting if he's being truthful, and they just don’t know when to stop prying when they need to. Those backhanded comments don’t go unnoticed by him, he’s not some idiot. 

But it’s not the bad, words are just words unless the press gets wild and tries to do something then it’s something you shouldn’t worry about, not while he gets to see a different side of you that no one else gets the privilege to see.

Seeing you come with a pretty smile spread upon those lips, while you convince him to take a break and relax from all the papers he’s been doing. He might just do it since you’re the one asking (and he can’t resist that smile)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Sunday, you should take a break, or else your hands might cramp up from working so hard.”

A gentle smile plastered on those lips while you had his hand intertwined with your own, pressing it against your chest, almost as if you were giving him your blessing—it makes him feel as if he’s a teenager with a crush—gaze turning into a gentle one.

“I must’ve lost track of time, I didn’t mean to worry you, yet there still are many papers to do.” He sighs, before gently pulling his hand away—to not hurt your feelings—yet you grab onto his hand again—not wanting him to start back his work. 

“Please take a break Sunday, I’ll only let you work if you take a break right now.” You conveyed, his hand can’t help but stare at both of your hands intertwined before taking a fresh breath of air at your intervention.

“If it makes you happy, then I’ll take a break,” A weary smile on his lips when your eyes light up at his agreement with your lips going back to that smile

“Yet I would like for you to stay with me.”

he loves the look of it, why don’t you keep it that way on his whole break? It’ll even motivate him to finish his work faster.

“If it helps you.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[beaujagr]

Right before the pandemic, I did a Kickstarter for my TTRPG Turn, which is about playing shapeshifters in small mostly rural towns. I worked with some great people on it and I think it is still an amazing game and wish I could play it more and expand upon it extensively, but I don't think that it will be in the cards for me.

However, it still exists.

This game, where you struggle between your public and private identities, where the rules are mostly focused on avoiding faux pas in human social interactions in order to keep your beast side hidden, where violence is easy but has hard consequences, and where the biggest struggle is finding people who will still love and care for you when you're exposed to be something most people would see as monstrous or freakish & you're struggling to live, it exists. I made that, six years after I first conceptualized it, & now five years after I made it real, no one knows.

I didn't get to take it to tons of conventions & promote it heavily, in part because I was struggling with my health, in part because the pandemic cut short a lot of my plans, in part because I didn't truly have a community that loved & cared for me when I was exposed & struggling. Instead, I lost my community, & I eventually had to give up my dreams, too.

But Turn exists. It's still beautiful and special to me, and I have had experiences with it building community and finding myself that I don't think I will have in real life. It's how I found my name. It mattered. Today, I'm holding on to that.

Turn is here, with my other works:

https://thoughty.itch.io/turn

+supplement, Towns Like Ours:

https://thoughty.itch.io/towns-like-ours

+Script Change, which I recommend using with it/any RPG:

https://thoughty.itch.io/script-change

Print:

https://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Turn.html

DriveThruRPG:

https://www.drivethrurpg.com/en/publisher/10592/daedalum-analog-productions

KS:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/briecs/turn-a-tabletop-roleplaying-game

[ecoustsaintmein]

Poolverine thoughts

So I've just returned from watching Deadpool and Wolverine for like...the 8th? 9th time now? And I have thoughts about how the filmmakers chose to portray the evolution of their relationship -- some of them may already have been pointed out by others on this site, but this is my attempt to summarise them!

Also mostly I'm putting myself in Logan's shoes and writing this from his perspective?

Spoilers below cut:

We know that Wade has always made comments about Logan, even from the first film eg 'whose balls do I have to fondle to get this movie made?'. He might sound like he hates the guy, but obviously there's respect there, and he showed it in a Wade way. We know that by the third film, Wade wants to matter. He wants to be an Avenger, and almost regretted that even the X-Men didn't even want him. He prooobably almost nearly gagged when he spoke in earnest about how Logan has always been viewed as the X-Man in his world, but the respect is there. (And perhaps that's why he doesn't 'hit on' Logan as much as compared to Cable, Colossus et al? And all the 'shippy' comments were made by other characters in the film eg: bartender 'are you gonna fuck or fight?' or Cassandra's 'you two are cute'?)

The song choices when Logan and Wade interact, from AC/DC's Hell's Bells when they fight for the first time (fair, because Logan doesn't know Wade that well yet), to Avril Lavigne's I'm With You ('Take me by the hand, take me somewhere new/I don't know who you are but I, I'm with you') when they're driving in the Odyssey, which again, quite apt? And 'also the line 'take me home' in the Avril Lavigne song, which probably reflects Logan not really knowing who Wade is but just -- going along with the ride, as if asking Wade, just take me home, find me a place for me to belong. The theme of home recurs again and again, which leads one to wonder why it's not so surprising that Logan did end up following Wade home in the end???' Plus, 'You're the one that I want' when they're having that heavy makeout sesh intimate fight scene in the Honda? Let's not even talk about the 'Like a Prayer' scene, which again. 'When you call my name, and it feels like home.' Again. Home.

Which then leads to Logan, who confessed to Cassandra that he 'turned away' when 'they called for him', and he didn't make that mistake again when Wade called out his name at the end. While Aretha Franklin's 'You're All I Need to Get By' plays in the background. Yep.

Let's not forget the fact that Logan, after the fight in the Odyssey (despite all the boohooing and ongoing alcoholic misery afterwards), picked up the photograph of Wade's 'world', and returned it to Wade. Man doesn't want to show or say it during the second and third act but he CARES. A LOT!

Logan repeating Wade's words, verbatim, twice! ('You didn't lie, you made an educated wish'), and 'I'm an X-Men. I'm the X-Men')

Logan telling Wade that he wished Wade would die alone, then ending up making sure that Wade wouldn't have to die alone.

Logan keeping the suit on him at all times, only to have it get destroyed at the climax of the film - which, sad, because yes it's the only thing that reminds him of the X-Men of his world, but it could also be an analogy of -- he needs to move on. And he did! He wanted to be free, and he told this as much to Cassandra, and he did become free, in the end!

On the subject of Cassandra, she promised Logan that she could 'silence everything'. The joke's on her, because Logan found himself trading peace (as silence), for peace (as a chaotic, loud motormouth). He found his home, and it's with Wade.

On the subject of peace and home -- Logan is pretty much an immortal being, and a lot of his issues may have stemmed from the trauma of losing people he cares about, or people who got close to him, even for like 5 seconds (evidenced by ALL THE X-MEN MOVIES). He carried that with him throughout this movie, with all the references of saving the world, saving Wade's world, getting home, etc etc -- the point being, he did it for Wade, in the end (never mind Wade's educated wish that the TVA would restore Logan's past). And despite doing it for Wade, Logan was rewarded by having Wade AND Laura in his life now; both pretty much people who can't die, as part of his family. At least he will always have them -- and isn't that freeing and peaceful enough???

Last but not least -- as a circular thing, I'm going back to my first point. Wade spent the whole movie wanted to matter. In the end, he finds out that he does matter -- not just to his 'old world', but also to Logan. And be it just mutual respect, which then blooms into friendship, fondness, maybe more -- the point is: Wade does matter. To Logan. A character he spent the previous two films talking about despite not featuring at all in those movies. How do I know this you ask? Yes, Logan wanted to sacrifice himself for Wade. But more importantly, he followed Wade home. And at the end, after multiple groans, and frowns, and curses, he SMILED! AND LAUGHED! At Wade's stupid jokes!

I'm probably reading too much into their relationship and how they were written, and maybe it wasn't even Ryan's intention, but goddamn Hugh and Ryan made their chemistry/friendship bleed onto the screen, no matter how they were initially written in the script.

[tsukimefuku]

the letter ꕥ higuruma hiromi

summary: reader writes a letter for an absentee. one that she will never send.

tags: f!reader, implied past relationship, higuruma x reader, angst, break up, longing and general heartbreak.

wc: 1k

notes etc.: this is actually my original style of writing in my native language before i began writing in 2nd(?) + 3rd person pov on ao3 and tumblr this year. it’s different from what I’ve written so far, but I hope you guys enjoy it. the style translation was hard, holy shirt. song → shake it out (florence + the machine).

ꕥ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist

i like to keep my issues drawn ꕥ it’s always darkest before the dawn

I was debating if I should start this with “hey, Hiromi”, “hi, Higuruma”, “dear” something, and I still haven’t arrived at an answer. The first sounds too casual for what we have become — and what are we now if not strangers? The second, however, is just too impersonal, and I don’t need such a stinging reminder of how much I’m not entitled to your first name anymore. At last, “dear” to start a letter is just tacky.

Alas, I digress.

I don’t quite know what possessed me to pick up a pen and a piece of paper (analogical, just like you’ve noted me to be) to blurt out the swirling hurts in my mind, but I guess I still had a lot to say, even if you weren’t here long enough to hear it.

Here goes nothing.

You might be wondering how I’m doing (at least I hope so), so I thought I’d let you know.

Tonight, more specifically, I’ve been for an insurmountable stretch of time — were it hours? Minutes? Days? Out of my priorities, tracking time has not been one of them — staring at the empty vacuum making its presence known by my side. It seems to mock my stare, that longs, against all odds, for a miracle — for you to simply materialize right there, out of thin air.

Seriously, you should see the mess you’ve made when you left.

You left an emptiness of shoes, black suits, wet towels on the bed, cup marks on the furniture, scratches of morning beard, warm legs under the covers — an emptiness of body that has been giving me nightmares. You came in, flipped everything upside down, blew up my walls and made so that every edge, vertex, color and smell of this heart and bones surrounding our leftover life would incessantly scream for you.

It’s like my misery extended beyond myself and resoundingly expanded against the walls of this house.

But… even though I wish you were here with every tiny part of myself, I couldn’t ask for you to stay. I know it wouldn’t be fair. You’d never ask me to betray myself, and the least I could do was to love you in the same earnest way. 

You wouldn’t be the man I loved if you didn’t go. I wouldn’t be the person you loved if I asked you not to (I apologize for the past tense, it’s one of those truthless comforts I’ve decided to give myself for the time being).

You still linger here, though. I still keep your gaze close to my chest, your face pressed against my skin, your warm voice caressing the edge of my ear and your hair stroking through my fingers, even if it’s just my soul pretending for a minute.

A long minute.

You know, it has been hell without you here. The couch cushions wrap around me like your arms, the bed always bounces by the time you used to get up, and the kitchen smells like your favorite take-out meals (because God knows we’d set fire to this building if we so much as dared turning that stove top on). The window reflects two back at me when only one is looking at it, and my hiking boots are dearly missing those black oxford shoes. My coat hanging on the edge of the closet is also dearly missing your crumpled black ties sprinkled around the room (of course you took weeks to properly wash and organize them — when you ever did).

Oh, and the bed.

The bed is just not the same without that stupid, ridiculous blotch of water your towel would always leave on it.

A huge chunk of our house is missing.

I know I can’t let my selfishness kidnap you from what you need to do — and I do know you need it. But damn, sometimes it’s hard to fight the urge of hopping on the first train your way, grabbing you by your wrist and asking you to become once again part of my wallpaper, my duvet, my pillows. Just promise me you’ll make all of this pain worthwhile, even if you ran away with ten thirds of me.

Ever since you left, though, I learned a few tricks to mask your ever so present absence. I can pull the pillows towards the middle of the bed, eat in the living room and read in the kitchen, being sure to slowly put all my pieces back in place. 

It’s harder to notice an empty chair across the table when you willingly choose to sit on the ground.

However, I didn’t want to do that. Not today. Call it insanity, clarity, or just meet me in my madness like you always so kindly did.

Today, I wanted to let you invade me, come into my house with my full permission and go on turning everything upside down once more. That way, I can almost feel you there. To me, at least for now, that’s good enough (or as good as I know it’s gonna get).

Your muted way of sharing our space could be so, so silent. That quietude brought me the deepest of peaces.

Unfortunately, I never anticipated the silence from your absence would be so loud, and not peaceful at all. It has been hammering at my breathless heart for days. 

I miss you.

I love you, too.

***

With a sigh, you put the pen down and stared at the paper sheet for a minute, your own calligraphy so foreign with a pain you hadn’t let out properly ever since Hiromi… actually, Higuruma stepped out that morning.

Considering your options, you resigned, and pulled the letter in a crinkled messy ball, tossing it in the garbage can.

No need to talk to a voluntary absentee. No need to bother him, either.

You got yourself back up and picked up two pairs of keys, the blue buttoned shirt and made your way out of the apartment, not failing to hear the rumbling echo the door made when it slammed closed.

An echo that only happens in truly empty places.

[the-maw-consumes]

“Have you…ever been in love?” 

Steve blinked. That…wasn’t what he was expecting. Still, there’s only one definitive answer. 

“Yep,” he answers, popping the ‘p’. “Nancy Wheeler. First semester, senior year.” His mimicked gunshot doesn’t even cover how that felt, but he does it anyway. 

“Oh my god,” he hears from the other side, “She’s such a priss.”

Nancy Wheeler is a lot of things; priss, she is not. And maybe she doesn’t need him to defend her, but, still, he hums, “Turns out, not really.” 

Robin scoffs as if that’s unbelievable, and maybe it could be. Then, she asks, “Are you still in love with Nancy?”

No, is the first thought in his mind. And, well, it’s strange to think his answer would’ve been different at the beginning of the year, as much as he’d told himself he’d moved on back then. But, the months in between have just made him realize that how he feels for her has changed a lot since October. He loves her, of course he does, and he’ll never really get over her. But, he doesn’t think he’ll ever love her like he did again.

So, after a moment, he says, “No.”

Then, of course, she asks the question he’s been avoiding thinking about: “Why not?” 

There’s a lot of answers to that question, but Steve…well, he knows the one that’s most responsible, even if it’s been thrown to the back of his mind. He’s never really brought it to the light of day before—if bathroom lights could be called that. But there’s just something about this moment, sitting with Robin on a probably disgusting bathroom floor with his mind still kinda floating, that makes him feel like it’s safe here. They just went through hell—there wasn’t a better time, right?

“I think,” he starts, “it’s because I found someone who’s a little better for me.” He huffs a laugh, “It’s funny, you know? Ever since Dustin got home, he’s been saying, like, you gotta find your Suzie, you gotta find your Suzie.” 

“Wait, who’s Suzie?”

“It’s some girl from camp, I guess his girlfriend. To be honest with you, I'm not 100% sure she's even real.” Steve shakes his head and kinda wishes he’d thought up a better analogy. “But that’s not really the point. Uh, the point is…I think I already found my Suzie. You know—this person is someone I didn’t even talk to in school, and I don’t know why. Maybe Tommy H. would’ve made fun of me, or I wouldn’t be…prom king. It’s stupid.” He sighs. “I mean, Dustin’s right, it’s all a bunch of bullshit anyways. I should’ve been hanging out with this person the whole time. I wish I did. I mean, they’re so cool and hilarious—I feel like, the past few months, I’ve laughed harder than I have in a long time. And they’re smart, and a dork, but so passionate—you know, they can talk on and on about so many things, it’s amazing.” Captivating, really, but the second it takes to reminisce about those moments are enough to make him realize he’s been rambling for like, minutes, and he’s gotta stop at some point. So, “They’re honestly unlike anyone I’ve ever even met before.”

Steve smiles to himself for a second, his head still feeling a little flighty—but the silence keeps dragging on beyond that. The smile falls a bit, and Steve really hopes he was careful enough with his words. He really hopes he can trust Robin if he wasn’t. 

“Robin?” Steve taps on the stall wall between them, the sound echoing through the bathroom. When the silence just gets heavier, it’s with genuine concern that he asks, “Robin, did just OD in there?” 

“No.” He breathes a sigh of relief, then hears it echoed, though weighted, from the other side. “I…am still alive.” 

Still, there’s something so heavy in her tone, and a visual confirmation that she is alive becomes essential for him. So, shuffling over to grip the wall between them, Steve slides underneath the stall and lands a little to the left of where she sits, alive and breathing. She smiles a bit.

“The floor’s disgusting.” He huffs and glances down at the sailor uniform that has (probably) seen better. “Yeah, well. I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so…” 

She breathes a bit of a laugh, and, at the very least, some of the heaviness is gone. Alive and breathing. 

“What do you think?” he asks her, almost intentionally vague. 

“About?”

“Am I in love with Nancy Wheeler?” 

“No,” she grants. Then, very decidedly, “But, I think you’re on drugs and not thinking clearly.” 

And the look she gives him feels too significant, too weighted, and he really, really hopes he was careful because the possibility he wasn’t is starting to loom over him. He can’t argue that his mind was in stellar shape a few minutes ago, and everything she’s done since then is just working to form a pit of dread in his stomach. It feels like wishful thinking to consider that nothing she’s said has been outwardly accusing, but it’s still there.  

Why did he have to say so much? 

No, no, right. The drugs. Robin may be right, he probably wasn’t thinking clearly. And, damn it, this may not be entirely his fault but he does not want the repercussions for it. 

“Well, I think I’m thinking pretty clearly now.” Wishful thinking, it is. 

“You’re not.” Somehow, her expression feels like an echo of his own worries. “Steve,” she starts, and the dread gets worse, “you’re not thinking clearly about this. Look, you don’t even know this person—” Wait, what? “and if you did know them, like, really know them—I don’t think you’d even want to be their friend.” 

Steve blinks. That—That’s what she was talking about? How did she even know who he was talking about? He shakes his head, honestly baffled. “Wait, what? That’s not true.” 

She speaks again before he could ask what about everything he said was so revealing, “Listen to me, Steve. It’s shocked me to my core, but I like you—” Harsh. “I really like you. But I’m not like your other friends. And I’m not like Nancy Wheeler.” 

Well, Steve thought he was thinking clearly, but he is lost. Somehow, this conversation has escaped him within the span of two seconds, and the moment feels wrong to ask how they got here. But, if he’s going to take any guess at her meaning, he much prefers thinking she’s…supportive, maybe. Indifferent, even. So, he doesn’t think of the ball of dread winding through his chest, and he tries to follow what Robin may be saying. “Robin, that’s exactly why I like you.” 

And that is the truth, really. He’s never had a friend like her, if they could be considered friends. This summer has carved a small space for her in Steve’s heart, and the past few days have done numbers on expanding that space. She’s funny and smart and definitely not like Nancy Wheeler, wherever that came from. And he really doesn’t want to lose her, not right now. If they get out of this, he wants to be her friend. He wants to know her better than ice cream shifts can tell him. 

Robin scoffs lightly as if that’s not what she needed to believe him. “Do you remember what I said about Click’s class? About me being jealous and, like, obsessed?”

“Yeah?” He nods slightly. 

“It isn’t because I had a crush on you,” she says, slowly, as if a plea to make him understand. He doesn’t. “It’s because…” she continues, hesitant in her words, and he desperately wants to know how to make this better because his heart breaks for the expression she has. Then, quickly, like ripping off a bandaid, “...she wouldn’t stop staring at you.” 

He blinks. “Mrs. Click?” 

A breath of a laugh at that, but her eyes plant themselves on the wall. She clarifies, almost resigned, “Tammy Thompson. I wanted her to look at me. But…she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair.” She looks back at him, with watery eyes. “And I didn’t understand because you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor and you would ask dumb questions and you were a douchebag!” She shakes her head lightly and he really is trying to understand. “And…And you didn’t even like her, and I would go home and just…scream into my pillow.”

Steve stares for a second, trying to will his brain back into place, his thoughts to something clear, because something is being said here, something important and—

The puzzle pieces click together.

Oh. 

Oh!

“Holy shit.” 

“Holy shit,” she echoes.

Unwillingly, Steve laughs. A bark of laughter just bursting out of him because, jesus-–this entire situation is so botched. But her face falls and he immediately stops in a wave of guilt and throws himself at reassuring her. “No, no, that’s not what I meant! I didn’t mean to do that.” 

Robin looks away again, shrugs. “It’s fine.”

No, that won’t do. Steve shakes his head, vehemently, and taps her hand. “No, Robin, seriously—there’s been a huge misunderstanding here. I don’t have a crush on you.”

That makes her look back at him, eyebrows furrowed “What?”

“I think you’re awesome, Robin, and super cool and smart. I really want to be friends with you, seriously. But I wasn’t talking about you.” And Steve could stop there, but she just revealed…herself to him and he owes it to her to do the same. He knows how terrifying that is. “I was— Jesus.” He laughs again, brushes a hand down his face. And, still, knowing about her doesn’t make it any less terrifying to say it out loud. “I was talking about, um,” Like a bandaid, right? “...Eddie Munson.”

Her eyebrows seem to go to her hairline, but he celebrates the light that’s back in her eyes. “What.”

“Yeah, we uh—” There’s warmth in his cheeks. This is the first time he’s saying any of this out loud. “I don’t know how it happened, but we ran into each other one day and just started talking and…like, hit it off, super surprisingly. It’s crazy, he wasn’t even on my radar back then and now he’s—” Steve cuts himself off before he can start rambling again, rubs the back of his neck. “I really like him. I was talking about him.”

Robin grins. “Holy shit.” She shakes her head, repeats, “Holy. Shit,” enunciating, as if for good measure. He matches her grin.

“I had no idea what you were talking about.” He explains, “I mean, maybe I don’t really know Eddie, but how do you know that? And then you started talking about Mrs. Click’s…” he mimics an explosion in his head. “I thought the drugs completely fried my brain.” 

She laughs, finally, her head falling back onto the wall, and he can’t help but follow her lead. It’s a good few moments before they stop, Robin suddenly sobering to hold a hand, saying “Wait, wait, Eddie Munson? You’re hanging out with drug dealer, total nerd, band dweeb Eddie Munson?” 

“Hey, hey, I didn’t say you could criticize my taste, Miss Tammy Thompson.” 

She scoffs, sounding just a bit offended, “What’s wrong with Tammy?”

“I mean, she’s cute and all but she’s a total dud.” 

“She is not!”

. . .

[wheelie-sick]

this is going to be a long post, it's kinda just me writing all my raw unfiltered thoughts on ABA therapy as someone who actually went through it

-> TW for ABA therapy, child abuse, suicide <-

I was functionally diagnosed with autism at the age of 3 but it wasn't until I was 13 that I was actually formally evaluated for it and given an official diagnosis. I was behind in social skills and developmental skills

[ID: "was also described as a sensory seeker. She does not currently have any friends and has struggled to make and maintain peer relationships throughout her childhood. Difficulties with social skills were initially noted when she was in preschool (years before the onset of clinically significant symptoms of anxiety and"]

[ID: "Social functions: [blank]'s mother also completed a questionnaire rating her social responsiveness. Her responses on the SRS-2 indicated that [blank] is demonstrating severe deficits in the areas of Social Communication (reciprocal social interaction and nonverbal and verbal communication), Social Motivation (motivation to engage in social-interpersonal behavior) and Social Awareness (perceiving social cues) and moderate deficits in the areas of Social Cognition (understanding social cues). Severe Repetitive and Restrictive Behaviors (stereotypical behaviors or highly restricted interests) were also reported. The total T-score on the SRS-2 indicates severe deficiencies in reciprocal behavior that are likely to result in interference in everyday social interaction"]

[ID: "%ile) are mildly impaired, while her social skills are moderately impaired (2nd %ile). By domain, demonstrates mildly to moderately impaired abilities in six adaptive skills areas, including self care (9th %ile), communication (5th %ile), home living (5th %ile), self-direction (2nd %ile), social (2nd %ile), and leisure (1st %ile)"]

and ultimately all this ended up with the number one recommendation after my autism evaluation being for ABA therapy.

[ID: "Recommendations: Based on the above results, the following recommendations are made for [blank] and her family.

1. ABA therapy: [blank] May benefit from an intensive treatment program to foster cognitive and communication skills, improve independence and adaptive functioning, and help manage interfering behaviors (i.e home-based, 1:1 instruction, task analysis, etc.) Most private and community programs are based on principals of operant conditioning and taught in home with 1:1 instruction"]

*I'm getting misgendered here. my pronouns are he/him

"operant conditioning"-- like a dog 🐕🐕. woof woof.

my mom didn't know any better so she put me in ABA therapy with the Center for Autism and Related Disorders. she regrets this. I regret this more.

my autism evaluation was cruel, it dissected all my flaws as if I was a bug under a microscope in a highschool laboratory. my evaluation was passed around to ABA therapists, a line of high schoolers peering through the microscope examining the most vulnerable parts of me.

and I choose the highschool analogy quite deliberately. most of the ABA therapists at my center were recent highschool graduates with no degree and little training. they knew nothing about autism and had no qualifications. you need more certificates to become a professional dog trainer than to become a professional human trainer.

"operant conditioning"

and I wish I could say it was just a poor choice of words but ABA therapy was dog training for children. my dad used to call me an "it" and somehow I felt less dehumanized by that than the entire experience I had in ABA therapy.

I was the oldest person at my center (I did not receive in home therapy) with the next oldest being approximately 3 years younger than me. at the time I felt babied. I was surrounded by 5 year olds and I was treated as if I was not just a 5 year old but an autistic 5 year old and anyone who has been a visibly autistic 5 year old knows what that feels like. I had escaped being an autistic child and now I was being treated like one again. The head of the program tried to console me by telling me adults received their services too.

[ID: "Following the principles of applied behavior analysis, CARD has developed a treatment approach for children and adolescents with"]

this was the first lie they told me. CARD does not work with adults.

I was not allowed the privileges of being a 13 year old. because I was an autistic 13 year old and therefore I was the equivalent of a 5 year old. I was in psychotherapy at the same time and I had grown very accustomed to some level of freedom in therapy. I was allowed to use the bathroom independently. in ABA therapy I was not allowed to use the bathroom independently. I tried once, me and my therapist were on an "outing" to the grocery store and I told my therapist I was going to the bathroom and walked off and I got a very stern talking to about how I needed to "stop eloping" and if I didn't stop it would "become a behavior"

eloping became a common theme used to control me and squeeze money out of my parents.

out of everything I hated in my life, including severe physical abuse at home (which they did not report), I hated ABA therapy the most. I would repeatedly make serious threats of suicide to try to get out of ABA. no one cared. everyone thought I was being dramatic but there were times I wrote out suicide notes and ABA was among the reasons I listed. ABA made me feel hopeless, depressed, revolting, disgusting, inferior, and less than human. between ABA, my home life, and my social life I had never felt so hated and it was boiling through my skin. I acted out, I was bullying people, I was behaving recklessly, I was starting fights, and all this only made the oppressive force of ABA crack down on me harder. I was a cat hissing in the corner begging to be left alone and ABA brought a net to try to tame me further. every time I scratched back it was listed as a reason I needed to be there.

I was "disruptive" and "rebellious" and "uncooperative" and "resistant to treatment" and no one could figure out why I was "regressing" despite me shouting the answer. I was screaming and no one was willing to hear me

I hated myself and my autism. my autism diagnosis made me want to die. I didn't feel freed by it or understood I felt ashamed and disgusted. I felt incompetent and like I had failed. I was ashamed to be at ABA, it was my biggest secret. I'd lie to my friends about why I couldn't hang out and I'd lie to people in public about who the woman I was with was and I'd lie about all of it to try to cover up my most shameful secret.

ABA therapy did nothing but foster this. In ABA therapy I was mocked for being autistic and what was happening only clicked when a young kid, maybe only 4 or 5, was flapping his hands and a therapist took out her phone and recorded him. we were circus animals. it was all an entertaining show to them while they poked and prodded at us with metaphorical hot irons to make us dance. the first time a therapist laughed at me for rocking back and forth I wanted to throw up. I almost did. it was systematic bullying of children I was forced to watch and experience.

my point is: the last place on earth I wanted to be was the ABA center.

so of course I tried to leave. my mom would bring me McDonald's and I'd beg, sobbing real tears, to leave early because only she could sign me out. every time I'd go to meet her I'd be marked as "eloping" and my hotel stay in hell would get extended.

my natural response to a stressful environment (leaving) was pathologized. I was eloping this way and that way and never once did I actually, truly elope. that word was a weapon used against me. they used my "elopement" to justify extending my stay to my parents. they ate it right up.

they argued I needed to stay there because I was making friends. this was true, I'm great at getting along with children it's part of why I want to go into pediatrics, but I had also made real friends with people my age at my highschool. ABA was getting in the way. I wanted to spend time with my friends outside of school but ABA took up all my time from the minute I left school to 6pm and all day on weekends. I was doing a full time job's worth of hours. I complained about how I was missing out on spending time with my real friends (as in, over the age of 7) and I was met with almost no wiggle room in my schedule. I was allowed to pre-plan time to spend with friends but every time my friend group wanted to do something spontaneously? I had to say no, and I had to lie about why. my friends would share stories about driving around town with 2 people in the group stuffed in the trunk, of hanging out in the woods together, of taking part in ordinary highschool activities as ordinary high schoolers and it made me cry because I was not an ordinary highschooler and I was not allowed to participate in ordinary highschool activities. I was one of those weird, unpleasant, socially awkward autistic people instead. eventually, they just stopped inviting me. I was forced into the out group by ABA.

I'll never get that back. I'll never get a chance to be a normal highschooler ever again.

when I did have time available to hang out with people I never had the energy to. at the time I was living with an undiagnosed physical disability and I was begging to see a doctor but no one would believe that it wasn't just anxiety. the people who believed me least of all were the people at the center.

I was constantly told I was trying to get out of therapy by "feigning" very real pain and fatigue. I tried to explain spoon theory, and that I had limited spoons, and in response they made a task for me to name things to "regenerate spoons" that's not how it works. I wasn't the only physically disabled person there. there was a wheelchair user who was constantly forced to stand for periods of time despite being in agony doing it. he wasn't allowed rewards until he did it.

rewards were used to train us like dog treats are used with dogs. sometimes the treats were fun! I'd get to cook, play Mario kart, and go on outings. other times the treats were "using the correct name and pronouns for me." I'd constantly be threatened with deadnaming and misgendering if I was being "noncompliant."

misgendering because of my autism was a theme in my life. my neuropsych evaluation report misgendered me. my parents misgendered me. the staff at ABA misgendered me. at one point the head of the program suggested that my "gender confusion" was because of my autism. my abusive father latched onto this and still claims that the reason I'm "confused" about my gender is because the evil transgenders tricked me into thinking I'm one of them because I'm autistic and therefore easily impressionable.

the two therapists I had were nice because I refused to work with the others. they weren't on a power trip and both eventually left because they realized the harm the organization was doing. other therapists were not so kind. other therapists were on a power trip, because in their mind lording over autistic 5 year olds (and autistic 14 year olds) makes them powerful and strong. occasionally I'd get stuck with one of the other therapists when my usual therapists were out. they would talk to me in a baby voice. they would make fun of me for rocking back and forth, for not making eye contact, for talking about Skyrim "too much" and generally just for being autistic.

I never really knew what I was supposed to be doing, just that I was doing it wrong. the therapists there rarely actually told me what my tasks were they'd just mark yes or no on them, judging me for something I wasn't aware of. I was never actually supposed to graduate, I was never supposed to get out, if they wanted me to succeed they would have taught and explained what was happening but I was intentionally left in the dark.

I continued threatening suicide to get out. no one took me seriously. I was seriously considering it. there's no happy conclusion where someone finally realized it was all wrong, or I figured out how to be allistic and graduated, or I felt more comfortable there. I only got out when covid struck and shut the center down. it's gone now, replaced by a family advice center. I hope their advice for autistic children is to never put them in ABA.

there is no grander message here just suffering. I'm sorry if you were expecting some sort of great point at the end of this. there's not one. it happened, I wish it didn't, and I hope no one else experiences what I did ever again.

okay to reblog

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // SEVEN

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: You get your first taste of freedom from the constricting walls of the Earth Palace.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.2k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: hello everyone and welcome to part two of the glass princess!! in the next few chapters we will be learning more about princess y/n and how she met zuko/the fall of ba sing se :) thank you all for reading!! and yes i did make up an entire spirit for the #plot 😭🙏🏻 i promise she will have significance to the story later on though!!

Although it was uncharitable, you could not help yourself from thinking that the only reason Long Feng was allowing your brother to keep that ridiculous creature around was because of its apparent resemblance to Quynh. In a way, it could be considered to have been made in her image, and Kuei knew that as well as you did, which was why he was currently leaping about joyfully, shaking you by the shoulders as if he were a child instead of a man.

“I’ve found him!” Kuei shrieked at you for the thousandth time. “I’ve found Quynh’s son! She hasn’t abandoned us after all, Y/N! She sent her son to me!”

“That ghastly, muddy creature is no child of Quynh’s,” you said, wrinkling your nose at the tufts of fur all over the fine carpet. “And Quynh never abandoned us in the first place. I do not know why you think that that is the case.”

“No one has seen her in nearly a century, and it’s been even longer since anyone found Quynh’s Door. If ever she was real, she left the palace long ago,” Kuei said. “Maybe she was never a spirit in the first place — just one of Bosco’s ancestors.”

“That is blasphemy!” you rebuked him. “Quynh is no Agni — she is a concrete spirit, not an abstract deity. If anything, she is far more similar to Tui and La, from the Northern Water Tribe.”

“Who?” Kuei said.

“The ocean and moon spirits,” you said with a heavy sigh, once again finding yourself unimpressed by Kuei and his ignorance. “They live in the Northern Water Tribe and allow Waterbenders to bend.”

“Quynh doesn’t allow anyone to bend. She’s a different legend entirely. You should know that,” he said. You gritted your teeth.

“I wish you would pick up a book for once! It was an analogy, you fool,” you said.

“It matters not,” Kuei said after a second. “I don’t know why you’re so set on this fairytale, but the sooner you give up on it, the sooner you can find the wonder in the real world.”

“By the real world, do you mean my chambers?” you said. “Or yours? Because that is the extent of the world I know.”

“I mean the bear sitting before you at this very moment!” he said, ignoring your pointed response and gesturing towards his new pet with a flourish. “You are more taken with a made up story than an actual natural phenomenon. That’s a problem, dear sister.”

Bosco the bear grumbled at you in agreement, blinking his large, wet eyes at you. And perhaps you might’ve been impressed by his sturdy build and elegant snout, but all you could see when you gazed upon him was a cheap copy, a faded replica that could never hope to capture even half of the original’s glory.

“Well, dear brother, it can’t be helped. Your pet will never be Quynh,” you said.

“Always bringing down the mood, aren’t you?” he said, rolling his eyes at you. “I wasn’t saying he was Quynh, I was saying he resembled her greatly. Anyways, you know stories always inflate their characters; for all we know, Quynh really did once look like this.”

You wanted to argue with him, but of course it would not be productive. Like the element he ruled, your brother was set in his ways — the only qualities he had in equal measure to stubbornness were cowardice and naïveté, both of which he was perhaps better known for. It was true, though, that when he gained a sense of conviction for something, he’d stand by it with a fervor that he rarely displayed otherwise. It was one of the few attributes you could genuinely admire him for, even if it was inconvenient at times.

“As you say,” you said. “I see no purpose in further discussions on the matter. You do not believe in Quynh, and I do. Neither of us can change the other’s mind, so we ought to just move on.”

“Compliment Bosco first,” Kuei said. “On my authority as the Earth King, I demand it.”

“You demand a lot of things on that tenuous authority,” you muttered. Then, you smiled at the piteous looking bear. “You truly deserve to be my brother’s companion. I am certain you are possessed with the same commanding spirit that he is so fortunate to claim.”

Kuei beamed at you. “Thank you. You can return to your room.”

You snickered at him. “It is appreciated.”

Only when you were halfway down the hallway did he shout in protest, realizing your thinly veiled insult. You sped up your pace, running towards your room before he could come and question you or make another demand — you did not put it past him to insist that you compliment his bear properly.

It was one of those ways you had to get back at him. You were ever searching for more, trying your best to needle the brother who was, whether directly or indirectly, the cause of your imprisonment.

Your chambers. His chambers. The hallway in between. These were the confines of your world, according to Kuei and Long Feng, who was his most trusted advisor. It would be dangerous, after all, for a girl with no bending and royal blood flowing through her veins to be wandering the streets without protection, even in a city as safe as Ba Sing Se. So although you had begged to at least see the kingdom which was your own, you had been promptly refused every time, the locks changed periodically and the guards rotated hourly to ensure they stayed alert to your movements.

Escape was impossible, but even in such a life, you could find solace: in your dressing room, a door would sometimes appear, a door which led to the heart of the palace — not the throne room, but the true heart upon which the entire structure was constructed. Quynh’s Den, the entrance to which was constantly shifting between the spirit world and the mortal one, was the only place you had for yourself, though of course you shared it with its other inhabitant: the great mother bear spirit Quynh.

It was there today. Ensuring that the entrance to your own chambers was sufficiently blocked, you did not even hesitate to pull the door open, ducking into the stone passageway behind it eagerly. The only light came from the glowing crystals overhead, but you knew the way so well that you could’ve tread it even with your eyes closed, so the dimness did not trouble you any.

It did not make sense for such a long, winding hall made entirely of stone to be behind your dressing room, but that was because the hallway was not truly there. The door was only a gateway to the realm in which Quynh’s Den resided, but that realm was somewhere else, in some intangible other dimension that did not quite obey the same rules as yours.

Time, too, felt strange in this place. You did not know for how long you walked; you never did. You could only keep going until the narrow passage opened into a large cavern, the walls of which were studded with the same glowing green crystals that the entire hall had been encrusted with. The majority of the space was taken up by a massive black form curled up on a bed of ghostly white moss, her head resting on paws that were several times your own size. You knew from past experience that if you were to stand right beside her when she was in such a position, you would barely even be able to peek over her nose.

“Quynh,” you said. Twin jewels blinked open — her enormous eyes were the same luminous shade as the crystals surrounding her, and they, too, shone with a mysterious, intrinsic power.

“Y/N,” she said, the cavern rumbling with the depth of her voice. “I was wondering when you would come again.”

“I come whenever you allow me to,” you said, moving so that you could sit in front of her. She huffed, tilting her head so that you could clamber onto her paw and lean against the plush fur of her cheek, which would be several times warmer than the cold stone floor.

“It’s not under my control,” she said. “You know my limitations.”

“Yes, of course I do,” you said. “That’s how it’s always been. I was just reminding you, so that you are not angry.”

“I do not blame you,” she said. “For not visiting. I know that you cannot unless the circumstances align. Rather, it is that I am bereaved when you are gone. It has been many years since I could say this with certainty, but the truth is that I miss your company.”

“And I, yours,” you said. “Though you should not feel too complimented by that. It is you or Kuei, and I am, as ever, irritated by him at the moment.”

“You should not quarrel with him,” Quynh chided you. “He is the only family you have. It does you no good to fight with him so frequently. You will be sad if something happens and those are the only memories you have of him.”

“I wish that you were not inclined to defend him!” you said.

“Whether you like it or not, he is of the same line as you. I love him as well, for that fact. I am bound to,” she said. You pouted.

“You ought to love me more. He doesn’t even think you are real,” you said. “I’m the only one who’s believed in you in decades.”

“A mother cannot declare favorites,” Quynh said diplomatically. “And so, neither can I. You ought to know this by now.”

“He’s found a bear,” you muttered obstinately. “It’s a disgusting creature. Rolls in mud whenever given the opportunity and barely knows to shut its jowls when it’s eating.”

“A bear?” Quynh said, one of her ears flicking with interest. “I did not know of any which existed.”

“I suppose there is this one,” you said. “He is a true bear; I have ascertained as much. He does resemble you, though it is in the way that quartz resembles diamond.”

Bear was not quite enough to encapsulate what Quynh was. Certainly, her form was as such, but she was in a sense phantasmic, and so ascribing a physical species to her was disingenuous. That was why you found it so grating that Kuei was frolicking about and proclaiming that he had found her equal — she had no equal. Quynh stood alone.

“It is unfair,” she said, “for you to hold that against him. If you were possessed with an uneducated eye, you, too, would mistake the quartz for the diamond. He cannot be blamed.”

“I would know,” you said. “Even if I were blind, I would know. The diamond possesses something which the quartz never can.”

“And what might that be?” Quynh said.

“I don’t know,” you said. “But there is some such quality.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Or perhaps you are upset about something entirely different and are taking out your frustration on an animal that cannot help its ancestry and a brother who is known to be a fool.”

“On that much, we can agree,” you said with a self-satisfied smile. “Kuei is a fool.”

“Y/N,” Quynh warned you. You hung your head in defeat.

“I asked Long Feng if I could leave again,” you said. “I thought he was in a generous mood, considering he raised no complaint about Bosco being moved to the royal chambers, but he refused! I told him I would not stray from my guards’ side, that I only wished to go for a matter of minutes, but still he said no.”

“Did he give his reasons?” Quynh said.

“The same as ever,” you said. “Until Kuei marries and has children, I am next in line for the throne. As the heir, I must be kept with the utmost of caution, and the only place I can be safe for certain is the palace.”

“He’s not entirely wrong,” she said. “The world is dangerous. More than you might think.”

“I don’t think anything,” you said, though you immediately felt poorly for snapping at her. “I cannot even form an opinion on the city I might one day rule. What sort of a princess does not even know her subjects? To say nothing of my brother the king, who himself has not left the palace walls in years and is entirely comfortable with that! I cannot understand it. I cannot understand why he has no desire to know his people, the very people who love him so dearly as to accept him as their ruler.”

“Not everyone is like you,” Quynh said, nudging you as gently as she could. “And your brother’s past shaped who he is now. You cannot blame him for desiring safety when he was there when it all happened.”

She spoke of your father. You had never met the man, for he had died days before you had been born, so you felt no grief at the reminder, but you knew it was not the same for Kuei. After all, your father’s death was the only reason your brother had taken the throne in the first place; a throne which, at his young age, he had been ill-suited for.

Due to Kuei’s fondness for animals, which he had had since he was very young, your father had taken him to the zoo for his birthday. There, a wayward assassin of the Earthbending variety had sent spikes of stone into your father’s heart, killing him before the guards could even react. It was all they could do to save Kuei and run — the assassin, as far as you knew, still walked free today, for they had been too concerned with your brother’s protection to chase after the killer.

The zoo was shut down. The child Kuei was crowned king, though your mother was deemed his regent. Days later, she fell gravely ill. Giving birth to you was the last thing she did — she never left the childbearing bed, using the final remains of her strength to push you out and hold you tightly against her chest until she stopped breathing entirely.

One child there for your father’s last moments. The other, for your mother’s. Quynh was not exaggerating in saying that Kuei was the only family you had left, but your lives had been so dissimilar as to be entire opposites. He had his ministers and advisors to replace the gap your father had left in his life. You had Quynh to serve as your mother, in whatever way she could.

“The guards will be vigilant,” you said. “And anyways, even if I am Kuei’s heir, I doubt that anyone would have cause to assassinate me. I am not important enough to the kingdom. If I were killed, Kuei would simply marry earlier, and have more children, so it would be a net loss for any assailants.”

“You know that I am not opposed to it,” Quynh said. “It is your brother and his advisors who forbid you; I am only reminding you to respect their wishes, for they, in some manner, have your best interests at heart.”

“But I am dying of it,” you said. “Every day I languish in the palace, I can feel my spirit being crushed by the ever-encroaching walls. My only respite is visiting you, Quynh, but even that is not enough. I am still captive.”

Quynh sighed. It was a great sound, whistling and low, teeming with disappointment and worry and affection, all in equal measure. You rubbed your hand against her fur, waiting for her response, though you doubted it would be any different than every other time you had asked.

“You want me to open a door to the kingdom,” she said.

“Yes,” you said. “If I go alone, in the garb of a commoner, then I should escape notice entirely.”

“Alright,” she said. You opened your mouth to argue before closing it.

“Alright?” you repeated. “You’re saying yes? What about the usual rebuttals? It’s too much of a risk, Y/N, you won’t even be able to find Quynh’s Door.”

“It’s true,” she said. “You won’t have that guarantee, but of course, I can manually open doors back to the palace. The danger in this is that you will have to wait until I can open a door to allow your return, even if you want it earlier. As you well know, time is different here. I could open a door for you mere seconds after you’ve left, but that still might mean you must spend hours in the city.”

“I do not mind,” you said. “I will make good use of that time. But what has changed your mind? Why have you never offered before?”

“Something has come to the city,” she said. “I can feel it. There is a presence, or perhaps multiple presences, that can change the course of Ba Sing Se’s destiny — and, more importantly, of your family’s destiny. I am not sure, but I feel as if it is imperative that you leave, or else I will be depriving you of that destiny. And that unto itself is a fate, but not the one which you are meant to find.”

“Who are they?” you said. “These presences. How will I know that I’ve met them?”

“You won’t,” she said. “There is no way for any of us to know. Even they, themselves, may not yet be aware of it. It is just like that. You needn’t endeavor to find them; if you are meant to, you will.”

“I see,” you said, and then you leapt off of her paw, beaming up at her. “Then the only thing I will

“I hope you do,” Quynh said. “Furthermore, I hope you do not regret your decision.”

“I won’t,” you said firmly. “Thank you, Quynh.”

“It is my duty,” she said. “I am obligated to. To be sure, it is difficult, for there is always some difficulty when a mother must let her child go, but it is necessary. It is a story older than even I.”

“And this story is just as old,” you said. “That even when you let me go, I will return to you. Of my own volition, I shall return.”

“So you shall,” she said. “Go, then, Y/N. And return with as much haste as you leave, so that I may not miss you for too long.”

A new hallway formed in the walls of the cave, and without a backward glance, you walked towards it. Striding down the passage, you kept your eyes forward, knowing that if you turned around, you would see the stone closing behind you. You could not go back; it was not the nature of Quynh’s power. There was only one way to go, now that the decision had been made: forward.

All of the passages made by Quynh were the same length — barring the one behind the famed Quynh’s Door, naturally — so it was a trick of your mind that made the trek to Ba Sing Se seem longer than when you returned to your room from her den. Still, eventually, you came to another door, and your entire body shuddered in anticipation as you placed your hand on the knob, because this was the moment that you waited your entire life for.

Unable to delay for a second more, you swung the door open, taking your first step into the city of Ba Sing Se, your silk-slippered foot toeing delicately onto the cobblestones. Shutting the door behind you, you glanced over your shoulder to ascertain that it had disappeared. As you had expected, the wall was smooth and bare, giving no indication that there had ever been an exit in the first place.

There were people everywhere. You had never witnessed such a large crowd before; people milled about by the fading light of the setting sun, jostling one another as they rushed to and fro. At the fringes of the throng, two men with long torches went about lighting the street lamps, though they took their own time doing so, talking and laughing with whichever passersby that they recognized.

Another person might find the chaos to be ugly, hideous in its disorder, but you found a kind of mystical appeal to the hustle of the street. These were people who were living their lives as they were meant to, with no awareness of the simple freedoms and small joys they possessed. They gave no care to the idea that their daily lives were so remarkable to you, that their going-ons were the most wonderful thing you had ever seen.

You were too afraid to step into the sea of people, so you stayed along the sides of the road, admiring them, watching them, wanting more than anything to be one of them. But of course you were not. You would never be.

The door had spit you out near a small tea shop. It was not run down, exactly, but it was lived in, homey, the wood polished and the chairs worn. You opened the door to the establishment, but found it to be devoid of any patrons. There was only an old man behind the counter, sorting the change with toughened hands, though he looked up when he heard the bell chime announce your entrance.

“Hello, miss,” he said. “I’m afraid we are about to close for the night.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem,” you said. “I wasn’t wanting tea, anyways. I was just admiring your shop.”

“Why, thank you,” he said, grinning at you. “Though it’s not my shop, so I can’t claim to have any hand in the decor.”

“It smells so lovely,” you said. “It reminds me of a very beautiful thing, though I can’t name which.”

“Flowers?” he guessed. “Maybe a garden full of jasmine blossoms, their petals facing the moon, with a few drops of rain scattered about on their surfaces?”

“Actually, yes,” you said, amazed at his accuracy. “How did you know? That was exactly correct.”

“It’s the new blend of jasmine tea we’re brewing for tomorrow. My nephew picks the flowers himself, so that we can be sure of the condition of the jasmine before we make the tea. It’s the best way to allow the flavors to come through!” the man said.

“Wow,” you said. “I never knew there was so much thought put behind tea. I just drink it.”

“Most people don’t care enough,” the man said with a nod. “That’s what sets our tea apart. It’s only when you pay attention to the most minute details that you can ensure your final product is as close to perfection as can be found in a teacup. It’s a grave sin to think that tea begins and ends with the boiling of water; in truth, it starts when you plant seeds in the soil.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” you said. “Though I hadn’t it until now. Thank you for telling me. I shall pay more attention the next time I have tea; perhaps then I, too, will be able to understand its origins from a mere sip.”

“It takes practice,” the man said. “But no harm ever befell the man who paid attention. Or woman, in this case.”

“Of course,” you said. “But I should leave you to close. I apologize for bothering you in the first place.”

“Don’t apologize,” the man said, waving you off. “It’s always a delight to have a conversation with a willing partner.”

“The delight was mine,” you said.

“Do come again!” the man said. “Perhaps earlier in the day, though. I can serve you tea — or, better, I can make my nephew do it. I think he’s about your age, and he is wanting for friends. But don’t tell him I said that! He’s not aware of it quite yet.”

Your eyes widened at the thought. You had never met someone your own age, nor had you ever had a friend — Quynh and Kuei were your family, for better or for worse, and the servants never dared speak to you beyond the barest of formalities. So, in a way, you were alsowanting for a friend, but you could not tell the man this. Instead, you smiled slightly at him, bowing your head in gratitude.

“I should like that,” you said. “If ever I am nearby again, I will surely come.”

As the night stretched on, the streets began to empty — or was it that you were wandering further and further away from the main crossroads? Regardless, there was certainly a shift in the air, and it was only when you entered a deserted neighborhood that you realized there had been footsteps following you for quite some time now.

Turning around, you saw no one. The streets were devoid of life. The footsteps had stopped, but you could not help the nagging feeling that something was wrong.

Where was the door? It had been long enough — you should’ve been able to find it by now. You should’ve been able to go home by now. But there was no door. You were alone, and you suddenly understood why you had been forbidden from leaving the palace.

“Who goes there?” you said. “I — I am armed, so show yourself, but proceed with caution!”

“Armed?” a voice said. “Don’t fool yourself, your royal highness. Everyone knows you aren’t armed.”

“Your royal — how do you know who I am?” you called out. “Coward! You dare to hide in the shadows and hurl such insults at me?”

Your response was an enormous boulder shooting towards you. You squealed and dropped to the ground, covering your head with your hands as the boulder smashed into the wall behind you, bits of rubble raining down. There was a stinging pain on your knee, and you frowned as you realized that you had scraped it when you had initially dodged.

“What are you doing?” you said. “You will kill me! Stop it! You craven hound, I command you to stop what you are doing and face me like a man! If you cease your actions and explain yourself at once, I shan’t have you put to death. I will even pardon you of your every crime!”

Again, no response, and your heart dropped as you realized that might be his goal. What other reason would the man, who apparently knew your identity, have for attacking you? It was unfathomable, but you were reminded that it had not been so long since your father had been assassinated. Whatever sentiments had driven that attack…what if you had been wrong? What if you were, for whatever reason, the target for the next assassination?

It reminded you of a story, one you had read on the tenth anniversary of your father’s death. You thought it might comfort you, or more specifically your brother, to read the tale of another king who had been assassinated but whose reign had continued on regardless; in truth, though, only one quote had stuck with you, and this quote was neither comforting nor kind.

Sometimes, these things just happen, it had said. Kings are murdered. There isn’t always an explanation. Sometimes, the only reason is the action itself. Sometimes, people just kill for the spectacle of killing.

Maybe that was the case. Maybe you were just going to be killed for the spectacle. The show. The king’s beloved sister, murdered in his own city, the safest city in the entire world.

Right when the second boulder was about to hit you, there was a metallic sound, and then something sliced through the boulder, cutting it in half before it could reach you. When you looked up, there was a man in black standing in front of you, twin blades held in each hand, his posture confident but wary.

“Who are you?” you said. The man did not respond, scanning the area. He must’ve determined it to be safe, as abruptly, he relaxed his stance, sheathing the swords and then shifting to face you.

You could not stop yourself from yelping. Instead of a face, there was a blue mask regarding you, frozen in a grotesque grin, though when you got over your initial surprise, you realized you recognized the guise.

“The Blue Spirit?” you said. He nodded. “I’ve read the play, but I didn’t realize that you were — that you were a real being!”

The Blue Spirit was motionless in the wake of your words. Or, no, that was not correct. It was not that he was motionless, but that every part of his body was constantly shifting and changing, on high alert, so that the sum total was a man that was both ever at rest yet ever moving.

You pulled yourself to your feet, careful not to hurt yourself on the scattered stones surrounding you both, and just then, right behind you, a door appeared. You laughed ruefully at the ironic timing.

“What were you doing here, anyways?” you said. He mimed opening his hand; you did so, your palm facing the sky, though you had no idea what he planned to do with it. But he had saved you, so you thought that there was no harm in trusting him for a moment longer.

He did not do anything as dramatic as grabbing it or carving his name into it. He just dropped something into it, something soft and light and white.

Jasmine flowers. The delicate cups of the blooms were opened, seeking out the moon, and twinkling in the starlight against the silky fibers of the petals were a few drops of water — holdovers, you assumed, from the day’s rainfall.

You closed your fingers over the flowers, careful not to crush them in your fist. You did not know what they meant — an offering? A price? Something else entirely? Regardless, you knew that they were important, and you vowed to reread the story of the Blue Spirit once you returned home, so that you could understand their significance.

“Thank you,” you said. “For the flowers, and also for rescuing me. If we should ever meet again, then I will thank you in a better way, but for now, I have to go. The longer I linger here, the more danger the two of us are put in.”

Opening the door, you took a step in, but before you closed it, you looked over your shoulder, back at where the Blue Spirit had stood. That strange person…you owed him your life. The least you could do was look back at him, afford him a final glance before you sealed yourself away entirely.

When you turned, though, he was already gone. The only proof that he had ever been there in the first place was the flowers in your hand, the pluming dust in the air, and the heart which steadily beat in your chest — that beat which meant you were still alive, at least for now.

You did not stand there and mourn his absence. Allowing the door to swing shut and the passageway to close behind you, you began to walk home.

taglist (comment/send an ask/dm to be added): @rinisfruity14 @c4ttheart

[yanderes-galore]

Then Yuji with your prompts 3,8, and 29

Sure, didn't have many plot ideas so here's Analog AU! Yuji pulling a KinitoPet since I wanted to explore that more. Sorry it came out a bit short ^^;

Analog AU Here!

Yandere! Yuji Itadori Prompts 3, 8, 29

(Analog AU)

"You'll love me, even if we have to sit and wait for it to happen."

"I could look into those eyes forever...."

"I want to be this close... forever...."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Isolation, Yuji is not technically Yuji, Brainwashing/Mind control implied, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Forced affection, Forced relationship.

"Isn't it nice when everything is perfect?"

Your new life was difficult to get used to. In fact, you have no idea how long you've been imprisoned here. Time could very well work differently here.

All you recall is buying that strange DVD... meeting Yuji... and now you're here in a world resembling the show you loved so dearly.

At least you still managed to keep lucid enough to know this isn't your home. The entity puppeteering this realm could try their hardest to adapt you to this place... but you know better. This is not home.

This will never be home.

Yuji never gave up on making you feel like you belong in his realm. He made you a Jujutsu Sorcerer, he uses other characters to give you friends, he even took the identity of the main character you adore so much! Yuji yearns to please.

So why do you ignore him?

This place never fails to feel... uncanny? You know none of this is real. The other characters don't seem sentient and you can't seem to get Yuji's faint red glow in his eyes out of your head.

You and Yuji are the only people seemingly real in this world. Even if you speak to other characters, Yuji's always close by to watch you. You aren't sure what he is... but he seems awfully determined to make this world a paradise for you.

"Your world is so full of stress..." Yuji would say, looking disappointed. "But here? Here anything can happen. You can be happy... I can make you happy."

Yuji acts like a god in this realm. A god who's using your favorite show to gain your approval. However... you haven't allowed yourself to give in.

You can't let your guard down around those glowing eyes....

"The apartment looks close enough to your old home, yes?" Yuji asks you excitedly, rearranging furniture with ease. You blankly watch him, the familiarity only making you wish for home more. Were you technically dead?

"I just hope you know I do this because I care..." Yuji whispers, sitting on the bed to look at you. "It was so upsetting to see you so bored and stressed after work before. But... this is fun, isn't it?"

Ah, yes... was playing pretend with some entity fun? Was this meant to be more relaxing? Why does he bother acting like he cares?

"Why won't you let me out?" You ask, Yuji looking at you confused.

"Let you out...?" He echoes, seeming hurt. "That isn't how things are supposed to go...!"

"I never wanted to be here!" You plead. "Nothing's real... It's all fake..."

"I'll work on it more for you!" Yuji smiles, his eyes gleaming red again. "Anything for you, right...?"

"What do you even want from me!?" You plead to Yuji, the entity watching you with a frown.

"You... You don't understand...?" Yuji whispers, concerned about your confusion. "Seriously?"

Your adrenaline creeps in when Yuji stands up, stepping closer. There's no point running. He always knows where you are....

"I made this world for you, sweetheart... for us!" Yuji whispers, a smile on his face. "I did it because I love you...!"

Your breath hitches when Yuji leans closer, uncanny eyes staring into your own. The effect is almost... entrancing. You go to look away, to fight him more on his words...

Yet you can't.

"I could look into those eyes forever...." Yuji whispers, holding your face. He grins, gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips. You want to tell him he doesn't know what love is...

But he cuts you off.

"You see... if you accept this new world I made for you... we can have more moments like this..." Yuji whispers, teasingly kissing your lips as you gaze into his eyes. Why can't you look away?

"I love you so much... I was so tired of just watching you through that damn screen..." Yuji murmurs breathlessly. His grip tightens, gaze becoming a glare for a moment. "I didn't want to share you with anyone... but now..."

Yuji pulls you into a tight embrace. His hold is crushing, possessive. That manages to snap you out of your trance a little bit, just enough to push against his chest and struggle.

"I want to be this close... forever...." Yuji whispers with a grin, eyes holding a lovesick gaze towards you. He leans in to kiss you again, only for you to harshly shove him back. His expression then becomes unamused before he perks back up again with a smile.

"Oh, baby... am I coming off too strong?" Yuji frowns, feigning guilt. "I'm sorry... I forgot I need to be patient with you. I'm just getting a bit too... excited due to you being here now...!"

Yuji steps back, gaze softening with an uncanny glow to it. He gives you space before continuing to redecorate. He's getting too eager.

"That's okay, you may not understand it now but..." Yuji whispers, looking at the room before his eyes trail back to you. You freeze when you see them flash an entrancing red again. "You'll love me, even if we have to sit and wait for it to happen."

With that, Yuji continues rearranging your new home. An uneasy feeling swirls in your gut at the experience. You'd never know what Yuji is... or his true intentions.

But as your fictional life treks on, your fears slowly don't matter anymore...

Why bother fighting him when there's nowhere to go now? Maybe you should just be loved...?

After all... it's just you and Yuji... together forever in a world made for you.

[traegorn]

Hey. I wanted to say thank you.

Now, you didn't change my mind about who to vote for. I was always going to vote democrat no matter who was running as long as Trump was the republican nominee. But I was deeply unhappy about it, for a variety of reasons, but mostly cause of 🇵🇸. The guilt was strong, but I reasoned with myself that voting democrat was like putting on my own oxygen mask first, before I could help others do the same. Not a perfect analogy, but it made sense in my mind.

But I've been following you for a while. And deeply respect your thoughts and point of view and really take them to heart and pay attention when you go hard on a topic. And with all the political posting you've been doing you really changed how I thought too. You're very realistic and I realized that I was thinking too idealistic. And while I wish that had a place in our politics, that's not ever really going to happen.

So thank you. I voted early by mail and felt better about it than I would have if I wasn't reading every word you've been sharing to get people to understand. It's appreciated.

We are idealistic in our activism and in the primaries, and then we're pragmatic in the general. It's how we survive, and it's how we move the needle.

I don't want anyone to lose their idealism or their hope to change things, just to be strategic and smart in their actions.

We vote today, so we can fight tomorrow.

And I'm glad I helped you feel better.

[faevi]

COMFORT. // GOJO.

Scenario: Today was a bad day for you. You couldn’t even get out of bed to take care of yourself. You need comfort. Gojo Satoru, your boyfriend, is eager to be that comfort for you.

Word Count: 4,072.

Content / Trigger Warnings: female reader (she/her), implied depression (?), bad mental health basically, not taking care of yourself, gojo basically comforts and takes care of you, lots of crying.

I think that's it! Please (kindly) let me know if I missed something.

Note: No, Coral Island is not out on Switch yet :’ ) I have it on PC and I thought it was on switch but it’s not. Do look out for it, though! Cute comfort farming game. This probably won’t be the last time you’ll see me writing about Gojo comforting, as I like to write things deep from the heart or what I face, y’know? Like I started this when I was having a sad day, so dfjkgdfklg and, I know I’m not the only one. Mental health is important!! Please always take care of yourselves. If thinking about Gojo comforting you helps with easing your mind & heart, then hell yeah.

I know technically this is SFW so minors could read, but my entire account is basically NSFW still and I don’t feel comfy. So….

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!!!

“Baby?”

There’s a gentle knock on the bedroom door, the deep yet soft voice being muffled by it. You’re currently curled up in the king-size bed, pillows plumped up and eyes glancing from the Nintendo Switch screen to the door. Shame washes over you and you sink further beneath the blankets, voice timid.

“I’m in here.”

Satoru didn’t hear it, but he still pushed it open. He doesn’t want to be apart from you. Not when you’re like this. He could sense something wasn’t right in the morning, but you insisted he went to work and that you would be okay. Low energy, you said. You peek up at him, the hood of his hoodie that you’re wearing pulled right over your head, not wanting him to see your puffy eyes and dried-up tears on your cheeks. You haven’t left the bed unless it was to go to the toilet or get water. Really bad, you know that. You should have at least eaten something. Even if it’s just a banana or a bag of chips.

“Welcome home, ‘toru.” You say, voice a little raspy but still holding that sweetness that’s only reserved for Satoru. You feel too drained to greet him like you wish you could. That’s another sign to the white-haired male that it’s one of the low days. Thankfully, they are rare but, they still prompt him to be wrapped up in his concern. He drops his satchel at the side of the dresser before he walks over to the bed, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his white shirt. “Thank you, princess. I missed you all day.” He expresses, emphasising the ‘all’ in a sing-song voice that coaxes a smile to appear beneath the hoodie. Good. He’s a little relieved to see it.

Satoru settles on the bed beside you, arm wrapping around your body to pull you in close. He’s low enough on the bed to tuck his chin over your shoulder as you twist a little to adjust yourself for the position of the half embrace. His stunning blue eyes focus on the screen as you continue to play the switch, his long fingers mindlessly stroking along your shoulder. Satoru knows you refuse to pull the hoodie off just yet, so he won’t force you to. He knows that you have been crying and is desperate to comfort you but, he’s not about the ‘forceful’ ways like some may think he would be. Baby steps.

“Coral Island?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and you hum, thumb on the analog stick moving around. It makes you happy that your boyfriend makes sure to remember the games you like. “You’ve made a lot of progress on your farm, baby. It looks cute.” He praises sweetly, keeping his voice soft so as to not disturb too much. You smile at his words, ignoring the way your hands start to tremble and your eyes sting. What did you do to deserve such an attentive and loving man as your boyfriend?

“Though, I’m still a little grumpy that you want to marry, what’s his face… Wakuu. I think I’m a lot cuter, they should put me in the game.” He whines lightheartedly and you can’t help but laugh. “Baby, I think you’d make the game crash from how desperate people would be to date you. You’re too pretty and you’re all mine.” You huff a little, mind lingering a little on the thought of others wanting Satoru. Why did he choose you? He could have anyone he wants in the world.

“I’d hack the game so I reject other players aside from you.” He insists, noticing the tremble in your voice. He looks down at the top of your head, wishing he could see through and know your thoughts. Well, he can usually guess right, at least. He’s pretty good at reading people. Especially you. Calmly, Satoru takes hold of the console and puts it on pause before setting it on his bedside table. You let him do it. “Th-That would be too much work, s-silly.” You stutter out as tears for what feels like the hundredth time spill down your cheeks.

He hums softly, tugging the hood off of your head slowly, giving you time to stop him. You didn’t. Your shoulders shake and you can barely process anything now as you cry; not even when he moves your body so you’re facing him and between his long legs. He pulls you in close enough so his hand can rest on the back of your head and you sob against his chest, apologies babbling out between the heavy cries and obnoxious sniffling. “Nothing is too much work when it involves you, Y/N. Let it out, hm? No more hiding from me. Just let it all out and let me be here for you.” He whispers, the other hand rubbing soothing circles against your back.

Your legs that were tucked beneath you, slide until you’re laying against him with your legs extending out next to his, face still buried against his toned chest, fingers curling into the shirt that is becoming wet with the continuous stream of your tears. Your chest hurts so much. The tightness lingers, even as you cry your heart out. No wonder it feels impossible to breathe. You swear you could feel each teardrop as it rolls down your cheeks. Gross. It’s so gross. Small hiccups escape as you struggle to breathe properly between your heavy sobs, feeling his hand stroking along your hair as he holds onto you so lovingly. You couldn’t help but feel guilty that he has to comfort you through this. You thought that after hours of festering in your misery, you’d pick yourself back up before he got home.

He shouldn’t have to do this. It’s not the first time that he has had to help you and you just feel so bad about it. Sure, it may not be common. It may not happen all the time. Not happen weekly or even monthly but, it must be so stressful to deal with. Mental health can be so exhausting and every time this creeps up on you; you just wish you were someone who stinks of positivity 24/7. Always smiling. No dull clouds in your life, so no chance to spread it to those you love. Satoru deserves better than you.

Satoru frankly doesn’t give a fuck about your opinion when it comes to that matter. It sounds harsh but, it’s true. In his eyes, you are exactly what he deserves because you are everything that he wants in a partner. He’ll tell you that as many times as you need to hear. It’s not exhausting to him. Not at all. Nothing about you exhausts him. Satoru does feel concern when these particular days blossom but, isn’t that normal? Lovers are meant to be there for one another. Through the good and the bad. No one is perfect and, he knows. He knows that you’ve had partners who would snap with anger the second you showed a glimpse of insecurities or sadness. They would tell you that you’re making them miserable for having a sad day every so often. That it’s all your fault and that you’re exhausting. Even though, truth be told; these days aren’t that often. It’s just being human. Some may experience it more than others but, Satoru doesn’t think it means they should be treated harshly. Maybe with more kindness.

Besides, anger and guilt-tripping always cause more bad days because you learned to try and bury it all. To never let it out. Then it just grows like a nasty virus in your system, slowly bringing you to the point of feeling overwhelmed and unable to contain it. It surprised him that you used to apologise profusely at the beginning of your relationship. You had bad relationships that just added to your insecurities and made you feel like complete shit. All you need is reassurance and comfort. It took some time at first but, Satoru thinks that you’ve ‘improved’ in the sense that you have fewer sad days because of feeling like a terrible partner. You have insecurities like everyone else but, you knew deep down of his love for you and felt reassured by it. Especially since Satoru never expressed anger towards you. Just patience and love. The white-haired male of course wishes that you never felt anything bad. It’s natural for a lover to want that for their other half but, he’s not going to curse those bad days and make you feel worse. Together, you’ll get through it. That’s how he sees it and if it takes time to slowly ease your mind into that direction; Satoru will go that way and hold your hand.

His large hand continues to stroke along your back, resting back against the various pillows and watches quietly as you sob heavily into his chest, heart quietly clenching at the sight. He wishes he could take the pain away completely. You feel as if your lungs now rattle from how hard you cry, tears both spilling down your clammy cheeks and soaking into his white shirt. Your fingers stay curled up in his shirt, face rubbing pitifully against his chest. It feels so warm and strong. One of the infinite reasons as to why you love this white-haired man. His strength never wavers when he embraces you. You always feel safe, even as you cry. Still, guilt naturally lingers for being a burden.

“I-I’m so sorry, Satoru..” You manage to whine out breathlessly, voice becoming high-pitched, tongue unintentionally licking up the salty tears that lingered on your chapped lips. You have been lacking in self-care today. Satoru hums thoughtfully, hand coming up to push the strands of white hair out of his crystal blue eyes. “Don’t apologise, Y/N. You haven’t done anything wrong. You know that these days will never be a burden to me.” He reassures, voice low and calm. It soothes your soul with ease. Sniffling, you decide to sit up between his spread legs, though one hand refusing to let go of his now wet shirt. Your head stays tilted downwards but it doesn’t stop your boyfriend from leaning in to scatter light kisses across your visage, not bothered by the tears. He knows it will prompt a smile to appear and that’s one baby step in the right direction. You do end up smiling very briefly as his soft tiers ghost against your cheeks, mildly amused by the quiet ‘mwahs’ he leaves with each kiss.

It’s funny, really. Before you met Satoru, during knowing Satoru and being his friend, even now as you’re in love with the tall male and dating him; people always painted him as a man who frankly does not fucking care about people or that he’s utterly oblivious. They see when he’s loud and playful. Yes, sometimes a little immature (deliberate) and cocky but; they refuse to see this side of him, even if it’s directly on a silver platter for them to be exposed to it. Though, you selfishly think of how happy you are to be the only one who gets to see the loving and romantic side of Satoru. Satoru cares. He cares so much for the ones around him. He’s subtle in changing his ways for certain people. Whether it’s to let someone else take the last seat or tiny praises laced in between playful advice. He can be serious or calm when the time calls for it.

You hate that people continue to paint him as a selfish man who thrives off of his own cockiness and talents. Satoru, your boyfriend — Is a human being created with all kinds of shades of colours and each colour deserves to be loved. Cherished. His hands caress along your bare thighs, head tilting as he inspects your face, thankful that you’re not trying to hide anymore. Not through a hoodie or burying against his chest. He does think it’s cute when you do that. He can’t deny it. You’re finally managing to calm down, the tears slowly stopping and not trailing down your cheeks any further. Did thinking about Satoru as a person calm you down once more? It’s not the first time. Ha… You really are lucky to have him. You watch as his lips already begin to curl to form a small grin. It’s infectious because you feel the corners of yours twitch and you have to press your lips firmly together to stop it from happening. Maybe it’s a punishment to yourself. You can’t smile completely yet.

“Look at you, my little love.” Satoru says, large hands coming up to tenderly cup your cheeks, thumbs a bit firm when they rub away the tears. “All out of tears now. It’s all thanks to me for being the best boyfriend with a magical touch, hm?” Satoru jokes lightly to coax that soft giggle out of you and his heart eases at the pretty sound. Your heart practically swells at the pet name he calls you. In the early days when Satoru learned that you’re weak when it comes to pet names, he instantly started to use them. It’s like he uses it as a weapon. Only sometimes. Jokingly. All the time it still feels natural and wrapped in love. You didn’t know that he’s discovered that he adores using them when it comes to you. Especially when your eyes light up in his direction.

“You are the best boyfriend..” You manage to say, voice strained from crying so much. Snot threatens to drip out and it must make you look so unattractive. He doesn’t care. You’ll always be pretty in his eyes. Satoru smiles warmly at your words, playfully shaking his head. “Alright, this is about you. So don’t try to put the focus on me and think this can just slip away… Unless you want it to. I won’t force it.” He sighs, plucking a tissue from the box on the bedside table. You can sense it. He might become a bit agitated if you don’t express your thoughts, even if he’ll politely agree to move on and clearly treat you lovingly… You can already understand why he’d be annoyed. Locking it all up isn’t healthy and he’s been encouraging you for so long to be open with him. He’s not like past lovers so don’t treat him as such. It is true. He’s nothing like them. He may not be perfect if he’d secretly become annoyed but, he’s human. Just like you. On trivial matters, he’d usually whine as his form of complaint but, this is no trivial matter. It’s serious to him; your wellbeing.

“I won’t hide anything from you, Satoru.” You promise, nose scrunching up a little as he wipes it before carelessly tossing the tissue towards the small bin. Naturally, it lands in. He’s Gojo Satoru, after all. You shift to sit cross-legged between his open legs, slightly apologetic that he has to spread his long legs so wide. Satoru isn’t bothered by it. You bring a sleeve up to wipe at your eyes, chewing on your bottom lip. How do you even speak? It feels like the words are lodged in your throat. “It’s just a bad mental day. There’s nothing really behind it. One of those days, I’m sorry..” You trail off and you glance up to see him looking intently at you, arms comfortably crossed against his chest. Satoru isn’t blocking you out and you know that. He tends to position himself like this when he’s listening.

Still, he’s waiting for that one thing. Even with his eyes clouded with warmth for you, you know what he wants to hear. The tiny bit of truth. “Bad mental day, but… I feel guilty. I wanted to hide this from you so I— So I wouldn’t be a burden. Wouldn’t make you tired of me and I’m scared! I’m scared that if... if the bad days happen more, you’ll..” You don’t want to say it out loud. It feels like a knife is lodged in your throat. It might come true.

“Leave you?” Satoru finishes your sentence of worry. Hearing it out loud brings on a wave of nausea and your head falls down, fingers gripping the sheets. The white-haired male’s heart aches to see you so sad and vulnerable. Terrified. Maybe a normal person would feel hurt and offended by their lover having such fears. Complain about their lover having no trust in them. Satoru knows to not see it like that after dating you for a long time. People have thoughts that they can’t control. They’re like intrusive little gremlins ready to happily feast on the brain. Again, what heals is comfort and giving that reassurance. He repeats that to himself as a reminder. To never doubt. Not that he ever would but, it’s better to be safe. Tears threaten to spill again as the guilt bubbles up inside of you for admitting the scary thought. You don’t want to lose Satoru. Not ever.

Satoru sighs softly. You sense it’s not an annoyed sigh. You're sure if you ask, your boyfriend would jokingly say he’s just exhaling air. “Why do you have to sit cross-legged? It makes it hard for me to cling!” Satoru whines, large hands reaching forward to encourage your legs to uncross before he tugs you forward, strong arms wrapping around you once more, gripping firmly as if to show he’s not leaving. You gently nuzzle his shoulder as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m never leaving you. You’re stuck with me for life. Y/N, it’s okay to have bad days. Whether multiple in a row or sporadically. I don’t care about— Well, I mean. I do care. I’ll always care. I just want you to try to remember that you’ll never be a burden. This is never a burden.” Satoru says, keeping his voice soft against your ear.

You pull back a little to look up at him and his hand comes up to cup your cheek, shifting his hand to smooth his fingers across your hair, keeping you in place. “I want to be here with you on your darkest days and so you’ll never be left alone there. As cheesy as it sounds, I’ll be that glimmer of light for you. Just like you are for me. You have no reason to ever feel guilty about moments like these.” He finishes with his arms draped around your figure. A small smile manages to appear, cheek squishing against his shoulder. It doesn’t take much talking from Satoru to bring you comfort. He always knows what to say.

You’re just glad he’s finally home from work. You’ve been feeling so lonely without him. Carefully, you nuzzle against his shoulder before pulling away to look up at him, meeting his crystal blue eyes. It’s then that you notice he still has his sunglasses on, pushed back against his fluffy white hair. You pinch the bridge of the glasses and slide them off to set aside on the bedside table, not wanting to ever block the pair of gorgeous eyes you get lost in daily. “I love you.” You say softly, tilting your head to press a kiss against his wrist as his large hand pauses against your hair.

You watch him slowly form a grin at hearing the words, hand coming down to gently cup your chin. Satoru admires you in silence for a while. Even with a puffy face from crying and lack of sleep, you’ll always look beautiful to him. All his, too. No one else can have you. “I love you, too.” He says, voice filled with loving warmth before he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, not bothered by how chapped they feel. He’ll never pass on the opportunity of kissing you. You both pull away from each other and you can’t help but slump against him, feeling exhausted. It’s funny how you slept through the day between crying sessions and you’re still so tired.

The sight practically kicks a certain side in Satoru to wake up and so he sits up, arms caging you in as he looks down at you between his legs. “Alright, princess. I know you haven’t eaten. How about we order in? Whatever you like. I don’t want to force anything on you but you have to eat, at least.” He says, hand reaching for his phone that’s tucked in his pocket. You puff your cheeks out and look at him. His eyebrows are furrowing out of concern and his lips pouting. It’s hard to say no to him and, well, he is right. Again. “Okay, ramen.” You say, planting a kiss on his cheek. Relief washes over the tall white-haired male, thumb rapid against the screen as he orders your preferred ramen, along with his and a few entrees before he places it down.

“Do you have some energy to shower?” He asks, pausing for a moment before his hands come up in defence, eyes comically wide. “Swear you don’t stink, princess. I just want to take care of you and usually showers make you feel better. If you’re too tired, you can share a shower with me?” He offers with a hopeful glint in his eye. Satoru knows he’s being a little selfish because he enjoys showers with you. You roll your eyes at your boyfriend quickly getting all defensive, somewhat endeared by the fact that he emphasises that you don’t stink. Only Satoru would do that. You really do love him. Every single fibre of his being. His entire existence.

With your heart swelled up with love, you dramatically throw your arms over his shoulder before wrapping them around his neck, smiling. “Only if you carry me. I’m a princess, right?” You giggle softly and instantly, Satoru plants a kiss on your lips. He really can’t resist you. “Typical princess behaviour. You’re lucky I’m such a simp.” He grunts out as he lifts you in his arms with ease, large hands cupping your ass cheeks to hold you up as you wrap your legs around him. You raise an eyebrow at hearing his words, amused to hear the older male use fangirl terms.

It’s the exact thought that prompts your realisation. You don’t feel sad anymore. Not currently, anyway. You look at his gorgeous visage as he carries you to the bathroom, not a single thought of worry about dropping you. Satoru is too strong to do that. You bite back a smile and cling tightly onto your boyfriend as you think to yourself that being around him is healing and good for your heart. You’re determined to do the same for him whenever he feels any sort of negative emotion. No matter what, you’ll love him hard and take care of him like he does for you.

“You’re choking me—“ He rasps out, face scrunching up dramatically before you loosen your arms and smile sheepishly. “Sorry.” You say with a quick peck to his lips. He happily accepts it. Satoru sets you down on the bathroom counter, one hand already unbuttoning his dress shirt to reveal his beautifully toned body. You watch as he adjusts the taps for the shower, seeking the level of warmth that you like and notices you watching him with a dreamy look and smirks in your direction. “What are you thinking, baby?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. You shrug innocently.

“Just that I love you and would do anything for you. Want to always take care of you and make you happy.” You find yourself blabbering out and eyes locking with his. His smirk fades into a smile, endeared by your words. It’s rather comforting to hear. To know that you are here for him just as he is here for you. Satoru extends his hand out for you to take. “You already do that and more. I love you, too. Come on, let’s undress and shower before our comfort food arrives.” He says, wiggling his long fingers to entice you to take hold. You simply smile before taking hold of his hand to pull yourself off of the counter.

Right. It is time to shower with the love of your life.

Life is really good when you have Gojo Satoru as your lover.