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gallusrostromegalus · 2 years

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You don't think matcha is tea????

Matcha isn't a Tea in my humble Opinion.

Matcha is an experience.

The year is 2009, the place is the University of Hawai'i at Manoa in Honolulu, and I am recovering from a still-undiagnosed disease that left me with a 100+ degree for over three weeks, extreme weight loss and permanent Brain Damage. I have signed up for an introductory Art History class because I need an additional Humanities credit.

It's called "The History and Philosophy of the Japanese Tea Ceremony", and for a class I can only sort of remember, it stands out.

So I'm in professor Roberts' Japanese Tea Ceremony class, looking and feeling like death warmed over, but I'm genuinely interested in the subject matter and show up to every class because I have nothing better to do, and ask questions and turn in my homework, even if neither are particularly coherent at times, and rapidly become his favorite student. The thing I learned in public school was how to show up to events even if I don't want to, analyze tests and other written materials for patterns and charm educators by holding up my end of a conversation, skills that have served me in the modern world far more than learning actual course content would have.

The Tea Ceremony, historically, takes a good month to prepare and the entire evening to carry out- the guest list is curated to create social bonds and intellectual stimulation alike, a poem is composed for the season, and a seasonal flower arrangement created to decorate the space. When the guests arrive, they must all crawl through a small door to enter the tea garden, regardless of profession or rank. Hands are ritually washed in spring water, and there is a slow processional walk through the garden, to admire the artistry of the landscaping, and the composition of seasonal elements to create this particular night of beauty. The entire ceremony is about appreciating both the joy of existing right now, in this time and place, and the unification of the self and the universe and the endless cycles of nature.

The guests arrive at the tea house and meet the Tea Master, who will be making the Matcha that evening. The guests are seated in particular order, the Most Revered Guest- sometimes a high-ranking official, sometimes a visiting scholar or artist- is seated closest to the Tea Master. The Poem is read aloud. The Flowers are admired. The tools for making the Matcha are taken out, examined as objects of art, and their history told. The matcha powder itself is taken out- the case examined, the cultivation of the tea discussed, and only then does the Tea Master make the Tea.

Matcha is not brewed- it's a fine powder made of crushed green tea leaves, and the powder is whisked together with not-quite-boiling water in a bowl to create a much more substantial and flavorful drink. This drink is presented to the Most Revered Guest first, who is expected to take a sip and, in a moment of Zen spiritual clarity, comment on its flavor and how all the elements of the tea, art, garden and season all complement each other, and perhaps offer some sort of philosophical statement.

At least,

That's how it's supposed to go.

About a month before the spring semester is over, Professor Roberts announces that he has a surprise for his class- a good friend of his, a Professional Tea Master, will be visiting Hawai'i, and has agreed to perform a Tea Ceremony for our class! I am very excited. The other 10 people in class are varying levels of amiably confused to distressed by having to go to An Event (TM) for a grade, but agree. One of my classmates, an astrology hoe named Jessica, pointed out that with the 11 students, Professor Roberts, and the Tea Master, there will be 13 people present, which is basically inviting disaster.

"Jessica." Sighed Professor Roberts. "It's a Tea Ceremony. What disaster could happen?"

Despite Jessica's misgivings, Preparations for the ceremony went on. We learned about Ikebana while deciding on the Ceremonial Bouquet and tried our hands at it with what Professor Robert could get at the grocery store for $12. We learned about calligraphy and different types of poetic compositions while making the Seasonal Poem, and stain the hell out of the classroom carpet learning the brush strokes. We learn about different types of Matcha Bowl sculpting and glazing and we are not allowed to touch the demonstration bowls or the kiln because Professor Roberts was beginning to suspect that some of his students (me) were suffering from coordination issues. I apply myself with zeal, if not necessarily talent. I was, at the time, an Art Major, but my professors in the art department had been grading me on a secret "this bitch almost died last semester and is re-learning how to hold a pencil" curve, and boy howdy did I stumble and break leaves and splatter ink like it.

Despite my ongoing unmonitored recovery, Professor Roberts viewed my enthusiastic class participation with rose-colored glasses, and about a week before the ceremony we had a class where he brought out the used Kimonos and Obi and other forms of japanese dress he'd borrowed from the theater department so that we would be traditionally dressed(ish) and experience the ceremony authentically(ish). While people were trying on clothes to see what would fit, he took me aside and told me he wanted me to be in the position of Most Revered Guest, the person who makes the zen statement upon which the entire event hinges.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I asked.

"You're the only person who doesn't fall asleep in class and you talked about how the flowers stagger their blooms to not compete for the bees- you're perfectly engaged and conscious of the seasons!" He said, blindly. "You will need different shoes though." He indicated my flip-flops. "I won't make you learn how to walk in Geta, but nothing with Heels. Ballet flats are fine."

"...These are the only shoes I own." I said.

Professor Roberts stared at me.

"-I used to have a pair of sneakers but I think a homeless guy stole them while I was at the beach last month."

"What?" Roberts blinked.

"He probably needed them more than I do. I'll see if I can borrow some flats."

"...I don't think I've ever met a woman with less than 10 pairs of shoes." Said Roberts.

"I'm not a woman, I'm and undergrad." I said, still three years away from learning the term 'Nonbinary'. "Those are Jordan's only pair of shorts, you know." I pointed at my classmate, who had been wearing the one (1) pair of basketball shorts for the entire semester.

"I WASH THEM." Jordan shouted defensively, wearing the longest Men's Kinmo the theater department had, which barely came down to the top of his calves.

"Oh God." Said Roberts, a horrifying new world opening up to him like a tub of Expired sour cream.

It was the day of the Ceremony.

The Seasonal Theme we'd worked on was "The Turn Of Summer", and the weather was complying maliciously.

Normally, Tea Ceremonies are scheduled for the more temperate evening, but due to the school needing to host something in the adjoining cultural center later, we could only use the Tea Garden in the middle of the afternoon, and the summer sun was a sweltering 98 degrees and a similar level of Humidity. The Camelias were melting.

Where Jordan had difficulty finding a Kimono that suited his ent-like proportions, I'd had the opposite problem and the only Kimono short enough to not trip my Hobbit-sized self was a Child’s size. My roommate had helped me get into the Kimono and Obi before the ceremony, and leant me a pair of her Ballet Flats, but we discovered an issue- this Kimono was designed for a flat-chested prepubescent youth, and even though I barely scraped 5'0", I had the robust proportions of an Irish Peasant, and the only way to avoid displaying a frankly offensive amount of cleavage was to use the widest Obi we could find and sort of tuck my boobs into it.

"Hm" I said. "Kind of hard to breathe."

"Yeah, but you're sitting for most of it, right? It can't last more than an hour, so just like, shuffle and don't talk much?" She suggested.

To her credit, the first forty-five minutes of the ceremony only involved shuffling through the gardens and not talking while the Tea Master lectured us on some of the finer points of the garden's design.

But then we got to the Tea House- a small structure only barely able to accommodate the 13 of us, which was in the shade but hotter than the outside because of the roaring fire in the middle of the room, where the water for the Matcha was boiling. The room was surrounded by a narrow sort of porch, part of which hung over the Koi pond, where several massively overfed carp blurbled expectantly for treats at the arrival of humans. I sat down, legs folded under me like Professor Roberts had insisted, and realized that this pushed the Obi UP, and now my rib cage was being compressed in all directions.

I tried to pay attention to the rest of the ceremony, but two and a half hours is an awfully long time to listen about lecturers you've already heard when your body is undergoing a sort of internal horserace to see if the heatstroke, sciatica pain and numbness, allergies or suffocation-by-compression will cause you to pass out first. My legs had gone numb below the knee by the time we were done with the flower arrangement. My entire legs were numb before we were done with the Poem. By the time the Tea Utensils came out, I was seeing spots of colored light in my vision and could only breathe if I focused on it very, very hard.

But! The ceremony was genuinely interesting! and Professor Roberts was counting on me! So I did my best not to sway or throw up from watching the Tea Master whisk the Matcha, and dutifully took the bowl with a pair of hands that felt like slabs of ham that I was attempting to puppet from another dimension, and took a sip.

They say that Smell and Taste are far more closely connected to the emotional centers of the brain than any other sense, and I believe it because the instant I inhaled both the grassy, powdery smell, and tasted the moderately viscous bubbly liquid, I experienced an intense flashbulb memory back to a previous late May-

The Year was '98, the place was my elementary school art room, and we'd been using the seasonal hot weather to paint on a massive scale as the art dried quickly- each third-grader had been given a roll of butcher paper, a cheap brush, squirts of non-toxic paint and a water cup, and allowed to go hog-wild on our murals, and the rush of creative energy and the imminent sense of freedom as the semester drew to a close truly embodied the summer of youth, carefree but with an almost psychotic fervor, where lack of care was both freeing and dangerous as you lost track of your surroundings in the act of creation-

Which isn't a bad seasonal-philosophical connection statement to make, but the actual words that came out of my mouth were:

"Wow. This tastes exactly like paint."

The first sound I heard after the moment of silence was the cartoonishly loud gasp of horror from Professor Roberts, which was almost immediately drowned out by the thunderclap of laughter from the Tea Master, slapping his thighs and wiping tears from his face, unable to stop. I desperately tried to explain the connection between the fact I might be dying of heat stroke right now, and how I ended up drinking my paint water back in Mrs. Krantz's art class because back then I was also dying of heat stroke, but mostly ended up wheezing half-formed sentences as the rest of the class took sips and offered opinions varying between "Wow, that's thick. Like a Hot smoothie." and "Oh yeah, it tastes like summer. Like how a freshly-mowed lawn smells like summer." Professor Roberts slowly melted into a pile of shame, and the Tea Master slapped him on the back, still howling with laughter.

"They're honest! Nobody else will be honest! This is magnificent!" he wheezed.

Eventually, everyone had their taste, and the ceremony was concluded. The second the Tea Master had packed up his tools and stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, Professor Roberts was in my face.

"HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT?" he hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me up. "GO APOLOGIZE RIGHT NOW!" he shoved me out onto the porch where the Tea Master was looking at the Koi, who had started bubble-begging aggressively again.

Except that my legs felt like blocks of wood that my pelvis was renting from another planet where legs hadn’t been invented yet, my vision was entirely static between the dehydration and lack of oxygen, and my vestibuar system had fucked off an hour ago, leaving me to stay upright by purely by the virtue of the over-tightened Obi. So instead of bowing and apologizing profusely like my professor expected, what I actually did was stumble out of the room, say something like "Hsdfkf" and topple head-first into the koi pond.

Fortunately, the impact of the bottom of the pond with the top of my skull activated a sort of last-resort emergency self preservation system and I inhaled with enough force to break the Obi-Jime and probably a couple ribs from the pain that hit both my sides like lightning. Unfortunately, the thing I was inhaling was fish-shit riddled Pond Water, so my emergency self-preservation system ordered an even harder Exhale.

The Tea Master, to his immense credit, had immediately jumped in after me, and pulled me upright just in time for me to forcibly exhale half a gallon of rancid pond water directly into his face, then start screaming. Screaming is an extremely appropriate reaction to have when injured, because it alerts everyone that you require medical attention, but is very unpleasant to experience from four inches away, which is probably why he then immediately dropped me.

Fortunately the pond wasn't very deep and this time I sat there, scream-gasping as my lungs reinflated, Koi fish burbling and sucking at me with tremendous excitement, until the EMT from the campus clinic arrived, a vanguard before the actual ambulance.

"Okay uh. You're bleeding." he said, cautiously wading into the pond.

I opened my eyes to find that I had apparently acquired a large and profusely bleeding head wound, which had activated some long-suppressed Shark Instincts in the Koi, which were eagerly gumming at the streams of blood and trying to suck on my forehead. "Good thing they don’t have teeth." I said in the distant bliss that only zen masters and people with serious head injuries get to experience.

"Do you want a towel?" he asked, helping me up.

"No, this is rather refreshing, actually." I said, still absolutely smashed on endorphins, Koi still enthusiastically swarming at my kneecaps.

"I mean like for your-" the EMT Gestured Vaguely at my torso.

I looked down and realized that not only had I broken the Obi-jime, the entire Obi had come undone and was floating several feet away, and I was only wearing the Kimono, fallen completely off my shoulders and was only being prevented from performing a full Lady Godiva by the valiant efforts of the safety pin my roommate had put in to keep it folded correctly while we figured out the Obi.

"Professor Roberts?" I stood up all the way, soaking wet, bleeding from my forehead with such force as to create actual streams of blood down my face, neck and chest, tits out, and addressed the poor man standing, white-faced on the deck above the pond. "I don't think I'm going to be in class on Monday-" I paused to fish a small Koi that had gotten trapped in the remains of the now-ruined Kimono, and tossed it back into the pond. "-Can I schedule a make-up exam for the Final?"

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GET IN THE AMBULANCE!" He screamed.

I was x-rayed for a skull fracture, but my lifelong membership to the Lactose Tolerance Club had protected me, and I happily texted my roommate to come pick me up as "They x-rayed my head and found nothing" while the doctor stitched part of my scalp back together.

The following morning, I discovered that Professor Roberts had graded my exam before I took it. 100%. Truly, the best way to get a good grade on your finals is to get a serious head injury.

So, Matcha is not a Tea, in my humble opinion.

Matcha is an Experience.

And sometimes that experience is drinking something almost exactly like paint, ruining an important cultural ceremony, traumatizing your professor, and introducing a bunch of fish to the taste of human flesh.

***

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#Family Lore #Tea Ceremony #Matcha #injury mention #blood mention

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satocidal · 6 months

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𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ “Opposites Attract?!”— Gojo Satoru

Synopsis: the famous rich boy of the campus and the Dean’s daughter? Scandalous—especially when they’re both jealous as hell.

— A/n: Roughly based on something from my real life lmao— except that we didn’t get together because hehe. Also, this is the first part of a kinkmas fic that I have planned, it’s been broken since the fic was getting too long <3 (both can be read stand-alone!) Tagging @romiyaro @draecys @maeby-cursed because yes; nsfw version <3

— Word count: 5.7k

— warnings: Fem! Reader x Satoru Gojo; slightly suggestive Suguru and Mei Mei (they deserve to be warnings here); undertones if jealousy; a kiss (or three) at the end, I know—scandalous right; Reader wears spects in one scene; this has a LOT of bickering. Just banter for that matter, reader says smn about sex work BUT I assure you it’s not supposed to be in a negative light <333

4.5 g.p.a—a perfect reputation that you held, a decent social life—an amazing father to back you up, you weren’t ever part of the fraction of people who got in through with scholarships, why would you when your father stood as the dean? —but you’d worked for it.

3.7 g.p.a—it could’ve been far better, easily, if he only put himself in—far too loud a social life with a following of 4k+ on his Instagram while he only followed back his best friend and pretty little things (for a day or so)—part of the fraction who got paid in, who never struggled for it.

Sure, you hadn’t really struggled either—but hypocrisy was only allowed to one and you chose to take your chance.

You didn’t…despise him, the man that Gojo Satoru stood out to be, but lords, you hated the concept around it.

The loud cackle at the back of each lecture—the proxies and his fan girls, you hated it all.

More so, you hated just how enamored your dad was—after all, it was Gojo Satoru that had won the trophies and the plaques—Satoru Gojo that was a Power Player.

But the credit wasn’t to be forgotten for you too—dabbling in all that was academic, if the second half of your dad’s office as the dean were filled with Satoru’s achievements, the first half was yours.

Two sides of the same coin.

Your eyes never left your dad for a second, “you can’t possibly expect that out of Me dad,” the whine wasn’t subtle, nor the snicker that gojo let out at your words and outlet—earning a hard glare.

And to all the pampering and spoiling your father had to offer, it all failed when it came down to the pride and prestige of the university.

“It’s non-negotiable y/n,” the sleek brown in his room shone that afternoon, polished—every groove, every rounded corner—almost a story to behold.

“Yeah! Tell her Mr.Dean,” another snicker- another glare, your father sighed in his dismay.

“You,” your father glared at him, “need to find a way to shove it in your schedule as well—you’re both the elected representatives.”

To end with all whines and groans.

“I have no idea how but I need you two to find a presence of mind and perform your best in curating an experience at the fest. Dismissed.”

A sharp inhale, yours and the roll of Satoru’s eyes, your dad was aware how interesting an evening and a fest in general he would be witnessing.

You’d known Gojo Satoru for 3 years now, spending the last together at the University, standing as the President of Student Council—all against Gojo’s constant “nepotism” comments while he stood as the Captain of the Football Team—against your criticism as well.

A certain peak in the way you two governed your particular fields independently but, together?

Well.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t always that you both disliked each other but, you couldn’t exactly deny the certain distaste the day you’d set eyes on him…

~First Year~

“Dad, please, make sure that no one knows that you and I are, at all related,” a chuckle your father let out, “of course darling, but don’t get prissy when I don’t let you out with attendance matters and all,”

Another chuckle shared, nothing too serious.

“I’ve heard Gojo Satoru will be joining this year too?”

An innocent question, curious is all you were—anyone would be, one of the best the country had seen in years.

Your father nodded slowly, “just so happens to be true, stay in check though, don’t want messing with people like that,”

It was evident, the wary tone that your father had acquired over the years, dealing with all that was the ego of such students, who stood tall with the heap of money that belonged to their daddies.

A slow nod you passed too—your father smiled, you were a smart girl after all.

But fate was decided and what had to happen would happen for sure.

Because you swore to maintain the secret, you weren’t to be even found to have the slightest relation of blood with the Dean — but then whatever could you do when you step out blindly, bumping right into the guy you wanted not to.

A hiss and a curse—“the fuck? Watch where you’re going,” he mumbled-eyes boring into yours, and then simultaneously, at the car.

Anger that flashed down right—“watch your damn language,” unironically, you muttered—something he’d never let you live down.

“Woah there princess, what are you on? Some patrol duty round here-?” The smirk was infuriating, his disheveled hair all the more—especially when he continued messing it up all the more.

A scoff, yours—“Mind your own business,” a shove passed and an attempt to move away—“Y/n L/n?” He held your campus manual.

The certain way your name rolled off his tongue, it caught your attention—“ya dropped this,”

A smirk adored his face as he handed back to you the campus manual, of course it wasn’t anything you required but to solace your father, there you held it.

A cramped “Whatever,” you let out, snatching the booklet from his hands quick—wanting nothing more to do with the stranger that you’d bumped into.

Just as you walked away though, “L/n huh?” The words, his, that you knew would cause you issues.

“He’s Satoru Gojo?” Your surprise lay hidden under the music that boomed all too loud—watching closely the white haired boy you’d bumped into a couple days ago.

“Yeah? You didn’t know?” The grin on your now best friend, and then just-roommates-friend offered little help.

Of course you hadn’t, and now you wish you didn’t still.

It was true you’d spotted him all so much over the past few days, and the people that followed him and the rumors still—unaware to why and how.

But now, with all the pieces in your hand you wanted to hide away—especially when those blue eyes stared right back—with a grin he trampled over.

“Oi! L/n right? We met at the first day?”

You cringed at how loud he spoke—so very sure that absolutely everyone could hear him, all over the booming music.

A subtle nod you passed, trying to get away from the spotlight he’d casually thrown round you.

“Your dad’s the Dean right?”

Silence- literally, just as he said that, the music system paused too—you wanted to curse your luck.

Widened eyes—star-struck stares from all those adored Gojo, amused ones at you from everyone who bothered to think.

You’d have considered lying—unless Satoru Gojo hadn’t chosen to be a dick about it, “You guys have the same last names so I thought- and then, the other when we bumped into each other- remember?” He chuckled as a couple of girls let out audible gasps, envious that you had already touched him so.

Before opportunity even lay still, he continued, “so I thought, because frankly either you’re his daughter or…you know, mistress—but that I doubt,” you wanted to punch away the grin he held, the snicker and the secrets he dropped out like flies.

So while you stood there, waiting for the ostracism—Gojo only giggled, “Don’t worry though, you’re fine, got more of your mom’s genes right?”

Fuming, you stood there—red that masked your vision—“excuse you?” A brow remained cocked, Gojo’s facial expression never once changed—it was about to.

“You’re one to talk about dads huh? Your daddy donated in just about how much into your esteemed football team huh? To get you selected?”

Satoru wasn’t new to comments such, in fact that’s what he’d built his career over but just the way you said it—just the way your angry face stared back at him—he found you annoying, adorably so.

That night, Satoru’s fan following increased by a decent thousand or so, people became aware of you and maybe, you realized, being the Dean’s daughter wouldn’t be that bad a fact.

But all the more, Gojo and you formed a sudden bond still, dislike and nothing less masking the two of you whenever the other was mentioned.

A farce? Maybe—but you were easily, in too deep to stop now.

Often nights you spent, thinking how the two of you could be friends—but huge egos that clashed in, something told you it wouldn’t happen all so easily.

The following week and there on were interesting—you joked all week that you’d blocked Gojo, you never did.

Gojo swore he’d have you black-listed for being so audacious—he never did.

When the huge messaging group—meant to be dead in a day—was formed, you both ended up saving each other’s number discreetly, never to approach it again, at least for a while.

And that was just how it went on “he annoys me so much,” and “she annoys me so much,” but little by little, small steps in the dark—you both were each other’s biggest cheerleaders still- applauding each other louder than anybody else.

Hands clutching onto your notepad you continued jotting down the points—fingers working fast so as not to let a single bright thought escape you.

The event was huge—the University’s 150th Anniversary—perfect, grand, extravagant—to be organized partially, by you.

There was time, plenty—absolutely 1 months before the panic would settle in, 2 before it would be over.

But seconds were quick—hasty in the way they changed into minutes, hours to come and days passed by, never realized.

A finger raised to push your spects up the bridge of your nose—you sighed, eyes landing on the form in front of you—mouth ajar and his sunglasses fixated in his hair, another piece of candy tossed up high before he caught it in his mouth.

A frustrated sigh you let out—“can you please sit straight and help?”

His eyes bore into yours- cerulean, they were pretty, almost prettier than the whole of him, you hated it.

“Isn’t it your job?” A grin he passed, a clench of your jaw was all you could—“we’re in this together, don’t give me that bullshit,”

Another grin, “talk to me when you need booze,”

“You don’t even drink,” the words fell out your mouth all so quick, hesitant you looked at him—“how do you know?” It was an amused smirk that he held, it annoyed you how the man in front seemingly only talked in three supposed emotions.

A small break, “well, I uh- noticed through the parties,” it was true, you did notice through the parties—it was hard not to, since you didn’t drink—you couldn’t be all so sure about the rest.

“You notice me at parties? You notice me at all?” Urges inside you that had to be controlled, such a perfectly punchable face Satoru Gojo held—“help me work on this damn idea,” you mumbled, ignoring all of what he wanted to discuss.

A roll of his eye and yours—“not gonna do it so easily,”

A huff you let out.

Frustration at peak.

“Actually,” your voice was quieter than you expected it to be, “wouldn’t it be better if you were there to advise us? Me? You’ve been organizing parties for so long and,” your face turned towards him—smile never faltering at his disgusted expression—he knew what you were doing, he wasn’t new to sugar coating after all, “I would love learning from the best.”

Jaw clenched, hands sauntered over to the back of your chair—most would consider it an action of endearment, you knew better.

“I would beg to differ Ms. Daddy’s princess,” Your blood boiled at his ignorance—sure, he was Satoru Gojo—but nothing gave him the right to act superior when he stood at his father’s money itself.

Hell, all he was meant to be was just a batchmate, captain of a stupid team that barely mattered—you?

Sure, a well suited empire would never land on your back, nor a fortune as his until you’d worked half your life into it— but you were better, you knew it. Denial onto his privilege to negate the Authorities could’ve never been acceptable by you.

your eyes remained stuck onto the ground —defiant—“well, i suppose it would only be for the best,” stubborn you sat and so did he—stuck in between the thickening tension.

“The best,” his voice exasperated, “would be for someone like you to sit back down and do as you’re told.”

Mouth hanging just in the slightest, you dared not to meet his face—focusing on the little stains and creases you’d administered on your sneakers—eyes sneaking onto his pair, perfect, as expected.

“That’s a little rich, coming from you—”

“—and this is the best they’ve found? You? To help me huh?”

Bigoted. Nose flared, curses at the tip of your tongue and you could do nothing as he further scoffed, “getting a privileged bitch to do my job, now they know my worth huh?”

“Excuse you?” Shaky, you sat—words spilling out before you could stop it—“your worth? Absolutely as nothing, but a spoiled man-baby who cannot deal with things maturely?”

Confusion marked his face—of course he would be, all so blind to the simple generosity that gets offered to him—all so he can kick a ball.

“The event is in 2 months sir,” address regained to the topic, you spoke flatly, “I would well appreciate that you helped us in the organization of said fest—if not, well, it would be a sheer pity that the entire football team would have to suffer,”

And there lay your ultimatum, naked and threatening—and he knew it was all but empty.

“L/n,” Gojo coughed—not quite sure, uneasy evidently, with the tension that hung lose in the atmosphere—“You maybe influential in your own ways on the campus but-”

“-but I’m just a student here, as you are,” you looked directly at Gojo now, “And to adhere to rules is the basic of most authoritative environments. So I suppose, you’ll be all the more pliant in helping us plan the fest and encouraging our juniors to help us out.”

Defiant—squinted eyes of Gojo simply stared blankly—“Alright,” he muttered.

“If help is what you want, that’s what you’ll get.”

And the deal was settled—to your compromise and his.

A week had passed since—the discomfort only grew.

“What the fuck? You’re speeding rumours now?” Rough were the words that greeted you first the moment the two of you entered the study you currently sat in—a half shrug you passed him, “I would need help and rather than begging you for it, why not just keep you as my assistant?”

“Excuse you?” His tone, bewildered as he shut the door behind the two of you—“Your assistant?” He barked out a laugh—“They really are making sheer idiots now huh?”

“Says daddy’s little prince who couldn’t use his academics to get in like everyone else,”

A scoff he passed—“How very original, at least my daddy has the power and how is yours, at all better?” he let his words trail off, a smirk on his lips as he pulled a chair to lounge in, and well, all cases be true, his dad probably had more money than you could imagine.

The certain charm of Gojos, after all.

“Don’t gotta flex your daddy’s sex work like that buddy,” you muttered, pulling a chair across him—peculiar you found it that he didn’t do so much as throw a fit in objection to the forced responsibility.

“Just giving inspiration baby,” he drew out—he winked, phone pulled out fast as he typed, you sat by forgotten.

A roll of your eyes—“Help me at least,”

Silence- you sighed.

“You’re supposed to help,” again, the very same cold air met you—“Gojo,”

“Nope.”

A sharp intake of breath and you stared at him, had it not been for the pretty face he had you’d have punched him long ago—a second too long you stared however, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,”

Another eye roll—“Just fucking help me,”

“Ain’t gotta princess,” he finally looked up, “I’m here to advise you right?”

An inhale, exhale—biting down on your teeth you nodded, “Of course,” you muttered—which was what had led you to the current situation, tired, exasperated and annoyed.

An hour and a half, slow—very, spent staring a few times at the blank paper and then the ceiling, often Satoru Gojo and then his phone; a couple ideas popped by here and there, all useless—you knew that.

“You know,” you spoke carefully, “As someone who’s helping you bunk without losing attendance, you should really really be thankful,”

“A bouquet will be present in your dorm tonight doll,” not a single glance spared still—it was frustrating simply to sit such.

A sharp exhale you let out, head hung back—this was a stupid idea.

“You know what?” Chair pushed back, you stood up—“I’ll manage,” fingers clutched hard onto your notepad—it hurt when he didn’t do so much as even shrug as you moved towards the door.

Silence, as you turned the handle of the door to leave—not even a look from him.

You despised him.

#6942619412: Yo [11:54 p.m.]

Your eyes narrowed at the sudden text that popped up—ignorance enveloped you still, eyes focused onto the book of applied physics in front of you—regret boring into you as you tried your best to drill the concepts into you, preparing yourself for the soon-to-end semester exams.

#6942619412: busy? [11:56 p.m.]

You ignored still, creeped a little at the protrusion—not enough to let your book down—

#6942619412: idc [11:58 p.mp]

#6942619412: show me your plans [11:58 p.m.]

Face scrunched in annoyance, you stared at your screen—the periodic chimes of notification and the switch from the dull background to immediate light up—Satoru Gojo was somehow a master at infuriating you.

However, as stubborn as lay, you were no better—‘ignorance is bliss’ they said, and you were all too prepared to test it out.

#6942619412: bro wtf. Reply. [12:03 a.m.]

You noted mentally, the time gap between his texts—a sly smile adorning your face. Something in you screamed to not do it—to not go against Satoru Gojo such—the certain something fell to deaf ears as a shit-eating grin you beheld, typing your words in.

You: it’s pathetic of you to message like this [12:03 a.m.]

You: desperate? [12:03 a.m.]

A minute went by, then another—you sighed.

It was perhaps, a bad idea— chime!!

#6942619412: it’s needy of you to message back [12:04 a.m.]

#6942619412: you desperate? [12:04 a.m.]

A smirk—yours, a smirk—his.

You: you realize the first text of your day is to me? [12:04 a.m.]

#6942619412: you realize you’re taking note of how my day goes? [12:05 a.m.]

You: because you decided to bother me in mine—get to whatever you were saying [12:05 a.m.]

#6942619412: there there princess—I demand respect and send me your ideas- or better still I’ll come over to your dorm [12:06 a.m.]

Your eyes remained fixed at the screen; ‘come at your dorm’? Was he stupid?

You: there’s no need to come here gojo. I’ll send you everything right now.

You waited, patiently, however, ever so cruel—time was always slow, especially when waiting onto someone. 5 minutes grudged slow- you were afraid that he would actually show up. Would he?

No, of course not— even for him this was absurd, given the security and the time at night—he was probably asleep—

Knock.

A twist of your window pane’s handle- a thud of your heart and widened set of eyes.

Another knock and you were at your feet, stupidly, opening the window—widening it to welcome Satoru Gojo is your room—scandalous.

A smirk he held, form towering yours by a decent couple inches, “Neat room,” he whistled as he stood awkward, unsure onto whether to place himself until he found your study—making himself comfortable on the spot you just sat.

“Applied physics?” Curiosity laced his voice and a shrug you responded with — “So what?” You muttered, reaching in to close the book—he certainly took note of the tiredness your voice held.

“So you’re an idiot—it’s a tough field.”

Another shrug—“Gets me going and nothing could’ve sucked more than chemistry so,”

A snort he lay bare—only then did you realize how quiet it was, soft breaths, the new morning dancing about the timelines—your gaze on his, and his on yours. How so eccentric—not.

“You couldn’t deal with chemistry? Gotta be dumb or some shit,”

You scoffed—knowing where he was leading it, “do we really need me to redo the whole ‘got in because of your dad’ shit here?”

He grinned wide—and just then you noticed the perfect set of teeth—the ones you’d hoped to punch and break some day, “I think I’d wanna skip it tonight baby,”

“Don’t call me that,”

“Prissy, eh?”

A scrunch of your face, a wink his.

“Why, and dare I ask, how, did you get here?” Brows raised, expression amused as he paced about your room—taking it in, familiarizing himself.

“Don’t worry onto that doll, just show me your ideas,”

Your eye twitched, it was simply alien to you—the feeling of being treated normal by him. By Satoru Gojo- reality set in straight Every Time you realized that something in you, even if small, craved his attention, his validation.

Maybe that was why you were hurt—when he’d ignored you initially, when he’d shove you in the hall without a thought spared—when his gaze was all so disrespectful Everytime you approached Him.

Maybe it was just the social construct of it all.

Maybe it was something else.

So surprise was bound to grip you hard— he wanted your ideas?

“Well?” Fidgety, you noted his actions to be—nervous? You wouldn’t be sure.

“Why?”

A shrug, half hearted, “I heard stuff on you,” and now your interest sat piqued, “They say you’re as good as me when it comes down to getting shit done,” a wink—you gagged internally at his words- his charm?

Not quite so.

“You’ve been snooping around since the past week? Got you that hooked?” A smirk you channeled, unsure still- suspicious more so.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered—his eyes were quicker, quicker that yours, cerulean, I suppose something to do with the color of them—all too pretty to have one care about anything besides themselves.

“I’ve heard of your accomplishments beforehand, you know it—you just weren’t so important and most of the time I was trying to stay off your radar,” his face panned towards the shelf you kept full of books—“but you did interest me,”

A scoff let’s your lips, “Anything with a vagina and boobs will interest you,”

“Hey now-” and for a second he seemed offended, not that you cared, “don’t forget about the ass—and please, I sincerely accept dicks too.” And just at that you chuckled slightly—a small win he deemed it, “man-whore,” you muttered past him- closing your books and grabbing onto the notepad from before.

“Here,” you handed it over— a sudden feeling of embarrassment washing over—after all, as much of a jerk he was, Satoru Gojo sincerely was experienced and amazing at what he did.

Lips pursed, you stared as he read through the stuff- “I know it’s all too-” a hand raised to quieten you, he continued reading—quick at that too.

It took him a minute or so, to go through each of the 4 pages you’d jotted down—“Not bad,” you nodded, “not the best,” you bit your tongue.

“I uh- i know it’s a little extravagant?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “or more so, it’s not very realistic? You have steps planned out and …you know, it’s supposed to be done by humans not machines,”

Your eyes raised in understanding, you weren’t too sure, but just enough.

“Put yourself into it—you’re cool you know that?,” eyes squinted, you watched him carefully- not a word let out.

“Just a little…uptight, learn to let go,”

“how do I…?”

He grinned, “have fun figuring that out—the ideas were cool, gotta go now doll,” you blinked once, twice, and without a word he was gone—you let him. However could you even ever stop him?

And you knew well, the rumbling in your room was sure to get your father awake.

A click on the lock—you closed the window behind him—swift was the way he came about, annoying, the way he left. And yet you still stood alone in the room, pacing about with a dorkish smile.

And only five minutes after he’d left, after the daze was gone—you noticed the bouquet of jasmines on your bedside—huh.

Certainly understood the charm now—especially when your eyes focused onto your phone right before closing.

#6942619412: you’re actually cute when you’re not frowning yk? [1:05 a.m.]

You went to sleep.

~Three weeks before the Fest~

“I’d say it’s coming along amazing,” another fruit roll up popped into his mouth—the fifth packet in last three hours, you were only surprised how he wasn’t sick of them yet.

A nod you passed—“but they’re slow-”

“-because they’re people, they are bound to be slow,”

Another nod.

There was something that Satoru Gojo did help you with, and there was something you’d helped him with as well—his eyes panned onto the elaborate list of numbers he’d gathered, oh how you’d spun the man, Satoru ‘never gonna help nobody’ Gojo into your actual assistant.

“Tell me though, when will you order the booze?”

“It’s an official thing- how can you expect booze to be there?” A ridiculed laugh met you—“ever heard of sneaking shit in princess?”

Of course you had, given that Satoru Gojo snuck himself into your room almost every night, uninvited—so far as to snickering when you squeaked out lies to your father about talking to your friends.

“Shut up, there will be no beverage,” he chuckled at your formal tone, beverage, “you and I, or anyone can get expelled for that—it happened last year,”

“You’re your daddy’s only princess though,”

“And you’re not,” a deadpan from you shut him up quick—“dad’s gonna be mad if he finds it, I won’t be expelled but you might, especially given your record and everything—and yes that means your captaincy and everything too,”

A month ago, the nervousness on his face would’ve made you chuckle—giddy maybe but now it only troubled you for him—hours spent on the floor of your bedroom had opened up conversations after all.

“But you’ll save me right?”

He stared at you; you stared back, you noted the closeness.

There was no reply to be offered—but it did ruin the small moment to hear the causal, “Satoru~” from the lips of her, Mei Mei, long time family friend of his and an equatable annoyance to Satoru Gojo.

Both of your faces whipped to meet hers, yours scorned while his broke into a grin—“Oi!” He chuckled—arms spreading out to greet her, hug her.

“Y/n,” she greeted you too, a smile you passed back—part of your council members after all—“how’s the planning going?”

“Fantastic,” tight lipped you muttered—“fabulous,” she grinned, “mind if I steal Toru’ for a second?”

You mentally gagged at her—‘steal Toru for a second’—except those seconds never really were seconds, rather hours and to your utter annoyance, Gojo never add moves to counter it.

“Of course!” And just like that, gone, daily.

A sigh you let out, staring at the preparations—“why’d you let them walk over you all the time?” A deep voice met you, “Suguru?”

A short smile, a short breath of cigarettes met you—in the best way, “Good day to you too,” he grinned, patting the seat beside him, eyes stuck on his best friend and his rendezvous partner.

“You as , and what exactly do you suppose I do? Stop them?”

“He’s your assistant, ain’t he?”

“Yes but-”

“Am I seeing you finally turn into a push-over, like all the other girls when it comes to him?” All in good humor he spoke, but mostly because it was true.

You were bending your walls for a certain someone—it didn’t feel right.

“You think I shouldn’t?”

“I think you should only if this lasts after the rest as well,”

“Will it?”

A pause, a shrug, “I don’t know, ask him.”

You stared at him—“why are you two the legitimate same at advices? And equally bad?” A laugh met you—“go on, ask him—because as of now, Mei Mei seems to have done what she wanted,”

“Huh?”

A look at him and then at them, your heart sank—he was kissing her, your heart sank more, why were you so bothered by it?

A nervous chuckle you passed to Suguru, an empathetic one he did, “it’s fine,”

“Yeah.”

———

It wasn’t fine, hell it was far from fine—especially when you saw them together there on, all the time.

3 weeks, dates here and there—she was around you all the time, and him, it was infuriating in all aspects of the word.

“Who’re you going with?” Almost everyday he questioned, and you never had an answer because somehow, just something in you had made you reject every proposal—something in you supposed that you two would go together.

You were the organizers—but then, it was no rule.

And even if it was, Satoru Gojo wasn’t big on rules.

“Ready?” Suguru grinned, last minute date that you’d found—all so grateful that you stood.

A small nod with a smile you passed—“how do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” another smile, wider—eyes however, they remained stuck onto Gojo.

“It’s not about him tonight doll,”

“It’s never about him,” you mumbled—melancholy—ironic onto how the entire fest that you’d built was based off of youth and what not.

But it was about him, everything was about him- especially in the way your dress, bought just for the occasion was the same cerulean, your hair was braided just how he once mentioned liking, you were wearing the perfume he bought you for you.

Everything.

And you despised all of this everything while having nothing.

“Yo! Y/n,” you paused, Suguru did too—his smirk widening, as did Mei Mei’s, Satoru walked- sauntered over.

“Don’t you look hot?” The grin was wide, your nose scrunched in disgust, “you’re reeking of alcohol,”

He was—of course he was, right after you’d advised him not to.

“Chill, nobody’s gonna know-”

“-we have to meet my dad in 15 minutes.”

“…oh.”

“Well anyways, I see you came with Suguru? You’ve been getting close?”

Your eye twitched—so he did see it—“yeah he’s cool, and helpful, unlike you,”

A giggle, “I have a life outside of you, remember?” Your blood boiled—“of course you do, enjoy it.”

A sharp turn you made, lips bitten, unsure, uncertain—“Honestly though, if I weren’t with Mei tonight I’d actually fuck ya “

Your jaw clenched at the audacity—the other two, Suguru and Mei Mei long disappeared as you flared daggers into Satoru’s soul.

“Can you take one thing seriously? You- you bloody idiot I can’t even-” you whipped around to face him again—eyes boring into his.

Satoru, even in his drunken state knew it would last long, the lecture, a hand pulled you in very quick, a corner, secluded.

“Stop fucking shouting,” slurred his words, they lay bare.

“What do you want me to do then? You- you- I- ugh.” You paused, hard breaths let out—“you’re so fucking annoying.”

“Annoying? You’re the one screaming woman,” the small smirk that he adored annoyed you all the more so.

“Excuse you? I’m annoying?” And at that moment, you let go, “I’m annoying after you spent three weeks fucking with Mei Mei? I’m annoying after you’re the one acting irresponsible? I’m annoying after you ended up treating me like all your others girls? I’m annoying after- after you just chose to walk all over me- I’m annoy- mmph!”

Words lay interrupted quick, a rough hand reeled you in while the other held your head, the kiss was soft, passionate of one would call it, sloppy in the way his lips attached to yours, hungry.

And amusingly, unlike all things Gojo, this did not feel wrong.

But it wouldn’t help your emotions being all over the place—“what the fuck?” You asked, the moment he pulled away—“was it that bad?” An amused chuckle rolled off his lips.

“No? You can’t do this- we can’t just kiss- I-”

“-okay, then take it back,” and just like that, he pulled you in again, lips attaching once more, hands exploring each other easy, slow gasps of breath as you pushed him away this time.

“N-no you- I don’t- what? You take it back,” and almost as if his alcohol was on your mind too, you pulled him in this time—a small peck, harsh, Satoru loved it all the same.

Frustrated you pulled away, grinning his hand held your wrist—“don’t go,” he mumbled, your face contorted into the expression which screamed your annoyance.

“Don’t go? Fuck you Gojo. Fuck you and your damn ego and the audacity you have,” your breaths were shallow, the two stood so close.

“Don’t kiss me when you’re with someone else—you might be a whore but-”

“It was for you,” another mumble, quieter, “to get you jealous and I think it worked?”

A pause.

“And The alcohol?” You whispered—he loved it though, the way you prioritised the reputation above him—somehow you humanised him, “only I’ve drunk it, no one else—to…get your attention,”

“But you never drink…”

“And I never fucked Mei either, or kissed her…or anyone since you,”

“That’s supposed to make me feel special?” It did, but you were done for the day.

“I think so…?”

You blink, once, twice and instead of the third that Satoru expected a sharp slap landed on his face.

“You’re very fucking dumb,” while one hand clutched the cheek he’d been hit at, the other still held your hand, pulling you closer when he heard your choked words—eyes widening at the wetness in your eyes.

“L/n…” a sigh, “fuck I’m- fuck.” He held you close, unnatural to your relation, you let yourself be held.

————

“Sorry?”

You glared at him, the Music blared behind you loud— the both of you stood outside your father’s office, “we’ll deal with that later.”

A slight nod, Satoru was glad you even agreed to talk to him, Satoru was glad you even looked at him—Satoru was simply glad you were standing beside him.

A knock, two more, you walked inside—Satoru, as advised by you stood outside—your father would know of course, instantly.

The room seemed a breath of freshness as you walked, away from the stench that Satoru held, “where’s Gojo?” You were prepared for the question.

“Do you like the fest?” You father was prepared for the dodge—he hummed, “you both did good together, as I supposed,” you hummed.

“He won’t be coming?”

“He’s busy,” you lied through your teeth, “some kids snuck in alcohol, he’s dealing with it,” you were sure you caught your father’s smirk—“that would be highly…inappropriate,”

You bit the inside of your cheek, “of course, we’ll see to it that they’re punished well,”

Your father hummed again, “having a good time?”

“Wonderful,” your father grinned, “well, you can go then but…maybe not today but I do hope meet your assistant soon after, kind of tired of seeing him sneak in through the windows,”

“Dad?!”

“What? You’re grown up and I’ve seen the potential and I kind of think opposites do attract, and you proved me right so,”

Idiots, all around you.

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

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hetaherr · 8 months

Text

playing video games with them | anemo boys <3

: kazuha, xiao, venti, wanderer

:mostly crack, a little suggestive but no warnings

well anyway this is another reupload!! added kuni’s part also got lazy to proof read its just a headcanon anyway!!! i play wayy to much video games and id love to share my hobbies with these sweet babies <3

kazuha

i think this baby is a really chill gamer, he enjoys the cozy aspect of video games. thats why i think games like minecraft, stardew valley, animal crossing and the sims!! cozy video game dates are a norm for you guys when its too hot outside or too rainy.

imagine playing stardew valley with him, curled up under the covers with your MATCHING SWITCH CONSOLES. you guys working through the first few years of the game as little farm people doing little farm things. he’d even find some helpful guides online so you guys can maximise your finances in the game. honestly i can see how he gets a little petty at the fact that you MARRIED some npc in the game and he had to watch the whole cutscene while you joked around that he hadn’t given you enough attention and this was all his fault. now kazuha hates that particular npc, and he’s definitely pouting the whole night. give him lots of smooches, tell him that no video game code can replace your pookie wookie baby boy <3

but there, of course are other ways you can make up for it, like asking him to marry you- in animal crossing duh!! he’d take this whole thing very seriously obviously, its a wedding silly. he’d prepare a little wedding venue in his world by the beach, even going as far to design a cute little tux. it’s adorable, also don’t think for a second that he wouldn’t give you a kiss (giggling after) when the wedding officiant says you may now kiss. i also can picture kazuha buying you a promise ring irl , with a maple leaf engraved onto it. yes it was a animal crossing wedding, but it was YOUR WEDDING non the less.

another thing i can imagine is while you were playing the sims kazuha would 100% ask to create a little family with you. he’d even help to go “shopping” online for CC that would fit your characters or homes. kazuha DIES A LITTLE inside as you carefully curate each of the characters, spending hours deciding on the perfect outfits, hairs and personalities. coming up with mini fantasy stories about the mini yous and giggling along with him when they get a little too absurd. your cute family consists of you, kazuha and a little white cat. kazuha likes watching you get a little flustered whenever his character flirts with yours, sending a romantic haiku your way. not to mention the first time your character’s woohoo’ed he teasingly said:

“its honestly a shame that they’re the only ones that get to woohoo you know?”

anyway kazuha is 100% down to try as many games as he can with you, playing games with him is 10 bells out of 10 bells hehe

xiao

gamer xiao… yea he kinda scares me. xiao plays shooter games for sure, like obviously he’s had an eboy valorant phase but lets skip past that for now. its definitely more than normal to hear him grumbling how “dogshit” some of his teammates are. he’s definitely muted from chat on several games, also banned from league most of the time from being toxic in the chats.

playing competitive games with xiao is definitely an experience, and it definitely does not feel like the stereotypical pocket sage and hyper-carry jett. so please proceed with caution. the first time you and him played together, he may have gotten a little TOO HEATED and may have cussed you out on accident forgetting it was his loving, doting and caring partner who just wanted to participate in one of his hobbies. xiao doesn’t mean to get angry at you, please bare with him when the words “how is this person so fucking bad, how are they SO USELESS JUST GET OFF THE GAME DUDE” slip out. and oh boy… xiao immediately regrets his words, he feels so bad. he was actually overjoyed when you asked to play with him, even if he doesn’t actually show it, now he definitely assumes that you won’t ever want to play games with him EVER, hell maybe you want to break up. he’s spiralling. he apologises so much and he’s so awkward and so fidgety. its hard to stay mad at him, when he’s like this you have to admit he’s a little cutie. the next few days he’s definitely cautious and on edge around you, he finds it weird that you let go of the situation so easily and just moved on. he cant believe he let such vulgar words be thrown towards you. so after a conversation about his behaviour, you both decide maybe its best you just be an observer. you’re more than happy to straddle him, chin on his shoulder when he plays at his pc. and xiao LOVES IT, there is honestly nothing more comforting than you give him a little kiss when he starts to get a little too tense. occasionally when you face the screen and watch his games, he gets so nervous to play well. and xiao absolutely DIES when you compliment his abilities. bro needs the praise please, in that moment he thinks you’re so sexy and you have such a caring soul and his ears are tinted so red. don’t tease him though, he won’t be able to play the game properly.

another thing xiao is so weirdly good at is arcade games. i can picture arcade dates and xiao is just godly at them, claw machines, those basketball ones, car racing- you name it sweetheart and he’s earning those tickets like he needs to feed his 20 kids as a single dad. xiao acts so nonchalant about it, shrugging his shoulders as if this talent of his isn’t a big deal, but inside he’s so proud that he’s managed to get you that plushie he knows you’d been eyeing the whole day. he loves the way you grip onto his biceps pulling him to another machine to test his abilities, he may grumble about you overreacting but he’s so happy just to see you smile. and having you cheer him on the side is such an added bonus, you’re such a cute cheerleader. anyway i rate xiao a “please dont scold me baby im trying my best” out of “FUCK YOU FUCKING SUCK”

venti

horror games. literally venti HATES THEM but he cant get enough of it. playing phasmophobia would be so incredibly fun, but also a total shitshow. like im talking him making you do all the work while he intentionally provokes the ghost. at the same time he’s too scared to do anything so, he’s always really close to you. so if anything ever happens, you’d be a total idiot to think he’d try to help you, venti would be the first one out the door and running away. venti is also so horrendously LOUD, literally half the time instead of getting spooked by the game, your having a heart attack inducing jump scare from his random screaming. don’t even get me started on roblox horror games, every week there’s some new game he discovered on tiktok, and you are playing it with him, you have to.

another game venti loves to play is sims, but he’s about 100 times more chaotic compared to kazuha. he loves those ridiculous challenges and he wants to have like 10 babies with you, and then proceeds to cry when they are taken away from the sims version of cps. for some reason he has all the packs and likes to screw around with everything. he makes silly little bets with you in any game, for example in the sims he’d bet with you whether your 23rd child is going to be a boy or girl, most bets are harmless like a kiss or cuddles, unless he’s in the mood.

speaking of intimacy, venti needs to be holding you while playing games. arms linked, lying on your lap or you in his, honestly you just let him because he’s so cheeky about it anyway. venti also loves playing music related games with you, duh!! karaoke, guess the song, finish the lyric. ANYTHING!! whether you can sing or not, he just loves to hear your voice, definitely teases you if you cant though hehe. karaoke is so fun, if your shy he definitely eases you into letting lose and breaking out of your comfort zone, duetting with you is something he loves because music is his passion and honestly it hits so close to home for him. you’d often find him squeezing your hand as a form of encouragement.

im rating venti a solid 8 red bulls out of “i’ve already had 15”.

wanderer

this little emo baby is 100% only ever playing single player games, things that are extremely grindy and super lore heavy (bro is on subreddits looking at game theories and conspiracies, he would love to talk to you about them if you ever asked)!! im talking about bloodborne, doom, assassin’s creed and dark souls. he hates online multiplayer games because he doesn’t want to interact with “idiots” as he’s mentioned numerous times. so unfortunately its not often that you have a chance to play any type of multiplayer games with him.

however when it comes to his gaming sessions, he’d subtly invite you to come watch him because you’re like his own little streaming audience, and he loves it. the way you comment about how cool his character looks, or ask questions about gameplay mechanics. he loves how you involve yourself in his hobbies, it turns him to mush. he also loves how you play with his hair while peeking over his shoulder to look at the tv screen as he taps away at the controller. sometimes when the game gets a little boring he notices how your breath bounces off his neck, needless to say, those nights end up a bit more differently than how you originally imagined.

also if your ever interested in the game, kuni would “hesitantly” offer you to play on a new save file. but he’s actually elated that you’re going to try his FAVOURITE video game ever. you take your place in his lap as he explains to you the basics, not many would notice but you can ever so slightly hear the excitement in his voice. kuni complains about you being so lost but he’s so careful with explaining certain things, he’s also so patient as you take hours designing your character, well he’s okay being patient since its you. kuni absolutely DISSOLVES when facing a difficult boss, puzzle or obstacle, you kinda go into a slump against his chest and beg him to help you get past it. he snickers that your so weak, but somehow he manages to get through so swiftly- i guess he needs to show off a little to you. he also may complain a lot but thats just how this baby boy is, dont get discouraged he actually thinks you’re so cute.

also if you ever find yourself playing overcooked, moving out, gang beasts or any of those party games with kuni… good luck, just because he doesn’t like competitive games like valorant, DOES NOT MEAN HE ISNT COMPETITIVE. he gets so worked up and its honestly a little cute if you can look past the crusty white dog behaviour. if you do end up getting into an argument over these games, dont be surprised. im lazy to give a rating so im giving him 10/10, again minus the crusty white dog.

edit: if you saw “anyway wanderer is a straight” HAHA i apologise maybe thats why i should straight proof reading oops hehe

#genshin impact #kazuha #xiao #venti #wanderer #kazuha x reader #xiao x reader #venti x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader

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april · 10 months

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huh, this staff post is pretty much copy-pasted from our internal comms. good to see the transparency.

of course, peoples' gut reactions are coming from a place of ignorance...

"don't implement an algorithm" "the chronological feed is the only reason i'm here"

girl, tumblr has had an algorithm for years now! it's called "Best Stuff First" and you can turn it off in your dashboard settings. but it's not on by default out of malice, or stupidity... it's on by default because it works.

i don't really get it either, personally i hate when any feed or inbox is sorted any way other than purely chronologically. and i can't stand interruptions like recommendations or ads. but my curated experience only works because i put the effort into maintaining it, and most people... don't want to do that.

at no point does that post state that people curating their dashboards is a problem. at no point have i seen any plans, not even any suggestions, to ever drop the chronological dashboard or to stop supporting the curation experience that tumblr offers today.

the stated problem is that a good tumblr experience currently relies on user curation. for every person that "gets it" and winds up like, let's be honest, you or me, someone who's been here for years, there's a hundred other people who didn't get it and decided that twitter is less confusing.

#ending it there because why tumblr needs mass adoption is another can of worms #i shall not be entertaining any stupid comments btw <3

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thatchickwiththecamera · 3 months

Text

WDYWFM? - Pt. 1 (UPDATED!)

Synopsis: The European leg of the Concrete Forever tour marks one year since Tyler Garrett joined the Bad Omens media team. A lot can change over the course of a year. New experiences, new friendships, and new discoveries emerge.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x OC

NOTE: Part Two is coming soon! Had to update and edit part one!

Cross-posted on AO3 (thatchickwiththecamera)

MASTERLIST

Based on an idea I got from seeing this video.

Tag List: @sundamariis, @fastjelly-fish, @lilylovesdew, @narcissisticbehavior81

Tonight was night five of the European leg of the 2024 Concrete Forever tour and the end of January had marked one year since I had first joined the Bad Omens media crew. With the band's increase in popularity Bryan, the band's photographer and media director, decided it was time to expand the team going into Shiprocked so he could focus more carefully on planning and curating the media content produced and published for the band.

So Bryan reached out to a friend in the music industry and asked if they knew of any photographers/videographers with a solid portfolio who were looking for a more permanent media production gig. That friend connected him to me and as they say, the rest is history.

“Tyler! Did you finish up the edits for tonight's social post?” Bryan’s voice carried from the front of the crew bus to the back lounge where I sat backing up files to my external harddrive.

“Yeah! They’re already in the dropbox!” I responded before ejecting my drive from my macbook and throwing them both back onto my bunk.

I clipped my crew credentials with “CONCRETE FOREVER TOUR” and “TYLER GARRETT - MEDIA CREW” printed across the top and bottom through the belt loop of my jeans and slipped on my crew sweatshirt before walking toward the front of the bus. Bryan and Alana were standing over the main table and counter area double checking the batteries and the assortment of cameras we would be mounting in various parts of the stage for tonight's show along with our individual gear that would be on our person and laid out backstage for us to use throughout the show.

The air once we stepped into the venue was buzzing with energy. I don’t know what it was about this leg of the tour, but it was like a switch was flipped. Ever since the first date in January opening for Bring Me The Horizon back in Cardiff there was this high that enveloped the entire group and it looked like no one would be coming down anytime soon.

This energy was especially present in the band's lead singer, Noah. The usually stoic and serious persona he portrayed on stage was now replaced with one that roamed around the various levels of the stage doing jumping jacks, pushups, dances, and little vocal trills.

After the first two shows, his antics even caused Poppy, our opener for this part of the tour, to completely abandon portraying her A.I. character like was originally planned for their performances of V.A.N. Instead, she joined in Noah’s antics and even introduced the world to this little handshake that they had originally created during rehearsals leading up to the tour.

Life in between gigs had been lively as well since the start of the new year. After each show when everything was packed up and the load outs were completed, the band and crew for both Bad Omens and BMTH would venture to one of the local pubs and celebrate with a few beers and carbonated beverages before loading up on the buses and venturing off to the next city.

Until joining the Bad Omens crew, I would usually keep to myself in between shows while touring - choosing to prioritize edits, catalog files, and update my individual socials when not trying to finish a book on my Kindle or finish a show on a random streaming service.

The first few months of touring after Shiprocked changed all of that and a few of the crew and band made it their mission to pull me out of the confines of my comfort zone and my regular routine. Over the course of the past year, Bryan has pushed me to learn and develop my photo and video skills far past where I ever thought they would go. Matt started teaching me front of the house controls, he now hounds me with daily racoon memes, and I in turn buy him random Dr. Pepper merch. Steven taught me all about the finer side of wristwatches, NBA basketball, and the intricacies of running merch. Alana quickly became one of my best friends and has balanced her assistant tour manager duties well alongside keeping me sane as the only other female member of the media team and crew.

Folio decided that I absolutely had to learn how to fish when one of our venues had a lake nearby, even making me kiss the smallmouth bass that I caught before he threw it back in citing that it was tradition with your first fish. He also dared me to smoke my first joint, which caused me to hack up a lung because I somehow inhaled wrong. Nicholas helped me design a few tattoo ideas before inking my forearm and starting what will eventually become a full sleeve up my right arm. Jolly taught me a bunch of guitar riffs and how to cuss in Swedish (which I do entirely too often now), and Noah surprised me with the hidden talent of being a pool shark and we ended up becoming quick friends to the point where he is now my partner in crime hustling people out of their money when the crew goes out to bars. I also learned that while he hates it when people try to scare and prank him, he loves to scare and prank others.

Which is why, as expected, throughout three out of the first four shows of the European leg, Noah made it his mission to try and scare me at least once per show mainly during the song transitions when I would try to quickly get from one side of the stage to the next during the blackouts. In Berlin, it was during the transition after “Nowhere to Go” when I was coming down from the second level of the stage after retrieving the camera that was filming Folio play. Luckily I had handed the camera and its tripod down to Alana behind the platform before descending the steps in time for Noah to jump out at the bottom already wearing his ski mask for V.A.N.

I jumped, skipping a step on the way down, and felt a set of arms grab me and hold me back up before I could fall too far forward. I remember yelling ‘fucking hell’ in swedish and looking up to see Noah with a shit eating grin peaking through the mask and hearing Jolly laugh at my use of the words. I grabbed his mask and yanked on it so it was crooked on his face before I ran behind the platform to the other side of the stage where I had left my camera gear. I heard him let out a laugh and a few cuss words of his own as he struggled to fix the mask and climb the steps up to his spot on the platform before Poppy started singing.

Night one in Cologne, I was mainly in the photo pit for the majority of the show, while Bryan and Alana were the ones roaming the stage. I kept a gear bag tucked behind one of the few big boxes we had on either side of the stage. In it, I had my spare batteries, my water bottle, and the 360 camera on an extension pole. The plan for this show was to focus on crowd shots and footage along with regular low-angle stage shots. While I got amazing shots of the guys performing and some hilarious shots of a fan crowd surfing in an inflatable shark suit. Noah lost any possible opportunity offered for pranking during the show.

On night two in Cologne, he made up for the missed opportunity. During the transition between “Artifical Suicide” and “Like A Villan,” I quickly ran to the media team roadcase set up behind the guitar stage case and tech area to get a quick drink of water and change out a lens. As I was kneeling down in front of the case and had just finished switching the lenses, I felt a pair of hands grab my shoulders. Luckily all the equipment was out of my hands because the sudden motion made me jump and fall back on my heels, causing me to bump into something, well someone, behind me. I let out a string of curse words, this time in English, and tilted my head back to see Noah, now without his mask, trying to hold back a laugh as he smiled down at me. I let out an annoyed sign and rolled my eyes. He gave my shoulder a squeeze before disappearing back out onto the stage right as the song began.

In Munich, he chose the “Miracle” break as his time to strike. Only this time he stepped up his game. While I was switching out gear and changing my settings from photo to video, I set everything on a storage case under the second level platform and stood up to stretch a bit since this break was the more lengthy of the two. After I finished trying rid my shoulders of the tension that had built up from holding a camera in front of my face for a hour, I felt an arm wrap across the front of my collarbones and pulled me back into them while the person's other hand took one of the band's athletic water bottles and sprayed it down the rear collar of my crew hoodie. I squirmed and let out a loud gasp as the shock of the icey cold water briefly hit the back of my neck before I managed to wriggle away. I turned and as expected was greeted by a sweaty Noah smiling down at me trying to hold back laughter.

“You little shit!” I shouted before quickly grabbing the water bottle from his hand and pointed it at him spraying him with the same icy cold water.

He started swatting at the spray, laughing as his long thin fingers did nothing to block the liquid. He reached out and grabbed my wrist and I quickly tried to switch the bottle to my other hand but he was too quick, capturing that wrist as well before I could aim the bottle at his face again. I laughed and tried to pull away but he pulled me toward him and pinned my wrists against his chest trying to render the “weapon” he introduced inoperable.

The laughter between us suddenly died off. The height difference between my 5’1” and his 6’3'' became very clear and his chin practically touched his chest as he gazed down at me. We stood there for what felt like an eternity, brown eyes connected with blue. He loosened his grip on my wrists slightly but neither of us made any attempt to move.

The arena suddenly felt very warm and I don’t think I could blame it on the array pyrotechnics used during the show. I don’t know what to call this sudden shift in the air between us, but all I know is it caused something to flutter in my stomach and that scared the hell out of me. So I did the first thing I could think of, I diffused an intense moment with humor. I squeezed the water bottle that was still in my hand and the last remnants of water from the bottle hit Noah’s chin and neck. The shock of the cold liquid caused him to step back and release my wrists. I immediately missed the contact, but I needed to get away from this situation.

“Shit that really is cold!” He laughed, turning to grab one of the black towels we had on hand backstage and started to dry off the water.

When he turned to offer me the towel I had already retrieved my camera and fled to the other side of the stage wondering what the fuck had just happened.

During the day off between Munich and Zurich, I kept myself busy editing, organizing, and uploading photo content to the media team drive and to my own socials. I had gained a considerable amount of followers since joining the Bad Omens team and while I enjoyed seeing the reaction and appreciation the guys' fans had when I posted new content, I was also starting to see some of the reasons why the guys like to take social media breaks as often as they do.

Editing was one of my favorite parts of being a photographer and with us starting this European leg off with four back-to-back shows, I hadn’t had time to pause and really work my magic. So that is what I designated as my mission for this day off. I also may have used it as an excuse to avoid leaving the crew bus and chance any more contact with Noah. I was still trying to figure out if that flutter in my stomach was real or if it was just part of the adrenaline from a high energy concert and my body being attacked with ice cold water.

Tonight, we were in Zurich and I was running around the stage at various times throughout the set while Bryan was down in the photo pit trying out some new ideas he had photos wise and finally having his turn with the 360 camera during a show.

During “What do you want from me?” I was standing in the wings to stage left filming Noah when he suddenly walked over to me in the middle of the second verse, grabbed my left wrist from where it held the side of my camera and pulled me out onto the stage. I keep filming as he releases my wrist and quickly slips his hand in mine while he continues to walk backward onto the stage. Once we were in the middle of the stage he started to spin in a circle with our connected hands extended in the middle. We spun around a few times before he started to jump while we were spinning causing his hair to bounce up and down on his head which I shakily captured on camera. The randomness of it all led to fits of laughter and caused Noah to mess up the last two lines of the verse.

As the verse came to an end I expected him to let go and yell, “JUMP JUMP” like he usually does during the brief blackout. Instead, as the light goes out, I am yanked forward and feel a hand and the cool metal of a microphone against the side of my face, and a set of lips briefly collide with mine. I barely had time to process what happened before it ended, the lips were gone, the lights came back up, and Noah jumped onto the riser at the front of the stage to sing the rest of the song. I still held my camera up and panned to follow him trying to hide any reaction my face might show behind a veil of concentration.

For the remainder of the show, I tried to avoid making any and all eye contact with Noah, who in turn tried his damndest to get me to look at him and gauge my reaction to what he did. He did it in a way that wasn’t too noticeable to the crowd by acting like he's playing up to the camera. My brain tried to process what had happened and what the hell it possibly meant over the course of the remaining ten songs in the set.

Noah kissed me.

On stage.

In the middle of a show.

Did one of the guys see?

Oh Shit! Did anyone in the audience see?

The usual jump scare from the previous shows never came and my self-sabotaging brain was trying to solve the question of what everything meant. Kissing me to see my reaction instead of scaring me like usual? Was this real or was it just another prank?

Author's Note: I have never really written fanfiction before, especially for a band. So feedback is welcome! Part Two is coming soon!

Let me know in the comments if you’d like to be tagged.

#bad omens cult #bad omens #badomens #badomenscult #noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian x oc #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fic #bad omens x reader #bad omens x oc #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #joakim jolly karlsson #jolly karlsson #nicholas ruffilo #nick folio #author: thatchickwiththecamera

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makeitmingi · 2 months

Text

The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 22]

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho

Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?

Word count: 3.2K

You didn't know where Yunho had dinner reserved. He didn't tell you anything too, no matter what kind of questions you asked. He insisted on keeping it a secret to surprise you. Jongho sent you a check in text while you were in the car.

"What are you laughing about?" Yunho asked when he heard a small chuckle escape you.

"Jongho texted me. He wanted to make sure you didn't kill me and dump my body." You informed, still chuckling slightly. He could be just as dramatic as Wooyoung and Seonghwa sometimes.

"What?! Is that what he really thinks of me?" Yunho scoffed in disbelief.

"He's just protective. And you were the one who argued earlier that you could be mean if you wanted to." You defended.

"I- Okay, now you are being mean to me." He whined. You giggled and shook your head. As Yunho drove, you cast occasional glances at him to properly study his face.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer." Yunho said, teasing you. Your eyes widened and your cheeks heated up, knowing you've been caught. Clearing your throat, you quickly turned your head to look out the window instead. You heard him chuckling behind you, floored by your adorable reaction.

"Alright, we're here." Yunho parked the car and jogged over to open the door for you.

"Come on." He held his hand out to you, a charming smile on his face. You looked up at him with a small smile and slipped your hand into his, getting out of the passenger seat.

"Just where are we?" You asked, looking up at the grey building. Yunho zipped his lips and locked the car.

You followed Yunho into the building, hand in hand. There was a doorman there to open the door and welcome you in with a smile.

"Reservation?" The hostess lady asked. Yunho gave his name and reservation ID. The hostess cross checked the name on her list, just like Hongjoong does.

"Right this way." She smiled, leading the both of you in. There was a table right before a huge, floor to ceiling window.

"Wow..." You were speechless, looking down at the nightlife of Seoul city before you. The view was unreal.

"This is amazing, Yunho ah." You turned to look at him. Yunho smiled softly, pulling the chair out for you to take your seat. You bowed your head and sat down. He took his own seat across you but you just couldn't take your eyes off the view.

"I'm taking your reaction as a good one? That the surprise was successful?" Yunho chuckled. You nodded with a small hum, resting your head on your hand to look.

"Are you going to be able to tear your eyes away to eat?" He joked. You finally turned back to him and rolled your eyes.

"What's special here?" You asked as you picked up the menu.

"D-De-Degustation?" Yunho tried to remember the fancy word that he came across when doing research on the restaurant. But you knew what he meant.

"Alright. Let's go with that then." You closed the menu. Of course, Yunho wasn't even surprised that you knew what he meant.

"Do you know what degustation is?" You asked him.

"Like you said, I did research on this place. I may not know how to pronounce it but I know what it is. It's like a tasting menu with portions of the chef's best dishes and flavours. A curated experience to appreciate the flavours, presentation and the cuisine." Yunho said like he was reading off the dictionary definition.

"I'm actually impressed. Did you memorise the whole definition?" You laughed in surprised. His ears got red in embarrassment and he rubbed the back of his neck.

"I didn't say it to embarrass you, Yunho. I'm really touched and honoured that you went through all this trouble." You clarified.

"Like I said, I just want this to be as perfect as possible. I want you to have a good time." He said.

"Well, so far, do you think it has gone perfectly?"

"Yes. Although I didn't have a plan on where to go, I enjoyed my time at the aqaurium with you." He confessed. Now it was your turn to get flustered and embrassed.

"I've been having a great time, Yunho. Thank you for doing all this." You smiled softly. Yunho smiled, he was happy to hear that.

"May I take your order?" The waiter came over. You both went with the degustation menu.

"I'm driving but feel free to have some wine if you'd like. The degustation apparently goes well with their house red, according to the reviews I read." Yunho informed. You shook your head, you didn't need to have a drink.

"It's okay, I'd rather drink with you. Next time." You giggled. Yunho brightened up at the prospect of there being a next time and nodded his head excitedly.

"Enjoy some homemade bread." The waiter brought a bread basket. The smell of freshly baked warm bread filled your nose.

"Could I have some flaky salt and freshly cracked pepper, please?" You requested.

"Of course." The waiter smiled and bowed before leaving. Yunho squinted his eyes, he didn't like the smile the waiter sent you. It was a little too friendly for his liking. He brought the items to your table.

"So, after dipping your bread, sprinkle a little. It opens up the flavours of the olive oil and balsamic vinegar." You demonstrated.

"I'll try it." Yunho grabbed a piece onto the small side plate and copied your actions.

"Mmm, that's so good. I love warm bread." He nodded his head in satisfaction as he chewed and went for another bite. You made a mental note, Yunho likes bread. Then you remembered how Mingi likes bread too, it was one of the first things he told you. It was funny how both best friends liked bread.

"What's so funny?" He blinked in confusion.

"One of the first things Mingi told me was that he loves bread. It's just cute that both of you love bread. I guess you're best friends for a reason." You laughed.

"He's so random... Why would he tell you that when he first met you?" Yunho mumbled.

"Well, I helped you out of a walk in refridgerator when we first met." You tilted your head. Yunho's eyes widened.

"Please forget that. I was nervous and-"

"Yunho... It's okay and completely normal to be nervous. I would have been too. You were really adorable hiding in there though. And it'll always be one of the first memories I have of you." You smiled.

"Your first impression of me should have been that I was tough, not... like that..." He pouted.

"Then it wouldn't have been genuine, not the real you. I much prefer seeing and knowing the real you than a tough guy." You said.

Yunho was touched by your words. You were right, he was glad that you weren't scared or weirded out by his genuine self. It seemed that you actually liked it. If he had put on a facade and distance between the two of you from the start, maybe he wouldn't be here now.

"Here you go. The first course." The waiter brought two plates, serving you first then Yunho. You both listened to the way he described the dish and how to eat it.

"Enjoy." He bowed and left the two of you. You and Yunho held your cutlery and dug in.

"This is good." You nodded your head.

"You have no idea how hard it is to pick a restaurant when you're going on a date with a chef." Yunho snorted before he let out a sigh of relief, that you liked the food.

"Hey, I'm always appreciative of good food. I never expect high end dishes. I'm happy with simple dishes." You said.

"Exactly. Good food. Your definition of 'good food' is vastly different from mine." He chuckled.

"I guess this is the part where we kind of ask each other questions to find out more about each other right?" You suddenly asked after wiping your mouth with your napkin.

"We don't have to." Yunho assured. He didn't want to push you, he was afraid of asking the wrong thing or asking something that was too sensitive. The whole point of this was for you to be more comfortable around him and come to trust him more. But he wanted it to happen at your pace.

"Don't look so scared. I'll try my best to answer what I can. You don't have to tell me everything too." You smiled. Yunho nodded, putting his hand over yours to ground himself.

"Why don't you start? We'll just carry on from where ever, we don't have to go back and forth like 20 questions." He encouraged.

"Alright... Hmm, since you're not that good at cooking, who usually cooked for you?" You asked.

"My grandmother. She's the reason I have such a big appetite and love food. Only when I moved back with my parents, my mother cooked more. When I got my own place, it was take out."

"You lived with yourgrandmother? Is that why you're so close with her?" You blinked.

"Yeah. My parents had very busy jobs so Gunho and I lived with her. When my parents' jobs slowed down, we moved back." He replied.

"What about your parents?" Yunho asked. Even if you faltered for half a second, you recovered almost immedaitely and kept your demeanour. At your silence, Yunho greatly regretted asking, his fear came true.

"I was close with my mother, you know that. We spent a lot of time in the kitchen. But she got sick and passed away. Then my father remarried." You informed, feeling the lump form in your throat.

"I'm sorry." Yunho grew sad.

"Nothing for you to apologise about. There was no way you would have known. But yes, I have a stepmother and older stepbrother."

"Are they... nice?" He winced, mentally scolding himself. He didn't meant to ask that out loud, it was more a rhetorical question that he had in my brain.

"Television has some truth sometimes." Was what you said. So the answer was no, they weren't nice.

"But it's okay, I have another family. A chosen one." You smiled. Yunho wished to be a part of that family, the ones that make you happy.

"You and Seonghwa hyung have known each other for a long time, right? I think Wooyoung told me you've known each other since you were kids." Yunho tried to steer the conversation to another topic. Also, he was curious about your relationship with Seonghwa, how far the two of you went back.

"Yes, our mothers were close friends so we met through them. I can't even remember what age we met. And we've been together ever since. Seonghwa's been with me through everything." You said.

"Wow. That's even longer than me and Mingi. We met in elementary school. Stuck together from then on." He smiled.

"What about the others?" You asked.

"Oh, we met San in high school. Then Yeosang and Hongjoong in college. I guess we just all got along despite having difference interests in life." He shrugged.

"That's nice. Wooyoung joined us first. Then Jongho. All met through different kitchens." You said.

"You're like the 'it' crew or something. The popular kids in school." Yunho pointed out.

"Not at all! We just... work well together. We understand each other and have working styles that compliment each other. I don't usually stay at restaurants for a long time, I like to change my environments and gain exposure. I'm just grateful the 3 follow me." You said.

"Is this the first time you've stayed at a place for so long?" Yunho asked. You nodded your head. Usually by now, you would have left. But you didn't feel the urge to leave yet.

"I hope you don't leave." He said honestly, squeezing your hand. You merely smiled in reply.

"Don't worry about that now." You said. You didn't want to make promises that you were unsure of.

The rest of the courses came and went. You and Yunho got to know each other more, chatting every now and then about the most random topics while enjoying the delicious foods.

It felt like time had stopped and you were just in your own bubble with him. That feeling was so unfamiliar to you but you liked it.

"Thank you for the amazing dinner. It was really good." You smiled as Yunho opened the car door for you.

"You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed the food. Although, I wish the portions were bigger." He complained with a purse of his lips. You laughed and sat inside while he ran to the driver's seat. Yunho was like Seonghwa in that aspect, they both had big appetites and were never easily satiated.

"You know what? I think I'm going to name my manatee, Yunnie." You smiled, lifting the stuffed manatee in front of your face. Yunho burst out laughing.

"Are you naming a manatee after me?!" He asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, it's only fitting. They can't be mean. Plus, you're the one that bought him for me." You giggled.

"I told you, (y/n). I can be mean. I just can't be mean to you." Realising what he said, Yunho slapped a hand over his mouth. You started laughing, seeing his ears turn red.

"Ignore what I just said."

"You're cute, Yunho." You smiled. If only Yunho wasn't driving, he would want to look at the expression on your face.

When Yunho pulled up to your house, he was about to say something to you; to thank you for coming out with him and spending practically your whole day with him.

"Still hungry? Are you up for supper?" You beat him to it. However, it wasn't what Yunho was expecting. He thought you would just thank him and leave for the night, going to see him the next day. Not once did he think you would invite him upstairs.

"What? You said the portions were small right?" You chuckled, finding his confused face so adorable.

"I-It's okay, you know? If you're tired, you don't have to-"

"If I was tired, I wouldn't have offered." You cut him off. Yunho nodded, turning out of the driveway and going to the carpark instead. You headed upstairs with him.

"Make yourself comfortable." You said as you opened the door, putting your bag aside and heading straight for the kitchen.

"Anything I can help with?" He asked, locking your front door for you. He didn't want to sit and wait for you to cook, preferring to cook with you.

"Is a frittata okay? I have goats cheese, bacon, tomatoes and spinach." You scratched your head.

"Sounds good." He smiled. Yunho cracked the eggs while you prepared the add ins, chopping up the vegetables and bacon into smaller bits. When Yunho was done, you beat the eggs with some creme fraiche, seasoned with salt and pepper before adding the tomatoes, spinach and bacon.

"Careful, it's hot. But we're going to dot the goat's cheese around." You said. Yunho nodded and put the goat's cheese over the top together with you.

"Time for the oven." You put the hot pan into the oven to continue cooking the middle of the frittata.

"I'll set a timer." You put the timer on your phone and went to sit on the couch with Yunho to wait for the frittata to cook.

"I should put these in water." Usually Seonghwa settles the flowers for you, putting them in a vase. But now that he wasn't here, you had to do it. Grabbing the same vase he uses, you put water in.

"Here, let me help." Yunho unwrapped the tulips for you and put them into the vase with water.

"Thank you." You smiled as he put the vase on your counter. Yunho looked at Yunnie, the manatee, who was now perched in your lap. Was it weird or creepy of him to be jealous of a plush? He kind of wished that he was able to lay in your lap.

"(y/n), what did you think of today?" Yunho asked. You did say you liked it but he wanted to be sure again. You thought about it for a while, humming as your hand stroked the manatee plush.

"It was great, Yunho. I loved the aquarium and dinner. I enjoyed spending time with you." You said shyly.

"I'm really happy to hear that. Thank you for coming out with me. The aquarium was fun but being with you made it better." He smiled.

"Does this mean you'll go out with me again?" He asked with hopeful eyes. You teased him by looking like you were contemplating it, tapping your chin.

"Stop~" He whined, pressing himself against your shoulder to hide his face from you.

"Yes, I'd love to go out with you again." You said between your laughs, your hand coming up to stroke the back of his head.

When the frittata was done, you and Yunho sat at the counter to eat together. Well, Yunho ate most of it. You assured him that you only wanted a few bites, unlike him, you were rather full from dinner already. Although, you still sat with him even if you were done eating just to spend time with him.

"Don't fall asleep now." It was his opportunity to tease you back.

"Stop! I was embarrassed enough. I was the one who invited you over and yet, I fell asleep before you left the house." Your hands flew to your warm cheeks.

"Don't worry, it was cute." Yunho sent you a smug smile, patting your head like you usually did with him.

"Now you admitting to watching me sleep is creepy." You laughed, jabbing him back.

"I didn't watch you sleep!" He exclaimed. After the food was done, you and Yunho did the dishes together. He knew he shouldn't stay any later, you both needed rest before work tomorrow.

"I'll see you tomorrw, (y/n). Thank you again for coming out with me." Yunho smiled, looking down at you as he leaned against the door frame.

"Please, Yunho. There's nothing to thank me for. I enjoyed myself, genuinely. I should be the one thanking you. You brought me for my first aquarium experience. You planned and paid for everything too." You laughed.

"As long as you enjoyed yourself." He whispered, holding your hand and rubbing the back with his thumb.

You smiled up at him, moving closer until you wrapped your arms around him. At your actions, Yunho wrapped his own arms around you, engulfing you in a big hug.

"Goodnight." You wished as you pulled away.

"Goodnight." He bowed his head and walked down the hall. As you closed the door, you leaned against it with a smile on your face.

"Next time." You said, eyes casting over to the manatee plush that was on the couch. Heading over, you picked it up and hugged it to your chest, a smile slowly forming on your face.

For some reason, you were looking forward to the next occasion you were able to spend time with Yunho.

Series masterlist

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celerydays · 4 months

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Hi! I have been following you for some time and I notice you draw more and more Sebastian and Ominis doing stuff that makes me... uncomfortable.....

Sebastian and Ominis are best friends, why people are obsessed with drawing them into weird gay stuff? Seriously.... Why can't be friends.... without all Sebinis... Just stop it...

Normally I would delete messages or simply ignore the things that make me feel uncomfortable–

But, you're on anon and this is my ask inbox, so I can only assume you want an actual, public response. So alright. Fine.

Like I said: normally I would just remove odd, uncomfortable, or even outright rude messages without making a whole thing of it. I curate my own online experience and I try my best to live by that rule.

However, I've now gotten multiple unsolicited DMs over the course of a couple of months expressing the exact same sentiment (and nearly word-for-word as this ask, so I highly suspect I already know who you are). I have duly ignored or glossed over them hoping that the person/people would take the hint to simply stop engaging with the same message over and over again. But an anon ask is my last straw, I guess.

So if you are the same person as in my DMs, I'm finally giving you a response (and if you're not the same person – which I highly doubt – then I'm speaking to both of you).

Firstly, I want to say that I am sorry that your worldview is so limited that this is your stance and feelings on gay/queer ship content for Sebastian and Ominis.

Next, I ask that you please:

Don't make your homophobia anyone else's issue but your own. Don't come into DMs/ask inboxes/comments to make your discomfort with the content I create my problem. I don't know what you hoped to accomplish by sending this message but it's unlikely that you'll find the same feelings or sympathy from the person who is actively creating queer/sebinis content.

Curate your own online experience. Once again, do not make your content consumption anyone else's problem but your own. The "unfollow" button is there. Tumblr has a tag filtering system and I try to tag my art and content as accurately as possible. If you do not like something/it makes you uncomfortable, then do not continue to consume it. And if you still decide to stick around for whatever reason, then please keep your thoughts/opinions on this matter to yourself because I can promise that I don't actually care why you would continue to be here and looking at my art if it makes you unhappy.

Widen your worldview and try to reframe your perspective. Consider that Sebastian x Ominis is just as canon as Sebastian x f!MC or Ominis x f!MC. As much as we like to ship our various MCs with the canon characters, MC never actually amounts to canonically being confirmed as anything but being just friends with everyone. Using the "they are just best friends" / "why can't they just be portrayed only as friends" could literally be applied to just about any other non-canon/non-confirmed ship between friends regardless of gender. If even one of them, Ominis or Sebastian, was portrayed as cis female in canon, I would suspect that you would better "understand" why a ship between these two "friends" may exist. Then also consider a cis male MC; it's possible you may suddenly reframe all the interactions between Ominis x m!MC or Sebastian x m!MC in your head to be "totally platonic/friendly". Your issue is certainly not with their canon relationship vs. fandom portrayal (but I think we both know that).

Educate yourself. Go outside and meet and talk to people, I dunno. It is 2024 my dude. I don't even know how you're on Tumblr – the most queer-friendly social media site – with those kind of narrowed views and stigma.

I would like to finish by saying: I don't wish you the best. What I do wish is for you to learn, grow, and be better than this.

And also please stop sending me messages of this nature, because the next ask or DM I get like this, we're moving on to blocking at this point. And if your purpose was to get me to stop, I can tell you that these messages have only fueled the explicit sebinis smut maker in me. 😤

#I'm sorry for anyone who sees this and did not want a rant on their feed today #ask #anon #sebinis #hl

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paranoid-borderline-insane · 2 months

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Not the Intruder I Expected

John Price x she/her reader

Summary: Exhausted after a hard day at work, you come home to an empty house, void of your military husband. Except maybe you’re not as alone as you seemed.

AU where Ghost lives with you and Price as a roommate.

I literally wrote this through text to @tulipsbymybed in about an hour or so, so don’t expect huge things

Warnings: Consensual non-con, unserious ending, established relationship, roleplaying that reader has never climaxed before and has a shitty husband, contextual slut-shaming (part of the roleplay), rope play, not a full smut fic.

Minors, I can't even begin to monitor or curate your internet experience, but DO NOT INTERACT with me or my smut

You’ve just come home from work, headphones still on your ears as you walk your way through your house, humming quietly to the beat, not hearing as a man sits in the living room armchair in the dark, eyes watching your figure as you miss him.

It’s not until you’re beat over, untying your shoes so you can toe them off more comfortably that you feel the blunt side of a knife tuck under your chin and a strong arm wrap around your chest and biceps, pulling you straight into a firm body as you scream, headphones knocked off your head with a strong chin, the man’s hands already occupied.

“Fuckin’ scream again and this knife is going straight through your teeth.”

On instinct your hands are up and wrapped around the arm around your chest, but even you know that no matter how much strength you put into pulling, the arm around you isn’t going to budge.

“Your tosspot of a husband shouldn’t ‘ve made it so clear that he was leaving. ‘ll that tin on his chest made ‘im forget there’s dangerous men ‘ere at home too,”

The knife is tossed, plunging itself perfectly into the wall across from you, in a show of finesse and talent that should have you shaking. Should have you weeping.

Instead you feel a buzz run through your body, the gusset of your underwear beginning to moisten.

The arm that threw the knife is now manhandling you over his shoulder, smacking and grabbing your arse firmly when you squirm as his shoulder blade presses uncomfortably into your stomach.

Your body bounces as it’s thrown on your marital bed, a moment of freedom before the man wrangles your wrists and pulls them together wrapping a rope around them before using his strength to pull your entire body further up the bed, your shoulders aching as they’re pulled to the limit of their sockets with the strain of pulling your body with it.

Once you’re situated to the man’s liking, he wraps the other end of the rope tightly around the bars of the bed frame.

Most other things are a blur as he tugs your work clothes off, the sounds of stitches pulling and the small whimpers you let out as you bite your lip to prevent more noise coming out.

You wouldn’t win against him in any constructive way, he’s proven that with his strength already. Trying to stay quiet and keep the tears to a minimum seems to be your best course of action.

If this man just wanted sex and fear, he could have it from you in spades. The fear was already pouring from you, and sex felt like nothing to you anyway. If your husband, your first love, couldn’t make it feel like anything, this strange, terrifying man wouldn’t be able to fix your broken body. A body unable to receive pleasure, just give it. A hole to fill.

“Oh what’s this ‘ere?” A rip is heard as your underwear is torn from your body by the crotch. The man goes from your legs to pressing a heavy knee by your waist and sneering over you. “What a filthy girl you are. Look at all this slick comin’ from you”

You don’t actually get a chance to look before the gusset is pushed into your mouth, large fingers pressing the fabric that had just been up against your core onto your tongue. Even through your taste buds you can feel how wet the material is though.

“So fuckin wet for a man that isn’t your husband, what a whore,”

Your eyes widen as he smirks at you, staying next to you as he pulls the thigh closest to him up until your lips are pulled apart and your hips have curved uncomfortably just to accommodate how he’s tugged your body to his whims.

Bending down, the man keeps his eyes on yours as he pulls your body closer to his mouth until his mouth is clamped over your cunt like a mutt holding on to a stolen meal. His teeth lightly dig into your flesh as he sucks your whole core into his mouth, allowing his spit to further lubricate as his tongue makes first contact with your clit

A scream comes out of your mouth before you can stop it, his teeth clenching just a bit tighter to hold you still as his face furrows in anger before he pulls away from your flesh.

“What did I fucken’ say!”

“What was that!?” You screech in return, your chest heaving with the tingles from the sensation.

The anger is wiped from the man’s face before being replaced with a wild glee

Not answering your question, his grin only gets bigger with the greed and realisation flowing through him.

Instead of engulfing your entire cunt into his maw again, he instead focuses on wrapping his mouth around your clit, changing the pressure and frequency of his sucking, flicking his tongue when appropriate until you’re crying. Not from fear, but from pleasure.

Screeching and sobbing into the air, neither you or the man caring about the noise anymore. Your legs now sprawled over his body to get closer, shaking down to your toes. Your wrists blindly burning as you unknowingly pull against the force of the rope.

His mouth pulls away with a lewd, wet pop. Fluid all over the bottom half of his jaw as he wildly smiles over you.

“W-wha- wha’ happen-“ you’re exhausted, incoherent, drunk.

Watching as he wipes his jaw on the hair of his arms, the gleam of the fluid shining in what little light is coming through the window.

You’re still heaving, catching your breath as you ask, tracking the fluid that now sticks the dark hairs together.

“L-lube?”

“Why the fuck would ya need lube now?” A glimpse at your eyes and he changes his question, “you think I lubed you up? Nah, love. This’s all you. That husband of yours must be real shit to make you need shit like lube.”

The man shucks off his trousers down to his thighs, now kneeling directly between your thighs, his cock bobbing as it’s released. “Now you stay quiet, Princess. ’m gonna fuck you like a real man”

Lightly pushing his tip against your entrance, it’s clear that even with your wetness, he’s going to be more than just a stretch.

“Jesus. Gonna need t’ take you home at this rate. Your shithole husband’s only been gone 48 hours, no way you’ve tightened up this much after only that long. Gonna need to take you and fuck you open every day till he comes back. Gonna leave you gapin’ by the time he lays eyes on your pretty hole again-“ he’s been babbling this whole time as you’ve clutched the air between your fingers, his gentle pulsing of his hips pressing his cock slowing into your cunt in such a divine way that your eyes are already rolling back and he hasn’t even popped in.

“Yeah, gonna steal y-“ You’re both spooked by the front door slamming, your heads whipping to the direction of the sound.

“I’m home!”

You gasp and whisper, “my husband!”

“You shush.” John snaps quietly down at you, too high strung right now to acknowledge your joke.

The sound of heavy footfalls carry through the house as you both look back at each other.

“He’s not meant to be home yet-“

“I know he’s not meant to be home yet, Kate said he’d be another week at least,”

“He’s on your task force for a reason, I guess”

“Fuckin’ hell” John tucks himself back into his trousers and buttons himself away, pulling his shirt, that was still on, back down over his stomach before trudging over to your bedside table and grabbing scissors before carefully cutting the rope from around your wrists.

Once your hands are free, John only gives your wrists a quick cursory rub, more habit that care right now, before opening and shutting your shared bedroom door with a slam, shouting the other man’s name

John surely would’ve wanted you to stay in bed and wait for him to come back, but your throat hurt from all your crying, and you had missed your ‘roommate’, so you quickly threw on some pyjamas and left the bedroom to join the boys.

“He was an idiot, didn’t even need a scope to clock ‘im”

“Surprised you’re not out celebrating then”

“Nah, Soap and Gaz had paperwork they left undone so they needed to stay behind”

“Should’ve led by example and helped them- what are you doing up?”

“Just thirsty, grabbing a drink”

“Honey-“

“John, I’m okay”

“Everything ‘lright?” Simon asks, eye black creasing as he squints.

“Yeah, great! Just a bit tired.”

You’re looking in the fridge for an electrolyte drink when your forearm is taken and held.

“What the fuck is-“

Looking between the distinct marks of rope burn on your wrist and the scowl Price has continued to wear since he came down the hallway, the pieces finally clicked for Simon.

“Jesus-, Just fuckin’ tell me next time I’ve interrupted your fuckin’ kink shit! ‘m goin’ to the fuckin’ pub then back to base- Jesus Christ.”

Simon continues to swear and cuss you two out as he grabs his duffle bag and leaves the way he came, John taking the time to rub the crease in his brow away and watch you find and sip your drink through his lashes.

Once the front door slams shut again, John sighs heavily and comes to your side to grab your available wrist and inspect it, meeting your eyes when you put your drink down and place your other hand into his for him to check the other wrist.

“You wanna keep going?”

“I’m so tired now, can we just lie in bed and fuck? I don’t wanna do the whole set up again.”

John chuckles before responding

“I’ll grab the burn cream and you go lay back in bed, I’ll be in soon.”

With a kiss on your forehead and both of your hands, John sends you off back to the bedroom, watching you go for a few more seconds before turning back to grab what he needs before he joins you.

#john price #john price x reader #cod #cod x reader #captain john price #captain price #cod price #cod mw #price x reader

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janearts · 8 months

Text

Another Baldur’s Gate 3 Fanart Notice

I finished my first playthrough, and I'm going to be drawing fanart of Roisia's experiences. Some of this fanart will contain spoilers, but I figure forewarned is forearmed. If you want to see some stuff, but not others, I've got a guideline for my own art.

Tumblr Filters

If you don’t want to see my BG3 fanart, you can filter tags and post content. (Here are some instructions on how to filter by tag while this article explains how to filter by text.) I will be using #BG3 and #Baldur's Gate 3 as generic tags if you'd like to see absolutely fuck all about the game.

I wanted to put the option out there for people who want to see some of my art without ruining their own experience so, in addition to the #BG3 Spoilers tag, I will also be using the tags #Act I Spoilers, #Act II Spoilers, and #Act III Spoilers. Block all three tags, unblock as you see fit, or keep them blocked and choose on a post-by-post basis! Hopefully that will give you more control over what you see coming from me and preserve your own game experience at the same time.

Unfollowing

Of course, I understand if you wish to unfollow me completely in order to protect your own experience of the game and/or to better curate your dashboard. If this is the best route for you, take it! You will not hurt my feelings. Unfollow away!

SIDE NOTE: COMMISSIONS

I am booked through 2024 and am now booking through 2025. After I schedule out 2025, commissions will be closed. Email me with your enquiry and I'll add you to the queue.

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godbirdart · 3 months

Note

in what universe is someone going to see a DNI that applies to them and think "this person is definitely someone im going to enjoy following and get along with". do you go on twitter and see nazis saying they hate trans people and decide to follow them out of spite? of course not, and literally nobody else does that either, even on the other side. hell forget DNIs, I get less conservatives in my notifs than I used to just by having they/them pronouns in my bio because they see it and go "ew, I'm not following them". people dont typically follow people theyre clearly not going to feel welcome around, a DNI is just another way to communicate that.

1 - you don't have to Get Along with someone to follow them. people can and will hate-follow or follow to annoy you, block evade, etc out of spite. some people will interact with you just because you told them, or people like them, not to.

2 - your experiences are not universal. nazis, terfs, bigots in general, they can and will follow and harass people they don't like online. this is spoken from my own experience as someone who has seen his transfem friends be followed and harassed by alt-right nut jobs online.

3 - "forget DNIs, I get less conservatives in my notifs than I used to just by having they/them pronouns in my bio" ← you're right. this is effective because the vast majority of people regardless of political stance or belief will only ever read your bio. not many people are going to jump through hyperlinks to read your DNI. if they don't like what they read in your bio, they'll just leave [or possibly harass you, if they're particularly malicious]. ergo, making a DNI is largely just for yourself and not at all a real, useful barrier people must pass through in order to follow / engage with your posts.

no one is stopping you from making a DNI. you can write a terms-of-service length novel of a Do Not Interact list, put it on its own Carrd and make it aesthetic and pretty with flair. you're completely free to do so and tell people to read it. a few will, sure.

however. the post you're referencing is specifically addressing the glaring reality that most people, regardless if they fit your DNI criteria or not, are simply not going to go out of their way to find and read it. abusive people aren't going to see "DNI abusive assholes" and be deterred because they themselves don't consider themselves abusive. this post, particularly what OP wrote, is saying how it's much more proactive to curate your own space through utilizing the block button and tag filters when you see things and people you don't want to engage with instead of trying to impose your personal boundaries on strangers online.

addendum // i don't really care if teens are making DNIs and being aggressively annoying about em. i remember the era of setting weird arbitrary rules in my developing years while i was forming Who I Was as a person. they're figuring out who they are and what their comfort levels are. i get it. it's the grownass adults that are hyper-virulent about DNIs that i worry about - and i'm not talking about when they're trying to establish an adults-only space with a stern "minors DNI".

note: what i'm talking about below, i am Not referring to literally illegal and harmful activities / content. just want to be clear.

now, i'm not saying you have to welcome and embrace the content you don't like, but it's important to challenge yourself and toe your comfort boundaries. if you over-prune yourself trying to be the bestest morally correct person, at some point you're going to start boxing yourself into this narrowed teeny tiny worldview. you may turn into the person you claim to have loathed, imposing personal beliefs and morals on others, and brandishing your DNI like it's a certificate of righteousness; not unlike how conservatives wave around religious scripture while pruning away LGBTQ+ rights because it goes against their morality. a few examples of this are topics such as: kink at pride, and the language discrepancies between the younger and older generations of the LGBTQ+ community - particularly in regards to self-identifying with words such as Queer and Dyke and Transsexual.

i probably derailed a bit here, i'm answering this before my caffeine's fully kicked in. if i vaguely worded something or yall want more elaboration on something, don't hesitate to ask

#welcome to my incoherent mind i suppose #long post #wall of text

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sgiandubh · 5 months

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Hi, I don't know if you understand me or go through this, I would like to know your feeling about it.

After all this circus (which I can't take anymore and after a few years in the fandom) I can't stand Caitríona anymore. I swear I try, I swear I try to get excited about her projects. I swear I try to understand her reasons, her anger, her antipathy towards us all these years. For a long time I managed to suppress this sad feeling I feel for her, but now it screams. I can not anymore.

On the other hand, I still support Sam, even more than I should, because he, along with her, plays the main role in the narrative and is not a saint. I think these feelings would be the signal to leave the ship. I no longer admire her, I no longer miss her, at least on social media, I no longer even want to see her face.

I feel bad for feeling this way, I don't know what to do. Have you ever felt like that? And before you start offending me, I'll tell you: I'm not anti, only or whatever. I am someone who paid a lot of attention to this narrative and ended up hurt, very hurt by them, by her specially…

Dear Feel Bad Anon,

I was just about to go to bed after a very, very long and dense day, but your question stopped me in my tracks. Story of my life, really: that banging on the dorm's door at midnight ('it's vile X, we just broke up, help') - ah, the memories. So, I will not let you down.

First of all, thank you for this ask. It is a genuine one, I know it. It takes a lot of honesty to write it down without cackle, hysteria and the everlasting 'they owe me' refrain (no, they don't owe anybody anything, because, Anon, do you owe anybody anything when you are that much in love? I am sure you don't give a hoot about Aunt Y and Neighbor Z, Anon, and fuck them and their curiosity, eh?). And, my goodness, you really do sound exhausted, here.

Take a good look at this pic I took in Mandalay (see post below) of a Yama Zatdaw (Ramayana) puppet show:

All these public ten years are summed up in here: the puppeteers (TPTB), the puppets (S&C) and the convenient prop ( T) in the middle.

Where are the private ten years? I could think of this Amarapura pic, taken the day after the puppet show:

And that is ok, Anon. It's them. Their lives. Their love. We are just peepers through a keyhole, in here: let's try and do it gracefully.

You don't like C anymore? S couldn't give a damn about how you feel, Anon, and forgive me if I sound brutal. He loves her and he already did the unthinkable for her. C does give a damn about you, however. Not because she cares about you, but because she probably thinks your intelligence and your questioning endanger her narrative and put at risk all the negotiated perks. This is why she thought intelligent to bark at you and publicly insult you: by a simple zealot reflex, her part of the bargain. It has nothing to do with her private truth. You are disappointed by a puppet, not the real C. Or, using this time Plato's Allegory of the Cave, you are mad at the silhouettes reflected on the walls of that cave, not at the people whose reflections you see - those people are outside the cave.

Get out of that mental cave, Anon. Stop racking your brains off trying to give definitive answers that cannot be honestly given with the amount of information we have. Stop obsessing about a visibly curated social media presence, online times and all this shit - they mean very little, especially at this point in time. Trust your heart and your intuition. Trust your life experience. Trust yourself, not me. All this side of the fandom can offer you is based on our own life paths and street smarts. Do I think it's legit? Of course, otherwise I'd not be here or I'd be a pervert. Do I think that together we'd be a step closer to what really is? Oh, by all means. But you are the only sovereign master of the course, here. You are the only one able to choose between believing or rejecting, staying on deck or jumping ship.

I chose to be interested in the puppeteers, Anon. The paper trail. The minute intricacies. The boring details Mordor does not want to see or doesn't know how to translate in simple English. That is really what keeps me going and that is something I will never publicly trade. The more I look into it, the clearer the picture is. Oh, for sure, I take great pleasure in seeing and discussing the script inconsistencies - don't we all? But to me and as I see it, this is the tip of the iceberg. The bar I set myself for public happenings, statements and all the shit show is very low. It avoids undue disappointment and even allows me to be relaxed about it. Not always. Not a perfect strategy. But it is my way of managing it and so far, it works.

Take at least a day off Tumblr. Think of it as detox. I can guarantee you will see it way clearer. I wish you well, Anon. And I really hope my long, long answer helped at least a little bit.

#anon #fandom #shitshow

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misterdiaz · 21 days

Text

So I have noticed that some Buddie fans are having a hard time right now because of the Buck/Tommy ship but you have to understand that Buck having a compelling love interest is so important for his journey at this moment, and people are enjoying their chemistry so of course people are gonna ship them. After all that unsatisfying storylines in season six fans are allowed to have fun, why wouldn't you want other fans to have a good time in the fandom?

I'm in no way into the grasps of the Buck/Tommy ship but I'm really enjoying Tommy as a character and Lou is a great guy and actor (also the actor will be on the show for a short period of time so I really hope he's having a great time while he's on the show) Seeing Buck being this happy with himself and free is everything to me (you really have no idea what this means to me) and excuse me but I will be thinking about the kiss escene until the end of times! And low-key I may want to read fics with Buck/Tommy as a plot device just to make Eddie jealous because I just enjoy Eddie pining and suffering for Buck a little bit too much I'm so sorry I'm not prefect and Eddie has such a beautiful crying face.

I'm telling you this as an absolute and total buddie shipper and buddie only type of shipper (and buddie truther) I just never had the ability to be a multi shipper not now, not ever I just can't see my favorite characters being with someone else it's like my brain can't understand it 🤷 I don't get it BUT that's not anybody's issue but mine, to each their own . Are some fans jumping ship? I don't really know but no one is taking buddie away from us I can assure you of that.

Their love story, their bond, their connection and their family has been building on so carefully and so lovingly that nothing compares, we wouldn't have something like this ever again. I'm so sure of this, I'm so sure of them at this point in life.

That being said, if you dislike the Tommy/Buck ship or Tommy as a character for any reason that's absolutely valid, but if you're not having a good time here I will encourage you to curate your own fandom experience and mute, block and unfollow accounts that are not aligned to the things you wanna see.

I was writing this while on pain due to a subacromial bursitis so I'm sorry for the grammar and the typos.

#evan buckley #911 abc #buddie #eddie diaz #oliver stark #ryan guzman #tommy kinard #lou ferrigno jr #bi buck #buck/tommy

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thetriumphantpanda · 10 months

Text

Stolen | Marcus Pike (Day Three)

Series Summary | A week on from the biggest museum theft in history, you find yourself shipped to D.C. to track down the most important British archaeological artefacts, stolen from right under your nose. You didn’t plan on Special Agent Marcus Pike getting under your skin in the process. Special Agent Marcus Pike didn’t plan on falling for you either.

Chapter Summary | The day has come to raid the storage facility and get your artefacts back. When things don't go to plan, Marcus has plenty of ideas up his sleeve to help distract you.

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Archaeologist/Curator F!Reader

Word Count | 4.7k

Warnings | Marcus and reader shamelessly flirting with each other, mentions of food and alcohol consumption, some swearing, mention of guns, and a nice little surprise at the end for Jones and Pike.

Authors Note | I'm actually so obsessed with this story you don't understand! I'm having so much fun waving my own interests and experiences into this fic, I hope you're enjoying them too! If you've got any questions about any of the archaeology or history that's discussed here then feel free to ask me - I'm a geek for this stuff so I'm always more than happy to give you all the information you want! Thank you once again to @morning-star-joy for being the beta for this story and continually losing her shit over Jones and Marcus with me. If you enjoy this please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or heading into my ask box to give me some love!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Stolen Playlist

You’ve decided that you look absolutely ridiculous in a tactical vest. You’ve been switching between sitting in the back of Marcus’ unmarked cop car or pacing on the pavement for two hours now whilst the team he’d assembled continued to stake out and watch the storage facility that Steven had identified as belonging to the gang.

It’s a small team, comprising of Marcus and Steven and three other FBI agents. Pete is there, looking equally as ridiculous in his tactical vest as you did. It didn’t fit him properly, you suspect he told Marcus to give him a smaller size than he needed so he could feel good about himself, but the way it’s bulging over his beer belly is frankly silly. Lizzie had opted to stay back at the hotel, you would feed her information as and when you got it so she could report back to the team at home.

You’re currently leaning against the side of Marcus’ car, watching as two agents look through binoculars to see if they can see any activity at the unit. Your thumbnail hasn’t really left your mouth, you’re worrying at the side of it, nibbling small pieces of it in an attempt to soothe your nerves, but it’s not helping much.

“What are we actually waiting for?” You huff in frustration, more to the universe than anyone else.

“Just trying to see if we can catch anyone in the act.” Of course, it’s Steven who decides to answer you.

You want to fucking scream. “We’ve been here for two hours now, I know I’m only an archaeologist but even I know that if a group of people in tact vests are standing on the hill over a storage unit, that’s probably not good news.”

You notice Marcus has a smile on his face as he looks between Steven and you. You make a mental note to ask Marcus when you can about what the fuck Steven’s problem even is with you.

“Alright, the lady is right,” Marcus relents, feeling the tension rising, “Let’s get down there and see what we can find.”

The two agents who had been watching the unit through their binoculars are quick to head back to their own car. One of them pulls out a duffle bag filled with God knows what, the other has a pair of bolt cutters. The third agent, currently hanging around with Pete, calls to Marcus that the two of them will stay put and to radio for back-up should they need it.

“You ready to go?” Marcus asks, turning to you.

“I was ready to go two hours ago,” You grumble, “So yes, let’s get this over with.”

Steven and the two other agents are leading the way, walking down the hill and into the storage facility. Marcus hangs back a little, walking side-by-side with you, but keeps quiet. You’re sure he can sense the stress and tension through your body, so he opts for silence lest you snap at him. You think he’s a very wise man for that choice.

The storage unit you’re targeting is in the middle of the facility and on the end of a row. Marcus silently signals to Steve and his posse that they should split and come at it from two separate angles. He’s softly taking hold of your wrist to drag you down to the other side, so he’s facing the shuttered front of the unit, whilst Steven and his agents will come in blind from the other side.

You watch as Marcus pulls his pistol from the holster on his hips, aiming it straight at the door, signaling then for Steven and his crew to make their move to open it. You’re almost in awe of how silent they are when they move. One agent is knelt, cutting the padlock that’s keeping the unit closed with the bolt cutters, whilst the other agent is on his knees, gun pulled and ready just to the side. Steven stands behind this other agent, his own gun ready should he need it.

Marcus turns his body to you a little, “Let these guys handle it,” He speaks quietly, “Once they give the all clear, we can move forward.”

“You’re the boss.” You shoot back, keeping your eyes on what’s unfolding in front of you.

Once the agent who cut the lock has worked it free and tossed it to the ground behind him, he’s moving to kneel on the opposite side of the locket to the others. He and the other agent are facing each other now, each with a hand on the metal shutter ready to pull it up. Steven moves slightly so that when the shutters are finally pulled up, he’s able to see everything.

What happens next is all kind of a blur. The shutters are lifted and you’re thankful that it seems to be devoid of people because there’s no shootout. Steven pockets his gun back in its holster and walks into the unit, returning almost seconds later to wave Marcus over.

You should have known that the amount of time it took to check the locker was a bad sign, but there was hope flowing through your body as you followed closely behind Agent Pike. When your eyes settle on the scene in front you, you could cry. The locker is empty, save for a folding table. No boxes, no fucking artefacts. Of course. That would have been too easy.

You can hear the blood rushing to your ears. The lump in your throat is a telltale sign that you’re about to cry. You can feel your own heart practically beating out of your chest. You take a second to try and ground yourself. Counting to ten and taking deep breaths when Steven extends a piece of paper to you. You take it, read it and that’s when the tears start forming in the corners of your eyes.

Not nice when someone steals your national treasure, is it? WE WANT OUR ARTEFACTS BACK.

You hand the letter, which has been typed on paper, to Marcus before exiting the locker. You head back to where you’d been before, leaning back against the wall, letting the back of your head hit the concrete behind you a few times, trying to let your frustration out. When you close your eyes, you can feel the tears that were forming in the corners of your eyes drip down your cheeks. God, this is so embarrassing. You wipe away the tears from your cheeks with anger, sniffing as you go to try and get yourself under control.

“Hey,” Marcus is rounding the corner now, “Oh, it’s okay, please don’t be upset.” He speaks when he notices the tears and the catching of your breath in your throat.

“Fuck off.” You spit, don’t be upset? If your artefacts weren’t here, then where the fuck were they? And how the hell were you supposed to find them now? You were going to get fired. How were you going to feed Geralt with no income? Your brain was spiraling.

“Hey, look at me,” Marcus’ voice draws you from your spiraling thought process, his hands are on your shoulders and he’s stood in front of you, “I know this isn’t what any of us wanted, but I promise you this isn’t the end,” His hands shift from your shoulders to the tops of your arms, where he can squeeze you gently without the tactical vest getting in the way, “Steven and the guys are going to stay here and see if they can figure out any new leads, but please don’t lose hope.”

You nod your head, wiping at your cheeks again to get rid of the last of the tears that had fallen down your face, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear at you.” You mutter.

“It’s okay,” He’s smiling now, “I know how frustrating this is, but we’re used to this kind of stuff, we’re going to find them, okay?” You nod your head again, “Let me get you back to your hotel, I’m sure you’ve got people you need to update.”

Your heart sinks again. All the people waiting back home, expecting good news, about to pile on even more pressure on your shoulders. You follow Marcus back to the car, stopping only briefly to tell Pete what had happened. He gives you the same sorry look that he’d given you back in London when he’d told you the Met had exhausted all their available leads.

When you’re finally sat in the front of Marcus’ car, pulling out from the storage facility, you dial Lizzie’s number. She picks up on the third ring, “It’s bad news.” Is all you say.

“Shit,” She sighs, you can hear her tapping away on her laptop in the background, “I’m sorry Jones.”

“It’s okay,” You shrug, “I’m on the way back now, so if you could tell everyone I should be able to dial into a call for an update in the next hour that would be great.”

“I’ll get it set up,” She replies, “How are you holding up?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes as Marcus hits a queue of traffic, “I’m pissed off,” You say, making sure to look toward Marcus when you say it, trying to gauge whether he thinks you’re pissed off at him or just the situation, “I didn’t sign up to be chasing the Sutton Hoo mask halfway around the world, I just wanted something easy.”

“Well, you probably didn’t choose the right museum for that,” Lizzie chuckles, “Full to the brim of things we shouldn’t have anymore.”

“I will never understand why they couldn’t have just stolen the items they really want back,” You groan as you let you head fall to the headrest, “Steal the Benin Bronzes back to Nigeria, by all means, but this, really?”

“I know Jones, I know,” You hear Lizzie typing again, “Meeting is set for an hour from now, and when you’re done come down the hall and drink wine with me, you sound like you need it.”

“Thank you,” You smile, eternally grateful that she’d agreed to come with you, “I’ll speak to you later.”

You hang up, pocketing your phone, enjoying the silence as Marcus drives you back into the city. You’re thinking of every way you can break the news to everyone back home, trying to think of the way that will cause you the least amount of emotion. The last thing you need to do is cry in front of every single member of the board of directors and the senior management team.

“I can hear your brain thinking,” Marcus speaks quietly, trying to lighten the mood, “Talk to me, maybe I can help.”

“Any tips on how to tell a museum you still don’t have their artefacts whilst trying not to burst into tears whilst doing it?” You turn your head to look at him.

He shrugs in defeat, “Okay, you’re right, I can’t help with that.”

You let out a little chuckle, “You wanna know why?” He nods at you, “Because you’re a man,” He looks at you with a grin on his face, “It’s true, people are far more forgiving when men make mistakes, more eager to give you a second chance.”

He looks like he’s thinking and then he goes to open his mouth before he stops, “Can’t say I’d ever thought about it, but now I think about it, you’re probably right.”

It doesn’t take much longer for his car to pull up in front of the hotel, he’s not killed the engine, so you grab your things and open the door, “I’m sorry again, for snapping at you,” You speak once you’re out of the car, leaning down to speak to him through the open door, “Wasn’t very professional.”

“Neither was attempting to kiss you in the elevator,” He smirks, “So we’ll call it even.”

You roll your eyes at him, closing the door and waving him off as you steel yourself for the call that’s to come.

“And I totally understand that,” You’re trying to talk, but there are too many voices trying to speak over you at once, “Hey!” You exclaim to get everyone’s attention, “How about you let me finish and then we can discuss next steps?”

The call had descended into chaos as soon as you’d opened your mouth to say the artefacts were still missing. Hartwig was demanded to know how the FBI team had let them slip through their fingers, there was someone from the comms team who wouldn’t shut up about crisis comms to the public and someone from finance was worried about people pulling their funding.

At your outburst, everyone is quiet, “Right, thank you,” You clear your throat, “As I was saying, it’s definitely a disappointment that the artefacts weren’t found, but the FBI team are confident that there are leads they can follow, there’s a team still at the storage facility doing what they can, and Agent Pike is sending the note off for analysis, this is by no means the end of the road.”

You were doing a good job of convincing yourself, as well as everyone else, that all hope was not lost. There’s a murmuring from your laptop as people start to discuss amongst themselves what to do next, so before it descends back into chaos, you’re chiming in again, “I wonder if it would be possible to find out if we’d had any suspicious communications from anyone in the lead up to the theft?” You ask, “People threatening anything along these lines, or emails demanding things back in a way that is different to normal, I think that would really help the team over here.”

Angela, who was rabbiting on about crisis comms before, pipes up, “I can check that, I’ll email anything over to you if we find anything.”

“Okay, so before I log off, does anyone want to ask anything or add anything to the conversation?”

It’s Mike that pipes up now, “Just wanted to say thank you for doing such a good job Jones,” You can feel a lump in your throat, “I know this isn’t easy but I think I speak for all of us here when I say we’re grateful to have you on the ground out there, and don’t doubt that you’ll bring our artefacts back safely.”

You hadn’t counted on it being your boss’ kind words that made you well up in front of everyone, “Thanks Mark,” You manage to choke out before you can add, “If anyone has anything else, please feel free to email me.” Then you’re signing off so you can press the palms of your hands to your eyes to try and stop the tears from falling.

That glass of wine Lizzie promised was sounding pretty fucking excellent right about now. You grab your phone, shutting the laptop down, before you’re knocking on her door moments later.

“Just in time,” She grins, opening the door with a glass of wine in hand already, “I’ve just opened it, come in.”

She pours you a second glass of the wine, you take a look at the label on the bottle, “Did you pick the most expensive bottle from the minibar?” You ask, smiling.

“I did indeed,” She says with pride, clinking her glass to yours, “It’s the least they can do for us if we’re going to be holed up here for the foreseeable future.”

“Amen to that.” You speak, taking a big drink, “Shit, that’s good.”

“Was the check in as bad as expected?” She asks, sitting cross legged on the bed whilst you take a seat in the chair at her desk.

“It was a lot of dick swinging about how the FBI can’t do a job, then a lot of dick swinging about how we manage the comms, and then finance having a meltdown about everyone pulling their funding,” You sigh, taking another drink of wine, “The sooner we can track this shit down, the better.”

“I don’t know,” She mutters, “I could get used to American guys paying for my dinner.

You bark out a laugh, “Who is tonight’s lucky man?”

“Tonight I’m out with Dale,” She leans to the side of her bed to pick up her phone, bringing up Tinder to show you his photo, “He’s going to take me for Mexican food tonight, apparently it’ll be the best I’ve ever had, I didn’t tell him I’d spent a month in Mexico about two years ago.”

“Lizzie,” You scoff, “Dale looks like if he so much as looked at a jalapeño, he’d die,” You both fall into a fit of giggles, “There’s no way this man knows what good Mexican food is.”

“Maybe if I drink enough margarita’s, it’ll be okay,” She catches her breath enough to take another sip of wine, “What about you?” She asks, “Hot date with Agent Pike?”

You glare at her, “I told you the first time that it was a one-time thing.”

“Right, so that explains why he was waiting in the lobby last night?” Oh. Busted.

“What the hell were you doing in the lobby?”

“Jones, I live here too,” She snorts, “I was waiting for last night’s date to pick me up,” She shrugs, “He was smooth with getting you to turn your phone off by the way.”

Your hand reaches for the nearest thing you can throw at her, which is the pen on the desk, she expertly catches it though, “He’s just being nice,” You mumble, “It’s either that or I spend all my time stuck in this fucking hotel, and, not that it matters, but I will be on my own tonight, I’m going to soak in a hot bath, order room service and pass out.”

Lizzie’s phone vibrates on the bed, “Oh, shoot, Dale is almost here,” She’s downing the wine, “Take the rest of the bottle back with you, but don’t get too drunk before you get in the bath, I don’t want to have to explain why you’ve drowned to anyone back home.”

You drain what’s left in your cup, leaving that in her room, but gripping the neck of the bottle like she’d suggested, you wait whilst she closes her door, giving her a quick hug, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” You warn her as she walks to the elevator, the usual advice you give her when she’s rushing from the office in London to go on dates.

When you’re finally alone in your room, you take a deep breath and let your shoulders sink down. You’d been so stressed that they were practically consistently raised high enough to touch your earlobes. You pour another glass of wine, settling down onto the bed, flicking the TV on to find something mindless to watch. You settle on some kind of talk show, you don’t care about the guests, or the hosts, any of it really, but it’s background noise that fills the empty space so you can scroll through your phone for a while.

You spend a little time texting with your mum back home, updating her on everything that’s been happening, and you send Mark a text to thank him for having your back, once again during the meeting. You smile when he sends a photo of Geralt back, who is curled up next to him on his sofa, fast asleep. God, you couldn’t wait to be back home with him.

You’re contemplating getting into the bath when there’s a knock at the door. You hadn’t ordered room service and didn’t remember calling for a replenishment of anything. You pull open the door and stood there, arms laden with plastic bags full of what smelt like pretty good food, was Marcus Pike.

“I wanted to cheer you up,” He says as you move to let him inside, “So I got Chinese food,” He sets the bags down on the desk and starts unpacking everything, “I didn’t know what you’d like so.”

“You bought one of everything?” You ask with a smile.

“Pretty much,” He admits, “But I go to this place all the time and it’s all pretty good.”

You pick up the receiver of the phone on the desk, “You want a cocktail?” You ask.

“I’ll take an amaretto sour please.”

You put in an order for his drink and a negroni for yourself before you’re picking up a pair of chopsticks.

“Didn’t peg you as a negroni girl,” Marcus states, “You strike me as more of a fruity woman.”

“There are plenty of things you don’t know about me Marcus,” You wink, “Now tell me what everything is because I’m starving.”

Once he’s talked you through each dish and your cocktails have been delivered, you start making your way through eating the mountain of food. You’re shoveling some noodles into your mouth when he speaks again.

“I’ve been dying to ask, but where was your favourite place to work when you were in the field?”

You think for a second, taking a bite of egg roll, “Probably Greece,” You speak through your mouthful, “I grew up going there on holiday with my parents and there’s nothing better than digging a few feet from the sea under the sun.”

“And what’s the best thing you’ve ever found?”

“That’s like asking a mother to pick her favourite child!” You argue.

“They’d still be able to tell me.” He chuckles, digging his chopsticks into some of the beef dish he’d bought.

You think for a second over another bite of egg roll, “I was part of a team on Crete who uncovered an undisturbed tomb in Siteia – it was incredible,” You swallow your mouthful, “There were these incredible grave goods like a bronze sword and these two amazing gold bracelets, it’s probably the only time I actually felt like Indiana Jones, digging up literal treasure.”

“You ever think of going back?” He asks, “To the field?”

“All the time,” You answer honestly, “I miss the thrill of it all, and the people you meet, and not really having anyone to answer to, I find working at a desk incredibly boring, but I’ve got these responsibilities now which aren’t easy to let go of.”

He nods in understanding, “So, whatever your accident was, you’re recovered enough to go back?”

“I recovered enough physically in a few months,” You shift in your chair, you hate talking about this, “Mentally it took far longer, which is why I ended up stuck behind a desk in the first place.”

He reaches out to grip your arm, “I’m sorry,” Marcus apologizes, “I don’t mean to pry, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I’m sorry it affected you so much.”

“It’s okay,” You shake your head, moving to pick up your drink, “One day I’ll tell you, but for now, let’s change the subject.”

“Understood.”

You spend the rest of the evening skirting around any conversation to do with your accident, Marcus speaks at great length about his love of art, his favourite paintings, his childhood growing up in Texas. He skirts around his own subjects, whenever the conversation moves anywhere towards his recent failed engagement he stalls, switching his story to something else – he thinks you don’t notice, but you do. You notice the way his face drops, the smile you love so much disappearing for just a second whilst he thinks of something else he can say.

Once you’ve had your fill of food and your glasses are empty, you move to the minibar to open another bottle of wine, filling two glasses before you sit back down, Marcus at the desk and you propped up on the bed, much like you and Lizzie had been sat earlier, just in reverse. It’s quiet whilst you sip you wine before Marcus breaks it.

“I know I didn’t find your artefacts, Jones,” He speaks quietly, “But I’d really like to kiss you now.”

You’re taken aback slightly, but it’s a pleasant surprise. All you’ve been able to think about since he showed up unannounced to cheer you up is how much you were desperate to taste him. You set your wine glass on the bedside table, sitting up a bit further, “As long as you promise to find them at some point in the future,” You match is quiet tone of voice, “Then feel free.”

He stands and walks to the bed, sitting down on the side. One of his hands comes to rest on your waist, you can feel his thumb running soothing back-and-forth motions through your shirt before he’s leaning in. You let your eyes flutter shut and you tilt your head up a little and this his lips are pressed to yours and it’s like every worry you’ve ever had is seeping from your bones.

It's soft and tentative, just a simple press of his lips to yours for a few seconds before he’s pulling away, just enough to rest his forehead to yours. You open your eyes, meeting his, which have a look similar to the boy in school who couldn’t believe he’d been able to kiss the prettiest girl in school. It makes you bold.

You let one of your hands run up his arm and across his shoulders, resting in the curls on the back of his neck, “Come here.” You breathe, pulling him back to your lips.

This time you’re both surer of it. As soon as you feel his lips move to open against your own, you’re following suit, letting his tongue mingle with yours, taking in the taste of the cocktail he’d drunk and the mint of his toothpaste. He’s shifting on the bed, moving his body so he’s towering over you. You manage to move your legs so he can settle between them, but you don’t miss how he won’t press his body flush to yours and you’re grateful. It would take very little in the moment, whilst he’s kissing you like he is, like he was born to do it, for you to throw caution to the wind and take your clothes off for him.

He pulls his lips from yours and moves to press them softly to your jawline instead. You let out a shaky breath as his lips then trail down your neck, your own hands passing down his body, finding the naked skin of his back where his shirt has come free from its tucked place in his jeans. You make the softest of movements, dragging your fingernails lightly across the skin just above the waistband of his jeans and you hear it, the moan that he thinks he’s hidden in the dip of your collarbone.

He's stopped his movements altogether now and you think maybe you’ve moved too fast, scared him off, just like you usually do, but then his lips are back on yours, that deliciously plump bottom lip making contact with your own.

“I should go,” He breathes out once he’s kissed you again, “I don’t want to, but I should go.”

“Yeah,” You sigh in agreement, “You should.”

He pushes himself up, standing from the bed to fix his clothes so they don’t look so ruffled. You’re standing as well, trying not to feel incredibly awkward, which Marcus senses.

“Jones, trust me when I say, I don’t want to go,” He’s taking your hands in his, “But if I don’t, we’ll both be in trouble.”

“Maybe we should agree to keep this strictly professional?” You suggest.

He’s looking at you like you’ve gone mad, “I can’t, not now I know how soft your lips are or how beautiful you sound when I kiss your neck,” He dips to press a kiss to your cheek, “I just need to slow down with you.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, Marcus.” You mumble.

“Don’t think about it,” He presses, “Don’t think about the time limit, and just believe me when I say I’ll come back, okay?” He kisses your lips now, hands cupping your face as he does and you can feel it, you can feel that he means it, that he’s trying not to rush this even though you could be gone in a week.

He pulls away, resting his forehead back to yours, “Okay.”

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