#....is my preference for women too obvious??

[acommonloon]

Not shocked white women flocked to Trump.

The basis of Abrahamic religion establishes God as a Man and Woman as obligated to find a man to serve. In Asian cultures boys are valued above girls even if the basis isn’t religious.

While most American women wouldn’t characterize themselves as subservient; their actions signal otherwise. It’s conditioning from birth.

As the oldest child and the only son, I experienced first hand a mother’s preference. The favor shown to sons is obvious throughout every generation in my family and D’s family. It’s obvious, it’s complained about, and those offended daughters favor their own sons just as their moms favored their brothers.

It is a toxic relationship, the result is our patriarchy upheld by women.

Boys aren’t raised to hate women, they are raised to expect women to willingly be subservient to their needs as their mom was. They hate women who won’t be their sex mom. Girls too are raised to sacrifice their own needs to keep their husband happy. They are desperate to find a man to validate their worth. At least at first.

The rebellion of women in the last few decades against this model with a modicum of support by laws is viewed as the degradation of family values by conservatives. They are working to return women to their subservient positions - as God intended.

Both my sisters, who readily acknowledge I was treated as the favorite by our mom, believe women are not good leaders. They instinctively distrust women who achieve power and hate those women who do not validate patriarchy. They will support a man who demeans women before they will support a woman who empowers women. They do not question their beliefs. They doom us all.

I WILL FOREVER BE SHOCKED BY THIS

[unrelenting-darkness]

the duality of my survivor mains:

- strong willed women, resourceful, fierce and determined

- Dwight

[izzymalec]

funniest criticism of barbie is people geniuely being disappointed at it being liberal feminism like did u expect mattel x hollywood to start ur revolution

[zemnarihah]

i think one of the girls in my graphics class may be trans NOT to assume anyones gender ever but like she is very clearly like obviously presenting as very feminine like almost anyone would assume she is a girl like i would say she "passes" or whatever as a girl yk? but my prof was talking to me and was pointing out stuff abt her work as an example and kept saying he and him and i didnt even realize until later what was going on like i thought maybe he was talking abt someone else or smth or that maybe I had assumed her pronouns wrong and he knew from canvas or smth bc i never had even considered that she was maybe trans and then later she talked in front of the class abt her project and it wasnt until i heard her voice that was a little lower i was like oh my god the professor was like. straight up purposefully misgendering her i think. like it could not have been an innocent mistake clearly she is presenting as a girl and looks like a girl. and he was misgendering her TO ME and i didnt even realize and just acted like it was normal and she was sitting nearby probably overhearing the whole thing....

[carebearbussy]

𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

ᥫ᭡ 𝙨𝙮𝙥𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝… 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙞𝙣 𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙡.

ᥫ᭡ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙘𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙘!𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

ᥫ᭡ 𝙘𝙬: 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩 𝙬/ 𝙖 𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙩, 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙, 𝙫𝙤𝙮𝙚𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙢, 𝙥𝙚𝙩 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨, 𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙪𝙢𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 216

ᥫ᭡ 𝙬𝙘: 1,4K

𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

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You don't know how you ended up here.

Currently, you were standing on the steep steps of the Zen'in estate, alongside Uraume, Kenjaku, and, well, yourself. But you didn't feel like yourself. Instead, you felt an overwhelming evil fill your system. You felt the bile in the pit of your stomach churn, and the air in your lungs suddenly gained heaviness. But of course, you were supposed to be ready for this kind of thing.

You watched Uraume dismantle a giant cursed spirit, splitting it from the inside out and freezing its insides. Their expression told you that they were indifferent to this kind of treatment. "Whats wrong Y/N? Never seen a cursed spirit bleed?" Kenjaku spoke up. "I-I have..." that was a lie. And it was clear Kenjaku knew that, but he let you have your reassuring moment.

Uraume had previously informed you about the ritual of bathing in the blood of cursed spirits. It made your head spin even thinking about it. They called you 'weak' or 'tender' for saying that. But I mean, who wouldn't be disgusted by a giant bleeding cursed spirit? The sight was downright vile.

"Y/N, Please do not keep Sukuna Sama waiting." Uraume says. "What? Where is he?" You say, trying to keep your composure. "He is down those stairs, in the bath I have prepared for him. He has ordered me to inform you upon your arrival, to come to his side. I can show you the way if you would like."

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"What are you looking at, brat? You wanna come in?" Sukuna says, staring directly into your eyes. Most of his head was submerged under the crimson fluid that surrounded him, and he had a lustful look in his eyes when he spoke to you. One of the many things that never failed to make you weak in the knees.

"I wouldn't prefer that... I don't wanna get my hair wet." Which was an obvious lie, to the truth that you were scared. But Sukuna knew you too well, and could see through your facade. And with a chuckle, he said, "Women are so dramatic sometimes. But I can tell you're lying. You're scared, is that it?" You pause and look at the scene before you. The pool of blood is at least a couple meters deep, and it was absolutely huge to your standards. "You scared of drowning? Ill hold you up then. These worries of yours are irrelevant to me. Be a big girl and get inside already."

You didn't want to seem weak in front of Sukuna, but the thing was, he already knew you were weak. So there was truly no need to hide that from him. Sukuna basically knew everything about you, as being one of the perks of being his favorite playthings. You aren't too sure how you managed to get this far into your questionable relationship with the curse, but it really happened with no negotiation. He suddenly took a liking to you and your uncoordinated self. Something about you was charming to him. How cute.

You suck in your breath and close your eyes, as you are reassuring yourself to be more brave. But as you make your descent downwards, it was hard to. Which in turn makes you trip over your steps, with a loud shriek. But as you land and fall feet first inside the water, you find yourself being held up by Sukunas arms. "Such a clumsy thing to do in front of your king." He says, clearly amused in your antics.

You start to quietly panic, as the only thing holding you up in the deep liquid is Sukunas strong hold on your thrushing body, keeping his hands attached to your waist. "Calm down already. You aren't drowning as long as i'm here." His words didn't fix your crumbling composure.

"You need my help? Or do I need to teach you how to calm the fuck down."

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You couldn't think straight.

With the way Sukunas hips piled rived into yours, it turned you into a blabbing mess. He had brought you to the shallow area of the steps while still submerged. While he was siting on one of the steps, you were going practically dumb on his cock. You held onto his shoulders with each hard thrust of his hips, holding on for dear life at this point.

All that could be heard was splashing from the waves that formed around the two of you, and the squelching of your aroused pussy.

"K-kuna please-" You say as his cock continues his assault on your poor cunt, his gruff hands moving your hips up and down like a ragdoll. "Holy shit- hhahhh- I cant- Please" "Use your words, big girl." He says, a harsh hand coming up to grab and handful of your hair. "Its too much- im gonna cum soon kuna!" You say embarrassingly, hiding your face into Sukunas shoulder.

"Aw, but we just got started right?" He says with a fake pout. This little fucker. "Cmon, keep trying. You wish to please me, correct?" With a smug grin tugging his lips, he forces your head to look over your shoulder at the mess your making on his cock.

"Uraume! Get us a robe while your at it, yeah?" Sukuna yells from across the room, his eyes preoccupied on your shaking body. "At once, my lord." Uraume says, taking a leave. Uraume? Were they here the whole time? You went too blank spaced in the mind to even notice anybody else.

But your thoughts come to a halt when Sukuna stops, flips you around and ruts into you from behind, his hands snaking around your waist, head resting on your shoulder, causing you to grab onto his thighs for dear life. The relenting pace he was going at, paired with the angle he was fucking your pussy in made you see stars, indicating your soon coming release.

"Right there- shit right there! Don't stop- please-!" You held your head hanging low, too focused on the pleasure Sukuna was handing your way. "Oh my, so bossy today. Who are you to think you can order me around?" He says, low groans leaving his mouth from behind your shoulder. "Im about to- oh my god oh my god-" And with that you cum, your cunt convulsing and tightening around his length, practically milking him.

"Good fucking girl, let it all out." He says, while still thrusting into you, maintaining his relentless pace. "Stop! Too much-" You yelled, mouth hanging open uncontrollably. "You want me to fill you up? You'd want that wouldn't you. You want your kings seed?" He grabs the sides of your face, and moves his hands in and out, mimicking the movement of your mouth and saying in a high pitched voice 'Yes, I want my kings seed!'

He laughs with Uraume at this, who is standing unbothered at the sight before them. Holding two matching robes for the two of you. You couldn't help but let out loud moans from how overwhelmed you were. "You see that Uraume? Shes embarassed, its pathetic really. the poor thing isn't used to people watching." "The way she is moving tells me she is, she is overreacting really." Uraume says, observing the sight, with no lustful intentions. Your head starts shaking, trying to say you don't. "Please Kuna! I cant-

"You like when they watch? My drama queen truly." He says, slowing down his movements. "Fuck, being so good for me. Heres your reward, pet." And with a harsh groan, releases inside of your fluttering pussy, filling you to the brim with his seed, and painting your inner walls white. You whimper with your head low, as Sukuna rests his head in the crook of your neck, hands still resting on your hips.

He pulls out of you and flips you around, grabbing your chin. You are basically on the brim of passing out from how intense that was. He picks you up by the ass, forcing glops of cum to drool out of your cunt, and pool into the water. Sukuna looks amused at the piece of art he had just created.

"Good job brat. Uraume! Get us those towels, and make sure she can stand, I don't need an annoying little pet the next day."

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[fushitoru]

chapter 5: the fall a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ gojo comes up with a strange yet tempting arrangement, but the accident that follows it may cause epiphanies for the both of you. (11.8k)

a/n thank you to pookies @/sinn-clair and @/yasu-1234 (they are awesome and here are her works) for beta reading my work :3 ahaha pls forgive me for yapping so much in this chapter. i’ll meet you after the chapter is over for EVEN more yap

prev. the game | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest Gentle Readers, 

It is well known across town that a certain gentleman, long absent from London’s bustling thoroughfares, has not graced its streets for a year. One cannot help but ponder how Mister Sukuna Itadori’s travels have fared, as he embarked on what we all know to be that of most enlightening of ventures–a Grand Tour of Europe. Those familiar with such journeys will know that for most young men of the ton, a tour of Europe offers more than just art and culture—it is a playground of indulgence and mischief. Will Mr. Itadori reappear as the brash and impetuous young man we once knew, or has Europe’s charms softened and tempered his spirit into one more befitting of a mature gentleman? This Author has her doubts, but one can never say for sure until a man reenters Society.

Yet, Gentle Reader, while Mr. Itadori’s return may provide fodder for speculation, there is another gentleman who has quietly yet decisively captured the attentions of the ton this season: His Grace, the Duke Nanami. Not only does His Grace possess a title and considerable inheritance—both of which set many hearts aflutter—but he is also known to be a most genteel and dignified young man, whose decorum and good sense have only enhanced his reputation. Many an eager mama and her hopeful daughter now look to him as the ideal suitor. His Grace, however, has been nothing if not a model of decorum—distant, polite, and entirely too elusive.

But therein, dear reader, lies the dilemma. The Duke’s refusal to engage in more than the most cursory conversation with any lady has led many to wonder: has he already chosen his future Duchess in secret, or is he simply too discerning for any of the eager young women who have presented themselves thus far? One thing is certain, though: the house party in the countryside promises to be most entertaining, especially if the Duke chooses that moment to make his intentions clear. One can only hope the object of his affections is prepared to be swept off her feet—or at the very least, that her mama is! Only time will tell, but one thing this Author assures—his next move shall be watched with the greatest anticipation.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Dawn breaks out, bathing the land in a rich, golden hue. It seemed as if the very air of the Gojo estate had significantly altered your sense of slumber; before, it would take you fairly long to wake, preferring to stay well rested until Nobara barged in your room,  bellowing at you to get ready. 

The rhythmic clatter of hooves on the cobblestone path echoed as you guided your mare along the estate’s carefully tended gardens, resplendent in their display of colorful blooms. The thought flashes across your mind—whichever lady of the ton unfortunate enough to inherit the Gojo surname would certainly find herself living an enviable, lavish lifestyle. If nothing else, the manor, with its outstanding grandeur, would offer sufficient distraction from the trials of an insufferable marriage.

Horse-riding had always been of your taste, providing solace when you needed time to ponder upon your thoughts. The fresh morning air was so different from the stifling confines of your room’s walls, soothing your spirit in a way a fitful sleep could not. Inhaling deeply, the cool morning breeze carried with it the scent of flowers and morning dew, offering a reprieve and reminding you of freedom found in quiet moments.

Mornings always feel like new beginnings to you. The sounds of the chirp and the peace of the feeling that you are currently the only person in the world, suspended in time, soothes you. You walk the path laid out in front of you, getting closer and closer to the woods that were next to the Gojo gardens. 

The same ones you had the encounter with Gojo in the river.

You tensed slightly, the memory of your embarrassing fall washing over you like a cold splash of water. Gojo had yet to jest at your expense over it was nothing short of miraculous. No doubt, the teasing would come in time, as inevitable as night following day.

The distant sounds of hooves break you out of your thoughts, as you still, turning your head around to see where the sounds originated. When you finally manage to curve your head (almost) fully to the back, in the soft light of the morning, you see a flash of silver hair.

And groan internally.

"I would not have thought the great Lord Gojo so lacking in charm as to resort to covert stalking," you quip, turning in your saddle to face him.

"Stalking?" His familiar, lazy drawl carried across the air as he approached. "Surely you underestimate me, my lady. A mere smile is all it takes to win hearts."

Reluctantly, you wheeled your horse around to face him properly. "Ah, yes. How could I forget? Your captivating smile alone is surely enough to send every lady into a faint, and not at all the rather handsome fortune attached to your name." You eyed him critically—his attire was casual, much like that day in the library: a white shirt carelessly unbuttoned at the collar, black trousers tailored perfectly. There was a hint of weariness in his eyes, though his insufferable smirk remained firmly in place. His hair was fairly polished–in comparison to his clothes–as if he had gotten ready to go somewhere that didn’t require extravagant garments to be worn.

He tilted his head, his gaze moving past you as he urged his horse toward the woods ahead. "Ah, so you find my smile captivating?"

You bristle, realizing his play of making you follow him to continue the conversation and get the last word. “I find your opinion of yourself entirely too high. I never mentioned that I thought you captivating but that of the handsome sum tied to your name.”

“All I heard was handsome.”

You take a deep breath and hold it, your eyes narrowing at the man trotting carefree in front of you. “Are the ladies really so naive that they would fall for just a captivating smile rather than acknowledge your lack of wit?”

Gojo glanced back at you with a raised brow, his grin only widening as he slowed his pace slightly. "Naive, perhaps. Or maybe they’re wise enough to appreciate the finer things in life. Not everyone is so immune to charm.”

You rolled your eyes, clicking your tongue in mild irritation as you spurred your horse forward, coming level with him. “Charm without substance only lasts so long, my lord. I daresay one day you’ll meet someone immune to your tricks.”

He chuckled softly, the sound lazy and unbothered, as though you’d merely entertained him with a light jest. "And yet here you are, still engaging with my so-called ‘lack of substance.’ Could it be, perhaps, that you find me more interesting than you care to admit?”

"I find you no more interesting than a mildly amusing book—one that I can close whenever I please," you shot back, though your eyes flicked over his disheveled appearance. “But you, Lord Gojo, do seem rather underdressed for a morning ride. I hope you’re not planning on inflicting yourself on some unsuspecting lady like this.”

His eyes gleamed with that familiar glint of amusement. "Underdressed? Why, I thought you might prefer me this way—unpretentious and free of the heavy trappings of society." He gave a careless wave toward his shirt. "Besides, I’ve work to do today. I’m making rounds over the dukedom."

You raised an eyebrow. “Work? You?” you echoed, voice laden with playful disbelief.

“Hard to believe, I know. I’m more than just a pretty face, as you’ve so kindly pointed out,” he teased, eyes flicking to you briefly before turning back to the path ahead. “Would you care to join me on my rounds? You might learn something about the ‘substance’ you claim I lack.”

You hesitated, but only briefly. The truth was, the Gojo manor had begun to feel more like a cage with each passing day. The endless routine of polite conversations, tea under the watchful eyes of your mama and Duchess Gojo, and waiting for the upcoming house party with the maids and doormen watching for your every move was beginning to wear on you. The walls of the estate, grand as they were, could only offer so much distraction before they imposed on you. The gardens—beautiful and sprawling—had already been walked, the library somewhat explored. You had gone through the motions of being the perfect guest, yet none of it stirred the thrill of adventure that your heart craved.

Your mind drifted back to London, to a time before all the expectation and decorum had weighed so heavily on your shoulders. A year ago, Sukuna had been your partner in rebellion, the one who shared your disdain for society’s rigid rules. The two of you had stolen mornings together, sneaking out on horseback, galloping through the streets and parks as if the ton’s eyes couldn’t reach you. Sukuna, with his wild streak and brash charm, had always encouraged you to live for the moment, to taste freedom in a way that felt dangerously exhilarating. At night, you and him would enjoy stolen moments on a swing. 

There had been no chaperones then, no one to watch your every move or to remind you of what was ‘proper.’ You had been free, in a way you never thought possible—a freedom that felt distant now, almost like a dream.

You studied him for a moment, curiosity beginning to outweigh the slight irritation you felt toward his smug demeanor. What exactly did a duke like Gojo do when he wasn’t parading through society, charming every lady within reach? Despite yourself, you were intrigued by the possibility of seeing him in a different light, away from the polished halls and pretenses.

Here, far from the city’s strict social rules, you felt a flicker of that same wildness returning. There were no watchful eyes in the countryside, no endless stream of whispers and gossip to navigate. The Gojo estate, for all its grandeur, was isolated. Out here, you could indulge in a fleeting taste of freedom once more—especially if it meant escaping the suffocating sense of propriety that came with every room of the mansion.

With Gojo, the stakes were different. He wasn’t Sukuna, who lived on the fringes of the ton with his devil-may-care attitude. No, Gojo occupied the very heart of society’s structure—a duke, a man of immense power and wealth, a figure who could easily sweep up any lady of the ton with a glance. Yet here he was, offering you a glimpse of his world beyond the ballroom, beyond the pretense of polite society.

The thought of accompanying him into the village—unaccompanied, and without the constant pressure of reputation—was thrilling in a way you hadn’t expected. It was as if you were being offered another chance to experience the freedom you once shared with Sukuna. Out here, away from the prying eyes of the ton, you could simply… be. There would be no eyes to judge, no chaperones to pull you away. For a few hours, you could escape the suffocating decorum that bound you so tightly, and just breathe.

And perhaps, just perhaps, there was a part of you curious to see what lay beneath Gojo’s surface. Despite all his teasing and arrogance, there had to be more to the man than his carefully cultivated charm. What did the world of a duke truly entail? What responsibilities lay hidden beneath that confident smirk?

“Well?” Gojo’s voice broke through your thoughts, a hint of amusement dancing on the edge of his words. “You could always go back to the estate. But if you join me, you might learn something. Something real.”

You met his gaze, curiosity stirring. How much freedom could you taste before the world pulled you back into its orbit?

“And what, pray tell, does this so-called ‘work’ of yours truly entail, my lord? Are you certain it isn’t merely an excuse for you to idly saunter about?” you asked, feigning disinterest even as your heart began to quicken at the thought of leaving the mansion’s confines.

Gojo shrugged. “Managing a dukedom is more than just attending parties, my lady. There are land disputes, tenant needs, crops to inspect. All terribly boring, I assure you,” he drawled, though his teasing tone did little to hide his satisfaction.

“And yet, here you are, inviting me to partake in such ‘dreadful’ tasks.” You arched an eyebrow, testing the waters of this strange proposal.

He cast you a sidelong glance, that insufferable smirk playing on his lips again. “You seemed in need of something less tedious than idle conversation. Besides, I can’t let you think I’m all charm and no substance.”

You scoffed lightly, but the temptation was undeniable. A morning spent away from the watchful eyes of society, away from the restrictions that had grown more suffocating with each passing day, sounded like exactly what you needed.

And so, you nudged your horse forward. "Very well, my lord. Lead the way."

As Gojo turned his horse toward the village, you followed, anticipation swirling within you. For just a little while, you would forget the rigid expectations that clung to your every move. And who knew? You might learn something about the man who was far more than just a smile—or at least, you hoped so.

As you and Gojo rode along the countryside road, the gentle thrum of horse hooves against the dirt path filled the early morning air. The village lay just beyond the hill, but the tranquil quiet of the ride had settled between you for now. You looked at the open landscape, enjoying the rare opportunity to simply exist outside the bounds of society's expectations. While Gojo glanced at you, his gaze briefly lingering before he forced his eyes forward again.

To Gojo, you are an enigma. 

There was something about you that drew him in—something beyond the usual appeal of a pretty face and a sharp tongue. He had been thinking and rethinking your diary entries ever since he had discovered them, going over every word in his mind like an irritating riddle. Of course, he knew better than to admit that he had read them, let alone how much those words had unsettled him.

Your thoughts, penned in those private moments, had been both surprising and dangerously radical. They spoke of dissatisfaction with the very society that had molded both of you. Critiques of the ton, its shallow expectations, and even its treatment of women—thoughts that, if discovered by the wrong person, could ruin you. Lady Whistledown wouldn’t need much to twist those words into a scandal, to paint you as a rebel, a woman too difficult for any suitor to consider. You would be exiled from the marriage market in an instant, no longer the diamond the people adored.

Realistically, he could do it, in fact. That is, ruin your image for the rest of high society. Gojo knew he had power over you. He could destroy you if he wanted to, could slip a few words into the right ears and watch as your pristine image crumbled like delicate glass. A small, vindictive part of him—perhaps the part that still bristled at your quick wit and frequent jabs—almost considered it. With the way you have been snarkily snapping back, making a fool out of him, and in general being not a very agreeable person, he, in fact, should have incentive to do so, as a payback. 

Of course, Gojo could always be the bigger person. He should let you go, keep his distance, and find a more agreeable match—someone easier, someone less troublesome. It would be the rational thing to do. He was Lord Gojo, heir to the Duke of Gojo, after all. He didn’t need to deal with a woman who questioned him at every turn, who might even challenge his reputation just by association.

He knew he should stop courting you, stop this dance before it spiraled into something neither of you could control. And he didn’t know what exactly to choose.

He cleared his throat, finally breaking the silence. “You seem deep in thought, my lady. I do hope I’m not boring you already.” His tone was light, though there was an undercurrent of curiosity.

You quirked an eyebrow, as if debating whether to entertain his question. “No more than usual, my lord.”

He grinned at your response, but then his expression softened, just slightly. “And here I thought you might have enjoyed escaping the estate for a bit. Surely the quiet countryside must be a relief after the pressures of town.”

You gave a small nod, but your guardedness remained. “It is a relief, but one must still be careful, even out here. There are no watchful eyes, but gossip has a way of traveling regardless.”

Gojo smirked, leaning slightly in his saddle. “I doubt anyone could catch up to us before we make it back for breakfast.”

He watched you from the corner of his eye, gauging your reaction. The morning wasn’t extremely windy, but his eyes took in your hair, how the wind shifted it so that your nape—and the slopes of your back and body—was uncovered. Your torso rocked as both your horses moved on, and you were fidgeting with the reins of your horse with gloved hands. You were a puzzle he couldn’t yet solve, but for some reason, that only made him more determined to try.

With a measured tone, he added, “Tell me, do you ever tire of it all? The expectations, the constant scrutiny. It must be exhausting.”

He watched you closely, curious how you might respond, wondering if you would offer something more than your usual sharp wit. Even if you didn’t, Gojo was prepared to nudge you, just enough to see what truly lay beneath the surface.

You turned your head slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your neck as you gave him a searching look. Unconsciously, your horses had drifted closer together, and as you moved your hair, revealing your simple, unadorned hairstyle from the morning ride, Gojo caught the intoxicating scent of your shampoo.

Sandalwood.

The notes lingered in the cool morning air, drawing him in. He found himself momentarily captivated, closing his eyes to take in the fragrance. It wasn’t until he regained his composure that he realized you were watching him expectantly, waiting for him to respond.

“My apologies,” Gojo cleared his throat, flashing you a semi-apologetic smile. “You were saying?”

You arched a brow at his absent-mindedness but chose not to press the matter. “As I was saying,” you continued with a subtle edge of humor, “it is a lady’s duty to endure the endless gossip and scrutiny of society. After all, we are part of it, are we not? I am a part of that society—diamond or not.” Then, you snarkily remarked, “Though I imagine you know as much about gossip as I do, my lord.”

There it is. Gojo felt the familiar flare of irritation rise within him as you brought up, yet again, that night on the terrace. How many times would you throw that back in his face? Instead of showing how it bothered him, he slipped into a mocking stance, clutching his chest in an exaggerated display of faux hurt. "You wound me, my lady. Can a gentleman truly not express his true sentiments in private company?"

His smirk faltered slightly, but he pressed on, unwilling to let you have the upper hand. "However, I do know more than you think. I hear things all the time. Not everyone is as... mysterious as they pretend to be."

There was an edge in his voice that hadn’t been there before, and he knew you noticed. He didn’t like where this conversation was heading, but he couldn’t stop himself. Not now.

You narrowed your eyes, your tone sharp. "Is that so? Or are you simply adept at making people feel small, my lord?"

Gojo shrugged, keeping his expression casual, though his jaw tightened. Why did you always know exactly how to get under his skin? "I do not belittle, my lady, but observe. And if you're concerned with my words, rest assured I never speak ill of a lady unless she has thoroughly earned it. After all, gossip, for all its flaws, often carries a kernel of truth."

"I see," you replied, voice clipped. "So you place your trust in whatever the ton whispers, so long as it serves your purposes?"

Gojo met your gaze, his voice lowering with intent. "It is not a matter of convenience, my lady, but discernment. Knowing who is genuine and who is merely playing a part."

He saw the way his words hit you, the way your expression flickered. Good. Let it sink in. You’d been sniping at him for days now, and it was about time you felt a little of the sting you so effortlessly delivered.

"And you, Lord Gojo, are the arbiter of what's 'real'?" Your voice rose, sharp as a blade. "Tell me, then—what’s real about you, besides your title and your incessant need to make others feel beneath you?"

The smirk that usually danced on his lips vanished. He felt something sharp coil in his chest—defensiveness, maybe, or frustration. He wasn’t sure anymore. His tone turned cold, dangerous.  "Tread carefully, my lady. You are not as untouchable as you might believe. Perhaps others coddle you, treat you with delicacy because they think you fragile, but I am not of their number."

He saw the way his words cut, deeper than he’d intended, and a part of him regretted it. But another part—the part that was tired of always being one step behind in this game you played—felt a grim satisfaction. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t finished. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to an almost dangerous softness. “You think you are the only one who carries burdens? I have duties too—my name, my estate, my people. You may despise me for all you like, but at least I do not pretend that none of it matters."

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the weight of the truths neither of you had spoken before. For a moment, you were speechless, and Gojo couldn’t quite read the expression on your face.

There was a vulnerability in your eyes, something real beneath all the snark and bitterness. It was unsettling. He hadn’t expected to feel any sympathy for you, but seeing that flicker of something raw, something that mirrored the exhaustion he himself felt, made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t like.

You finally broke the silence, your voice quieter now. "I never asked for any of this."

Gojo let out a long breath, some of the tension in his body loosening. His voice softened, the sharp edge gone. "Nor did I."

The moment of mutual understanding was fleeting, fragile, and Gojo wasn’t sure if he wanted to dwell on it or forget it entirely. The silence that followed wasn’t quite hostile anymore, but it wasn’t comfortable either. 

Straightening in his saddle, Gojo cleared his throat and gestured ahead. "The village lies just ahead. We should proceed before the shops open, unless, of course, you would rather remain here, basking in your righteous discontent."

He smirked, but it felt more like a mask than anything genuine. He needed the banter, the distance it created between you. It was safer than whatever had just passed between you—a moment of weakness he couldn’t afford to dwell on.

You rolled your eyes but gave a small nod, your expression still guarded. "Lead the way, my lord."

Gojo nudged his horse forward, the tension easing just enough for the both of you to fall back into their usual roles. But the memory of that brief, unguarded moment between you lingered in the back of his mind, nagging at him as they rode towards the marketplace.

Soon enough, the dirt road gradually transformed into cobblestones beneath the horses' hooves, the soft clatter of stone replacing the muffled sound of earth. Up ahead, the village began to unfurl itself, a bustling marketplace coming into view, vibrant with the daily hum of activity. Stalls lined the streets, laden with goods—fresh produce, meats, textiles, and trinkets. The air was thick with the mingling scents of fresh bread, roasting chestnuts, and the subtle hint of herbs from the nearby apothecary. Your stomach twisted sharply at the realization that you had yet to break your fast, and the sweet aroma of bread, freshly baked and still warm from the ovens, stirred your hunger even more.

It was a small comfort that you had chosen to appear on Gojo’s rounds in a simple dress. While far from a maid’s garb, it was enough to blend in with the modest attire of the villagers, allowing you to remain somewhat inconspicuous. You imagined what a spectacle it might have been if you had arrived adorned in the usual finery expected of a lady of your status—a diamond strolling through the marketplace like some exotic bird, plumed and out of place. Even if that interpretation wouldn’t be completely wrong. 

You stole a glance at Gojo. His attire, though far more refined than that of the villagers, was practical enough for the countryside—a waistcoat and riding cloak that spoke of wealth but not ostentation. He moved with ease through the marketplace, his presence commanding attention without demanding it. Residents and shopkeepers greeted him warmly, others calling out his name with familiarity. It was clear that he was well-known and, more surprisingly, well-liked among the people here.

You, on the other hand, felt like an outsider—acutely aware of every gaze that lingered a moment too long in your direction. Although the villagers were preoccupied with their own business, there was no mistaking the subtle glances thrown your way as you rode alongside Gojo. Perhaps it was the curiosity of seeing a noblewoman in such a humble place, or perhaps it was simply the oddity of your pairing with him.

“Ah, Satoru!” A baker called out from a window in his store, a wide grin on his flour-dusted face. “Come for your usual loaf, I presume?”

Gojo chuckled softly, bringing his horse to a gentle halt. With practiced ease, he dismounted, his movements graceful and assured as he swung his leg over and landed lightly on his heels. The smoothness of the motion caught you off guard—it was almost unsettling how effortlessly he moved, as if every action was calculated yet unforced. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of irritation, knowing full well that you would never manage such a feat with half as much elegance, even with assistance.

He strode toward the baker with the kind of natural ease that spoke of familiarity and comfort, offering the man a warm, familiar smile as they exchanged pleasantries. There was a certain charm in his manner, a fluidity in the way he blended himself into the simple rhythm of village life, so unlike the polished and sometimes disingenuous world of high society. You found yourself watching their conversation, noting how easily he made himself a part of this world—something that unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

You brought your horse to a stop beside his, watching as Gojo clasped the baker’s hand in greeting. “Not today, I’m afraid,” Gojo remarked with a light laugh, his tone amiable, yet restrained, “though the aroma is tempting enough to make one reconsider their resolve.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, though the tempting aroma of freshly baked bread was almost enough to make you forget your irritation. You remained silent, feeling somewhat out of place amid Gojo’s easy banter with the villagers. There was something about the way he interacted with them—so at ease, so familiar—that unsettled you. The way the baker addressed him by his given name, Satoru, only added to your bewilderment, and you couldn’t help but wonder how much of this was genuine and how much was part of the façade he wielded so effortlessly in society.

“And who might this lovely young lady be?” The baker’s voice drew you from your thoughts. Both men were now looking at you, you the center of attention as the baker looked between you and Gojo expectantly.

Gojo had his arm resting casually on the baker’s shoulder, his usual smirk slipping for a brief moment as he scratched at the back of his head—a gesture that seemed oddly boyish for someone of his station. It was so unlike him that you blinked in surprise. “Ah, this is—”

“Satoru!” Before he could finish, a sharp voice rang out. The next moment, Gojo winced as an older woman smacked him on the back of the head, leaving him clutching it in exaggerated pain. “You’ve found yourself a wife and didn’t think to inform me?”

Gojo turned with a dramatic groan. “No, Mrs. Tanaka, she is not my wife. Must you always strike me so?”

The woman—short in stature but brimming with fiery energy—had her arms crossed, looking up at him with a mixture of affection and reprimand. “And what reason would I have not to, given how you leave everyone guessing?”

Her gaze then shifted to you, her stern expression softening instantly as she hurried over. Taking your hands in hers, she smiled brightly. “Ah, so this is the young lady who’s finally tamed our Satoru.”

You looked between Mrs. Tanaka and Gojo, bewildered, searching for any explanation or protest that might spare you from the implication. But Gojo merely shrugged, an amused—though slightly embarrassed—expression on his face.

Before you could respond, Mrs. Tanaka waved off any attempt at explanation, placing a finger to her lips as though she already knew the truth. “Say no more, my dear. A fine match, indeed.” She then turned to her husband, giving him a pointed look. “Dear, didn’t you say you had some business with Lord Satoru today? Why not invite them into the bakery?”

At the mention of business, Gojo’s expression shifted, and it was almost unnerving how quickly his lighthearted, carefree demeanor gave way to a more serious and focused air. He turned to the baker, his brow slightly furrowed. “Mr. Tanaka, is there another issue with the ledgers? I had thought that those troubles had long since ceased.”

The baker scratched his head sheepishly. “Well, my lord, there have been further claims—false ones, no doubt—regarding the ledgers, particularly in reference to the debt I incurred when I purchased the bakery. I did not wish to trouble you, especially as,” he cast a quick glance at you and nudged Gojo with a knowing grin, “you have a fine lady with you today. But your assistance in resolving the matter would be most appreciated, my lord.”

Gojo’s expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening as the gravity of the situation became apparent. “Of course, Mr. Tanaka. We shall address it at once. Let us discuss the matter inside.”

Mrs. Tanaka, turning to you with a motherly smile, cooed, “Why don’t you come inside as well, my dear? You look positively famished! Let me prepare something for you.”

As the men disappeared into the back of the bakery to attend to their business, Gojo offering you a brief glance as he followed (as well as an exchange with the baker to have your horses carried to a stable in the village), you were left to follow Mrs. Tanaka’s lead. She guided you to a chair with a gentle, yet insistent, manner, ushering you to sit as though you were a guest of the highest importance. Though her attentiveness was kind, you couldn’t help but feel slightly out of place.

Sitting down, you couldn’t shake the thought—why were you being treated with such familiarity? Yes, Mrs. Tanaka assumed you to be Gojo’s wife, but was the lord you knew, so self-assured and pretentious within society, truly capable of leaving such an impression on these villagers? The notion seemed almost laughable.

You concluded that Gojo must have performed some extraordinary deed—something grand yet deceptively simple, like saving their child from rolling down a hill. A gesture that, while not heroic by any noble standard, had been enough to secure the couple’s undying gratitude. Of course, you mused with a bitter edge, only Gojo could manipulate such a mundane act into a permanent place in their hearts. The thought soured your mood further. It was just like him to charm even the most unsuspecting, innocent villagers into adoring him, using that devilish smile and unearned charisma to weave them into his—--

You were jolted out of your spiraling thoughts, your internal conspiracy theories evaporating at the first whiff of fresh bread. The warm, buttery aroma wafted throughout the room as Mrs. Tanaka made her way towards you, carrying a tray of fresh loaves that looked as good as they smelled–moist and buttery. The sight of the golden-brown crusts made your stomach clench painfully in hunger, reminding you that you had yet to break your fast because of your rendezvous with Gojo. 

Mrs. Tanaka set the basket down before you, settling herself across the table, leaning back in her chair with a look of comfortable familiarity as her eyes studied you with quiet observation. Sensing your hesitation, she waved a hand, smiling warmly. “Go on, my dear, help yourself. You’ve yet to break your fast, and it’s no good going hungry.”

With a silent nod of gratitude, you took the invitation, though some part of you briefly wondered what your mother would say if she were to catch you eating so eagerly. But knowing she was nowhere near to scold you for indulgence, you wasted no time. The moment the warm, fresh bread touched your lips, you had to suppress the urge to devour it outright. Though you tried to remain composed, you could not help the small, contented sigh that escaped as the heavenly taste spread across your tongue.

Mrs. Tanaka watched you with delight, the sparkle in her eye showing how your evident enjoyment amused her. You chewed as gracefully as possible, closing your eyes in brief bliss, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Once you had swallowed and could speak without impropriety, you offered her a sincere, “I am deeply grateful to you for your kindness. This bread is truly unlike any I have tasted before.”

The woman waved off your praise with a hearty laugh. “Oh, my dear, you flatter me too much. Have some more! Your words are as sweet as your disposition.”

A flush crept up your neck at her compliment, and for a moment, you were flustered. Despite being praised endlessly by members of the ton for your beauty and title, there was something undeniably genuine in Mrs. Tanaka’s words—an absence of ulterior motives or expectations. She did not seek anything from you: no favor, no power, no advantageous marriage proposal. Her compliment felt simple, warm, and real.

Mrs. Tanaka continued to smile warmly, her gaze soft as she leaned in a little closer, clearly intrigued by the presence of a lady beside Lord Gojo. She took a sip of tea, her fingers tapping lightly against the table as she asked, “So, my dear, where did you meet our Satoru? He’s never brought a lady to our village before.”

The question caught you off guard. You paused for a moment, careful not to reveal too much or seem overly invested in his affairs. “We met in... social circles,” you answered simply, averting your gaze slightly, trying to keep your tone neutral. There was no need to elaborate or dwell on how precisely your paths had crossed—certainly not to Mrs. Tanaka, no matter how kind she seemed.

But Mrs. Tanaka was undeterred by your hesitance, her eyes lighting up with fondness as she spoke again. “Ah, yes, I suppose that would be the case. Though I’ve known him far longer than most in those circles.” She chuckled, a motherly gleam in her eye. “I’ve been with him since birth, you know. I was his nurse—watched him grow from a babe to the man you see now. Heaven knows it wasn’t easy.”

You glanced up, startled at the intimacy of her revelation. The thought of this woman, now sitting across from you, having been a part of his life since his earliest days struck you in a way you hadn’t expected. Gojo had always seemed like an enigma—a man of privilege and power, impossible to know beyond his title and public persona. But here, in the humble setting of this village, Mrs. Tanaka spoke of him as if he were not some distant lord, but a boy she had raised, a person with a story you had never even considered.

“He was the most energetic child,” Mrs. Tanaka continued, her voice fond and nostalgic. “Always getting into mischief, running circles around everyone. He had so much spirit, but oh, the responsibilities placed on those little shoulders were heavy from the start. Even when he was just a boy, his father had him learning the estate's business, sorting through documents before he could properly read some of them. I remember once—he couldn’t have been more than ten years old—his father handed him a stack of contracts to review. The poor lad spent hours poring over them, brow furrowed like a little man.”

You listened intently, the bread in your hand momentarily forgotten. It was strange, hearing Gojo being spoken of this way—no longer just a lord or rival, but a child burdened by duty far too early. 

The woman continued, “I remember thinking how much that experience must’ve aged him. He always carried that burden with such grace, but you could see it—it weighed on him.”

A strange turmoil began to stir in your chest. You had only ever known Gojo as the man he presented to society—arrogant, infuriatingly self-assured, with a grin that could cut like a knife. But now, you were being offered a glimpse of someone else entirely: a boy who had been shaped by forces beyond his control. 

Mrs. Tanaka’s voice softened, her gaze faraway as she reminisced. “It was not easy for him, growing up with so much expected of him. He would act out sometimes, just to remind everyone that he was still a boy—still someone who needed room to breathe. But even so, he never shied away from what was asked of him. He understood his duty, perhaps too well.”

“I see.” You swallowed, a strange sensation creeping up your spine. 

“He’s a good man, Satoru,” Mrs. Tanaka said softly. “He’s had to grow up faster than most, and he’s been shaped by that weight. But I hope you can see that there’s more to him than what’s on the surface.”

You offered her a polite smile, but inside, your thoughts were a storm of conflicting emotions. Gojo, a man burdened by duty? The notion seemed almost laughable... and yet, there was a part of you that couldn’t dismiss it so easily.

Your gaze then wandered to the man of the topic itself. The baker and him were poring and scanning endlessly over sheets of paper, an uptick in his jaw visible as his eyes remained concentrated, oblivious to your observation from across the bakery. His hand raked over his hair, the muscles in his forearm clenching and unclenching due to the action, as he discussed something with the baker. Whatever matter they were discussing, it was clear it a serious matter, for you could hear the gears whirring through his mind through the calculative look on his face.

The scene felt oddly intimate—watching him in such a serious, unguarded moment. His usual carefree demeanor was replaced by something sharp, calculating, as if the gears of his mind were turning at full speed. He pointed at something on the paper, his brow furrowing, and exchanged a few terse words with the baker. From the look on their faces, the issue seemed grave, but Gojo handled it with a calm decisiveness that surprised you.

Finally, after several moments of quiet but intense discussion, there was a visible shift. The baker nodded, sighing in relief, and Gojo’s posture relaxed, the tension in his frame unwinding. He stood a little taller, rolling his shoulders as though shedding the weight of responsibility that had pressed down on him so heavily just moments before. He glanced at the baker with a reassuring smile, offering a firm pat on the man’s back. It seemed the matter had been resolved.

As Gojo turned his head, his eyes caught yours from across the bakery. Your heart leapt unexpectedly, and you quickly averted your gaze, heat creeping up your neck as you pretended to be fascinated by the contents of the breadbasket in front of you. Despite yourself, a faint flustered feeling bloomed in your chest, and you couldn’t shake the sense of being caught staring.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Gojo making his way toward you, his steps slow but deliberate. You could feel the gentle thud of his boots against the wooden floor, the sound growing louder with each stride. Your back straightened instinctively, your gaze fixed firmly on Mrs. Tanaka, trying to distract yourself from the awareness that Gojo was now directly behind you.

Then, a hand placed on the back of your chair as Gojo effectively leaned over you, peering down to look down at you and Mrs. Tanaka. “Ah, I see you’ve been well entertained,” he drawled, a teasing lilt to it, though quieter and more casual than before.

You manage a polite smile to Mrs. Tanaka despite the teasing intent behind Satoru’s words.  "Mrs. Tanaka has been a most gracious host," you replied, avoiding meeting his eyes directly, though you could feel his presence and the heat of his hand behind you, on the back of your chair.

“Well, the business is settled for now,” Gojo turned slightly so that he was addressing Mrs. Tanaka as well. "I’m glad we could clear it up."

Mrs. Tanaka nodded, her expression pleased. "That’s good to hear. I don’t know what we’d do without you, Satoru. You always manage to set things right."

Gojo shrugged modestly, though the smirk playing on his lips told you he was aware of his importance in the village. "I do what I can," he said with an exaggerated sigh, though the humor in his tone softened the boast.

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes at his self-satisfaction, but Mrs. Tanaka was having none of it, laughing and swatting at his arm. "Enough of that, lad. You’ll give yourself a swollen head.”

Gojo laughed heartily at that, the sound easy and infectious. For a moment, it was almost disarming how comfortable he seemed in this setting, a far cry from the lord who prowled through the ton with that arrogant air of superiority. The contrast gnawed at you, but you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on Mrs. Tanaka, who now wore an expression of mild concern.

Curiosity piqued, you glanced over to Gojo, only to find a matching look of confusion on his face, his eyebrows slightly raised as he too turned to the woman.

Mrs. Tanaka’s frown deepened as she folded her arms, the lines of worry clear upon her face. “Satoru,” she began, her tone earnest, “is your wife pregnant yet?”

The question landed between you like a stone dropped in still water.

Gojo sputtered, his usual composure vanishing in an instant, and you—taken aback—choked on nothing but air, coughing violently as the shock of the statement hit you squarely.

"P-Pardon?" Gojo stammered, eyes wide, and for once, his usual glib charm utterly failed him.

You managed to recover just enough to speak, though your voice came out hoarse and incredulous. “I—I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

The tension in the room skyrocketed as Mrs. Tanaka blinked innocently between the two of you, utterly oblivious to the awkwardness spreading like wildfire. "Well, it’s just—he’s always been so strong and healthy. I thought, surely by now…"

You quickly attempted to intervene, “No, I assure you—”

But before you could get a full sentence out, Mrs. Tanaka turned to Satoru, her gaze suddenly serious as she leveled him with an intent stare. “You’re doing your task correctly, I presume? You have to apply a bit of force, or you're not performing the act quite right.”

She then turned her concerned frown toward you. “Is he not doing his job properly? You do feel pleasure, don’t you, my dear?”

You blinked, utterly baffled, and turned to Gojo, seeking some kind of explanation. But to no avail—he was conspicuously avoiding your gaze, a rare flush creeping up his neck. The sight of him, normally so self-assured, now visibly flustered, did nothing to quell your rising confusion. “Pleasure?” you echoed, unsure of what she was referring to.

“Satoru!” Mrs. Tanaka scolded, her tone growing more exasperated. “You must conduct the marital act properly!”

Gojo finally intervened, cutting Mrs. Tanaka off with a polite but decisive, "Thank you, Mrs. Tanaka. We shall consider your counsel. I have many errands to get to, so we must take our leave now." His voice was calm, though firm, signaling that the conversation had reached its conclusion. Offering her a swift bow, he gestured for you to follow, and you did so with a quiet, grateful nod.

Once outside, the air between you both felt lighter, though a strange silence still lingered. Both of you took to the streets again—Gojo didn’t seem to make motions towards the bakery’s stable to grab your horses, so you assumed the medium of travel was to be foot for the rest of his errands.

However, after a few steps, curiosity gnawed at you, and you could no longer hold back your question.

"What, exactly, is the marital act?"

Gojo stopped abruptly, turning to face you with a look of utter bewilderment amidst the bustle of the market traveling around you both. "You cannot be serious."

You met his gaze earnestly. "I am entirely serious. My mama hasn't…enlightened me, simply skirting around the topic. I was wondering if you could, given that it has arisen in our conversation."

He blinked, seemingly at a loss for words, before letting out a startled laugh. "It is... how children are conceived."

"Oh," you responded, thinking on it for a moment. "So... one must marry, then?"

Gojo stared at you, incredulity plain on his face. "What?"

"You sign the contract," you explained, as though clarifying something obvious, "and then you lay in bed and embrace, do you not?"

Gojo’s mouth fell open for a moment before he threw his head back with a short, disbelieving laugh. "Just embrace?"

You nodded, though your cheeks had begun to burn under his astonished gaze and you averted your gaze to look at the shiny, red apples a vendor was presenting. "Yes, merely embrace."

Shaking his head, Gojo let out another incredulous chuckle. "And you believe children are delivered by storks as well, I suppose?"

You crossed your arms, feeling your face grow hotter. "I most certainly do not. I was present when my mother gave birth to Yuji, and I heard every scream, thank you very much."

Gojo ran a hand over his face, stifling his amusement as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Clearly there is more to it than simply embracing. It is... a rather more intimate affair."

"More intimate? You mean like wrestling?"

At this, Gojo choked on his laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, not wrestling. It’s... well, I hardly know how to explain it delicately. But it is how one begets children."

You frowned, now growing frustrated with his vagueness. "You speak in riddles. If I am mistaken, then kindly explain what the act entails!"

Gojo sighed deeply, clearly struggling between frustration and amusement. "The marital act is not simply laying beside one another—it involves a... a physical connection, far beyond mere affection. It is, indeed, how children come to be."

You blinked, still not fully understanding, though you refused to let it show. "You could simply say so, instead of dancing around the matter."

Gojo’s lips twitched into a grin. "Ah, but where would be the fun in that?"

"Fun?" you repeated, exasperated. "This is a matter of knowledge!"

"Indeed, a matter of knowledge I did not expect to be imparting today," Gojo said with a wry shake of his head. "Suffice it to say, it is more than an embrace, and when the time comes, you shall learn well enough."

You glared at him, cheeks still warm with embarrassment. "I shall inquire elsewhere, then."

“I would advise you not to,” Gojo remarked wryly, tilting his head to indicate that both of you move, which you surmise is a wise move given that a heavy and big cart was moving towards the general direction of the both of you, and your feet followed him through the market. Roving his eyes over the general treats and food available, you see–from beside him–that his eyes fixate on some sweet smelling pastries on a cart. Not taking his eyes off of them, he adds, “It’s quite a sensitive topic among the ton. I suspect your mama would faint if she heard you were out and about inquiring the true nature of the marital act.”

“I can…consult texts,” you say, offhandedly, but you are equally as enraptured towards the sweets stall you both are walking towards.

“Mmh,” Gojo hums, “You could, I’m sure. However, you might encounter more…scientific things, rather than the personal.”

You shrugged, eyes locked in on the pasty bursting with apples. “Makes no distinction to me.”

In your…focus on the pastry, you failed to hear the upcoming hooves against the street, steadily getting louder and louder towards you. Just as you were reaching the pastry stall, the thunderous clatter of hooves on cobblestones cut through the air, snapping you from your reverie. A carriage barreled down the narrow lane, far too close for comfort and ready to crush you.

Before you could react, Gojo’s hand shot out, firm and unyielding, pulling you back toward him with a swift motion. He held you against his side, shielding you from the oncoming threat, his grip steady and protective. The world seemed to spin for a moment, your senses heightened by the closeness, the warmth of his touch, and the rapid beat of your own heart.

"Must I be responsible for keeping you from walking into trouble?" he murmured, his voice tinged with both relief and a hint of exasperation. You could feel his grip on your arm and waist as he breathed heavily, the sheer strength he possessed making you shocked, even dizzy. The carriage rumbled past, stirring up a cloud of dust, and you were left standing so near to him that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath.

You opened your mouth to stammer some excuse, your cheeks hot with embarrassment, but his expression had already softened into that infuriatingly familiar smirk, and he let go of the contact he had on you. "I shall have to keep a closer watch over you, lest pastries and carriages both be your undoing," he teased lightly.

You huffed, stepping back from his person with as much dignity as you could muster. "I was merely... distracted by the sweets, as were you," you replied, sounding petulant even to your own ears.

"Ah, yes, distracted to the point of self-endangerment. Truly, the pastries of this market wield extraordinary power over you."

"I am hardly so careless. It was a mere lapse of focus." Your lips twitched, fighting the smile threatening to surface despite your annoyance.

"If you say so," he drawled, his tone full of mock skepticism. Then, with a more serious note, he added, "Perhaps it would be wise to focus on the task at hand, rather than leaving your life in the hands of apple tarts."

You flushed slightly, more from his sheer perceptiveness than the scolding itself, and cast your eyes away, suddenly unsure of what to say. It was so much simpler when he was mocking you, but this unexpected gentleness was a new kind of challenge altogether.

"Come then," he said, his voice returning to its light, teasing timbre. "Let us continue our quest for knowledge—or, at the very least, for pastries that won't lead to your untimely end."

Moving towards the stall, the smell of various fruits baked into sweets with delicious sauces sprinkled on top. The treats were clearly crafted with care, the kind of sincerity and dedication that no gilded manor kitchen could quite capture. The young couple behind the stall radiated a warmth and pride that spoke of a passion for their craft, one that valued love of the work over the cost of the ingredients.

Gojo, ever at ease among the townsfolk, exchanged pleasantries with the couple, his attention split between their conversation and the tempting selection of tarts. He spoke with the man about some local issue, but you found your focus entirely absorbed by the golden-crusted apple pie that seemed to call to you.

“Would you like to try these?” You looked up to see the presumed wife of the man, smiling at you and eyes twinkling with genuine hospitality.

Returning her smile with a polite nod, you said, "There is no need, truly. How much do you ask for one of these?" You thanked God for remembering to carry your small coin purse—a habit drilled into you by Sukuna’s lessons on self-sufficiency, even if Judgement day came in, you always carried money on your person so long as you were not within your family’s vicinity. 

The lady named her price, and you promptly began to search for the correct coins in your purse. Just as your fingers brushed against the cool metal, a gloved hand caught your wrist, halting your movement.

"You must be the only lady in all of Christendom who insists on paying for her own tarts whilst her husband stands idly by," came Gojo’s teasing voice. You didn’t need to look up to know that his familiar smirk was firmly in place, brimming with that infuriating mirth that seemed to accompany his every word.

Without relinquishing his gentle hold on your wrist, he smoothly handed over the coins to the stall owner, then deftly picked up a golden apple tart. His eyes gleamed with something unreadable as he offered the pastry to you, the corners of his mouth twitching as if daring you to protest.

But you didn’t give him what he wanted; rather, you took it without protest—not without rolling your eyes—and looked it over appreciatively.

Gojo bent over to lean his face close into yours, ever so playing the part of a husband wanting to spoil his wife. “Happy?”

You gave him a hum, sticking your tongue out and then taking a bite of the pastry in front of you. 

Gojo's smirk widened, clearly amused by your reaction, his blue eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and satisfaction. He watched you intently, as though gauging your every move, delighting in this little game of his. You knew he expected some sharp retort or flustered reaction, but you were determined not to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you took a slow, deliberate bite of the tart, savoring its warmth and sweetness. The flaky crust gave way to the soft, spiced apple filling that practically melted on your tongue. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, relishing the taste, and let out a contented sigh. "It is quite satisfactory," you said, allowing a small smile to play on your lips as you met his gaze.

"Well, I should hope so," Gojo said with a chuckle, still playing the role of the devoted husband. "One does go to great lengths to ensure one's wife is suitably indulged."

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, but there was no denying the way the scene had amused you, despite your best efforts to remain unflappable. “You enjoy this, don’t you?” you remarked dryly.

"More than you can imagine," he replied, his tone light and teasing. "Seeing you this flustered and yet so determined not to show it? Absolutely delightful."

You narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn't quite suppress the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "You are insufferable."

"And yet," he said, leaning in ever so slightly, a touch of softness behind the humor in his voice, "you tolerate me still." 

You huffed. "Only because you happen to be useful at times, particularly for giving me the opportunity to escape the confines of your godforsaken manor."

He laughed, a genuine sound that echoed above the bustle of the market. "Oh, I'll take that as the highest compliment, coming from you."

"Enjoy it while you can, Gojo. It may be the last time I am so generous."

"Noted," he said with a grin, giving you a playful wink. "I'll savor it as much as you did that tart."

"You know," you began, musing, "our mamas have truly squandered their efforts. We would never have made a compatible match."

Both of you rode side by side on horseback, the forest trail stretching out before you as you made your way back to the manor. The journey was not far now—the stone turrets of the Gojo estate were already visible in the distance. The both of you hadn’t had much time to do much other than two encounters you had, deciding to make your return before your rendezvous got behindhand.  You turned your head slightly to study Gojo's reaction, expecting to find that familiar, self-assured smirk he always wore. But instead, his expression was... different. A touch more solemn, perhaps even conflicted.

At last, he spoke, his voice softer than usual. "And what, pray tell, do you consider a suitable match?"

You let his question hang in the air for a moment, taking in the rustling leaves and the steady rhythm of your horses' hooves against the well-trodden path. It was just the two of you here in the quiet of the forest, far from the prying eyes of society. There was a certain unspoken understanding between you—a truce of sorts—yet also a acknowledgement that either of you could easily betray this moment's candor.

So, ultimately, you chose honesty. Partial honesty.

With a quiet sigh, you chose your words carefully. "I think," you hesitated, your gaze caught by Gojo's steady, penetrating eyes, "I should prefer a life of tranquility once I am wed. Someone gentle, who would respect my desire to occupy myself as I please, who would allow me a measure of privacy." You quickly added, as to not seem too radical, "I mean to say, someone who would not object if I wished to practice my piano in solitude or to pursue a quiet hobby. Surely you understand, my lord, the burden of constantly being in the public eye."

Instead of seeming understanding, Gojo’s gaze on you was…pensive. Your heart sped up as the solace you needed from Gojo after being a bit vulnerable didn’t appear, leaving your mind running as to what he was thinking.The sunlight filtered through the trees, catching in his white hair, giving him an almost ethereal appearance as the two of you rode on in silence.

Then, the clouds covered the sun up, giving his figure a glum, ruminative cast.

After a long pause, he finally spoke, and his voice seemed to carry a note of something deeper, something unspoken. As if he was aware of something you weren’t. “What I do understand that is that you are being deceitful. Both your future husband and to yourself.”

His words hung in the air between you, more like a question than a statement, challenging in a way that left you unprepared. The forest around you seemed to hold its breath, the rustling leaves and birdsong fading into the background as his gaze locked onto yours, probing, almost too perceptive. It was the windiness indicative of rainfall, with the thunder of clouds above you to provide testament to the change in weather.

You straightened in your saddle, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. "I fail to see what you mean," you replied, a touch defensive, though you kept your tone level. "What else should one seek from a marriage if not harmony and respect?"

 "You speak of privacy and quiet, of being left to your own devices. But tell me," he said, his voice barely above a murmur, "would that truly satisfy you? To be married to a man who treats you as if you were a painting—beautiful, yes, but best admired from a distance, untouched and unengaged?"

You opened your mouth to respond but found no words. There was a part of you, a stubborn part, that wanted to argue—to tell him he was wrong, that a peaceful life was exactly what you desired.

"I... simply wish to avoid the chaos that comes with too much entanglement," you said finally, more quietly. "I’ve seen what happens when people become too wrapped up in one another. It's a vulnerability I do not wish to expose myself to."

"Ah, I see," he said, nodding slowly yet mockingly as if he was piecing together a puzzle, making you bristle involuntarily. "So, you’d rather not risk the mess of it all—the unpredictability, the chance of losing control. You want safety."

You narrowed your eyes at him, both irritated and unnerved by his perceptiveness. "Is that so wrong?" you challenged. "To desire a life where I can control my own happiness, rather than leave it in the hands of another?"

He matched your tone and fervor. “Is that truly what you believe a marriage is for?”

You sneered. “And don’t you want an accountant for a wife, my lord? It is quite laughable for you to be advising me on the beauty of marriage.”

Enraptured in the heat of the moment, you hadn’t realized that you were nearly at the stables where you had to station your horses until Satoru grabbed his reins—-hands idle before, directing his horse in no particular direction—to now steer his into the stall next to the ones you directed yours. 

“My stance on marriage and my character bear no relevance to this matter,” he replied, a rueful smile tugging at his lips as he tethered his horse. His tone was controlled, though a trace of irritation bled through. “Whatever my faults, they do not make your notions any more rational.”

“But you forget that it illuminates who you are,” you hissed, walking towards the exit of the barn, tired of the smell of manure and Gojo, unsure which was more repugnant. “A hypocrite. A whited sepulchre, if you will.”

Gojo barks out a laugh from behind you, following closely behind on your heels. “Any supposed sanctimonious nature of mine does not alter the fact that you are steering yourself into a life of misery. Not just you, but any poor fool incapable of seeing through your polished smiles to your true intentions.”

On a given day, had you not been so incensed or had your opponent been anyone other than Lord Gojo, you might have heeded the thunderous roar of the rain on the stable’s roof or the slick ground outside that awaited you. And on a given day, you wouldn’t have stepped so fast, as if daring the friction of the  ground and force of gravity to make you fall flat on your face.

But, alas, it was not that said given day and your ankle made a sickening crunch! against the ground as you fell, your head and body hitting the wet grass. You felt the world tilt unnaturally as you hit the ground, the impact jarring through your body, sending a shockwave of pain radiating from your ankle to the back of your skull. A dull throb began to pulse at your temples, and the rain poured down, blurring your vision into a haze of grays and greens.

Through the blend of sensations, you heard a sharp intake of breath, and then there were hurried footsteps approaching. Somewhere above the din of the storm, a voice called your name, its usual calm fraying at the edges with alarm.

“Miss Itadori!” WIth that you jumped, eyes finally registering a Gojo clenching your wrists tight. “Can you understand what I am saying?”

Your gaze drifted over his face, focusing on the small details—his rain-slicked hair, the concern that flickered behind his eyes, the humorless smile that strained at his lips. Slowly, you managed a nod, though even that small movement made your head swim. “Yes,” you whispered.

Then, you became acutely aware of a warm, crimson fluid pooling around you, contrasting sharply with the rain-soaked earth. You began to feel faint, though not from the severity of the injury itself, but rather from the unfamiliar sight of so much blood. It was unnerving, especially for someone who had never experienced a wound of this nature. The lightheadedness must have been responsible for your sudden admission, “I am frightened.”

Lord Gojo’s eyes, which had moments ago glinted with amusement at your pitiful state, softened ever so slightly. His smirk remained in place, yet you noticed the way his fingers twitched restlessly at his side, betraying the composure he desperately clung to. “My lady, it’s merely a gash. You are not in danger of perishing,” he said, his tone light, almost too light, like a mask hiding something unspoken. “However, it seems I’ll have to carry you to a physician, lest you collapse entirely.”

He stood up from where he had been inspecting your ankle, bending slightly before you with his arms extended. But there was a slight hesitation in his movement, a momentary pause before his hands reached for you, as if he were weighing the consequences, considering the impropriety of the action.

Your eyes widened in alarm at the very idea of being carried by him. “Carry me? What--AHHH!” A sharp scream left your lips as Lord Gojo, without warning, scooped you into his arms. In the blink of an eye, you found yourself in a bridal carry, your gown catching the rain as he strode out of the greenhouse. He moved with a purposeful stride, though his grip on you was perhaps a fraction tighter than necessary, his jaw clenched just a bit too firmly.

You pounded your fists ineffectively against his chest, cheeks burning with indignation. “Gojo, let me down!”

He, of course, ignored your demands entirely, his voice annoyingly gentle as he cooed, “Now, now, it’s for your own good. You’re in no condition to walk, and I can hardly risk your injury worsening.” But despite his calm words, his eyes flickered nervously to your face and then away, almost as though he was afraid of what he might see in your expression if he looked too long.

“What if someone sees us?” you hissed, your mind racing at the impropriety of the situation. The two of you, unchaperoned, in such an undignified position—it would provide gossip for Whistledown and the ton for weeks.

Gojo’s smirk returned, though there was a tightness around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “I am wearing gloves, my lady. Fear not, I am not making contact with your bare skin.” His attempt at humor felt forced, his voice lacking its usual ease, and when he added, “Though I daresay, it would not be such an unpleasant thought,” the playfulness seemed almost like a deflection.

You narrowed your eyes, trying to distract yourself from the warmth of his arms. “Why do you always wear those?”

“Writing ledgers and doing a lot of work with pens make my fingers blister. It’s quite unsightly, so I prefer to wear them,” he said, his voice steady, though the hand supporting your back trembled almost imperceptibly.

You hummed, settling a little more comfortably in his hold. "You know, you’re quite strong to be able to carry me like this. What manual labor are your parents making you do to get the title of duke?”

“Well,” Gojo began, but his voice sounded tighter now, the rumble of it vibrating through his chest where your head was so near. The proximity seemed to unsettle him in a way his words could not hide; he cleared his throat as if to steady himself, but his breathing was just a touch uneven. My vindication for such close contact will be the blood loss, you thought, as you nestled your head closer to his chest, until your nose was almost grazing his neck. The scent of tobacco and vanilla filled your senses, lulling you closer to the pulse that beat a bit too fast beneath his skin. “I enjoy doing archery. I’ve been doing it ever since I was a child, which happens to strengthen your shoulders.”

You thought back to the night you were strolling in the garden the day of your debut, musing on the size of his shoulders, and mumbled, “Mmmm, I was right.”

Gojo stiffened almost imperceptibly, his gaze flickering down to you in a way that was almost too quick, too searching. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, but he hesitated. "Right about what?" he asked finally, his tone a bit too casual, as though trying to mask the turmoil behind his nonchalance.

“Nothing,” you murmured, closing your eyes and leaning your head against his shoulder. You felt his gaze linger on you, as though he were trying to decipher a puzzle that was just beyond his reach, before he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. And as he carried you onward, the rhythm of his heartbeat felt almost in sync with the rain, though you both pretended not to notice how fast it was racing.

As you leaned against him, the warmth of his presence enveloped you, a soothing balm against the chaos swirling in your mind. But the world began to tilt, colors blurring at the edges, and the sounds of the forest faded into a distant hum.

“Gojo…” you whispered, your voice barely a breath, a final plea for clarity before darkness crept in.

The last thing you registered was his grip tightening around you, a hint of alarm breaking through his facade. “Stay with me,” you heard, though his voice felt miles away, echoing in the void as consciousness slipped through your fingers like grains of sand.

Then, the world faded entirely, leaving only the warmth of his arms and the distant sound of his voice.

prev. the game | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n AHHH HI BRIDGERTON!GOJO READERS I MISSED U!!! im very sorry for the delay that happened with this chapter but for me it's so hard to write...development and angst and fluff becasue when you write it's so hard to know when any of your writing hits :(

but re-reading ur comments reblogs and asks inspire me a lot to continue so we all good :3 i think what happened was that i kind of went thru a crisis where i thought my writing wasn't good at all because of certain things i saw in other authors', i.e. writing longfics that have 10k+ words that led me to believe i wasn't writing enough, that my plotline was progressing too fast, etc. i might have long chapters going on, i might not because i realize how stupid that belief was lol. anyways moving forward i dont think we will see that type of delay because i have the best readers hehe <3 love you all and im kind of giggling in anticipation to all your funny comments because they make my day

ANYWAYS like always reblogs and comments are appreciated <333

meme time

gojo getting to business w the baker (credits to @/sinn-clair LOL)

TAGLIST:

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

@hyori2 @babyblue0t7 @iwanttoberich420 @rosso-seta @ladytamayolover

@kalulakunundrum @r0ckst4rjk @mo0sin @angelina7890 @jaeminaur

@yamiyas @cherry-blossoms-in-red @r3inae @lagataprrr @sasfransisco

@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx

@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

[tacticalprincess]

pornstar!König is haunting my dreams:(

-🍪

despite pornstar!könig’s obvious exhibitionist streak, he wants to be around as minimal people as possible, turning down offers from big porn production companies without a second thought. he prefers to produce his own work, either with his outdated phone camera or various old film cameras. the amateur feel to his videos only enhances his appeal to his audience, giving it a realistic touch.

what they don’t know is that none of it is faked, from his end at least. in his mind, he’s getting access to beautiful women’s bodies that he never would’ve before popularity, and showcasing it to the world. the money is only a plus.

his camera shakes as he ploughs into your tight, warm hole from behind, angling it in a way that catches his thick cock splitting you open from his point of view. breaching parts of you no one’s ever been able to touch. he squeezes the fat of your ass that jiggles every time his hips slam into yours, red and raw from being spanked harshly, and spreads your cheeks to put your glossy pussy on display. it amazes him how such a small hole can swallow him so deliciously, the first girl to take him without complaint.

you look impossibly small under his massive frame through the lens, his large hand engulfing every part of you he decides to touch. controls the pace of your hips and reduces you to a fleshlight with just one hand, using his strength to make you fuck back on him despite how boneless you’ve gone.

“this little cunt was made to be on camera. listen to her.” he says gruffly, reaching over and holding a hand over your mouth to muffle your broken moans. you squirm — the obscene squelching noises coming from your pussy makes you shy, unable to run from the position he has you in with your back arched and him over you, completely covered. the glide of his cock is slippery and wet inside your abused hole, sucking him in desperately while his heavy balls slap against your neglected clit. “so loud, liebchen. gonna make you a star.”

next time, he might invest in a go pro, just so he can catch the entirety of your body at once. the sight is too alluring to go to waste.

[oblique-lane]

Spy tf2 and his identity

Character analysis (or at least my vision on him, if you believe my reasoning)

What do we know about Spy? He's a disguise mastermind. He can pretend to be anyone in order to infiltrate into the scene to do his job - quite literally, stab people on the back. But when he's not in the battle, what is he to his teammates? A suave Frenchman, a gentleman with taste, somewhat a leader.

At least, that's the persona he prefers to show. But is he really..?

What if I tell you that this person never drops his disguise?

For a man who always wears a mask and who's identity being secret is a sacred part of his role in this job, isn't this persona too much to show if it is real? Frenchman, rich, ladykiller... Wouldn't it be too easy to decipher his identity with so much clues provided? Wouldn't it be dangerous?

While Miss Pauling and the Administrator definitely know Spy's real identity, hiding it is a major thing for whatever reason. One could assume it might be because of Scout (obvious guess) but I doubt he's a sole reason. Spy very much enjoys being the Spy all by himself. Do what's the deal?

Let's start from the beginning.

Why did Spy join Mann Co. in the first place?

Let's take this assumption as a fact: people come here out of desperation. They are professionals in their field, yet in their past/casual life there is a pattern of them having difficulties that push them into joining this service. I don't see why Spy would be an exception.

The reason for joining is usually money. Some people question why Spy, a wealthy man from higher society, would join Mann Co. if he has it all already.

Well, probably because he really does not.

Have you ever met an aristocrat? Wealthy people don't get so protective about their expensive suits, they can afford cleaning or a new one. Regardless, rich people don't usually get stingy about material goods, especially if they're mass produced.

At least, not those who were born into wealth.

Spy's defensiveness about his "wealthy stuff", his pomp-ness, disgust and arrogance towards "plebs" gives off a man who knows what it means to live in poverty and who doesn't want to be associated with it ever again.

(Not even talking about his own filthy habits such as not washing his mask and pissing on walls? Jesus Christ)

Dare I even guess that he might be not French at all? His French is so broken. (Although, so is Medic's German, but at least he uses his language much more frequently and in more complex sentences, while Spy only uses French to say some basic expressions, occasionally confusing them with other languages). Definitely not a native.

If anything, he's not giving "rich man" at all, he's giving con man. And that fits my picture perfectly.

So, poor upbringing. How old is Spy? If he's Scout's father (and he was young when he was conceived), I'd say he's no less than 20 years older than him. I'd give him a few more years actually. So, approximately Spy is around 50 at the events of the game (1968-1972). Let's assume he was born somewhere in the 1910s.

Even if he's not French, I still agree that he's probably European. Hmm, what was happening in Europe at the time Spy was a kid?

Oh yeah. The Great Depression.

See my picture: imagine, a child from a lower class family during the Great Depression, his parents were most likely to not take good care about him (both because of the economical situation AND as an echo to Spy's struggles with his own fatherhood). He has to run away from home early and start to make money. Any way possible.

Unavoidably, it leads to crime.

Petty theft, blackmail, scams. Changing identities. Selling low quality products and services. Changing identities again. When older, seducing rich women to stay at their homes overnight, be fed and supported. Running away from the police. Walking into a trap of the mafia, and then joining them as their goon.

In this nightmare of a life he just had to keep pretending to be someone else, someone better and stronger, in order to his ego to not completely shutter. He had to imagine he was an invincible mastermind trickster of some sort, not just a poor boo-hoo victim of poverty who has never knew normal life and care.

And if you pretend for long enough, you become your role eventually... Right?

His true self was long lost forgotten under many layers of new identities. Worse, his true self was never known. And he didn't want it to be known in its ugly and disgusting vulnerability. Narcissism became his lifeline.

It's so much better to be Spy. To be rich and elegant and respected. His ego rebuilt.

[kisses4reid]

not our scene | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, - part 1

summary - an undercover mission creates distance between you and spencer, but his hands on your waist closes it.

genre - fem!shyish!reader x spencer, forced proximity, fake relationship, awkward idiots, fluff

warnings - awkwardness, general cm violence and gore, spencer and reader are both awkwardly in love with each other and don’t know it yet, mentions of trafficking

w/c - 3.5k

a/n - was writing this in one part and realised i just couldn’t. *jennifer coolidge aoughhe* sorry that its a bit inconsistent with writing style, and its not my best. trying to get back into writing fics longer than 1k.

part two

A familiar scene, an unfamiliar circumstance. The breath mint you swirled around your mouth had now disintegrated in your surprised stillness, your boss Aaron Hotchner passed you a thick case file with an attentive glance. Spencer cleared his throat, “At parties?” 

“Yes,” your boss’ hard voice returned, “The girls are swapped at banquets and ballroom dances, disguised as simple partner swapping.” Aaron turned towards the large panel screen and motioned towards an ID photo of a balding man. “This is Quinn Webley, he controls all transactions and coordinates the parties and most importantly, security.” 

“That’s why Reid and Y/L/n will be undercover. No offence but you two aren’t very noticeable,” Rossi added onto Hotch’s explanation, earning a small snort from Morgan.

There was no doubt more reasons to be chosen than that. Morgan was too impulsive, Emily could get hot-headed, JJ wasn’t trained for it, and Rossi and Hotch simply had to make sure everything went well from the outside. You and Spencer were the best options for this type of case, not only because of your skill, because of the obvious chemistry that you and Spencer shared. “Now, you’re not to make contact with Webley, all you have to do is watch him and everyone else. Pay close attention to couples, older men in small groups, and to the dances that might take place.” Hotch was not giving you or Spencer a chance to object, or to deject the idea. This was set, no negotiation. Not that you would want to be replaced in this case, it was just the fact that you were: 1. A terrible dancer, and 2. Not the most extroverted person. You nodded along, opening the case to create a personal profile of the women who were trafficked, before the discussion had come to a close, and everyone left the room to start collecting their things. 

Spencer cleared his throat, bringing you out of your analysis to meet his warm eyes. Suddenly, the easy-going banter you and Spencer shared had evaporated, replaced by suffocating silence. He didn’t meet your gaze back, only muttering in the silence, “Can I assume you want me to take the lead on this one?” 

“Oh, yes please.” You smile smally, trying to melt the ice that had somehow solidified between you two. Spencer was awkward, introverted, preferred alone time, but you were shy, quiet, and verbally uncoordinated (and physically). 

He nodded and exited the room, sighing off nerves that had piled themselves onto his shoulders since finding out he’d have to go undercover with the one girl he didn’t want to ruin his relationship with. He didn’t think the case would ruin your friendship, but it could make it harder for him to keep it that way.

Spencer stood straight with Derek peering over his shoulder and into the mirror. Derek picked at some dust on Spencer’s suit jacket as the nervous boy attempted to loop his tie neatly. 

Derek chuckles under his breath and turns the boy by his shoulders to face him, lifting his strong hands to help Spencer with the dark crimson red tie. Spencer silently thanked him with a nod.

“What are you so nervous about, Spencer?” He asked, half joking half serious, “It’s just an undercover mission. You’ve done this plenty of times.” 

“Not like this,” Spencer quickly replied, “Not with…” Her. You. 

Derek opened his mouth slightly and nodded, finally understanding the true reason for Spencer’s bouncing leg and sweaty hands. 

“Don’t freak out too much okay? You need to act like you love her, which won’t be too hard- But you need to do it without looking like you’re afraid of her.” Derek finished tying Reid’s tie and patted him on the chest as a hype up, smiling at him brotherly like. He knew Spencer’s feelings for you, that he liked you. A lot. 

He didn’t know Spencer wouldn’t have to act like he loves you. Spencer bit the inside of his lip nervously and turned to the mirror again, taking his eyes over his slightly unfamiliar reflection. 

The suit is tailored perfectly to his body, making him look trim, lean, and tall. Derek handed him a black bottle of cologne and headed for the door, before a sudden question stopped him.

��Do you… do you think she’s too good for me?” Spencer looked at Derek with big eyes, blinking rapidly. The man stood in slight shock before laughing away the silence, shaking his head in disbelief. He knew Spencer wasn’t accusing him of anything, it was a genuine question. Spencer thought he was lesser, less than what you deserved - even if it was just for a night. 

“Pretty boy, I think she’s happier to be doing this than you know. I think she likes you- I know she likes you-“

“That doesn’t mean-“

“Uh uh uh. No. Trust me, Reid,” Derek opened the hotel door and gestured for Spencer to follow him, “If you don’t trust me, ask her yourself.”

The girls whistled loudly at you like a bunch of old men when you emerged from the bathroom. You spun on your heel (which was way too tall for your liking) to entertain the ladies, JJ clapping her hands together and Garcia smiling so hard you felt your own cheeks burn. 

“Why do fake couples always have to be straight, huh?” Emily joked, and you giggled back at her. You crossed your arms over your chest as you turned to face a standing mirror in the corner of the fancy hotel. 

Your body was wrapped in a silky red, floor length dress, with wide and long sleeves draping over your covered arms like a cloud surrounds a mountain. It cinched at your waist, and stopped at just the right length to expose your 4 inch, black heels. You couldn’t deny that you looked incredible, although your nerves were playing with your head. 

“You look stunning,” Garcia repeated what she said when she was doing your makeup - simple and accentuating - when she noticed your slight anxiety.

Dressing up like this and wearing makeup and styling hair? Not your thing. It’s not that you didn’t like it - you loved being girly. It was just your own insecurities and personal preferences that caused you to wear sweaters and sneakers (anything that wouldn’t bring attention to yourself). 

The girls knew this, and dressed you simply and modestly so as to not add to your nerves that an undercover mission usually invites, and you appreciated it greatly. Although the heels were really high.

You were especially nervous to present yourself like this in front of him.

That’s why you fiddled your hands together, why you looked yourself over in the mirror three times before leaving, why you let the girls completely take over your look. 

You walked out into the hallway, pushing some hair behind your shoulder and letting the other side drape, still getting used to walking in those heels, when you were met with more whistles and compliments. Aaron nodded at you, knowing how abrasive you were to the idea at first, and Rossi and Morgan both asked you to give them a spin - and you did. 

The encouragement lifted your spirits slightly, a smile exploding from your face as a soft blush covered it. This is probably the best you’ve looked in front of them. 

“Where’s her date?” JJ asked, she mentioned that Morgan had the job of matching Spencer’s tie but she didn’t trust him.

“Don’t worry, he’s got on the best dark red tie that we could find. He’s downstairs in the foyer.” 

You scrunched your eyebrows together before Hotch added, “You have to leave together just in case. Precautions, okay?” 

Spencer swapped the position of his hands at least five times in a minute, glancing at the elevator in the all too fancy hotel every time someone emerged from it. He adjusted his tie, and sniffed his wrists to make sure he smelt good for you. He always made sure of it, after you offhandedly mentioned to Emily how smells could either make or break your day. 

You had a lot in common with Spencer, other than the obvious career choice. You were both… weird. Talkative around each other, silent around others. Shy, but confident in your abilities. You both had your things - your’s is smell, his is germs.

And luckily, whenever you went to Spencer’s apartment to drop off or pick up a book, his place always smelt like cleaning products and cologne.

Though now, he smelt like cedar wood and smoke. You tapped him on the back, nerves rushing through you like a teenager on her first date. He jumps slightly, not hearing the last elevator ding in his own worries, and turns on his heels - nearly bumping into you. 

“Woah.” He let that simple word slip before he could even bite his tongue, and a red wash painted his cheeks and ears.

You looked stunning, and Spencer was simply awestruck. 

You pushed a straightened piece of hair behind your ears and smiled shyly down at your feet, not letting yourself look at him for too long in fear that you’d melt into a puddle. Spencer cleared his throat to contain himself, and held out his arm for you to thread your own through. 

“Are you okay? Your hands are shaking.” You ask timidly - very unlike how you normally were around him. You avoided taking his arm, scared he’d feel uncomfortable with the contact before he straightened his back and reluctantly pulled your elbow through his. 

“Just nervous, you look-“ He coughed, “Nice.” 

A smile slipped from you as you thanked him quietly, the two of you heading out the large foyer doors and towards a black limousine.

The ride was mostly silent other than the quiet music playing from the radio. And despite the large amount of room in the back, the two of you stayed conjoined at the hips. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re both nervous, maybe it’s the job.

Maybe it’s because you’re both going into a place you’d never purposefully enter. 

“You smell good.” You broke the silence, your knee tapping his. He brought his attention from the window to your face, now noticing the small amount of makeup that accentuated your already beautiful features.

“Thanks. You too.” 

Suddenly, Morgan’s playful voice cut through the weirdly comfortable silence, through to both of your earpieces. “Alright you two. Now, you both know you’ll have to be all lovey-dovey, no acting needed, but don’t over do it. We’re not trying to make contact with Webley, just to get close enough to watch him. If you lose sight of him, hit the dance floor, he and his wife enjoy moving around.” Spencer’s eyes don’t leave your face as you stare at the black floor in concentration. His hands start getting a bit sweaty and he has to clear his throat to coax himself into listening to Morgan. 

“And if he heads for the kitchen, let us know, we’ve got an officer that’s acting as a bodyguard at the back door that can tell us when he’s left.”

Spencer thanks him over the ear piece, holding down a small microphone under his cufflinks. Your hands fiddled with each other, threatening to chip off the nail polish Emily so carefully painted. Spencer felt his heart pump in his chest, but ignored it and took a small mint tin from the inside of his jacket, holding a small white pellet out to you. “Y/n,” he caught your attention and smiled at you sweetly, easing your nerves almost immediately. You took the mint from his palm, your fingertips tracing the lines on his palm softly before you popped it into your mouth. You didn’t have to ask how he knew you needed that, you had grown comfortable with knowing Spencer knew more about you than anyone else in the team. 

The venue was a mansion mixed with a theatre. There were expansive columns lining the outside, countless balconies looking out onto the cityscape, and gardens paired with ponds that were home to some unexpectedly calm swans. You and Spencer both stood there for a few seconds, taking in the architecture, as well as the amount of people entering and exiting the main doors. For a second, you felt giddy and childish. You weaved your arm under his and he let his other hand land over yours to squeeze it gently - he must feel just out of place but weirdly excited as you are. 

Don’t lose sight of the real priority here, Y/n. 

But it’s hard to do that when you’re entering the conjuring of your childhood dreams. 

When you start walking up the large stairs, your heels click and Spencer tightens his arm slightly, your stepping becoming a little uneven. These damn heels. 

“You okay?” He asked, one eyebrow raised slightly. His hair was combed back, his long locks more tamed than usual, but one curly strand just escaped and covered the left side of his forehead. It looked effortless, handsome.

“Um- Yeah, sorry. I’m not used to shoes like this.” You laughed like it's funny and Spencer continued to basically lift you up the stairs with no complaining.

When you stepped foot into the main foyer of the building, there were multiple chandeliers that swayed safely in the bustling movement of the quartz floor. There were multiple vases of red and white flowers, almost matching your dress, and multiple suited guards at every entrance and staircase. They smile at guests, and offer them menus and directions, and smartly conceal their weapons in case of intruders. Intruders being you and Spencer.

When Spencer leads you up to them, his hands finally still and confident, the guards smile at you both - offering you an extra look over that has Spencer angling himself to cover you. 

“Names?” One of them asked, pulling out a checklist from behind his back (you almost thought they were pulling out their small guns - you really were not confident in how to act… well… confident.) 

“Mr and Mrs Conner.” 

“First names?” 

First names? You weren’t given first names. Garcia had made sure that nobody else on the guestlist was by the last name of Conner. You could practically see the cogs churning in Spencer’s head - creativity wasn’t really his strong point. 

“Did you just ask for our first names?” You scoff, your voice becoming a bit whinier than usual, “You obviously live under a rock, there are no other Coopers.” 

The guard widened his eyes, scanning the list again and stuttering, “I’m sorry ma’am. You’re obviously- Have a good night.” The guard lifted an arm as an invitation inside, and you gave him a glare. Spencer smiled once you were both out of sight and squeezed your hand with his own. But there are no words, as you’re too taken aback by the sheer size and beauty of the room, if you could even call it that, to focus on the contact. Even larger chandeliers, expansive marble floors and painted ceilings with naked bodies. The warm lighting nearly convinced you that this was just some rich party that people get drunk at and talk about nonsense, but Hotch suddenly talking in your earpieces brought you out of the spell that the pure aesthetics had lured you with. “In the back left of the dance floor, you’ll see Webley dancing with his wife, talking to a pair of aristocrats. Try to get closer, don’t be obvious.”

You released a breath and Spencer adjusted his arms to intertwine his fingers with yours, causing you to meet his gaze in surprise. “We’re in love, remember?” His eyes creased with a smile, his thumb caressing the back of your hand in comforting patterns you couldn’t decipher. Oh, you couldn’t forget that. “Right,” you respond, straightening your back and walking with him towards the dance floor. 

His hands carefully rested on your waist, his fingers gripping slightly against the silky fabric of your dress. The contact made your skin burn, a permanent pink painting your cheeks and increasing whenever you made eye contact with the tall and undeniably good looking man you were dancing with. Spencer didn’t look anywhere other than you and the back left of the dance floor. You had almost grown bored of the nerves in your heart before you noticed something you didn’t see before. 

“Hey, your tie matches my dress.” You said softly, barely audible over the music that echoed around the hall. Spencer glanced down at his tie (thankfully still properly tied) and then at your dress. That was a mistake, because now his breathing is deeper and he can’t take his eyes off of you. 

Spencer nodded and sent you a small smile, “Morgan made sure of it.” 

“Didn’t that spoil it for you?” You asked, finally meeting his gaze. It looked deep, it looked… heavy. 

His swirling brown eyes shot electricity at you when he replied, “Why would it be spoiled?” 

You lowered your head away as you smiled sheepishly, “This is probably the nicest I’ve ever been in front of you. Probably wasn’t as special as I wanted it to be.” 

“You wanted it to be special?” You felt his fingers twitch on your waist as your own fingers twiddled with each other behind his neck. You lifted your face and found him clearing his throat, “I mean, it was still special. Although, I disagree with it being the nicest you’ve ever look.” 

You laughed, and it caused Spencer to crack a smile. 

“I show up to work bare-faced, in second-hand pants and sweaters two times my size. I feel like this is pretty good.” 

“You always look good.” 

You almost stopped your soft swaying with him in shock, and Spencer’s cheek reddened as if he was also shocked he said it. Spencer cleared his throat again, and bit the inside of his lip. 

The others couldn’t hear them right now. The music was soft, people chattered and to be honest, the whole mission had been erased from his mind. Spencer took a long, deep breath.

“I think you look beautiful right now, of course. But you’re still beautiful when you’re dressed like how you like to. I know what it feels like to not want to bring attention to yourself, and how sometimes your clothes can hide you. But…” Spencer stopped your movements with his hands lowering to your hips, he had been instinctively pulling you closer throughout the dance. “There’s nothing you could do, or wear, that could possibly take my attention off of you.” 

You felt your world stand still, although the blur of people didn’t seize, and fluttered your eyelashes at him unsure of how to respond. It was the most he’s spoken to you in one time - excluding random facts and the babbling you accept everyday.

“Spencer…” 

The tall man raised his hands to your waist again, the motion leaving waves of nerves to tumble over you, before he cleared his throat and started darting his eyes from yours to someone’s in the background. 

“Y/n. I think I saw Webley.” His grip only slightly tightened on your silk dress, his fingers curling slightly to move you across the dance floor slowly. You were definitely the more uncoordinated of you two. 

He moved skilfully across the dance floor, avoiding bodies and feet like it was rehearsed. 

“Not too close.” You muttered, Spencer’s attention flickering to you for only a second to nod in agreement. You need to watch him, not make contact with him. 

You grimace slightly, your ankle wobbling at an awkward angle for a second before you recover and-

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

You meet his eyes again, his own already burning a hole through you and your heels. 

“I’m fine, again it’s just the heels.” 

“They seem to be causing you a lot of harm,” Spencer furrowed his eyebrows and cleared his throat. Maybe he can distract you. “Did you know that heeled shoes were originally designed for Medieval Soldiers? They were made to make rising horses easier, putting a heel in the stirrups instead of your armoured shoe. And in the 16th century they weren’t supposed to be… to be seen…” He rambled and stopped abruptly.

He didn’t stop because you told him to, or you looked annoyed, or you lost interest. He stopped because you looked… too good to say anything. It made him nervous like a school boy seeing his crush in her prom dress - although he never got to experience that. It felt pretty close.

You tilted your head, a piece of straightened, silky hair falling over your shoulder. Spencer gulped, and before he could stop himself, he lifted a hand and twirled the piece in his pointer finger. 

It was like an optical illusion, something you know can’t be real, but intrigued you anyways. That’s what you felt, because whatever was happening right now could not be real. 

Spencer Reid looked entranced, hypnotised without knowing. And you looked red. 

“Th-they weren’t supposed to be seen?” 

Spencer snapped out of his trance but didn’t continue, only pulling you forward by the waist and moving that strand behind your ear. Your heart pumped, your ears matching the colour of your dress. 

He didn’t try to kiss you, even if he wanted to so badly. Instead, he lowered his lips to the shell of your ear and whispered, “Let’s go. Webley opened the kitchen door.” 

And your heart dropped.

taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

The Fun Kind of Sparring

Soldier Boy (The Boys) x Reader

Minors do ¡NOT! interact. This is not for you.

A/N: I haven’t seen the Boys and won’t BUTT that finale, amirite??? So in honor of the glorious return of Jensen Ackles, maybe the finest man who’s ever existed- seriously, when the aliens invade, show them him and they’ll be besotted by his beauty- I wrote this for all y’all SB lovers. Just note that I do not endorse any of this man’s actions, and if you do… the fuck?

I think it goes without saying but this is not my picture, it belongs to EW. (Too tired to make icons 💪)

Anyways, icons by me and all interaction-especially commentary- is appreciated!

Content/Content Warning: straight filth. The mouth on this man is crazy. Diddle that skittle.

****************************************************

It really had just been sparring. A little one on one, if you will. Me and Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy and me.

If it were anyone else, being pinned down to the ground would be the opposite of erotic. It would be annoying, and I’d be flailing around, trying to hit my partner in the balls.

But with Soldier Boy? We’d been skirting around each other since The Boys broke him out. Well, that’s a lie. I’ve been skirting around him, he’s made it more than a little obvious that he’s into me. I don’t know if it’s that he just wants a quick lay or what, but because I’m unfortunately attracted to him, I don’t really care.

Especially right now, when I’m pinned under him on the gym mat.

“Y’know, we shouldn’t do this,” I stall, no meaning behind my words.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he humors me. His lips are mere inches away from mine, his hair falling against my forehead. And I think I’m drunk on the scent of his pungent aftershave.

“I mean, you’re like, what, 103?” I ponder aloud, trying to distract myself from the fact that the Soldier Boy is rested over me in a plank, shirtless. That I can feel his warm breath on my face. That it smells like peppermints.

“104, actually, sweets,” he corrects. He’s had this shot-eating grin plastered on his face since he managed to wrestle me down, because like me, he knows exactly how this is going to end. But unlike me, he’s not remotely hesitant about showing it. And because he’s a jerk, he’s making me make the first move. But I’m not ready quite yet.

“104, right,” I mutter. “Older than my grandpa.”

“Smart girl,” he just goes along with everything I’m saying, letting me stall. The mischievous glint in his emerald colored eyes never ceases.

I nod slowly. “You are a very attractive grandpa,” I state, my tone far away as if I’m talking about him while he isn’t on top of me. Ohhh do I want him on top. You know what I mean.

“Thanks, sugar. But I think I’d prefer ‘Daddy’ if we’re going for the titles,” he says cheekily, still making no moves. I on the other hand am blushing the brightest red. Between the nicknames and Daddy, it’s too much to handle.

“O-oh,” I stutter, swallowing thickly. “Noted. But, uh, aren’t you more into… more mature women?”

“I believe all women are mature. I don’t discriminate, sweets,” he says, his shit-eating grin somehow eating more shit.

“Very feminist of you,” I say sarcastically.

“Damn straight,” he agrees.

I bite my lower lip. “You’re very experienced, right?”

“Not to toot my own horn or anything, but yes, I’d say so,” I can tell that he can tell that I can tell that this is volatile, just moments from going somewhere.

“Okay, so I guess my last question is this: how would you go about it. Y’know? With someone that you hypothetically wouldn’t treat as someone you paid for? That you’re sort of friends with?” I have to know. I’m too nervous for him not to lay it out plain and simple for me, I need to mentally prepare myself.

“Well, firstly, I think I’d have to know my girl likes it,” he gives me a pointed look.

“Your hypothetical girl,” I correct.

“Sure, my hypothetical girl,” he agrees. How has he not broken a single sweat this entire time? He’s been in a plank over me for the last however long it’s been and it doesn’t even affect him??

Quit getting distracted.

“Maybe she likes it rough. She wants to feel it for a few days,” I suggest, feeling my stomach knot at the notion. I’d been consistently growing wetter since he put me under him, and my arousal shows no signs of stopping.

“Okay, so I’d give it to her rough. Work her up until she’s begging for it… maybe I’ll- I mean, I’d- use my mouth first, taste her pretty pussy before I get my dick wet.” It’s all I can do not to moan at the dirty words falling out of his plush lips. Not to mention his honeyed transatlantic 50s accent… I’m so fucked. In so many ways. “Probably get her to come at least once, cause I’m sure she tastes as sweet as she looks.”

“Uh huh,” I mumble, the sound coming out higher than it should as I look at him with wide, attentive eyes.

“Don’t get me wrong, even before then I’d be marking her up and down. So that way everyone can see who made her feel so good, who got her walking so funny,” he backtracks. And again, the notion is far too good to be true. But the promise in his voice? It’s real. “I’d have to get her ready for my cock, stretch her out with my fingers. Start with one, but she’d be so wet that that wouldn’t even do anything. She’d be begging for more if I just did two, so I’ll give her three, make that needy cunt happy,” he muses. And it’s so, so erotic. And I’m ready to just lean up and kiss him, make him do all the things he says. But I’m captivated by his words, his narration- I think I could come from it alone. “I don’t know if I’d let her come again then. Because I think she’d be begging for my dick with how good my fingers feel stuffed in her tight pussy.”

Mother. Fucking. Hell. Oh. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He shouldn’t be real. These words should be banned from his vocabulary, because I am on fire right now.

“Where do you think this hypothetical girl would want me to come?” he asks out of curiosity, smirking. Probably at the way I’m looking at him like a bitch in heat.

“In her,” I mumble.

“In her where?” he asks smugly, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it.

“Ben,” I whine in protest.

“Oh, c’mon, tell me,” he chides. “For the sake of the story.”

“In my-her-pussy,” I answer in a breathy whisper.

“Good girl,” he praises, and it’s all I can do not to keen. I have to be soaked through my shorts by now, there’s no way. “Well, what I’d do next… that’s simple. I’d fuck her until she cried, and then I’d keep going. And I’d keep going until the only thing she can remember is my name, until she’s gooey and clingy and a sweet little fucked out thing, all for me,” he finishes, his grin from before returning back to his face. I’m losing it. I can’t think straight. And yet- he’s still waiting for me to make the first move. Son of a bitch.

“O-okay,” I clear my throat, unable to find my senses. “And if that hypothetical girl was me?” We both know it’s me, I just need to hear it.

“Well in that case I think I’d be the luckiest bastard who ever lived,” he says sincerely, looking at me with a gaze that can only be described as pure adoration and lust. Yep. That’s it for me. I lean up and kiss him with as much force as I can muster.

****************************************************

In the meantime… want more Soldier Boy?? Try Taming The Supe <3

[lukalnst]

Hi, I'm wondering if you can write Luka, Ivan and Till with a reader who pretended to be a man but for some reason found out he was a woman. Feel free to reject the request, sorry if something is spelled wrong, English is not my native language

ALNST BOYS WITH A FEM!READER WHO THEY THOUGHT WAS MASC!

contains: Luka, Till, and Ivan separately / cross-dressing(?) / fem reader / slightly suggestive on Ivan's part / mostly hcs!

A/N: I hope this is what you wanted. ^.^

Luka

When he first saw you, he thought you were just a pretty boy, much like him. He began to grow quite fond of you over time.

Still, people can't pretend for too long, so you had to tell him about your actual gender.

"Man or woman... why does it matter?"

Of course, he still loves you. Gender isn't something that he paid much mind to. Just don't get in his way, I guess.

"Haaa... Luka, there's something I have to tell you," you murmured. You two were getting ready for bed, so did you have anything to say that was that important? He didn't want to admit this, but he was starting to grow weirdly anxious.

"Mh. What is it?" Luka's voice was as soothing as always. He tried not to seem too anxious; his purple fingertips fidgeting with the buttons of his own shirt. You leaned in closer to him and sat down beside him. You intertwined your own fingers with his carefully, stopping him from touching the buttons of his shirt any further. His hands were obviously much colder than your own, but still, it felt nice to hold his hands.

You stayed silent for a while before finally speaking, "Well, to put it bluntly..." You paused. "I'm not — I'm not really a man, you know."

Luka was surprised, of course, but he didn't really let it show. He cared about you because you were you, he was attracted to you because you were you and not because of your gender.

"That's fine," Luka uttered out. He softly pulled a few strands of hair off your face, "... Anything else?" he asked.

Well, it was obvious that he wasn't quite stunned by it. At least, you had gotten a weight off your shoulders...

Ivan

Huh?

The person who he loved so dearly was a woman? That was... unexpected.

Being honest, he was expecting something much worse. He was expecting a confession that you had cheated on him or something of the sort.

He had never fallen in love with a woman before, so...

"I — I didn't know, I'm sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable..."

You were finally lying down in bed with him. Ivan was used to simply latching onto you and letting his face rest on your chest, listening to the soothing lullaby that was your heartbeat. Suddenly, as you were running your hands through his hair, you spoke.

"Ivan," you probed. "I have to tell you something, I know it might make you upset, but — I'm a woman."

Unlike Luka, his eyes shot wide open. He had touched your chest so many times. What if he had accidentally made you uncomfortable?! He didn't really care about your gender right now. He cared about whether he had ever accidentally crossed any boundaries with you!

"Wait, I'm sorry! I remember that one time I— I... you know, but I didn't know that you were a girl, I'm sorry, you should've told me sooner, I'm so—" Soon enough, Ivan was cut off. You gently placed your lips against his own, as it was something that often soothed him whenever he was nervous, just like now.

You pulled away for air and just laughed. "It's okay... I don't really mind, you know."

Ivan just sighed. At least, he hadn't crossed any limits.

Till

At least he wouldn't be teased by the others for dating a male now.

He had a preference for women, something that you were aware of. Still, he wanted to date you. You had shown him nothing but kindness, so why would he simply not date you because of your gender?

But oh well, he was shocked.

"If that's true... then... does it mean I can – uhm..."

To be fair, you hadn't been intimate with Till yet. So, of course, he didn't know what was between your legs yet.

Still, one day, you had confessed to him that you were actually a female. Oh boy, his face lit up. It was a double prize, after all! Someone who loved him, and he could get to touch a girl too? That was amazing!

"If you're a girl, then... That means I've touched a girl before!" His face was flushed a deep shade of red. "Man, I'll get to show this off to Ivan. I'm finally gettin' some pretty girls like you!" He said excitedly.

He quickly corrected himself, though, "Wait – you do identify as a girl? I don't wanna be a dick or somethin'. I'll love you regardless of whatcha identify as, just don't tell anyone." There it was. Something that you had promised to keep a secret was to not tell anyone else about how Till was secretly affectionate with you.

You just nodded, and then he went back to being all happy and wrapped his arms around you.

This was a side of him that you only got to see. How cute.

[xxsabitoxx]

My Personal Upper Moon 🍆 Ranking

Warnings: if it isn’t obvious already, this post is taking about the Upper Moon’s and my personal HC on their dick sizes. If that makes you uncomfortable in any way, just keep scrolling

A/N: I was actually very surprised by the amount of comments on my Hashira version of this HC post. So I feel a little more comfortable with giving the Upper Moons a go, especially since someone asked if I would do it eheheh. That being said, these men are demons, therefore you may find my size rankings to be a bit unrealistic. But I’m not gonna go crazy and say Muzan has a dick that’s 2 miles long.

This post includes: Muzan, Kokushibo, Douma, Akaza, Hantengu’s clones (Karaku, Urogi, Sekido and Aizetsu), Gyutaro and Kaigaku. And no Gyokko cause that man doesn’t have a dick, period.

In a category of his own: Muzan Kibutsuji

Muzan clearly deserves a category of his own for one particular reason: he’s able to alter his appearance.

Therefore, he’s able to change the size of his dick whenever the fuck he feels like it.

And don’t try and say that stupid cause he can literally change gender and age so changing his dick size isn’t out of the question

On average, Muzan prefers to have a larger dick, mostly because he’s a pussy ass bitch man that needs that kind of confidence down there, if you get what I mean.

Typically soft: 10.5

Typically hard: 11.7

But he can make it as big, small, curved, wide, as he wants

When he wants to torture your ass, he’ll make himself as girthy as he sees fit just to watch you cry and squirm and beg for something a little smaller.

Anytime you get “comfortable” he just increases his girth until you’re crying again. Your pleasure is never his first priority, it’s always his.

1. Kokushibo

Among the demons, it should be no shock that Upper Moon One has always been packing. This man is petrifying so it’s only right that his dick is equally as intimidating as him

Even as a human, this man’s dick was deadly. You can’t change my mind either.

Just in case you’re wondering, Yoriichi is bigger

That’s beside the point, Kokushibo has a lot to work with down there. Whether it’s hard or soft ngl

When soft: 9.5

When hard: 10.7

He’s long, girthy and curves slightly upwards. He’s heavy too, your jaw will certainly hurt by the time you’re done with him.

He’s the type to put a pillow or blanket of some sort under your lower back as he fucks you. Mostly because he’s not clueless to the fact that his dick is big

Kokushibo is the type to ease you into it though, he’s stern but he has a teeny bit of empathy when it comes to fucking you. Unless you’ve pissed him off ofc.

2. Akaza

I know this one is gonna be controversial, especially since I’m putting him above Douma but hear me out.

This man has audacity, which means he got a big dick. No demon is acting like Akaza and having a small dick to go with it. Nuh uh, no sir.

Akaza is sitting pretty knowing damn well his cock is bigger than Douma’s and it actually something Douma taunts him with… which you think the roles would be reversed but hey…

When soft: 8.5

When hard: 9.7

He’s straight, no real curve to him and he has a single blue line going up the underside of his shaft and one that wraps around just before the head of his dick. Like as in the lines that cover his body lol

Akaza is probably the “gentlest” of all the upper moons because of the respect he has for women

That’s not to say he isn’t rough with you, but he definitely cares about your pleasure and feelings more than Douma or Muzan would for example

He’s pretty confident in himself though, at least that’s how it seems to you. He knows what he’s doing to say the least

3. Douma

Alright listen, this man is still packing down there so don’t get mad at me for putting him at third.

His dick is smaller than Akaza’s but not by a ton. Let’s be honest Douma is probably the straightest and gayest demon to ever exist. The embodiment of bisexual LMAO

How does Douma know Akaza’s dick is bigger? The world may never know

When soft: 8

When hard: 9.2

It’s pale like the rest of him, a pretty noticeable curve to it as well. He has some prominent veins because of how pale he is. His tip is like a pinkish gray (idk why I felt the need to include this)

He’s pretty girthy too, so he definitely will make your walls stretch uncomfortably if he doesn’t offer you foreplay

Douma is rough, selfish and truly only cares about his own pleasure but he likes watching you whine and squirm while being impaled on his cock

Douma also has a thing for “belly bulges” so he will fuck you in some odd positions if he means he can see his dick from the outside… if ya know what I mean

4. Gyutaro

Listen, plz just listen cause I promise you I’m going somewhere with this. Cause I can already hear y’all being like ???Scrawny ass Gyutaro is in 4th??? Yes. He is.

Gyutaro got himself a bit of an upgrade when becoming a demon. He for sure does not look like he did a a human. By that I mean he’s taller than he was (even tho he’s hunched)

What I’m tryna get at is demon transformation made his dick bigger and Imma live in my little fantasy world

When soft: 6.5

When hard: 7.2

Gyutaro’s dick is as curved as his spine and as thick as his tiny ass waist. He’s got length but not crazy girth.

Even if he’s rough, it feels good. Like there isn’t a ton of discomfort if he goes in raw with no prep cause he wants to punish you, he’s like the perfect amount of stretch

He’s mean, verbally and physically but at the same time he’s a fucking sucker for your body so he can’t really say much without whining and groaning

He’s got some confidence in his cock but he’s also a bit envious of the other upper moons

5. The Hantengu Clones (Sekido, Karaku, Aizetsu, Urogi)

I’ve talked about my dick HCs for these four in my A-Z NSFW alphabet and I was tryna be realistic. However, when it comes to this post, fuck being realistic.

Sekido when soft 6.2 | when hard 7.1

Karaku when soft 6 | when hard 6.9

Urogi when soft 5.9 | when hard 6.7

Aizetsu when soft 5.7 | when hard 6.5

There is so much to say here but honestly my brain is malfunctioning so I can’t even delve into it

Regardless, the four of these demons fuck very differently and use their dicks very differently

Sekido and Urogi have no curve, Karaku has a slight curve and Aizetsu’s curves upwards

Hantengu himself had a 3 inch dick and you can’t tell me otherwise. Pussy ass bitch

6. Kaigaku

I hate this little bitch but I’m including him so I can rag on his fugly ass. Kaigaku simps I’m sorry but I can’t stand him

This douche has the smallest dick among the upper moons. This is full Kaigaku slander.

When soft: 5.2

When hard: 6

I’ll give him a decent dick tho cause boy does he have the fucking audacity

That’s all I’m gonna give y’all cause I ain’t wasting my time on him GOOD BYE I didn’t even tag is ass

[eccentricallygothic]

Crosshairs

Description: Trying to get Robb's attention is one thing, but when you have successfully landed yourself in his crosshairs is another.

Pairing: Brat Tamer Prodigal Son!Robb Stark | Spoilt Brat!You.

Warning(s): Brat taming, jealousy, spanking, punishment, unprotected p-in-v, doggy style (it's me), claiming, manhandling (it's Robb), power imbalance, degradation, light misogyny, Robb's BDE because I live for that shit, corporal punishment ig, boob play. MDNI.

Type: Request, here. 

. . .

“You do realize you will land us both in trouble if you keep this up, yes?” Jon does not look up at his older brother's betrothed half out of respect and half out of the playful annoyance he feels for the spoiled girl batting her eyelashes down at him with faux coyness.

“What trouble?” The male rolls his eyes as he works away at his sword. “I haven't the slightest inkling of whatever you mean, Jon” he resists the urge to scoff at your obvious innocence. 

The uncharacteristic nature of your actions makes you stick out like a sore thumb. The forced lady-like smile that holds your features in an uncomfortable shift due to lack of experience, the way you hover above his head in a flirtatious side hang even though you never behave in this manner around the opposite sex save one, the overdone grace with which you tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear and the little tilt of your head that is accompanied by a confused and senseless giggle fitting to women, the pains with which you put this effort forward is painfully obvious. 

“Right” the object of his discomfort -something you have in common with said object, at times- appears on the horizon of his vision and Jon sighs. 

Well, there goes his hope of not becoming the collateral today.

“No, tell me what you meant” though you aren't used to or too comfortable with leaning into men, you do so because you have also caught the quiet figure in your own peripherals and unlike Jon, you welcome the circumstance like the fool you are. “I want to know, Jon~” the dark haired male uncomfortably shifts away from you who puts an extra swing in your sway towards him. He lets out a suppressed scoff and glares at you. The two of you have been friends long enough for him to know exactly what it is that you are doing. 

“Stop” you know each other too well to be affected by any proximity with each other but Jon's older brother who is an advocate of propriety has taught his younger brother that this distance with a lady one is not related to seldom fares well and thus his teachings show in his behavior. “You—” though he decides not to beat around the bush for any longer, it is too little too late.

Alas.

“Father calls for you, Snow” the male in question releases a breath he was not aware he was holding and jumps to his feet abruptly with a gladness he is still cautious of since his brother likes to get unfair at times despite being well acquainted with your personality. 

Jon departs, or rather flees the scene without another word.

A smirk makes its way onto your face so you turn your ‘unsuspecting’ back to the hairy giant, bending to pick up your upper coat that you had shrugged off in a bout of confidence. Though you aren't the sharpest and certainly don't possess the perception of your betrothed, you hear him approach you in his manly and wise silence as you clear the haystacks of your coat in one swift movement and resume an upright position.

“Oh!” You exclaim with a surprise so artificial that the impurity nearly cuts Robb because of how he always dons the gold of honesty and valor. “My heart!” You use your endearment for him for Robb neither likes to hear you refer to him by name in public nor does he prefer you call him by his titles. “When did you get here? You were not a moment ago!” 

The coolest, most small smile spreads over his rosy lips and Robb tips his head back an inch to grant himself a better look at your audacity. The milky skin under his eye slightly twitches in response to him narrowing his eyes at you. Though he says nothing, you can still hear his rhetorical inquiry in that sarcastic way of his that you are well familiar with due to how long you have known him. 

“Whatever’s the matter, my love?” Robb has to resist the urge to scoff at the extra pitch in your voice because of the pretentiousness you are putting into your performance. 

He just stares at you for a good while, studying you, perhaps giving you a chance. So much so that there comes a point where you feel yourself gulping down a bile from your rising nervousness. But unlike many other times, you refuse to give in today. Like husband, like wife. After all, you rebelled against your nature today to end up here, in this ‘predicament’. Giving up now would be to waste all your effort and turn your bold attempt futile.

“Come” he says after you know not how many minutes pass but before you can say anything, Robb’s hairy claw has already seized your smaller hand within it. It is unlike his nature too, for usually he is the effortless victor in a battle of wits between the two of you.

“Oh!” But you are used to being treated like the most delicate and valuable thing to ever exist. You have been raised in a manner which has accustomed you to everyone giving in to your demands and wishes. The firm manner in which Robb balances all things with a just foresight is most undesirable to you, fancy for him or not. Things should always go your way in the design of your desire, and not in a way that is mindful of safeguarding the welfare of other people too, unlike your dearest. If it does as a byproduct, jolly. If it does not, well, then that is simply not your pain to bear. And whilst you underwent this stunt to provoke Robb and his attention, the way your smaller body is being dragged somewhere through the dark hallways of the estate with a rigidity typical to your betrothed, it is hardly the conclusion you planned.

Not like this.

“Oh, my!” Your brutish man's ironhold is beast-like as you try to free yourself of it. But what good is a mere pip against a wolf out for blood? “Stop, stop!” You huff and puff half out of your liking to test him to the best of your ability and half because your scheme was not to be so quickly overthrown with such ease!

No, he was supposed to get jealous and sulk in the envy your behavior was aimed to stir in him due to your treatment of his brother. Then he was supposed to fight for your attention and give in to all demands bestowed upon him by you and fulfill any and every need you may have. Robb was to kneel down to you like everyone else in your life did and strike conversation to get you to shower the blessings of your company upon him. He was to say the first word and you were to act like he usually did; with a teasing indifference to make him haste harder for your notice. Except, your little mind failed to realize that you yourself had broken the very first rule of your own game not too long ago when you had spoken.

And now as you are pushed into a little room for the stored animal feed and other domestic necessities before your smaller body is pushed like a delinquent babe's to bend over hay forming a stack half your size, you whimper and pout as your pampered elbows itch from the dried grass. This outcome is far from what you had expected of your contrivance. This is not supposed to be it. 

“We are not wed yet, my Lord!” Your mouth runs its senseless attempts in vain. “Oh no!” You try to worm your body free from his elbow that he settles between your shoulder blades to nail you in place as the rest of his arm lays down along the length of your back, the tips of his fingers pressing against the twin dents in your tailbone. “This—”

“All that fuss to have my attention, dove” when he does speak, the guttural quality of his throat shushes you into silence. “Only to raise mayhem and put up such fight when it has been granted to you” you feel the fingers of his free hand dance along the plump, clothed cushions of your buttocks and your eyes widen as though the position he had put you in was not telling enough. 

No, no, no!

He is supposed to get on his knees and worship you! 

Not discipline you like a guardian does a misbehaving child! 

“Perhaps they are correct in what they say about a woman's eternal uncertainty in what she wants herself” not entirely true. You do know what you want. But if you confess it to him this will get even worse for you! He must not know! You shall conceal it like your life depends on it!

Or so you scheme in your naivete, for you have behaved in similar ways more times than one.

But trying to flirt with another man? That is new. 

And Robb is very determined to find out the source of that course of action.

“Ugh,” you shake your shoulders in a futile attempt once more. “Do not be a cruel brute!” You order the future King of the North like you are in any position to bark at a man of his stature. “I am not one of your savagely bannermen! I— ah!” A furious hiss shoots through your lips when his free hand comes down upon the midpoint of your cheeks that jiggle feverishly from the impact. You whine at the sting that goes all the way down to your pucker and though Robb is wordless, he curses under his breath when he realizes that you are not wearing adequate underclothing despite his constant advice and request that you do.

How typical of you.

The young man brings another strong hand down upon your rear at the thought and you let out such an exaggerated sound -in his opinion, as he is scarcely aware of the extent of his own strength- that it mimics a cackle. Only, it is one of woe. Your hips desperately try to find solace in swerving the endangered half of your body out of his line of devastation but your wolf-man is far too strong. 

“Aaaa!” You furiously wail like a delinquent puppy being set straight, digging your elbows into the hay and your head in your arms to withstand the thunderous rain of your betrothed's hand on your buttocks. “I demand you stop this immediately, Robb!” Your whines are muffled and pathetic in their contrast to your words. 

“It will not be until you tell me whose plot your little performance was” you gulp and bark out a wheeze to respond and it is like he senses the lie that goes to bud on your tongue and he swats it away with a foreseeable slap to the underside of your rear. “And you best think twice before giving me a false answer,” you shake your whole body and your head in protest and pain when he spanks you again. “Or so help me gods.” 

But you remain faithful to your nature and preserve your brain's unutilized state by choosing to, after all, lie. “I- I have not the slightest idea what you mean!” Robb releases a cool, mirthless scoff and shakes his head at you, his palm now taking turns on each of your cheeks as it comes out in strong, powerful hits that he lands with well paced delays so you can fully feel the ache of one strike before the next lands. “O- Ow! T- There was no- ah— p- plot! Nevermind a- any performance!” He sighs as if to lament what is about to happen to you next. 

“Fine” your eyes widen and you squawk in shock like you aren't accustomed to this or you were not hoping to arouse a more ideal variant of this outcome anyway. “Have it your way then, my dove” oh… that never fares well for you. 

And Robb proves your suspicion true when he lifts your skirts out of the way and tucks them under the hand that sits on your lower back like a menacing serpent with unkind intentions. “Tsk,’’ a strong strike is given to your barely secure intimates before he tugs your poor excuse for undergarments down. 

What?

They are uncomfortable!

It is not your problem if the man of your future household is too pedant and fastidious!

He always laughs at it and just ruffles your hair but you are unyielding in your belief that he is the way he is because your betrothed is adamant on reaching bachanalness three times faster than other people his age. 

“Ouch, my heart, please!” You cannot help but whine out an endearment though you absolutely do not want to because you are just as cross with him as he is with you! Ugh! He never falls in your traps! Why is he so clever?! Is this what your mother meant when she told you that you were finally going to have someone who would handle you like you ought to be the day Robb asked your father for your hand in marriage? “It hurts!” 

You gasp in realization.

The pieces fall into place.

It does make sense.

Gods, the world conspires against you!

This is not fair at all!

Robb's cruel palm is unrelenting even when it begins to tingle upon coming into contact with your bare and blushing skin over and over. “Tell me the name, my angel, and I will cease this immediately” he spreads your legs with one strong jerk of his hand and your whole body undergoes a turbulence. “You know I hate this just as much as you do” before you can feel any warmth for your cruel lover for he always tells you that he does not like to punish you, his lowered hand comes upwards in a vertical hit and collides against your drenched petals. The impact reverberates through your whole being and your mouth falls open at the way your folds shake. “Make haste, sweet one.”

Your eyebrows come together in a tight, angry knot and your cheeks puff at his condescending tone. “N- No name!” You bark out of spite and clutch at the hay angrily. “There was no one!” The compressed dried grass comes loose in your hold and you add. “You have gone completely mad, you hoary troll!” The way Robb audibly chuckles at that causes the arm that he has on your back to buzz into your spine.

You gulp because he is a man of a few words and even lesser noise. So this cannot mean anything good. Although you are quite determined in your resolve, you still have to bite your lip to suppress the whimper that you let out when his offending hand now begins to softly caress the blemished skin of your buttocks and sit spots. For you know his touch and it is not this when he means to be genuinely affectionate.

Just what kind of a predicament have you landed yourself into?

“I see.” You hear the zip of harnesses coming undone and the thump of coats hitting the floor. “Then nevermind the actions of a mad man precisely how we will the name of your fellow conspirator, my dear” you are confused by his words but the feeling of his tip aligning against you when he gets behind you and takes your sore thighs -for Robb never punishes your buttocks alone but all the spots in their vicinity- in his strong fingers that are decorated in scars which bear testament to his experience in conquest, causes a tumult in your determination-taut brain from the burst of sensation and the upper half of your body relaxes as result of all tension shifting to your nether regions. 

You mewl as you feel the delicious burn of your entrance that your beloved had deflowered some time ago stretch around the thick tip of his cock that makes love making feel like the first time whenever your balmy cavern is made to accommodate his manhood. “Oh! I can't take it!” You throw your head back and moan, forgetting everything else and getting lost in the flutters of pleasure you have been taught to find in the strain his cock causes on your flesh band. “You're too big, love!” Robb curses under his breath when the leaking apex of his cock is met with resistance against your folds that he feels quivering against him. “P- Please help me take it!” He just has to give a sharp strike to the underside of one of your buttocks to accompany with his scoff.

You are such a fox.

Saying all the agreeable things in that obedient tone of yours that he knows better than to trust. 

He shakes his head at the surprised squeal you whimper out as though the events of the last quarter did not happen. 

“Whoever said anything about you taking it, my sweet dove?” Horror creeps down your spine in the form of an ice cold shiver. 

No. 

“B- But— aaaah!” You are stinging, aroused, open but not filled and inching closer and closer to mindless, undignified desperation. “But!”

“Hm?” Robb seems to be enjoying himself, ever the master of restraint and self control, as he penetrates you only to the wide hilt of his tip before he sloshes it right out of your entrance only to repeat the tortuous action where your walls clench and bathe with slick in anticipation of his cock only for their buzzing excitement to be denied satisfaction. 

“W- What…” You rarely ever misbehave once he has you like this. But your wanton frustration makes you kick one foot as you huff. “Why would you— oh!” You bite your lip because of the shoddy pleasure that sparks but fails to ignite, leaving your body on a trembling edge that brings you to heaven's door each time he fishes his way past your swollen folds and plops into you never to let you sheathe him thus denying you the paradise beyond. “W- Why are you doing that?!” You finally break from your pretentious rhetoric as you try to push yourself down on his shaft but strength has never been grounds for competition between the two of you. 

Robb's nearly inhuman hold keeps you detained exactly where he wants you. “Doing what?” It's his time to display faux behavior and you huff although you know deep down in your mind that it would not do much to move him and would rather only land you in more trouble. 

“That!” You cry when you feel his cock release more precum right at the threshold of your cavern because of how he fucks your entrance with a warm, torturous gentleness that scorches both of your insides alike. “Why w- won't you put it in, cruel ogre!” 

A satisfied smirk suppresses Robb's breaths that grow heavier with the passing moments. “Why, I am a mad and cruel ogre-troll, my dove” he enters you again and this time both his hands come down on your cheeks in the form of slaps at once and you howl. “And creatures of my like have queer ways beyond the comprehensive abilities of pretty little things like yourself” you whine and your toes curl at how the frustration morphs into a dull ache in the mound between your legs. 

The painful twitching of your sex makes you croak and you try to move your hips once more. “No! No!” You gurgle on your own spit as you vehemently shake your head.

“No?” Robb's inquiry is nice, somewhat kind even… unlike his heartless actions. 

“No!” You affirm as you feel your knees ache and sore thighs quiver. You are a sensitive little thing. Rough handling is not a domain you are much acquainted with beside the brief encounters you have with it sometimes during spells of passion with your dearest betrothed. “No, the light of my life, you're not! You—” your back arches and you cry and pout like an entitled juvenile not getting their way, your frivolous unrest and feverish jittering making his great form that looms behind you like the silhouette of doom itself to shake in silent mirth. “You're perfect! Please, you're the most perfect Stark heir! You are the best Lord Winterfell can ever hope to have!” Your praises make him curse under his breath and he gropes your thigh harder to withstand his impulsive urge to thrust all the way in.

No.

He is the man and the responsible one.

No can do until you learn and acknowledge his authority.

That is the way.

Of men, and Lords.

“The name, my love” though he masks his words with nonchalance quite well, there is a disguised urgency in them. You light him up just as unbearably as he does you. “Tell me the name and I will give you all you need and desire.” He gives you one rough jerk just past the band of your entrance and the momentary friction you feel in the drenched velvet just above your entrance snaps the thread of your determination. “Just like that, it is that easy. But you choose the fruitless path of torment and frustration.” There is a hypnotic lull in his words and that is enough for you to gush out a part of your impending confession. 

“It was—!” You finally confess the name of your lady friend and Robb decides that it will do for now, rest you will tell him yourself with your own free will in your sensitive and emotional post orgasm state when you will be securely tucked in his arms and against his chest. 

“There” your eyes and mouth widen at the same time and a guttural grunt crawls out of your throat when he doesn't pull his tip out this time around and instead slots himself inside you until he is hilt deep. “There is my bonnie lass” the upper half of your body goes lax and appears as though your bones have dissolved into your blood. You go to collapse face first into the hay to lay down and get fucked into oblivion but Robb's territorial paw finds a hold on the underside of your jaw and he rams you onto his cock and continues to curve your form until the crown of your head is touching his shoulder. “Tsk, such havoc just because I could not attend to you right away and requested you show some patience.” His fingers find one of your nipples and you shiver.

“S- Sorry, hubby!” You finally use for him the odd yet heartwarming endearment he loves most and that is how he knows he has you netted in.  

“Who loves you?” You shiver as you feel his girth stretch out your insides even though you were more than prepared for him. 

“Y- You—” he pulls at your nipple before giving both your breasts punishing swats. Your waist further curls outwards at the feeling. 

“Say it properly” you clench around him because of the way his baritone voice grinds against your eardrums and Robb cannot help but twitch right under your cervix. 

You do not need to be told twice. “Robb Stark!” 

He hums in satisfaction. “Who knows better?” 

Your bubbling loins tighten. “Robb Stark!” 

“Who takes care of you?” His hands roughly fumble to throw your skirts out of his way. 

“Robb Stark—!” Your answer turns into a shivering moan when his fingers find the trembling gem under the hood of your sex. 

“Who do you trust with everything?” The minute crevices on the tips of his fingers rub against the sensitive nub and your vision falters. 

“R- Robb Stark!” His hold on your jaw is the only thing that keeps it in usable shape. 

“Who will you obey when he tells you that you will no longer be friends with—” you whine when he takes the name of your dear friend but it is not a complete surprise. 

Robb greatly dislikes and condemns for you any influence he deems indecent or bad.

“R- Robb Stark!” You whimper as you move your hips along to his cock that now fucks you so fast and rough that you lose your footing with each thrust, the fingers he has on the nub of your womanhood only adding to the flutters of pleasure that narrow the knot around your hips with each snap of his hips. 

“Who do you belong to?” This time, his mouth comes to press against your ear and his coarse beard irritates your sensitive skin. His words carry a wolfish ferocity and you hear him gnash his teeth in as much clarity as your thumping ears will allow. 

“R- Robb—” your teeth begin to chatter from the intensity of your orgasm and your body flexes against his much bigger one to withstand the explosion in your abdomen. “S- S- Stark…” Your words melt into hissing whispers and you shudder and hiss when he continues to rub, fuck and fondle you even when the ecstatic feeling has subsided and your mound demands solitude. 

“That is correct” he pounces onto the stacks that you face with your smaller body underneath him like a depraved wolf having trapped in its hold a helpless little lamb. The action causes for his tip to collide against your cervix and your body thrashes defensively but it is in vain. “Do not forget that.” Robb whispers in your ear before he regains his footing and his hairy claws tuck under your thighs from the front. Your betrothed easily lifts your legs off the floor and begins his annihilation of any remaining misconduct perchance still shrouded in some unwise crevice of your little mind.

MASTERLIST 

. . .

I… can swear I thought this was like 1K at best… 

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

hii I love ur Casey fics sm!!

could I please request a Casey Novak fluff where Olivia is ur mum and you get into an accident or something with a perp, whatever u prefer to write and they find out when they’re both at the hospital with you thank youuuu <3

Hey, anon! Thanks so much for this request! This is actually the most fun I've had writing in a while. I was literally laughing out loud writing this. Hope you enjoy! ❤️ –illdowhatiwantthanks

When Worlds Collide

Casey Novak x fem!reader / Olivia Benson x daughter!reader Warnings: hospital times, age difference relationship, under the influence of pain meds, explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.4k

Summary: After a car wreck puts you in the hospital, your worlds collide. In this case, your worlds being your girlfriend, ADA Casey Novak, and your mom, Captain Olivia Benson.

Olivia signed in at the nurse’s station, her handwriting messy from her shaking hands. She knew you were an adult. She knew you could take care of yourself. But what mother wouldn’t be scared out of her mind after getting a call that her daughter was in the hospital after a car crash. The nurses at the station outside the ER had assured her that you were okay, just banged up. But, well, she was your mom. She’d stay worried until she could see with her own two eyes that you were alright.

“Olivia?”

Olivia jumped at the voice, recognizing it immediately.

“Casey, hey,” she said, noticing her ADA’s unkempt appearance. She’d clearly just come from the gym or home or somewhere like that, as evidenced by her running clothes. She looked anxious, too. “What are you doing here?”

“My girlfriend’s here,” she explained, voice shaky as she signed in, too.

“Jesus.” Olivia shook her head. “Must be something in the air today.”

“Are you here for work?” Casey asked, following Olivia through the double doors that led out of the ER waiting room.

She shook her head. “No, actually. My daughter was in a car wreck.”

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” Casey empathized. “I hope she’s okay.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They both stopped outside of Room 112, each shuffling awkwardly for a moment.

“Well,” Olivia started. “I hope your girlfriend’s okay. I’ll let you get to her.”

“Same with your daughter,” Casey added, nodding emphatically.

But, still, neither moved.

“I’m sorry,” Olivia tried again. “This is actually my daughter’s room, so I’m gonna go in now.”

Casey gaped at her, face burning. “This is your daughter’s room?”

“Yeah?” Olivia confirmed, not understanding the confusion.

“No, this is my girlfriend’s room,” Casey insisted.

The two looked at each for a long moment, gears turning until they finally clicked.

Olivia fumbled with her words. “I– you… are you…?”

Casey threw open the door and stared at you, your eyes wide and your smile even wider–you were clearly high on pain meds. “This is your daughter?” she asked Olivia, gesturing toward you.

But you answered all their questions as soon as you spoke.

“Look at this!” you observed out loud, as if you truly could not believe it in your drugged state. “My two favorite women in the whole world are here! At the same time! Wow!”

Casey sat heavily in a chair near the bed. “Oh my god,” she groaned. “Y/N, what?! Your mom is Captain Olivia Benson?!”

Olivia stood at the edge of the room, face burning, looking back and forth between you and Casey, as if she couldn’t decide who to yell at first.

“Olivia, I had no idea. I swear,” Casey said, trying to defend herself.

Your eyes narrowed, as if you were in on the world’s most obvious secret. “I had an idea,” you whispered to Casey in your loudest voice.

“Why didn’t you say anything then, you asshole?!” she yelled, trying and failing to be mad at you. It was so hard when you had that bandage on your head, with your dopey grin, and your eyes so, so clearly full of nothing but love.

“I like to walk on the wild side,” you slurred.

“No you fucking don’t!” Olivia finally yelled. “You’ve been a goody-two-shoes since before you were born. You have a 4.0 in graduate school, for god’s sake. What the hell is happening right now? Are you mad at me!? Are you going through a late-bloomer rebellious stage?”

“Oh, Mom,” you said, giggling at her. If you had looked at Casey, you would have seen her absolutely horrified by how nonchalant you were being. “Lighten up. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“And you!” Olivia railed, starting in on Casey. She sat still, penitent, staring at the ground, as if preparing to accept a well-deserved lecture. “What the hell are you doing with a 20-year-old?!”

“24!” you protested.

“You’re my age! She could be your daughter!”

“I mean, I’m a little bit younger than you,” Casey grumbled.

“Mom,” you whined. “Don’t scare off my girlfriend. I like older women, okay? It’s no big deal.”

“I’m not old,” Casey protested quietly, shooting you a glare.

“Of course you’re not, babe. You’re perfect,” You tried and failed to pat her on the arm, instead just waving your hand in the air.

“I just…” Olivia let out a shaky breath. “I think I need a minute. I’ll… I’ll be back in a few.”

“Uh-oh,” you said, raising your eyebrows at Casey as the door swung shut. “Do you think she’s mad at me?”

Casey sighed and stared at you, brushing a strand of hair affectionately off your forehead. “Maybe a little… I think she’s more mad at me. I’m gonna go talk to her. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, don’t leave me!” you called pitifully, grasping for her hand.

She smiled and laughed a bit, bending to kiss your forehead. “Are you listening to me?! I said I’d be right back. Calm down.”

Another dopey grin, and you brought her hand to your lips to kiss her palm. “Sorry. It’s hard to listen when you look so pretty.”

Casey beamed at you, her face reddening a bit. “You’re a dork,” she added before pushing the door open to go find Olivia.

Casey almost walked right into her as she stepped out the door.

“Oh,” Casey said, startled. “I was just coming to find you.” Suddenly, the thought that Olivia might have been watching through the sliver of glass in the door made Casey’s heart sink. “Did you, uh…” Her face was beet red by now. “Did you see–”

“Yes,” Olivia interrupted, her voice softer than before.

“I really am sorry, Olivia.” Casey wrung her hands. “I had no idea she was your daughter. If I had known, I would have…” “Would have what?” Olivia prompted, watching Casey closely.

Casey sighed, deciding that honesty was the best policy. “I don’t know actually. I was going to say that I would have made sure you were okay with it, but… I don’t know if that’s true. I really care for her.”

Olivia nodded, seeming to ponder Casey’s words for a moment.

“Do you love her?” she finally asked.

“Yeah, I do.” Casey’s voice was quiet, hesitant. She wasn’t quite sure how Olivia would respond, but she wasn’t about to lie or hide. Olivia’d had enough hidden from her recently.

Olivia sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Okay.”

Casey looked genuinely shocked. “Okay? Really?”

“I mean…” Olivia shrugged. “She’s an adult. It’s not really my place to tell her who to date. And, well, I can’t say you’d be at the bottom of the list of people I know that I’d want her to date.”

This felt a little insulting, considering their long work history, but Casey decided to let it slide given the circumstances.

“But if you hurt her?” Olivia’s voice turned dark for a moment, her glare so piercing that Casey almost had to look away. “Well, I know you know what kind of gun I carry.”

“Jesus, Olivia! I’m not gonna hurt her!”

Now that they were both quiet, they could hear you calling from inside the room.

“Mooooommmm,” you yelled. “Don’t scare my girlfriend, pleasseeeee! I love her! I want her to kiss me!”

Your face lit up when they walked into the room together. “Mom!” you called. “Did you know Casey is an ADA? That’s hot.”

Olivia rolled her eyes and sat on the side of your bed opposite Casey. “Yes, my love,” she said. “Believe it or not I did know about Casey being an ADA.”

You giggled to yourself conspiratorially, as if you’d just orchestrated the world’s best joke. “I know!”

“But Mooommm,” you continued. “Did you know I love her?”

“Now I do,” she grumbled.

You let your eyes fall on Casey, reaching out for her hand.

“I love her hair and her eyes and her face.”

Casey smiled at you, and you continued, letting your eyes wander down her body.

“I love her lips and her–”

“Okay!” Casey interrupted, blushing. “I think we get it, honey. Please stop talking now.”

But you were just so happy. Your head felt fuzzy and light, and the room was bright and warm, and your two favorite people were here.

“This is the best day of my life,” you said, tearing up. Casey held onto one of your hands, and your mom held the other, and for just a brief moment you saw them make eye contact, and it was as if they decided together that there was room for both of them to love you.

[redxx95]

Exploring Kurosawa's internalized homophobia and compulsive heteronormativity

oh yea baby we bustin out the Big Words for this one 😎

This was supposed to be posted at the end of pride month but Life happened and it got delayed a lot 😩 So yea happy pride month (and happy birthday Kurosawa I guess 😂)

(btw I think I've never mentioned this on any of my other posts but english is not my first language, so if anything I write ever sounds awkward, that's probably why 😅) (also I had to merge a bunch of images to get around the image limit, this post is really long, the word count is at 1930 words 💀)

Hope you guys enjoy the read! 💞

Spoilers for anything up to vol 11

Let me start this by saying that there's no actual textual evidence of Kurosawa being gay (rather than bi/pan), so this interpretation is definitely veering towards headcanon territory. I'm also not trying to establish this as the only Correct opinion and anyone is of course allowed to have their own sexuality headcanons, this is very healthy and valid 👍

Kurosawa's internalized homophobia

The first scene I want to put under a magnifying glass is this one.

Let's examine what's going on here: Kurosawa has just tried to kiss Adachi, whose hesitation he perceived as disgust. Then he pretends it was disgusting for him too, because he thinks that is the average reaction anyone would have, extending this to Adachi as well. The way he says "who'd be into that?" is already lowkey homophobic, but the japanese line makes it even more evident: "普通嫌だよな" (= "Normally, you'd dislike that right?"). Keyword here being "普通" = "normal, ordinary", implying that anyone who would like that is abnormal. So what does that say about him then, who was so happy to get the chance to kiss another man? This is pretty much textbook internalized homophobia, where he has accepted what he perceives to be the general opinion on gay people and has made those values his own, hating himself for it (albeit only briefly here), which is why he internally apologizes to Adachi.

This is not the only instance of him feeling like that, although this next part is slightly more speculative than the more obvious example above.

So we all know that Kurosawa is a jealous, jealous man. It's one of his defining character traits and it's often the source of conflict and comedy alike. But he does not express his jealousy equally across genders. With men he has this strong rivalry where he needs to prove himself better and more worthy of Adachi's attention.

But with women he has a different approach: gently coaxing them away from him, lest they realize what a catch Adachi really is.

So, why this difference? The answer I have is that he doesn't actually believe he can compete with a woman. If Adachi wants to be close with a man, Kurosawa thinks it might as well be him, he's the best option after all. But if Adachi wants a woman, he cannot offer anything and is therefore the inferior option. He believes this even after he found out Adachi's not completely repulsed at the idea of being with a man. Even if Adachi's okay with men, he'll always prefer a woman.

And whenever he imagines anyone else with Adachi, it's always a woman, specifically Fujisaki, which he believes is "his type".

And he at least thinks he's very far away from that ideal. (He's not but that's a topic for a different essay.) If anyone's wondering why he even bothers at all then if he's so sure that a woman will out-compete him, I think the lyrics from the anime opening actually put it best, specifically the last verse:

I have these impatient feelings I doubt this love will come to fruition But still I can't give up this happiness There's a feeling here I can't resist A love like a castle in the sky

So basically, his plan is that he might as well ride the high of his first ever crush as far as it will go, intercepting where he can to prolong it just that little bit further, until it all inevitably comes to an end. (a castle in the sky = an unreachable dream) This plan kind of fluctuates throughout volumes 1-3 as Adachi gives him a bunch of mixed signals, but it holds true most of the time.

Adachi's side

Now I'd like to highlight the way Adachi actually thinks about their relationship, because it serves as a great contrast to Kurosawa's assumptions about him.

Throughout the first three volumes we see him grapple with his newfound feelings for Kurosawa, but he (almost) never puts his gender at the forefront of his musings. The manga makes it very clear that it's his lack of romantic experience and low self esteem that make it hard for him to accept Kurosawa's affections, and not the fact that he's a man.

This second page here being his own little gay awakening, where he realizes that he is not, in fact, disgusted by intimacy with a man.

It's also worth mentioning that when he later introduces Kurosawa to his parents (ch 41), they are immediately welcoming of him, suggesting he grew up in a very tolerant environment.

And it's not like he's completely unaware of heteronormativity/homophobia either, especially after he does his research in vol 8, but he is slightly more defiant in responding to it.

(I love how he just buys that bag he probably doesn't need that's supposed to come with all the wedding magazines, just as this very tiny act of rebellion.)

So now that we can see how different Kurosawa's thought patterns are compared to Adachi's, the next question we should ask ourselves is: Why is he like that?

Heteronormativity in Kurosawa's life

(yes we're finally getting to the comphet part of the essay 😂)

First let's look at the environment he grew up in. There are not many scenes with his family, but from those that we do have, we can at least make some assumptions about how he must've been raised.

His mother is clearly the authority figure in his life, judging by how she's described as "strong" and how terrified he is at her merely setting down a teacup (while Adachi has a more mild reaction). Her reaction to the news of them dating and Kurosawa expecting his parents to go as far as disowning him for it would suggest that she might just be generally homophobic.

But when they actually go meet her we see this slightly more nuanced perspective.

She's not entirely against it, but she does believe they are making a mistake by choosing to be together, hence why she thinks they might "regret it". There's many hardships that gay couples in Japan face, some of which we even see discussed in the manga, so it's not hard to see why she would be concerned for her son. The way she talks about Kurosawa never causing any problems, but "changing" ever since he fell for Adachi further supports that conformity is what she believes will ultimately lead to a successful, happy life. And that's also why she accepts Adachi later, when he's made it abundantly clear in his speech that they are happier in this non-conforming relationship than they were without it.

To contrast, her other child Mari is shown to have a very progressive stance (see: her pep talk in ch 47) and it would not surprise me if that is the reason she's rarely in japan and is never seen together with her family, save for the one time they're all at the wedding. She might find the conforming environment too restrictive and preferring to keep her distance. (shoutout to naina for this bit 🙏)

So that's Kurosawa's family situation. Now let's check how his social circle holds up.

From what we see of his friends, they never even seem to consider him possibly being with a man.

And his work environment seems rather toxic to say the least.

It clearly dictates traditional gender roles as the ideal. Nobody except Fujisaki even clocks any of Kurosawa's advances on Adachi as romantic in nature, even though he seems to be quite obvious about it (see: ch 34.5). And it's not like dating in general is discouraged at Toyokawa either, as we can see from all the women constantly vying for Kurosawa's attention.

From all this we can conclude that Kurosawa's upbringing and social/work environment is painfully heteronormative and until he falls for Adachi it seems he never questioned the status quo either.

The famous onsen scene, while funny, also reveals the sad truth that Kurosawa, in his 30 years of life, probably never even had the chance to explore his sexual orientation, rather focusing on being "perfect" in his straight relationships.

Speaking of those relationships...

He apparently had a bunch of girlfriends, who all seem to have dumped him pretty early on. His mother's surprise at him expressing a willingness to commit also makes me think he's never brought anyone home either. He also only seems to have a surface level understanding of what a proper relationship is supposed to entail, if his idea of an ideal date is just "what the average person" thinks is romantic. So why were all of his relationships so short-lived? Before I answer that...

Intermission: Kurosawa's smiles

It has come to my attention that this is not common knowledge, so let me explain: There's a way to tell apart Kurosawa's fake smiles from his real ones, without any context clues, just purely visually.

Real smiles: (ch 23, 24, 37)

Fake smiles: (ch 5, 13, 32)

The difference being very simple: Blush = real, no blush = fake 👍 And before anyone mentions it: No he doesn't just blush when he's around Adachi, that last fake smile is actually directed at him. (ch 32)

Edit from the future: This holds true like 90% of the time, but as Toyota's art style becomes more detailed, this doesn't apply as much in the newer volumes. I think there's also new details added that I haven't quite figured out yet so take this bit with a grain of salt. (The images below are still from her early art style though.)

So now that we have this additional knowledge, let's take a look at every instance Kurosawa is paired with a woman.

He's smiling in all of these. Not a single one has a real smile in it though.

I think he's never actually had his heart in any of his relationships, and the girls probably noticed it and that's why they dumped him.

And, of course, the first time he actually falls in love...

... just so happens to be with a man.

Even his friends comment on this, who have known him since high school.

It's almost funny how perfectly this aligns with real life gay people. Having numerous, short-lived relationships with people of the "wrong" gender is one of the more common traits of compulsive heteronormativity. (source: me oof) (but also shoutout to the "Am I a lesbian?" masterdoc, google it if you don't know, it's truly eye-opening)

After dating Adachi

So we have already established that he's far happier when he does finally get to date Adachi, but do any of his other thought patterns change?

Honestly it seems like he throws every single reservation about being seen as gay out the window.

He starts bragging like crazy about his new relationship to anyone willing (and unwilling) to listen, he has no qualms about PDA, he marks Adachi up and down so everyone knows he's taken and the only thing stopping him from proclaiming his love for Adachi to the whole world is the still very much existing societal homophobia. But he is a lot more easy-going about it now than he ever was before.

And I think the best way to describe this mental shift is, hear me out, the date song from volume 4...

... specifically the last 2 verses as a whole, and this section in particular:

"I won't let anyone divide our fraction! You couldn't pry this thrill from my hands when they're cold and dead!"

Horrible lyrics aside, this perfectly encapsulates how Kurosawa simply couldn't care less anymore now that he finally has what he's wanted for more than a year, maybe even his whole life. All the societal pressure pales in comparison to the sheer euphoria he feels at finally having someone that he loves and who loves him back just as strongly, feeling cared for and seen like no one else ever did.

And, you know, just happens to be a man. 🏳️‍🌈

[sovereignjojoz]

how they carry you/you them (ultimate edition)

Pairings: Jonathan x reader, dio…x reader?Joseph x reader, Ceaser x reader, jotaro x reader, polenarff x reader, Avdol x reader, josuke x reader, Rohan x reader.

Warnings: weird, partial fluff, partial crack, idk, dio?, tired at Rohan’s.

Notes - for all the love on the Bucci gang edition!<3

Jonathan Joestar

Gotta be Bridal style

The og gentleman

Very traditional

He just loves to carry you he would carry you always if he could.

He’ll probably spin you around too, he’s just so sweet!

Carrying him

I mean if you insist!

It’s quite unusual in Victorian society so he’s a bit befuddled.

But if it pleases you then go ahead!

Dio Brando…

He’s just gonna be a manhandler.

He’s not sweet or nice, none of that lovey dovey stuff he’s gonna do what he wants.

He’ll carry you, drag you, whatever, he fr doesn’t care.

Not very romantic.

Carries you however he wants even if it’s never been heard of.

Kinda possessive, he might squeeze you tight if others look at you.

Touchy.

Honestly bad overall, but you dio simps probably don’t care, that’s why you like him after all! (Affectionate)🥰

Carrying him

He expects this, don’t be daft.

And he’s not gonna make it easy.

He might even make u carry him on a throne, after all he’s dio and it’s what he deserves.🤷🏽‍♀️

Joseph Joestar

To put it simply, he’s a troll.

Every time he carries you, he’ll pick you up bridal style and secure you in his arms, and only once you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck or have gotten comfortable he’ll either a) pretend to drop you (if he’s feeling kinder) or b) actually drop you.

Then he’ll laugh rambunctiously.

“C’mon babe, ya fall for it every time and it gets funnier every t-“

“Jojo!”

“ ouch my ear! ‘m sorry!”

Seems like the kinda guy who likes to carry you whilst doing squats or other gym activities just to show off his strength, he especially loves it if it gets a ride out of you.

Overall annoying

Will not put you down.

Likes to make you squirm by carrying you with one arm and touching/tickling your feet like the weirdo he is.

Kinda touchy.

So so annoying.

Will definitely show off in front of Caeser

Carrying him

Never offer

He gets even more annoying.

As soon as you've picked him up, he'll make himself as heavy as he can and literally drop all his weight on you just so you struggle.

And he's so audacious and sassy.

He'll taunt you with comments like, "oh, is that struggling I see, huh? You insisted on carrying me so chop chop."

He even snaps his fingers at you.

Just drop him.

Caeser Zeppelli

Hm, ever the charmer isn’t he?

You just know he absolutely loves carrying his s/o.

It’s obvious knowledge that he has a notorious history of being a playboy, and because of his experience with women, he knows what women like, what little gestures make them blush, how they prefer to be held etc.

So he’s going to put the knowledge he’s accumulated on you, he wants to make you swoon.

He somehow manages to always gets the timing right too, he will literally sweep you off your feet like Prince Charming.

He’ll probably want to kiss you too and like pull you really close to his chest.

He definitely wants a s/o who gets easily flustered when he carries them! No matter if you cover your face, blush, squirm he doesn’t care, he wants that reaction!

“Caeser put me down!” You whisper-shouted, trying and failing to push him away, you were literally in front of Lisa Lisa!

He kissed your neck chastely, “why Cara? I quite like you in my arms.”

“Mpmph!”

Likes to show off in front of Joseph.

Carrying him

He’ll blush out of surprise.

It’s feels so foreign to him, he’s not quite sure if he likes it!

He’ll definitely be more vulnerable to getting flustered!

Overall, he prefers to do the flustering and carrying.

Kujo Jotaro

Listen, I’m not even going to lie, you’re probably going to have to jump/floor him to get him to carry you…

Or you’re going to have to annoy him 24/7 so he considers it, just so he can get you to finally shut up.

“Jojo, Jojo, Jojo, please! I really really love you jojo! And you would do the same if you love meee-!”

Literally knocks you off of your feet.

Might just leave you on the floor.

Or he’ll hold you for one second, the drop you (heart eyes).

Jump on his back and you’ll get a piggy back for like 5 seconds or something before he pushes you off.

Small bonus! Part 4 jotaro! (+ jolyne)

Becomes more open to carrying you.

Still would rather not but if you insist fine.

He’ll brashly pick you up, stand still and hold you bridal style.

Baby Jolyne will make grabby hands and he’ll pick her up with one hand and carry you and her both.

Carries both you and baby Jolyne like sacs of potatoes.

Will put baby Jolyne on his shoulders.

Carrying him

Don’t try it, he’s got good reflexes, you might get knocked out.

He’ll probably wobble around because he doesn’t get carried.

Hates it.

Jean-Pierre Polnareff

My babygirl.

He’s such a romantic.

He just wants to pamper you and spoil you by making you not have to do anything ever, including walking!

“Ma Cherie! Please, don’t dirty your beautiful shoes in that puddle, allow me.”

Loves the feel of you close to him.

Wants you to jump on him, in his arms, any place any time.

Lil bit touchy.

He’ll speak to you in French too even if you can’t understand it (especially if you can’t) just to make you swoon more.

Sometimes he’ll carry you and dance just because.

Just lifts you when he’s extremely happy.

Give him affection!

Carrying him

If you love it he loves it.

He doesn’t care he just wants you to be happy.

Surprised at your strength though!

And he becomes very blushy too.

Avdol

You gotta be practical with him.

He won’t refuse but he certainly won’t endorse it unless you both have privacy, he’s not a fan of pda unlike others on here (cough Caeser, Joseph and Polenarff).

He’ll carry you if you’re injured though, and he’ll be so tender, making sure not to hurt you.

In terms of carrying you, he prefers the more romantic side of things such as carrying you to bed.

Although if you want to be silly and like do challenges he may indulge you once or twice even though he may not be so fond of such things.

One thing is though you absolutely cannot get caught by Joseph! He wouldn’t be able to handle the teasing!

Carrying him

The first time you attempt it, he’ll definitely grip you tightly out of surprise.

“Oh my!”

The look of pure shock on his face is so cute.

He might ask you to put him down after a while though.

He may let you carry him once or twice more.

The best Jojo Higashkiata Josuke

Similar to Mista, he LOVES to carry you in any way he can.

Like he’ll tackle you in order to carry you, in fact a lot of the time him carrying you stems from you and him play fighting.

His favourite way to carry you is putting you on his shoulder and doing whatever he wants, like he might even put you on his shoulder then go about having a normal conversation with okuyasu???

I can’t get this out of my head but I envision running at you at max speed and just picking you up, putting you on his shoulder and continuing running.

And the reason varies like sometimes it’s valid like kira will be in the vicinity and other times it’s so random.

“Oh shi- [name]! We have to go we’re gonna be late to meet my mom at the dentists.”

Carrying him

Again you’ll probably struggle.

And he’ll laugh at you and tease you.

Maybe even take a picture.

This is the time for him to relax, y’know?

He’s shameless too, like he’ll call okuyasu whilst you struggle and be like “you got this babe, anyway…”

If Rohan ever sees this is just another reason on the list of why he doesn’t like Josuke.

Kishibe Rohan

No.

He doesn’t have time for such trivial things, he’s got to work on things such as his manga.

This is something that idiot Josuke would do, not him.

But then he remembers that you’re his s/o and this will make you really happy, so he sighs and closes his sketchbook and indulges you.

Keeps it short and sweet.

When he puts you down they’ll be a couple of lingering touches.

Throw your arms around his neck, and kiss him, and tell him how much you love him then he’ll indulge you more.

Carrying him

Absolutely not, will jump out of your hold immediately and scowl.