#MATRIMONI

[romadjpianobar]

Feste Private Roma Il divertimento con la musica da ballo degli anni 70 80 90 Dj Gianpiero Fatica

[andrew-excelleen]

Mode e Modi - L'abito da Sposa fatto a mano

[popolodipekino]

prudenza!

E mi dica, dove in terra o in cielo si sono mai visti matrimoni prudenti? A questo punto portiamo il discorso sui suicidi prudenti. da G. K. Chesterton, Uomovivo

[grazielladwan]

IL PRIMO E ULTIMO VOLO DELLE COLOMBE LIBERATE DURANTE I MATRIMONI.

Immagine creata con IA Il rilascio delle colombe durante i matrimoni è spesso visto come un simbolo di pace, amore e purezza. Tuttavia, dietro questa pratica apparentemente innocente si nasconde una realtà oscura che rappresenta un’altra vergogna umana. Questo atto, utilizzato per guadagnare qualche soldo e regalare un momento di felicità a due persone, spesso ignare delle conseguenze, porta con…

[daimonclub]

Riflessioni sulle donne

Riflessioni e pensieri sulle donne Riflessioni sulle donne. Per l'aumentato benessere medio l'uomo e la donna si vanno orientando verso una morfologia utilitaria. Nelle classi giovani circolano già i modelli che verranno prodotti in larga serie nel futuro; uomini agili, sicuri, di buon affidamento e di basso consumo; donne di media statura, di facile manutenzione e dalle prestazioni standard. Lievi differenze nelle rifiniture. La natura fa ancora pochi esemplari di uomini e donne lusso, destinati allo spettacolo e al consumo collettivo d'informazione, alla pubblicità, ai rotocalchi. Ennio Flaiano Nell'arte di trattare le donne, un testo di diciassette capitoli, Schopenhauer svilisce la figura femminile in ogni suo aspetto. Non è necessario essere una femminista incallita per appurare che L’Arte di trattare le donne di Schopenhauer sia un saggio filosofico misogino, maschilista e, a tratti, delirante. Esiste una certa convinzione nell’immaginario di Schopenhauer che relega la donna a mero essere inferiore; lui stesso, nel corso del saggio, la definisce “secondo sesso”: subordinata all’uomo, capace di grandi cose solo quando genera una nuova prole. Ma anche nelle opere speculative di Schopenhauer non mancano inequivocabili e sarcastiche considerazioni misogine. Nel capitolo “Sulle donne” di Parerga e Paralipomena, si legge inoltre: "Le donne sono il sexus sequior, sesso inferiore in ogni senso, fatto per stare in disparte e sullo sfondo". Sono "puerili, futili e di vista corta. In una parola, restano per tutta la vita dei grandi fanciulli". Tuttavia nel 1851, la pubblicazione di Parerga e Paralipomena gli assicura una fama inattesa, clamorosa quanto tardiva, che sembra risarcirlo del disinteresse dei contemporanei per il suo capolavoro Il Mondo come volontà e come rappresentazione. Accade così che quando Elisabet Ney viene a trovarlo a casa, quasi quotidianamente, per scolpire il suo busto in bronzo, Schopenhauer attraverso questa figura femminile si avvicina platonicamente al gentil sesso e mitiga di molto la sua misoginia tanto che arriva persino a confidare a Malwida von Meysenbug, futura protettrice di Nietzsche, la sua nuova concezione a riguardo: "Non ho ancora detto la mia ultima parola sulle donne: credo che, se una donna riesce a sottrarsi alla massa, e quindi a sollevarsi al di sopra di essa, è destinata a crescere continuamente, molto più di un uomo". Carl William Brown Non è per caso che il sangue mestruale che le donne si trovano ad avere senza averlo richiesto ha spesso la funzione di dire di fronte a tutti che le donne non hanno che ciò che si meritano, che sono vittime senza innocenza. Al limite, nel linguaggio del corpo e nei suoi fantasmi si realizza totalmente il travaglio ideologico, perché soltanto a vedere il proprio sangue mestruale una donna dovrebbe perdere il diritto di parola o accettare muta tutte le oppressioni economiche, politiche e ideologiche che subisce. Bisogna dunque avanzare l’idea che non è la sessualità che si aggira come un fantasma nella società, ma è piuttosto la società che, come un fantasma, agisce sulla sessualità, sul corpo. M. Godelier Con il grande dispiacere dei galleristi, dei direttori di musei, e di tutti gli artisti in generale, ho sempre preferito il bel viso di una donna, per i più arrapati potrebbe andare bene anche il fondoschiena, a tutte quelle inutili, noiose e per di più anche presuntuose rappresentazioni e realizzazioni create ed organizzate solo ed esclusivamente per cercare di raccogliere un po' di denaro! A volte ad essere un semplice naturalista ci si guadagna in tempo, in soldi, in divertimento ed in più è anche possibile risparmiarsi delle barbose rotture di scatole. Carl William Brown

Brigitte Bardot Ogni donna ha un bel corpo, bello perché è il brillante risultato di milioni di anni d’evoluzione. E ricco di stupefacenti adattamenti e impercettibili perfezionamenti che lo rendono il più rimarcabile tra gli organismi del pianeta. Nonostante ciò, in momenti e in luoghi diversi, le società umane hanno cercato di imporsi sulla natura, modificando e adornando il corpo femminile in migliaia di modi diversi. Alcune di queste elaborazioni culturali erano gradevoli, altre dolorose, ma tutte tendevano a rendere la femmina umana ancora più bella. Desmond Morris Le donne che al giorno d'oggi indossano pellicce sono idiote. Animali selvatici sono allevati in piccole gabbie dove impazziscono perché non possono più condurre una vita naturale. Sono imprigionati in allevamenti lager. I visoni vengono uccisi col gas, le volpi con l'elettrocuzione… tutta quest'industria è crudele, barbara e assolutamente inutile... Tutti questi animali sono messi in gabbia, non vedono né il sole né l'erba, e lasciano questo inferno solo per andare al macello. Per me l'allevamento intensivo è un segno di degenerazione umana. Se uno riesce a trovarlo accettabile, allora noi umani abbiamo perso ogni valore morale. Brigitte Bardot Gli uomini e le donne non hanno seguito il cammino evolutivo nello stesso modo. Entrambi hanno percorso un bel tratto lungo il sentiero degli «adulti-bambini», ma sono avanzati a velocità lievemente diverse in alcuni tratti: gli uomini sono un po’ più infantili nel loro comportamento, le donne nella loro anatomia. Desmond Morris All’età di trent’anni, gli uomini sono quindici volte più soggetti agli incidenti delle donne. Questo perché l’elemento di rischio ha una presenza ben diversa nel gioco degli uomini che in quello delle donne. Anche se questa caratteristica fa facilmente, finire gli uomini nei guai, era preziosa nei tempi passati quando, per poter aver successo nella caccia, gli uomini dovevano essere pronti ad affrontare situazioni rischiose. Le donne primitive, invece, erano troppo preziose perché potessero correre dei rischi cacciando, mentre i maschi della tribù erano spendibili, e quindi hanno fatto del pericolo la loro professione. Se qualcuno di loro fosse morto, non ci sarebbero state conseguenze sul tasso di natalità di una piccola tribù, ma se fossero morte delle donne, allora quel tasso sarebbe calato drasticamente. Va ricordato che, in epoca primitiva, c’erano così pochi esseri umani vivi sul pianeta che un alto tasso di nascite era fondamentale. Desmond Morris Di tutte le creature dotate di anima e di mente nessuna è più sventurata di noi donne. Prima di tutto dobbiamo comprarci a caro prezzo uno sposo che poi diventerà il padrone del nostro corpo, e questo tra i mali è il peggiore. Così corriamo un gravissimo pericolo: il marito sarà buono o cattivo? L’uomo quando ne ha abbastanza di starsene in casa, non ha che da uscirne, per dar sollievo alla sua noia in compagnia di amici e coetanei, ma noi siamo costrette a fissare lo sguardo su una sola persona. Euripide Se si spiegasse alle ragazze che le mestruazioni non sono una maledizione, ma un ‘amichevole messaggio’, che le rassicura circa il funzionamento dei propri organi interni, che le rende potenzialmente in grado di diventare madri, forse cesserebbero i crampi e anche l’impressione di subire una "maledizione". E. Fromm-Reichmann/V.K. Gunsy Poche donne hanno il senso innato della giustizia; a moltissime manca addirittura qualsiasi comprensione per la presenza in altri di tale senso... quando non appaia loro decisamente ridicolo; e questo accade molto più spesso di quanto vogliano ammettere. Arthur Schnitzler

Riflessioni e pensieri sul gentil sesso Io delle donne mi innamoro sempre di più, vorrei baciarle tutte, con amore, nelle loro pieghe di grasso, nelle loro rughe sudate, nei loro culi disfatti, nelle fiche rovinate, negli occhi allucinati, nelle bocche sgangherate, dappertutto dove viene offesa e lapidata, per il trionfo del cazzo padrone. D. Maraini Ogni donna ricca dovrebbe sposare un uomo povero ed ogni uomo povero una donna ricca; almeno in questo modo i matrimoni riuscirebbero ad essere un buon mezzo (viatico) per la ridistribuzione dei redditi. Purtroppo invece, la crudele realtà troppo spesso ci impone il contrario. Carl William Brown Nessuna lotta può concludersi vittoriosamente se le donne non vi partecipano al fianco degli uomini. Al mondo ci sono due poteri: quello della spada e quello della penna. Ma in realtà ce n’è un terzo, più forte di entrambi, ed è quello delle donne. Malala Yousafzai C'era un tizio che diceva molto saggiamente, se uno è giovane a sposarsi deve aspettare un po' più in là, se invece uno è un po' più in là con gli anni non dovrebbe sposarsi più. Ma io in fondo in fondo per ottenere un po' più di serenità dovrei trovare una donna che condivida i miei ideali, che condivida i miei interessi, che condivida il mio lavoro, che condivida la mia casa, che condivida il mio letto e che, per aiutarmi nella mia lotta contro la stupidità, condivida i suoi soldi. Carl William Brown La tendenza di parecchie donne a dilapidare il denaro esprime una ostilità nei confronti del marito, al quale vengono in tal modo tolti i suoi ‘mezzi’; si tratta dunque (...) di una manifestazione del complesso di evirazione femminile nel senso della vendetta nei riguardi del maschio. K. Abraham Ci sono donne le quali in virtù del fatto che non fanno all’amore, ritengono di poter fare tutto quanto il loro comodo; esse si trincerano fieramente e costantemente dietro la loro posticcia onestà (pruderie), guardando tutti dall’alto in basso e pretendendo che tutte le più belle qualità che posseggono le altre siano niente comparate al loro miserabile onore, di cui nessuno si cura. Molière Entro questo sistema di valori (patriarcali e competitivi) la scelta, per la donna, è d’identificarsi o con l’immagine della Madre (santa, vergine, procreatrice, massaia, mamma) priva di vagina, o con l’immagine della Prostituta (sgualdrina che si vende, seduttrice, vamp, oca giuliva) con vagina. La sua scelta crea un conflitto che dà luogo ad atteggiamenti fluttuanti. Il ruolo della donna in quanto tale sarà di oscillare fra questi due modelli statici. Le Torchon Brûle No, la donna non è un nostro fratello; con la pigrizia ne abbiamo fatto una creatura diversa da noi, sconosciuta, che ha per unica arma il proprio sesso; e ciò significa non solo la guerra perpetua, ma anche una cattiva guerra - ci adora e ci odia, ma non è una leale compagna, un essere che forma legione con spirito di corpo, frammassoneria - con le diffidenze di un piccolo eterno schiavo. J. Laforgue Come in certe specie animali, le femmine praticano l'ibernazione. Per quattro mesi spariscono, non si vedono più. Ai primi raggi del sole di marzo, come si fossero passate parola o avessero ricevuto un ordine di mobilitazione, spuntano a decine per le strade, in abiti leggeri e tacchi alti. Allora ricomincia la vita. Bertrand Morane

Pensieri, riflessioni ed idee sulla donna Dicono che la donna nel mondo del lavoro è ancora discriminata e tuttora meno occupata. Io comunque guardandomi in giro osservo che tra i lavoratori ve ne sono molti del gentil sesso, per esempio le suore , le infermiere, e ancora le domestiche, le insegnanti, le ricercatrici, le commesse, le impiegate di banca, le cassiere dei supermercati, le parrucchiere, le maestre d'asilo, le massaggiatrici, le prostitute, le managers, le consulenti, le ballerine, le ragazze immagine, quelle che si dedicano alla politica e così via. Carl William Brown Allo stesso modo che la natura ha armato il leone di artigli e denti, l'elefante e il cinghiale di zanne, il toro di corna e la seppia dell'inchiostro che intorbida l'acqua, così ha dotato la donna dell'arte di fingere per proteggersi e difendersi e tutta la forza, che ha dato all'uomo sotto forma di robustezza e di ragione, è stata conferita dalla natura alla donna sotto forma della suddetta qualità. Arthur Schopenhauer Le donne possono, certamente, essere colte, ma non sono fatte per le scienze più elevate, per la filosofia e per certe produzioni dell'arte, che esigono un universale. Le donne possono avere delle trovate, gusto, delicatezza, ma non hanno l'ideale. Se le donne stanno a capo del governo, lo Stato è in pericolo. G.W. F. Hegel La cosa migliore per i nostri uomini e le nostre donne sarebbe di avere un’unica educazione, crescere insieme i propri figli ed assumersi una comune responsabilità come custode dei propri concittadini. Le donne dovrebbero, di fatto, nei limiti del possibile, prender parte a tutte le occupazioni degli uomini, in tempo di pace come in tempo di guerra (...) Non vi è nulla di nocivo per la femminilità in questa naturale cooperazione tra i sessi. Platone Truth is beauty and beauty is truth. Con il poeta Keats mi sto sempre più convincendo che l'estetica coincida con l'etica. (Anche Wittgenstein e Ayer erano dello stesso parere.) Del resto avere una bella donna, piuttosto che una brutta, o una bella e grossa macchina, invece che una piccola e sfigata, non sarebbe forse un vantaggio anche etico, oltre che economico. Già, perché come ci ricorda B. Russel, il famoso filosofo, l'etica coincide perfettamente con l'economia. Carl William Brown Anche la più repressa delle donne ha una vita segreta, con pensieri segreti e sentimenti segreti che sono lussureggianti e selvaggi, ovvero naturali. Anche la più prigioniera delle donne custodisce il posto dell'io selvaggio, perché intuitivamente sa che un giorno ci sarà una feritoia, un'apertura, una possibilità, e vi si butterà per fuggire. Clarissa Pinkola Estés Eva, per un senso, indica il derivato. Il derivato non è mai perfetto come l’originale. Tuttavia la differenza qui è puramente quantitativa Questa derivazione della donna spiega anche in che senso essa è più debole dell’uomo, come è stato ammesso in tutti i tempi da pascià e cavalieri. Peraltro, la differenza non è di tal natura da menomare l’essenziale eguaglianza tra l’uomo e la donna: si esprime dicendo che l’angoscia è più riflessa in Eva che in Adamo, e la ragione di ciò è che la donna, più dell’uomo, appartiene al sensibile. Søren Aabye Kierkegaard Quando le donne sono onorate gli dei si rallegrano; quando non lo sono, i riti religiosi non giovano. Dove le donne sono offese, la famiglia perisce; dove esse non soffrono, la famiglia gioisce. Le case che una donna maledice perché non vi è stata onorata, periscono come per incantesimo. Libro di Manu, testo indiano Tutte le discussioni sullo stato delle donne, sul carattere, il temperamento delle donne, sulla sottomissione e l’emancipazione delle donne, fanno perdere di vista il fatto fondamentale, e cioè che le parti dei due sessi sono concepite secondo la trama culturale che sta alla base dei rapporti umani e che il bambino che cresce è modellato altrettanto inesorabilmente come la bambina secondo un canone particolare e ben definito. M. Mead Dato il carattere fondamentalmente patriarcale della società, che in fondo non è cambiata, la donna è ancora in condizioni di svantaggio. Non solo quando deve lavorare per vivere è costretta ad adattarsi a forme di vita modellate da uomini e per gli uomini; ma la sua eredità storica, la sua educazione specifica imposta da una società da secoli mascolina, l’irrazionale preferenza data all’uomo in molte carriere e il clima culturale in generale, creano per le donne un sovrappiù di problemi e rendono la loro esistenza psicologicamente difficile. Per queste e per altre ragioni, le donne hanno un enorme interesse alla inviolabilità del matrimonio. M. Horkheimer

Massime e pensieri sulle donne Mi fanno ridere adesso queste donne emancipate, queste donne che vogliono rendersi indipendenti e credono di attirarsi la simpatia e l’ammirazione degli uomini L’uomo è la cosa più importante della nostra vita! L’uomo è tutto quel che ti dico, e qualche volta è peggio ancora, molto peggio. Ma la nostra felicità, il nostro successo dipendono da lui. Una donna senza un uomo è un campo secco, Dio ne liberi. F. Cialente Una donna è derisa se piange di vero cuore il marito morto, ma biasimata altamente se, per qualunque grave ragione o necessità, comparisce in pubblico, o smette il bruno, un giorno prima dell’uso. È assioma trito, ma non perfetto, che il mondo si contenta dell’apparenza. Aggiungasi per farlo compiuto, che il mondo non si contenta mai, e spesso non si cura, e spesso è intollerantissimo della sostanza. Quell'antico si studiava più d’esser uomo da bene che di parere; ma il mondo ordina di parere uomo da bene, e di non essere. Giacomo Leopardi Nei miti pre-ellenici la natura femminile ha qualcosa di terrificante e ci appare come una potenza oscura e vendicatrice Le tradizioni più antiche associano l’idea di femminilità con un principio di barbarie e di violenza. Nèmesi, la vendetta, è una divinità femminile. Le orrende e spietate Erinni incarnano un principio femminile. Storicamente l’elemento femminile fu profondamente radicato nelle regioni della natura e del sangue, nella sfera cupa delle potenze terrestri che non ammettono violazione alcuna al loro dominio. R. Cantoni È evidente che l’esigenza femminile di essere amata e di avere una sola relazione sessuale costante dipende prevalentemente dal fatto che la cultura in cui vive non le offre alcuna sicurezza se non in una cosiddetta relazione amorosa permanente. essere oggetto d’amore non è semplicemente un elemento naturale nella vita di una donna come di un uomo; per lei è diventata inevitabilmente una professione. Per ottenere questa sicurezza vive con l’obbligo di rendere il proprio corpo sessualmente seducente e la propria personalità attraente A questo punto è evidente che il presunto narcisismo femminile e la maggiore esigenza d’amore possano scaturire interamente dalla necessità economica. C. Thompson Non credo ai diavoli, tanto più che per esplicito riconoscimento della loro guida io non sono una parte valida del contratto, primo perché non ho un’anima, secondo perché in fatto di stupidità anche all’inferno ne sanno meno di me! Stupidità, sia ben chiaro, intesa in modo globale e non alla maniera di qualche strano e stitico scrittore. Ma veniamo invece al culto della dea madre, mito del quale nutro una certa fascinazione e al quale dedicherò nientemeno che un intero sito. Read the full article

[wombywoo]

wedding bells 💒

[alygator77]

༻behind the screen༺

♡ pairing. gojo x fem! reader (au you're coworkers)

♡ summary. when a late-night swipe on an anonymous dating app leads to a sultry phone call, you think it’s the perfect way to escape your work stress—especially your infuriatingly smug coworker Gojo Satoru. but when the man on the other end starts sounding eerily familiar, secrets slip out.

♡ contents. 18+ MDNI, smut, phone sex, mutual masturbation, praise kink, dirty talk, satoru is pining over you.

♡ wc. 3k

♡ a/n this was a request! it became longer than i anticipated hehe. but i had fun writing it nonetheless 💕

Gojo Satoru was used to being in control. Whether it was at work, in social settings, or just walking into a room, he was the guy who turned heads, the one who made people laugh, the one everyone gravitated toward.

Confidence was his currency, and he spent it lavishly. But around you? His brain seemed to malfunction entirely.

It was infuriating, really. He could charm anyone with a single smile, yet you—you—barely spared him a glance. And when you did, it was usually accompanied by a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

But you didn’t hate Gojo Satoru—hate was too strong a word for someone as maddeningly smug as him.

What you felt for him was more akin to the annoyance of stepping in gum on a hot summer day or spilling coffee on your favorite blouse. He was a constant presence in your life, always hovering with his stupidly perfect grin and those ridiculous quips that made your eye twitch.

And yet, to him, you were an enigma. You didn’t fall for his charm, his playful teasing, or his self-proclaimed ‘devastatingly good looks,’ and that made you a puzzle he was desperate to solve.

At first, he chalked it up to frustration. No one had ever resisted him the way you did, and it had to be a fluke. Then, the realization hit him like a freight train: he didn’t just want your attention—he wanted you.

It was a big, messy crush, and he had no idea what to do about it. Gojo Satoru didn’t pine, for god’s sake. So, he acted indifferent.

Unfortunately, his strategy was… suboptimal.

Relentless teasing. Sarcastic remarks. Even the occasional ‘accidental’ brush of his hand against yours. None of it worked. Instead of pulling you closer, it only seemed to cement your belief that he was a certified pain in the ass.

Case in point: last Friday in the break room.

“Still no boyfriend, huh?” he’d asked with a smirk, leaning casually against the door frame as if he hadn’t been plotting that line all day. “Guess guys just don’t appreciate all that… sarcasm. Or is it the constant glaring?”

The flash of irritation in your eyes was immediate and searing. He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth, but instead of apologizing, he doubled down with a cocky grin. That was his defense mechanism—smugness as a shield.

You didn’t even bother to dignify him with a response. You stormed off, brushing his shoulder while your heels clicked against the floor as he stood there, internally kicking himself.

Now, as you lay in bed on a random Tuesday night, those words played on repeat in your head. It wasn’t because they hurt—of course not. But they lingered, burrowing into your thoughts like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

Was that cocky ass, right? No… you could get a boyfriend… if you wanted to.

The thought made you scowl, your finger aimlessly scrolling through your phone as the glow of the screen illuminated your face.

“God, who cares what he thinks…” you groan, tossing your phone aside. But the moment you did, it buzzed, and the glow of an ad caught your attention.

A dating app. Anonymous. Discreet. Perfect for someone who wanted validation… without the strings.

“Why not?” you mutter, tapping the download button.

You didn’t expect much. Maybe a few shallow conversations, something to pass the time and make you feel less… undesirable.

Fuck it.

༻♡༺

Gojo Satoru slouched on his couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest while his other hand flicked mindlessly through his phone.

The TV was on, some senseless drama he couldn’t care less about playing in the background. It was just noise, really—something to drown out the thoughts he didn’t want to entertain. Thoughts of you.

“You’re sulking,” Suguru’s voice cut through the haze, casual and smug as always. Satoru barely looked up as his best friend wandered in from the kitchen, a beer in hand.

“I don’t sulk,” his thumb swipes with more force than necessary, and the pout tugging at his lips, said otherwise.

Suguru snorted, plopping down beside him and cracking his beer open.

“Sure,” he said, leisurely taking a sip. “So, what’s your deal this time? Another tragic failure to get her attention?”

Satoru’s eyes flick up to glare at his friend, but the effect was less menacing and more petulant. He looks back at his phone, refusing to dignify that with a response. Still, his pout said everything Suguru needed to know.

“It wasn’t a failed attempt…” he grumbles after a moment. “She reacts… just… the wrong way…”

Suguru’s brow arches is amusement as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Lemme guess… she glared at you. Again.”

Satoru was silent, staring at his phone like it might provide him with a more dignified answer, but eventually, the admission slipped out, quiet and begrudging.

“Her glare is cute…”

Suguru doesn’t miss the soft pink dusting Satoru’s cheeks, and his eyes roll so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of his head. He sets his beer down with a sigh, leaning back to rest an arm along the back of the couch.

“You’ve got it bad, man. Just confess already.”

“I can’t,” Satoru’s sigh is so dramatic it could’ve won him an award. He drops his phone onto his chest, staring up at the ceiling like it holds the secrets of the universe. “She totally hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Suguru counters. “She just thinks you’re an idiot, which—let’s be real—you kinda are.”

“Wow. Thanks,” Satoru said flatly. “Your support is truly heartwarming.”

Suguru shrugs, unbothered as always. He grabs his beer and takes another sip, eyeing Satoru like he’s both a lost cause and an endless source of entertainment.

“Y’know what your problem is?”

“Oh, please. Enlighten me,” Satoru stretches his legs out on the coffee table.

Suguru sets his can back down with a decisive clink.

“You overthink things with this girl. Maybe you need a distraction. You oughta download one of those dating apps everyone’s obsessed with. Blow off some steam.”

“A dating app?” Satoru’s nose scrunches in disgust, like Suguru had suggested he take up competitive bird watching or something.

Suguru, unperturbed, reaches over and snatches the phone off Satoru’s chest with zero hesitation. “Yep,” his fingers fly over the screen. “You’re clearly incapable of doing this on your own, so I’m doing it for you.”

“Wait, what—”

“There.” Suguru shoves the phone back into Satoru’s hands, grinning like a man who’d just solved world hunger. “All set.”

༻♡༺

That was how Satoru found himself lying in bed, staring at the app now loaded onto his phone—the bright interface practically mocking him.

A dating app? Seriously?

He was Gojo fucking Satoru. He didn’t need help in that department—if anything, people practically threw themselves at him.

And yet, here he was, thumb hovering over the ‘Get Started’ button like it was some kind of nuclear launch code.

“This is so dumb…” he mutters to himself, running a hand through his snow-white hair. But the alternative—sitting here alone and thinking about you—was worse. Much worse.

With a resigned sigh, he taps the button. The setup was painless enough, and he will admit that the app’s anonymity piqued his interest. No names, no faces, no preconceived notions—just bios and conversation. A refreshing change from his usual routine.

But once he started swiping, reality set in.

The profiles were… bland. Painfully so. If he had to read one more line about someone who ‘loves hiking and tacos,’ he was going to throw his phone across the room. Plus, the conversations he’d had were dull at best and unbearable at worst. Small talk wasn’t his thing, and most people just couldn’t seem to keep up with his wit.

Satoru was about five minutes away from deleting the app when your profile popped up. It was short, clever, and witty—his kind of humor. Intrigued, he swiped right and shot you a message.

Hours slipped away like water through his fingers. The conversation flowed so easily it was almost surreal. You didn’t tiptoe around him or try to impress him—you met his sarcasm with your own, and every jab you threw only made him want to know more.

The two of you talked about everything—movies, terrible music recommendations, the absurdity of office politics. The way you called out corporate nonsense had him laughing so hard he had to put the phone down to catch his breath. He couldn’t remember the last time someone made him laugh like that.

God—you were funny, sharp, and quick on your feet in a way that reminded him of—

Nah…

It wasn’t you. It couldn’t be. The universe wasn’t that cruel—or that kind.

He groans, tossing his phone onto the bed and rubbing a hand over his face. His mind was betraying him again, spiraling back to you like it always does.

‘You need a distraction. Blow off some steam.’

Maybe Suguru was right. Maybe he needed a distraction. Something—anything—to get you out of his head.

As his phone buzzes with a new message, his gaze drifts back to the screen.

still there, or did I scare you off?

A slow grin spreads across his face. Whatever. Whoever you were, you had his attention. For tonight, that was enough.

Still here. Hey, can I be honest for a sec?

mmm… depends. how honest?

He smirked, typing quickly.

Well, tbh I’ve been having a tough time. Got it bad for this coworker. Total knockout, but I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m an idiot.

He hits send before he can talk himself out of it, watching the little ‘delivered’ icon appear. Your reply comes after a brief pause.

yikes… sounds complicated.

He chuckles, already typing again.

You have no idea... anyway, I figured I could use a distraction. And if I’m gonna distract myself, I’d rather do it with someone who can actually keep my interest.

There was a beat of hesitation, and then he boldly added:

Wanna have phone sex?

This time, the pause stretched longer. Long enough for him to wonder if he’d blown it. But then, his phone buzzes again.

fuck it... why not?

Grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, he hit the call button through the app. The line rang once, twice, before clicking.

“Hi…” your voice greeted him softly.

“Hey princess,” he drawled. “Thought I might’ve scared you off.”

“Oh… no,” you said, a soft laugh escaping you. “But I will admit, you’re straight to the point, aren’t you?”

“Always.” He leans back further, his free hand trailing lazily over his stomach. “Why waste time, right? Life’s too short for tiptoeing around.”

Ironic, considering how he seemed to do nothing but tiptoe around you—his coworker—at work. You—who always had him second-guessing himself in ways no one else ever could.

However, this wasn’t about you. This was a stranger—right? A voice on the other end of the line. That was all.

But as you laugh through the phone, he closes his eyes, letting the sound settle over him. It was nice… and familiar. Too familiar.

No.

He was imagining things. Again. His brain was playing tricks on him, twisting your voice into something it wasn’t. There was no way it was you.

“So,” he said, steering the conversation back on track. “You’ve done this before?”

“Not really,” you admit, voice dipping slightly. “Actually… no. Honestly, I haven’t. This is my first time.”

His grin widens—the cocky edge returning to his tone.

“First time, huh? Well, you’re in luck. I’m an excellent teacher.”

You let out another soft laugh, nervous but sweet, and it sends a jolt of heat straight through him. What the hell is wrong with him tonight? Your voice—soft, familiar—it feels like a melody he’s heard before.

“Is that so?” you ask, breaking his train of thought.

“Hmm? Oh… absolutely,” he said, shaking his head with a smirk. His fingers drummed against his thigh as he forced himself to focus. “Just relax, princess. Let me guide you.”

“…okay,” you whisper.

He exhales slowly, letting the tension drain from his shoulders as he shifts lower on the bed.

“Now… are you laying in your bed for me?”

“mhmm…” you hum softly.

“Mm, good girl,” he murmurs. “Alright, tell me—what are you wearing?”

“Just… an oversized shirt,” the hesitation in your voice makes him grin. “Nothing else.”

“Yeah?” his hand trails down to the waistband of his sweatpants as he closes his eyes. “That’s perfect. Makes it easy to imagine my hands slipping underneath, right up to that pretty pussy of yours...”

Your sharp inhale crackles through the receiver, and the sound sends a thrill straight to his cock.

“Do something for me,” he begins palming his growing bulge. “Run your hands down your thighs… nice and slow. Tease yourself the way I would.”

There was a beat of silence, and he held his breath, waiting. Then, he heard it—a faint shift in your breathing, followed by a soft, shaky exhale. It was subtle, but it was enough to tell him you were doing exactly as he asked.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his own hand slipping beneath his waistband to wrap around his cock. It twitched eagerly in his palm, already hard and aching as he imagines you following his instructions.

“…you touching yourself, sweetheart?”

“Y-yeah.”

The word trembles on your lips like a secret only he’s allowed to hear, and his grip tightens on his cock as he begins to stroke himself slowly—matching the rhythm he imagines your hand moving in.

“Good girl,” he purrs, the sheets rustling beneath him as his hand glides across his length. “Now slide your fingers inside that tight little cunt… nice and slow.”

Your soft moan spills through the line, and his hips buck involuntarily at the sound—his hand moving faster.

“Fuck… love hearing those pretty little sounds” he groans as his thumb swipes over his tip, slick with pre-cum. “How many fingers are you using?”

“Two,” you gasp as the word breaks into a moan.

“Add another,” he commands, almost a growl.

You hesitate for just a moment, but then your breathy whimper crackles through the line, and he hisses through clenched teeth, his dick twitching eagerly at the sound. But somehow, without meaning to, his imagination betrays him.

He pictures you—his coworker. Fuck, why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

You—head tipped back; lips parted as your fingers work you open—his cock throbbed eagerly at the mental image.

Fuck… this was supposed to be a distraction, not fuel for his already out-of-control infatuation. He groaned, annoyed at himself but powerless to stop, and his strokes grew faster, more desperate as he surrendered to the fantasy.

“Haa… that’s my girl,” he praises, eyes fluttering shut as his hips buck into his hand desperately. “Stretch yourself for me. Make yourself nice and ready for my cock… nngh… wanna fucking fill you up, princess. Make you take every inch.”

Your soft, choked moan crackles through the phone, and it unravels him further. His strokes grow faster, more erratic—his free hand gripping the sheets as he chases his release.

“Bet you’d look so pretty,” his hand becomes a frantic blur as he loses himself to his fantasy. “All spread out and dripping for me. Taking my cock like a good girl… haaa… gonna fucking stuff you full as you cum all over m’ dick.”

“Fuck… m’ cumming,” you gasp, and as your broken cry crackles through the receiver, it sends him careening over the edge.

“Fuck… yes, good fucking girl… haaa—m’ cumming too.”

He pumps his cock, hips jerking as thick, hot streams of cum spill over his hand and onto the sheets below. His breath hitches in his throat, and before he can stop himself, your name rips from his lips, raw and guttural, a desperate cry he couldn’t contain.

Through the phone, your own gasping breaths mingle with his—the faint sound of your release trembling through the line. Then, for a brief moment, the world was quiet, save for the shared rhythm of your breathing as the two of you come down from the high.

Until, reality set in.

Fuck.

He blinked up at the ceiling, his free hand raking through his hair as his brain scrambled to process what just happened.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He felt like a goddamn asshole. He’d just moaned someone else’s name—your name—while he was supposed to be with someone else.

What the hell was wrong with him?

But then, you laughed—a soft, breathless sound that broke through his spiraling thoughts.

“That was… fun,” you said warmly, slightly teasing. “But, um… how do you know my name?”

His stomach dropped.

“I… what?” his voice cracked slightly as panic clawed its way up his throat.

“You said my name,” you reply, a curious lilt to your tone now. “I don’t remember telling you my name. And, you know, the app is supposed to be anonymous…”

It hit him all at once.

The voice that had been haunting him, the one that felt so painfully familiar, the one he’d convinced himself couldn’t possibly be yours—it was yours.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest as realization washed over him.

“Wait…” your tone shifts from amused to sharp. “You sound familiar. Like… Gojo?”

His stomach flips, dread pooling in his chest like ice water.

“Uh…” He froze, his mind scrambling for something, anything, that could salvage this disaster. “…hi, princess?” His tone was a weak attempt at his usual cocky charm—it fell flat. “Didn’t expect to find you on this app…”

There was a beat of silence, and then, like the idiot he was, his mouth moved faster than his brain.

“Sooo… still no boyfriend then, huh?”

[mrsrookhunt]

*Rook, Vil, and Epel walking down the hall*

Rook: Would you two spare me a moment? I need to make a proposal to Trickster.

Vil/Epel: Sure.

Rook: Bonjour, Trickster!! May I offer you a proposal?

Yuu: What's uuuuu--...

Yuu: Why are you on one knee.

Yuu: WHY ARE YOU ON ONE KNEE---

Epel: huh. So that's what he needed a ring for.

[refinedlobotomy]

one broken stylus, twenty-two flower crowns, and *checks notes* eighteen hours later. happy holidays

[lemonlover1110]

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 1] Marriage Proposal

Story Masterlist - Next Chapter →

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Story Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Attempted Murder, Murder, Smut, Eventual Fluff and Romance

Regret is an overwhelming emotion because no matter how hard you wish to go back in time to undo your mistake, there is no possible way for you to do it. You love your daughter to pieces but she wasn’t planned. You didn’t regret having her but you did regret ever getting with her father and running away from your life.

“The Zenins are a very successful family, and they’re always in the eye of the media so don’t embarrass us.” Your step-mother says as she looks into her compact mirror to make sure her makeup is okay. “They’re really doing us a favor by taking you off our hands.”

You ran away at the age of 18 with your boyfriend. You never got married, but you did end up with a baby when you were 20. Now you are 25. You had to go back to your father and your stepmother because you couldn’t afford to take care of yourself and your daughter. Your boyfriend left you, leaving you with so much responsibility you couldn’t afford to take on. Worst part is that your daughter now asks where her father went.

“Act like a proper lady.” She continues speaking, and you zone out in the backseat of the car. She had forced you to put on a corset and now you could barely breathe. It was unnecessary, but she loves seeing you in pain. You feel like the day will never come to an end, even though it has just started. “And don’t speak unless you’re required to. We don’t want you to scare him off.”

She continues to ramble, making you roll your eyes at each word. It’s infuriating, and your nails dig into your palm and you chew on the inside of your cheek as you try to remind yourself that she’s the woman your father chose. The woman that makes him happy. Although you hate him for it because she’s always his priority. Her happiness always comes before yours which is why he’s marrying you off.

But when you’re married, you’ll tell her off. That’s a plus side of the marriage, probably the only benefit. It’s suffocating in the car, and maybe she is taking all the air or maybe it’s the corset that makes you feel this way. Or maybe it’s the way that you’re just being married off as if you have no value to keep in the family. “They know about Misaki but you better not mention her.”

She finally shuts her mouth and you’re so grateful for a moment. Until you realize where you’re at, and a sigh escapes your lips. You wish to hear your stepmother speak again because you’re convinced that’s better than this.

The mansion is an European style, not one you were expecting. But she knows everything so she speaks to inform you at least. “This isn’t the Zenin’s main house. Their main estate is a couple hours away but they prefer for the engagement to happen around here.”

“Oh… When is this engagement supposed to happen?” You ask as you see a couple different cars. Expensive and foreign cars. It was a mix, and the regular old cars stick out like a sore thumb. Your father parks.

“When do you think? Today. Everyone is here, even the photographers.” She informs you. “The guy you’re engaged to is a pretty big deal in the clan so it’s kind of a big deal.”

“Consider yourself lucky because after the engagement he’ll take you back to the main Zenin state and you won’t have to lift a finger.” Your father speaks which doesn’t ease your nerves. “For the rest of your days you and Misaki won’t ever have to worry about anything.”

“Jinichi Zenin, that’s your future husband’s name.” Your stepmother finally reveals. Your father turns off the car and she’s the first person to open the door and get out. Then your father does the same. You’re the last one left and you feel your stomach turn, as if you’re about to puke. 

Your father opens your door and offers his hand to help you out of the car. You take it because without it you feel like you won’t be able to get out of the car. You inhale the fresh air which you thought would help, but you’re proven wrong because this air is different. This air makes everything different.

Your father puts his hand on your shoulder and smiles at you. You can’t smile back. You just can’t because this is all his fault. Because he wants to please his wife, you’re getting married to a man you haven’t had a conversation with before. He walks over to his wife, and they begin to walk to the main entrance together. 

You gulp and wipe your sweaty hands on the expensive dress that was bought for this occasion. You have to close your eyes for a moment before taking a step and walking behind them.

“I thought they’d have a butler opening doors and waiting for us outside.” Your stepmother jokes, at least you hope that she’s joking as she rings the doorbell. You wonder how they’re benefitting from this as you wait.

Soon enough the door opens and you get greeted by a man that’s well dressed-up. A man in his uniform. Your stepmother is the first one to enter the house, she walks confidently into the place, she turns to get a good look at that part of the mansion. Then your father walks in, but he isn’t interested in looking around, he’s interested in catching up to his wife.

Then there’s you. Your gaze falls to the floor and you put on a shy smile as you walk into the house. When you finally look up, you notice that there’s not that many people, at least not as many as you expected. 

“Naobito.” Your father smiles as he acknowledges the man that is walking over. Your stepmother puts on her best smile, and adjusts her posture, shooting you a glare to do the same. You attempt to be the woman she wants you to be. “Friend.” The man replies. He then looks at your stepmother with a slight disgusted look, and then at you. It’s so easy to differentiate who is who. The man smiles at you, at least you don’t lack looks. “My nephew is upstairs, he’ll come down soon and then we can start. Just a heads up, there’s a couple reporters that will ask about how you two met, and I’m leaving it up to you. Just say you two met at a coffee shop and it was love at first sight. Have been dating for a couple of months. Toji will fuck it up somehow.”

“Toji?” Your father questions. They had previously agreed on Jinichi, so was Naobito playing around? “You’re getting the names confused, I told you to stop drinking booze.”

“No, she’s marrying Toji.” Naobito confirms, and you can’t understand why your father is so affected by this. He’s in shock. Your father has known the Zenins for a long time, so what could Toji possibly have done to cause such a reaction?

“The good-for-nothing that ran away? He’s back?” A tone of offense is clear in your father’s voice. No one notices the man that’s at the top of the stairs, listening to every single word. “There’s no way you’re thinking my daughter is getting married to him of all people.”

“It’s either that or no one at all. I’m not marrying Jinichi, someone who has potential, to a single mother like your daughter.” Naobito says, and your heart nearly breaks and you want to break down in tears. But you remember her words, and act like a proper lady. You don’t smile, you hold your posture and steady your breath so you don’t begin crying. “You want someone who will give a house and pay for everything for your daughter, and we want someone who will fix Toji’s absolutely horrible reputation in the media. He’s ruining the Zenin’s pristine reputation and we’re hoping this engagement can fix this. It’s a win-win situation.”

“I don’t-'' Your father begins but your stepmother discreetly pinches him and he stops. Noaobito’s eyes fall on you.

“Don’t take it the wrong way. You’re just not fit enough… Maybe a couple years back, when you didn’t have your creature.” He tries his best to seem as if he has good intentions, but his words show who he really is. “Plus it’s perfect. He has a son too, just a couple months old, so not only will he be a stepfather, but you’ll be a stepmother.”

You don’t say anything because it feels as if you have no words left in you, even if you haven’t spoken. There’s a lump in your throat that holds back your tears, and you’re afraid your words will release it and cause you to cry. The fact that you’re thought of as less-than because of your daughter is just something that you can’t wrap your head around. But you still give him a nod in response.

Soon enough he slightly turns and faces the stairs, making you look at them too. Slowly walks down a tall, muscular man with a hostile look on his face. He has mid-length black hair, a few strands fall over his emerald green eyes. What really catches your attention is the scar that’s located on the right side of his mouth. You feel your cheeks get warm.

You hope that he’s your soon-to-be husband only because of the physical attraction you feel towards him. You don’t believe in love at first sight, and you know that no emotions will develop quickly so you can at least hope your husband is handsome. He reaches the last step and then he’s on the first floor. He walks over to you.

“Toji.” Naobito says. “Why did you take so long?”

“Sorry, Megumi just took forever to fall asleep. He’s such a crybaby.” Toji lies, hoping that if he complains about his son that you’d be scared and rethink the marriage. He thinks that somehow this is up to you. “He didn’t even let me sleep last night.”

You don’t say anything, you just stare at him which pisses him off. Toji already doesn’t like you but those feelings can change at the end of the day. At the end of the day he’ll either grow to like you or hate you, and it was all up to the final decision.

Naobito calls the butler, and the butler comes with a black box. Toji is forced to take the box, and he puts it in his pocket.

“We’ll give you five minutes to speak to each other, after, come outside to propose. The photographer and reporter are ready.” Naobito instructs before guiding your father and stepmother elsewhere.

Toji and you just stare at each other for a minute or so. Toji decides to get straight to the point, knowing that there’s no way you can read his mind. “I want you to reject the proposal.”

“And I’m not going to reject the proposal. It’s not up to me.” You respond and he doesn’t like your response.

“What do you mean it’s not up to you? You have freewill, don’t you? Reject the proposal.” He insists. “Don’t you have freewill? Instead of forcing me to reject the proposal, just don’t ask.” You tell him, making him click his tongue.

“The problem is if I don’t ask, they’ll kick me out because I’m unwilling to cooperate with them.” He reveals, making you sigh.

“I’m stuck too. If I reject the proposal, my daughter and I will be kicked out.” You answer. “We don’t have any other option here so let’s just try to get along.”

“But you have the option to reject me. That’s easy.” Toji continues, labeling your refusal to cooperate as plain selfishness. He doesn’t really care to think about your position and how you’re trying your best for your daughter.

He glares at you, and you notice but don’t pay attention to it. If he’s unhappy, that’s on him. You’re unhappy too, but ultimately you’re trying to do what’s best.

“Let’s go to the garden, the reporter and photographer are waiting.” You say, and begin to walk. The sound of your heels hitting the floor irritates him. 

“Fuck you.” He mutters under his breath. And he hasn’t gotten to know you for ten minutes but he hates you. That’s decided in his heart because you’re not giving him what he wants so he’s forced to follow behind you.

Once you get outside, your eye is immediately drawn to the beautiful flowers that are outside. Your father and stepmother are nearby, talking to Naobito. Their eyes fall on you and Toji who’s behind you.

You begin to walk around the garden, a massive garden that never in your life did you think you would see. The photographer follows behind, trying to be discreet and not spoil the “surprise”. He just acts as if he’s a part of the family.

You notice the red rose bush and you’re drawn to it. You’re tempted to touch the roses, and your finger is so close to the flower but you stop yourself. Toji knows that the reporter is nearby, and he doesn’t want to fuck things up. He has to be romantic .

As much as he doesn’t want this, ultimately he wants you to be the one to fuck things up. Toji puts up an act since his uncle is also watching. He wants his uncle to see that he tried everything and in the end you are the one that doesn’t want anything to do with him. 

Toji wraps his arms around you, from behind which catches you off-guard. He can feel the corset through the dress and it makes you uncomfortable. He puts his chin on your shoulder before pressing a kiss on your cheek.

“You look beautiful today.” Toji comments, his voice loud enough for the reporter to hear. You wonder if they think why such an intimate moment is forced to become public. But then again the Zenins business has always been important in the media and they’re attempting to keep a pristine image which apparently can’t be possible because of Toji.

“Thank you…” You respond, taking your hand back because touching the rose just wasn’t that fascinating anymore. A stranger is holding you and you can’t do anything about it. A stranger is going to propose and you’re forced to say yes because if you don’t say yes, you’ll end up in the street with no means to survive with your daughter.

He turns you around to force you to look at him. There’s a smile on his face but his eyes are empty. No emotion behind it because how could there possibly be any emotion behind them? You met perhaps ten minutes ago. He pecks your lips, causing your face to get warm.

“I love you so fucking much.” He says empty words that can be written down and be deemed as romantic. His uncle listens and he’s not pleased with the cursing, but at least it’s not something that’s too bad.

“I love you too.” You reply with a tiny smile on your face. You watch as he gets the little black box that he has in his pocket, out. You begin to wonder why it has to be this way, why can’t they just say it’s an arranged marriage.

The Zenins want it to look as if Toji has an option. That at the end you are the woman he chose and he ended up fixed. They want to look like the perfect family that the media has always sold.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you because you’re…” Toji has to shut his eyes for a moment. He imagines someone else that’s standing in front of him. When his eyes open his expression grows tender. “You’re the woman I want to see each time I wake up. I want to grow old with you. Ever since you walked into my life, you’ve made it better. You’re such a great mother to our-”

Suddenly he chokes up, tears building up in his eyes when his imagination gives out. But he remains his composure and holds back the tears. His face goes back to being cold and the passionate tone he had was long gone. “What I’m trying to say is, will you marry me?”

He opens the little box, not bothering to get on one knee. He isn’t devoted to you and he certainly doesn’t have any sort of respect. There is no love either. There’s nothing. He’s getting married to a complete stranger and it feels surreal. But the flashes of the camera remind him how real everything is.

“Oh my God- Yes!” You smile and pretend to be excited as you look at the ring. He takes the diamond ring out of the box and slips it on your ring finger. What are you supposed to do next?

Your hands wrap behind his neck and you peck his lips. You notice the flash of the camera and you act surprised at the photographer. You look back at your now fiancé and then at the photographer.

“So this is why you have been acting so mysterious!” You say. You’re quickly approached by another man. He wears a white sweater, black jeans and glasses.

“If it’s not too much of a hassle, may I ask a couple questions?” The man is quick to say. He clears his throat before scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, that was rude. I suppose I should congratulate you first.”

“It’s alright.” You assure him. “Although we would like a couple minutes alone, and then we can answer questions.”

“Alright, we’ll be waiting inside.” The man responds with a smile. The photographer and him walk inside and you’re left behind with Toji. Once they’re in the house, Toji asks the question he had forgotten to ask.

“What’s your name, again? Naobito told me but I don’t remember.” Toji speaks, making you roll your eyes. You tell him your name. “Well, I’m Toji Fushiguro.”

“Fushiguro?” You look at him in confusion. You have understood that he is a Zenin, but then again you never really got to know who of his parents was the Zenin. He just nods and you don’t think about it for too long. “Alright…”

“So we met at a coffee shop and it was love at first sight… How old is your son?” You tell him, and he furrows his eyebrows.

“What does my son’s age have to do with any of this?” He replies with a nasty tone.

“It’s due to the time we have been together. If we’ve been together longer than the time your son has been alive, you’ll be labeled as a cheater.” You explain. “This is all to clean your family’s reputation.”

“They’re not my family.” Toji is quick to say. “But he’s nine months old.”

“What happened with his mother?” You innocently ask and he gives you a nasty look. 

“That’s none of your fucking business.” He’s clearly angry by the question, and you’re tempted to apologize but you don’t. You don’t think you should because this is information you have to know sooner or later since he is your future husband.

“Well then we have been together for eight months.” You inform him and he shakes his head.

“For five.” He responds. “We’ve been together for five months.”

“Alright then, let’s go inside.” You begin to walk inside and he follows behind. You get back into the mansion and sigh before walking to the reporter.

“We’re ready.” You announce and the man nods, as he gets his notepad and pen ready.

The man looks at all the questions he has written down. Something that should be easy to paint Toji and you in a good image. He then realizes that he hasn’t even introduced himself.

“I’m Jin Itadori.” He smiles and you smile back at him. Toji doesn’t care to smile.

“Well Mr. Itadori, it’s nice to meet you. We’re ready for any questions that you have for us.”

[rottenandsublime]

He hit me and I heard a ringing in my ear, then I realized it was wedding bells 🩷

[any pronouns]

[kosemsultanim]

Lucrezia Borgia's costumes in Borgia (2011-2014) [1/3] requested by anonymous

[vangbelsing]

I like the funny necromancer

[rimatsu]

both around the 6 month mark approximately. whatever the difference in attitude means

[softmangoes]

how the LIs kiss

18+

pure!sydney's kisses are sweet, mouth soft and his tongue warm. he kisses you in the same way he savors the hard candies you'd slide over the library counter, slipping them into his hands just so your fingers could brush. when he pulls away, his glasses are foggy, a nervous smile on his face. "was that..." he says, blushing. "was that alright?"

corrupt!sydney's kisses are hungry. he's got his hands under your shirt and his tongue deep in your mouth. he's been waiting so patiently, after all, and now he finally has you to himself. "you taste divine, beloved." he says, fingers slipping under your waistband. when you sigh against his mouth, he smiles. "but i think it's time i have my dessert."

whitney's kisses hurt. they're full of teeth and bruises and blood and his nails digging crescents into your skin. whenever he crushes his lips to yours, he always makes sure to leave you aching. and like every fight you've had against him, you never come out unscathed. "there," he says, marveling at the fresh marks blooming along your neck. "now everyone will know whose slut you are."

kylar's kisses are desperate. his hands roam your skin as his mouth murmurs endless promises into the hollow of your neck. "we'll be together forever," he says, drunk on the scent of you. he presses his body to yours, eager to get closer, to envelope you in his embrace. to never, ever, let you go. "nothing will ever change that."

eden wastes no time when he kisses you. he has known the lean months of winter and the lonely days of fall. you cannot deny him the sweetness of spring. he bites into the curve of your neck like the first fruit of warmer days, licks at your lips to drink in your sweetness. but a hunter is always hungry, always wanting. "it's been a long day," he growls, deepening the kiss. when he takes your shirt in his hands, the fabric rips apart easily. "too long without you."

robin's kisses are warm. they're fingers running through your hair, a smile against your mouth. sunny days and lips that taste like fresh lemonade. he always laughs when he kisses you, like he can't believe he's doing this. like he can't believe he's yours. when he kisses you, the world is a little brighter. softer. "it's a beautiful day to be with you," he murmurs after he pulls away, pressing a peck to your cheek before taking your hand in his.

there is no way you can truly describe how the ivory wraith kisses you, but there is a note of familiarity to it. your mind conjures memories of kisses whispered in passing, of lips locked in darkened halls. "as sweet as ever," he hums, licking your lips with his cool tongue. "as sweet as always." the passing of centuries have done little else but make him yearn. the wraith, with his great and terrible beauty, kisses you like he's been waiting for you all this time.