#congrats on the future sex | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

noira-l · 23 days ago

Text

𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: You were a prodigy, destined for greatness, until one mistake cost you everything- your powers, your legacy, and your father’s pride. Now, powerless and adrift, you wait for your father's decision on your fate, unsure if you’ll face exile, servitude, or something worse. A shadow of who you once were, you push everyone away, drowning in the weight of your own failure. Then there’s Gojo Satoru. Your rival, your tormentor, and the last person you expect to care about your fall. But instead of mockery, his gaze carries something else - something you can’t bring yourself to believe.

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 — teen!gojo satoru x f!reader

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 — heavy angst

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 — mdni, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, prodigy!reader, reader is from clan, rivals with benefits, mention of sexual intercourse, hate sex, depiction of complicated relationship, loss of technique, hurt, mourning (pain, grief, regret), depression, self-doubt, changing body, depiction of loneliness, reader pushes everyone away, jjk clans are shit, family abuse, long term manipulation, smoking, drowning, failed attempt of self-destruction (gojo saves reader), reader goes no contact, reader becomes maiko/geiko later on.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 — 11 k

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 — this is the longest list of warnings I have ever written, congrats to me (kidding). I don't know if anyone will like it. I know it's dark, very unhealthy and absolutely depressing. It's not good, and I don't recommend anyone to act in the way depicted in this fic. It is possible that I will remove it in the future. If you are struggling with such issues, I would highly encourage you to talk to someone you trust about it. However, I want to thank everyone who chooses to read this.

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

It really wasn't difficult to avoid.

You could've waited literally two seconds.

You could've let the assistant check the area as he should after the mission.

You could've not searched the area yourself.

You could've notified the assistant that you had found a cursed object, in the shrine debris.

You could've waited for the assistant to come up to check with you.

You could've not approached the cursed object.

You could've not picked it up. You could've been smarter.

Maybe if you were - you would still have your powers.

Your technique had been everything they claimed it to be. Rare, devastating, invaluable. It wasn’t just a skill - it was a mark of distinction, the proof of your place in a centuries-old legacy. The elders whispered of its rarity, marveling at the precision and control with which you teach yourself to wielded it.

They called you a prodigy, the one destined to elevate the clan to greater heights.

The weight of those expectations had always been crushing, but you bore it with a silent, unyielding resolve. You had to. You had no choice.

But there was another side to this. You wanted to bore it. You wanted to shush all the gossip, all the rumours that might suggest that you can't do something. Besides you found yourself enjoying this kind of powers

The whispers about your gender - about how being a woman might complicate your ability to lead, to fulfill the role they expected of you - only hardened your resolve.

You would prove them wrong, all of them, you told yourself.

But you also wanted your father's approval.

Your father was the only thing close to you. Your mother died in childbirth or left with a lover, you never knew which version was the truth. As a child, you never thought about it, the truth is, everyone around you only mentioned your father, how you should be his pride, his tribute and how you should do everything to make him feel content about you.

This propaganda worked.

And this mindset became an integral part of you.

His approval wasn’t just your goal - it was your oxygen, your sustenance. His rare moments of pride were your reward, and his disappointment - your greatest fear.

You could hear his voice in your mind, the way it would brighten ever so slightly when you succeeded "Good. This is good. Keep this up." those words had kept you going through grueling hours of training, through sleepless nights spent honing your skills to perfection. The bruises, the pain, the exhaustion - they were nothing compared to the glow of his approval, the fleeting light that told you you were enough, if only for a moment.

But his eyes also dulled with such terrifying speed when you stumbled, even slightly. A poorly executed maneuver, a delay in judgment during a sparring session, a lapse in control, all of it was met with silence, with the cold weight of his disappointment pressing down on you like a vice. It was in those moments that you became acutely aware of your imperfection, of how fragile his pride in you truly was.

This however had shaped you into a perfectionist, a creature of cold calculation.

Training became part of your life, your identity. You lived for the applause of the elders, for the murmured praise of the clan, but above all, for the fleeting flicker of pride in your father’s eyes.

He had once told you, long ago, when you were too young to fully understand his words, that you were his gift "Special, rare." he had said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it since "A gift I received at your birth."

You had clung to those words, replaying them in your mind whenever the pressure became unbearable. They were your anchor, your proof that you mattered, that you were loved - not as a daughter, perhaps, but as something far more valuable, something exceptional.

But in a perspective - you weren't the only exceptional thing in this world.

Even before you understood what rivalry meant, you had been told, over and over, how your birth ranked second in significance.

The second most talked thing.

The first? Him.

You had grown up under the long shadow of a name: Gojo Satoru.

A boy born with unparalleled power, eyes as vivid as the summer sky, whos very existence shaked the foundations of the jujutsu world. While your family whispered of your technique with cautious pride, his family declared him the strongest before he could even speak.

Comparison was inevitable. You were prodigies, both of you, but where your brilliance was honed through discipline, his was uncontainable, raw, and overwhelming. You were rare - he was the one.

You still remembered the first time you saw him. You couldn’t have been more than six, dressed in formal robes too heavy for your small frame, the silk scratchy against soft skin. The clan meeting was dull, filled with stiff adults exchanging words that meant nothing to you. But then, in the corner of the room, you felt a presence - bright, piercing, impossible to ignore.

When you turned, his eyes met yours.

Wide, unblinking, and startlingly blue, they stared at you like they could see through your skin, through your bones, through everything that made you, you. He didn’t say anything, didn’t smile or nod - just stared, like he was trying to decide if you were worth noticing at all.

Even then, something about him annoyed you.

As you grew older, the comparisons became sharper, louder. Clan sparring matches became a regular event, a spectacle for the elders to evaluate their bloodlines. You, Gojo, Kamo, that Zen’in heir, and a handful of others were pitted against one another under the guise of "training." But you all knew the truth. It was a game of dominance, of proving which clan held the strongest future.

Gojo made it a point to be insufferable.

"Chicken fights." he had once sneered, grinning as he sat perched on a rock like a king addressing his subjects. You had just beaten one of the Zen’in cousins, a victory that had left your father smiling faintly in the audience. But Gojo’s voice cut through the cheers "That’s all this is. You flap your wings, you strut around, but it doesn’t matter. None of you will ever beat me."

The others ignored him, too smart - or too scared - to engage. But not you.

"I’d rather be a chicken than a brat with a big mouth." you’d shot back, your voice steady despite the fire burning in your chest.

His grin widened, and for a moment, you thought he might actually take you seriously. But then he laughed - a loud, obnoxious sound that echoed through the sparring grounds "Cute." he said, hopping off his perch and walking past you like you weren’t even worth his time "Let me know when you’re ready to play with the big kids."

Now, years later, the rivalry had followed you into Jujutsu High, where it seemed impossible to escape him. The same classes, the same missions, the same suffocating aura of superiority that surrounded him wherever he went.

He was a little different. Not in the way you’d imagined someone "different" might be - quiet, mysterious, unassuming. No, he was loud, arrogant, and so assured in his strength that it bordered on unbearable.

The fire you’d felt as a child, that relentless desire to outdo him, to prove yourself, had cooled over the years. But it hadn’t gone out. Instead, it had transformed into something sharper, something a little colder - a blade honed not just to cut him down but to carve out your own space in a world that refused to see you as anything more than a shadow cast by his brilliance. It wasn’t just about beating him anymore. It was about standing on equal ground, forcing him - and everyone else - to recognize you as something other than second best.

You tried to take it slow, to ingore him.

Gojo didn’t make it easy.

He had a way of getting under your skin that no one else could. Just a glance from him could set your teeth on edge, that wide, knowing smirk playing on his lips like he was already ten steps ahead of you. He mocked you constantly, his words sharp and teasing, always laced with that infuriating arrogance that only he could pull off.

Every encounter was a contest, every conversation a challenge, every moment spent in his presence a battle for dominance.

You danced around each other endlessly, an intricate, unspoken rhythm that neither of you could break. One moment, he’d set the direction, leading with a cocky ease that seemed unshakable - the next, you’d outpace him, forcing him to catch up, to adjust to your steps.

The dance extended into every aspect of your lives. Missions became opportunities to one-up each other, to prove who was faster, sharper, more capable. Training sessions were wars of endurance, each of you pushing harder, refusing to yield until exhaustion forced a truce. Even on days off, when most people would relax or recover, you found ways to compete - whether it was sparring, aruging or something as mundane as seeing who could stack the most chairs before they toppled over.

His attention was relentless, his focus always sharp and unyielding. He discounted you with every other word, mocking your efforts, analyzing your achievements as if he were the ultimate judge of your worth. His words - arrogant and biting - were no better.

"Trying to catch up to me again? Good luck with that, shortcake."

"Don’t trip over your own shadow while you’re chasing me."

"Nice job today, small fry. Almost makes me feel like you’re worth competing with."

Each message was a spark, igniting the fire that drove you to prove him wrong, to show him - and yourself - that you were more than capable of matching him. To the point of beating him.

Neither of you ever held the upper hand for long - one day his victory, the next yours. The score didn’t matter, though. What mattered was that the fire between you never burned out, keeping you locked in this endless, maddening dance.

And maddening was pace of his hips that were thrusting into you every other day. The old floor, even with a layer of training mat, would creak under his powerful movements.

Both of you decided after some time that your dispute had to be settled by other means, so you challenged each other to a duel where there were no rules and all moves were allowed. It usually ended with the two of you meeting in the old training room after class, to resolve a conflict you were currently having. The winner was the one who first knocked his opponent finally to the ground.

Differently these encounters ended, sometimes he was the unbeatable winner, pounding you into the floor, bending you at every possible angle, whispering sweet nothingess and words of mocking encouragement to your ear, making tears drip down your flushed cheeks. Sometimes it was you who won, pinning him to the floor, bouncing off his hips in a frenzy, one in which you commented on how loud he was, how crying and pathetic he looked - words that were meant to degrade him, were just making his glimmering eyes roll back. Eyebrows raised and stupid handsome face twisted in a sigh so beautful that you would end up with the lost of insults after a while.

He won last week. Your asscheeks painfully pounded into the mat material, as your hands clasped tightly on his shoulders, creating scars that were meant to affect him, but only seemed to make him whine even more. Laughing breathlessly at your attempts to hurt him, as if he wasn't the one leaving rudely visible red marks on your neck that poke through uniform.

He'll probably laugh about winning his final match, too.

Because there will never be any again.

Everyone tried everything to undo the effects of what had happened - to remove the curse. When this proved impossible by the specifications of the object you touched, which could be called a trap, they at least tried to restore the flow of your cursed energy. This, too, proved to be a failure.

You’d told yourself, at first, that it must be temporary. That the connection to your technique would return, that this was just a setback. It had to be. Something so integral to your being couldn’t just vanish - it was part of you, wasn’t it?

That was you, right?

But each attempt proved fruitless. Every meditation session, every exercise, every attempt to summon even the faintest flicker of cursed energy - it all ended the same way: in silence, in emptiness.

The denial fueled your determination, pushing you into training sessions that bordered on self-destruction. You traded your technique for raw physicality, throwing punches at the training dummy until your fists bled, the skin splitting open as you struck again and again. And again. Sweat soaked through your clothes, mingling with tears you refused to acknowledge as they streamed down your face.

You screamed, raw and guttural, into the empty training field, but the sound brought no release, only exhaustion. You never shouted like that, never cried like when you fell on the ground and realised it was all pointless.

One conclusion came from your attempts.

You had been crippled.

"Maybe if I had a son, he wouldn't have made such a foolish mistake." the words clung to you, searing through the phone’s receiver like acid. Your father’s voice, sharp and cold, cut through the fragile thread of composure you had been holding onto. The regret, the disappointment, and - worst of all - the indifference. He didn’t even sound angry, just tired. Tired of you.

Your throat burned.

"Father, please..." but you didn’t know what you were asking for -mercy, understanding, or perhaps the impossible: forgiveness.

"You've squandered everything." his voice was steady, unaffected "Centuries of legacy, your birthright, your technique - gone. Do you understand the magnitude of what you’ve done?"

Do you? You couldn’t even bring yourself to speak. Your thoughts swirled into a vortex of self-loathing, replaying the moment over and over again.

"We'll talk later when I decide what to do with you." and just like that he hung up.

That was it. No comfort. No acknowledgment of the years you’d given, the sacrifices you’d made, or the countless moments you’d bled and bruised yourself into perfection. The line had gone dead with a finality that echoed through your chest like a hammer strike. His voice - so cold, so detached - ingered in your mind, cutting deeper than any curse could.

You set the phone down on the desk, your hand trembling slightly as you withdrew from it, as though it might burn you if you held on any longer. The chair creaked faintly beneath you as you sat motionless, staring at the wall opposite you.

You wanted to apologise to him, to beg his forgiveness for your mistake, for your stupidity, you wanted to cry on his shoulder, to apologise - again - that you had let him down. But he just wasn't interested. He was no longer interested in your perspective.

You, simply didn't interest him.

That room was dim, the shadows thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint glow of a single overhead light. It wasn’t enough to fully illuminate the faces of the elders who stood before you, their disapproval palpable, their voices sharp and cutting as they dissected your situation. Each word they spoke dug into your chest, stripping away what little pride you had left.

You were stripped off the title of a prodigy.

They called you a dissapointment now.

You became an example.

A cautionary tale.

The damage has already been done.

People tried to reach you. Geto, Shoko, Nanami - even Yaga made an effort to draw you out of your spiral. But their words felt hollow, meaningless. What could they possibly say that would fix what had been broken? They didn’t understand. How could they? They still had their power, their purpose, their place in this world. You didn’t.

He was on mission overseas, so maybe the information about your state didn't quite reach him yet. Not that you cared if he made contact.

He would probably just laugh at you anyway.

Of all these people Geto, had tried the hardest, his presence quiet but persistent. He tried to be there for you. But there was no you inside.

He’d sat beside one day, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. His touch, once an unremarkable soft gesture, now felt heavy - too heavy. You realized then just how much strength he had, how much stronger he’d become while you had only weakened. His grip, once equal to yours, now dwarfed it.

"You’re still here." he’d said softly, his voice careful, measured "That matters the most."

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The weight of his words pressed against your chest, but they couldn’t penetrate the hollow void inside you. Instead, you’d turned away, muttering some excuse to just leave.

You didn’t want his pity. You didn’t want anyone’s.

You didn't believe that anything else mattered to anyone except your gift. Not after everything that happends.

So you let yourself sink in that conviction.

Your own reflection became that a stranger. Each glance in the mirror revealed another part of yourself fading away. Your muscles, once taut and defined from years of rigorous training, softened, weakened. Your face, once bright with determination and pride, dulled, the light in your eyes all but extinguished. Even your posture changed, slouching under the weight of your defeat.

You avoided mirrors after that. It was easier not to look at yourself, not to see the person you’d become.

The thought of him haunted you. He was the only person who had not yet spoken about your situation. You could almost hear the laughter that would spill from his lips when he found out.

He’d won, hadn’t he? He will be happy that you lost.

Not through a sparring match or a test of strength, but through your own stupidity. He wouldn’t even need to lift a finger - your downfall was self-inflicted. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

He’d probably make a joke of it, something biting and sharp, something that would leave you hollowed out even further. The idea of facing him, of hearing his voice, made your stomach twist - but you kinda wanted him to say somthing to you.

Although you were sure what his reaction would be.

By early autumn you became a ghost of the person you’d once been, a shell going through the motions. The world felt distant, muted, as though you were walking through a haze. The wind carried the crisp scent of leaves, the air beacme sharp enough to sting your lungs as you exhaled. Your student status was taken away by higher-ups, they decided that sending you on a mission was pointless. Just like you. The peak of your skill now was ability to see a curse, not to fight one.

You could do whatever you wanted, so you went to all sorts of faraway places.

You’d grown used to the isolation. It was easier not to see anyone, not to hear the pity in their voices or feel their lingering stares. Geto had tried, tried and tried. Staying with you whenever he could, but even his presence, as steady and grounding as it was, felt too heavy. He tried talking to you, but your mind seemed closed to his willingness to help and his affectionate tone. You weren't a person who knew how to accept help from others, no one ever taught you that. Even if you appreciated it, you didn't know how to show it. And the truth was - you couldn’t bear the weight of his concern, couldn’t summon the energy to reassure anyone that you were fine.

Because you weren’t fine. You were no longer yourself.

That was the only thing that had mattered.

You wanted to disappear into the nothingness that seemed to have taken root inside you. You wanted to stop existing in a world where you no longer had a place, where the purpose that had defined you all your life was gone.

But instead, you thought. And thought. Alone, in the dark, your mind was a relentless spiral, turning over every moment, every decision that had brought you to this point.

You never really faced your fears before, you realized.

This and many other thoughts stirred in your head like a swirl, twisting your perception of reality.

You were walking through the school gates, the crisp golden leaves crunching under your boots. The sun hung low in the sky, its light casting long shadows across the pavement.

You really didn’t expect to see him.

He was back.

Snow-white hair catching the sunlight, posture impossibly relaxed, as if the weight of the world didn’t touch him. He walked with that characteristic ease, the kind that could embarrass a hundred men without effort. His phone was pressed to his ear, and you could hear his laughter even from a distance - light, careless, the kind of laugh that had always annoyed you.

For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t notice you. Of course - why would he? You didn’t even have the faintest trace of cursed energy anymore. You were just a random person, a shadow of who you’d once been, just a presence walking aimlessly on a pleasant autumn afternoon.

You kept your hands buried in your pockets, eyes fixed on the path ahead, determined to pass him without incident. Without one stupid comment. Without one look into that judging eyes.

You realized you weren't ready to face him. A whole range of emotions came up in you: anger, anticipation, sadness, wanting, resignation, longing, but most of all - shame.

But then his gaze fell on you.

You could feel it before you even looked up, the weight of his attention, sharp and unmissable. His eyes flicked over you once, casual and dismissive, but then he froze. Head snapped back in your direction, and the expression on his face shifted so quickly it almost startled you. Satisfaction melted into pure, unfiltered shock.

You didn’t stop.

You didn’t have the strength to deal with him, with his taunts, his smirks, his cutting words, his blue eyes. Not now. Not ever. You moved past him without a word, steps steady and deliberate, though your heart pounded in your chest so much.

You will let him enjoy his win in your silence.

"Oi!" his voice cut through the air, sharp, insistent "Stop you - Wait!"

You didn’t turn around. In fact you didn’t even flinch. Instead, you reached into pocket, pulling out the battered pack of cigarettes Shoko had handed you weeks ago. You lit one with a shaky hand, the ember flaring briefly before the smoke curled into the air. You inhaled deeply, the bitter taste grounding you as you kept walking.

Gojo stood frozen, watching you disappear down the path. He tried calling after you couple of times, louder each time. But he didn't run after you. Six Eyes scanned your silhouette with dangerous precision, noticing every small detail that had changed. The slump in your shoulders, the sharpness of your cheekbones, the dullness in your eyes. The lack of a slightest trace of cursed energy.

What the hell happend to you?

He hadn’t seen you in weeks, but the person walking away from him now was unrecognizable.

You weren’t just tired. You weren't yourself.

You came back hours later to pack your belongings.

The weight of tomorrow hung heavy in your chest, suffocating and inescapable. Your father’s decision loomed over you, its implications gnawing at your already fragile sense of self.

You decided to take a walk, one last time over the terrain you knew and loved so well.

You didn’t want to think about what he might have planned for you. You didn’t want to imagine the hollow life that awaited you, stripped of your identity and power. But the thoughts were relentless, swirling in your mind as you walked, each step taking you farther from the dormitory and deeper into the forest.

Would he make you a servant? Marry you off to someone important, someone who could salvage what little value you had left? Would he exile you to the far corners of the clan, where you would live out your days in quiet obscurity?

The possibilities churned in your mind, each one heavier than the last.

For weeks, you’d been coming here, searching for something in that reflection. Searching for the person you used to be, the prodigy who had stood tall and proud, who had been her father’s pride and her clan’s future. But all you found was a ghost, a shadow of what you once were.

The night was quiet, perfect for the last one here, the air heavy with the crisp scent of fallen leaves and damp earth. A pale moon hung in the sky, its light casting silvery ripples over the world, softening the edges of reality.

You crouched down, as you approached the edge of the water. Your hands brushing against the damp grass, and stared into the lake’s surface. For a moment, the sight of your reflection startled you, as it always did now.

You closed your eyes, for a brief moment, the quiet of the forest enveloping you. A faint rustle of leaves, the distant call of nightlife and the soft lapping of water against the shore - it was all so achingly peaceful. And yet, it offered no comfort.

The lake held no answers, no revelations. Just the same distorted reflection, the same fractured image of yourself.

The reflection there was faint, distorted, but still recognizable. You could make out the curve of your jaw, the hollowness of your cheeks, the dim light in your eyes that once burned so brightly. You stared at yourself, unblinking, searching for the person you had been.

But you were gone.

...

What is the point of all this?

The question came unbidden, as it had so many times before. It's not like you're usefull to anyone. Your whole life has been based on being a sorcerer, the next clan head also, but not being just a human. You don't know how to live a normal life - you don't know if you even want to live one.

You thought about the weight of your father’s expectations, the years you had spent chasing his approval. You thought about the countless hours of training, the bruises, the exhaustion, the fleeting moments of pride that had kept you going. And you thought about the emptiness you felt now, the void left behind by the loss of your technique.

It's all been bringing you to one conclusion for some time: you are nothing without your technique.

This is a painful truth that you had to accept some time ago.

You had the feeling that the water was looking at you - offering a hideout.

You moved, taking one hesitant step forward.

It won't be that bad, right? Everything is better than facing the consequences of your own stupidity.

Another step joined the previous one, your feet touching the cold surface. The smell of wet grass and vegetation wafted through the air.

You’d left everything behind on the shore. Your jacket, hoodie, and shoes - they lay in a silent heap, abandoned like everything else in your life. You won't need them anymore.

The water was cold. Icy. It cut through your skin like shards of glass, wrapping around you with an unforgiving grip as you plunged deeper and deeper into the darkness. The shock of it made your muscles tighten, but you didn’t fight it - not at first. You let the weight of the water pull you down, let the emptiness consume you.

Everything was dark, impossibly so, swallowing everything in its depths. You couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything but the cold pressure against your skin and the burning in your chest as your lungs screamed for air. You let yourself sink further, closing your eyes against the suffocating blackness.

And yet, your mind wouldn’t still.

Thoughts came rushing in, unbidden, like a flood breaking through a dam. Every memory, every failure, every moment of doubt and despair surged to the forefront. The weight of it all pressed down on you, heavier than the water, dragging you deeper into the abyss.

You had thought this might be the solution. The way out. An escape from the suffocating spiral of your existence. But as the air in your lungs ran out and your body began to betray you, survival instinct kicking in, you realized there was no escape. Not from the memories, not from the pain, not from yourself.

Your limbs flailed, your arms slicing through the water as you tried to fight against the primal urge to breathe. Your body betrayed you, forcing you to the surface even as your mind screamed to let go, to give in.

Just a little bit.

But it was too late. The water felt thick, heavy, an impossible barrier keeping you from the surface. Your lungs heaved, desperate for air, but all they found was water. Cold, bitter, unrelenting water that filled your chest and drowned your last desperate gasp for life.

The memories came in flashes, fragments of a life that now seemed so far away. The pride in your father’s eyes the first time you mastered your technique. The sound ofm Geto’s gentle laugh on a quiet afternoon. Shoko’s quiet. The way Gojo’s voice had always irritated you, his smirk a constant thorn in your side.

They all felt so distant now, like they belonged to someone else. Someone who wasn’t a failure. Someone who still mattered.

And then there was the weight of the other memories - the shame, the disappointment, the voices of the elders as they condemned you. The coldness in your father’s tone when he told you he’d decide what to do with you. The emptiness that had consumed you in the weeks since.

You felt your body shutting down, your vision darkening as the water enveloped you. Your limbs grew heavy, your mind hazy. The struggle became a distant thing, like a flickering light fading out.

And yet, in those final moments, as the water pulled you under completely, one thought rose above all the others, sharp and unrelenting:

You are a failure.

Gasp.

The world returned to you in gasps and violent coughs, water pouring from your lungs as your chest heaved painfully. Your body felt like it had been ripped apart, the freezing cold of the lake still clinging to your skin, but the sharp sensation of something - someone - holding you brought clarity in a rush.

You blinked against the blurriness in your vision, barely able to make out the figure above you. His white hair was plastered to his forehead, the sharp strands dulled and dripping, and his electric blue eyes were wide, filled with a mix of fury, fear, and something raw. His hands trembled as they held you, but his grip was firm, refusing to let go.

Him.

You coughed again, turning your head as water spilled out of your mouth, your chest burning with each labored breath. Reality slammed into you like a punch: you were on the shore, cold earth pressing against your back, and he was the reason you were still here.

"No." you croaked, the word scraping against your throat like sandpaper. Panic surged through you, body reacting before mind could catch up. You twisted violently, shoving against him with what little strength you had left, trying to escape the strong grasp. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be saved.

He didn’t let go.

"Stop." he growled, his voice low and strained. It wasn’t the teasing, mocking tone you were used to. This was different. Commanding, almost desperate.

"Let go of me!" you shouted, your voice cracking as you thrashed against him, the fight in you born not of strength but of pure, unrelenting despair "Let me go, Gojo!"

"No." his grip tightened, his hands locking around your wrists as you tried to claw at him. You jerked and struggled, but it was no use. He was stronger, and even without your powers, you were nothing compared to him. The realization hit you like a dagger to the chest, sharp and agonizing. You couldn’t even free yourself. You couldn’t do anything.

"Stop it" he snapped, voice cutting through the chaos as he pinned your wrists to the ground, forcing you still. His weight loomed over you, his breath ragged and uneven as he glared down at you, his eyes burning with an intensity you couldn’t meet.

You froze, your body trembling beneath him, the fight draining out of you as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. The only sounds were the quiet lapping of the lake’s waves and the harsh breaths between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. His chest rose and fell rapidly, droplets of water sliding down his face, hair wet. His grip on your wrists loosened slightly, though he didn’t let go.

"What are you doing? What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, his voice rough and low, each word laced with something you couldn’t quite place. Anger? Fear? Pain?

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze "You shouldn’t have stopped me."

His grip tightened again, his fingers trembling as they pressed against your skin "Stop you -" he cut himself off, his jaw clenching tightly as he took a shuddering breath "You’re such an idiot."

You wanted to scream at him, to shove him away, to make him understand that there was nothing left of you worth saving. To let you go and withered. But the words caught in your throat, tangled with the grief, anger and despair that had been building inside you for so long.

"What are you doing here? You've been following me?" your voice sharp despite the hoarseness from the water you’d just coughed up. You glared at him, still pinned beneath his weight, wrists trapped in his hands.

Gojo’s expression flickered between irritation and something you couldn’t quite place - concern? No, that wasn’t possible. He raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with his usual brand of mockery "No. Better -what were you doing here?"

You turned your face away, refusing to answer. The moonlight glinted off the water, its calm surface a contrast to the chaos swirling inside you. You could feel his eyes boring into you, Six Eyes missing nothing.

It didn’t take long for him to piece it together.

His grip on your wrists tightened, just slightly "You should have known better." he said, his tone shifting, lower now, more serious "With all that negative energy bottled up, you could’ve attracted a curse."

You snorted bitterly, the sound harsh and raw "As if I’m not already a curse."

His lips turned into a thin line, glimmering eyes narrowing as he leaned closer "Don’t say stupid things." what you said wasn't stupid, he was stupid for coming here and saving you.

"You are stupid for saving me." the words burst out of you, cracking, unrestrained.

The admission hung in the air, raw and cutting, and you hated how much it revealed. You hated how much he could see now. You felt as if he had caught you on something. Not only at this desperate attempt to avoid your fate, but also at being vulnerable. His face was so close now that you could see every drop of water clinging to his white long lashes, you could also feel the intensity radiating from him like a physical force.

"I told you not to say stupid stuff." he said, his voice low and biting, each word hitting like a hammer "You’re dumb enough as it is."

You wanted him to leave you alone.

You growled in frustration, your movements wild and erratic as you struggled against his grip, you tried to kick him, but to no avail "Let go of me, you asshole!"

"No." his response was immediate, tone resolute.

Can he listen to you for once?

"Fuck you!" you hissed.

"You already did!" he barked, his voice cracking through the tension like lightning.

You froze, the retort you’d been about to throw back dying on your tongue. That was an answer you didn't expected. It made you pause. Well...

Gojo sighed, a sound of exasperation tinged with something softer, something almost like… care "You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?" he muttered "But I’d rather deal with that than lose you."

What?

No, you must have overheard, he would never say such a thing to you.

You would almost believe those softly sparkling eyes, that looked at you in a way that it felt anxious. Well, almost, because you knew exactly who was saying those words to you. You scolded yourself for this in your head.

"Why the hell are you here?" you demanded an answer on dodged question, voice shaking with both anger and something dangerously close to despair "Did you save me because you were afraid you’d lose your favorite object of derision? To mock me? To laugh at how pathetic I’ve become?"

His eyes widened briefly, the accusation catching him off guard, before narrowing again in frustration "Do you seriously think I’d waste my time saving your sorry ass just to mock you?" he shots back "God, you’re so full of yourself sometimes."

"Then why?" you spat "Why did you saved me?"

He didn’t answer, his gaze shifting to the side, avoiding yours entirely. You could see the tension in his jaw. But he still said nothing. As the answer was too much for him to bear. He was about to speak, but he noticed the way you shivered violently, the cold catching you again. The soaked fabric of your clothes still clung to you, and the sharp autumn air made it impossible to stop trembling. Gojo changed his mind.

"I’ll let you go now." his voice lower, less biting "Get dressed - but no stupid actions."

His grip on you eased, and he moved back just enough to give you space, though not far enough to let you out of his reach. He stayed seated on the damp ground, watching your every move with an intensity that made your skin crawl. He didn’t trust you. Not yet.

You listened, you didn't have a choice now.

You crawled toward the pile of clothes, hands shaking so badly that it was difficult to grab anything properly. You stripped off your soaked shirt and pulled on your hoodie in a hurry, not caring whether he saw or not. You were too cold to care about modesty, too angry to care about anything else.

He also got dressed, buttoning up his sweats and putting on his jacket. The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until his voice broke through.

"Why do you act like a moron?" his words were sharp, almost accusing, but there was something beneath them - a tremor of genuine frustration. Not a trace of his previous gentleness.

You didn’t answer, keeping your focus on zipping up your jacket, your movements jerky and uneven.

He grabbed your arm suddenly, firm but not painful "Oi, answer me!" his voice rose, the intensity of it cutting through the cold air.

You snapped your head up, your eyes blazing as you glared at him "The hell do you want?"

All you wanted now was to escape to a warm room and cry.

His grip on your arm tightened for a moment before loosening slightly, but still there, his expression flickering from serious to worried to confused "Why... why did you want- " he struggled for the words, frowning "Why did you want to end it all? It’s stupid, this logic is idiotic even for you."

You growled.

"What’s dumb is that you don’t understand it." you shot back, your voice sharp, almost venomous. The anger bubbling inside you was the only thing keeping the cold at bay. You wanted to get up, but his grip kept you down.

"The stupid thing is what you’re doing." he countered, his voice rising again "Do you think your death will change anything?"

That was enough for you.

"Great!" you shouted, pulling your arm free of his grip and stepping back, your chest heaving as emotions boiled over "If I’m so fucking worthless, then let me die, for fuck’s sake!"

Shock.

Pure, undeniable shock.

Those vivid blue eyes of his, so infuriatingly piercing, widened. Eyebrows raised, lips parted slightly, as if he were about to speak, but no words came out. It's as if he doesn't believe you just said that. As if he just realised the seriousness of the situation. You saw his chest start to rise faster, not sure if from the cold…. or from panic.

"I don’t want you to -" he started, his voice breaking slightly, even softer than before.

But you crossed your limits.

"You won, okay!?" you cut him off, voice sharp, loud and trembling. The words spilled out of you like a flood, raw, unrestrained "You can rub my face in your victory now! I don’t care anymore! Torment me, mock me, laugh at me - now’s your time!"

His eyes narrowed, confusion clear as his brow furrowed "What?"

"Do it! Now’s the time where you can laugh all you want, insult me all you want - because now, at least, you have a reason!"

"I- " he tried to speak, but you wouldn’t let him.

"Tell me what a failure I am!" you suddenly cried "Tell me how I mean nothing, how all my efforts have gone to waste, how I’m worthless! Because now, at least, I’ll admit you’re right!"

"Stop-" he started, but his words fell flat against the force of your pain.

"Tell me how all your life you knew you were better!" you shouted, hands shaking as you gripped the sleeves of your jakcet "Tell me I’m an idiot, that I’ve always been dumb! Laugh in my face, mock me, just finish me! Say all the things you’ve been thinking, all the things you’ve wanted to say - just say it!"

Your voice broke completely, the words tumbling into a sob "You can finish me..." you choked "Come on. Just… just do it!"

This was to much, you felt so so much.

He was so disoriented. You could see this by his reaction.

"Because I'd believe you'd laugh than suddenly care what happens to me." you chocked.

Silence.

Tears blurred your vision. You were done pretending to have any pride left. You've had enough of everything. You didn't understand his reaction, his sudden tenderness confused you, everything was so wrong. You just wanted to get back to normal, when you - and everything had it's place.

But no, suddenly the world has turned - you don't have your technique, your father will probably disown you, and your rival and bully is suddenly trying to be nice. You don't want to be here anymore. You don't know how to find yourself in this world and you don't know how to talk about it.

It's humiliating to cry in front of him, you know it, but you don't care. You let it all out, just like the water from before.

He just stared at you, eyes wide, jaw tight. You could barely see through the fact that you sobbing next to him, hiding your face and bringing your legs to your chest.

"No." he whispered.

You blinked at him, raising your head, confused "What?"

"No." he repeated, louder this time, his voice firm but trembling "I’m not going to mock you."

You let out a loud bitter laugh, shaking your head "Of course not. Because you don’t even have to, do you? I’ve already done it for you."

"That’s not-" he cut himself off, shortening the distance between you "You’re wrong."

"About what?" your voice breaking again "About being a failure? About being nothing? Tell me what part of that is wrong?"

"All of it." he confirmed, voice steady now, glowing eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart clenched "Every single word. You’re not nothing. You’re not a failure. And I swear to God, if you say that again, I’m going to-"

"To what?" you challenged "Save me again? Drag me out of the lake and lecture me about how I should see the bright side of losing everything? Spare me the pity, Gojo. I don’t need it."

"It’s not pity!" his voice ringing loud, showing that emotions were also building up inside him. Unexpectedly, two large hands moved to cup your face, forcing you to look at him, to stare at two glowing blue dots "I’m not here because I pity you. I’m here because-" he faltered, voice catching as his breath hitched, his thumbs brushing against your cold, damp skin "Because I care."

The silence that followed was deafening. You froze, your face dropping as the weight of confession hit you like a tidal wave. He wonders if you know how much it cost him to tell you this directly. You, you wonder if what he says is a joke.

He... what?

His hands stayed on your face, steady despite the way they trembled slightly "I wanted to talk to you." the voice that came out of him was so quiet, so full of affection, that it was almost nothing like his "I started looking for you as soon as I got back from the mission. I wanted to... I don’t know, do something. Anything."

You burst out laughing bitterly, the sound sharp and raw in the stillness. It felt absurd, impossible. Gojo Satoru, your rival, the person you’d been compared to all your entire life, the one who mocked you, humiliated you endlessly, competed with you relentlessly - suddenly was caring about you?

You don’t believe him - because how could you?

For so many years, he had been the same infuriating presence in your life, treating you with an air of superiority and, at times, outright disdain. His words had cut shar, leaving wounds you’d carried silently for years.

There wasn’t a single thing he hadn’t laughed at. Your hair, he’d compared it to the end of a broomstick. Your smile? He’d once called it a donkey’s grin - or whatever the Japanese equivalent it was, delivered with his trademark smirk that made you want to slap it off his face. Your taste in music? "Cheesy pop thrash" And your clothes? Oh, that was his favorite target "Are you dressing ironically?" he’d asked once, tilting his head with mock curiosity "Or is this a social experiment I missed?" It didn’t stop there. He even mocked the way you walked once, calling it "Too stiff, like you’re auditioning for a role as a wooden puppet"., the way you ate "You attack food like it owes you money." and even the way you carried your books "Why are you holding them like that?" he’d said, mimicking your grip dramatically "You're so weak that you can't hold them properly?"

So yeah, it was laughable.

He may have saved you and you may want to believe in what he says, but you are just not able to.

Can you really blame yourself?

Well, kinda, because you were the one making out with him every other day. You might have believed that he liked your attention, that he might have wanted you - but you wouldn't believe that he wanted to care about you.

You reached up and pulled his hands off your face, your cold fingers brushing against his quite warm ones "Don't give me that. What could you supposedly do?" you asked, voice dripping with disbelief and mockery. The cold seeping back into your body now that his touch was gone

"Anything." he said, his words still tumbling out, almost frantic "Talk, sit with you, I don’t know - something. I- " he stopped, his own frustration bleeding into his voice "I don’t know." his eyes were so pleading.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to stop the tremors as you looked away "Don't bother." voice low, void of fight "Doesn't matter now. My father is picking me up tomorrow."

His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

"I have heard too many versions, all from different people, of what my father supposedly planned that - that I don't know..." you paused, the lump in your throat growing unbearable as you forced yourself to say these words.

You wanted to say that you were afraid, that you didn't know what to do, that you felt you had let everyone down, that nothing made sense to you now.

That it was too much.

That you didn't allowed yourself any form of comfort.

"I know one thing, though." you hesitated, the weight of your next words heavy, but you looked up, meeting his gaze with trembling resolve "I’d rather die now, than live my life as a clan failure."

He growled, frustrated, as if nothing is working on his favour. As if he was breaking.

"Who cares what the clan thinks? Who cares about anything they say?" Gojo’s voice rising, desperate and insistent, his words coming faster now, blabbering "They’re a bunch of old fools who don’t know what they’re talking about! You are more than their expectations. You are more than your technique. You are - "

Maybe he wanted to comfort you that way or maybe he wanted you to believe his tale of him 'caring about you'.

But you had already made up your mind.

Gojo knew that you might not believe him in what he was saying now, he knew, that you would be angry with him for all that he has done- you were right - you should be. What he didn't predict, however, was that you would know him well enough to know this one hidden truth about him.

What you say now will leave a mark on him for years. You frowned, voice totaly sure of the words you're saying.

"Don’t preach to me about things you don’t even believe yourself."

You hadn’t spoken since that night by the lake.

Not when you were picked up, your father’s silence mirroring your own as you sat stiffly beside him, staring out the car's window. Not when he informed you of your new path with the cold efficiency of a man making a business transaction.

Your age wasn't very favourable for this, admittedly - you should have started your training as a maiko a long time ago, wanting to become a geiko. However, your father, using his connections, found a place that will accept you for training. He found an okiya in Kanazawa that from now on - will be your temporary home.

You didn’t fight him. You didn’t speak at all. You have done enough.

The years that followed were grueling in their own way, though nothing compared to what you’d endured before.

Training as a maiko demanded a different kind of perfection, a complete transformation of body and mind. The disciplined, precise movements of martial arts you had once mastered - were now replaced by the elegant, deliberate grace of traditional dance. Every step, every turn, every motion had to flow with effortless beauty, concealing the pain and time it took to perfect them.

You hated every second of it.

Your figure changed over time, slimming down in ways you hadn’t anticipated and curving in a few other places. You "got smaller", your once powerful frame softening into something more delicate, more feminine. Your reflection in the mirror became even stranger - a porcelain doll painted and adorned to please others. Gone were the rugged hands that once wielded cursed tools, now they held fans, makeup brushes, creating beauty where you once brought destruction.

The contrast was unbearable.

You missed the fight, the passion, the adrenaline, the raw exhilaration of your old life. Sometimes, as you trained with the fan, your body betrayed your mind, instinctively slipping into the stances meant for a sword. For your lost technique.

Every day felt like a reminder, a performance, not just for others but for yourself, as if pretending long enough might make you forget what you had lost.

But it didn't.

You never completely left your old self behind; the memory of that person remained vivid, etched into your mind. Recalling the past -missions, getaways, trainings, fleeting moments of triumph and connection - became a daily ritual. Nostalgia and grief intertwined, two of many companions that you had learned to live with, their weight both comforting and unbearable.

Despite it all, he kept reaching out to you.

Gojo’s messages came daily at first, long, rambling texts filled with details of his day - missions, strange encounters, little jokes he’d picked up along the way. He sent pictures of things he thought might make you laugh: a badly drawn doodle of you scowling, a ridiculous meme, a cursed object that looked suspiciously like a poorly designed toy. Each message carried a tone of casual insistence, as though he were trying to prove his point - that he cared. Or perhaps he was trying to reshape your relationship, to turn you from the rival he mocked constantly into something else, maybe - a friend.

Eventually, the messages slowed. Whether it was his own frustration, the demands of his life, or something else entirely, you didn’t know. You didn’t care to know. Cutting yourself off from him, from everyone, was the only way you knew how to endure.

At some point, you stopped reading them altogether. The weight of shame pressed down on your chest, suffocating any inclination to respond. You couldn’t face him - or anyone from your past. The person they knew was gone, and what remained of you was too broken, too hollow, to withstand their judgment or pity.

Your thoughts spiraled endlessly, dragging you deeper into a pit of self-doubt. You convinced yourself that no one could possibly care for who you were now - powerless, dull, and unremarkable. What was left of you wasn’t worth saving, and surely, he had to see that too. Eventually, you were certain, he would stop trying. And that thought, as much as it pained you, felt like the only mercy left.

Sometimes, you’d catch yourself hovering over his messages, tempted to open them. The thought of catching a glimpse of the snippets of his life - once so intertwined with yours - felt like a small, guilty comfort.

But no, you didn't do it.

Years just passed, and the day of your Kurokami, the ceremonial debut marking your transition to full-fledged geiko, arrived. Your father had spared no effort, inviting everyone of importance - every known clan in the jujutsu world, their representatives gathered on the sprawling estate for a grand celebration steeped in tradition and political maneuvering.

It wasn’t about you. It was never about you.

This was a spectacle, a carefully orchestrated display of your father’s influence and connections. Each guest, each detail, was part of a greater plan to cement alliances and further his ambitions. You were just another piece of that plan, an accessory to his power.

The highlight of the evening was the final dance of a maiko, the moment of transition - a symbol of beauty and accomplishment in its purest form. But it wasn’t your dance. It wasn’t you, his daughter, he didn't even introduce you.

No, you were just a dancer now.

You entered the stage in silence, your heart slowing as the soft glow of the spotlight bathed you in its warmth. The muted chatter of the crowd faded into an expectant hush, the weight of hundreds of gazes pressing down on you. The air felt thick, heavy with the unspoken demands of the evening. The elaborate kimono you wore seemed to amplify that weight, its intricate embroidery shimmering under the light. Each layer of fabric, from the trailing hikizuri hem to the opulent obi tied with meticulous care, felt like a chain binding you to the role you were expected to fulfill.

The role that you didn't like.

The adornments on your hair - a delicate array of golden combs and jade pins - added to the strain, each piece glinting like a reminder of the perfection demanded of you. Even the subtle fragrance of incense clinging to your garments seemed to emphasize your place in this performance: a symbol, a display, but never a person.

Your movements, however, betrayed none of your inner turmoil. You moved with the fluidity that had been drilled into you for years, every step and turn perfectly calculated. The soft clack of your lacquered sandals against the polished wood echoed through the room, a rhythm as precise as the dance itself. Each motion was a testament to your training, your arms flowing gracefully as though carried by the air.

And then you saw him.

He’d changed. A lot. The years had shaped him into someone sharper, more refined, though the essence of him - remained unmistakable. His snow-white hair was still its signature mess, but it seemed more intentional now, as though he’d taken the time to style it. The glasses he wore were different, darker and sleeker, framing his face in a way that gave him an air of maturity you weren’t prepared for. Somehow, impossibly, he seemed even taller.

Even more handsome.

You couldn’t remember every detail of his face - time had eroded those memories - but some things stayed vivid. You remembered his hands cupping your face that night by the lake, trembling and warm despite the chill. You remembered the look in his eyes, desperate, as if trying to hold onto something slipping through his grasp. Those moments had etched themselves into your mind in ways you hadn’t dared to revisit.

Is it bad that you missed seeing him?

At first, his expression was unreadable, his lips slightly parted as though he’d been caught mid-thought. His usual cocky smirk, the one you had come to know and despise - was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was a stunned stillness to him, an uncharacteristic vulnerability that made your chest tighten. Those piercing blue eyes, always so vivid, widened as they traced your figure.

You could see the faint flicker of recognition in them, the way his gaze darted across you as if trying to reconcile the person before him with the one he had known.

You couldn’t glance at him as much as you wanted to, though the urge tugged at you with every turn, every delicate gesture. The temptation was a steady hum beneath your practiced composure, but you ignored it.

Whatever he felt, whatever you felt, didn’t matter. Not here. Not now.

It was the longest performance you've ever done.

When your it ended, the room erupted into applause, a symphony of polite enthusiasm filling the grand space. Guests turned to your father, their compliments flowing freely, every word dripping with veiled flattery.

"What a remarkable performance, truly exquisite." one elder said, nodding with approval. He said this loud enough that you could hear him.

"Master, your planning is unmatched." said another, their tone measured and calculated "A brilliant highlight for the evening."

But not him.

He didn’t join the chorus of praise. He didn’t clap. He didn’t say a word. He just sat there, silent, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that felt like it might swallow you whole. The weight of his gaze burned hotter than any ovation, lingering on you as though he were trying to reach across the distance, trying to say something without words. Maybe something like - look at me again.

You didn’t dare to do this again, too afraid to face him, to face the reality of all you’d ignored: the messages you’d left unread, his attempts to connect with you, his clumsy, awkward texts filled with jokes and small glimpses of his life. You couldn’t bear the thought of the weight in his gaze reflecting those unanswered words, those years of silence between you.

Instead, you kept your head high, your back straight, your movements precise as you exited the stage. You didn’t need to see his face to feel his disappointment - or his persistence. It lingered in the air, following you even as you stepped out of the light.

648 notes · View notes

shotmrmiller · 4 months ago

Note

the possibilities for bullying a girl into an inescapable marriage are endless … soap finding a girl from a catholic family, getting her into bed, then ‘accidentally’ letting it slip to her family and nodding along when her mother is like ‘you have to marry him it’s the only way to save yourself from sin’

price in vegas getting blackout drunk with some sweet thin he met at the casino bar, and both of them waking up in the morning with rings. so what if price wasn’t really that drunk? reader doesn’t need to know that.

ghost who convinces you to marry him for the benefits so he gets better housing and you get his health insurance. you think it’s purely transactional, so imagine your surprise when he starts expecting you to perform your other spousal duties and threatens to kill the guy you were gonna go on a date with.

gaz who agrees to be your fake boyfriend for a family dinner, so you don’t have to suffer through another round of ‘what do you mean you’re still single? when am i getting grandbabies?’ only to realize your mistake too late when you catch him in the kitchen with your mother, promising her she’s getting grandbabies soon.

soap's just looking at her mom like he hadn't a clue that it was that serious for "catholics" and he'll do right by them both and take her hand in marriage as if he doesn't have a crucifix around his neck that gleams against coarse hair and pale scars. as if he doesn't remember his ma giving him sharp twists to the ear because he'd made them late for sunday mass again. ofc not. and if he knows certain prayers, he'd learned for his future wife. obviously.

price is def the type to befriend the loud, drunken girl on vacation in some party city he'd just finished a job in. buys her drink after drink because she'd said she can hold her own. unsurprisingly, she was all talk no walk. she calls him handsome once, threads her fingers into his greying hair and his first stop is the nearest jewelry store. he doesn't touch the new mrs. price as she sleeps off the alcohol, he wants her awake for what he's got planned. (ghost ofc hears of his new wife and sends him a congrats text)

ghost gets signed up on tinder by soap against his knowledge will and when soap matches him with some girl only looking for fun, simon decides he's gonna give her more than that and if she's the type to try to kick him out the morning after, he's calling price to forge her signature onto a marriage certificate. (price eventually meets her and he's just like "shouldntve fed him, love. should've known he wouldn't leave." rip a girl just tryna have some sex)

kyle tells her that he needs a gf for the weekend because there's a wedding, soaps wedding actually, and she agrees. (every time she corrects him to his plus one he simply repeats himself.) he immediately goes back on his promise, "i won't even touch ya," cuz his hand is constantly roaming south, he sits her on his lap whether she wants it or not, and during the slow dancing he's prying her mouth open with his for, "just one kiss." if he fucks her in the groom's dressing room during the dinner, no he didn't. (he needs his hands on her, no one believes that they're dating:(

#quickly who's winning the who can get their wife pregnant first bet???

322 notes · View notes

paymechildsupport · 5 months ago

Text

'Familial Matters' // Satoru Gojo x M!Husband!Reader

-------⋆❥°: ❀˚-------

-!! Hints of homophobia (meeting his family / clan) Just some fluff for my blue-eyed king <3

-------⋆❥°: ❀˚-------

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

Marrying 'The Strongest' certainly had its perks, but it definitley wasn't all easy-going, -- and his clan sure didn't make it easy.

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

--------☄*. ⋆❥°: ❀˚ ♡˳--

Satoru loves you with his whole heart, his darling husband. You just recently married (congrats!), having been won over by the albino's boyish charms and, quick frankly, corny love confessions. Satoru had a very.... distinct way to show his affections for you. But, the man had a whimsical, childlike joy to himself that you couldn't find anywhere else, -- and you loved him for it. So, when he popped the question almost two years into dating, you were fairly quick to yell a resounding 'yes!'.

----☄*. ⋆❥°: ❀˚ ♡˳-- ------ --- ･:*:･ﾟ☆

Satoru warned you from the get-go, from the very start of when you two dated, that his clan definitley knew how to make things... difficult for him. As pretty much the sole provider of the clan's prestige, it was easy to see why they'd be so reluctant to let him go. The old geezers had their nobly, boney fingers around him like a vice. And so when Gojo all of a sudden brings you around, a not-so-strong (but also not terrible- though that didn't really cut it obviously) sorcerer from a humble family, there was almost a fatality on site when they learned he had proposed to you. No way were the Gojos suppose to welcome in some uncultured peasant into their prestigious palace, allow their golden blue-eyed king to sully his reputation with you--, was he crazy?

But Satoru made it abundantly clear that his love for you was non-negotiable, so the old heads of the clan could go suck it. He wouldn't allow crap from anyone, especially not regarding you.

In fact, Satoru was reluctant to introduce you to his family at all, dreading what it could possibly mean for the two of you, and delayed any confrontation for as long as possible. But, alas, he'd have to grow a pair at some point, -- and with a tiny bit of a scolding from you, -- he put on his big boy pants and realized they needed him a lot more than he needed them. The Gojo clan was alive, definitely, but it essentially held no power in the world of jujutsu without the Six-Eyes, -- so his clan was just gonna have to put up with both of you, or neither of you. And, coming to the same conclusion as Satoru, they realized they really had no say in the matter. Satoru would defend you against his 'family' until his last dying breath

So they were left to simply shake their fists at the sky and damn whatever higher power that had given them such a lovesick heartthrob for the Six-Eyes, and reluctantly welcome you into their life of riches.

----☄*. ⋆❥°: ❀˚ ♡˳-- ------ --- ･:*:･ﾟ☆

Your first meeting with them was at the traditional pre-wedding dinner, where both families from the union got together and got cozy for the future years of kinship.

It was tense, to put it lightly.

You didn't miss the disapproving gazes, especially the particularly nasty ones from the more elderly clansmen.

The fact that you were also a man didn't bode well for them. Same sex relationships were heavily frowned upon, and they no doubt worried about how this would affect the clan's reputation, for 'condoning' this kind of behavior. Satoru didn't give a damn, though. Who was gonna stop him-- no, scratch that, -- who could stop him? He was the strongest after all, the Honoured One, he could do whatever the hell he wanted, and if that meant literally bending the law to make a legal union between him and the man of his dreams, so be it. Satoru Gojo was above the law.

Some of his younger, more open clan members grew quite fond of you, actually. Who wouldn't? You were such a lovely person, afterall, -- your dazzling personality and just inherent charm won them over almost instantly. You eventually started to grow on some of the older members as well, -- maybe you were just born to charm all the Gojos. When Satoru needed to visit his clan, he'd often leave you with their company, and this was where you'd be filled in on all the clan's juicy drama and private life behind closed doors, - usually over a tea. You made sure to ally yourself with the gossipers of the clan.

----☄*. ⋆❥°: ❀˚ ♡˳-- ------ --- ･:*:･ﾟ☆

Whenever Satoru had to take care of some family... "business", he'd always bring you along with him , -- both for his own sanity and to cure his crippling loneliness, -- he needed you there to soothe him everytime he got into another petulant fight with his family. He needed you there for emotional support, if he was gonna have to put up with entitled, whiney clan members for days on end he needed you to come back to.

He'd lay his head in your lap as you gently combed your fingers through his fine, white hair, sitting under the sakura blossoms in one of the Gojo Estate's many, many lush gardens. His already major head ache from his Six-Eyes magnified momentously by the clan's nagging. He keeps infinity on at all times in the estate, -- only lowering it around you. He'd rant on and on about whatever audacious demand the elders made from him, simultaneously reveling in the way you threaded your fingers through his hair, calming most of his frustration just by your soft touch. Often times you'd just gossip, shit talking was just so fun when it was about those pompous assholes.

----☄*. ⋆❥°: ❀˚ ♡˳-- ------ --- ･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sometimes you could very much see crystal clear where some of the influence rubbed off on Satoru: that arrogance, the slight god-complex, even if it was played off as more of a bit. You usually wouldn't tell him that to his face though, knowing how it would trigger some insecurity within Satoru. He held a genuine disdain towards a majority of the clan's elitist and, sometimes, downright discriminatory rhetoric, desperately distancing himself from those kinds of messages, -- maybe not noticeably. You knew it would crush him, inflicting that kind of insecurity and self-doubt really wasn't your goal. Yet, you did remind him every so often when he took things maybe a wee bit too far, when he got just a little bit too big for his britches, you were the one to bring him back down.

What you didn't hold back on was teasing him about his baby pictures. It was almost comical, seeing how the playful, boyish Satoru you knew now started from such a serious, condescending toddler. It was kinda creepy, and you definitely got a kick from photos of him as a baby, alone in his crib in the middle of the night, eerie, freakishly blue eyes literally illuminating the otherwise dark room, like two bright blue flashlights were embedded into his sockets. It was always fun seeing how embarrassed and red he'd get, how quick his smug demeanor would shatter every time you'd manage to score another adorable baby photo on your phone, saving it as your lockscreen.

----☄*. ⋆❥°: ❀˚ ♡˳-- ------ --- ･:*:･ﾟ☆

Bottom line: he loves you, like a lot a lot, -- and nothing that his old, pestering clan says could ever change that. he promised from day one he'd protect you from any and all danger, including that of his family. He won't take shit from them, and he especially won't take any insensitive comments about his lovely husband, either.

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

[A/N]: Gonna make a part 2 but with stepfather!reader, -- if Satoru had a kid / heir prior, and now you've become a step-father to a mini-Satoru, -- only this one is much, much worse than the original, if that's even possible

165 notes · View notes

whosmarii · 1 year ago

Text

Said you needed love.

ᯤ Started: 25/01/24.

ᯤ Finished:

Summary:

Tony loves his wife, Pepper. He loves his last daughter, Morgan. And he loves Peter like the son he never had. But you? his first born daughter, he doesn't even know your name.

tw: daddy issues (everything that this entail), no corrections yet.

*reader is fem. slow burn. Peter x reader. Kinda rivals to lovers.

Prologue.

You are a genius, you got that from him. You study from home, a teacher for each subject meticulousy selected by Tony to give you the best clases of the country. Not because he cares for you, but because you have to reach the expectations of the people. Imagine, the daughter of Tony Stark, aka Iron man, being an ordinary person.

You didn't need all the teachers, you were a genius because it was in your genes. That wasn't enought to meet your father expectations tho.

You did everything in your power to get a proud look (or at least a look) from your dad. You have the best grades, you learned two different languages in a time lapse of two months, you read five books of classic literature in three days, you knew how to play seven different instrument plus you knew how to sing, you were a professional ballet dancer, you knew aeronautical and chemical engineering, and the list could go on and on.

Nothing seems to satisfy him.

Sometimes, because Pepper have told him to or because he couldn't escape the situation, he would mumble a "congrats" or "yeah, good" while he kept working on whatever he was working. Not even looking at your direction.

You loved Morgan, she was probably the only person in your house that actually cared for you. And you were happy she didn't have to live the same horrible situation you did. But you couln't help the self-sabotaging feeling of jealousy that warmed you heart every time they were together. You didn't understand. What does she have that i dont? why can't i be enough like she is?

Pepper loves you, she tells you that recurrently. But she never did anything to get Tony to be a proper dad. It isn't her responsability but, she is your mother. She sees you suffer because of him and does nothing.

You live in a house with two adults and a five year old little girl, and the only person that treats you pretty...is the five year old. Therefore you love to spend time with the Avengers, they fill a space in your hearts that should be fill by your father. Especially Bruce, he is so fatherly loving, it warms your heart and put tears of joy in your eyes.

Having Bruce to care for you is so important that if he asks you to have sexual relationships with him you would say yes just to keep having his love. You would have sex with all the avengers man if that meant them loving you.

When you heard Tony tell Pepper about the arrival of a new Avenger of 15 years, your heart stoped. What if she is better than me? What if they love her more than they love me? what if-

Peter. That's the name your father said. It was a male. That was soothing. You usually didn't like boys of your age, but maybe this one was different.

You already know that Tony loves him. The way he talks about Peter is almost shivery. "Peter is a genius, that boy has a future." "He is a good boy. Sweet and all" And that aunt of his... such a display" "The Avengers are going to love him".

Now the soothing feeling is gone and the fear is back.

He sounded good. That was bad.

You can't hate someone good. But you can't like him neither.

He wasn't presented to the Avengers yet. You didn't know how he looked yet. But the boy was already tearing apart the only part of your life that wasn't crumbling.

@whosmarii | Please do not copy, rewrite or translate my work without asking me and reciving my approval first. Thank you!

354 notes · View notes

drewsbuzzcut · 11 months ago

Text

Valentine’s Day Through The Years

Mat Barzal x model!fem!reader

A visceral in doses fic

Warnings: mentions sex, mentions drinking, mentions being pregnant and I think that’s all(let me know if i missed something)

First Valentines as a couple (2023)

The 3 dozen red roses sit prettily on your kitchen counter, and the warmth you feel pacing around your living room, waiting for Mat to arrive, is similar to the cup of coffee he had sent to you in the morning. You’re still in shock that he remembered your coffee order, especially when you’ve only been officially dating for 7 days. It gives you confidence about your relationship, the promise of it lasting and growing strong as the days pass by.

Part of you was sad that Mat wasn’t with you in the morning, his focus and responsibility being on his morning skate. Another part of you didn’t even expect to celebrate Valentine’s Day being that your relationship is new. So for him to send you flowers and coffee, means a lot more than it typically would. Plus, he’s picking you up any minute for a couple of drinks. You can’t wait to see him in the suit he wore to the arena earlier. He looked so handsome through the photos posted online, so you have no doubt that he’ll be even prettier to the eye.

A hard knock snaps you out of your thoughts, and you quickly pull it open. You let out a giggle when he immediately pulls you into his chest. His arms lock around your neck and yours wrap around his middle.

“Barzy! You played like a superstar out there. Congrats on the win,” you cheer, pulling him into a kiss.

“Thank you, pretty girl. I wish you were there,” he whispers against your lips.

“Me too, but for now I will settle on seeing you through a screen,” you rest your forehead on his and rub his shoulders. He looks tired and you’re sure he’s feeling sore.

“You look so beautiful,” he eyes your dark denim and pretty, lace top.

“Thank you, handsome,” you blush wildly. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to his compliments.

“Ready to head out?” You nod your head and let him lead you out of your apartment.

“Thank you for the flowers and coffee, babe. That was really sweet of you,” you whisper, breaking up the silence as you walk to the nearest bar.

“No need to thank me. You deserve it and more. I’m sorry I couldn’t spend the entire day wrapped in your arms,” he apologizes in the most sincere way.

“I swear it’s fine. I know hockey is your main priority. Thank you for taking me out even though I know you’re tired as hell right now,” you wrap your hand around his, feeling fire spread throughout your arm. It lingers in your body and you have to take a moment to cool down.

“You keep me going, baby. I’d never pass up a chance to be with you. Anyways, it’ll be nice to look back at this moment whenever we have kids. They’ll know to never settle,” he says nonchalantly even though his heart is pounding in his ears. The last thing he wanted was to scare you off, but he can’t help but picture his entire future with you in it.

“You’re such a charmer,” you turn in front of him to quickly peck his lips. You move back to his side just as quickly, practically skipping beside him as you think about your future with your hockey player.

Valentine’s Day with Nolan (2026)

“Nolan, smile for the camera baby,” you try to get Nolan’s attention on Mat’s phone.

“Nolie, be like mama and strike a pose,” your boyfriend teases, doing his own little pose as well. You giggle at his antics, cheeks rosy from his silliness, but also from the heat that warms your entire body from just being close to him.

You and Mat are laid in bed, cuddling under the thick comforter with Nolan in between you two.

Your baby is almost 7 months old, celebrating his first Valentine’s Day in the cutest onesie that says, “cuter than cupid.” You and Mat have spent the entire morning kissing your son’s soft, chubby cheeks and listening to his sweet giggles.

“I love you,” Mat whispers, turning on his side to face you. His hand reaches over Nolan’s little body and settles on your stomach.

“I love you, Barzy,” you place your hand over his, turning your head to look into his eyes. His pretty, hazel eyes that make you melt and make you feel so many emotions.

The eyes that you wake up to and the ones you dream about when he’s away. Mat’s the love of your life and you feel lucky to have him here with you and your baby.

You watch as he repeats the same words in Nolan’s ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek before taking a deep inhale of his baby scent. You’ve been lucky enough to witness all the different sides there are to your boyfriend, but him taking on the role of fatherhood is your favorite.

Your thoughts drift to the hand written letter Mat gave you this morning, and the way his face scrunched up to keep his tears at bay. You’ve never been given a hand written letter, so the piece of paper sitting on your bedside table means that absolute world to you.

“I never saw myself finding a love that feels new every single day, but I find myself pleasantly surprised when I wake up to your beautiful face in the morning and still feel an immense amount of love in my heart. You’ve given me life, you’ve given me purpose- especially with our baby boy. God, I can’t believe I get to love you. I can’t believe you’re the mother of my baby and future babies. I wish I could be there with you today, but duty calls. I love you with all my heart. -kisses from Mat.”

You repeat the words over and over again in your head, thankful that you have the opportunity to know a love like Mat’s.

First Valentines as a married couple (2028)

Your hands cradle your husband’s cheeks, eyes locked and hearts beating in tandem. His hair is matted to his forehead, sweat lining the contours of his godlike body. You’re positive you look just as unkempt and breathless. You lean in, as much as you can with your 6 month baby bump in the way, and slant your lips over his. His hands travel up your back, one hand straying to the back of your neck. He caresses the cherries inked into your skin.

“I love you,” you mutter into the kiss.

“I love you. You’re such a goddess. Look at you, carrying my baby,” Mat says lovingly, his lips traveling down your chin to your chest.

He sucks softly on the “13” tattooed on the swell of your boob, making your back arch. Your body will never not react to his touches.

“It’s our first Valentine’s Day as a married couple,” he points out the obvious. A soft smile rests on your features and a warm blush coating your cheeks. You don’t think the giddy feeling Mat gives you will ever go away. You don’t want it to.

“I know, husband. This one’s extra special with our precious boy,” you place his hands on your bump.

Your second son starts kicking at his father’s hands. Mat stares at your bump, eyes growing teary.

“We’re going to have two sons. I can’t believe we have kids and they’re so perfect. Thank you,” he kisses your lips again, a tear or two hitting your skin.

“I love you,” you wipe away his tears.

You think this is your favorite Valentine’s Day. Mat and Nolan woke you up with so many flowers and pastries. Mat watched your favorite rom coms with you throughout the day- even crying with you during some parts. Then you all got dressed up in black tie attire just to sit in the dining room to eat, but nothing could’ve been more perfect. You were so content with listening to Mat talk to Nolan and Nolan’s nonsensical replies. Now you’re in the comfort of your bed, Mat, your husband, underneath you after he worshiped your body.

Mat lifts your left hand, kissing your diamond ring and placing your hand over his heart.

“You’re my girl forever,” he whispers and shuts his eyes before more tears fall.

“Maty, I thought I was supposed to be the emotional one?” You tease him but squeal when he pinches your nipple.

“I can’t help it that I’m in love,” he responds and you take a moment to appreciate him. You’re glad that he’s yours.

Valentine’s Day with all the kids (2030)

“Daddy?” Nolan pulls at Mat’s hand to get his attention.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Is mommy your Valentine?”

“She’s always my Valentine,” Mat answers with a smile, but it starts to fade when he watches Nolan’s face turn solemn.

“Can she be my valentine?” Nolan asks, but his voice is so shy Mat can’t hear what he says.

“What was that? What’s wrong, Nols?” Mat crouches down and runs a hand through his first born’s hair.

“Can mommy be my valentine this year? I just really love her,” Nolan says, his blue eyes wide and so innocent.

“Of course she can. I think mommy would be really happy to be your valentine,” he assures Nolan and feels relieved when he sees Nolan visibly relax.

“Can we go to the store and get her a gift?”

“Yeah, bud, we can.”

On Valentine’s Day, you’re lying down on the sofa with Angel and Sloane cuddled into your sides. The tv is on, one of your favorite movies playing. The sound of the front door opening and Nolan shouting for you makes you smile. You love hearing the noise of the people you love. It’s home and it’s safe.

“Hi, mommy. School was good. I missed you,” Nolan burrows into you, deciding to tell you how his day was before you get to ask. Your heart melts at his affection. Soon, he wouldn’t want your hugs or kisses and the thought makes you sad.

“I missed you more, bub. Where’s daddy?” You push his hair off his forehead and rub at his back.

Nolan looks up at you with a suspicious smile and it makes you laugh.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers, trying and failing to hide his giggles as he runs away.

You sit in confusion, but you don’t think too much about it.

Next thing you know, you see your husband and son walk back into the living room, and their arms are full with flowers and gift bags. You sit up, carefully setting Sloane in your lap and make sure you don’t disturb Angel’s nap. Nolan walks up to you with a bouquet almost bigger than he is and a medium sized bag in his hands.

“Mommy, will you be my valentine?” He asks, wide eyes looking into yours as you try not to cry.

“Oh my. Of course, baby. I would love to be your valentine,” you coo, blinking your tears away.

“I love you, mommy! These are for you,” he kisses your cheek and hands you the flowers and gift bag.

“I love you more, Nolie,” you smell your flowers, smiling when you realize they’re all your favorite ones. He obviously had Mat’s help. Speaking of your hockey player husband, you look up at him to see him waiting patiently with gifts in his hands.

“Wow! Nolan this is a lot of candy. I think you’re going to have to help me eat some of it,” you tickle his tummy, earning a laugh from him.

“Okay, but none for daddy,” he says, hands coming up to his mouth as if he’s whispering.

“Hey! I heard that,” Mat intervenes with a lighthearted gasp.

You give Nolan a wink and watch with a smile on your face when he hands the little bears he got specifically for his younger siblings to them. Although Sloane has no idea what he’s saying and Ángel is knocked out, he’s promising to always be the best big brother and to always protect them. Your heart melts at the scene.

“My turn,” Mat walks up to you with his signature crooked smile.

“Let’s see what you got,” you tease, pulling him down into a quick kiss.

“My pretty girl. It’s our 8th Valentine’s Day together and I still love you just as much as I did in the first, if not more. No, I know I love you so much more. I actually feel pretty nervous right now,” he nervously giggles, running a hand through his hair.

Your heartbeat starts to race. He makes you nervous, too. You squeeze his hand, encouraging him to continue. It takes you back to when he proposed to you. He has the same lovesick look in his eyes.

“I’m glad you are my forever valentine,” he finishes, pressing another kiss to your lips. This time it’s more passionate and long lasting.

“I love you, Barzy. It’s you and me forever. Plus the littles,” you whisper into your kiss.

“Open your presents before I cry,” he hands you another beautiful bouquet of flowers and two gift bags.

The first gift bag contains a beautifully wrapped jewelry box. When you open it to find a sparkly, diamond encrusted ‘13’ pendant necklace placed in the box, you laugh. Recently your dainty necklace broke, so Mat joked around that he’d get you another one that’s bigger. You thought he was playing, but the medium sized necklace sparkles at you. It’s beautiful and you know it’s something you’ll never take off.

“Babe. This is so pretty. I love it and I can’t wait to wear it,” you pull him down to sit next you, over his distance and needing him against you.

“You have one more,” he gives you a bag and it’s extra light.

You pull out a piece of Nolan’s construction paper. There are two sets of inked footprints with scribbles at the top. It doesn’t take you long to realize they’re Sloane and Angel’s feet mimicking the shape of a heart. The small scribbles at the top say, “Happy Valentine’s Day, mommy. We love you,” and you know Mat probably put the pen in their tiny hands and moved it for them.

Tears finally slip down your cheeks even though you hastily wipe them away.

“This is too cute. The best gift ever, and then Nolan asking me to be his valentine. Did you tell him to do that?” You cry into Mat’s shoulder while he rubs your back.

“No, it was all his idea. Yesterday he had me take him to the store and everything. He even asked me if he could ask you. It was the sweetest thing ever,” he whispers into your hair.

“He gets that from you. God, I love you all. Thank you for making this like the best Valentine’s Day ever. I love you so much,” you kiss his jaw in between each word.

“I love you more, baby,” he catches your lips with his.

“I have a little something for you, too,” you pull away and walk to the kitchen, not waiting for his response.

He never wants you to give him gifts, but you do anyway.

You walk back towards him, hands hidden behind your back.

“For you, sir,” you hold out a bouquet of flowers.

Men never get flowers, but you want to change that. Flowers are for everyone. You’re happy you got them when you see Mat’s eyes light up and his smile widen. Nobody knows this, but Mat’s favorite flowers are tulips.

“Baby, stop. These are nice. I love them. I’ve never received flowers before,” he whispers, delicately touching the petals and smiling up at you.

“I know. I just wanted you to feel special for a change. You’re always getting me flowers,” you explain, caressing his cheek.

“You make me feel special everyday,” he kisses your palm.

“One more thing!” You perk up and run off to get his last present.

“No way! Baby, these are so cool,” he jumps around like a little kid as he checks out his new golf clubs that are accented with the islanders’ blue.

“Shower sex later tonight?” You ask in his ear while you give him a hug.

“Duh!” He squeezes you to him, and you feel that familiar giddiness in your entire body.

a/n: Enjoy🩷💋

#mat barzal #mat barzal fluff #mat barzal angst #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal blurb #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal smut #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #new york islanders #visceral in doses

237 notes · View notes

puck-luck · 26 days ago

Note

24 clubs with cole please Andy. 🥺 congrats on 1k

warnings: cockwarming, sub!m, sexual denial, reference to orgasm control

wc: 314

Cole shifts beneath you, absentmindedly thrusting his hips.

You place a hand on his chest. “Cole, seriously?”

“I’m uncomfortable,” Cole complains, adjusting himself even further.

“The whole point of cockwarming is that you don’t move,” you remind him. “I’ve already warned you twice, Cole. This is your last chance.”

“I can’t help that I’m uncomfortable,” Cole continues. “This position is, like, designed to make my legs fall asleep.”

You blink at him, unamused. In a deadpan, you say, “So you’re uncomfortable all the other times you make me sit on your lap, too?”

“No,” Cole replies.

You narrow your eyes at him. “So how is this any different?”

Cole flounders under your expectant gaze. “Okay, so it’s not that different,” he admits.

“So you’re not uncomfortable,” you amend. “You’re just impatient.”

Cole blushes, a deep red festering underneath his skin.

You continue speaking, reading Cole to filth. “You’re not used to having my pussy around your cock without a bunch of pleasure, are you? You’re used to me fucking myself on this dick until I let you come, so you aren’t able to let me sit here without thinking that there’s something bigger and better in your future.”

Cole frowns. “Hey, that’s not–”

You shush him quietly, shooting him a quick glare for interrupting. You might not be having sex right now, but cockwarming is still a sexually intimate act, which you were sure to tell Cole beforehand. And you’d made it clear that this was about you today– you wanted to sit on Cole’s cock because it would be relaxing and take your mind off the stress of the day. You’re in charge and Cole had agreed.

“Cole, if you want to act like a brat, then I’ll treat you like a brat,” you say. “If I have to remind you to be still one more time, you’re not coming at all tonight.”

#puck-luck's 1k celebration #andy writes anything🍄#andy's friendies!🫛#cole caufield #cole caufield smut #cole caufield fanfiction #cole caufield blurb #cc blurb #cc13 #nhl smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb #hockey smut #hockey blurb #andy <3s coley🎟️

64 notes · View notes

asa-miaow · 2 months ago

Text

fwb! childhood friend! Lip Gallagher x GN! Reader

Synopsis: Who doesn't get drawn to Lip Gallagher? Not you. You're hoping to commit, he hoped you never asked. So you commit to something else. It's not what he thinks

Word Count: 898

Content Warnings: Allusions to sex, light kissing, cuss words idk, some smoking, yearning on reader's part and some jealousy from lip

A/N: No use of Y/N. Just a blurb, my first ever actually. So if you read this, congrats! You've taken my writing virginity muah! You gonna take responsibility?

He just draws people in without meaning to— all dirty blond curls that brush against his ears, roman nose that plagues that back of your mind, and a brain you can't even fathom the depths of. He's made of stardust, Lip Gallagher and all his freckles, then you stop your line of thought because you're not that much of a pathetic mess.

(You wonder if this is what Homer felt when he looked on to Calliope, all untapped potential and inquisitive blue eyes and snarky lips wrapped around a cig. Try as you might to put it in words: his character, the way he thought, the way his lips curl that makes the corners of his eye wrinkle, he's Lip and you're merely mortal.

Admiration can't bleed through your words enough so they bleed into your blood stream instead.)

It was hard being his most unfortunate and unwilling victim. You might have wanted to be in a relationship with him at first, might have even told him that only for him to vehemently be against it. It comes out as a snort, unbidden from what you can tell with his eyes going wide like that. Your fingers grasp the back of your neck, brushing against skin so you don't feel the shame of wanting more.

That's fine. Your friendship with him was more important than anything else anyway. Might as well have him when he wants to and how he wants to, if you can't have all of him.

You're pathetic enough for that, you think, looking for stability from someone who'd never known any. However, life had beaten you hard enough to accept things that cannot be controlled.

It takes weeks for the awkwardness to settle, one difficult night where your room was more of a solace than his shared room was with the boys.

But when you wake up in your bed, he takes out a cig and passes it to you, calls you a bum in a way that makes your nose feel sharp and everything is back to the way it was.

Lip was at your place, but calls you a bum for a cigarette that you didn't even ask for. Go figure.

It's fine for a while, really, really. You might not be as smart as Lip, but you had a pragmatic mind and steady shoulders despite your rapidly beating heart.

The lingering looks lessen, focusing more on your prospects—in your career, your future, God knows there's no one quite like Lip Gallagher and you have no desire to touch that part of you that aches still.

Your eyes dart to your phone screen, cracked and scratched, more often than not these days. Waiting, just waiting for an email that says you got accepted to that internship. Or that minimum wage job that pays you less than what you get from Patsy. It's an uphill climb towards experience in your vocation and you want to reach the summit.

Not that a lot of people would even know that. All that they could see is that you check your phone more often now.

Every ping, it rouses you from whatever it was you were doing. Or who.

"Fuckin' focus," Lip finds himself grabbing you by your jaw, cheeks squishing under the pads of his fingers. His other hand paws at your thighs, digging into the flesh.

A string of saliva connects your lips together, leaving petal-soft flesh looking shiny and pink.

Lip had always been selfish, it comes by nature. Or nurture too. Who cares at this point when his digits dig into smooth skin and you look at him all confused and outraged?

"Wait," you say. "Could be important."

Seriously? Fuck you. Lip is the one who is confused, he is the one who is outraged. He bites at your lip, wanting it to hurt, wanting to draw blood.

Something has been taking your attention recently and he's not used to it, he ain't happy at all. He doesn't make a secret of it even if he doesn't know why. All he knows is that he never had to share your attention, you were always there, always present, always pissing him off like you're doing now.

So easily satisfied and content even if he's out meandering around with god knows who. Agreeable, understanding, patient and always-

Your phone vibrates again.

How dare you?

Your eyes dart to your phone in a way that makes his shackles rise.

How fucking dare you?

Be understanding here with his chub, be agreeable, fucking focus.

Fingers pressing harder, lips searching yours frantically. He drinks in your protests, your words, your fucking spit.

Anything, everything to keep you away from your fucking phone. He'd chuck it out the door if he didn’t understand how needed it is, really. Would fucking throw it down on the pavement and stomp on that shit for good measure.

He thought it was subtle, how he would wrap his hand a little too tightly on your thigh, on your face. Whoever it is you're talking to, he fucking hopes that they notice. The bruises on your hips won't match anyone else's but his.

He knows that when they kiss you, they'll hear your voice and the way your breath hitches. If he's kissing you too much, leaving you breathless. Lip wasn't sorry. He's making sure that whoever kisses you, they taste him instead.

#lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x you #lip gallagher x y/n #x y/n #x reader #lip gallagher imagine #lip gallagher fanfic #shameless x reader #shameless #shameless us #lip gallagher #asa-writes-illegibly

66 notes · View notes

lurkingshan · 5 months ago

Text

Things That Have My Attention in 4 Minutes Episode 4

Congrats to the Dome is Tonkla's brother truthers!

Let's talk timelines again. I still think we're working with two timelines, but I no longer think they're cleanly separated. Because if they were, you could not have some of these things happening concurrently. If we only had an Original timeline and a Redo timeline, then everything Great changes should be part of the Redo timeline. But in this episode Great saved Nan in the same timeline where Dome was dead, which we know because Great got Nan's location by getting Korn trashed after Korn fought with Tonkla over his abandonment in the aftermath of Dome's death. These things are all connected, so we can't cleanly sort events into one timeline or the other.

Which means it's most likely that the two timelines are bleeding together, making things unstable. This would explain Great's experience of overlapping moments last week, and Tonkla seeing Dome briefly before things went all weird and he disappeared at the end of today's episode.

By the way, it turns out those cold opens are not of the future--Tonkla has already done the murder in the same timeline where he's messing around with the cop. ETA: @my-rose-tinted-glasses pointed out that this is not necessarily true if the scene of Win getting the fingerprints and the phone call is also in the future. So back to square one on that!

Speaking of, what is up with Win? He is fully engaging in an affair with a murder suspect and doesn't seem to be investigating Tonkla at all. And I cannot let this pass without comment: why on earth did Win not put his pants back on during the long scene of him listening to Tonkla and Korn?! Was this really an appropriate situation to Winnie the Pooh it???

The flashback to Tonkla and Korn's beginning gave good context for why Tonkla thought he might be able to have more with Korn. I appreciated the details there: Korn was giving him money before they even had sex the first time and was lying to him about his intentions from the start, while Tonkla had zero experience when they met and didn't know how to recognize the signs of Korn's lies. Korn basically groomed this kid to be his sidepiece and has strung him along for years.

Tonkla definitely feels like a tragic character heading for a bad end, though perhaps he will also be saved eventually by the timeline shifts. In the timeline where Dome is dead and he's fucking Win, Tonkla is being incredibly reckless. I couldn't believe he just moved a new man into the home Korn pays for, he's gonna get caught.

I was grateful the show did not actually go all the way with Korn assaulting Tonkla, but it was clear he would have if Tonkla had not managed to distract him.

I continue to find the emotional tenor of Great and Tyme's scenes kinda weird. I don't understand why Great is so willing to betray Korn to help Tyme after just meeting him, I don't understand why Tyme revealed his face only to run away and then accused Great of being in on the conspiracy after already confirming he's not, and I don't understand why they were acting all blushy and awkward in that sex scene rather than leaning into the adrenaline high for a more sultry tone. They have been on one (1) date so the emotional investment is not really tracking for me for two experienced adults, but I can't tell if I am supposed to find this all weird and confusing or just go with it. It feels like the show just wants me to accept the shortcuts and buy into them as a serious romance, so okay I guess!

Speaking of betraying Korn, Great's plan was abysmal. He steals the information from Korn's phone (so considerate of him to spell out his criminal conspiracy including names and locations in one convenient text chain), tells Tyme everything without any knowledge of what his brother did, then walks right into an active hostage situation in his designer whites and shows his face to all Korn's goons. Korn is gonna know you did this, bro! Do you care?

It seems that Nan has a friend who was killed in a similar fashion to Tyme's parents, though I'm still curious how they connected and came up with this plan.

I still got nothing on this Lukwa connection. Why are she and Great the only two experiencing this phenomenon, and why did they see each other in this liminal space?

Also noting that there were several sex scenes this episode and no condoms or lube anywhere. I guess this show only depicts safe and realistic sex when they have a sponsor paying them.

#4 minutes #thai bl #shan shouts into the void

67 notes · View notes

gingerteafairy · 4 days ago

Text

𝙋𝙤𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮 (𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙭 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧)

A heated rivalry turns into love sparks when you and Alex, the undeniably gorgeous genius, clash at a college conference.

tags n warnings: college!au, rivals, angry sex, praise kink, degradation(?), dumbification, maybe ooc alex, semi public sex. word count: 3.4k

Your fingers wouldn’t stop drumming against your arm as you paced nervously back and forth, waiting for the presentation before yours to finish. The girl on stage was flawless, her words flowing effortlessly. She clearly deserved first place. But so did you. Your project was perfect. Countless sleepless nights had brought you to this moment. Your partner, tired of your stress—induced antics, had begged you to calm down more times than you could count. This was the night that could define your future in college if your article was accepted.

"Pathetic."

The sharp, low insult startled you, the voice warm against the back of your neck. You jumped forward with a small yelp, slapping a hand over your mouth as every head in the room turned to look at you, including the judges'.

“Careful now,” Alex said in a hushed tone, his lips curled in amusement as he leaned slightly closer, invading your personal space with infuriating ease. “Wouldn’t want to disrupt Miss Perfect up there. Not that it matters—you’re obviously better than her.”

“She deserves first place,” you hissed, trying to mask the faint stab of envy that twisted in your chest. It wasn’t your fault; she was more experienced, a senior. She did deserve it. Probably.

Alex rolled his eyes, strolling to your side with his hands casually stuffed in his pockets. “Yeah, your face totally says that.” He stepped closer, an irritating proximity that made your skin prickle. You took a deliberate step away.

“Of course you made the most flawless project again, didn’t you?” you bit out, trying to ignore the simmering tension.

He smirked. “Oh, doll, you’re putting in the effort too. Maybe this time you’ll snag third place. I’ll happily settle for second—didn’t even try that hard.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. Somehow, Alex always managed to win these conferences. It didn’t matter if his research lacked depth or originality. He still walked away with that curly charming glory that should’ve been yours. When you opened your mouth to retort, your partner tugged on your sleeve, pointing to the digital banner.

“No way,” you muttered, your heart sinking.

Alex had cut in.

He turned, walking backward toward the podium with that signature grin plastered on his face. “Wish me luck, doll.”

“Fuck you,” you muttered under your breath, your nails digging into your palms as anger surged through you.

“Why don’t you come with me?” He winked, then turned to climb the steps, greeting everyone with a handshake that was irritatingly natural.

Alex presented the same topic he had last year, but his charisma captured the audience’s attention anyway. He thrived in the spotlight, and you hated him for it. He was smart, terribly clever. He was hard—working and beated you in everything. By the time he returned to stand by the wall, that insufferable, victorious smile on his face, you could barely contain your frustration.

“Your turn,” he said smoothly, his voice low. “Good luck—not that you need it. You’re too good to even be here.”

You ignored him, marching up to the stage with your partner.

Your laptop acted up, of course. Perfect. But you recovered, delivering the presentation you had rehearsed a thousand times in the mirror. Every word flowed as planned, your research airtight, your visuals seamless. No negative comments followed. If first place wasn’t yours, it would be an injustice.

When you stepped off the stage, Alex was still there, leaning casually against the wall. His eyes followed you with a sharp intensity that made your skin crawl.

“Congrats. Better than me,” he greeted softly.

“Don’t start,” you snapped, brushing past him, but he blocked your path, his smirk replaced by something unreadable.

“Can you stop being so stubborn and listen for once?” he said, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation.

You crossed your arms, glaring. “Fine. Talk.”

“Alone.” His voice dropped an octave, the single word heavier with implication.

You rolled your eyes as your partner backed away with a quick excuse, leaving you alone with him. “What’s so important it can’t be said here?” you challenged, the frustration in your voice barely contained.

Alex’s jaw tightened. “Alone,” he repeated firmly, and something in his tone made you comply, despite the annoyance simmering in your veins.

“Well?” you prompted, crossing your arms again.

“Not here,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

“I’m done with this,” you snapped, spinning on your heel, but his hand caught your wrist, spinning you back around.

“Would you stop?” His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was enough to halt you. His gaze burned into yours. “I wasn’t joking when I said you’re too good for this place. Your work? It’s miles ahead of theirs. These awards don’t matter—they’re just popularity contests.”

“They matter to me!” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger and unshed tears. He released your wrist, and you stepped back, pressing your lips together to keep the tears at bay. Crying in front of him was the last thing you wanted.

“Are you done now?”

“No.” His tone was softer this time, and he stepped closer again. “I meant what I said. Your work is brilliant, better than hers or mine. You’re good—too good. It’s like you’re trying to get my attention.” His lips quirked up slightly, but his eyes held a vulnerability that made your heart skip. “And if that’s what you’re doing, it’s working. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You blinked, your throat suddenly dry. You hated him, didn’t you? The endless bickering, the way he always seemed to overshadow you. But he was gorgeous. Irritatingly, undeniably gorgeous.

“For once, I’ve managed to shut you up,” he teased, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“You have such a big ego, you jerk” you muttered, though your lips curved slightly against your will.

“My dick is bigger, wanna see?” he countered, his lips curving into a faint smile.

You stormed off the place, your pulse pounding in your ears, your hands trembling with the anger that threatened to spill over. Alex’s smug grin as he stood there, basking in the attention, was the last straw. The fact that his words—his infuriatingly sweet, disarming words—still lingered in your head only made it worse.

You pushed past a door, slipping into the quiet dressing—room. The faint hum of the crowd outside still reached you, but here, it was dim, secluded. You leaned against the wall, exhaling sharply as you fought to steady yourself.

Footsteps echoed behind you, slow and deliberate. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Wanted a private place?” Alex called out, his voice calm but tinged with a confidence that only irritated you more. “Didn't know you wanted me this much.”

“You're so disgusting.” you snapped, spinning on your heel to face him. “Can't you think of something that is not your dick? Working in a sex store destroyed your brains that much?”

“Damn, when was the last time someone fucked you?” His mocking words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Maybe that's why you're so stressed, I could hand you a good discount on dildo section, but I guarantee mine is better. You know, natural. Less plastic. Healthy planet.”

“Why are you here? Haven’t you humiliated me enough tonight?” You cut off.

Alex raised his hands, palms out in mock surrender, though his smirk still lingered. “Humiliate you? Come on, you held your own out there. You were incredible, and you know it.”

“You don’t get to say that!” you shot back, your voice rising. “You always do this, Alex. You get under my skin, make me doubt everything, and then—then you swoop in like you care.”

“I do care,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. The smirk was gone, replaced by an expression you couldn’t quite read.

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Right. You care so much that you made sure to go before me, knowing exactly how it would throw me off. You care so much that you couldn’t help but provoke me every step of the way.”

“I followed you because I care,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Because I can’t just let you walk away like this.”

You took a step back, the wall pressing against your shoulders. “Well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you decided to make me feel like an idiot in front of everyone.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Save it, Alex,” you cut him off, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I don’t need your fake compliments or your half—assed apologies.”

For a moment, he said nothing, just stared at you with an intensity that made your chest tighten. Then he closed the distance between you in two strides.

“Do you know how frustrating you are?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes locking with yours, pinning you against the wall with his arms. “You’re brilliant, stubborn, and you don’t take crap from anyone—not even me. You think I don’t notice how hard you work, how much this all means to you? You think I don’t see how you light up when you’re passionate about something?”

Your breath hitched, your words caught in your throat.

“I didn’t come here to fight with you,” he continued, his voice softening. “I came here because I can’t stand seeing you like this. Because you’re in my head, all the damn time, and no matter how much we argue, no matter how much I try to push it away, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Alex’s gaze lingered on you, heavy and unrelenting, as if he was waiting for something. You stood there, fists clenched at your sides, trying to process his sudden confession.

“Why’d you do it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question was loaded, layered with all the frustrations, late—night arguments, and the ever—present tension between you.

“Do what?” he replied, his voice softer than you’d ever heard.

“This!” You gestured between the two of you. “You drive me insane. You humiliate me, you’re constantly one step ahead, and now you’re standing here saying you can’t stop thinking about me?”

He let out a low chuckle, though there was no mockery in it this time. “I do it because I don’t know how else to get your attention,” he admitted, his tone raw and unguarded. “You challenge me, you push me, and, yeah, maybe I’ve been a jerk sometimes. But you’re the only one who’s ever made me feel like I could be better, like I need to be better. You deserve a man as clever as you or you’ll get bored without it and deep down on your fucking pretty head you want me and know no one can fuck you like I can, like you fucking deserve it.”

You stared at him, stunned into silence. His usual arrogance was nowhere to be found. Instead, his eyes held a vulnerability you’d never thought possible.

“Against the wall or chair?” you asked quietly, though your voice lacked conviction.

“What?” he replied, widening his eyes, unsure of what you just said. Or if you said it.

“Fucking.”You sighed, leaning into him despite yourself. “You said no one can fuck me like you can, so why don't you stop teasing me and fuck me straight to the point? Do me a favor.”

He closed the gap, his lips crashing into yours with a force that silenced every word, every thought. Your hands flew to his chest clutched at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The kiss was desperate, messy, and full of everything you’d both left unsaid. It wasn’t soft or gentle—it was raw, fueled by frustration, passion, and the undeniable connection that had been building between you for far too long.

When you finally broke apart, your breathing was ragged, your forehead resting against his.

“I hate you,” you muttered, though the words came out weaker this time, almost a whisper.

Alex chuckled softly, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “No, you don’t. But I’ll let you keep saying it if it makes you feel better. And answering your question, I'll make you cum here and now. Is that good enough for you?”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again. Your hands went to the hem of Alex’s shirt, taking it off his body, breaking the kiss only to pull the shirt over his head and throw it on the floor. He takes the opportunity to do the same with your shirt, sinking his fingers into your waist tightly to pull you closer for the kiss, and repeatedly nibbling on your lower lip.

You try to remove his belt while he pulls down your bra to access your breasts, squeezing them without the slightest gentleness. You were both angry and that was enough fuel for that desire to be explosive. When you managed to undo the belt and the button of your pants to lower it along with his underwear, Alex lifted the hem of your pencil skirt, rolling it up to your waist.

You moaned weakly when he pushed your panties aside and tried your clit with circular movements to spread your excitement so he could put his fingers at your entrance.

"Fuck, you're so fucking tight." He grunts, pushing two fingers up to the knuckles to start going in and out of it, soaking.

You moaned, feeling your bones go soft like jelly as you took his cock in your hands to jerk him off at the same speed his fingers fucked you.

“Alex, im not gonna last longer if you keep— fuck— like this.” You mewl, clenching on his fingers, sweaty forming across your erogenous face.

“Fuck it. Come on my fingers, my slut.” He groaned, increasing the pace as he rocked his hips, but you slapped his face. He looked at you stunned, caressing his reddened cheek with his free hand. “Why the fuck you did that?”

“Don't fucking call me slut, Alex. I—hmmmm— still hate you.” you mewl, trembling and he took off his fingers, grinning watching you cry out. “Why’d you do that?”

“You won't cum if you keep talking to me like that.” He hoarses, thumb brushing gently over your bud.

“You want me quiet? Make me, Alex.” You provoke, shutting by his hand slapping your thigh, placing it by his waist, secured by his strong hand.

“I don't wanna you quiet, my little pretty slut. I want you screaming f’ me,” He breathed, pushing the tip inside unceremoniously making you moan loudly and anchor yourself into his neck, feeling all that pleasure making you feel boneless. “Yeah, just like this.”

You whined, Alex just captured your lips again while he swayed his hips back and forth deep inside you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, the kiss deepening with a passion that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

“I told you. I'd make you feel good.” he groaned, breaking the kiss. Your breath hitched as his hand came up, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, cupping your cheeks firmly to watch you still trying not to look crazy with pleasure as his size hit the right spot. “No one can make you feel good like that, no one deserves you more than me, no one can fuck you like I can, you hear me?”

You giggled, rolling your eyes, grinding on his cock. "Is that all, Alex? Anyone can do that. FUCK!" You screamed when he slapped your thigh. He brutally pulled out of you, turning you to face the wall.

"Alex, what are you doing? OH MY GOD." You yelled, feeling him put his cock back in to fuck you with much more force than before. You hurt his ego. You never would have thought how delicious he would feel thrusting like that.

“Better now?" he whispered in your ear, reaching up to pull your hair back, meeting your tear—stained, drool—streaked face, the perfect portrait for him. He planted a sweet kiss on your lips. "If you wanted me to fuck you hard—God—, all you had to do was ask, sweetie."

You whimpered, your body couldn't handle so much pleasure, you were falling and he noticed, chuckling softly in your ear, which made you shiver. "What's wrong? Gonna cum?"

"Please, Alex," You begged, shaking, your legs aching and you knew you were already marked red enough for everyone to see what you did. “Please, let me cum, please. Please, sweetie?”

He chuckled, driving his hand to pinch your nipples. “Will you—shit—say you're mine? Holy fuck, your pussy is delicious. Say it. Say you're mine.”

“I’m yours, only yours. Jesus.” You sobbed as shockwaves hit you. Alex held you, preventing you from falling with gentle care while you trembled, making his thrusts slow so you wouldn't fall.

“You have no idea how much I wanted to hear that.”

He turned you around, picking you up easily like a ragdoll by his lap to lay you down on the dressing room sofa. He got on top, pecking your face affectionately while slowly pressing his length into your pussy. A soft lazy kiss came from his lips and you kissed him back, hands gripping on his shoulder as he penetrated you on a completely different level from seconds ago.

“you can take a little more, can you?” he whispered on your face, nipping your bottom lip. You nodded, blissed out. Your late orgasm was still acting on you, tightening him up.

“Hmmm—keep going…yeah, Alex—just…just like that, baby.” you babbled, reaching the back of his neck to kiss him again with a gentle passion unknown for both of you. “do, that again, shit, shit…you're so fucking good f' me, Alex.”

“Oh, fuck. I should record you so you see how fucking hot you are sucking my cock with your perfect pussy.” He groaned, sitting on his knees, pushing you closer. You grinded, the position making his cock go even deeper in you. “Yeah, spread your legs. Let me see how much you love being fucked by me. Wider, doll.”

You bite your lips, obeying him, tightening your velvety walls purposely just to see him frowning in pleasure, opening his mouth delighted. “Is it good?” You teased innocently, doing it again.

“fuck, that was so hot. Do that again,” He grunted, ghosting his hands on your pearl to rub it slightly. You hummed, grinding on him. He used his other hand to slap your thigh, pushing you once more on a rapid rocking. You knew he was close judging by how sloppy his thrusts became.

“Faster—fuck, fuck—harder, Alex… hmmm…” you arch your back, feeling him doing as you ordered, burying his fingers into the soft skin of your waist.

"God, you feel so fucking good." He whimpered. "You hated me and now beg for me to fuck you harder? You're such a good slut. Here, take it, take it all, hun.Hmmm, m gonna cum inside you, is that what you want or youre dumb enough so you can't reply? My cock's shutted you finally? You're so sweet, baby, i love you. so much, mmm"

He hrew his head back, fucking himself to reach his own pleasure, slapping skins and wet sounds filled the moment, having you shivering. Fuck, you could live in this moment forever. He looked at you once more, reaching his peak. The hot strands hitting the bottom of your womb as he moaned on the last, resting his body on yours.

You remained silent, feeling hoarse as your chest rose and fell with heavy breathing. Alex curls were glued to his head as he looked at you smiling, kissing your lips sweetly.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together. “I hate you,” you whispered again, though the words held no weight.

He chuckled, his cheek warming up. “No, you don’t,” his voice warm and teasing.

“You make me crazy, Alex.”

“Good,” he murmured, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Because you drive me insane. Now let's get ready, I need to show you how much you nailed me in the presentation.”

“How?” You smiled.

“Just saying how that judges are ass and they don't understand a single thing about reading articles just to give for a total weirdo like me.” he chuckled, pushing your body to raise but you pulled him back again on top of you. “What? You know I'll do anything for you.”

“I know. Don't mind.” You giggled, kissing him.“That shit is just popularity anyway. And I'll beat you at Friday's test.”

#alex adult world #alex x reader #alex x female reader #alex x you #x reader #reader insert #fanfic #imagine #evan peters #evan peters fandom #evan peters x reader #evan peters x y/n #evan peters x you

23 notes · View notes

ang3lik · 2 years ago

Note

💛(blue bannisters) mickey altieri - C, A and S. idm if it's a nsfw or sfw. congrats and I love you're writing so much, keep up the amazing work 🫶🏻

(also I chose the letters randomly)

𝐬𝐟𝐰 + 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭

#pairing:: mickey altieri x implied!fem!reader. #a/n:: thankyou so much !! nsfw content under the cut.

SFW

𝐀 = 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

very loving. shows affection by constantly reminding you that you’re his especially in public i.e. taking you in dates, letting you wear his sweaters. he also talks a lot about you both being long term and his plans for the future.

𝐂 = 𝐂𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬 (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

lovesss being the big spoon! he like cuddling everywhere and it doesn’t even have to be cuddling. he likes to put his arm around you in benches, have his hand in your thigh, hand in your back pocket. he likes being able to feel the warmth of you next to him at all times especially if he’s going to sleep or waking up.

𝐒 = 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

he feels quite secure in the fact that he knows you can handle yourself and that if anybody tried to flirt with you etc. you’d brush them off, but, he still gets very jealous and uses his own ways like just being around you all the time or leaving hickies in you in hard to cover spots.

NSFW

𝐀 = 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 (what they’re like after sex)

he takes pretty good care of you, he’s very sweet and caresses you all over whilst rambling to you or telling you about his day or a new horror movie he watched as you both lie there, you in his arms.

𝐂 = 𝐂𝐮𝐦 (anything to do with cum, basically)

he loves cumming inside of you. has a kink for cumming in your panties and knowing your wearing them too. he also definitely has a slight breeding kink.

𝐒 = 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚 (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

if he’s very excited and turned on it really depends on his mood. you may have one very gentle or slow round and if he gets riled up again, he’ll be rough with you in the second round. or if he fucks you in the ghostface costume it’s really rough, but he takes it all off and fucks you again.

#★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 ★#✰ stella #— celebrations ִ ࣪𖤐 #— dirty daydreams ⋆ ˚｡⋆#scream #scream 2 #mickey altieri #mickey altieri fluff #mickey altieri smut #mickey altieri x reader #mickey altieri imagine #timothy olyphant #💛 blue banisters #black!reader #latina!reader #asian!reader #plus size!reader

429 notes · View notes

netscapenavigator-official · 3 months ago

Text

You gotta give conservatives credit, where credit it due:

The pregnancy-based, fearmongering, abstinence-only, sex ed I was put through in primary school sure did work. I'm now cruising through adulthood, and I have zero desire to have children ever.

Oh, and I also fuck men, now, just to make extra sure it doesn't happen. So...... congrats. This is the future you all sowed, and so you must reap it.

#shitpost #shit post #sarcasm #conservatism in a disease #politics #american politics #purity culture #lgbt #lgbtq #lesbian #gay #bi #bisexual #trans #transgender #queer #childfree

29 notes · View notes

spiderlandry · 1 year ago

Note

HII! congrats on 100+ followers!!!

do you think you could write a jackie taylor x reader?

reader listens to jackie talk about their future together (schools, jobs, marriage and everything) just nodding along with her and admiring her in either one of their rooms

cuddles pls and messing with her fingers and forehead touches pls!

lots of fluff! (maybe some angst with the whole marriage topic, considering it was 1996? or not, whichever, tyty:))

thank you sm!!! :) <3

thanks anon! this request made me kinda blush i love the physical intimacy it’s so cute. we need more jackie fics and im happy to deliver (hopefully you like it!) no pronouns used for reader, but they do discuss the marriage topic

100 follower event

warnings: fluff! and implied discussions of being unable to get married (ambiguous reasons but can be interpreted as same-sex marriage not being recognized by the law at the time)

looking out for you — jackie taylor

A soft thud hits your back, eliciting a laugh out of you. You look up to see the culprit on the other side of her bed, Jackie, with a pillow in her hands.

“Did you just hit me with a pillow?” You grin, mirroring her smile.

She shrugs, doing it again.

“Hey!” You sit up properly to try and grab it out of her grasp, but you end up in a position you’d found yourself time and time again with her. She cages you in between her arms, getting you to lay on her while she throws the pillow across the room.

“Is this your way of asking me to cuddle?” You ask, already reciprocating her embrace.

“Mhm,” She hums.

“You’ve been quiet,” You whisper, pushing her hair out of her face. “What’s on your mind?”

“College,” she replies with a faraway look, but her stare is almost intense, as if she’s viewing the future through your eyes. (She is.) “I’m not forcing you to go to Rutgers, am I?”

The way her voice tapers off melts your heart. “You know I’ll go to the ends of the Earth for you, right?”

You know she was always the kind of person to be sure of herself—one of the reasons you fell deeply in love with the girl. But lately, as the future closes in, she’s been plagued with second thoughts ever since they lost Nationals and she had a fight with her best friend, Shauna, that almost ended their ten-year long friendship.

You pull away from the embrace, lying down completely on the bed when you signal for her to do the same. Both your eyes are on the ceiling.

“Talk to me,” You take her hand, intertwining it with your own.

“I am talking to you.”

“Okay, smartass,” you chuckle. “Tell me if everything you told me before Nationals.”

She remembers that night, ditching the party early to go home and spend the rest of the night in your arms while she tells you the ways you fit perfectly into her future life, then deeming it ‘our future,’ rather than hers alone.

“Well, she begins with a sigh. “You’re coming to Rutgers with me. We’ll do roadtrip with all our stuff packed into my mom’s minivan.”

You hum, nodding for her to continue.

“We’re both gonna work and get our own place by the second year, and it’s gonna have a cute theme, and there’s gonna be pictures of us on the wall to make people jealous.”

You laugh, “Who’s gonna come over to our place?”

“Our friends, of course. The team could visit.”

You begin playing with her hand, fiddling with the promise ring you’d given her junior year.

“We can go to college parties, and you’ll protect me from anyone who hits on me,” She giggles. “Obviously, we’re gonna study together. Hold each other accountable, right?”

“Right.” You bob your head, turning to admire her side profile.

“Then we’re gonna get a dog. Then a cat. Then we’ll make sure they’re friends.”

“Mhm.”

She can feel your stare, so she looks back. "What?" She chuckles.

"Nothing," You mutter. "You're just beautiful."

She grins wide, fully turning her body to the side so she can scoot closer to you. "You're a sap."

You look smug, "But you love it."

"I do," She puts a hand on your jaw, a soft touch that never gets old. At her own words, she is reminded of another thing. "We've never talked about getting married, have we?"

You don't miss the way her tone drops a little. "We haven't," you shake your head. "But you know I'll do anything for you. I'll marry you no matter what it takes."

Her eyes become glassy, and you press your forehead to hers.

"You wanna get married?" Her voice almost a whisper, you can feel her breath on your lips.

"I gave you the promise ring for a reason, Jackie." You say, a little more serious this time. "I'll make it happen. For both of us. And I know you're gonna look fucking amazing, and I'll cry when I see you in the dress."

"What did I do to deserve you?"

"I should be asking that question."

Becoming more comfortable, snuggling into her, you both fall asleep and dream of your future.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #jackie taylor #jackie taylor x reader #jackie yellowjackets

286 notes · View notes

sashi-ya · 2 years ago

Text

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖔𝖗 (part 2) +18. Vinsmoke Ichiji x F!reader

✦ part 1: Red Roses (both parts can be read independently) ✦ requested by @portgasdash for the free requests ➜ I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS. You asked me to keep the idea in mind for the next time requests are open and I did. A continuation (of sorts) of your awesome roses fic with ichiji and a fem reader who he needed to get pregnant and ended so sweetly. They succeeded and Ichiji is now a protective dad(or soon to be dad) to reader and very much likes the changes their body have gone through cause of the pregnancy. specifically what their chest can do. Kinks: pregnancy and lactation ➜ Yes!! here it is, finally! I hope you enjoy my love! ♡ ✦ tw: pregnancy. breastfeeding. vag sex. ichiji being a little more human the more time it passes. based on the fact that I do believe he has feelings like Sanji and Reiju (my theory). ✦ wc: 1.9k

“So? What’s the result?” the red-haired demon asks, waiting with his back pressed against the door of the bathroom door.

“I can’t make it go faster, it’s still processing Ichiji-sama” you inform, sitting on the toilet with a little stick in your hand. Your leg bounces, you are way more anxious than he is. You never thought of wanting a baby from him, and much less this fast, but there you are wishing for the two little stripes to appear.

Both have decided to keep it in between you two; before even letting Judge and his scientists run the pertinent tests. A cheap test he bought during a mission, nothing sophisticated but yet enough to know.

At least three weeks have passed since he had been able to really enjoy sex for the first time, and just to be sure you get pregnant you two -secretly- kept having hot, hot encounters. Or maybe it was because your bodies were yearning for the other, burning in passion and need after tasting the honeys of a real connection.

Finally, the soft pink stains on the little strip appear. Yes. One… two. There are two. You check again. And again. And then once more.

Positive. Ichiji, you are gonna be a father.

“Uh… Ichiji-sama?” you call him. You can sense his anxiety from the outside the bathroom. He can’t wait for you to tell him; it’s been enough chivalry for him to let you take the test alone until the result came up.

“WHAT?” he opens the door, hitting it against the wall. “Sorry” he apologizes, because with you he is able to read every piece of your feelings.

You nod, a subtle smile adorning your ruby lips. “Y-yes…” you whisper, looking down at your fidgeting hands and then up to his blue eyes that widen in amazement. He doesn’t look anymore like the severe prince, but rather like a child knowing he is going to Disneyland.

“Am- gonna- Father?” he stutters. For the first time, the perfect prince lacks words to express himself.

“Yes… congrats, future King… a prince is coming ~” you chime, still too shy to be able to move a single muscle.

It was clear to him, to you, that his attempt had been successful. However, Ichiji felt more than pride… he felt joy, something he thought he would never, ever, would feel. It wasn’t just the fact that Judge would be proud of him, it was him sharing something with that woman right before his eyes… she, with the red roses and her equally red lips had turned his world upside down… or maybe, the other way around, on a spiral that lend him to experience love.

As the astonishment leaves his mind, he runs to hug you. “I’m… you made me a father!!” he happily chimes, ripping a smile and some tears from your eyes. He does not feel like the usual cold prince, he looks like a new man. A sweet, loving man.

Ichiji lifts you up in his arms, he stays silent for some minutes. His beam, however, remains everlasting on his juicy lips. You have never seen what you are seeing now; his eyes narrow because of his cheeks coming so high as he smiles so big.

“Come on, we need to celebrate… I- what do you say when you uhm really appreciate someone?” he asks, seriously and blushed. “Uh… you- mean… love?” you say, still amazed at him.

“Yes…? That thing…” he swallows; for the first time you see his eyes looking down.

You chose to stay silent, it’s enough for him. And not to mention how much it means to you. You weren’t sure if you were in love with him, or just spellbound by lust. But things become clearer the moment you kissed so soft his lips… you loved him too.

And what started as an agreement to help him procreate, then… weirdly enough, was just the start of something new. Of something that grew as much as your belly did…

Fast-forward to the last weeks of your pregnancy…

“But, Ichiji-sama, (Name)-sama asked us to bring her something to eat” “AND I WILL TAKE IT MY SELF. IF YOU HAVE POISONED THE FOOD I’LL DIE TOO, SO SPEAK NOW OR DIE”

The prince brings himself food for you. You have been moved -by his own request, and against Judge orders- to his room. Now, you are his princess. As the future mother of the someday next King of Germa, you should be treated like royalty and protected like nothing in this world. Ichiji made sure, and still does, that you are more than comfortable with your life in the palace.

“Ichiji, babe…I could hear your screams from the hall. Is everything ok?” you ask, sitting in bed with your hands resting on your belly but a little bit uncomfortable.

“I told them a hundred times, everything you eat I should taste it first. What’s wrong with you? Are you feeling ok?” he asks, leaving the silver platter with delicacies on it to the side.

You nod with your head; bodies change during pregnancy, and you think is normal to feel everything swollen and bloated. Including your breasts. “Yes, dear prince. It’s just that my breasts feel swollen but it’s normal. They are getting ready for the baby” you tell him, inspecting without caring for his growing smirk, the food that he brought.

He comes closer and kisses his lips; it takes your breath away. He has always managed to make you feel this way, pregnant and not pregnant.

“What?” you ask, as he keeps smiling with a sadist grin. “I’ve read that the father can help with the swelling and the pain…” he murmurs, taking his pointy nose to your cleavage. He nuzzles there, taking care of not hurting your belly but still placing his huge hands on top of it.

You narrow your eyes. What did he mean with “helping with the swelling and pain”?

“You know…I was so scared of… touching you…” he purrs, kissing your right breast. “Baby, can you share mommy with daddy for now? I’ll be gentle, I promise” he asks right at your belly, placing another kiss on top of it.

You giggle. He is being sweeter than ever, but even if so, a dark aura of lustful intentions surrounds him. He pulls down the cleavage of your blouse. “Can I make you feel better…?” he asks. When did Ichiji Vinsmoke ever asked for permission?

“I don’t know what you are planning… but, go ahead” you murmur, letting him do. He might be a murderous machine but when it comes to your safety he is obsessed. You are sure he won’t hurt you in any way.

His pale, yet juicy lips approach so slow the most sensitive parts of your breasts. His hand, squeeze softly on the side of one of them. He doesn’t provoke any pain; he gives you a caress -even if he didn’t know the term-.

You flinch, just a little. And soon you understand, exactly, what he is intending to do. You were sure milk couldn’t be produce before having the baby but turns out you were wrong. Semi-transparent milky drops fill your lover’s mouth. It’s just a little, but the moment the sweet taste of it touches Ichiji’s tongue he moans, louder than ever before.

“I- Ichiji…” you whisper, taking slowly your palm to the crown of his head. He keeps sucking, as if, the drops that were feeding him were essential for his life. The pressure you were feeling on your breasts slowly goes away, and it goes the same way down to your core.

You brush his red hair back, taking a rather motherly look, caring, and loving to his weakness showing. Because perhaps, he needed this, so deep inside of him. The prince lets his guard down, he allows himself to look less strong, vulnerable also, while attached to your chest.

“I… you are delicious” he barely mumbles before going back to suck and devour the other nipple.

“Am I, my prince? Keep going, do it as much as you please” you whine, pushing his head against your chest. You make him grunt; you make him go harder. He bites, but it doesn’t hurt. The sharp nibbling can only make you more aroused.

And Ichiji wants more, he rips off your blouse with such force it startles you. He has never shown you such strength. “I’m sorry, but I need you naked. I promise I will go slower” he assures you, breathing so hastily. Arousal is consuming his brain, not even his peaceful mind can stop him.

Your eyes soften. “Make love to me, yes?” you dare to ask. You have never called sex this way with him. And frankly you were scared… Visnmoke Ichiji making love to a woman?

He exhales, letting the excess arousal out his mind for some seconds. He pulls down, delicately and carefully your pants and spreads your legs so that you could rest them on top of his thighs as he kneels in between them. “I will… of course I will make love to you. Are you comfortable this way?” he asks. It’s been a while since he has touched your body. Whenever your belly grew larger, he stopped approaching you like during endless nights of the first months. You really thought of him not being attracted; but you were wrong. It was how much he was attracted to the changes of your body that he was scared of hurting your baby and you.

But he can’t stop himself no more. And frankly, you can’t either.

“I am more than comfortable, daddy” you murmur, mesmerized at such change in attitude… after all, Ichiji has always been a sweet man… you only had to have the power to break such hard exoskeleton…

He lowers his pants, just enough to expose a hard, desperate, so needy sex. “I was desperate for this… all this months…” he says, showing you that he didn’t need, nor he didn’t resort to other women that wasn’t you.

You receive him in your arms, and while he slides in slow motion inside you he nests his head in your chest. Sexy, loving thrusts fill your void while you kiss his forehead. He attaches himself again to your nipples, sucking so deliciously while pumps in and on out of you.

Slowly, and surely. Steadily, and constantly. His breath warming your saliva coated breasts, the tiny semi white drop running from the commissure of his mouth, the way you both spasm… ecstasy, rapture. Exploding in orgasmic kisses, hastily breathing, filling you up, coming so gloriously…

“Are you ok? Does anything hurt? You want me to bring the doctor?” he asks, as he rests with his cheek squeezed against your belly.

“I’m totally fine. You took care of me like anybody could have. Thank you so much” you whisper, tracing circles with your palm on his bruised back. He had been trying to get a lot stronger to protect his coming child, you can tell.

“I’m glad I didn’t hurt you… is your swelling better?” he inquires, shyly. His cheeks becoming almost as red as his hair. Who would have known a Vinsmoke prince is able to blush that way?

You smile. Your swelling is indeed better, you feel a lot more relaxed… because you have chosen the right daddy…

A heartless prince they say, not for you, of course. But underneath that strong armor, his heart all, belongs to you ~