#don’t let anyone tell you it needs to be one way or another

[leahwllmsn]

toxic till the end

alexia putellas x reader

word count: 3.3k

tw: toxic relationships

You and Alexia are bad news for each other, but you don’t want anyone else.

It’s another day after yet another fight. You already know what’s going to happen next—it’s a routine so ingrained in your life that there’s no room for uncertainty. Alexia will show up at your door, begging for forgiveness, and you will welcome her with open arms. 

This time though, you tell yourself it’s going to be different. You’re going to put a stop to this whole thing.

You’re letting go of Alexia for good.

It’s been years of back and forth and you’re tired. 

You’re on your couch, clutching your phone, battling with yourself about being the first one to text. To break the routine you and Alexia have perfected means breaking this cycle once and for all.

I meant what I said last night. it’s over. we’re done.

Alexia’s response comes not a minute later. How fast she responds gives you more satisfaction than you admit. Her response however… It left an uncomfortable feeling in your chest.

A: if that is what you want

No, that’s not what you want at all. But it’s what you need. For your sanity.

I want you out of my life. goodbye, ale

—

You met Alexia through a mutual friend. You liked to go out to clubs and bars, something to get your mind off the stress at work. It was a wonder that you hadn’t met Alexia sooner, but you later realized it must be her job as a football superstar that prevented her from partying every week like you.

When Alexia came up to you, her chin held high, a smirk permanently etched on her face, you knew she was nothing but trouble. It was the way she presented herself, so full of herself—as if she could get anything she wanted, that got you hooked. You loved a confident woman, and Alexia was the most confident woman on earth.

“Hola.” Alexia was the first to greet you, observing you with a curious look. You took her outstretched hand, and you couldn’t help but appreciate how… strong her grip was. Yeah. 

“Hi.”

“I’m Alexia,” she gave you a smile, one that girls must fawn over. Before you could respond, she continued, “And you must be… the prettiest girl in this room.”

Your immediate response was to roll your eyes, but your heart was a mess. You couldn’t believe that something so corny had your cheeks blush a deep shade of red.

“Got anything better than that?” you replied calmly, taking a sip of your drink to hide the way your lips wanted to form a smile.

Alexia hummed in thought, leaning closer to you until her mouth was inches away from your ear. You could smell her perfume now—it was something from Le Labo, the woody one that people liked so much.

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put ‘u’ and ‘i’ together.”

It was so bad that it genuinely worked on you. You let out a laugh so loud, ten pairs of eyes turned in your direction. But you didn’t care because Alexia was looking at you with that glimmer in her eyes.

You couldn’t have known what was to come.

—

Despite your wariness about Alexia, you gave her a chance. You gave her multiple chances.

A few months in and you were inseparable. 

The most shocking thing about Alexia was that she was the most loyal person ever. You thought that she was, well, a playgirl. It was the stereotype that came with being a footballer and how charming she was—she could get anyone she wanted.

But all she wanted was you.

It was a huge boost to your ego, you must admit.

Maybe that was why you decided to test the waters. To see whether Alexia really loved you or she was just playing you.

(Looking back, you realized you were the one who started this whole game.)

You didn’t watch football, you had zero interest in it. Alexia loved that she got to be the one to introduce football to you.

So when you begged Alexia to let you meet her teammates, claiming you found a new interest on the team, she was surprised. 

The first thing you did in that locker room was introduce yourself to Patri. Sexy, funny, tattooed Patri, who flirted back the moment you bat your eyelashes at her. To you, it was exhilarating the way Alexia grabbed your wrist and pushed you to the nearest storage closet.

Maybe that was why you loved to push her buttons so much. 

But that wasn’t to say that Alexia didn’t do the same. She was so much more intense, you learned. Maybe even borderline toxic, but you didn’t think too much about it.

You hadn’t been partying every week like you usually would, spending each night with Alexia instead, living in that lovesick bubble. But one night you were bored, and you wanted to go. Alexia had a game tomorrow so you knew she would be staying at home.

“Where are you going, amor?”

You saw Alexia’s reflection in the mirror as you were putting on the final touches of your make-up. You were wearing a dress so tight that it left no room for imagination. “I’m going to Manuelas, baby.”

“What? No, you are not.” Alexia stated. 

You turned around and gave her a questioning look. “I am? Can’t you see that I’m ready?”

“Well, I do not want you to go,” Alexia crossed her arms over her chest, a frown on her face. “Especially with that dress.”

You rolled your eyes at her, scoffing. “I think I can do whatever I want, Ale. I’m going out.”

“So you are just going to leave me here alone? I need you tonight, amor.”

The way her tone changed almost gave you whiplash. She was no longer commanding; she was pleading, her voice trembled as if you leaving to a club would be the worst thing to ever happen to her.

“Please, cariño?” 

You knew the moment she gave you her best puppy-dog eyes, your resolve was crumbling. You’d agree to whatever she wanted, just like always.

“You can come with me,” you suggested, although you knew she couldn’t.

“You know I have a game tomorrow.” Alexia stepped closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and pressing gentle kisses along your exposed neck. “Let’s have a night in. I’m going to give you a better night than your friends could anyway, you know that.”

So you stayed.

You didn’t care when it happened again the week after, letting Alexia undress you was much better than any nightclubs anyway.

When your friends complained that they hadn’t seen you in so long, you made an effort to meet up with them for lunch, but that was cut short when Alexia called and demanded you to come home because she was done with training.

Alexia was possessive, you knew that. You didn’t need your friends to hold an ‘intervention’ for you because they thought Alexia was getting too much.

You loved her possessive attitude. So much so that you intentionally flirted with waitresses and strangers just to see her jealous streak.

You didn’t think anything could break your relationship. You loved each other.

One day, Alexia went too far and you got proven wrong.

You were tired from work, and you wanted nothing more than to get under the covers and sleep. Alexia had other plans. She was wearing a suit, her hair slicked back in a neat ponytail. She looked good. 

“Where are you going, Ale?”

“Oh, hey, mi amor,” Alexia pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, pulling back when you wanted more. Alexia always made you feel better. “I’m going to be late. I have dinner with old friends.”

You raised an eyebrow at that. Alexia never mentioned any dinner with old friends. “Who?”

“Just… some friends I haven’t met in a long time.” You let her go without any more questions because you were seconds away from falling asleep.

When you woke up and found Alexia asleep on the couch instead, you thought nothing of it, going through with your morning routine. When Alexia stretched lazily, flashing you a smile, you returned it without a second thought. But then you caught the lipstick stain on her white collar, a lipstick shade that you would never wear… That was when you started screaming at her.

“I can’t believe you!” “What did I do?”

“What did you do?” You pointed towards the red stain on her collar. “Do you think I’m blind? Stupid? Both?!”

“Oh no no, amor,” Alexia immediately stood up, hands raised defensively as she faced you. “This is not what it looks like. You are misunderstanding!”

“You’re crazy, Alexia. Who’s fucking lipstick is that?!”

“No one’s! You are being paranoid.”

“Stop lying to me!”

“Amor, I would never lie to you, you know that,” Alexia huffed. She had the nerve to shake her in disappointment. “In fact, I am insulted that you think I would do such a thing!”

“Oh yeah? How’s this!” You unclasped the necklace Alexia got you as a gift and threw it at her face. “Fuck you!”

“Amor! That hurts!”

“Fucking cheater!”

“I didn’t kiss her! She kissed me!”

The amount of anger coursing through your veins was a new feeling. You let out a shout before stomping your way out of the apartment. You looked back at your girlfriend, still with that stupid, glaring red stain on her shirt. “I never want to see your face again, Alexia!”

You slammed the front door and left.

That was the start of the cycle.

—

Alexia showed up at your apartment the next day, flowers in hand, eyes swollen from when she cried too much—a rare sight for her. You felt your heart soften at the sight.

“Hola,” Alexia rasped out. “Can I come in?”

Against your better judgement you let her in. You allowed her to explain her side of things, how she claimed that yes, her ex kissed her, but Alexia didn’t return the gesture. You didn’t entirely believe her but you pulled her into your arms anyway.

Alexia repeated how sorry she was over and over again, she told you that she loved you, and she would never intentionally hurt you. 

“I know, Ale,” you kissed the top of her head, your voice softer now compared to the shouts yesterday. Alexia was laying on top of you, her head nestled in the crook of your neck—usually you would be the one in Alexia’s arms, this change felt nice too.

“Do you still love me?”

You didn’t hesitate when you replied. “More than anything.”

Alexia promised that there wouldn’t be anymore fights after that. You didn’t really believe her, and you didn’t think she believed herself either, but you agreed nonetheless.

It was true, you and Alexia went back to the honeymoon phase and didn’t fight at all.

The calm lasted for a few weeks. Barcelona won something, you couldn’t remember, but it was huge. So it called for a celebration.

Alexia, being the captain, was busy being the center of attention. She loved it when people worshipped her, you knew that, so you let her be. You were alone at the bar when someone approached you, offering to buy you a drink. It was Jana—you remembered her from before you met Alexia, through mutual friends. She was definitely your type, but she was five years younger than you and that put you off.

“You do know I’m dating your captain,” you spoke directly in her ear, the music making it harder to hear.

“I’m just being friendly,” Jana shrugged, although the glint in her eyes revealed otherwise.

You took the drink she offered and stayed close to her—too close, because the next thing you knew Alexia was in front of you, a dangerous smile on her lips.

“We are going home.”

“It’s early!” you laughed, passing your drink to your girlfriend. “Have some fun, Ale. Don’t be so uptight.”

Jana giggled and Alexia’s frown deepened. You turned towards the younger brunette and grabbed her arms. “Jana and I are going to dance!”

You left Alexia speechless as you made your way to the dance floor. You could feel her eyes on you the whole time, but all you did was something innocent. There was nothing conspicuous about dancing with a friend. You didn’t kiss her like Alexia kissed someone else.

You didn’t even last five minutes, before Alexia dragged you away and forced you into her car.

You pouted at her the whole ride home. “You are being so ridiculous, Alexia. I was just dancing with a friend.”

“No, you were slutting it up with a friend. There is a difference.”

You were so offended by her words that you demanded she pull over and let you out.

“I am not doing that.”

“Pull over.”

“No.”

“Alexia, pull over or I’ll open this car door and step right into oncoming traffic.”

“Estás loca!” Alexia granted your wish and you were met with the cold, night air as you stepped out of her car. “How are you going to get home now?”

You answered her by slamming her precious car door and flipping a middle finger in her direction. Thankfully it wasn’t that far from your place, you could walk for fifteen minutes. It was fine.

You didn’t get much sleep that night, whether it was because of the anger you were feeling or the anticipation of seeing Alexia the next day. But by morning, all you felt was disappointment, because Alexia didn’t show up. You waited and waited, until it was night time and you decided to send her a text.

do you even care about me?

Alexia showed up five minutes later even though her apartment was almost half an hour away. This time, instead of flowers, she brought your favourite chocolates. Ten boxes of them.

“I am sorry, guapa.” You were sitting on Alexia’s lap, your hands playing with the baby hair on the back of her neck. “I was just jealous because I love you so much.”

“I’m sorry too,” you murmured. “I was the one to provoke you.”

Alexia nodded, pecking your lips. “Sí. You provoked me.”

“You don’t have to be jealous, you know,” you assured her. “I’m all yours, Alexia.”

She grinned at you, pulling you even closer until your bodies were flushed against one another. “That’s good to hear, amor. No one can love you like I do.”

—

You stayed with Alexia despite it all. Despite the monthly–if not, weekly–fights, despite the red flags waving at you every time you recalled something Alexia did to your friends.

You didn’t care about any of it as long as you have Alexia.

Your friends stopped trying to meddle. Once, they decided to give Alexia a piece of their minds and that made Alexia ignore you for a few days. So in turn, you gave your friends a piece of your mind and told them to back the fuck off. You were a big girl; you knew what you were getting yourself into.

It went on for years. You and Alexia continued the routine: someone says something they didn’t mean—fight—make up—someone gets jealous—fight again—make up, and so on.

It was incredible how much strength you had in you to put up with it. But you loved Alexia, and she loved you back, so it was worth it.

It wasn’t until a fight got so big that it left you both screaming at each other in an empty park in Barcelona at midnight, and suddenly, you felt so suffocated. For the first time ever, you wondered what would happen if both of you just… stopped this whole thing. You wondered then, if you could survive living without Alexia.

“I do not know what you want me to do, Y/N!”

“Well, for one, I would like you to stop flirting with every girl you see. I’m right here!”

“I was not flirting! You just keep on imagining things!”

“Fuck you, Ale!”

“Sí, you have done that many times,” Alexia shrugged casually, her body language telling you she was unbothered by this whole thing. “We can do it again tonight if you want!”

“Fuck! You!”

You turned to leave, but Alexia grabbed your wrist. “Where are you going?”

You yanked your arm free from her grasp. “I’m leaving! It’s over!”

Alexia let out a mocking laugh. “Over?! I do not think so. Come on, amor, do you really think you can live without me?” 

Alexia was so sure that you couldn’t. You felt like you wanted to prove to her otherwise.

So you held your chin out and held her gaze. “Yes. I can. I’m leaving you.”

Neither of you said anything for a minute. Alexia silently challenged you to take back your words, but you weren’t going to. You decided that you were strong enough to end things.

“You are lying,” Alexia scoffed. “You cannot leave me.”

You glared at her. You hated that she was undermining you. “Watch me.”

As you turned around once again to leave, Alexia suddenly stepped forward and snaked her arms around your waist, her front pressed against your back. You let her hold you—it was going to be the last time anyway.

“Mi amor,” Alexia’s voice trembled. “You cannot leave me. I do not know how to do this without you. Please don’t go. Te amo. Te amo mucho.”

You held back your tears, not expecting Alexia to sound this vulnerable. You placed your hand on top of hers, hesitating for a brief moment before slowly pulling away.

You were finally free.

—

A week passed by without anything from Alexia. Not a phone call, not a text, no flowers on your doorstep, no unannounced visits to your apartment. You realize that this is the longest you’ve gone without hearing Alexia beg for your forgiveness. Alexia is actually respecting your wishes.

She’s no longer bothering you.

You should feel happy, but all you feel is the opposite. You genuinely feel sick at the thought of having Alexia out of your life.

You want her next to you. You want her near you, right now. You don’t care that all you do is fight, that’s what couples do—Alexia once said.

Your friends think it’s a good thing that you cut things off with Alexia, but you don’t think their opinion matters anyway. They’ve always acted like they know your relationship with Alexia better than you.

To get them to back off though, you agreed on a blind date with someone. Just for one night. One night to see what a “perfect girl” looks like.

Her name is Jennifer. What a bland name.

She likes to play tennis and does horse riding. Football is better.

She has a British accent because she grew up in London. Alexia’s accent is much better, way sexier.

An hour in and you could tell that there is nothing wrong with her despite your best efforts at trying to find the worst in everything. But she’s not Alexia.

No one will ever come close.

Before Jennifer gets the chance to order dessert, you fake a stomach ache and leaves.

You walk aimlessly, but deep down you know you have one destination in mind.

It’s been years of back and forth. Yes, you’re tired, but you also crave it.

You crave her.

No matter how much Alexia breaks your heart, you know she’s the only one who can fix it—albeit, not perfectly, she can still patch it up nonetheless.

You don’t mind it. 

If being with Alexia means having a bruised heart full of bandages, you’ll take it.

“Hola, guapa. I missed you.”

[thesporkidentity]

[Audio transcription: "I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be an emperor; that’s not my business. I don’t want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible. Jew, Gentile, black man, white. We all want to help one another; human beings are like that. We want to live by each other’s happiness not by each other’s misery. We don’t want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone, and the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way.

Greed has poisoned men’s souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical, our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery, we need humanity. More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent, and all will be lost.

The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in men, cries out for universal brotherhood, for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women, and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people.

To those who can hear me, I say: do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish.

Soldiers! Don’t give yourselves to brutes! Men who despise you, enslave you, who regiment your lives, tell you what to do, what to think, and what to feel! Who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder! Don’t give yourselves to these unnatural men, machine men with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines; you are not cattle. You are men! You have the love of humanity in your hearts! You don’t hate! Only the unloved hate - the unloved and the unnatural! Soldiers! Don’t fight for slavery! Fight for liberty!

In the 17th Chapter of St. Luke it is written: 'the Kingdom of God is within man.' Not one man nor a group of men, but in all men! In you! You, the people have the power - the power to create machines, the power to create happiness! You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then in the name of democracy, let us use that power. Let us all unite! Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work, that will give youth a future, and old age a security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power. But they lie! They do not fulfil that promise! They never will!

Dictators free themselves, but they enslave the people! Now let us fight to fulfil that promise! Let us fight to free the world, to do away with national barriers, to do away with greed, with hate, and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men’s happiness. Soldiers! In the name of democracy, let us all unite!]

Because someone is on the ball, Turner Classic is playing (among other WWII films) The Great Dictator today.

If you haven't seen it, please do. It was produced by Charlie Chaplin in the late 1930s, when it became clear that the war was going to happen, and came out in 1940 after it had started. Essentially, Chaplin realized that his famous mustache was about to be usurped forever by a fascist, and that fascist was going to kill a lot more people in the future than he had already.

It's a parody, made before the worst horrors of the Nazi regime were known to the general public, so there is discomfort here (if you've seen Disney's Der Fuhrer's Face, you'll get the idea), but the movie ends with Chaplin essentially saying "fuck it, no one else seems to be speaking out about this and I'm going to use my platform to do that."

For context, this character is a Jew who has been mistaken for the dictator (for obvious mustache-related reasons), and has been sent onstage at a rally to give a speech. Instead of trying to impersonate Hitler, he says what he really thinks. And keep in mind, Chaplin was coming out of semi-retirement for this. It was the first time most people had ever heard him speak, and this is what he said:

[kawhh]

sigh i’m thinking about bf quinn who’s just a little obsessed with you and he really doesn’t want anyone to look at you and if he had it his way you’ve have a huge ring but you’re not ready so he talks you into getting some drinks and then takes you to a tattoo parlor and now you have 43 tatted on your ring finger and it’s not a want but a need

I wake up to this? It’s another whore day for me. (Let’s be real, every day is a whore day for me)

I’m giggling at “a little obsessed”. It’s how I’m gonna describe anything I’ve written or will write lmao.

You can’t blame him for wanting a permanent reminder on you. You mean everything to him. You’re his. Of course he wants evidence of that.

If he lets you go out without him, how is anyone supposed to know? He can’t risk that.

He has the ring bought, but he needs to make sure that you’re fully reliant on him first. He needs everything perfectly setup. He just can’t wait that long.

A tattoo though.. that’d be a permanent mark on you.. he could even keep adding more after. Start with one you can see, then maybe add some just for him where you can’t..

He knows you might not agree. But he also has contacts and enough money to make the decision for you.. He just needs to get you there.

He’s just come back from a roadie and can use that to get you drunk. He just needs you out of it enough. He’s fake drinking all night - you don’t suspect a thing. You’re a little lightweight and can’t tell up from down.

He’ll pretend that he’s drunk and that’s why you need to go home - you don’t even realise that the short drive home is suddenly longer. He’s asked - bribed - the artist to stay open for him after closing. He doesn’t want more eyes on you.

You’re half passed out on the table, blissfully unaware of the needles being pressed into your skin. He’ll never forget the feeling of ownership that runs through him.

He can barely sleep when he gets you home. He can’t wait to see the look on your face when you wake up sober.

[fear-is-truth]

dare i say ur the best squid game writer?? the namgyu hcs was def the most accurate depiction of his character ive seen ! showed his insecurities so well. chefs kiss. speakinggg of if ur taking requests from him. what abt reader finally breaking up w him? like tired of all the toxicity. how would he react?

BREAKING UP WITH NAM-GYU / PLAYER 124

a/n. omg tysm for the kind words !! i loved the idea for your request, and i hope i did it justice ! thank you again for trusting me with it ♡

at first, nam-gyu’s reaction would be pure deflection. he’d scoff, roll his eyes, and act like he doesn’t care. “fine, go,” he’d say, his tone dripping with venom. “you think i can’t live without you? watch me.” his pride wouldn’t let him admit how much it hurts, so he’d lash out, throwing barbed words your way in an attempt to make you second-guess yourself. it’s a classic manipulation tactic—turning the blame onto you, acting like you’re the one overreacting or being unreasonable.

but as soon as you walk away, he’d start spiralling—anger would segue into panic. he’d start analysing on all the moments he pushed you too far. there would be some level of guilt, but instead of owning up to it, he’d try to convince himself it wasn’t his fault—or worse, blame you for “giving up on him.”

when hours or days pass without a word from you, he’d start calling or texting, alternating between anger (“don’t you dare ignore me”) and desperation (“just tell me what you want me to do”)

when he realises you’re serious and not coming back, he’d oscillate between two extremes. on one hand, he’d try to manipulate you into staying by pulling every card he can think of: guilt-tripping, love-bombing, even reminding you of the good times to make you question your decision. he’d say something like, “you’re just gonna throw all of this away? after everything i’ve done for you?” or, “no one else will care about you the way i do.” not because he doesn’t care (he does care. a lot) it’s because he doesn’t know how else to express his desperation.

on the other hand, he’d also act like he doesn’t give a fuck to protect his ego. he’d put on a front, telling you to go and that he’s fine without you. he’d go to work, or use loads of drugs, just to prove (to himself more than anyone else) that he doesn’t need you. but deep down, he’d feel hollow. every time he numbs himself, it’d just make him think of you more.

if he’s really desperate, and you’ve been ignoring his attempts to get your attention, this might be the moment where he shows an almost childlike side of himself. he’d show up at your door, completely disheveled, and beg you to stay. he’d get on his knees if he thought it’d work, his pride be damned.

after the breakup, if you don’t take him back, he’d probably spiral even worse. he’d rely heavily on unhealthy coping mechanisms—drugs, drinking, or surrounding himself with people who don’t actually care about him. but no matter how hard he tries to distract himself, his mind would always drift back to you. he’d fixate on what he did wrong, though he wouldn’t know how to fix it.

if you did give him a second chance after all this, he’d try to be better, but it’d be a slow, messy process. nam-gyu doesn’t know how to handle his emotions or build a healthy relationship, so even his attempts at improving would be kinda flawed. but the fear of losing you again would drive him to at least try—though whether or not he can actually change is another story.

[sandwitchstories]

Suds and Sass

Hey hey everyone! Its been far too long since I shared some new Daddy Duty content, so here you go! I give to you all this silly little imagine about Dad!Sukuna and Mouse

If you prefer to read it on AO3 click here !

WC: 892

Summary: It's Sukuna's turn to wash Mouse's hair. He should have known nothing could ever be so mundane with his daughter.

AN: To anyone new to my Daddy Duty series- Mouse is Sukuna's two year old daughter. Welcome to Mouse's Mini-verse!

CW: none really? reader is called Mama but not described. It is pure family fluff.

“That not how Mama does it, Papa,” Mouse informed Sukuna as she sat on the bathing stool in front of him so he could wash her hair.

“Well, Mama isn’t the one doing it, now is she?” he asked with a shake of his head while he lathered her hair, making sure to scrub her scalp thoroughly.

“No. Papa is. But Papa is doing it wrong.”

“Oh? You think you could do better?” Sukuna challenged his almost 3 year old daughter.

Mouse whirled around in excitement. “Yes! I show you! I wash your hair now, Papa! Please and thank you, Papa!”

“I don’t need-”

“Papa,” Mouse rested a hand on his and gave him a stern look. “I wash your hair now, please and thank you. Then Mama won’t say Papa is stinky.”

“I do not smell unpleasant and your mother has never accused me of such,” he glared at his daughter for her infamous audacity. 

“Papa wants to smell nice for Mama though, right?” Mouse cocked her head and gave him a sly little grin. “Papa wants Mama kisses.”

“Mouse - Your mother’s and my kisses do not concern you. And she will kiss me regardless of how I smell.” Sukuna was once again dumbfounded by the conversation he found himself having in earnest with his toddler. “Turn around so we can wash out your hair.”

She pressed her lips together and turned her back to him with her arms crossed on her chest. “Mama would give more kisses if Papa wasn’t a stinky head.”

“What was that?” Sukuna’s eyes were huge as he stared at the back of his daughter’s head, certain he had not heard her right.

“Papa is a stinky head. I tellin’ mama no kisses for papa.” “Because I won’t let you wash my hair?”

She turned her head and gave him a look over her shoulder. “If Papa washes his hair he won’t have a stinky head any more.”

Sukuna had never lost so many battles in his life before he met you and you brought this hellspawn into existence. He gave a dejected sigh and knew he would give in to his daughter once again. Another battle conceded to the pint sized dictator. 

“Fine, fine. Have it your way…” He finished washing out Mouse’s hair and he got in the tub leaning his head against the edge while Mouse stood on her stool behind him and began to wash his hair. He listened to her as she sang a song she was making up as she went. 

“Washing Papa’s hair… soap’s going everywhere… bubbles, bubbles, smell so pretty… bubble everywhere… Papa, you gonna be so pretty for Mama!”

“Oh yeah? Think she’ll give me a kiss now?” He asked, squeezing his eyes shut so the suds did not get in. 

“Uh huh!. Papa can say ‘Mama, I not stinky! Kisses now, please and thank you!’” Mouse said, trying to mimic his deep voice.

“I do not sound like that.”

“Okay, Papa…”

Later that night

Mouse laid sleeping on the futon behind you while you sat on the engawa having a cup of tea with your husband. You turned your head towards him and asked him about something that had been on your mind for hours.

“Why did you use Mouse’s shampoo?”

“She did not give me a choice,” Sukuna grumbled and took a sip of his tea.

“Why did she want you to use it to begin with?”

“She didn’t say she was going to use that scent…”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “So the why of it?”

“It's none of your concern,” Sukuna looked away, but not before you saw the touch of pink on his usually tan cheeks.

“Just tell me,” you said, reaching out a hand to entangle your fingers with one of his larger hands.

“It is not important.”

You yanked on his hand until he gave in and leaned over, kissing your upturned pouty lips 3 soft times like he knew you wanted. He smiled and bumped foreheads with you. Just as he started to deepen the kiss a small voice chimed in sleepily from the darkness behind you.

“Told you so, Papa.”

“What did she tell you?” You asked, amused as you heard her start snoring again. Just like Papa, she has to have the last word…

“She stated that you would give me more kisses if I washed my hair,” he said. He turned away and muttered before taking a drink, “And she called me a stinky head.”

Sukuna glared at you as he heard you start to sputter as you tried to keep your laughter suppressed. “It’s not funny.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” you squeezed his hand before grinning broadly. “Its hilarious.”

“I do not find amusement.”

“Sukuna…” you sighed and moved to sit closer and lean against him. “You should know by now… I will give you kisses whether or not you are a stinky head.”

“I am never a stinky head.”

“Okay, my love whatever you say,” you giggled and looked up at him like he hung the moon. “But even if you were… I’d still kiss you.”

“Damn right.” “As if it was a valid concern,” Sukuna scoffed. "Of course  it wasn't, my love..." you said with a grin, ignoring the glare you could feel him leveling at your head. You just couldn’t help yourself, sometimes he made it too easy. “But if it was…”

[nameless-ken]

The Things Better Left Unsaid - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Just an idea that came into my head that I wanted to get out. Debating on if I should do a part two to this. Let me know if I should!

words: 4.2k

warnings: mostly angst and fluff, best friends pining after each other

masterlist

You and Bucky had always been a team, growing up on the same street, your bedroom windows perfectly aligned across from one another. It started with the two of you tapping on the glass with tiny fists, trying to get each other’s attention. Later, it became the flicker of flashlights and shadow puppets against your curtains during late-night talks. By the time you met Steve Rogers in first grade, your trio was inseparable. Steve, small and scrappy, needed the kind of loyalty only you and Bucky could provide. Together, the two of you made sure no one would to mess with him.

Rumors were inevitable. By the time middle school rolled around, your moms were already joking about how you and Bucky were “destined” for each other. “One day, you’ll be Mrs. Barnes,” Bucky’s mom would tease, making you roll your eyes while your cheeks burned. In high school, the rumors took a life of their own. Some kids whispered about you and Bucky being secretly together; others claimed it was Steve. Some even spun stories about the three of you.

Whenever Bucky caught wind of it, he was quick to shut it down. “Platonic soulmates exist, you know,” he’d say, grinning in a way that dared anyone to argue. But it stung more than you’d admit, hearing him say it so definitively, as if he could never think of you as anything but a friend.

Then came sophomore year, when Bucky got into his first real relationship. The rumors died almost instantly, replaced by whispers of envied girls who wished they were in her shoes. For you, it was harder. Bucky, who had always been your partner for Friday night movie marathons and Sunday bike rides into town with Steve, suddenly wasn’t there anymore. He started skipping out on your traditions, forgetting dates and moments that had once felt sacred. Even Steve’s sixteenth birthday—a day you both had planned together since middle school—slipped through Bucky’s fingers. Steve didn’t forgive him easily for that, and neither did you.

When the relationship ended, Bucky came back, knocking on your window one Friday night like no time had passed. You and Steve teased him relentlessly about his absence, but deep down, you were just relieved to have him back. It wasn’t long before everything felt normal again—or as normal as it could be when your feelings for him started to shift.

The memories were countless, small and scattered like pieces of a puzzle that made up your childhood. There was the time in seventh grade when Bucky punched Tommy Matthews for stealing your lunch, even though it got him grounded for a week. Or the summer before high school, when you dared him to climb the old oak tree in your backyard, and he fell, breaking his arm. “Don’t tell Mom,” he’d begged through gritted teeth, laughing even as you panicked.

There were lighter memories, too: sneaking into the corner store for candy, getting caught and sweet-talking your way out of trouble; late-night snowball fights that ended with you shivering in Bucky’s too-big coat; and the time you, him and Steve decided to play hooky from school, spending the whole day reading comics on the roof of Steve’s garage.

But somewhere along the way, things changed. Bucky’s smile started to make your stomach flip, and the way he casually threw an arm around your shoulders as you walked down the school hallways left you buzzing for hours. The worst were the nights when you snuck into his room like you always had, curling up beside him and talking nonsense until the early hours. Those nights, your heart ached with the weight of everything unsaid, knowing it would never be more than this.

Senior year brought it all to the surface. The shared glances that lasted a beat too long, the playful teasing that felt like something more, the way your heart raced every time he called his “doll”. You didn’t mean for it to happen, to fall so deeply for your best friend. But now, as graduation loomed closer, the thought of leaving Brooklyn—of leaving him—was unbearable.

Steve, of course, had known all along. He had a knack for seeing what neither of you could. “You’re both idiots,” he’d scream inside his head, rolling his eyes every time he caught you staring at Bucky like he hung the stars in the sky. He tried everything to get you to confess—little nudges, not-so-subtle hints—but the fear of ruining what you had kept you silent. Bucky, for all his confidence, seemed just as scared.

One evening, as the three of you sat on Bucky’s porch and as the sun set and the street lights flickered on, the weight of the future settled between you. The silence stretched, heavy with words none of you could say.

“I’m gonna miss this,” you said softly, staring at the street you’d known your whole life.

“Me too,” Bucky murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Steve stayed quiet, his head faced the ground as he kicked around a rock. 

You turned and looked at Bucky, searching his face for something—anything—that might give him away. But Bucky, as always, was impossible to read. Instead, he smiled, the same boyish grin that had made you fall for him in the first place.

“Come on,” he said, standing and offering you a hand and patting Steve’s shoulder. “Let’s make one last memory before we grow up.”

And just like that, all three of you were kids again, racing down the street under the glow of the streetlights, holding on to the fleeting magic of everything you couldn’t say.

The night air was crisp as the three of you ran, laughter echoing through the quiet neighborhood. It was like stepping back in time—back to a world where nothing mattered except the moment. Steve led the way, his small frame surprisingly quick, while Bucky stayed close by your side, glancing back to make sure you were keeping up.

“Where are we even going?” you called out as your breathed heavily, not being much of a runner. 

Steve turned around, jogging backward with a mischievous grin. “To the park, obviously! Last one there owes the other two milkshakes!”

“You’re already losing, Rogers!” Bucky shouted, picking up speed and tugging your arm. “Come on, doll, we can’t let him win.”

The nickname made your heart stumble, but you pushed the thought aside, focusing on the sound of your feet hitting the pavement. Bucky’s hand stayed wrapped around yours, warm and steady.

When you finally reached the park, Steve was sitting smugly on a swing, his hands gripping the chains as he swayed lazily. “Looks like I’m getting two milkshakes,” he said, his grin wide.

“You cheated,” Bucky accused, bending over with his hands on his knees, pretending to catch his breath. “Short legs like yours don’t move that fast without some trickery.”

“Maybe you’re just slow,” Steve shot back with a laugh.

You sat on the other swing, the cool metal chains biting into your palms. The park looked exactly as it had when you were kids—the worn-down merry-go-round, the old slide with a dent at the bottom, the same creaky swings where the three of you had spent so many afternoons.

“Remember when Steve dared you to jump off the swings while it was still moving?” you said, looking at Bucky.

He laughed, the sound sent a shiver down your spine. “Yeah, and I ended up with a sprained ankle. Mom grounded me for a week.”

“And you still tried to climb the fence two days later,” Steve added, shaking his head. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

“Please, I knew what I was doing,” Bucky said, sitting on the swing next to yours. “Mostly.”

You laughed, the memory warm and familiar. “What about the time we tried to build a treehouse in Steve’s backyard? We didn’t even make it past the ladder.”

Steve groaned, covering his face. “Don’t remind me. My mom was so mad when we nailed those boards to the tree. She said we’d kill ourselves before we even got it halfway up.”

“Good times,” Bucky said, leaning back on his swing, his legs stretching out in front of him. His gaze drifted upward, to the stars peeking through the leaves. “Feels like yesterday.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, following his gaze. “It does.”

The three of you fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came with years of knowing each other.

Steve broke the silence, his voice quieter than usual. “You know, no matter where we all end up, this’ll always be home.”

Bucky nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah. It’s gonna be weird, though. Not seeing you guys every day.”

Your chest tightened at the thought. Graduation was supposed to be exciting, but all you could think about was how different everything would be. Steve, with his dreams of art school. Bucky, with his plans to join the military. And you, still unsure of where you fit into the world.

“Hey,” Bucky said suddenly, nudging your arm. “We’ll figure it out. Always do, right?”

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. Always.”

Steve stood, brushing off his jeans. “Alright, enough of this sappy stuff. Let’s go get those milkshakes. And Bucky, you’re paying. I don’t care what you say—I won.”

Bucky groaned, but he followed, muttering something about “rigged games” as the three of you headed back toward the main street. His shoulder brushed against yours as you walked, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like everything would be okay.

But deep down, you knew this night was a goodbye to the way things used to be.

Your room was chaotic. Open boxes were scattered across the floor, half-filled with a mix of clothes, books, and trinkets you couldn’t quite decide whether to keep or leave behind. The walls, once plastered with posters and photos, were bare, the room already beginning to feel like it belonged to someone else. You sat cross-legged in the middle of the mess, holding an old photo of you, Bucky, and Steve from eighth grade.

You sighed, setting the photo down on top of a box labeled Memories. The future was coming on too fast and it felt like you were leaving more behind than you were taking with you.

There was a knock on your bedroom door frame. You looked up to see Bucky standing there, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“Your mom said you might need some help,” he said, his tone light but his eyes soft, searching yours.

You forced a smile, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “You’re brave to volunteer. It’s like a war zone in here.”

He stepped in, carefully maneuvering around the boxes. “Guess I better get familiar with it. I’ll be seeing places like that soon.” Bucky tried to joke and failed as your small smile disappeared. 

Bucky ignored it and moved further into your room. He picked up a stack of books, glancing at the spines. “Still got all those Jane Austen novels, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t act like you weren’t the one who borrowed Pride and Prejudice and never gave it back.”

He grinned, setting the books down. “What can I say? Darcy’s got some moves.”

The easy banter settled the tension slightly. Bucky crouched next to you, reaching for a smaller box labeled Miscellaneous. As he opened it, his hand stilled, pulling out a small, faded flashlight.

“No way,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

Your breath caught. You hadn’t seen that flashlight in years. It was the same one he’d used to flash messages to you across the street when you were kids, the one that had started all your late-night talks.

“I can’t believe you kept this,” he said, turning it over in his hands, his thumb brushing against the worn surface.

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady. “I guess I couldn’t let it go. It’s… kind of important.”

Bucky looked up at you then, his expression unreadable but intense, like he was trying to memorize your face. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It is.”

The air between you shifted, heavy with everything unsaid. His knees brushed yours as he sat back, still holding the flashlight. You could feel the weight of his gaze, and your heart started to race, a nervous, uneven rhythm.

“Bucky…” you started, but your voice faltered when his hand rested on the floor, so close to yours you could feel the heat of his skin.

“Yeah?” he said, his voice quieter now, his eyes locked on yours.

For a moment, it felt like the world stopped. Everything in your room faded, the only thing you could focus on was him—the curve of his jaw, the way his lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something. You leaned forward just an inch, drawn to him like you always were, the space between you shrinking.

But then he pulled back, just enough to break the moment. He cleared his throat, his hand retreating as he set the flashlight gently back into the box.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” he said, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You nodded quickly, blinking away the haze of the moment. “Yeah. Right. Lots to pack.”

The next few minutes passed in silence, both of you busying yourselves with the boxes, avoiding each other’s eyes. But the tension lingered but neither of you brave enough to name it.

When Bucky finally left, hours later, you stood at the window and watched him walk down the sidewalk and up his porch before he disappeared into his house. For a moment, you thought about calling him back, about saying the words that had been on the tip of your tongue all night. But you didn’t. Instead, you stood there, clutching the flashlight in your hands, the weight of everything unsaid pressing heavy on your chest.

The sound of laughter echoed through Bucky’s house. The kitchen was alive with your mom and Bucky’s mom chatting as they prepared trays of finger sandwiches and fruit platters, while Steve’s mom fiddled with the coffee maker, muttering about how much caffeine a morning like this required. The living room buzzed with excitement as younger siblings and cousins darted between the adults.

You stood at the top of the stairs, peering down at the chaos with a soft smile. Bucky’s house had always felt like a second home, and today, with all your families crowded together, it felt just like how it did growing. Your mind drifts off, reminiscing about all the holidays celebrated here, missing the simplistic and nostalgic feelings of those days. 

“Hey, don’t linger. You’re the one who insisted on wearing heels,” Steve teased as he passed you, nudging your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes but followed him down the hall to Bucky’s room, where the man himself was standing in front of the mirror, frowning at his reflection.

“This stupid tassel keeps flipping the wrong way,” Bucky grumbled, swiping at it like it had personally offended him.

“Here, let me,” you said, stepping up to fix it. Your fingers brushed against his shoulder as you adjusted the tassel, and he stilled for a moment before offering a soft “Thanks.”

Steve flopped onto the edge of the bed, adjusting his cap. “Man, this thing is itchy,” he muttered, tugging at the collar of his robe.

Bucky smirked, stepping back to inspect himself in the mirror. “It’s supposed to feel uncomfortable. It’s a reminder that we’re about to enter the real world where everything is worse.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm. “You’re such an optimist, Barnes.”

“Hey, I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking,” Bucky replied with a grin, though his expression softened as his eyes darted between you and Steve. “But seriously… I just wanted to say something before we head out.”

You and Steve both turned to him, the lightheartedness fading away. Bucky hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for the right words.

“I’m glad I had you two with me through all of this,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “It hasn’t always been easy, but… I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Couldn’t have made it without you guys.”

Steve, ever the sentimental one, stood and clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “You’ve always had us, Buck. And you always will.”

Your throat tightened as you looked at them both, your best friends who had been by your side through every high and low. “We’re a team,” you said softly. “Always have been. Always will be.”

For a moment, the three of you just stood there, the weight of the day settling over you. It wasn’t just a graduation; it was the end of an era, the closing of a chapter that had defined so much of your lives.

Steve broke the silence first, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Alright, enough of this sappy stuff. Let’s graduate before I start crying.”

You laughed, and Bucky grinned, the tension easing as he reached over to nudge your arm. “Yeah, we can’t have Rogers blubbering in the middle of the ceremony.”

Steve shot him a mock glare. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

The three of you laughed as you headed downstairs, your hand brushing against Bucky’s briefly as you walked side by side. Downstairs, the laughter and chatter of your families wrapped around you like a warm embrace, and for a moment, the future didn’t feel so uncertain.

Today, at least, you had this—your friends, your family, and a shared sense of belonging, that you grasped onto for these fleeting moments. 

The auditorium hummed with energy, a crowd full of proud families and eager graduates filling every seat. The stage at the front was adorned with banners and bouquets in your school colors, the polished wood gleaming under the bright lights.

You filed into your seat with your classmates, the rustle of gowns and the low murmur of voices filling the space as everyone settled in. Bucky was in the first row, his posture relaxed, but the subtle tapping of his foot against the floor betrayed his nerves. Two rows behind him, you gripped the program in your lap like a lifeline, the mix of excitement and bittersweet anticipation settling in your chest. Steve sat three rows behind you, his cap slightly askew as he leaned back in his chair, as he tapped his finger against his thigh, a nervous habit he’s had since forever ago. 

The opening speaker took to the podium, their voice cutting through the loud whispers. Stories were shared, advice was provided, and promises of bright futures were offered. 

It was when your gaze fell to the back of Bucky’s head that you noticed him shift slightly. He turned, just enough to catch your eye, and smiled softly. It wasn’t his usual cocky grin or a teasing smirk—it was the kind of smile that spoke volumes without a single word. A smile that was just for you.

Your breath caught, the tightness in your throat making it impossible to return the smile properly. When he winked, the simple gesture filled you with warmth, mingled with the ache of knowing everything was about to change. You managed a shaky smile before he turned back around, your heart racing throughout the rest of the ceremony. 

One by one, names were called, followed by applause and cheers as each graduate crossed the stage. 

As your name was called, you rose, your legs trembling slightly as you made your way to the stage. The moment felt surreal—hands shaking yours, the weight of the diploma in your hands, the cheers from your family echoing in your ears. As you walked back to your seat, your gaze briefly met Bucky’s again, and the pride in his eyes made your chest tighten all over again.

When the last name was called, the room erupted into applause. The principal gave the final cue as caps flew into the air, a chaotic flurry raining down.

You wove through the groups of familiar faces you’ve spent the last 18 years with, searching for the two people who meant the most to you. Spotting Bucky and Steve wasn’t hard—Bucky stood tall and Steve’s blond head was unmistakable in the crowd.

The three of you collided in a fierce group hug, arms tangling as you held on tight.

“We did it,” Steve said, his voice thick with emotion as he patted both of your backs.

Bucky’s arms tightened around you slightly, his voice soft but firm. “We did it. Together.” His arms lingered around you a fraction longer than they did around Steve, his warmth grounding you amidst the chaos.

The hug broke apart reluctantly as your families swarmed in, their pride radiating in smiles and tears. Cameras flashed, capturing every possible combination of family and friends. Your mom insisted on a dozen different poses—one with Bucky, one with Steve, one with all three of you—and the laughter that spilled out of you made your cheeks ache.

For a little while, the joy of the moment masked the bittersweet ache that had been building all day. But every now and then, your gaze would catch Bucky’s, and the unspoken weight of what came next lingered in the space between you.

For now, though, you held onto this moment—this memory—tightly, unwilling to let it slip away just yet.

Bucky’s backyard was alive with the sounds of celebration. Laughter mingled with the sizzling of the grill, and the sweet aroma of barbecue drafted through the air. Kids darted across the lawn, chasing each other with bubbles and toy airplanes. Parents clustered in small groups, sharing stories and toasting with glasses of wine and bottles of beer.

Your cap and gown hung over the back of a chair near the patio, forgotten for now as you crouched on the lawn. Bucky’s younger sister sat cross-legged beside you, her brow furrowed in concentration as she held up a tiny daisy.

“Do you think this one’s pretty?” she asked, her voice soft and earnest.

“It’s perfect,” you replied, smiling as you took the delicate flower from her and tucked it into the growing crown of wildflowers. 

As the sun started to dip lower, you glanced up, your eyes catching movement near the back door as Bucky slipped quietly through, his broad shoulders hunched slightly. 

Your gaze shifted to Steve, who had been leaning near the grill, chatting with one of Bucky’s uncles. He had noticed too, his easy smile fading as his eyes followed Bucky’s retreating figure. When he caught your eye, he gave a small nod, his expression knowing and a little sad.

You patted Bucky’s sister on the shoulder. “Keep working on this—I’ll be right back.” She nodded, already focused on the next flower.

Standing, you brushed the grass off your knees and headed inside, weaving through the crowded kitchen. You found Bucky in his room, standing by the window with his back to you. The curtains were slightly drawn, framing his silhouette as he stared out at your bedroom window.

“Hey,” you said softly, closing the door behind you.

He didn’t turn, his voice low and distant. “Just needed a minute.”

You stepped closer, careful not to startle him. “Big day,” you tentatively replied

“Yeah,” he muttered, his jaw tightening as he finally glanced at you. His blue eyes, usually so vibrant, were shadowed with worry. “Everything’s changing.”

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking into your chest. “It is.”

He turned back to the window, his hand resting on the sill. “What if it all falls apart? What if… we fall apart?”

The crack in his voice sent a pang through you. You stepped forward without thinking, crossing the space between you and wrapping your arms around him. He stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, but then his shoulders relaxed as he melted into your embrace. His arms wound tightly around your waist, keeping him grounded.

“We won’t,” you said firmly, your voice muffled against his chest. “No matter where we go or where we end up, we’ll always have this. We’ll always have each other.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his face inches from yours. His expression was a mix of gratitude and something deeper. For a heartbeat, it felt like the world held its breath, the sound of the party outside fading into the background.

Then he smiled faintly, the tension in his features easing. “You’re my best friend, you know that?” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your head.

You returned his smile. “Yeah. You’re mine too.”

He grinned, but there was something in his eyes that made your heart tighten, like he wanted to say more but didn’t. You felt it too, the weight of everything you never said.

And so, instead of confessing all the feelings you had hidden for so long, you shared a quiet moment, wrapped in the understanding that things were changing. You would go your separate ways, but you’d always have this—the memories, the childhood you spent together with Steve, and the unspoken bond that would always tie you to Bucky Barnes.

And for now, this was enough.

[kykyonthemoon]

7 Days the mini-series

About this series: ✈️

Day 06: My Defender

Immediately after receiving the message, I hurried to the headmaster's office. There, I found Caleb waiting on one of the seats outside. His white uniform was covered in mud, he had bruises all over his body, one side of his face was slightly swollen, and there was a bleeding wound at the corner of his mouth.

"Caleb? What happened to you?"

I sat down beside him and held his hand timidly out of fear of hurting him. Caleb didn't look at me and turned his face away.

"Caleb?" I pulled his hand, still he refused to look at me. So I wrapped him in my arms. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

Caleb sat still and let me hold him for a while longer. Even though he didn’t respond, I could guess what had happened on the way here. I overheard the other students gossiping that there had been a fight between Caleb and another fifth grader, I just didn’t know why.

After a while, Caleb seemed to calm down, he took my hand off and started talking:

“I’m fine. Gran is talking to the headmaster inside.”

“Why didn’t you go to the nurse’s office?”

“I’m all right.”

He responded, even waved his arms and legs to let me know that, unlike the other children who were crying and running into the nurse's office, he was still fine. But I just frowned at him.

“What happened?” I asked. Caleb had never caused trouble at school. He had always been a good student, a well-liked boy by both teachers and his peers. His energy was all for sports and extracurricular activities. I never imagined seeing him in a situation like this.

Caleb didn’t want to tell me, but after some pleading, he finally spoke: 

“They were talking bad about you.”

“Huh?” I was stunned. Caleb simply explained that not everyone in school liked me. They made up stories and said negative things about me out of envy. Those words reached Caleb and turned him enraged. As a result, he gave them all a short trip to the nurse's office.

After hearing this, I gently gripped his hand. The sight of him using Evol to hang a few kids on a tree must have been hilarious. I was very grateful that he was so protective of me. However, I wasn't planning to be the cause of his troubles.

“I don’t care what they think of me,” I said. “Because they’re not important to me. I only care what Caleb thinks of me…”

“You are the most wonderful person in my eyes!” Caleb replied without a thought. “If anyone dares to say anything bad about you, I’ll put them up the tree again—Ouch…”

Caleb grimaced and gently massaged the wound on his face. I pulled his hand away, saying, “When I fall or get hurt, you always blow on my wound, right?” I puffed out my cheeks and blew gently on the wound on Caleb’s face. HDespite being a little taken aback, he obediently sat still. “After that…”

I leaned a bit closer to him and delicately kissed his injured cheek, just like he had kissed the cut on my palm when I was careless before.

“This is a blessing of speedy recovery for you…”

*

* *

Opening the headmaster’s office door, I saw the kid sitting alone outside. One of his cheekbones was swollen, his clothes were untidy and covered in mud. He peered up at me with determination and a hint of guilt.

“Am I in trouble, Mom?”

In that child, I saw the imprints of the boy who had been by my side many years ago.

“Of course you are. Violence is not the way to solve problems. I've taught you better than that."

The child dropped his head, disappointed. My severe expression eased, and I softly ruffled his hair. "You also need to know that it was the right thing to do to stand up for your friend."

He glanced up at me with a cheerful expression. I added, “However, next time, remember to use your brain, not your brawn. You're just like your father.”

The child smiled and grasped my hand tightly. On the way home, an airship sailed overhead from Skyhaven. The little boy waved up and said:

“I think Dad will be home soon!”

“Let’s hurry then. How about we throw him a lovely welcome back party at home?"

[uselessmoonlight]

Stranger part 7

Reader is Telemachus' friend, and when he leaves for his "diplomatic mission" he asks her to watch over his mother.

Later, once the king has returned, she stumbles upon an injured Poseidon.

Previous / series masterlist / next

☆☆☆

Content specs: she/her pronouns used, afab reader, Platonic! Telemachus x reader, Epic!Poseidon x reader, possible OOC!Poseidon, Polites’ daughter! Reader, unrequited love, blood, fighting, nudity, illusion, possibly more?, trying to avoid using y/n, slowburn, suggestive themes, but no smut, English is not my first language, sorry if it's too much exposition, it's my first fic.

Ónoma literally means name in Greek, at least according to google translate. View this as the y/n of this fic.

☆☆☆

The clattering of cutlery let her know that she’d said something wrong. She froze in her seat as the kings eyes narrowed in on her. “Where did you hear that?”

“What, I didn’t-”

“Answer me, girl. Where did you hear that?” He was standing now, his presence menacing. “Besides, there’s no way a regular girl like you would’ve been able to take out all of those men. So, tell me, how did you do it? Are you another test? Another monster? What are you? Why are you here? I will not let you get in the way of-”

“That’s enough, my love.” Penelope interrupted her husband’s tirade. “This is your son’s greatest friend, the daughter of your own greatest friend, she’s no test. You’re just on high alert from all the years away from home.”

“You don’t understand, she-”

But Penelope shushed him. “I think it’s time for bed. Ónoma, you’re welcome to stay the night, Telemachus will walk you to your room.” Then she walked away, leading a visibly shaken Odysseus out of the room.

“I don’t understand, what did I say wrong?” Peach, too, was pretty shaken from the king’s outburst. Understandably so, as the man had taken on 108 suitors without knowing she’d be there to help.

“It’s fine Ónoma, he’s been having these outbursts since he got back.” Telemachus soothed his friend.

“Yeah, something similar happened when I mentioned how much luck he must have had to be the only one of 600 to return home.” Ctimene added.

“I can’t imagine what he must have faced during all those years away.” Peach muttered.

☆☆☆

“I can stay the night, if you want me to? It’ll be like when we were kids.” Telemachus offered, as the two sat on her bed. Whenever she’d stay at the castle, she would be given the same guest room, over time she’d let some of her belongings accumulate there.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, I wouldn’t want to get on your fathers bad side. At least, not more than I already am.”

“C’mon Peach, it’s really not like that. He’s just on edge.”

“And yet I understand his concern.” Ónoma countered.

“What are you talking about?”

“I killed those men, Tele. They’re dead because of me, I don’t even know how I was able tot do it, what if I am a monst-”

“Enough of that.” Her friend said sternly. “You did it to protect my mother, and let’s be honest, yourself too. I don’t want to think about what the suitor would’ve done had you not been able to fend them off, or did you forget that you, too, are a woman?”

Her heart dropped at her friend’s words. “Of course I didn’t forget! That’s why I did it!” She raged. “I can’t afford to show mercy, not to those beasts, anyways.” She continued, softer, realisation hitting her. “Thank you, Tele.” She murmured. “I needed that.”

“I know.”

Outside of her bedroom window, an owl was perched. It hooted, before flying off. Telemachus softly shook his head, Peach thought it to be at her behaviour, but in reality it had been at his mentor’s antics.

☆☆☆

The next morning, Peach had left before breakfast, before anyone else had woken up, even. Telemachus’ and Ctimene’s attempt to play off the king’s outburst had not calmed her one bit. Even if they were speaking the truth, she did not want to set the man off again. Perhaps once the king had settled more she’d speak to him again, or if he sought her out.

When she returned home, she wasn’t ready to face Perikles, so she kept walking, now with her beloved instrument in hand. She settled somewhere along the shore, feet in the water, the sun slowly rising. She played mindlessly, softly humming a matching melody. Music always calmed her.

But now it seemed calmness was not something she would get, as the familiar but unfamiliar voice rang in her head once more. “So, you’re devoted to my brother, then? Pity. Usually, his followers are more seasoned with a bow, axes are more Hephaestus’ thing, or Demeter’s maybe.”

What? At least the word brother clued her in that this was a God, or Goddess. Someone related to Apollo.

“You’re quick to catch on, if not Apollo then Athena, maybe? Who do you work with, or worship, I should say.”

Well, oh mighty God of gossip, I don’t really ‘work with’ anyone. Just whoever fits the occasion, really.

“You’re bold, anyone else might’ve taken offence with such a tone? Can it even be considered a tone if it’s just your thoughts? I’ll have to ask Athena next time I run into her.”

Can you please get to the point? Or leave me alone? Whoever you are anyway.

“Feisty, put the claws away, darling. I would have loved to tell you my name, but you never asked. You have to actually ask questions to get answers, you know.”

…

“Go on, darling. Ask.”

What’s your name?

“Well at least I got the message across, the name’s Hermes. I actually came here to deliver a message, but you were just too much fun to mess with.”

What is the message?

“Straight to the point, huh? Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I never said that the message was for you, I mean, it is, but still.”

…

“Did you know that the Lyre used to be mine? I gave it to my brother in exchange for his cows when I was just a babe, I’m still quite fond of it. You play beautifully, who taught you?”

Would you please tell me of the message you bring, oh great lord Hermes?

“No.”

Please?

“At least your manners have improved, but no. You tell me who taught you to play, and I tell you the message. An exchange of information, a trade, if you will.”

Right, God of merchants. I taught myself, my brother once broke my Lyre, because of how bad I was at playing at the time. I suppose I’ve improved since.

“Oh, that was your brother? Apollo smote him real good, bet he learned his lesson.”

Dead men don’t learn.

“Now, now, why so serious, oh right the message! Your brother has reunited with your father!”

My dead father?

“Exactly, now if you don’t mind, I’d like you to resume playing.”

next

☆☆☆

A/N: girly is going through it. Also, I don’t mean for Hermes to come off as rude, rather as mischievous. He is a God, one who often visits the underworld at that, so he would not really understand the grief of mortals. I also want to portray the duality of Ctimene’s grief and relief some more, and I definitely want to dive into Odysseus’ PTSD. Maybe show some of Penelope’s caution around men too, dealing with those suitors for so long would’ve definitely made a person a bit jumpy.

Taglist:

@suckerforblondies

@barrythestrawberry041

@trashcannotbealive

@apollos-dodgeball-target

@doodle-with-rhy

[rhiannonsknife]

confession… i’ve only JUST finished watching yellowjackets 🫥

anyway i’m thinking a lot about adult shauna (but honestly when am i not?). something about the way she’s always seen her love as fatal, that anyone who gets close to her will die or be taken away from her. makes me so upset :(

i need to give her a million little kisses and teach her that it’s okay to love and it’s not something to be scared of. that her love is not dangerous and she’s not a monster.

- 🦔

now why would you do this to me 🦔 anon?? all i do is cry to your asks god DAMN!!

the first time shauna lets you touch her, really touch her, feels like it’s not real at all. like your imagination is playing tricks on you, allowing you to see a version of her where she actually lets you do what you’ve been wanting to for the longest time.

not because she’s unattainable or distant with you (though she can be), but because you know how much effort it takes for her to let anyone in. every gesture, every word, every tender feeling is something she has learned to be wary of, something that might explode in her face if she’s not careful enough. and you, you’re relentless. gentle, but relentless. and that scares her more than anything else.

“why do you even want this?” she asks that night, her voice raw, her body a rigid line beside you in your bed. the rest of the room is dark, save for the soft glow of the bedside lamp behind shauna. she’s on her back, looking up at the ceiling instead of at you.

“you should…” the pillow rustles under her head when she turns to look at you. “i don’t know…walk away! otherwise it’ll be too late,”

her words get to you. not because you believe them, but because shauna does. you prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at her. “too late for what?” you ask. “to love you?”

shauna’s jaw clenches, and she turns her head away. “i was gonna say survive me,” she scoffs.

you can see the ghosts she carries behind her eyes, the weight of years spent convincing herself that loving her is not a blessing but a curse. that the things she’s done, the things she’s lived through that she never talks about, have left her irreparably broken. dangerous, maybe even.

“shauna,” you whisper, your fingers brushing against her arm. she flinches at first, but you don’t pull away. you let your hand settle, a warm, grounding sensation against her cool skin. “your love isn’t fatal,”

she exhales a shaky breath, her eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “you don’t even know what i’ve done,”

“i don’t have to,” you tell her firmly. “whatever it is, it doesn’t define you. it…it doesn’t make you unworthy of being loved!”

shauna’s lips press into a thin line, her defenses cracking but not yet crumbling. you shift closer, letting your hand trail up to her face. when you cradle her cheek, she finally turns to look at you again.

“you’re not some kind of monster,” you say softly, your thumb brushing the curve of her cheek. “and if you think for just a second that i’m scared of loving you, you’re wrong.”

“and what if i ruin you? what then?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“you won’t,” you promise quietly. if she wasn’t so close to you, she wouldn’t hear it at all. “you won’t ruin me, shauna”

you lean down and press the gentlest kiss to her forehead. it’s not hurried or desperate. it’s steady, deliberate, a vow in its own right and so unlike your usual encounters. then another kiss, this one to her temple, and then her cheek. a million little reminders that you’re still here, that she’s safe.

shauna’s breath hitches as she reaches up, her hand trembling as it finds yours where it rests against her face. she just holds it there, her fingers curling around yours as you press another kiss to her jaw, and then one to the side of her mouth.

her lips part slightly, a shaky exhale escaping her, but she doesn’t pull away. she even leans into you, like she’s waiting to see if the world will shatter around her if she lets herself have this. and when it doesn’t, when it’s just you, she closes her eyes, her defenses crumbling at last.

“you’re safe with me,” you promise against her skin, your lips brushing her cheekbone, her temple, her hairline. you can feel her body relaxing, her breath evening out. “i’m here, shauna. i’m not going anywhere,”

[ink-stainedkiss]

Pretty When You Cry - Suguru Geto

Synopsis: The deed was done, Suguru knew what his future was, and no one was going to change his mind. Although, it wouldn’t hurt to give you false hope.

A/N: I’ve had this idea for a oneshot for a long time now and I hope you guys liked it as much as I did! I will drop part 1.5 of ‘Doomed to fall apart’ tonight and hopefully a new smau💕

Warnings: Manipulation, Angst, Toxic love, ClutLeader!Geto, You are so down bad (PLEASE GET UPPP).

Word count: 1.2k

In all honesty, Suguru felt…bad. Not for those lesser forms he slaughtered, no, but for you. Somehow, you had found him wandering back through the destroyed village, on his way to collect Mimiko and Nanako from the designated waiting space. Your hand gripped his wrist firmly and if you were anyone else, he would have killed you were you stood, but he could never bring himself to harm you. Or anyone back at Jujutsu Tech for that matter. He was stunned that you had found him, but the worst part was the look you gave him.

Your eyes scanned his tired face, searching for something that was already gone,”Suguru?” Oh, you sounded so desperate. You unconsciously gave his wrist a squeeze and instinctively, Suguru lifted his hand and cupped your cheek,”Hello, My love.” Without knowing, you leaned into his touch, but you noted how much colder he felt. His thumb began to softly caress the apple of your cheek and your heart crushed with sadness,”Why?”

The question was barely audible, your voice hesitant and cracking, but Suguru heard it. Coincidentally, you were the only one he hadn’t spoken to. He understood why. The two of you were in a very happy relationship, until the last mission. You had noticed how distant Suguru had become. The dark circles forming under his eyes, how he seemed to always be in another world, but you never realized how bad it was until it was too late. Suguru exhaled somberly, only deepening your worries,” I don’t expect you to understand. No one does, but you will. Someday into the future.”

This didn’t help. You were so confused and his mysteriousness was only making you upset. You really weren’t sure what explanation you hoped for from him. Would there ever be a logical reason for the gruesome things he did? You remembered the report. His own parents. The harder you think, the more you become disgusted with the hand holding you. Even as you stared at the man in front of you, his purple eyes, black gauges, and beautiful long hair telling you it was Suguru Geto, the dread you felt continued to remind you that he was long gone. After his response, you knew he wouldn’t give you an actual answer, so you moved on.

“Why did you never tell me?” You wanted to pull his hand away from your cheek. Punch him. Kick him. Scream and shout. Kill him. Although your mind would never allow it. You were so deeply in love with Suguru that it hurt. Suguru shook his head, giving you a look like you were a child needing a scolding,”Again, you wouldn’t have understood. I know you would have looked at me like I'm crazy and ruined my plans.”

He spoke to you like getting him help was the worst thing possible. Anger bubbled in your chest and you threw his wrist to the side, gritting your teeth,”So you go and kill an entire village?!” A light frown grew on Suguru’s face as he watched your emotions overflow,”You had so many people to talk to, but you decided to keep it to yourself! You’re so fucking selfish.”

You threw a punch, landing it harshly on Suguru’s jaw. He let out gasp, but you continued,”You ruined everything! I thought we were okay, that I was going to spend my life with you, but you and your fucking ego had to destroy it! I hate you so much.” Suguru should have been pissed, but as he turned back to you, clutching the newly developed bruise, he saw the tears welling in your eyes.

Your jaw was tight and he knew you were trying to hold them down. Behind your venomous words and threats, Suguru knew you wouldn’t do anything. You tossed another punch, but this time he caught your fist, his eyebrows furrowing while you unleashed your pent up anger,”I could have helped! We all could’ve! I hate you. I hate you! And you won’t even tell me why!”

Suguru held your other fist and you eventually fell into his chest, tears now streaming down your face. He hated how his heart felt heavy. You shoved your face closer into his loose t-shirt, soaking the material, all while mumbling one word under your breath,”Why?” Suguru now understood that you weren’t asking why he murdered those people, you were asking why he demolished the perfect future for you two.

It made Suguru smile knowing you truly didn’t care that he was killed, just that you weren’t able to stay with him normally. He showed no signs in answering your question, so instead he lifted your head, wiping away the streaks of sadness. Before you could open your mouth, Suguru slammed his lips into yours. Immediately you melted against him, shoving your hand into his hair. Your mouths moved in sync and it was as if nothing bad happened, like you were back to normal. It felt nice to taste you again, just as sweet as ever.

In between the moments of breath, Suguru heard your faint hiccups and muffled sobs. The hands on your face collected small droplets that continued to pour from your eyes. After a few minutes, Suguru pushed away, watching as your bloodshot eyes opened. Your nose and cheeks were dusted in a red and the tears blotching your face sparkled in the leaving sun. Suguru knows you would be livid, but you look so damn pretty when you cry. Your disheveled appearance reminded him of a lost fawn, crying for protection, and who was Suguru if he didn’t protect you. His finger pushed your hair behind your ear, smiling softly at your pathetic expression. So innocent, he thought.

It was honestly cute how even though Suguru had killed hundreds, you came running back into his arms after a kiss. He leaned in, placing another kiss that lingered. As he pulled away slowly, he let one sentence slip from his lips,”Would you like to join me, My love?” The question left you speechless. You stared into his eyes, only finding the utmost sincerity. He was genuinely asking you to leave behind Tokyo and join whatever ploy he is going to start.

It was wrong. So, so, terribly wrong. He killed people. His own parents. He wasn’t a good person, but then you watched his signature smile spread onto his face. One that brought bright and happy memories into your head. It was like a burst of ecstasy hit you. The two of you were standing in the middle of the crime scene. You were standing with the killer, but all you could see was your loving boyfriend. As your face softened, Suguru knew you were going to comply.

Giving a soft nod, you confirmed his thoughts,”Of course.” Suguru wrapped his arms around you, noting how your sobs calmed down. He knew you were only agreeing because you truly believed Suguru could turn back. You would have to realize this would never be true on your own. Soon enough, the realization that no one, not even his closest friends or teachers, not even you, could help him. However, as he held you in his embrace, he decided to give you the hope that maybe it could be done.

[s-i-ll-y-w-i-ll-y]

“I need this job”

Frederick Chilton x Secretary!reader

Summary: You’re often late to your job as Dr. Chilton’s personal assistant and he appreciates punctuality. So when you aren’t there on time, it’s bothersome and could end up with you fired. At least he’s willing to give you another chance if you do something for him..

Tw! Dubcon, manipulation, reader being taken advantage of, abuse of power; Chilton being an ass, oral (m receiving)

(Please tell me if I missed some.)

People: @toshanyanyomy @neonlifeform @potatowithahat @mongooseundertheporch @beardedbarba @spellbound-multi @obnoxiousbag @jeongiejellie @mcghestie @blood-and-guts-and-spiderman @vorpaelyzis @slimegecko @bakedbeansplease @chimaerite @blue-cheerios @allthatglitterandgold @islatama

Note for those tagged:

You probably don’t remember why you’re tagged but early last year I made a post asking if anyone wanted some Frederick Chilton x readers and yous liked, reposted, or commented on the post.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stepped in from the rain, peeling off your coat and draping it over your arm. Your footsteps echoed throughout the quiet corridors. Nurses shot you looks of sympathy as you rushed down to the office at the end. Just as you reached it, the door swung open.

Your boss, the ‘respectable’ Dr Chilton loomed in the doorway, an aura of faux confidence and narcissism radiated off of him and his thousand dollar suits. “Oh good, you’re finally here.” He mumbled in a less than enthusiastic tone, stepping aside to let you in. A tired smile rested on his lips, and his eyes were void of anything except slight rage.

The tension pooled from all angles in that room since the second you stepped in. Your pace slowed, matching the pace of his footsteps between each tap of his cane. He slammed the door behind himself, the loud noise echoed throughout the room and made you jump out your skin.

Fear.

That’s all you could feel in this moment.

The room felt like it was getting smaller, was it? Maybe. Who knows? Could he tell you were freaking out? Could he tell you felt sorry? Maybe you should say something:

“Sir, I’m-“

“How many times have you been late this week?” He asked, plopping himself into his seat. He bore a serious expression that threatened to fall due to a smug smirk that lingered just beneath it.

You balled and uncurled your fists over and over as you stood in front of his desk, your eyes avoiding his sharp gaze, “three..”

Dr. Chilton’s smirk finally peaked through and he leaned forward, propping himself up on his arms. “I’m sorry, my dear. What was that?” His voice exuding cockiness.

“3 times, sir.” You replied louder, not bothering to hide the way your voice shook as you spoke. He could tell you craved nothing more than to sink into the floor, let the world swallow you whole- anything but stand here and get yelled at due to the plethora of excuses that you had offered him the past few days.

He cleared his throat, causing you to finally make eye contact with him, and repeated what you said; checking to see if he enjoyed the taste of that number as it rolled off of his tongue.

He did not.

Dr. Chilton hummed softly, thinking over his next words carefully. Without breaking eye contact, he stood back up and walked around his desk at an agonisingly slow pace, as if he was taunting you. His cane tapped on the floor before coming to an abrupt halt as he reached the front of his desk. He leaned against it and raised his hand, beckoning you closer with two fingers. “You do know that I have fired nurses for much less than this, correct?”

Your shoes clacked on the floor as you cautiously walked to him, stopping two feet away. His eyes scanned your face as you silently nodded.

“You’re very lucky I enjoy having you as my assistant. If you were anything like my last one, I would’ve kicked you to the curb by now.” He leaned his cane against his desk, just beside his legs, and folded his arms.

“..I am really sorry, sir. It’s difficult because of those road works and-“

Dr. Chilton’s hand shot up, stopping your apology before you could prattle on any longer. “It’s very irritating to have an assistant this disobedient- this…this unprofessional, I need you to understand that.” He spat, malice coating each word that came from his lips. Once again, he beckoned you closer.

To which you complied and stepped closer, only for him to grab you chin and yank you towards him, leaving a sliver of space between himself and you. “Hardworking, kind…yet you struggle to follow the simplest of rules.”

Your hand shot up to meet his wrist, grabbing it tightly and trying your best to pry it away. A silence fell between the two of you, making you more uneasy. The clock on the far side of the room was the only source of sound- aside from the faint echoey screams of patients who were slowly losing themselves to this slate grey, solitary prison, ruled by a tyrannical man on a power trip.

His gaze wandered down your body, analysing you, trying to find anything. A shiver shot up your spine as he smirked and let go of your chin, crescent indents from his nails on the underside of your jaw. His hand fell to your throat, his index and middle finger traced the marks he left. A soft chuckle left his lips as he pushed off the desk, causing you to step back.

He grabbed his cane and leaned on it as he stood up straight. “You know, three times could be three too many.” He smugly stated, both hands now clasped on the top of his cane.

You felt your stomach drop, “Excuse me?” You mumbled breathlessly.

“You heard me.”

Worry flashed across your face as you took a half step forwards, leaving enough space between the two of you. “Sir, I need this job-“

“You can find another. They won’t keep you as long as I have though, probably won’t pay as good either.”

Your mouth opened to protest but nothing came out.

Why did he switch? It was so sudden.

You were so screwed.

Your rent was due soon and you were one more pay check away from being on time this month. You had student loans to pay back too- you couldn’t risk this.

A jolt shot through you at the feeling of his warm hand gently nudging your agape mouth shut. Your eyes met his once more and there was something in his, besides the intimidating moss green you associated with this stern figure. His hand cupped your chin, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “It would be such a shame to see something so pretty out on the street.” Dr. Chilton stated, his voice somber, almost as if he felt bad for firing you. He guided his hand to weave through your hair, tugging your head back so you were looking directly at him. “You’re fresh out of college, aren’t you? No scholarship, I assume. Lots of debt?…rent due as well, I can imagine.”

You stayed still, listening to him as he spoke about you. You were aware that he knew all of this. No questions were needed for this, he has your file, after all. All those silly questions he asked prior to this moment seemed to make sense; it wasn’t general questions, he was finding things he could hold over you- use against you if it came to it.

The room went cold as the two of you drew closer to each other. Despite that, you felt hot. Very hot. The lingering warmth of his hand on your chin, the feeling of his nails digging into your soft skin. His caresses and pulls, although not too harsh, still were strong enough make you feel winded.

A gasp leapt from your lips as he tugged your hair, forcing you closer, your faces now inches apart. “I wonder what someone like you would do to keep their job…” he purred, his empty hand snaking around your waist.

~~~~

The wind and rain battered against the glass windows, threatening to burst through. Not that you could see the windows anyway, the blinds were drawn so no one outside could see you under Dr. Chilton’s desk, or watch as his hips rolled up to meet your mouth, or see that his trousers were all the way down at his ankles.

The faint smell of his cologne and the taste of him on your tongue had you drunk and craving more. Along with the mewls, moans and whimpers which fell from his lips.

A sloppy, lopsided grin was strewn across the doctor’s usually stressed and irritated face. You had never seen him so relaxed, it was odd to not see him with furrowed brows and his lips pressed in a fine line. But it was nice..he deserved to relax for once- although you’d gladly have it be anyone else doing what you’re up to. Frederick praised you as you took all of him in, one hand planted in your hair to guide you and keep you from pulling away when he got too close to the back of your throat.

Your head violently moved along his length as he chased his high, hand shaking vigorously as he tugged on your hair. Then he slowed as his release poured into your mouth. You held it in your mouth and turned to the bin, believing he’d let you spit it out. He eased his hand out of your tussled hair, moving to your chin to guide your head up so your eyes caught onto his.

“Swallow.”

He commanded, and, not risking your pay check, you did as he told. For that, he cooed and pulled you to your feet, sitting you down on his desk. “You did very good today…if you want to keep your job then perhaps we should keep this going.” He remarked, a cocky grin on his face.

A simple nod is all you could manage as you fixed your hair and wiped the drool off your chin, silently watching as he tucked himself away and put his belt back on. After that you padded across the wooden floor and opened the blinds again, despising how loud the floorboards creaked as you sauntered over to each one, the feeling akin to stepping on a squeaky floorboard whilst trying to sneak back to bed after getting a glass of water.

“Now then,” he reached for a pen and sighed as he glanced at the mountain of paperwork lingering on his desk. “Lets get to work.”

~~~~~

To my hos, PLEASE IGNORE THIS PURE SMUT OMG-

Sunday 19th January 2025, 7:41 PM

[icarianncarrionn]

Something about that revelation hits worse than it should - he was crazy about her, writing songs about her, pining for her and a humid summer spent on the top floor of a creole townhouse. “I… I don’t know what it was to me.” Tisha admits, looking down at the bottle in her hand. “I don’t think- after all this time, I… I don’t know if I can honestly remember how I felt then.” she’s thought about it too much, and all of the feelings have gotten mixed up in hindsight, either dismissed or idealized with the power of an adult’s mind rationalizing a kid’s experiences. She wants to ask him how long he felt like that, how long he thought about her, but she knows the answer would only break her heart worse. “Mom kept telling me they’d turn brown eventually. Apparently a couple of my siblings were born with blue eyes, and they turned brown by the time they were six months old, but… hers never changed. Kinda felt vindicated with the name when her first birthday came around and they were still blue, but Mom didn’t let up until she was five.” They really were all the proof anyone needed. He hadn’t been the only one, but he’d been the only one with those eyes. “It’s kind of… I don’t know. Less noticeable, because of the eyes, they make it hard to notice anything else. But she looks like you in other ways too. The chin, the chin is all you. Got your weird hairline too.” She swallows another mouthful of whiskey, wrinkles her nose as her tongue goes numb and her chest starts to burn. “You couldn’t have known that’s why I was… you just couldn’t have. We were young. Too young to for all of that shit. I’m not mad at you, Cash. Maybe I was ten years ago, but not now.”

Tisha swallows down a burning mouthful of whiskey, shaking her head hard. “No, that’s not- exactly the opposite, actually. In my memory…” in her memories he’s softhearted and moody, and beautiful in the way people only are when you’re remembering the past. In her memories they’re in love, or closer to it than they ever could have been in reality, lying together on her cheap sheets in the golden sunlight, and if any one thing had happened, if he had her number, if she had waited a little longer, if she’d found a way to call him, they would still be as impossibly in love as they never were, despite all evidence to the contrary. “It’s been a long time, Cash. And we didn’t know each other that well. I didn’t know if you’d believe me, or if you would want a paternity test first and I’d have to figure that out, or if the last sixteen years turned you into an asshole, or if you’d freak out and need time to process. Shit, I always figured you didn’t know, but there was always a chance my messages got to you and you didn’t want anything to do with us. All Chaarvi knows is that her parents loved each other,” maybe a bit of a stretch, but what the fuck else was she gonna say? “and her dad is a wonderful guy, and through no fault of his I lost contact with him and couldn’t get in touch and he’s out there somewhere. She knows her dad doesn’t know about her, and that sucks, but it’s a lot better than hearing he does know and doesn’t want her. I couldn’t tell her what I was doing until I knew you were still the guy I remember you being.”

[cavillscurls]

hey so this is just a reminder that your one shot doesn’t have to have smut to be “good.” every chapter of your series doesn’t have to have smut to be “good.” your smut doesn’t have to be kinky smut to be “good smut.” you’re allowed to participate in fandom and fanfiction without ever writing or engaging with smut if that’s what you desire, and i promise it’s still just as valuable.

[rosicheeks]

hi Princess

i hope you are doing well

please tell us a little about your new job with the doggies!

[stackthedeck]

Do you have any opinions on using the Marvel unlimited app to read comics?

I think it’s a great resource! I used to use it but then I ran out of money lmao it’s great for trying to figure out if you want to get into a new character, reading one very specific issue, finding official reading orders, reading older comics that haven’t gotten a second printing or a trade etc. my only criticism of it is that it takes ages for new issues to get uploaded. I was trying to keep up with the latest spider verse as it was coming out but like months went by and even the original mini series hadn’t been uploaded like I was pirating it to keep up to date so why was I paying the subscription? It’s great for new readers who want to get started and the reading user interface is pretty good. If you’ve got ten bucks a month to spare or feel like canceling a subscription (like Netflix or Disney plus) go for it!

[tonycries]

Madam Gojo - G.S.

Synopsis. Gojo Satoru, the strongest clan leader in all of Japan - and the most dangerous, too. You, rejected by the elders, and totally not his future bride, right? Right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, arranged marriage, Satoru is a little (very) INSANE and down bad, the elders are awful, oral (fem receiving), use of “madam”, unprotected, créampie, kníves, overstím, féral Satoru, heinous things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. I need clan leader Gojo SO bad you guys don’t understand.

They say that the head of the Gojo clan is the one person who could burn down this entire world and get away with it, too. 

The youngest of all the clan leaders - and the most infamous - a man who keeps his friends close, and his enemies even closer. Enough so that you’ve heard whispers of his cruelty at every nook and cranny of those stuffy social functions your family has dragged you to. And it was more than enough to paint a picture of such terrifying power.

Of a sharp blade and an even sharper mouth. Of an angelic figure that left no evidence, nor anyone to tell the tale - only the final, hauntingly beautiful image of cloudy white hair, and electric blue eyes.

Eyes that were currently locked with yours, and didn’t seem like they’d stop any time soon. Dangerous. Magnetic. Twinkling with such odd amusement from across the long tatami room. 

Gojo Satoru, the head of the Gojo clan - your future husband.

“Tch, the Kamo girl’s family had a much better reputation than this one.”

Ah, right. How could you forget?

You shift awkwardly on the mat, managing to rip your eyes over to the line of elders behind Gojo, whispering just loud enough that you’d hear - and, of course, remember once more that no, the marriage proposal hasn’t been approved just yet.

And considering those disapproving glares you’d been so warmly welcomed with, it seemed that they were well and fully intent on keeping it that way.

“I can assure you,” you fight to keep the polite smile plastered on your face, painful and slowly cracking with each passing second being interrogated. “My family is well-respected in the community.” Eyes snapping over to a silent Gojo, skin burning at his intensity. “Very well respected.”

“Come now. We’re just saying.” Another voice speaks up, strained and tinged with a venomous tone you knew didn’t bode well. “Your lineage isn’t exactly illustrious, is it?”

The emphasis on “illustrious” isn’t lost on you, and it’s so fucking dramatic than you think you could almost laugh. Apparently, a few of the elders think so, too - because they’re positively seething at the sight.

Muttering an icy, “Something funny, dear?”

“Nothing at all.” you bite back any insults, sifting around the contents of your untouched dinner - the last thing on your mind right now when it seemed like you were the main scrutiny tonight. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Such attitude!” That offended croak is met with murmured agreements and nods from the end of the room, “The madam of the Gojo household must be demure- I told the young master we should go with the Kamo girl.”

God, why did you agree to this again? Something about strengthening your family ties? You felt sorry for the poor soul who’d end up marrying Gojo, because no matter how much beauty or power he held, it certainly wouldn’t make up for this. 

Scoffing, the words falling from your lips faster than you could register them. “Then why didn’t he?”

And this little question somehow seemed to have struck a nerve - multiple, in fact, as you watch in morbid fascination as the elders visibly bristle. 

“B-because-” one sends a hasty glance at their stone-faced clan leader, flushing at his still-unwavering gaze on you. “You- It doesn’t matter. Someone like you isn’t suited to marry-”

“Right, because this clan is that great.”

You freeze. The elders freeze. It seems like everyone in the world freezes except for Gojo - who only raises his brow. Letting your words hang in the air like a foul stench, studying just how awfully you’re digging your grave deeper in this hellish marriage meeting.

Eventually, the elder closest to Gojo’s right mutters a painfully saccharine sweet, “I knew we shouldn’t have let the riff-raff participate.”

And oh it was like a dam burst open.

“-out of the thousands of girls, for someone like master-”

“The scandal, too- imagine letting the Gojo name fall this far-”

“Isn’t worthy. Can’t let the bloodline be carried by some whor-”

You’re on your feet before you realize it. Whirling at the elders head-on, and if looks could kill then all those old fossils would be six feet under and their graves a dance floor for you already. 

Fists clenched, you spit, “If he’s so wonderful then you all can marry this oh-so-great bastard yourself-”

Oh. You’ve done it now.

You were fucked. You were so very, very fucked. 

You don’t even bother to meet Gojo’s stare, instead wondering whether you’d be able to outrun the strongest clan leader alive. Sure, you could take those old toads but-

“Sit.”

Your heart leaps at the voice, the first time you’re hearing it since entering this room - deep, almost-melodic, and for a second you don’t even recognize who it came from. Not until Gojo’s flashing you a mirthful grin, blue yukata shifting as he moves to sit cross-legged, “Sit.”

Oh, God, you didn’t know of any torture methods one could do while sitting - but you didn’t doubt that Gojo was an expert in all of them. 

And as your knees buckle, sinking ever-so-slowly to sit back down on the floor, Gojo tilts his head in confusion. Brows scrunching together as he gestures downwards.

“On your…lap?” You question, as if the answer wasn’t glaringly obvious. 

The only response you get is a careless nod, Gojo spreading his knees further as if to prove his point. No care or concern as he plows on, “If you’d like, of course.”

It’s a silent staredown - you, and him - and the elders watching jaw-dropped, of course. None of you have ever known the young master to let anyone get this close - let alone give them a decision on, well, anything.

. 

A weighty beat passes. One. Two. 

He wins.

And you find yourself walking unsteadily towards Gojo’s imposing figure, all eyes on you as you plop down unceremoniously in his waiting lap. Warm - and it catches you off guard. Gaze flickering over his broad shoulder to look at the aghast faces behind you. Tension crackling in the air as they wonder the same thing as you at this very moment - just what type of torture method is this? 

“Interesting…I need this one.” You blink up in confusion, heart racing and oh- shit, when did he get so close? But Gojo’s chest only rumbles with laughter. Circling his long fingers around your waist, pulling you flush against his sculpted chest, “As the new madam of the Gojo household.”

What? 

The elders behind let out stifled gasps, as bewildered as you were. And you swear you saw one faint, though, you don’t get to take a close look, because Gojo’s gently grabbing your chin, tilting your head up at his pretty face. 

“Wan’ me to kill them?”

“Kill- why?” you sputter - both from his idea and the heat of his proximity. 

“Why not?” He looks at you through his long lashes, so deceivingly innocent that it makes your head spin. Tone so light, as if he was talking about something trivial like the weather. “An early wedding gift, maybe?” And he sounded like he was joking - you wished he was joking. But you knew better. 

So you swallow thickly, “N-no…thank you.”

At this, Gojo’s eyes twinkle. “Yeah, real interesting.” he coos, voice so uncharacteristically playful. And his lips are so close - too close. Running a thumb along your bottom lip, “Gorgeous, too. Tell me, pretty, what do you think of ruling over this trash?”

And you could feel every eye on you as you mull over the question. Weighty. Scrutinizing - except for Gojo who seemed like he was hanging onto your every word. 

Hell, might as well give ‘em a few heart attacks right?

Words that never come - because your body moves before your mind. And you’ve got one hand gripping his expensive Yukata, the other scrambling for his broad shoulders. Softening the blow as you crash your lips onto his.

Soft - it’s the first thing you register. Followed very shortly by the taste of those cheap lollipops from those local convenience stores you loved - strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because the kiss is over as soon as it happens.

Gojo’s pulling away with a strange light in his eyes, lips flushed a pretty pink, yukata dangling off his shoulder already. You have to train your eyes away from the milky skin, and over to the elders. Yeah, one really had fainted - three, now, actually. 

And only one of them is brave enough to pipe up a rapid, “You- how dare you dirty-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. In a split second, there’s a long dagger pulled out from his yukata, embedded deep into the tatami mat - not even an inch away from the elder who’d opened his mouth. 

“Out.” 

It’s so abrupt that for a second, you think Gojo’s talking to you, voice soft, and so so eerie. It sends shivers down your spine as you raise your eyes to look at his glare at the frozen crowd behind him.

Eyes wide, aura menacing - a grin gracing his features, absolutely nothing like the one he’d sent you - it was something so dangerous and cold. The temperature in the room dropping about ten degrees as he mutters, “I won’t say it twice.”

And immediately, it’s chaos. Each one stumbling over the other to run out the sliding doors first, none of them daring to look you in the eyes now. 

“O-of course, master.” the leader, seemingly, chokes out. One foot out the room already, “I’ll um- check that the servants are doing their work-”

“No. You all will stand outside.” Gojo murmurs, not even bothering to look at them. Instead, cupping your face closer towards his, “And close the door.”

That door could not have been shut faster, ringing in the tense silence. And suddenly you’re too-aware of the audience outside. Too-aware of being left alone with…your future husband? And the way he was looking down at you with something so dark in his eyes.

“So…” he runs his nose down your neck, breathing in your scent. “If you don’t want me to kill those bastards…what else must I gift you, my wife?” 

“Like what?” You gulp, back arching involuntarily into him. 

Gojo laughs at the reaction, teeth ghosting over your racing pulse. “An estate?” Dancing ever-so-slowly, up your jaw, “All the cars you could want?” He blows gently in your ear, chuckling as you yelp in surprise. “Maybe jewelry?” Kissing the tips of your ears, “You’d look gorgeous in blue. And the Zenin clan has the perfect necklaces I can…convince them to send over.” He pulls away, taking you in entirely, “Or maybe-” Lips now ghosting yours. “-something else?”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

You don’t know who leans in first, just that Gojo’s lips were so sweet on yours. So addictive. Palms cradling your face so softly, while his lips were anything but. 

“Open your mouth, pretty.” he pants into your lips. “Kiss your husband properly, now.”

Shit, you barely even realize the way you’re listening to every single word he says. Jaw falling slack to let him lick at the seam of your lips. Such a messy clash of teeth and spit and him - so hot and starved. Like he couldn’t get enough with the way he hastily moves to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. 

“Satoru-” you gasp, and he nips lightly at your bottom lip once you immediately shut yourself up because shit, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Calling the clan leader Gojo by his first name? Hell, you’ll see the gates of heaven before you see an altar. 

But Gojo himself seems to think the complete opposite. “Don’t get all shy now.” he pries away the hand covering your mouth. “Call me ‘Toru’.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, trying to will yourself to say this little nickname.

Too slow, apparently. Because his hands are suddenly everywhere - on your breasts, your hips, giving your ass a slow squeeze. “T-Toru-” you squeal. 

Gojo’s mouth drops into a soft oh! Immediately surging forward as if to claim your lips again - stopping mere millimeters from your lips with a pained grunt. Like it killed him to stay away. 

“See? Jus’ like that.” he angles your head just right, before spitting, once. Twice. Right into your pretty mouth. “N’ now you’re mine.”

And fuck if Gojo wasn’t going to prove it.

He’s laying you down on the mat, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Mine to wed. Mine to carry my legacy.” Thumb running over your hardened nipples as he urgently unbuckles your bra, throwing it behind god-knows-where. “Mine to-” Biting down, ever-so-lightly on your nipple, “-worship.” Hands dipping lower, and lower - just barely teasing the hem of your drenched panties. “Mine to ruin.”

You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - maybe from those words, which you’re sure he said loud enough for the elders outside to hear.

Maybe from the way he’s sliding a finger underneath your panties, sliding it up and down your puffy folds. Making you arch into him like such a slut as he pools your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips, popping them into his mouth with a low groan. 

“Oh. Fuck. Oh, fuck-” Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Not wasting a second before ripping off your flimsy panties, tucking them away into the waistband of his yukata. “Sweeter than I imagined.”

“S-so filthy-” you mewl, as he spreads your shaky thighs. Lips wobbling pathetically at how he’s admiring your glistening cunt. “Toru, no one’s ever…”

At this, his eyes are back on yours now. Half-lidded, pupil’s blown - and you don’t think you’ve ever even heard of the leader of the Gojo clan being so out of it, let alone see it first-hand. His voice strained as he breathes out a barely audible, “Shit- really? So then…” He’s moving to lick lewd little circles on your inner thigh, “...your husband’s gotta make this memorable, right?”

Gojo doesn’t give the time to even think about answering - he doesn’t trust that he has the fucking sanity to wait that long. Because you’re so pretty splayed out like this for him. Your moans too sweet. Your cunt too tempting. Too his. 

So, really, you can’t blame him when he’s plunging nose-deep into your quivering pussy, licking one, long stripe right up your swollen folds. And fuck the cute lil’ whines escaping your lips are so addictive that Gojo just can’t help but do it again. And again. And again and-

“O-oh my god, ngh- feels too good-” you card your fingers through his soft locks - something that would usually result in a lost hand or two. But for you - anything, for you. “More, Toru.”

Shit, if Gojo thought he’d lost his sanity before then he definitely wasn’t ready for this. 

“So needy.” he’s chuckling into your glistening folds. One hand throwing your legs over his shoulders, the other thumbing over your needy clit. “So perfect. Can’t believe no one’s ever hah- eaten out this pretty cunt before.”

Immediately, he’s squeezing his hot tongue past your folds. And it’s all you can do to buck your hips up so sluttily when he licks at your sloppy entrance. Your throbbing clit. Anywhere and everywhere Gojo could reach.

“Hngh- yes yes yes, too good.”

“Yeah? Ya like this?” He moves his fingers down from your already-ravaged clit, circling your sopping wet hole. “Ya like making such a mess on m’tongue?”

“W-wha-” The words get caught in your throat as you whirl down at the sight below you - Gojo. Gojo, with strands of white hair sticking to his forehead, eyes so glassy. Gojo, tongue lapping at your sweet juices, looking like he wanted to devour you with his eyes, as much as his mouth. 

At your reaction, he grins, furrowing his brow in mock-concern, “What’s wrong, pretty? Can’t talk?” Bullying his long fingers past that first feeble ring of resistance, massaging your plushy walls. “N’ you were so hah- feisty earlier. Thought my new mmpf- wife would be mouthy?”

You give his hair a warning tug, whispering, “Sh-shut up-” But it comes out more breathless than you intended. 

Gojo notices, of course he does. Because he’s letting out a whiny, “Sh-shut up.” Wrapping his pretty pink lips around your pulsing clit, “As you wish, madam Gojo.”

You hear a dull thud from outside, but you can’t even think about turning your head to look because Gojo’s drinking you in like a man possessed. Pumping his fingers in and out, expertly hitting that one spot with each and every thrust. Looking nothing like an infamous clan-leader and every bit on cloud nine as he rolls his tongue over your clit. Over and over and-

“P-please ah- oh-” you squirm.

“Move your hips like that. Yeah- jus’ like that, pretty- fuck-” The most powerful man in the country letting himself be angled and pulled as you pleased, grunting each time you drag your pussy all over his mouth. Fingers frenzied on your clit - sloppy. Fast. 

But it still wasn’t enough for Gojo - he thinks it’ll probably never be. But that’s fine - the two of you have until the wedding night to perfect it, right?

So he’s looping a big arm around one leg, pulling your snug cunt impossibly closer, reaching over to toy with your pretty clit. And then he’s nose-deep in your sloppy entrance, preparing you for what was to come - fucking you both on his tongue and his fingers. 

Jaw grinding deeper, stretching you out, thrusting in and out in and out in and-

“Fuck fuck fuck- Toru m’so…”

“Close?” he slurs into your cunt, grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Fingers just digging into your hips, sure to leave pretty little marks for him to admire later - and to give a message to those old toads outside. “Cum f’me. Shit- cum f’me, pretty.”

Gojo realizes it before you when you’re finally cumming - because your gummy walls are squeezing around him so tight that it’s almost difficult fuck you through your high the way he wants. 

You’re shaking. Blood roaring in your ears, vision spotty. Crying out a hoarse, “Fuck fuck fuck- oh my god, Toru-” Barely even realizing the way you’re rocking your hips so hard into his hot mouth. 

And Gojo keeps going. 

Even when you’re blinking your vision back, big fat tears pricking your eyes at the sheer overstimulation. Even when white-hot electricity sparks behind your eyes each flick of his tongue. Still toying with your poor clit, tonguefucking you so messily. 

“Toru, s’too- ngh- much- fuck.” You can barely get the words out, jolting. Wondering how the fuck his mouth wasn’t tired, yet - how his fingers weren’t cramping up, tongue still as greedy as ever. “C-can’t-”

“You can. You will.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Running his mouth now, like he was drunk off your pussy. Words as fast and ragged as his tongue. “C’mon, faster. Harder. Fuck-” you flinch as he spits out little profanities into your messy cunt. “Fuckin use me. Use me like the good lil’ wife you are.”

“Oh- shit.” you whine. Clawing at the mats, Gojo’s hair, his shoulders - just anything to cope with the sheer stimulation as he made out with your pussy like a mad man. “Wait- cum- m’gonna…”

You’re cumming and cumming all over again. So hard, even as you grind your hips deeper into Gojo’s mouth. Riding out your orgasm on his pretty face, so painfully good. 

And only then is he finally pulling away. Absolutely wrecked, eyes miles away already, mouth glistening with your slick. Going all the way down his jawline, and onto the tatami mat in a deafening drip! drip! drip!

“Oh.” he runs his tongue along his wet lips. “Who made you cum like this?” 

A smile slowly splits across his face as you manage out a little, “Y-you, Toru…”

“That’s fuckin’ right. Me.” Hypnotized by the heavenly sight of you all fucked-out and twitching with the aftershock. Marveling down at his hand - glossy, and covered with your slick, “N’ m’gonna love you.”

And, well, a good husband always shares, right?

Because Gojo’s shoving his fingers past your kiss-bitten lips, pressing right at the back of your tongue in a way he knew would have your eyes watering, gagging around him so prettily. Eyes widening at the feeling of something so hard and hot between your legs. 

“C’mon, lil’ madam. Lick them clean f’me, will you?”

You’re gasping, “Mmpf- Toru-” Eyes flitting between a smug Gojo and the hand currently untying his robe. So teasing with the way he’s giving you just a flash of those boxers before oh-

Shit. 

You thought that he’d be big - it was expected, in fact. But this was fucking ridiculous. 

All sculpted curves and dips of his body, faint scars painting his milky skin - stories he’d tell you about later, you think. A fucking masterpiece. All the way down, down, down to where his throbbing cock was leaking all over those tufts of white at his toned pelvis.

Rock-hard, and so so angry. Prominent veins running along the side, flushed a shade of pretty pink that glistened with precum in the dim lighting. So intimidatingly long that it already had you worrying for your poor cervix, and thick enough that it had your thighs pressing mindlessly together. 

Something that Gojo obviously didn’t appreciate.

“Now now.” he tuts, pulling back his fingers to spread apart your thighs with ease. So far apart that it burned. “I need these legs open, pretty. I like the view, y’see.”

And he made it quite obvious, too. Spreading your swollen folds so shamefully apart with his thumb - wet with your split. All the blood rushing to his cock at the way you flinch in embarrassment, at the feeling of being so used. Cute. 

“Shhh, relax.” Gojo hums. Spreading the spit and slick lazily along your cunt with his fat head, purposely letting it smear all over your thighs. “M’gonna make this feel so good for you.”

And let it be known that Gojo Satoru was a merciless man - for everyone. 

Except maybe his cute lil’ wife. 

Because, yes, he’s suddenly splitting you apart on his massive cock. Yes, he’s holding your poor hips still, head dropping into the crook of your neck as he sinks in inch by fucking inch. 

But oh God does he have to hold back from fucking your tight cunt exactly the way he wants. The stretch too sinful, your pussy too heavenly. 

Instead he’s kissing away the single tear rolling down your cheek, muttering, “Too big? Aww, f-fuck, pretty. You needa breathe-.” Rich, coming from him considering that Gojo doesn’t know if he was breathing right now. Too caught up in the way he’s rolling your swollen clit between his fingers, gasping into your open mouth, “Trust me. M’gonna make it f-feel hah- good. So fucking good.”

“F-fuck-” Your head is spinning. And you can only give him such delirious little nods as Gojo starts to push in quick, lazy little grinds of his hips just to squeeze inside your gummy walls. Past that first, tight ring of resistance. 

“S’too big-” you squeal, nails raking down his back. “A-are you all the way in- yet?”

“Nope.” he’s popping the p, so unfairly smug. “Not even halfway in.” Drinking in all your cute lil’ sobs as he snakes a hand up to draw an invisible line across your stomach. “But you b-better be prepared, wifey. Because this-” Pressing down, hard. “-is where I’ll be.”

You didn’t know who wanted that to become a reality more - Gojo or you. 

Especially with the way your tight cunt is sucking him up so good, and shit for all Gojo’s reputation, he feels like he could’ve cum right then and there. 

“Shit- so fucking tight. God- you’re gonna make me lose my mind.” words so strained. So dangerous. He kisses down your neck, biting right above your racing pulse. “How do you want it? Like you’re my hah- wife- or my lil’ slut?”

A trick question, you think - as much as you could when you’re this cockdrunk, at least. 

Locking eyes down at the way your cunt was bulging so obscenely around his cock, clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in in in- Unstopping. Relentless. Mewling a little, “L-like I’m your…wife.” 

“Louder.”

“Like I’m your wife.”

Several things happen at once - that faint muttering suddenly increases tenfold, and maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed the few gasps. Gojo, however, does hear. 

It only takes an irritated growl and a split-second flash of metal for a second dagger to be struck deep into the thin wooden panel of the door - unfortunately for whoever just so happened to be on the other side. 

“That’s right. My wife.” And then he’s bottoming out - heavy balls smacking your ass, leaky tip nudging your poor cervix, letting you mark him up all you want as he rocks his hips faster into yours. “And you- ah- you realize they’re beneath you, right?” he’s stroking where he can feel himself bulging inside you. “That my lil’ wife just has to say the word n’ I’ll ngh- take ‘em all out?” 

You can only sob at the pressure, because his words are so soft but he’s fucking you so mean. Sounding like he was losing his sanity with each time your heavenly walls milked him. 

“I’ll kill ‘em- kill ‘em all-” he’s gritting out. “Hell, I’ll take down the r-rest of those clans ah- too if it pleases you.” Fingers getting so erratic on your clit, angling his hips just right to try and find- 

“Hngh- f-fuck, Toru- there-”

That.

So sloppy with the way he’s alternating between hitting that one spot and just abusing your cervix. Bruising - like he wanted to mark you everywhere n’ show it off, too. Biting down your neck, whispering into the skin, “Anything for you, madam.”

Rocking his hips harder, and he couldn’t give less of a fuck about the lewd little pool of slick and split forming on the mat below. Can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted. 

“Feels good?” he’s drinking in your adorable sobs, “S’what you imagined?”

You’re torn between running away and fucking your hips up so bruisingly into his, hells digging into the mat as you push and pull away. “Yes. Feels- ah- ngh-” And for all your mouthiness earlier, you can’t even form coherent sentences right now - something that makes Gojo balls squeeze so painfully.

Something that has him wrapping his arms around your legging, dragging you like some ragdoll back to him. Rocking his hips so bruisingly deeper and deeper as he babbles. 

“Gonna make you c-cum. So hard.” He’s fucking you harder into the mat. Faster. Sloppier. “Gonna ngh- make you my beautiful bride.” Bouncing you on his painfully hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside - to leave marks for everyone in the clan to know. His balls on your ass, your nails down his shoulders, lips on your neck leaving little bites. “Gonna make you mine, pretty. And everyone else s’gonna know.”

And Gojo can tell when you’re close because he’s learned that you have a habit of squeezing him to insanity when you are. 

“Close?” At your delirious nod he’s giving you a blinding grin, “How cute. Why don’t you hah- cum f’me like the good lil’ wife you are, hm?”

Cum for him you do - thighs shaking, body jolting. So hard and violent that you’re covering him in all your sweet sweet juices. 

And he can only watch - awe-struck - as your pretty pussy squirts all over his angry cock glistening, and just drenched with your slick now. Beads of it getting all over his burning abs, trickling down every dip and curve as he uses your quivering pussy harder and harder-

“God, you’re so good f’me. Look how much you came.” Giving a final, harsh thrust. “So perfect f’me.”

So fucking smug as he finally cums as well. Letting out a low, muffled moan into your neck as he fills your poor pussy with rope after rope of seed, painting your walls such a sinful white. All the way until he was sure you were bloated with his cum, until he could feel it dribbling down the side. Looking down to confirm and- ah, sure enough, it was such a heavenly sight - thick globs drenching your clothes below. Spreading in a pool as his hips push deeper and deeper. 

Like it hurt to stop. Like it hurt to even think of tearing his eyes away from you. 

But, alas, this old meeting room could only take so much, and Gojo thinks you’ll enjoy his - your - bedroom much better for round two.

Which is how the elders outside found the door kicked open not too long after. Blinking up in shock at the tall figure of the Gojo clan leader at the frame holding you. Tired and limp in a princess carry, all bundled up your yukata and one of his outer robes. 

And they can only avert their eyes, faces burning at the hazy expression on your face, hair so unsubtly messy, bare legs twitching ever-so-slightly from where they were just peeking out from where the fabric had bunched up. Sinful. Desecrated. And evidently his. 

“Clean that room up.” 

Gojo’s stern command snaps them all out of their reverie. 

But before they could all run to do so, he’s plowing on, unapologetic and low. “Oh, and bow down-” chuckling lightly as they scramble to their knees before him - and your barely-lucid figure. “-to the new madam of the Gojo household.

A/N. On my period I’m gonna cry. 

Plagiarism not authorized.