#so instead of having the balls to make calls

[barcapix]

✮ Born To Reign - Jannik Sinner

jannik sinner x royal!fem!reader

sy: seriously, don’t underestimate the media again. you didn’t expect it to blow up on the front covers of the uk media, only within a few hours. you’re torn between expressing how you feel the most, to protecting you both from what could happen. is it worth it?

a/n: again it’s not mandatory but if you’d like to leave feedback id really appreciate it ◡̈ and, thank you for all of the love on part1, genuinely had me feeling famous & couldn’t of done it with everybody who’s interacted with it’! hope you enjoy guys<3

warnings: apart from being poorly proofread, kisses and italian, no! (hopefully) no plot holes and part3.. incoming?

-> PART 1 // PART 2

THE PAPER ALONE IS ENOUGH TO MAKE YOU FEEL SICK. back at the palace. its printed, physical and perpetual. unlike if it were online, it could be banished within the algorithm’s abyss with a few taps. but instead, here it sits immutable.

it’s staring at you like an indictment carved into parchment.

“jannik sinner, the most recent wimbledon champion and the man who’s claimed the first italian victory, appeared handsy with the princess of wales whom seemed to appreciate said effort. supporter or date?”

hurl. the once steaming mug of hot chocolate on the dinner table has dulled into something tepid and bitter, untouched for nearly half an hour. it practically congeals with your dread and rots away with each aching swallow you take. much like the food that is supposed finalise the enjoyment of the day, feels like something dead upon arrival.

it feels nothing less than a punch to the face, maybe a tooth loss. though thinking about it, you’d rather that than this.

dammit, jannik. one job to keep our relationship a low profile and you—both, failed.

before you can rip the paper apart with an impulsive tantrum, the honeypolished oak doors open with a thunderous swing; it blows cool air into the room, enough to make you scrape your chair back and shudder. it’s your father, that smile on his face jovial.

upon recognition, you swiftly scrunch the newspaper into a flimsy ball, and although it’s not modest of you—you kick it under the table.

“so! how did you enjoy that match?” he declares, his hands rising in triumph. “i have to say, sinner put up one hell of a fight against a multiple-time grand slam champion.”

your smile is tight. taut as a piano wire. even the mention of his name that used to make butterflies in your stomach swoon, and a grin so wide that made it difficult to hide, now follows a churning nausea feeling.

your nerves could not be more over the place right now.

“yeah—no, it’s up there as one of the best matches i’ve attended,” you nod amuck. “real.. uh, high quality game. yes.”

william takes steps further, settling himself into a chair as he already tucks straight into the food displayed out infront.

“you should come to more games you know,” he straightens and points his fork into the air. “if you enjoy it, why not?”

a phone buzz interrupts your so-one sided conversation, and you quickly find out it’s yours. the screen illuminates up like an emergency flare and speak of the devil.

your father clears his throat. “what did we say about no phones at the dinner table?”

“right, i’m sorry, dad,” your head dips; you brace your hand on the back of the chair, not wanting to really induce into this coming topic of conversation as you shove your phone into your trouser pocket.

“who was it anyway?” he inquires, cutting apart a slice of turkey. “it looked like it said janni—”

“there you are!”

charlotte, as if on cue and one hell of a lifesaver, bursts through the adjoining doorway.

“y/n, i think lady felicity’s assistant rang once or twice,” she trills with perfect dramatics. “something about the national gallery board call a couple hours ago.”

she joins the table, now raking a chair out for herself. “i’d go check it out. you’ll never hear the end of it if you’re late.”

thank god, for her. you send her a look that could pass for both gratitude and panic. as far as things allow, you still seek approval from your dad.

william finishes a sip of his cranberry juice, before turning to you. “well.. proceed. just make sure you come back and eat.”

“right. will d—i mean, yeah of course.”

and just like that, you’re sitting atop the stairs closest to your bedroom, prying your phone from your pocket.

it is jannik. still. relentlessly calling. thats all your phones been doing for the past four minutes: call, call call.

you answer it this time. “jannik?”

“ciao bellissima,” the player hollers. there’s wind on the other end. a muffled cough. “i’ve missed you so much i—ho perso la testa senza di te angel. w—where are you, i feel like i haven’t seen you in.. da secoli, veramente.”

“he—” your voice lowers instinctively, eyes darting behind you. “hey, um, where are you? it sounds like you’re next to a wind turbine.”

“eh.. maybe,” sinner laughs shallowly. “i told darren i was getting some fresh air,” another cough and the noise of tires passing through rain-slick streets filters through the speaker. “i’m on some road..? non lo so. it’s cold, i’m cold.”

you press your index finger to the drum of your left ear in attempt to hear him clearer. “you’ve left the celebration, haven’t you?”

“mmm sì. non mi piaceva più. there were too many people, too much noise. i just miss you.”

your boyfriend sniffs and you swear you hear the tremble in his breath. “i—i just think i messed up. please come get me.” he pleads. “per favore.”

he’s spiraling. muttering nonsense. the same way he does when he’s overtired and overwhelmed but trying his best to hold it together. you’ve only ever seen this side of vulnerability when he has his head in his hands in the locker rooms before a match, or when the adrenaline wears off after a win, and he spews funfacts about pizza over facetime.

not quite as something as personal as this.

“hey, hey. breathe baby, okay? tell me exactly where you are.”

there’s a pause, until, “just near the outside of the um—OWO, in this isolated corner thingy.”

“okay,” you respond, gripping onto the stairway banister. “just stay right there. i’m on my way.”

your thumb taps the red button, and you suck in a long inhale, preparing yourself to run out in the rain for a boy you can’t help but love, even when he’s a clear intoxicated mess.

“i’m assuming you’re not dodging the director of the national gallery.”

your head perks up to find your sister, a gleeful smirk playing at her lips as she eyes up your screen. a once wave of sweat dulls down to a sigh of relief.

“tell lover boy to respect your royal duties,” she muses, gradually climbing the stairs closer to you. “because you’re one headline away from a royal family meeting.”

you draw a hand over your face, emitting a sigh loud enough to shake the walls. “you’ve seen it too?”

“seen it, read it, even liked a few instagram posts about it,” charlotte giggles, sitting next to you. “it’s everywhere y/n.”

after a prolonged silence, “i’ve unplugged the wires of all of the televisions on the house,” she spits out randomly. “so hopefully it can hide the headlines for awhile.”

your eyes widen in shock. “you did?”

charlotte nods. “plus you know mum and dad when it comes to technology. they’re as clueless as a fish on land.”

you stare at her wide-eyed, basically speechless, then embrace her quickly with a hug and peck to the crown of her head.

“almost took me a lifetime but still, it’s done.”

“what would i do without you,” you shake your head. she replies, “probably drowning under the wrath of dad.”

you usher a breathless laugh, half-embarrsed, half-exhausted, pressing your knuckles against your lips.

“well, i ought to go,” you say, watching as she arches her brows in confusion. “i have to help him back to the hotel.”

charlotte makes a small, “ohhhh,” with her mouth before pointing to a cabinet behind. “then i’d change into something less.. pretty. more tragic. there’s a jacket and pair of sneakers in there, use them.”

you smile appreciatively, as she teaches you how to use the back alleyway near the third fire door exit to sneak out without getting caught by guards.

“seriously, thanks for everything charlotte,” you grin, giving her a playful punch to the arm and she pulls a grimace. even you pause for a moment and realise how badly jannik’s casualness has rubbed off on you. “i owe you one.”

she swings her feet, sliding from the step. “anytime. but a pair of chanel flats would be quite nice.”

THE CLOCKS CHURNING TO ALMOST 1AM AT THE PEARLY GREY WATCH, resting snugly on your wrist, so it’s say to say it’s way past curfew and totally against rules of sneaking out.

technically not sneak. because sneaking would mean committing a violation. this, you argue to yourself, is a rescue mission, sanctioned on behalf of your younger sister that saved you from suffering a migraine and retiring early. it wasn’t a total lie. the stress was pulsating behind your eyes.

with your hood shadowing your face like some sorta antiheroine and your steps cautious but fast, you find yourself at the entry way of the OWO. never in your life have you ran so many miles for your own purpose, for a singular someone.

but maybe that’s the price of loving someone with a spotlight that burns like the sun to a vampire. in both ways; it makes you ponder what living normally would be like. although, what is normality, really? if you could even define it to one word. freedom to walk the streets without being chased down by lenses? to cry, kiss or laugh without it being a headline fodder?

you wonder if you’d even recognise ‘normal’ if it tried to shake your hand.

jannik is the first thing you spot. it’s almost ridiculously cruel to have him stand out on the sidewalk with his ginger, stocky hair, a frame that’s tall enough to challenge competition with a giraffe, and distinct foreign curses being borne by the wind.

“god—damn.. knots.”

the sleeves of his blazer all bunched up, and he’s hunched over near a glowing lampost wrestling the tie at his neck as if it were a puzzle designed to frustrate him.

“babe?”

the ginger whips his head over so fast, whiplash is daunting, his eyes wide and feverishly bloodshot. “GAH! chi s—” (who are y—)

you lurch forward, instantly slapping your hand over his mouth. “shhh shhh! it’s me. it’s me!”

his entire body freezes under the warmth of your palm, his shoulders slumping back down and his eyes are back to being clumsily narrowed.

“ah. angelo mio,” sinner slumps relaxedly, his lips stretching into the cutest, dopiest smile. “you came to kidnap me?”

you roll your eyes, helping him to his feet with a reel that almost knocks you over. “that depends. will i have i carry you?”

you sniff and oh god, do you deeply regret it. mistake number one. “jesus jan,” you cough into your sleeve. “what have you been drinking? you’re all over the place!”

“am not,” the italian huffs, lazily scratching his jaw. “uh, simone offered me a drink so.. s—so i took a.. sip.”

“just a sip?”

“sì.”

jannik reaches for you then, one arm looping over your shoulders. he really underestimates how strong you are because when he fully lets his weight go, your knees buckle.

“why didn’t you..” you strain. “ugh, ..you bring your driver?”

“he offered but i told him no,” he sways a finger, his head on a tilt. “i told him i was independent enough to do this on my own.”

“really?” you deadpan. “you call this independent?”

he smiles with such dire pride, as if he really thinks this: being drunk on a sidewalk in the rain and barely able to stand, is a success story.

when you hitch his arm over your shoulder, you don’t expect the journey to the hotel to be this galling. he almost i) drags you both into the road and only do you steer clear, out of fear from literal death; ii) he gets forcibly pushed by the revolving door at the entrance of the hotel for not walking quick enough.

you’ve never been so relieved to be in inside. four walls. as you pass the elevator, you nod politely at a cleaner you can only hope is too tired to question anything. you bump into every wall twice before finally reaching his suite. your back’s screaming, your shoes are soaked, and jannik’s humming a song that definitely doesn’t exist.

it takes the keycard six swipes before it opens.

the italian practically rolls from your shoulders and onto the mattress, in which he groans as he lands on his back with a dramatic “oof.” his limbs are splayed out like a fallen starfish with his curls being mussed, shirt full of wrinkles and slowly becoming untucked.

you laugh quietly under your breath, slipping out of your rain drenched jacket and crouching down beside the bed.

your boyfriend is already itching at the knot of his tie, tugging at it with fumbling fingers and a pout that borders dismal. with a quiet, “let me,” you lean over, brushing his hands away and do it for him.

then, you politely offer to undo the top couple of buttons of his shirt which he gratefully grins to—his collar damp from the walk, sweat and the last drops of champagne that must of missed his mouth.

jannik stays completely silent. he just watches.

“now get some rest jan,” you whisper, finely discarding of his blazer and running your thumb along the curve of his cheek. “you did really well today. you need it.”

he hums something incoherent, eyes blinking slowly. the nickname: jan. it always hits him differently when he’s tired. he pretends to take no notice about it when he’s sober, but now he just smiles like it’s fits better than his actual name.

“th—grazie..”

you drag your hand to the column of his neck, feeling the heat still clinging to his skin. “i’m so proud of you.”

his lips twitch. “you said that earlier.”

“what? but it’s true,” you gently laugh, voice barely above a breath. “i mean it. you were more than amazing today.”

you lean down to leave a kiss at his forehead, ghosting long enough to hope it stays with him when his hangover hits. “i’ll text you in the morning, okay?” with that, you seal your goodbye with a gentle squeeze to his hand, and peel your jacket from the floor.

“wh—what where are you going? you’re leaving?”

he latches his hand around your fingers. “yeah i—i have a bed back home.”

“there’s also a bed right here,” jannik gestures vaguely to the mattress he’s laying on, his speech still very delayed as he’s clearly seconds from passing out.

“please don’t le.. leave bambino,” he adds, his eyes struggling to lodge open. “i’m kind of scared of the dark.”

your heart lurches. you can’t decide whether he’s being deadly serious, or he’s just trying to compel you to be with him for the rest of the night. as much as you want to crawl under those covers and get safely tucked away beneath his arms, the thought of your mother catching you even outside this late makes you wince.

or worse.. george.

“jannik, i cant, i—”

his grip on your hand tightens, and he uses the last ounce of strength he has to refrain you from standing up. “i don’t want to wake up in this bed alone.”

you bite hard onto your lip, eyes flickering hesitantly at the door. “jannik. you’re so drunk.”

“so?” he shrugs, but immediately regrets it because it makes the room spin. “i’m still in love with you.”

you freeze, your fingers stiffening at his palm. what did he just say? “jannik.. what?”

“i said i love you,” sinner repeats, without a blink. it slips out like a secret he doesn’t know he’s telling, like his heart got there before his mouth could stop it. “now c’mere.”

whether those words were intentional or not to make your body pliable, he uses the real last pull of his strength to tuck you beneath him. even so, you don’t even attempt to fight it. possibly mistake number two.

jannik’s eyes are glassy, aimlessly wandering over every feature of your face. the silver moonlight strikes through the wide panels of the windows, highlighting the left side of his face. from this angle, it shows the amber specks in his usual emerald green eyes. his gaze drifts like he’s floating, dazed even, but always comes back to your lips like a magnet.

“cara, you make me feel—” he slurs, mouth agape. “like.. like i won something more than a stupid trophy.”

you swallow hard, smiling as you comb through the tufts of his hair, cradling the back of his head. he’s so beautiful like this. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

that’s when the air between you runs thin because his lips mould against yours, sloppy and hot. the pads of his fingertips slip under your tee, brushing the band of your bra, bringing the coolness of his skin over your ribs. somewhere, a moan erupts from his lips when your tongues clash, like his desire for this stronger than actually doing it right. your hands find the core of his chest, accidently falling into the exposed part of his skin. he’s urging, reeling you in so close until there isn’t a inch of gap, now sucking at your bottom lip as he forgets how to suddenly kiss.

air. you need air. so you pull away, panting for oxygen.

he’s still chasing your lips with a lazy smile though, like you’ve just made his entire year. jannik continues pressing little kisses to your jaw, your cheek, your top lip like he doesn’t know what to do with all the love in his chest, so he gives it away one kiss at a time.

as time passes, as the screeches of cars outside on the street begin to dial down, as the drunken screams of people waltzing in and out of clubs begins to tame—so does your boyfriends breathing.

sinners’s body goes heavy, his head dropping to your collarbone. his hands are still clumsily draped along your waist—your back, whilst he exhales out one last sigh against your neck when you know he’s lost the battle to sleep. between kneading through his hair and rubbing soft circles into his back, do you eventually feel your eyes give way too. your actions pause, as you apathetically stretch your legs out.

clatter.

your foot bumps the remote from the bed. your body judders. squinting, you notice how the tv flickers on with a blinding illumination. it takes you a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the sudden light, but your heart drops to your stomach as you recognise what’s playing.

that one moment at the court.

the new tradition of kissing the patron, jannik’s clear intention to grip your fingers rather than the trophy. the moment he looked at you as if there weren’t millions of people watching.

the headlines makes hell seem like heaven. they scroll across the bottom of the screen.

“PRINCESS AND CHAMPION: A WIMBLEDON LOVE STORY?”

you stare back at it, gulping at the lump that’s been growing in your throat. what are you doing? you shouldn’t be here—

jannik stirs beside you, murmurs your name in his sleep; you smooth your hand back into his curls.

—what if your parents find you here? what if they find out you’re out of the house at this ungodly time? what if, they find out you’re with jannik?

your limbs sit up on instinct. although the palms of your hands are sweating, and your veins are buzzing with an alert to get you the hell out of here, you still unravel carefully around him.

a shaky albeit spooling exhale leaves you, as you peel yourself away. it’s physically painful when you have to pry his grip from your hips, leaving him with his shirt still half unbuttoned, lips pink and a little swollen and one arm still outstretched like he still thinks your there which causes your heart to fracture.

you stealthily tiptoe past the tv, tugging your damp jacket on which was much more of an effort than you’d anticipated, yet your fingers freeze against the door handle.

the urge to glance back at the tv hits you, where it’s now frozen in the frame where jannik was grinning ear-to-ear at you. your mouth waters at the aching purity in his eyes; you notice how obvious it looks now. then, almost as an impulse your gaze lingers back to him on the bed.

“i love you,” he had admitted.

and you didn’t even say it back. your throat constricts, why?

truth be told, you’re scared. scared for what will follow. the words got caught behind fear. behind fear that if you commit so soon and the media draws you two apart, you’ll be left standing on a national stage alone, heart in one hand, shame in the other. as if your heart breaks, the crowd will applause like it’s a performance. you hate that love feels like a liability, the truth like risk and most of all, the cruelness of restraint.

for once, you don’t want to be raised in royalty, because it only feels like captivity. control, contain and comply they tell you.

you pull your hood a little tighter over your head, zipping it up all the way to the base of your neck.

one push, one last sad smile and you’re out.

THE ADRENALINE RUSH JUST FEEDS TO THE HIGH PACE YOU’RE ACCELERATING, your sneakers making loud squelches against each puddle you sprint through.

the palace gates are still locked, but the side entrance isn’t.

you scale it with a kind of desperation only someone raised in courtesy could muster. when your shoes hit in the gravel and you rush past the hedge, your chest is thudding and hands numb from the bite of the cold.

you’re almost halfway through the corridor when you hear it. the sound you disgust the most.

“and what are you doing at this hour.”

not again. that snooty little devil of a brother, it’s almost like he lurks in shadows. the worst has officially happened.

“george, go to bed.”

he raises an eyebrow, his dressing robe smartly folded and his eyes gleaming with mischief. “shouldn’t you be doing the same?”

“shouldn’t you be locked in your room under high security and five locks on your door?” you taunt, quickly climbing the stairs.

“not if i’ve caught someone disobeying the code of conduct.”

you hiss back at him through your teeth, really refraining from yelling. “george, this is none of your business!”

george folds his arms, expression smug as ever. “when it involves using the back alleyway and trudging back at 3am, i’d say it’s exactly my business.”

you both bicker like church mice under cathedral bells: all hushed and hurried until—

footsteps. footsteps that were growing louder.

you both go rigid and swivel on your heel just to see a shadow gaining shape.

shit shit shit.

both of you scramble up the stairs in sync, bolting for opposite for opposite ends of the hallway like it’s second nature. you, dive into your bedroom, pressing your back firmly against your door and turning the lock.

“shit,” you drop your head back into the door, trying to regain a regular breathing pattern, chest heaving with rapid rise and falls. “shit.”

you fumble for your phone in your pocket, soon enough wiping the raindrops from the screen with the sleeve of the once-light grey but now dark, jacket. it reads 2:59am.

deep breath. the adrenaline has very rapidly worn away so you close your eyes. tommorow will come with judgement in glances, unruly hoards of press questions that you won’t want to answer. the taste of shared booze is still lingering on your tongue, your lips still tingling with from a kiss from a guy who makes you forget who you are.

but just for now, in the quiet of your dim bedroom and the quiet symphony of rain splattering against the windows, you carry the ghost of the unbearable ache of knowing you left before telling him you love him too.

one last thought crosses your mind. a stray, warm tear slips down your cheeks and adds to the damp of your jacket. do all royal girls fall in love like this?

|| 🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli

|| 🎬 series taglist: @onyourmaaark @nilletellsstories @kwonaengmyeon @herdetectivetheorist @suzzie105 @jarofshells @nicassie @ashes2ashesweallfall @crickettfalls @kicoki

(lmk if you wanna be added or removed ◡̈)

[dyinginthearctic]

SIXTEENTH-CENTURY BASQUE WHALER'S CAP

Are you from the 16th century? Are you a whaler? Are you a Basque whaler? Yeah, me neither. But would you like to look like one?

Saw this post. Thought, I want that hat. Made it. Wrote the pattern. Bon appetit.

PATTERN ↓

From 1530 until the early 1600s, Basque whalers annually crossed the Atlantic Ocean to Canada. During the ice-free months of June to January, scores of workers established a semi-permanent station dedicated to processing the harvest on the shore of the Strait of Belle Isle, a narrow channel on the whales' migratory route between Newfoundland and the mainland of Labrador.

In the winter of 1577, the sea ice set early, trapping ships. Unable to return to their homeland in northern Spain and southern France with a full hold of processed whale oil, many were forced to stay in Labrador, where they died of exposure and scurvy.

In the 1970s, the site was rediscovered. More than 62 graves and the remains of 140 whalers were found in the cemetery. Some of the graves contained textile fragments.

(Piecework Magazine, Jan/Feb 2014)

NOTES I am still a beginner knitter. I started this hat without a plan, I just looked at the pictures and tried to make something that looked kind of similar. Used a ball of mystery yarn from my nan. And it turned out great! And then I blocked it. And it was too big (the guy who never knits swatches finally got bit in the arse, who would've thought). My tension is okay-ish but on the tighter side, so if your head is bigger than mine, you'll be grand. Also, I've never written a pattern before, so I hope it makes some sense.

YOU WILL NEED

≈ 80g of DK weight yarn

A set of 4mm (US 6) double-pointed needless

Darning needle

A piece of cardboard (or something else to wrap the yarn around to make a tassel)

Scissors

SIZE ↕ 31cm (12”) (without the tassel) and ↔ 25cm (9.5”) (my head is 55cm (21.5”), and it fits quite well, but it could stretch a bit more and still look good)

DIRECTIONS

SEED STITCH STRIPES

Cast on 84 stitches and join in the round

Work in seed stitch for 11 rounds (round 1: *K1, P1*; staring with round 2 you just P the knits and K the purls)

Purl 1 round

Knit 8 rounds

Purl 1 round

Work in seed stitch for 7 rounds

Purl 1 round

Continue in stocking stitch (*K*) until the hat measures 11-12cm (4.5”) from cast on edge

CROWN DECREASES AND PURL STRIPES

(It's a lot, I know. But I like the look of these better than the usual crown decreases, they're a bit less visible)

Dec#1: K5, *K2tog, K10* × 6, K2tog, K5 [77]

Knit 4 rounds

Dec #2: K5, *K2tog, K9* × 6, K2tog, K4 [70]

Knit 3 rounds

Dec #3: K4, *K2tog, K8* × 6, K2tog, K4 [63]

Knit 3 rounds

Dec #4: K4, *K2tog, K7* × 6, K2tog, K3 [56]

Purl 1 round

Knit 1 round

Dec #5: K3, *K2tog, K6* × 6, K2tog, K3 [49]

Knit 1 round

Dec #6: K3, *K2tog, K5* × 6, K2tog, K2 [42]

Purl 1 round

THE CONE (idk what to call it)

Knit 2 rounds

Work 5 rounds of *K1tbl, P1* rib (you don't have to twist the knits if you can make the 1×1 rib look neat. I can't, so…)

Continue in stocking stitch for 7-8cm (3”) (or more, depending on how floppy you want your hat to be)

Dec #1: K3, *K2tog, K5* × 5, K2tog, K2 [36]

Knit 3 rounds

Dec #2: K2, *K2tog, K4* × 5, K2tog, K2 [30]

Knit 2 rounds

Dec #3: K3, *K2tog, K3* × 5, K2tog, K1 [24]

Knit 2 rounds

Dec #4: K1, *K2tog, K2* × 5, K2tog, K1 [18]

Knit 1 round

Dec #5: *K2tog* [9]

Cut yarn and thread it through the remaining 9 stitches, pull tightly (I usually do it twice), secure on the wrong side

TASSEL

Make a tassel (I used a paint brush case instead of a piece of cardboard and wrapped yarn around it 45 times)

Attach it to the hat

FINISHING

Weave in all ends

Block the hat

CONGRATULATIONS

You can go whaling reread Moby-Dick and rewatch The North Water in style!

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Felt Like Home Somehow - A Phantom Pains Story

Summary: While at a work conference, the reader meets flirty Detective Mark Meachum who's intent to make the week memorable for them both. What they find instead is something far more lasting and far more soul-crushing...

Phantom Pains Masterlist

Pairing: Mark Meachum x FBI Agent!reader

Word Count: 2,300ish

Warnings: language, heavily implied smut.

A/N: Some of you will recognize the first part of this story from the teaser I put out a little bit ago. I like to call this the "happy part" of this story so buckle in!

Fifteen minutes remaining. 

Your ears perked up at the overhead speaker. Honestly you were surprised the game was still going. At last year’s convention, both teams had finished in less than five minutes. Granted, that wasn’t the intention. But you know, give a group of adults in law enforcement paintball guns and tell them the losing team has to do group karaoke as punishment and things get spicy real fast.

You were having more fun with it this year for sure. Last you took a stray friendly fire shot to the leg and were deemed killed in about eight seconds. So far you’d taken out three blue team members and gave an assist to capturing another. Maybe you only had one shot left but all you had to do was sneak up on someone and was that really all that hard?

You could hear arguing, recognizing one of the voices as that asshole from orientation that thought he could get away with grabbing your ass. You rounded the corner into an open room, asshole, who was sadly on your team, cornering a blue team guy who was on his knees, hands on his head.

You nearly stopped cold. Good lord. Blue team guy was handsome. Incredibly handsome. Shit, people were actually that hot in real life? It took less than a second before you decided getting out and losing the game would be worth giving the asshole some payback.

��Well hello boys,” you said, both of them looking at you. You gave blue team guy a wink as you pulled the trigger, hitting asshole square in the balls. He dropped to the ground, glaring at you.

“What the-” He shut up when you put your boot down over his dick and gave him a smile.

“Touch a woman without permission again and I’ll cut them off in your sleep. Understand?” You slammed your foot down, asshole howling and curling up into a ball. “I need an answer.”

“Alright, alright!”

“You better because I’ll be keeping an eye on you from now on. Leave. Now.” He hobbled to his feet and left the room, grumbling all the way. You turned to the blue team guy, his eyes wide. “You can get up, handsome.”

He kept his hands on his head, a laugh escaping you. “Well, what a well behaved prisoner you are.”

“Not in the mood to get my balls crushed,” he said. You bit the inside of your cheek, kicking his gun that was on the floor over to him. He raised an eyebrow as you shrugged. 

“He copped a feel while I was in the check-in line.” He frowned, lowering his hands when you nodded. “I don’t tolerate that shit.”

“Did you report him?” You stared at the gun on the ground, the man making no move towards it.

“I have no proof. Don’t worry about it. I got my revenge. And his department back home will get an anonymous tip to watch him.” He nodded, stepping over the gun and in front of you. “You realize you’re free to go, right?”

“I might go. Might not. Still deciding.” You tilted your head, blue team guy smirking. “Why’d you stare at me like that when you came inside?”

“I didn’t stare,” you scoffed. He laughed, raising his chin upwards. “I didn’t.”

“Score is close. Every point counts. Tell me the honest truth and I’ll let you walk me out as your prisoner.” You looked at him through your lashes, eyes darkening.

“Honestly? I thought, would you look at that? A handsome man on his knees, exactly where he belongs.” His eyebrows went sky high, his cheeks flushing as he tried to control the smirk on his face. “That’s not harassment by the way. I didn’t say that to you until you asked.”

“I don’t remember saying I had a problem with it.” He licked his lips, eyes crawling down your body slowly. “You going to kick me in the nuts if I ask if I can buy you drink tonight?”

“Let’s make it more interesting,” you said, stepping away from him. “Catch me and you can have your drink.”

“Catch you?” he asked as you grinned. 

“Didn’t I mention? I’m all out of ammo.” His breath caught as you winked. “See ya!” 

You took off down the hall, hearing his heavy footfalls chase after.

Oh yeah, this year was more fun for sure.

Midnight

You stirred the straw in your drink as you felt a presence roll up beside you at the bar. He ordered a beer for himself and another Old fashioned for you.

“I thought I remember saying you had to, you know, catch me to buy me a drink,” you said, his jean covered thigh brushing over your bare one.

“You did,” he said, your gaze flickering over to him. He had on a simple gray t-shirt, a dark gray jacket over top, a pair of black boots on his feet. 

“Well it’s a good thing you can sing since you can’t hear for shit,” you said, finishing off your drink before another was set down in front of you. “Excellent Brittany tonight.”

“Oops I Did It Again is more my repertoire but I can make Toxic work any day. Mark Meachum by the way,” he said, holding out a hand to you. You waited a beat before shaking it.

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Well Y/N Y/L/N, I think we established earlier I could buy you a drink as long as I caught you, correct?” You took a sip, watching him pick up his beer and grin as he long necked it.

“I bet you’re a cop. You’re a cop aren’t you.” He chuckled.

“What gave it away?”

“Only you guys ask the same dumb questions over and over,” you teased, leaning one elbow against the bar top. “But yes Mark Meachum, those were the rules. Yet I don’t recall you catching me during the training so…”

“Ah ah,” he said, leaning back on his stool, pointing his beer at you. “See, you never specified I had to catch you during the training.”

You touched a hand to your chest. “How silly of me.”

“It’s alright. I know you’re ridiculously attracted to me and that probably is still short-circuiting your brain.” You smirked, watching him take a smaller sip from his bottle. “I did catch you therefore I can buy you a drink.”

“I still fail to see when and where exactly I was caught, Meachum.” His grin darkened, eyes wandering past you as if he weren’t interested in responding.

“Silly me. I must have been thinking of how by the end of the week, I’ll have ruined you for all other men and you’ll have fallen oh so madly in love with me.” You snorted, Mark laughing. “Okay, that is freaking adorable.”

“Oh, you’re so delusional, honey. But it’s cute you think I’m going to fall for a cop at a law enforcement conference aka hookup capital of the world.”

“If you’re so confident, what’s the harm in entertaining me?” he asked, leaning forward, resting his elbow against the bar, resting his cheek in it. His eyes warmed, something on so sincere under that playful nature. “Worst case, you have a week of incredible sex and then we never see each other again. Best case, we fall in love, get married, do the whole house and kids thing, and you get incredible sex for the rest of your life. I’m failing to see the downsides here.”

“You got a decade on me.”

“I bet you give incredible sponge baths,” he teased.

“I’m not moving.”

“I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, baby.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“Do these lines actually work?” He shrugged, looking at you through his eyelashes.

“Give me a chance.” You pursed your lips, glancing at your drink. “I’ll even get down on my knees since you love that so much.”

“Tell me one real thing about you,” you said, Mark shifting closer, leaning in as if he wanted to tell you a secret.

“You are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Right, like you don’t say that to all the girls wearing mini-skirts at the bar.”

“Don’t get me wrong, this look is…tantalizing,” he said, brushing a knuckle over your knee cap, careful not to wander further. “But sweaty frizzy hair, t-shirt, combat boots and cargo pants with safety glasses…that woman took my breath away.”

This was a bad idea. This was a supremely bad idea. 

Oh fuck it.

“Alright, Casanova. I’ll give you your week. But the sex better be earth shattering.” You finished off your drink and slid off the stool, smoothing out your skirt. “Well? You going to take me to your room so I can see you on your knees or what?”

“After you, Y/L/N.”

One Week Later

“I hate you,” you grumbled into Mark’s shoulder, his laugh echoing in the hotel room. You sat up on your elbows, Mark’s fingers running over your head, attempting to fix your bedhead and surely failing. “Mark,” you groaned.

“Looks like I caught you,” he grinned, pulling you back into his chest, kissing your lazily, an alarm going off in the background. He whacked it off, the two of you sighing. “What time’s your flight again?”

“Eleven,” you sighed. “Which means I have to be at the airport by nine which means I should have been up twenty minutes ago.”

“Twenty minutes ago we were doing something much more fun,” he teased, curling one hand around your bare waist. You turned out of the touch though, sitting upright, Mark grabbing his shirt from the floor for you to pull on. “Talk to me, Y/L/N.”

“You were supposed to just be a hookup, not…” you whispered, his grin infectious. “This is your fault. You made me like you.”

“We weren’t made for a tryst,” he said softly, thumbing your cheek. “Does this mean…you want to keep doing this?”

“I live in D.C. You’re in LA. We couldn’t be more long distance if we tried.” You watched the flicker of nerves on his face, like you’d reject him. 

God, you didn’t know how he knew straight away, how after just a week you knew too. He was it. This filthy, sweet, scarred man was meant to be yours. You’d make it work. No matter what it took. “I could transfer, Mark.”

“What? But you just got promoted-”

“LA has an FBI office too and it’s way easier for me to move around than you,” you said, taking hold of his hands. “Are we crazy to be talking long term like this?”

“Yes…but I know you’re her.” Your heart swelled, Mark smiling softly. “Are you sure?” You nodded, Mark pulling you into his chest.

“Fuck the flight. We’re in Vegas. Let’s go get married, Meachum.” He sat up in bed with you, his smile so wide it reached his ears. “You in?”

“Only if I get to take your name.” You laughed straight into his neck, Mark holding you tight. “Let’s do this, sweetheart.”

Two Years Later

Mark POV

“Mark! Can you take out the trash before you leave?” called Y/N from the front of the house. 

“Depends,” I shouted back from the kitchen, waiting for my thermos to fill with coffee under the machine. “What sexual favors do I get for this?”

“Mark!” She laughed, appearing down the hall with one heeled bootie on, hands on her hips. “I’m already fucking late this morning thanks to you!”

“I didn’t hear you complaining in the shower,” I shot back, flashing her a wink. She rolled her eyes, her smile she never bothered to hide betraying her. “We could both call in hooky…”

“Raincheck, babe. Got that new informant that’s finally willing to meet,” she said, doing a hell of an awkward walk down the hall with her one shoe and straight to the counter, swiping my thermos for herself. 

“Excuse me, missy,” I said, gently tugging the back of her jacket. “That counts as your twelve thousandth armed robbery.”

“Armed?” she said, pouring an assload of creamer from the fridge inside the container before popping the lid back on.

“Your body’s a deadly weapon.” She froze, deadpanning me for a solid five seconds as I grinned. “It’s smokin’ hot, dangerous-”

“Fuckin’ flirt,” she said, putting the creamer away and grabbing my neck, pulling me in for a kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you,” I said, barely attempting to steal my thermos back before letting her turn around. I managed a decent smack across her ass, Y/N spinning around with a devious smirk. “You started it, thief.”

“Better use your handcuffs later then.” She rushed back down the hall, hopping into her other shoe when I spotted her phone on the counter. She was dashing back and forth around the foyer, grabbing her purse, shoving it in her work backpack.

“Oh, don’t tempt me with a good time,” I said, holding out her phone for her. She sighed, shoving it in her pocket. “Hey.”

I caught her arm, pulling her in close to kiss her good and hard. 

“Be safe today, baby,” I murmured.

“You too. Catch all the bad guys,” she teased.

“Stop all the crime,” I said back, wiping a smidge of lipstick off her teeth. “You’re good.”

“Thanks. I’ll probably be late tonight,” she said, halfway out the door. I held out her bag, Y/N spinning around to grab it. “Take out for dinner? And don’t forget the-”

“Sounds good and take out the trash, I know,” I said, waving her off as she scurried over to her SUV. She waved before taking off, leaving me leaning against the doorway with a stupid smile on my face. 

If only I’d known that was the last time I’d wear one.

A/N: The continuation of this story, Dead And Gone And Buried will be coming later this week!

[elijawrites]

Change can be scary | Mira x F! Reader

ft. mira & f!yn

warnings. slight mentions of abuse (?) forced marriage, bullying (dw its not physical) rich family issues, mira, slight mentions of mira x zoey, unrequited love (?) angst, mira’s full name is implied to be mirinae chaebol

an. this one isnt requested! take this for now while i think of what i can write for silent voice……. teehee. anw, this might have a part two— and also not my best work, i just went with what was in my mind LMAO, have fun readiig!! also im not entirely sure who it was but I THINKKK the name “Mirinae Chaebol” came from someone on A03 (????) I forgot from the amount of ffs ive read alreadh LMAUDSB

Mira wasn’t sure when it happened, nor how it happened. All she knew was that it was a day she learned to regret for the rest of her life. Now, she wasn’t particularly known for her friendliness— so with that said, she was a loner. She had no friends.

Except for one person.

That person was you. She wasn’t sure why, but despite her reputation, despite her behavior, despite her unruly actions, You still stuck around. And for once, she was grateful for something, because she had something. She had you.

Until she didn’t.

She still remembers that day— when she overheard them. To be frank, Mira had no idea who they were. Nor could she care less. But she couldn’t help but listen, especially when they mentioned your name— “God, you’ve seen the way yn clings to her, right?” One of them said,

“Yeah, honestly, it’s so annoying. but I heard she’s only really close with that black sheep of the family because their parents are close, lmao” The other replied, their tone filled with disdain. Was it true? Is that really all she was to you?

“Yn’s family’s been sucking up to Mira’s for years. Ofc their golden child has to play pretend.” Another voice rang out. “yk what’s funny? if i was given the chance even i would put up with mira’s behavior just to get that billion-won trust fund, loll”

Mira stood frozen behind the wall, her hands balled into fists at her sides. She wanted to march in and tell them off. Scream, maybe. But instead, the words made their way into her ears, coiled around her chest, and sunk into the cracks of her confidence.

“And like—what does yn even see in Mira? Her sense of style is concerning, her behavior is nothing but complete RUDE, and she’s just such a bitch” “Exactly. It’s pity, if anything. yn’s just playing the long game, maybe to make it hurt her more lol.”

That one changed something in her.

Because she had already wondered before. Once or twice, maybe more actually. Why someone like you — warm, popular, impossibly kind — stuck around with someone like her. And this was the final push.

She wanted to believe you loved her. God, she really wanted to.

But that knife?

It dug in deeper than it should’ve.

When she finally returned to the spot you both always met, you looked up at her with your whole damn heart in your eyes, holding out her favorite drink like nothing in the world could ever be wrong. You lit up the moment you saw her, as if you were Icarus— and she was the sun.

“Where were you?” you asked gently. A soft smile on your face.

Mira forced a smile. “The bathroom was full, I had to wait in line.”

It started small. From a text she forgot to answer, A phone call that went straight to voicemail. A missed lunch. Then two. Then three.

But you? you just kept waiting. Just kept believing that maybe Mira was going through something, and when she was ready, she’d come back.

Because that’s what love does, right? It waits.

It was the third Saturday of the month—you and mira’s day. your movie night, where you’d eat tons of junk food, cuddle together, watch a ridiculously cringe romcom.

So then, you sat in the park near Mira’s house for over an hour, two blankets and snacks set up under you guys’ favorite tree. you checked your phone once, then twice. No reply.

Still, you waited. you waited until it was 3am in the middle of the night— you didn’t even notice how dark your surroundings got.

And when you finally walked to Mira’s house, it was the housekeeper who answered the door, not Mira. “Hello miss chen, have you seen Mira?” You asked with a soft smile.

“Oh.. yn.” The pause was too long. Too hesitant.

“She’s not here, sweetie.”

you blinked. “What? Did she go out?”

The housekeeper shifted uncomfortably. “She… left this morning. Her mother arranged something with the Lee family. She’s transferring. Something about a new private academy? I believe she left with someone named Celine.”

your breath got caught in your chest. “She didn’t..tell me.”

“I’m sorry. She didn’t say goodbye to anyone, really. It was all so last minute.”

But you knew that wasn’t true. Because Mira never did anything last minute. If she does something, it means she’s thought about it for a while now.

She chose not to tell you.

That night, you sat in your room, phone in hand, staring at the messages she had sent. It had been a whole day since her last message— It was a simple “Okay” No punctuation. No “I’ll see you tomorrow.” No heart emoji.

Nothing. Just pure silence.

Days passed. Then weeks. And soon, it turned into years. no texts, no calls, no apology, no explanation. you never confronted her. not directly.

Because how do you chase someone who already decided you weren’t worth the goodbye?

It had been 8 years since then. And Mira found herself in a 5-star restaurant, She hated these kinds of places.

Too clean, too dirty, too loud, but also too quiet. The kind of restaurant where the menu didn’t have prices, and everyone wore watches that cost more than someone’s life probably.

Zoey had picked it— It looked nice, she had said, half-teasing. Mira had rolled her eyes but agreed nonetheless.

The hostess led them to a table by the glass balcony, offering a view of Seoul’s lovely shine in the night. Mira sat down, scanning the room out of habit.

And that’s when she saw you.

At a table across the room, dressed in a sleek black midi dress, your hair neatly tucked behind one ear, sipping from a wine glass, with jewelry adorned all over your figure— jewelry that costs billions, Mira would assume.

You weren’t laughing. You didn’t fidget. You didn’t hum under your breath or drum your fingers on the table like you used to when you were bored.

You were calm. Collected.

Confident. And untouchable.

Your mother sat across from you, mid-conversation. You nodded politely as she spoke, but your eyes weren’t particularly focused on the conversation — they were scanning the room.

And then they landed on her.

Mira stiffened. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until your gaze locked with hers.

But what shocked her the most, was you didn’t seem surprised by her presence, you didn’t give her a smile, a greeting, none of that. You didn’t light up like you used to whenever you’d see her.

All you gave her was a slight parting of your mouth—and a curt nod. And then, you gave her a smile.

Except it was professional. polite. distant.

Not the way you used to smile at her. Not like before.

Zoey was still deciding between the wine list and the cocktail menu when Mira stood up suddenly. “I’ll be right back,” she mumbled.

“Mira—?” But she was already walking. You didn’t look surprised when she stopped beside your table.

“Hey,” she said, almost breathless. “yn?”

You looked up fully this time, your posture poised, eyes unreadable. Mira felt like a teenager again, standing in front of someone she didn’t deserve to miss.

You offered her a curt smile. “It’s been a while.”

Eight years, Mira wanted to say. But she swallowed it. “You.. look different,” she managed. You tilted your head. “Do I? I suppose change can be quite scary.”

Your mother glanced between you both. “You two know each other?” Mira hesitated, but you answered for her. “We went to school together.”

Just that. Nothing more.

Mira forced a smile. “Yeah. We used to be close.” Your mother gave a polite hum and turned back to her food, talking with your father once more. Uninterested.

You looked at Mira again. “Are you eating here?”

“Yeah. Just—” she nodded vaguely toward her table. “With a.. friend.”

You glanced past her, catching sight of Zoey. Something flickered in your expression — but it passed before Mira could place it.

“Well,” you said after a pause. “It was good to see you, Mirinae.”

And that was it.

You turned back to your plate. Mira stood there a moment longer than she should’ve, heart stammering in her chest. Because it hit her then:

You weren’t waiting anymore. You weren’t the girl who used to look at her like she hung the moon. You’d grown. Matured

Mira walked back to her table, barely hearing Zoey’s question. And from across the room, you sipped your wine and looked out over the city.

And for the first time in years…

Mira realized she had truly, truly lost you.

She sat at her designated seat, posture perfect, expression blank, the trained doll her parents expected her to be. The tension in her shoulders hadn’t eased since she’d walked in. She had asked her mother twice what this dinner was for, and both times she was waved off with a, ”This is a special celebration, darling. You’ll see.”

So she had come. alone, of course. Zoey and Rumi weren’t even a consideration��if her family so much as saw Zoey, they’d skin Mira alive.

The evening dragged on with toasts, fake ass greetings, forced laughter echoing through the entire place. Her father stood at the head of the table, speaking to a cluster of board members and diplomats. Mira tuned out all the noise—until the faint clink of a spoon against glass silenced the room.

Her mother was standing now, with her wine glass held in her hand delicately.

“If I may have everyone’s attention,” she said, her voice commanding. “Thank you all for joining us tonight. It brings us great joy to finally share the celebration party that we have prepared for months.”

Mira looked up. Her mother’s smile was the carefully practiced kind—too polished, too perfect. Mira had seen it at galas, press conferences, business mergers, even at home.

She continued, “As many of you are aware, the LN and Chaebol families have long held a close relationship—both in business and personal trust. Tonight, we are proud to officially announce the union of our two households through marriage.”

Mira’s world stopped in its tracks.

Her mother’s voice continued to echo around the room. “Minho, our son, and Yn, daughter of the esteemed LN family, will be married this winter. The date has been set, and preparations are well underway. We ask for your support and blessings as we move forward with this beautiful partnership.”

A round of polite applause followed. Mira barely registered it. She turned her head slowly, as if the weight of what she just heard had to physically settle on her shoulders before she could believe it.

At the opposite end of the table—there you were.

Seated beside Minho.

You looked.. exquisite. Every detail of your appearance was meticulous. Hair styled perfectly, makeup elegant, dressed in a dark navy-blue gown that shined under the chandelier light. God. You were so damn pretty. Beside you, Minho raised his glass with a courteous smile, offering a short, prepared and scripted speech about the family’s legacy and honor.

But you?

You didn’t say a word. You bowed your head politely. You smiled when necessary. But it wasn’t you.

Not the real you.

You looked like someone wearing a mask too tight, forced to play the role written for her. Mira stared.

You didn’t meet her eyes. Not even once. The wine glass in Mira’s hand trembled.

Her mother sat down, pleased with the room’s reaction. Conversations picked back up. Some guests offered congratulations. Minho’s name was on every other lip. And all Mira could hear in her head was the echo of your name, spoken like you were a possession, like a trade deal for the Chaebol.

You and her brother.

You and her family.

Her stomach churned, and something in her chest cracked open.

She stood abruptly. The sound of her chair dragging across marble earned a few glances. Her mother’s voice followed her like a thread, laced with warning.

“Mirinae, where are you going?”

“I need air,” she said flatly. She pushed through the side doors of the banquet hall, past marble statues and into the dim hallway lined with gold-framed portraits of dead men who had probably arranged dozens of marriages like this.

And when the door shut behind her, the weight of it all hit her like a boulder.

You were marrying her brother. And you hadn’t even told her. Just as how she left all those years ago, and she didn’t tell you.

[twilitdragoneye]

If I see a single S*tars fan complain about reffing next series I'm breaking knee caps. I'm absolutely heartbroken for my Jets and need the Oilers to fucking destroy Dallas.

[alongtidesoflight]

i swear my stepdad is so illogical AND stubborn it hurts

[r0semultiverse]

Happy 4/13, here's the Deltritan or Satyr Equivalent to Dragon Ball for their species and civilization.

[mtjester]

Okay, I’ve got my thoughts together!

I enjoyed this story. It took about an hour to read, and the narrative was overall engaging, so my mind didn’t wander much. The main character was interesting and compelling. Tamora Pierce is well known for her strong female characters, and this MC didn’t disappoint.

I’m 100% here for any “create a personal fighting style by observing how animals beat the shit out of each other” narratives. The character’s personal motivations for doing so were internal and didn’t need plot to get the ball rolling, but the plot did deliver with a satisfying fight scene that made the progress of the story meaningful and worthwhile.

This story was a good example of a character-driven narrative that didn’t rely heavily on plot, while still providing enough plot structure to keep the story focused and purposeful. A lot of fantasy stories are plot-driven, so it was interesting to examine a more character-driven story.

I did have some reservations about the setting, especially given that Pierce is a white woman with no notable experience in Africa (to my knowledge). The story is not actually set in Africa but in a fictional region inspired by Africa, but including ostriches, lions, giraffes, etc. in the story does make it feel like “this is just Africa.” That’s probably an unavoidable reader-expectation-of-genre side effect due to historical influences on mainstream Western fantasy—you can have cats and dogs in a fictional world and let it still feel fictional, but more biome-specific animals risk pulling readers out of the story world. I did feel for most of the story that she was actually setting the story in irl Africa.

That said, I think Pierce handled the setting respectfully and without any notable points of offensive stereotype. I do think that sometimes the characters’ dialogue felt a bit stilted in an attempt to reflect the “tribal” setting, which I didn’t care much for. I also felt that the village setting was underdeveloped in terms of imagery, so it was sometimes hard to imagine what the character’s life was like (for instance, how big was the village that the bullies went unnoticed when harassing the MC? It was difficult to picture). That weakness could be a result of storytelling constraints (not wanting to waste words and scenes on descriptive language) or the author’s lack of knowledge about the places that inspired her setting—I don’t know.

One last gripe as someone who’s practiced a grappling martial art (judo): the fight scene at the end was satisfying, but I’m not convinced that it was realistic. The MC mostly practiced on inanimate objects like rocks and trees, and she didn’t have much real fighting experience; I’m not convinced that her reflexes and fighting instincts would outpace a trained warrior’s unless he was greatly underestimating her (which may have been the case). Perhaps more smaller fights ahead of the climax would have made her abilities more believable.

For writers, this story is a good model text for:

“Show, don’t tell” and providing information through scenes: Pierce does not provide extensive exposition through narration; for the most part, everything we know about the character and the world is provided through events, starting with a flashback of something that happened to her mother. The scenes are, for the most part, neat and well-organized. Characterization is provided as the character observes the world and acts. All of this is supported by the choice of a first person perspective, which takes away the crutch of third person exposition dumps.

Character-driven narrative: Many fantasy stories are plot-driven—the character is offered a story hook or call to adventure, and they follow it. Pierce mainly focuses on the character’s personal desires to learn from the world around her instead, and the plot provides small moments of conflict to direct her energy. The final conflict that leads to the culmination of everything the character has learned is introduced later in the story and isn’t the main focus for the character’s journey throughout the narrative.

Small, short-story sized conflict: If you’re like me and struggle to keep fantasy conflicts small enough for a short story (instead of a full-blown trilogy), this is a decent example of how to do it. The true conflict is the societal expectations that limit the female character’s interaction with the world and prevent her from learning the ways of a warrior, and she finds her way around it by learning from what she sees. This conflict weaves into the setting and the character’s motivations throughout, but it’s given tangible form when she must defend her sister’s honor. The conflict is well-represented, well-contained, and well-suited for a short story, as the character is successfully able to show mastery over the conflict in the space the narrative allows.

Any other enjoyers of this story have anything to add? Maybe I’ll do a poll for rating the story or something.

Enough people (a non-zero number) said they’re interested in a short story weekly read, so why not! Let’s just jump in it:

Fantasy Short Story Weekly Read

This week’s weekly read is Tamora Pierce’s short story “Student of Ostriches,” which can be found in the book Tortall and Other Lands.

I’m using the Libby app to access the story, and we’re using the Ghotitank discord to host reads and discussion! If you wanna follow along on Tumblr, reblog and share any thoughts, like:

How you’re finding the story (library, internet, already owned it, etc)

How you felt about it/your review

How you feel about the author and other works they’ve written

Similar works you’ve read that someone else might like

Writing or creative inspiration you’re drawing from the story

Suggestions for next week’s read

[the-sappho-of-lesbos]

Love crying and not even getting a pat or a hug from my mum lolol

[grinchwrapsupreme]

being super normal about White calling Billy "a dreamer"after the events of Maybe No Go

[icannotgetoverbirds]

made beanut butter cookie dough. hell yeah

[heatlightning-mp3]

OMG shockingly was able to get in contact with the doctor I saw right away. #cancer institute privilege

[eggpea]

i am slow cooking the most delicious of concoctions in the kitchen rn

(my tags are so long lol whole half ass recipe down there)

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

because im less breakable than you

[lookwhatyoumademelou]

.

[tonycries]

The Family Matter?!

Synopsis. Babyfevér - it’s never felt so good.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, breéding, mentions of kids/ marriage, a LOT of creampíes, Gojo’s powers, cúmplay (like a lot), spítting, overstím, exhíbitionism (Geto’s), chokíng Nanami, pússy-slappíng, proposals, rúts (Choso), bíting, true form! Sukuna, overspill, dp, bondagé, mentions of dàddy kínk, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. To the one anon that wanted this - how did you read my mind?? Hope y’all have a lovely week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Santa, baby…

“B-but- Christmas isn’t for another few months, Toji—”

Now, Toji has to admit - that broken, honeyed-out little drag of his name is enough to crack even that tough demeanor of his - just a bit. And it’s all he can do to calm down the raging twitch of his buried cock, driving it deeper and deeper against your mushy g-spot to shut up those dangerous moans of yours. 

“B-b-but-” You’re flinching when his deep, baritone voice pitches dramatically high to mock your own, a large palm coming down to give your poor clit a branding smack! “-but, you think that’s gonna stop me, ma?”

Stupidly, you’re whirling your dazed eyes over your shoulder to catch his, only for the calloused pads of his fingers to swiftly force your face back down. 

“Not me, you don’t get to hah- look at me just yet, doll.” Toji grits out from behind you, feverish puffs of breath sending goosebumps down your spine. Down to where your puffy cunt was just bulging with all long, solid inches of his swollen, overworked cock. Sloppy. Overspilling. “Not until you’re giving me another brat by Christmas.” 

A sob wrenches out of you when Toji jostles his sharp hips against yours. Harder, until you could feel every minute smack of his still-full, sensitive balls, every slosh of his syrupy sticky cum coating your walls from earlier. 

“Look.” 

You’re shaking your head in almost-bratty protest, the fat of your ass still pushing and pulling against his rugged thrusts. You feel like you could go insane if you saw any more. Thighs twitching to a shy close, “Ngh- can’t s’too- too much.”

This only pulls out a displeased growl from your pussydrunk boyfriend, rasping out a warning. “No fuck-  don’t you fucking dare-” Big, beefy hands wrench your legs even farther apart to admire the mess he’s made, bruising where he holds them unable to escape. “Don’t you even think of it, woman.”

It’s accompanied by another harsh slap! on your puffed-up clit, this time harder than the last. Shocking you to your heated core until you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, already-ruined cunt just clenching in painful pleasure. 

He laughs - laughs, “Instead of squeezin’ the fucking soul outta me, look here at how you’re wastin’ my cum. How can I make you a momma in time like this, huh?” 

You’re blinking away those big, fat globs of tears to finally spy back down again at your drooling cunt. Swollen folds spread shamefully, gaping. Every slam of his hips makes you gush down his achy shaft with a gloss of your sweet sweet juice and his own cum. It splays in a creamy little puddle at your silken sheets, clinging to your bodies like a second, sloppy skin. “Y-you’re so filthy, Toji.”

But Toji couldn’t bring himself to be disgusted - not one bit. In fact, he could feel the tip of his angry head growing even fatter, expanding to meld its way deep into your elastic walls.

“Filthy, huh?” he chuckles so darkly. “Got such a mouth on ya, can already tell you’re gonna be a ah- strict momma.” His fingers are prying your jaw to sag open, whispering so slow and syrupy along your open mouth, “Well, let me tell you a little secret, ma. Doesn’t matter what you call me now, because in about nine months you’ll be calling me something else.”

“And what would- mmpf!” Oh, for how much he loved your sharp mouth, he sure was well and fully intent on shutting you up. Toji’s hitting his cock at the back of your pussy, just mashing deep into your g-spot in sinful sync. Over and over. “-and what would that be?”

Another finalizing smack to your pulsing clit, so smug and messy. He tilts his head to that growing pool below you, splurging farther and farther with each decisive, feral ram. “Your baby daddy, that’s what.” 

As if on cue, you’re cumming - you can’t even remember which saccharine sweet high of the night, but all you know is Toji’s gifting your gummy cunt with a few bullying kisses on your ravaged g-spot. Rough, lingering clashes of his weepy tip on your ravaged g-spot, sending your toes curling, white-hot shocks of pleasure. Again and again and again-

“Fuck- fuuuck yeah take it.” he’s grunting out hoarsely, hips stuttering and so so feral. Barely having the sanity to pull out in his jagged half-thrusts, splitting you apart on all his weighty length to cum inside you - deep.

Painting each and every inch of your heavenly cunt that could be reached with coat after coat of velvety white - all the way from where he was gliding his fat tip across your cervix, down, down, down to your sensitive spots, your sopping wide opening. “Want- need it so bad. Need ya to make me a daddy again. So fuckin’ bad you have no idea- you’d be fuckin’ scared.”

Those mean fingers smushing your cheeks into an embarrassing pout dance down to gather the dredges of his own cum, oozing out of the corners of your slit in a milky white sheen. Still rutting into you, he suckles on them languidly like his favorite candy, “Mmpf- as sweet as ever, doll.”

“Y-you’re so fuckin’ mean, Toji-” your jaw slacks open at his lewd actions. “Our kid better not get such an- hah- an awful personality.”

That makes him pause - it makes him pull away his digits, glistening and connected with stringy ropes of the mess he’s made. Grinning for just  a split-second before shoving the entire length of his fingers into your plush mouth. 

Toji huffs cockily, the rounded tips of his fingers swirl around and around your lolling tongue, addicting you onto the slighty-salted taste. “Our daughter will be lucky to hngh- get my personality n’ your pretty looks.” And you’re barely even lucid when he’s whispering into your sweat-sheened forehead, “So you better give me good news for Christmas this year, ma.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - “Take it, like a good lil’ wife.”

Your mouth is sagging open at Nanami’s uncharacteristically gritted words. So hoarse, pained - like they were dragged out of his raggedly heaving chest with each bullying ram of his hips. 

It was barely midway into the evening, and you had no clue how you ended up like this. How those fleeting little titters during your romantic at-home dinner date about kids wound up with Nanami splayed on his broad back on the soft silken sheets. Sculpted abs curving into your back when he nuzzles your neck, plowing his furiously hard cock in his favorite mean full nelson.

“Ha- you’re being so-” you’re gasping out in a wet stutter, ass grinding back onto those neat lanes of blond at his thick base. He’s spearheading you so- “-so mean, Ken.”

“Am, I?” he’s purring, a low rumbling growl from the bottom of his chest. “Well, I might be the stricter parent, that’s right.”

Rolled-up sleeves graze against your heated skin, and you could feel every ridge of the veins along his forearms when he spreads your dangling legs even wider. Jutting his hips so deeply upwards to bow your body to the throbbing curve of his dick. “But, I apologize, darling.” Neat rows of his pearly white teeth sink down on your earlobe, “Feel free to do something- anything about it. Because m’afraid I won’t be able to stop any time soon.”

It was a promise - just the clingy feeling of your walls molding and wetting according to his very shape has him losing his mind. His sanity.

Choking back a long, drawn-out groan when two thick fingers slide down to roll over your puffy clit, “Fuuuck, my love, you’re so- hngh perfect like this.” The bed creaks in protest when his powerful thighs arch even higher upwards, all those hours at the gym paying off when every frenzied mash into the bulging treasure of your g-spot makes your mouth water. He breathes into the intimate crook of your neck, “Though, I bet you’d look even prettier as a momma, right?”

Somehow, that makes your face burn more than being split apart on his relentless cock has. 

“Oh- shit.” you whine, fucking your hips back in a sloppy little staccato. Reaching your trembly arm around his strong neck, your fingers find his favorite speckled yellow tie. Yanking until Nanami’s stern lips in a syrupy sweet kiss. “Really wan’ you to hah- breed me, Ken.”

“Fuck- Oh yeah?” he gasps. And if you didn’t know any better then you’d have said that that came out as a fucking whine. The ever-stoic Nanami Kento crumbling bit by bit with each rummaging thrust to shape your gummy walls. “Then why’d it fuck- take so long. Fuck, I’ve been dreaming of this since the ah- day I met you, my girl.”

Sharp hips dig into the plush of your ass with each pivot, it’s bouncing you back and forth along his slobbering cock. So rough. So tall and angry, you’re hit with a steaming hot gush of milky precum every time Nanami’s sliding out of you up to his thick, girthy tip. 

“Been thinking about you and I- and a little one. A few, actually. One blonde with your eyes, the other two with mine and your gorgeous smile.” That sweet little admission has your twitchy fingers subconsciously dragging at the heavy fabric of his tie. Tight around Nanami’s straining neck, making his head light and cock twitch wildly to draw little patterns on your cervix. “Fuck! Fuck no- keep pullin’ like that, darling.” 

You could feel his raw length rub against sensitive sports you never even knew felt good, in sync with that wandering free-hand of his. Now dancing upwards to glide his touchy thumb over your bouncing tits. “K-Ken, m’so close.”

“How pretty these would look all full of milk, darling.” he muses, sounding more like he’s speaking to himself than anything. Your knees are buckling now, cunt eagerly taking in every powerfully pressurized thrust of his. But Nanami hasn’t had enough of his fill, feeling a burning trail down your arching body. Down the valley of your breasts, your stomach, “And here- where m’gonna fuck-” He’s cutting himself up as his hips slam up into you like with a mind of their own, “-fill you up, make you a momma. Oh, you’d be the best momma. The best.”

He’s fucking you so rough now - so jagged that you’re white-knuckling his tie, reeling him in so close. “And you’d- fuck m’gonna-” you’re sobbing now, over those drawled-out squelches from your velvety cunt. “You’d be the best da-”

You can’t finish your sentence - you couldn’t, because with a few more practiced strokes, you’re cumming all over Nanami’s massive cock. Feeling your elastic walls try to suck him up so hard you wondered whether it didn’t hurt. 

But it didn’t - it felt so sinfully good, in fact, that it was only a matter of a few blissful seconds before you’re being filled up with thick globs of his seed. Drooling out of you with each creamy rut into you, your gaping entrance only takes more. Still pounding into you, bottoming out - yet still pushing to give you everything he had to give.

“Sh-shit.” Nanami marvels at the silky ribbons of cum being stuffed inside, the way it slews up with your honeyed slick to form a glistening gloss down both your fronts. “Wait- oh, wait.” Nanami’s trembling cock spurs out a few more overflowing shots of seed at the very thought of what he was about to do. Still stuffed in, he’s reaching over to rustle through the pockets of his dress pants scattered mere inches away from the two of your slick, convulsing bodies on the bed.

You’re jolting when you feel something cold and metallic slide around your left ring finger, “Didn’t think I’d let you be the mother of my kids without a ring, did you, my wife?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Escape?

“Gorgeous…” Geto’s sultry, slow whisper sends goosebumps running down every inch of your skin. And it’s so soothing - so gentle, and yet- “-doesn’t matter how much you tug, these things won’t let you escape, m’kay?”

A wrenching sob rips from your hoarse throat, and all you can manage to do is tug on those tight, hot-pink handcuffs around your wrists. Pulling to prop your fucked-out body against the very top of his luxurious futon, “S-Sugu, you’re so mean.” Your wide eyes scan the pristine tatami room at his shrine, “Anyone could walk in-”

“And yet you’re still being such a slut, my girl.” He flashes you a rosy red grin, so blindingly pretty that it makes your cunt throb. “Still waiting f’me to breed your pretty pussy. Which would it be? The fifth now?”

Geto doesn’t even have to finish the sentence before you’re abruptly sitting upright, bottom lip wobbling with need. Your swollen pussy is just weeping beads of his cum at this point, sobbing down where he was still buried so eagerly inside your gummy walls. Your thighs shaky in- fear? Anticipation? The need for more? 

“Ah ah-” you feel two soft little smacks to the side of your cheek. “Don’t zone out on me just yet, gorgeous. S’this hah- boring for you?” And despite all the pleading shakes of your head, he only plows on, “Aww, what a shame. Guess I just hafta spice things up-”

It’s all the warning you’re getting - barely even - before your poor, weepy cunt is back to being just split apart on his fat head. Not even being eased into it, no care or concern for those overstimulated spasms when he stuffs you full. 

“F-fuck-” your eyes are shooting open - when did they even close? - at the sound of nearby footsteps in the hallway behind those sliding doors. Very nearby. “I swear someone’s gonna catch us, Sugu-”

The only sound that rings throughout his humid, heady room is your wet gag - muffled around the pale, slender fingers of his being shoved between your kiss-bitten lips. All you can register are the soft pads of his digits pressing down on the back of your taste buds and the unforgiving little pulses of his prominent veins dragging against your gummy walls. 

Leaning down - until he’s so dangerously close, until you could count every long, dark lash on his eyelids, every flex of his muscles - slosh of his syrupy sweet inside you - as he sets a languid, lazy pace. “If someone catches us then I will hngh- jus’ keep going, do not test me, pretty girl.”

The other of his splayed out fingers are drawing methodical, dizzying circles on the very tip of your sensitive clit. Matching his teasing place, every grazing nudge of his leaky tip coating your bruising g-spot. 

“Haven’t I already told ya not to start things you c-can’t finish?” Geto’s husky voice is talking you through every clingy thrust. Falling from his pretty lips with each deep snap, fucking you into the drenched futon leisurely like some cocksleeve. “N’ what did you do, hm?”

You couldn’t answer if you wanted to - because Geto’s fingers were still firmly swiping around your tongue. Murmuring, “Exactly that. Just had to make that fuckin’ hah- stupid little joke about me not being able to handle another daughter, huh?”

“Mmpf- hngh Sugur-” you try to moan out at a low thump! outside, but he’s shushing you pliantly quiet with a ragged pump into your womb. Making you gush velvety ribbons of his previous cum.

“Heh, think this cunt actually wants to get out of this without being bred?” It was true, your painted-white walls were just clinging elastically to Geto’s shaft every time he drove into you, sucking up every bit of him like you’re trying to milk out something delicious. Again. 

“And guess what?” he’s so crazed now, eyes glowing with a dark delight. Hips pistoning into yours with fearsome accuracy to smash over and over into the bullseye of your sensitive spot. Sloppier. The shuffling outside getting louder. So unfairly good that you’re barely registering his next words, “M’jus’ gonna breed this slutty pussy until you give me another. Until everyone knows you’re my slut.”

It only takes one, two, three more drilling clashes with your g-spot for you to fall apart once more. 

Your own orgasm bursts out of you. Squirting in glistening dredges again and again until it’s just a few fatiguing shocks of pleasure that have you heaving for air, whining Geto’s name like a mantra. The overstimulation too much, his twitching cock too big - over and over-

“F-fuuuuck- squirting all over, y’made such a mess.” Geto’s moan is so pornographic when that angry divot at his flushed head explodes with spurts of thick hot cum. So addictively sweltering against your plush walls, it floods into your womb, down your thighs - to your lungs it almost feels like. “Gonna give me another daughter? Yeah?” He breathes, head thrown back while he stuffs you too-full, until he could see the seeping white on your creamy cunt in his glassy peripheral vision. And he still isn’t done cumming - thinning out to mere sticky wisps. “Gonna make you so full- so swollen. Until everyone looks at you and knows what I did- how I defiled you. They’ll look at you and see me. Me, me, me, me-”

There’s such an animalistic cadence in the way he’s rutting into you, pushing you further and further up those drenched sheets. Just dragging your body forwards with one strong arm around your handcuffs when his sheer volume gets too much that you’re trying to pathetically escape. 

Thump!

In a split-second, Geto’s grabbing at a hidden dagger from underneath his robes. Throwing - dead straight through the paper doors - only for a loud thud! to echo from outside. “Bet the scum outside don’t even need to hear the pregnancy announcement, huh?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - My strange addiction

Oh, there’s nothing you loved more than Choso losing control - around the time of year when the weather grows a little warmer, when your sweet boyfriend becomes a little more restless. Those dark, dewy eyes of his turning black with something primal, desperate. 

Ingrained in his blood to breed you. To do nothing but breed you. 

Like right now. 

“Oh?” you’re purring with a coy bat of your lashes, looking over your shoulder to where he was looming. Flushed, gulping, absolutely drunken off your heady scent. “On your rut again, Cho?”

And that makes his entire body jolt, as if zapped by a sudden wave of electricity. Large, trembly hands fist your thin shirt to pin you down like some ragdoll onto the cool kitchen counter. Breath hitching, such a pained grunt leaves him at the sound of his name leaving those pretty lips of yours. 

Almost guiltily, he’s baring a wet gasp, “Y-yes. Saw you makin’  ah- makin’ us dinner in the kitchen and-” It’s like he hasn’t even realized what he was doing, slapping his raw cock against your drooling slit with each word. Smack! Smack! Smack! “-and- I just thought about how- just needed to…”

But alas, Choso doesn’t get to finish a single thought - because you’re stepping up onto your tip-toes - ever-so-slightly. Feeding your needy cunt with just the round girth of his very tip.

“Just needed to what, Cho?” you hum, quirking a devilish brow his way, holding back a keen at the sheer stretch of him around your sopping entrance. “Or do you wanna stop?”

Fuck, Choso swears he could feel his overworked balls squeeze so painfully at the very thought. “No-”  he’s hissing, glassy gaze widening almost comically. “No no no no no- please no. please, please this is all I want.” 

With a sultry giggle, you reach behind to pull him roughly by his soft strands. Choso’s grunting out hoarsely, letting himself be dragged to clash his lips against your bruised ones in such a sloppy kiss. All tongue and teeth, he drinks you in like a man depraved. “All you ever want is to just hah- fuck me in this kitchen, Cho?”

It’s so cute the way he’s sputtering dazedly into your sagging mouth, such a sweet whiny cry of, “Yes but no- fuck, I jus’ wanna–” The slow drag of his heavy tongue coats the crook of your neck in his saliva, hammering his swollen cock upwards until he was practically lifting you off the ground with sheer inhuman force. “Jus’ wanna breed you full, baby. Breed this pretty pussy like m’meant to.”

It’s with an almost-animalistic type of worship that Choso’s just ramming the rest of his thick cock into you until he’s spearheading straight into your spongy g-spot, weighty balls - painful, and ready for breeding - smacking against your ass. Addicted. 

“O-oh, fuck–” you can’t stop your honeyed gasps. “You’re s-so big- so hard even after just this morning? What a naughty boy.” 

Just slamming you down onto the cool marble,“Fuck- fuck fuck y’know what I imagined when I hah- saw you in the kitchen?” Such throaty groans drag along with each and every plunge into your slobbering pussy, Choso was always so talkative when he was like this. Slurring out a mile a minute, “Saw my pretty wife, the pretty mother of my kids.”

And you knew what he was going to say, but that doesn’t stop you from milking him so tight, velvety walls contracting in a way that almost made it difficult to maintain his sloppy staccato. Back arching into such a slutty bow to drag even needier down his drilling length

But your beloved boyfriend still wasn’t done, kissing away hotly at the corner of your mouth. “N’ s’not jus’ the hngh- rut talking either. Fuuuuck-” All six feet of his muscled body pins you to the counter, and distinctly, you could feel him scramble desperately to buck up a knee to angle his hips even deeper. “Saw you makin’ breakfast before school, and I’m- hngh- and I’m getting the kids ready - a boy and a girl, both as gorgeous as you.”

“Y-yeah?” Is all you can breathe out, “What- hngh- what else?”

You didn’t expect his humorless chuckle - broken, and a few pitches higher than normal. “What else?” His eyes are absolutely crazed now, and he’s biting down on your pouty lower lip. “Oh what didn’t I see?” 

Bowing till you could feel every ripple of his abs against your back. Every slow tremor of his glossy head nudging past your defenses, hitting deep at the bottom of your g-spot. It takes a few more sloppy pumps for you to realize that Choso’s still speaking. 

“Saw the wedding- saw the first birth, the way I cried-” The way he was crying now, ragged, overstimulated tears dripping down his pretty cheeks. Panting out wetly, “-what a great momma you are, the best. The way I help you hngh- milk these p-pretty tits when it’s too much. But my most favorite of all-”

You don’t hear the rest - and he doesn’t tell you, because he’s too busy cumming. Cumming and cumming so much that Choso thinks he can’t stop, swollen base rummaging deep inside to plug up those thick ropes of hot seed inside. It was impossible that he hadn’t achieved his dream with this. 

It’s bloating you up, too much. Spilling out of those little gaps at the dips and ridges of his twitchy cock that your inner thighs cover in a clingy white sheen. 

Drawn on instinct, you can only scream when Choso’s sharp canines bite down on the sensitive spot at your neck. Hard enough to draw blood - and, if you two were in any better state of mind, you’d have noticed that he did draw blood. 

A thin saturation of heady red coating his devilish grin, delicate strings of spit still connect to the mating mark. “-my favorite was when we made another.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - DOUBLE STUFFED!

“One more.”

“Kuna-”

“One more.”

When all you’re getting is that leeringly dangerous grin - the very same one he gifts any weak curses just about to be killed at his feet - you know there’s no way you’re getting out of this. Either you take it - or he makes you. 

Gliding your palms across Sukuna’s bulging pecs, your trembly legs twitch atop his muscled thighs. Gingerly jutting along where your poor cunt was being split apart on his twin bulgingly hard cocks. Up and down up and down up and-

“S’too much-” you’re whining, feeling the gush of his sticky cum coat down your thighs. Oozing out of your bloated cunt with every syrupy sweet bounce of his ravaging cocks. “I- not enough space-”

Any you were about to stupidly babble out is cut off when Sukuna wraps five thick digits around your exposed neck, intentionally dipping his sharp nails to leave branding little divots right about your racing pulse. A warning. A punishment. “Did I tell ya to keep runnin’ that hah- mouth, brat?” he spits, waiting for you to shake your head deliriously “no” before grinning. “Then why am I hearing so much t-talking n’ not enough of this slutty lil’ cunt of yours taking one more? You hear that?” 

All that was ringing in your ears was the honeyed echoes of squelches from below, smacking and slapping in sync with your pathetic movement. 

“Exactly.” Sukuna’s snapping you out of your thoughts, one hand resting at the glistening plush of your hips, the other spreading your puffy pussy lips to let you just slobber down his angry, red shafts. Glossing over him all the way from those fat tips to the creamy ring around his base. “Wastin’ too much of my hngh- cum with yer talkin’, brat. How are ya gonna have time to carry my seed?”

And he’s so large - so strong. Not even breaking a sweat when he’s getting up from his decadent throne with you boneless in his arms, still stuffing your cunt full with all greedy inches of both cocks. 

“O-oh, fuck, Kuna!” you’re squealing when gravity pulls you down until you could feel the scratch of his pink happy trail against the sensitively grazed areas of your skin. The dizzying push of two matchingly massive girths stretching your gummy walls to its limits. Your nails draw jagged red line down his tan skin, trying to keep just an ounce of your sanity together, “Fuck you’re in so hngh- deep.”

“Easy on the back there.” Sukuna’s rolling his eyes, but he can’t deny the way his heart clenches at the way you’re so fucked-out and easily sliding down his cock like some pretty sex toy. Whimpering about some baby names.

Not like it mattered, anyway. He’d name the little devilspawn whatever you wanted - after fighting about it for the fun of it. Heh, he always has been soft on you, huh?

All it takes is one hand holding you up, another to toy with the sensitive nub of your clit. Rolling and teasing you even deeper into his arms while another still rests firmly around your throat. 

The remaining hand? At Sukuna’s favorite place cupping your teary cheek, gliding away those big fat tears with the cure of his soft thumb, “Shh shhh, you can take it. You’re my pretty lil’ queen, right?”

Even his mind a hot melted mess on your dripping cunt. Just fucking into you ruthlessly, up, up, up till he was bulging at the very back of your cunt. One fat tip firmly kissing your g-spot, the other gliding in a silky smooth cadence against your poor cervix.

Matching veins rubbing matching sensitive spots, rendering you so awfully dumb on his cocks. Mixing with the hypnotic splattering of his seed against the velvet of your walls, it’s impossible to not feel like you’re about to fucking burst. 

Intertwining your fingers with his much longer ones on your face, you’re dragging them to rest at that palpable little nudge along the middle of your stomach. Pressing down to make him feel where he was buried deep, hiccuping lewdly, “You’re right here, Kuna. S’gonna be- hngh! impossible to not give you an heir.”

An heir. 

And fuck he couldn’t take it anymore - if anything even fucking heard about this, they’d faint. 

Because with a shuddering gasp, the king of curses was just dragging your weight down his cocks - over and over - to gloss your insides with each new coat of the thick, syrupy cum weeping out of his angry heads. So overfilled, but still greedily swallowing everything Sukuna gives. 

“Fuck-.” With an angrily strained growl, Sukuna only speeds up his motions on your clit. Methodical. Urgent, even. Still fucking him seed deeper to smash his quivering tips at your g-spot. Both - two divots pressurizing you at the same time. “How dare you make me cum first, woman. Think you’re soo fucking funny, huh? Better give me hundreds of lil’ hellspawn to make up for it.”

“N-noo-” you croon, but that limp little curl of your lips at the abundance of seed seeping out of you gives you away. It was so unlike him - so startling to spy the blushing rouge at his ears, the way his fat balls smack and only squeeze harder when you milk every drop. So hot, and splattering right down both of your legs, forming a creamy puddle at his floor. “I didn’t-”

You don’t finish your sentence, you can’t. Because with all of his brute strength, Sukuna is just wrenching that orgasm from your grasp - fucking you over and over through your high. 

The puddle only grows wider. And there’s no warning before he spits, once. Twice. Right onto the middle of the overwhelmed taste-buds on your tongue, gently shutting your mouth with one hand. The other spreading your puffy pussy lips to let you drool a glossy coat of cum down his front. Making a mess.

“S’inauspicious, y’know. Having the momma cum first-” He’s gruffing, sure you were still crashing into wave after wave of pleasure to even hear his whines. “-so why don’t you give me one more?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Meet the Gojos

“Toru- we’ll get caught.”

“Shut up- fuck- shut up.” Gojo’s face was ashen, grinning so dangerously at the sight of you completely and utterly bound into that obscene mating press he loved so much. Your pretty pussy at the perfect angle for him to hammer his achy cock so thoroughly into you. “S’not what this cute cunt is sayin’ though, sweetheart.”

Fuck, if you were in any better state of mind, you’d have smacked him maybe. But you knew right by the glowingly amused tinty in his blue eyes that he was waiting for that to happen - goading even. 

You’re whining hotly, fingernails digging sharply into the winding wooden desk rested cool beneath your skin. “The- the elders are about to have a- hngh! meeting in here soon and-”

Gojo’s lips curl  when your breath hitches, feeding you each and every one of his merciless inches over and over- “Well then it’s damn good that they’ve been bugging me for an heir, dontcha think~?” 

You’re letting your drooling maw fall slack in disbelief - only to create the perfect opening for your boyfriend to catch you into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. Spitting out little profanities with each harsh push of his fat gliding tip across the slippery slopes of your walls. “Heh, always so fuuuck- cute when you’re fucked dumb on my cock.” he’s chuckling, mouth looser than usual with the way the tight channel of your cunt is sucking out every one of his honest thoughts - his soul. “But ya needa get more firm, I’m gonna be the fun parent.”

It takes another harsh snap! of those toned hips bruising against your ass for you to jump back into your heady reality. 

“T-Toru…” you’re murmuring, but it comes out so much more breathless than you wanted. Catching on to that syrupy, fucked-out tone of yours, Gojo takes the opportunity to ram his swollen length even meaner into your slobbering cunt. Wringing out your narrow hole to mold around the exact shape of his massive dick. “We- ngh! We’ve got to set an example.”

You feel the fat girth of his shaft grow two sizes even bigger at your scolding. Bulging those two prominent veins down the middle to imprint onto your gummy walls. The roaming point of his glossed-over head pressing straight onto your g-spot, making you writhe underneath him. Bucking up for more more more-

A pale, splayed-out palm slams! down onto the creaky mahogany right beside your head, and when you’re batting your dazed gaze up you see-

Oh. 

Oh fuck - forget setting an example, you were about to be made one. 

Because Gojo’s blue irises were sparking with tiny rods of lightning, teeth bared in such an amusedly feral grin that it made your cunt ache. 

“Fuck-” even his voice sounded deeper - raspier, cracking ever-so-slightly with need near the end. “Fuck, you can’t talk shit to me about ‘setting examples’ when you get so fuckin’ wet just because I play a little rough.”

Playing a little rough was an understatement - and both of you knew it. Because if Gojo was simply toying with your sanity before, then he was well and fully intent on breaking it right now. Right along with your poor pussy with those bludgeoning, harsh thrusts you were being gifted with.

The expansion of his weighty cock has you squealing with each powerful slam, “Fuck- fuck you little-”

“Hunk? Absolute catch?” he grins, voice dropping to a low husky drawl. A slick little trail of drool dips down the corner of his mouth already with every cracking beg and plea, followed by a series of lingering grinds - not even thrusts, just slow, shallow swerves to feel you tighten wetly around his hot shaft. The lights flicker above, “Father of your kids?” 

That makes you wrack in a sinful shudder, words tumbling out before your syrupy sweet brain could compute them, “You’d make a- a good daddy, Toru.”

Crack! 

It’s happening in a split-second - a stuttering gasp catches in Gojo’s throat, those baby blue eyes going wide. Glowing. In the distance, your popping ears catch the sharp shattering of that prized vase in the corner of the room. 

But right now it felt like you were the one about to break - because ribbons and ribbons of Gojo’s hot, potent seed were knocking on the door to your womb. Splurging in thick dredges to stuff you full from the inside out. 

“Fuck- fuck, you evil evil woman.” Gojo breathes out, the only thing he could seem to do at this very moment. When the tethering clenches of his balls have tapered out, he’s pulling out to smack! the length of his throbbing, red shaft on your clit. Mouth hanging open at the way just buckets of his own cum gush out of your tight hole. “Shit- m’gonna breed this cute cunt. Gonna fill her up until you’re so round and swollen.” he’s babbling, gliding pale fingers across the sloshing cum now seeping onto the desk to shove it back inside. 

“Fuuuck- m’gonna breed her till she hah- doesn’t know what it’s like to not be stuffed full. Until you’re giving me a cute lil’ blue-eyed baby.” Crackling with jujutsu energy, he’s smack down on your puffy cunt - hard! “Until m’not the strongest. Not even second- or third or fourth or fifth-” kissing your pouty lips in addicted little pecks. “-no. S’gonna be my- our kids. All ours.”

“Ngh! Toru–” you’re whining, only taking another few messy swivels on your cunt before you cum. And you swear, the lights go out at this very moment - the only thing you can see being Gojo’s flickers of purple jujutsu and his gleamingly white grin.

He smacks another hand down on that wooden meeting desk - the now broken desk, standing wearily on only three legs - and the puddle of cum seeping below you. “Think we’ll be excused from the meeting? Because m’not done with you just yet, ma.”

A/N. Yuh I had two Kendrick references I apologize (I don’t).

Plagiarism not authorized.