#i wish i could take away every time i compromised with people because ‘at least they aren’t yelling at me or hurting me’ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mourntheantagonist · 2 years

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Oh oh oh Little Billy's first Halloween as a Little? Getting all the fun of costumes and candy and decorations!

ok ok ok! but now you’ve got me crossing over my little!billy and gnc!billy headcanons and I love you for it.

when billy was a kid his favorite movie was cinderella. his mom would sing a dream is a wish your heart makes to put him to sleep every night, and every year when october rolled around, he would always ask if he could dress up as cinderella.

he and his mom would have to compromise and ask to be prince charming instead.

but neil always had the final say, and even prince charming was too girlish for neil’s taste. he’d go as an astronaut or batman or a football player. something distinctly manly—even if he was only five years old.

the disappointment of not getting to dress up as cinderella didn’t fade, rather, it was replaced by the disappointment that he was told he had to stop trick or treating when he was only seven years old. sure, he never got to dress up how he wanted but at least he got to have fun running around the neighborhood at night hauling a heavy pillowcase full of candy!

it was the first is a long list of things billy would have taken away from him. he could have only wished that the worst thing to happen to him would have been having halloween taken away from him.

when steve approached him one morning when he was little and asked billy if he wanted to go trick or treating, billy was confused.

“am I allowed?”

steve just musses his hair. “of course buddy! nancy’s taking jonathan and robin trick or treating and asked if we wanted to join them!”

billy sort of just sits there for a second. it doesn’t make total sense to him. “not too old?” he asks, bracing himself for steve to say “oh yeah, you are too old aren’t you.” or “you weren’t seriously thinking I’d take you trick or treating right? that’s for babies! are you a baby billy?”

but of course, steve says nothing of the sort.

“no you aren’t too old! you’re never too old to trick or treat if it makes you happy! so do you wanna go?”

billy nodded his head, trying his best to hide his excitement, but he apparently wasn’t doing too good of a job at it with the way steve was giggling.

“alright buddy, what do you wanna dress up as? you can be anything you like!”

billy blushed at the question, because his mind immediately went to the one thing he always wanted to be. the one thing he was always denied and told was only for girls. billy wasn’t a girl. he didn’t want steve to look at him the same way his mom had when he would ask. but at the same time, he couldn’t think of anything else.

“anything?”

“anything buddy. you name it!”

billy pursed his lips, debating whether or not he should say it. he didn’t want to have to compromise with prince charming again. he wanted to be pretty like cinderella.

“c-can I be cinderella?”

when billy looked up and saw steve’s wide eyes, he was ready to cry.

“is that not allowed?”

steve quickly started shaking his head and started rubbing his shoulder. “no of course that’s allowed bud! stevie was just surprised is all. is that what you really want?”

billy nodded his head.

“alright then buddy, we can go costume shopping tomorrow.”

when halloween eventually rolled around, billy was all around nervous. steve had laid out his costume for him; a long and pretty blue dress with a black choker and some sneakers (no glass slipper, he’d be walking around all night). he hadn’t thought about it until it was looking right at him—other people would have to see him in it, what if they laughed at him?

“hey buddy, what’s with the thinkin’ face?”

billy didn’t say anything. he just shrugged.

“don’t wanna tell me? that’s ok bills. how about we start gettin’ ready? wanna start on your hair?”

billy liked when steve brushed his hair, so he was okay with that. it would be a good distraction if nothing else. he took steve’s hand and followed him into the bathroom, taking a seat in the chair as steve gently brushed the knots from his hair. billy just smiled at himself in the mirror as steve pulled all his hair back into a pony tail. “you want it to look just like hers?”

billy nodded his head. he wanted to be pretty just like her.

even through all the poking of the bobby pins, billy’s smile didn’t falter one bit through the whole thing.

“lookin’ like a princess already.” steve said, admiring his work. but billy just hung on the word princess.

“pretty?” he asked.

“so pretty.”

billy was slowly starting to feel better about the whole thing. if steve thought he was pretty, well that was the only thing that mattered.

“you ready to get dressed?” steve asked.

billy nodded his head rapidly, excitement clear.

steve led him back into the bedroom and helped him out of his clothes and into the pretty blue dress. it looked just like cinderella’s (steve dropped a pretty penny on that thing because he’d be damned if billy didn’t have the best first little halloween ever). it wasn’t even itchy like his costumes were when he was a kid. the material was soft and he not only was looking like a princess, but he felt like one too.

steve secured the choker around billy’s neck and helped him tie his shoes, and once everything was all put together steve brought him over to the mirror to look at himself.

billy instantly smiled.

“pretty.” he said.

“you sure are billy. you look beautiful.”

billy couldn’t stop staring himself. it was a dream come true. like a fairytale.

“oh, I forgot something! I’ll be right back.”

steve was only out of the room for thirty seconds before he walked back in with something behind his back.

“what’s that?” billy asked, trying to peek around steve’s back.

“well, I know she doesn’t wear one in the movie, but I thought a princess as pretty as you are should have one of these.”

billy could not have prepared himself for what steve had hidden behind his back.

it was a tiara. it was so shiny it nearly blinded him with the way it reflected the light. but it didn’t light up nearly as bright as billy’s eyes had once he’d seen it.

“may I?”

the head nods were just getting more aggressive.

“alright kiddo calm down you’re gonna give yourself whiplash if you keep doing that.”

billy could barely hold still as he waited for steve to place the tiara on his head, and once he did, billy started to cry.

“oh no did I poke you?”

billy shook his head. “no.” he said, taking a deep breath and smiling, “I’m a princess!”

steve just pulled billy into the tightest hug possible. “yes you are!” he said “you’re my princess! all ready for the ball.”

then there was a knock at the door, and any reservations billy had about showing people his costume went out the window, and all he wanted to do was show everyone. he ran down the stairs (steve calling from the top not to lose a slipper on the way down).

steve eventually caught up with him and let the group into the house, nancy and her two littles pouring into the living room in a fit of laughter.

robin was dressed as robin hood and jonathan was dressed as david bowie (will did the makeup for him) and nancy was dressed as tinker bell. but nobody cared about them, they were all staring at billy.

“wow.” was all that nancy said, her breath barely above a whisper.

“nancy look at billy!” was what robin said, her voice high pitched and pointing at billy.

billy felt his face flush from all the attention, and he was dreading what their next words were gonna be. his confidence was draining.

“I see him robbie!”

“he looks so pretty nancy!”

“yeah he looks just like cinderella!”

and just like that his confidence was back.

“he sure does!” steve said, rubbing comforting circles into billy’s back. he must’ve noticed him tense up. “what do we say billy?”

“thank you.”

“hey steve, where’s your costume?” nancy asked.

“shoot, lemme go change real quick. give me two minutes.”

two minutes was actually five because steve could not stop messing with his hair.

but when he came down the stairs, well, billy didn’t think his smile was capable of getting any wider.

“oh look at you steve, demoted from king I see.” nancy said, giggling.

“well you can’t have cinderella and not have a prince charming.”

billy was right. he was in a fairytale.

“alright guys let’s get out of here before we turn into pumpkins!”

robin and jonathan both threw their pillowcases in the air and simultaneously shouted “candy!”

billy wasn’t thinking about candy. all he could think about was how he was about to have the best halloween ever.

#sorry I got carried away #but the idea was just too cute to pass up!!#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #mandi writes tresh #little!billy #caregiver!steve #gnc!billy

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ina-nis · 3 months

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I've been reading some on reddit to try to find a way out of this predicament and it's... difficult because the way I see things, and the way others seem to see these same things, is completely different in a way that, I feel, ultimately won't work for me (because, surprise: I tried that).

Person keeps on falling in love with their friends. That's the story of my life, isn't it? Then I go to the comments to see what others replied to and, damn, this sucks.

"Sounds like these are people you want to date, not befriend. Do you date? If not, start dating. Eventually a dating relationship will turn into a steady thing. Then perhaps you can develop true friendships without the hidden agenda."

I will never understand people who see their partners as a separated thing from friends - it honestly creeps me out a little... to me, a partner would be, first and foremost, a friend, a close friend, ideally my best friend, and we would have a romantic relationship while nurturing our, already established, friendship.

This is why going the "dating intentionally" route never quite worked for me, because I felt like I was skipping several steps...

That's likely due to trauma, of course. It takes a while for me to be able to trust and be truly comfortable with people, and for something as intimate and close as a romantic relationship, I'd really need to trust someone very, very much.

So... "friends to lovers" for me, always.

In another thread, a person says exactly the thing I've been thinking lately again, about keeping your distance or even cutting ties (whether temporarily or not), because if you're stuck with friends you're in love with and those relationships will not progress to romance, you're basically just wasting time.

But that's also difficult for me because I experience relationship decay rather quickly - hence why I've been putting so much effort into my friendships, so I don't lose them.

It really breaks me to do this whole... friendships with ulterior motives with every single person I come to befriend and wanting to invest my energy into. I don't want to do that. I don't like doing that either. At least now, I feel like I am intentional on that regard, I try to be pretty selective of people I befriend, while thinking of them as potential partners, too. When enough time passes (and at that point, I'm already in love with them), I confess and when the (so far) inevitable rejection comes, I give them the choice to "quit" the friendship, or we can continue as usual. I don't really fall "out of love" with them, and I wish I could do that, honestly.

At the same time, I don't think I'm doing anything wrong here. I don't think I'm leading people on either. I don't get mad at them for not reciprocating, I feel like I never really did, albeit before my friendships would not survive me confessing and getting rejected because it was just too devastating. Some people see these connections separately, some don't, and that's fine, I guess? Besides, if someone has a problem with me coming onto them to be friends while having the intention to date them, too, that's not my issue to sort out? If they're uncomfortable, they can leave and I'll move on too. It's simple.

I try to stick around and invest my time and energy into people who look available, and the moment I realize they are not, I pull away. Like, for example, how I keep my distance from partnered people (both because it's a huge trigger, and also because I can't date them), we can be friends, but things will stay very casual and detached.

Does that make me a bad person? A bad friend? I do not care. Life is short and I think it's best to spend my energy with people I might have a chance with, so I'm doing exactly that!

Now the problem is dealing with the frustration that comes with being friends with a lot of people that turned out to be unavailable anyway, who have rejected me and I chose to compromise by maintaining the relationship we have and... basically, suffering through it all one-sidedly, because if I pull away from them, I know I will want to keep my distance until these relationships fade into nothingness. And I'll be fine with it, huh? How messed up...

I know all these feelings come from how deeply lonely I feel, how deeply disconnected I am from others, and just how starved I feel for love - while receiving so much platonic love from these precious friends... it wounds me, it suffocates me, really. I'm thankful while feeling frustrated and resentful, too. It's an awful place to be...

#loneliness #romantic love #inanis post

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peterthepark · 2 years

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twisted in bedsheets

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: slow burn leading to 18+ graphic smut, angst, fluff ensures, mentions of break-ups and dating apps

summary: the second part to august slipped away in which closure is sought after and second chances are given. you and peter find one another again, but things have turned bittersweet.

notes: highly requested sequel to august slipped away which you can read in the link! can be standalone as well, but i recommend the first part for everyone!!! enjoy! (not my gif btw)

missing out? ➤ [my masterlist]

The only purpose of autumn is to make you forget the beauty of what was summer. At least, that’s what Peter says to feel better about himself. The sun moves out of the way to make room for falling red leaves and time is supposed to be slower, which meant Peter’s days would eventually feel longer than usual.

If only August could have done the same.

It’s the peak of November now, and for the second time in his life, Peter is in heartbreak.

He hates the emptiness of New York — the same old weather, the layers of jackets upon sweatshirts and sleepless nights in a bed that feels too big, too quiet, too cold. The streets are always bustling with noise, and Spider-Man is needed more than ever. Without a doubt, he misses the salty air of California, the excessive sunscreen and crowded beaches with soaked shores full of sandcastles. He misses the flavorful taste of boardwalk ice cream, the harmonies of chirping birds and the lullabies of ocean waves during low tides.

Most of all, he misses you.

Your voice. The scent of your hair. The curve of your hips. The weight of your fingertips.

Bedsheets that smelled like lavender. Swimsuits hanging on top of your balcony railing. Sunsets where you would stay up drinking gross beer or taking tequila shots by the local bar. Lazy mornings where he’d wake up to the warmth of your enticing thighs and the taste of your swollen lips, clothes thrown about and onto the wine-stained carpet.

He really fucking misses you. Letters and phone calls just don’t suffice. The pixelated images of you in small bikinis with that cheeky look just can’t bring his lustful thoughts any justice. Not when Peter can’t touch you, can’t run his hands down your body and smile at the thrumming of your laughter or the satisfied moans in his ear.

He knows he was the one who left, but part of him feels it would be easier for him if it was you who ended up leaving.

Selfish, but honest.

He can’t visit. With barely enough money to pay rent in Queens, how could he afford a ticket to see you? And with you going back to university, how could you fix your schedule to accommodate him?

He left half of his heart on the other side of the world and somehow he can’t get it back.

January is supposed to be a month of new beginnings. He’s supposed to be celebrating, to pop a bottle of champagne and claim that this year is going to be his year like he’s done every other year before this one. The only thing he receives from you is a text message and a candid picture. You look happy. It makes his heart feel fragile, because he wants nothing to wish you a happy New Years and kiss you tenderly once the countdown reaches zero.

But he can’t. Because he’s here and you’re there.

He sends you an ‘I love u.’

You can only reply with a laconic ‘U too.’

Overnight video calls on the laptop suddenly turn into short two hour catch-ups on the phone. Paragraphs of texts become meaningless conversations — his daily question of ‘how are you?’ and your simple reply of a half-assed ‘good’ after forty minutes of nothing.

The lack of elaboration is enough for him to understand that he was right all along: your relationship was never built for long distance.

It was either New York or California, nothing in between and no compromise.

Peter thinks that it would be better to move on, even though he still loves you. Seasons change, people only remember to forget, life continues forward, and it’s supposed to be alright.

He’s supposed to be alright. He will be. He has to be.

But deep down, he misses you more than he remembers you.

The handwritten love letters stop coming. His phone is the quietest it has ever been, and yet he can’t bring himself to delete your number. However, he removes the pictures: the ones of you at the beach, in bed, in his arms, him with your friends and him kissing your cheek as you smile back at the camera with eyes glimmering of sunshine. It hurts, but he tells himself it’s just a photo. He just can’t look at you for too long or else it would be a reminder of what could have been.

He can’t look at you and not think about August — how he chose to slip away and how he’s been dealt with the card of immense regret.

Another year passes by.

It’s finally summer.

Peter doesn’t think of you as often anymore. As pathetic as it sounds, he’s turned to dating apps for pointless meetings with girls he doesn’t even like and hook-ups that never go past foreplay. He’s not actually looking for a relationship — godforbid he gets into one in the first place — but it helps him, sort of. The hole in his heart is still aching, but he’s found (healthy and unhealthy) methods to keep it at bay.

To keep the thoughts of you at bay.

He refuses to give into the virtuous construct that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

He’s not one to dwell on what he can’t have, therefore he avoids thinking of you. He’s proud of himself, because not once has he drunkenly texted you nor called you like those clichés in movies. You’re nothing to him but a memory. And memories have no place in the present. What’s past should stay past, and Peter knows better than to cross the fine line of dead relationships.

He doesn’t hate you. In fact, he hates that he can’t hate you. Every ounce of him perks up whenever he hears your name. It’s hope, but for what exactly? A romantic affair that lasted the entirety of summer, just to crumble at the arrival of autumn? If the fire in your heart was so passionate, then why did it burn out?

Was growing apart supposed to hurt that bad?

He’s staring out the window of an old diner, one of those historical NYC restaurants too iconic to tear down. The red leather of the booth that he’s sat in has begun to chip, flaking onto the colorful tiled flooring as the neon sign by the bar buzzes in his eardrums loudly. The clanking of the dishwasher in the back kitchen and the bubbling of a coffee maker fills the intimate silence. Peter’s basically the only one here except for the group of laughing teenagers in the corner.

He’s envious. They have so much time on their hands.

The waitress approaches his table with his plate of onion rings and a hamburger, accompanied by a strawberry milkshake and a small glass of water. He shoots her a polite smile, ignoring the way she lingers more than she needs to.

It’s late afternoon outside and his date is twenty minutes late when he checks his clock for the tenth time. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted that new dating app and that girl he accidentally swiped right on (Anita Millis PhD, MIT alumni with a sun in Sagittarius according to Bumble) – most likely a catfish, but the calculus pun in her profile made him crack up.

He’s starting to think she won’t show up. Asshole.

Not that he wasn’t entitled to a date, but he traveled all the way from Queens to Greenwich Village for this. So, yeah, maybe he is a little let down. But it’s fine. He could go exploring, check out some new patrol routes, the possibilities were — sort of — endless.

He’s halfway finished with his burger when the bell by the door chimes and a woman comes walking in.

Not Anita Millis, that’s for sure. But he can’t really see her face with how briskly she walks to the front of the diner. She takes a seat on one of the barstools, leaning over the C-shaped counter as she warmly greets the older cook in the kitchen.

“Hi, Carl!” She throws a hand up, wiggling her fingers in a friendly wave.

“Hey, sweetheart. Back already? It’s only July.”

She shrugs casually at his comment. “Gonna be August soon. School starts in a week and I wanted to make sure I was all adjusted. Plus, you know I’m loving the east coast.”

No, can’t be.

“Well, good to see you’re enjoying it. I’ll go ahead and get your usual.” Peter continues to observe the stranger. It’s too familiar — the way she fiddles with the strap of her tank top, the summer-like sunkissed highlights on her head and the timbre of her kind voice. “One strawberry milkshake.”

Strawberry.

“Thank you, Carl.”

He hands her a straw, “Pleasure’s all mine, Y/N.”

Impossible. Fucking impossible.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you take a sip of your shake.

A breathy laugh leaves you when Carl mentions something about his time in university during the seventies, then Peter thinks he’s having an acid trip. Maybe he’s been drugged. Maybe this is a dream. Weakly, he slaps at his cheek.

God, this is real.

It’s even more real when you glance at the table of teenagers in the corner and the slope of your nose is on full display. Then, your head turns over your shoulder in Peter’s direction.

You’re looking right at each other.

He hasn’t seen you in almost two years. Time stops and it feels like August all over again.

The unforgettable shade of honey in his eyes, the curious pout on your soft lips, the shared shock that falls upon both of your features as you instantly recognize each other. Memories of tall palm trees and windy road trips come barreling in, and Peter is taken back to a different universe — a different time when everything was picture perfect. Almost. He stares at you and thinks of sunny postcards, of the tan lines on his body that never quite went away. It feels like sand is blinding him again, pebbles and cracked shells digging into the soles of his burning feet atop of concrete.

“Y/N?” He breathes out, eyebrows knitting into pure confusion as his exasperated voice echoes over the quiet music.

“Peter? H-Hi, hi, wow.” His name rolls off your tongue like a crashing wave. It’s like second nature when the two of you stand up, approaching one another slowly with hands that want nothing but to reach out for the other.

But neither of you dare to make that decision.

You bury your fingers into your pockets, and Peter does the same. It’s an awkward distance as you stand in front of him, eyes traveling over the freckles that your lips had once traversed and marked their own. Somehow, it’s only been a year and Peter thinks you look older — a good older, because you look even more beautiful than he remembers.

“What are you — what are you doing here?” He chuckles nervously, fidgeting on either foot as he pinches the reddened bridge of his nose.

You notice he still hasn’t broken that habit.

“I, uh…” You touch your cheek. “I go to school here.”

“What?” The disbelief in his tone is evident. You can’t tell if he’s confused or upset. “Wow, since — since when? That’s… all the way over here? Really, Y/N?”

“Yeah, NYU.” You shyly look away when Peter huffs in amazement. “They had a program for out-of-state students.” He nods, gesturing for you to continue despite the reluctance in your stance. “I just got back from California, actually. So, you’ve caught me at a really weird time.”

“California.”

The word shares sentimental value. It’s rich with nostalgia, a fleeting romance and the hazy memory of skin against skin. It’s like finding a letter that got lost months ago in the mail.

Even worse, a letter full of things that he meant to say, but never meant to send.

It stings and soothes him at the same time.

“And you? How have you been?”

“Fine. You know, just… just trying to get by.”

“Ah, I see. That’s nice. How’s Aunt May?”

He’s already sick of pretending to enjoy this small talk, pathetically acting as if you never shared a bed together or spilled your darkest secrets to one another.

He reminisces about all the times he practiced what he’d say to you if he saw you again by chance.

“Y/N, why didn’t you reach out?”

He recognizes the flicker of pain in your avoidant gaze.

Peter can tell he’s hit a real nerve when nothing but silence comes out of your mouth. “Can we talk outside?” You weakly gesture towards the door, curling up under his unwavering stare as he fishes out a fifty from his wallet and leaves it on his table.

The bell chimes on your way out, where the two of you stand beneath the shaded awning of the diner. Peter watches you pull your hair back into a ponytail, strands sticking to your neck from the New York heat. You catch him staring, and an awkward smile is exchanged between you when he glances away a second too late.

Never did Peter imagine he’d feel awkward around someone he used to feel safe around. Unsure. Uncertain. A maybe.

Perhaps that was the keyword — maybe.

‘Maybe’ had countless connotations.

Maybe if he stayed. Maybe if he fought for it. Maybe if you fought for it. Maybe if you begged him even more, he would have given in. Maybe if you didn’t understand the extent of his responsibilities. Maybe if your relationship was strong enough — wrong, it was, perhaps the two of you weren’t the strong ones.

Maybe if it wasn’t August.

Maybe if you were given more time.

“Peter…” You sigh, hand pressing to your temple as his question rings through your head.

“And don’t bullshit me on this, Y/N.”

A wounded scoff mistakenly leaves you. “You act like it was all one-sided.”

Peter gapes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because it was? You are the one who stopped replying… stopped trying.”

“You don’t think I tried?” You scrunch your nose at him in frustration. He didn’t understand how it felt. “I thought about you every day. Every waking moment, you were the only thing on my mind. I missed you so much, it consumed me. I didn’t want anyone else, Pete. I didn’t look for anyone.”

“Is that supposed to excuse everything?” He looks down at the ground with anguish.

“You — you left me.”

“You told me you were okay with that, Y/N. You told me that we would be alright. You didn’t fight for it.”

“What was there to fight for?” He tenses when you finally lock eyes, tears glistening on your lashes when you rub the spot over your heavy heart. “You were decided. That was always the case, right? That you were gonna leave? And I was always gonna stay behind?” Your voice hitches when you take a painful gasp of air. “And yeah, of course I was going to be okay with it. Because it was for you. Letting you go back, letting you come here… I had to be okay with it. So, yes, maybe — maybe I didn’t fight for it, but at the end of the day, you needed to get home. That was all that mattered. Why are we having this conversation right now?”

Peter exhales through gritted teeth.

“You were my home. That was what mattered to me.”

The comment knocks the wind out of you, fists unclenching at your sides as deafeaning silence washes over.

You nod at him. This was no argument. There was no right person here, and at the very same time, neither of you were wrong. “I’m sorry that I drifted away.”

“And I’m sorry that I left.”

“That’s nothing to be sorry for.” Peter gazes at you longingly as you continue, eyes following the movement of your mouth. “You know, I stopped replying because I thought that was the right thing to do.”

“Did you think if you distanced yourself from me, it would’ve helped?”

He knows you too well.

“Helped the pain? Yeah.” You smile sadly at him. “One thousand percent.”

The phrase comes out of your mouth at the same time.

“It never helps.”

Surprised chuckles echo onto the sidewalk as you and Peter look at each other. It’s yearning. It’s melancholic. It’s the kind of laugh that fades out into sadness, then reality suddenly isn’t a reflection of what could’ve been. And as Peter liked to say, it is what it is. Only this time, he doesn’t want to believe that. There must be more to this, more to what your relationship was and could be.

“I hope you’re doing okay.” Your fingers twitch outwardly in his direction. It’s an instinctive reaction, but your skin doesn’t meet his. He wishes you’d touch him.

“I am… I guess I am now.” All the progress Peter made of trying to forget you has dwindled down to a barren autumn tree. He doesn’t want to admit that he wants more than another ephemeral August with you. He’s scared. Not because you’re here. But because he knows what this means for himself. “So, I overheard that you’re enjoying it here, miss NYU.” Peter pipes up humorously, muscles straining around his shirt sleeves when he crosses his arms over his chest. The course of the conversation feels more natural now. The tension isn’t so unbearable when the dimples on his face deepen. “Better than LA? I won’t be offended if you sugarcoat it.”

The corner of your lips tug into a lopsided grin as you squeak out a noise of uncertainty. “Eh, honestly, I haven’t gotten a proper tour around.” Subconsciously, your bodies have moved closer to one another. There’s still a few feet between the two of you, but the slight shift in the way you carry yourselves is unmistakable. “Never really found the right guide, so I don’t— I don’t really have a fair opinion.”

Peter amusedly hums at that, training his stare towards the setting sun. The playful tone in his voice is nothing but charming. “I know a guy.”

Your smile widens on its own account, teeth on full display as you teasingly run your tongue across your molars. “Oh, really now? A guy?”

“Yeah, totally. Lived here all his life, a local from Queens, knows a lot about subways if ever you get lost but he told me that he prefers walking because it really gives off that…”

“Oh, sure. Sure.” You tilt your head with a lighthearted giggle, eyelashes fluttering at Peter while he admires the shadows on your face.

“…That, you know, genuine feeling of being a real New Yorker. Really brings the whole vibe together, Y/N.”

You point your chin up at him, feigning a look of deep interest. “How does one get a hold of this guy of yours? Would he be able to give me a tour?”

Peter doesn’t break eye contact. He notices how you ever so subtly glance at his parted lips, throat flexing as a bead of sweat trickles down your neck. He wonders if you know the effect you have on him even after being unable to see you for so long. But fuck, he isn’t sure if he deserves that place in your life again. He doesn’t even know if you’re the same person you once were. A year can change a person. A breakup can change a person. If he crossed that line with you again, would you be able to walk with him till he reached the other side?

Could every month be your August? Could every year be an entire summer?

“What are you doing tonight?” Peter squints at you, gnawing on the inside of his cheek nervously when your features widen at the soft-spoken question. “I don’t really have plans. And well, I don’t mind clearing up my patrol schedule to show you around. There’s this taco truck that I’ve always wanted to try, but I just never really wanted to go alone.”

“Oh, Peter. You don’t have to do all that.”

You’re beautiful when you’re shy.

A determined sigh escapes him. “I know, but I’d like to.”

“Peter, I… I’m sorry, I wouldn’t want to bother.”

“It’ll be like old times.” He clears his throat. “No pressure though. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you — seeing you around, I mean! Not like… not like seeing you in that kind of way, Y/N, not that it’s bad or anything but….“

Your chuckle breaks his rambling. “Stop talking, you dork.”

Peter laughs, words trailing off into an incoherent, childish apology until he finds your eyes through the spaces between his falling curls. “I missed you.” He purses his lips together solemnly and kicks at a loose rock with the toe of his scuffed Chucks. “And I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have — I shouldn’t…”

“Hey.” You lightly tap his arm with your hand, gaining his attention. “I missed you, too.” He grasps it before you can pull away, thumb running wistfully across your knuckles until his pinky finger nudges against yours. “So much.” Peter stifles the choked sob that wants to leave him, happiness threatening to spill over his eyes. “I am free tonight, by the way.”

He squeezes your arm, then gingerly lets go of it. He nods his head slowly, sucking on his bottom lip hard enough to make an audible sound. “Okay. We can… I can meet you at your place? Just send the address and I’ll come swinging by.”

“Mhm, sounds great.” You’re about to turn away from him until the thought crosses your mind. You quickly spin on the balls of your feet, arms hugging over your front. “Do you still have my number?”

Peter studies your expression with certain intent.

“Of course, I do. Do you still have mine?”

The crinkles by your eyes stretch as a wave of embarrassment comes over you. “Well, I have a multitude of Peters in my phone, but I’m just gonna assume yours is the one with the heart.”

He clicks his tongue playfully. “Interesting. A heart, huh?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, spidey.” You glance at Peter over your shoulder, carefully putting one foot in front of the other as you start to walk away from him.

He stays put, raising his eyebrows at what he wants to believe is a term of endearment. “I’ll pick you up. Eight o’clock.”

Another lingering stare. Another jitter in your hands as butterflies flutter around in your stomach.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

It’s eleven minutes before eight when a soft knock vibrates against your front door. You mumble a foul string of curses under your breath as you slip on your left shoe, smoothing down the front of your dress until you’re retouching your makeup in the mirror for the millionth time of the night. Winded and stressed, you inhale deeply, pinching the pads of your fingers together in an effort to calm the adrenaline coursing through you.

And with one swift turn towards the door and a twist of the knob, you’re met with Peter Parker standing on your welcome mat and a bouquet of sunflowers in hand. His lips pull into a perky smile as you lock eyes, arm outstretched to give you the yellow arrangement.

“Hey.”

The simple greeting makes him blush, especially when he notices you’re wearing that particular green dress that drove him crazy.

He thinks he could kiss you right now.

“Hey.” He quickly composes himself, putting on another grin when you gesture for him to come inside.

“These are really gorgeous. You didn’t have to, Peter. I’ll just set these in a vase, then we can head out.” Your voice echoes from the kitchen, drowned out by the sound of a running faucet.

He takes the liberty of glancing around your apartment. Part of him was hoping he’d see pictures of himself, pictures of you both at the beach, any semblance of California — somewhere, some reason, as if you still had that same fervor for him.

“Everything good?” You chirp during your return to the living room, tossing a crumpled paper towel into the trash as you blink patiently up at Peter.

Then he sees it.

It baffles him how he never saw it in the first place from the moment he looked at you; the initial necklace sat perfectly between your collarbones.

P for a promise. P for Peter Parker.

The silver chain was something that he had given to you the night he left. It laid there, on his side of the bed, in place of his inevitable absence for the following day. But now, here it is, dangling on your chest — and god, it belonged. As it glistens under the ceiling lamp, Peter finds himself entranced that you kept it on. Even when he wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his, you made it seem so. You came to New York, knowing Peter was there, no longer part of your life and yet you still wore his necklace despite the ties that had been cut. It was a proclamation of the love that was birthed by August, faded by the end of last January.

Were you waiting all this time?

“Peter?”

“Yeah?” He snaps out of his thoughts, noticing how you mindlessly roll the silver-plated initial between your fingers. Your eyebrows are drawn into concern, unaware of what was running through Peter’s mind.

“You’re okay?”

His stomach grows warm when you step closer. “I’m perfect.” The words leave him exasperated and unsure as he toys with the loose yarn of his cardigan.

He wants to kiss you.

He forgets what it feels like to look in your eyes, to look into the swirling flecks in your irises and see a lifetime of summers, an endless August and the burning of sunlight against his skin. He forgets what it feels like to reach out towards you, brush his roughened fingertips against the softness of yours. He forgets what it feels like to trail his hand up your arm, feeling goosebumps form beneath his touch as he finds solace by the naked crook of your shoulder.

You lean into it, not breaking the intensity of his stare as your lips part to speak a cracked whisper. “Yeah, well, you don’t exactly look like it.”

He wants to kiss you.

Peter cups your chin ever-so-gently. “That I don’t… I don’t look perfect?” You chuckle, feeling his thumb hesitatingly press against the corner of your mouth as your palms slowly travel up his torso. His breaths are shallow, fanning softly over your face as you shake your head with a twitchy smile. “What are you trying to say, Y/N?”

“No, no, you look perfect.” Your fingers tangle between the curls by the nape of his neck. “It’s just—”

He’s going to kiss you.

You can feel the low bass of Peter’s voice thrum against your own chest. He looms over you, his tall and lean shadow swallowing your figure. “I think you’re perfect.” His hands cradle your face now, tucking the wispy strands of hair behind your ear. “So absolutely perfect.”

“Pete, I…”

All at once, his lips are on yours like a crashing wave. It’s high tide and his arms are pulling you into the whirlpool that is him, his body, taking you under. His breaths are heavy and loud against you, teeth bumping and tongues remembering the warmth of each other’s mouths as he grasps your waist like a lifeline. Similar to a man deprived of water, he drinks at you as if you’re his first glass in years — tasting the chapstick on your lips and the perfume on your neck when he kisses down your throat. Every part of you quenches his thirst, and he passes through all four seasons — winter, spring, summer, fall — when you whimper his name.

“Peter…” You sigh, his forehead pressing against yours as he pulls away. He’s kissing you like his life depends on it. Starved, needy, messy. It’s more of an ‘I missed you’ kind of make-out rather than a ‘I need you’ but you supposed those two things were one in the same at this point.

“I’m sorry — I wasn’t thinking—“ You kiss him this time before he can continue. It’s short and sweet, but the brunette finds himself wanting for more when he desperately reconnects his lips to yours. “Y/N, the more you kiss me… the more I…”

“Do you… should we stop?” Kiss. “I just… you looked…”

“Really kissable?”

“Yeah — I mean, no, but I… I missed you. Missed this. And you were staring at me as if I wasn’t…” You moan when his hand wanders up your thigh, the other on your lower back. “As if I wasn’t real… and I just… had to prove it to you—“

“Do you have a boyfriend?” His nose nudges against yours, tightly-shut eyes fluttering to gaze at you between pecks.

“You said what?”

“A boyfriend.” His voice is charmingly hopeful, yet wheezy from his lack of oxygen. Breathe, Peter. Breathe.

“You didn’t think to ask before you kissed me?”

“Well, to be honest, I—“ And you interrupt him again, reaching up on the tips of your toes to pull his face back down to yours. “I just assumed.”

“Should I be offended, Parker?”

He chuckles at himself, then mumbles an apology against your skin. “You know, I had a whole thing planned out tonight. Wanted to take you out to that taco truck, maybe walk around the city for a bit, take you swinging if you’d let me. We could’ve caught up. I’d ask you about your studies and you would ask me about my lower than minimum wage job… but honestly…” His fingers run over the initial on your chest. “I really, really, really wanna keep kissing you.” He winces. “Is that okay?”

“Certainly wasn’t the welcome I was expecting, but… okay.”

“Say yes for me.”

You nod, teeth tugging on his bottom lip with eagerness.

“Yes, that’s okay.”

Then instantly, you find yourself backed up against the door to your bedroom. The once-hanging purses and jackets drop loudly onto the floorboards as Peter kisses down your stomach, head buried beneath the short skirt of your dress while your left leg dangles over his shoulder. His bare shoulders ripple below you, flexing as his arms effortlessly hold you up.

“Everything about you, Y/N…” His words are muffled under the green silky material, pining and breathless. “So fucking soft. Missed touching you. Kissing you.” He hooks his thumbs over the waistband of your boyshorts, tugging it down your knees until they pool around your bare feet. “Making you squirm.” He nips at your inner thigh. “Making you mine.” A shudder leaves you when he inhales through his nose. “Missed your scent — that sweet fucking scent. Christ, I can’t wait to taste you again, Y/N.”

“P-Pete…” You whisper, searching for his face beneath your dress. The tone of your voice alarms him slightly, and he doesn’t hesitate to pull his mouth away to check on you. His features are caring, yet worrisome. “I’m alright, I…” You avoid his stare in the poorly-lit overcast of light in your bedroom. “I just wanna be able to watch you.”

His forehead rests against yours in the chaos of your heaving bodies. “Watch me…? What, baby? Help me out here.”

Smug bastard. “Watch you eat m-me out.” You huff out.

A low hum. “Who said I was gonna eat you out?”

“Huh?”

“Y/N, I’m not just gonna eat you out…”

“Well, I mean, I’d hope not.“ You gulp, laughing shyly as he dips down to catch the bashful glimmer in your pupils. “Cause honestly, I’d be a little disappointed—“

You yelp when his hands find your hair, tugging it roughly so that you’re forced to look up at his lusted eyes. “I’m gonna devour you, baby. I wanna remember how it feels to be buried in you again.” He smirks visibly, admiring how your jaw falls ajar at the filthiness of his forward declaration. “Can I do that? Lay you out on your bed and have you all spread out for me?” He thumbs at your bottom lip. “Make you cum tonight, over and over, just to tell you how much I missed you?”

You nod meekly.

You let Peter’s thumb dip into your mouth, your voice quiet and dripping with desperation. “Can’t I show you how much I missed you first?”

He shudders when you suck on the digit. “Okay, show me then. I’m all yours.”

The phrase is enough to make you drop to your knees. Peter exhales shakily as you unbuckle his belt, fingers flying between the buckle and popping the button of his jeans before you’re excitedly pulling the denim down his legs.

You missed him. More than words. More than actions and sex could ever show, but this would work. This could work.

His boxers join the puddle of clothes on the floor, leaving his already-hard dick fully exposed to you. Precum dripped from the aching tip, his girth wider than you remembered as you pumped his length slowly in your smaller hand.

You haven’t experienced a man this big in more than a year.

“Come on, baby.” Peter groans when you press a chaste kiss to his slit. “Don’t be shy now.”

“M’not shy, just wanna admire you.” You lick a stripe from the head of his cock to the base, lips worshipping the smooth skin of his abs. “Just as perfect as the night you fucked me silly in that bathroom.”

“Please, Y/N. Need your mouth already.” He gapes as you stare up at him, batting your lashes innocently as his member prods against your tongue. “Please.”

“Anything for you, loverboy.”

Loverboy. Fuck, he could cum right now.

With doe-eyed pupils, you watch Peter slowly fall apart as you guide his length between your swollen lips. He’s heavy in your mouth, poking the skin of your cheek with enough pressure to create a bulge.

A satisfied hiss escapes him when you use your middle and ring finger to wrap around what your mouth can’t reach, head bobbing on him as he uses the door for standing leverage. His palms are splayed out onto the wood, chin tucked against his chest to watch you suck his cock.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N. Fuck. So good, you take my cock so well.” He bites his lip, restraining himself from bucking his hips into you. “S-Shit, Y/N. You look so gorgeous with my dick in your mouth, all filled up and drunk on this — jesus, this fucking cock.” You hum at the statement with a growing smile, causing Peter to moan at the vibrations of your sweet chuckle. Your free hand strokes at his thigh, painted nails digging into his flesh as your pace quickens.

You’re gagging around his dick, a string of saliva pooling from your chin as your mouth begins to work faster. Peter pushes your hair away from your face, leaving two wispy strands to frame your cheeks as he attempts a poor take at a ponytail.

“Mmm, Peter…” You mumble with a throat full of saliva and a sore jaw, fist stroking him gently. “Can’t wait to have you inside me. Stretching me out… fuck, making me yours.”

“Me too, me too, but Y/N, I’m sorry — I need to… I need to eat you out first.”

You giggle, running your lips across his shaft with a tantalizing gaze. “Right now? You don’t wanna cum in my mouth?”

“I would love to, but tasting you again is at the top of my list of priorities.” Peter carefully pulls you off of him, grabbing you by the hands to help you up from your kneeled position.

“Didn’t know you had a list… was tasting me the first thing you thought of when we saw each other?” You joke, fighting back your excited grin when he turns you around to unzip your dress.

“Thought about a lot of other things.”

His lips skim over the back of your neck, following the hot skin below while he drags the zipper lower and lower and…

You help him pull the straps of your dress from your shoulders, his fingers resting on top of yours as he whispers sweet nothings by your ear.

“Missed you. You drive me crazy. I can’t believe you’re real.”

Peter’s hand wraps around your throat; it doesn’t feel rough, nor is it meant to be an act of outright dominance. It feels like a warm morning, the enveloping heat between blankets and the blossoming of flowers in the wind as his fingers trail across your jaw so tenderly, lips complimenting the ghost of his touch like little birds flocking to a nest. You turn your face up to him, and while his touch is a reminder of all things summer on a hot afternoon, his eyes are a window to the constellations of clear nights.

“I can’t believe you’re here. I’m sorry, I never should’ve left.”

You see the Northern Lights in the glimmer of his affectionate stare and Cassiopeia beneath the Milky Way of his heavy eyelashes. His mouth finds yours in the universal chaos of summer and fall, index and middle finger placed on either side of your ear. He smells of musk, but rather than a forest of evergreen trees, Peter is more like swaying palm trees along the breezy coast of Malibu.

Going with the flow. Here, not there.

You’re here. He’s here.

His stature towers over you, toned arms pushing against you until the back of your knees hit the bed. He doesn’t let you lay back — not all the way, at least.

“Didn’t you wanna watch?” He quirks a smug brow, teeth tugging on the fat of your inner thighs as his mouth nears your needy core. You can feel his cool breaths against you, large hands holding you down by the waist as his nose nudges at your clit. “You’re gonna sit up the whole time, and I’ll give you what you want. Lemme see that pretty face, Y/N.”

He carefully pulls your legs apart, softly drawing hearts on your calf as he gauges your reaction. Your smile twitches with anticipation, a mixture of shyness and amorous familiarity broadening your features.

Peter immediately picks up on the way your heartbeat quickens. “This okay?” He whispers, barely audible when he brings his thumb to your clit. The nub is already throbbing under his light touch, and you let out a whiny hum of approval because it feels so — oh, god, he’s kneeling.

Still keeping you upright, his mouth suckles at your folds. You jolt at the sensation, broken gasps mewling from your throat as he moves back and forth from your clit to your dripping hole.

“Peter, f-fuck…”

“Shh, I know.” He looks up at you with eyes full of adoration and desire. “I know it feels good. Don’t need to tell me. I already know.”

“You still remember what I…”

“Y/N, of course I remember what you like.” He swirls the pad of his middle against your cunt, collecting your wetness before he uses it to push into you. “I remember exactly how your body wants it — wants me. My fingers.” You throw your head back when he adds another digit. “My cock.” His wrist slowly snaps against you, the heel of his hand prodding against your sensitive clit.

“No one gets me off like you do.” You whisper, nails massaging at his scalp as you guide his lips back onto your core. “You were always so — fuck, so attentive with me. So caring, so careful and so…” You whimper when he curls his fingers into you. “So giving.”

“And you, always so needy.”

You exchange bubbly laughter. Even with his face buried between your thighs, he radiates nothing but love.

Pure and absolute all-consuming love.

The combination of being fingered and his mouth starts to make your legs shake, abdomen flexing as you try to even out your breathing.

“Baby…”

“God, I can just feel you squeezing around me. Ready to cum, sweetheart?”

The vulnerable word leaves you in a gasp. “Please.”

Peter doesn’t say anything, but his moans join together with yours as he watches you reach your orgasm. You clench your thighs around his hand, forcing to keep your eyes open as you press your forehead to his.

He coaxes you with a free hand on your back. “There’s my girl. Yeah, ride it out. Fuck, Y/N.” He holds you in place, afraid that you’d topple over from the intensity. “Did so well for me.” He kisses either side of your cheek. “Do you wanna stop? Let me know if you can’t handle any more.”

You shake your head. “I can handle it.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” You gaze into his eyes for what feels like the first time all over again. He’s so unbelievably pretty, that you’re afraid this is all a dream. His lips tug into the faintest smile, almost as if he could read your thoughts. “Hey, stop staring.”

You flick his shoulder. “I’m not staring.”

“You are.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his hand hold you by the back of your head. “Never stop staring at me.”

His name tumbles out in a trembling thrum when you pull him towards the bed. “Peter.”

“Y/N.” He lays beside you, elbow propped up as he studies you.

“I missed you.”

His features soften as you straddle his lap. “I missed you more.” You lean forward, hands on either side of him as you slowly sink down onto his length.

A collective moan echoes through the quiet air. His features mimic yours — eyebrows furrowed, lips parted in a surprised gasp from how full he makes you feel.

And how your cunt is already milking his cock just from him bottoming out.

You roll your hips against his, testing the waters. Peter can’t help but sit up, back resting against the headboard as your bare tits distract him from the view of your dripping cunt. He kneads at the soft flesh, giving attention to either nipple with his warm tongue while he looks up at you.

But something about the way you ride him is different from all the other times.

It’s not a desperate goodbye. It’s a wish for him to stay. Strings of curses and the familiar mewl of his name don’t fall from your lips at this moment. It’s on loop, as if you were afraid that this memory would be fleeting like the rest.

I missed you.

And Peter doesn’t want to say he missed you too. Instead, he utters his next three favorite words in a slow, hushed whisper.

He assures you he won’t slip away.

“I love you.” His hands remember the curve of your hips, the love handles and the dips in your thighs that left him in awe. He kisses you like he’s reaching for your heart rather than your lips. His cheeks are incredibly flushed, tears blurring the portrait of you in his vision. “I love you, Y/N.”

You breathlessly grin at him, “I love you, Peter.”

His hips snap into you, breasts bouncing in his face as he pulls you as close to him as possible. No other words are exchanged. Your moans are full of passion and your hands endlessly tug at each other’s skin in yearning.

Almost two years. August. Summer. California. The way your sweat feels against his. New York. July. You, this is real. Peter, this is real. Strawberry milkshakes and sandy bodies. Ice cream and silent walks on the boardwalk. The afterglow of city lights. The burn of tequila and the feeling of three beers in.

The necklace around your throat.

The way Peter breathes all of you.

You and him twisted in bedsheets like always.

He cradles your head against his shoulder as you both cum, bodies quivering from the long high as Peter coats your walls with his warm cum. Your arms are thrown across his back, forehead slick with sweat as you stick to his body.

A shudder leaves him when you roll off his lap, blankets feeling hot against your exhausted bodies.

It’s just you two and the rare peacefulness of New York.

“Y/N?” You let out a soft grunt in response, too overwhelmed to reply. “I won’t slip away this time.”

“I hope not.”

“It would be an honor…” He inhales himself against your skin. “… to be yours all over again.”

“Mine. Just all mine.” You turn to him feverishly, glassy eyes glancing at the clock on your nightstand. “I won’t slip away either.” Your finger points at the flashing numbers, a playful smile on your lips. “Would you look at that?”

The brunette looks over his shoulder.

August 1st.

With tangled limbs and vibrant smiles, he pulls you into another breathtaking kiss.

Peter thinks August could be the start of forever.

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

I'm pretty sure this is prompt four. Jiang Cheng/Qin Su - Jin Rusong as heir to Lotus Pier

ao3

Jiang Cheng heard the news in pieces, scraps of wild rumor and gossip repeated a hundred times over, but he still refused to believe it until he actually saw the official announcement.

Jin Guangyao had divorced his wife and sent her back to her father’s house, along with their son.

“Is he insane?” Jiang Cheng asked his second in command, who only shrugged helplessly. “Putting aside the fact that I’m certain that he loves her madly, putting everything else aside, Sect Leader Qin is influential and powerful, and a strong supporter of his father – no matter what happened between them, surely someone as pleasant and compromising as Jin Guangyao could find a way to work it out?”

Jiang Cheng had only met Qin Su a few times, always at Jin Guangyao’s side. He’d heard about how she’d fallen for the dashing young man that turned out to be Jin Guangyao and sworn to marry him, no matter the obstacles; he’d heard how they’d managed to overcome every storm, fight the wind and rain, and eventually made it to their marriage bed.

They’d even had a son together, little Jin Rusong; he was Jin Ling’s best playmate.

And Jin Guangyao was kicking him out? Kicking her out?

Absurd!

Who did he think he was?

And yet, contrary to Jiang Cheng’s expectations, Sect Leader Qin did not immediately explode, or, rather, within a few days, he did, but not in the way anyone had expected. Everyone had joked that he would find Jin Guangyao and strangle him, and he really did physically attack someone – but not Jin Guangyao.

He attacked Jin Guangshan instead.

It was as if he’d gone mad, red-eyed like Nie Mingjue in the throes of his qi deviation; he’d charged at Jin Guangshan, his old friend of thirty years or more, right in the middle of Jinlin Tower, and swiped at him viciously with his sword, cutting a gash in his chest as the surprised Jin sect leader darted back too slowly to wholly dodge.

What could be done? The Lanling Jin sect guards could not stand silently by with such provocation – they counter-attacked at once, and Sect Leader Qin did not survive. A little later, and it was discovered that he had never intended on it: his sword was laced with poison.

Sect Leader Qin died, but he took Jin Guangshan down with him the underworld.

The rumor mill exploded.

Everyone was talking about Sect Leader Qin’s motivations – the suspicious timing of the divorce – Jin Guangyao’s now inevitable ascension to the seat of Sect Leader Jin –

Only Jiang Cheng thought about Qin Su, who should have been ascending right beside him. It had been her father that had died, after all.

Laoling Qin was far enough away from Lanling Jin that they were still mostly independent, and they were close enough to the Qinghe Nie that Jiang Cheng could pretend that he’d only made a short detour on a visit directed towards Nie Huaisang, that notorious purveyor of gossip; luckily enough, Nie Huaisang remembered their old friendship and was more than happy to help cover his tracks.

When Jiang Cheng arrived, the house was already decked out in mourning. Qin Su greeted him, eyes red and swollen from tears.

“I’m sorry,” Jiang Cheng said awkwardly, then flinched when he realized he probably should have said something in greeting first – they really didn’t know each other well enough to skip over all that.

Nevertheless, Qin Su nodded, forgiving him the slip-up before he could even retract it. She was gracious and gentle, kind and quiet, economical and thoughtful – a consummate hostess. The wife of Jin Guangyao could not afford to be anything less.

Former wife.

Jiang Cheng’s gaze danced around the room, searching for something to say, and then abruptly he noticed – “There are two deaths in your household?”

“My mother took her own life,” Qin Su said, her voice dull. She tried to suppress it, but tears gathered in her eyes again. “Shortly before…”

Whatever it was that Jin Guangshan had done that had driven Sect Leader Qin mad, it had involved his wife, Jiang Cheng thought, and then abruptly he turned pale as he put two and two together. He’d never doubted that Jin Guangyao had adored Qin Su, so why would he divorce her?

Unless…

Jin Guangshan had a reputation.

Qin Su laughed a little, a bitter sound. “Everyone will know, soon enough,” she said wisely, seeing that Jiang Cheng had figured it out. “I don’t blame my former husband at all; he acted as he ought to in every respect. It’s only my poor A-Song…I can’t imagine what his life will be like from now on.”

Jiang Cheng looked helplessly at her. To lose not only your parents, one right after the other, but your husband, your reputation, and next even your son…

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, and Qin Su stared at him. “If Sect Leader Jin’s assault were recent rather than ancient, it would have provoked the same result. The only reason anyone might suspect the truth is because of the timing of your divorce – if there’s a reason given for that, people won’t think twice about it.”

His words had come out all in a rush, smashing together like stones tossed around by a waterfall; he hadn’t thought of the idea until right this moment.

“Are you suggesting I admit to adultery?” she asked. Her eyes were as round as the full moon.

Jiang Cheng shrugged, a little helpless. “Your reputation is gone,” he pointed out, wishing he knew how to be kind or tactful. “Adultery or incest – it’s the same either way for you. But for A-Song…”

To be the son of an adulterous woman was disgraceful, but such things happened and people generally looked the other way, as long as the real father was powerful enough.

It was better than being a child of incest.

“But what of your reputation?” she asked. “Sect Leader Jiang, you can’t. I won’t let you injure yourself for my sake.”

“Not for you,” he said, though maybe it was, just a little bit. The loss of your parents, the loss of your whole life, everything you’d ever believed – who could understand that better than him? “For A-Song. He’s Jin Ling’s best friend.”

Qin Su had always been kind to Jin Ling, he thought. She didn’t need to be, could just tolerate him the way most people in Jinlin Tower did, but she really seemed to like him…

It occurred to him suddenly that Qin Su met all of his requirements for a bride: a beauty from a good family, obedient, economical, with a mild personality who wasn’t too loud and wasn’t too talkative, who was good to Jin Ling…

“How’s your cultivation?” he asked abruptly. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Mediocre,” she said, blinking at him. “And I’m better at baking, I think. I like making sweets.”

“Good,” Jiang Cheng said, relieved. “That’s – good. I’m glad. Will you marry me?”

Qin Su bit her lip. “Let me think about it?”

Thoughtful, he added to the list. Cautious, not reckless.

“Take all the time you need,” he said.

She came back to him two shichen later. “What happens to A-Song?” she asked.

“I’ll adopt him as my own,” Jiang Cheng said. “Or he can keep the surname Jin, if you prefer. And if Lianfeng-zun agrees, which I think he will – it’s his birthright, after all.” Too many times over. “Jin Ling lives with me sometimes; they can grow up as cousins, the way they should.”

Qin Su nodded, lips trembling a little. “You won’t regret this?”

“I might,” Jiang Cheng admitted. “But I’m probably not going to marry anyone else, and I’m willing. Are you?”

“I am,” she said, and smiled at him. Her eyes were still red, and the smile shaky, but it was something. “Thank you. I…no, never mind.”

“If we’re going to be married, you’re going to need to learn to ask things of me,” he reminded her.

Qin Su wiped her eyes. “Yes, but there’s asking reasonable things, and then there’s asking to alert my former husband before we announce our engagement.”

“Oh, no, that’s a great idea,” Jiang Cheng said, immediately relieved. “If there’s one thing Lianfeng-zun knows, it’s how to manage an announcement of that sort of magnitude. We should definitely tell him.”

Qin Su’s smile this time was stronger.

Nie Huaisang pulled a few strings and got Jin Guangyao to come over to the Unclean Realm, and when he walked in and saw Qin Su, he flinched. Jiang Cheng could see on his face that he still loved her, and he felt bad for him – not enough to stop, but still.

“I see,” Jin Guangyao said, hearing the plan. His expression was surprisingly neutral – thoughtful, but not as upset as Jiang Cheng would have expected. “It’s not a bad idea. And you don’t even need to admit to adultery, either.”

“We don’t?” Jiang Cheng asked, surprised.

“We can say that my marriage with A-Su broke down after my father’s actions - painting them as recent, rather than ancient,” Jin Guangyao explained. “I didn’t feel I could oppose him, she had no choice but to do so – it was an irrevocable breach. You came to comfort her, having met her during your visits with Jin Ling, and her sect is in need of support…you can say it developed naturally from there. It might not work to quell the rumors, of course, but it would at least provide a way to save face in public…Leave it to me.”

“Thank you, A-Yao,” Qin Su said quietly, and he smiled at her, pained.

“Just be happy,” he said to her, then looked at Jiang Cheng. “Treat her well.”

“I will,” Jiang Cheng promised, and took her by the hand. “I swear.”

It was a few years later. Nie Huaisang sat beside Jiang Cheng.

“I think he killed my brother,” he said, playing with his fan. “I’m going to destroy him.”

Jiang Cheng stared at the newest memorial tablet in the Lotus Pier, his hands clenched into fists with knuckles turned white.

“Good,” he said, voice savage. “I’ll help.”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #qin su #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #I'm sorry

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the-mythical-bird · 2 years

Note

Hi there. I love the Marco and pineapple gifts hc. So cute and the idea makes me melt. He loves them ofc, we know the birb does. Anyway, I didn't know you took request, until I saw you write one. If I'm overstepping, pls ignore this, but could I please ask for somesfw with Izo, maybe how he takes care of his partner, when they're feeling down or is sick? Thank you 💜

Hello 👋🏼 I enjoyed your ask and I was more than happy to write this for you I hope you’ll like it tho

I also wrote a little scenario (one shot) so if you want to read it tell me and I’ll post it too ☺️

(This was originally written in French sorry if there is any mistake)

Izou x Sick Partenaire 🤒

GN reader x sfw

590 words.

You’re sick ? Hold on babe you’re not gonna be able to do anything by yourself for at least the next week.

This man is so caring that he will gladly become your personal nurse for as long as it takes to get you back on your feet again.

He will do absolutely everything for you, and you are not allowed to do anything but swallow the soup he makes you eat himself and your medicine

And you are not in a position to refuse anything or he will pout and say that you don't love him anymore and that he feels betrayed

You have a common cold and he knows it, but that doesn't stop him from forcing Marco to come twice a day to ensure that everything is fine and that your condition is not getting worse.

Marco is not very happy to have to follow Izou but he does it otherwise the man pouts and becomes a nuisance. The man will pout like a child, but knows damn well how to be bossy.

The phoenix wishes you good luck every time he leaves. He knows that his brother can become intrusive if he worries.

Because yes Izou is super worried about you. He isn't faking it. He's like that with everyone.

Very protective of the people he loves. He doesn't want anything bad to happen to them.

For a week, he will take care of you and make sure you don't lack anything.

He will take care of your meals, your medication, your hygiene and even your entertainment.

Izou will give you updates on what is happening on the ship while you are away. He will read the newspaper to you so that you can be aware of everything. He'll tell you stories you've heard a dozen times before. He will talk, a lot.

If you have a fever, he is ready to lower your temperature with a cloth and cold water. And if it is necessary to call Marco for a visit in addition to the two by default he does it. Even if it means getting the phoenix out of his room past midnight.

Will ask you how you are doing at least four times an hour. If not to ask you how you are, he will check on you to see if you need anything. Offer you something to eat or drink. And if you don't really want anything, he'll ask you if you're really sure you're alright, taking out the thermometer he stole from Marco to take your temperature. Because according to him, if you don't want anything, it means that you are not fine.

When Marco told him that you were better, that the medication had been effective and that therefore you were able to get out of bed, Izou was skeptical.

You were his reason of being and he wanted to be sure that you were in perfect health before deciding anything.

You had to convince him for more than ten minutes that it was okay, you were not sick anymore and yet you could see that he was not happy. « It's raining outside and I don't want you to get sick again. »

You finally reach a compromise, you stay in the room for today but tomorrow it was over

He finally agrees and you spend the day in each other's arms cuddling under the warm silk sheets. The sound of the rain falling outside soothing you, you end up sleeping against each other.

#one piece headcanon #one piece izou #op izou #izou x you #izou x reader #one piece #marco one piece #marco the phoenix headcanon #fushichou marco #one piece fic #one piece fiction #izo one piece #sfw #one piece x gender neutral reader #one piece x gn reader

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for-ests · 3 years

Text

Dosage: Gojo Satoru x Reader

summary: you finally gain the courage to tell Gojo what you are craving. (some requested Gojo smut for me and my simps)

Wc: 4, 587

Few people had seen the mystifying colors that you theorized were present in Gojo’s eyes. You had known him for months now and had yet to intimately glimpse his irises. It was strange to not know what awaited you under the fabric, as eyes were one of the first features another would compliment.

It was a feature that made up a face, that many people needed to see to find someone attractive. You had developed immensely strong feelings, falling for every inch of his body, strength, and personality, without even knowing what color his eyes were.

It had all started after you were paired up on a project with him to train the boy who had consumed Sukuna’s fingers. You were a renowned sorcerer in your own right, yet you knew your power could not compare to what Gojo displayed every time you were thrown into battle beside him.

That was another reason you fell so deeply in love with him. He was there to save you each time. Like today, for instance. After battling and exorcizing until your body was completely out of stamina, Gojo swooped in at the last minute and cleaned up the rest of them as you laughed on the sidelines.

Now he had brought you back to his house, a place where you could always relax. You felt so safe around him, never having a care in the world when you were in his presence.

You sprawled across his bed, a bed you had grown so accustomed to, letting yourself become surrounded by his scent and everything that made him who he was. Normally, you would have immediately drifted off into a peaceful slumber, but the mood that hung low around the two of you felt different this time around.

Though you had been dating for quite some time, there was one action you and Gojo had not participated in--which was sex. There were multiple reasons for not taking pleasure in the wonders his body could provide, yet what it came down to was time management, which was something the two of you were terrible at.

Time management was hard when your livelihood depended on calls of distress.

Yet right then, coming down from the high of combat, after watching him in his element, there was only one thing on your mind. You wanted him. You wanted him in the most intimate way possible.

“Are you going to take a nap?” Gojo closed the door behind him, immediately slipping out of his coat and tossing it onto his desk chair.

Truthfully, a nap did sound wonderful. It was just nice to receive some peace and quiet with him, yet, your urges could not be suppressed again. You at least had to say something about it, let him know what you were craving. “I want something…” You sat up, gaining the courage to face him head-on with the need that was pooling in the pit of your stomach from his unfiltered proximity alone.

Gojo turned, already chuckling from your outburst. “Let me guess… You wanna see me with it off?” he pointed at his blindfold, lips upturned with a smirk.

“I mean…” You trailed off, trying to express your words as nonchalantly as possible. Your boyfriend had only guessed one of the two things you wanted. “If you want to… I’d also like more than that.”

“And what would that be?” Gojo questioned, snaking his way between your legs, towering over you with a playful intensity that was absent before. It was clear that he enjoyed your perturbation, as it was something you rarely expressed, you were always calm and collected.

Your relationship had never gone further than heated make-out sessions, your hands never reaching past the hem of his pants, never gaining the confidence to run across his abs and along his biceps, biceps you constantly eyed every time he was in battle. It was as if he was a life-saving drug that you could never get the proper dosage of.

The sight of him alone turned you on, and you were sick and tired of suppressing those wishes.

“I want you.” Your words came out sheepish, quiet.

Because of your sudden timidness, Gojo’s movements became tender, a far contrast from what you were used to, he was always giddy, cracking jokes left and right. He was rarely serious, even in battle, even in life or death situations.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, signaling that he intended to grant your wish.

“It’s about time isn’t it?” Gojo whispered in your ear, resting his knee between your legs, leaning down until you were almost embracing. “I was just waiting for you to ask, I’m surprised you held out for so long.”

You blushed, trying to look at anything else besides the smug expression he was wearing. Your stomach flipped with butterflies under the touch of your boyfriend, best friend, and mentor—a touch that felt familiar, yet so foreign in its unexplored way. He had never touched you like this before, so compassionate; laced with hunger in its purest form.

Without another word, Gojo gently grasped your wrists. He guided you to his blindfold, waiting for you to reach out. Your fingers curled excitedly around the silky fabric. What color would his eyes be? Would they be green, or brown, or blue? What if he didn’t have any eyes at all?

Your breath hitched as you tugged it away.

“Gojo-” You whispered, at a loss for words. His eyes were a mystifying glacier blue, a blue that could only be mimicked in the deep crevices of northern hemisphere icebergs. They reminded you of the ocean, of light blue water that stretched to the horizon.

Your hand came to cup his cheek, and at the contact, he tilted his head into your touch.

“I love you,” Gojo confessed, a confession that tore you away from your study. It was strange, viewing him in his entirety, an entirety you knew was a rarity among your pupils and superiors, your underlings, everyone except you and the few he held close to his heart.

The sorcerer was handsome, utterly breathtaking. You held his affectionate gaze for what seemed like minutes, enjoying the silence of his beauty, wanting to engrave the sight of his eyes forever into your memory, cherishing the view as if it could be your last.

I love you.

Then, as you finally processed what he had confessed, your eyes widened. “What?—” You were cut off by his lips connecting with yours, engulfing your thoughts in complete and utter bliss. For a brief moment, your eyes stayed open.

He had never said that to you before. Did he mean it? Did he really love you?

As if he could read your mind, Gojo mumbled against your lips, “I mean it.” The tone in his voice had a faint smirk to it as if he was teasing you for believing he could be anything but serious, teasing you for believing that he would lie about something as important as his affections for you.

You kissed him first, melting against his towering frame, succumbing to your desires. His lips mended perfectly with yours in motions that were so passionate you could hardly focus on breathing.

You clutched onto Gojo’s arm to steady yourself. His kisses became rougher, hungrier, more intense with each passing moment. You became drunk on the lips that you had waited so long for.

“I love…” You gasped, trying to pull away and accept his confession. “I love you too.”

“Good.” Gojo chuckled, curling his arm securely around your waist. You shivered at the contact, prepared to accept whatever he had in mind. You wanted to submit, you wanted everything he would give you.

Steadily, Gojo leaned into you, beckoning you backward until you were flattened against the mattress. In any other situation, with any other person, you would have fought for dominance, you would have resisted such compromising positions. Yet safety radiated off of him, as it always had. Your eyes flickered back down to his reddening lips, your helpless position inviting him for more.

You had months of kissing to cover. And with each movement your lips made, your emotions heightened, begging for more, begging for all of him. Time was finally something the both of you had enough of.

Because of that reason, and only that reason, you sat up the second he pulled away to breathe and pushed him onto his back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Gojo laughed, letting the back of his head rest against the headboard. You didn’t answer, only crawled on top of him in response, your actions the perfect answer. You wanted to please him just as badly as he wanted you.

You shifted positions until you were straddling him, placing your lips back against his. Gojo groaned into your mouth, the slightest movement from you causing him to grow hard. Instinctively, his hands moved from your face and latched onto your hips. The man grasped them tightly, almost pawing in hopes that your clothes would fall away that easily. He wanted to take you as soon as he could, infatuated with every move you made, every sound that he managed to etch from your lips.

Your hips bucked naturally, desperate for pressure, desperate for contact, the position you had put yourself in granted you access you had only ever thought to dream of before.

“Baby…” You whined, feeling that same spot in your stomach flipping as his movements followed yours. You kissed him again, and again, hands reaching out and grasping his shoulders, trailing down his biceps, hurting for skin to skin contact.

You needed him. Every fiber in your being was pulsating for the urge to become one. The way he moved his hips in response to your contact relayed that he felt the same. You felt his hardness underneath, pressing against your cunt, tempting to be released, tempting for release.

Refusing to contemplate if you should for another minute, you broke away from the kiss, saliva connecting your lips to his. Blushing, you gained a moment to breathe, cheeks tainted with evidence of your current, sinful state. You wanted more. But was now the right time?

Staring into your own pair of mystifying eyes was enough to give Gojo his answer. Yes, the right time was now. “Only if you want to.” He whispered.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. There was no way you could leave his bedroom without satisfying the sensual urge that filled every sense. You ran your hands through Gojo’s hair, pulling him as close as you could.

“Please fuck me.” You whispered, suddenly becoming shy enough from the desperation in your tone. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had sex before, it was more that you wanted it so badly from him, it was the fact that he had been sweet enough to never ask, sweet enough to not need such an act to want to be with you.

It seemed like he had been trying his best to hold back, and now that you were finally ready, he was not going to hold back. Now that you could see his eyes clearly, you could fully understand the emotions he was feeling.

“I’ll do much more than that, sweetheart,” Gojo whispered, proceeding to push you out of his lap and into your back. Recognizing the glint in his eye to be one of animalistic lust, you obediently laid on your back, trying to avert your eyes in embarrassment as the man you loved helped you out of your shirt. As both top garments slipped off your body, you felt the heat creep back into your core, stimulated by the simplest action.

Having your chest exposed for the first time, Gojo ravished the touch, letting his hands linger and brush against all the places you had never let him before. Even if he had always fantasized about doing so, nothing could compare to the reality.

Feeling the hotness of Gojo’s mouth against your breasts caused you to moan out loud.

“Oh… ho...ho…” the man whispered against your skin, grinding his hips into your core for another distraction. He was enjoying himself as much as you were. “Let it out, sweetheart, you can be as loud as you want.”

The hardness in his pants ignited something deep within you. It felt heavenly, the sexual contact so foreign from his hands, something you had wished for just as hard as he had.

But your breaths soon become muffled mewls of erotic pleasure as Gojo bruised the sensitive spot on your neck. He moved his hands down to your thighs, drawing circles softly and sensually, inching closer and closer to your core.

"I want to see all of you..." He groaned against your skin, pulling his head away to stare into your own lust-filled eyes, searching for any sort of confirmation.

You were flustered, pressed entirely against his chest as he continued to play with your body. You didn’t know it was possible for every action to be so pleasurable, to be so intense that you were already growing wet from only being touched and kissed.

That’s what was racing through your mind as Gojo’s hands snaked down your sides and over your panties. Before you could process his actions, you felt his fingers against your clit, fingers rubbing in soft, slow circles.

"Gojo..." You pleaded in short quick whimpers, not wanting him to stop grinding against the incredibly sensitive spot. No man had ever teased you with such tenderness and care.

Confidence surged through your veins at his touch, exciting you and sending waves of passion across your body. With the newfound feeling, you decided to please him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his face into your exposed chest.

"I want you inside me..."You whimpered, grinding against his fingers to display just how badly you were wishing.

"Fuck.. Y/N... don't say that..." Gojo grunted, grasping hold of your chin to bring your lips back together with his.

Despite the heated tongue locking, Gojo continued to massage between your thighs, trailing under your shorts and past your underwear, until he quickly inserted his fingers. You moaned loudly, tears gathering on your eyelids from how blissful it felt. Just his fingers could be enough to satisfy, if you weren’t so hungry for all of him. "P-please..." You whined, hands moving from his shoulders to the sheets, kneading your palms against them as your clit pulsed with heat.

The man’s body was trembling just as much, the nerves finally setting in. All Gojo wanted to do was please you, he wanted to do such a wonderful job that you were unable to think of anyone else. Though no matter what happened, you would always think he was handsome, especially with how apparent he made his emotions known, the sexual and the physical, his own composure coming undone against you.

You tugged on his shirt, beckoning him to take it off. Gojo obeyed quickly, wanting to strip off all his clothing because of how electrified you made him feel.

Your eyes widened, gaze lingering on every curve, everything that made him the masterpiece he was. Moving your hands forward, you touched his toned chest, your fingers exploring and caressing every muscle you could get your hands on. The sorcerer relaxed at the desperation laced within your actions, his breathing faltering for a moment before he grabbed your hands and forced them above your head, against the bed.

You stared deeply into his eyes, him doing the same. Take me. You pleaded silently. Do it now.

Gojo pinned you down, hovering over on one knee, not wasting another second to finally slide your panties down your legs until you were completely naked. You threw your head back at the coldness of his hands, pressing against your most sensitive parts, inserting one, then two, then three fingers. His own lips parted as he watched you take him gladly, trying to prepare yourself for what you knew was growing in his pants. Goosebumps spread across your entire body as you met his suddenly crazed eyes, no longer composed.

"You're so beautiful," The man whispered huskily. “And you are all for me.” Astounded, he began to slip out of his pants. With every movement he made in between, he made sure to leave a hot, wet kiss on your thigh. Gojo stepped out of his boxers, his staggering length bouncing in front of your face. His cock poked against your entrance within the next moment, hungry for action.

He loved you. Gojo couldn’t fight the attraction any longer. He also couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t been pinning over a moment like this for the entirety of your relationship.

Without another second to pass, Gojo abruptly pulled your naked body to the edge of the bed and smiled down at your flustered cheeks. All this for him and he couldn’t be luckier.

Though every subconscious thought throughout the time he had grown to know you had undoubtedly prepared him for this moment, he was still awestruck. Despite his own strength, you had your own overwhelming amount. You had the wits, you had the beauty. You had everything he could ever want and he could only ever think about protecting you, cherishing you, loving you to his fullest extent.

“Gojo…” You whimpered, tone evidently conveying embarrassment. He had been staring at you for a while, something you weren’t used to because of his covering. Though you had only whimpered his name, it had prompted action. The man leaned down over your womanhood and promptly stuck his tongue inside of you.

You gripped the sheets in panic, never imagining how incredible the feeling could be. "Oh my god..." You whimpered, throwing your head back at the sensation. It felt better than his fingers, hot and wet, and compromising.

Gojo was simulated by your sounds, due to the speed his tongue licked and massaged against your clit. You grabbed his hair and pushed his face down harder, completely satisfied with how it felt. Yet you couldn’t stop with just this-- you needed more. You needed all of him. All your worries faded into the background noise along with the crinkling sheets and low groan of your lover’s baritone.

You closed your eyes for a moment, only feeling, only touching, only relishing in him. Your mind was filled with his bliss, his passion, his love.

"Make love with me..." You panted, eyes pleading for the high only he could give you. A high that had not been reached with him, though one that had remained in the back of your mind since the day you laid your eyes on him. “Stop teasing me.”

Gojo gazed up at you through your parted legs, a smirk carving into his features. A fervent need suddenly passed between the two of you.

"As you wish..." The sorcerer whispered, standing back up, stroking his length as he eyed your region that was now dripping with his spit and your precum. You knew he was toying with you, moving painfully slow, eyes flickering back to yours with every moment, getting off on the way your face contorted with pleasure.

And at that moment, it was the first time you and Gojo came together as one.

"Gojo!" You cried softly, gasping in pain as his length penetrated your most sensitive spot, pushing in slowly, letting your insides adjust to his massive size. "Shit..." You cursed, squeezing his biceps for support as you felt him slide in farther, bottoming out in the next breath.

Through desperation of a high, you pulled him closer, desperate to hold onto something to ease the pain of his gigantic shaft, burying your face into the crook of his neck. At your moans, Gojo began to thurst, relishing in the sensation of your walls tightening around him. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath, feeling on top of the world, feeling like he was in the dream he had always wanted to be in.

"Y/N..." He whispered your name in a strained voice, the veins in his neck defining as he resisted the darker urges threatening to creep into reality.

Your hands moved to snarl into his hair, bringing his face next to yours, flattening his body against yours. “Gojo…” You whimpered his name desperately, breasts bouncing up and down from his sensual movements, his ravishing desire threatening to push you over the edge. Allowing yourself to be consumed by it, you could hardly feel him paw at your chest, tilting your head back as your body became limp.

"Say my name again..." Gojo groaned, his thrusts sliding deeper and his breath becoming heavier. "Nobody will hear you but me sweetheart..."

The man began to pound into you, shaking your entire body, shaking the entire bed. You were so flustered that you couldn't seem to focus on anything except the sound of his skin slapping against yours, your moans and whimpers for more echoing in his ear, pushing him to continue his lethal pace.

Gojo slid fully out and then back in, and with one swift motion, you felt your body convulse. "Ah!" You gasped, nails digging into his bulging arms wildly. "Gojo... Fuck!"

"Yeah..." The man moaned, leaning down and resting his head back in the crook of your neck. "Just like that baby..." He mumbled, the nickname sounding so dirty upon his lips, everything he said sounded as if he was casting a spell to make you fall deeper in love with him, if that was even possible.

"Gojo...” you repeated his name as if it was a dream, as if he might leave you at any moment. “I love you…” You choked out between gasps, the pleasurable feeling building stronger and stronger below your abdomen. You couldn’t take the heat any longer, especially when he called you baby, when you opened your eyes and looked into his own. “I’m gonna cum…”

"Cum on me..." Your boyfriend encouraged, looping his arms under your waist and hoisting you up into his arms. Your lips met him in a kiss, one that was sloppy and rough, but one that sent a wave of burning passion down your spine.

“I love you…” You whimpered with each gasp. “I love you Gojo, only you can make me feel…”

“I know.” He grunted, shifting your weight completely into his grip. Your body left the bed, and for support, you looped your arms around his neck, your legs wrapping around his waist.

Gojo leaned forward, providing him the perfect angle to let himself slide back in. You gasped, your eyes squeezing shut from the intense amount of pressure. "Oh my god.." you lamented, grasping his shoulders for support. You sunk down on him until it was painful, until you were full with his twitching length once again.

You were dripping, making it easy for Gojo to thrust as softly as he could. He gripped your ass, cursing loudly as you bounced against his cock. You moaned his name over and over again, a stream of curses following as your body began to tremble on the verge of your inevitable orgasm.

“That’s it.” Gojo encouraged, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Come all over me like I know you want to.”

His pace gradually gained speed, causing you to lose yourself completely. For support, your arms reached up to curl around his neck, one hand finding basis in his hair and the other digging into his shoulder blade.

"Gojo!" You whimpered loudly, on the verge of screaming out in pleasure, the motion and the length of his cock sheathed inside you becoming too much to handle in the helpless position. “I’m cumming…” You threw your head back, choking out the confession as your thighs twitched in response.

"That’s it… you’re so fucking tight." Gojo grunted through clenched teeth, sweat beginning to gather on his forehead from his erratic, yet rhythmic movements. Though you had become limp from your orgasm, he continued his pace, his thrusts became harder and faster, both of your moans mixing in with the others as Gojo started to reach his high. "Say my name.." The baritone in his voice sent shivers down your spine.

"Gojo..." You whined at the feeling of him so deep inside you, each plunge causing your entire body to bounce violently against him. Barely having time to recover from your last orgasm, you felt yourself climbing higher and higher, your walls tightening. "Gojo...oh my god!!" You finally yelled, unable to control yourself from the quick pace, causing you to orgasm once again all over his cock.

“Yeah…Fuck yeah.” The sorcerer groaned in ecstasy.

You moaned loudly, squeezing onto Gojo with all your might as you released yourself onto his thick cock. "Oh my god..." You whined, the pressure finally fading away so you could catch your breath, despite your climax he refused to stop.

He wasn’t finished with you yet. The two of you fell back against the bed, your legs being thrown back over his shoulders.

"Fuck," He moaned, his forehead beating with sweat. "Keep moaning my name, I'll make you cum again."

"Gojo..." You drew him closer, bodies moving together in sync.

Your face displayed the sexiest, most alluring expression he had ever seen. Gojo was breathless as he pumped in and out of you. He grit his teeth as the indulgence became unbearable, your walls contracting all around him for one final time.

Gojo loved you... he was lost in your beauty. He wanted to marry you, he wanted you all for himself. Was this what love felt like? He could really get used to it...

"P-Please..!" Your moans snapped him back fully. You were scratching his skin, wanting to burst at the feeling he gave you. "Baby..." You bit your lip, gripping his wrists as he reached forward to pinch your nipples.

Your breath hitched and you locked eyes for the final moment, the same stunning pair of blue, a pair you felt you would always get lost in, eyes that held and promised a fascinating future. His gaze held yours as he pounded over and over, jolting your body in tune. Gojo twitched inside of you, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier. Your eyes widened, your back arching against the bed as you climaxed together. "Pull out!" You begged.

You didn’t want the penetration to end, but Gojo pulled out at the last possible second, moaning as he coated your breasts with his cum.

"Fuck..." He drawled, watching your chest rise and fall slowly, his juices glistening against your skin, your hair fanning out above your shoulders, eyes dazed and entranced.

Gojo could tell you were exhausted, so he took the liberty of reaching over to the bedside table and plucking a tissue from the box. After he wiped himself off of your chest, he collapsed on the bed right next to you, eyes closed, but a faint smile upon his face.

He leaned over to kiss you gently. You were trembling but kissed him back just as passionately as the first. "That was amazing..."

Gojo exhaled in agreement, wishing this moment would never end. A moment that was so blissful, so self-serving that he had temporarily forgotten the list of responsibilities that was waiting for him the second his left the bedroom.

But for now, he would lose himself in all that you had to offer. And what you offered was forever commitment, what you offered was something he would never be able to find anywhere else.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen

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beakeoghan · 2 years

Text

Hello @asgardwinter my love 🤍 your day is finally here (well, tomorrow but still!). First of all, I wanted to say thank you for your friendship! As we said before, I'm so happy that Tumblr allowed me to meet incredible people like you (that I would otherwise never meet since we are in different states!!!). I'm so grateful for our little two months of friendship, I feel like we can talk about anything - even though we talk more about our real lives cockblocking us from being full-time fanfiction writers and readers heh.

Happy birthday my dearest girl, I wish you all the happiness in the world! 💕

To celebrate it, a little moodboard + a backstory to it with your sweet boy Joaquín (or should I say Danny Ramirez since it fits better with the narrative?):

Danny has a busy schedule between filming in different locations, but whenever he can, he asks you to join him - through a very thoughtful and sweet call when he promises he will make sure you have space to work as well.

Having a very strong work ethic, he is extremely proud of you and your job as a writer, so he is very supportive of your writing hours and always encourages you to take little breaks from time to time. He likes to call them “moments of clarity” - that's when he says you're supposed to be present at the moment, clear your mind and listen to some music to get inspired to write, but really, it's just an excuse to take you out from the bedroom and share some time with him.

He likes to take you out to coffee shops - since you can't live without at least 3 cups a day - and by now you've gone to a lot of them around the city. Your coffee always has a side pastry or pancakes with it because he can't resist them.

You would say: “Danny we had pancakes yesterday.” And he would reply back: “You know what we should do? Go to every café around and try all of them, and by the end, make a top 10 list. It's for research purposes only, cariño.”

As much as you feel like your job as a writer can be stressful sometimes, dating Danny has inspired you more than you could ever imagine. You know when we say that we all want a person that has been written by a woman? Well, he pretty much seems to be that person for you.

Even though you are both constantly having to travel and take long flights, he makes sure that you're comfortable with his schedule and always compromises, he never wishes to take you away from the things you love to do.

He simply asks for you to be with him because he doesn’t like staying away from you. When you're with him, you keep him company in between takes on the set, you meet his cast and crew members. You get to be in all these different places and base your stories on them, writing tales about your little adventures. To be honest, you don't mind this busy life, as long as you have a good cup of coffee, books, and him.

#bia 💐#danny ramirez #joaquin torres x y/n #joaquin torres #happy birthday sweets!#you deserve everything in this world #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres moodboard

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mc-lukanette · 3 years

Note

GOD Furious Fu genuinely pissed me off SO MUCH so hopefully you don’t mind me coming over here to ask for some kinda Lukanette fix it for that train wreck??? Like, not even anything super detailed, if you don’t feel like it, maybe just “Marinette caves, gives the Miracle Box to Su-Han, gets spotty memories and Luka (+ Kitty Section and Kagami, maybe) help her out and worry over her.” Maybe Tikki even realizes she screwed up. If not it’s fine but Lukanette makes everything better so I had to ask.

Warning: it’s gonna be a ride.

—————

Luka looked over as his phone started ringing, brows raising at the sight of Marinette's icon popping up on the screen. It'd been rare for her to call him after all the complications that came with them dating, so he was surprised to say the least.

Nevertheless, he rested an arm on his guitar and reached across his bed with his other to pick up the phone, answering the call and moving the device to his ear. "Hey, Marinette."

"Hey, Luka..."

His heart sank at the sound of her voice. It was a whole mix of emotions, but above all else, she sounded tired. He wondered what she'd gone through for her voice to play those sorts of notes.

"Did anything happen?"

"No," she answered almost instantaneously. She paused, then let out a small whine. "I-I'm sorry. I'm so used to lying, but—I guess I don't have to do that anymore."

He stayed silent, allowing her to continue.

"I—" Marinette took an audible breath, then let it out, her voice lowering to a whisper as if she were scared of someone else hearing.

"I'm...I'm Ladybug, Luka."

Luka's first reaction was shock, though he couldn't be sure if it was the identity bomb she dropped or just the fact that she told him at all. Then, once the surprise died down, the idea that Marinette was Ladybug wasn't that surprising in itself. and he couldn't imagine who else it could've been otherwise.

Smart, talented, caring, selfless... it all added up.

But that also made it all the more painful when he realized what it meant. Immediately, all the dates that she'd missed and all the things he'd been concerned about made sense, and it hurt.

That was the secret she couldn't share with him, no matter how badly she might've wanted to.

The last thought in particular was odd to him, and he couldn't help voicing it, "I... thank you for telling me, Marinette, but... why now?"

She took another breath, more unsteady this time, like she were a guitar with something jammed inside the base. "Because—I'm about to forget it, and now I can't stop thinking about everything I might forget; how I want someone to know. You were the first - the only - person I thought of." Then, hesitantly, she asked, "Is that okay?"

Luka swallowed, feeling the whiplash of another dropped bomb right before the kind of casual compliment that made his heart race. "Of...of course it is."

She sighed in relief. "Thank you."

He tried to keep quiet, but couldn't hold back from questioning, "You said 'forget'..."

"Yeah, because I'm guardian now. There was someone else before and they gave me the ladybug miraculous, but—" She paused, as if considering something, then seemed to shift the conversation. "See, I didn't know anything about being a hero at the start, and... I screwed up." Before Luka could ask or recall the event, she continued, "I let the first ever akuma go, and it let Hawk Moth spread his butterflies everywhere when Ivan got akumatized again. I fixed it, but it was still my mistake that started it."

"Marinette—"

"—and I always tried. I tried my best no matter what I did. I tried to be a good Ladybug, a good student, a good daughter, a good friend... and I tried to get Adrien's attention." She groaned, though the sound seemed muffled, perhaps by her hand. Her voice cracked as she went on, "That's where everything went so wrong, Luka. I knew I had bad luck, but no matter how hard I tried, things would go bad. It was humiliating, and I kept thinking that maybe I just wasn't trying hard enough. My parents had such a happy relationship and I wanted that, but I was just wasting my time. He was barely in my life but he got put into everything I did, and I made so many mistakes from him. There's a liar in school who wants to turn everyone against me, and Alya thinks I'm just jealous because of Adrien. Chloe convinced me to do things I'm not proud of, and it took a while for me to be Kagami's friend. I didn't listen to my kwami and used my miraculous for my own gain, and..."

"What's wrong with that?" he questioned, voice pained. "What's wrong with using your miraculous for you? You save Paris every other day—"

"—because bad things happen, Luka," she stressed as if it were something urgent. "Bad things happen when I... feel."

There was a pit in his stomach. He knew he shouldn't ask - knew he wouldn't like the answer - but he hoped for better regardless. "Feel... what?"

"Anything."

He hunched forward, not strumming his guitar but running his fingers along the strings, desperate for something to busy himself with. His shoulders were stiff and his chest felt tight, unable to fathom what she'd been going through compared to what he'd merely seen on the surface.

"No matter what I did, no matter what I felt... it was wrong, Luka. I embarrassed Chloe in front of the whole class and she wanted to move to New York. She'd bullied me for years and I was so happy." She sounded conflicted, like instruments that didn't go together. "Adrien told me it was terrible. He didn't know why I could celebrate it. I felt awful, so I gave her a chance; I gave her a miraculous."

Luka anxiously rubbed one of the strings between his thumb and index finger, torn between seething and trying to reassure her despite knowing that she'd cut him off.

"She got it in her head that she deserved it, but with Mayura around, it wasn't safe to let her keep having it. I had to tell her 'no,' and..." She let out a defeated noise. "Do you remember that day? At the park?"

She didn't need to specify, and his voice lost all life at the memory. "Yeah..."

"Adrien and Kagami were together. I let them go. They seemed so happy together and it was the right thing to do, but..."

She paused, and he braced himself.

"When I was going to see the guardian to get a miraculous, I saw them. I got distracted and I forgot to de-transform. Because of me, Hawk Moth found the guardian, and he got the miraculouses from him. By the time I realized what happened, it was too late, and Chloe got akumatized again to ruin me. Those bees you saw—they were hers. They mind-controlled everyone, and that's why your identities were compromised. The guardian had to give up the box with all the miraculouses in it to me - ladybug me - because Hawk Moth was probably about to kill him and become the next guardian." She let out a sob. "Giving up the box... it takes your memory with it."

Luka gripped the string he'd been rubbing.

"I don't know how much he lost, but... anything about the miraculouses was gone. He didn't recognize me. He didn't even recognize the love of his life. He had... feelings, but that was it. All because of me."

"Marinette—" he desperately tried to interject.

She cut him off, as he'd feared, "I'm just fixing my own mistakes. People think I'm a good Ladybug because they don't get that. They don't get that I'm just going in circles. My friends don't believe in me, my parents think I'm too clumsy to carry a tray, and... it always feels like someone - somewhere - is laughing at me, with every screw-up." She whimpered. "What good is a ladybug who gets people akumatized? Who gets her own boyfriend akumatized?"

"I don't blame you for that!" he shouted, intentionally raising his voice to talk over her.

He heard a small noise in response, though he couldn't tell if it was another whimper or a giggle.

"I'm sorry," she said, though what she was apologizing for seemed vague, "and thank you, for always being there for me. I'm glad I have time to talk to you before he gets back."

Luka had to calm himself down to ask worriedly, "He...?"

"The guardian; the one that came before the one I knew. He showed up in my room today and saw how I had all the kwami outside of the box; I guess you're not supposed to do that, and he wasn't happy. He told me about all these rules I broke and how I had to give everything back. I took him to meet Chat Noir, but Chat ran for it when he realized that I'd forget about him. The guardian is chasing him down now and I'm just here, with the box, waiting for him to get back."

Luka leaned back and stared at the ceiling, overwhelmed by the rush of information she'd thrown at him all at once. He hadn't even been the one to experience any of it and he still felt worn down as if he had.

"I—" He paused, not liking how his voice shook. "I wish I could've helped you, Marinette. I wish you hadn't had to do all of that alone. I know you feel like it's your fault, but even the best musicians miss notes and mess up. Please don't blame yourself."

She let out a non-committal noise and he knew then that nothing he said would help her. He was sure that she believed him, but words could only do so much, and unlearning what apparent months of suffering had taught her would be difficult.

Though, he supposed it wouldn't matter. "Will you forget... everything?"

"I don't know, but at least everything about Ladybug or the miraculouses will go." She let out a half-hearted chuckle. "I guess it was all for nothing in the end."

"It wasn't," Luka replied. "Marinette, no matter how many times you feel like you screwed up, you were still an amazing ladybug. Everything you said didn't change my mind about that." After a moment of thought, he added, "And that other guardian... how is he?"

He heard her take a breath, as if to give an automatic answer, but she stopped herself. "...He's away from Paris, living with the love of his life."

"See? That sounds better than being the guardian, in Paris, where Hawk Moth is," he pointed out. "Maybe he forgot more than he would've wanted, but—"

"Luka," she interrupted, as if something had just occurred to her.

He considered finishing what he was saying, but stopped himself in favor of wanting to hear her out. "Yeah?"

"A-ah... mm." She struggled briefly while trying to get the words out. "If—if I forget too much... if I forget you... would you still visit me?"

It wasn't that he hadn't thought about the possibility, but it hadn't been on the forefront of his mind either, mostly for the sake of keeping himself grounded.

After having an internal debate with himself, he settled for asking, "Would you want me to?"

"Don't say it like that," she pleaded. "Don't leave it all up to me. I...I'd understand if you decide you don't want to see me again. I wouldn't blame you, I just—" Her voice lowered to something both shy and fond. "—I'm my best self when I'm with you, Luka. We didn't date for that long, and maybe it would've been better for you if we never met, but I..."

The pause she made had him holding his breath, his grip on the phone tightening. He couldn't believe she would dare to imply that he wouldn't do it all over again; meeting her, writing songs about her, dating her...

Marinette let out a breath, and Luka noted that it sounded so... final, like this was really the end.

"I love you, Luka."

His heart hammered in his chest. "Marinette."

"Thank you, and I'm sorry," she whispered. After going quiet for a few seconds, her tone suddenly shifted as she said, "I have to go now. He's on his way."

Luka took a sharp intake of breath, but the click of the call came before he could speak. He could only stare down at the phone, Marinette's contact image staring back as an emptiness washed over him.

Then, he was on his feet, guitar tossed aside, and he'd never moved so fast before in his life.

—————

Marinette gazed at Luka's picture for a few more seconds, as if doing so would permanently imprint it into her memory, then sighed and tossed it onto her chaise lounge. She rubbed at her eyes, wiping away tiredness and unshed tears, unable to help wondering if Fu falling unconscious after his memory loss was something peaceful for him.

When she uncovered her eyes, she noticed the kwami, all distancing themselves from her but staring at her like she was a corpse in a coffin.

"What...?" she asked, though part of her already knew the answer.

They all exchanged glances, like they were debating telepathically, then Wayzz flew forward.

"I - we - we're so sorry, Marinette," he said. Bowing in respect, he added, "We got so excited, and we only caused you more problems."

Marinette shrugged, only able to offer a defeated smile. "There's nothing we can do now. It's too late to change anything."

Tikki approached, her body hunched over and making her look even smaller than she already was. "I-I should've said something. I let him talk to you like that and I didn't do anything to stop him."

Marinette reached over, tempted to pet or touch her kwami in some way to help reassure her, but pulled back at the last moment, too conflicted about it.

The sound of something landing on the balcony followed, and Marinette stared up at it like she could see through her ceiling.

"...He's here," she stated. After giving one last look at all of her kwami, she focused specifically on Tikki and said, "Spots on."

Su-Han descended into her room, Ladybug standing in the center and wanting nothing more but to get things over with. He approached her, raising his fist and then opening it to show her the ring inside; Chat Noir's ring. Plagg, meanwhile, hovered aimlessly around the room, not meeting anyone's eyes and probably sensing the tension.

"That crybaby was even more of a fool than I'd thought," Su-Han commented, "giving a miraculous to a boy whose face is all over this village."

"What?" Ladybug blurted out. A boy whose face was all over—but that meant—"Adrien?"

Su-Han raised a brow. "A friend of yours?" He promptly scoffed. "That makes him even more foolish."

She couldn't even find it in herself to respond, too busy grappling with so casually being told something she'd intended to never learn about if she could help it.

Adrien was Chat Noir? It explained a little bit of everything and made her feel a lot of everything at the same time, like the two personalities meshed together to create something both shocking yet profoundly upsetting. She saw her memories with Adrien in place of Chat Noir and vice versa, unable to separate the two and pursing her lips as she recognized that, perhaps if things had been a little different...

"Young lady," Su-Han called strictly, pulling her out of her trance. "I don't have time to waste here. Relinquish the Miracle Box to me, at once."

"A-ah..." Ladybug could only nod, still dazed but at least focused enough to respond. She stared down at her hands, staring at the red and single black spot on the back of each, then sighed and closed her eyes, accepting that it was the last time she'd see them.

"I, Ladybug, hereby relinquish the Miracle Box..."

The last feeling she'd remember as Ladybug was a deep, unrelenting regret; regret for all the things she did do, didn't do, and the things that weren't even in her control.

Then, as her mind was fogging and she was slipping into darkness, she felt something else.

She felt free.

—————

Luka didn't bother saying a word to Tom or Sabine when he charged inside the bakery, both of them letting out various shouts of concern as he bolted past them and ran up the stairs. He nearly tripped multiple times, but he never stopped moving. He dashed up each flight until his eyes locked on the door to Marinette's living room.

He opened the door in a hurry, ignoring the sound of it slamming against the wall, and headed right for the stairs to Marinette's room. He threw caution to the wind and pushed open the trap door in the same fashion, his eyes scanning the place in a panic.

Then, his gaze fell upon Marinette, lying there on the floor, earrings gone, and he realized that he was too late. If he were honest, he hadn't known exactly what he'd rushed there to do - try and prevent the memory loss? tell her how wrong she'd been during their call? call out the guardian for treating his beloved so cruelly? - but now that he was there, all he could think about was being there for her.

He took a moment to catch his breath, then approached and knelt down next to her. Slipping his arms underneath her, he lifted her up and brought her over to her chaise lounge, wanting to at least get her off the floor. Her phone had been resting on the chaise’s cushion, but he simply moved it to the table after setting her down.

He paced around the room, raking his fingers through his hair and ruffling it. His mind was still racing, as was his heart, and his running had nothing to do with either. He knew that, whether Marinette had her memory or not, she was the song in his head, and any pain that would come with her not knowing him couldn't compare to the pain of not seeing her again. She wasn't a burden, and no matter how many excuses he might have to come up with, he wasn't going to let her be alone, especially not when she trusted him with a secret that she'd only let him hear.

He was so distracted by his thoughts that he almost didn't hear the slight shuffling noise, though the sound of Marinette stirring was what made him fully turn around to look at her. While she laid there, her eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, darting aimlessly around the room as if in search of something.

"Marinette," he whispered, rushing over to her. Bending over the chaise lounge, barely thinking, he asked gently, "Are you okay?"

"Mm..." Her eyes found his, and she blinked a few times before she actually seemed awake enough to answer him. "Luka?"

His breath, his words, his very sound, all caught in his throat. If he were a guitar, his strings would've snapped from the sudden release of tension.

"Y-you... know who I am?" he asked in a small voice.

She tilted her head at him, confused by the question. "Of course I do? You're my boyfriend."

Boyfriend. She said boyfriend. She didn't just remember him, she remembered her feelings for him.

He got misty-eyed from the realization, and Marinette's eyes widened in alarm.

"L-luka?" she called, brows furrowed with concern. She reached up with a hand, sliding it along his cheek. "What's wrong—what happened? I swear I'm okay, I—"

He shook his head, gently holding onto her wrist and feeling the steady rhythm of her pulse to ground himself. "Nothing, Marinette. Nothing happened. You—you just had a bad fall."

"O-oh. I...I'm sorry." She pushed herself up with her free hand. "I'm so clumsy. I didn't mean to worry—"

He couldn't wait any longer. He hugged her, squeezing her with every ounce of love that'd been accumulating since they'd originally broken up. Marinette didn't seem to understand the intensity of his actions, but didn't hesitate to hug him back either, even humming with content and burying her face into his shoulder.

Her song sang freely to him. It wasn't torn or twisted up, playing openly instead of staying locked in a music box. He couldn't have been happier after she'd given him such a scare before, and any remaining questions could come later.

For that moment, he just let their duet play free-er than it'd ever been able to before.

—————

"Luka~" Marinette called from the kitchen. When he looked over to her, she raised two different bottles of iced tea, waving them a bit for emphasis. "Which one do you want?"

He hummed, then pointed to the one in her left hand. She nodded at the decision, then put the other bottle back in the fridge, retrieving a bottled drink of her own before leaving the kitchen to join him on the couch.

The last few weeks had been a bit of a rollercoaster, but not necessarily in a bad way. He'd had to deal with Marinette's memory loss and simultaneously piece together how exactly it'd all worked out, but all in all, it was good for her.

Most of Marinette's memories outside of being Ladybug were in tact, and Luka had realized soon after she'd woken up from her memory loss that the reason she’d forgotten about their break up was exactly because it'd been related to her being Ladybug. He'd tried vaguely to explain it to her as if he hadn't known that she was Ladybug, wondering if those negative feelings still lingered, but they both still wanted to date each other and thus concluded that not dating after all that would've been silly. He knew full well that she wasn't going to be stressed or strapped for time anymore, so it wasn't a subject worth debating over, especially if it meant that they could move back into dating without issue.

She'd initially cried when he assured her that he was happy to continue dating her. She couldn’t comprehend why and he'd merely hugged her in reassurance, imagining that he was also hugging the Marinette of the past who didn't believe he'd want to date her again.

Outside of that, there were additional gaps in Marinette's memory that she couldn't explain, and Luka was certain that they were either Ladybug or guardian-related. Her parents had been particularly concerned by the losses, but Luka noted to himself that the lost memories were for the best. It was as if all of the memories that had caused her stress had evaporated, leaving only good ones behind.

Adrien was the big one, as she hadn't been able to remember him at all. At best, she was uncomfortable around him, and Luka did her the favor of removing any pictures of the guy from her cork board and phone. It took him a while to figure it out, but once he put together that Adrien was Chat Noir, things fell into place. Marinette had explained during their phone call that the previous guardian had lost his memory of the love of his life, but Luka imagined that she might've been his confidant for so long that thinking of her as anything else was impossible. Factor in that Marinette had also explained that her crush on Adrien had seeped into her being Ladybug, and it all added up; so long as the connection between the person and the miraculouses was unavoidable, they were forgotten.

And Marinette seemed all the happier for it. To some degree, it was tragic that Paris didn't have Ladybug anymore, but as far as Luka was concerned, Marinette needed to be rid of Ladybug more than Paris needed her, and Marinette's health took priority over all else.

The new ladybug holder was no replacement from the original, but Luka had expected that. Despite them being an adult and having access to as many lucky charms as they desired, no one could substitute Ladybug's instinct and ability to think on her feet.

But that wasn't Luka's problem, and he wholly intended to make sure that it wasn't Marinette's either. She'd heard that there was a previous ladybug, but had no interest in anything relating to the heroes nor their miraculouses. The most she'd said about them was one time where she'd idly commented that her homeroom and PE teachers had been "busier than she remembered," though she'd brushed it off as being related to her mild memory loss.

He'd giggled at that. He had been prepared to have to fall in love with a slightly different Marinette, but she honestly hadn't changed much; still caring, still generous, and still the adorable mess that he loved so much. She could afford to work on her confidence, sure, but he didn't fall for her due to what Ladybug had given her.

"Luka?"

He blinked, then looked down to her; her and her bright, happy eyes, the darkness underneath having faded long ago. She smiled at him, oblivious to his thoughts and a brow raised in amusement.

"Were you daydreaming?" she asked curiously, her hand covering his and giving it a casual squeeze.

Luka still couldn't quite believe that he was hers and she was his. He recalled Desperada, that fateful day where she - Ladybug at the time - had given him the snake miraculous, presumably after she'd tried to give it to Adrien. He wouldn't have admitted it at the time, but there was a pride in being able to do something that Adrien couldn't. He'd never forgotten her words either, knowing now that they were Marinette's.

"You were the right choice, Luka."

He sighed blissfully, bending down to press his forehead against hers and replying, "I'm just happy."

She let out a small whine at the sudden and sweet gesture, but still pressed back in return. "Me too."

They stayed in that moment until a sudden thumping noise brought them out of it, Luka jerking his head up to stare at where it'd come from: Marinette's room. Immediately recognizing what was happening, he groaned and rubbed his face in irritation.

As expected, the man Luka had come to know as Su-Han emerged, descending the stairs and locking eyes with Marinette. She recoiled, her hands clutching Luka's sleeve as she murmured, "Not you again..."

Luka gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, then got up from the couch and walked around to face Su-Han himself.

The man huffed. "I'm not here for—"

"Marinette wants nothing to do with you," Luka said lowly. He went for the living room door, opening it and gesturing outside. Su-Han followed with an air of self-importance and Luka closed the door behind them, leaving Marinette safely out of the conversation.

"The former ladybug had not even informed me of what she'd done," Su-Han explained. "Therefore, it's time she take responsibility and—"

Luka snapped, "You don't get to blame anything on Marinette. She did everything you asked her to and you made her give up her memories." He purposefully left out the fact that she was better off without said memories. "You're the one who insulted her song before you even got to hear it."

Su-Han squinted, the phrase clearly going over his head. "...What?"

At that point, the sound of footsteps came from downstairs, Luka glancing past the railing to see Tom coming up, perhaps having heard the voices even if he didn't hear any specific words.

The moment he saw Su-Han, Tom glared.

"Honey! That man bothering our daughter is back!" he shouted.

More footsteps followed, this time from Sabine and simultaneously much faster than Tom’s. Su-Han clearly caught on that this would be a repeat of "last time" (one of Luka's fonder memories of seeing the man be dealt with) and quickly fled back into the other room to return to Marinette's balcony and escape.

Once Luka had confirmed that everything was okay, he returned to the couch to sit at Marinette's side again. She tilted her head at him, but didn't ask any questions, Su-Han having become something on a "frequent but harmless weirdo" who she didn't understand.

Luka held an arm out invitingly, then wrapped it around Marinette when she snuggled against him. He used his free hand to open the bottle of iced tea - finding it difficult but also not worth leaving their cuddle to allow for both hands - then tipped the drink to his mouth to take a sip.

"Hey, Luka?" Marinette called, slightly shy in her delivery.

Luka met her gaze, setting the drink back on the table so he could give her his full attention. "Hm?"

"Could we... go on a date tomorrow?" she asked, one of her hands idly fiddling with the fabric of his pant leg. "I was thinking we could go buy a movie to watch? The one with Jagged Stone?"

He didn't know if the request had anything to do with the failed date that she may or may not recall anymore, but regardless, he was grinning like a fool. He pulled her closer, his free hand falling upon one of hers as he nuzzled her. "I'd love that."

He silently looked forward to the day where all the new memories he made with her outmatched the time lost from her old ones.

#type: story #story: oneshot #Flower Arrangement Shipping #episode: Furious Fu #((I'm going off of the vague information we have to guess that she broke up with him in episode 1 because of her responsibilities.))#other: ml spoilers #((It's gonna hurt a lot but I swear it's a happy ending.))#((Also I agree that Lukanette does indeed make everything better.))#Pro LukaMari #Lukanette

583 notes · View notes

dingdongitsbees · 3 years

Text

Gojo is a strong person | Gojo x gn!reader oneshot (Angst)

Synopsis: Gojo is the strongest, that was an agreed upon fact, or at least he thought it was until he met you.

The first time you had laid eyes upon him, you laughed.

“This is almighty Gojo Satoru, huh?”

Ao3 Link

WC: 3k Tw: canon typical violence, death Just send an ask to be added to Gojo taglist! (specify if you don’t want angst etc)

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Gojo Satoru is a strong person, that’s what everyone knew. That fact was known by every shaman that had had their first breath and by anyone that laid their eyes on him, even if only for a split moment in the bustling crowds of Tokyo. It was a fact that the man knew himself, it could hardly be called egotistical if it was simply the truth that he was the strongest, though he toed the line of cocky so much that he had fully passed its threshold far before he even attended school. But his parents and his clan and the servants that worked there never gave him anything else to think.

He was better than them by the time he had first opened his eyes. He was a man whose mere existence disrupted the world so chaotically that any possible adversary would tremble at the mere thought of facing him. Gojo Satoru is the strongest, that was an agreed upon fact, or at least he thought it was until he met you.

The first time you had laid eyes upon him, you laughed.

“This is almighty Gojo Satoru, huh?”

He was stunned. People rarely smiled at him, only when trying to please him or gain something from him, laughs and giggles became shushed when he came near. Never had he heard such a clear laugh from someone aware of his presence, let alone laughing at him.

And like you had expected his frozen form, you gave him a knowing look and a smile. “I look forward to getting to know you, Satoru.”

To say that he was enamoured by you by the moment your smile reached your crinkling eyes was an understatement.

His high school years began and never had he felt more challenged in his life. He was the strongest, that still rung true, but until then he had never felt a desire to prove it, a desire to impress. His ideals and methods were questioned and criticised, his techniques scrutinised and forced to improve and adapt. His teachers, Getou, Shoko, even the younger students like Nanami, all challenged him.

Prove to us that you are the strongest. We will not accept a statement like that at face value. Prove it.

Now get better.

But none of them came close to you. You hounded him at every open opportunity, around every corner. And oh, did he welcome it. You’d challenge him to fights, lose almost every time, but always find something he did badly or should have done that he would obsess over for the days and weeks to come. You’d think of new ways for him to apply his techniques and go further beyond anyone that had inherited Infinity, aiding him reach potentials he didn’t even think existed or that he needed. You’d come back with an argument to anything and everything you disagreed with, answers he couldn’t look past or debunk, forcing him into a state of reflection which his parents had deprived him of.

Gojo Satoru was the strongest, but he learned very quickly that he wasn’t perfect.

He continued to change; adapt to everything you threw at him. His cocky attitude stayed carved in stone, his laughs at the weak were never missed, but he looked forward in excitement. He had never had that before you. His life path was laid out perfectly for him since birth, a life he had never asked for he once said. And you had replied.

“Then why are you following it? You’re the strongest, aren’t you? Then do what you want, no one can stop you.”

He soon realised that the flutters his heart experienced as he laid down in the grass next to you, staring up at the stars, was not just his heart stuttering at the beauty of the universe. His heart imploded whenever your fingers came close to his, subtle shoulder touches from passing in the corridors, laughs at his jokes that would get you into stitches, smiles that seemed to lighten his heart and drop his stomach like a rollercoaster, and eyes that stared into his soul.

And you knew, oh by god you knew what effect you had on him. You were no fool. But oh my, was it fun.

You had feelings for him too, you weren’t that cruel, and you knew that he knew that too. But you weren’t going to jump headfirst into a boy who couldn’t differentiate between what he wanted, and what he was expected to want. Who he was, and who he was supposed to be.

One night, like many nights before, you laid on his bed together, chips and chocolates and any wrappers of sweets he had impulsively bought surrounding you two. And that night he turned to you, question hesitant on his lips.

“What do you think of me? Who do you think I am?”

You pursed your lips, tilting your head towards him, thinking of what to say but you already knew the answer the moment he asked.

“You’re Satoru,” you said, a grin taking up half your face. “You’re just Satoru.”

He would never admit it, but he cried that night, he cried hard. And he wouldn’t have to worry, because you expected this of him, of course you did, you always did, and you held him. You held him as tight as you possibly could, as tight as you could hold a lonely boy crushed by the weight of the world that he never volunteered to lift. He was Atlas, but you were next to him, helping hold the world on your shoulders, even if you were scared that it would crush your shoulders into splinters, never would you have mentioned it.

The two of you continued to dance to the song that the pair of you had been listening to for years, waiting for one to take the step forward, to dip the other into no return. Dance the dance that had been safely done with a metre in between the two of you, not wanting to step on the other’s feet, not wanting to come in before the bridge started, not wanting to get the timing of the beat drop wrong. Things caused chaos around the ballroom that you danced in, friends lost to death or to wars of morals and ideals, faith lost in elders meant to protect you but instead fetishized tradition, guidance into the adult world being left in the air. But the two of you continued to dance, getting incrementally closer to each other, breath reaching skin, fabrics tripping over each other, but never quite close enough to feel the other, always a hair width away.

And like you had expected, like you had waited patiently for, he stepped closer, bridging the gap between the two of you. A smile stayed on your lips as he pressed his mouth to yours gently, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks in greeting. Satoru had finally become him. Not the shaman that was whispered between hands, the sorcerer who elders expected great things from, not just the strongest. He was Satoru, and that was as perfect as he was ever going to be, and as perfect as you wanted him.

Years passed and not even for a moment could you be bored when existing in the same world as Gojo Satoru. Every day was something new, something to tease about the other, another sign of affection that would make the other’s heart stumble, another reason to fall even more irrevocably in love.

You stood by his side with everything he stood for, staying grounded and as a point of reference of what he wanted this world to be. The world he wanted you to be able to live in. You argued by his side when trying to revoke death wishes that were put on Itadori, giving a smile to the higher ups when he insinuated the length he would go to in order to get the world of his own design. You would be slitting throats next to him before he had the chance to ask and everyone knew it.

Your name was whispered beside his now, one couldn’t be mentioned without mentioning the other. The strongest and the tamer. The one that had incapsulated every corner of Gojo Satoru’s heart and would never leave. The one that the man would burn down the world for if it dared to insult the love of his life, and the two of you would just smile through the flames.

Good and evil is relative, but neither compares to the terrifying ordeal yet comfort of being known by someone else through and through. Every pore and freckle and hair studied by the other until they know the other’s face and soul better than they know their own.

Satoru was only ever approached when you were away on a mission. There was no chance of compromise or pushing when you were in the vicinity. You knew what he wanted, and you wouldn’t settle for anything less than. Gojo Satoru was the strongest, but you had him happily in your hands at your mercy and direction, you were the scariest.

So it was no surprise to either of you as your missions were set far away from each other and at the most inopportune times. You barely had anytime to look in his eyes let alone talk of creating the world together like gods. But if they thought that mere curses would separate the two of you, they were fooling themselves. No amount of time, nothing the other could do, would ever stop the tyrannical love you held for each other, nothing would be allowed to get in the way.

Every night the other came home, they would hold the other’s cheeks in their hands softly, letting their love’s head surrender to gravity. You wouldn’t need to say a word, and neither would he, just quietly in your world for another moment before the other would inevitably have to leave. You would figure it out, the two of you always did, you would eventually get the world you talked about in the company of the stars like you had since you were teenagers.

When you got the call of your next mission you frowned. It seemed off, a special grade that had been spotted in Osaka, nothing you hadn’t dealt with before, but the slight stutter of the caller rang alarm bells in your head. As you packed for your mission Satoru stared at you from the other side of the living room, reading you.

“How bad?” he asked, his blue eyes caressing your face gently, a book on his chest he had long abandoned to just watch you.

“Just a special grade but…” you started.

“It feels wrong?”

You nodded. Asking him to come with you was out of the question for multiple reasons, both of you worked better alone, leaving no risk of the other getting harmed by a technique, Satoru had a lot on his plate already, caring for students and attempting to research and protect his students from the special grades that had begun popping up. And well, you were capable, this was something you knew how to do and had done for years. But still, at the back of your mind, it was screaming at you to run, to take the man in front of you and just run.

But you didn’t.

Instead, the two of you swayed in your kitchen together to silent music, his arms holding you tightly, afraid you would be stolen from him. You held your ear to him, his heartbeat calming down your neurons that were lighting fires in your brain. You stayed there for a little eternity, intoxicated with the other’s touches and love, but soon you picked your bag up from the kitchen counter, and gave him a soft and slow kiss. His eyes looking down at you half-lidded, drunk on the person in front of him, euphoric he got to be called yours. He watched as you left, your eyes catching his through the closing gap, giving him that knowing look and smile you always had.

It was worse that had been described in the report, far worse. The paper was practically a list of lies. You wished you could call for back up, to call for Satoru, but there was literally no time. The moment you arrived the scene was already in chaos, people getting eaten and dismembered like playthings by not one, but three special grades.

People weren’t listening to your directions, practically running into the mouths of the curses, several lower grade ones had come as well, as if called, making everything so much harder. You were in the middle of the war zone, trying to kill lower grades that were seconds away from killing a civilian, getting people out of there and to run, and fighting the special grades that didn’t give you a moment to breathe. Adults' limbs were torn off of them as they screamed to be helped, kids' heads exploded as you held them under your arms. The special grades just laughed.

They had cut you down more times than you could count on the fingers you had left, you couldn’t differentiate the blood pouring down your body from the ones who had died around you. You had managed to kill two of the three special grades, but the other evaded everything with a wide grin, directing the other curses like an orchestra. A symphony of shattering bones and blood curdling screams filled your ears everywhere, inescapable.

A child, one that couldn’t have been older than four, ran to you, stumbling over their feet as they sobbed. The special grade geared up, charging their attack. You took a deep breath and calmly looked at the world in front of you for a moment, time slowing down. Your mouth twitched up at the ludicrousness of it all and looked to the sky you had spent a lifetime staring at.

Sorry Satoru, looks like I won’t be coming home.

You grabbed the child, and curled around it, protecting it as best as you could, and waited for impact.

There was no other answer to draw from your mission than the fact that the higher ups had sent you on a suicide mission, they knew you worked alone, they knew that there was a limit to even how much you could handle. Because after you all, you weren’t the strongest. You were the disposable one. They had sent you, but not just so you would be the one to crumble.

No. That’s all Gojo Satoru could think as he raced through the corridors, he didn’t want to believe it, he refused to believe it. There was no such timeline where you could be separated from him, it was simply not allowed. A reality that was forbidden from coming to fruition. He slammed open the doors to Shoko’s lab, teary eyes glanced up at him before looking to the ground. They surrounded a table in the middle of the floor, barring him from seeing. He just stared with wide eyes, looking insane, not a single thought that they would be able to read. But you would know, you would only have to take one look at him and you would know what he was thinking, because you would sit up and look him in the eyes with the smile that he had carved into his soul. You would, you had to.

The group parted slowly, giving him access to the metal table.

There you were, lying down in what had to be a deep slumber, eyes closed, looking as beautiful as you always did and would continue to be. You had to, you had to. He took a step closer, his hands trembling at his sides, he reached forward, touching your cold cheek, his shaking sending little waves across your skin.

Shoko stood next to him with red eyes. She reached up to touch his shoulder, but her hand froze, stopped by Infinity. Her eyes widened. He took no notice of her, not acknowledging her for even a second. Her hand curled into a fist and dropped, looking away with a wobbly breath.

He cupped his hand underneath your head, lifting you to his chest. It was a mystery of how he managed to keep you steady. Ever so slowly he picked up your whole body, walking out of the room. No one stopped him.

He refused to acknowledge what his six eyes were telling him. There was no way, no conceivable way, that you could have left him. You would never do that to him. You would never dare leave him all alone in this world, the world that hadn’t been theirs yet. There were so many things they had left to do. So many things they were meant to fix. So many more days left to love each other. So many more days where you were meant to look at him and just see him, just see Satoru. So, there was no way you left. You wouldn’t do that to him, right?

Gojo Satoru was a strong person, that’s what everyone thought. He was the strongest. But the sound that came out of him as he knelt in the dirt outside the building as his body wracked with sobs, cradling you to his chest desperately, haunted all the hearer’s waking and sleeping states. Their dreams stayed infected with it for weeks. He begged to the universe and to you, begging through screams. It was so loud. It was so excruciating. And it was so, so raw. It sounded like his vocal cords were being ripped apart, and they wouldn’t have been surprised if that came to be true.

Gojo Satoru was a strong person, that’s what everyone thought, but now they weren’t so sure.

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