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spatialwave · 24 days

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“𝓪 𝓰𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵’𝓼 𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓹𝓮𝓻”

pairing: cooper howard/the ghoul x fem!reader word count: 1k summary: you’d proven to cooper that you were a tough young thing, a vault dweller with a bit of edge—and a thing for mean-mannered ghouls. you were quick to indulge in being his plaything. warnings: mdni! smut, dom!cooper, sub!reader, rough, degrading, withholding/edging, cooper is mean i’m not sorry! notes: these are getting too good ya’ll hehe, i hope you like it! this scene was inspired by @ghoulphile and their amazing cooper writings! please go check out their blog! 🧡

when you first met cooper howard you had been doused in confusion, why the hell were you attracted to this… thing? not a human, but too handsome and sentient to be labelled as lowly as a ‘creature’. he couldn’t be wrangled into the likes of mutated animals, but you hadn’t met a ghoul before, so you didn’t know what to make of him. nor could you understand the way you’d grown slick between the thighs by only looking at him.

fascination struck when he settled striking eyes on you—soon forcing you along to seek out the information you’d gained through your years as a vault dweller.

and it’s not like you fit anywhere else anyway, even your vault allowed you to make way for the surface without an attempt to hold you back from your curiosity— you were stuck with nothing. not even a bottle of water to your name. so, if it meant having to suck up to a bounty hunting ghoul and beg for your life to stay afloat, then you could manage. you hadn’t any ounce of shame or pride, you were a prisoner to the wastelands.

a lover to a damned, 200-year old ghoul.

your face was shoved against the sandy floorboards of an old, battered saloon—destroyed and flimsy. one harsh rad storm and it would collapse into a corpse of a building that once held a proud number of guests before the war.

“cooper, fuck—“ you groaned, pain mixed with pleasure as your cunt burned.

the ghoul had stripped you completely, your vault jumpsuit tossed behind the broken bar, boots across the room and pip boy a few inches from your face. he left your naked body exposed to the cold night air, easy for him to ravage and indulge.

this was a constant repetition in your life now, when cooper was having a stressful day he took it out on you. the first time was near-frightening, thinking that he might end up snapping you in half while fucking you with his revolver shoved into your mouth like a deathly, make-shift gag.

you loved it—it was fucking disgusting, and you craved it like a lowly whore, a term of endearment that came so lovingly from the ghoul.

“quiet down,” he hissed, gloved hand landing harshly against your ass so a loud smack echoed through the dilapidated building, “i’ll shove your panties in your mouth if you keep this up, whore.”

his cock was buried deep into your pussy, swollen and aching around his hardened length that pushed against the ring of your cervix. the fleshy muscle shooting pain through your hips and thighs with each thrust, uncaring if it was painful. large hands massaged the globes of your ass, covered in reddened marks and bruises that would make sitting down hard—it was rare you had that privilege, though. cooper had made sure you two were always on the move.

“maybe i want that, cowboy,” you giggled sloppily, fucked so dumb you could hardly think as you looked over your shoulder at the ghoul, his hazel eyes piercing into yours just under the brim of his hat. you hated that he kept himself mostly clothed during these rendezvous.

cooper groaned, eyes narrowing as his left hand kept your wrists pinned against your back—face rubbing raw against the floor every time his cock slid through your wet walls. he’d been the biggest you’d ever taken, not like you had much experience.

“you love talkin’ with that filthy, cocksucking mouth of yours, don’t you?” cooper groaned, hands tightening around your wrists as his hips snapped sharply against your ass.

to make sure your needs were taken care of, you bit hard onto your bottom lip to muffle any sounds that may escape your throat. it was difficult when his cock stretched you thin, rubbing raw inside you as tears gathered in your eyes and all you wanted to do was scream his name until your voice cracked and the dry, dusty air stung your throat. you clenched tight around his cock, hardly able to keep yourself up on your knees, and he could feel how close you were to collapsing.

“not yet, darlin’,” cooper mumbled, his free hand latching to your hip and pulling you back to your knees when you’d nearly collapsed. then, the same hand slipped around your hips, so his bare fingers rubbed at your swollen clit that had been neglected.

“coop—“ you whimpered, eyes daring to shut tight as he pounded into you mercilessly, barely hanging onto reality as you had begun to see stars while your eyes rolled back.

he fed off your soft mewls of pleasure as you tried so hard to keep quiet, a smirk tainting his lips as he watched with excited eyes and a newfound sense of vigor.

“you gonna’ cum on my cock, lil’ helper?” he whispered, leaning forward so his clothed chest pressed against your back and locked wrists, “say it and i’ll think about lettin’ you,” he huffed, voice coarse as his warm breath tickled the shell of your ear and his finger pulled away from your clit—pulling you away from the edge you’d nearly fell over.

“i’m gonna’ cum on your cock,” you slurred—whining desperately for more, “can i, cooper? please, i’ve been good,” you pleaded, forcing your eyes to focus so you could look at him. you’d been fighting off the coil of heat tightening in your lower gut, waiting so patiently for your lover to say yes like the darling love you were.

you bit back a gurgled moan, eyes shutting tight as he allowed a few, long seconds to pass before his finger rubbed tight, fast circles on the sensitive bud, “go on then,” he breathed low, lips parted as he waited for your release.

all it took was for you to relax your body, then the pleasure soared through you like an explosive. cooper pulled himself upright and let go of your wrists so you could cover your mouth with your delicate fingers—moaning a saliva-filled mess into your hand while you came. every thrust sent your head swirling, sending your body into flames as his radiated body took one final snap of his hips before he spilled deep inside and felt the stress of the day vanish into thin air.

you were certainly this ghoul’s helper.

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #walton goggins #fallout fic #cooper howard fic #fallout prime fic #wordsbyspatial

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lees-chaotic-brain · 8 months

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For You (Gojo x Reader)

What if you were sealed instead of Gojo?

CW: Shibuya Incident spoilers, angst, not canonically accurate (just roll with it for the plot it doesn't have to make complete sense), swearing, so much angst

Part Two | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

Gojo knew that you were strong. He wouldn't have fallen in love with you out of fear if he didn't trust completely in your ability to return to him.

But that was before.

Before the shell of someone the two of you once knew and loved appeared.

Before he allowed himself to be distracted for a split second.

Before you noticed what was happening and shoved him out of the way.

Before you stood in front of him, hands bound behind your back, body rendered immobile.

"Well, this is an interesting development."

Not-Suguru clapped his hands together.

"Oh well, this will do too. Actually, we just managed to nab the strongest's only weakness: his love."

"Who are you?"

You snarl, glaring at your former friend.

"Why, I'm Geto Suguru. Don't you remember me? I'm wounded."

"Bull. Shit."

All Gojo can do is stare blankly at you, and pray that this isn't happening. That one of his worst nightmares isn't playing out in front of him.

"I know damn well that Suguru would never go out of his way to hurt us. He may have hated non-sorcerers, but even at the end he held no hostility towards us. So I'll ask you again. Who are you?"

"Satoru."

Gojo jumped a little, but quickly smoothed his expression over as you used one of your techniques to communicate telepathically with him.

"You need to run."

No! He wanted to scream. There has to be another option.

You continue taunting and yelling at the creature inhabiting your friend's body, and Gojo realizes that you are desperately stalling for time.

"Listen, I know you don't want to. But right now, you can't do anything for me without putting yourself in serious danger. I'm expendable."

Not to him, you aren't. For you, he would tear apart the world with his bare hands. For you, there wasn't a risk he wouldn't take. He has to find a way out of this. For you. Because there was no world where you were fucking expendable to him.

"You need to run! Now! I don't know how much time you have, but I know you can make it outside. You are the strongest after all. Run. Regroup with the others."

He knows that what you are saying makes logical sense, but he still can't wrap his mind around it.

Then you spoke again.

"No one should be allowed to take youth away from young people. That's what we agreed, right? So go. Do it for our kids. Protect their youth. For them. For our dream. For me."

Quietly, oh so quietly, he says something.

"I'm scared."

He admits, so quiet you can scarcely hear him.

"I'm not."

Your tone is gentle and loving.

"You aren't abandoning me forever. This is only temporary. I know that no matter what happens, you will get me out of here. Not because you're the strongest or anything. Because you love me, and I love you. And nothing can keep us apart, 'kay?"

Moving as much as your restraints would allow you, you turn your head the tiniest bit so you can look at him.

"Go. Go save our kids. I believe in you. I'll see you soon my love."

Holding back tears, Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive did the unthinkable.

Turning away from you and speeding up and out of the train station was the hardest thing he ever did, and will ever do.

But he did it.

For your many (unofficially) adopted children.

For your shared dream.

For you.

Always for you.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

This physically pained me to write, but it was taking up WAY too much of my brain space lol. Let me know what you think, and feel free to send in any requests you have!

#angst so much angst i cant #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x reader angst #jjk x reader #jjk x reader angst #jjk fanfic #shibuya incident #gojo adopted all of those kids i dont care WHAT you have to say about it #im so sleep deprived #lee's brain writes

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interloved · 3 months

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modern!anakin skywalker as your professor + age gap

lowkey daddy professor!anakin x bimbo!reader

description box; anakin is your professor and your boyfriend. that blurs the lines between his job and you being his student sometimes — but he can’t ever deny his sweet girl a request, and this time you want him to give his honest opinion on the essay you’ve written for an assignment he gave his students, including you.

warnings; nsfw warning, blow job, MINOR BLOGS DNI!!, age gap, smut under the cut!

HE’S TAKING TOO LONG to read it. he’s rereading the same lines, again and again, and he’s frowning.

“you don’t like it.”

you hate the way your quivers, like you’re weak and… and dependant. oh, but you are. you depend on his every word and action like he’s your lifeline.

“no — no, sweetheart, i do, it’s just…” and then, anakin sighs and sets aside his glasses, looking into your eyes directly with his startlingly piercing, frost-coloured eyes.

he’s struggling to find words that won’t bruise your ego too badly. anakin never lies to you, but he can’t find it in him to give you a brutally honest review.

anakin sits on the couch as you pace nervously in front of him, the table in front of him filled with documents, his laptop and… that damned essay.

“it’s just what?” you inquire, and your voice is already breaking, “you hate my essay! i can hear it!”

and then, all the dams break; you’re turning away from him and all the tears start flooding and the overthinking starts to claw its way into your soul.

“you’re… you’re gonna give me an F! you’re going to fail me, i’m going to fail this class — you, you hate my essay…” you’re falling into complete despair.

anakin winces, this is exactly the reaction he had wanted to prevent.

“oh, c’mere, sweet girl, i don’t hate your essay. it’s just a little, er… childish wording, but that’s nothing to worry about — ‘m not gonna fail you, all right?”

you sniffle, and for a moment, your tears stop. “y-you’re not?”

anakin winces again — he may be your boyfriend and he may love you, but he’s also your professor and has to keep a certain neutrality towards the work you offer to him as his student. but he can’t deny it, being so close to you, it’s been blurring the lines of professionalism. you’re such a sweet, little thing — so pretty and so young, so soft and so kind-hearted. he couldn’t ever say no to any of your requests.

and maybe you’ve learned to use that against him somehow. he’s given you way too many A’s and B’s that you did not deserve because as much as he loves you as a person, you are a bad writer. you’re not hopeless; there is definitely a good basic idea and core in every one of your essays, just the execution… somehow fails to be amazing every time. and he’s not exaggerating.

“yeah… yeah, i’ll give you a C, m’kay, kid? it’s not a bad essay, pretty, it just needs a little polishing.” he comforts you, caging your, in comparison to him, small frame in his warm, trained arms.

but this time, you frown. “a C? you… you’ve never given me a C before.”

it’s always been A’s and B’s.

anakin struggles to find the right words again, “well, this time your performance was a tiny bit… lacking… but just a little, darling, no need to cry — aw, sweetheart, don’t cry…”

“l-l-lacking? i’m… lacking?” you wail as you push away his arms and pace to the kitchen, this time sobbing violently.

when he reaches you, your eyes are all puffy and red, and he panics.

“no, you’re not lacking!” he protests, think, anakin, think, “i’ll… i’ll give you an A, m’kay? so stop crying, please, you’re too pretty to be crying like that over a grade.”

your sobbing stops slowly, and a relieved smile makes its way onto your lips. “r-really? thank you so much, ani! love you so much!”

you squeal and jump into his arms, and it’s like the rainbows have started showing after the storm. anakin laughs at your excitement but mentally slaps himself — he’d sworn himself he wouldn’t give you good grades without you earning them anymore, but it appears he really just can’t say no to his little darling.

“i’ll make it up to you, i promise!” you swear to him, covering his handsome face with kisses, and he grins cheekily.

“oh really? how’re you gonna do that, little lady?” he chuckles good-naturedly.

and you think, you think real hard. and you jump down, out of his embrace, and you thank him in the only way you know.

you lead him to the couch and settle between his legs, and you unbuckle his belt.

“oh, like that? i didn’t mean that—” anakin stops whatever he was going to say when you take him whole. whole.

a choked, throaty moan escapes his lips and almost automatically, his big hands reach for your hand; his hand almost covers the whole back of your head, and his fingers are getting tangled in your soft hair, and he bucks up into your soft lips.

“fuck,” he groans and he closes his eyes, and he looks so breathtaking, so handsome, like a greek god, “god, what did i do to deserve you… such a beautiful, obedient girl… must’ve saved a country in my past life to deserve you.”

he feels your lips curling up at his praise and he looks down, and it’s a sight to behold. big, innocent doe eyes looking up at him like he’s a god you’re worshipping, nothing but pure admiration and love shining in those eyes.

“my god, you’re so adorable,” he praises you, eyes closed and brows furrowed so prettily, moaning when you begin to deepthroat him, your pretty head going up and down, up and down, “so, so, so pretty…”

and then, his chiselled abs tenses, his thighs quiver slightly, and you know he’s close.

“c’mon,” he whispers, “swallow.”

and you obey, like his good little girl.

if he’s getting thanked this dedicatedly by a student, surely he can make exceptions from time to time.

he doesn’t get paid enough anyway.

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin smut #anakin x reader #anakin x you #obsessive anakin #star wars #star wars anakin

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frogchiro · 8 months

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oh my gosh kin (is it okay if i call you that ? apology in advance if you mind i won’t again in the future rambles) what you said abt könig and his mate living in a cabin in the woods… him thinking with his primal instinct… him liking to walk around the cabin bare… oh my gosh i just felt a shudder down my spine 😭😭 like… me myself did it a few times because i was putting back doing my laundry (lol college student problems) and ended up having to sleep bare for a night bcs i didn’t have any nightie left and it makes you soo sensitive down there and… imagining that with könig… *faints* I NEED TO BE HIS CABIN PRINCESS

Ofc you can call me Kin, love!! Don't apologize please <33

Also if you like more content like this PLEASE check out @kneelingshadowsalome and her blog!! She has been a huge inspiration for me and a eye opener, not to mention that she writes König like no one and her fic "Fatum nos iungebit" is literally something else, I'm a humble little writer next to her talent ;;

And yes, König is just shameless like that :(( But truth is, he doesn't see anything wrong with it! It's his body and he loves it and he's damn proud of it! He might have been bullied mercilessly when he was a teen and his puberty and growth spurt got him to be a social pariah all through his school years, even in the military as a young man it was still humiliating for König to be told he can't be a sniper because he's just too large and fidgety due to his anxious movements.

But the thing is, as he got older and more comfortable in his body he realized that it was specifically his body which got him through all the battles. It was his formidable strength and size that made him a feared soldier, a colonel, and once he met you, KorTac's new hackergirl, his body was the thing he could use to protect and provide for you <3

It can get terribly cold in the Alps, especially now that the colder month are setting in and since König is a literal human radiator he will use it anytime you're whining that you're cold to warm you up :(( He will proudly go around the cabin naked, his powerful body on show and he's not subtle about it at all! I imagine him not being ashamed at all to show you his hard, leaky cock and whine at you that it's all for you, all his fertile, potent seed is for you so please let him stuff it all nice and deep in you, not so secretly hoping that it will result with his offspring being born next spring :((

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #hackergirl!reader #cod mw x reader #cod x reader #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig x reader

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sheisjoeschateau · 4 months

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"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART I

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

WHEN THE UNEXPECTED NIECE OF MURRAY BAUMAN GETS THROWN IN THE MIX, THE GANG HAS NO IDEA JUST WHAT THEY'RE IN FOR. SCRATCH THAT - STEVE DOESN'T KNOW. YOU GET ALONG WITH EVERYONE WELL. YOU BANTER WITH THE ADULTS, WHO APPRECIATE YOUR HELP. THE KIDS LOVE AND WORSHIP YOU. YOU'RE HELPFUL ALL AROUND. BUT AS FAR AS STEVE IS CONCERNED, YOU'RE JUST NUISANCE. AFTER ALL, YOU'RE THE REASON HE LOST THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE AND MISSED OUT ON A LIFE THAT "COULD'VE BEEN." IF YOU HAD JUST KEPT YOUR SORRY ASS OUT OF THE PICTURE... IF YOU HAD NEVER GONE WITH NANCY AND JONATHAN AFTER THEY LEFT YOUR WHACK-JOB UNCLE, MURRAY BAUMAN'S, BUNKER? HE WOULD BE HAPPY. SO F*CKING HAPPY. BUT HERE YOU WERE. YOU WERE BASICALLY THE COOLER (...AND SURE, MUCH MORE ATTRACTIVE) FEMALE VERSION OF MURRAY BAUMAN. YOU WERE SARCASTIC, QUICK-WITTED, TOO SMART FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, AND APPARENTLY BUILT FOR THE WAR. SURE, YOU WEREN'T AS BRASH AS YOUR UNCLE. BUT IN STEVE'S EYES, YOU WERE SOMEHOW FAR MORE OBNOXIOUS. HE DOWNRIGHT HATED YOU. HE WILL FOREVER HATE YOU... BUT WILL HE?

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE COPIED AND/OR REPOSTED ON HERE OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR PUT INTO ANY AI PROGRAMS. THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG, MDNI.

An original fanfiction series, written by Misha St. James.

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

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I did not proof-read this after Tumblr gave me hell trying to share. So pls excuse possible typos. hehe

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Let's just get to the point, shall we?

Once upon a time, a young boy named Will Byers went missing. Later, he was found in an alternate dimension by the world's #1 mom and a cynical cop turned hero. A girl with a shaved head had telekinetic superpowers, befriend's Will's four loyal friends along the way and helping them track down their missing party member. Then, whatever the hell was on the other side - whatever was in this...upside down...took back Eleven. She'd been missing ever since that dreadful winter.

Fast forward to now: you're sitting in your uncle's bunker, looking at his wild display of efforts. Papers, files, whiteboards covered in multiple words, arrows, sketches - all in different colored markers. Murray Bauman was on a mission, and he would be damned if that grumpy, cynical smart-ass known as Jim Hopper honestly thought that he could dismantle his efforts. Nice try, chum. Game on. Thankfully, you'd gone to school with Barbara Holland. That's whose parents had assigned the task of searching for her to your uncle. Murray was asking you tons of questions, and you were glad to help. It meant spending time with the only family member you cared for, despite his wackiness. You guys got each other. Bantered well. Got shit done. Honestly, it was also a great way of drinking safely and not with a bunch of rowdy teenagers at some stupid party. You got along just fine with everyone at school. But damn, they could all be annoying. ...especially Steve fucking Harrington, who was now the topic of conversation. You know, given that his house is where Barbara was last seen. "It just isn't making sense," your uncle huffed, raking his hands through his oily dark hair. You sipped on the glass of vodka that your uncle had poured you, hissing at the strong taste. Leaning across the coffee table, seated on his couch, you tried to connect the dots with him. "I'm telling you, someone in that group of teens knows what's up. Or at least has an idea." Your uncle swigged at his vodka, defeated but ruthlessly trying to piece together his clusterfuck of scattered evidence across his wall. "Well then, guess we better grill 'em."

And that's how you come into the picture. When Nancy and Jonathan came to seek out Murray. And when they arrive, they're surprised to see you. They recognize you from school. Jonathan took several classes with you. In fact, the two of you got along well at Hawkins High. No, you weren't close. But you both were cool. Nancy, on the other hand, didn't know anything about you. Just that you took political science with Barbara, and got straight A's across the board. You could've been class valedictorian. But you were not looking for any sort of title that demanded pressure or attention. At least not in high school. Career wise? Sure. Not here, though. Not Hawkins. "Your timeline is wrong," Nancy is saying, making you and Bauman freeze. Nancy is telling you that the girl with the buzzed hair is not Russian. She is, in fact, from Hawkins lab. And her name is...Eleven? So they do know something. And something turns out to be everything.

Jonathan sits you both down to relay everything to you both. And woof, does it give you guys a headache. Strangely, though... it makes a whole lot more sense than some mundane explanation of sorts. Obviously though, that puts you all in a tough spot where you'll all need to put your heads together. So the two classmates of yours stay, sharing in chilled Smirnoff and having to endure the hilarity that ensues between you and your uncle. You and Murray both banter well with the two of them. Jonathan finds you to be hilarious. Nancy finds you intimidating. Very intimidating. You’re quick witted, darkly humored and independent. But there is a reserved, mysterious sort of feminine energy to you, despite your more masculine strengths and bluntness. Over glasses of stiff vodka, you all come to the conclusion on how to go about exposing the truth about Barbara Holland's disappearance: water it down.

At the end of the night, you're all winding down -- you and your uncle having convinced the two lovebirds to stay. But when you're telling them they can take your uncle's guest room while you take the couch, Jonathan's asking if he can take the couch. You blink. Huh? ...surely Nancy is not still with --

"Okay, I'm confused," your uncle's saying. "What's going on here? Lovers quarrel?"

You cock an eyebrow, leaning back into the loveseat.

But Jonathan and Nancy are then talking over each other with weird, flustered excuses...saying they're just friends.

You and your uncle bust out laughing. And then you're shrinking back in your seat, knowing what's coming: one of your Uncle Murray's lovebird witchdoctor speeches that he barrels into anytime that two delusional people have convinced themselves that they aren't in love. Or at the very least, not into each other.

Uncle Murray is breaking them down, one at a time. He's reading Jonathan like an angsty teen novel, seeing right through him and his brooding, mysterious energy. Trust issues, thanks to daddy issues. Yikes, that makes you sip some more drink.

And then he's onto Nancy, saying that she's harder to read. But he manages anyway. It's the Bauman way.

He's telling her that she's likely like everyone else, "afraid of what would happen if you accepted yourself for you who you really are." He looks at you. "Am I in the right ballpark?"

You nod, swallowing the last drop of vodka in your cup. "That...and afraid of that might happen if she didn't retreat back to the safety of someone familiar."

Nancy looks bewildered. But more than that, she looks caught.

"Name?" your uncle is prodding, snapping his fingers. "Name."

You and Jonathan both say it. "Steve."

Uncle Murray's face is priceless. He feigns adoration, putting on a baby voice as he repeats the name. "Dawh. Steve. We like Steve."

"Yes," Nancy laughs nervously. Eek, you think.

"But we don't love Steve..." Your uncle's words floor Nancy.

And when Nancy's saying something about still being with Steve, insisting that she loves him, you roll your eyes. Even scoffing, getting her attention. Maybe if the vodka weren't in your system, you wouldn't be so bold. But Jonathan's mopey look just gives you more confidence.

"Boom, ladies and gents," you say with a grin. "Second lie of the evening." "The hell was the first one?" Jonathan asks, blinking. "You guys being just friends." You and your uncle say something along the same lines, simultaneously. You both laugh together, clinking glasses. The two not lovebirds just squirm awkwardly in their seats. Finally, you sigh. "Look. You guys don't wanna give up the ghost? Be my guest. I'll happily keep my bed." You stand up, ready to turn in. But not until casting them one last work, pointing a finger. "But if I were you two? I'd cut the bullshit and just share the damn bed." Murray snorts, rising to stand as well. He stretches. "Welllllp. I'm turning in for the night." You begin mounting the stairs, hollering: "Better act fast, kiddos. At least before this poison in my system knocks me out cold. Don't worry, Nancy, I don't snore. So if you do choose me, you're safe." "But that's so lame," Murray adds to that wryly, heading off to his room. You both tell each other goodnight, leaving the two angsty teens to decide their fate. All you know is that Nancy ends up walking out and not coming back, at one point in the night. Yeah, thought so. Breakfast the next morning is even more hilarious. You and your uncle ask every single question that drips with innuendo that you ever possibly could. And it's worth every fucking minute.

Murray's gonna need to keep that couch cleaned. To your surprise, Murray sends you off with Nancy and Jonathan, but given that you want to go and see it all for yourself you don't mind. You’re basically his little spy. Most uncles send off their nieces and nephews with some good advice, maybe a packed lunchbox or snacks, and a warm hug.

Yours, however, sends you off with a full bottle of vodka, a thick wad of cash and some fun sarcastic banter. But he headlocks you in for a hug, and you cackle. He really is a nutcase, and man you can't help but love him. He is so not the parental type. Yet somehow, he's practically raised you. And in your opinion, you're pretty well-prepared for the world. More than most, in Murray's opinion. So off you go with Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Buyers, and they both honestly enjoy your company. It helps them get past their umm...well...awkward new reality. That new reality that comes post-sex, after a long ass time of playing the tip-toe game. The sexual tension between them is hysterical to you. But you keep your thoughts to yourself for now. The vodka did most of the talking for you last night.

When you both arrive at wherever the hell your destination is, it's dark outside. And if you're being honest, it's pretty creepy. You're somewhere near the woods, and as you all walk closer you're beginning to see lights approaching you...along with a handful of shadowed figures.

Fuck, you literally just got here.

But then, after a tense several moments... Nancy and Jonathan call out to them. You jump, startled at the fact that they do it so confidently. But the name that they call out suddenly makes it all make sense. "STEVE?" "NANCY...?" And that's how you became a crucial part of the most royal pain in the ass, King Steve's, life.

#steve harrington angst #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington smut

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jakescakeislateforourdate · 3 months

Note

Hey girly!! Im too shy to ask this without the anonymous filter but first of all I’ve been reading through your blog and I love it honestly. I was wondering if you are open to requests if you’d be able to write up something about joe rantz (I am absolutely LIVING for blonde callum) and maybe a coaches daughter trope? he saw her when he went to sign himself up, at the practices all that jazz and just them like becoming friends then more than friends, the boat scene where he gets his seat taken away from him maybe? thank you so much and again I love your work! xx

Hello, my lovely anon. Glad to see you in my inbox. I apologize for the wait but I've been coming out of an awful slump and I was trying to make this piece not total garbage. I hope you enjoy it and I hope I see you in my inbox again.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Joe Rantz (Callum Turner’s) x reader

wc: 4,600

Joe finds himself utterly gobsmacked when he discovers that the pretty face he’s seen at the shell house is the coach’s daughter and not his wife.

Enjoy this garbage!

…

Joe Rantz had come to the shell house in search of work. He’d hoped that making the team would cover his tuition and get him a room and he needed it so desperately. Roger Morris stood next to him, chewing nervously at his nails. “Sorry, Joe, didn’t realize competition would be so tight.” He mutters, spitting out a shred of his fingernail. Coach Ulbrickson was going over the basics of practice. It sounded like absolute hell to Joe but he was out of options. He fidgeted with the number painted on his jersey. Sure, he was strong from a lifetime of rough labor but so were the other boys. Most of them were broke too and just as desperate. Joe didn’t know if he had what it took to stand out but he’d be damned if he couldn’t make a life for himself because he couldn’t muscle up some money for college.

As Ulbrickson speaks, a shadow appears in his office window. It’s too far for Joe’s nervous gaze to actually study the figure. He tries to focus on coach but the shadow continues to draw his attention. Roger notices too. “Who the hell is that?” Joe just shrugs. The shadow never leaves the window even as Ulbrickson finishes up and the boys get split up. Joe can’t dwell on the figure any longer because he’s being herded into the middle of shellhouse. He begins a horrible set of workouts. His body is made for hard work but he’s never actually worked out before. His muscles aren’t used to straining this way.

It’s not long before his breathing becomes labored and sweat is pouring down his back. His curls hang down his forehead, sticking to his skin uncomfortably. And just when the pain is becoming unbearable the coaches are swapping them out and Joe is put on a junky old boat and an oar is pushed into his hands. They start rowing and instantly, the only thing on Joe’s mind is how bad his back hurts. Pained grunts and groans echo across the water as the boys struggle to keep pulling the oars.

Eventually, it’s all over. Joe stumbles onto the dock in front of the shellhouse and feels his knees shaking with excursion. Men begin to drain away from the shellhouse and as the numbers dwindle, the shadow in the window of Ulbrickson’s office reappears. It moves through the glass panes like a swan through water. Then the office door opens and Joe sees your face for the first time.

“That was some tough practice, huh?” Roger bumps Joe’s shoulder, a crooked smile on his face. Joe cannot respond and Roger follows his gaze. “Washington, Washington, what finery you enjoy.”

You descend the steps and take a place between Ulbrickson and Bolles. Ulbrickson puts and arm around and Joe feels his heart wither a little. You’re probably Mrs. Ulbrickson. Though he can’t shake the impression that you look a little too young to be with Ulbrickson.

“Alas,” Roger throws up his hands, “Finery we cannot also enjoy.”

“Don’t be crass.”

“I’m not! How was that crass?” Roger purses his lips and nudges Joe.

Joe just buttons up his jacket and picks up his books, “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

The very next day, Joe is suffering through practice. He aches all over and his muscles scream at him. He’s already shaking when he gets done with the basic strength building exercises. Most of the boys are. There are fewer numbers today but this does not better Joe’s odds by much. They clamber into Old Nero and start rowing away. His wrists twinge and his knees spasm. He rows and rows until he thinks his body will give out and then Ulbrickson is directing them back to the shellhouse. Jow crawls out of the boat, soaked to the bone and stiff as a board.

Then he sees you again, this time your sorting registry papers with Pocock. Your back is turned to him, so you don’t notice his longing stare. He keeps telling himself that you’re a married lady and that he should be focused on making the team, but nothing seems to chase you from his mind.

Coach Ulbrickson sweeps across the dock and places a hand on top of your head, an odd gesture between husband and wife but Joe wouldn’t know about those things. Since his group was the last to use Old Nero, they get the privilege of stowing the oars. Joe begins unlatching the mechanism when he shifts on his knees.

It happens so fast he can’t clock what’s happening. First there’s the sensation of slipping, the horrible thrust of his legs flying out from beneath him. He twists mid slip, and his side smacks the dock painfully before he’s swept off the dock by his own weight. He plumets into the cold water with a catastrophic splash and agonized shriek.

When Joe resurfaces a dozen hands are reaching for him. He grasps onto George Hunt’s forearm and allows Shorty to hoist him onto the sodden wood planks. A fluffy white towel is draped around his shoulders; firm hands rub his chilled biceps. “Are you alright?” You face appears before him.

Joe is almost too stunned to speak, “I—yeah, yeah I’m okay.”

You tuck the ends of the towel into his hands, “Better get showered up and dressed.” Joe just nods and stumbles past you and into the locker room. Roger follows closely behind, teasing Joe relentlessly.

“You’re fallin’ harder than I thought.”

“Roger!” Joe grinds his teeth, huffing and puffing. “You need better jokes.”

Joe spends that night struggling to focus on his schoolwork. He has math homework that needs doing. He has books to read. The one in his hands now periodically goes in and out of focus as Joe’s mind wanders. On the page is the story of a western novel, a man had found a girl walking alone the road at dusk, all on her own. He didn’t want to leave her to the coyotes, so he offered her a ride into the nearest town. They were riding horseback across the prairie. Her arms wound tightly around him; her hands splayed over his chest.

Her hands—

What is wrong with you, Joe?

Joe reads this line over and over again. Each time he nears the end his brain short circuits and all he can think about are your hands on your shoulders. You hadn’t even really touched him, at least not his skin. Yet the only thing shooting through his neurons are the sensations of your fingers along his skin. That imaginary touch he can conjure up so perfectly. He eventually gives in and skips down a few paragraphs. He reads late into the night and the phantom touches are still nagging his senses when he closes the book and rolls over to sleep.

…

Day after day, Joe sees you at practice. You congratulate him when he makes the team and help him with his technique every once and a while. “Roll your wrists just a bit more.” Your fingers would poke at his forearms and direct him in graceful strokes. It fries his brain. You give pointers to the rest of the team too, working closely with Bolles and Pocock to get them in racing shape. It’s not long into the season when Ulbrickson decides to switch coxswains.

“This is Bobby Moch. Your new jockey.” Bolles announces one day. Bobby is short and slender and sharp tongued. The second he climbs in the boat and starts barking out commands, Joe is flabbergasted. Who is Bobby to talk to the team this way? But they all find themselves obeying his every word. What really irks Joe about Bobby is how friendly he is with you. You exchange jokes and poke fun at each other. Joe tells himself that he just thinks it’s inappropriate to flirt with the coach’s wife but beneath it all he’s incredibly jealous that Bobby can make you laugh so easily. It makes Joe pine for attention in a way that he never has before.

The day of their race against California, Joe is all jitters and nerves. He bounces on the balls of his feet and shakes his hands, trying to loosen the anxiety. Streamers and garlands of flags decorate the locker room and the campus. People have gathered in clusters along the course and wave flags of purple and gold. The smell of popcorn and peanuts permeates the air and Joe promises to indulge himself if they win.

As the crew carried their shell down to the water, they begin chanting to themselves. “Bow down to Washington!” They neglect the varsity’s jeers and clip their oars into position. They spot Coach Ulbrickson in the stands, you at his side. And then there’s another woman. And Ulbrickson hugs her. And then he kisses her.

Right in front of you! What is going on?

“Rantz! Eyes on me!” Bobby hollers. But Joe can’t help stealing another confused glance. “I said quite drooling over coach’s daughter and LOOK AT ME!”

Joe feels like an idiot. He puts his head down in shame and tightens his grip on the oar. Ulbrickson joins them on the dock and gives one of his famously encouraging speeches. Joe is only half paying attention. They push off and are left with lovely Bobby hyping them up while they wait for the race to start. They lean forward, like a bow drawn for a shot. And then the white flag flies and the boats shoot away from the docks.

There’s nothing but blur as Joe rows. He can only focus on the muscled shoulders of Don Hume in the stroke seat as Bobby screams at them. “28!”

About halfway through the course, Bobby demands the stroke rate be upped and Don performs. The shell lurches forward, eating up the distance between Washington and Cal until the JV boat surpasses the Berkeley blokes. Then the boat is cutting across the finish line, a clean win. Adrenaline rushes Joe’s veins. He throws his fists in the air as the team splashes and roars. They’re inevitably drowned out by the crowd who bursts up in a shower of peanuts and Washington flags.

Coach Ulbrickson, the new woman Joe assumes his Ulbrickson’s wife, and you rush the dock as the boys climb out of the boat. “Excellent job.” Mrs. Ulbrickson shakes their hands as they unclip their oars. Bolles is compassionate enough to give them each a pat on the back as they hoist the boat over their heads and haul it off.

Joe can’t help but notice the copious amounts of onlookers pooling around the shell as they carry it back to the shellhouse. They set it down on the stands and before they can even take their hands off the shell, they are bombarded by Washington fans. Girls reaching out to stroke their biceps or kiss their cheeks. Joe has never received attention like this once in his life. He’s as polite as possible, brushing off a few girls here and there and shaking the hand of the occasional fellow. Shorty has accumulated a few lipstick stains on his cheek. Don Hume is blushing from the tips of his ears down to the point of his freckled nose. Chuck and Roger accept a few hugs. They bask in the winners’ glory for only a few moments until the varsity team strolls by. They make a comment to Moch that Joe doesn’t catch but judging by the way Bobby’s shoulders square he can make obvious conclusions.

“You rowed so well today, Joe.” He hears your voice, and his palms start to sweat.

“Thanks, I uh—” It occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know a thing about you. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten your name.” You smile at him, and syllables fall out but the crowd is too loud. “What?” Your grasp his shoulder and lean in, the sound of your name echoes off the shell of his ear.

When you pull away, you’re still smiling but before Joe can ask you another question, Bobby is buzzing by with a play-by-play of exactly what happened in Bobby’s world.

You shade your eyes and peer down at the docks, “Looks like dad is almost done with the varsity. I should get down there.” You say, and Bobby turns around to talk to Shorty. “Hey. Will I see you at the party tonight?” Your hand rests on Joe’s shoulder. He prays you can’t feel his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Good. You had better save a dance for me, Joe Rantz.”

You leave him breathless, the butterflies in his stomach so vicious that he shudders. He watches you disappear down the pathway to the dock and his heart starts hammering with anticipation. You want to dance with him. You want to touch his hands, touch him. And then he remembers that you already did that, he was too focused on the motion of your lips that he’d hardly registered the sensation of your hands on his arm. Damn! What had it felt like? He’d remembered it’d made him flabbergasted and choked his speech but he couldn’t remember how the grooves in your palm felt as they brushed over his skin. The warmth of your fingertips. He curses himself out and vanishes into the locker room to get changed.

…

The dance rolls around rather too quickly and Joe is swimming in nerves. He has to tie his tie twice because he messes up so badly, he can’t even draw it tight to his neck. Roger found out all too quickly and hasn’t let Joe catch a break.

“A date with coach’s daughter. Careful Joe, Ulbrickson might throw you off the team if he catches the wrong look in your eye.”

“Shut up, Roger, I’m not greasy like you”

“Ouch, that hurts me.”

“Clearly not enough.” Joe hisses as he finally gets his tie right.

“Feels like I’m a father about to send his kid off to prom.”

Joe sighs and throws on his suit coat. “Oh, please—”

“Look at you fly, shooting out of your league.”

Roger works a smile onto Joe’s face, and they set off for the party. Spring is finally warming the campus up from a brutal winter and a few couples mull around outside. Joe and Roger find their way into the crowded gymnasium, both shocked by just how loud it is. Joe can’t even hear his own thoughts. They spot the team almost immediately, clustered around tables, drinks in their hands. A few of the boys are dancing with some lovely dames, a few are leaned against the wall having close conversations. Don is sitting by himself on a bench a few feet away from the refreshment table, watching the dance floor. Joe is turning to follow Roger towards the other boys but an arm loops through his, “Thought you weren’t going to show.” You practically shout.

Joe can’t help but grin as you capture his attention. “You weren’t joking.”

“Not a bit, Rantz, didn’t have any other dancing plans except for this one.”

“Guess I should make it worth your wait then.” Joe leads you into the thicket of bodies.

He prides himself on the laugh you let out, “please do,” you say as he takes your hands and spins to face you. He places his hand high on your waist and cradles the other gently in his palm. He can feel the smooth plains of you hand against his. Each crease and each callous. His are no doubt unbelievably rough from the rowing and he would feel bad but right now all he can feel are your fingers lacing through his. “You’re not half bad.” You tease. Joe knows his cheeks are heating up to a flaming red. Probably his ears too.

His hand migrates to the small of your back as the music changes into a soft slow song. “I’ll be completely honest,” he starts, “I had no idea you were the coach’s daughter.”

“Then who else would I be?”

“I thought you were his wife.” He looks away sheepishly, but your laughter is so unrestrained and whole that Joe’s heart melts. You can’t stop laughing either and it’s contagious.

“You’re an engineering student, right?” Your shoes brush as you sway with him.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Joyce.” Joe’s heart drops. In his infatuation he’d forgotten all about her. “She was trying to hit on you, but she figured out that your attention was elsewhere.”

“You too are good friends then?”

“Just since the start of the year. We have an English class together.” You and Joe talk for a while, it forces you to be close and neither of you care to separate. Eventually, you move outside and sit with sit with Joe on the steps of the gym. It’s still chilly out and you sit close to Joe which he doesn’t mind one bit. At some point your head rests on his shoulder and you close your eyes. Joe can do nothing but stare down at you, his mouth agape.

“Why is your heart beating so fast?” You trace his knuckles with your pointer finger.

Joe’s head pounds, his mouth dry, “This has never happened to me before.”

“None of the girls from high school? Never?”

“Not one.”

You look up at Joe and reach to smooth back a blond curl. “Shame, they were missing out.” This makes Joe smile again and he’s immensely pleased with how easily you do that to him. Make him happy. He hasn’t felt like this since… he can’t remember when. Sure, he was happy when the team won but that was different. That was pride. So was making the team. This feels more affectionate, closer to the heart. He wonders if this is what love feels like but that would be silly; he’s only known your name for a day. He’s also never been flattered quite like this. Besides Joyce, he can’t think of anyone else who’s actually been interested in him. Certainly not one who compliments him the way you do.

People start to drain out of the gym very slowly and Joe checks his watch. “So late already?”

“Guess I should get home; my dad will be wrought with worry.” You joke and straighten out your skirt.

“Can I walk you home?”

“I would love that.”

Joe offers you his hand, “Where does coach live?”

“Not too far.” You accept his calloused hand and direct him off campus. Surprisingly, Joe has read the book you’re reading for English and time flies as you discuss the book. Then Joe makes a sobering comment that makes you stop and study him.

“His parents remind me of my own.”

Joe realizes what he’s let slip, “Don’t worry about it too much. I’m okay.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Joe presses his lips into a line and stares down at his worn shoes. A wave of self-consciousness washes over him as he realizes how ragged of a life he has lived and just how much it shows. “Well—”

“Is this why you have a hard time trusting your team?”

“Hey now,”

“Sorry.” You take his hands.

He grimaces and squeezes your soft palms. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

Joe sighs and swipes a thumb across your knuckles. “My Pops just… left me one day. Told me I’d be fine on my own.” Joe gives you parts of the story. Mostly what he feels like stomaching at the moment.

When he’s finished you let go of his hands and cup his cheeks. He sinks into the touch, soaking it up like a flower budding in sunlight. You don’t say anything, you just look at him. You look at him like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered and his heart trembles because he has never once known what it’s like to be that for someone else. And then you stand on tip toes and plant a hearty kiss on his forehead. “This is it actually,” you gesture behind you at the hosue that must be the Ulbricksons’. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice?”

“Yeah.” The spot on his forehead that you kissed tingles. “Nowhere else I’d want to be.”

…

The Poughkeepsie Regatta rolls around all too quickly and Ulbrickson has to make a decision. The varsity boat who deserves it. Or the JV boat who could win it. His hands sweat as he stands on at that pulpit and reads off his preplanned speech. As he talks, he thinks about the future of the rowing program. The jobs it has provided him and Bolles. About how Pocock would have to find work elsewhere and it’d kill Al Ulbrickson to send him away.

He leans into the mic and spits, “and that boat is our JV boat.” It has to be them. They have to win. Moans and groans blow his way as the crowd rejects his announcement. Regret washes over him but he cannot take this back. He has to be right about his crew. He tips his hat and hustles off the podium as the JV bursts into celebration. He has to be right.

…

Joe is more than pleased to see you on the train to Poughkeepsie. He slides into the car with you, and you chat away. You were fast friends the night of the dance and have since become closer. The kiss on the forehead still lingers sometimes, especially when Joe sees your lips form your smile. You entice him into some card games and eventually a game of chess. At some point, he decides that he needs to sleep and bids you goodnight so that he can find a train car to sleep in. But before he does, he sneaks a chaste kiss onto your knuckles.

His good mood is stamped out the very next day when the team takes to the water. They don’t row good, and frustration starts to build. Bobby and the coaches try and get them working together, telling them that it’s just nerves and new water. But tensions rise regardless. The days start to dwindle, and the crew is getting worse and worse.

Blame starts to turn to him, and Joe is at a loss. He doesn’t want to believe that he’s holding the team back, but he thinks back to what you said that night he walked you home. But the most awful feeling creeps over him, not an ounce of care. What’s wrong with him. This crew has been the only family he’s had in years. He needs them. But he can’t bring himself to admit it.

Before he knows it, it slips and Ulbrickson is exiling him from the boat. As the crew watches Joe storm away, their spare crawls in and they set off for another row. Bolles taps you on the shoulder, “you had better see if you can do anything. Enlist Pocock if you have to.” Your father nods along.

You set out to find him, not that it was hard there’s not many places he can go alone. He’s stuffing his suitcase when you find him. “Don’t start.” He snaps. Then he sees your expression and his anger sours. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t—”

“Don’t give up on your team, Joe.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you’re quitting and throwing everything you’ve worked for away.”

“Don’t, don’t even start to pretend you know me.” He realizes too late that he’s made everything so much worse and before he can fix a thing Pocock is at the door.

“I could use some help putting another coat of oil on the shell.”

You duck past Pocock and leave Joe with a painful pit of remorse in his stomach. He follows Pocock and takes the talking to straight to the heart. As he lathers on a thick coat of oil, he figures he can bargain with Ulbrickson in the morning, but he should make a proper apology to you now. He racks his brain for anything that would make it right, but he’s horrifically inexperienced and it’s crippling him now. He feels like a child having a tantrum. He feels miniscule and insignificant.

After Joe dunks his brush into the whale oil can for the last time, he figures he’d better just confront the issue head on since he has no way of handling it delicately. He has no grace and he’s sure you’re aware of this. Pocock gives him an encouraging pat and takes the can from him. Joe winds his way back to the hotel and through the halls. Your room is on the second floor, third door down. He knocks gently, eyes lingering on the hideous carpet and tacky sconces. The door swings open after a moment and Joe is met with your disapproving glower. His tongue seems to swell in his mouth so badly that he worries it’ll flop out when he tries to speak.

“Coffee?” You ask when you realize he will stand there silently forever if you don’t let him in.

“No… I just wanted to—to apologize.”

“Oh really.” Your eyebrow quirks.

Joe is fumbling for words. You stand aside and motion for him to step inside so you can have this discussion in privacy. “I know that was wrong to take out my frustration on you. That wasn’t fair and none of it is your fault.” He twiddles his thumbs. How does he go about this without absolutely butchering it? “I just—” As he trails off, he notices a hurt dullness in your eyes. He recognizes it as pity. “You and the crew are really all I’ve got, and I’m so scared I’m going to lose it.”

“These boys aren’t going to leave you behind unless you separate yourself from them like today.”

“I know.

“Really?”

“Pocock made sure I know.”

The edges of your lips tilt up. You pull him down onto the foot of the bed and take his hand. “Are you actually going to try and trust them?”

“Don’t have enough faith to put it in anyone else.”

You squeeze his hand and trace a finger along his jawline, sweeping a knuckle under his chin. You force his stubborn gaze to you and find nothing but desperation. Wanting things like this doesn’t come natural to Joe and it shows, but he’s not so different from the other boys in that boat.

You reach up and fiddle with a curl, “apology accepted.” Tears pool in the corners of his eyes and he tries to choke them down. You place a hand on his chest and rest your forehead on his. His breath fans over your cheeks. The tip of his nose brushes yours. His shoulders sag inwards and he reaches for your waist.

“Can I—may I kiss you?”

Joe’s sweetness never fails to amaze you. You cradle his face and bring him closer. “Yes, Joe.” His breath hitches and his lips finally meet yours for the very first time. He’s gentle but generous and lets you kiss him for as long as you like. His arms wrap around you fully and hold you to his chest. He gets the feeling that he’ll be craving these moments all the time now, finally understanding what Roger and Chuck rave about. He’s hooked on your lips and your weight against him and when you pull away it breaks his heart.

“You should get cleaned up before you talk to my father, you smell like whale oil.”

...

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading this. If you'd like to request, feel free to do so. I always love you in my inbox. I hope you enjoyed this fic and if you like it please check out my masterlist for more. Have nice day.

-the author

#boys in the boat #Joe rantz #callum turner #joe rantz x reader #callum turner x reader

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gojoidyll · 2 months

Text

Infinity

Yandere ! Gojo Satoru x Female ! Reader

Part 12 | another simple beginning

Summary | And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.

Warnings | short chapter, grammatical errors, etc.

Infinity Masterlist

“You think you’re funny, you damned Gojo?”

The sorcerer grinned at Sukuna whose mouth appeared on Itadori’s cheek, “very much so. Here we are in a new time and you’re stuck in a teenager’s body. She won’t ever look your way.”

“Gojo-sensei?”

He smiled when Itadori questioned him as to what he and Sukuna were possibly going on about, but the sorcerer merely shrugged with an aloof expression etching across his face, “who knows? I’m just entertaining him is all. Curses like Sukuna need to be entertained every once and awhile, you know?”

“Is that why you fought him when we first met?”

“Yeah … something like that.”

“You both did wonderful! Congrats on a mission well done!”

Gojo brought his attention forward, both him and Itadori went on a sort of solo training mission while Y/n took Fushiguro and Kugisaki on another. And afterwards, they all had agreed to meet at a particular restaurant in both in celebration for a job well done and for welcoming Y/n as a new teacher.

“Gojo, Itadori! I’m glad to see you both made it here safely.”

Gojo could feel how his heart swooned at the sight of her smile. His grin infectious as he reached for her, his hand gently patting her head, “please, a mission like that is but a simple one.”

“That so? Are all missions easy for you, Gojo?”

He found it adorable with how curious she was about him, it made him want to squish her cute cheeks. But he managed to refrain himself as they all entered the restaurant with him making sure that she stood right next to him.

“Of course they are, I am the strongest after all.”

“The strongest? Stronger than anyone then?”

“Anyone and everyone.”

“Even Sukuna?”

“Him too.”

She laughed as the waitress showed them there table, “it must be tiring, huh?”

As the three students sat on one side, he was sure to pull her to him so she would be sitting next to him. Though, he didn’t like how Itadori unconsciously sat in front of y/n on the other side. Must have been Sukuna’s doing.

“Tiring,” he questioned.

“Well… since you’re the strongest, you must always be called on missions, right? Isn’t that tiring?”

“Not at all.”

“Well, if you want, if you ever need a break or a vacation, then I would be happy to take on your missions for you,” she happily exclaimed while digging into her pocket and pulling out her jujutsu sorcerer card, “I am a special rank sorcerer after all!”

Marry me.

He shook his thoughts out before he could utter those words to her, and just as he opened his mouth to thank her, Itadori cut right into the conversation.

“A special grade?! But you look our age! How did you get to that rank already?!”

She laughed at that too, “I’m not that young, I’m actually 22.”

“That’s still young!”

She grinned and Gojo pouted while pointing to himself, “hey, I’m a special grade sorcerer too.”

“Oh, youre like what? 40?”

Gojo huffed at Itadori, “I’ll have you know I’m 28!”

“Close enough.”

“Kugisaki?!”

“I thought he was 50 when I first met him.”

“Not you too, Megumi!”

It was a good day. Everyone was laughing and poking fun at one another. No one would expect anything was wrong or that Gojo was planning to get rid of Sukuna in some way, shape, or form.

No one noticed how Sukuna kept his eyes on you either. A special grade sorcerer? A young woman trying to make it in the jujutsu world?

Seems like he’ll be able to keep an eye on you way easier than he originally thought.

Infinity Taglist | pls note that some i could not tag due to "no blogs found"

@whore-for-hawks @esthelily @huicitawrites @flaming-vulpix @zeniiis @rin1802 @mrowwww @kenstarsworld @bubera974 @littleplantofdeath @fangirl-332 @thaliadoesthings @hellsingalucard18 @tamaki-simp @obsessedwithfanfiction @babygivertyrant @carvelcakes

@itzmeme @nervouschocolatecat @aspiring-bookworm @babyorphanstastegood @lilacskyly @ilovethegold @mythicalsongbird

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #yandere satoru gojo #yandere gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #yandere gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

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punkeropercyjackson · 3 months

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Genuine advice for people who joined the Batfam fandom because of fan content and are too scared to get into actual comics or not sure where to start:Please don't buy a single word 'Fuck canon!' people tell you about ANY Batfam member and i do mean ANY.They're lying to you to get you to sanatize them and deprive you of deserving to know what they're actually like because their peabrains can't process multilayered characters and relathionships in favor of bigoted stereotypes and writing that's insanely insulting to them and if you're a minor especially,they're lying to you about whatever they say about shipping the male members with eachother not being in*cest or ped0 too-Bruce has been Dick's adoptive dad since Dick's debut issue,he legally adopted Jason and Duke too,Damian's his bio kid and with Tim it's a bit more complicated but it's very much canon that they see eachother as father and son and Tim has lived at Wayne Manor at several points in canon and would be brothers regardless of anything else due to this but they also use that exact word to describe their dynamic and so does everybody else

This applies to Cass being their sister too because Bruce adopted her after they formed a dad-daughter bond a while into her being Batgirl but as Stephanie has a mom she lives with and has never seen Bruce as a parental figure nor he her as one of his kids,you're freegame to ship her with Tim or Cass and in fact i highly encourage doing both.Batfanon stans are once again doing mass lying(damn they should get a different hobby)by saying the four male Robins are the 'core' ones.Stephanie has been included in Robin stuff for a long time now and Duke dosen't get the same treatment due to antiblackness so THAT'S an actual 'Fuck canon!' moment so you should make it six Robins and know that the intention with only four is always misogyny and whitewashing(also just saying but those fanarts are always ugly anyway,they make them look like shitty anime boys instead of themselves)

Dick is an almost perfect eldest sibling and the other Batkids deeply appreciate him for it,he was Tim's Robin and him and Cass are his favorite siblings,Duke is Jason's favorite brother and vice versa but he's also extremely close to Cass,none of them make Damian go through 'normal youngest sibling treatment' because none of them are normal so they grew a sense of basic decency and Damian's closest to Dick and Stephanie and Stephanie's a canon csa victim so kindly keep your paws off her with your 'date all of your s/os siblings' jokes because she has self-worth and class,thanks

Ignore the original Red Hood and The Outlaws run and anything to do with Jason and Roy friendship in fandom and read the original Teen Titans run,New Teen Titans,Arsenal 1998,The Titans 1999,Green Arrow 2001 and Outsiders 2003 if you want to understand Roy too or at least ask around blogs centered on him for context.Ignore Tom Taylor's Nightwing run and Teen Titans 2003 and Batgirl of Burnside and anything by Devin Grayson(she's quite literally done irreperable damage to Batman lore and i wish i was kidding).Read Robin 1993,90s Young Justice,Batgirl 2000,Batgirl 2009,Red Robin,Son of Batman and literally everything Duke's in which i can provide a reading list for instead and i'm working on a megapost of all the Jason media that's actually good so new fans don't waste their time.I'm genuinely saying this to be helpful because 'fandom isn't activism' is a puratical priviliged phrase that should've never existed just like Batfanon shouldn't either

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miller-n-morgan · 4 days

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Take Me Home

PART TWO: GUNSLINGER

Arthur Morgan x Gunslinger!Reader

18+, mdni (this work is not necessarily 18+, but my blog as a whole is)

Summary: The famous 'kid' settles into the camp, but slight problems arise when Dutch learns his new gunslinger hasn't ever fired a rifle. Arthur Morgan, the loyal enforcer, is all too happy to oblige is lending his help... for a price. (Reader is based on Texas Red from the Song 'Big Iron')

Warnings: reader is female but is disguised as a young male (use of masc pronouns towards reader by everyone accept Arthur), use of guns, reader is described to have a masculine outer appearance (for show) and is mentioned to have reddish hair (for the sake of the storyline). A fake name is used but otherwise can be read completely as a reader insert.

Word Count: 3.5k (pathetic, i know)

Hey howdy hey, welcome back for part two of this fluffy little cowboy story that is going to become such a hellscape later on. Just sit back and relax while it lasts and enjoy it... bc it's gonna be so crazy y'all

“Now,” he said, setting the rifle by the tree. “I don’t just go about teachin’ folk how to shoot for free.” “But Dutch said that-” “I know what Dutch said,” he nodded, approaching closer and crossing his arms. “I still expect something in return for my services.” You scoffed. “I ain’t got nothing you would want.”

You haven’t seen much of the nature of Agua Fria, but you’re glad you’re able to, now. You’d town hopped a few times within the city, letting new faces get a look at yours. But there was a sort of pressure in those crowded areas, and it doesn’t feel like that in the Van Der Linde campsite.

The gang has taken well to you. It’s been a fortnight since you joined up, the ragtag gang of outlaws, thieves, and gunslingers had been welcoming, given your display on just the day after your arrival.

Dutch has yet to send you on any jobs, mainly because of something you revealed to everyone around the campfire a week ago.

“How does one shoot a rifle?” you pondered curiously, the silence of the group making you anxious.

“Boy, you better be pulling my leg,” Dutch himself butted in, shaking his head in disbelief. A cigarette hung from his lips, but he pulled it away to stare you down.

“Well, I just…” haven’t ever shot one before. You’d trailed off before any further mockery could be made, but it was too late.

“You mean to tell me, that in eighteen years of life, you never managed to fire a rifle?” Arthur chimed in, though he was in on your secret, this revelation still surprised him. What else were you hiding?

“If y’all are just gonna mock me, I’m turnin’ in.”

Dutch laughed, and everyone else in the circle made an attempt to undo the harm done.

“Javier ain’t even played a damn note, and you’re gonna sleep?” John cut in, his gravelly voice full of resentment to your attitude. Maybe you were a bit touchy, but it’s not like you’d ever had close friends to joke around with before. Much less people who got away with poking so much fun to your name.

“Who cares if he can’t shoot a rifle? He’s got a faster shot than all of you with a pistol,” Tilly piped up, her sweet voice just about putting all the other men in their place. She looked at you with contrition. ��I’m not very good with those big guns, either.”

“Thank you, Miss Tilly,” you tipped your hat, sitting back down on the log next to her.

Arthur chuckled under his breath watching the interaction, going back to the drink in his hand with a shake of his head. He wouldn’t say anything, he promised he wouldn’t… but some of these occurrences were just too amusing, he couldn’t help his genuine reactions. The slanted jokes about male anatomy towards you, usually coming from John, Sean, or even the calendar boys. The way that you nearly had a heart attack when Miss Grimshaw offered to help you out of your clothes to wash them. Even now, the sweet words from Tilly and the funny way you looked at your feet to avoid meeting her eyes.

That was another thing… You couldn’t bear to break the young girl’s heart, although she would have to find out eventually that you were not in fact the man she thought you were.

He’d been surprised, if he’s honest. He thought that with all her romantic notions and storybook thoughts that Mary-Beth would be the one to fancy a new gunslinger… but maybe you just weren’t her type. Perhaps it was the red hair that deterred her, he knows for sure that was the case when Sean tried his luck. Good thing Karen was there to catch his fall... But sweet Tilly had no idea what she was in for.

He’d teased you about it over the next week, and finally today, when it was time to show you the ropes of a rifle. Dutch insisted that running with them required knowledge of more than pistols and revolvers, and who better to teach than the enforcer himself?

“Like this?” you asked, trying to place the gun correctly.

“Yeah sure, if you wanna blow your arm out of socket.” His low chuckle, followed by a drag of smoke was not helpful, and neither were his words, but your position was just too funny.

“I believe this is where you’re s’posed to be helpin’ me,” you replied, a fiery bite in your words. You’d been learning to warm up to people’s teasing, although it was still a long road to go.

He stood to his feet from where he lounged by a tree, coming up beside you to kick your foot out a little. “Can’t stand like a tree, kid… you’ll tip over in the wind.”

"I ain't a kid," you mumbled, trying not to let him hear your annoyance to something so trivial... you just couldn't help it. People called you kid when they were trying to rile you up, trying to get you to shoot at them. It hadn't ever been used as an endearment before.

"How old are you, anyway?" He asked with a laugh, getting closer to you while he reached to adjust the gun.

"Twenty-Two..."

He let out a small 'huh' before focusing back to the task at hand. He realizes he's only eight years your senior, not twelve. He pulled the butt of the gun into your shoulder, making sure you wouldn’t give out when the gun fired.

“Alright, the shootin’ part should be easy for you. Just hold strong, that thing’s gonna kick back a hell of a lot more than any handgun.”

You pulled back the bolt, raising the barrel until you could aim properly. The glass bottle on the tree branch down the way looked like an easy enough target, but when you fired, you weren’t ready for how much pressure the gun would push on you, and you stumbled back into Arthur.

“Mind your step, will ya?” he teased yet again, and it took everything in you to just ready your stance and try again without saying a word.

You took a deep breath, pulling back on the bolt once more. You had a good idea as to how much you needed to push back this time. Finding the bottle again, you pulled the trigger, closing your eyes at the explosion and faintly hearing the sound of broken glass in the distance.

“I did alright,” you turned to Arthur, a narrow gaze in his eyes as he looked from you then back to the tree. It was quite a distance away, and he was surprised you’d hit so accurately already. Then again, you were kind of known for your accuracy… but you’d never fired a rifle.

“Yeah, more than alright,” he reasoned, taking the gun from you and turning to take a shot for himself. “Now ya just gotta work on speed. This ain’t nothing you can keep on your hip.”

He fired one round after another, each bullet hitting the same branch on a tree until it fell from the trunk completely. Wow.

He smirked over his shoulder, and your face probably gave him an even better reason to be smug. You were clearly in awe of almost everything this man did. Taking care of his horse? In awe. Carrying supplies from the wagon into camp without having to make several trips? In awe. Even now, his accuracy and reaction time. He was so skilled, and you wondered if you’d ever match him.

“Now,” he said, setting the rifle by the tree. “I don’t just go about teachin’ folk how to shoot for free.”

“But Dutch said that-”

“I know what Dutch said,” he nodded, approaching closer and crossing his arms. “I still expect something in return for my services.”

You scoffed. “I ain’t got nothing you would want.”

“Sure, you do…” he trailed, standing right in front of you and reaching down towards your hip. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, even just having him this close to you. When his hand met your gun, pulling it away from its holster, you relaxed just a bit more. “How is it you shoot so fast?”

Honestly, you didn’t have a clue. Everything you did to get faster, you’re sure he’s already done, and a million times over.

“Nerves, mostly. My hands start shakin’ whenever I get a challenger, they start itching to shoot real bad… guess that’s why.”

He nodded, but was unsatisfied. Your answer was vague and unconvincing.

“What’d you do to learn? You obviously ain’t shot another gun but this one here, tell me how it came along,” he raised the pistol in the air, his skillful hands spinning it over a finger with ease.

“I guess s’a long story.”

“And since you learned your way around a rifle so well, we got nothin’ but time.”

You sighed, stepping into the shade of the tree closest to you. You leaned into it, crossing your arms and watching as he continued to handle your closest ally in his steady hands.

How do you even start this story? How does it even get told? You’d never uttered a word about your past to a single person since it all unraveled. You weren’t sure he’d stick around to hear it all, or maybe if he did, he would think you to be foolish.

But this Arthur Morgan, with his tough exterior and gruff voice had a soft spot. He was gentle when need be, kinder than most. You suppose he derives it from Hosea, given that the man practically raised him into manhood.

“You know, I used to be a little rich girl,” you chuckled, watching for his reaction. It was surprising to him, but he waited, almost as if thinking you’d retract it as a joke. “Yeah… lived on a big orange grove in South Carolina.”

“You’re kiddin’ me,” he let out when he realized you weren’t messing around.

“Had a rich daddy and a rich mama. My entire lineage has gotta be worth a couple million at least.”

“Then why on earth are you here? You’d have to be crazy to leave that behind,” he gripped your pistol tightly now, his entire stance leaning on his left leg as he narrowly watched you lounging against the tree.

“Oh, I had a good reason,” you scoffed with wide eyes.

“Good enough to leave behind a family fortune?”

He’s a man. Every man you’ve ever met is the same. They pay no mind to you anymore because you look like one of them now. But before? It was practically a brawl at every public event you attended. You hope that Arthur does not prove to be like the rest. You’ve already been so sure that he stands out, it'll break your heart if you were wrong.

“I know it may not seem like it, but I used to be quite the stunner. I attracted quite a few suitors.”

He nodded, looking you up and down in one glance before coughing a bit and averting his eyes. You hid yourself well, but if he tried hard enough, he could imagine how you would look in more feminine apparel. He liked what he was imagining.

“I don’t doubt it…”

“Well, my dad was in control of who would have my hand, and as you can imagine I wasn’t fond of that fact… He picked one of his old pals from Virginia, another big farmer like himself, wealthy beyond belief and probably thirty five years my senior.”

Arthur was still, blinking a few times. He doesn’t understand. Yes, you would have had to marry someone you were not interested in… but the situation seemed ideal otherwise.

“You would have been well taken care of, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh sure,” you nodded, but there was a smirk on your lips. “I would have been just dandy until he found a reason to kill me like he did his first two wives. My father never believed the accusations, of course, and the evidence had been conveniently destroyed… but I knew better.”

He let out a low whistle, finally looking back to your gun and wondering if its origins were about to come to light. Yeah, he thought. That’s a pretty damn good reason.

“So you ran off?”

You gave a small nod, remembering the last time you ever saw your home and family.

“When I was eighteen I was shipped off to Virginia with a caravan, but before I could be delivered to old Thomas Arlington’s doorstep, I hid overnight in a stable. I stole a horse and headed west a bit.”

“How far west?”

“West Virginia,” you chuckled. “I got to lurk around there a while, I started dressing all boyish and helped a travelin’ musician with his shows. After he settled down I found that very gun on the ground of a saloon. No one ever claimed her, so I polished her up and started practicing draws. I got pretty good, made bets on shootin’ games to get by.”

“You just… picked her up and started shootin’?”

“It sounds real dull when you put it that way,” you laughed, holding your hand out to take the gun back. You’re not an expert with this thing, can’t even spin it half as well or efficiently as he does… but you might be the best in the world at drawing it from your holster. “I’d never shot anyone before, until one man got real upset that he lost a shooting game to me. It was my first duel… and I won. All because of a game. It was that can game we played after I got here.”

“I figured as much. I ain’t never believed anyone could shoot faster than me until I saw you that day. Paid close attention to those bullet holes.”

He was being far too kind. It’s not like you were anything like him. He had it all. Strength, skill, wits, and as you learned with every glance, the looks to kill.

“I ain’t any good besides the one shot I know how to take.” Your confession meant more to him than you realized.

Yeah, he thought. You can draw, but before today you’d never shot a rifle. You’d never used a knife. Likely never robbed a bank or a stage coach or anything of that sort. Aside from duels, you’re clean cut and inexperienced… your nickname holds far more weight than he’s sure you can actually hold. Ruthless killer? More like a hustler with a bit of blood dusting your fingers. You haven’t made any ground compared to him, yet you’re the one they know far and wide.

“Let’s make a deal,” he started, his steps carrying him quite close to your form, nearly hovering over you. “I’m gonna make you one of us. Teach you everything you need to know. Fightin’, stealin’, sneakin’ round… all of it. And in return, you’re gonna teach me how to shoot faster than you.”

He knows it’s built on a prideful notion, but he reckons you don’t care, because he’s offering you far more than you can give him. Obviously you agree, because even if you try to teach him, you are almost positive that you don’t even know the secret to your speed.

“Alright, cowboy… I’ll shake on it.”

And you do, squeezing his hand tightly.

You find yourself settling into the camp a lot easier than the weeks before. The names of the people here just roll off your tongue... whenever you see them, a greeting is spoken. You’ve also been able to sleep soundly in your tent despite the fears of the animal sounds out in the distance. You’ve come to realize that you aren’t alone in the wilderness, and you have a sort of family to keep you safe, now.

Arthur continues to show you the ropes, giving you tricks and quick witted thoughts for situations you would never have thought to put yourself in. They all are illegal situations, of course, but you listen intently, and learn each step with an absorbent state of mind.

Even if he doesn’t outwardly show it, you think Dutch is happy about your progress, given that you are not only an asset to future jobs, but also because you seem to blend well with everyone. He definitely views his gang as a family of fugitives, and now that you’re one of them, he’s become warm with you, even calls you ‘son.’

There is one member of camp that to date, you haven’t gotten into conversation with. Hosea Matthews. The man seemed to be the fatherly type, and nearly everyone in the gang had a sort of paternal view of him in some way. You reckon Arthur has taken the man to be closer to him than actual blood. The great Mr. Morgan doesn’t often share details of his past, but you’ve heard here and there about the rascal that was his father, dead and gone when Arthur was a kid, but not soon enough.

It was a Tuesday morning, after a round of stale coffee when he first sat down beside you for a friendly chat. You couldn't have possibly known the contents of the topics he had in mind, but you were about to be bombarded with them in the most gentle way you reckon a man can speak.

“Mister Gunslinger,” he began, a gentle clap on your shoulder to garner your attention. “I’ve heard you’re getting to be the best man at camp.”

His friendly chuckle eased your nerves, but you brushed off his words anyway.

“Not sure ‘bout that. Just learnin’ the ropes,” you nodded along to your own words, hoping they caught well with him.

“Arthur told me you picked up a rifle for the first time a few days ago and blew him out of the water,” he mentioned, the tone in his voice suggesting he wanted his compliment to land.

“He’s bein’ far kinder than I deserve,'' you scoffed, shaking your head this time. “Nearly took my shoulder out of socket on the first shot.”

“But you broke a bottle on the second,” he returned, likely quoting your dear mentor’s own words. “How did you learn to shoot that pistol of yours, anyhow?”

Hosea knew everyone’s stories. He was the father of the camp, albeit not the leader. He knew everything about everyone, and he took care of them. You took one look at him and decided you could trust him from day one… but that didn’t mean he should know everything.

“Well, I found this gun a while ago, just started shootin’ it till I hit somethin’.”

He leaned forward in his seat, another chuckle rolling off his tongue, but the question went unanswered in the way he’d hoped for. He took a breath, turning to face you a bit more… He decided to be straight with you.

“I’m sure you’ve probably got things in your past you’re not too proud of. I’ve heard the name ‘Texas Red’ in quite a few towns now. I guess I’m just curious about what you did before the gunslinging days.”

“Oh…” you trailed, completely unsure if elaborating on your past, even without context, could force you to accidentally spill something you didn’t intend to. So you took the safe route. “Not much to tell. Ran away from home, stole a horse and headed west. Found this gun in an old saloon and the rest is history.”

He saw through the act, but didn’t let on. He didn’t want you to feel like you needed to hide things, but similarly, he didn’t want you to feel pressured to talk. This camp was a safe place. As long as you kept to the rules and helped out, you didn’t need to do anything else. You could just live freely and have your being.

“Listen, son… I know it’s probably hard to open up about things you’ve gone and left in the past. Every person here has a story, somewhere they came from or something they did. If you ever want to talk about yours, I’m always chipper for good conversation.”

You looked into his eyes, and they were full of contrition, full of compassion. You guessed there wasn’t a bad bone in this man’s body.

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nodded once before standing up and heading down to the river bank, likely to fish.

You wonder if he has suspicion of you, or if he knows more already than he’s leading onto. But then you think, no. He’s just a kind older man that actually gives a damn about the younger folks here. He didn’t seem to have any biological sons or daughters, but this camp was full of family he could call his own.

You were starting to call them family, too.

(tags are open)

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #reader insert #rdr2

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cowboyjen68 · 6 months

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Hi!!

I just wanted to ask some advice from one butch to another.

I recently got my dream job of being a warden on a nature reserve (and i love it!), while interacting with people there I get called a young man very often (i am 18 lol) and it gives me euphoria to know im masculine enough to even pass as a man. I've also had some volunteers ask if I was a man or not (despite my feminine name).

But recently I got called a "lady" outside while out with my mother. It drove me INSANE I cried alot.

Don't get me wrong I do identify as a woman but I hate being seen as a lady.

I've even thought about using he/him pronouns recently and changing my name but i'm too scared to as most people won't understand bc im still a lesbian.

Is this strange?

ps love u and ur blog lots xx

This is an easy answer because I was 18 once and looked enough like a teenage boy that I got "hey sport" and "hey young man" all the time, especially when in my work clothes. I worked for The Mayor's Youth Corp in Iowa City in the summers of my 15th and 16th year. Mom and Dad let me get a work permit AND bought me a used Datsun Pickup so I could drive myself the 20 miles there and back each day.

I was a volunteer with the Corp of Engineers youth from 14 to 16 and Dad knew I was super excited about this job. Mom was not thrilled that I wanted to cut my hair but my "grand mullet" was really hot under the hard hat in the summer heat of Iowa. (in the 1980's boys and girls had the short in front long and permed in back look) We compromised and I cut the sides really short. (photo of my me at 16 in my uniform for reference)

Using "he" would never have occurred to me because "EWWW Boys". This is not to say, however, that I hated being mistaken for a boy, on the contrary, it felt good. When someone thought I was a young man it meant they treated me as such. They didn't talk down to me, I knew they assumed I was capable and willing to get dirty. I knew unconsiously that along with the mistaken identity came many perks. This was nothing I analyzed but little girls see very early on the difference in treatment they recieve from their brothers, male cousins and neighborhood boys. This difference leads us to become negotiators to control our circumstances and not entittled to treatment based on our skills and actual personalies.

When an adult recognized me as a boy, even for a second at first glance, I knew I didn't have to prove myself. They, for an instant, assigned to me words like "strong, capable, demanding etc". No negotations required.

When someone realized I was a girl they literally had a change in their face. They smiled at me, softened their voice. When I was called "young lady" or "Miss" it always seemed to be backed my the worst assumptions (in my mind anyway). Lady is steeped in all kinds of traits I didnt want assigned to me. "quiet, weak, likes to dress pretty"OR "motherly, submissive, meek" Nothing good in my teen brain, that is for sure. Lady felt so OLD, so married to a man and reliant on him for survival, so polyster pants and ugly flats and scratchy blouses with a flower imprint. NONE of these things are inherent to being a woman or even socially forced on us but that is not how things work sometimes. Words that describe people get stereotypes and myths and traits attached to them all the time. Woman and girl are no different.

I can tell you, the best feeling in the world when I was in that job was when my supervisor, who damn well knew I was a young woman, trusted me with all the same tasks as the boys. Who valued my opinions and abilities equally to the young men. He took time to teach me what I didn't know, just like with them and didn't assume I couldn't or didn't want to learn things on the job. He didn't shame ANYONE for not being strong enough or for getting tired or needing a break.

Don't let the assumptions of others force you into another box of conformity. You don't need a boys name or to use any pronouns you don't feel connected to just to please others. In fact, none of that effort will change perceptions of those around you. I can promise that one day being called Lady will just be another word that you can hear and know it does not change your personality or your interests or control the hope you have for your future. What does waste a lot of time and energy is trying to adjust things in your life to fit incorrect or snap assumptions about you as a person. You can never control the thoughts of those around you but what you can do is stop worrying about it and enjoy YOU.

You have a job you love and are sure to thrive in. You are solid in your sexuality and love of women, you are in a unique position to possibly change the perceptions of others when they think of "young women". Your interactions with the public are sure to effect the assumpions of at least some people when they think of young women and their roles in our society.

Congratulations on your new career and I bet you rock that uniform.

#lesbian #butch #stereotypes #careers #words #lady

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lees-chaotic-brain · 9 months

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JJK Men Getting Jealous

Feat. Gojo and Megumi

CW: Random guys being creeps, harassment, attempted kidnapping (or so he thinks), reader has female pronouns and anatomy, light swearing

Part Two | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

Gojo Satoru

The two of you were enjoying your date at the park when Gojo received a phone call. Normally, he would have ignored it, but you forced him to, telling that he needs to take care of his responsibilities. After all, you loved Satoru as he was, but the man needed to grow up a little.

Stepping away, he turned his back and answered the phone, immediately trying to weasel his way out of whatever assignment he was needed on.

Meanwhile, you were seated on a bench and scrolling through your phone when a street photographer approached you.

"Excuse me?" A young man was looking at you hopefully as he held up his camera.

"I'm a street photographer, and well, when I noticed you sitting here I just knew I had to capture your stunning looks for my portfolio. So would it be okay if I took your picture?"

Flattered, but a little uncertain, you replied.

"Well, thank you, but actually I'm just waiting for my boyfriend-"

He cut you off.

"Oh don't worry! This will only take a second!"

Stepping up to you, he reached out and brushed your hair back with his fingers.

"What-what are you doing?" You ask nervously, leaning away from his touch.

"Just brushing your hair back from your face! Can't have it covering those stunning features of yours now can we darling?"

He winked cheekily.

Finally finished with his call (he had managed to dump the assignment onto the three first years), Gojo turned around, ready to bask in your presence and affection.

Instead he witnessed an unfamiliar man moving his hands to your chest brushing off your shirt and smoothing the fabric.

Pausing, he took a moment to try and comprehend what he was seeing.

Then he saw you flinch and swat his hands away.

He was by your side in an instant.

"Please stop." You said firmly. "My boyfriend-"

"Is right here!"

Gojo interjected cheerfully, swinging an arm around your shoulders and using his other arm to push the photographer away as he sat next to you.

"Why don't you take a picture of me and my girlfriend?"

He suggested menacingly, looking at the man over his glasses.

"After all, don't you think we make an absolutely stunning couple?"

Needless to say, the photographer snapped a couple quick pictures of the two of you before speeding away.

"Thanks 'Toru."

You said, sighing in relief once the man was finally out of sight.

"No problem! After all, he was touching my boobies."

To emphasize what he was saying, he turned and buried his head in your chest.

He peeked up at you with puppy eyes.

"These are all mine, right?"

"Of course babe."

You laughed, and stroked his hair.

"They're all yours."

Megumi Fushiguro

While the two of you were shopping with Nobara and Yuji, you saw something that interested you and you wandered off.

Noticing that you were missing, Megumi split off from the others, and went to search for you.

Finally finding you, he couldn't help but to smile a little, because you were just so damn cute.

You were happily wandering around a manga store quietly humming to yourself as you browsed.

Moving to join you, he was shocked when a guy around the same age as you guys snuck up behind you and put you into a chokehold.

Were you getting kidnapped in front of him? He was speeding up, ready to give the guy a beatdown he wouldn't soon forget, when you flipped the guy over your shoulder.

The guy twisted gracefully midair to avoid being slammed on his back, and landed smoothly on his feet in front of you. You shot your arm up, ready to strike, but the guy easily caught your wrist.

"I told you to stop using that move, it's too predictable."

The guy said, shaking his head at you.

Pausing, you looked up at the guys face for the first time.

"TAKESHI?!"

You shrieked his name, and launched yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"You big dummy! What was that for?! You scared the shit out of me! But never mind that, I missed you! What's going on? Why are you here?!"

Laughing he spun you around.

"Whoa. Slow down. I missed you too idiot. I missed my sparring partner and was just checking to make sure that you were keeping up with your training!"

He batted his eyes innocently as he set you on your feet.

"After all, my mom would kill me if I left her beloved unofficial daughter unable to defend herself in the big city! What if you got mugged?!"

Unable to suppress your smile you pinched his cheek.

"You just did that because you wanted to scare me. Jerk."

"Aw, you know you love me."

"Ahem."

You both turned to find your unimpressed boyfriend staring at the two of you with his arms crossed over his chest.

Striding over to you, Megumi wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into his side, giving the other guy an once over.

"I'm Fushiguro Megumi. Her boyfriend. Who are you?"

Takeshi gave you a fake wounded look.

"What? But I'M her boyfriend!"

Blinking at him, Megumi frowned.

"What?"

Stepping out of Megumi's grasp, you walked over to Takeshi and cuffed him over the head.

"STOP TELLING PEOPLE I'M DATING THAT YOU ARE MY BOYFRIEND!!"

"BUT I AM!!"

"YOU ARE LITERALLY GAY!"

"AND!?"

"AND YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND OF YOUR OWN!!"

Poor Megumi just stood there in shock. After the two of you worked it out with a quick wrestling match (you won) and stopped screaming at each other. You and this "Takeshi" explained that you were childhood best friends, and that Takeshi was just a jerk who liked to mess with your love life.

Needless to say, Megumi spent the rest of the day pouting, and needed lots of reassurance cuddles that he was way better than Takeshi, and you would never leave him for him.

"You would never leave me for him, right?"

"Of, course baby. He's just a friend. I love you so much more than him."

"But you love him a little bit?!"

"GUMI. HE IS LITERALLY GAY AND HAS A BOYFRIEND."

Thanks for reading! Should I make a part two with Toge and Yuji? Let me know!!

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x female reader #jealousy #drabbles #jjk men #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x female reader #gojo satoru x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #fusiguro megumi x female reader #megumi x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #crack fic #lee's brain writes

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