Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.
It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.
To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.
This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.
Join me below, if you would.
2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.
Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.
It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.
But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.
The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.
“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”
“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”
We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.
"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?
The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.
We had slightly miscalculated.
Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.
“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”
“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”
“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”
“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”
And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.
00000
We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.
It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.
At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.
Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.
So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.
“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.
“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.
Monday is the last day to do this, after all.
00000
So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.
The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.
“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”
So.
Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?
Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.
It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).
Then it starts to rain.
We had not dressed for rain.
00000
Here is how the next six hours go.
We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.
Everyone is so happy.
Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.
People online start making delivery orders.
Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.
A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.
The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.
A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.
Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.
00000
We have Line Neighbors.
Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.
The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.
Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”
“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”
“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”
My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.
“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.
“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”
We stay in line.
It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.
The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.
We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.
It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.
They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.
We still have a -long- way to go.
00000
They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.
It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”
We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.
We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.
I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.
The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.
Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.
The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.
A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“
The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”
We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.
If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.
That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.
There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.
We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)
I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.
There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.
Then we're married.
Then we get in line to get our license.
It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.
Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.
We make it to the marriage records office.
I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.
It's almost 3PM.
00000
There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.
We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.
I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”
He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.
Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.
We get back to our car and climb in.
It’s 4:30 and we are starving.
There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.
We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.
We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.
The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.
My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”
00000
It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”
But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.
It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.
I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.
We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.
Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.
It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.
Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"
And that was that.
00000
When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.
I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.
I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.
I never thought I’d live in this world.
And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.
I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.
The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.
And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.
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✎ heaven's fury
- gojo satoru x reader
sometimes you forget that your husband has burdens as the strongest sorcerer alive. when he goes back home from a bad day and you're the first person he comes contact to, you're made aware of it once again
genre:
angry!gojo, a bit of hurt with looots of comfort and fluff !! it’s self-indulgent too🤭
note:
i knooow i said i'll post gojo angst next, but i forgot i have this in backburner too so... this hurt/comfort goes first :') based on an anon's request. loosely takes place after baby!
a part of gojo's love entries
series masterlist | oneshot masterlist
“Sukuna's vessel is a threat— he must be executed as soon as possible!”
“The more we put this off, the greater the risk he poses to society!”
“Gojo, you can't delay his sentence any longer—!”
Weak. All of them. They always make excuses. Trying to pin blame on someone else.
The jujutsu world he lives in… is wretched. Gojo Satoru thought he knew that well already, or at least knew enough to not get riled up over it.
Apparently not.
“Gojo-sensei? You look scary...”
Typically, he would mask his clear disdain with sharp-witted jibes, but he reached his limit this time. Especially since they had been pressuring him relentlessly to execute Itadori Yuji for at least five times a week, each week.
. . .
“Satoru, oh, you're home already!”
At the end of it all, he went home with the worst of moods. It served as a reminder—of his deep-seated contempt for weakness and how burdensome he found the task of protecting the insufferable to be.
“Satoru...?”
And it's because of their weakness that Suguru—
“Satoru, are you—?”
“Just fucking shut it!”
And that was when he saw you, standing before him with wide eyes, cradling your—his—precious baby in your arms, who was sound asleep.
“Huh…?”
Satoru immediately tensed up, realizing his mistake. And what hit him even harder was— is that a flicker of hurt he saw flashing across your face?
If so, then you quickly blinked it away because in the next instant, your face lit up with a warm smile— kind of forced, to his dismay. “Welcome home, Satoru.”
Something inside him churned, his heart started to ache, and there was a bitter taste in his mouth then.
There you were, as accepting as ever, and he cherished you for it.
But not tonight. Not for this. You didn't deserve any of his misplaced resentment.
Damn it. Damn it all!
In response, he offered you a subtle nod and headed to the bathroom, thinking a shower might help clear his foul mood away.
Contrary to what Satoru might think, you didn't really hold anything against him.
You were surprised, yes, because he was usually such a ball of energy even when he got back from intercity missions, but more than the hurt, you would understand if now, he was pissed some way or another.
Your husband is still a human. He is entitled to be upset on some days.
After ensuring your son was comfortably asleep in his cot, you returned to your bedroom to find Satoru already in bed, facing away from you. Hmph... now that you thought about it, this silence between you was unacceptable.
“Satoru.” You poked his side, but he didn't budge and still had his eyes shut. You arched an eyebrow. “Satoru? You can't be asleep.”
“…” No answer. Okay, let's try something else.
“Honey, talk to me? Hmm?” you decided to swallow the heat on your face as you addressed him more intimately. Mind you, you didn't usually call him that. He was the one in charge of pet names.
“…” This shithead. That's it.
“Satoru, my tummy hurts—”
“What?” In an instant, he flipped over, abruptly sitting up. “What hurts—”
Seizing the opportunity, you tugged him by the neck, and both of you tumbled onto the bed, with him landing on top of you. Satoru instinctively held himself up and cushioned the back of your head with his hand so you wouldn’t crash into the headboard—his blue eyes wildly flickering, searching for any sign of discomfort or harm.
“You good?” he made a face upon realizing your ruse.
“You won’t talk to me otherwise,” you noted with a hint of annoyance. But then your eyes softened into a concerned frown. “Satoru… what’s wrong?”
Once again, Satoru felt hollow. You were worried and it reached him. “It’s nothing,” he replied, looking away, trying to downplay his fury.
You pulled him close, his head against your chest, and though he was stiff and taken aback at first, he released a reluctant sigh and instinctively snuggled closer, finding comfort in your embrace.
“There, there…” you soothed with a smile, gently running your fingers through his hair. “Feel better now?”
He let out another sigh against you, returning the hug and nuzzling his face against your chest. His body heat enveloped you like a blanket.
And after a while...
“...’m sorry for yelling at you...” he muttered with such regret it made your eyes widen. “Didn’t mean it.”
The slight prickle in your heart dissipated at once, hearing his muffled voice.
“Mm-hmm, I know.”
“Really.”
“Mmm, really, really.”
He held you a little tighter, breathing in your scent, and you kept stroking his head. He looked so despondent it warmed your heart, and made you want to pet him. “Our baby loves being held like this too,” you giggled fondly. “You big baby… you’re just like him.”
Your husband let out a soft grunt against your chest, exhaling deeply.
“Whenever you’re ready, talk to me, yes?”
And so after several more pats on his head, Satoru finally told you everything, about how the higher-ups were relentlessly pressing him to put an end to Yuji, the new kid he recently enrolled to the jujutsu school.
“They're just some paranoid old fools—”
“Mm-hmm.”
“—stinky, cringey, looks depressed most of the time—”
“Heh— now that's just plain disrespect.”
“Yuji is just clueless and just has a lot to learn,” Satoru grumbled sullenly. “They didn't even teach him a thing and incapable to— how dare they? To keep him ignorant and then murder him?”
...oh.
And at that moment, you found clarity. Why he got so worked up, why he got irate this time whereas he was usually insensitive.
First, it was because of your tragic youth. No one protected Haibara from his unfortunate incident and was there for Geto when he needed it the most—which still haunted him to this day.
And secondly, because he himself is a father too. No one deserves their youth being taken away. That has been his moral compass, and the sense grows even stronger ever since the baby was born.
It made something inside you flutter.
“Satoru...” you breathed out, smiling, squeezing him affectionately. “You’re ... a kind person.”
“Huh?”
“You take it upon yourself to mentor those kids,” you mused. “Just look at Megumi and Yuta; they've turned out just fine.”
Truthfully, Satoru didn't consider himself as kind as you made him out to be. At times he felt like he was doing it because it was right, sometimes he thought it was for fun, and at other times, he simply didn't feel like seeing more deaths or wrong paths. And he was sure if you had asked Megumi whether he was a good teacher or not, the grumpy boy would only roll his eyes.
But then, just as he looked up at you, the prettiest smile blossomed on your face, and you said to him—
“And as your wife, I’m... proud of you.”
The way you sincerely told him that made his breath catch in his throat, and his heart pound a little faster.
The woman who has become his everything. This unabashed, pure love you show him.
“Sweets, I—” he suddenly rose, back to on top of you. But his voice faltered, remembering the way he coldly snapped at you earlier. “I...”
You looked up at him innocently. And he swallowed the shame because he had to tell you too.
Because you were so, so incredibly precious to him, and he wanted you to know that.
“…love you,” he mumbled, his beautiful eyes meeting yours with no hesitation. His cheeks were burning, tinted with a shade of pink—and you out of all people knew best that him being embarrassed meant as good as him not being horny—
But before you could point it out, he leaned down towards you, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. There was no trace of the man who was hungry for your body— it was just a long, chaste kiss that contained his feelings for you.
And when he pulled back, both of you were panting slightly, trying to catch your breath. Then, he pursed his lips, his eyes glittery—somehow reminding you of your baby's face just before he cried out for his milk.
“I wanna pay for my sin. Wanna cuddle you too.”
And so you let him. He held you close, his arm under your head and you traced lazy lines on his chest, feeling contented and somewhat giddy.
“You feel that bad, huh?” you chuckled, noticing his continued gloominess.
“I am,” he puffed out his cheeks before pressing a kiss on your forehead. “Because if anyone else dares to tell you off like that, I'll wreck them on the spot.”
“Hmm, how romantic. But come to think about it... you did look a little scary though...”
At that moment, he felt his heart drop, his eyes instantly rounded in alarm, looking at you with dismay.
“No, no, I'm not scary! Wifey, I'm your devoted and loving husband!”
Epilogue
Your morning started with your baby's cries. When you glanced over, Satoru was gone from your bed already. Curious, you made your way to the baby's room, and what you saw there caused you to raise an eyebrow.
"Satoru... what are you...?"
He turned to you with an expression so heartbroken as he rocked his wailing baby. "He keeps crying, I don't know why..."
However, your attention was drawn more to his disheveled appearance. Messy hair, slitted eyes as if he hadn't brushed off sleep, and most of all, the dark eyebags under his eyes.
"Uh, Satoru... give him to me."
When he did, your baby calmed down almost instantly, his sobs turning into light sniffles, and your husband could only scratch his head in confusion.
"Why...? When I tried to look at him, he cried even harder—"
"...no offense, but if I were a baby and someone who looks like a panda holds me up, I'd get scared and cry too."
Satoru let out a theatrical gasp, clutching his chest as he hovered your baby—
"Nooo! Papa didn't mean to scare you—!"
...but to his horror, your baby turned away from him, hiding his face in your chest instead.
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𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩
—“i just wanna be one of your girls tonight,”
pairing: geto suguru x fem! reader
synopsis: you’ve had a crush on your brother’s best friend for a long time, and just wanted to have his attention at least once
content: smut, weed consumption, blowing smoke into your mouth, choking, fingering, mirror sex, praise
You would do anything for the attention of Geto Suguru. There was just something about him that you needed. Yes he was your brother’s best friend. And yes he was three years older than you. But that really meant nothing.
Your teeth bit down painfully on your bottom lip as you watched Geto flirt with an older girl. His signature smirk on his face as he leaned onto her locker, hands in his pocket with his lips moving in the sweetest words.
You wish it could’ve been you. The way she got shy, her face flushed red as she tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear with a perfectly manicured nail.
All you could do was watch with longing as his arm wrapped around her waist, her head on his side before they began walking the halls together. His smirk never faltered as he nodded along to her words.
Lucky. You thought to yourself, a tight lipped smile painted on your face.
You finished packing away your books, slamming the metal blue door shut before making your way to class. You’d always be his best friend’s little sister.
“Fuck- sorry..” you trailed off as you looked up to find his eyes staring back down at you. A smile on his face and his eyebrow raised as broad hands held onto your waist to steady your frame. “Language sweetheart. And careful now, wouldn’t want Gojo to kill me, would we?” he teased.
Your mouth opening and closing with no words escaping. “U-uh y-eah, well n-no, i mean no.” So fucking embarrassing.
Geto only chuckled, shaking his head in amusement then walking off with a grin. “Bye little Gojo.”
There he goes with that stupid nickname again.
…
The day goes by with nothing on your mind. Well, except Geto of course. He would be coming over to your house later to hang out with your brother. And as always, they would have girls over.. and you weren’t invited as Gojo put it.
Leaving your classroom, you passed by your locker to collect your things. Swinging your bag over your shoulder and making your way to the school’s doors. “Hey y/n,” a deep voice called. Turning around to see Geto jogging up to you with a girl’s arm hooked around his. A brunette this time.. great.
“Yeah?”
“Gojo asked for me to take you home, so you’re stuck with me.” He stated, winking jokingly before draping his arm over your shoulder as he walked you and his girl of the day to his vehicle.
If only he knew what that mere gesture did to you.
You took a seat in the back of his vehicle. Awkwardly watching as his hand squeezed the thigh of the girl in the passenger’s seat, massaging her skin until she was looking at the side of his face with nothing but want.
You blinked your attention away from them, resting your head back and looking out the car window instead. The ride to your house was silent apart from the girl’s constant giggling. And you kept your focus on anything but them, missing the way Geto glanced back through the rear view mirror. His head tilted and a small smile on his face.
She’s jealous, cute.
…
“We’re here,” Geto announced.
Walking into the house and greeting your brother in a hug before flopping down on the couch with his girl on his lap.
Gojo had his own blonde sat next to him, her legs on his lap as she played with his hair. “Hello little sister, not even gonna greet your favorite big brother hello?”
You gave a short wave before going up to your room, locking the door shut before flopping onto your bed. You wanted him.. so bad.
Maybe if you were just two years older.. granted, 18 and 21 wasn’t even that bad.. but maybe he would watch you then.
You sighed, closing your eyes as you heard loud music fill the house, the group most likely beginning their drinking and make out session by now.
Grabbing your phone, you plugged in your earphones. One of The Girls by the weeknd blasting through your ears as you let your mind wander. Geto, his hands, on your body.
You let out a soft whimper as you allowed your hand to roam to your chest, squeezing your tits and rolling your nipples between your soft fingertips.
“Mmm..” you moaned, imagining his hand instead of yours as you trailed it lower, slowly pulling down your pants and letting it slip inside the white lace of your panties. “Fuck.. Suguru,” your fingers rubbed along the line of your slit, teasing your clit before you finally allowed them to dip into your wetness.
“A-ah, so good,” you threw your head back into your pillow, thrusting your fingers in and out of your dripping heat with desperation. Trying your hardest to curl them to reach that good spot. Almost there.
“Fuck.” you yelled out in frustration, they were not enough. You needed his. His long, veiny fingers.. you needed them in you, around your neck, squeezing at your flesh. Anything.
Sighing loudly, you stood up. Walking over to the door of you and your brother’s shared master bathroom. You would usually knock. But he and his friends were clearly getting drunk— and high, downstairs. So there was no need.
Pushing the door open, your eyes widened at the sight of Geto leaned over your counter. A blunt between his lips as red eyes stared at you through the mirror, his face drenched with water.
“A-am sorry, I thought it was e-empty.” you rushed out, your thighs clenching as you watched his muscles flex as he gripped the counter’s edge even harder.
“Wait,” he called out, stopping you mid track from closing your side of the door. “Come here.”
You gulped hard, shakily walking over to him. “Y-yeah?” Geto smirked, “you know, it’s cute how flustered you get around me.”
You could feel your cheeks heat up, your brain scrambling to find something to say. Geto only chuckled, “wanna try?” holding the blunt out in your direction. “I.. I don't think Gojo would like that.”
He shrugged, “I won’t tell.” Before stalking over to you and backing you up against the counter. You yelped as his arms hooked under your thighs, swiftly lifting you onto the counter top before situating himself between your legs.
Geto’s fingers hooked onto your chin, your eyes meeting his as he lifted your head towards him. “Open.” You did as told, parting your lips and watching as he took a hit, blowing the smoke into your open mouth before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.
Your stomach burned with heat, your pussy drenched as his lips found your neck. You let out a soft moan, your hands wrapping around his neck while your fingers tugged at the back of his hair. “What about your girlfriend downstairs?” you spoke between moans.
“Not my girlfriend.” he reassured “And tonight’s all about you.”
You were in heaven, it was even better than you imagined.
Setting the rolled paper down, Geto helped you remove your shirt, pinching your nipples and twisting them softly just to hear you moan. “You sound so pretty.”
Geto hurriedly peeled off his shirt, his abs on display making you bite your tongue. “Touch them.”
“W-what?”
“Go ahead, touch them.” Grabbing your hands and placing them on the hard muscles.
You could only whimper when Geto pulled your pants off of you, his eyes going dark at the sight of the white lace covering your pussy.
He looked down at you with a look of confirmation, you looking up at him through long lashes as you nodded. “Please.”
That was all he needed, ripping the flimsy material off of you and admiring your glistening cunt. His fingers found your wetness, rubbing up and down before sinking them into you. A loud moan escaping your lips making his eyes widen.
“Shhh, don’t wanna get caught do you.”
Geto’s free hand made its way up to your mouth, muffling your mewls as he curled his fingers up into you. Perfect. They were hitting inside you so good, and you allowed yourself to moan his name over and over into his palm. His eyes never leaving yours as he fingered you dumb.
Your eyes rolled back and your mouth hung open, drool coating his hand as you rocked back and forth on the marble top. It was happening, it was actually happening.
“Is this what you wanted baby? This what you been waiting for?”
You nodded, your eyes teary as the pads of his fingers pressed into your g spot with every thrust. Your legs hooked tightly around his waist, your toes curling as you began to tremble.
“Cum for me,” he whispered in your ear, hot tongue making you moan out as he nibbled on your lobe. You could only let out a soft cry as you clenched down on his fingers, rocking your hips onto his hand and fucking yourself through your high.
Geto watched in pure lust as you came, your glassy eyes looking up at him before shutting in pleasure, your head falling back as you met your release. You looked like a fucking angel in his eyes. And he wanted nothing more than to be the demon to corrupt you.
“Good girl.” he smirked.
You smiled, your eyes trailing to the blunt once more, making Geto’s smirk grow impossibly wider. Picking it up and bringing it to your plump lips. “Inhale... there we go. Now let it sit.. and exhale.” he coaxed, “You like that?”
Your head felt so dizzy, intoxicated even. And you nodded, watching as Geto took his own hit before blowing it out onto your face.
His fingers were dripping with your slick, and he brought them up to his mouth with a smug smile. Using his tongue to lick up your sweetness before connecting his lips to yours again. The kiss was hard, sloppy, and you moaned loudly into him.
Pulling away, Geto flipped you over. Using his knee to spread your legs apart and push your chest down onto the cold marble. You let out a needy whine, meeting his eyes in the mirror as his hand wrapped around your neck. The other lining his cock up with your hole. He let out a choked groan as he eased into you. A loud moan being drawn past your lips.
“S-so tight, fuck.” Geto’s lips parted in a loud groan, using his now free hand to pin both your smaller hands behind your back. “Beg me.. beg me to ruin you.”
You let out a broken cry. “P-please Geto.. please fuck me, ruin me, anything. ‘M all yours.”
You let out a string of high pitched noises when he began slamming his hips into yours. His tip piercing deep into you with every thrust.
“F-fuck, y-you’re.. s-so,” you let out a broken mewl, “so d-deep.” Geto tightened his hold on your neck, lifting your head slightly to force your eyes to stay on his. A deep growl sounding in his throat when you closed them.
“Look at me when i fuck you.” he demanded, your eyes shooting open and meeting his immediately.
Your mouth hung open in a small o. Soundless cries filling the room as you watched your body jerk forward with each movement of his hips.
You were so tight around him. Even tighter than he had imagined. And he couldn’t help the moans leaving his own mouth as he destroyed your pussy.
“Does that feel good? Does my cock feel good inside you baby?”
You nodded with a whimper, your breathing heavy as you were forced to watch yourself be fucked dumb.
“Words sweetheart.”
“Y-yes, it feels s-so good Suguru.”
“That’s my girl.”
You could feel your legs going weak, your knees trembling as you were fucked into the counter. “Nngh- Sugu,” you moaned, a smirk on his face as he thought back to mere minutes ago when you were moaning his name from your bed. Now you didn’t have to imagine, he was right there.
“‘M so close,” you mewled.
“Yeah? Gonna make a mess for me? Show me how much you wanted this?”
His back hunched as he flattened his chest against you, the position allowing him to hit deeper than you thought was possible.
“F-fuck,” you cried out, your eyes widening with tears as you felt his dick fucking you so deep, so good. The pleasure was too intense. The coil in your stomach painfully ready to snap.
“Look at how good you look when you fall apart on my cock. Come on baby— cum for me again.” He encouraged as he rolled his hips up into you, forgetting about being quiet as he relished in your loud moans and cries. You sounded so pretty for him. And for him only.
A loud scream fell past your lips when his dick hammered against your g spot. Your legs shaking uncontrollably as you began to gush around him. Eyes rolling back as you basked in the pleasure from your high.. the highest you’d ever been.
“That’s a good fucking girl,” he dragged out, breathing getting heavy and his thrusts sloppy as he gave your pussy its final thrusts.
“Wish i could fill you up more than anything. Fuck, wanna make you mine. Wanted to for so long.” he moaned, voice cracking slightly as his abs tensed.
Geto groaned, pulling out of you before spilling his cum onto your ass, his head thrown back as he let rope after rope fall onto your plush flesh.
Strong hands held you up before you collapsed, holding you tight against him as he breathed heavily into your back. Your chest heaving in an attempt to steady your own breathing.
Your heart clenched as your eyes trailed over the scene in the mirror. You, Suguru.. together, sweat coating both of your skins.
Geto’s voice was soft as he mumbled, “Want you so bad.. need you to be mine. I can’t wait anymore.”
Your heart rate sped up as you felt your tears at the brink of falling. This wasn’t a dream. “I— I..” you were at a loss of words.. he wanted you too.
“It’s okay, I know. You don’t quite make it discreet.” he joked, pulling you into a tight hug and placing a kiss onto your head.
Geto cursed, letting out a long sigh and picking up the still lit blunt. Taking a puff before releasing it above your head. “What the fuck am i supposed to say if Gojo finds out.”
Oh yeah.. your brother. He would most definitely not approve.
Just then, a knock sounded on the door. A very drunk Gojo slurring, “Yo Suguru? You in there? I need to piss.”
Geto only shook his head with a silent laugh. While you, you couldn’t be bothered. You had him. You actually had him. Suguru was yours. And you weren’t just one of his girls. You were his girl.
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