My Mom Just Helped Me Do My Hair It Looks So Good I Feel Like Writing Poetry
my mom just helped me do my hair it looks so good i feel like writing poetry
More Posts from Gabbag00l and Others
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need a miracle to get through these midterms
so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god
trick or treat!
the extradimensional eldritch abomination can have a little gender. as a treat.
Reblog if you think thick thighs are great
content warnings: implied blowjob and mentions of pregnancy and children
gojo!actor au and he’s just a bit of a loser.
and i mean that in a literal sense. he’s good enough to be nominated for the emmy’s, the oscars — all these prestigious awards. but he never wins.
each year, he dresses up all posh. puts you in a pretty gown and shows up — just to lose. and it’s an annual routine now, you look forward to it. he’s never taken these awards so seriously anyway. it's all a big joke, and you get free food!
but one year — one year, he wins. it’s shocking — to you, to him, to everyone. cheers and yips are so loud as he stands up. the next day people will publish articles about how this was deserved, how he should’ve been awarded a long time ago.
he walks up there — a soft red hue of a kiss on his cheek as he manages to stare and directly talk to his wife, despite the massive crowd, despite the mic, despite the bedazzlement. his eyes peer into yours as he speaks of gratitude.
and he finishes up with an endless list of thank yous — to directors, coworkers, production team, fans, his mom, his wife, maybe god if he exists? his wife again. his wife.
it’s the after party — you two never go but gojo’s manager warned him and you did your part in urging him, because he did win after all. people would be expecting him. he argues, he speaks of his comfy bed, and you proposition him — you tell him going would mean he gets head in the bathroom and of course, he’s a simple man so he agrees almost immediately.
after you deliver what was promised, under the fancy red glow of the bathroom you’re both in, you rub a hand to wipe your mouth as you stand up, fixing your dress as he fixes his trousers.
he speaks up, his tone rather serious and it scares you just a little. “baby, you promised me," he began. "you said if i won — you’d give me a baby.”
“that was 5 years ago, satoru.” you chuckled, as you fixed his mussed hair.
“and we’re here now — i won. it’s your turn now," his words teasing, but his eyes seeking affirmation in your gaze.
"you want a baby?" you asked as you looked up at his hopeful eyes.
“i want a baby,” he affirms.
“okay,” you smile. your hand trails down to his chest, only to suddenly push him back with force as he flops onto the toilet seat. “let’s give you a baby.”
bonus
"does this mean," he asked, "you'll give me a baby every time I win?"
“let’s start with one, satoru."
“but—“
“one.”
