#if I could talk about falling in love in a normal way. what a thing that would be

[bunni-v1]

Xavier NSFW Alphabet

🍓I was gonna post all of them on one post, but quite honestly, it's way too easy to do these and I'd rather space out content so that my blog doesn't die a slow and miserable death while I write commissions, requests, and work on coursework. These are my official takes on their sexual preferences (to be changed, though. I can be swayed.)

TW: Somnophilia; he's lowkey nasty; voyeurism; he's also creepy; editing errors

Info: Xavier x Reader; NSFW

MDNI

A = Aftercare: Xavier… kinda sucks at aftercare. Not for lack of effort! He really does try his best to clean you up and ease your aches and pains, but he’s… he’s so tired. Like, entirely worn out, hardly conscious, tired. He always mutters praises and something soft about how much he enjoyed it, but if you want actual aftercare? You’ll have to drag him around to get it done. Honestly, it’s best to just wait until after he’s woken up from his (ten-hour, mind you) sleep.

B = Body part: Xavier is really fond of his hands (which will be a recurring theme for several of the men here), they’re strong and sturdy and well-trained. He’s honed precise control of them for swordplay, for using his evol, and most importantly, for your pleasure. He’s a fan of the way they sink into your skin, pillowing the skin as he presses deep into it. He can worship you with his fingertips, singing your praises without having to use words, drawing them along the planes of your skin as if mapping out his whole world. 

With you, Xavier is an ass man, 100% no questions about it. He also likes your thighs, but the ass beats it out just a little. There’s not one thing about it that he likes; it’s just everything about your ass that he likes. It’s nice and round and soft, and he loves the way it jiggles when he hits it from the back. Furthermore, carrying you around with his hands planted firmly on your ass is a secret pleasure of his that he adores to divulge in.

C = Cum: Xavier likes it messy. I’m talking like all over you messy, drooling out your pussy messy, covering your face messy, like genuinely a menace messy. He likes to see physical proof of his possession of you all over your body. He wishes he could permanently stain your skin with the creamy substance, but that’s not technically biologically possible. 

As for the cum itself, he doesn’t really cum much in one go. It’s smaller spurts of this like almost shimmering white, creamy textured cum. It’s not… quite human, and it reminds you a lot of marshmallow fluff when you look at it, but it’s fun to touch and play with (please play with it he’ll lose his mind). It tastes good too! Almost sweet, which really sells the marshmallow idea, but he assures you that it's normal, so who are you to question it?

D = Dirty secret: Xavier likes to jerk it while you’re sleeping next to him. He thinks you’re so pretty when you’re resting so peacefully next to him, all innocence and virtue in your rest. Your lips parted, and your chest rising and falling in little huffed out breaths, truly a picture of beauty. He can’t help that his mind starts to wander a little, wanting to feel those pretty little lips wrapped around him. Oh, but he could never disturb your precious sleep, so he sits there and jacks himself off so close but so far to your sleeping visage. It also extends further to other types of voyeurism, like watching you in the shower or watching you change just outside your door. He’s aware that it’s rather… unsettling, so he keeps it close to his chest for your sake.

E = Experience: He’s relatively experienced, but quite literally only with variants of you. So, he seems better than he actually is, because he just knows what you like. If he were to be with someone else, he’d probably be a bit overwhelmed and unable to serve them well, but with you, he’s phenomenal. He knows all the right spots, the right ticks, everything he knows just way too well. 

F = Favorite position: He’s pretty basic, but doggy style is his favorite position. The ability to watch your ass bounce back on him is heaven to his eyes. It also gives him quite a bit of control over you, which he craves more than he’s willing to say out loud. It’s primal the way that he fucks into you, draping himself over your back and drawing you along his cock over and over, endless and desperate for more. Hard, deep, fast, desperate. His hands squeeze your hips, your sides, they slide between your legs, then they come up to grip your ass and watch the way he sinks into you over and over again.

G = Goofy: He’s not very silly during the act, if at all. Sex is something he uses as a means of releasing pent-up stress and emotions that he doesn’t know how to carefully express to you. There’s this intensity about him during the act, something similar to when he’s fighting wanderers, a fire that burns behind his eyes that you can’t quite comprehend. A need for you that words cannot possibly begin to describe, and that is no laughing matter for him. If you crack jokes during he might give you an odd look, because he doesn’t see what’s so funny about the situation you’re in.

H = Hair: He’s not clean-shaven, but he isn’t like a jungle down there. He keeps it clean enough, mostly because he doesn’t want it getting in the way of you when you're going down on him. There’s a nice little tuft of silvery hair, but otherwise not too much to look at. 

With you, though, he couldn’t care less. So long as he gets to eat it, he’s a happy man. If you don’t have a bush? Great! Nice and smooth, more real estate for his tongue. You’re a little hairy, that’s fine, he doesn’t care. You’ve got a whole forest? Wonderful, he’s not a hunter for no reason, he’s excited to navigate through that if it means he gets to hear your wonderful moans. And he means it seriously. He will fight you if you seem to imply otherwise, so unless you want a pouty Xavier, I suggest just letting it go.

I = Intimacy: While he tends to come off as a very dominant person in bed, he’s actually rather intimate. Even when he’s being more rough and aggressive, there’s still a gentleness with how he fucks you. It’s the way he holds your hand, the way he presses his forehead to yours as he whispers dirty words in your ears, the way he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky. It’s an intense energy that leaves you breathless with each thrust, filling you with all his love over and over until you’re stuffed full with it.

J = Jack off: Despite his tendency to… watch from a distance, he doesn’t actually bother jerking off by himself often. If he’s that needy, he can just go to you; you’ll help him out with that big old smile like you always do. However, if you’re busy and you really can’t help him, then… fine… he’ll use his hand. He pouts about it, though, and you can immediately tell when he did it because he seems to be upset that you weren’t the one wrapping your hand around him.

K = Kink: I already mentioned that he’s quite the voyeur, and he’s also big on watching you touch yourself. He sits there very patiently as you circle your fingers over your clit, plunge them inside your sopping hole, practically begging for him to take over. You never get to finish yourself off, though; he’s far too impatient.

He’s also very into marking you up, pretty purple love bites litter your thighs, chest, and neck. Not only this, but other markers really get him excited like seeing you covered in his cum, having you wear his clothes, smelling his cologne on you. He loves that there’s a marker claiming you as his own for everyone to see. One glance and people can see that you belong ot him, plain and simple.

He’s also quite an exhibitionist, though he isn’t into being watched; he just likes having the ability to have you wherever he likes to. If you’re both in the mood, and there’s time and a place to hide, why not? He was told once that neglecting your sexual needs could lead to tension in a relationship, so he wants to take care of your needs whenever and wherever you’re willing to.

Finally, and most obviously, he’s into somnophilia on himself. While he’s okay waking you up with his head between his thighs, he much prefers it when the first thing he sees waking up is you peering up at him with his dick down your throat. It’s a very nice, warm welcome to reality.

L = Location: I just mentioned he’s an exhibitionist, but I want to emphasize that it’s mostly out of convenience. He can’t always wait until he gets home to relieve himself, and neither can you. If he could choose, though, he would pick his bed every time. Seeing you tangled up in his sheets, nice and cozy and heated while he fucks himself into you is always a turn on.

M = Motivation: When you piss him off is 100% garunteed to get him going. Specifically, when you’re teasing him and poking fun at him for something (like Lumiere), he’ll let you go for a while but eventually… he has to teach you a lesson about behaving. He may seem soft and sweet, but he’s a man, too; he can only handle so much of that cute little smirk before he needs you on your knees, wrapping them around him. Getting him jealous is also a surefire way to have him dragging you away to a secluded area and fucking you until you can only say his name. 

N = No: No sharing at all. It’s not a debate, it’s not up for question, it’s a no. He can’t handle the idea of someone else finding you attractive, let alone seeing them touch you? If they value their hands, they’ll keep them far, far away from your body.

O = Oral: He’s obsessed, genuinely and completely obsessed with the way you feel on his tongue. You are his favorite flavor, and he wishes every food could taste like you do. If he were to die tomorrow, he would want to be buried between your folds, drowning in your juices as he brought you to completion. It’s a messy ordeal too, leaving his face soaking with drool and cum dripping down his chin, slopping onto his chest in a disgustingly depraved way.

P = Pace: He can go hard and rough or slow and soft; it simply depends on mood and time. He likes to take his time with you just as much as he likes to put you in your place. Sometimes he’s going so hard and fast that you can only think of his name, babbling out thank yous and I'm sorrys without any cognizant thought. Other times, he’s easing you through your orgasm, slow and easy thrusts while he hums praises and rubs his thumbs in slow circles across your hips. It’s all dependent on how you act, so if you want one kind of sex, it’s fairly easy to sway him either way if you know what triggers him.

Q = Quickie: As I’ve mentioned multiple times, he does like quickies. They’re fairly common between the two of you, being much more convenient and simple between work and other chores you have to do. Still, he does prefer actual sessions where you can be more intimate about it all. He likes the connection he gets from being with you like this, and he can’t savor it how he wants when you have to be quick.

R = Risk: I don’t think he’s much of a risk taker at all, other than the exhibitionism thing, which isn’t really risky because he’s rather careful about it. He doesn’t like putting you through unnecessary stress, and he doesn’t like the idea of seeing you in any kind of danger, even if it’s controlled by him. If you’re wanting to try more risky things, like maybe holding his sword to his throat or choking him out, that’s fine, he’ll try that for you… Not on you, though. He won’t do it for anything.

S = Stamina: He does have a lot of physical stamina; he can go for a really long time, but he gets tired easily. His mind gets foggy and his eyes droopy, and his head gets full far faster than he’d like when he’s with you. It’s overwhelming and all-encompassing, but he always pushes himself through to overstimulation. All because he just adores seeing how you squirm and react beneath him. He wants to spend just a little longer connected with you like this, if you’ll allow him that.

T = Toys: I can’t see him liking toys very much; he gets… annoyed by them. Truthfully, those silly little things can’t hold a candle to the pleasure he can bring you. It’s almost insulting for you to bring it up or even try, not when you know how he feels buried inside. He won’t throw your toys out or anything, though he’s thought about it, but if he walks in on you using them, he’s quick to prove himself better than the stupid rabbit you seem to like so much.

U = Unfair: Ohhhh, he can be mean when he wants to be. It depends on how much you’ve managed to piss him off, but he can be just unruly with how much he teases. He’ll hold you back from your orgasm for so long, and then make you cum in rapid succession over and over until you’re sobbing. His only goal is to remind you just who has the power in bed, because it’s most certainly not you.

V = Volume: He’s pretty quiet all things considered, but boy, can he talk. His normally silent and standoffish demeanor melts away to a soft-spoken dom who intends to make you listen to each word carefully. His words are all dripping with honey as he scolds you for “letting Charlie get so friendly” again, describing in detail what he’s doing to you, what he’s seeing, what he’s feeling, what he wants you to feel.

W = Wild card: He’s kinda shy about the way he is in the bedroom. It’s very opposite of who he is as a person, so his ears burn red when you tease him about it. He isn’t embarrassed by his ability to take care of and control things in the bedroom, but he just feels shy about it when you’re the one teasing him.

X = X-ray: Xavier is pretty average in size, about five inches long, but he’s on the thicker side of things. There’s no remarkable veins or marks or anything, but it’s very, very pretty. Pale like him, with the softest baby pink tip that blushes red when he’s fully erect. It curves up just slightly, so when it’s inside it rubs along the ribbed part of your walls deliciously.

Y = Yearning: Xavier is a yearner, but he’s mostly tame compared to the other men on this list. He longs for your touch, thinks about the way you feel endlessly, but at the end of the day, he’s able to repress it pretty well. Honestly, it’s up to you to give the green flag, otherwise he won’t push for anything and can happily spend the night cuddling you rather than fuckign you into the sheets.

Z = Zzz: As mentioned in aftercare, he’s pretty quick to fall asleep after the fact. His mind is so heavy, as is his body, and he wants nothing more than to curl up in the warmth of the afterglow with you beside him. 

[phdmama]

“Is there room for negotiation?"

This is for @a--a---a who posted a headcanon that sparked this little scene! I'm ending it here because sadly, I have other things to do with my day because I know where this could go!

This is almost entirely SOOC, only lightly edited, just for fun. I have no idea where in the timeline this is, so put it wherever you'd like! Eventually to be archived on AO3.

Thank you so much for the spark and the permission to write it!

Buddie, ~1400 words, Teen

It takes Buck a hot minute to understand what Eddie’s trying to tell him.

To be fair, Eddie’s pulse had been pounding so loudly in his own ears that he couldn’t even really hear what he was saying. He’d gotten lost in some rambling metaphor about red wine and white wine and at first Buck had thought Eddie was talking about getting into wine, which had led to Buck immediately googling “wine events near me” which had led to Eddie agreeing to go to some Old Vine Zin wine tasting thing next Friday. Eddie doesn’t even like wine that much.

“I didn’t think you even liked wine that much,” Buck is saying, and well. Clearly he’s missed the point.

“I don’t,” Eddie says and then adds hastily as Buck’s face falls, “No, I just mean. Wine’s not really been my thing. But I’m excited to go to that with you, maybe learn something new.” His hands are sweating and he wipes them surreptitiously on his pants. “It’s just. That’s not really what I was trying to say when I said I’d realized something recently.”

Buck pauses, and shifts on the couch where they’ve been chilling post-long-ass shift, debating going to the grocery store, things like that. Normal things. Eddie’s not entirely sure why Buck had just followed him home, but he’s not complaining. He’ll always prefer having Buck in his house to… not.

Eddie’s also not sure why he’s picked this particular moment to share his recent revelations with Buck. Obviously he’s been thinking about how to do it. Maybe over dinner, somewhere nicer than they usually go. Eddie’s pictured Buck’s face in the candlelight, smiling at him over a glass of wine. Shit, maybe Eddie really does need to get into wine? Whatever, Eddie’s pictured it a thousand times, but he’s never pictured this, Buck, sleepy and rumpled, slumped down on the couch, feet on Eddie’s coffee table, a beer in front of him for all that’s 9:30 am on a Tuesday.

Eddie’s in love with him probably.

That’s probably been the biggest revelation, and that one had hit mid-shift several weeks ago, during the most clichéd of all calls, cat stuck in a tree. Mr. Grumpypants had lived up to his name, and Buck had lost the rock-paper-scissors for who had to go up the ladder and get him. Buck had been so sweet and gentle with the terrified creature that by the time he was backing one-handed down the ladder, Mr. Grumpypants was snuggled up against him, purring so loudly it was audible over the noise of LA traffic.

Eddie had just been hanging out, shooting the shit with Chim and Hen and watching Buck do his thing, and it had hit him. I’m in love with him. The realization was so unexpected, yet so obvious, that Eddie had almost felt a bit foolish. It was like that thing Buck had been telling him earlier that morning about calculus, something he’d learned from one of his many, many podcasts. 

“It’s not like calculus was invented,” Buck had said happily, swaying with the movement of the rig as they’d taken a corner faster than advisable. “It’s more like, they just figured it out, Newton and… shit, some other guy. Like, the things that calculus describes, those weren’t new things. The math was just a way for them to describe something that was already there.”

A way to describe something already there.

So yeah, Eddie had felt a little silly that it’s taken him this long, because now that he knows what to look for, it’s just so blindingly clear. 

To be fair, it had taken him some time to come to grips with it. Not the in love thing, that part’s easy. The whole hey, it turns out I’m maybe not as straight as I thought I was and WOW does this explain a few things and OH FUCK what are my folks going to say. 

But Eddie has processed it. He’s adjusted his understanding of himself, had some difficult conversations that are yet to be resolved, and sure, there’s definitely going to be more of that in the future, especially if things go the way he hopes. But even with all of that, Eddie doesn’t want to wait anymore. He wants Buck to know because he wants Buck to know him, all of him. 

There’s a couple of other things he wants, and after weeks of careful observation, he’s pretty sure he knows what Buck wants too. Not 100% maybe, but sure enough to take the risk.

So Eddie takes a deep breath, wipes his hands on his pants again, and says, “I was trying to tell you that I’ve realized something about myself.”

Buck’s nodding, making his I am listening so hard to you right now face. “Uh-huh.”

“And I guess the metaphor was kind of lame.”

“Metaphor?”

“Yeah, you know, that I like red wine and white wine. I like… both.”

Buck is frowning, staring off into the distance. “So when you say you like both red wine and white wine, what you mean is you like…” Eddie can see the moment he understands, the way his gaze sharpens and snaps to Eddie’s face. “You like both?”

Eddie nods, swallows. “Yeah, Buck. I like both.”

“Oh wow.” Buck’s face softens. “That’s, wow. That’s big, man.”

Eddie nods again.

Buck reaches out, slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “That’s amazing, I’m so proud of you. Thank you for telling me.” He ruffles Eddie’s hair and gets up. “You know what? This calls for a celebration. I’ve got a split of champagne that I got a while ago at the Farmer’s Market. We should toast.” He pauses when he gets to the door to the kitchen. “This doesn’t change a thing between us. You know that, right?” 

He waits for Eddie’s nod before walking through the door and Eddie can hear him rummaging about in the kitchen, muttering something about Where did those goddamn champagne flutes go? I know I put them somewhere.

So. That’s done. Eddie’s imagined a thousand scenarios, a thousand different ways that Buck might respond, from profound horror (deeply unlikely) to immediately ripping off his clothes and shouting Take me now! (also deeply unlikely but fun to imagine). Eddie hasn’t quite imagined this, though — Buck being the best bro, the most supportive friend he knows how to be, which is, of course, the only kind of friend he knows how to be.

He’s in the kitchen pouring champagne, for fuck’s sake.

Eddie shakes his head, pushes to his feet and follows Buck into the kitchen.

“This doesn’t change anything?”

Buck looks over his shoulder from where he’s bent over, rummaging in the depths of the refrigerator. “Of course not, Eddie. Why would it? You’re my best friend.”

“Nothing?” Eddie persists. “Like, is that your final answer?”

Buck straightens slowly, holding a small bottle in his large hand. “What…” he pauses, licks his lips. “What are you asking?”

“Just,” Eddie says, certainty starting to bloom in his heart at the look on Buck’s face. “Are you open to other offers? Is there room for negotiation?”

Buck blindly sets the bottle down on the counter next to him. “Eddie, are you…”

“It’s just,” Eddie interrupts, heart pounding as he takes that last step into the unknown. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Buck says automatically and then freezes.

Eddie shakes his head. This guy. “No, I love you like, I’m in love with you.” 

“Oh,” Buck breathes, seemingly frozen in place.

“And I think you might… I think you might feel the same way?”

Buck stares at him, cheeks flushing. “What makes you think that?”

Eddie takes a careful step. “The way you look at me. The way you take care of me. The way you laugh at all of my jokes, even the stupid ones.”

“They’re not that bad,” Buck says, eyes bright.

“They really are,” Eddie says. “I don’t know, Buck. It’s just, it’s all of it. It's you and how you are with me tells me that you love me, just like I love you. That you’re in love with me, just like I am with you.”

Buck doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just looks consideringly at Eddie.

“Say that’s true,” he says finally and Eddie can’t help but grin at his tone. “What are you going to do about it?”

“This,” Eddie says, closes the distance between them and kisses him.

[wafflexdguy]

OH OH !! How about a Dandys world where the mains toons react to their s/o save them but died in the process ?? I love drama 😏

Thanatophobia

Authors note: Their reactions to you dying by saving them would be the same if you died. So I'm just giving general 'you died' headcanons.

How you died or how they found you is different with each character.

CW: Slight Gore

================================================

When you were critically injured, you were freaking out. You probably shouldn't be, but regardless... here you are.

Fear overtook you. You fought like hell to get free of the Twisteds grasp. Not that it mattered though; the way you looked, you were going to fall over dead any second now. No real way of saving you, not this time. Not when you can feel the Ichor filling up your lungs.

You wanted help. You didn't want to die, not yet. Not like this.

You didn't want them to be alone.

...

Doesn't really matter what you wanted though, right?

Fate still calls all the same.

================================================

Astro

"..."

He didn't understand why you had disappeared for a few days. Sure, maybe it was common for you, maybe it wasn't but he didn't immediately assume the worst. Maybe you were just hiding in your room?

...In anyone's room?

...Please?

He wasn't exactly sure in what to do. Usually, the Toon Handlers would take care of this kind of thing, but... well. So what does he do? The next group run that happens he tags along. Everyone knows why, they don't question it. They don't need to.

When he does eventually find you... One of panic. He hyperventilates, staring at your mauled body, the signs of struggle that surrounded you. The Ichor staining the floor... It's enough to throw him in a spiral. A legitimate panic attack.

The other Toons eventually do come across both you and Astro, albeit one still alive and visibly shaking in the opposite corner of the room, just staring at you. It's hard for him to comprehend. It'd be hard for anyone to comprehend, really.

The other Toons try to calm him down, to little success. He's not yelling or anything like that, he's not doing a fight or flight response, he's freezing. He can't think clearly, but when he does, he just isolates. He doesn't talk to anyone, especially not Dandy.

At the same time, he has to do something. The endless knocking on his door with someone checking up on him is eventually going to drive him insane. Annoyed, to be more accurate. So when he does eventually open the door, the Toon greeting him would be surprised to see bags under Astro's eyes.

He's tired, and he's only been sleeping since you died.

He still dreams about you two together. He eventually does get out of his funk, somewhat. He goes back to giving others better dreams, which they appreciate. They know what he's going through, but what's there to say? What's there to say when the only person that could make him legitimately come out of his shell is dead?

His dreams turn into nightmares. It happens more frequently than he'd like to admit. More than he will ever admit, really. How he thinks he could have done something differently to 'save' you, or how he could have talked you out of going solo, but that's fantasy.

Whatever happens next, he isn't sure of. He'll be able to cope eventually. He'll go back to -somewhat- acting normal. But if you pay attention to the subtle notes of him being more reclusive than he normally is, than you can tell he's still not dealing with it okay.

================================================

Dandy

L-001

"..."

You didn't buy something from him.

Again.

Typically, he's extremely good with controlling his temper around you. Extremely good. Or at least, he's good at hiding it. Really good at hiding it. Still had that same old smile plastered onto his face, very subtilty and unnoticeably twitching.

If he had control of himself, his anger, he wouldn't have turned Twisted.

...

By the time he came back to his senses, you were already beyond helping. When there's nobody else to take his anger out on, he unwillingly took it out on you. He wasn't thinking about it, the Ichor stopped him from thinking at all. So eventually when he's able to form coherent thoughts again...

He can feel his heart coming up his throat.

"I- I didn't-... I wasn't-..." He isn't able to think clearly anymore. Again. He knows what he did, there's no pinning the blame on others. Not this time. He takes a few wobbly steps back as he attempts to process what he did.

He doesn't know what else to do. After five minutes, he just slowly walks out of the room, closing the door and locking it. The others don't need to know what happened here, what he did to his own partner. He knows it's wrong, but he doesn't know what else to do.

The devil on his shoulder says that it's fine, that you were just ungrateful. You should have bought something, that whole mess and ordeal was on you, not him. He doesn't acknowledge it, he ignores it; he pretends it doesn't exist. He just wanted you back.

It's weird for him. After a few days, people eventually just accepted that you were likely gone, just like other Toons that preceded you. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, but it's not just that; his entire normal schedule just felt wrong.

You weren't there to make the occasional joke, or to talk to him or really anything. It feels empty. Hollow. He still keeps that smile plastered on his face, but this time its way more forced than it normally is whenever someone doesn't buy from him.

Dandy doesn't confide to anyone about anything after you died. Not even accidentally to Astro. His own best friend, he can't confide about how he really feels about your death. Some part of him doesn't even want to accept that your gone, but that's stupid.

...But Toons do give him his space. After you died, Vee and Sprout just eventually stop talking to him all together because A: Obviously and B: They aren't sure if he'd lash out.

Either way, you're gone. And it's his fault.

================================================

Shelly

"Haha... Everything's okay, okay... OKAY...!"

Shelly had full confidence in your abilities. Whether that be distracting or extracting, she believed that you were practically invincible because of how often you managed to cheat death. And to her credit, for a time; you were. At least, you felt like it.

So when she was busy extracting and you were busy distracting or doing whatever else, and were at one hp... it probably didn't help that you had no idea that a Twisted Goob was on the same floor as you. Then again, maybe knowing wouldn't have helped

She only took a brief glance in your direction, so brief that the average person couldn't process it. For her, she saw you fly out of view and into the loving arms of Goob. And the subsequent crunching sound that occurred after that made her freeze all together.

Since most other Toons passively -and unintentionally- don't acknowledge or ignore her, most don't really notice the silent demeanors coming from her. She used to be eager to talk to anyone but as of right now, she's not enthusiastic to talk to anyone. She'd rather just finish this run to process your death in silence, all the while suppressing silent sobs.

When everything is said and done and the run is over either to people getting too injured or just lack of motivation to continue, some Toons do start to take notice of Shelly's silence and subsequent shaking. Her hands are clenched up into fists in an attempt to contain and compose herself. The other Toons ask if Shelly's alright. She doesn't respond.

She kind of becomes a mini version of Dandy, as weird as that sounds. Whenever someone tries talking to her immediately after your death she excuses herself and walks away. She wants to suffer in silence, it's what she's used to.

She doesn't have a healthy kind of coping mechanisms for things like this. Maybe that comes off as a surprise, but her immediate response is to not isolate herself but just... pretend like nothings wrong. Anyone with half a braincell would see straight through the facade, but she doesn't acknowledge it or really notice it.

There's nothing wrong.

================================================

Sprout

"...What-... what just happened?"

Sprout was right there. Right there. WITH you no less than a minute ago. And now you're getting tossed around in the maw of a Twisted Pebble, eager to get into those sweet, sweet bones of yours. Of course, you're able to get free, but you were bleeding out too quickly for Sprout to do anything to you in time.

It probably didn't help that Pebble was blocking the only route between you and him.

By the time Pebble did lose interest in you and moved on, there was already a massive hole in what used to be your heart. A broken heart, if you will. Sprout tried; he really did. Everything in his power to save you, adrenaline is a powerful drug. It makes you desperate.

It doesn't immediately process for him that you're gone. Really gone this time. Not leaving to get something, not leaving him alone because you're mad he left the stove on again, gone. Dead. Zilch. For a moment, he just stares at you. Blankly. Only for a brief moment.

The only thing that brought him out of his immediate funk was the distant barking and loud repeated footsteps. He didn't have to time to mourn. He had to protect his friends. He had to protect his friends. He had to protect his friends. Friends. FRIENDS.

He keeps himself tunnel visioned for the rest of the run. The only person he's willing to talk to at that point would be Cosmo, and even then he doesn't want to get on the topic of your death. He doesn't really avoid the topic, but he's just really banking on nobody mentioning it. To his credit, nobody does.

He does anything, literally anything to stop himself from thinking about you. Baking with Cosmo, talking with the various Toons that try to comfort him, distracting activities you've come to expect. It doesn't really work, he just thinks about how much you would have loved to join in on these activities.

He's visibly stressed. Tapping his foot repeatedly, clenching his fist behind his back, sometimes blinking due to stress. Toons notice it, they try some things to make him less stressed. Talking, baking, paper crafts, naps. None of it really works except for the naps for varying reasons.

Eventually he'll pretend like he moved on. Like, a week after it happened. He won't pretend like he's alright, saying, "I could be doing better." but it stems deeper than just that. Deeper than anything he'll ever be willing to delve into. He'd prefer to keep it that way.

================================================

Vee

"I- You weren't supposed to-! Not-... please..."

Vee broke off from the other Toons to be with you while you both were extracting. She was just naturally at ease with you, comfortable even. You actually managed to finish your machine before she could. You told her that you were going into the other room to find some items that could be useful.

That weird crunching sound that came soon after didn't fill her with confidence that you were alright. Obviously.

She dropped what she was doing and ran into the next room. You were clutching to yourself as you were barely shuffling away from the Twisted. She wastes no time in rushing over and punching the Twisted at full force. Being that she's pissed and scared at the same time, it knocked their socks off and needless to say: that Twisted is no longer with us.

That didn't save you though. You were still conscious as she held you in her arms, literally screaming at you to stay awake. Shaking you holding the wound that was bleeding the most as pressurized as she could, but it didn't help. Nobody was around to help, nobody that could heal, anyway.

By the time other Toons reached her to help, you were already gone. Vee was dead silent. Didn't say a single thing for a long while before she eventually got up and just muttered 'Lets finish up here.'

She's quick to accept you're gone. Not out of any malicious 'finally they're gone thing', but more out of her just knowing there no way you could have possibly survived that. She hates that she has so much information that she knows when it's helpless. In a way, Vee wants to be ignorant, so she didn't have to accept that you're gone.

That image of you never left her. Helpless and dying.

She keeps up the smug appearance only a few days after your death. She figures that was the most appropriate time to be mourning your death before having to move on. Some Toons comment 'how well she seems to be taking this'. She's not.

Much like Shelly, she takes a suffer in silence approach, it's just that she's surprisingly better at it. She literally acts no different than before you died. Maybe that's because she's a computer and able to hide emotions more easily, or maybe it's something else...?

The only person she'd ever admit that she's still not doing fine with is probably Astro. It's not for a lack of trying, it's for a abundance of Astro continuously asking Vee if she's alright. He doesn't state your death as being the immediate culprit, but more phrased like '...I've seen you slightly twitch a lot lately... Are you doing okay?'

She's not.

================================================

Reblogs are appriciated.

Just a reminder that although requests are closed, you're still able to talk to me if you wish! Either through messages or Inbox, I don't really care haha.

2k+ words... ugh

[moonshynecybin]

The agent of chaos is coming again! To help people complete the RPF Summer Camp challenge, I decided to come to your inbox with the next question:

In an omegaverse setting, what would every rider be? (Please be free to include other designations as enigma (above alphas and sometimes described as able to change other people's designations) or you can make your own!)

Please share these ask so we can all get more badges and make this more fun. Also, feel free to ignore this if you want. Agent of chaos says goodbye.

doing this by couples i personally rpf bc assigning maverick a fanfic designation unprovoked is funny but too much work. i need a STORY… honestly if the story/dynamic first these are all mostly malleable to me lmao. anyways:

rosquez- vale alpha who got microaggressed about “being an omega” (looking skinny and girlish) as a kid but swears he didn’t super care (internalized just a little bit for sureee) and marc the omega who is very obviously an omega but dodges questions about his dynamic like crazy. for sure on suppressants for sure very happy he’s hung so he can avoid stereotypes lmao (he’s showing that thing off !!!!) for sure like. not personally ashamed but also not out bc he doesn’t wanna deal with it after a very traumatic early 20s, press-wise. eventually alludes to it in ALL IN and evrybody is like oh. they were fucking. but marc won’t confirm or deny or outright say even though there’s a lingering shot on the bite he had high up on his neck during the sepang press conference. he kind of regrets this immediately imo lmao but maybe later in various fits of cunty pique is like well i’m the only omega champion :) (crazy flashing cameras) (pecco sweating hard right next to him) and vale is like ANYWAYS—

franky/alex- alpha4beta and alex feels WEIRD ABOUT ITTTTT bc of his brother baggage :) wishing he was an omega so he could just fit into all these experiences and into a relationship with franky and have any idea of all of these cues he’s “missing” that his brother just knows instinctively. 8000 misinterpretions of alpha/omega relationships bc marc’s love life is a mess and he’s insane, but then marc also spent a lot of time hiding his dynamic/has a terrible breakup and alex is like well now i feel like shit for wanting this !!!! botched hookup where alex breaks out some fake omega hormone and franky is like um hey can we talk about this? and alex just immediately breaks up w franky trying VERY hard not to cry. goes icy marquez face and leaves. thinks about who he’s spending his ruts with nonstop :(

pedrenzo - dani alpha lmao like so obviously. only guy on earth who could get marc to ride BEHIND him on a scooter like. not even a question to me. anyways jorge trying TOO hard to project alpha but he’s an omega and hates it. dani figures this out later and is like OHHHHH okay i will take care of you forever

pecco/luca- luca beta top ? i think luca would have a lot of fun/angst trying to like. figure out how to take care of pecco’s omega ass during heat without any instincts to fall back on/ while pecco refuses to go to an alpha bc it freaks him out badddd… also weird w brother stuff in a similar but less potent way than alex. like luca has a plan lmao. hard cut to pecco’s dui and then him comparing himself to marc and wanting to hit himself very hard over the head with a 2x4 but luca is taking SUCH good care of him and he wants it so badly and he’s caught up in about 8 different contradictions on how things “should” be done…

bez/cele- bez alpha but doesn’t like it. truly feels so much pressure to live up to that and won’t (likes pecco bc pecco doesn’t gaf/likes that bez treats him NORMAL). some half hearted alpha posturing and trying to go to vale for alpha advice (vale who does the alpha thing kinda effortlessly just confused as hell about bez… it’s like his motorcycle advice he gives that they can’t actually DO bc it requires some intrinsic talent prereqs) until cele gets older and then he can and GOFREE and get topped and not feel weird about it. cele beta or omega or even alpha tbh im not sure but he honestly does not care. he does not care. he thinks bez is neat and thats where it ends. pure id. GREAT for bez to let go and be sexy and fit as many roles as he wants to…

[j4zzylyn]

Session 32 -suguru geto

SYN★ Suguru only ever shows up after midnight — no calls, no promises, just silence and skin. You keep letting him in, hoping he’ll finally say what he really feels. One night, you press him for honesty. What he gives you is raw, aching truth… but maybe not the kind you needed.

cw — MDNI ★ angst, post traumatic behavior, sexual content (implied), toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, & co-dependency.

(If you guys want a part two with a happy ending or to just leave it right here, lmk I’ll tag you).

It wasn’t always like this with you and Suguru.

Him showing up at your door randomly past midnight. The same black hoodie he probably had hanging in his closet just for this occasion. He was taller than you remember, and his eyes were heavy like he might not have slept in days.

The both of you take your time, staring each other down, more tension there than there were any words could speak.

“..can I come in?” His voice gruff, calm, relaxed, and unreadable as always. No greeting, always straight to the point.

You step aside with no hesitation, wordless. Because no matter how you hated it—hated him, hated how much it hurt, you always let him in.

And as you two sat on your couch, end to end, neither of you talked. You never did.

He sat on the couch, quiet, and watched the flicker of your candle lit in the middle of your coffee table. You watched him, watching nothing. Just breathing in the stillness between you as if it might say something, anything, that he wouldn’t. But it didn’t.

“You only come around when it’s late ya know,” you finally say something, wishing it came out as a mumble, curled into yourself across from him.

His eyes flicker toward you, lingering for just a moment longer. “That bother you?” His tone carrying some kind of concern.

You don’t answer immediately, just looking at him before your uncurling yourself, sitting against the couch normally with your arms crossed.

A sigh escapes your lips. “No. I just find it funny. You talk about caring but you never do it yourself.” But then you regret the words that come out of your mouth. Silence filling the space once again as he leans back against the couch with a faint sigh.

He almost spoke, wanting to protest. You could tell, but he held his tongue, just taking in your words.

You’re not sure how things even went down next. One minute there’s space between the two of you, then the next, there’s none.

His lips were on you, slow like an apology, like a confession. His way of saying ‘I love you but I know how this’ll end, because of me.’ Or at least that’s what you wanted to infer.

But you knew he meant it. The way his hands trembled slightly when he held your face, the way his lashes fluttered when he leaned in to kiss you prior, it was all Suguru.

He could show you how he felt more than he could tell you.

And just like every other time, you let yourself fall into him. Let yourself pretend this meant so much more than comfort. That this was his way of claiming you for once. That he was staying this time. That he’d finally say what he never had the guts to.

But when it was all over, you felt it again; emptiness.

He laid beside you in the dark, on the bed he carried the both of you toward in the midst of kissing, shirtless and bare, your heart on the floor once again.

You let out a shaky exhale, staring at the ceiling. “You don’t even like me anymore, ‘guru,” you speak into the silence, eyes focused on the fan on the ceiling.

He didn’t answer right away, swallowing whatever initial reply he was going to make. You listen to him take a deep breath, slow, as if it hurt.

“That’s not true.”

“Then say something, anything, that proves it. Please.”

You turn your head toward him, his profile sharp in the low light, but his eyes looked softer now. Sadder.

The way he chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, you knew he wasn’t going to say what he wished. He never did.

“I never..” he hesitated for a second, catching himself. “I never wanted us to be what we’ve become.”

“..why you keep coming back then? Entertaining it.”

He closed his eyes before looking at you again, his eyes glossier than before. “Because I don’t know how to let you go.”

You sat up, the cold hitting your back as you held the sheets up to your chest, looking down at him. “But that’s not love, Suguru. That’s a habit. One you just can’t seem to let go. It’s guilt.” He followed you with his eyes, not moving.

He nods, humming. “Maybe. But it’s the only thing I have left that feels real. That keeps me grounded.”

You wanted to scream. Cry, kick, kiss him again, all of it. But instead, a faint whisper fell from your lips. “Then..say what you mean Suguru..”

He sat up too, his hair falling gracefully back onto his shoulders, and his bare chest rising and falling like the weight from it all might crush him completely. He looked at you like he used to—back when you both were younger. Softer, and still believed in stupid shit like forever.

“I miss you everyday, y/n.” He admitted, his hand grazing your cheek calmly this time. “But I don’t deserve you. And I don’t know if I ever did.”

And just within a few breaths—the air changed.

Because you knew it was the truth. And it was never enough no matter how many times you fed it to yourself.

You watched as he got dressed in silence, hoodie back over his head once again. His scent still lingering in your sheets, and your heart still in his hands.

“Will you come back?” You asked, even though you despised yourself for even thinking to ask.

Suguru just looked down at you like he wanted to say no, but deep down, he knew he’d always pick you. “Yeah.”

And you let him leave, out of your grasp once again.

But nth times a charm, right?

©j4zzylyn 2025 | written by me, do not copy. If you wish to translate, please ask.

[ray935sworld]

The smell of you

getting together marcmarc, omega verse

Marc was making aggressive comments towards Pecco. Since he didn't want things to escalate between them, Pecco decided to go and try figure out what's going on with the older alpha.

For the rpf summer camp by @love-leah, absolutely amazing and I love the idea <3

(pls look at the patch, it's adorable. I love it soooo much)

Davide pinched his noise. Everything had worked so well. For months everything had been good.

And now - something had happened.

Marc was snappy. His usual friendly behavior, his loud laughter, had changed into a lingering threat. A threat that was directed at the younger, other alpha, Pecco.

Everyone in the factory realized it. It was the way Marc made comments about the bike obviously not being the problem. The missing ability to adjust to changes of some riders. Everything Pecco had critized over the last few weeks, turned around and made into a joke about him.

Soon his comments got even more aggressive, more pointed, accompanied by looks that felt like a death sentence. At that point, it was only a question of when the two alpha riders would have an actual clash.

"Rut?" Gigi suggested after another meachnic had gave them a warning glance. One that said 'Don't wanna switch with Pecco'. "Already checked, doc says the suppressants can't have failed. And he's only like that to Pecco. Normal to every other alpha" "Then what else?"

Davide knew this could be the start of a disaster. They had to solve this as fast as they could, so he pulled them apart as soon as possible.

"Why is Marquez chewing your head off?" "I don't know!" Pecco defended himself as the old Italian pulled the young rider to the side. "I didn't do anything. I swear!"

"Really?" he asked, crossing his arms. He gave him a demanding look, one that gave Pecco the feeling he was talking to his father or Vale. "Yes. Really!"

"Pecco, I just want to help you." he tried more gentle. His scent was kind. Soft. It settled a part of Pecco he didn't realized was on edge. "Is there really nothing that comes to your mind? Did you - you're both alphas. Did you two went out and you know - had eyes on the same-" "I am happily mated." Pecco shot back, visible angry about the implication. "Thank you very much. As Marc is well aware. So no!"

"Okay, okay, just asking." he replied, raising his hands in defeat, showing he believed him. "I'm just trying to help. Marc is pissed at you and no one knows why. So either, we figure this out and settle thing or we see how things go."

Pecco nodded, knowing he didn't want to be the next target in Marc's psychic plays.

Gigi hadn't found out anything from Marc either. He had just scoffed and lied about everything being okay. So the Italian only had one option left.

Confrontation.

He made his way over to Marc's room. He took a deep breath and knocked. When he heard the expected "Come in!", he entered only to be greeted with an annoyed sigh and an eye roll. Marc's scent immediately turned sour. And Pecco didn't need to have the fine nose of an omega to realize that.

"What?!" Marc asked, clearly unhappy about his visit.

"Hi. Listen, I just wanted to talk to you to - figure things out" he started slowly. "OH fuck off-" he mumbled and stood up. He made a move to leave but Pecco hold onto him. His arm went up to his and he quickly hold onto him.

"Wait, I-" and the next thing he knew was that he was being pushed back. He didn't fall, he just stumbled back a little while Marc pulled his arm back with all his force. "Don't fucking touch me!" he hissed.

Pecco stared at him in disbelief. He blinked confused, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened. He hadn't been aggressive. He hadn't done anything to spike his behavior.

And the way Marc reacted felt absolute over the top.

Even Marc looked confused about his actions.

He looked at the young alpha. He saw how he still didn't turn aggressive. He was just surprised. There truly was no need for his behavior.

Marc was trying to find his words. Words to justify shoving him, yelling at him, being rude despite Pecco being polite, even kind to him.

He tried to find a reason. A justification. Something Pecco had done. But there was nothing.

But he didn't know why he had acted like this. But ever since they had seen each other that morning, Marc had felt an incredible rage towards the younger man. He had smelled him and suddenly all he felt was hate.

He couldn't stand looking at him without fantasizing about punching him in the face. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to prove that he was the better alpha. That he was stronger, more experienced and just over all - better.

But he didn't know why.

There was this unsettling feeling in him that caused it. As if everything else would take something away from him. Hurt him. Leave his skin itching. But he couldn't explain why.

It was only then, that he realized he was running on instincts. He had let his alpha side take control. But still. It made no sense to him.

He looked up, slowly. He stared at Pecco, blinking a few times. "I'm sorry", he forced himself to say. The itch his alpha cause risining again. There was this tiny voice, yelling at him to fight. Not apologize. Fight. And win. "I... I don't know why but I can't fucking stand you at the moment."

"I figured. You've been acting off all day." Pecco said, an accusation in his tone. But he kept calm. "Just tell me what I did and we can work something out, okay?" "I - I don't know, okay?! I just - I want to punch you in the face." he admitted. At least part of him had tbe decency to feel shameful over it.

"Since when?" Pecco asked, ignoring the statement and just deciding to figure out what's going on. "This morning." "Yesterday? Last week? During any race weekend?" "No" "Okay..."

Pecco nodded slowly, mentally going through the last 24 hours. There had to be something - anything, different from his routine that caused this change.

"That's - oh." he muttered, suddenly realizing what was different. He couldn't help but smile as he thought a little more back to confirm his theory.

"What?" Marc asked. "I..." he laughed. "I think I know what's going on" "Mm? What?"

"Marc, are you in love with my best friend?" Pecco asked while trying to surpress a smile. The Spaniards eyes went wide. "What?" "Are you in love with my best friend? With Bez?" "Bez" "Bez. You know, winner of the last gp, Bez, Marco Bezzecchi. Italian. Formerly long hair and curls. With-" "I know who Bez is!" Marc snapped.

The thought was running through his head. He wasn't denying it. He couldn't. Not after all the times he had yearned for the young omega. The last grand prix, when they shared a podium had made it so hurtful clear how much he wanted him.

Marc had stared at the young man, standing on top of tbe podium, laughing and all he had thought about was sinking his teeth in that beautiful neck and making him his own.

He had seen the picture of Marco, sweaty, dripping with champaign and he had imagine he'd be the one causing him to be that wet and sweaty. But under him.

"So?" Pecco asked, disrupting his thoughts. "Why?" Marc shot back defensively. "That shirt is Bezs." "What?" "The shirt I'm wearing is actually Bezs. He wore it yesterday. He came by because he was feeling down and we cuddle and I accidentally put it on this morning." Pecco explained.

Marc stared at him. His instincts were still running high so a part of him wanted to curse him out. He hated the thought that Marco had gone to Pecco, even cuddled with him, when he was feeling sad instead of to him. Especially because he had been close too.

He shook his head. He had no claim on Marco. They weren't even friends. They were friendly. But not friends. Bez had no reason to look to Marc for comfort.

Still, the realization bugged him.

"I think you're jealous that I'm wearing one of Bez shirt and I'm smelling like him. And that causes your instincts to run high" Marc's mouth went dry. Knowing this was excatly what happened. "Egh? No. No no no no."

"Really?" Pecco asked, pulling the shirt off. He hadn't worn it for long and he hadn't been sweating so he was sure it wouldn't smell like him yet. He dropped it on the couch in Marc's room, watching how Marc's eyes shifted to it. Lingering on tbe fabric. The hunger in his eyes even more noticeable.

"Keep it." Marc had to force himself to look back at him. A voice in his head demanding to grab the shirt and keep it safe, make sure he couldn't take it away again. "Trust me when I say, he'd prefer if you have it... You two have some things to figure out" Pecco said with a chuckle before he left.

Marc knew how important the smell and shirts smelling like someone was for Omegas. Not just to show that they belong to a certain alpha but also to show that their own alpha was already claimed.

He had learned it the hard way. He had barely been 20, only formally teammates with Dani, a kind and very protective omega.

During their years as teammates, Dani had warmed up to him and essentially adopted him as a pup. But they hadn't yet been close when he had accidentally grabbed one of Dani's Honda corporate shirts and put it on. He hadn't realized the different smell since his scent wasn't that good and everything was still new and different.

It was only when Dani smacked him over the head that he realized his mistakes. It had taken him by surprised and cause him to stare at the older rider with wide eyes.

Dani had looked angry and the gesture had been something he had never done before. Dani had demanded he go change. Marc hadn't understand immediately but when he realized that he, an alpha, would be smelling like Dani, despite Dani dating - not yet mated - to Jorge, he had understand.

Since then he had made an effort with things like that, so if felt wrong to just take the shirt that was still smelling like Marco. It felt violating towards the Italian man and the last thing he wanted was to hurt him in any way.

Marc stared at the shirt, laying there like a sweet sin. His eyes were constantly on it, feeling the need to grab it and smell it, search for the scent of the omega in the fabric and wrap it around him to savior it.

"Fuck" he muttered.

Before he knew it, he took out his phone.

He opened WhatsApp and looked throw the riders group chat. He checked the contacts and quickly found the right one.

~ theBez🦂 was the user name, the profile picture one of Rubik.

Marc snapped a picture of the shirt, his hand on the fabric, not being able to stand the thought if not being allowed to touch the little piece he had of the omega.

"Can I wear it? Pecco gave it to me. It's your shirt. Still smells like you" he texted.

It took a few minutes until he got a reply.

"Yes. Please."

[xitcantlast]

Mastermind

Draco Malfoy x f!reader

Summary: Inspired by the song Mastermind by Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 970. English is not my first language.

Divider Credit: @uzmacchiato

"Done" You let the last curl slip off the curling iron. Your daughter's eyes slowly move up to look in the mirror and a smile creeps on her face. You helped her get ready for her first date and she looked absolutely stunning. She rose up from her seat and went to the full length mirror in the corner of her room. Her long dress had little flowers embroidered all over it and as she did a twirl in front of the mirror she still looked like the little child you remember. A sad smile crept on your face. You weren't sad but the nostalgia hit you so unexpected. Due to your silence your daughter turns around now facing you. Trying to lighten the atmosphere, she asks:

"What was your first date like?"

At that question you look up and you try to remember. Your parents were strict and they liked to do things the old-fashioned way, especially since they were part of the Sacred 28. Since you could grasp the concept of love and marriage, you knew that these two did not depend on each other. Shortly said: From a young age on you knew that you would end up in an arranged marriage. At that time, it seemed normal. Your parents were in one and you knew from your friends that their parents had similar plans with them. A marriage was simply an alliance between two families and if your parents would choose carefully it would be beneficial for your family's reputation. It was when you grew older that you questioned that whole concept.

It was your last year at Hogwarts and you desperately tried to find a way out of the whole situation. You knew as soon as the school year ends, there would be a marriage. On top of that you received letters from your parents every week. It was mostly your mother talking about possible husbands and that's when you decided to savor your last days in freedom and come up with a plan.

A hand on your shoulder rips you out of your thoughts. You look up and notice your daughter. Right, she asked a question.

"You see all the wisest women had to do it this way"

Your daughter slowly tilts her head to her side, a confused expression on her face.

You sigh. "You see, I was born to be a wife and a mother. When I was young, my parents planned my life for me and that plan was for me to be in an arranged marriage. Of course, I didn't want to marry someone I didn't know. I started to look myself and that's when I chose your father. He was someone my parents would definitely approve of. You know the Malfoys are a powerful family and a part of the Sacred 28 as well. They had the same morals as your grandparents. It's not like I was in love with him. He was just more extraordinary. He was someone who grasped my attention. My plan was to make him fall for me. If I could make that happen, he would go to his parents and tell them that I was a good candidate for a marriage with him. As their only son, he had that power. His parents would go to my parents and that whole marriage thing would finally be over. And after a full year of doing my little tricks and flirting with him every chance I got the letter with the date for my marriage. The rest is history" you finish.

"So you married dad without really knowing him?"

"Yes, my first date was after the marriage. That's when we started to get to know each other. I fell for him pretty quickly."

Seeing how sad you are that you didn't really get the same experiences she does now, she tries to lighten the mood.

"Cold you teach me these tricks someday?"

"You won't need them, there is no one forcing you to marry a stranger. Maybe someday when you're happily married and I have my grandchildren, I could pass them down to you. After all, they are quite useful."

A laugh escapes from your daughter's mouth and soon you join in. A knock on the door interrupts the two of you. It was Draco.

"Why is there a man at our front door asking for my daughter? And why is my daughter all dressed up?"

"Draco, we've talked about this. It's her first date. You are not ruining this" And with that you push past him and motion to your daughter to follow you. You open the front door and welcome the boy. He introduces himself and your daughter gives you a kiss on the cheek. You watch them leave and close the door. As you turn around, you already know who is standing right behind you.

"So a date?"

"Yes" you walk right past him to the living room and sit down on the couch.

He decides to drop the topic and sits down besides you, opening his arms. You slump back into them, enjoying the moment.

"I overheard your conversation"

You look up, a confused look on your face.

"Our whole story."

"Oh"

"I just wanted you to know that I knew all this time. I knew that you had that plan and the truth is I liked you. I let it all happened because you were a little bit extraordinary as well."

A smile creeps on your face and he starts to smile as well. You move your head up and the kiss is filled with love and affection. Your head lays back down on his shoulder and you both stay like that for a while, just savoring each other's presence.

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.

©2025 xitcantlast . Please do not translate, copy, or take credit for my work.

[sweetestflow3rs]

i personally think it’s so funny how amongst all the people in doltown, the main two who are vying for vani’s heart and have reciprocation ( or a form of it ) is whitney and the fuckass doctor, harper.

like whitney is self explanatory, i’ve went into depths, details of their dynamic. meanwhile, vani just started bothering harper for simply blackmail & a way to get deeper in the cult besides just being reliant on avery. which, if i had a nickel for every time vani fell hard for what started as a bit, i’d have two nickels which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird it happened twice.

[mediaheart]

it's 1:42 AM and what if i am actually aromantic.

[francesderwent]

have really been struggling with fantasy lately, can only read murder mysteries. is it because reading the Mistborn trilogy broke something in me? or is it because I don't need fantasy anymore--because I'm not pining longingly for a moment of unexpected inbreaking. I'm in a situation, quite comfortably awaiting the expected ending of simple justice.

[proto-language]

hrngnfghnfg

[anantaru]

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ hot things he does — love and deepspace

synopsis. hot things he does while doing it

including. zayne, xavier, rafayel, sylus, caleb

warnings. fem! reader, oral (fem! receiving), fingering, cockwarming, dry humping, dirty talk, tit play, brat taming, petnames used: sweetheart, baby

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ zayne + holding your body like he owns it

from what you've gathered, zayne always starts obsessing over your mouth while being in you first— his thumb carefully resting on your lip, tilting your face up like he's examining something delicate, quite precious, his darling, his life.

naturally, your cheeks rise in temperature beneath his grip, your skin dewy with sweat and pheromones and the way he looks at you was just so steady it made your belly twist tight. yet zayne doesn't need to say a lot, in fact, he doesn't have to, he just keeps his eyes locked on yours forevermore, watching every flicker of your lashes, every shiver that rolls down your spine as his cock pushes in with slow, thick and dragging thrusts, making you feel the strong tremors in your thighs.

"you feel that, you feel me?" he asks huskily, but not gentle, you notice there was something seething beneath it, something tight, like it took him insane effort not to filthily fuck into you, "that shake in your legs, fuck, you can take it all like that for me? thats not fair, is it?" as you shake your head frantically at him, skin flustered when he smirks at you.

"that's your body giving in, you know?" and then he starts, thrusts after thrusts, hard and deep all the way in, hips sharp and pelvis grinding against your overstimulated clit with every goddamn drag— and in this situation, all you could really do was sob and twitch as zayne catches your noises with his palm on your mouth, still holding your face, making you look at him.

the way he fills you to the brim was nerve racking, the way every inch of his pulses like he's aching to come, but won't, not until you do as his thumb finds your clit and rubs fast circles through the protective skin of it, too intense yet you needed more when he just moaned out your name, loving your frame jerking under him, all from overstimulation and burning want.

"that's what i want baby," zayne grunts, voice fraying around the edges, "that exact sound, that exact fucking look," as a deep groan claws out of him when you tighten around his length, his hips snapping forward when you do it again.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ xavier + becomes controlling over your pleasure

xavier doesn't touch you the way normal men touch, you see, there's no rush to his movements— no hunger on the surface as his breath remained even and his hands steady, his voice staying clinical as he sits at the foot of the bed, one hand pressed flat to your trembling inner thigh while the other disappears between your legs, fingers curling in filling strokes.

he watches the way your stomach flinches, the ripple of your thighs when he presses just a little deeper and the way your hips buck, chasing friction like instinct, and then jolt back in shame when you realize how carefully he's observing your entire frame.

"don't look away, you hear me," xavier's voice spills out like cold metal dragged across skin, remaining glacial at its core, "i want you to see what i see, how you fall apart for me, how you spasm every time i do this—" as he crooks his fingers again, making you choke on your breath as your toes curl, your cunt clamping down around him with a squelch so obscene it makes your whole body jerk upwards.

"you're soaked baby, fuck, have been for minutes, i've barely done anything," xavier's gaze alone pins you down, fierce and unblinking as his jaw ticks once— like he's bracing himself for the ruin he's about to make of you, "—and yet, you're trembling like i've fucked you raw."

well, okay, lets be honest here— you are trembling, in fact, your thighs just won't stop twitching even if you focus on them very hard.

the heat was just too much— sickly sweet and humiliating, a swelling ache that lived in your belly and climbed higher every time he curled his fingers up and rubs, fuck, you're soaking the sheets, desperately so, your slick dripping down his wrist and touching him up— quite hilarious, wasn't it? if you consider that xavier still hasn't even taken his shirt off yet.

you try to reach down and press his hand deeper into your cunt to find any friction on your clit, to relieve this maddening, building pressure that's leaving your vision white at the edges, yet his other hand shoots out— clamping around your wrist with enough strength to make you wince.

"don't," he says softly, but the warning inside was unmistakable, "don't, you're not allowed to interfere,"

you sob out his name in high tunes as your stomach tightens when he adds another finger, thighs shaking violently, you want, no, need, to have him closer, perhaps even have his tongue stroke through your hole to chase that spark building behind your ribs, but he won't let you.

"it's more interesting when you're desperate," xavier admits bluntly, withdrawing his fingers for a second— watching the way your cunt clenches around nothing, trying to hold onto digits, fluttering from the emptiness.

after waiting for a little, he slips them back in slowly, dragging them along your soaked walls, watching you flinch and twitch and cry out for him— and that's what ultimately made it worse, because xavier knows, he knows exactly how your body worked, exactly what it needed to cum, and he's purposely giving you just less than enough.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ rafayel + needs to cookwarm you

understandably, rafayel was panting even before he pushed himself into you, yet when he finally did— it's slow, thick, shivering with restriction which didn't last, "oh fuck," his adams apple bobs as he chokes on his spit, his head dropping against your shoulder with his voice hoarse of disbelief, "you're so tight, baby, so warm, you feel—" the man cannot even finish, truly, he can't.

his breath hitches instead, hips jerking deeper as rafayel curses again and again, low and against your neck, like each inch of you that swallowed him was tearing the sanity from his bones. he bottoms out once, twice, fucking into you faster to switch and choose between the perfect rhythm as he finally settles his entire shaft inside you, his body shuddering like he's about to cum then and there.

because the moment he fit his entire length in you, you clench around him furiously— tight and fluttering, pulsing with that needy ache as his mouth drops open with a broken gasp, "don't do that," he begs, barely above a whisper, "don't fucking squeeze like that— I'll fucking lose it," as he leans over you, forearms bracketing your head and forehead pressed to yours, hips twitching in shallow motions because even the smallest shift made you both cry out into each others lips.

"can i stay like this, baby?" he kisses along your jaw, "see how good we fit, how full you are, you're holding onto me like you never want me to leave," and then he thrusts up, fathomless and without restriction before dragging himself out just enough to feel the strong stretch of you, then sliding right back to the hilt— where he then stays, twitching inside with a sound closer to a sob than a moan.

you were so full at this point— achingly so, you could feel every vein of him, every curl and turn, the way his cock throbbed inside you like it's your own heartbeat as your legs shake around his waist from how heavy it made you feel, how close it made you too, fuck, how tight it got when your body flinched from the overwhelming pulses of him inside.

your stomach knots as your breath stutters, drinking in his moans again— helplessly kissing him as he completely took over your body, "can't even think about pulling out—" his hips move again, this time faster, barely pulling himself back, the drag of his cock so intense your back instantly arched from it, sparks flashing behind your eyes.

his hips slam deep, once, twice— and he's gone, voice catching as he releases with brutal force, cock pulsing as he comes inside you, deep, hot, thick, all of it, yeah? so much it spills back out with the next thrust— and still, he doesn't stop.

"again," he pants, "i'm not done, i'm not done, need you to keep me inside, don't let me go, don't let me fucking go—" rafayel kisses you, like he's trying to fuse into you, believing that if he can keep your cunt around his dripping dick long enough, he'll never have to leave.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ sylus + obsessed with your tits

as one might expect, sylus doesn't even get your clothes off properly nor doesn't care if they tear, he's practically panting as he pulls your top down, lips already brushing hot over your chest before he even gets a full look, "fuck, fuck, you're so—" his breath hits your doused skin, his eyes wild and pupils blown, voice slurred like he's drunk on the barest sight of you, "you don't know what you do to me, you don't know how long i've thought about this."

then his mouth hits your tits and it's instantly wet, it's hot, all of it, it's filthy too, the way he latches onto your nipple with a groan so guttural it shakes through your ribs. his tongue rolls along your tits in slow circles as his teeth scrape, and when you arched into his body, twitching from how sensitive you were, he grins, "yeah, like that, that's what i wanna see," as he palms your tits with both hands and squeezes, pushing them together so he can bury his face between them and moan, like he's drowning in them, like he wants to live there forever.

your entire frame was on fire, thighs slick with your arousal, hips grinding into air— because he hasn't even touched you there yet, sylus couldn't find time, not properly, just the drag of his thigh between yours was enough he believed, or just the occasional graze of knuckles when he shifts to kiss the other nipple.

he wants it that way as he glances down once and groans— loudly like it's hurting him to wait, "you're messing up my pants," he smirks, rutting against your leg, leaking against your skin, "just from me sucking your tits like this? look at what a mess you are baby," sylus shoves his hand between your legs, fuck, finally, right? rubbing through your soaked pussy, smearing your slick up to your clit and back down, lazy and greedy all at once, "you want more? you wanna cum just from this?"

but do not mistake him because his mouth stays at your chest the whole time, he's addicted, mouthing one nipple while his fingers sink inside, scissoring your tight hole.

your back arches instantly and you're soaked, even more now and fuck, you're overstimulated from every side, your clit aching from how close you were yet he doesn't stop sucking on your sensitive nipples, doesn't stop grinding against your thigh like a man gone mad.

"you're perfect," he gasps, "you're perfect, let me have you like this, let me watch you come with my mouth on your tits— let me feel you fucking pulse around my fingers while i suck your tits, baby," as he grunts into your skin, "i'll ruin you like this, i'll make it so every time you touch yourself, you'll think about my mouth here— my tongue, my teeth, how fucking hard i came grinding against you."

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ caleb + cannot stop praising you

"you're so good," caleb whispers to you as if he's confessing something protected, his touch weighted with awe, a worship that trembles through his fingers, slithering up your thighs, then moving over to your waist, ultimately cupping your face, "so good, baby, I can't, i can't even—"

the sentence dies on his tongue because, well, he's too busy looking, you know? at you, in fact, at where he's inside you, at the way your lips part and your body arches up every time he shoves his cock inside you greedily.

and you feel everything, caleb made sure of that— the stretch, the slip, the depth, fuck, he's thick, hot, and so careful at first— so slow it's almost cruel, each inch dragging against your walls until your hands hold onto him for dear life, chasing more, chasing him.

caleb says your name through passion— like the pleasure was too good, too deep, so insane it might break him.

he's repeatedly brushing his lips over your cheek as he thrusts just a little harder, a little further so he could stroke over your sweet spot, taking your frame through new spots of awareness, "taking me so well, you're perfect, just perfect," as his voice cracks when you clench down, "you're so fucking good, too good— i'm not strong enough for you, sweetheart, not when you feel like this."

don't be afraid because, well, caleb will stop fucking you so slow and sensually at some point, even your boyfriend had limits and couldn't push back on his pleasure for eternity.

you whimper when he begins to slide against your sweet spot again, this time faster and caleb snaps, a groan ripping out of him, needy and raw as he's suddenly fucking you like he's starved for it— like you're the only thing in the world that made sense to him, his cock hitting so impactful your ability to breathe evenly was questioned, your back remained curved, your thighs shaking with every thick drag.

"you're so warm, so tight around me— fuck, i feel you everywhere," his hands grip your waist harder, pulling you against his pelvis as he thrusts, making it purposefully more extensive, messier too so you'll make those wet, nasty sounds for him, "you're squeezing me, baby, you don't even know what you do to me—"

your skin prickles from how much he worships you whenever you were intimate with each other, how he sounds ruined with gratitude, ruined with your cunt constricting around him ever so tightly, milking him, how he looked down and watches your bodies join like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen— your arousal and his cum spreading over your thighs, his cock glistening with every pullout as his breath stutters when he sees it, "you're making such a mess— i love it, i love you like this—"

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[madamechrissy]

Took you Like a Shot

Pairings- Rich Frat/fuckboi Toru x Preppy Sorority reader

Summary- One VERY drunk encounter between your greatest rival ever - on your last day of college- leads to you being knocked up. Satoru Gojo, a fuckboy, fratboy, rich little jerk, has been a rival of yours since you all met in College, every damn grade you fought for he got with ease. He crashed every Sorority party you threw. The two of you are so infamous in your rivalry, your friend groups were rivals, and for some reason, life is playing some damn joke on you both. Now... you have to tell him the news - but how Satoru takes it surprises you. Can you both raise a baby together!? And do you even really know each other?

Contents/Warnings- gonna be flashbacks to the rivalry/that night, nerdjo but make him a fratboy, enemies to kind of begrudging partners, but then as the pregnancy progresses, they fall in love hehe (gojo is an idiot) - fluffy and smutty, MDNI -will have explicit sex etc- 4 parts (I THINK) in this chap- flashbacks of explicit sex with dirty talk, weed smoking (Satoru and his boys aha) mentions of sex, lots of humor, enemies to loversss- WC- this chap- 8k- art in the banner by Yuana on X

Comments and reblogs so appreciated if you enjoyy <3

Masterlist - Playlist- Chapter Two>>> (extras here)

Chapter One

It had been an absolutely filthy night, that led to your doctor coming in and informing you three months later-

'You're pregnant'

You came in for a normal checkup, you're on the pill and you have no sex life, aside from one encounter almost three months ago. A filthy, questionable ass encounter with what so happened to be your former 'bully' - rich boy, frat boy, pretty boy, pretentious boy- Satoru Gojo.

For years, the two of you were rivals, not just academic either, since you were both top of your class all through college, but at everything. He'd hold your notebooks high and laugh at you, he'd try to ruin and crash every sorority event he could. Known as the Queen and King of the campus, you ran the rivaling Sorority to his Fraternity. The amount of times you all had gone toe to toe was literally notorious, even your best friends hated each other on your behalf, starting an entire war between you all.

You have no clue how it happened, still, how the two of you had the best sex of your life at that damn party, fueled by drinks but also something you'd never admit- you've always wondered. Hearing those stories about his... skills, seeing his perfect body and the way his pretty lips smirked so cruelly in your direction, even after all these years- how it all led to this moment.

'Hah, sweets, ya finally admit I'm good at something?' Satoru had murmured in your ear, while he'd had you bent right over some bed at some party- both of you were seniors in college on your last and final party, finally you thought you'd be rid of him, of this ass of a man. He was going to live the rich life, working for his family, and you were moving on to a whole different career.

'One t-thing... that's it...' You had cried out when his cock had shoved in so deep, making you cum all over him, his fingers gripping your hips while he'd pumped deeper and deeper, impossibly until he'd been right on your cervix. 'F-fuck!'

'Fuck... you had a pussy like this and we've been fighting!?' Satoru is whispering, resting his snowy locks against your neck, biting it with sharp teeth as you milk his cock. 'So greedy, huh?'

'S-shut up, mnh- just... keep... there, there shit!' Satoru had slammed right against your cervix, feeling you pulsing around him, it had been too good, too tight, too fucking wet, he'd paused then, looking at your arched ass, your skirt shoved over your hips. 'Keep g-going, please...'

'M'gonna cum, tho-she's too tight- shit can I?' 

Your drunk ass had said- sure. You're precise on that pill, every day your alarm goes off in the morning, you take it. How could...

"Pregnant!?" You repeat. Unbelievable. No fucking way. You...

"Yes sweetie I suggest prenatal and an ultrasound, hmm?" The nurse says so sweetly, as you feel sick to your stomach, which your hand goes down to touch.

Pregnant. With rich, notorious fuckboy Satoru Gojo’s baby- now you would have to tell him!?

Shit.

You take the results in a shaky hand, mind swirling as the doctor goes on and on, some crazy distant humming in your head, there’s no way, it can’t be. You’re literally starting your journalism career, thinking you’d maybe gained a few pounds from stress and ramen, the interning was absolutely brutal, you’re never regular on your periods, hence the birth control in the first place.

Running coffees here and there, grabbing this and that for everyone above you, but you were now officially hired, and you were making good money for once, finally able to pay down some of your pesky student loans and get a nice car. You worked hard for it, for everything, despite many thinking leading a sorority meant you came from money, you were a scholarship girl.

That’s a huge reason you and Satoru always clashed, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, easily acing every test that you busted your ass for, things came easy to him, you worked for it. Achieving the highest you could in your graduating class, the little shit that came to school hungover grinned right next to you, like a goddamn plague, and you hoped that finally he was gone for good.

What bonded two people like you now?

Well…

“Do you need to go over your options, hunny?” One of the nurses says, touching your shoulder with a gentle smile, you shake your head then, clearing your throat.

“I just need to… think.”

You’re pacing back and forth in your apartment, feet padding gently along the hardwood floor, cell phone in your hand, staring at the phone number that just got sent to you by Shoko. She was Satoru’s friend and yours, which was rare given the ongoing student warfare zone you all created. You’d texted her a simple- hey do you have Gojo’s number- not going into details.

How do you even tell him?

What do you say!?

You psych yourself up, finally dialing it, when he picks up the phone after the second ring, murmuring - “Hello.” God, even him answering what he assumes is a stranger is snarky.

“Um, hey.” Gojo pauses at the sound of your voice, faltering just for a moment, as his friends bounce a basketball around a court outside, he sits down on the bench, vivid images filling his head. “It’s-”

“Think I don’t know your annoying voice by heart, sweetheart?” You roll your eyes, sighing and plopping down on your couch.

“Yeah, well… I got your number from Shoko.”

“Need a second round? Should have guessed.” He’s gesturing to Suguru and Sukuna, who roll their eyes at him, and he puts his voice down an octave. “I could be convinced.”

“Jesus christ, Gojo.” You almost hang up, feeling your tummy tighten then, almost nauseous, realizing you had to talk to him. “Are you, I don’t know, um… free for lunch or anything?” You despise the words falling from your lips.

“Asking me on a date, huh? So bold, I like it.” Satoru winks now at his friend’s shocked expressions, muting for a moment, telling them it was you.

“No fucking way.” Sukuna says, Suguru snorts in laughter and Satoru just grins, unmuting you again.

“I guess I could be convinced.” He purrs out those words, chuckling. “Hmm, we could go to that nice place on Hollywood ave hmm? Perfect Sushi.”

Your tummy growls, but then you frown, remembering that Sushi is on your damn list not to eat, you curse internally, peering at this list of everything you should never do or consume, and it specifically says raw fish right there. “Do they have cooked Sushi there?”

“Pshh, you’re such a prissy ass, can’t eat raw huh? Didn’t mind it raw from what I remember.” You hate this man.

“You know what never-”

“Shit, I was just kidding.” He panics, thinking you hung up, hearing your irritated sigh then. “Yeah I think they do. Why do you even wanna hang out, ya wanna nag me in person?” He spins his basketball effortlessly on his finger, acting all calm, as if he wasn’t dying to be buried in your perfect pussy again. “Miss being bitchy to me so bad?”

God he wanted to have you on his face, have you sucking him, he wanted for so much more than you all got to do, drunken fingers and your muted cries as he’d had a big hand tight over your mouth. His cock twitches under his basketball shorts just remembering how slick and hot you were, god how you fucking felt gripping him so damn tight.

Satoru had felt you pulsing around him as he reached his arm around you, pressing his fingertips to your clit in circles, as you’re crying out against his palm, practically drooling against him. ‘There you go, cumming so easy f’me huh?’ he taunts, as his own eyes roll back, feeling your pussy drool against his hand.

‘Mnh!’ was all you managed to murmur against his hand, as he feels your gummy walls spasm around his cock, his blue eyes roll back at how perfect you feel, how long he’s dreamed of this.

‘F-finally got you to shut up, hmm?’ He taunts you, normally you’d have something smart to say, but not as he’s overstimulating your little clit, pulling it away as you damn near collapse on the mattress, your thighs shaking, he wants to kiss you so bad, but you’re burying your face, arching your ass.

‘F-fuck you, Gojo- ah!’

The memories are so vivid Satoru can barely calm his thoughts, hearing you say his name in that irritated little voice, the one that drove him insane from day fucking one, the moment he’d met you. Prissy little thing with so much to prove, he thinks you still feel that way, which the biggest secret Satoru had for you had almost spilled on that last drunken night, the night he was inside you was…

He's always wanted you, not that he'd ever admit that however.

Ever.

“Is like three okay?” You're interrupting his thoughts now, as he clears his throat.

“Three rounds?”

You’re scowling at the phone as you question your life’s choices at this very moment. “Three o'clock, my god, for lunch.”

“Sounds good, it gives us time later, to… you know.” You glare at the phone, unbelievable, he’s ridiculous! 

“Time for what?” Satoru chuckles at your high pitched question.

“Don't be shy, sweets, no need to pretend. I remember it all in vivid detail, every little bit.” Your cheeks heat up, hand clutching the phone tightly, trying to calm yourself and focus.

“Just lunch, that’s all I’m asking you for. Sounds good?”

“Want me to pick you up in my-”

“No, I'll meet you. Okay um…. Bye.” You hang up, breath coming quickly, you couldn't just tell him on the damn phone, this needed to be in person.

The thought of his pretty yet annoying ass presence damn near makes your head spin… would he think it's all a joke? Some scam to get with him or get money?

You're fucking terrified, standing and staring in the mirror, rubbing your tummy and frowning as you do. A damn baby… Likely raising it alone, knowing Satoru all these years, partying, insane and so immature. Even on the phone, he’s so damn cocky and self sure, that this must absolutely be what you want, to have him, as if you are over here pining away.

The sex was amazing to put it lightly, and sure if he was a decent guy, and not a fucking ass of a man, you’d have done it again, but the walk of shame that morning had been the most embarrassing day of your life. His little smirk after you woke up, plump lips too damn glossy for his own good, yawning and stretching half naked, cock already hard as he’d tapped his lap.

‘Another round, sweets? Come to daddy.’

You scoff even at the memory, at the audacity of fuckboi Satoru Gojo, you had run out so quickly he hadn’t had a moment to speak, and you swore to yourself never, ever again. Who cared if his cock was so big it hit places you didn’t know existed, and who cared if you’ve never felt that way, fuck you wish he actually wasn’t as good at it as he was.

Perfect at everything, infuriatingly, even fucking.

You get a text from the guy you were currently at least flirting with a bit here and there, the one you suggested going on a date, and then it all starts to hit, you’re pregnant and quite likely going to be some single mom. You couldn’t just go on dates, everything is completely different, maybe forever truly.

“Twenty Two year old single mom.” You grumble, sighing a bit as you text him you’re busy.

Busy.

*****

Satoru waits nervously at the restaurant, he doesn’t really do dates, he usually spends his time in the bedroom with a girl then runs right off. Shit, he’s never even gone without a condom before you, but when you’d said hurry up and put it in, who the fuck was he to tell you no? Not only had it felt superb, he never wanted to leave that perfect pussy.

Of course you would have the most perfect pussy.

You had to be the best at everything, all the time, didn’t you? Always competing for that top spot, but Satoru always just barely got past you, that .01% of that GPA, winning every contest over you always by just a tiny bit. From the moment you glared up at him and crossed your arms, he knew it, he had to do everything he could to win against your cute little ass.

Here’s the thing… Satoru never hated you, but he loves to say he does, you both say you do, or… well, said. Considering you slept with him and didn’t say a single word after, it’s not like he’s hard to find, but each of you actively refused to add each other on socials, though Satoru will admit he stalks your IG, you’re too fucking pretty not to do so, not that he’d ever like a post.

Once he accidentally did, god he wanted to be like those pathetic simps in your comments, but he’s not that, he’s Satoru Gojo. Women come to him, women come easy too, you of course were never one to come near him in that way, no you’d look at him getting smacked in the face on campus with a grin, vowing to your friends that you’d never be one of his conquests.

That night, though, it was like he lost himself, the most stupid, corny shit Satoru could think of, that last night of his freedom before being forced to take over his family’s business. You and everyone probably thought he wanted to, but of course he fucking didn’t, he didn’t want a part of the Gojo corporation in any way, shape or form.

Satoru felt lost, honestly.

Self sure, confident, conceited clearly, talking far too much shit and laughing, picking on you every chance he got, showing up to all your sorority parties in various stages of undress to lure your friends to him. He’ll never forget him, Sukuna and Suguru crashing your ABC party, wearing nothing but cut open beer boxes, and you so happened to have some white claw box made bikini.

God you’d been sexy, but when he stole all the attention? Oh he’s never seen you more mad.

Well no, he has.

Gojo loved to make you mad, because you’re so damn cute when your nose scrunches up, when your pretty eyes narrow, there was nothing like your huffs as you would cross your arms and shift your hips just so. And if there was anything Gojo was absolutely perfect at, amongst well damn near everything, it was making you absolutely furious.

Finally Satoru sees you, dressed in this pretty blue summer dress that juts out just a bit at the waist, making his heart race for just a moment at how pretty you are. It’s not like he forgot… but god. Are your tits bigger he wonders, or is he just obsessed with them, as always, looking too hard. Your cheeks are this beautiful color, your eyes so bright, like… some damn glow about you.

How corny is he lately.

He puts on a smirk as he leans back, waving with his fingers to gesture you over, and you look at him so damn seriously, sitting across from him, hands entwined together in front of you on the table for a moment, as you eye him carefully. “Gojo, um… how are you?’

Who the fuck is this girl in your body!?

You don’t nervously ask shit, you tell Gojo to fuck off, you glare or scowl while he smirks, what’s this… shy ass shit? He frowns a bit now, you exhale and slide off your purse, letting it sit on the seat next to you, he can’t stop staring at your lips, clearly bitten to fucking hell.

He tries to feign that he’s fine, that he hasn’t missed you, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. He missed your daily arguments on campus, he missed you being a total brat. He misses your scent, god that vanilla sugar body spray was haunting his very dream.

He acts as if he hadn’t died to hit you up, but he stopped himself. He couldn’t go that far, not with you, not with what you did to him, how you’ve damn near destroyed any game for himself any longer. That one night with you had sunk into him so deeply, he wishes it was just good pussy, and not whatever this was.

He’s jerked it off to you every fucking night since, to the point is damn dick doesn’t even work, he sure also wouldn’t admit that he can’t even fuck a girl because you were so good. Some evil witch that did something, it must be, he has at this point just given up trying, until whatever curse you gave him falls the fuck off.

But god you look good in front of him.

He should tell you, but instead he swipes a hand through his silky white locks and smirks right at you. “Missed me so badly, sweets?”

You roll your pretty eyes as the menu comes, smiling and thanking the hostess, a smile reserved for anyone in the world but him, even when he’d had you cumming all over him, you weren’t smiling. No, but you were drooling then.

‘Ah, look at you, so fuckin pathetic f’me, huh? Thought you hated me, sorority brat’ Satoru had huffed, as he’d fingered your cunt, curling inside of your slick walls, watching your pretty fucked out face. ‘Just from fingers?’

‘I do h-hate you- mnh!’ Your sparkly manicured nails dug into his broad shoulders as your tight walls convulsed around him, as he hit that spot that no man had ever found in a moment.

Perfect at everything, stupid Satoru.

‘Feel her, god she’s so desperate, huh?’

“Fuck you I- there, shit!’ you’d rolled your hips, grinding right on his hand, pussy drooling as you came from his fingers before he’d even put his cock inside you, and Satoru’s cock was leaking against his boxers, twitching as he pictures how perfect you’d felt around him. ‘Fuck you for being so g-good at that!’

‘Oh, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.’ He’d turned you then, whispering a ‘bend over, just like that, gonna be a big stretch, hmm?’

Satoru struggles to calm his memory, focusing on that sexy mouth of yours moving, realizing words are coming out of them, blinking to focus.

“How are you doing, Gojo?” You ask softly, always Gojo, you never called him Satoru, and he always called you sweets, short stuff, your last name, also never your first.

But he wanted to call you a lot of things, one of them being-

Stop that Satoru.

“I’m doing great, of course, miss me so much?” He teases, winking at you and sipping on the sickeningly sweet Shirley temple he’d had them buy, you just grab a water, hand flitting to your tummy for a moment. “You’re not sick are you?”

“No, not sick just… yeah we needed to talk. Is that okay?”

Satoru leans forward, raising a thin white brow. “You seem weird, everything okay?”

“Well… shit. I guess I’ll just say this. Um…” You tuck your hair behind your ear, looking out the window at the bustling city for a moment, before looking back at him. “Remember that night?”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do all this to have a repeat.” His hand comes to your thigh, and that’s when you curse this pregnancy, because your nipples tighten, your cunt gets hot and wet from that.

Fuck hormones.

You take a breath, glaring as you always do at Satoru, the only time you never had was when he’s had your face with a slutty O for your mouth, your eyes rolled back, nails gripping those sheets. You shove his hand off, hoping he couldn’t feel your heat that quickly, as your body responds stupidly in a damn sushi restaurant.

“It’s not that, it’s important. Can you ever be serious in your life!?” You say quietly, and it’s his turn to glare, taking his hand back, sipping his drink again.

“Well just spit it out. What is all this, then?”

“It’s… I… You…” Shit, if ever you needed a drink it was now, and you damn sure wouldn’t have one for a good six months or more.

“It’s… I…. You…” He mocks, and you stand then, so furious your heart is racing, snatching up your purse.

“Never mind, I should have known you’re-”

“Shit, just sit. Sorry. Okay?” He grips your delicate wrist in his big hand, and even that is wrecking you, against your better judgement and everything you feel. “I’m sorry, it seems… serious. Just sit down and spit it out.”

You sit back down now, shifting as you both make your orders, a thankful distraction. As the waitress leaves, you sigh. “I don’t want anything from you, first off, so don’t think that.”

“What?” He blinks in confusion.

“I don’t need help, I can do it myself.”

“Do what!?”

“But you have to know… it’s the right thing to do, to tell you.” You look up at the ceiling, gathering your thoughts.

“Is this… are you in love with me, because of how good it was? Shit, that’s okay baby, everyone-”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What!?” You just sit there, seriously staring, as he blinks, looking at fuller breasts, your damn glow, thinking of every dumb thing he’s heard. “You’re… by who?” He whispers, and you flush then, shifting in your seat, sipping more of your water, condensation cool on your hot palm, your skin is burning, heart is racing.

“I was on the pill, religiously, I swear, I never missed one. Shit, until I found out I never missed… I… never would have done it like we did if I knew.” You feel sick as he gapes at you, his pretty blue eyes bulging out damn near, his mouth dropped open. “I expect no help, no involvement, we’re young. I just-”

“This a joke, right?” You take another breath, hand gripping the glass, eyeing those around you all, engulfed in conversations.

“It’s not a joke.” He’s laughing now, smacking his thigh, and your jaw tenses as he does.

“It’s you and your damn friends, someone recording!? Hah-”

“It’s not a joke.” You clear your throat now, leaning in your purse and pulling out the papers, with your name, the results, watching his expression shift, brows drawing low, his jaw tense. “It’s only been you, no one else for an entire year.”

“A whole year?” He eyes you again, and you flush under his gaze, as his hands shake, hands you’ve never seen shake, hands that dribble basketballs, that tossed footballs, all with ease.

Hands that…

Fuck, don’t think of it.

“I’m not… I was too busy.” Besting Gojo, competing with Gojo, you had no time for shit with him, your anger at him shone so brightly it was hard to think about men. “As I said, you don’t need to pay for anything, this isn’t that conversation, this is just me letting you know. I’m keeping it.”

Satoru continues to blink at you, staring open mouthed, at your face, then your body, then back to your face, over and over, while the waitress brings out the food, smiling curiously at the two of you. Satoru doesn’t make a move to touch his food, running his hand through his now messy white locks again, as his mind spins.

“I know you’re wealthy, I don’t want you thinking I want some piece of it. I’ll take care of them alone, please don’t worry.” You touch your tummy, the motion making Satoru fucking feral in some way he can’t put together, just continuing to stare at you in utter shock as the sushi sits in front of the two of you. “I can leave, now, we don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” He murmurs finally, voice hoarse.

“Act like we are civil, act like we’re anything but college enemies, fucking rivals, not even friends. God I know you hate me, I know this was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” He whispers.

“Yes, for both of us. You don’t deserve your life uprooted, sure I can’t stand you, but this is my fuck up. I said those words…”

‘Cum in me, f-fucking cum in me, mnh…’ you’d arched your back, as his long fingers wrapped your throat, god he’d never felt anything like you.

‘Want me to fill your pussy s’good, huh lil brat?’ you just whine, muscles clenching on his cock, and he’d groaned in your ear then, shoving deep inside your drooly cunt. ‘Beg for it, then’

Oh, you had.

You hated him for it.

“It’s my fault, so don’t worry. But I wanted to be transparent, but I am… indeed, pregnant.”

“Pregnant, like, with a baby?” Satoru whispers, and You giggle then, for the first time since you found out, covering your mouth just a bit as he just stares.

“Yeah, a baby.”

“Mine…” His words send something through the both of you.

“Yours, but only if you want to be involved. I know it was a hate fuck, we’re young, we have lives-”

“You got a… like that scan shit set up?”

“Ultrasound?” He nods, nervously, hands clenching the table so hard you see the veins popping up through his thin skin. “I do, next week. I mean it is a couple months already, so I will see something, not like… the sex but…”

“Can I go?”

You blink in shock now. “You want to?”

“Yeah. I mean… why wouldn’t I?” He rubs the back of his neck, as the life he thought, the mundane one of following his damn family, of being a pawn in a bigger scheme, everything flashes.

It changes.

He’s scared shitless, but…

“I want to be involved. If you want me to be.” You blink back tears, but you fail, and if it’s one thing, Satoru Gojo has never seen his preppy ass Sorority rival cry, not fucking once.

He falters as those tears run down your cheeks, he leans over, hesitantly, the only physical contact aside from that fateful night was him shoving at you teasingly, or you smacking at him. Shit you all hadn’t hugged, you never even kissed aside from that night, sloppy and messy. But he doesn’t stop, until his thumb brushes your cheek, and you gasp.

“Shit I’m crying. Stupid hormones.” You huff now, swiping at your own eyes with shaky little hands. “You really wanna go?”

“Yeah if it’s cool?”

Satoru’s shocking you, the world tilts on its axis, like you’re having some insane dream. This can’t be real, can it? It’s fuckboi, frat boy Gojo, the man who goes through girls like they’re candy, the man who takes nothing serious, who has the world handed to him.

“Gojo, if you want to go of course you can, to any and all appointments, but you’re under no obligation, and please know I can cover the costs.”

“I know you’d never take my money, shit even if I offered, stubborn ass little brat that you are.” You manage a breathless giggle, the second one, realizing he is still brushing that thumb against your cheek, before he clears his throat. “So, tell me what day, I'll be there.”

“Yeah, are you sure? It will make it so… real, you know?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Now eat your cooked sushi, aren’t you like eating for two or some shit?”

You take your chopsticks with a shaky hand, exhaling. “I was reading, I think they are like the size of a pea maybe. But, this is yummy looking.”

“Gonna be a huge ass baby, shit.”

“Oh god!” You eye his lanky body, and he’s grinning, Satoru is grinning!? Shocking you further.

Maybe you don’t know him like you think?

“Tits are gonna get so big.”

Never mind.

*****

“An ultrasound!? A baby? Fuck…” Suguru Geto inhales the blunt, sucking the smoke into his lungs as Satoru nervously paces Sukuna and Suguru’s apartment, Satoru chose to live in his own place, closer to work. But he frequently gets shitfaced and crashes out at their place.

“Sounds fucking insane, shit.” Sukuna chuckles, as he’s hitting a bong, inhaling and exhaling, broad shoulders shaking as he coughs. “You look like you could use a hit or something.

“Before the ultrasound? Shit I need more than weed. I’m freaking the fuck out right now.”

“Imagine you as a dad though hah!” Sukuna smacks his thigh, as Satoru glares now, stopping his pacing while the music plays, the same music Satoru remembers doing keg stands and playing beer pong in togas to, only to now have the possibility of being responsible for a whole human being.

“Can’t even keep a plant alive, shit.” Suguru says in between laughs, and Satoru raises a white brow at the two of them on the couch.

“You two are so supportive.”

“Well shit, she said you don’t have to be involved, you can always just like… send money and shit? Do you really want a whole kid?” Sukuna asks, and Satoru takes a breath, pacing once more as he runs hands through disheveled hair over and over.

“Do I want a whole kid, no, I never even… I mean I figured eventually, as the Gojo heir, blah blah blah.” Satoru slumps in a nearby recliner, as Suguru hands him the blunt, frowning a bit now.

“You do need a hit. You’re young, it’s not time to give your family fuckin’ heirs yet, is it?”

“They’d probably be delighted.” Satoru rolls those cerulean eyes, inhaling the smoke into his lungs and leaning back, staring up at the ceiling, as the black fans above them swirl, moving the puffy clouds of smoke all around. His nostrils fill with the scent of the Sativa, wishing he could make sense of his thoughts. “Not delighted that it’s out of wedlock and unplanned.”

“Imagine her marrying you.” Sukuna and Suguru laugh loudly again, as Satoru hits the blunt again, not passing it.

“The fucks that mean?”

“She hates you. God I think more than anyone.” Suguru says, and Satoru smirks just a bit.

“She sure didn’t hate this dick.”

“Oh!” He’s slapping hands with his friends as Sukuna and Suguru start to make the most obscene gestures, while you call, and he shushes them quickly, trying to compose himself.

“Hello?”

“Gojo, hey. Um, ultrasound is in an hour, I’m heading out soon if you want to meet up?”

“Why don’t I have my driver pick you up?” He asks, and Suguru and Sukuna continue the gestures, making Satoru snort in laughter, the weed starting to enter his bloodstream.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just thought it would be more convenient in this traffic.” He shoots a wink at his friends.

“I mean… sure?” Satoru mouths yes, pumping his fist, clearing his throat now.

“It’ll be easier this way, alright send me your addy I’ll head out.”

“All right.” You just hang up, such a rude little thing. Satoru has changed your name to Sorority Brat in his phone for a good reason.

“What are you gonna do though, man?” Suguru murmurs thoughtfully, his dark violet eyes narrowed, clearly blitzed. “Gonna like… be with her?”

“Could cum in her whenever now.” Sukuna bursts out in laughter as Satoru glares at the two of them.

“Grow up…” They blink at him, then Satoru grins wide. “Nah, that would be a perk, because her pussy my god.”

They both scooch up, elbows on their thighs, avidly staring at Satoru now. “Details, man, it’s like the one girl you never told us about?” Sukuna asks.

“Because you’re in love.”

“Pshh, in love!?”

“Haven’t seen you with anyone since.” Suguru earns Satoru’s middle finger, as he puts out the blunt, stretching and earning their pouts.

“Bet she’s so good, though, all angry and shit, bet she’s a freak.” Satoru doesn’t even know if you’re a freak necessarily, but as Suguru agrees, he glares at them both, crossing his arms.

“This has been the worst pep talk in fucking history.”

“Shit, what’s your decision?” Suguru asks, and Satoru’s mind races, peeking at his watch now.

“I think I’ll make it when I like… see it?”

“Alright big Daddy, then if you decide to be involved we’ll be like… their uncles and shit.” Suguru says, and Satoru grimaces.

“God no, you’ll ruin my kid.”

“Fuck off now.” Sukuna starts hitting his blunt again, Satoru walks out away from them and spritzes cologne all along himself, he knows your prissy self never smoked weed, no you were a little goodie goodie. He thinks the only time he saw you drink was a little at parties, but never like that last night.

He remembers just looking at you asleep when he’d woken up, and the tenderness he felt when he had brushed your hair off your pretty face, and you’d stirred a bit. For a moment he felt his heart hammer in his chest, stone cold sober, seeing the bite marks he’d left on your delicate skin, feeling affection like he couldn’t describe, Satoru never felt that way.

He didn’t cuddle, he didn’t linger.

He ran out before they could wake up, he ran out like you did to him, perhaps he was a little nicer about it, though, you’d given no fucks when you darted out the damn door in a hurry. He had acted cocky though, full on hard just by the damn thought of your slick sticking to his cock, but instead of perhaps kissing you, he’d patted his lap and been a little shit.

He hated the recognition on your face, like he’d been a mistake, so he decided to shove you out of his brain, though he clearly failed.

Jogging down the stairs, he has his driver sent in your direction, and you get the text he’s there, stepping out in front of your little house, cute Satoru thinks, it’s small but it’s immaculate from the exterior. You have pink flowers and succulents all over the front of it when he steps out, eyeing your pretty dress, nerves starting to eat at him, but he puts on an easy smile.

“Ready to go see this little parasyte?’

“A what!?”

“Technically, it sort of is. Right, you’re like its host.” Your mouth is wide open, as you touch your tummy, and he curses. “Shit…”

“A parasyte, you’re calling our… I mean I guess my… the baby a-”

“I’m sure it’s a cute parasyte? It has a pretty host.” Satoru tries to put on the charm, the smolder, as you stare at him in shock.

Was it shocking, this was Gojo.

“Dear God.”

How’d you end up pregnant with this idiot’s baby?!

You slide into the car as you shake your head, and he covers his face, grimacing as he realizes he just told his… god what even were you, a baby mama!? That his baby was a… parasyte. Well, it is, and Satoru would typically just argue with you and let you know he’s correct and you’re wrong, but he keeps quiet, feeling you seething.

“Fire signs.” He mumbles, you look at him again.

“What?”

“You’re a fire sign, it’s why you’re so feisty. I am too, you know.” You relax just a bit, curiously.

“You believe in astrology?” You ask in shock, for as long as you’ve known Satoru Gojo, the two of you don’t really know each other.

“Baby I’m the most Saggitarius man there is.” You giggle again, fuck that’s three giggles Satgoru has counted, and how it lights up your already glowing makes him ache for you, suddenly realizing one of his long legs is brushing against you. Your warmth alone makes him throb, the vanilla sugar filling the space in the car.

“You certainly are the epitome of a Saggitarius. Don’t call me feisty, yuck.” You shove at him playfully almost, pausing a bit when you realize his body feels far too good against yours.

You may or may not have masturbated last night, and he may or may not have popped in your head, over and over. But, don’t worry, because Satoru has spent months jerking his thick length to the thought of you, not that either of you would admit that it may or may not have happened.

“This baby would be a fire sign.” You murmur then, letting your hand fall, and nervously fidgeting, Gojo’s long limbs take over so much of the car, as big as it is, Gojo’s always taken over everything, even apparently your senses.

“Would it?” He asks quietly, for once just a little serious it seems.

“Yeah, an Aries if it comes when it should.”

“So it’ll be a brat like you.”

“Psh, like you.” You roll your eyes, and the two of you fall into a bit of a silence, so much unspoken between you. “Do you know if…”

“That’s why I want to see. Make it real?”

You actually nod in understanding, surprising him then. “I get it.”

The ultrasound tech is rolling the wand over cold gel soon, as you’re embarrassingly propped up with your feet in stirrups, and Satoru stands to the side, glaring at the man who’s inserting this wand in you. He gets angry that he’s getting such a view, he doesn’t even think he saw you that much.

What he remembers…

Your pussy is very pretty.

You wince a bit as the doctor smiles up at you. “Tight muscles, huh?”

Satoru snorts in laughter, and you glare. “What!?”

“You are so tight.”

“Gojo!” You glare, and even the doctor laughs, also earning your scowl, which makes them both sober up.

“Sorry, Miss. Alright… relax, would you?” How do you relax as a doctor is shoving a wand in your coochie and your enemy, who got you pregnant somehow, is turning red holding in his lewd thoughts!? “Look at the screen.”

You and Satoru both look over now, your breath catches then, as does his, when the doctor begins to tap keys on the keyboard, and you hear it for the first time, this little… heartbeat. It’s a heartbeat.

“There it is, congratulations you two. About… ten weeks?” You’re enamored as you stare at the screen, and he moves the wand inside you. “Look there, that’s the little baby.”

Baby.

A baby.

It’s all real.

Satoru’s completely silent as tears fill your eyes, a myriad of emotions, some that you’re so connected already to a little peanut inside you, some that you don’t know how you’ll do this, some of your life. How will it alter, how will it go, what will people think… and what does the man next to you think? What will he do!?

But overwhelmingly as you feel yourself begin to cry, and the screen turns off, you feel warmth spread, touching your tummy in wonder, there’s a damn baby in your body. Your baby. Something you never considered or thought of, you figured much, much later in life, not now.

And you’d likely be…

Alone in this.

“I’ll go get a picture printed for you two.” The doctor smiles kindly, as you’re left alone, with a for once silent Satoru Gojo.

You hesitate to look at him, a stunned expression on his face as you sit up, closing your legs and biting your lower lip, he finally looks at you and exhales, seeing your tear streaked cheeks. A girl he never knew to cry or giggle has done both, and a man you never thought to be serious or quiet… was.

“Satoru um…”

“Satoru?” He asks quietly, and you flush.

“Sorry…”

“No, I don’t mind, just… crazy. This is crazy. There’s a whole life inside you!? And we made it?” You sigh, nodding then, and he shocks you as he leans down, as you’re sitting in the bed, coming so close to you, eyes swirling storms of emotions.

“You can back out now, it’s okay. I won’t put this on you, keeping it is an insane idea but… it feels right to me?” He tilts your chin up, leaning closer, to where you can taste the sweetness of his breath, as your heart pounds right in your chest. “But if you’re backing out, do it now, it will hurt… fuck it will hurt more if you get too involved, okay? Do it now.”

“I’m not backing out of shit.” You gasp, and he exhales, wiping your tears away. “We both did this. I’ll not live in some world knowing my baby is raised with no help of mine in any way, fuck that.”

“But you-”

“I get it, we… aren’t… together. But in this I will be.”

“Satoru, I think I may have a cardiac arrest  before I get this baby out.” You sniffle and he smirks a bit.

“So unbelievable that I’d want to?”

“Yes. The Gojo I know…”

“You may not know me as well as you think. And maybe I don’t know you that much… aside from I agree about that tight-”

“I swear!” You shove at him, as he snorts in laughter, still a little shit, as they bring in two pictures, and Satoru takes one thoughtfully.

“That’s it, huh?” He tilts his head curiously. “Looks like me.”

“It looks like nothing yet, what?” You’re taking tissue and cleaning up a bit, as they give you privacy to pull back on your panties, but Satoru gives you no privacy, just looking. “You could turn?”

“Why, that’s one benefit you know.”

“What?”

“Could fuck any time, cum inside whenever.”

“Oh you wish.” You shove at his chest, and he’s grinning and wiggling his brows, grabbing your waist, pulling you against him.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“Shut it.” Yes.

“Sex is good for pregnancy.”

“You’re so full of shit! I can’t with you. Rizzing me up at a gyno?”

“Perfect place, see that doctor, he wants a piece.”

“You’re so dumb, I swear.” You look at the picture then, thumb brushing against the baby’s… maybe it’s a face?

“Are we gonna live together?”

“I mean… what?” You eye him in shock.

“When the baby’s here.”

“No, we don’t have to do all that, we live close. Can you imagine us living together, we’d kill each other.” He envisions it, the fights surely but… the sex, and seeing you in the morning?

“Or fuck. Alot.”

“That’s how this happened.” You mumble, and soon you’re back home, and trying to ignore your body’s insane responses while he stands on your porch, looking far too fucking sexy. “Thank you for being there.”

“You thanking me? the world is ending.”

“Hush. I appreciate this, you standing by me. You don’t have to.”

“I… want to. Um, what will we say?”

You bite your lip more, until he gently takes it out from under your top row of teeth, brushing against the indentations. “We could say we’re together, if you don’t mind, dating I guess? My parents would trip if they knew it’s like…”

“Same. My parents would be happy for a Gojo heir though.” You hear it, the surprising resentment in his voice.

There’s a lot you don’t know.

“Well, I can act like I like you for them if you want.” You tease, and he leans against your doorway, so fucking tall, just looming over you, and you have to clench your hands not to give in to the temptation of touching him.

“Act like you like me- you?”

“I could! If you could act like you like me, in front of my family.”

“How will we explain the whole not living together thing?”

“It’s new, it’s 2025 Gojo, not 1810. We’ll be okay. You're so old school huh, gonna marry me?”

“You’d leave me at the altar.” You both laugh again, as he straightens up now. “Alright, so when should we tell them?”

“When you want to. So work on those acting skills. I’ll set up brunch with mine, you set up dinner with yours?”

“Sounds good. Alright don’t miss Daddy too much.” You snort and roll your eyes, turning away now.

“Daddy? Whatever.”

Satoru presses you against the door, wrapping an arm around your waist, pressing a hand gently on your tummy, splaying the expanse of it with long fingers, as your breath comes quicker and quicker. “Could swear you called me daddy when I beat up that pretty pussy hmm?”

You falter, whining softly, hating your body’s reaction, scowling right up at him, your hand on your doorknob, while this tall ass of a man makes your body light up. “Never called you daddy, no way.” Your voice is a pathetic whisper, why does he do this to you, you want to arch into his damn touch, press against his length, to the point you make yourself stiffen.

“Oh? Must have been the liquor.” He caresses your face, leaning so close you wildly think he’ll kiss you, and you know damn well you can’t handle that, not with your pussy soaking your damn panties just from this.

You hate Satoru Gojo, and he hates you.

This is… because you both are having a baby.

Right?

“It must have been.”

“Ah, I see. Good night, then sweetheart.” He leans his lips up, kissing the top of your head, a gesture so oddly sweet it doesn’t even fit him. “Text me the details, Sorority brat.”

“Sure will, Frat boy.” He sticks his tongue out as you do, walking in and leaning against the door, overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne, the feel of his hands, the memories that surfaced. You slide down it slowly, burying your face in your hands, as your body trembles with this insane need.

Shit. A baby with your enemy?

A baby with Frat Boy Gojo?

Faking that you like him, would it really be that fake?

Satoru’s leaning against it too, for just a moment, trying to compose himself… finally he’s in the back of the car again, as his driver looks  in the rearview mirror curiously, tired eyes focusing as Satoru looks at the picture again. The little peanut that’s apparently a…

A baby.

With his enemy.

An enemy he really wants to be inside again.

“Everything alright, Mr. Gojo?” Kiyotaka asks, Satoru runs a hand through his hair now, leaning back in his seat as he peers out the dark tinted windows.

“I’m having… a baby with a girl who hates me.”

“Why does she hate you?” Kiyotaka asks, driving off, as Satoru chuckles just a bit, remembering bits and pieces of college, out of order, out of sync.

“Because honestly, I was kind of a complete dick to her?”

“That’s… oddly self observant.”

“You saying I’m a dick to you?”

“No Mr. Gojo!”

“I’m kidding, relax.” Kiyotaka’s tense shoulders relax when Satoru leans forward, hand on his shoulder through the little divider that’s opened. “Do you know shit about kids at all?”

“I have nephews, they’re pretty good kids. But babies, not really.”

“I could ask my parents but they basically had nannies raise me.”

“Many nannies, I heard.”

“Well, I was a menace to be honest. Where do I learn about these… things?”

“Babies?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I think there are books?”

“Hmm.” Satoru pulls out his phone then.

Fratboy Gojo🙄(yes that’s his name in your phone now, no you’re not sorry): Should I order us baby books?

Sorority Brat💦😻(of course that’s your name in his phone): Yes, if you want to? That would be good. Thank you… for today.

Fratboy Gojo🙄: Two thank yous!? That baby is making you a mush.

Sorority Brat💦😻: Whatever!

Satoru snorts then, but when you’re in your bed later that night, nibbling on a bag of hot cheetos that have been screaming at you all day, how is that your first craving!? He writes to you again, and you pick your phone up with your clean hand, sans hot cheeto dust, rolling your eyes.

Fratboy Gojo🙄: Need some nudes for your spank bank?

You’re gonna kill him.

Sorority Brat 💦😻: Good night, Gojo.

Satoru frowns, because his dick is already in his hand, but for a moment you think about it, and would it be so bad to-

No, no no.

You aggressively eat those hot cheetos, wondering just what you were in for with that damn boy in your life now, shit forever.

“Fuck.” You’ll never drink again.

I say four parts but I feel like this is gonna be long aha, bc god Gojo is a lil shithead hehe (as I like him) this just a teensy bit similar to the Knocked Up movie premise so expect a LOT of humor here! <3

Taglist one- @jannythewriter-pt2 @gojosoups @lycoris-radiata-4-sale @cutiepi-iee @poisonousspiderlily @closerbutnevertogether @myahfig4 @shokosbunny @coq1myun @rinny27 @abibliolife @coq1myun @megumisthirdog @p4lli @turtlebangtan @webshooterrr9 @aldebrana @msqudo18 @s0ulsnatchaaa @ovela @midnaamethyste @nearlyfuckingwitches @shibataimu @msniks @missthatgirl @fantasy1nightmare0 @maddyhehehehhe @yourst3pm0mmy @haithamsbb @rentheannihilator @ilovebeansyay @lemonswirlz @dilfkentolover @evelynxxo @bkgnotsuma @suki91 @burntasian @nakiich @hyunjinsruinedpainting @miniv1x3n @minascasket @ihrtmack @contaminatedcupcake @girlwithn0j0b @tokyi999 @vamqyx @queenofthekill @verriees @vullzo @jkslaugh97

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

academic rivals request! viktor x fem!reader, nsfw

request: @4-leafed pls... if u have time pls write a viktor x reader that r both geniuses at the academy but very much toe the line of rivalry and sexual tension...i love competitive smart people that fall in love when the rivalry becomes respect ... and they FREAK IT!!! possibly in a lab ! up to you : 3c

i liked this request so much that i ended up writing a decent-ish one-shot….

update: i wrote a part 2 because it was highly requested! you can read it here :)

rating: explicit

word count: 3,5k

warnings: academic rivals. LOTS of dialogue and bickering. dubious science because i skipped it in school, had to do some basic chemistry revision to write this pornographic catastrophe, so please pat me on the back. rough sex? rough… foreplay, that’s for sure. dirty talk, if you can call bickering that. penetration. reader tries to slap viktor, spits in his mouth and he cums in his pants. normally, i only write vanilla stuff, so i have no idea how it turned out THIS kinky (at least for me okay). not proofread (yet). nsfw under the cut:

—

“How do you take your coffee?”

His voice betrays the feeble intention of civility, fusing that polite inquiry into a hiss—a phonetic torture you didn’t even know could occur before. So much for killing you with kindness. Outstaging quips by desecrating courtesies. 

“I don’t care,” you mutter on autopilot. Can’t let him in on any personal preferences, no matter how insignificant. “Just don’t put arsenic in it.” 

Viktor scoffs. Puts the kettle away and peers at you over his shoulder, all wretchedly complacent. 

“So the rest of the periodic table is welcome, I presume?” 

Viktor. The local Nikola Tesla knock-off. Never a moment of peace with him; and the fierce taste of competition grows coppery in your mouth whenever he’s in your sight—the most handsome trigger of your cheek-biting reflex.

His name is an insult on your lips and you want to taste it. Chew it, crush it with your teeth and spit right out, preferably aiming for those poignant eyes seeking you in every classroom—so eager to light up with objection the second your opinion differs from his. 

Always the first prick to disparage your input. A never-resting generator of all the meticulous ways to denounce your projects. 

“If I may.” 

Sickeningly polite, too. With that lithe finger pointing in the air— so irritatingly comical. He may not, but there isn’t a chance he’ll shut up, now, is there?

And so he’d clear his throat, straightening his tie in that ridiculously solemn fashion. As if stepping on a pedestal to deliver a life-changing speech—not some shallow nitpicking regarding your circuit breakers. All eyes on him while his kept staring only into your soul. Special treatment, if you will. 

You will not.

“Using magnetic frames is careless,” he’d state. With his hand imposingly pointing to the blueprint on your slide. “Copper coils may oxidize. Not to mention the overheating. I would use thermoplastics. They’re significantly more efficient. And heat-resistant.”

Oh please. Like someone here gives a shit about what you’d use. 

But you can’t say that. Not in a room full of professors. And, judging from the countless nods of approval, the shits were, in fact, being given. 

“Too risky,” you oppose. “Thermoplastics often degrade at high temperatures. Electric insulation is not worth the damage of releasing hydrocarbons. I assumed that you’d be aware of that, Viktor. But I suppose that was an omission on my part.” 

More nods of approval, now in your favour. Here it goes again—the ever-lasting spectacle of hatred. Elegant, when entertaining the audience. Anything but discreet, in private. A perpetually drawn game of chess. By repetition, not agreement. Both of you refuse to retreat until checkmate. 

Oh yes, the sentiment was mutual. You and Viktor were notorious for tearing at each other's throats. The things you’d sacrifice to make that more than a mere metaphor, though. To pull him by that neat tie to sweet asphyxiation and hear him rasp for mercy with eyes full of pathetic condemnation. And he dreamed of that, too. His cane was itching to give you a smack—to paint your behind a plum so deep you’ll have troubles sitting without wincing. When it came to making metaphors literal, he’d pick being the pain in your ass.

However, your mentors couldn’t care less about the rivalry. The Collegiate Inventors Competition was coming up. And who could possibly make better candidates than two greatest minds of the engineering department, with academic excellence so accurately neck and neck that both of your names now occupy the honorary first place in every ranking table? 

That’s how you ended up with your sentence—three weeks of after-hours cooperation in the lab with the incorrigible bastard himself, a quarter of which you’ve already wasted on pointless bickering. Well, not without achieving some common grounds. The choice of prototype landed on one of your personal ambitions—a wearable exoskeleton for post-surgery rehabilitation, with plenty of robotics involved. Endorsed by Viktor, for once. The greater good must have swallowed even his dispute. Off to a nice start, if someone were to ask you.

However, the first issues struck early: on the very stage of development. Viktor volunteered for modelling: meaning, the framework would be custom, to accommodate his spine specifically. An object lesson for everyone involved, it would seem—but only in an ideal world. Which, considering what you had at hand (acrimony, bitterness, an entire picky bit of gall), was filtered out by default.

Now, five gruesome days and who’s-even-counting-anymore restarts later, you’re nowhere near close to at least a draft, yet borderline keen on murdering each other. And you’re certain the latter is approaching. He did just contemplate putting arsenic in your cup, after all. 

Viktor stirs the coffee. Watches his reflection smudge in the dark, whirly water, shooting you an askance glance from beneath thick brows when you start stirring yours—the spoon clanking a tad too loud, as if you were doing it on purpose. Which, you undoubtedly were. 

“Stop that,” he groans, almost leaping out of his chair. His heavy, disturbed gaze meets your cheeky simper. “You don’t have to stir it so thoroughly. It’s not like you take it with sugar anyway.”

“Of course.” You shrug. “I don’t drink slop.”

“Oh, I figured. There’s nothing sweet about you, so why would your coffee be any different?”

“There’s plenty of sweetness about me. I simply don’t squander it on entitled pricks.” 

That finally grounds him. And you’re giddy for the way his sturdy hand grips the cup so hard that it almost shatters into his palm, knuckles growing pale enough to match the porcelain. More so when you take a loud, languid sip, feigning innocence. Fully wallowing in his darling, defeated speechlessness. 

“Excuse you,” he mutters. “Entitled?!” 

“So you agree with the ‘prick’ part?” 

“Yes, and I take great pride in it. You may mark me flustered.” 

“Don’t forget to bust in your pants.”

Viktor sneers: chapped lip twitching, scowl growing defensive. Lanky legs untangle as he rises to his feet, towering above you in an angry lean on his cane—long frame transforming into your personal, scrawny menace, pissed exhale sharp and nasal above your head. And you admit to looking small beneath him—all hunched shoulders, weak smile finally tumbling lopsided. 

“Don’t you dare call me entitled,” he demands—and means it. It’s palpable in the way he twists the handle of his cane, the squeaky sound violently scratching your brain. “I sweated blood to achieve my privileges in this establishment.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “So did I, and yet you keep ordering me around as if I’m some braindead apprentice. We’re counterparts, Viktor. You’re supposed to be mindful of my perspective.”

“I never see you being mindful of mine,” he counters.

And, well. You can’t argue with that. 

Your coffee break continued in avoidant silence, but the ambience simply reeked of hostility—stifling enough to make you leave the lab feet first. The deadline’s chokehold besieging your neck wasn’t of any help, either—you had to submit the draft for approval by Sunday. And, so far, you haven’t even agreed on the design plan. 

You shoot Viktor a reluctant glance. Pensive, he sat slouched over his parchment, emitting pure peril. Like his shoulder blades might stab you if you attempt a single tap, belligerently peeking through the thin shirt. You tucked your lip under your teeth, chewing hard, tongue running over every small, neurotic wound inside your mouth. Fruitless negotiations held a special spot amongst your least favourite endeavours, but this conundrum called for a desperate measure.

“Viktor.” You winced at how chocked up it came out. He noticed that, too—because of course he did—turning in his chair to nod at you, ever so shit-eatingly. Lancing eyes scrutinised their way up to your face. What an affront. 

“Yes?” Always chiding in that condescending tone of his. Hissy ‘s’ echoed in the lab, gnawing at your nerves. 

“We have to submit something by the end of this week. Let’s at least decide on the blueprint.” 

“Fine.” He shrugged, returning to his sketch. “We’re going with mine.” 

“No!” You snapped. “We’re coming up with a new one. Together.” 

Viktor hummed in mock consideration. The strand of hair he’s been twirling unraveled, claiming more attention than you deemed him worthy of. Sighing, he lazily reached for your graph, frowning as his eyes started skimming over the scribbles. You made your way to the desk, claiming a spot behind his shoulder. That required a tacit truce. 

“You really want to wield… hydraulic actuators?” He winced, looking up at you. Had your breath hitching at that respectful attempt, the effort prominent in the very way he uttered those words—as if struggling to filter out swear ones. 

“Yes,” you mustered. “For high power.” 

“But they’re so heavy.”  

“Well, what would you use?” 

He chuckled—rich and malicious. Flipped the page and finally averted those curious eyes, arching a bushy brow. 

“I thought no one gave a… crap about what I’d use.” 

Oh, well. It felt nice while it lasted. 

“How did you even—“

“You ought to be more discreet with your vitriol,” he retorted. “I’ll let you know that I’m a decent lip-reader.” 

“Then don’t stare at my mouth next time. What would you use, Viktor?” 

Now that left you both startled. His fingers stilled above the diagram, flexing in disbelief, hollow cheeks hued a puzzled rouge as you almost chomped your tongue off, showing an embarrassed curse back into the depth of your throat. 

“Ahem. Electric motors,” he chanted, pretending to overlook the slip-up. And for once, you were grateful for his tact. 

“I see. Well, er… put that down, please.” 

He instantly complied, fetching a pen. Left you to reflect on your misery to the rhythmic sound of his scrawling, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead. 

“Right.” He sighed. “What about the power supply?”

“Rechargeable batteries?” You suggested weakly. “Lithium-ion.”

“Very well. Frame?”

“Something durable. Titanium?” 

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, pushing the notes away. “Why must you always insist on using the heaviest equipment?”

“I don’t know, corrosion resistance?” You muttered back, hovering over him. “Biocompatibility?”

“That’s perfectly manageable with carbon fiber!”

“So it shatters after the tiniest bump? Bravo, Viktor, how ingenious.” 

He lurches forward—rigid breath quivering over yours. Close enough to crush that thick skull with your forehead—if only you ventured, that is. But, alas, you’re not as brave just yet. Some brief eye-stabbing is about all you’re good for. 

“Fine,” he agrees, pulling away. “We’ll use aluminium alloys. Corrosion resistant and easy to machine. No one wins. Does that suffice?” 

“Yes. Now will you finally let me take your measurements for the sketch?”

He doesn’t answer—at least not verbally. Merely stands up and nods to the measuring tape, face still heavily contorted with displeasure. But you don’t oblige just yet. How can you, when Viktor’s fingers suddenly reach for his collar, fumbling with the button? And—oh no—now they’re sliding lower, reiterating once, twice, thrice, until his chest (flushed, but that might just be wishful thinking) is fully peeking out, teasing the smooth scrap of ivory skin. 

“What… are you doing?” You mumble, utterly startled. 

“…Undressing?” He says matter-of-factly, looking up at you so askance as if you’d just asked him if the sky is blue. One more ministration and the shirt is neatly folded next to the parchment—waiting for you to be through with the measurements to be slid back on his bony shoulders. 

“That, I can tell,” you mumble. “Why did you undress?”

Viktor’s gaze daggers into you again. “Don’t tell me you were actually intending to measure me clothed? Can you not comprehend precision?”

“Precision?”

“The prototype is expected to cling to me. I don’t see how that’s achievable with my shirt on— I assumed that was rather obvious.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Ah, sweet civility. I even started worrying that other entitled pricks must’ve depleted your decorum, but it seems like you saved some up for me after all. I’m flattered, really—“ 

You don’t even register when it happens.

Next thing you see is Viktor seizing your wrist—sternly yanking your slap off his face before it gets the chance to land there in a flared handprint. Nothing but pure rage and prickliness—right where his short nails are lancing your skin, engraving an ugly bracelet you’ll wear for hours.

Well, maybe there is something else. Something inexplicable, and tremendous—deep in the way your eyes keep drifting south—where his pants sling low on defined hips, and the pretty trail of dark hair runs from navel to waistband—no doubt circling exactly what you manage to make out in the convex slope of his crotch. And you want to slap him for that, too—sonorous, and frenetic. Going in again with full force, but his force always turns out to be fuller—and in an instance he firmly twists your arm, pinning it behind your back—pale face barely five inches away from your flushed one. 

What happens next is beyond any explanations. Later, he’ll blame it on inertia—that stupid urge to maintain the speed, to stay in motion with your messy antics until some external force stops him—a simple need to claim you before the inevitable collision.

But there’s no inertia in escalation. In the way his free hand grabs you by the nape and clashes agape mouths together, teeth bumping hard enough to make you consider booking a dentist appointment later. Not a sign of inertia when you grab him, either—a little clumsy through the sharp pain in your twisted arm—bold fingers raking his scalp in a vengeful tug on his hair. 

And it’s more than a kiss. If anything, it looks like you’re trying to eat him—tongue out and thrusting into his throat so fiercely that he gags on it, almost tearing up. Now you know what sheer desperation sounds like, and it’s grunting against your mouth, suddenly pitching to a pathetic moan when you grab a handful of chestnut hair and pull so hard that his eyes roll back, lean frame shaking under your violent approach. You use that startled momentum to try and pry your arm free, but he still keeps it in place. 

“You’re hurting me!” You hiss, attacking his neck—the very one you always shamefully admitted to finding the sexiest any man can possess, and your teeth roughly pinch at his voice box, coaxing another whine. 

“Good.” He groans with spite. “I hope I am.” 

And yet, he releases your aching arm, trading it for a calculated squeeze of your waist. But the audacity overshadows his little mercy. You instantly use the unrestrained privileges to force a finger into his mouth—astounded at the way he instantly opens up, almost mockingly pliant. More so when you spit on his tongue, sparing no shame—as if trying to rile him up beyond recognition. Grinning, when your saliva dribbles down his chin. 

“Ah.” He huffs, instantly licking up the remnants. “Thank you. Ever so disrespectful.”

“You haven’t earned my respect,” you lie, nudging him towards the chair. Not even bothering to wait until he lands, impatient hands already messing with his belt—so treacherously earnest as you shake, unfastening the buckle, and the bastard chuckles at that, looking down at your eager work. 

“That’s a new low, then,” murmurs coyly, helping you into his lap, heavy head leisurely thrown back. “Sleeping with someone you don’t respect.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh yes. You’re about to.” 

You glare at him from under heavy lids, but the anger refuses to linger—not when he stares back full of indignant awe, so clearly basking in your attention. With his cock half-springing out of undone pants, shamelessly twitching against your palm. And not a single breath was hitched to conceal his excitement. 

“Must you always be so insufferable?” You reproach, pushing his hair back—too domestic for your own liking, and yet it doesn’t feel unfitting. Especially when he leans into your hand, welcoming your touch on his sweaty forehead—like he wanted you to feel it fever up with want.

“No.” He shakes his head. “But if it can grant me this, I’ll triple the effort.” 

“What happened to new lows? You don’t have a fraction of respect for me, either.”

“You’re right.” He shrugs. “Fractions could never encapsulate my tribute to you.”

And his hand slipped under your skirt, shakily crawling home—precisely where you’d never confess to needing him a mere minute ago. But the sentiment did a decent job at diluting your rancour. There came no protest when he introduced two long fingers into your underwear, openly gasping at the evident dampness. And you allowed him that with no regrets. Moreover, you helpfully sank yourself knuckle deep, wincing at the brief burn, arms wrapping around his neck as he sweetly looked up, seeking your  permission. Which was instantly found in the pretty moan you spilled into his mouth, slick tongues back at their futile attempts to strangle each other. 

However, your patience was running thin. As much as you wanted to indulge in proper foreplay, whatever masochistic dance he exposed you to had you in agony ever since it started—and it was getting unbearable to ignore the ache, no matter how bad Viktor  craved to postpone the main course. 

Your thighs clenched hard as you crouched above him, fingers wrapping around the hilt to awkwardly line the tip up with your cunt—the slick sound of it slowly sliding down suddenly igniting some tender bashfulness. Like you didn’t just spit in his mouth with a vile smirk. Like he never had to confine you from slapping him in the face. 

That stretch felt different from the one after his fingers. Significantly richer, it made you whine—a pitiful sound reverberating against his skin as you held on tighter and allowed him to bottom out, savouring every little crevice inside you. Raw, yet neither of you seemed to care—that concern was pushed alongside your underwear, then forgotten altogether when your walls clenched him, offering tight bliss. 

“Move,” you demanded, grabbing him by the chin. Viktor rasped something back, but you didn’t catch it—already too busy tongue-fucking his pretty neck, turning your teeth into sharp tools ready to stain it mauve with bites. 

And he complied again. One hand trembled on your hip while the other crawled between your legs—first missing your clit in the chaotic pace of thrusts, then finding it again as it grazed his fingertips. So cheeky when he dared to pinch it, avenging every pull on his hair. Though, he couldn’t gloat in your wince. Not when it clearly was one of the pleasured kind. 

But you didn’t feel like letting him regain composure. You already missed his husky groans—ached to test what else fucking you could make him mutter. Fogy gaze found his face again, softening at the sight—all wet forehead full of concentrated creases and thin lips bitten to bloodless paleness. 

You took over. Let him lean back and rest as you roughly rode him into the chair—and for that he gave you a grateful moan, the insistent thumb toying with your clit never stopping even for an instant. Good with his hands, and he knew it—proudly grinned when you struggled to keep going, taut legs treacherously giving up astride him. 

That didn’t please you in the slightest. You wanted him to be close, too: slid a hand up his chest and angrily tugged at one nipple—chortling when his mouth dropped in a stunned gasp. Bewildered, but he didn’t mind it—amber eyes squeezed shut when his head lolled, and you finally got his lovely moans back—raspier than before, ravenous enough to make your head spin. 

You could already feel it, pulsing somewhere deep within. Blurry vision couldn’t make him out anymore, the lab smudging into a mess of weird shapes—you were about to cum, hard, and Viktor threatened to follow suit any second—his thumb failing to hold steady, and yet the pressure was still there, courtlesly helping you chase that sweet relief. Such a gentleman. 

“Close,” you chanted. “So, so close.” 

“I know,” he answered, choking on a groan. “Me too.” 

And you melted, almost crushing him with your weight. Quivering in a spasm so intense that it had him struggling to keep moving, and yet he was mindful of the risk—used the last fractions of his brain capacity to gently nudge you off his cock and pump it fast and hectic. Cumming in one endlessly thick rope, with a moan so vocal that it reached you even through the layers of foggy, ear-buzzing aftermath. Had you shuddering when you clung off his shoulder, glassy eyes wide with trembling astonishment. You stared at him through the approaching wave of disbelief. 

No signs of regret so far, or maybe it was simply still forming—for now, you silently admired not a snarky bastard, but a pretty, fucked out boy beneath you. 

“Oh, would you look at that.” Viktor chuckled, sheepishly looking down. “I didn’t forget.”

“What?” You mumbled in confusion, following his gaze.

And when it finally caught your attention—sticky and relentlessly staining his pants—you slammed a hand over your mouth, muffling the hysterical laughter. 

“And here I thought I finally fucked your remarkable memory out.”

“Oh, by no means. As, eh… intense as that was, that misery of mine is not going anywhere. However,” he trailed off, his hand skittishly moving towards yours, “sex clearly proved beneficial for our… dynamic.”

You smile, sliding your palm into his warm grasp. 

“Can it ensure us enough civility to win the competition?”

And Viktor scoffs, coyly looking you in the eye. 

“Why should we limit it to just that?” 

[copperbadge]

I think maybe I got married to a museum this morning. Boy is this a long weird story.

I was standing in line to get into the Museum of Natural History this morning when an older woman near me in line gestured for me to take out my headphones. She was clearly a little agitated, and she asked me if I was American, if I spoke English, in a pretty pronounced English accent. I said I'm from Chicago, and she looked relieved and said, "Can you help me find out if I can pay for my ticket with my credit card inside? It wouldn't register when I tried to buy a ticket on the internet this morning."

I said I didn't know how we'd find out, but I opened up the website on my phone to check. While I poked around the site she didn't stop talking once, telling me that she's in New York to look after her daughter who just had major surgery and she's very stressed and her daughter asked her to go out and distract herself for a while which....having spent some time in this woman's company, she's very sweet but I can see why her kid needed a break.

Anyway, I think this might actually be a lie on the website, but it says there that you HAVE to buy tickets online and you have to have an email address to get them delivered. She couldn't do the former and didn't have a smartphone she could use to access the latter.

So I said, why don't I buy your ticket on my phone while we're here in line? I can send it to my email, and you can come in with me. She fretted about fraud but I said nah, I'll just tell them your ticket's on my phone because I helped you buy it, they won't care.

Now, this sounds like she was running some kind of wild scam, but who the hell scams their way into the Museum of Natural History? Like lady if you love natural history that much and haven't got $24 to your name, let me buy you a ticket, you've earned it.

Anyway, I bought the ticket in about 30 seconds, and we had about ten minutes to wait, which she filled with a nonstop monologue about her daughter's medical problems, her husband's job, her attempts to get into a gym to swim, the crowdedness of New York, it was just...so much talking. And I had dire visions of possibly having to take her around the museum with me simply because I was so friendly and helped her get in. I wished to silently contemplate the taxidermy, thanks.

Inside, I took her to the customer service desk because she wanted a printed copy of her ticket, and while they were printing it she counted out the cash to pay me back. Then I ruthlessly unloaded her on one of the customer services agents, saying, "He'll explain what you can do with your ticket and give you a map -- you have a good time now and I'll be thinking of your daughter," and did my best to disappear. I rounded a corner, dashed into an elevator, and fled to the fourth floor where I was headed anyway.

That's enough of a misadventure just trying to get into the museum, but I put it from my mind and enjoyed the dinosaurs and dioramas...until I slipped on something black, on the black floor of the dimly lit Hall Of Mammals, and almost fell.

There, under my boot, in front of the stuffed rhinos, was a black-and-gold silicone ring.

If it had been any other kind of ring I'd have turned it in to lost and found, but I wear silicone rings myself -- they're very cheap and meant to be worn in place of a real ring while you're doing tool work (they tear away under pressure unlike metal rings that'll take your finger with) or if you're afraid you'll lose the real thing. I have several thin ones I wear on top of my normal rings to keep them from falling off when my fingers change size in the cold. It's not the kind of thing one would even go to Lost and Found for; you can replace it for $5.

I think the museum gave me a wedding band.

It's a little big but the spirit is there.

So yeah, much like how the Rijksmuseum and I are sworn enemies, the American Museum of Natural History is now my bride. Well, she saw that I know how to look after my elders. As spouses that are actually large cultural institutions in the middle of New York City go, could be worse.

[ID: The middle and index finger of my left hand, showing several rings -- the middle finger has a silver ring with a kokopelli motif (a gift from my maternal grandmother), a gold ring with a knotwork motif (the wedding ring I inherited from my stepfather's parents), and a thin silicone band to hold them in place. My index finger has the new ring, gold with a border of black, looking slightly loose.]

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤHIS WORLDㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Mark Grayson x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Mark falls for you hard.

It’s not gradual. It’s not slow. It’s instant.

One second, he’s just a normal guy.

And the next? You’re all he can think about.

At first, it’s sweet.

He’s nervous around you, fumbling over his words.

He texts too much, calls just to hear your voice.

When he’s with you, he’s so happy—happier than he’s ever been.

But when he’s not with you?

It’s unbearable.

His mind races, his chest tightens.

He starts needing to know where you are, what you’re doing, who you’re with.

And that’s when the obsession starts to grow.

Mark has lost too much.

His father betrayed him. His world turned against him. Everything he thought was stable, everything he thought he could trust—was ripped away.

But you?

You’re different.

You’re not like his father, not like the world that constantly demands more from him.

You’re safe.

And after everything he’s been through, he refuses to lose you.

No matter what it takes.

Mark is desperate for something good in his life.

Being Invincible means constantly fighting, constantly bleeding—constantly losing.

But when he’s with you? It all stops.

With you, he’s just Mark. Just a normal guy who can laugh, who can breathe.

At first, it’s normal.

He loves you deeply, intensely, but that’s just who he is.

He’s a good boyfriend. Protective, affectionate—always putting you first.

He never lets you feel alone. Never lets you feel unloved.

But then the fear sets in.

What if you leave?

What if something takes you away from him—like everything else has?

What if one day, you realize that you don’t need him?

That thought? It breaks him.

And once it takes root?

It never goes away.

Mark’s possessiveness is almost sweet at first.

He always wants to be around you.

He texts you constantly, asking where you are, what you’re doing.

He flies you to school, to work—anywhere you need to go.

And at first? It’s flattering.

Who wouldn’t want a boyfriend who’s always there for them?

Who wouldn’t love someone who drops everything to make them happy?

But then it escalates.

You mention a male coworker? Mark’s jaw clenches. His fists tighten.

You go out without telling him? He finds you.

You start pulling away? He notices.

And suddenly, his protectiveness doesn’t feel so sweet anymore.

It feels suffocating.

Because Mark doesn’t just want you.

He needs you.

Mark has superpowers.

He doesn’t need cameras to track you.

He doesn’t need to ask where you are.

He just knows.

His super-hearing picks up your voice from miles away.

He listens to your conversations—even the ones you don’t think he can hear.

He memorizes your schedule, your habits, the way your heartbeat changes when you lie.

And when you go somewhere unexpected?

He follows.

He stays out of sight, high above the city, watching.

And if he sees something—or someone—that he doesn’t like?

It’s handled.

Quietly.

Permanently.

Mark doesn’t mean to be controlling.

He just wants what’s best for you.

And sometimes? You don’t know what’s best for yourself.

It starts small.

A concerned look when you talk to another guy.

A casual “Maybe you should stay home today” when he hears about trouble in the city.

A soft, worried “I don’t like how they treat you” when you mention a friend.

And then it gets worse.

The people in your life start drifting away.

Your friends don’t call as much.

Your job starts feeling unstable.

And through it all, Mark is always there.

Holding you.

Comforting you.

Telling you that he’s all you need.

And you believe him.

Because when he looks at you?

When he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world—

How could you not believe him?

Maybe you start to notice.

Maybe you start questioning him.

And Mark?

He doesn’t snap. He doesn’t yell.

He begs.

“Please don’t do this,” his voice shakes, his eyes desperate.

“I can’t lose you. Not you too.”

But if begging doesn’t work?

His expression hardens.

His arms wrap around you, strong, unyielding.

“I don’t want to do this,” he murmurs. “But I will.”

And before you can react—

You’re in the air.

The ground disappears beneath you, the wind rushing past.

Mark holds you tight, flying higher, higher—until the city is nothing but a blur below.

And then he looks at you.

Soft. Loving. Unshakable.

“You don’t have a choice.”

When you wake up, everything is different.

The doors are reinforced. The windows don’t open.

And Mark is there.

Waiting.

“I know you’re upset,” he says gently, brushing your hair back.

“But this is for the best.”

His fingers tighten around your wrist, just enough to remind you.

“You’re safe now.”

“And you’ll always be mine.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

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