#a different kind of high

[anika-ann]

Hiiii 💕

Made-up fic title: “A different kind of high”

(Yes it’s from a song lol have fun 😂)

Hiiii honey 💕 Oh I had FUN with this, okay. I got carried away so much I don't even want to know the original context of the lyrics 🥹 (or maybe I do, for the fun of it.

ANYWAY. Thank you for sending and thus participating in this game. You too, get a drabble instead of plot. 900 words, allusions to smut and Alpha Ransom 👀 🙈

A Different Kind of High

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, first attempt at a/b/o, implied smut, chase kink, praise kink, hints of soft!dark if you squint very very hard, language

Your heart hammered madly in your chest, its echoes thundering in your temples. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly with every breath you tried to catch, your muscles burning from exertion.

You stood pressed with your back to one of the walls of the study right by the doorframe, door having been swung open, offering you a chance to slip through and hide without making a sound drawing his attention.

His voice carried through the house, making you cover your mouth quickly – suddenly even your breathing sounded too loud, loud enough that it could alert him of your presence here.

You did not want that.

“Come out, come out, little kitten, we’re done playing…” Ransom bargained teasingly, trying to coax you out of your hiding place. “You’re a smart little thing, Omega, but I’m your Alpha… I’ll always find you.”

You swallowed the whimper threatening to spill from deep within your throat at his praise, cursing him to his damnest and yet ready to fall on your knees for him at once, fresh gush of arousal dampening your core. He knew what he was doing. The low dangerous but playful tone sent shivers down your spine, no doubt heightening your scent.

You were a smart little thing; you had rubbed your wrist along your mating gland, sending your scent dispersing in the air, all over the house; you had rubbed the sensitive aromatic skin of your wrist all over pieces of furniture around the mansion, doing your best to overwhelm and confuse your Alpha’s senses, making it impossible for him to tell what was but a trace of your scent and where you actually were… and apparently, you succeeded.

You must have, because he had never chased you for so long. He would have normally found you in third if not fourth of the time. You were getting better; and the longer the chase, the more adrenalin flooded your veins, excitement and anticipation stirring deep within your belly.

The more riled up Ransom got, the more pleasant the outcome was – and that was the goal.

The aftermath of the chase could be oh so pleasant…

The images flooding your mind sent fresh whiff of your arousal to the air, causing you to rub your legs together as silently as possible while still getting the much-needed friction.

Then, you froze.

You heard his footsteps, quick and almost soundless, like one of an apex predator; the predator he was. The alpha.

You could run; and you would. You just needed to time it perfectly to keep up the game.

“Oh Omega… you smell so fuckin’ sweet. I can’t wait to have you begging me to stop eating you out and just finally give you a good ol’ fuckin’…” he drawled out a promise, making you bite your tongue this time.

Not yet, not yet, not—

Now!

You sprang from the wall, using your hands to push away and gain more momentum – but it was a second too late.    

Ransom’s large body pinned you against the opposite wall in a blink of an eye, his ful weight and sheer strength preventing you from moving your feet a single inch.

He was firm and hot and hard against your front, long fingers wrapped around your wrists like handcuffs nailed to the wall next to your head, his nose already running up your throat, causing you to instinctively tip your head back to make space for him, rewarded by a broad lick up your mating glad. Your knees buckled under the onslaught of arousal and bliss combined, your Alpha’s body simply pressing into yours further with a dark delighted chuckle.

“Oh my bratty little Omega… when do you even learn?” he mused, teasing your bond with his teeth, your responding gasp and the damn-near spasm to your core making you jerk your hips only encouraging him to double on his ministrations, your heart a second from beating its way out of your chest. Craving him, craving to feel more, you vainly tried to move your hands so you could touch him, explore his brilliant physique, map every crevice of his taunt muscles with your palms, to breathe in all the nuances of his magnificent scent. You needed to know if he needed you just as much as you needed him, if your little escapade aroused him and drove him at least half as mad.

But he wouldn’t budge, nailing you to the wall unrelentingly.

“Alpha-“

“Oh Omega… you fought good… but when I’m done with you, you’ll never want to run away from me ever again.”

With that playful growl, his lips slanted over yours in a claiming kiss, all remnants of rational thoughts evaporating from your head. Your body slipped fully into an omega mode – to be good, so good for your Alpha, so he would be so good to you in return.

But your last thought was one of rebellion and submission at once; despite what he was saying, you knew you’d run again. You’d have him chase you, because the rush it gave you, the most exquisite kind of high you had never thought you’d experience, was too addictive.

And the outcome?

So. Damn. Worth. It.

Even if it cost you a few pieces of underwear and other pieces of clothing Ransom tore apart to ruin you, even if it left you a soaking panting mess, indeed begging your Alpha for things you had never thought you might imagine, let alone speak – whine, really – out loud.

As Ransom’s long fingers slipped into your panties and ripped the fabric clear, you made more than just peace with your fate and vowed to meet this kind of fate halfway next time as well.

-🥹😇🥹-

My hand... slipped. Oops. This was not the introduction to the a/o/b verse I imagined. Ah, well.

Thank you for reading - and I hope you enjoyed 🥹

Thank you @chase-your-dreams-away for playing 💕

[alicenpai]

finally remembered to put these side by side!! my ptutu illusts so far 🩰 2024 & 2022 🦢 prints

[bacchuschucklefuck]

they licensed his ass

my finished piece of the FWMS (official name definitely 100%) thing we started a few days ago! I had fun I hope folks had and/or continue to have fun with the sketch as well.

[inkskinned]

one of the things about being an educator is that you hear what parents want their kids to be able to do a lot. they want their kid to be an astronaut or a ballerina or a politician. they want them to get off that damn phone. be better about socializing. stop spending so much time indoors. learn to control their own temper. to just "fucking listen", which means to be obedient.

one of the things i learned in my pedagogy classes is that it's almost always easier to roleplay how you want someone to act. it's almost always easier to explain why a rule exists, rather than simply setting the rule and demanding adherence.

i want my kids to be kind. i want them to ask me what book they should read next, and i want to read that book with them so we can discuss it. i want my kid to be able to tell me hey that hurt my feelings without worrying i'll punish them. i want my kid to be proud of small things and come running up to me to tell me about them. i want them to say "nah, i get why this rule exists, but i get to hate it" and know that i don't need them to be grateful-for-the-roof-overhead while washing the dishes. i want them to teach me things. i want them to say - this isn't safe. i'm calling my mom and getting out of this. i want them to hear me apologize when i do fuck up; and i want them to want to come home.

the other day a parent was telling me she didn't understand why her kid "just got so angry." this woman had flown off the handle at me.

my dad - traditional catholic that he is - resents my sentiment of "gentle parenting". he says they'll grow up spoiled, horrible, pretentious. granola, he spits.

i am going to be kind to them. i am going to set the example, i think. and whatever they choose become in the meantime - i'm going to love them for it.

[tricoufamily]

if you're wondering why bob is here it's bc in the original villareal story there was a very minor background detail that diego lobo and bob pancakes dated in college and broke up tragically and that's where the story peaked. so i included him it's still canon

thank you for these it was so fun!!!!!!!!!!!!

i did these in my this is the fall sim style so i'm thinking. if they exist in this universe what's all their opinions on the 'did jacques do it' situation. let's take a look

don: saw a photo of jacques's wife on the news during the investigation. said "whoa mama that's a hot babe!" like johnny bravo and did not read the headline. does not know anything about it still.

vlad: well he's psychic he could figure out the truth if he actually cared. and he has!

olive: obviously respects it. except for the getting investigated part, would never happen to her.

diego: does not think jacques did it but enjoys the tabloids. knows other rich people personally who he thinks have killed their spouses

morgyn: will post things like "friendly reminder that j*cques v*llareal literally killed his wife and is a billionaire so maybe don't go to one of their hotels" on tumblr and will then do a call out post about like a fanfic writer who wrote an unhealthy relationship with more severity

pascal: knows conspiracy theories and this one is bullshit. or maybe it just doesn't interest him as much as aliens and that's why he thinks that

jeb: has a very "well of course he did. them rich folk can do whatever they want. there ain't no hope for the rest of us" while kicking a can down the road approach

bob: thinks he did it. is very alarmed that it was brushed off. eliza's like bob book the hotel and he's like am i going crazy. does anyone hear me.

[ewwww-what]

Talking about cogs and gears and such.

[myokk]

🥺

[reneeub]

Old women TRAGIC yuri?!

[hajihiko]

Trust and belief and trust and belief and trust and belief and-

[canisalbus]

Man now I'm thinking of like. You know that one lady who made a marble gravestone of her and her wife embracing because they couldn't get married legally at the time or something? Just that but your boys because I was thinking sbout how you draw fabric and characters interacting, how you mentioned there was supposed to be a bad ending or something for your plot, and then The Laws Of That Time

(I keep missing all the plot posts somehow lmao really gotta check it all out)

I find myself thinking of this a lot:

[arcanewebs]

are you really you 🙃

[astriiformes]

Some of this is an expansion of a thesis that I was prodding at in my speech and debate piece ten years ago in high school (which was an admittedly somewhat naïve exploration of the relationship between science fiction, optimism about the future, and scientific progress, though I stand by elements of it), but there really is something fascinating about the way Back to the Future, as a piece of science fiction media, engages with its own genre.

In the "better" timeline, George McFly, an avid sci-fi fan, goes on to become a science fiction writer. Doc Brown was inspired to become a scientist by the works of Jules Verne (and in the video game, has another Eureka moment when he sees the 1931 Frankenstein film for the first time); in the musical, he describes his time machine as "A car for the stars / Like Captain Kirk's." As a sickly girl, isolated from her peers, Clara Clayton fell in love with amateur astronomy and stories about traveling from the Earth to the Moon.

I'm just so enamored with the fact that, unlike some other media, Back to the Future loves being sci-fi so much. There's a consistent throughline in every piece of BttF media--even the newer ones--that science fiction is something good, and inspirational, that makes people feel less alone, and forges connections, and encourages people to learn and invent. And that throughline is absolutely in conversation with the fact that the 2015 segment of the second film presented a decidedly aspirational vision of the future, even though other contemporary portrayals on the new millennium were starting to skew bleaker and more cyberpunk. It would come across as a little self-aggrandizing if it didn't feel so genuine--and it also helps that some of the positive impacts shown are smaller, and more personal. George finds a fulfilling career. Doc and Clara fall in love. It's more like watching a work of fiction earnestly believe it has something to say than it is watching it be self-important.

"You can accomplish anything if you put your mind to it," "Your future hasn't been written yet. No one's has. Your future is whatever you make it, so make it a good one." Do you see. Do you see it.

[bortmcjorts]

[ID: a drawing of pye from outer wilds, standing with her writing staff. she's wearing an orange nomai space suit without the helmet, and she has a light brown face with curly darker brown fur. end ID]

figuring out how i want to draw the nomai, so here's a pye since i am obsessed with her !!!

[countv0ncunt]

I miss my dumb child and my smart child

I will probably never finish this

[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[seiwas]

hello sel!!! hru doing??

The ask game is super fun! How about Gojo + vindictive.

I hope u hv had a lovely day 🫶

zuro anon

zuro anon hello!! thanks for sending in a prompt!! i'm doing good 🥺 spending this lil vacay at home, mostly 🥺 and happy to be back writing 🥺 i hope you have the loveliest weekend 💗

contains: non-canon, childhood enemies to lovers (ish), (modern) arranged marriage, reader wears a braid and dresses

gojo + vindictive

you hate gojo satoru. you have ever since you were 5.

he's a bully―a real cocky one at that, with no regard or remorse for how his actions affect those around him.

on the day before your 6th birthday, right as your parents gathered together for the annual countdown, he gobbled up the entire plate of your favorite milk cakes before you could even take a bite. this marked the start, the beginning of a vengeance stewing inside of you.

at the age of 8, when you first learned how to do your own braids, he would tug at them, pull them free and unravel all your hard work for the past hour. you used to chase him for it, yell "satoru!" with all the strength your little lungs could muster and he would merely laugh and run faster.

the name "satoru," you've learned, must be synonymous with "sabotage," because it's all he's ever done. he threw the flower geto suguru handpicked for you straight to the ground, and purposely splashed gutter water all over the white dress you intended to wear on your first date.

not to mention, he's always rubbed in the fact that he's better than you, at everything―dangled all his accomplishments in front of you as if he knew they were just centimeters out of reach.

gojo satoru is solely responsible for tainting your childhood memories a miserable cerulean blue.

so, when your parents sit you down one day and tell you that you'll have to marry him, you feel transported in that moment, to each and every instance gojo has ever wronged you. it flips through your mind like a montage of flashbacks in a movie.

it's both surprising and not. your families have always been partners, in everything―business, education, and now you guess, life as well. you hate gojo's guts but this creates an opportunity you don't think can result from anything else.

so, sure, you'll agree to the marriage―only to make his life a living hell.

"hello, fiancée," he greets you, for the first time since the agreement.

you don't do anything to hide your disgust, face scrunching up as you spit out, "shut up, satoru."

the wedding planning is horrendous―at least, you hope it is for him. you pick out every single cake flavor you know he hates and choose the brightest venue possible for the event. the lights you pick for the afterparty are strobe lights, and you make sure to do multiple test runs just to play with his eyes. it doesn't occur to you that the solution to his light sensitivity is simple: just a plain pair of shades.

you wear plumping lip gloss on your wedding day, just so his lips burn when you have to kiss him. but gojo is either extremely numb or just good at faking it, because all he does is grin as he whispers quietly before parting, "spicy."

in preparation for your married life, you create a ledger of some sort―a book of accounts housing every single thing gojo has done wrong. you write down your plans to get him back for each of them, a list of pranks and inconveniences to make him regret ever messing with you all those years ago.

at half a year of marriage and 25 years of knowing each other, he casually tells you the big "i love you," but you're sure he doesn't mean it. you tell yourself your heart is racing from how infuriating his existence is; at how stupid his face looked when he'd said it. not anything else and most especially not the little dimple on his cheek that shows itself every now and then.

(you didn't know it yet then, but he'd found the ledger you kept and read through it all. the one-year plan, the three-year plan, the five, and so on. and it does nothing but strengthen how he feels about you, since he was 6, 14, and a few years ago at 24.

it's at your third year of marriage that you find out―how gojo's known all this time, but more importantly, how there were reasons behind every single instance you thought he was out to ruin your life.

with intelligence far beyond his age, gojo has always preferred the company of adults more than children. at age 6, he would listen in on conversations his mother had with her friends, roughly comprehending complex worlds with the simple ones he understood. someone had mentioned something about their daughter being allergic to milk. and so, when your birthday came up and all he saw were milk treats, he gobbled them all up in an effort to make sure you wouldn't be subjected to an adverse reaction―even though you were far off from any dairy allergy.

what he was sure of, however, was that you were severely allergic to bees. and when he spotted one perched right on the buttercup stem geto handed you, he had no choice but to smack it right out of your hand and down to the ground, stepping on it too, for good measure.

and, okay, maybe he was a little naughty for tugging at your braids when you'd just spent all that time doing them, but he always liked how they flowed into waves when they unravelled; how you'd chase him afterwards, angry but so, so pretty.

if there's one moment gojo will consider real sabotage, though, it's that date he stopped you from going to. like there was any way he was going to let another man see you dressed like that. he isn't nice that way. when gojo wants something, he's not sharing, and the sight of you in white―that was meant to be his and only his.)