#like. i guess i could not. but in the heat of the moment

[asxgard]

Omg I love your jack Abbott writings! All of the written so well. So I have a request if theyre open.

Jack x nurse reader who had a fling but it ended soooo badly because emotions weren’t being regulated. This makes reader quit PTMC and work elsewhere when she finds out she’s pregnant. Never tells jack. Cut to a year or two later, and they manage to cross paths where jack realizes it’s his son/daughter, feelings get thrown out the bag, and they all lived happily ever after?

in the wreckage | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x ex!f!nurse!reader

Requested

Summary: It’s in the wreckage of what was that you find hope for what could be.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Thank you, anon, I hope you enjoy! I struggled between giving him a son or daughter here, frankly because I really enjoyed both in my head. So like it has been in the past, it came down to a coin toss lol

Jack strikes me as both ‘“I walk you to your door and maybe kiss you goodnight on the second or third date” slow, intentional, traditional man and “if I don’t talk about my feelings, they don’t exist” longing, no title, all physical man’ so I float between them lol

Word Count: 3.1k (I blacked out)

Most of my works are 18+ for adult language and content.

Warnings: afab!reader, ex-situationship, implied age gap, foul language, hurt/comfort, mild references to smut, unplanned/surprise pregnancy, not telling jack about said pregnancy (reader being in the wrong oof), single mom!reader, hospital settings, medical inaccuracies, injuries relating to a car crash, angst with a happy ending, fluff

not beta read

It had started in the heat of the moment, neither of you being particularly careful with your feelings. The collection of lingering glances and secret smiles had brought it all to the surface until it was just the two of you after a bad shift. You had found comfort in each other that night, and several nights afterwards, lost in heat and an unspoken understanding of the horrors you faced each day.

Jack Abbot was a man of many complexities, though you thought that was what had sucked you in in the first place. The mysterious edge always left you wanting, always kept you guessing, and that just seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Perhaps because it had started on uncertain ground, always leaving you on the edge of your seat, left the relationship constantly feeling strained. What was worse was that neither of you called attention to it and simply let the insecurities fester. Simply never brought up what you were, or what you wanted to be, or got too personal to be vulnerable, though Jack had more of an affinity for that last one than you did.

You smiled at him less and less in the hallways of the Pitt, overwhelmed by the unknowing eating at your insides. You avoided him at work. He avoided your calls. Sooner or later, one of you always turned up at the other’s door. It became habitual, like a moth to a flame.

It only made your downfall so much worse.

—

You had wanted a clean break, and leaving the Pitt had been like leaving home. It had been necessary after that night with Jack, unable to look at him, let alone continue working with him. Not after what he said — not after you had asked for more and he had calmly, collectively, refused you. Like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t understand.

It had done more than just hurt and embarrassed you, it had burned.

Like everything had reached its crescendo before stopping cold. All the feelings buzzing around your chest had been too much in the aftermath, so you left. Just left.

The two little pink lines staring at you just a few weeks later were a bitter pill to swallow. A cruel cosmic joke reeling you back to the man you were trying to run away from — leaving a constant reminder of the downfall. Bile had risen in your throat, and you felt a petty feeling rise with it.

He didn’t need to be in your life. You could do it alone. Who said you had to tell him? Perhaps that was wrong of you, a bit too childish, but you were still angry. Still running.

As your belly swelled, your feelings started seeming less bitter and more sweet. You moved out of your crappy one-bedroom apartment and into a fresh start, committing to your choice. Committing to the child in your womb and the choices that had led you there.

There was a tiny part of you that wanted to reach out, let him know, but you grew embarrassed each time you stared at his contact. You did not want him to feel like you were trapping him after he had made it clear that nothing more could happen between you.

For months you struggled with your decision, trying to wrangle your worries and insecurities about being a single mother. All the work, all the money, all the stress it was going to bring you.

It all seemed to fade away when you held your son in your arms, so small and screaming, and yet your heart filled with joy. He was perfect, with tiny fingers and toes, small tufts of dark hair atop his head. His eyes gave you pause — as they were unmistakably Jack’s.

You cried without really knowing why. Joy, longing, loss, love, or something in between had boiled up and then boiled over. Jack should know, echoed quietly in the back of your mind, he should know he has a son.

It felt too late to say it. You had had months to say something, anything and chosen not to. It was too late.

Despite the hardships you faced as a new mom facing it alone, Daniel was loved fiercely and spoiled when you could manage it. Your friends and co-workers helped when they could, and never let the absence of a father grow when they could help fill the void. Even your old co-workers came to see you and your son, visiting with curiosity soaking their eyes.

If any of them caught on, they didn’t say anything.

—

It felt crazy to you that a year since your son had been born had passed so quickly, so fleetingly. You worked a lot to afford rent, food and childcare, but even still, it felt strange that a year had gone by without fanfare.

Your friend had been a lifesaver when she allowed you to use her backyard for his first birthday party. It would be a small affair, with only a handful of kids Daniel knew from daycare and a few of your friends and their kids. Perlah and Dana even stopped by, giving their well wishes from everyone.

When you ran out of ice for the coolers, you and one of your co-workers, Liam, offered to go get more at the corner store. You left Daniel in the caring hands of Dana and promised to be back in only a few minutes.

A few minutes turned into a few hours after you had been blindsided and t-boned by a car trying to run a red light. You felt hazy when the paramedics arrived, carefully trying to apply pressure to the gash on Liam’s leg.

When you were wheeled into PTMC, you felt a flood of panic. Hadn’t you asked to head to Alleghany East? Maybe it had only been in your head. You prayed to whatever was out there that you would only see Robby.

Fate had other plans, it seemed, as Jack was the one who had come to the ambulance doors to assess you.

He stared at you like he had seen a ghost before buckling down and getting to work. He checked your pupils and your vitals, muttering something about a concussion, before checking over the handful of cuts the glass had made when the windows broke.

You were stable, so they wheeled you back into an open room to wait for a head CT. Jack lingered in the doorway, before shooing away an intern who had come to clean your wounds.

“How’s my friend? Is he okay?”

Jack pulled the stool close to you, “He’s just a room over. Nasty laceration, concussion, but Robby’s taking care of him. He’ll be okay.”

You nodded and took a deep breath. You picked up your phone to call Dana.

“I shouldn’t be long.” You told her after explaining what had happened.

“I’ll be right there.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Like hell I don’t. Don’t you worry about a thing, I’ll take care of it.”

You sighed, “Thank you, Dana.”

Jack, who had silently been cleaning your wounds, spoke, “So…is it just me you don’t talk to anymore?”

You scrunched your eyebrows and looked at him quizzically, “Excuse me?”

Hazel eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“I thought you made it clear that was the last thing you wanted.” You said, tone hard, lips dipping into a frown.

Jack let out a long sigh. “It was a bad shift. Bad day. It doesn’t excuse what I said. I was running from it being something real, I’m sorry.” A long pause echoed. “But I’d like to try and at least be friends.”

Friends? It ached somewhere deep in your chest. You could not be friends. You had made that decision over a year before and decided against having him in your life at any capacity. You frowned at him, looking away from his face before you could crumble.

“I don’t think that’s wise.” You said quietly.

He nodded, pulling over the suture kit. That seemed to be the end of it.

You let him finish working while the silence washed over you, thick and guarded. Your thoughts felt cloudy, and your head hurt, your muscles ached, but doubt began to creep in.

Had you made the right decision? You wanted to believe so. With one foot constantly out the door, would he even make a good father? Had you waited too long to even consider telling him? You felt stuck in your head, going over all the what ifs until you felt queasy.

A knock sounded on the door, pulling you from your thoughts. Dana’s pleasant smile greeted you, but it was your son in her arms that made you flush with distress. You stared at her with wide eyes, heart picking up speed.

“Someone was worried.” She told you simply, but her eyes flickered to Jack.

Jack looked up at Dana, then at the boy in her arms. The toddler was tucked against her neck, leaning on her like he was trying to sleep. Jack schooled his features easily, though it looked like he was disappointed for just a fraction of a second, which sent you reeling.

“Should I have someone call your…boyfriend?” Jack asked tightly, looking back down at the stitch work.

“No boyfriend.” You frowned, but accepted your son from Dana eagerly. Did Jack think that you’d had a baby with someone else? Good. Good. That was for the best. Bile burned your throat.

“How’re you feeling, kid?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you. Can you call my parents? I’ll need help getting him home.”

“Of course, I’ll be just outside if you need anything else.” Dana said, eyes moving to Jack and then back to you.

Your cheeks heated and you held your son tightly to your chest. You rubbed his back and hummed softly, though it was more to comfort yourself than him. Maybe Jack would not notice, just finish his stitches and be on his way and you could go on pretending this had never happened.

Though, thinking Jack wouldn’t notice something was a fool’s game. Your son turned his head to look at him, blinking his tired hazel eyes at Jack. Like you had thought when you first saw them, they were like a mirror of each other.

Alarm raced through Jack’s features, eyes flickering from Daniel and back to you, eyebrows raised, breath caught. You stopped breathing, and your joints locked into place like you were bracing for it to all fall apart. He just stared at you.

“How old is he?”

“Jack—”

“How. Old. Is. He?”

“A year…today.” You said quietly. Meekly. Words cutting your throat like they had been glass.

It was simple enough to do the math, and his expression hardened. He stood, and the air shifted to something uncomfortable, uneasy, uncharted, unknown.

“Jack—wait—let me explain.”

“So I take it this is why everyone has been so secretive about why you left.”

“They didn’t know. No one knew.”

He gestured to where Dana stood in the hall.

“No one knew for certain.” You elaborated, trying to defend them. Perhaps you could handle him being mad at you, but not the family you had made in the Pitt. You had never told them, and they had never asked, though from how she had handed your son to you, it was clear Dana had known.

“You were never going to tell me.” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

Shame bubbled in your gut, low and searing, working its way upwards until tears formed. What you had been bracing for hit you like a punch to the chest — hurting more than that car had inflicted.

“I thought it was the right choice at the time.”

He scoffed and recoiled, his expression flinching between pain and anger.

“Jack—” you sighed, leveling your voice so you didn’t raise it. “—you told me I could never understand you, or the role you played here. That asking for any more from you was pointless…that it had all been a mistake and I needed to move on. I really couldn’t bear to work with you after that, so I left. I didn’t know I was pregnant yet. Was it wrong to keep it from you once I found out? …yes. But I was hurt.” You swallowed tightly, and wiped away your tears, annoyed they were forming.

He walked to the far wall away from you, then paced back toward you before repeating himself, hands on his hips. His expression broached closer to unreadable, which fueled your panic. With a long, heavy sigh, he stopped to lean against the wall. Never one to stray from eye contact, he found your eyes. Heavy, hard, reserved.

“I thought it was for the best. I didn’t want you to feel like I was trapping you, especially since it seemed like kids were the last thing on your list. I just wanted a clean break. I doubted my decision a lot—”

“And yet, you did nothing about it.”

You bit your lip. “I’m so sorry, Jack. I really messed up, I know that now. Time kept slipping away from me. I was still figuring out parenting — I still am — and to throw co-parenting into the mix? It felt like an impossible climb.”

“If you had never come here today…if Dana had never brought him in…you never would have said anything.”

More tears came as shame burned your face, “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know.”

Silences with Jack used to be comfortable, easy, as simple as breathing. The one now settling between you? It ached, it burned, it crushed.

“What’s his name?” Jack asked quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Daniel.”

You swore you saw his eyes grow glassy.

“I made the wrong decision, and I’ll own up to that.” You admitted quietly. “I can’t change what I did or didn’t do, and I’ll never be able to apologize enough for it. I just thought this…this would be easier. For everyone involved.”

“I’m involved now. Don’t fight me on that.”

“I won’t.” You vowed.

—

Trust was built back slowly, through long conversations and with actions followed through. It had been tense and awkward as your son grew to know Jack as his father, though he fell into the role like he was made for it. It only made the guilt over stealing a year of your son’s life from him hurt all over again.

The tension and burning guilt were the hardest thing for you two to overcome. While he never raised his voice, he would grow accusatory when he remembered how much he had lost out on. You would double down on the night you had left him behind — or perhaps it truly was him leaving you behind — and the words he had said to you.

Neither of you were particularly blameless, not really. The relationship that had been was not one formed on a solid foundation, so everything felt like new territory. The pull of will they, won’t they, as Princess had put it, constantly making you question where you stood.

You just wanted to focus on co-parenting effectively, and Jack just wanted to focus on making up for lost time. That felt easy enough.

But something from the past — from the wreckage of what you had been — lingered like some part of you and Jack was haunted. An echo of what should have been fizzled just below the surface.

On the first night you felt secure enough to leave Daniel at Jack’s apartment, you settled in his kitchen to clean up a bit of the mess from dinner. Jack’s guest room had been quickly converted to be a bedroom for his son, pulling together everything he needed without complaint.

Jack wandered back into the kitchen after settling Daniel down for the night. You hummed softly, and Jack leaned against the doorway without saying anything.

“I know this is hard for you.” Jack said, hands in his pockets. “Thank you for giving me tonight.”

You smiled even though a sadness lingered at leaving your son somewhere overnight that was not his home. But this would need to be his home, too, so you swallowed it.

“You two need some quality time,” after I ripped the beginning away from you. “You two will have fun tomorrow.”

“...I got an extra ticket, if you’d like to come with us.”

Hope bloomed, “You did?”

“I’d like to put the past behind us. Move forward together.” He said, eyes never leaving yours.

Forgiveness had come with your son’s echoing laughter and hues of blue shimmering against your skin, as light moved through the water. Daniel pointed up at the sharks in their tanks while Jack held him, watching in his own kind of excitement, a smile cracking against the corner of his mouth.

Jack had grabbed your hand without saying anything.

You intertwined your fingers and let out a long breath of relief.

—

Something like love had come in a flourish after Daniel’s first words: dada. It might have felt like a punch to the gut, another cosmic joke, if it hadn’t lit up Jack’s face in a smile you had never seen before. It warmed the ache in your chest and decided it was okay for Jack to have this first.

It felt like forgiving yourself.

You ended up staying the night, curling up against Jack’s chest while your son slept soundly in the next room. Neither of you wanted to rush what was blossoming between you, or jinx it. If you were going to go for it, you each deserved steady ground to stand on.

“You’re doing really well with him.” You whispered. “I was worried it would feel clunky or unnatural to have you around. But it works.”

He looked at you for a long time. “I don’t want to mess this up, too.”

You softened, “I think that’s what parenthood is. Messing up and trying to do better, every day.”

“Do you think relationships are the same?” He asked, low and deliberate.

“Yeah, I do.”

It felt like a confession.

He leaned down to kiss you, but paused just before his lips met yours. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and you wet your lips with your tongue.

“I like what we have. I don’t want to screw it up by trying to be something we’re not.” You said quietly, though you felt the pull of wanting to kiss him.

Co-parenting had been bleeding closer to a relationship for quite some time, but you had not wanted to be the one who spoiled it.

“I’m not going to run this time, not if you don’t.”

You swallowed, focusing on his eyes, “I’m here to stay.”

He captured your lips, pulling you flush against him, one hand going behind your head and the other settling on your hip. It was hesitant, but full of feeling, of all things left unsaid.

It felt like was a promise.

same prompt, but with Robby: A Fresh Start

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @woodxtock @rachel2494

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69

All content taglist: @nixandtonic

this inspired two tiny multis:

casual (coming soon) (Dr. Robby)

champagne problems (coming soon) (Dr. Abbot)

whoops

[ponderingmoonlight]

Oh, to be trapped with Dante

Pairing: Dante x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,3k

Synopsis: What's worse than getting trapped with Dante? Getting trapped with a stripping Dante.

Warnings: this is hilarious and fluffy at the same time, I'm still begging for Dante requests so get in my inbox if you have one, hope you like it @veijdana

You’re not sure what sets it off.

Maybe it’s the faulty lock. Maybe the door was always a little off its axes. Maybe the universe just has a sick sense of humour when it comes to you and that guy.

What you do know for sure is this: the door slams shut, there’s a sharp click, and no amount of jiggling the handle is getting you out of this storage room-slash-death trap. No windows, no signal, and the only light is from a flickering overhead bulb that looks like it could give up at any moment.

Perfect.

So much to being the greatest demon hunters of them all.

You turn slowly to Dante, who’s lounging against a metal shelf stacked with boxes labeled “Supplies” like this is nothing. Like he didn’t just help trap you both in a glorified closet with a single bottle of water and a half-eaten protein bar. Like he did something except for watching you struggle with that heavy ass door.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Problem?”

“The door’s locked.”

“I noticed,” he replies, utterly unbothered.

“Dante.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, barely able to hold it together any longer.

“Please don’t call me that right now.”

“Noted,” he declares, in a tone that means absolutely not noted.

He strolls over, casually tests the door for himself, then shrugs.

“Yeah. We’re stuck.”

“No kidding.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait until someone finds us.”

“Which could be hours. Or days.”

He grins, shameless.

“Even better.”

You sit down hard the cold ground. It creaks threateningly, but you’re too irritated to care. He paces once, twice, then flops down across from you like this is a vacation, arms behind his head, one leg draped over the other ready to sunbathe.

Except this isn’t Miami beach but a mouse trap.

“Are you always this calm when you’re locked in small spaces with people you annoy for fun?” you question innocently.

“Only when it’s you.”

You narrow your eyes, gaze spitting thick venom at him.

“Do you actually enjoy pushing my buttons this much, or is it just some kind of defense mechanism?”

“Little column A, little column B,” he thinks out loud, flashing you a lazy smile.

“But if we’re being honest… you're kind of cute when you’re mad.”

You throw a balled-up wrapper at him. He ducks it easily, still smirking.

The minutes stretch. Then an hour. The silence tries to creep in, but Dante won’t let it. He talks. About nonsense. Old missions, weird dreams, things he overheard once that he probably wasn’t supposed to. You try not to laugh. You really try.

Eventually, you’re sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, legs stretched out, head tilted toward him without meaning to. He’s closer now, somehow. At some point. The distance between you shrunk while you weren’t paying attention.

“I think you like being trapped with me,” he mutters, voice quieter now.

Less teasing, if that’s somehow possible.

“You haven’t told me to shut up in, like, ten whole minutes.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.

“That’s because I’ve accepted my fate. Resistance is clearly useless. And somehow I get the feeling it turns you on even more.”

“Exactly. Might as well enjoy yourself.”

He bumps your knee with his. You don’t move away. No, somehow, this faint touch has a comfort to it, a warmth you haven’t felt for quite some time by now.

The silence now is different. Thicker. Weighted. Like you’re both suddenly aware of how still everything is. How alone. It’s just you and him. You and the walking sex symbol itself Dante.

Your voice comes out softer than you mean it to.

“This is the part where you make some dumb joke about body heat, isn’t it?”

He chuckles, low.

“Tempting. But no. Not yet.”

You glance at him.

“Yet?”

He shrugs.

“I’m giving you a few more hours before I wear down your defenses. I’m not a complete monster.”

You shake your head, lips twitching despite yourself.

Another stretch of silence. Then:

“You ever think about it?” he asks suddenly.

You blink, caught off guard by that strange and unexpected question.

“About what?”

“Us. Like - if this whole ridiculous situation wasn’t so ridiculous. If it was… different.”

Your stomach does something complicated. You turn your head to look at him, your palms starting to get sweaty. Why do you always feel like this when he’s around?

He’s watching you, eyes dark and serious for once. No smirk. No teasing.

“Yeah. Sometimes,” you admit quietly.

A beat.

“I like the idea,” he confesses.

You nod.

“Me too.”

He shifts closer, shoulder brushing yours now, solid and warm and real. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Still not sharing my blanket, though.”

You snort.

“I’m not cold.”

“Yet.”

You laugh. And this time, you let your head rest against his shoulder. Just a little.

Just enough.

Bonus:

You're curled on one side of the room, using your jacket as a pillow. Dante's a few feet away, stretched out like he owns the floor, arms folded behind his head. The silence has gone companionable, easy. You almost forget where you are.

Until he moves.

You hear the rustle of fabric first. Then the unmistakable sound of a zipper.

You lift your head, every single alarm going off inside your head. No, he isn’t about to strip…Is he?

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to sleep,” he remarks like it’s obvious.

Which it isn’t.

At all.

Because his shirt is coming off, and now he’s unbuttoning his pants in the dim light of the room, clearly visible to your accustomed to dark gaze.

“Dante-”

“What?” he interrupts, glancing at you over his shoulder.

“I always sleep naked.”

You sit up straighter, just the thought of seeing him naked, let alone shirtless...

“You are not - you can’t just strip.”

He shrugs, already stepping out of his jeans like this is just another Tuesday with a pizza waiting on his desk for him.

“It helps with thermoregulation. Look it up.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, turning away.

“You’re the worst.”

“You say that, but you’re not telling me to stop.”

You don’t. You don’t want to. Which is the worst part.

He stretches out again, now under the thin blanket you both agreed to not share (but he’s already claimed half of), bare chest barely hidden in the dark, a picture of shameless comfort.

You try not to look. You try.

He catches you anyway.

“See something you like?”

“See something I want to throw a box at.”

He laughs - low, satisfied, like he just won a game you didn’t know you were playing.

“Relax. It’s not like I’m gonna pounce on you.”

“You better not.”

“Unless you ask nicely.”

You grab your jacket and hurl it at his face. He catches it one-handed, grinning like he’s thriving on your outrage.

“Goodnight, Dante.”

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

You lie back, trying to will your pulse to settle. But you can still hear him breathing across the room, steady and slow, and you swear you feel the heat from him bleeding across the short distance between you.

The night settles heavy. And you're very aware you’re trapped with a half-naked Dante, no door, no escape, and a dangerous lack of personal space.

Sleep is going to be impossible.

And you think he knows it.

“I still feel you staring-“

“Shut the hell up, Dante.”

[inseobts]

Heartstrings pt.1

trafalgar law x reader

amid the chaos of punk hazard, you reunite with trafalgar law, stirring old memories, buried emotions, and a shared past haunted by corazon’s death. but there's no time to dwell—doflamingo’s name resurfaces, and this time, you refuse to let history repeat itself.

tags: punk hazard and dressrosa spoilers I guess, angst to fluff, childhood friends, slow burn

word count: 3.9k

masterlist || ko-fi

The battlefield of Punk Hazard is complete chaos. Flames roar, metal groans under the heat, and the sharp scent of burning chemicals stings your nose. In other words? It’s just a typical Tuesday with the Strawhats.

You arrive later on the fight. Heart pounding, mind racing. This island is already a disaster zone, and at the center of it all is the man you never thought you’d see again.

Trafalgar Law.

He’s standing a few yards away, dressed in that ridiculous yellow hoodie, his sword resting against his shoulder. His golden eyes widen the second they land on you, freezing in place.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The sounds of battle fade into the background, drowned out by the roaring in your ears.

He looks… older. Sharper. But still him.

You exhale sharply, not actually connecting your mouth to your brain, so all you could say is “Well, damn. You actually got taller.”

Law blinks “What the hell…?”

The shock in his voice makes something in your chest tighten, but you shove the feeling aside. There's no time for that.

Luffy, being Luffy, swings by on a random piece of debris, grinning like an idiot “Oi! Y/N, you know Tra-guy?!”

Law groans “Don’t call me that”

You snort. Still the same old grump.

Flashback – Many Years Ago “You hate nicknames, don’t you?” you muse, watching Law scowl as Corazon ruffles his hair. The little boy smacks Corazon’s hand away “They’re annoying.” You smirk “So if I call you Law-chan...” “Don’t.”

Back to the Present

Your smirk widens “Some things never change.”

Law crosses his arms, studying you carefully. You can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“You’re with them?”

“Yup.”

“How?”

You shrug “Just happened to meet them on my way”

Law stares and before he can respond, Zoro rushes towards the group, resting a hand on his sword “We done with the staring contest? We got a fight to win.”

Law finally shakes his head, exhaling sharply “We’ll talk later.”

You grin “Looking forward to it... Captain.”

He groans. This is going to be a long day.

Law is still staring at you like you just came back from the dead. To be fair, you might as well have.

“Seriously...” he says, voice flat “You’re with them?”

You stretch your arms behind your head, nodding “Yup. You’re repeating yourself, Captain Law.”

His eye twitches.

Luffy, still hanging off a random metal pipe, grins like this is the funniest thing ever “Oi, Tra-guy! You should’ve seen your face when you saw Y/N! It was all like—” He scrunches up his face, trying (and failing) to mimic Law’s perpetual scowl.

Law glares at him, jaw tightening “We have more important things to deal with than my face.”

Flashback – Many Years Ago “You’re so grumpy” you tease, watching as little-kid Law glares at the deck of cards in his hands. The two of you are sitting outside a small, dimly lit inn, the sounds of the ocean lapping against the dock in the distance. Corazon snores quietly a few feet away, passed out in an awkward position against some barrels. Law, still scowling, slaps his cards down “This game is stupid.” You snicker “You’re just losing.” His scowl deepens. “You never know how to just relax...” you continue, leaning back against the crate “Do you even have any fun?” “I don’t have time for fun.” You roll your eyes, flicking one of his cards at him “You say that like you’re forty.” He grumbles under his breath, shuffling the cards again, because even if he pretends not to care, he actually just refuses to lose.

Back to the Present

Looking at Law now, arms crossed, brow furrowed, looking two seconds away from throwing someone off a cliff, you have to bite back a smirk.

He's always the same Law you knew years and years ago.

“So,” you continue, tilting your head “are we gonna talk about the fact that you look like you literally saw a ghost?”

Law exhales through his nose, looking at you with a very unimpressed look “I thought you were dead.”

You blink “…What?”

He gestures vaguely “After everything that happened, after Cora-san… you just disappeared. I didn't know where you went or what happened to you.”

Oh.

For the first time since you saw him again, your playful demeanor falters slightly. Your chest tightens, old memories stirring... memories of fire, blood, and loss.

“I didn’t disappear,” you say quietly “I just… didn’t know how to find you.”

The words hang between you, unspoken things left unsaid. Law stares at you for a long moment, and just for a second you think you see something soften in his expression.

And then BOOM.

A nearby explosion sends rubble flying, and Law immediately turns, jaw tightening. Back to business.

“We’ll talk later” he says firmly.

You smirk, shaking off the heaviness in your chest “Looking forward to it.”

As you both sprint back into battle.

The battlefield is pure chaos. You’re currently dodging a sword swipe from some grinning lunatic in a gas mask.

“Damn it!” You twist out of the way, rolling across the wreckage-covered ground.

The masked guy lets out a laugh, lunging at you again only for his head to suddenly detach from his body.

"What the—?" You blink, watching as the severed head tumbles to the ground. The body doesn't collapse, it stops like it's... confused. The head groans.

“Ugh… my body…”

You glance at the blue glow surrounding the air. Then, slowly, you turn.

Law is standing a few feet away, looking completely unbothered. His sword is still drawn, golden eyes sharp and calculating.

You let out a low whistle “Still dramatic as ever, huh?”

Law huffs, flicking his sword to the side “You were taking too long.”

Flashback – Years Ago “Any day now” Law mutters, arms crossed as he watches you struggle. You glare at him, sweating as you try to pick the lock on the cell “This is harder than it looks, okay?!” He sighs heavily, kneeling beside you “Move” Before you can protest, he effortlessly picks the lock in under ten seconds. The door swings open with a creak. You stare at him. He shrugs “You were taking too long.” You roll your eyes “Show-off.”

Back to the Present

You shake your head, smirking “You haven’t changed at all.”

Law ignores you, already moving forward like he hasn’t just casually decapitated a man “Come on. We don’t have time to waste.”

You jog after him, stepping over the still-whining head “You could at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

“I don’t have time for that, either.”

You scoff “No time for emotions, huh? That’s very on-brand for you, Captain.”

He rolls his eyes before walking off, and you follow him into battle.

Flames crackle from a collapsed wall, the ground is littered with rubble and unconscious enemies, and the air is thick with smoke and chaos. Luffy is somewhere still fighting Caesar Clown, while the rest of the crew is scattered across the battlefield.

And you?

You’re stuck with Trafalgar Law, currently running for your life down a crumbling hallway while a wave of toxic gas rushes after you.

“Do you ever think things through before jumping into danger?” Law shouts over the deafening roar of destruction behind you.

You flash him a grin “Nope! That’s what makes life fun!”

His eye twitches “You’re insufferable.”

“Aw, you missed me.”

“I absolutely did not—”

A sudden explosion cuts him off, sending debris crashing down from above. Your eyes widen.

“Shit—”

You shove Law forward, forcing both of you into a dive just as the ceiling collapses behind you, sealing off the corridor. A massive cloud of dust kicks up, making you cough as you push yourself up onto your elbows.

For a moment, silence.

“You’re insane.”

You glance up to see Law, still flat on his back, staring at you like you’re the most exhausting person in the world.

You smirk “Yeah, but you like that about me.”

He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose “I don’t.”

“You always used to do this” Law mutters, standing up and dusting himself off.

“Do what?” you ask, doing the same.

“Throw yourself into danger like you have a death wish.”

You roll your eyes “I don’t have a death wish, I just...” You pause.

Law raises an eyebrow “Just what?”

You glance at him, hesitating for a split second before shrugging “I just don’t think twice when someone needs help... especially if it's for someone I care about.”

Law is silent for a moment, eyes scanning your face. Then, with an unreadable expression, he turns “Come on. We’re not done here.”

You grin, falling into step beside him “You’re such a softie, you know that?”

He groans “Shut up, Y/N.”

The battle is finally over.

You stand on the charred ground, catching your breath as the cold sea breeze blows through the wreckage. Your body aches, your clothes are torn, and there’s a smudge of soot on your cheek.

Luffy, of course, is grinning like he didn’t just go toe-to-toe with some of the most dangerous people in the New World “That was fun!”

Law, standing a few feet away, looks like he wants to strangle him “You nearly got yourself killed, Luffy-ya.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t!”

Law pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks two seconds away from throwing himself into the ocean.

You laugh, patting his shoulder “Told you, you get used to them.”

He shoots you a deadpan look “No. I don’t.”

Law watches you carefully, as if he’s still trying to figure out how you ended up here, with Luffy of all people.

Before he can say anything, Robin speaks up “So, what’s next?”

Law exhales, finally turning back to the group “We set sail. Now that Caesar is captured, we move forward with the next phase of the plan.”

“And what plan is that?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Law’s golden eyes flicker to you.

“Doflamingo.”

The name alone makes the air heavier. The casual atmosphere from before vanishes.

You freeze.

Doflamingo.

The name alone pulls you straight back to the past.

Your chest tightens. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

Law is still talking, explaining the next steps of his alliance with Luffy, but your mind is already made up.

All you feel is fear.

Because you’ve just heard the name that still haunts your nightmares after so many years.

You barely hear the rest of the conversation, his plan, the alliance with Luffy, the decision to go to Dressrosa and face him.

Your blood runs cold.

No. No, no, no—

“You can’t” you say, voice sharp.

Law stops mid-sentence. Everyone turns to look at you.

He raises an eyebrow “What?”

“You can’t go after him” you say again, louder this time.

Luffy tilts his head “Eh? Why not?”

“Because he’ll kill you!” your voice shakes, but you don’t care. You turn to Law, expecting him to understand “You should know better than anyone!”

Law’s expression darkens. The others exchange looks, but you don’t care about them right now.

“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with” you continue, now glaring at all of them “Doflamingo isn’t just some pirate, he’s a monster. He’ll tear you apart without even breaking a sweat.”

Luffy shrugs “So? We’ll just beat him up.”

You snap.

“This isn’t some stupid adventure, Luffy! This isn’t about finding treasure or having fun! This is Doflamingo! He’s destroyed more lives than you can count! He—” Your voice catches, you now turn to Law with tears in your eyes “He killed Corazon.”

Silence.

No one says anything.

Law’s golden eyes are locked on you, unreadable. The weight of your words lingers in the cold air.

You swallow hard, chest tight “I can’t—I can’t lose anyone else by him”

Because you remember.

You remember holding Corazon’s hand as his blood soaked into the snow. You remember screaming for help that never came. You remember losing him, losing Law, losing everything.

And now, after all these years, after finally finding him again, Law is walking into the same fate.

You shake your head, fists clenched “I won’t let you do this.”

Law, for a moment, just stares. His face is carefully blank, but you know him too well.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“You think I don’t know what’s at stake?” His voice is low, controlled but there’s an edge to it, something raw “You think I don’t remember what he did?”

You open your mouth but he cuts you off.

“I’ve spent my entire life planning this” he continues, stepping closer. His golden eyes burn with something fierce, something painful “This isn’t just revenge. This is about ending him. For Corazon. For Dressrosa. For everyone he’s ever used and discarded. For you.”

Your breath catches.

Law holds your gaze, unwavering “I’m not asking you to like it. I’m not asking you to approve. But I am asking you...” His voice softens “Do you still trust me?”

Your chest tightens.

Because of course you do. You always have and you always will.

Law doesn’t break eye contact, waiting for your answer.

Finally, you exhale. You close your eyes, steadying yourself and then look back at him.

“…Fine” you say quietly “I’m coming with you.”

Law nods once, like he expected nothing less.

Luffy grins “You can stay on the ship if you want, y’know!”

You snort “Not a chance.”

Because if Law is going into hell again you’re going with him.

The ship is calm for now, headed to Dressrosa to face Doflamingo and you are going to make sure no one, not a single person you care about, gets lost along the way.

You sit at the edge of the ship, the wind pulling at your hair, while the others are belowdeck, preparing, resting, no one else is up here. Just you and the open ocean stretching out before you.

And him.

Law is leaning against the ship’s railing, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, eyes watching the horizon. His expression is unreadable, like always, but there’s a weight in the air between you.

You stay quiet, unsure of what to say, as the distance between you two feels as heavy as the ocean.

Finally, Law speaks, his voice cutting through the silence “You really don’t have to come.”

You glance at him, but he doesn’t look at you.

“I’m not staying behind, Law” you reply. Your voice is steady, though inside, it feels like your heart is pounding against your ribs “I’m going with you. End of the story.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then, softly, he asks “Why?”

Your breath catches. You think about it for a second.

“I—I’m not going to lose you too” you say quietly, eyes still locked on the horizon, not daring to look at him “I couldn’t handle it again. Not after…” Your voice breaks, and you quickly swallow the lump in your throat.

Law shifts slightly, as if he’s processing your words. He doesn’t interrupt, just watches you closely.

Finally, after a long pause, he speaks again “I can’t promise you nothing will happen.”

You finally look at him, searching his eyes “I know.”

For a second, there’s a flicker of something fragile and vulnerable across his face, but it disappears almost instantly. Law looks away, his gaze returning to the horizon.

“I don’t need you getting in the way” he says, his voice quieter now, but there’s a hint of something deeper underneath.

“Don’t worry,” you reply with a wry smile “I’m not going anywhere. But, seriously, I’m helping. And if you try to stop me, I’ll probably make things worse.”

He raises an eyebrow “You’re already making things worse.”

You laugh, that familiar, comfortable tension between you rising again “Good. I like to keep you on your toes”

Law sighs, exasperated but not really surprised “I’ll never understand you, Y/N.”

“I’m not asking you to” you smile, the warmth of the moment softening the edges of everything else.

The two of you stand there for a while longer, watching the ocean, the silent understanding between you both deepening.

“I...” you hesitate, wondering if now’s the right time, but you push through, because you can’t keep avoiding it forever “I’ve been looking for you...”

Law raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t speak, so you continue.

“You know, after everything happened, I...” you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself “I never stopped looking for you, Law. Ever.”

This time, he turns his head just slightly, eyes catching yours, though his expression is still hard to read “You’ve been looking for me?”

You nod “Yeah. Everywhere. When Corazon… When he died, I couldn't find you. For years I didn’t know what to do. Then, I started looking for you following the news, the reports on pirates, on the underworld. Anything that might give me a clue where you were.”

Law frowns, his eyes narrowing slightly. You can see the flicker of confusion, but he doesn’t say anything yet.

“But I actually had no idea where to start, there was no news about you” you continue “But after some time, I finally caught wind of you... Law, the Surgeon of Death, the pirate captain of the Heart Pirates” Your chest tightens as you recall those dark days “I saw reports of you here and there, and I followed the trail. And that’s how I ended up with the Strawhats... since you wanted to know how I ended up with them”

You watch his face closely, trying to gauge his reaction, but his eyes are still shadowed with something you can’t quite place.

You take a slow, shaky breath before continuing “After what happened to Corazon I was never sure you were still alive. I hoped. But after years of silence, I started to think the worst. That maybe you were… At least until I saw a grown up version of you on a bounty poster. For the first time ever, I was actually relieved and happy seeing your ugly face”

Finally, Law speaks, his voice low “You shouldn’t have followed me. It wasn’t safe.”

You stiffen at his words “I couldn’t just sit back while I had no idea where you were, what happened to you. I had to meet you.”

The tension between you both thickens, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

Finally, Law sighs, turning his back to the railing and facing you directly “I didn’t want you to get hurt, y/n. After everything that happened, I thought you were...” His voice cracks, and he cuts himself off, clearly uncomfortable.

You can’t help but soften a little, the edge of your anger fading as you see the vulnerability beneath his words.

“Dead?” you finish quietly, your eyes not leaving his.

Law looks away, his jaw tightening, like he’s trying to keep his emotions locked inside “I thought you were dead. After what happened with Corazon, and everything that came after… I thought you were gone too. And there were no news about you around, you don't have a bounty poster... I'm sorry.”

For a moment, you’re not sure what to say. But then, slowly, you step closer to him “It’s okay. I get it. You don’t need to apologize. Also, I have a bounty poster but they used my nickname instead of a real name, and I used to hide my face with a mask. At least before meeting Luffy a few months ago.”

The silence between you both feels less suffocating now, but there’s still something unspoken between you. A promise, maybe. An understanding.

Finally, you speak again, voice quieter this time “I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere. Not until this is over. Not until we’re done with Doflamingo.”

Law’s eyes are searching yours, like he’s looking for something. Then, after a moment, he nods, just the slightest inclination of his head “Good.”

You both stand there for a few more moments, neither of you needing to say anything else.

But in this moment, the weight of the past doesn’t feel so heavy. There’s a fragility between you both now, an unspoken promise that no matter what happens next, you’ll be facing it together.

“You’re still scared” he says.

You scoff “Of course I am. You should be too.”

Flashback The cold stone halls of the Donquixote estate stretch endlessly around you, silent except for the faint echo of distant voices. You’re small, a child, but you know better than to let your guard down. A shadow looms ahead. Him. Doflamingo stands at the end of the corridor, golden sunglasses catching the dim light. His presence is suffocating, his smile sharp like a knife. “You should be grateful” he says, his voice calm, almost amused “Not many get to live under my protection.” You say nothing. You never say anything when he talks like this. You remember Corazon’s warning: Don’t let him see your fear. But it’s hard, when every instinct in your body screams to run. Doflamingo takes a step closer “And yet, you look at me like you want to disappear.” Your fists clench at your sides. You don’t answer. His smile doesn’t falter. Then, suddenly Law bursts between you, arms outstretched like a shield. His breathing is heavy, but his glare is sharp. Doflamingo chuckles “How touching.” “Leave y/n alone” Law growls. Doflamingo tilts his head, amused “Or what?” Law doesn’t answer. He just stands his ground and for a long moment, there’s silence. Then, Doflamingo laughs while walking away “pathetic.” “…You didn’t have to do that” you murmur. He finally looks at you, his expression unreadable “Yes, I did.” You don’t argue. Because he’s right. Because back then, all you had was each other.

Back to the Present

You let out a humorless laugh “Funny, isn’t it? After all these years, we’re back where we started. Facing him. Again.”

Law’s voice is quiet, but firm “It’s different this time.”

You turn to him, searching his face “How?”

His eyes meet yours “Because this time, we’re strong enough to end it.”

Your breath catches.

Law keeps watching you with that unreadable expression of his.

And suddenly, it’s too much. The space between you feels unbearable.

You spent years looking for him, chasing rumors, hoping, praying, that you’d find him alive and when you finally did you froze.

Because part of you was afraid that if you touched him, he’d disappear. That he wasn’t real. That the universe would rip him away like it did before.

But now, standing here and knowing what’s ahead, you can’t hold it in anymore.

You step forward.

Law’s eyes widen slightly in surprise as you close the distance between you. Before he can say anything you throw your arms around him.

His body stiffens.

For a second, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe, and then slowly you feel him relax.

It’s subtle, but he doesn’t pull away. His arms remain at his sides, but he doesn’t stop you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the fabric of his coat. You whisper, voice trembling “For years, Law. I thought... I thought I lost you, too.”

Law doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move.

Your fingers curl tighter into his jacket “I should have done this sooner,” you murmur “back on Punk Hazard. When I first saw you again.”

There’s a pause. Then, finally, he moves.

“…You’re an idiot.”

You laugh, though it’s watery and weak “Yeah,” you say, tightening your grip “I know.”

Law doesn’t push you away. For a moment he lets himself lean into you.

It’s not much. It’s barely anything. But after everything, after the years of loss, of loneliness, of silence...

It’s everything.

[mangostarjam]

KARMAAAA BABEYYYYYY

caleb stretching you out bit by bit; caleb cooing at you even when you wince at the sting; caleb shushing you and kissing away your tears, groaning thick in his throat bc he's not even all the way in yet and he can already see the bulge in ur tummy; caleb hissing that you were made for him of course it'll fit --

i would like to sue for damages and also what the hell this was evil i love you

king sized — caleb x f!reader, 1.6k words, shameless smut, creampie, size kink, reader is called pipsqueak and girl, pseudocest, caleb is called nii-chan a few times, reader is not mc, unedited and written on my phone in a fit of i don't even know lmao

it was an accident, the way your gaze slipped to his shorts — but it's really his fault, because of course it is — what kind of grown man wears shorts that short to the gym?

you're not one to victim blame, but you're the real victim here, anyway. after all, caleb noticed.

(of course he did. caleb notices everything about you.)

"caleb, let me try," you huff, reaching for him. he raises an eyebrow. "will you relax — it isn't even that big. i can handle it."

caleb nearly drops the entire toolbox. there's a hum as his evol activates, saving you both from cleaning up a huge mess, and he clears his throat casually as he settles beside you like nothing happened. "right, right, you're a tough girl now, huh?"

"the toughest," you nod, holding out your hand. "screwdriver?"

caleb twirls the screwdriver in his hand, holding it just out of reach. "i kinda miss when my lil pipsqueak would let me build all her furniture."

"well, we're all grown up now," you say, snatching at his arm. he holds the screwdriver further away, chuckling as you try to drag his hand closer to you. you're practically climbing on top of him, nearly in his lap, but he fends you off with ease. "things have changed, nii-chan!"

"i guess so," caleb muses. you huff. stupid perfectly sculpted muscles. "i'm still bigger than you, though, so let me take care of you."

"i don't care how big you are," you grumble, "i could take you."

both of you freeze. the words drop into the air like stones, and you try with all your might not to glance — down. at his crotch. that you're hovering over.

you clear your throat as heat washes over you. caleb's grip on your wrist tightens just slightly, just enough for you to meet his gaze, which has gone storm dark.

"do you think so?"

it comes out low, like he didn't mean to say it out loud. you blink, and then — you look down.

it was an accident at the gym, but now you're looking on purpose, and… well. caleb is… big.

"y'know, if you keep looking at me like that, i don't think i'm gonna be able to hold back," caleb says conversationally. "so why don't you let me build your bookcase and i'll buy new gym shorts?"

you drag your eyes up slowly, taking in every inch of his perfect form. thick, strong thighs, a trim waist, shoulders so broad you reach for them subconsciously. caleb will always protect you — even when you dig your nails into his shoulders and tilt your head to pout at him.

"i want to try," you say, tugging at his dog tag necklace. "i bet i can take you."

caleb's breath comes out rough, like it's been punched out of him. he watches you for a moment, and you take the opportunity to reach down to his lap. locked into a staring contest with those eyes you've known your entire life, you trail a finger along the thick bulge in his pants and swallow hard.

"fuck."

you're tossed onto the couch before you can even gasp, and caleb's there — kissing you.

softly, carefully, like he's still trying to protect you as his fingers scrabble at the button of your pants. you kiss him back, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging lightly just to hear him groan into your lips as he finally gets your pants loose and yanks them haphazardly down your hips along with your panties.

"caleb, your — shirt," you gasp, spine arching into his as he drags a large hand up your shirt. you feel like you're on fire. he shoves his thighs between your legs, forcing you to spread for him now that your bottom is bare.

"fuck," he mutters again, tearing himself away from your lips to press hot, open mouthed kisses to the bared line of your throat. you squirm at the attention, gasping again as he shoves your bra up to brush his thumb against one peaked nipple.

"shirt," you repeat, tugging desperately at his clothes. caleb relents, leaning up and quickly pulling off his shirt. as soon as he's bare, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, smoothing down the muscles of his back.

caleb returns to your neck, licking and sucking at the fluttering pulse point as you screw your eyes shut. he's overwhelming — he's everywhere. he grips your hip in one hand, pinning you in place and leaving him free to dip his other hand lower, sliding between your thighs and — oh.

"you're so wet," he breathes, lifting his head to stare at you in awe. "for me?"

your cheeks flush. "shut up."

caleb dips one finger in shallowly, a tease. you huff. "even if you're this wet, it's going to be a tight fit."

he says it steadily, like he's talking about the weather. his fingers slip through your folds, gentle and maddening. "i don't want to hurt you, y'know, pipsqueak? but i'll probably reach —" your eyes widen as he brings his fingers coated in your juices up along your stomach. slick cools on your skin as he pauses near your belly button. "around here, i think?"

"caleb," you breathe, thighs aching. you clench around nothing as your core throbs. "please, please —"

caleb's brows furrow and he kisses you again, sweet and deep, his tongue licking at your teeth as he groans. one finger slides in deep, to the knuckle, before he adds another seconds later. you gasp into the kiss as he immediately starts stretching you out, his fingers prodding at your insides in search of something.

your back bows off the couch when he finds it, legs clamping around his hips as you soak his fingers. caleb mutters a curse and presses his face into the cushion behind you, his breaths hot in your ear as he adds another finger.

"caleb —"

"so sweet," he murmurs. the air is filled with your gasps and the wet squelch of his fingers moving in and out of your tight cunt. "so perfect, so good for me, aren't you? just so good, my little distraction. who's gonna build your bookcase now, hm? fuck — just — cum for me first, okay?"

his hand on your hip is trembling. you're overwhelmed, overcome — he's everywhere, he's all you can smell and see and feel — and when he begins rubbing tight little circles around your clit, he's the only thing on your mind as your vision whites out.

you sob as the wave crests, crashing through you, your ankles locking behind his waist as pleasure sparkles up your nerve endings. for a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your own harsh breathing, and then sensation returns abruptly as caleb presses the tip of his cock to your entrance.

"o-oh—"

"you can take it, right?" caleb huffs, jaw tense as he fucks himself slowly into your tight heat. "aw, don't — don't cry, pipsqueak, here —"

you barely even register the tears leaking out as he pushes another inch in. caleb swipes your tears away carefully, but his gaze is burning. "you're t-too big," you gasp.

caleb chuckles and sinks in another inch. "you say that, but your pretty pussy keeps sucking me in," he murmurs. you can't help but whine as he draws back only to bully his way further in. white hot pleasure dances up your body, wipes out your fears. caleb always takes care of you.

he isn't even halfway in when you cum again. "ah, ah," he groans, fucking into you a little deeper. you're clenching around him, pulsing and dripping all down his cock. it's a miracle he hasn't busted himself yet, but caleb is well known for his iron control.

"caleb," you whine, and you're so pretty like this, breathless and fucked out, eyes teary. caleb presses in deeper, feels your walls cling to him as he stretches you out. "i'm gonna — ah."

he bottoms out as you cum again, his hips finally meeting yours as you gasp through your orgasm. "knew it," caleb murmurs, pressing down on your belly.

your eyes widen as you take in the position of his hand. "oh my god."

"knew i'd fit, knew you could take me, you silly girl," caleb hisses, grabbing your legs and hoisting them up over his shoulders. your eyes widen further at the change in angle, your hands scrabbling for something to hold onto as he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains.

"wait, wait —"

caleb laces his fingers with yours and pins them by your head. you're bent in half, unable to move away, forced to take it as he groans and finally begins fucking you properly.

"you're perfect," he grunts, dog tags swinging wildly above your face as he fucks you. "so — perfect, so good for me, shit."

"caleb, nii-chan, please I'm gonna — again — "

caleb's eyes widen above you and then he groans, hips stuttering, cock kicking as thick ropes of cum shoot off inside you. he manages a few short thrusts, riding out his high, hissing between his teeth as you squeeze his cock with your own orgasm.

"you're dangerous," he breathes, turning his head slightly to kiss your ankle dangling off his shoulder. the gesture makes your heart flutter.

"told you i could take you," you pant breathlessly.

"i didn't doubt you for a minute," caleb promises. he nudges your legs carefully off his shoulders and hisses under his breath when you lock your ankles behind his waist. "are you trapping me?"

"yeah," you say, "this is revenge for wearing those shorts to the gym."

caleb rolls his eyes playfully. "hope you're ready for another round, then."

no way. "you're still hard?" you squeak.

"i finally get to be with the girl of my dreams," caleb says, amusement lacing his tone. "i can carry you to the bed, if you want, but we won't be leaving it for a while."

your eyes widen. "i'll die."

"nah," caleb grins. "you can take it."

[axescryinwater]

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

the apartment was quiet in the best way. the kind of silence filled with low music from an old record player, the occasional thump of alpine leaping off furniture she wasn’t supposed to be on, and the rhythmic scrape of a whittling knife against wood. you sat cross legged on the couch, a bowl of cherries balanced on your knee, fingers stained just a little red. alpine was curled beside you, batting lazily at your sock with one paw between quick cat naps. you plucked another cherry from the bowl and popped it in your mouth, letting the sweetness distract you from anything else going on in the world.

across the room, bucky sat in his favorite chair, hunched over a block of wood he’d been shaping for the past few days. his brow was furrowed in concentration, lips pressed together in that way he did when he was deep in a project. you weren’t entirely sure what it was going to be, a bird maybe? or a wolf? but whatever it was, you could already see the quiet pride in the little details he carved.

you watched him for a moment, chin propped in your hand. his hair had fallen in front of his face again. you knew he’d huff and push it back soon, probably without even realizing. it made you smile.

eventually, he looked up, catching you staring.

“what?” he asked, a slow grin tugging at his mouth.

“nothing,” you said innocently, though your voice gave you away. “just admiring the view.”

bucky snorted and set the carving down, brushing wood shavings from his jeans before making his way to the couch. alpine immediately stretched and climbed into his lap like she owned him—which, to be fair, she kind of did.

he leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch behind you. “you’ve had, like, ten bowls of those."

you plucked another one from the bowl and held it up like a peace offering. “they’re good.”

he rolled his eyes fondly but took the cherry anyway, biting into it with a soft crunch. you watched him chew, then reached for another, tongue fiddling with the stem like you’d done a dozen times already.

“hey,” you said, glancing sideways at him. “did you ever hear that thing about cherry stems?”

he raised a brow. “what thing?”

you smiled, trying to sound nonchalant. “supposedly, if you can tie a knot in the stem with just your tongue, it means you’re a good kisser.”

bucky blinked. then he smirked a little. “oh really?”

you nodded, biting back a grin as you held up a stem. “wanna try?”

he plucked it from your fingers without hesitation, eyes glinting with mischief. “watch and learn.”

you watched as he worked the stem between his lips, brow furrowed in concentration again, but this time, it was entirely for your benefit. alpine chirped softly, as if judging the performance.

a few moments passed, and bucky pulled the stem out, tied in a surprisingly perfect little knot.

you stared. “okay, show off.”

he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop a little. “guess you’ll have to test the theory now.”

your breath caught just slightly, heat blooming in your cheeks. “maybe i will.”

he was still smiling when he kissed you, it was slow and warm, the cherry bowl nearly tipped off your lap, but neither of you really cared.

from the corner of the couch, alpine meowed in protest.

bucky smiled lazily while kissing you, his hand fisting into your hair in an instant, tugging you even closer. the cherry bowl hit the floor with a thump, but neither of you paid attention. his lips move against yours like a slow burn, he pulled you closer, one of his legs sliding under you to bring your body against his own, the warmth of him spreading through your entire body. he tugged at your lower lip with his teeth, gently, before he finally pulled back with a soft gasp of air. he murmured, “enough proof for you?”

you hummed out a soft laugh, tilting your head in order to brush your lips against the underside of his jaw. “maybe,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, one of your legs slinging over his hip. “but it wouldn’t hurt if you wanted to provide more. just to be sure.”

he chuckles, and you feel his free hand slide up your back, his palm tracing your spine. he pressed his lips to your neck, his breath warm as his lips grazed the sensitive skin just behind your ear. “well, i’ve always been something of a overachiever…” he murmured, his mouth moving slowly down your neck. he slid his hand under your shirt, his fingers a warm brand against your skin, as his mouth found the hollow of your collarbone. you let out a soft sound, arching against him, as he traced the line of your collarbone with his kisses, his fingers dipping lower, the touch a slow burn against your stomach.

his lips moved against yours, slow, lazy and warm, his hands moving to your hips, gently guiding you to straddle him. you tasted like the sweet, tart flavor of the cherries you'd been eating. as his hands drifted upward under your shirt, fingertips tracing their way over your back. he murmured your name, his voice low and a little rough, against your lips, and when he pulled back to meet your gaze, his cheeks were flushed.

his lips were soft and warm, the kiss slow and deep, your mouths moving together in a gentle rhythm. your hips pressed against his, and his fingers traced a slow path up your bare spine, his kisses grew just a little more insistent, his tongue slipping between your lips as he tugged you closer. the hand at your back slid under the edge of your bra strap, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just below, the touch sending a cold shiver through you.

the kiss heated, his tongue slipping into your mouth, exploring the wet heat of it, before coaxing your own tongue into his mouth, tasting you with slow, lazy strokes. he let out a soft groan, as you pressed your hips down against him, his hands gripping your waist to guide your movements. you felt the hard muscle of his thighs against you, the tension in his body a clear sign of his desire. he was beginning to kiss you desperately, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your stomach flip, lips moving against his in a messy and needy kiss. palming your waist gently.

he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice a little breathy. “do you believe me yet?” he murmured, his eyes half lidded as they roved over your face, taking in the way your lips were still slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss.

you hummed out a laugh, rolling your hips again, feeling a little thrill of satisfaction when his expression shifted, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he let out a low groan. “i don’t know,” you murmured, “i think i might need a little more convincing.”

[nowiminexileseeingyouout]

fixation

caitlin clark x reader

contains: mentions of an ex bf, blowjob/strapsucking, masturbation

a/n: for @imnotkaizer hope u like it <333 (if u saw this twice i posted without tags by accident)

Caitlin lounged on the plush armchair in the dimly lit living room, her long dark hair spilling over the back of the chair like a waterfall of ink. She gazed at you sitting across from her on the couch. You two had been chatting about Your pasts, and the conversation had taken an intriguing turn.

"Did I ever tell you, I used to date a man," Caitlin mentioned casually, her fingers absently playing with the hem of her shirt. "Before I realized that girls were more my thing."

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, genuinely curious. "Really? What was that like?" you asked, studying Caitlin's face for her reaction.

Caitlin shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "It was okay, I guess. Different from what I'm used to now, that's for sure."

Your eyes narrowed slightly, a playful glint in them. "Hey, can I ask you something?" you said, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"Of course, you know you can ask me anything," Caitlin replied.

"Well...did you used to give him blow jobs a lot?" you had asked, trying to keep a straight face. "I'm just nosy about what it was like for you, I've never done it, obviously"

Caitlin blushed slightly but maintained eye contact. "Yeah, I did," she admitted with a little nod. "I guess I was pretty into it, actually."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really? Most girls don't seem to like to do it. Why did you enjoy it so much?"

Caitlin pondered the question for a moment before answering with a mischievous grin. "I dunno, I just liked the feeling of having something...in my mouth," she said, her voice dropping to a low, taunting purr. "But you know, it's a good thing you don't have a dick," she added with a wink, "or I might be tempted to show you just how much I liked it."

You laughed, shaking Your head in amazement. "Well, I'm glad I don't have a dick then," you joked back, "Wait, would you actually be into doing something like that though?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Because if you're being real about this...I know we haven't used it, but I do own a strap-on if you're game."

Caitlin's eyes sparkled with mischief and desire, a deep blush coloring her pale cheeks. She licked her lips unconsciously, already imagining the taste, the texture, the sensation of having something hard and thick filling her mouth once more.

"Mmm, I would be so into that," Caitlin purred, her voice low and husky with arousal. "I miss the feeling of something filling up my mouth, stretching my lips, hitting the back of my throat..." She shivered, her nipples hardening beneath her shirt at the thought. "Please, baby, I want to taste you. I want to worship your cock, no matter whose it is."

Your breath caught in her throat, a fresh wave of lust crashing over her at Caitlin's wanton words. Without another word, you turned and hurried to the bedroom, rummaging through the closet until you found the strap-on tucked away in the back. You'd bought it on a whim, never imagining you would actually use it, but now you were grateful to have it.

Returning to the living room, you found Caitlin exactly where you had left her, lounging on the chair with a look of pure, undiluted desire on her beautiful face. You stood before her, the strap-on secured tightly around your hips, the long, thick silicone cock bulging obscenely.

Caitlin's eyes widened as she took in the sight, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She sank to her knees without hesitation, her hair falling around her shoulders in dark, silky waves. Reaching out, she wrapped one small hand around the base of the strap-on, marveling at the weight, the heat of it. She could feel it throbbing slightly from the vibrator behind it nuzzled on your clit, mimicking the pulsing of a real cock.

Your eyes darkened with lust as Caitlin knelt before you, gazing up at the impressive silicone cock with a hunger that couldn't be denied. You gripped Caitlin's hair with one hand, fisting the silky dark locks and tugging her head back slightly. With her other hand, you slapped the thick head of the strap-on against Caitlin's cheeks, leaving a slight reddening mark on her pale skin.

"Open your mouth, you dirty girl," you growled, your voice dripping with desire. "Show me how much you miss having a cock in your mouth."

Caitlin let out a soft moan, her lips parting eagerly. She stuck out her tongue, allowing the strap-on to slap against it, tasting the slight plastic flavor. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through her body, arousal coiling tight in her core.

"Yess, baby," she hissed, looking up at her girlfriend with hooded eyes. "I want it so fucking bad. I want to choke on your perfect cock."

You smirked, taking that as an invitation. Gripped Caitlin's hair tighter and pushed forward, the head of the strap-on pushing past Caitlin's plump lips, stretching them obscenely around the thick girth. You pushed in deeper, watching as inches of the silicone cock disappeared into Caitlin's hot, eager mouth.

Caitlin let out a muffled moan around the intrusion, her tongue working along the shaft, tasting every inch of it. She could feel it hitting the back of her throat, making her gag slightly, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she relaxed her throat, allowing her girlfriend to push in even deeper until her nose was pressed against the base of the strap-on.

You groaned at the incredible sensation, you swore you could feel it all, the tight, wet heat of Caitlin's mouth engulfing you. You began to thrust, fucking Caitlin's face with rough, deep strokes. Slapping Caitlin, leaving red handprints on her soft skin. All the while, Caitlin took it like a champ, sucking and slurping noisily, her eyes watering from the brutal face-fucking.

"Yes, fuck, just like that," you grunted, your hips moving faster, fucking into Caitlin's mouth.

Your thrusts became more erratic, more desperate, as she chased your own pleasure. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin and Caitlin's gagging filled the room, a symphony of their shared lust. Just as you were about to reach the edge, Caitlin suddenly pulled back, the strap-on slipping from her mouth with a lewd pop.

"Wait, stop," Caitlin gasped, her voice hoarse from the rough treatment. "I want to touch myself while I suck you off."

You halted, panting heavily, your dark with desire as you watched Caitlin stumble to her feet. Caitlin quickly shed her clothes, letting them fall to the floor in a heap, until she stood bare before her lover. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the dim light, and her full breasts heaved with each ragged breath.

Caitlin sank back to her knees, one hand immediately delving between her thighs to cup her aching pussy. She could feel how wet she was, her pussy dripping with arousal. She circled her clit with two fingers, biting her lip to stifle a moan as jolts of pleasure shot through her.

You watched, exhilarated, as Caitlin began to pleasure herself. The sight of her lover touching herself, desperate, only served to drive your own lust to new heights. You found yourself grinding against the base of the strap to feel the sensation of the vibrator that you had been Robbed from as Caitlin stopped sucking, watching as Caitlin worked her fingers in and out of her glistening folds.

"Fuck, that's so hot," you breathed, your voice rough with desire. "Keep touching yourself, baby. I want to watch you get yourself off while you suck my cock."

Caitlin needed no further encouragement. She wrapped her lips around the strap-on once more, taking it deep into her throat as she plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into her hungry cunt. She set a steady rhythm, fucking herself in time with the bobbing of her head, sucking and slurping lewdly around the silicone cock stretching her lips.

You groaned, tangling your fingers in Caitlin's dark hair and forcing her head down, burying the strap-on deep in her throat. You could feel Caitlin's throat constricting around the intrusion, massaging the hard length as she swallowed around it. Your grip tightened in Caitlin's hair as you began to thrust in earnest, fucking Caitlin's face with wild abandon.

The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room, mingling with Caitlin's muffled moans and gags around the strap-on plunging in and out of her mouth.

All the while, Caitlin's fingers never stopped their relentless intrusion on her dripping cunt. She could feel her arousal building, the coil of tension in her core winding tighter and tighter with each passing second. Her clit throbbed under her touch, swollen and sensitive, begging for more stimulation.

Caitlin pulled back slightly, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting her lips to the spit-slick strap-on. "Fuck, I'm getting close," she panted, her eyes glazed over with lust. "Don't stop, please don't stop fucking my throat. I want to come on your cock."

You growled in response, doubling her efforts. You slammed the strap-on into Caitlin's mouth, burying it to the hilt, holding it there as you ground against her lover's face. Caitlin gagged and choked, tears streaming down her face, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she redoubled her own efforts, plunging three fingers deep into her clenching, fluttering hole.

The room filled with the symphony of your shared pleasure, the crude slurps and gags, the wet squelches of Caitlin's fingers plunging into her soaked cunt, the harsh pants and grunts you let out as you chased your high. The scent of sex and sweat permeated the air, a tangible reminder of their intense, raw sex.

With a final, brutal thrust, you buried the strap-on deep in Caitlin's throat and held it there. At the same moment, Caitlin curled her fingers just right, pressing hard against that special spot inside her. The dual stimulation was too much to bear, and with a silent scream, Caitlin came undone.

Her pussy clamped down on her fingers, rippling and squeezing as a violent orgasm tore through her. Her body convulsed, shaking and shuddering as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over her. Drool poured from her stretched lips, dripping down her chin and onto her heaving breasts.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

SLENDER HEAT HCS MAYBE EVEN SCENARIO PLEASE (and thank you)

Y'all have been wanting this for a while, so I hope that everyone who was looking forward to this enjoys it <3

Slender does his absolute best to prepare for his heats as soon as he notices them coming on. When he was younger, he'd do the same thing Splendor does and take heat suppressants for as long as he could, eventually ending in one incredibly difficult heat, but as he got older he learned it's just best to have a normal heat, rather than putting it off. When he can feel it coming on he starts prepping the higher-ranking creeps in the mansion to take over his work for a week so that the business doesn't suffer while he's out of commission. I also think Slender probably stays somewhere outside of the mansion while he's in heat, because I feel like he has a harder time handling his telepathy while he's in heat, and he gets very overstimulated because he could end up doing things like reading everyone's minds at once continuously.

Assuming Slender doesn't have a partner, he would definitely ask his brothers to check on him at least once a day while he's in his heat, but assuming he has you, he would really prefer that he has you to help assist him through it. As I always say in these posts, ya boy is not going to ever force or expect you to help him sexually through his heat. I think for the first couple of days and the last couple of days, Slender has excellent control over himself, to the extent that if you didn't know him well or know that he was already in heat you wouldn't be able to guess it. It's only once he's in the middle of his heat that his control really starts slipping, and he loses all control of himself. I think these parts of his heats are a bit scary for him because he doesn't like the feeling of not being in control, and so if you were there even just to comfort him and hold him, it would be so much more reassuring because he hates being alone during this time. If you are willing to help him through his heat sexually, I think he prefers having the most sex with you during the days when he feels most in control, because he can get more of his arousal out of the way and try and make his control last a bit longer by having a clearer mind.

You guys also have some pretty great sex during this time due to his lapse in control of his telepathy, because he's in your mind pretty much the whole time, hearing every single thought and need you might have. Every desire, every command, every wish, he reacts to immediately in live time. He can also push his own desires onto you, so you never have to ask him what he wants or needs at any given moment. The other good side of this is that if you ever want to stop or take a break he knows immediately, and even when he's deep into his heat and feeling less in control he has no hesitations in stopping whatever the two of you are doing. He stays completely tuned into you the whole time, to an extent that you're not used to. While Slender is, in general, a very giving and loving partner, Slender in his heat is absolutely obsessed with pleasing you in any way that he can. He'll honestly be quite embarrassed once his heat is over and he realizes how he was behaving, constantly begging to touch you and please you and love you, letting all of his inhibitions go and showing just how needy for you he is. While Slender is normally a pretty dominant partner, he becomes incredibly submissive for you during his heat, letting go of all of his control just so you can use him to feel good. The good news is, if you've been wanting him to submit for you when he's not in heat, being super submissive for you for a week straight definitely helps him be far more submissive once the heat is over as well, especially if you thoroughly enjoyed it. Feel free to tease him for it as well, it gets him very uncharacteristically flustered. He does truly, truly appreciate you helping him with his heat though, in any way that might have been, even if it's just cuddling him and making sure he stays hydrated, and he will make it up to you as much as he is physically capable of once his heat is over, in any way you desire, so prepare to be spoiled.

[whosyourmommy69]

Sugar and Sin pt 3

The party was already in full swing when you arrived.

Bonfires flickered along the beach, the air thick with salt, smoke, and the overwhelming presence of Kooks who barely acknowledged you.

Except for one.

Rafe.

You saw him the second you stepped onto the sand, leaned back against the bar, drink in hand, looking like sin wrapped in privilege.

His eyes locked on you instantly.

But instead of the heated, dangerous look you were used to, his lips curled into something cruel.

Something that made your stomach twist.

"Look who it is," Rafe drawled loud enough for everyone to hear, his voice dripping with venom. "Guess they’re letting Pogues into Figure Eight now."

Your face burned.

A few people chuckled, glancing at you before turning away, pretending not to watch the show.

You swallowed hard, lifting your chin. "Guess they’re letting assholes in too."

The crowd oohed at your comeback, but Rafe?

Rafe just smirked.

"You know, I should’ve known you’d show up." He tilted his head, eyes raking over you slowly, like he was deciding how best to tear you apart. "Figured you'd come crawling back for more."

Your stomach dropped.

"More of what?" you forced out.

Rafe chuckled darkly.

He took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the moment, dragging it out just to watch you squirm.

Then, he leaned in.

Close enough that only you could hear his next words.

"More of what I did to you the other night."

Your breath hitched.

Your mind betrayed you, flashing back to him in your bed, his hands gripping your hips, his voice rough in your ear.

Rafe saw it all over your face.

And that’s when he went in for the kill.

"You want it again, don’t you?" His voice was quiet, but you could still hear the smirk in it. "Sweet little Pogue, acting all innocent, but you let me spread you open like a fucking whore."

Your entire body went hot with humiliation.

You shoved at his chest, stepping back. "Go to hell, Rafe."

His smirk widened.

"Aww, c’mon, don’t be shy now," he taunted, his voice loud enough for people around you to hear. "You weren’t exactly telling me no when you were begging for it."

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

You felt your heart crack straight down the middle.

He was doing this on purpose. Trying to humiliate you. Trying to act like what happened between you was nothing.

Like you were nothing.

Tears burned at the back of your throat, but you refused to let them fall.

You turned on your heel, ready to leave, but Rafe grabbed your wrist.

Not rough. Not hard. But enough to make you stop.

Enough to make you feel his warmth.

For a split second, his mask cracked.

For a split second, he looked at you like he didn’t mean it.

Like he hated himself for hurting you.

But then, just as quickly, his grip loosened, and he let you go.

Like you weren’t worth holding onto.

Like you never were.

And this time?

This time, you didn’t look back.

[nneptunexo]

── 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ⋆

rafe cameron x f!reader

part two ! (soon)

notes: this is my first time writing and posting in english so i hope I didn’t misspelled anything :)

The sun in the Outer Banks hit different in the late afternoon—golden, lazy, and hot enough to make everything feel a little dreamlike. You were leaning against the railing of the porch at the Cameron house, your lemonade sweating in your hand, watching the waves crash lazily against the shore.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

You knew that.

Wheezing motorcycles and drunken fights aside, the Cameron estate wasn’t exactly known for its warm welcomes. But when Wheezie had invited you over, practically begged you to come spend the weekend—“please, I need another girl here or I’ll lose my mind” — you caved. Against your better judgment, you said yes.

Now you were regretting it. Or, more accurately, regretting that he was here too.

Rafe Cameron.

He hadn’t spoken more than a few words to you since you arrived last night, but somehow he still managed to make you feel…watched. Judged. Maybe even hunted. You couldn't quite figure him out. He was cold. Closed off. Mean in a way that didn’t make sense, like he wasn’t just lashing out at the world but at himself too.

Still, when you caught him earlier—alone in the kitchen, shirtless and brooding over a protein shake—you’d said, “Good morning,” with a smile. Just being polite.

He’d looked up, eyes piercing, and replied, “Is it?”

What a charmer.

Now, you were counting seagulls and wondering how early was too early to leave when the porch door creaked open behind you.

Footsteps. Heavy ones.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“You’re in my spot,” Rafe said flatly.

You turned, leaning your hip against the railing, trying not to seem too intimidated. “Didn’t know it was assigned seating.”

He didn’t smile. Of course he didn’t. But something in his expression flickered. Like he wasn’t used to people talking back to him—at least not nicely.

“I always sit there,” he said.

You lifted your lemonade. “Guess you’ll have to share".

Rafe didn’t answer at first. Just stared at you with that unreadable expression of his, like he was trying to figure out your angle. Like he thought your kindness was some sort of game.

But instead of pushing you aside or walking away, he sat down.

Right next to you.

The porch swing creaked under his weight. You stayed still for a second, then slid half an inch closer to the edge—not that it made much difference. He was warm. Solid. You could feel the heat radiating off him even though he wasn’t touching you.

“Lemonade?” you offered, holding your glass out to him.

He looked at it like it might be poisoned. “No thanks.”

You shrugged, taking a sip yourself. “Suit yourself.”

The silence between you stretched on, filled only by the sound of the waves and the distant calls of gulls. You weren’t exactly sure why you stayed—why you didn’t get up and go find Wheezie or grab your book or literally do anything else.

But something about him made you want to stay.

“Why are you so… nice?” Rafe asked suddenly, his voice low and rough like he wasn’t used to using it for anything gentle.

You blinked. “What?”

“To everyone,” he said. “You’re nice to Wheezie. To the staff. Even me, and I’ve been kind of an asshole.”

You smiled a little, keeping your eyes on the ocean. “Being mean takes too much energy.”

“Or maybe you’re just soft.”

You turned your head to look at him. He wasn’t looking at you—he was staring straight ahead, jaw tense, eyes distant.

“I don’t think being soft is a bad thing,” you said after a moment.

Rafe didn’t respond, but his hand shifted on the porch swing, fingers flexing like he wanted to say something else and didn’t know how.

Later that night, after dinner (tense and awkward, thanks to Ward being Ward), you found yourself wandering into the living room in search of a good spot to read. The couch was empty. The lights were dimmed. It was peaceful.

You curled up in the corner, blanket over your lap, and cracked open your book.

You were about halfway into your chapter when Rafe walked in.

Hair damp from a shower. White T-shirt clinging to his chest. A sleepy scowl on his face.

“You’re still up?” he asked.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said without looking up.

He hovered in the doorway for a second, then walked over to the other end of the couch. You felt the dip as he sat, then stretched out—long legs almost brushing yours.

“Can’t sleep either,” he muttered, pulling a cushion behind his head. “Too quiet.”

You watched him from the corner of your eye. For someone who acted so confident, he looked… restless. Like his own thoughts wouldn’t let him be.

"You want me to read out loud?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Rafe looked up from where he sat, flipping his lighter open and closed. His brow twitched, “What for?”

You fumbled for a reason. “I just thought... maybe it’s better than sitting in silence?”

He didn’t answer right away, just studied you for a second too long. Not hostile, just... wary. Like he was waiting for the catch.

Then, with a small shake of his head, he muttered, “Whatever. Do what you want.”

You opened the book before you could change your mind. The words felt strange coming out of your mouth, like you were trespassing on something private, but you kept going.

Rafe didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at you. Just sat there, one leg bouncing, knuckles tapping his knee. But after a while, the tapping stopped. His eyes stayed open, but unfocused.

When you finally paused at the end of the chapter, unsure if you should keep going, he spoke. Quiet. Not soft—just low.

“You always talk this much?”

You blinked. “Uh. No?”

He gave the faintest smirk, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You flushed. “I’ll stop, then.”

“No,” he said, already leaning back again. “Didn’t say that.”

You glanced down at the book, unsure, but turned the page anyway.

When you finished the next chapter, his voice cut through the quiet again, a little rougher this time. “You know... your voice is kind of... calming.”

You weren’t sure if you’d heard him right. “What?”

Rafe’s eyes flicked over to you for just a second before he looked away, like he was trying to act like he hadn’t said anything at all. “I mean, it’s... not bad. Makes things feel less... tense.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just nodded and kept reading, even though your heart had started beating a little faster than it had before.

[sucremedy]

sometimes i worry i'll break the keyboard of my brand new laptop with how hard i smash the space bar in desperate attempts to pause a video so i can freak out

[vanityangel]

"Jacob Fatu is what WWE always wanted Solo Sikoa to be." The same 5 songs. The same 5 songs. Wrestling fans, they play the same 5 fucking songs. Anyway, this is my incredibly long-winded rant about wrestling fans and Solo Sikoa's character.

To me, I think if Solo Sikoa was presented just like Jacob Fatu is now it would make zero fucking sense to his character. Even, or especially, to the parts they haven't really touched on much yet. Jacob is immediately presented to us as cold, emotionless (except like. anger.), a monster incapable of morals. He tears apart whatever stands before him without thought, just destruction in its purest form. As though this is just who he is and how he always has been. Solo wasn't always completely cold and merciless, not in NXT and not when he first joined The Bloodline. He was very closed off, but he was still human. There was still warmth to him. He still gave respect to his peers who he felt earned it, laughed and joked, he made friends or at least allies he was willing to trust enough to team up with. Solo wasn't a lost soul. He slowly became more "emotionless" in time after joining The Bloodline. The more he was left alone around Roman. And big notable moment of shift in his demeanor is when Sami left. Even when Jey at the time HATED Sami and Roman was still demanding him to prove his trust, Solo took to this weird little guy anyway. They became an odd couple pair. If Solo was always presented like Jacob, his progression into becoming so frustrated at Roman that he started to raise his voice and yell at him would have been nothing worth noting. Solo was quiet, Solo was calm. Solo operated like a machine; he took orders with seeming no regard to his own feelings on the matter and thus no expected pushback. Jacob is so like a ticking timebomb with everyone always on edge when he will explode. So chaotic and dangerous that even when he displays undying loyalty people expect him to pushback at any order at any given moment. Unhinged and unable to be leashed. Jacob is reactive. Solo was not. As Roman's enforcer, if Solo ever did seem to have his own opinion on something, he would look thoughtful and considering but kept it to himself. He has started off more vocal in the beginning, carrying into when he joined The Bloodline, but over time he retreated into a shell. He said nothing more than what was needed to be said. Despite being a family outcast Solo was brought to the main roster by the Elders orders, then acknowledged Roman without hesitation. Even when he propped himself as Tribal Chief he stated he would acknowledge Roman as the rightful Chief if he were to take the Ula Fala back, as if Roman had to earn it. Though where Solo's loyalty lies is always unclear, a loyalty no one can return in kind to him, he still seems to have his own idea of being loyal and earned respect. A system he believes. And Solo still has a vulnerability to him, one he even weaponizes. For Jacob's very debut Solo fell to the ground, pleading, eyes wide and doe-like enough to create pause before breaking into a maniacal laughter. Even talking about how the streets hardened him in his early NXT promos he had a vulnerability. A "hurt people hurt people" type who still seemed stung at being left behind and going forward is trying to prove his worth, that he does have value, to the very people who discarded him. He can bring gold to the family, he can keep them at the top no matter the sacrifice. What's best for the family above self. Jacob is unpredictable because no one knows what will set him off. Solo is unpredictable because no one knows which face is sincere. Solo and Jacob are not interchangeable.

[slowdrippingnoise]

i like rose actually hes full of Concepts. i like how leon could easily remind him of peony and of himself (personality, talented champion / older brother, beloved golden child) and i like how bede could also remind him of them/what his remark about seeing himself in bede could mean if taken as truth (ignored child, desperate to prove his worth / uncompromising confidence, needs to feel in control, perfectionistic) so he gives them both important roles to keep them around. very normal very well adjusted good job man.

swsh should have had 500 more lines of major npc dialogue. also leon and marnie should have talked about the whole being a symbolic king/princess thing. or she could talk to hop about it and he could talk about how he thinks leon feels about it which could be interesting also. even more economic fuckery talk i know its a sports thing but leon's Sponsor Cape drives me a little nuts. catch him between his own hopes/the needs of the league/rose's ideas specifically. he's been champion since he was like 10 right. something like that. im going back in time sneaking into the swsh writers room and taping up a big poster of N Harmonia. how soon we forget Boy King Prime. also pokespe was right rose should just be Objectively Correct about the impending energy crisis, his problem is that he tries to solve everything by himself by manipulating everyone around him, and is cool with putting the whole region in danger if he thinks it will Solve The Problem. his problem isnt being pro-nuclear power his problem is he thinks like a king. ideal swsh is anti-monarchy as well as anti-monopoly it would make more sense.

[fushitoru]

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.

warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork

a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away. 

2+2=5.

You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake. 

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt. 

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo. 

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board. 

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that. 

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool. 

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t  learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps. 

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves. 

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense. 

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching. 

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all. 

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want,  he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly. 

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

[neon-danger]

Drabble request omegaverse edition

Alex is in heat for the first time with a partner Jack of course and they get stuck

Okay don’t hate me I know I already passed on like every single drabble but like I swear to you there is more omegaverse content on the way, I’m just not sure how to write the getting stuck thing because that’s,,, that’s what knotting is

[kruegerspillow]

simon who leaves a random drunken stranger that started to flirt with him in order to talk with awkward! reader, unintentionally making them all flustered instead :(

(a little continuation of this)

awkward! reader who silently listens in to the conversation between simon and the drunken stranger. the interaction was filled with rambles and very questionable remarks from the woman while he just grunts in response.

simon who just ends up pissed at the woman after a few minutes, causing him to lift himself up from the seat, grabbing his glass of whiskey before walking towards you. you noticed, watching as simon walks away from her without a word.

"mind if i sit 'ere?" simon spoke up with a tinge of annoyance, and, of course, you can't refuse.

he sat beside you, the couch slightly shifting at the sudden weight. you swore you could feel him leaning back on the pub's couch, his legs spread and balaclava pulled up until the bridge of his nose. he quietly took a sip from his glass while you do the same.

"ya drink often?" the sudden question catches you off guard, and you fumble for a response, your voice quieter than you'd like.

"not really," you admitted.

"never pegged ya as the bar type," his eyes flickered over to you.

"... uh, 's that a good thing?" you heard a small grunt leaving his lips at your response.

"think tha's for you to decide, no?"

"I... guess so."

the silence took over the conversation, causing the chattering of others to be more prominent. a few minutes of silence had passed, and you felt like burying yourself into a deep, deep hole.

"so... d'you usually go to pubs?" you asked, hoping to break the gnawing silence.

"no, not often. usually jus' go 'ere after several missions."

"that's nice."

"... fuckin' 'ell." he paused for a moment, "this 's your idea of small talk, eh?"

fuck. you could feel the heat rising up in your cheeks before you turned your head away from your lieutenant, hoping to hide the sheepish expression on your face. the couch squeaked as he shifted, his head leaning in closer to yours while his knee brushed against yours. simon could feel himself getting slightly tipsy from all the drinks.

"don'tcha worry 'bout it. 'm not teasin' ya for tha', sweet'eart. d'ya want me to teach ya a thing or two 'bout this... interestin' topic of conversations?"

kruegerspillow © 2024 ➵ do not feed my work into ai, repost or translate my work. Reblogs are much appreciated ୨ৎ

[mihanisms]

endurance test

— you decide to spoil your boyfriend by riding him stuuupiddd :p

— sub zayne, use of "mistress", overstimulation, mindbreak, zayne eventually goes into subspace, biting kink, nipple play

The remaining sanity that your boyfriend was trying to preserve crumbled the moment you pressed his body deeper into the mattress, grinding your pussy onto him for what felt like the hundredth time. The slick that was dripping between your legs, a mixture of your juices from the rounds you had pushed him through, made every movement of yours effortless, your pussy clamping down on him and making him see stars as a strangled moan leaves his throat.

"Love, I think- I thinhaah! are you still n-not-" His cock throbs as you grind down in a particularly harsh manner, cutting off any of his protests. "Not satisfied? Of course not - you can still talk, honey." Your voice was sweet and teasing, yet your actions were anything but, your hands sliding over his torso and finding his nipples, the two pink buds perky and cold to the touch.

Watching his flushed face intently, you start to pinch and pull at his buds, the sudden gesture causing his eyes to roll back and his body to jerk into you, a high-pitched whine slipping past him before he could stop himself. Spurred on by his reaction, you pull harder, causing tears to well up at the corners of your doctor's eyes.

"I-It's too much, please it's too seehns'tive-!" Zayne's words were barely coherent at this point, his words slurred together as he cries and sniffles at all the sensations overwhelming him, from your pussy bullying his cock to your fingers rolling over his nipples and your heated gaze that wanted nothing but to see him driven to ruin - it was all too much, and the doctor found himself orgasming again, spurt after spurt of cum painting your walls and dripping down from you to his thighs.

The tears that he was just barely holding earlier were now spilling onto his red cheeks as broken sobs fell from his lips—pleas for mercy that completely contradicted how he remained rock-hard inside you. A condescending smirk curls up at your lips as your fingers trail up from his chest up to his jaw, tracing it lightly. Your voice dips into something low and sultry, amusement dancing in your heated gaze. "Your words say one thing and your dick says another....Now, I just don't know what to do."

Zayne, parting his lips to reply, gets cut off by a choked whine as you abruptly halt your movements. His teary eyes focus in on your self-satisfied smirk and hooded eyes. Fuck. He knew that look.

Your still-teasing fingers slide back down to toy with his oversensitive nipples, gentler this time but enough to pull a shaky breath from him. "I’ve gotta say, honey….If you really want me to stop because you can’t take anymore, well, I guess I have to respect my sweet doctor’s wishes."

His breath hitches and his expression falls, but he knew he had it coming with all the mindless babbles leaving him throughout the whole session. It only hits him how far you wanted to take it when you slowly start to lift yourself off his cock, a small whimper leaving him as his hands instantly move to your hips to stop you, a pleading look in his eyes. "I...I..." He starts out, the words catching in his throat.

"You….You....You what, Zay?"Your voice is thick with amusement, his hesitance deepening at the smirk on your face. "You have to use your words." To punctuate your statement, you roll your hips, letting the remainder of him inside you feel that brief, fleeting pleasure and earning yourself yet another wobbly gasp of your name.

For a few agonizing moments, his mouth opens and closes, nothing coming out—until he finally caves, his voice barely above a whisper.

"...Please." His fingers dig into your skin, his resolve crumbling entirely. "Keep on riding me…until I can’t think."

His admission brings a wicked grin to your face, one that the doctor knew only spelled ruin for him. Before he could brace himself, you slam your hips down onto his, changing your rhythm from slow, teasing grinds to an eager and relentless pace, your slick pussy easily moving up and down his cock as he writhes beneath you.

This time, his thoughts truly scatter, lost in the overwhelming pleasure of your movements, your voice, and the way you looked at him as you rode his cock—like he was nothing but a pretty toy for you to use.

And oh, that turned him on.

Small pleas and whimpers for more left him like he had never protested against you in the first place. He lets himself get fucked into oblivion, relishing in everything you so generously give him. In between his moans and mumbles of pleasure, a singular word leaves him that lets you know he'd fully given up control.

"Mistress...!"

That one desperate cry of your title sends heat flooding through you, your desire surging into overdrive. One of your hands slide from his chest to his abdomen, steadying yourself as you lean down, biting into the flushed skin of his neck. His breath hitches and breaks into tiny, high-pitched mewls, his hips jerking up instinctively to push deeper into you.

He was beautiful like this.

Wanting more of his delicious sounds, you keep your teeth against his skin, sinking in just enough to leave a mark—something for him to wear long after this was over. When you finally pull away, Zayne lets out a soft hic, his hazy, tear-filled eyes locking onto yours with a look of longing…and unmistakable desire.

You open your mouth to tease him about it, but before you can, he surprises you—his voice needy and utterly wrecked as he stumbles over his words. "M-Miss...please, I- ah-! N-Need more, want t' be marked-"

Even as his consciousness crumbles, his desires remain clear. He knew exactly what he wanted from you now, and he wasn’t afraid to beg for it with each of his shameless moans and hips that were desperately meeting yours with every thrust.

Unable to deny your lover's desperate plea, you bite down, canines marking him as yours once more. Your tongue follows, soothing over the fresh wound, and causing Zayne to break off into a series of fast-paced cries. His body trembles as pleasure courses through his veins, a whimper of gratitude escaping him and sobs wracking his body as he cums, filling you up again and sending a wave of bliss through you, your cunt fluttering in the tell-tale sign of orgasm to seal both your fates.

"....Cumming just from a bite? Oh honey, you really are gone, aren't you?" You receive no answer but Zayne's flushed face, tear-streaked cheeks, and violent hiccups of pleasure let you know exactly what he would have said, anyways. He was completely spent. Yet you keep moving, using his cock to chase the last of your high.

When you finally reach your peak, your body tenses, shuddering through the aftershocks. Even then, you don't pull away, merely slowing to a gentle grind as you catch your breath. By now, Zayne was barely conscious, a hazy look in his eyes as his body twitches from the overstimulation. He weakly attempts to pull away, not wanting to keep his cum in you for too long but you push him right back down, a soft snort of amusement breaking free from you.

"Don't worry about it, honey. Let me stay like this for a little while, alright?" He only whines reluctantly in response but makes no further moves to resist. Instead, he simply lies there, his body spent, mind floating.

As the minutes pass, the heavy rise and fall of Zayne’s chest gradually even out, though the occasional aftershock still runs through his arms or legs. His hands that were gripping you so desperately now rest limply, his fingers twitching with the lingering echoes of pleasure.

You brush a hand through his damp hair, smoothing it back from his sweat-slicked forehead. His half-lidded eyes flutter at the touch, unfocused but filled with something tender—something that made your heart clench despite what you had just made him go through.

“There you go,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Breathe, love.”

A faint hum vibrates in his throat, and after a few slow blinks, his dazed expression melts contentment. His lips part, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “…You're insatiable.”

A warmth spreads through your chest as you giggle, shifting just enough to lie against him without breaking the intimate connection you both shared. "...I know. But you liked it, didn't you?"

He scoffs lightly, burying his face in your hair. Even without a response, the way his hands soothingly rubbed over your skin said enough. And as his body finally relaxes beneath you, you hold him close—letting the night settle around you, wrapped in the heat of each other’s presence.

a/n: BOOOOMSHAKALAKAAAAA I GOT SOMETHING OUT OF MY DRAFTS