#mans will face hell no matter what happens

[tonycries]

Sweetheart Online - G.S.

Synopsis. Isekai-ed into another world, or isekai-ed into your pants?! Gojo Satoru is in danger - in danger of losing his prized, otaku vírginíty, that is.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, otaku! Gojo, isekai, vírgínity loss (Gojo), chokíng, use of “ma’am”, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, begging, nerdy babbling, Gojo wears glasses, cúmming dry, first times, oraI (f + m), face-sítting, cúmming early, spítting, creampíes, cúmplay, p talking, cúmming in his pants, he goes féral, otaku vocab, truck-kun, anime nosebIeeds, Gojo is a LOSER, and so down bad for you, pet names, swearíng.

Word count. 8.8k

A/N. IT’S HEREEEEE-

“Har har. hilarious, Suguru-”

“You know m’not joking, Satoru.” Geto’s taking an infuriatingly long slurp! of his ramen from the other end of the line, and Gojo’s known the man long enough to realize that he’s doing it solely to irritate him. That bastard. “You’re a loser.”

Ah, he’s never wanted to throttle him more. 

Because- listen, Gojo Satoru might be many things. 

He might be the proud president of the campus otaku club, rumored to have never even held hands with a woman his entire life. Complete defamation, of course, Gojo has held hands with his mother as a child. Though…she might be the only one. 

He might be the most annoying tenant at his cramped Tokyo apartment, every inch of it covered with enough of your pretty figurines that he’s taken to sleeping on the couch recently. But you deserved only the best!

And he might currently be the sketchiest man trudging down the streets of Shibuya at 3AM; with a brand-spanking new, life-sized body pillow of you tucked safely underneath one arm.

But that didn’t mean Gojo was a loser. Probably. 

So what if he got strange looks from every unfortunate normie soul he happened to pass? It was limited edition, and he waited eight hours in line for it!

After all, a man with such a prized possession could surely and undoubtedly never be a-

“-oi- oi!” Self-proclaimed best friend, and universally-proclaimed pain in Gojo’s ass grumbles into the phone. 

Snapping out of his reverie, Gojo’s registering that he’s already at that familiar flickering stoplight. Fingers curling even tighter in their tender hold around your form, he saunters down the barren crossing. 

He needed to get home - and he needed to get home fast! A man needs quality time with his wife, after all. 

“Don’t tell me you fainted from her ah- what was it- ‘sheer beauty and unparalleled sex appeal’ again?”

“That was one time and you know it.” He’s hissing into the speaker- honestly, Geto’s probably just cranky that he didn’t get his grubby hands on one of these before he did - Gojo’s seen the other man’s plushie collection of you no matter how much he tries to hide it. “This time, I only got weak in the knees.”

There’s a snickering drawl, “Oh yeah? What wondrous self-control, o’ maestro of virgins.”

And the title is so utterly ridiculous that Gojo finds himself stuttering into a shocked stop right in the middle of the gloomy asphalt. A laugh bubbling up in his throat before he remembers that that particularly sweet nickname was directed at him. 

“You’re a virgin too!”

Scoffing, “Yeah, but I don’t act like it. You, on the other hand, are famed for having your first kiss with the common room tv the moment you first saw that video game character. People were making bets on whether you were going to die a virgin, Satoru. Hell- I bet, too!”

Dammit, when you put it like that it makes Geto sound downright respectable. 

“Actually, she’s more than a video game character, Sugu—” Times like this, he’s letting his words simper out into a whine. Full and well knowing how much it’ll grate against Geto’s eardrums - hah, take that ramen ASMR! Smugly, Gojo pushes up his thickly-rimmed glasses, “She’s the revered princess of a distant land, first in line to rule over the throne with a gentle yet firm hand. Scouring the seas for the perfect consort that will-”

“Are you quoting her Wikipedia-”

“I wrote her Wikipedia.” Gojo huffs indignantly, as if anyone could ever assume anything less. “Because to me, she’s- she’s…”

And, truly, nothing he recited with MLA citations could ever describe you.

Because if there’s one thing that Geto was right about, it’s the fact that Gojo’s been completely and utterly head-over-heels for you ever since he first glimpsed an ad for Sweetheart Online - the hottest, filthiest romance game to hit the industry in the last few years. Maybe ever. 

With one love interest - as if he needed any other - you, and your hand in marriage that Gojo had fought rival after unworthy rival to win 143 times already.

He finds himself wracking his brain for any word in the existing lexicon to describe the perfection that is you. Though, it seems that he doesn’t have to think too hard at all. 

Because before he can even imagine letting the first few syllables formulate on his tongue, there’s a deafening-

HONK!

Gojo turns, only to see the glaringly white headlights of a truck hurtling towards him at full-speed. 

And the first thing he thinks is oh, it kind of looks like the spotlight that dazzles on you 1 minute and 24 seconds into the game’s Coronation Event. The second thing he thinks is…fuck.

.

.

.

“-highness—looks rabid!”

“—that’s rude, but…”

“-oh dear, put your sword down, Itadori.”

Gojo takes a few bleary seconds to pat himself mentally on the back for deducing that he’s died and made his way to heaven. Honestly, it doesn’t matter what Yaga says - he really is a genius sometimes.

What else could the delicate paintings of cupids and clouds on the staggeringly tall ceiling abovehead mean? He didn’t think that the heavens above had a fancy for Baroque - but who was he to judge? 

Certainly not when it seemed like he was sprawled out on a painfully decadent bed. Sifting among layers and layers of delicate silk that almost swallowed him whole - oh, it was fit enough for his figurine collection of you. 

A sharp crick shoots along Gojo’s neck when he turns his eyes towards what seemed like a towering window, wincing at the large glowing ball of light washing warmly over him. If he squinted his eyes it almost looked like…the sun?

Surely, he wasn’t a ghost then.

It hadn’t even been daybreak once that semi-truck had run him over, and even if he was to haunt anyone then it would be to bug Geto into plastering his collection of your posters all over his gravestone. 

And the final piece of celestial evidence being a soft, soothing tone ringing in his ears and already becoming his favorite new song. Coming from the mouth of an angel peering down at him who looked - lo and behold - like your very spitting image. 

“Oh…” It comes out in a hoarse, scratchy gasp. All the air knocking out of his poor lungs once you inch in mere centimeters closer to his glassy view. He can’t help but reach up a trembly hand, “You’re even more beautiful in 3D.”

SMACK!

Gojo flinches when his hand gets knocked away unceremoniously by someone else’s- there were other people here? “You dare attempt to touch the princess? After revealing yourself in her chambers? I should call the guards right now-”

Now, he didn’t know much about the afterlife, but he was sure that demons weren’t allowed in heaven.

“It’s quite alright, Nobara.” The angel speaks up, and oh, it’s not even his name being said but Gojo already feels his heart leap a little and suddenly wishes it was. “Judging by the state of his clothes it seems he’s not from these parts. Maybe he’s lost?”

Gentle hands are suddenly bestowed upon his to softly pull him up, and before he can open his mouth to undoubtedly blurt out something stupid, there’s a ringing PING!

Jumping just about a foot off the bed, he’s scrambling to stand as a strangely robotic voice speaks from somewhere overhead, “Milestone: Touch a Girl reached. System activation successful! Congratulations, user [Satorulovesprincess]. Welcome to Sweetheart Online.”

If the group in front of him heard anything, then they didn’t show a sign. 

Very much the opposite of a thoroughly panicked Gojo, flailing his head towards the source of the noise until his eyes meet a holographic screen hovering just a few inches over his head.

As if something pulled right out of one of Geto’s favorite trashy sci-fi films - fuck being in heaven, he was probably still on those Shibuya streets hallucinating and causing an incident.. 

Gojo treks down a hand to pinch his forearm, just a little harder than necessary when the voice booms once more-

“Quite ingenious, user [Satorulovesprincess]. However, we assure you that what you are seeing is real.” The screen displays those exact words in time. “You have initiated the execution of the system, and are now bound to Sweetheart Online.”

“System- Sweetheart Online-” Great, he’s going mad. Running his hands through tousled locks of cloudy white, “Don’t tell me…don’t tell me this is like one of those shitty isekai anime.”

Oh god it all made sense - the truck, the system, the truck. And Gojo’s watched much more than enough cliché isekai anime with the otaku club to realize. 

But…a truck? Seriously? That’s embarrassingly overused. 

It’s like a pit of ice forms at the bottom of his stomach. He bet that no one but him could see the glaring screen right now. A fact he was especially glad for once the following words roll out-

“Following your sudden and extremely inexperienced death, Mission: No-Longer-Virgin has already started.”

Whispering to himself, “So this is where virgins go after death. Some sort of purgatory perhaps in which the last wishes of the virgin are materialized- although that doesn’t explain the presence of- wait-”

“Good luck, user: [Satorulovesprincess]. May your virginity collapse, and your sex life prosper!”

If Gojo didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn that the disjointed voice sounded amused. 

But wait- no, it wanted Gojo to lose his virginity? His long-held, precious, maiden virginity? After twenty-something years, how crude that this ah- mission marrs his delicate body. Did the system think that he was some sort of harlot to-

“Are…are you okay, strange sir?”

Okay, maybe losing his virginity wasn’t all that bad.

Turning back around slowly, “I uh…”

And this wasn’t quite how Gojo imagined meeting you - glasses askew, hair rumpled, in the very same ratty hoodie and sweatpants he’d camped outside the anime store in - hell, he never thought he’d meet you in general. 

But then you smile, and Gojo falls onto his knees. Right then and there on the polished floor.

You were exactly as he’d seen on-screen. Brows quirking upwards just a slight cheeky degree the same way it did whenever his in-game avatar said something particularly smooth. Gorgeous. The silken skirts of your ball gown looking oh-so-soft to the touch but not as soft as you-

“Your highness, on top of being a madman, he drools at the sight of you!” A younger girl shrieks - Nobara Kugisaki, your trusty attendant, he remembers. Hastily wiping his lips, “Kindly consider having his skull impaled.”

There was nothing kindly about having his skull impaled, and Gojo’s already clutching his head when you chuckle. “Your name?”

Ah, he’s forgotten how to speak. Forgotten how to breathe. “G-Gojo Satoru- my princess- your highness.”

“Apologies, I’m not sure what foreign ambassador you are, but I do welcome you kindly to our kingdom.” You’re letting your eyes roam all over his still-kneeled body, and in them glittered something…dark. 

Sliding over your hand and oh! Gojo remembers this.

He’s drinking in that delicate floral scent of yours, dragging his plump mouth to meet the back of your hand in a lingering kiss. The very moment his lips touch you, Gojo feels lightheaded.

And only after pulling away does he realize exactly why-

“Ah! He’s bleeding!” The young man - your loyal knight, Itadori - yelps, and Gojo’s clapping over the warm wetness smearing over his lower face. A nosebleed? Really? Just from kissing your hand? God, Geto was right - he really is a loser. “Should I call the healers, your highness?”

“No we have him drawn and quartered for such an unseemly display-”

“Nobara, that’s quite alright.” You’re waving off, smooth marble floors resonating out sharp clacks! when you walk even closer. Close. Too close. Until you’re seated on the edge of the bed, “After all, it is my consort choosing ceremony. Isn’t that what you’re here for, Satoru?”

Gojo thinks he could faint at the way you say his name - and he almost does. 

Scrambling towards you, he’s fully kneeling at your feet now. You’re so beautiful - so real - that pearly beads of tears dot his fluttering lashes. “Y-yes, ma’am.”

He swears he hears you mumble cute under your breath. Now he could really faint–

“Oh? And I intend on fulfilling the wishes of my guest.” Speaking somewhere over his shoulder, “You two are dismissed. Lock the doors.”

Kugisaki is, unsurprisingly, the one to protest. “But- but, your highness he’s-” And, honestly, Gojo can recognize the raw expression of what the fuck in her voice. He doesn’t blame her one bit. Not when you tip his head up further to face yours and his nose twitches like he’s about to start nosebleeding all over again. “...pathetic.”

Ouch. Gojo was on the verge of spoiling the ending to her character’s backstory when you’re humming. “I like them pathetic, Nobara.” 

Did he mention you were an angel?

“So…” You’re luring him in, and just that heady lilt of your voice already makes his cottony grey sweatpants tight. Shit- wasn’t this the type of situation that he wrote secret fanfics about?

Barely hearing the creaky SLAM! of the double doors to your royal chamber. Clouded pants waft over your satisfied features, he’s peeking up at you over his large spectacles. Lolling closer and closer-

Mumbling, “Yes, my prin- oh!”

Gojo’s pouted strawberry-pink lips wobble cutely when the golden points of your heel dig into the fleshy mound of his thigh. Prominent Adam’s apple bobbing, “Y-your highness?”

“What’s this about a-” Watery eyes widening wordlessly when you’re sliding it all the way up, up, up along the shockingly curvaceous muscles to press right down on the straining inches of his fattened cock. Needy. Bulging. “-virginity loss mission-” Hard. “-Satoru?”

And Gojo doesn’t know what comes first - that sharp inhale at the realization, or him.

Fist flying up for him to sink his pretty pearly whites into when he’s biting back a whimper and cumming.

You could feel the way that Gojo’s sloppy mushroom tip was just bawling with every lazy grind up and down his sappy slit. 

Milking out the thick, goopy ribbons being sprinkled from his rounded mushroom tip. Volumes upon volumes. So much of it. That warm texture clinging against the flats of your shoe and puddling out mushy dark splotches into his sweatpants.

Shit. Shit shit shit - cumming just from that. All in front of the woman of his dreams. Part of him almost wants to apologize.

But the way your mouth curls into a sleazy grin makes Gojo’s heart race, every minute action only keeping his achy length even harder. 

He so can’t help himself from grabbing your calves to halt with a few twitchy fingers - only to be going against his own yearnings. Hips humping yours once like a fucking dog as his breath hitches, “You- you know?”

“Awww, of course I know, Toru. I can see the screen.” Fuck- he hopes you can’t feel the wet splat! of another buttery wad of cum being dolloped out generously from his depraved divot. Leaning in, “S’this the first time anyone else has ever made you cum?”

He knew you were teasing - he knew it. But that doesn’t stop Gojo from panting out a strained, “Yes.”

“Hmmm, well-” You’re tapping your chin in thought, despite already having made your decision. But it was just so fun to see this beautiful man shivering and pleading on his knees. “I don’t know where you transmigrated from but…I still am a benevolent ruler, after all.”

He gulps. Cupping one flushed side of his face, Gojo’s practically a steaming hot mess of putty in your hands. “And I can take care of that little virginity business for you.”

Croaking out, “P-please.”

“Hmmm, not good ‘nough.” You’re rovering down even further to press a slight smooch of pressure against his fatly filled-up balls. Thighs squeezing at just how big they were - breeder balls. “Is that how you speak to your princess?”

“No- no no no-” Gojo’s shaking his head so hard that it makes him a little dizzy, or maybe that was the way that you were fisting your determined digits into his faded hoodie. “Please…ma’am.”

“Much better.”

Before he can even blink, he’s being dragged upwards according to your every want and whim. Thrown onto the bouncy king-sized mattress with such strength- of course, he shouldn’t even be surprised. You are the future queen for a reason, after all. 

In fact, he’s never skipped a single cut scene that showed you training your battle skills-

“Now now, don’t tell me you’re tapping out already?” Your voice drifts its way into his melty mind, words so sugary sweet that he could almost taste them. “At least gimme a lil’ kiss now-”

And it’s more than anything he could’ve ever dreamed of.

Muffling back a muted yes, Gojo’s surging upwards to clash his lips into yours. And oh shit, just-now realizing that he’s lost his first ever kiss. 

Then his second. His third. His fourth.

It’s messy. It’s hot. 

Tugging you even closer with a forearm around your waist. Gojo’s sloppy tongue is licking its way past your ravenous entrance, fucked-out bubbles of spittle pop up at the edges of his pursed lips when you’re breaking away-

“N-nooo-” He’s letting off a shuddering whine, chasing after you with a sluttily half-parted maw. “Gimme- wanna ‘nother kiss, princess.”

So greedy. The fat curve of your thumb positions itself on Gojo’s prettily dimpled chin, prying open his dewy lips even further. “Open that mouth f’me, Toru?”

He’s doing exactly what you’re saying before he even realizes it. The glistening muscle of his tongue splayed-out perfectly on display for you - for you to spit out a heavy mass of saliva right onto his pinkish tastebuds. 

Gojo moans at the contact - and you can feel it before he does. The subtle jolt of his weepy cockhead, before your languidly gyrating kneecap is dampened with another wiry slather of cum. Warm and wet. 

“Cumming again?” You coo, eyes darting between the ever-growing pool of a frosted mess between his long legs, and his face. Gojo looked so pretty like this - glasses sliding down his button nose, eyes shuttering with each heaving pant - gasp. Face flushed and slicked with a slight shimmer of sweat, stray locks of white curtain and stick to his reddened forehead. He looked so pretty. “Just from that?”

He’s squirming his depraved hips to smudge a faint glaze of seed down your mounds of flesh, one palm dancing upwards to stop himself from having a nosebleed all over again. “C-can’t help it…The average time of ejaculation for a man is five to seven minutes based on psychological factors and age. And as a healthy young man just because I-”

You’re shutting him up with a kiss, and Gojo almost wonders why more people don’t do this time - that is, until he remembers they’re not you.

“Sounds pretty serious.” You’re nodding, a mask of teasing graveness taking over your face. Swiftly shuffling down the seemingly endless expanse of the bed. Doughy fingerpads delicately hooking onto the hem of his drenched pants, “Better get a taste before you run out, then.”

Gojo lets out such a breathy pant at the implication, “N-no it won’t, considering the volume of the seminal vesicle and- ah!”

Whatever drunken rambling of his is cut very, very short as soon as you tug down those useless sweatpants and let Gojo’s red, painfully angry cock smack! against his abdomen with a wet smear.

He was so…big.

Such girthy, solid inches upon inches that twitched needily right before your very eyes. A rummaging, left-leaning curve being nestled above two pretty pink balls. 

Your mouth waters once you’re curling your fingers dexterously around his plump circumference, making his cerise cockhead waterfall out in another lazy sheen of pre. It’s honestly a bit of a strain to even get your fingertips meeting each other properly with his incredible size, and that just makes you want him more.

Gojo’s knitting his ivory brows nervously, “S-s’it okay?”

It’s more than okay.

And you’re about to show him that.

Cerulean irises crossing together until they were all heart-eyed when a saturated coating of your saliva tops his bloated tip like a layer of icing. Before he feels himself fall in fucking love just at the gummy peck of your mouth onto the rotund ends of his length.

“W-woahhh—” He’s breathing out, eyes locked lecherously right with yours when the steaming hot cavern of your mouth sinks in more and more and more- “This- what- fuuuck-”

And then you’re huffing out a slight chuckle through your nose, hitting his drenched base and making him keen. Slender hips of his lurch the perfect angle off the luxurious bed to bump his mountainous head against the very back of your throat. 

Gasping - begging. 

“You’re seriously gonna…take me?” Prattling through clenched teeth as you grace him with a few more flooding masses of spit. It makes him feel so used. Feel so good. “Like you- you’re gonna put me in your mouth?”

“No.” You’re snickering at the utterly crestfallen look on his face, full mouth downturned, puffed-up tip tinting an even more blasphemous red as if to tempt you. Your fingers tangle with his to claw at the crown of your head, “You’re gonna put yourself in my mouth.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Shit-” Gojo whispers - more to himself than anything. “You can do this- can- can do this- just suck on m’cock-” Rubbing out a translucent lipstain all over your ajar maw before plugging his proud girth inside. “Please- wanna know what it feels…”

Gojo can’t remember what he was saying. What he was thinking. 

Because just a few vulgar sucks of your tenderized mouth around his inflated cock and he’s drunk. Fuck dying by a truck, he was about to die just by this. 

Head lolling all the way back against the poofy pillows, white-hot bliss flashing behind his eyes and- when had he even closed them?

“Wh-why does it feel so–” he’s clenching his jaw, dredging out every single ounce of will in his being to peer at the heavenly - hah- sight below. “-so- good- c-can it feel so good- hngh- please-”

Gojo’s drawing up the hem of his hoodie to cover that brightly blossoming blush. So adorable. He even tasted sweet, like the best of salted caramel that made you infinitely want more. 

Your salacious tongue is repeatedly wetting down his lightning bolted veins. Up and down up and down up and down to draw little hearts on those bumpy lines. 

His sobbing cockhead mushing back into the velveteen walls of your mouth, and Gojo could cum just from the voluptuous curve being outlined into your cheek. He’s finding it almost fucking impossible to grunt out over the raw squelches! emanating from where you were making out with his throbbing cock, “Must be illegal- that’s it! It f-feels so good this must be- ngh- outlawed.”

You’ve rendered him stupid. And he’s so hot and heavy in your mouth, it makes your core stir up to think that you’re the first.

Every choked-up plea only resonates off of the numerous corners of your bedroom even louder once your fingers latch onto the gluttonous curve of his fattened balls. Squeezing-

“S-so dirty- so dirty, princess…” And part of Gojo doesn’t know why he’s letting his traitorous hands wander onto the back of your scalp. Doesn’t know why he’s plunging just a few more inches past your prettily-pouted lips - you were his princess and he was…not treating you like royalty.

The Gojo in this game had always been so smooth. So suave. Taking his sweet, sweet time to hold your hand and talk to you about the politics of your kingdom.

Right now he was curving his thick thighs to flex around your shoulder and feeding you every saccharine inch you could possibly swallow up. “Can you- can you take more? Take this biiiig fuckin’ cock?”

You’re being choked in a locked hold by his powerful legs, and you’ve never been wetter. Practically puddling out a syrupy pond on the sheets underneath you.

Tugging out the thick nub of his thumb to smear those honeyed splatters of his precum at the corners of your mouth, you can only grin as you let your sentence translate into thrumming vibrations. “Mhmm— Settling into it s-so well, aren’t ya, Tooooru?”

“F-fuck!” Gojo’s blushing tip glides shyly down the tight back of your throat, rovering all along each n’ every millimeter of space inside you. It only made your head bob faster to imagine how he would feel down there- “Don’t talk- don’t talk. Please don’t talk s’gonna make me…”

But you.

Oh, Gojo Satoru has read your character profile over 2489 times by now.

He’s memorized every factoid and morsel of knowledge there is to know about you - so of course, he should’ve known. Should’ve realized that babbling away those words would only make your sultry motions increase.

“Cum f’me like a good boy.”

And he does. 

You can only watch in awe when a pearlescent globule of cum gumdrops from his weepy orifice, one. Two. Three. Until Gojo was just drenching the entirety of your mouth with thickly viscous coatings of seed, until you were just drooling with a wadded mess of spittle and seed.

Salty flavor dripping down your tongue and flooding out. So much of it. Too much, Gojo was spurting out the thickest ribbons of creamy white as if he’d never cum before - and doesn’t plan to stop any time soon. 

More, more, more like it was the sound of your voice making him shiver. Making him whine like a zillion volts of electricity was running down his greedy spine. 

The moment you pull away, hefty oodles of cum hit Gojo’s toned abs with a wet splat! And your dear subject is wrangling out his hands towards you like he never wanted to let go.

“No- no! Please- please come back-” Crinkling tears trek their way down his dewy face, sensory pads of his fingers reaching out for you desperately, only for you to part away. “N-need your pretty mouth on me.”

You’re raising a brow, thumbing over his still-crying divot, “But don’tcha want something…else, Satoru?”

“Something- else?” He’s rasping out haltingly, head thoroughly swimming with nothing but you. Your heart glows with pride at the way he can barely form coherent sentences, “What…oh.”

But Gojo gets the idea soon enough when you’re hastily shedding away your outer robes. He fumblingly tries to help, of course, but the simple idea of helping a woman undress is too much for him - and he’s banished to simply watching you, one hand held underneath his nose in case of another…incident. 

Gown and undergarments hitting the floor, your gorgeous legs come to hike up, up, up- driveling mouth falling slack the moment they’re ending up rested on either side of his intoxicated head.

“Oh.” He wheezes intelligently up at your glistening cunt.

“Nothing else ta say?” Your heady purrs only make him blush, nuzzling his feverishly burning cheek against the spattered sheen of slick at your inner thigh. He’s making such a mess on purpose. Making himself a mess. 

“Well-” Gojo bats his long lashes up at you dangerously, clear planes of his glasses digging into the handsome apples of his cheeks. But he didn’t mind. Couldn’t even feel anything but the sweltering heat of your arousal. “-jus’ that- I want you to spit in my mouth, princess.”

And the very moment that sugar-coated sap, Gojo moans.

Eyes flickering shut at the taste of himself - the taste of you. A candied little tinge that he oh-so-badly needs more of - and without even a second of hesitation, he’s stuffing himself right there between your pretty legs. 

It doesn’t matter the rhythm. It doesn’t matter the rhyme. 

And Gojo doesn’t even know any - the very moment your puffy lips are meeting his kiss-bitten ones in a French kiss, he already knows that your cute cunt has taken him hostage.

Jaw clenching as he tries to memorize all those fanfics he guiltily read night after night, Gojo’s bumping up his cloudily condensed glasses further up his nose when he leaves one kiss. Two. “Ohhhh, your pussy tastes s-sooo good.”

And they each get messier and messier after the other. 

Letting the heaping dollops of your juices flood onto his roughened tastebuds, he’s letting his long tongue peek apart your gluey pussylips. Sliding the very tip up and down and round n’ round your slicked entrance. 

“The- the oh!” Gojo flinches just as your body arches even deeper once he pokes his fat muscle past your tight ring. Leaving such a slew of wet slurps with every drag, he was dirty. “-according to what I’ve read, th-the clitoris is found at the top of the vulva. It should be located where the hah- labia-”

His words cut off with what you swear sounds like a strangled whimper when you harshly fist your digits into his silken-soft strands and push.

And you don’t notice it at the time, hell, even Gojo doesn’t notice with just how ruined he was right about now. 

But the sole moment you’re manhandling him to your will makes his flushed crownhead geyser out a torrential of cum. 

Fountaining out waves and waves of seed that paint his hefty base with a frosted ring. Such thickened volumes for the nth time tonight. Just from the roughened way that you were pushing him to make out with your pretty pussy.

He wanted to be used.

“Used, huh?” You’re letting out a murky pant of laughter- fuck, did he say that out loud? “Wanna be u-used, Satoru- wanna keep that big mouth of yours hngh- full?”

He’s nodding. Nodding and nodding and nodding with every sloppy gyration that you bestow all down his features. Huffing and puffing through every gasping breath he manages to shudder in, he’s shooting out a good mass of saliva. “Yes- ride me. Ride me. Fucking ride my face. A-always wanted you to ride me- hngh- please.” 

And how could you deny him when he’s all begging like that?

Gluey ropes of spit and slick lacquer Gojo’s chin like a smooth polish, and he’s sticking against you like he was just as clingy. Jaw grinding against your kinetically moving pussy, the pointed edge of his nose weaves from between your leaky slit and ends up pressing right onto your clit-

“O-oh!” Your head tumbles backwards with an ever-tightening grip onto his sweat-dampened locks. “Yeah- right there–”

“Here? Here?” He sounds like he couldn’t quite believe it. The ravenous edge of his thumb curling right up your soppy slit and pinning down your hooded clit. Hard. “The glans clitoris r-right here. And I found it- I found it.” Breathing out a long whistle that makes your heated skin bristle with goosebumps, “I always wondered what would h-happen if I…”

You barely even have the time to react before you’re staring at the glisten of Gojo’s sharp canines sneaking up to your sensitive nub and biting.

And he didn’t expect this.

He didn’t expect it to be better than the fanfiction-

Because your generous cunt just cascades in another jet of sappy juices, glazing Gojo’s features sexily all the way from his dimpled grin up to his glasses. 

They’re dripping wet, waterlogged with treacly film of slick that forces him to gawk up at you from below with such a loving gaze. Just the way he’s peering up at you is enough to make your breaths hitch.

“Gonna- gonna write about this, y’know? H-hope you know that this changed my hah- fuckin’ life, my princess…my girl.” Gojo drawls out lazily, movements as slow as if he was slipping through molasses when he sinks the rounded tips of his cushy fingers into your slick-flooded entrance. “Gonna h-have you for breakfast- for ah- lunch…aaaand for dinner.”

With a pitchy whine, you’re tightening your hold onto his thick locks and mushing his face so close. Close enough that you could already feel the mushy pout of his lips and that lazy chuckle.

Only then do you realize that he’s doing this on purpose. Mouthing off until you’re making both his chilling frames and his regal nose clash at the target of your clit with every repeated swivel, each glissading snog of his tongue making you throb. 

Everywhere. Anywhere. Everywhere and anywhere that he could reach.

“Such a dirty boy, huh?” You muse, swearing that that only makes him even sloppier. “S’that what you are? Ngh- bet you’ve never tasted a p-pussy before, huh?”

“N-nooo- haven’t. But are they all so…fucking delicious?” And he’s lapping up every sensual ounce, not letting even a tiny speckle go to waste. Because Gojo Satoru was kissing your pretty pussy like he could only dream of those long, lonely nights. 

You were a fucking dream - his dream.

The full force of his desperation hitting you when Gojo’s letting his drunken head loll ever-so-slightly backwards to take a good, long admiring look at your cunt. And you wonder if he could even see with his glasses all sodden and filthy like that. 

You wonder if he even realized when he’s leaving a lingering swat! of his plush fingertips right onto the bullseye of your pulsing button, and then another few at your fleshy channel. 

And it was so unfair how he was pummeling your poor gummy walls with swipe after swipe of his eager fingerpads working your glutinous walls open. Probing his neatly manicured fingers perfectly into your most tender spots. “Like that?”

“Sh-shiiit–” You’re mewling at the tautly coiling build-up at your cunt. Further and further. You felt like you were about to snap. “-is- is this my first time or yours, Toru–”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” And Gojo’s palming his engulfing hands over the jiggling mounds of your ass to drag you like some ragdoll even deeper onto his sloppy maw. You’re forced to slap your hand onto the royal headboard to get at least some semblance of balance. “Jus’ want you- need you.”

Gawping up at you - he looks just as fucked-out as you feel. Blushing oh-so-innocently with his lecherous mouth slithering to steal a loud mwah! planted onto your salivating pussy. And then a final, weighty wad of spit. “Need me to be yours.” 

With a final, trembling shove of Gojo’s pretty face pliantly against your hot core, you’re cumming. Riding out your peak with stuttering rotations all over his lolled-out, bumpy tastebuds.

“Fuh-fuck!” You didn’t even care if you were getting his glasses messy at this point - he’d already made enough of a mess out of you. Embarrassingly so. “S’s-so good. Hah- gotta put your mouth to work more o-often, Satoru.”

And you can’t stop the way that your jaw parts into a soft oh! every time he pinches your bulbous clit at the very tip of every single one of your peaks. Right on time. More on sheer animal instinct than anything because Gojo’s still reeling from the fact that he made you cum.

He made you cum.

He made you cum.

He made you cum.

Babbling away just as stupidly as he had mere moments before, your orgasm is…magical. None of these haughty princes or dukes could ever compare to this. “S-such a good ngh- boy f’me.”

That is, until you feel Gojo tenderly curl his fingers around one of your stray ones to form a fist. Nudging it against one of yours in a…fistbump? 

“You have…no…fucking idea.” He’s letting out a drenching ptwah! of spittle, all the masses and rivulets of your sickeningly sweet juices sliding all the way down his tongue and pooling at the back of his throat. Like he always wanted your taste there.

And you’re still feeling the twinging tremors down your spine, flurries of stars bursting behind your hooded lids when he lets his sinfully long tongue slather your fluttering cunt with another hot kiss. 

Nose crinkling at how you’re stagnating your vigorous cadence, he bats his lashes up at your shocked stare - and you already know what his sapphire gaze is begging for before he even asks.

“Toru-”

“More.” Gojo interrupts you - and he knows he’ll beat himself up for it later. Maybe he’ll even…make it up to you. But for now, the only thing replaying on his cottony mind was just how perfect you looked cumming all over his mouth - even the specially-paid NSFW scenes didn’t go into this much detail. 

He was in heaven. 

You feel the humid brush of his tongue between your saturated pussylips, pleading. Begging. “Wan’ more- wanna taste you more, princess- please-”

And Gojo looks so fucking heartbroken the very moment those lips part with such a wet slurp! A low whine curdling at the back of his throat, his glossy lips curve downwards into a jutted-out pout.

He’s chasing after your pussy with absolutely no shame, greedy fingertips digging into the curve of your ass while he nudges you closer and closer. Stealing tiny kittenish licks, stealing longing whiffs just to smell the scent of your pussy.

“No- no- want- please-” He’s rambling away, half-lidded eyes widening with alarm. Like you were taking away his favorite dessert right from under his nose, and Gojo was not having it. 

But you knew a thing or two about ruling. 

And it’s with such smug satisfaction that you get to push down a wolfish Gojo so hard he collides back onto the mattress and bounces. 

Giggling - giggling, “S’this mean I get to…fuck you now?”

Oh, it’s spoken like a mantra. A true confession that he never even imagined would come out from those lips of his. 

You’re nodding, “Mhm— m’thinking that good boys get to hah- fuck me.” 

He’s ogling you right now when you meander between his milky legs just as you did before. Except, this time, you’re stopping right at the defined v-line of his sculptured hips. Darting thumb rubbing back and forth over the pooling streaks of cum from just before. 

“Did you cum without me ngh- again, Toru?” You’re teasing, and he almost feels so pathetic the way his mouth latches onto the curve of your sheened digits and sucks. “That’s not what a good-”

“I am I am-” Gojo insists, brows furrowing. He’s so unsure what to do, so unsure what to even think other than looping his arms around your waist to tug, tug, tug you ever-closer. It’ll never be enough. “Promise I’ll be a- ngh-”

Shit.

Your fingers shackle a tight grip around his pale, prespired neck. He looks so gorgeous squirming underneath you like this - squirming for more, that is. 

“Then you better promise to fuck me really good, Satoru.” Your whispers come out in a honeyed tone that wafts against his reddening ears. Maybe because of that, maybe because of the way your nails claw marks, you feel his plumpened head twitch. “Really good.”

His head lolls all the way into your grasp, he was done. Murmuring, “I’ll be a really, really good boy- ma’am.”

That did it.

And before Gojo knows it, you’re letting his syrupy mushroom tip slip in a few thick inches with ease. Geysers of his pre trickling out from between the tight stretch of your gluey hole, sinking in more and more.

Gojo’s mouth opens with a slow leak of drool with just how warm you were hugging him from the inside. Your candied walls so fucking clingy that he finds himself choking out a huff, planting two steadying hands on either side of your waist and pushing-

“Oh fuck- oh fuck.” His eyes grow adorable wide, stare perched right down where he was disappearing in and out of you in mindless, rapid ruts just to bully himself inside. “Th-this feels nothing like my P-Pocketpussy3000-”

“Toru…” Your words come out in a growl, crescent nail leaving neat indentations on his column of skin. 

“J-just feels so much better, my girl.” Gojo insists, something swirling deeply in his eyes that makes your heartbeat irregular. “You’re so…so warm and- and wet. That stupid rubber could never compare to the adventitia and musclaris and- and I’m really fucking you.”

He is. 

He was, at least until only a few vulgarly deep strokes probing in about halfway down his swollen shaft makes Gojo bump his ridged slit against one of those spots. The globe of Gojo’s proud cockhead leaves a hefted thud! that thunders pure bliss into your fuzzy head and makes you clench.

And it makes him cum. Again.

Wet spurts of warm seed splashing into each n’ every inch inside of you and filling you all the way up to the brim. There’s so many of his copious ribbons sloshing around inside of you, and it doesn’t even make Gojo’s tempo slow down.

It doesn’t even make him falter. 

“Sh-shiiiit-” He’s hissing, lower lip worried and fussed between his teeth until you were sure he’d be drawing blood. “Cumming—!”

Dipping down a few fingers to part your soppy lips, Gojo’s thrusts get more relentless when he catches his eyes on the steady waterfall of cum and slick seeping into his hoodie. Fucking the webbed mess deeper - but it only wrings out more pearly wads streaming down. 

Gojo’s voice wrenches out from the very back of his throat in a stubborn mewl, just about five octaves higher than you’re used to. “I came…inside.”

The one n’ only warning you get before he hooks an arm around the small of your back and flips the two of you over. Easily. 

Back sinking into the velvety bed-covering, your spine arches in a geometrical semicircle off the mattress as Gojo takes the blasphemous opportunity to bottom out. His meaty tip finally meets the target of your spongy cervix, breeder balls clashing stickily into the split end of your folds with a hulking thwack!

And you’re almost wondering at just how it was possible that Gojo - nervous, bumbling Gojo Satoru who’d never even held hands with a woman before - had the willpower and strength to overpower a seasoned fighter like you.

But that’s when he tugs his utterly sullied hoodie off and you’re rendered thoughtless. Mouth watering at the toned ridges and curves that bulged all over his Herculean body.

Gojo wasn’t just toned - he was fucking jacked.

And all yours for the taking.

Just your greedy stare is enough to wash his cheekbones with a scorching blush, as if he wasn’t near-nine inches deep inside you already. You gasp when his tongue pokes out to catch a few dripping splat! splat! splats! of your slick still dripping from his glasses. “I-I read in a director’s cut that you like men with abs so I…” 

And before you can even respond, his hips do all the talking for you. Striking your own with a deafening pap! of skin-on-skin, broad pecs heaving with a sharp inhale as if he didn’t even realize what he was doing. Wasn’t in control. 

Two of his doughy palms veer underneath your now-jittery thighs and hoist them up effortlessly to dangle over his shoulders. 

Gojo’s letting off a low grunt when his curvaceous knees slide wider across the pricey bedsheets. All the while mumbling, “N’ just because m’a hah- virgin doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two. Like- I saw this thing ngh- o-online called a…” Bending you like a pliant lawnchair down, down, down- “-a mating press.”

Online? Mating press? You didn’t know what he was rambling on nonsensically about now, but maybe you could excuse that with the fact that he was stretching you out stupid. 

“What a pretty boy.” You’re managing out, fingers unsticking a few strands of pearly white plastering onto his forehead. “Now s-stop teasing and hngh- fuck me.”

Your words are jolting such a dark, primal part of his brain. Eyes hooded, teeth pulling back with a low whimper of ah! The bed sings out a protesting creak when Gojo’s hand comes slamming! down onto the poor frame. Spitting out, “I-I can’t stop…fuck- I can’t stop. Won’t-”

He’s pushing and pushing his ravenous hips in animalistic little humps, the cylindrical shape of his cock swabbing in sultry circles around your gooey insides. Already splitting you apart snugly to the brim, but still he’s drilling in for more.

“You hafta move, Satoru-” Even your most gentle tone is enough to make his strawberry divot sugarcoat you in a thickly viscous few spatters of pre.

And when he talks he sounds wild, “Do I- haaaah- do I really hafta move? Jus’ wanna lose my virginity like this. Wanna stay inside you forever and ever and ever.”

He was already pussydrunk.

And it’s so cute it makes your heart clench. All over six feet of him melting into you by now; head heatedly shoved against the crook of your neck, motions glissading a slip n’ slide of his sexily defined abs pinned to your front. Powerless. 

Gojo blinks up at you through thoroughly hazy eyes when you tilt his face back up to face yours, and the deep eye-contact makes him blush. 

“But I really, really wan’ you to hah- fuck me.” You pout, and you already know by the stutter in his labored breathing that you have him wrapped around your cute lil’ finger. Jostling your hips in a slight buck, “Look-she’s begging for ya already.”

Oh. 

“Is- is she really?” Gojo sighing out in surprise, eyes pondering down to where he was making your puffed-up pussy folds bulge. Slipping out a gasp before he’s clutching onto his nose to stop any more bleeding.

Your slobbering lips coated with a glimmer of his spit and cum, so very his that Gojo finds himself subconsciously nodding along to the sappy squelches bubbling from below. 

“Yes- yes you’re right–” Propelling a slow drag of his hips to sweep every hidden orifice of yours inside, “Oh! Ya got l-louder- so you agree-”

He’s hiking up your legs even further up his shoulders, interlocking them with one massively flexing bicep held behind his head. Eyes still locked below - only then do you realize that he’s not talking to you. 

And then again. And again. And again and again until Gojo was striking your poor cervix with repeated battering rams of his plump cock. Dense balls stinging against your ass with ringing thwacks. Spherical bruises of his circumference being indented over n’ over it’s like he doesn’t even realize. 

Didn’t even know he was doing anything other than wrenching out the most sinful noises from your goopy pussy. 

“Mhm- such a pretty ngh- pussy.” Spitting out the very word like it was embarrassing, two sizeable fingers latch around the plump peak of your clit. Transfixed. You wondered whether he even remembered his own name. “Such a pretty clit.”

“Fuck!” You’re halfway through sobbing when he sends shockwaves of pleasure all across your body. And even more so when one tilted drive of all his inches leaves a skidding skim down the area of your g-spot. “There- right there, Satoru-”

He’s gaping up at you as if suddenly snapped out of a hypnotic trance, only to fall into an all-new one. Disbelieving mouth parted slightly, he breathes, “I’m…fucking you. I’m actually- ohhh fuck m’fucking you- like really, truly. This isn’t a dream.” Like he just realized - and he just did. “M’giving you my cock- making you t-take alllll of it-”

Never in his life did he think anything could ever feel this good. He was never going back. He would never be the same. 

Your drooling pussy was molding around him so nicely, taking onto the very shape of his long shaft. Massaging every inflamed vein poking against your splashed walls, so warm with the leftover puddles of his own sticky cum.

 He’s worshipping you, tilting his head to place a heady trailway of wet kisses down each of your ankles. “M’yours so m’-” Then your calves, your tits, your collarbones, everywhere and anywhere-

“-m’gonna make feel h-hah good.” His nose scrunches with focus, a few fat ends of Gojo’s fingers come down from pinning your ankles to splay out on your tummy. All bloated with his thick outline that even through his fogged-up glasses, he swears he could see a bulge. “Need to find it- need to.”

Pound after pound being placed desperately onto everywhere he could reach inside of you. You can feel the baking hot swash of his sap coating you in a second skin. Each dab of his ballooned crownhead leaves behind a marking bead of buttery pre. 

And maybe it was the way you’re feeling the slow trickle of all his sappy torrentials inside you, but you’re gurgling out a little, “What- what are you-”

“The g-spot.” Gojo answers your messy blithers of syllables with a tender rub onto your clit. Though, he wasn’t too far behind himself, if the way his digits trembled told you anything. “It’s s-supposed to be somewhere in the hah- anterior vaginal wall, between your pretty hole and the urethra. Often said to be stimulated about a few inches ngh- up-” 

But this time, you’re the one cutting him off. With a rapid, deprived rut that bustles his left-leaning curve to head in a jackhammer precisely towards your bulging g-spot. 

And then you see white. 

Perhaps from the sheer shock of him leaving a good French kiss that tenderizes your sweetest hidden coves, perhaps from the way that the both of you are cumming. 

“Shit- shiiiit-” You’re perking your ass to smack against his in lewd little paps, half-formulated moans flooding your mouth with each delicious thrust being planted right onto that spot. Gojo’s fucking you through each of your edges, over and over until you feel yourself crashing back-to-back into not one, not two, but three orgasms. “Really did fuck me- hngh- ah-”

Before you even realize, you’re throwing your arms around Gojo’s rippling shoulder muscles to claw a few artistic lines of red. And he loves it- fuck, it makes him cum even harder. 

“S-spit in my mouth, ma’am.”

And when you do, he latches onto yours with a messy, messy open-mouthed makeout. Groaning around his second-favorite activity of sucking your cute tongue - his most favorite activity being fucking this depraved cunt of yours. 

Cumming and cumming until he physically can’t. Steady rivers of seed logging up whatever remnant space inside your snug cunt before he sputters out sheer nothingness. 

A shiver wracks through Gojo’s body with the way he was cumming dry. And once he spies down a few whipped globs of it spilling out to form a velvety ring around his base, he’s plugging your leaky entrance with a few free fingers.

Lapping up that trickling excess with a slow suck peering right into your eyes before he seals you with his jostling digits back up again.

“Love it- love it love it love it-” He’s letting loose with each spasm of parching cum overspilling your flooded insides, those ribbony meshes swirl all around his pumping cock and trickle down in a creamy stream. Coating his twitchy balls no matter how much he tries to make you milk up every ounce, so much of it. Hot. “Love it- love being your good boy- I love you.”

Gojo’s heart races when you only plant a cute peck onto his sheened glasses, and then another onto his mouth. Resting your sweaty head against his very own, “How would ya like to be my own royal consort, Toru?”

Ah, it was virtually a proposal. To stay by your side forever and ever and ever - the only thing he’s ever wanted, really.

And Gojo’s about to kiss your awaiting lips senseless as an answer- that is, he was about to before both your ears chime with an undeniable PING!

Before an agitating, gratingly familiar voice rings across your heady atmosphere, “Congratulations user: [Satorulovesprincess] on completing Mission: No-Longer-Virgin!” You’re wincing at the sterile glow of that screen once more. “Please await the new updates to the program Sweetheart Online.”

And you both barely even have time to register those words before there’s a thunderous creak! from the empty space of your royal bed.

Except…the bed wasn’t so empty anymore. 

Right with your heated proximity was a man - a beautiful man. All long legs, and inky hair that ran down to his slender waist, twinkling amethyst eyes rounded in the exact same shock that shone in Gojo’s right about now. 

“Suguru?”

“Satoru!” Before he’s tilting his head towards you, and perhaps most glaringly, the way that Gojo was still scouring deeply inside you. A delicate blush tints his - Suguru’s - high cheekbones, voice cracking embarrassingly at the end. “P-princess.”

And something about his tone made your cunt quiver - just in time for Geto to shuffle the tightening crotch of his pants. Something that Gojo noticed, if the way he was crushing you to his body even tighter said anything.

“Let me guess-” Gojo tilts his head, a sleazily drunken smirk curving the edges of his ruddied lips. “-the truck got you haaaah- don’ squeeze me like that, my girl– too?”

“It- it was ramen poisoning actually…” Geto’s deep baritone trails off, struggling to rip his eyes away from you as the screen flickers once more. 

“Sweetheart Online updates completed! Commencing Love Rival (Three’s Company) arc. User: [Sugulovesprincess] joined.”

A/N. MAN I love loserboy Gojo hehehe- hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[fagottkatie]

I certainly love you too and may only good things happen in life the best of things the peace the love the joy the acceptance of who we are and who really masters. He dies. You know His name. He loves us as much as infinity x 5000 and that darlings is no joke or is no room for anyone to joke about only a loser would hate love and that’s all He did. They mauled his body made him carry a cross through a crowd of shitbags who mocked him laughed at him spit on him til they nailed his hands to that wooden cross and tg’s. Big spikes through his feet and stood tge cross upright and He died in agony blood running down him til out Lord died a slow death of suffocation. He did that all for you the person who ever reads this. Only 2025 years ago short time only considering our earth is 4.5 billion years old. I love non believers any religion except the fkn IS cunts now those there are some fkn Faggott biggest cowards on the planet. They hate us darlings and gay dudes. The head choppers us they love throwing the hell off tall buildings. Other then them IS rat bastards 95 percent of Muslims are the best people to know. Very mannered and nice. Every race has the five or ten percent of racists ur queer hate. Bring this Faggott your hate, zero tolerance for hate anymore and the world is our oyster with Him the one that brings joy and Suoer natural strength. Inside you to ever ease any painful times in life and there are a ton of those pains. Especially losing loved one. And now in the world alone. Nope not alone he is right by your side. And darlings that is what makes this flag. We Are Not Alone. He is with us. We Are Not Alone When The Hate is in your face He is with us. No loving the hate nor hating them in return. Drop the pricks, there is tough in all of us. Do not allow anyone to tread on you ever even if it cost you your life don’t run or hide if evil is stalking you. I fkn don’t. I never in my life did. After 5th grade I got tough my dad made me bad ass. Picked on man by everyone and then i was a sissy runaway from a tough idiot man that was fkd up I was a like that man when I look back. But 6 th grade and thus us an adult read but 6th grade I was a crossed dressed but they didn’t pick on me for that they did it because they smelt weakness. 6 th grade I was in a new school I dunno maybe the second month in I get a note passed to me I open it this Chris dude 2 nd toughest in the class I had to fight him the nite said from him to be. I was like you mthr fkr just got to this school catholic school it was and now this shit. I bet him by him at bobs house in the alley as directed. I thought of my dad who was extreme bad ass and me his boy want going to ever let him down again coming home all beat up. Well anyway I dropped the mthr fkr and fkn cracked his nose and the beauty of blood spurting out the mthr fkrs nose it makes sounds. After I had many many fights never lost another one. I get fkn. Psycho at fight time I wrestled in high school learned such valuable moves and the striking back. Never ever did I strike first. Only a fkn weirdo wants to strike a bad actor. Yummy the crack in the face than psycho time. Just beat the mthr fkr like a drum no matter who or how big and bad. It’s ago Time At Insult or injury. For me and hope you find that bad ass in you if you didn’t already. It’s in all of us. He gave us that too. Anyway. Just a read if nothing to do.

remember: you are loved 💗

[shy-canadian-snowflake]

15 Days without.

“Rough night?” Logan murmured as he saw the Merc, wide awake watching something stupid on tv. The man jumped slightly to Logan’s sleep thick voice, only to shoot him a smile once he saw the other was a wake. 

“Hey Peanut.” Wade said softly as Logan threw an arm over his lap. He stayed sitting up and ran a hand through the man’s hair. “I’m fine, just thinking.”

“That’s a scary thought.” His lips twitched into a smile for a second as Wade pulled at his hair. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“It’s been 15 days since my last episode.” Logan blinked at that and did the math in his head. It dawned on him then that the other hadn’t had a rough night, or at least had not mentioned it in well over a week. “Scary right? 15 days without the voices or the arms coming from the walls, or even Boris the void shaped cat.”

“That’s not a bad thing.” Logan eyed the other, trying to get a feel for how Wade was feeling about it. “It’s better than being scared.”

“I’m still scared.” Wade’s voice was soft as he played with Logan’s hair. “I’m even more terrified that nothing is happening. It feels like everything is waiting to give me a big fucking explosive episode where I think JFK is back from the dead with unicorns ready to take over France or some shit.”

Logan gripped the man tighter, pressing his face into Wade’s side. He let the full weight of his mental body lean into the merc, being his own personal weighted blanket. “Why would JFK want France? He was a smart man, he’d take over Canada or somewhere with oil. Lotta money with Oil.”

“Aren’t the Kennedys uber rich?” Wade questioned back, eyeing the TV. Logan looked up from his spot, Wade had Jeopardy playing at a low volume.

“The hell if I know. I’m not a Kennedy. Why do you think you are going to have a huge episode? Maybe your brain and meds are finally mixing right.” 

“It doesn’t feel right.” Wade tugged at Logan’s hair before petting it back down. “I feel like maybe I’m not crazy after all and don’t need the meds anymore.”  “Wade.” Logan groaned, sitting up from his spot. He threw an arm around Wade and pulled him close. Wade pressed his head into Logan’s shoulder with a sigh. “You still need your meds, you were just saying you were worried about Kennedy and unicorns.” 

“What if you’re wrong? What if I’m taking these meds when I don’t need them, and someone out there needs them and I’m just taking them for no damn reason?” Logan’s fingers found Wade’s skull and he started to massage the scared skin there.

“You are taking them for a reason. If you stop taking them you become really fucking depressed and paranoid. Remember last time? You stood naked in the middle of the fucking living room holding a spoon as a weapon because you thought a man was hiding behind a curtain.”

“In my defence I was thinking no one would want to fight me while seeing my naked body.” Logan bumped his head into Wade’s.

“I would, Bub.” Wade bumped his head back. He then let out a huge sigh letting everything drain from his body. 

“I don’t want to think anymore tonight Lo-Lo. Can you tell me a story about your world or something I can sleep to?” 

“We aren’t done talking about this.” He started but thought on it for a second. “It can wait until the morning.” Wade made a happy sound and snuggled down into bed. Logan joined him, pulling him close. He rested a hand on Wade’s cheek, and slowly ran his thumb over Wade’s cheek bone. 

“In my old world, Abraham Lincoln was a vampire hunter. It all started when he was a boy and…” Wade fell asleep to the rumble of Logan’s voice in the matter of minutes.

[bitchface24-7]

Okay, I NEED a part two of Succubus!! I’m not joking when I say I have a black widow on my lower abdomen bellow my belly button hanging from a web thats under my boobs and torso. I CANNOT explain how much I loved reading that Viktor fic!! Would love to read about his reaction to some more of readers tattoos!

If you need tattoo inspiration I got some good ones!!! 😘🤭

SUCCUBUS PT2 - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: Viktor took you up on seeing your other tattoos. He didn't want to assume anything would happen, but as more and more of your clothes were stripped; Viktor knew his assumptions were right.

warnings: more tattoos!! piercings as well (ears and nipples (like me!) ), flirting, teasing, dirty talk, thigh grinding, overstimulation, marking, Grammarly as my beta.

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. My man deserves to have his world rocked by an undeniable baddie (i.e. You) hope Viktor survives this LMAO

Viktor honestly isn't sure how his day completely derailed itself. He just needed help soldering some wires on his prototype. Then you casually walk in in your casual outfit and a sider tattoo on display. right on your lower abdomen.

He was distracted the whole time and you took advantage of it. He can completely understand where you got your nickname from. You truly are a black widow.

He's dumbfounded as you usher him into your apartment. He glances around and lightly smiles, it's so you. The furniture, the decorations, the aesthetic. It screams you, and Viktor adores it.

"Take a seat on the couch. Do you want a drink at all? Water? Juice? Anything?" You casually state as you lock the apartment door, taking your shoes off. Viktor plops a seat, putting his cane off to the side. He gets comfortable, "No, I'm okay. Thank you. I'm more interested in your other tattoos."

You smirk at the man, "You only want a free strip show, huh?"

"Well, you did offer it."

A chuckle escapes your soft lips at that, "You're not wrong." With that, you roll your sleeves up, showing off the tattoo on your shoulder, it just casually says 'Made in Hell.' Viktor quirks an eyebrow and you giggle, "I was young, shut up."

Then your shirt goes, and Viktor's eyes wonder your torso. There's a snake coiling around your collar bone on each side, there's a gun, more snakes, a whole bouquet of flowers on your ribs, the dreaded spider tattoo, and--

"Your nipples are pierced." Viktor states, stunned. You, his kind-spirited, happy-go-lucky, genius friend... have your nipples pierced.

"Yup."

"...Why?"

You shrug casually, "I have eight piercing in total on my ears, four on each side, I love piercings. My nipples... I got done since I was a bit insecure how my chest looks. The piercings gave me a massive boost of confidence, even if nobody sees them."

Viktor is incredulous, "Nobodies ever seen them?"

"Well... my friends that came with me to get our piercings done saw them, and a few other friends; they were all women. You're the first man."

A sharp inhale is heard throughout the apartment. He's the first man. The first.

No one can ever take that from him.

You turn around and Viktor sees the phases of the moon trailing down your back, "That one I understand. You've always loved the moon, but why your back? You'll never get to see it?"

A smirk is all the pretty man gets, "So when I'm on my hands and knees the person behind me has a pretty view." Viktor almost chokes at your tease. He knows just what to say to get you back, "You are already a pretty view. No matter the position."

You feel your face heat up as you shimmy out of your pants, Viktor withholds a groan as you bend over and your ass is pushed out. You kick your pants to the side and all that's keeping you somewhat modest is your underwear. Viktor sees you have tattoos on your legs but he can barely focus on them, the tramp stamp with "Est. XXXX" with your birth year makes Viktor want to wheeze.

Your hands raise from your sides before plopping back down to hit your thighs, "That's all of them."

“Can I get a closer look?”

A light exhale of breath and a nod is all the man gets. He ushers you to come closer with a small twitch of a finger. You follow his direction without hesitation.

You sit on his lap and he hums in appreciation. His golden eyes and massive pupils wonder around your body. His hands join the appreciation. His hands harshly grip your hips and you moan out in pain and pleasure. A hand whips up to cover your mouth and Viktor’s tisk’s at you.

“No no. That won’t do. Let me hear you.”

You whine at his tone, and slowly lower your hand. Viktor repositions you so that you’re straddling his strong leg. His hands remain on your hips.

He jolts his leg up and you gasp in shock. His nicely shaped thigh grazing your sex wonderfully. A zing of pleasure shoots down your back and into your crotch.

Fuck.

“Is this okay?” Viktor asks, a whiny yes is your reply. Viktor’s eyes darken and he kisses you, before dragging his lips down to your throat and sucking a hickey necklace there.

His hands force your hips to move, so you grind against his thigh. You can’t help but moan at the pleasure you’re feeling, it’s especially amplified as Viktor sucks on one of your pierced nipples; the piercing amplifying your sensitivity.

“You’re so sensitive. So needy. Are you always this needy or is it just with me?”

“You! Just you. Viktor please…”

“Please what? Please suck my nipples more? Please rub my crotch more? Please make me cum? Please fuck me? What do you want, you need to tell me more than just please.”

A loud whine escapes you as you rut your hips harder against the long leg beneath you. Your knee nudging against his hard cock.

“Please make me cum! Please mark me up some more, my chest, my nipples. Please bruise my hips with your hands. Please make me yours.”

Viktor growls and does what you’ve begged. Your hips quickly grinding against his thigh, your knee effectively rubbing against his cock. He puts more and more hickeys on you, your hips becoming more bruised with his unrelenting force.

A loud whiny moan escapes you as you cum against his leg, the crotch of your underwear becoming soaked with your arousal.

Viktor doesn’t let you stop though. He makes sure your hips keep moving, not allowing you to calm down. The pleasure gains a bit of pain and you can’t help but cry out as he continues to suck away bruises onto you.

He groans as he cums in his pants, his face, his voice, his sounds. He’s so attractive you can’t help but cum again, it hurts but fuck it feels so good. You’re panting desperately as Viktor unlatched from your skin and hips, you lean your head into his shoulder as you essentially just lay on him.

He’s panting too. His face is flushed, his eyes are closed, and his head is leaned back. You sluggishly suck a dark hickey into the side of his neck, too high for his collar to cover.

He’s just as much yours as you’re his.

“I wasn’t expecting this.” Viktor states as he looks down at you, you smile lightly at him, “I was.”

“I know.”

“You’re not mad?”

Viktor chuckles, “How could I be mad about that? You want me, desire me, and you went out of your way to get it. I was too slow to make the first move.”

You raise from lying on Viktor and sit up, looking at him in shock, “First move?”

“I’m not blind, and I’m not stupid. Neither are you. I’ve wanted you for a while, I just didn’t know how to start.”

“We’ll… you’re welcome.”

“Yes, thank you darling.”

You look down and Viktor and softly kiss his lips before you gasp, “Oh my god, did you cum?”

He just chuckles at you, “Yes my dear. I did. It’s so cute you’re worried that I didn’t.”

“Well you made me cum twice. It wouldn’t have been fair if you didn’t even cum once.”

Viktor’s head falls back to the head of the couch and slaps your thigh, a small gasp is what he gets in return, “I’d like that drink now though.”

You jolt up off his lap, “What do you want?” Viktor’s eyes open lightly and glance and you, pierced and tattoo glory all for him to see, “Water for now would be nice.”

A smile is what he gets and you casually turn and walk to your kitchen, Viktor appreciates your walk, your ass, and the moon phase tattoo trailing down your spine.

Yeah… he wasn’t expecting this. But he’ll never complain on how he got here.

He’s a very lucky man indeed.

*debby ryan hair tuck* y’all fuck with this? As one user said, my libido completely revolves around this man (a call out I didn’t need but it’s true) EDIT: BRO IT WAS A CALL OUT *I* MADE IN ANOTHER FIC I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THAT 😭😭 I THOUGHT YALL CLOCKED ME NAH I CLOCKED US 😩💀

Tattoos I tried to describe LOL

[brightlotusmoon]

A few years ago, I was talking to my dad on the phone when he very happily told me that he had just learned a new word.

On one of his news programs they’d used the word “nonbinary.” Immediately upon hearing it, he said, he “went to the Google machine to look it up” because he really wanted to know what it meant.

He went on to tell me how wonderful he thought it was that language is expanding in order to better describe the human experience rather than pigeon-holing people into boxes into which they do not necessarily fit.

“In my day,” he said, “there were just two terms, but it’s apparent that that was not enough. So, nonbinary … I was very pleased to learn what that means.”

When I first shared the story, I wrote, “A lot of us grew up with pretty rigid ideas about the world, ourselves, and the universality of our own experiences. Eventually, if we’re lucky, we come across something that pushes us to expand, to take in new information, to broaden our perspectives.

What we’ve seen lately is a whole lot of shutting down in the face of that new information. Insecurity masquerading as certainty, fear cloaked in the robes of righteous indignation. Denial, refusal, bigotry (both overt and insidious.)

But then there’s my dad. An 84 year-old man, walking a whole other path. An open, loving, curious path. A path that says, hey, isn’t it wonderful that language is expanding in order to better describe the human experience rather than pigeon-holing people into boxes into which they do not necessarily fit?

A path that does not just accept, but celebrates that progress.”

But there’s important context that I left out. Because while these words and the concepts they represent may be new to some of us, they sure as hell aren’t actually new. They’re not radical or really even mildly progressive. They’ve been around far longer than any of us.

One of far too many examples to count comes from the people whose land we inhabit. The Anishinaabe people have been around since long before the United States existed and their language, Anishinaabemowin is gender-neutral. Rather than relying on a false binary, it contains myriad words to describe an entire spectrum of gender identities, experiences, and expressions.

In that context, our language really isn’t expanding at all. It’s simply returning to its roots.

No matter what happens or what those in positions of power attempt to dictate, human beings will remain who we are, and will continue to exist on a wild, messy, astoundingly beautiful spectrum.

{image is a graphic from Enby Delia featuring a heart in the trans flag colors and reading, “Your validity is not dictated by an executive order.”}

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Hey, you.

If you're American, and you've been having a hard week egg for.. reasons -

I have something to say to the Americans.

Just remember.

They aren't immortal.

Nobility has lied for centuries. They told us they were placed on the throne by God - the rule of the king being the will of the Creator.

The French proved them wrong.

You are young. They are human. They will one day die.

And on the day they die - regardless of if hell is real or not - there will be a movement when they are laying on that death bed. They will feel their live slipping from their grasp.

And they will feel the fear.

The possiblity of eternal consequence.

They will fear what waiting for them on the other side. The one journey they cannot buy their way out of. The moment the bell tolls for thee.

And honestly, the thought brings me peace.

Trumo and Elon AREN'T demons - though it's so easy to think of them as so.

They are evil humans. And all humans die. Trump? He's 80. He's over three times my age. He's older than my grandmother. He eats McDonald's and Diet Coke like no one's business. Knock on wood I'm betting he's got ten years TOPS.

('I'll be the last president' - my ass. If you take a bad fall it's game over dude. You won't release your health records cause you're most likely due for a heart attack soon mfer. Your minions don't like your candy ass Junior enough to have him as a successor and Baron doesn't fucking care so realistically speaking whats your game plan here? 🤨 Elon's kids have too many daddy issues to take your place. You can't even use a sword. Napoleon would slay you where you fucking stand you pansy)

So if you've been struggling this week, I just wanted to remind you.

Black people won our civil rights without the support from the media, without online social networks, without the support from 90% of white people.

70 years ago, around when my grandma was born - I could not sit next a white person in school. If a white man was walking towards me on the street, I'd have to step into the gutter and let him pass. At risk of being actually killed by the whole town if not.

Nowadays in my city I could tell a white guy my age 'Fuck you!!' to your face. Middle finger and all. And they're not gonna put me in jail for it. No stranger is gonna jump in. The whole town isn't gonna care. If anything, people will just record.

That all happened in ONE generation.

So no matter what Trump does.

Remember. He's not immortal. He will die like we all do.

You're young. You'll have the rest of your life to reverse everything he's done.

That's the thing about personality cults. Once the personality is removed, the whole thing falls apart. And the personality in question is once again - an 80 year old who eats Big Macs and wears suits two sizes too large. A man who would probably get genuinely upset if you asked him to recite his 8 times tables.

If Trump dies in the next 10-20 years, before he turns 100, I'll be 35-45. a.k.a - my generation will be entering the older majority. Our generation will be the eldest and the most influencial. What then?

The Trumpettes won't have their leader for their personality cult so they'll have no one - not even their republican parents - to tell them who to think.

We'll be older, wiser. We'll teach our kids the signs. We'll tell them stories what to do, and invest pubic funds to conserve the history of our fight - to never be erased.

If you're scared this week, I understand.

But remember. We've fought harder with less - and we still won.

So keep your head up. Doom is the tool of the enemy. You keep going, you keep living, and you survive to tear down their legacy while the bastard spins in his grave.

Keep going. Keep your angry hearts and clenched fists. Hold on tight to your love and rage. And keep going.

That's what Hobie would want. That's what a Hobie is there to teach us.

Hope this helped someone, anyone, even if it was a little bit. If this helps you get through the day, or the next hour, with the smallest bit of hope - that's all I want.

Thanks for reading this far! Here's Hobie :)

--------------------------------------------------

And bonus:

Ayo I just gotta add this in here -

Word to god, and when I say this I say this with my whole chest -

I'd be DAMNED before I ever say I'm scared of Donald Trump.

First of all, I'm black and poor. There's been a white man wanting me dead since the moment I left my Mama's hoohaa and guess what, I'm still here. That mfer ain't special. Call me when the klansmen come not when done mfers with tiki torches cosplay call of duty.

Cause none of them coming to the hood..tf.. Try that shit in neighborhood with Bloods and Crips.. Y'all not the only ones with automatics and lots of money. It's just the black people with money and automatics keep shit quiet. If these racist mfers had ppl breaking in they house the way Kendrick had mfers breaking in Drake's with choppers they'd be terrified as fuuuckkk

And secondly there's 4chan fellas out there that probably legit jack off to the idea of a black queer trans person crying in fear. And those mfers can kiss my black ass and kick rocks cause I wake up every day smiling. So -

Anyway I'm done lol

I just had to get this out of my system lol. OKAY BYE FOR REAL

[mysticdreamdrafts]

Chris Redfield | Husband Headcanons

im in love with this man idk so I wanted to yell about him lol 

Chris is the type a guy who married you early on, fight me on it. That “I know we’re teens but I love you” sorta thing, ya know? Maybe y’all were high school sweethearts and just the love was real.  Maybe ya met in the military and fell for one another. Either way, it worked. Y’all stayed together and it just never died out. 

So here’s some (PRE-TRAUMA BECAUSE LORDY) hubby headcanons I think about for Chris Redfield: -Golden Retriever Hubby  -Actually really bad about remembering important dates, but will make it up to you no matter what -And like look at that face can you stay mad at him? No- -Because he doesn’t remember dates very well, prepare for random gifts literally all the time -“Happy Monday here’s some flowers because I wanted you to have them” -Breakfast in bed kinda guy -Can actually cook HELLLLLLLA well -Actually shocked you but then you remembered he’s the older brother  -Full belly laughs  -I’m talkin’ head falls back and eyes squeezed shut sorta laugh -It can make car alarms go off lmfao -Claire isn’t a fan, but you can’t help but join him when he laughs  -Protective -Very protective -He is confident you can take care of yourself, but he knows how harsh the world can be  -He doesn’t know what he would do if anything were to happen to you -We’ve seen how he cares so much about his friends. His sister. Now imagine you?? Man oh man -It can be a bit insufferable  -I imagine it would be the source of some arguments. It feels like he doesn’t trust you all the time, but that isn’t it. -It’s the world he doesn’t trust -He is stubborn too, but he’ll apologize first if he knows he’s in the wrong or being too much  -Apology kisses -Apology letters   -After an argument, be ready for a bit of silent treatment in the house. He believes time away to think about things before coming back to talk is healthy so that you don’t just both end up getting heated for nothing or say something neither of you mean -But afterward, oooo buddy he’s all about conversation -like it might take a bit to get there because he is HARD HEADED, but after he realizes your points and maybe he’s being a lil ✨extra ✨ he’ll wanna talk about being better -bad at taking photos -like a whole lotta headroom, weird angles, and atrocious mid-blink snapshots -like Chris, pls for the love of god what is wrong with you lol -lets you shave his face, he feels it’s very intimate and he loves to watch your focus face -he’ll wash your hair if you let him -hell, he’ll pamper you always -but there’s something about learning your hair type, finding out what you like, how to oil your hair, take care of you that just means a lot to him

That’s all I have for now but I’ll yell more about him later

If y’all want a NSFW version lemme know and maybe i’lllllllllll idkkkkk heeheeeeeeee~ (imma do it lol)

[may--hawk]

Crystal Visions

Summary:

Since the dawn of time, Crowley’s had visions of the future, visions that always come true. It’s why he tells Aziraphale you can’t leave this bookshop, because he knows what will happen when he does. When Aziraphale goes missing, Crowley finds some of his earliest visions coming true. There’s only one thing left to do: go up to Heaven to get Aziraphale back.

Heaven is burning.

The inferno roars around him, a great sweeping flood of Hellfire racing through the glossy white halls whose brightness only serves to refract the fire back at itself, to make a tunnel of it, unbearably bright and awful, a new Hell. The fire has been fed by the records, floors three to seventy-five, all those scrolls and books and certificates and logs of wrongdoing, and has since rushed up the stairwells in a great big exhale as if of relief. He can hear the screams of angels coming out of the fire like flames. He hasn’t heard an angel scream in a long time, except in dreams. He’d hoped to never hear it again. The screams are faint under the sirens, though, which are deafening, shrieking an entirely unnecessary warning to those who have long since ceased to listen. He sees Paimon scuttle past on the ceiling, chasing a nameless angel, or maybe they’re both fleeing the flames, he doesn’t know, and then the roar of the fire obscures them from sight.

A large explosion shakes the very firmament of Heaven. He stumbles, and very nearly falls. The fire’s reached the armory, then. It’s only a matter of time. How did it get out of hand so quickly? This wasn’t what he’d wanted. He’d just wanted a distraction, but he should’ve known better. “Aziraphale!” he screams, long past caring whether he’s heard by others. The sound is lost in the roar of the flames anyway, in the sirens, in the very dismantling of Heaven. His throat is raw from smoke, from screaming, and his eyes stream. “Aziraphale, where are you?” There’s nothing, only the roar of flames, a wind that sets his hair back from his forehead, presses his clothes to his body, his face hot, skin hot, eyes hot, screaming Aziraphale’s name into a wall of flame and white marble. He’s always looking for Aziraphale in flames, he feels, has never left the bookshop, has never, maybe, left the plains of Heaven, doing dubious battle, when the war had waged on and he looked and looked in vain for a particular white-haired angel.

He runs, feet pounding, chest aching, gasping for breath, cutting through the forty-third mess hall through a heavy set of brass doors - ought to keep the fire out, for a bit - and into a gleaming corridor of doors - long, white, and empty - that is instantly familiar.

“Ah, fuck,” he says, panting.

Aziraphale’s here, somewhere.

Crowley’s seen this all before. He’s seen the fire, the long endless white doors, the gleaming sense of dread. He’s had this vision before, a sure sign that whatever’s coming in this long endless hallway is going to be bad. Around him the very firmament of Heaven shakes, a great big shudder that knocks him sideways into a wall, an echoing series of booms. Screams. There’s no time to be afraid - and then Heaven shudders again and he’s knocked into a memory, they’ve been coming on more and more almost like the visions these ghostly images overlaid atop Heaven’s walls, he’s losing it, time’s slipping, and be not afraid (Aziraphale had said to the young man in the 1990s he had smitten that time he and Crowley had been walking back from dinner, that little place around the corner with the scampi Aziraphale liked, not arm in arm, not exactly, but their elbows brushing each other’s sides, and that little Aziraphale Gioconda smile was on the angel’s face, the one he wore when he was pleased with himself, and then they’d turned the corner and seen the young man hoisting up a cinderblock about to throw it through the bookshop’s front window. Aziraphale turned to Crowley with a look and Crowley’d said, “You ask me, angel, place could use some new windows. S’been awhile since you had them redone,” and Aziraphale had pouted, and said, “They’re original,” and then Aziraphale had sighed and rolled his eyes and had smiled, something constrained and calculating like an animal in a cage, and then he had cracked his neck and gone full Gomorrah. Be not afraid he’d said to the young man who was already currently pissing himself to the dismay of his black jeans, but then again you don’t see a multi-winged multi-eyed angel ten feet tall glowing like the dickens and speaking in the voice of a thousand suns every day. Crowley had put his hand to his eyes and grinned and watched the lecture the young man got and then watched him fall down two or three or four times trying to stand again when Aziraphale had released him and then Aziraphale had straightened his waistcoat and said “You’re an awful beast, Crowley,” and Crowley had grinned and strolled in after him, and then later, much later, over several too many bottles of wine and absinthe and cognac1 and more wine Crowley had said, “Y’wicked, you are,” shaking his finger about a half-meter to the left of Aziraphale, and Aziraphale had said, “My dear, you don’t know the half of it,” and had shot him a look of so much heat Crowley had nearly caught on fire right there.)2

Another boom, this one louder and longer rumbling far below Crowley, with a series of echoing booms crashing out from it, that brings Crowley back to himself. Crowley’s losing it. Things are starting to slip, to overlay, ghostly visions of past and future just visible out of the corners of his eyes when he turns his head too fast, as if they’re reflecting in all the gleaming white walls and doors and floors around him. Aziraphale’s here. But he won’t be for long, if Crowley keeps this up. He starts pushing open doors, kicking them, screaming, “Aziraphale! Aziraphale!” Nothing. Some of the doors swing open under his touch, but not all, and he pounds and slams on one before giving up and moving on. The rooms are varied: a room with a vast precipice he can feel, the wind whistling out towards him, making him sway, making him want to come in, to stand on the edge, to jump. A room full of mirrors, reflecting Crowley back at himself, the reflection wrong and twisted. A room that is merely a forest in a thick fog, a room that is a perfect duplicate of the Records Room on the 54th floor, a room that is a rattling cart on the way to market on a fine spring day, a room that is a hazy smoke-filled bar with low slow jazz underneath. He keeps running down the hallway, trying doors. Aziraphale is here; Aziraphale is everywhere. He can’t tell exactly where, after-images of Aziraphale scattered through Heaven. How often had Aziraphale paced these halls, Crowley had wondered, to leave these traces? What was he looking for? What was he trying to get away from? Above him and below him and around him Heaven crumbles further. The sirens are deafening; he can’t think, he can’t hear himself, how can Aziraphale hear him?

“Aziraphale!” he screams again, trying more doors. A door growls at him. A door melts under his touch and he jumps back, barely avoiding getting it on him, which is good, because it begins eating a hole in the spotless floor of Heaven. Crowley watches, fascinated, as it eats through; he can see through to the floor below, a birds-eye view of a gaggle of angels fighting a massive mammoth-demon. A door plays sweet guileful music; it sounds like a tournament he’d been at, once, with Aziraphale; Aziraphale had been Lady Aziraphale at the time, had given him a scrap of silk from her mantle, had even tied it around his arm for him, and he’d had more luck staying on his horse than usual, but Aziraphale hadn’t claimed to know anything about that. He catches himself swaying towards this door, and drops his hand, immediately. Aziraphale’s not in there. He runs down the hallway, opening doors, each one the same from the outside, gleaming and fresh and utterly meaningless. On the inside, each individual and unique, each of them completely wrong. A crowded opera-house. The bottom of the ocean, pitch-black and haunted; far off, the glow of a light. A dusty record store smelling of mildew and incense. All around Crowley Heaven is splintering and tearing. He can feel it; he can feel everything.

And he’s done this, Crowley has. It’s his fault, of course. He races on. Another door he strong-arms as he passes bursts open, and Crowley glances in, ready to move on, already moving on, in fact, because this room is unremarkable, it’s just an extension of the hallway, really, just an extension of Heaven itself, smooth and featureless and blinding white inside except for-

Keep reading on AO3.

[arctic-bookclub]

not be invested in minecraft roleplay again but i can’t get over how no matter if q!quackity succeeds or fails in his goal of killing chayanne, he will lose in some way no matter what 😭

if he succesfully kills chayanne, tallulah will be sad or most likely hate or dislike him, she is Less protected than she was before (event though quackity’s goal is to protect her), phil Will hunt him down and wilbur will be upset over tallulah being sad, and potentially upset too over losing his brother and phil being upset

if he fails to kill chayanne, he’ll get his ass handed to him by a literal Baby AND his dads and like almost all the eggs on the server (not to mention y’know, failing by literally failing his goal)

there’s actually no winning for him here he couldn’t have chosen a worse egg to target while simultaneously trying to protect tallulah, it’s so funny

[orcelito]

God I don't wanna go to therapy tomorrow. Sick of talking about my feelings in a clinical setting. I do enough psychoanalysis just by myself, and now I gotta sit through it with someone else??? Come on.

[godlesscity]

i think watching goodbye stranger changed me as a person

[buckleyseddie]

also the other way around tbh

[screampied]

#WANNA PLAY PSYCHO KILLER? t. fushiguro

☆ sum. you know girl, usually when someone’s about to get stabbed, they scream—not moan. ghostface is supposed to be scary, intimidating, terrifying. but what happens when he’s tall, hot, and has a scar that runs down the right side of his lip? maybe his motive this time was to make you scream out his name in another way. welcome to act three.

wc. 7.0k

warnings. fem! reader, ghostface!toji, pwp, roleplay, unprotected, slight dacryphīlia, glove / mask kink, scream spoilers + references, dumbification, knīfe play, biting, he's crazy but your pússy's crazier, fīngering, riding his face mask, hair pulling, first time squīrt, cunnīlingus, pússy drunk toji, spīt, praise, dirty talk, petnames.

➤ kinktober mlist.

“now girl, what the fuck was that,” a husky voice that sounds a bit muffled murmurs out to you. you’re laid on the ground, quite literally seeing the life flash before your eyes as the edge of his jagged knife glimmers against the ceiling light. peeking one open, you’re met with the covered soulless eyes of an infamous ghostface mask, and he’s tilting his head at you. “did i hear ya right?”

as he hovers over you, you speak in a breathy voice. growing sheepish, you glance away. “um, hear what?”

“you moaned, doll,” he replies, and the cottony flaps of his costume brush against your skin the closer he gets. as the coolly aerating air turns dead silent for a few moments, you could hear the sounds of his irregular breaths – deep sinister breaths . . and for some reason, it makes your thighs clench, and not in fear. “right as i said i was gonna gut ya like a fish,” and your own breathing hitched once his gloved finger strokes down your lip. “and i put the knife riiiiiight down here,” he slowly drags the prop down your nearly torn top, “you moaned right as i was about to strike. why?”

“i think . . you’re hearing things,” you rub the back of your neck, but you left off yet another moan the second he slides a knee between your legs.

“nah,” the masked man jibes, and it’s as if he’s staring right through your clothes. with a gloved hand he pulls up his mask, only showing part of his face. he pulls it down inches below his nose as you glance at his scarred lips that show. “think i heard quite well, princess,” and he slowly grazes the soft end of the knife further and further down your skin. “besides, like i said earlier. . i wanna play a game—and we can start with me asking,” and he pauses, leaning up close to your shell of your ear, warm breath tickling against your lobe. “you’re not wearing panties right now, are ya, princess?”

right at his words—your thighs stuck together and you felt a shiver run down your spine. it’s cold, and it made your eyebrow twitch at how insanely turned on you were.

usually, most people would scream or run—hell, even fight back. but it’s different when it’s you.

as he continued to straddle over you, you could have sworn you saw this movie before. .

and now, here you were—helpless indeed and on the floor as he hovers his weight over you, waving a his knife—(a knife that looks like a sort of cheap knockoff version of the one michael myers walks around with) in your face while his other hand mockingly cups your cheek.

“and if i’m not?” you mumble, fixating your eyes solely on the hole parts that shield his eyes.

it’s like you were staring at empty black voids, and no matter how hard you squinted – you just couldn’t see him at all. all you could make out was white and black plastic mask, and as he tilts his head again, he’s returning the gaze. fuck, each time he head tilts and cocks his head to a certain degree—it’s like he’s challenging you, taunting you even, and you’d constantly feel your thighs squeeze together tighter and tighter.

“ah, well,” he thinks for a moment, feeling his covered eyes bore at your body. in his mind, you looked so pretty sprawled all out and underneath him. with your chest heaving in and out as he continues to strum his gloved fingers down your exposed skin, he hums.

“maybe i’d just have ‘ta take a look for myself,” and your breath hitches again once he slowly drags the whetted edge of the knife down your polka dot blouse. with a loud tearing ‘shiiiiek’, a few of your buttons go loose as he’s easily dividing through the fabric with the blade. “cute, i’m assuming you’re not wearin’ a bra either,” and you felt yourself throb the moment he pauses his hands, staring at your perked tits. “phew,” he whistles, giving your pretty physique a nice three second stare. “nice rack.”

“you . . aren’t gonna—”

“—what, kill ya? oh, no doll. now that wouldn’t be fun,” he purrs, finishing your sentence.

it was almost embarrassing at how your body responded to him. you didn’t just wanted more, you craved it. staring right back at you were those same dark holes of a mask that you desperately wanted to see his true identity.

just who was he?

but judging from his voice though, it was a raspy low. . somewhat sounding of a way of smoker would speak. the voice sounded a bit older and of course—he had the body shape of a fucking tank.

as he lets off a low sigh, he shrugs his broad shoulders. “you’re too pretty for that. besides, i’m hard ‘n that little moan you did nearly ruined me if i’m bein’ honest.”

as a small impish smile forms against your glossed pursed lips, your nerves lessen. you stare up at the man before exhaling slight sudden relief. so you were gonna be in the sequel, score.

“so . . . what, is this the part where i’m supposed to beg for my life, mr. ghostface?” you had nothing really to lose, so why not play around with him for a bit – reverse psychology.

“actually,” he clicks his tongue, swiping a thumb down the keen edge of his dagger. it’s an eerie dead pause that whistles in the air once his gloved hands brush against your skin before he continues.

“this would be the part where you scream,” and as he presses his mask all the way against face, he’s so close that you get a glimpse of his scarred lips that poke underneath the cover. “but fuck it. since y’er not scared yet, guess i’ll have ‘ta get that heart racin’ one way or another.”

and toji—who was apparently his name, does this in no other way but propping himself right between your legs.

long story short, everything escalated quickly. so quickly that one minute you were on the floor quote and quote “fearing” for your life and the next . . ? you find yourself being tossed on your velveteen cushioned sofa, voluntarily spreading your legs out for him like some slut out of a cheesy predictable horror movie.

if you were being completely honest, the real killer was his tongue . . because for the life of you, you just couldn’t get over how sloppy he moved it in different directions.

toji kept his mask on the entire time, but it’s pulled up just a tad bit to where you’re only getting a tiny glimpse of the lower part of his face. the fabric just barely shields the bottom part of his nose as his scarred thin lips press their way against your sopping folds.

“fuuuck,” you’d whimper, preferring this over death any day.

right away, you spot the scar that slashes straight down the right side of his lip and it’s a small but attractive feature. every few seconds, he’d purposely smear that part of his mouth against your cunt, earning out a candied ‘ooh!’ from you. within seconds, your numbed thighs were already starting to stick together – like glue.

letting off a sharp drawn out gasp, you glance near your nightstand and the alarm that sits above it. the time was a quarter past two . . and well, some would ask how you’d even get yourself in this situation.

truth is, you didn’t really know either but you damn sure weren’t exactly complaining either. toji found you a bit strange though.

usually people would run from him but you . . you moaned right as you were about to meet your maker. weird, and he’s heard countless screams but never once like yours. that’s kind of because yours wasn’t even a scream, it was a literal moan.

and he wanted to hear more and more of it.

it intrigued him – you intrigued him, and he sort of wants to make you scream in a whole other way though, especially since he’s got you right where he wants. sprawled all out, legs fucking spread . .

“do you . . have to keep this stupid thing on?” you breathlessly grouse, a cute pout curling against your lips as your hands grab the top of his head.

it sort of irked you how he kept his ghostface mask on the entire duration he’s positioned between your legs. with a tight grip, you yank him forward and he groans against your cunt. toji peppers sloppy kisses against your pudgy folds before staring up at you, a faint smirk twisting against his own lips. huffing out an annoyed exhale, you grump. “ ‘s not like ‘m gonna turn you in or anything. i never even found ghostface scary anywa—”

toji snickers. “yeahhh, right,” and you shiver, watching with low hooded eyes as he gathers a glossy string of spit in his mouth.

as your legs quivered from the single grip of one of his hands, he spits right on your teary pussy, watching the lustrous trail of slime drag down his chin. “i’ll think about it,” and he laps his own mess right up, dexterously creating nasty slosh sounds with his exaggerated smacking lips.

with a teasing pat of his gloved hand, he smears the slick puddle that rests on your entrance before humming. “cute, seems like y’er pussy’s tryna seduce me though.”

you let off a whimper, not knowing how long your legs could remain open as he’s toying with your clit. fat clothed fingers drag their way down your slobbering cunt, drawing various circles and shapes around your knobbling nub as a breath snatches from your full lungs. “s- shit, spit on it ‘s more,” you’d weep, feeling your own lips part into a curling ‘o’ shape as you’re in carnal awe.

“now, doll,” he’d whisper against your folds, slurping you clean and savoring the taste of your bittersweet fervor on his tongue.

toji brings two thick fingers toward the outer part of your clit before it slowly starts to disappear inside. it’s like a magic trick — you watch them slowly disintegrate inside of your sopping cunt and you whimper, feeling them curl their ways inside.

as he’s preparing to pump both digits inside, your tummy caves in and you let off a sweet moan the second his long digits start to scissor inside of you. “since ‘m gonna spare ya, i think it’s time we set some ground rules,” and as his hot breath continues to fan against your twitching sex—your grip tightens near the top part of his mask. “don’t tell me how to eat, yeah?”

a timid whimper was your response and you watch how his lips carve into a haughty smile. with a second thought, toji spanks your cunt and he hums, hearing the wet back-talking chatter of squelches leave from your pussy.

as you’re twitching and pulsating from the tender stimulation—you feel him starting to lay his long tongue flat. starting from bottom to top, he eats out your cunt as if it was served to him on a silver fucking platter. “afraid ‘m gonna need an answer, little girl.”

“y- yes,” you let off a soft shrilling gasp, feeling his callused fingertips prod deep inside your gummy clenching walls. toji’s gloved digits felt scorchingly warm inside you, and with just a swift motion, he twirls them ‘round and ‘round, barreling each long inch inside of your pretty pussy.

god, if his fingers were this long, you only imagined imagined what his dick would feel like. the feeling alone made your stomach flutter uncontrollably as your teeth sink into the skin coating your bottom lip.

this was bad, this was really really bad . .

you were probably breaking every cliche horror movie rule in the book . . or in this case, the script. you were supposed to run, not open your legs. but, what’s the saying? you only live once, and that’s if you survive his tongue.

toji was ruthless.

his head moves back and forth as he munched on your pussy, playfully nipping the pearly edges teeth against your clit. each time he does that, you’re sensitive and you whine out a sweet battle cry, rutting your hips further into his greedy slick mouth. your legs nearly suffocated him but he didn’t care, and each long stripe that he creates with his sticky tongue earns out a bundle of whiny whimpers from you.

you had no panties on, and he was basically eating you out with nothing but a skirt that’s pulled up toward your waist—clinging against your jerking, active hips. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you abruptly gasp, feeling your legs already starting to weaken.

by this point, he’s not even eating your pussy anymore, he’s damn near making out with it. toji’s making out with your pussy – with tongue, and lots lots of it.

he’s creating darting motions with the pointed tip of his tongue, barely batting a single lash of an eye that his chin’s starting to glimmer with sheeny slick. your sheeny slick. as you occasionally look down, you only see that same part of his face that’s shown—but it makes you throb regardless, just imagining just what he really looked like.

you knew he was tall—that much was apparent, a strong burly build and a cocky persona to match.

“yeah? give it to me then,” he interrupts your thoughts as a wolffish grin spreads across his lips like butter.

toji’s thick fingers resume to mercilessly plummet in and out of you and he feels his jaw locking. your taste—he couldn’t get enough of it, and pretty soon he’s the epitome of pussy drunk.

you tasted so sweet, and you let off a whimper once he pulls up his mask just a little bit further. “heh,” he huffs out, and he stops it just at the hem of his button shaped nose. as that same wry smirk compresses against his lips, you spot his dimples stretching out near the corners. leaning all the way in, toji gives your cunt a three second sniff before cupping his lips over your pulsating cunt. “mmph—actually, hold on doll.”

as you’re panting heavily, a look of confusion marinates against your features once you watch him prepare to take off his mask. with a bubbly ‘pop’, toji slowly slides his fingers out of you before glancing at your impatient face.

“ah ah, close ‘em,” he clicks his tongue, watching your pretty clit twitch at his demand.

you pout, feeling a brief sting as you’re being delayed of your long awaited release. with a cute sigh, you place a hand over eyes, your vision turning completely dark. “good girl . . now,” he huffs lowly, and you hear a bit of shuffling. toji sits you up and you feel something place underneath your legs. his voice was close, and it sounds like he’s near the side of you. “cum on my mask, pretty girl. can ya do that for me?”

“uh, okay,” you shakily reply, feeling him prop up your hips to sit right up against the ghostly mouth part. it’s eerily carved into a long hanging oval shape and you moan—feeling how warm it was from the front. it makes you pulse, knowing that his mouth was just behind that exact spot a few seconds ago.

even though your eyes were still covered with your own hand, you feel a daunting chill run down your spine yet again, sensing his cold haunting presence.

whoever he was, he was watching you right now, get off . . on his mask.

you let off a quiet moan as your hips started to rut against the propped plastic. you were drenched, and a bit of slick sticks down against your thighs.

toji feels his dick strain in his ripped jeans as he openly stares like a stalker — pretty, you looked so pretty like this. grinding your sweet cunt against the mask he wears on a daily. now that he thinks about it, it’d be a pretty good souvenir.

“touch yourself too,” he’d rasp, kneeling down closer to you. toji gets behind you, and you whimper once you feel the frigid edge of his knife slowly drag down your skin. he starts a trail, and he’s safe surprisingly—making sure to not nip your skin, but it’s close enough to where you feel the coldness of the steel.

as your needy whines pitch louder, you find yourself now guiding a hand near your bouncing breasts. a bit of the ripped fabric of your blouse runs against your fingertips and toji feels himself getting more hard just watching you. “yeah, baby. that’s it. get my fuckin’ mask wet so i can taste it after.”

“tojiiii, ‘m cumming—fuck,” and as he’s got one of his own hands grabbing onto your left tit, you end up finishing.

you’re cutely hysterical, creaming all on the mouth part of his mask as shame swells in your chest. “ngh, fuck fuck.” you babble, your thighs submitting defeat as he pulls you back against his chest. it felt hard, and you couldn’t help but imagine how built he probably was.

toji presses a cold kiss near the left side of your neck. his frigid lips makes you whimper as your head tilts to the left.

his touch . . you only wanted more, and he could tell from the way that the hand that was at first cupping your breast now starts to reach toward his wrist. “atta girl,” he whispers, and right as you were about to remove your other hand off your eyes, he places his own back over your face. “nice try, sweetheart. gotta be patient.”

you continue to pout, and toji slides the drenched front part of his mask from underneath your legs and brings it up to his lips. “mhm, would ya look at that,” and as you’re panting on his chest, still frantic from your recent orgasm, you hear him cleaning it off with his tongue.

he trails his tongue to where your cunt sat against the mouth part, lapping it up and relishes in your sweet taste entirely. “fuck, sweetest thing i’ve had in a while.”

you dig your nails into his thigh as you’re trying to get over your high, speaking in a needy voice.

“t.. toji,” and he finds it cute how you’re speaking through gritted teeth. he could tell you were annoyed with him, how you weren’t fond of his teasing at all.

“hm, what is it?” he replies, giving his mask a satisfied glance once he finishes. it shines in the dim light—and he licks his lips as the right side of his mouth twitches into a devious simper.

“can . . can i have a kiss?” and the words came out of your mouth oh so sweetly.

you don’t know what came over you, but your body was just fed up. something was screaming at you, hollering at you to get a taste. you throbbed, secretly yearning to feel his lips crash on yours. the entire time he was buried between your legs, it was all you thought about, constantly.

toji hums, tilting his head as he faces you. “a kiss, huh?” and he’s still got a hand covering your eyes.

he ponders about it for a while before a low guffaw leaves from his thin lips. “aw, you want a taste of yourself too, don’t you dirty girl?” and once you shamelessly nod in response, toji’s shoulders drop. “fine, you’ll get that kiss. c’mere,”

and you could feel him inching closer and closer closer. toji’s cologne was loud—it’s a manly musk of what you think was rosemary and cedarwood.

it practically blinds the insides of your flared nostrils the more he closes the awkward distance between you both. your cunt’s pulses start to quicken before he’s merely just inches away from your lips now. “stupid, stupid girl,” he pulls your bottom lip down with a gloved finger, and that’s when he stares at your pretty plump lips before whispering. “beg me.”

“i’m not gonna—”

“no beg, no fuckin’ kiss,” he cuts you off, and you grumble. it was almost embarrassing at how your pussy gave away your true dirty feelings. you continued to twitch, and you let off a defeated sigh once his smears a thumb over your wet lips.

“please . . please, kiss me,” and as you speak, he continues to softly caress the curvature of your mouth. you could hear him breathing from behind the mask. it was short raspy breaths and what would usually frighten most people, turned you on.

toji runs a hand through his jet black tresses before a cunning smirk pierces the corners of his lips. “that’s more like it,” and his lips were almost touching yours – almost, a mere breath away.

you could never get over how deep his voice. it’s as if he didn’t need a voice changer like the ones they’d always use in the movies. his was naturally just as gritty, just as husky.

“obedient . . good,” and as he playfully licks near your bottom lip, toji grunts, “mouth, open.”

you moan, feeling his hand reach between your legs, squeezing your pussy. once your lips part and your mouth opens, toji spits right inside, staring as your cute tongue tries to catch it all.

it’s quick, and before you knew it – his lips hurriedly crash onto yours. within seconds, teeth starts to clash amongst each other and you helplessly whine in his mouth. this, this was what you wanted. a kiss.

one gloved hand of his remains covered over your eyes whilst another snakes its way between your legs. toji’s rubbing against your cunt, feeling your cute hips grind against him as you try to squirm and writhe. you were still so tender. his mouth was cold, and you can’t help but moan at the literal taste of yourself washing back against your tongue.

you feel his scar that slants down the right side of his lip rub off against your lips and his lips curve into a sly smirk. “nasty girl,” he murmurs between hot kisses, and you gasp once he starts to maneuver quicker circles against your cunt.

you were soaked already, still sensitive from your recent release but that’s when he lies you back down. as you fall down on the sofa, toji deepens the kiss for a few extra seconds, abruptly pulling away. a pretty decorated string of glittery saliva tugs away from both lips and he wipes your wet mouth, snickering. “such a damn baby. got me spoilin’ you already, tch.”

he’s still got your eyes covered, but that’s right when you reach out . . not expecting your hand to grab near his hardened bulge that hides underneath his cloak.

toji pauses, staring at you before you squeeze it and he groans. “what now, doll? still not satisfied?”

“fuck me,” you murmur, but it’s more of a pathetic whine.

you didn’t care anymore—you were at your wits ends. the erotic two words and six letters easily flowed past your lips as if you were dying to say it for the longest, and in this case – you were.

toji’s amused more than anything, and he’s well aware that you’re far not like the others.

this wasn’t just a usual psycho killer versus helpless victim, this was something more . .

“strong words, baby,” he purrs against your ear, licking a stripe down your neck. toji holds your weak rickety hips in place, still shielding your eyes with his palm before showering a good part of your collarbone with a plethora of sloppy kisses.

uh oh, he was starting to get attached. already, he could feel it . . and he knew you were gonna be nothing but a fucking problem in the long run.

a problem he didn’t mind tampering with for a bit.

“say it again,” he whispers, and this time he picks up his knife once more.

it gradually tears down your blouse all the way from the center, openly staring your tits spring open. “tell me what you want me ‘ta do to you again,” and as his husky voice lowers a single octave within each coarse sentence, you squeeze your thighs together.

toji focuses the edge of his knife against your skin and you shiver, feeling it softly brush against the bristles of hair that coat your skin.

the thing that pissed him off though was that you weren’t even scared of him . . no, far from it actually.

you were aroused—hell, maybe even just as crazy as him.

“fuck me, toji.” you repeat, taking it upon yourself to grab the handle of the knife. he raises a brow as he watches, and you bring the wooden end up to your lips, deciding to be a tease and lowering your mouth down it. toji huffs, growing annoyed at your audacity — but fuck, he’s into it.

and all he’s imagining at the moment is your pretty lips that’s wrapped around the handle of his knife being wrapped around his dick instead. you start sucking on it until it taps near the scaled back of your throat, reaching past the roof of your mouth and he scoffs.

brat.

“got some nerve, suckin’ on my damn knife, girl,” and he snatches it away, softly turning you around, pushing you near the right arm of the couch.

you gasp, feeling him swat a hand against your bare ass before he grabs your hips. his movements were so fast that you could barely keep up let alone react. “fine, i’ll fuck you,” and he’s not covering your eyes anymore.

right as you were about to turn around, toji grabs the back of your neck with a gloved hand, tittering. “don’t try me. eyes forward, head down,” and you moan, feeling him pick your hips up—making your rear grind and jostle against his hardening bulge. “ass. fuckin’. up.”

you kiss your teeth, feeling another breath of air leave out your lungs before you whine. toji’s rough, and he’s got a firm grip against your waist before springing out his dick. he grunts, rolling his eyes as he watches you impatiently wriggle your ass, hoping he’d hurry up already.

“can’t wait, can ya baby?” he utters, stroking his length.

as a thumb of his nearly grazes his throbbing vein, his eyes gaze toward your sopping creamy pussy. all wet, and just for him. the antagonizing wait for him to just fuck you like you wanted became almost unbearable, and the second you feel his tip side-swipe against the entrance of your cunt it was over.

a swollen fat tip smacks vigorously against your pussy, and one smack turns into two, then three, then four. .

as he’s slapping his mushroomy cockhead against your drooling pool of heat, you hear a low chortle from behind you. “god, she’s a fuckin’ wet one, ain’t she?” and you whine, hearing yourself squelch each time his angry tip whacks against your poor soddened flaps. ‘whack’ after ‘whack’ and the sounds of his dick slapping against your pussy slowly started to clank through one ear of yours and out the other.

but doing so—the pulsing sensation between your legs only increased, and by now, you were starting to chew on your tongue.

anticipation was eating away at you as you let off a moan, cutely grumbling. “just fuck me already.”

“how ‘bout i leave you ‘n let you fuck yourself,” he snaps back, matching your sass.

oh. you weren’t really used to someone matching your energy—especially a masked man walking around in a ghostface mask but well, that’s besides the point.

toji’s still got a gloved hand wrapped around his hefty length that’s covered in lighting-like twitching veins before he groans.

he’s so fucking hard . . and the more he stares at your pretty sobbing cunt, the more he understands why. “don’t think you’d like that now though, would ya?”

“n- no,” you reply truthfully, letting off a pornographic moan once he starts to align himself between your gaping slit.

it’s fat, and you could tell from the feeling of the size of his monstrous tip alone. you sort of wished you were facing him but alas, you’d just have to use your imagination for now. “fuckk,” you breathe, already starting to feel your eyes rolling back.

the stretch, god the stretch. you thought his fingers was something but it’s nothing compared to his cock. your toes were already curling up, and oh, you knew you were fucked.

toji’s got a few curly black specks of hair that resides near his base—and as he’s slowly easing himself inside, he feels you tightening. right as you do, you feel a vein that runs down his shaft prod.

he feels it – you feel it, and you both hiss in unison. “goddamn,” he grumbles, staring as your own sappy slick starts to glue against his sculptured pelvis. tiny glimmering strands stick and tape against his skin all because of you and it’s just messy. toji smacks your ass one more time before lightly pushing your head into the satiny covered pillow. “move, move those hips or ‘m gonna pull out, doll.”

“mmph—s- so fuckin’ big,” you babble, bringing a bawled up fist into your mouth.

your sweet moans become muffled as his dick’s gradually expanding through your gummy walls, leaving his very mark with his tip. he’s rummaging through every part of you and you gasp—feeling your cunt welcome him wholly, your squelches becoming louder and louder. your tummy starts to churn the more he sinks in deeper and your lips form into a cute gasping shape. “oh, fuck. ‘s gonna break me, toji.”

“pft. don’t be dramatic doll,” he purrs, swatting another smack against your ass. the shape brief sting that only lasts for about five seconds makes you moan once your hips finally starts to move.

it takes a few lengthy seconds before with a wet ‘pop’, he bottoms out. so . . much . . girth, your empty brain was spinning cogwheels, trying to process just how could a guy be this fucking big.

your reaction to how well he stretched you of course, fueled a good portion of his highly cocky ego.

toji’s got a hooked curve too—and you feel it all. toji teasingly gives you one thrust, just one single thrust and you felt like you were gonna snap in half. it was that much power of his hips—you felt the wind get snatched out of you and the prettiest moan left from your lips.

biting down on your lip again, you’re feeling all of his hefty length massage the insides of your cunt. milliseconds shortly past before you then start to feel yourself shamelessly drooling on your split knuckles.

“fuck, fuck,” you chant in a quiet mumble, seeing nothing but inky black as your eyelids continue to flutter open and close.

toji had the kind of size that left butterflies in your tummy – a school of them to be specific, and you felt every single inch of him plummet its way inside. as you’re still babbling incoherent whimpers and whines at how snug he’s buried in you—toji starts to move faster with you.

with two hands, he holds you in place. darkened brows of his crease into a furrow as he sighs. “mhm, atta girl. see, look at you,” and you could hear the playful sarcasm seeping off his tone.

“takin’ it like a fuckin’—champ,” and right at that last word of his sentence, he starts to roll his hips just a bit quicker.

toji tries to match your berserk movement with his own hips, but he ends up beating your pace entirely. you’re trying to keep up but failing miserably and it’s just so cute. . but your face probably wasn’t as cute.

you probably looked a sight—mouth all open, jaw dropped and dangling, eyes bulging, pathetically drooling for more and more and . . you get it.

“hng, harder. fuck me,” you whine, the sound of skin and hips clashing repeating in your ears.

your sloppy cunt’s soaking him from the back, and his backshots were just brutal – killer.

each thrust serves its purpose every time and you’re left speechless. after a while, both bodies start to move rhythmically as your jaw’s just dangling.

damn, randy meeks would be shaking his head, tossing ‘n turning in his grave if he saw this.

under no circumstances . . never ever fuck the masked killer, and yet here you were.

but, who gives a fuck about movies?

you didn’t—not really, and when he had a mean stroke game like toji, you weren’t the type to complain. he’s hitting you deep with his fat splitting tip, filthily cruising his hips into you at such precise vigor until you’re just spouting a whole load of nothin’.

“ugh, right there. right fuckin’ there, fuck,” and you let off a cooing mewl once toji’s hand wraps around your throat.

with a few fingers, he gives you a safe squeeze that earns out a faint gasping croak from the back of your throat. toji uses your neck as leverage as he’s pounding into you rawly, ravaging your insides and all. your pearled clit’s repeatedly getting hit with his plump crown and you gasp, squeaking loudly once he taps against your precious g-spot.

all of a sudden, your brain’s fuzzy and you’re seeing stars—somewhat like a cartoon character. you were silly, literally being fucked silly. “fuuuck!” and it catches you by surprise.

once he reaches past that cute ‘lil spongey barrier of yours, it was over.

you were pronounced dead—dead from cock, and pretty soon you were starting to feel yourself go into a lewd white fantasm for a few seconds.

you’re dumb, dumbly fucked stupid from his sloppy enticing hits that you could barely speak coherently. it felt good, it felt so fucking good, and as you feel his heavy base slam back into you again and again, you start to moan. “yeah, i know, i know, baby,” toji huffs, and your cunt’s just addictive. your walls cling onto him tightly, hugging around him like a vice—threatening to never let go.

your sheer sweltering warmth from the inside makes his head slightly toss back to a certain degree and it’s sexy. if only you were to see it. “god, clampin’ down on me so good. work those hips baby, yeah. give me a fuckin’ show.”

as you try to match his crazed tempo. . eventually, you start to feel a tender feeling arise in the lower part of your tummy.

its familiar, and you can recognize that hot brewing sensation from anywhere. you’re close, and as wanton shrilling whines continue to drag away from your lips you start to spasm.

“fuuucck, toji something’s coming,” you whimper, dragging out your words, and you don’t think it was a regular orgasm.

it was far different . . the feeling was equivalent to someone harshly pressing a palm down on your stomach. your eyes squeeze shut before you repeat yourself through quivering glossed lips. “toji, ‘m gonna—”

“yeah yeah, i heard ya,” he maunders, and he’s feeling himself reaching his inevitable peak too.

it doesn’t take long before he feels the undersides of his meaty thighs starting to burn with hot intensity. toji’s fat cock continues to drag in and out of your goopy walls, hearing you squelch over and over him and he snarls. “fuck,” and he punctuates his thrusts, watching as your ass swiftly slams back into him at such speed. his abs that hide underneath his dark cloak tensing. “same time, baby. finish with me.”

“o.. okay,” you moan, and he’s still got a gloved hand wrapped around your throat the entire time. a thumb of his caresses down your nape, humming at your pretty twitching body underneath him.

it’s a sight he’d love to get used to.

as you’re both chasing your delirious orgasmic peaks—toji presents to your cunt one final thrust that sends your entire body into a crazed stupefied state. your plush cheek near the left side of your face smushes against the pillow before you whimper, starting to feel yourself spritz on him.

your eyes widen as it happens. a spraying geyser shoots out you as you let go—and oh, you’re soaking toji right with you, glossing his entire cock from the base down.

“oh my god, fuck, fuh—fuck!” you sob in craving pleasure, flapping eyelids sticking together from the pretty glassy tears that start to form. so good, it’s a feeling you’ve never felt before and you felt like a weight was gradually being lifted off your shoulders . . including your sweet pussy.

toji finishes seconds later and he groans, stilling his hips against you. creamy velvety bundles of ribbons pours into your cunt and he lets off a low growl. “fuck,” and his hand smacks against your ass again for the nth time.

you felt warm as he’s continuing to spill such a mass amount whilst at the exact same time, you’re drenching his cock – putting faucets to shame at just how damn wet you were.

toji’s cock eventually turns flaccid and soft as his tip and peeled frenulum spits a good amount, watching your body limp underneath him.

with a sly exhausted grin stretching across his scarred lips, he traces his fingers down your spine. “my, oh my,” and you whine, finally finishing. toji stares at your body, feeling you weakly writhe your hips before finally submitting defeat. “did you jus . . fuckin’ squirt on me, pretty girl?”

you did,

and you end up dampening up the cushions of your burgundy colored sofa in the process. you felt like you were floating, panting and heaving ridiculously like a dog. toji brings his hips to a sudden stop, gazing at the ivory wads and ropes of cum that fill inside of your cunt.

slowly but surely . . it starts to race down the crevices of your thighs, splotches of white splattering against your skin. in a dirty, filthy way, it’s pretty – in toji’s mind at least.

he luxuriated at the sight of you all fucked out and speechless. not a word came from your lips except for the occasional whimpers and moaning sobs that would tear out your throat. you were still arched over, moaning once you feel him slowly starting to pull out. “ain’t that a pretty sight,” he rasps, hearing his cock sweetly ‘pop’ out of your creamy fat folds.

you’re oozing out with so so much of his gooey lush cum and it makes him licks his lips. you looked delicious, and he couldn’t help but swipe a finger down your runny cunt, bringing his eager digit up to his lips just to get a taste for himself.

toji was a nasty man—but with the way you tasted, he was even nastier.

as he licks his gloved finger that contains the concoction mess of both sappy liquids, he hums in amusement. “mhm,” and as his leafy viridescent colored eyes linger down towards your cunt, he smears his leaky tip over your pussy.

toji grunts, making sure to paint the entirety of your entrance with his pasty cum that sobs down parched folds. “good girl, good . . fuckin’ girl.”

toji stays like that for a while, and it’s only after an abrupt pausing moment that he makes you turn around to face him. he makes you lie flat on your back, and there, you’re met with the eyes of a handsome smug man. his features were as sly as his attitude, and his ruffled black hair was naturally messy.

“surprise,” he mutters, and you intake a breath once he gets on top of you again. toji doesn’t have the mask on anymore—but he still has on the costume part, a ghoulish black cloak that had slits near the edges of his sleeves. “scared yet?”

“not . . really,” you sheepishly say, slowly trailing your eyes down his body.

squinting just enough, you saw right through the outline of his muscular frame. he was fucking ripped, and you felt yourself throb the moment you started to imagine him wrapping those big burly arms around your—

“figures,” he scoffs, though his tone’s a bit more playful than annoyed. toji runs a big veiny hand through his hair before bringing his watch up to his face. wrinkling his nose, he hums. “gotta run, doll. ‘s been fun.”

a pout pulls against both sides of your lips as he says he has to depart. sure, you didn’t exactly expect him to stay . . well who were you kidding, you sort of did. but you knew he had to go.

your thighs stick together as he remains on top of you, watching him pull his mask back on. with a slightly worn out voice, you murmur. “you can’t stay?”

“no, i can’t stay,” he snickers, knowing you wanted more. toji’s head friskily tilts as you stare at him with a cute doe-eyed expression, still pouting and he rolls his eyes behind the mask. “god, fine. greedy little thing aren’t ‘cha?”

and you hear a bit of shuffling, watching him fish a hand in his pocket as his jeans were now pulled up and made presentable again. toji grabs a sharpie out of his pocket before pulling your waist closer toward him. “tsk. stay still,” and you’re curious to what he was about to do, not daring to move an inch.

you’re all bare and exposed, and you let off a soft exhale once he starts to write something right below your belly button. just a few more inches down and he’d be writing on your pussy.

it lasts for about seven seconds before he stops, adding a heart near the end of what was a ten digit phone number.

“alright, princess. here’s my number. whenever you’re feelin’ horny, just give me a call, yeah?”

and before you could even reply, he leans up to you—pulling up his ghostface mask over his lips, giving you a long teasing kiss. you moan into his mouth, smelling a scent of his cologne before he leisurely pulls away. toji whispers against your lips for one final time before pressing a thumb toward your throat.

“i’ll always come back.”

[chuluoyi]

✎ all of me

- gojo satoru x reader

you understand that some things in marriage just needs compromise. and he soon understands too, when you're at your most vulnerable and he fails to be by your side when you need him the most

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship (you're married & have a son!) argument, feral gojo, mentions of injury & blood, fluff

note: if it isn't obvious by now i'm in the mood of angst-hurt/comfort this week HEHE :)) this is longer than the usual love entry, so i hope you'll enjoy it!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Bantering with your husband is not uncommon―in fact, it happens on daily basis.

"Satoru― I'm talking to you!"

But having serious arguments with him is another matter entirely.

Your fists tightening at your sides, facing his unamused expression. How insufferable is he? You told him that everyday, but right now, he's truly surpassed previous levels of infuriating behavior.

"And I can hear you, sweetheart," he retorted, casting a glance your way. The term of endearment he used for you sounding almost like a sneer to your ears and you felt offended.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously," you griped, trying to calm your emotions, still balling your hands. "Someone is following our son on his way back from school―how can you be this... flippant?!"

Numerous photograph of your son exiting the school building from different angles had arrived in your mailbox, and if it wasn't a creepy warning from those who placed a target on his back, then you didn't know what it was.

Satoru let out an exasperated grunt. "I'm telling you, I'll pick him up for the rest of the week. No one will lay a hand on him."

You gritted your teeth. "And I'm telling you, they're trying to make you do just that. Even morons know not to mess with you― they're leaving hints, and you're taking the bait!"

Contrary to what you believed, Satoru felt just as worried as you upon knowing that someone might have marked his precious son, who was now six years old and had recently started attending preschool.

But this is where your approaches differ. You are always the cautious one, overanalyzing each detail, while he leans towards being impulsive, often resorting to brute force.

"Who do you think can stand a chance against me?" Satoru challenged with a real sneer this time. "Remember my words, wife, no one is going to hurt me, you or our baby. I'll end them where they stand."

"That's not the point!" you threw your hands in the air, irate. "Satoru, they're going to take advantage of―"

"Look, I don't want to argue with you." Satoru's gaze was hard on you, his tone clipped, and it made you stiffen. "His safety comes first— and you, of all people, should know I'd never let anything happen to him. You need to quit nitpicking and have a little faith in me."

"I know you are more than capable, but you are not―!"

And then he said it, and his words piercing through you like a knife―

"Don't compare me to you," your husband remarked a little too coldly. "I can do things you can't. Just rest your pretty head, I'll take care of the rest."

Nevermind that he blatantly dismissed your skills as a jujutsu sorcerer, nevermind that he totally didn't listen to you at all―he just went and made himself look like some sort unparalleled god, forgetting how much his hubris could actually take him.

And all these thoughts only made you angrier.

"So be it then." You tried desperately to hold yourself from shaking because you'd be damned if you showed it to him. "A word of advice, Satoru: beware of your arrogance."

With those words, you spun around, marching off toward your son's room, because no way in hell was you going to sleep with that obnoxious prick tonight.

But when you caught the sight of your baby scuttling away from the gap in the door, a fragment of your heart crumbled. Oh. He has seen it all.

In Gojo Satoru's mind, he is made of two things: a powerful jujutsu sorcerer and a family man.

With his immense strength, comes a certain responsibility. And with that responsibility, certain habits have formed. If you just took a few seconds to breathe and looked back throughout the past decade he'd spent with you, you'd know that in fact―

It was also his way to shield you. Satoru stands by the principle that you and his little boy must be protected at all cost, and he most certainly would pull all stops to do just that.

But frankly, he couldn't deny that he felt insulted by how defiant you were. Did you really think he would let anyone ever touch your―his―son? He wouldn't, they'd meet his wrath first and you should've known that.

Still, something akin to guilt nudged at his conscience as he lay alone in your shared bed that night. It felt strange not having you cuddling him. He felt empty.

. . .

None of your shampoo-scented pillow, none of your nightdresses, all of it replaced by a single photo hanging in the wall and the urn of ashes—

Abruptly, he jerked his eyes open, shaken from the most dreadful nightmare he had experienced—

Of you no longer by his side.

“Mama.” Your little boy looked up to you with his doe-blue eyes in the next day, his hand gripping yours. “I’ll be fine.”

You were accompanying him to the preschool. While Satoru had requested Ichiji to drive him, you insisted on tagging along to keep a watchful eye as well. You'd leave your husband to pick him up later just as he wanted.

“Huh?” you turned to him, tilting your head.

“I'll stick by Uncle Ichiji's side the entire time,” he replied in a murmur. “And papa will be picking me up too later. If there are bad guys, they'll get him first.”

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. Your boy witnessed your outburst last night and hadn't inquired about it until now, and even then, he was trying to reassure you.

“So… don’t fight.” His round, cerulean eyes then darted towards you, blinking hesitantly, causing you to catch your breath.

He looks so much like Satoru. At six years old, he was the spitting image of him, except his personality—he took after you in that area. It was as if your son was a softer, more innocent version of him. And your heart twisted, remembering your argument last night.

Don't compare me to you.

With a sigh, you bent down to be eye-level with him and managed a smile, holding both of his little hands. “I’m sorry… it was just misunderstanding last night, okay? Don’t worry.”

“…really?”

“Really. Mama and papa were just tired,” you tried to reason, a thin smile on your face. "It's going to be okay, just like you said, yeah? Papa will beat the bad guys out there."

“Will he pull through...? If they bring a knife, and he's just there laughing, they can cut him.”

A giggle escaped your lips at your baby's innocent wonderings, easing the ache in your heart as you recalled how Satoru humored him in so many ways.

You gently poked your son in the cheek. "Nah, do you remember what he always goes on about?"

He puffed up his cheeks in response, his expression turning sour as if combing through memories of hundreds of shenanigans Satoru had instigated to recall his words. You let out a hearty chuckle, finding him so adorable.

"He's strong, he's going to win. He always does."

"Oh. Mmm." Your son scrunched up his nose cutely, before looking away and squeezing your hand. A sincerer smile bloomed in your lips, heart melting at the sight of your growing munchkin.

You will protect him. And maybe you could patch things up with Satoru later that night. Maybe yesterday you were just too paranoid.

That was the plan... at least until your son suddenly screamed—someone wrenching him from your grasp. Without a second thought, you reacted, flipping the attacker away from you and him.

. . . and that was the beginning of how everything started to unravel so terribly that day.

"Gojo-san...! There's been an incident!"

He got that call right after he finished some things with Yaga. Satoru teleported to the preschool right away, only to be greeted by a scene of utter chaos.

Several teachers stood outside the building, and police officers were present at the scene. It was all a blur of cursed energy until his eyes caught sight of—

His little boy, red-faced and obviously in fear, was clinging to Ichiji, who was frantically making calls. Some teachers gathered around him were seemingly trying to coax him to speak.

He didn't waste a second to dash towards him, tearing through the crowd.

"Are you okay? Hey, buddy, what happened?" Satoru pulled him away from Ichiji and turned him over, crouching to his level to check for any signs of injury or harm.

And upon seeing him actually here, his son's eyes immediately welled up with tears, and Satoru felt a chill run through his veins as he broke into sobs, which quickly turned into heart-wrenching wails.

"Mama—! F-find mama—!" the little boy choked out through his tears, clutching onto his shirt tightly and crumbling in his embrace, thoroughly inconsolable.

Satoru's sharp gaze quickly swept over the scene, seeking any clues, while he tightened his hold over him. It was then he noticed traces of your cursed energy mingled with blood.

They hurt you.

"Hey, kiddo—listen to me, it's going to be alright, yeah?" Satoru said, gently pulling away to wipe away his tears, holding the boy's face tenderly in his hands. "Go with Ichiji for now, okay? I'm going to bring mama back, I promise."

He didn't need to be told twice. Your son is always obedient when it matters the most. He gave him a small nod, still shaking with tears.

"Don't worry," he flashed a reassuring smile and ruffled his hair. "I'm the strongest, remember? I'll get her back," he vowed once again. "She'll be fine. Wait for me until then, yeah?"

Ichiji was ready to leave as he had called for those in headquarters as backup in case anything were to happen again. Trusting him to keep his son safe, Satoru took off as soon as he could no longer see the sight of his son's tear-streaked face trying to watch him as the car pulled away.

"I won't repeat myself— where is my wife?"

Satoru wasn't playing this time. He skipped past taunts and just plain threats. These little fries, he thought.

The man he held by the throat was in a lot of distress. "Hyaaa! It's him! Please, please, let me go! I'm acting under orders!"

He then flung him across the wall— might have added more cursed energy than necessary.

At the moment, his entire focus was on trying to locate you. He couldn't let his mind wander to anything else; in fact, he didn't permit himself to.

It didn't take him long to piece together the general location of where you were through the residual of your cursed energy. They stationed several hooligans in this abandoned warehouse to stall him, but he got rid of them quickly and he could sense that you were close by.

"It's Gojo Satoru!"

"Run! Ruuuun!"

What a pain. They picked the wrong person to mess with, and Satoru's lips curled into a manic grin as he opened his palm, pulling them in—

"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."

Chaos erupted as the building collapsed around him. He hoped you would realize he was here and manage to avoid getting caught in the wreckage. He was sure you'd know though.

And true to his thoughts, soon he found you— blasting your attacker away with a powerful kick.

Satoru thought that you were a sight to behold, really. And he was about to call out to you when he felt it.

It happened almost in an instant. The way his heart dropped to his stomach, and how his body reacted, barely whispering the incantation for Red as he shot it at something lurking behind you—

At that moment, the only thing you were aware of was the foul stench of a curse. Time seemed to stop before the overwhelming force of Red expelled it away from you.

But before then, you experienced a searing, white-hot pain that scorched through your flesh and pierced your abdomen—

"Y/N―fuck―!" The voice that came from Satoru's throat was raw and laden with panic.

He pulled you against him protectively as you collapsed, blinded by pain. He immediately felt warmth spreading across his lower body—your blood was rapidly drenching his shirt, and he felt a shiver down his spine.

You held onto him tightly while suppressing your scream, feeling every bit of your strength drain away along with the dark crimson blood that poured out of you.

"―toru―" you managed to croak amidst the scalding pain, curling and whimpering in his hold.

"Hey― sweetheart, please―" his voice rang in your ears, as he pressed down on your wound. His hands were shaking, and you clawed at him and groaned in agony. "I-I'm taking you back now― You're going to be alright, yeah?"

The wound was beyond anything you had experienced before, causing you to cry out and gasp for air. It was almost as if something fried your insides. It was hard to stay conscious.

"I've got you now. You're going to be okay." His voice was coarse, as he hurriedly carried you out. And he tried not to let the full-blown panic take over him when your body went limp in his arms, your breaths slowing, head lolling in his chest.

"You're going to be alright! You hear me, sweetheart? You're going to make it. Our baby― he's waiting for you. I promise you, you're going to be fine―"

Perhaps he was trying to tell that to himself, because despite the excruciating pain, a wave of reassurance washed over you.

You were in the arms of the strongest sorcerer alive, what more could you possibly afraid of?

A special grade curse. They had actually unleashed a potent curse and likely aimed at him as their final card—until it veered off course and struck you, leaving a searing gash across your abdomen.

Satoru felt numb as he sat in the waiting room in his bloodied uniform. You got hurt so terribly right in front of his eyes, and all he could feel was this profound void that seemed to bore through him and pierced his soul.

He was supposed to protect you. He said it to your face that nothing and no one would touch your son, and it was in his wedding vows that he'd protect you with his life too.

And yet what happened?

If only he was faster. If only he was able to pull you to him and protect you with his infinity—none of this shit would have happened.

Seeing your face twisted in agony and smeared with blood made him feel sick to his stomach. Inside that OR, you hovered on the brink of life and death, and he was here, unable to do anything.

Satoru rested his head against the wall, feeling a sharp pain surge through his chest. He remembered waking up to your face every morning, the way your touches felt, and how you had brightened his world for the past decade. If he lost you now... he wouldn't survive it. He would wreck anything, everything—

"Papa!" and came his voice of reason. Satoru immediately discarded his bloodstained jacket by instinct, throwing it away before his boy could see it, with Ichiji and Megumi closely trailing behind.

His son crashed himself into him and threw his little arms around his torso, crying—and in that very second, the thump of his heart sounded louder in his ears. Somehow it felt like a knife that twisted his insides.

"Hey, kiddo." Satoru repositioned him so that he would sit on his lap and hugged him, patting him in the back. "There, there... it's alright, yeah? Mama is inside, she'll get better soon."

Your little boy pulled away and wiped his eyes, and Satoru chuckled as he helped him blow his nose. His child was incredibly adorable, and his actions mirrored yours to such an extent that it made Satoru's heart soften.

"Mama g-got hurt trying to... tell me to g-go..." the boy suddenly said amidst his quieter sniffles. "And... she s-said... papa— i-is strong and g-going to win..."

You believe in him. Ignoring the ache in his chest, only able to reply him with a "Yeah..."

Not long after, Shoko emerged from the operating room and informed him that the surgery had been successful, though you would likely need to have a one-week stay in the hospital for observation. He intended to move you to the VIP suite and stay the night there, but then he remembered his son, who was holding his hand.

Satoru crouched down and patted him in the head, fixing him a smile. "See? Mama is okay, but she needs to sleep here to get even better. Now you go home first with big brother Megumi, yeah?"

Your son adored Megumi and often begged you to let him stay over at his place, but this time he looked hesitant, fiddling with his little fingers. "Really? Mama will be home... soon?"

"Mm-hmm, the more she sleeps here, the faster she'll go back home, alright?"

And with that, his baby nodded and Satoru turned to Megumi with a nod. "Thank you for this, Megumi."

The boy whose life he had once saved on some sort of a whim, now grown up and shared the same concern he had for you, Fushiguro Megumi had never before witnessed his benefactor expressing such sincere gratitude for anything before.

When you came to, your body felt as heavy as lead.

The discomfort in your abdomen made you flinch, and you almost let out a groan until you turned to your side and saw him.

Satoru was asleep while sitting in the sofa next to your bed, dark circles evident under his eyes. It might have been your imagination, but his cheeks appeared to be slightly red too.

You tried to recall what had happened to you when it came back—you urging your son to run away as you let yourself being taken away, almost escaping from that warehouse, the flash of excruciating pain, and Satoru's stricken voice.

So he must've been here since last night. Any remnants of your disagreement seemed to have vanished, seeing him there with you, barely covering himself with the blanket, with a frown still marking his forehead even in his sleep.

You wanted to reach out to him until the movement sent a sharp jab to your stomach and you cried out a bit.

In that split second, Satoru's eyes jerked open, and realizing you were awake, his gaze locked onto yours. "Y/N—" But your strained whimper and expression told him everything. "Does it hurt? I-I'll get Shoko, wait—"

And then he hit the call button. Throughout it all, he kept a firm grip on your hand for reassurance. A few minutes later, Shoko arrived and examined your wound, subsequently administering painkillers to alleviate your discomfort.

"It's going to leave a scar," she explained grimly, showing the mangled skin where the curse had made its mark on you, and seeing that, Satoru clenched his fists.

Shoko sighed, empathizing with her friend's frustration. "It's going to fade with time, don't worry. You did well, Gojo. You brought her here quickly. Had you been even slightly later, there could have been an irreversible damage to her organs."

But your husband remained quiet, unable to bring himself to look at you. And after she left, you tried to finally voice your question to him.

"O-our—"

"He's fine," Satoru immediately answered, squeezing your hand. "Our boy is fine. I'll tell Megumi to visit later—he's with him."

A sigh of relief came out of you. "Thank... goodness."

But his expression seemed to fall even further after hearing your response. Satoru settled himself on the seat next to you and lowered the rail on your bed, allowing you to be even closer to each other.

"Do you not feel any pain anymore?" he asked then, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He looked so sad, a stark contrast of how he usually was, and it bugged you.

"No... I feel fine now."

"Then, can I hug you?"

Of course you nodded without a second thought, and carefully, he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you close and resting his face on the crook of your neck.

You knew what it was. Satoru was still visibly shaken by what had happened to you, and he wasn't great at expressing himself, so he tried to find consolation through this physical closeness instead.

"I'm okay..." you patted his back, trying to convince him. "I'm alright now, yeah?" But to your surprise, suddenly his whole body started to shake. "Satoru...?"

“…’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he nuzzled you. “I shouldn't... have let you get this hurt...”

It always amazes you how Satoru always gets this distressed whenever you sustain any injury. You had seen him cry precisely two times now—once after you gave birth to your son and experienced severe bleeding, and now.

"It's not your fault..." you whispered in response. "You... have protected me well."

He held you tighter, his tone faltering. "I didn't."

"You have..." you stroked his hair, trying to convince him. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Hearing you say that made Satoru's chest ache. The thought of something like this happening to you was unimaginable, and now that it had, he couldn't come to terms with seeing you hurt right in front of him.

"Don't—" he choked on his voice, his breath trembled against your neck. "Don't ever put yourself in danger again. If something happened to you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself..."

You couldn't make that promise. Despite the pleading in his voice, you knew deep down that your son's life—and his—meant more, and given the chance, you would obviously save theirs for yours.

“Satoru... I love you, you know that, right?”

So you simply embraced him close, hoping that in this life, you would live long enough that he would never have to see you like this again.

Epilogue

"Papa, how do I become stronger?"

Satoru blinked when his son asked him that so innocently and curiously, taken aback as he led him to your private room later that afternoon. "Oh? What brought this on?"

His first and only son, a perfect miniature of himself, pursed his lips. "I don't want Mama to get hurt again..."

Satoru's heart warmed at his baby’s sincere words, and despite himself, he chuckled.

"What's funny?" his son leveled a glare at him. "I'm being serious."

"Well, aren't you such a good boy? Don't worry, kiddo, I'll teach you my ways~"

"What ways?"

"Well, no need to rush, pumpkin. First of all, you will have to harness your skills and then you have to be more like me—"

"Do I have to be like you���? Is there no other way?"

"—? What's wrong with being more like me?"

"Everything...?"

[nezuscribe]

arguing with arranged!gojo is difficult because he’s not used to arguing with women and you’re not used to arguing period.

it rarely happens, but when it does it gets really heated between the two of you. you pace around your room, huffing as gojo stands there with his arms crossed, nose flaring.

like that one time he found out that one of the new guards the brought in from the west was somebody you used to fool around with.

yeah that was bad.

“why do you even care!” you snap at him, and he can’t find a plausible reason aside from the fact that he was purely jealous.

this guard that they’d brought in from the west, much to your shock, was somebody you used to see in the late hours of the night. you never did anything frisky, just some shared kisses here and there.

but the moment you saw him, your whole demeanor changed. and gojo could tell. it took a bit of picking and prodding (which gojo is great at) but you eventually told him the story.

and he was not excited to hear it.

“i want him gone,” he tells you and you roll your eyes, shrugging indefinitely.

“fine,” you throw your arms up, “get him out. but what about those girls? you think i don’t want them gone whenever we walk into one of those balls or those dinners? when i see the way they look at you? you think that’s easy for me?”

“it’s different,” his tone is unwavering and cold.

you scoff, shaking your head in dismay.

“what? what’s so different? that i kissed him? big deal!” you feel like you want to cry and yell and jump and scream at the same time.

because it was different. for you. because the men didn’t seem to care that gojo had a new wife, or that he cared for her. but the ladies did. they gossiped in frenzied tones, batted their eyelashes at him even more as if that could cast him away from your spell.

so you didn’t know why he cared so much about this one man. why it should matter to him when he’s had far, far more experiences than you.

you felt hurt that he doubted you, angered with his hypocrisy, and tired from spending the entire day ignoring each other.

“this is going nowhere,” you mutter eventually, picking up your pillow as his eyes drop to your hands, “i’m sleeping somewhere else.”

“what-”

“and don’t follow me,” you bite out, not even glancing behind your shoulder as you begin to sulk out of your shared bedroom to your old one all across the estate.

and sure, maybe you’re not being entirely fair. there’s been some petty arguments when he bumps into one of his old girls, but it didn’t hurt nonetheless when he accused you of lying, when the conversation of your old romantic life was just never brought up.

you wipe at the stray tears on your cheek as you slug down the stairs, sniffling to yourself as you curse your husband to hell and back, when a force unlike any other picks you up from behind.

“what?” you squeal, your body manicured over a strong shoulder, your legs near his torso, your eyes facing his back as you kick at him, “let me go, i’m going to fall!”

“don’t make me laugh,” gojo murmured, one strong arm around your waist, the other around your thighs as he hauls you back up the stairs.

“i told you not to follow me,” you grumble, pinching his back but he doesn’t react.

“you’re funny if you think i’ll let you sleep alone.”

your brows furrow, feeling the need to kick him, but also not wanting him to drop you.

it doesn’t take long for him to reach your bedroom, opening the door with his free hand (unbridled strength if the greatest warrior of the north meant he could pick you up with just one hand) and plops you back on the mattress.

you prop yourself up on your elbows, looking away, hoping he can’t see the tear marks.

because it did hurt. his words hurt you. they cut deep. and he notices, his gaze softening slightly.

“don’t cry,” he whispers, leaning down to trace your tears away but you swat his hand off of your face.

“then don’t make me cry,” you say with a heavy sigh, siting upwards, back slightly hunched.

you take a deep breath, rubbing at your eyes as you glance upwards at him. it’s been a while since the two of you had fought, and the first time over something serious, and he looks awful.

“i don’t judge you for being with those girls,” you start with a heavy whisper, “you did what you could to stay sane. but don’t judge me for doing the same.”

gojo breathes deeply through his nose, blinking.

“you’re right,” he says after a heavy second, causing you too look up in confusion.

he nods again, his big hand cup your jaw, his thumb rubbing your cheek as he catches the stray tear from the corner of your eye.

“you’re right and i’m sorry,” he repeats, and you’ve never had somebody agree with you before, “i just…saw the way he looks at you and…i didn’t like it.”

you offer him a small nod.

“but he just looked at me,” you shift so that your resting on your haunches, hands in your lap. he towers over you, one hand going to cradle the back of your head.

gojo shrugs, like he can’t put it into comprehensible words how he felt when that guard looked at you with hunger in his eyes. how only he was allowed to look at you with such starvation.

“i didn’t like it,” he can only repeat, and you know he struggles with his emotions, spent years hiding them so that they wouldn’t become his weakness.

“do you want to sleep?” he finally asks you, and you slowly blink, trying to hide the tiredness from your face.

“i’ll still be here when you wake up,” he offers and you crack a small smile, trying to hide it from him.

but your smile drops as you think, eyes darting up to his.

“it’s okay to not like something, and it’s okay to feel angry that you don’t. but don’t ever, ever, make me feel like that again because of it.”

your stare is unwavering, and he feels a certain sense of pride in seeing that. and gojo nods, one steady movement as he drops down to his knees, trying to be level with your gaze.

“you have my full authority to strike me down if i do,” he promises, his hands cupping your face, his words serious but you can’t help but giggle.

“good,” you murmur, tugging slightly harshly on some of the strands of his hair as he winces, pushing you back onto the bed with the sheer force of his body, climbing up into you as he hold you close to him.

you let out another laugh as he acts like a bear cub, not wanting to move an inch away from your warmth as he cuddles into you, trying to finish his massive size compared to you.

the two of you laid in silence, a comfortable one, as he laid his head in your chest, hearing the steady rhythm of your heart.

“i am sorry,” he whispers, craning his neck to look up at you as he rests his chin on your sternum, “i’m sorry.” he says again, his words barely above a sound.

you blink again, moving some of the hair away from his face as you observe his sorrowful features.

“i know,” you whisper back.

gojo finds your hands, interweaving your fingers together, heart tugging when he feels your ring against his skin.

he brings the finger to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against the ring as you watch him silently. no other words needed to be said, no words left unspoken as he pulls you into his chest.

because no woman would amount to a sliver of you. and no man would amount to a morsel of him.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Vegas Baby | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: After winning his fourth world championship, Max Verstappen stuns the world with a live radio proposal.

A/N: This was inspired by this post by @altxanna idea so good it made me get over my writer's block and write this 4.2k monstrosity.

MAX VERSTAPPEN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Max Verstappen crossed the finish line in fifth place, but that didn’t matter. The entire world was fixated on the fact that he had just won his fourth World Championship.

“AND MAX VERSTAPPEN DOES IT AGAIN! FOUR WORLD TITLES!” David Croft shouted, his voice teetering on the edge of hysteria. The Las Vegas skyline lit up like a fireworks display on overdrive, the crowd roaring in approval.

“Forget where he finished—he’s a four-time world champion!” Martin Brundle yelled, equally excited. “This is history!”

Max, however, barely seemed to notice he’d crossed the line in fifth. He was just… Max. Calm. Collected. His voice came through the radio, steady as always, but with a hint of amusement.

“Thanks, guys. It’s been an incredible season. I’m so proud of the team. Huge thanks to GP, Christian, everyone.”

“You’ve done it, Max! Four-time champion, man!” GP screamed, clearly unable to keep the excitement in. “This is massive, mate! You’ve earned this!”

“Yeah, I know,” Max said, his voice deadpan. “But listen, there’s one more thing.”

The radio went quiet for a second.

“Uh… What’s that, Max?” GP asked, his tone suddenly cautious.

Max didn’t respond right away. Then, he casually dropped the bomb.

“Y/n, a bet’s a bet. We’re getting married tonight.”

“WHAT?!” GP exploded. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?”

Max’s tone didn’t change. “We’re getting married. Vegas chapel. Tonight.”

The entire Red Bull garage froze. Even the other engineers looked around in total confusion.

Max continued, his voice as if he were discussing the weather. “It’s been planned. I won the fourth title, she agreed to the bet, so… wedding time.”

GP sputtered. “Max, you—WHAT? No, no, no. You can’t just say that on the radio! You can’t just—”

“I’m doing it,” Max said, already tired of the conversation. “It’s happening. Vegas. Tonight.”

The radio was dead silent for a long moment, then GP finally spoke, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and dread. “Max, I—What in the world did I just hear? Are you seriously making your wedding announcement over the team radio?”

“Of course, I’m serious,” Max replied. “She said if I won my fourth title in Vegas, I could pick the wedding date. So, I picked tonight.”

“Max, you can’t—you—what the hell is wrong with you?!” GP spluttered.

Back in the commentary booth, David Croft could barely hold it together. “Did Max Verstappen just announce his wedding on live radio after winning his fourth world championship? Is that what I just heard?!”

“I think that’s exactly what you heard, Crofty,” Martin Brundle said, voice dripping with astonishment. “This is pure, unfiltered Verstappen.”

David Crofty just stared at the screen, blinking in disbelief. “Honestly, I can’t even process this. We’ve seen some wild moments in F1, but this... this might just take the cake.”

“Yeah,” Brundle said with a chuckle. “You can’t script this stuff. Not even in Vegas.”

Meanwhile, in Red Bull’s hospitality area, Y/n was standing stock-still, her eyes wide as she stared at the screen. The radio call still blaring in her ears.

“Did—did he just announce our wedding? Like… right now?!” she hissed, her hand gripping the counter in disbelief.

A Red Bull mechanic standing nearby looked just as stunned. “Uh, I think he did, yeah.”

“He’s lost it,” one engineer muttered under his breath, his face pale.

“I don’t even know what’s happening anymore,” another whispered.

The others weren’t any better off, most of them looking like they might faint. A PR rep came over, trying to maintain professionalism but clearly in shock. “Y/n, um… Max just… did he just announce your wedding?”

“Don’t look at me,” Y/n groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t even… He’s the worst.”

“Vegas, baby!” another joked, only to get smacked in the arm by Y/n as she stormed past.

Back on the track, Max, utterly relaxed, parked his car in parc fermé and stepped out, throwing his helmet in the air before catching it like it was no big deal.

“So, yeah,” Max said, grinning at the cameras. “Got my fourth title, and now I get to marry my girl. Vegas chapel, let’s go!”

The reporters and photographers surrounding him stared at him in utter confusion.

“Wait, what? You’re—what?!” one reporter stammered.

Max smirked. “Yep, Vegas. I won, she lost, and now we’re getting married.”

He tossed a thumbs-up to the camera as if it were a completely normal thing to say.

“Max,” one reporter finally managed, “you’re serious about this, right? You’re really getting married in Vegas?”

Max’s grin widened. “I’m serious. A bet’s a bet. No turning back.”

Back in the Red Bull garage, chaos had officially set in. Christian Horner, who had been pacing for the last five minutes, finally stopped and glared at a nearby mechanic. “What am I supposed to do with this now?!”

“I don’t know, Christian,” the mechanic said, holding up his hands in defeat. “Maybe we start picking out flowers?”

“Someone get me a drink,” Christian muttered, walking off, leaving a sea of confusion behind him.

Y/n stormed through the paddock like a woman possessed, her face a mix of disbelief, panic, and barely contained rage.

She spotted Max leaning casually against a barrier in parc fermé, looking like he had no care in the world—despite having just announced their impending Vegas wedding to the entire world. He was surrounded by Lewis, Fernando, George, and Carlos, who were all still there congratulating him and clearly trying to comprehend what had just happened.

“MAX!” Y/n screeched as she closed the distance.

Max turned, his smug grin stretching even wider. “Oh, there she is! The future Mrs. Verstappen. Took you long enough.”

Y/n planted herself directly in front of him, glaring. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

Max blinked, his expression far too innocent. “What? I kept my promise.”

“Your promise?” Y/n echoed, incredulous. “You hijacked the championship celebration to announce a fake wedding! On LIVE TELEVISION!”

“It’s not fake,” Max said matter-of-factly. “A bet is a bet.”

Carlos, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, wait, wait. You bet your wedding on the championship?”

“Of course,” Max said with a shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m a man of my word.”

George choked on air. “You’re a menace.”

“Exactly,” Y/n said, throwing her hands in the air. “Max, this is insane! You can’t just—”

“Relax, schatje,” Max interrupted, his tone annoyingly casual. “It’s Vegas. This is what people do here.”

“Not normal people!” Y/n snapped.

Lewis, still dabbing at his face with a towel, gave a bewildered laugh. “I’m sorry, are we actually talking about a real wedding right now?”

“Yes,” Max said confidently. “Tonight.”

“No,” Y/n shot back.

“Yes.”

“MAX!”

“Yes, Y/n,” Max said, leaning forward slightly. “We are getting married tonight, and that’s final.”

“Final?!” she spluttered. “How is this final? There’s no plan, no venue, no—”

“Vegas has plenty of chapels,” Max interrupted smoothly.

“I don’t have a dress!”

“You’ll look great in anything,” Max countered.

Y/n groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even have someone to walk me down the aisle!”

Max tilted his head, clearly unbothered. “Oh, that’s easy.” He turned to his left, where Lewis stood mid-sip from his water bottle. “Lewis! Can you walk Y/n down the aisle tonight?”

Lewis froze, the bottle halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Can you walk her down the aisle?” Max repeated, as if this were a completely reasonable request.

“I—” Lewis blinked, looking between Max and Y/n. “Uh… sure?”

“What?! No!” Y/n shouted.

“Why me?” Lewis asked, baffled.

Max shrugged. “You’re a world champion. She deserves someone of high status.”

Before Y/n could combust, Fernando Alonso stepped forward, a sly grin on his face. “Hold on,” he said, raising a hand. “If anyone is walking her down the aisle, it should be me. I’m the most appropriate for the role.”

Lewis turned to him, visibly confused. “How do you figure that?”

Fernando gave a dramatic shrug. “Experience. I’m wiser, more distinguished. A father figure, if you will.”

Y/n groaned, “Oh my God, Fernando—”

Lewis snorted. “Father figure? Please. More like grandfather figure.”

The group exploded into laughter. George doubled over, wheezing, while Carlos clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his own cackles.

“You wound me, Hamilton,” Fernando said, his tone mock-offended.

“Yeah, but I’m not wrong,” Lewis quipped, smirking.

“This is not happening,” Y/n muttered, covering her face with her hands.

Max leaned closer to her, his grin pure mischief. “See? Problem solved. You have two excellent candidates to walk you down the aisle.”

“This is NOT solved!” Y/n screeched.

George finally spoke up, still chuckling. “You know, for the record, this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen”

“Agreed,” Carlos said, shaking his head with a grin. “But I can’t look away.”

Max clapped his hands together. “Alright, then. We’re all set! Lewis or Fernando—it’s Y/n’s choice.”

“I CHOOSE NEITHER!” she yelled, clearly on the verge of a breakdown.

Max leaned back, entirely unfazed. “Suit yourself. But one way or another, schatje, we’re getting married tonight.”

Y/n turned to the other drivers, her eyes pleading. “Can someone PLEASE talk some sense into him?”

Lewis shrugged. “I don’t know, Y/n. He seems pretty set on it. You might just have to roll with it.”

Fernando smirked. “And let me know when you decide. I’ll be practicing my ‘giving away the bride’ speech.”

George buried his face in his hands again, mumbling, “This is a fever dream.”

Y/n, meanwhile, was contemplating her life choices as Max grinned at her, utterly pleased with himself. This was going to be a nightmare—and she was the star attraction.

Suddenly, Lando came sprinting out of nowhere, practically skidding to a stop in front of Max. His curls were a chaotic mess, and his face was split into an ear-to-ear grin that made him look like an overexcited puppy.

“MAX!” Lando yelled, throwing his arms up. “FOUR-TIME WORLD CHAMPION! YOU LEGEND! Also mate, what the hell?! Are you really getting married?!” 

Max turned, his ever-present grin widening. “Obviously.”

“I thought it was just a rumor!” Lando said, flinging his helmet onto a nearby table. “I mean, come on, you say insane stuff on the radio all the time! I figured this was one of those things.”

“Nope.” Max popped the “p” for emphasis. “It’s happening. Tonight.”

Y/n, who had been pacing nearby in a futile attempt to process her life choices, groaned audibly. “I hate all of you. All of you.”

Lando glanced at her, then back at Max. “Wait, so this is real? Like… actually real?”

“As real as it gets,” Max replied, clapping Lando on the shoulder. “And since you’re here…”

Lando squinted. “Since I’m here, what?”

Max’s grin turned sly, his hand still on Lando’s shoulder. “How do you feel about being my best man tonight?”

Lando froze, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Max said, still looking far too pleased with himself.

“Me?!” Lando gestured wildly at himself, his voice rising an octave. “Why me?!”

“Why not you?” Max countered smoothly.

“I don’t know!” Lando threw up his hands. “You could ask your trainer, your engineer—anyone! We’ve been rivals this entire year!”

Max tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “Exactly. We’ve had a lot of ups and downs this year, yeah? Fighting for the championship and everything. But at the end of the day…” He paused, his grin shifting to something more genuine. “You’re a good friend, Lando. One of the best. And I’d like us to bury the hatchet. Tonight.”

The sudden sincerity hit Lando like a truck. His eyes widened, his lip quivering just a little as he stared at Max. “Max…”

The group went quiet—well, as quiet as it could be with the chaos of the paddock swirling around them. Even Y/n stopped pacing to stare, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You really mean that?” Lando asked, his voice thick with emotion.

“Of course,” Max said, giving Lando a firm pat on the back. “You’ve been there through all of it, mate. Who else would I want standing next to me tonight?”

Lando’s hand flew to his face, his bottom lip wobbling. “Oh my God. I think I’m gonna cry.”

“Don’t cry,” George mumbled, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. “This is ridiculous enough already.”

“Shut up, George!” Lando snapped, though it lacked any real venom. He sniffled, blinking rapidly. “Max, you big idiot. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Max smirked. “Well, don’t get used to it.”

Y/n, watching this entire exchange with her arms crossed, muttered under her breath, “I cannot believe this is my life right now.”

Carlos, standing nearby, leaned over to George and whispered, “Do you think Lando will actually cry at the altar?”

“Oh, 100%,” George replied without hesitation.

“I’M NOT CRYING!” Lando shouted, wiping furiously at his eyes.

“Sure, mate,” Carlos said, grinning.

“Shut up!” Lando whirled back to Max, pointing a slightly wobbly finger at him. “Fine! I’ll do it. I’ll be your best man. But only because that was the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Good.” Max nodded approvingly. “We’re gonna have a great time. Bring tissues, though. You’ll need them.”

Lando groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re emotional,” Max teased, clapping him on the back again.

“Can I leave now?” Y/n interjected, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Nope,” Max said cheerfully. “We’ve still got wedding planning to do. And Lando needs to rehearse his speech.”

“Speech?!” Lando exclaimed, his face paling. “No one said anything about a speech!”

“Oh, come on,” Carlos said, grinning. “Just wing it.”

“This is a nightmare,” Y/n muttered.

“See, schatje?” Max said, turning to her with a mischievous smile. “Everything’s settled”

“Kill me now,” she groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

“Not before the wedding,” Max quipped. “I need my bride alive, schatje.”

Carlos, grinning, nudged George. “Do you think she’ll kill him before they even make it to the altar?”

“I actually might” Y/n snapped, making everyone laugh—except her.

Max clapped his hands together, cutting through the lingering laughter. “Alright, boys, fun’s over. See you after the podium, yeah?”

Carlos snorted, throwing an arm around George. “Come on, hombre. Let’s get out of here before they decide to do something crazier.”

Max turned to Carlos, his grin turning devious. “Speaking of you, Carlos, I need another groomsman. What do you say?”

Carlos blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Me? Really?”

“Obviously,” Max said, rolling his eyes. “You’re good at standing around looking pretty. Perfect for the job.”

“I’m honored,” Carlos said, puffing out his chest dramatically.

Y/n, standing a few feet away, raised her hand. “Dibs on George for my side, then.”

George’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what?”

“I called dibs,” Y/n said firmly, crossing her arms.

“That’s not how this works!” Max exclaimed, glaring at her.

“It is now,” she shot back, grinning.

Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You are impossible.”

“You’re marrying me,” she said sweetly. “This is your problem now.”

Before Max could argue further, he grabbed her hand, tugging her away from the group. “We need to pick more people. Properly.”

As they walked through the paddock, Max started listing names under his breath. “Alright, I want Charles on my side.”

“No way,” Y/n said immediately.

Max frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I’m picking him,” Y/n declared, speeding up her pace as soon as she spotted Charles standing by his car.

Max groaned. “You can’t just steal all the good ones!”

“Watch me.”

By the time they reached Charles, Y/n was already stepping in front of Max, her grin wicked. “Charles! You’re going to be my maid of honor.”

Charles looked up, his face blank with confusion. “Wait, what?”

Max shoved Y/n aside, scowling. “Ignore her, Charles. You’re going to be one of my groomsmen.”

“No, he’s not!” Y/n snapped, stepping back in front of Max.

“Yes, he is!” Max shot back, sidestepping her.

Charles blinked between them, his brows furrowing. “What is happening right now?”

“You’re gonna help me with my wedding,” Y/n said, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “It’s happening tonight.”

Charles just stared at her, still not sure if he was in a dream or being pranked. “Uh… are you serious?”

“Charles, listen to me,” Y/n said, grabbing his hands dramatically. “I need you on my side. You’re the only one who understands how insane Max is.”

Max pulled her back by the shoulder. “He does not understand that! He’s my friend, not yours.”

Charles raised a hand. “Guys, what—”

“Do you really want to stand next to Max?” Y/n asked, cutting him off.

Max glared at her. “Do you really want to be stuck with her?”

“I feel like I don’t want to be stuck with either of you,” Charles said cautiously, his confusion growing.

“Charles,” Y/n pleaded, gripping his arm. “Please. You’ll get to wear something cool”

Charles blinked, still completely befuddled. “I… I don’t know what’s happening. Am I even invited to this wedding? Because you’re asking me to do a lot without any context.”

“Don’t listen to her!” Max interjected, gesturing wildly. “You’ll have more fun on my side. I’ll let you hold the rings.”

“No we’re letting Yuki hold the rings!” Y/n shouted.

Charles blinked again, looking between them like they’d both lost their minds. “Are you two seriously fighting over me right now?”

“Yes!” they yelled in unison.

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Say yes to me, Charles,” Y/n said, batting her eyelashes.

“No, say yes to me,” Max countered, practically growling.

Charles threw his hands up. “Fine! I’ll be on Y/n’s side. But only because she asked first.”

Y/n cheered, sticking her tongue out at Max. “Suck it!”

“I feel like I should be insulted,” Max muttered as Charles smirked at him.

The wedding was somehow happening. In the span of a few hours—thanks to an intense series of last-minute phone calls, frantic text messages, and a team of Red Bull employees being worked to the bone—the ceremony was set to begin. And despite the fact that no one really knew how they’d gotten here, the whole thing had turned into the weirdest Formula 1 event in history.

Y/n stood in the back, adjusting her dress, eyeing the people around her in disbelief. Max had somehow managed to throw together an entire wedding in record time, which was somehow both impressive and terrifying. She was walking down the aisle with Lewis and Fernando—two of the most iconic figures in F1. She couldn’t decide between them, so she’d invited both to walk her down the aisle. Because, why not?

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Lewis asked, smoothing out his jacket. His suit was impeccable, of course. He was an icon of style, so a last-minute wedding wasn’t going to stop him from looking good.

“I’m just trying to survive this,” Y/n muttered

“We’re in Vegas. Anything goes,” Fernando quipped, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “At least the wedding's got personality."

“You both know I’ll never live this down, right?” Y/n said, shaking her head. "This whole thing is so Max, I feel like I should apologize to everyone for being part of it."

“You’ll be fine,” Fernando added with a smile, adjusting his cufflinks. “It’s Max. You know he doesn’t do anything half-heartedly. He’s probably already planned the honeymoon.”

Y/n laughed nervously. “I’m pretty sure he has. You’ve both seen what happens when Max gets an idea in his head. And somehow... this is actually happening.”

“You’ve got this,” Lewis said. “We’re here for you.”

Before Y/n could respond, the doors swung open, signaling that it was time. The aisle was a bit too short for a proper procession, and the whole thing had a sense of hurried chaos as they started walking down toward the altar.

At the front, Max stood there waiting, looking like he was about to burst with excitement. His best man, Lando, had been fighting tears all night and was now sniffling into a tissue. "I swear this is the happiest day of my life," Lando muttered to Carlos, wiping his eyes.

Carlos, looking slightly concerned, just shook his head. “It’s their wedding Lando, not even your own. stop bawling.”

“Yeah, but it’s their wedding,” Lando said, eyes still damp. “There’s too much love in the air.”

Max had his hands tucked in his pockets, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. When he spotted Y/n, he gave her an exaggerated wink, as if to say, “We made it.”

“You good?” Fernando asked, glancing at Y/n as they reached the front.

“I’m questioning every life choice I’ve made,” Y/n muttered under her breath, feeling the full weight of the absurdity of the situation.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Max said, grinning.

At the back of the room, Oscar and Franco stood with baskets of flowers, both looking thoroughly confused in their roles as flower boys. Oscar had been dragged into this because of his unwillingness to protest. Franco, on the other hand, was too amused to care about the situation and just went along with it.

“Oscar, why are we doing this again?” Franco whispered, furrowing his brows as he sprinkled petals on the floor.

“Because Yuki said we had to. And I’m not arguing with him,” Oscar muttered, holding his basket as if it were a grenade about to go off.

“Who cares? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience! Attending Max Vertsappen’s wedding?,” Franco said with stars in his eyes, “I’ll tell my grandkids about this.”

Yuki, holding the rings, couldn’t contain his excitement as he gave them instructions. “Guys, you’re doing great. Just, uh, try not to look confused. I need this to look professional. Oscar throw the petals properly! more passion! more energy! more footwork!”

“I’m already questioning my entire existence,” Oscar said, looking at Franco for solidarity. Franco just smiled and threw a handful of petals into the air.

The Elvis officiating the wedding was already in full swing, not entirely sure of the gravity of the moment but having a blast nonetheless.

"Y’all ready to get hitched?" Elvis said, his voice more vibrant than Y/n could’ve imagined.

Max, barely containing his excitement, looked over at Y/n. “Ready for this, love?” he asked, his voice low, though it carried a hint of playfulness.

Y/n smiled, glancing at him for a moment. “More than ever.”

Then, in front of everyone, they exchanged their vows.

Max spoke first, his voice unwavering, but there was an undeniable tenderness in his words. “Y/n, you’ve turned my world upside down. You’ve made every race, every moment, better just by being there. I promise to keep being the person you’ve decided to stand at an altar with, the person you love—even when I’m an absolute nightmare. I’ll always fight for us, for this. I love you.”

Y/n could feel her heart in her throat as she spoke. “Max, you’ve always been… Max. But you’ve shown me that you are a person with the biggest heart. You’ve made me laugh, cry, and love harder than I thought I could. You’re my best friend, and I can’t wait for the next chapter of this crazy life with you. I love you.”

There were no grand gestures or over-the-top theatrics; instead, it was just them—raw, honest, and completely present in this moment.

Max smiled at her, the kind of smile that made everything feel right, before turning to the officiant.

“Elvis, hit me with that ‘you may kiss the bride’ line,” Max said, giving a wink.

And so, amidst the madness, they kissed, sealing their vows with a moment that felt right in all its simplicity. The crowd cheered, some clapping and others, like Lando, wiping away happy tears. It wasn’t the wedding anyone had expected, but it was exactly what Max and Y/n had needed.

As they pulled away, Y/n’s gaze met Max’s, and for a brief moment, it was just the two of them, everything else fading away.

As the ceremony ended and the newlyweds turned to leave, the crowd of friends and teammates erupted into applause, some of them still trying to process what had just happened.

Lando was grinning, wiping his eyes. “This is so perfect. I’m still not sure how we managed to get here in two hours, but it’s amazing.”

Charles was smiling too, giving Y/n a thumbs up. “Congrats, both of you. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Max is married now.”

Lewis patted Max on the back. “She’s got you now. Good luck with that.”

Y/n smiled at him, a little breathless. “So, are you planning to annoy me for the rest of our lives?”

Max grinned back, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Absolutely. You’ve signed up for it, so no turning back now.”

Everyone laughed, but there was a deep sincerity in the air. This was their moment—imperfect and hurried, but beautiful in its own way.