#maybe im just having one of those days you know..?

[fushitoru]

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

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

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

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

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

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

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

2+2=5.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Digimon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

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

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

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

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

You freeze.

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

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

“I wanted to.”

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

Damn him. Damn him.

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

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

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

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

You pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

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

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

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

The two of you don’t speak.

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

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

He’s just really there.

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

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

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

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

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

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

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

Cutie.

What?

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

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

You pull away.

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

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

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

It’s that you care.

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

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

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

Gojo is here.

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

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

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

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

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

You’re so screwed.

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

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

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

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

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

Your stomach twists.

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

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

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

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

Not you.

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

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

But you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll never be his equal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whoa—”

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

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

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

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

Oh. Right.

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

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

A beat passes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow.

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

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

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

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

“You really don’t know?”

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

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

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath hitches.

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

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

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

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

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

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

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

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

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

You don’t answer. You can’t.

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

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

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

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

Your breath catches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I’m into that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

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

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

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

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

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

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

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

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

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

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

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

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

Silence.

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

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

general masterlist

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

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

[maiziy]

megumi valentines special

w.c 0.6k masterlist

in all honestly, yn was afraid of fushiguro. the first time she saw him was when she was hiding from student council, she turned the corner to find him on a pile of bodies. not the most welcoming sight.

their relationship remained like that. yn was afraid of fushiguro, fushiguro probably didnt know that she existed. sure he saw her in the hallways from time to time. but those prolonged gazes glances didnt compare to the amount of times yn nearly tripped trying to silently run away.

when she entered high school she assumed that fushiguro would stop, and for the most part, he did. sure he was aggravated by a couple of students every now and then, but they had it coming honestly.

fushiguro attended every class and was on every a honor roll. he got nearly every girls attention, yn was not an exception. he was the standard of beauty, who could blame her.

although, out of all the girls in the school, yn was just average. if in fushiguros standards, probably below average. so she swallowed her feelings, if someone were to ask her who she liked. “no one.” she would say avoiding their gaze.

valentines was coming up soon, yn wonders if she would get any chocolates. hopefully romantic chocolates. maybe a boy in her class. maybe megumi fushiguro

eventually valentines rolls around and not a single chocolate left in her desk. thats fine, she wasnt betting on getting any anyways.

while eating lunch she heard girls talking about fushiguro possibly having chocolates.

‘wow. what a lucky girl.’ she thinks to herself.

nearly every girl (and boy) in the school was trying to figure out who it was for. he refused to say for his own reasons.

the last bell rings and school is dismissed for the day. yn walks home in the cold weather wishing she would’ve worn stockings for brought another jacket.

she hears speed walking behind her but doesnt bother to look back, she knows that whoevers behind her definitely isnt trying to interact with her.

yn feels a tap on her shoulder and shivers run down her back, their hands were cold. she turns around to find fushiguro, holding a small bag of chocolates.

“i got these for you for helping me.”

“help you with what?”

he shoves the bag further in your hands, looking to the side blushing.

“take them.”

fushiguro sprints off without looking back. “hey wait what was that for!” yn shouts.

after that she started noticing fushiguros lingering stares glares, did she do something wrong?

she assumed that fushiguro messed up and gave it to the erong person, or it was just gratitude chocolate. although, yn has barely spoken to fushiguro let alone done him a favor. she wonders who he really wanted to give them to. maybe that popular girl in his class. what was her name again?

a couple weeks after that chocolate incident, in p.e she overheard fushiguro talking with his only friend. “do you really think shes not getting my hints?”

“i wouldnt get them either.” (ita)

“i thought they were obvious” (fushi)

you quietly walk faster on the track. pretending you cant see fushiguro blushing and that other kid pointing with his mouth covered.

after abiut 1 minute you hear someone sprinting behind you. you think nothing of the footsteps until they start slowing down once they get within a couple feet across from you.

fushiguro looks to the his right, where youre standing. you divert you eyes. he takes inching closer to you.

“do you get it” (fushi)

you look at him in confusion. “hm?”

“get it?” (fushi)

“get what?”

…

“do you like me?” (fushi)

…

a/n: pls dont hate me because im bad at writing im sorryyy sorry 😞

[hedwig221b]

Omg ok I was having more thoughts about those baby trapping asks from before. Please excuse the unhingedness that is about to follow, and I guess TW for birth control tampering:

I think we're all in agreement that Derek being obsessed with breeding Stiles is hot as hell. And yes maybe Stiles is very much into it in the moment, but isn't actually ready for the kiddo yet (I'm thinking he's like a freshman in college, so he wants to wait a but before fully settling down to start a family). And now normally Derek loves Stiles being so independent, but about this? Yeah no Derek just wants a baby with his mate asap because he's so possessive and jealous of others flirting with Stiles all the time (like in your fic Untouchable!).

If this is a/b/o, omega!Stiles is def on some type of birth control. But maybe Derek, in a moment of pure want and possessiveness after some other alpha flirts with Stiles for the millionth time, switches out Stiles' birth control for something else. And then later that night he breeds Stiles like the world is ending the next day lmao.

In my head Stiles totally knows what Derek is doing, and while he should be angry, all he feels is horny lol. So he lets Derek continue to change out his birth control until he starts to throw up in the morning.

IM

I'm actually like so obsessed with this whole idea of horny Derek going dark mode 😳 like, he's in a rut, and he has completely lost his mind, and he would do anything to have a baby with Stiles, and he goes completely off the rails, and and and-

Listen LISTEN IMAGINE alpha Derek becomes the new leader of the pack since Talia stepped down, and he's older (😳🤭) and Stiles is a young omega barely into uni. And they just click and they are obsessed with one another, but the Hales think Stiles is only after Derek's money. And then Derek goes dark mode and gets Stiles pregnant, and Stiles freaks out bc now Derek is gonna think he's a gold digger as well and wants to baby trap him. He doesn't know what to do, and as time goes by Derek gets more and more obsessed and wolfish (cause he knows he got his mate pregnant so his instincts go nuts). When they're having sex Derek keeps saying this freaky kinky stuff about breeding and how good Stiles would look pregnant, and Stiles starts to think that maybe... maybe Derek really wouldn't mind... But then Talia confronts him first about his true intentions, and Stiles is a mess, and he runs away (bc I love when Stiles runs away...) Derek finds him and Stiles finally confesses and they have sex and everything is beautiful and nothing hurts

@salty-fryingpan Salty.... Salty, come here, you have to see this...

[ranfordgallus]

Guess who made..Einhorn..into a FUCKING ALICORN!!!!! LETS FUCKINNGGG GOOOOOOOO

It's somewhat half-canon in a way that he's now turned into an alicorn because idk when he would turn into one

Now the reason how he suddenly got wings is that uhm..

Basically one of the Kratt brothers powersuit is broken (would it surprise you if i said martin) and malfunction from a dangerous adventure...as one does, and the suit is severely damaged that it'll take a few days to fix it

HOWEVER...Einhorn saw martins suit hanging around and wanted to check it out, he sniffed and rubs his snout, eventually sticking his head inside the suit because he always sees martin and chris wear these so he's curious, the suit didn't..fully go in, he started to panic as he doesn't know how to get the suit off his head, shaking his head and backing away.

And he backed away from the tortuga, slamming himself onto trees because he's blindfolded from the suit. Until a VERY unfortunate bat happens to be near Einhorn and Einhorn tripped, falling onto the bat and the suit transformed. The bat unfortunately didn't survive but it's for a cost, he looked at his back and saw 2 pairs of wings.. he has no idea what it does, he flaps his wings and accidentally smacks his face a few times.

The brothers and crew eventually found Einhorn and took him back the tortuga because hs's literally wearing a DAMAGED POWERSUIT and you know what happens next when a suit is malfunctioned..especially on an animal (non-human animal...homo sapienless i guess)

They deactivated the suit and took the suit off him, however.. it seem that the malfunction has mutated his poor animal, so not only did he have a mutation from birth that causes him to have one horn, anither mutation happened where he has 6 limbs..a wing...like thats just unlucky..

Crew tested his physical health and he seem very healthy as usual, but now the crew has to take care a stubborn antelope...with wings. Luckily he doesn't know the concept of flying...yet.

Yeah i know it's impossible for a non insect to have more than 4 limbs but..wild kratts is about science-fiction, the suits literally morph the brothers anatomy, and aviva literally created a time traveling machine, donita having a device that literally freezes those who are targeted..so...yk, im having my fun here

But can he fly? Well maybe, he's pretty heavy when he's an adult so..i wouldn't say he can fly long distances, maybe glide around or like a peafowl fly for short periods of time, because to fly is to be light..and being light isn't a good thing when his species requires weight to fight or defend

And i think...considering Einhorn is 9 feet tall, his wings spreads to like..maybe 30 feet wide, so each wing is 30 feet that means his wingspan is like 60 feet wide, bro my guy lives in the forest those wings aint gonna help him with them trees dawg unless he adapts to living in higher places i guess..less trees more space

[marsdql]

Game of Hearts [L.HS]

‧₊˚🏀彡ִ ࣪𖤐 Toxic!Heeseung x Toxic!Reader | g: Angst, Toxic Romance, High School Drama | cw: toxic relationship, making out, cheating | wc: 2.2k | @teddybeartaetae | bye im checking my unreleased works and i have things i forgot about in my notes app that r from nov when i first started posting....

High school was a game.

For you and Heeseung, it was your game, and everyone else? They were just pawns in the grand scheme of things.

You were the cheer captain—everyone’s favorite model-like bombshell, the girl who walked into every room with a smile so dazzling it could make any guy trip over his words. You had everything: the status, the popularity, and a boyfriend who was the absolute king of the school. Heeseung was the football captain, the one who could make even the teachers bend to his will with just a single look. The two of you were an unstoppable force.

Except… you both had your flaws. And those flaws were what made your relationship so exciting.

One day, after practice, you were sitting in the bleachers, flipping through your phone. Heeseung leaned against the post at the edge of the field, watching you, knowing you could feel his gaze burning into your back. You didn’t look up, though. It was a power play, and you both loved to play these games.

Heeseung smirked as he walked toward you, his footsteps slow and deliberate, making you feel every bit of his presence.

“You’re ignoring me now?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You looked up slowly, not even bothering to hide the smirk that tugged at your lips. “Maybe I am. What are you gonna do about it, captain?”

Heeseung didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you up and slamming you against the nearest locker. His eyes were dark, and you could see the simmering anger in them, but there was also that familiar, intoxicating passion.

“You don’t get to ignore me, princess,” he muttered, his lips dangerously close to yours. “You know the rules.”

You chuckled, defiance dancing in your eyes. “I do whatever I want.”

Heeseung laughed, the sound low and dangerous. “You think you can walk all over me? You really think I won’t put you in your place, Y/N?”

You grinned, pushing him away playfully, but the look in his eyes never faltered. “Try me.”

The game was on.

Weeks passed, and the tension between the two of you only grew. Heeseung and you fed off each other’s toxic energy, constantly pushing each other’s buttons, and you loved it. The more he tried to control you, the more you pulled away, only to reel him back in with your sweet, sickly smiles.

You knew he hated the attention other guys gave you, but you played it up, flirting with anyone who looked your way, just to see the flicker of jealousy in his eyes. It was a game, after all.

One night at a party, you were surrounded by a crowd of friends and other popular kids. Heeseung was deep in conversation with a few teammates across the room, but his eyes never left you. You caught his gaze once and grinned, raising your drink in a playful toast to him. The moment he saw the guy beside you lean in a little too close, his jaw clenched.

You loved it.

You let the other guy touch your waist just to push Heeseung further. The next thing you knew, he was standing in front of you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you away from the crowd.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to flirt with everyone?” Heeseung growled, dragging you to a quieter corner.

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Don’t act like you own me.”

Heeseung’s eyes darkened, his hand tightening on your wrist. “I’m your boyfriend, Y/N. You should respect that.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing against his chest. “I don’t have to do anything for you.”

His grip tightened, and before you could even react, he slammed you against the wall. “You will listen to me.”

The air between you crackled with tension. Both of you were seconds away from snapping. This was the game you played—the constant back-and-forth of dominance and submission, who could push the other the hardest, who could break first.

Heeseung leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You don’t like me controlling you, but you crave it, don’t you?”

You smirked, feeling the heat rush to your face. “Maybe.”

The next day at school, you had a fight—again.

It started with Heeseung catching you talking to another guy in the hall after class, his glare icy as he watched from across the room. You knew he was watching, and part of you loved it, but another part of you hated that he could make you feel like you were being punished for simply existing.

“Why were you talking to him?” His voice was low, dangerous, as he cornered you near your locker.

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling that familiar thrill of defiance rush through you. “Maybe I wanted to. What’s it to you?”

Heeseung gritted his teeth, his hands curling into fists. “You belong to me. Not him.”

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “Oh? I didn’t realize I was property now, Heeseung.”

His expression turned icy, and for a split second, you thought you might have gone too far. But then he stepped closer, his breath a whisper against your ear. “Don’t test me, Y/N. You wouldn’t like the consequences.”

You narrowed your eyes, defiance and desire swirling together in a heady mix. “Then do something about it.”

Heeseung chuckled, the sound dark and low. “I will. Just you wait.”

The toxic dynamic between you both didn’t just stay in public. At night, when you were alone in his car, things were always the same. You knew what buttons to push to make him lose control, and he knew how to make you feel like you were on the edge, craving something deeper, darker.

You were laying across the backseat, your legs draped over his lap, your fingers tracing the buttons on his shirt. “Why don’t you let me have some fun too?”

Heeseung’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer. “You think you can play me, Y/N? You think I’m just gonna let you walk all over me?”

You smirked, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I know I can.”

His eyes flickered with the familiar dark intensity you were addicted to. “You’re pushing it.”

“Then push back,” you whispered, your lips hovering just a breath away from his.

Without warning, Heeseung crushed his lips to yours, the kiss intense and possessive. His hands tangled in your hair, his control slipping as you melted into him. But even in the heat of the moment, you knew this was just part of the game—this dangerous, toxic game that you both thrived in.

You pulled away, smirking. “You’re so easy to control.”

Heeseung chuckled darkly. “And you think I don’t know that?”

The two of you were a perfect storm, constantly clashing, constantly tearing at each other, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. The toxicity, the manipulation, the jealousy—it was all a game. And in this game, you were both playing to win.

The next day, things escalated quickly. You were walking down the hallway, minding your business, when you saw Heeseung talking to some of the other girls. One of them was practically hanging off his arm, laughing like she was the most important person in the world.

Your stomach churned. You knew he was trying to get you back for the previous stunts you've been pulling on him for the past week.

You didn’t waste any time. Striding up to him, you shot him a smile that was all sweetness, but there was a sharpness to it. “Having fun?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Heeseung glanced at you, his smirk never leaving his lips. “Just enjoying the company.” He looked at the girl next to him again, his gaze lingering a little too long for your liking.

You raised an eyebrow, playing it cool. “That so?” Your tone was light, but there was a hint of something darker beneath it.

“Yeah,” he replied casually, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you. Then, to really get under your skin, he added, “You should join us sometime.”

Your heart skipped, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing how much it was affecting you. Instead, you shot him a look, leaned in slightly, and said, “I’ll think about it.”

You turned away, feeling the burn of his eyes on your back as you walked off, a smirk tugging at your lips. You were playing his game now, but you weren’t going to make it easy for him.

Later that day, during practice, you noticed Heeseung wasn’t just making you jealous—he was making everyone else aware of it too. He kept chatting and laughing with her, throwing you looks to make sure you noticed.

You weren’t going to sit around and let him have all the fun.

You turned to one of the guys on your team, who always seemed to have his eye on you, and casually started a conversation, laughing a little too loud, making sure Heeseung would see.

Sure enough, when you glanced his way, his eyes were narrow, his jaw clenched. You could practically hear his thoughts—What the hell are you doing?

You smiled to yourself, enjoying the rush of power. Heeseung was the one who always got to control the situation, but now you were flipping the script.

After practice, your phone buzzed with a message from him. You had a feeling you knew what it was going to say, but you couldn’t resist checking it.

Heeseung: You think I don’t notice what you’re doing?

You rolled your eyes, already preparing your response.

You: You’re just mad because you can’t stand that someone else is getting my attention.

A few minutes passed before he replied.

Heeseung: You’re so toxic, Y/n. But I kind of like it.

You felt a twinge of excitement, even though his words stung. You were both so wrapped up in this game that neither of you was ready to stop.

You: Maybe I like making you mad.

Heeseung: Maybe you just like knowing you have control over me.

You smirked.

You: You can’t handle me, Heeseung.

His reply came quickly.

Heeseung: We’ll see about that.

The next day, you both were at it again. Heeseung was practically glued to that girl, giving her his full attention. You were standing with your friends, but your gaze kept shifting to him. He saw you looking and gave you a sly grin, making sure you knew that he knew exactly what he was doing.

You hated how much it worked.

But you couldn’t back down now.

You were about to walk over when you saw Heeseung’s hand resting on the girl’s back, his fingers just a little too close to her waist. You could feel the jealousy rising in your chest, but this time, you were ready. You turned around and walked straight up to Sunoo, that cute guy from class, and threw your arm around his shoulder with an exaggerated laugh.

Heeseung’s eyes instantly darted to you. His gaze was sharp, watching you closely. The smile on his lips faltered for just a second before he tried to hide it with another chuckle.

You loved it.

You didn’t even wait for a reaction; you just let him stew in it. Let him feel how it felt when he pushed your buttons.

Later that night, your phone buzzed with a text.

Heeseung: Stop playing games, Y/N.

You smirked.

You: I’m not the one trying to make someone jealous.

Heeseung: You think I’m doing this to get a rise out of you? You think I care?

You: You wouldn’t be doing it if you didn’t care.

Heeseung: Yeah, well, maybe I do care. But not the way you think.

You: Whatever you say, Heeseung. Just don’t pretend like you’re not enjoying it.

Heeseung: You enjoy it too, don’t lie.

The next day, the game continued. But this time, you were both a little more aware of what you were doing. Heeseung was still talking to the girl, still trying to push your buttons, but now, you just laughed.

You weren’t playing the same toxic game anymore—you were both in it together.

You found him after practice, and without a word, he pulled you aside, his hands on your waist, his eyes challenging. “You know we’re both fucked up, right?”

bye i didnt know how to end this im sorry...

[chenlezip]

jaemin, scream ♡

⤷ summary : when y/n receives a mysterious phone call and finds that her friends are being killed, she suspects that a serial killer may be on the prowl, who is also linked to her mother's murder.

warnings : death, swearing, if you've watched scream you'll know :) idk what other warnings to put im so sorry!! not proof read either eek

annas note : sooo.. i wanted to write a lil something about jaemin and scream.. and this is the better idea i had in mind — one thing you guys NEED to know about me is that i am a horror fanatic.. and so pairing this with jaemin was super fun (maybe i’ll make a horror fic series with nct one day..)

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you're in your bedroom, sat at your desk on your computer as you worked on an assignment. you heard glass breaking outside your window and you stood up, walking closer to check it out. maybe it was one of the cats that roamed around your street?

as you peek out your window, you feel a hand grab your shoulder and you scream, pulling back. "hey- it's just me," your boyfriend jaemin says gently.

"jaem, what the- what the hell are you doing here?" you scold him as he makes his way inside of your room from the window, "you sleep in that?" he gestures to your night dress.

you sigh, "yes i sleep in this. what are you doing here though? my dads in the other room, you can't be here!" as soon as those words left your lips, your dad opened the door but it was jammed with your wardrobe door being open.

you walk over, talking to him as jaemin hid down the side of your bed. as your dad left, he got up, holding one of your plushes as you asked again why he was here.

"well, it occured to me that.. i've never snuck through your bedroom window. i was home.. watching television.. the uh.. the exorcist was on." he continues, "it got me thinking of you."

you're a little confused, "it did?" you ask. "all the good stuff was cut out, it was edited for tv and it got me thinking of us.. how two years ago we started off hot and heavy and now things have changed.." you shake your head at his words, knowing what he's getting at.

"oh, so you thought you could climb through my window and we'd have a little raw footage?" you ask and he laughs, "no.. no, i wouldn't dare think of breaking your underwear rule."

it was the next day at school, you were sat on the edge of the fountain with your boyfriend, jeno, yeri and haechan. they were rambling on about the recent murder of someone you all knew - winter.

"hey, jen, didn't you used to date winter?" you ask as jeno looked away from his girlfriend to you, smirking, "yeah for like.. two seconds." haechan butts in, "before she left you for anton~" he teased. yeri moved away from jeno to look at him, "i thought you dumped her for me?"

"i did. he's full of shit," he glared over at haechan again. "and are the police aware you dated the victim?" haechan pushed up his glasses, pretending to act nerdy. "hey- what are you saying? that i killed her?" jeno and yeri both have an argument with him, and you groan to yourself, not again.

you end up leaving them, kissing jaemin goodbye as you left for the bus home. after doing chores, watching the news but immediately turning it off after they showed your mother who got killed, you just decided to take a nap to take your mind off of things.

you soon awoke to your phone ringing, the loud dial tone ringing through your ears. you whined, "who the hell is calling me?" you ask yourself out loud as you lean over from where you were on the couch, grabbing the phone and putting it to your ear. "hello?" you ask with a sigh as you hear your friend, yeri coming through the other line, "practice ran late. i'm on my way, okay?"

you check the time, "it's past seven.." "don't worry~ winter and her boyfriend didn't cut it until after 10, you're fine." yeri says as she continued, "i'm gonna swing by the video store for us, okay?"

"whatever. just hurry, okay?" "see ya, n/n~" yeri hung up the phone. you smile and let out another soft sigh, placing the phone back on the stand but after a couple seconds, it starts ringing again. "yeri, just get in the car-"

it's not yeri. a creepy voice rings through your ears as he says your name in a greeting. you run a hand through your hair, "uh.. hi, who is this?" you ask softly as you sit up on the couch. "you tell me," he says as you scrunch your brows in confusion, "i-i have no idea.."

"scary night, isn't it? with the murders and all it's like something out of a horror movie." you chuckle, "haechan! you gave yourself away.. are you calling from work? because yeri's on her way over." you get up from the couch.

"do you like scary movies, y/n?"

"i like that thing you're doing with your voice, hae, it's sexy," you giggle to yourself as you turn on your lamp. "what's your favourite scary movie?" 'haechan' asked you. you rub your chin, "oh come on, you know i don't like that shit."

"why not? too scared?" the voice asked as you sigh, "no. it's just.. what's the point? they're all the same. some stupid killer stalking some big-chested girl who can't act, who's always running up the stairs when she should be going out the front door. it's insulting." you explain, ranting about the movies that you've seen.

you shouldn't of said that because a tall figure wearing a cloak and a ghost face mask appears and attacks you. you try running out the front door but you're fumbling with the locks so you just run upstairs, screaming. you make it into your room and close the door, locking it and backing away from it. your heart is pumping, your thoughts are clouded and you feel petrified. what the hell just happened?

you hear someone once again at your window and it's your boyfriend, jaemin. "jaemin!" you shout for him as you run toward him, helping him in. "the doors locked. i heard screaming - is everything alright?" jaemin looks at you with a worried and concerned expression. "the killers here.. he's in the house!" you bring him closer to you as you ease into the comfort he gives you, you needed this.

"he's in the house. he's got a knife, he's gonna kill us.." you mumble as you try and cling onto his sweatshirt. "he's gone." he whispers to you, holding you tightly against him. you sob into his shoulder before feeling and hearing a phone drop beside him on the floor. you look down and gasp, pulling away from him.

"what?" jaemin asked as you glared at him, removing his arms from your waist, "n/n, what?"

you shake your head and whimper, creating enough space between the two of you before you unlock your room door and run out of it. "wait! wait wait wait wait! what's going on?" you hear jaemin chasing behind you as you continue to try and escape him. "y/n, come back!" he shouts from the stop of the staircase.

you open your front door and scream, seeing the ghost face mask being held up. jisung, who was at the door holding it up, screams too. "sorry! i found this, come on!" he shouts at the other officers, ushering them inside.

jisung finds jaemin and detains him, shoving him roughly against the hood of his car. "alright come on, keep your hands together."

after a rough couple of days and staying close with yeri ignoring your boyfriend, she takes you to a party that jeno is hosting. you thought about not going but you really needed something to take your mind off of everything that happened so you end up going. you enter the kitchen as yeri places bags down on the kitchen counter, smiling at her boyfriend.

you both end up laying on the couch in the living room, jeno following as he brings yeri to his chest and smiles. you look through the movies that haechan has, "how come jamie lee curtis is in all of these movies?" you ask. haechan smiled, leaning near you, pressing his hands together in a prayer, "she's the scream queen."

"with that set of lungs, she should be.." jeno butts in, someone adding a "yeah.." to agree with him. yeri rolled her eyes, looking at you, "tits, you see?"

after spending a couple hours at the party, the curfew ends and everyone starts leaving. "yeri, come on!" you shout upstairs. you haven't seen her since she left to get drinks for jeno. you're a little worried. you turn to jeno who is seeing the party goers out the front door, smiling.

"do you know where she is?" you ask as jeno shakes his head, "i haven't seen her." and then you hear 'agh!'. you gasp, turning around to the front door and seeing jaemin smiling sheepishly. "oh.. jaemin, hey," you give him a small greeting as he looks at you. jeno seems to act suspicious, rubbing his chin, "jaem, hmm.. i wonder what you're doing here."

"was hoping i could talk to n/n, alone."

and he.. did have the chance to and a little more than that, you both got dressed after having an intimate moment in the bedroom upstairs. "you still don't think it was me, do ya?" jaemin asked you as he glared at you from behind, sitting on the floor tying his laces. you chuckle, turning around and sitting to face him, "no. no. i was just thinking, if it were you, it'd be a very clever way to throw me off track."

as you were talking about things, jaemin leans into you and before you know it, ghostface was behind him. "oh my god- jaemin, watch out!" you scream as he gets 'stabbed' multiple times, "oh.. my god.. jaemin.." you whimper.

after an extreme chase with ghostface and escaping the house, you find yourself back there because you saw a cop car outside. you're searching jisung's knocked out body and find a gun, haechan shouts for you, "i found yeri! i think she's dead i think jeno did it-" he panics as you aim it toward him, "stop right there!" jeno runs and stops beside haechan, "don't listen to him y/n!"

you decide to run inside the house and you see jaemin, he fell down the stairs and groaned, "y/n.." you help him up and lead him to the front door, "we need help.." he shakes his head as he opens the front door and haechan pushes his way inside. "look- i think jenos gone mad!"

"we all go a little mad sometimes," jaemin smirked as he turned toward haechan, a sinister look on his face. "fuck!" haechan whispers loudly to himself before getting shout in the shoulder, shouting out in pain and falling to the floor. "hae!" you shout.

jaemin chuckled, "anthony perkins, psycho.." you run over to haechan, kneeling over him as you stare at your so called boyfriend. "no.." you whisper as you try and run but you bump into jenos chest, staring up at him as you beg for him to help you. he holds a voice changer to his mouth, smirking, "surprise y/n."

tags : @injvns @polarisjisung @mejaemin @ayukas @hyckvr @yizhrt @blondemrk @astrasng

[lacucarachapisser]

give me your honesty colin zabel x f!reader

warnings : smut, oral sex fem! receiving, make up sex, fingering, fluff slash angst, cringe lol, edging i guess, pwp? reader have pubes leads to insecurity, overstimulation, um yeah pretty much thats all. 1.3k wc.

a/n : im trying to get back into writing and ngl this is actually um for me since yknow, somebody has to keep writing for him. i decided to write for part two of this fics, you can read the first chap, but this could stand alone so you dont have to read the first, suit yourself. every like, comment and reblog are very appreciate, i hope you all enjoy this. and apologies if its suck. sorry.

colin holds your body tight, his fingertips pressing onto your back, afraid that his grip might slip if he loosens it even scarcely a little. your fearful thoughts, about his feelings possibly changing, his silence, and the thousand excuses he’d given are nothing compared to his fear of losing you. not again. he doesn’t want to be left again.

“i should be the one who say sorry. i was so stupid.”

you gently stroke his back with your hand, drawing gentle circles against his broad back before slowly pulling away from his embraces, however still in the same position, sitting side by side on the couch.

“you know i love you,” his voice sounds like a whimper, sad and desperate. do you know he loves you? for a split second, your mind assure you that he does, but the rest is filled with doubt about whether his heart is still truly yours.

“i got so caught up,” he crouched closely beside you, clearly unbothered about the fact that you just draw back from his body. “it’s been a really terrible time at work, i’m exhausted and became such a complete ass when you’re certainly trying to be just there for me, i’m so ungrateful. never thought about making you feel left out. i never meant to. i’m really sorry.”

you let him continue his monologue, listening and nodding all along. colin gently moves a strand of hair away from your face, slips it behind your ear. his gaze fixed on you, as if waiting for you to say something. “baby, look at me,” he says.

his brown eyes are flickering. even the lines at the corners of his eyes make him seems even more woeful. “i’ll take a day off, and we can do anything you want, together. what do you think?” you didn’t respond but it put a small smile on your face, and he returns it.

“maybe we can go to the new coffee shop with all the puppies you mentioned earlier, hm?”

no. it doesn’t feel exciting anymore.

“anything you want,” his grip on your waist becomes a little firm, lips lightly starts traveling your face, planting soft kisses on your cheeks and the tip of your nose. you remain silent. colin’s apologies have always been like this. his sorry was just like a routine, continuously repeating. there’s a long pause after those kisses drift across your face. you stay still, fidgeting with the thread in the edge of your shirt.

“let me make you feel better, yes?” he asks, slow and soft as possible. you haven’t even respond at that yet he makes another assertion “come on let me make it up to you” his eyes hungrily scanning your body and face, as if he tries to expose you. “baby, say something.” he sighed and took your face in his hands and turned it towards him.

hearing him saying how he wanted you for making a voice makes you frustrated. now that he talk. where was him all along?

“what do you want me to say?” your silky voice came out like a whisper.

“say you want me,”

he shoots you with his big brown eyes, serious but gentle. his hands start grabbing your hip making their way up slowly to your waist.

“…i want you,”

the smile emerges like a blooming flower, his eyes shone like someone actually got their first jackpot. colin pushes you slowly on the couch to make you more relax. his eyes never leave yours as he gets down and sit on the floor so now that his body perfectly wrapped in between your spread thighs.

“wait, here?” a short hesitation vibrates through your voice.

the unwillingness of waiting sparks through his expression. he nods and quickly unbuttoning your pants, working hard to pull it off. at that moment, the only thing that troubled your mind was, are you clean? like down there? and suddenly never in your entire life you have wanted to take a bath so bad.

in a blink, you have no idea where’s those fabric that supposed to cover up your private. he shamelessly leans his right cheek to your bush. it somewhat abashed you to witness him this way, clinging onto your thin curls and delicately spreading butterfly kisses across of it.

using his skillful jaw, he begins to get your thick lips apart to another. passionately making out with your fold in a very slow motion. he relentlessly hold your labia in his mouth, slightly biting and creating the most obscene sounds you have ever heard. there’s nothing you can do besides squirming and moaning, listen to the slurping sounds he made with your aching cunt.

he grasps your both thighs to prevent you from moving, face pressed to your abused pussy. he starts to add his talented tongue to play around, kitten-licking your clit causing you to jolt in surprise with intense pleasure. the smooth and sweet chuckle which leaving colin’s lips sending a sweet buzz inside, body jerking while gripping his shoulders hard.

“baby, stay still..” he speaks softly, lips still connected to your pussy which criminally doesn’t help to make you stay still at all.

“relax, enjoy it,” he continues to drown his face.

“c-colin…” body arching even more as you writhe, and that didn’t make him stop. he breaths a moan while vibrating his tongue inside you, and it feels like your head is consumed by a huge clouded cyclone.

his eyes flickering back and forth from your core up to your face, watching your reaction when he brutally gobble it up, sucking you as if a baby is suckling at their mama’s.

he starts pushing his two fingers inside you, pumping you slowly. the ecstasy sensation makes your toes curl once more, legs instinctively close, worry you might crush his head between your thighs.

“mm’ taste so good..” he mostly sounds so sweet and cute when talking, but this activity surely make him a bit different. he enjoys every respond you have made. your eyes light up and roll back uncontrollably, imagining those fingers as a violent flesh entering you with a sharp blow, touching your sweet spot over and over. thus makes you grab his hair hard and scream even harder.

“ah colin.. i’m close..”

he quicken the pace and the orgasm feels so much better when he does that. even after the long orgasm, colin still kissing you there. tasting every drop of your honeyed hot syrup that can cause him high, he definitely doesn’t wanna waste it.

“too much.. too much..” you choked and its like an electric shock escalates in every part of your body, hitting hard on your sternum. he smiles and slowly pulls away.

“i’m taking such a good care of my little girl,” he whispers, more like talking to himself rather than to you. the admiration sculptured on his face, another art that he proudly created. “you’re doing amazing, sweetheart,”

it almost makes you work up again listen to his mesmerizing voice, lips so close to your tired pussy, deliberately blowing the hot breath. he did that effortlessly, he always managed to get you work up so easily. the soreness ate your limbs and muscles you can’t move your body properly. the only thing you can do is just draw up a sluggish lazy smile.

“you okay? how was it?” still with a soft smile, a gazing wide brown eyes concerned towards you.

“hm..’mazing like always,” you both let out a little chuckle and he looks exceedingly satisfied.

“let me take you to bed, okay?” you nod and with a last strength you had, you open your arms to welcome him. he places your hands around his neck as he slips his big arms beneath your body, grab and scoop you up in one swing whilst he gets up. he affectionately kisses you on your temple before walking to your shared bed.

“good. i need to get you more comfortable,” you come up with nothing as you think about what’s gonna happen next, whether he’ll let you rest or he’ll take his turn, either way you’d end up take it gladly.

•

•

•

another notes: yes i do remember someone asked me to do pt 2, literally only one person and of course why not. this is for you jazzy @lockedxroses not sure if you remember hehe but yeah this also for all colin’s wives out there. love yall sm<3

[sandsorghum]

complexities,perplexities or some thoughts I had at 2am about kento & hiromi

idk im just ramblin' here - u been warned

When i first fell for nanami kento, i thought it was because of his commitment to his principles, the steadfastness in that regard.

i definitely find a parallel of that in Higuruma, even though it was less tempered idealism than "lost (his) temper" idealism - Yet if anything, that tragic outburst of murderous passion is testament of his obsession and zeal. It's his temporary denial and anguish that underscores years of enduring such bitterness and frustration, the decades long slog proving the strength of his willpower, that accumulates into one terrible moment of weakness; a process that simultaneously corroborates and yet is corrosive to his convictions. And now his conscience will have to suffer that slip-up forever.

Something has died in him; if it wasn't already dying for a long time. What survives, subsequently? Or what is rebirthed? I don't regard his psychotic break as fragility. After all, can we recognise someone's strength only after they've been pushed to a breaking point? And it takes a different sort of strength of will to rebuild, to live past who you thought you were, to accept becoming someone you thought you'd never be. Maybe it even takes an admission of weakness, and gentleness...

Higuruma ultimately finds his North Star again, remembers why he became an attorney, it's a return to his original beliefs; There's a definite through line despite the ramification of his actions, the kind of consistency and commitment which I find so compelling, that's a quality he shares with Nanami.

But Nanami's lapse is far less ruinous, his escapist delusion leads him to play a salaryman for a few years, compared to Higuruma becoming a damning executioner in a day. When Nanami rediscovered his purpose, he just shrugged off the corporate schtick and becomes a jujutsu sorceror again, in a sense accepting what he knew he was destined for from an early age. He accepts the truth and returns to a reality already familiar, albeit unpleasantly familiar, to him.

For Higuruma there's so such going back. That "reality" has vanished. No old job or routine he can simply pick up again.

Higuruma's "getting lost" has much bigger consequences - he can no longer be a lawyer, what was once his calling are now mere echoes of the past, reminders of the things that made him him.

The years of effort molding his identity have been entirely stripped away, by his own hands. Imagine all that pain and confusion on top of how hard it is for him to navigate through his guilt - fighting Sukuna was meant to be an act of, if not absolution then penance, hell, probably even capital punishment. But he didn't die so now what? it's just...purgatory for him?

Adding to that, he's supposed to be the 'next' Gojo Satoru? Perceived that way for his power alone? Admired or even looked up to, in some respects? How laughable. How cruel.

Pressured to live up to that mantle, when he already has such a hollowed out sense of self, I suspect being valorised that way is a further type of torturous erosion. But I also know Higuruma isn't the type to permit himself to wallow in such self-pity for long; ironically in a way that makes him resemble Satoru, he won't let reputation define who he is. So, I don't think that bothers him as much.

The real challenge is finding out how to operate in a new system, above or outside the laws he once upheld, in a way that's aligned to his fundamental values, to preserve some version of his old self. Now he's in a job where he can make the call to kill curse users, at his own discretion? Who's going to question his judgement, besides himself? What's the line between vigilante justice and divine retribution?

So, I honestly don't know if Higuruma can even adhere to those same strict ethical codes he had before, how much his basic sense of right and wrong has shifted or will shift due to the nature of his new work.

Which is all to say, I wonder now if maybe the appeal I see in Higuruma isn't exactly steadfastness at all, but flux instead; that is, the seemingly contradictory responsibility and impetus of self-determination, through the construct and malleability of moral choices. If there is anything consistent, any proof which makes him an unquestionably principled character, perhaps it would be the very questioning and interrogation of which of his actions are right and fair, a thorough self-examination. If I love Nanami for his stalwart certainty, strangely I'm equally drawn to Higuruma for his rigourous scrutiny, his so-called "uncertainties", how he holds space for...not doubt, but other perspectives and possibilities. And how he finds his way through that maze of multiplicities, whether he's stumbling or striding, I want to accompany him on that journey. Goodness, restraint, mercy...none of these are foregone conclusions with him; that's what makes him so enticing to me.

also yall seen that nose of his? sheesh

anw obvsly can't stop yapping about them my inbox is open if anyone wants to yak about how they will fold you in half are so unique

[toonice113]

False god  ᥫ᭡  M.Barzal

Part two of three of my valentine's series

Part one: Paper rings - Q. Hughes

Part three: Lover - N.Hischier

Pairings: Mathew Barzal x fem!reader 

Genre: smut

Summary: your relationship has ever only existed for a few days at a time inside of the bedroom, that has never been a problem, but today? Today Mat has decided he doesn't want you to leave so soon.

Warnings: smut under the cut minors DO NOT INTERACT, p in v, unprotected sex (pls don’t do this, take care of yourselves), overstimulation, my first time writing smut

Word count: 1.6k

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚ Writing this note before i write the story to let yall know i have never written smut before so i apologize in advance. Update after writing it, this sucks i cringed at myself and im never writing smut again but oh well i had to at least try it once

When you had started this ‘relationship’ with Mat you knew it was not a conventional one. It began when you met in Italy at a family friend’s wedding you attended, Mat was there as a friend of the groom and things had escalated quickly, first with a drunken makeout session the night before the wedding and then with you two naked in bed after the wedding reception was over. One night became three and then you changed your flight back home to stay with him for a couple more days, days that were spent in between the sheets of his bed, hidden away in his hotel room instead of exploring the beautiful little town you were staying at.

Returning home you had expected the short escapade with Mat to dissolve and become nothing more than a memory, but flirty texts turned into facetime calls into Mat flying you to New York to see him, just like in Italy, your time was mainly spent naked under sheets savoring each other. It had been around a year now, and today you sat in his bed covered only by the white sheets while he stood by the window staring out to the city. “Why can’t you just change your flight?” He argued, his hair messy, his eyes not meeting yours 

“Because it’s my friend’s birthday and I would like to spend it with him” You said frowning, when you mentioned having to leave this afternoon while eating breakfast in bed you hadn’t expected Mat’s reaction to be this but as soon as you told him there was no way you were changing your flight to another day his mood soured

“Doesn’t he have other friends?” He scowled “Why does he need you to be there?” 

“He doesn’t need me to be there, I want to be there. You’re not listening to me right now” You fought back “Why do YOU need me to be here?” 

“Because I do” His response made you snort a laugh making him even more annoyed 

“Please, like there’s not other girls out there that could keep you entertained when I’m not around” He finally turns to look at you “People talk, I know what you get up to when I’m not here Mat” 

He walks towards you, his tall frame looming over you, he can’t help but think about how pretty you look down there and how much he wished your pretty lips were wrapped around his cock right now “Maybe I don’t want any of those other girls” he bends down and gives you a rough kiss, his hands tangling in your hair as he does “And maybe you should put that pretty mouth to work on something other than fighting me” 

Your hands slip through his exposed abs to the waistband of his sweatpants playing with it “‘M not the one fighting” You push the pants down before running one of your hands over the erection in his boxers looking up through your lashes at him “Because there’s no fight, I’m leaving later” not giving him a chance to say anything you finally relieve him of his underwear licking a stripe up his hard dick making him hiss and push you for more 

“Stop talking” He guides your lips to his tip and moans loudly when you put him in your mouth, using your hands to help you stroke what you can’t take “Yeah, just like that, look at you” You moan as a response to him pulling your hair “Bet birthday boy can’t give you this huh” One of his hands lets go of your hair, manhandling you until you’re on your fours, with the sheets no longer covering you his fingers slide down your pussy “So wet baby”

“Mat” You sigh out “Please, no teasing” 

“What do you want baby? Tell me” He teases brushing his fingers through your wet folds putting no pressure to alleviate your needs

“Your fingers, please” You plead, he pushes his cock back into your mouth and finally touches you the way he knows you like 

“Yeah? You wanna come on my fingers?” One of his fingers pushes inside of you making you moan, the vibrations feeling so good on his dick that he can’t help but moan with you “You’re doing so good pretty girl, just like that” he hums when you swirl your tongue around him pushing another finger inside of you and rubbing your clit with his thumb “You can take more than that though” His hand that is still tangled in your hair pushes your head down, you fight him pulling up “No, you can take it baby, I know you can take it” He can feel you pulsing on his fingers making him pick up his pace, your moans drowned by his dick in your mouth “Take it all and i’ll make you come” You shake your head as best as you can to tell him you can’t “No? Okay then” He pulls his fingers out of you making you whine at the loss of contact “You know what to do baby”

“You’re an asshole” You tell him coming up for air before taking him back in your mouth, Mat just chuckles knowing he’s about to get what he wants, relaxing your throat you do down, taking him deeper until you have taken him all 

“Oh yeah” Mat moans “See? I knew you could do it”  After making you come once with his fingers, Mat pushes you down until your back is on the mattress, he wipes your chin off and kisses you harshly before trailing a kiss down your chest until he’s by your hips kissing you there a couple times before his tongue finds your clit, alternating between sucking on it and kissing it

“Mmm Mat” You gasp, your hips pushing up but he holds them in place “Too much, can’t” 

He looks up at you, your hair messily sprung on his pillows, your cheeks flushed, your lips swollen “You taste too good, can’t stop baby, let me eat you out, please, you can take it, give me another one” Your nod is all he needs to go back to devouring you, using his fingers to help him and it doesn’t take long for your to release all over him, your overstimulation speeding up your orgasm

He comes back up with a smile on his face, his lips and chin glistering with your juices “God you’re too good” You tell him pulling him down into a kiss

“And we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet” He says reminding you of the erection that pokes at your stomach, he gives himself a few strokes before teasing your overstimulated pussy making you whine 

“I don’t think I can take another one” You tell him making his smile widen in cockiness, he knows you can come for him again, he’s tested you before 

“I need to remind you that I can give you a better time than whatever his name is can” His dick presses on your opening and even though you’re exhausted your body seems to disagree with you, your hips pushing up looking for more “Just one more and we can rest” 

The moan you let out when he burries himself deep into you has to be his new favorite sound, every time he’s with you he thinks there’s no way things can get better, but they do, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how your body reacts to him, how your eyes roll back and your mouth parts, the sounds you make for him, and most importantly, the way your pussy feels so tight around his dick, his hands trail every curve of your body, taking his time especially with your tits as he pumps in and out, pinching your nipples before taking one in his mouth 

“Mat” You whine “‘M close, so close oh god” 

Mat moves to give your other nipple some attention never once interrupting the rhythm of his hips that clap against yours, you come not too long after, your legs curling around his middle, your orgasm triggers his and he finally releases your nipple to give you a kiss before sliding off of you making you hiss in discomfort as he does “Still wanna leave?” he asks laying next to you 

You scoff at him trying to get out of bed to go to the bathroom and clean yourself, but just sitting down is too much work, your body already beginning to ache not only from the three orgasms he gave you just now, but from the ones you shared last night as well, not wanting to show him how spent he’s left you you ignore your body moving to get up, but your legs tremble the second your feet touch the floor, and you know if you stand right now you’ll resemble baby bambi 

“What’s the matter baby, thinking about staying?” Mat laughs behind you getting up and putting his boxers on before walking into his bathroom leaving you sitting there staring at him in annoyance, he doesn’t take too long and when he comes back he has a warm towel in his hands, kneeling down in front of you and cleaning you, then picking you up bridal style and taking you with him to the bathroom sitting you in the toilet so you can pee 

“I’m still leaving” You point at him “Just maybe not tonight” You see his cocky smile thinking he’s won, and technically he has, but not for long because as soon as you’re back in bed, with clean underwear and one of his t-shirts covering you, you change your flight from this afternoon to tomorrow morning

[magnetokisser]

Can you write Clark Kent x reader (ft. Perry White) who is a newswoman for the Daily Planet and is Perry White's daughter. Lmao the idea of Clark dating his bosses daughter is so funny to me. He is so shy and akward, him being more nervous all of a sudden after y'all start dating, trying to keep the affection on the down low. Knowing damn well you can't hide anything from your dad, or a building full of journalists, who job it is to you know, figure out the new!!!!!!

the daily planet's worst kept secret!

summary: despite your father’s growing disdain for Clark Kent, you can’t stay away from him.

pairing: clark kent x reader

warnings: none!

word count: over 1.7k i lost count

author's note: my first request omg!!! Im sorry this took so long to write, I’ve been swamped with testing and school. Life’s been catching up with me, but I hope you enjoy!! Perry’s a gossip girl in this :p. also, my requests are still open!

you thought you were being sneaky, but alas, nobody could ever hide anything from perry white. especially when it had to do with his daughter and a co worker.

he didn’t necessarily hate clark kent, he just enjoyed giving him a tough time. besides, his old fling with lois lane was something he enjoyed watching. to him, love was a world that clark didn’t know how to navigate. so imagine his surprise when he found out you were dating the daily planet’s resident golden boy. he had questions— and he had a lot of them.

that’s how you found yourself here, sitting in front of your father’s oak desk. it was place right in front of a window that you felt was far too big, and was a pure invasion of privacy. but your father was all about invading privacy— be it yours, or your now not so secret boyfriends.

“you know why you’re in here?” he asked, placing a fat cigar in his mouth. this made you frown, the smoking. but it was apart of his character, was it not?

“stop talking like that, you’re not a cop.” you grumbled, placing one leg over the over as you crossed your arms. despite his tough exterior, you two were still able to joke with one another. it was just one of those things that flowed easily between the two of you. “when were you going to tell me, your father, might i remind you, that you were dating clark kent?” he asked, leaning over the desk. his eyes bore into yours, but you could see the hint of amusement in them. he’d give you shit about it, but he just wanted you to be happy.

“i would have told you eventually. you know, maybe once i’m a couple hundred miles away from you.” you smiled, finally relaxing in your seat. he let out an over exaggerated exhale, rolling his eyes as he did so.

“why kent?” he asked, puffing out a cloud of smoke as he clicked around on his computer, his brows furrowed in curiosity and slight confusion. you had a sigh of your own to let out at this question. you were never able to tell if he liked clark or not— which is exactly why you weren’t ready to bring the man around your father just yet. he was an intimidating guy, and clark was one of the most shy and awkward people you’ve ever met. just thinking about it felt like an understatement.

“because he’s kind and treats me well? and he’s very caring, thank you very much.” you explained. “oh, and he’s superman!” you thought, wondering how your father would react to that. but that was clark’s place to tell him— if he ever did. not yours.

“let me find out he tries something you don’t like..” he trailed off, giving you the stink eye. you rolled your eyes and stood up, brushing your skirt off as you looked at him. “i know, dad. you’ll tear him a new one and probably fire him.” you smiled, walking around his desk to give him a side hug. you swore he was almost as grumpy as batman.

you eventually left his office and returned back to work. just because you were his daughter didn’t mean you were exempt from working. you had to work the same boring journaling job as everyone else.

the day went by as it usually did. superman saves the city, and the daily planet is on it. even though they’ve been separated for a while now, lois still couldn’t give up the role of being superman’s star reporter. as much as it made your stomach churn, you knew everything would be fine.. right?

wrong. you were completely and utterly wrong. walking into the break room, you ran into your father giving a very jittery clark the stink eye and the infamous ‘you hurt my daughter and i’ll hurt you’ talk.

“dad!” you exclaimed, rushing over to clark with a frown. the poor guy looked like he was ready to have a heart attack. “why are you patronizing him?!” you asked, moving to cover clark. to anyone walking in, it would look comedic. clark was so much bigger than you were, it was like a child trying to hide behind a lamp.

“i was not.. patronizing him. i was just giving him a very down to earth talk!” your father said, giving you a look full of fake innocence. you raised a brow, watching as he looked back at clark. “i wasn’t patronizing you was i, kent?” he asked, causing you to deadpan and turn around to look at your blue eyed boyfriend. “don’t answer that. and if you do, don’t lie just because he’s your boss. if he fires you, i’ll quit too.” you spoke, a grumble from your father coming from where he was at across the room.

clark swallowed, his eyes darting between you and your father. “i-i wouldn’t say patronizing..” he trailed off, averting his gaze from yours. “you know what— clark, we’re going to the cafe next door on break. a little date!” you said, glaring at your father. he’d have to accept your and clark’s relationship sooner or later. with that thought in your mind, you grabbed clark’s hand and dragged him out of the break room.

the next few weeks were.. calm, to say the least. your father kept bothering clark, but only how he did before he found out the two of you were dating. you knew something was off about it, but you couldn’t exactly pinpoint what. that was until cat grant finally broke and started asking you a bunch of questions about clark. so your father let it break. how wonderful.

“sooo? you and kent?” the blonde sang, standing next to you as you filled up your coffee. you had to bite back a groan and hold yourself back from rolling your eyes.

"yes he's amazing, no he's not using me to get over lois, and yes perry knows." you said, rolling your eyes. “and i know dad sent you over here to try and figure out if there’s trouble in paradise, but there’s not. you can go ahead and tell him clark is taking me to some fancy restaurant tonight.” you spoke, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. with that, you strut off, going back to work.

later, you found yourself getting ready for your date. this was the most expensive one to date, with clark saying something about having a friend who paid for it for free. you wondered where he got all of these friends from.. either way, you were excited. you had only hoped your father hadn’t scared him away. your thoughts were soon interrupted by a knock on your front door, and you smiled. rushing over, you opened the door, meeting a red faced clark who was holding flowers.

“you– you said you liked these.. but if you don’t, i can just throw them away!” the blue eyed giant stammered, holding a bouquet of red hyacinths. you felt your face grow hot as you took them, your eyes meeting his. “thank you, clark. they’re lovely. this feels more like a first date than our first date actually was.” you giggled, setting the flowers inside before meeting him outside and locking the door behind you. you watched as he visibly relaxed, seeming like a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. he lifted his arm and let you take it, leading you towards the lobby of your apartment building. every time clark took you on a date, you’d walk. not because you didn’t like driving, but because you enjoyed taking as much time as possible to spend with him. today was the only exception, as the restaurant was halfway across the city.

“my dad hasn’t been giving you a hard time, has he?” you asked, your voice soft as you looked up at him. his blue eyes met yours, and you nearly melted on the spot. “no– well, i have to say no, because he’s your dad, but i think he’s just acting how every dad would!” he nervously laughed. he opened your car door, smiling as you kissed his cheek before getting in. “my dad isn’t like other dads. he’s a bit.. how do i say this, psychotic when it comes to me?” you said, looking at clark as he got in the driver’s seat.

“i mean, he did say he’d fire me and make sure you never saw me again if i broke your heart, but..” he trailed off, backing out of the parking space. “he’s so aggressive. i doubt you could ever break my heart. besides, i get to say i’m dating superman,” you said, adding the last bit in a low whisper, “i’m practically the most special girl in the world.” you smiled. clark smiled, and the two of you talked for the rest of the car ride before stopping in front of some expensive restaurant. clark got out and opened your door for you before you could even think about getting out of the car, and it was almost comical how shy he still was. holding his hand, you followed clark into the restaurant, looking around in awe.

“i want to know who this friend is and where you found them at.” you said, wide eyes gazing around the room. clark chuckled, his body vibrating as he did so. he was so shy all the time, you almost forgot how deep his voice was. “uh.. one day.” he said, his face a soft tone of red.

the two of you were quickly seated, and you were quick to look at the menu. clark didn’t say anything and listened to you talk about how good or how weird the food looked, staring at you with love in his eyes. and no, he wouldn’t tell you that he noticed perry in the corner of the restaurant hiding behind a newspaper.

you looked up, your eyes meeting his through his long eyelashes. his eyes were full of love and affection, making your heart stutter. you paused for a moment before your lips slightly curled up in a smile, and you knew that you were set for life. clark was everything you could've wanted in a man, and to top it off, he was literally a symbol of hope.

you were pulled out of your thoughts by clark, who had his head tilted as he looked at you. "you're staring at me and smiling. are you making fun of me in your head?" he asked, his voice holding a nervous undertone to it. he always worried too much-- but it was endearing. to you, it showed he cared.

"you worry too much. i was just thinking about how lucky i am to have you." you explained, taking his hands across the table. he blushed, a shy smile gracing his features as he took in your words.

the rest of dinnee went well-- clark felt like everything was perfect. he was more comfortable and had gotten you buttered up. he didn't even notice the look of begrudging approval perry gave him before leaving the resturant, and didn't miss the text your father sent you as he carried a very sleepy you into his apartment. though, something told him perry wouldn't stop the teasing.

[shocked-collar]

We’ve got Ren, we’ve got Law… Now could we get advice for writing Strade? Thank you in advance!!! Love your writing so much!!! :33 <3

YOU GUYS ARE LITERALLY GONNA MAKE ME EXPLODE.

erm. cough. ung.

im actually not that. happy or confident in the way i write strade. idk what it is, so,,,, take this one with,, a LOT more than a grain of salt.

AGAIN, OBVIOUS DISCLAIMER, I'm not Gato and only she truly knows her characters and I am just throwing out my personal interpretation.

Strade, unlike Ren and Lawrence doesn't have many rules at all. In fact, he only has three, MAYBE four when I write him.

First one being that he's impulsive and does what he wants when he wants. It really is just that simple for him. He has preferences though, so that means he's predictable if you know him and therefore less terrifying. He can also be easily swayed into a different direction, but his mind can change just as quickly.

Second one is that he's very, very smart, but not intelligent. He's so incredibly egotistical and prideful that thinking of flaws in his system isn't even an idea to him. He would know this structure is flawless! He built it! Additionally, Strade's often too caught up in the moment to actually check on your restraints, but it's not exactly hard to miss them either. It's up to fate, essentially. This goes for your wounds as well! Good luck!

Third rule is dedicated to Strade's ego. He values his sense of self above all else. He'll do anything to anyone and will try pretty much anything once, unless it puts him in a submissive or small position. Embarrassment is a feeling that man can NOT stomach. It makes him flee as soon as he possibly can- though embarrassing him is not easy to do as his pride is stronger than a steel wall.

And I said MAYBE four rules because this one can be included in the first one, but- Strade acts on impulse. Whatever he wants he gets, and that is sometimes something kind. He can be kind. Absolutely not in large amounts and it's not common, but it can happen! Sometimes he gets fuzzy and feels his sad little captive needs a shower, or perhaps a sweet treat to raise those spirits. Aside from treating his captives, he's also a pretty sweet guy when out and about. Does favors for his neighbors because he has the skills and likes the validation. He also gets off on being a good person in the eyes of strangers because he knows that they don't know what happens at home.

It's all about moods. Strade doesn't have some secret dark-side, it's all the same dude. Like when I sit down to draw vs sit down to write, I'm still me, I'm just writing or drawing. This is his ideology. That being said, Strade likes to live as one whole unit when he has a captive unless he's in a specific mood to be a big bad guy. He'll come down and ask how you're feeling sometimes. He'll bring a plate just to sit with you and complain about his day, or fucking Janice from the store, thinking she gets ALL the baby-pink yarn. He doesn't even knit, he just knew she was hogging it all so he took a skein. You wanna skein of baby-pink yarn??? Boom, you have one now. I'd say he's a pretty decent guy when you don't have his target on your back, which makes it all so much sadder.

Furthermore, he almost never feels bad about his actions, but there is a single night perhaps once every year where he'll stare at his ceiling wondering if he can be fixed. It is very quickly snuffed out by his fucking NEED to defend himself TO himself, but the seed is planted there nonetheless. What's the point of living if you're not enjoying the gift of life? It's not a privilege, it's a right, and if you wasted yours by finding yourself in his basement, oh-fucking-well. That's on you.

[talesfromawannabewriter]

@beef-brisket

warning ⚠️: smut ahead, a bit descriptive

Lilith hummed in response as situated herself from where she lay in Satan’s arms. Lucifer had gone away for a few days in envy for an emergency of some sort. That meant it gave the two another excuse to fool around.

Lilith always did love when they did it in her own home. It made her feel like when she was in the garden. Only this time the stakes were much bigger since was deceiving the king of all Hell.

That just makes things a bit…juicy she would say.

She giggled as Satan started to lick her neck. His sandpaper tongue causing goosebumps.

Lilith: You know I should tell him about it, might give him something to do. Maybe even help with asserting his dominance. Not like he’s ever been good at that, the pathetic little man he is.

Satan: Hmm, does the translate for when you two are intimate.

He said taking a break from her neck and decided to get on her again. Lilith grinned wickedly and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Lilith: Just between you and me, he’s better at taking orders than he is giving them.

Satan: Hehe, thought so. Now, want me to fuck you again you little bitch?

Lilith blushed but nodded. If anyone else had talked to her like that she would have killed them on the spot. But this wasn’t simply anyone.

This was her lover, her paramour.

Lilith gasped in pleasure at the feeling of his massive cock entering her tight hole. She moaned as he started to rock his hips against her.

Satan: Tell me I’m better than him.

Lilith: Your, your, your b, better!

Satan: How am I better?

Lilith: Your not a scrawny little twink for one!

Satan: Damn right! Say more!

Lilith: You take charge, you’re amazing!

Satan: Damn fucking straight!

Lilith: You make me see Heaven, not like him!

Satan: He’s boring isn’t he!?

Lilith: SO FUCKING BORING!!! I HATE HIM!

Satan: BET HE’S NEVER DONE THIS THEN!

He stopped for a second making Lilith cry out. She was so freaking close and she needed release. She let out a sigh as she felt not only him starting again but the feeling of his hot mouth on her bud.

She almost came alone just from him giving it a small bite. His tongue continued to circle around it while his dick kept pumping in and out of her. Her legs were raised high, her starting to curl as she felt the pressure start to build up like a damn ready to burst.

Satan: WHOSE MY BITCH!?

Lilith: YOURS IM YOURS!

With those words both of them immediately came. With Satan’s dick so large much of the jizz spilling out of the Queen. The sin of wrath slid right out of her and lay down.

Both of them were panting as they tried to catch their breath.

Lilith: That…was….amazing…like….always.

Lucifer: Im sure it was my dear.

The sound of Lucifer’s voice echoed throughout the bedchamber. The two demons screamed as they sat up and saw none other than the Morningstar himself leaning against the wall staring at them with a look that conspired of forlorn and anger.

The Sin of Lust

@beef-brisket

Adam knew deep down. He had his suspicions on what his wife was doing. Now he knew.

For the evidence was staring him right in the face a few yards away. There under the shade of the tree that held the forbidden fruit were Eve, Lucifer, and Lilith committing the act of carnal knowledge.

The past week Eve had been a bit distant. Always making excuses as to where she was and what she was doing. Deep down he had a feeling of who she was seeing.

She acted the same way Lilith had before she left.

Now Adam stared with dull eyes as Lucifer had his face and mouth on Eve’s vagina with the second woman moaning in pleasure. Lilith stood by and watched her lover take Eve as she bit her lips.

Her face held an expression he could not pronounce but knew what it was deep down. For a split second her amethyst gaze met his and she smirked. She had won.

She took his first time.

She took his angel.

and now she took Eve.

She had completely broken the first man.

In her mind that meant she won. But Adam wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of rubbing it in. Turning on his heels he left the women and Angel to their devices.

He was done. He was not going to stick around and be stuck in a marriage with someone who obviously doesn’t love him. He wasn’t going to let the angels make another wife only for her to fall for the charms of that snake.

In fact he wasn’t going to be fulfilling his duties as the future father of humanity. Or as the first man. Someone else can have it.

He wouldn’t live in a place where everywhere he turned he was reminded of betrayal. Even the spots that once held sweet memories soured.

Soon he had made it to his destination. After making sure the angels guarding the gates weren’t looking he crept towards the doors of Eden. Turning back one last time he said only one thing.

Adam: Goodbye.

With all his might he pushed the doors open and stepped out into the world before him. Unaware of the consequences that this act of defiance would have on his soul.

[theoddholloway]

One day I will feel the motivation to think about my original characters again. I can't think of them without feeling sick for some reason. Burnout sucks...

Or maybe my interest will never come back, and I will completely give in to wasting away, idk.

[arsenicflame]

Izzy Hands leaning by the window in the galley, taking the weight off his bad leg, his head tipped back, eyes closed, not quite fully awake yet. He listens to the sound of the pot on the stove as the dawn sun starts to stream in through the windows, glinting off the hilt of his sword- He's not so put together this early, with nobody around to see him, almost soft in the way his sleeves hang loose & he hasn't yet put on his glove. On the table rests his personal logbook, waiting for him to plan out the tasks for the day, but that can wait until he's had his coffee.

[squuote]

comparing dialogue once again as you do. anyway. this cut dialogue from the other games ending vs the the 2011/ultra deluxe final game dialogue is interesting. frying my mind a bit.

no deeper meaning to this post i just think it is. intriguing. i love dialogue comparisons sorry </3

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

save them tbh