#performance testing approach

[timegears]

i say i prefer the second half of terastral debut but honestly i think they half-ass the tests even more here

[fionnaskyborn]

every day (overstatement) i come up with increasingly more ridiculous ideas on how to approach fighting games

[reasonsforhope]

"Morningside Park, a beloved neighborhood park in Miami with sweeping views of Biscayne Bay, will soon pilot an innovative approach to coastal resilience.

BIOCAP tiles, a 3D-printed modular system designed to support marine life and reduce wave impact along urban seawalls, will be installed on the existing seawall there in spring 2025. BIOCAP stands for Biodiversity Improvement by Optimizing Coastal Adaptation and Performance.

Developed by our team of architects and marine biologists at Florida International University, the uniquely textured prototype tiles are designed to test a new approach for helping cities such as Miami adapt to rising sea levels while simultaneously restoring ecological balance along their shorelines...

Ecological costs of traditional seawalls

Seawalls have long served as a primary defense against coastal erosion and storm surges. Typically constructed of concrete and ranging from 6 to 10 feet in height, they are built along shorelines to block waves from eroding the land and flooding nearby urban areas.

However, they often come at an ecological cost. Seawalls disrupt natural shoreline dynamics and can wipe out the complex habitat zones that marine life relies on.

Marine organisms are crucial in maintaining coastal water quality by filtering excess nutrients, pollutants and suspended particles. A single adult oyster can filter 20-50 gallons of water daily, removing nitrogen, phosphorus and solids that would otherwise fuel harmful algal blooms. These blooms deplete oxygen levels and damage marine ecosystems.

Filter-feeding organisms also reduce turbidity, which is the cloudiness of water caused by suspended sediment and particles. Less water turbidity means more light can penetrate, which benefits seagrasses that require sunlight for photosynthesis. These seagrasses convert carbon dioxide into oxygen and energy-rich sugars while providing essential food and habitat for diverse marine species.

Swirling shapes, shaded grooves

Unlike the flat, lifeless surfaces of typical concrete seawalls, each BIOCAP tile is designed with shaded grooves, crevices and small, water-holding pockets. These textured features mimic natural shoreline conditions and create tiny homes for barnacles, oysters, sponges and other marine organisms that filter and improve water quality.

The tile’s swirling surface patterns increase the overall surface area, offering more space for colonization. The shaded recesses are intended to help regulate temperature by providing cooler, more stable microenvironments. This thermal buffering can support marine life in the face of rising water temperatures and more frequent heat events driven by climate change.

Another potential benefit of the tiles is reducing the impact of waves.

When waves hit a natural shoreline, their energy is gradually absorbed by irregular surfaces, tide pools and vegetation. In contrast, when waves strike vertical concrete seawalls, the energy is reflected back into the water rather than absorbed. This wave reflection – the bouncing back of wave energy – can amplify wave action, increase erosion at the base of the wall and create more hazardous conditions during storms.

The textured surfaces of the BIOCAP tiles are designed to help diffuse wave energy by mimicking the natural dissipation found on undisturbed shorelines.

The design of BIOCAP takes cues from nature. The tile shapes are based on how water interacts with different surfaces at high tide and low tide. Concave tiles, which curve inward, and convex tiles, which curve outward, are installed at different levels along the seawall. The goal is to deflect waves away from the seawall, reduce direct impact and help minimize erosion and turbulence around the wall’s foundation.A

How we will measure success

After the BIOCAP tiles are installed, we plan to assess how the seawall redesign enhances biodiversity, improves water quality and reduces wave energy. This two-year pilot phase will help assess the long-term value of ecologically designed infrastructure.

To evaluate biodiversity, we will use underwater cameras to capture time-lapse imagery of the marine life that colonizes the tile surfaces. These observations will aid in documenting species diversity and habitat use over time...

In the coming year, we’ll be watching with hope as the new BIOCAP tiles begin to welcome marine life, offering a glimpse into how nature might reclaim and thrive along our urban shorelines.

[flimsy-roost]

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[joonieskinks]

Simon “please will you be my fake girlfriend” Riley

Simon couldn’t be happier for John. Finally, he’s met a woman whose head over heels for him, who will stick around during the hard times. The man deserves this, deserves her. It’s about time they got married after all.

Today is his wedding day, and Simon was actually delighted to receive an invite. Although he had to dress up a bit for the event and all, he didn’t mind. It was for one of his greatest friends, and the energy in the room was so positive, so supportive. He can honestly say he felt happy to be here.

That was until he spotted eager mamas eyeing him at the reception, no doubt coming over to set him up with their daughters. Nope- he was not having that whatsoever. He went into full panic mode, trying to avoid their eyes, their presence that was ever closing in on him. Simon turned straight around and made his way to the bar where he found you.

“Gosh, how long does it take to find white wine-?” You complain under your breath before the handsome stranger from the corner of your eye interrupts you.

“Pleasewillyoubemyfakegirlfriend?” The rather tall man asks frantically as your eyes finally meet. Yours, rather confused, and his, rather desperate.

“Uh- sure?” You laugh nervously as you sip your wine that just arrived.

“Great- M’ Simon, I’m from England, I work in the military, we’ve been together six months, ‘right love?.” He explains rather quickly, eyes darting back and forth between you and the mamas rapidly approaching.

But you get the message.

“You can call me that “love” of yours, I work for the government if you should know and you have to act like you want me for this to work, Simon.” You pull him down by his tie to whisper in his ear.

“If you want them to stay away, touch me.” You kiss his cheek and pull away, performing with a laugh.

It disarms Simon how effortless you make this seem, how quick witted you are - this mysterious yet willing woman at the bar. You’ve truly peaked his interest and he’s so grateful. So yea, absolutely he will touch you, a gorgeous woman in this gorgeous dress.

Simon takes you by the waist, pulling you to his body, whispering back how beautiful you look. It makes you blush, looking back at him rather surprised. He’s equally surprised by his own bold actions, but he plays it off good enough and smiles. Glancing at your pink cheeks with a “good” as you’re both interrupted.

“Simon, darling! There you are!” One woman says.

“I’ve been looking for you! May I present my daughter, Bridgette. She’s a nurse in London as a matter of fact.” Another states proudly.

“I’m terribly sorry, mam”, you interrupt, turning towards Simon and tidying up his tie. Your fingers brushing up against his chest, his throat, it gives him shivers. Any excuse to touch him really was your thought process-

“But I’m afraid he’s already spoken for. As of six months ago tonight, actually. Isn’t that right, darling?.” A proud smile on your face, and Simon just thinks you’re absolutely hypnotizing. Tongue in cheek, yes, but he already wants it to be real, to be yours. He just hopes you’ll say yes to dinner after this, and that you actually didn’t accompany anyone here.

“Yea, this is my girlfriend…” he starts, completely blanking.

My God, he didn’t even know your name, and yet he’s utterly entranced. Talk about a backwards way to start off a relationship.

“Y/N,” you stick out a hand to the mama and her nurse daughter, but they just painfully smile, clearly trying to decline “politely”. With that, they mutter an excuse and walk away, already sniffing for the next eligible bachelor around this evening.

“Well. That’s that then. You’re very welcome, boyfriend dearest.” You tease, bringing your wine glass back up to your lips, admiring his features. He really is a handsome man, it surprises you he doesn’t have anyone special in his life.

“Thank you for your help, Y/N.” He says your name on purpose, he wants to test it out on his tongue. He finds he rather likes it. You do as well.

“Can I get you another drink? On me…” Simon shyly asks, leaning against the bar.

“If it means you’ll stay and have one with me, then yes.” You flirt, waiting for his reaction. Alas, a blush appears on his cheeks. It makes you smile, a big, gorgeous man like this- yet he’s rather timid. It’s sweet really.

“It’s nice to meet you Simon, formally.” You stick out your hand for him to shake. His eyes meet your own and he smiles before taking it. Your hands are so soft, he wants to touch you always if it’s like this.

“Likewise, love.”

You two spent the rest of the night together, by the bar chatting, walking through the gardens getting to know one another, he asked you to dance. Hell, even Price and his new bride thought you two were together by the end of the night.

It took an official date or two, but eventually you were.

Who knows, maybe you two would be the next to get hitched. Simon certainly hopes so.

[verstappenverse]

The Price of the Podium

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: In the relentless pursuit of racing glory, Max faces the emotional fallout of missing an important weekend in his relationship, leaving your future uncertain.

1.5k words / Part 2 / Masterlist

Max's heart raced as the engine of his RedBull roared beneath him. The familiar hum had become a source of comfort, a steady rhythm that guided him through countless laps and countless victories. But today it felt different, a harbinger of an approaching storm that threatened to dismantle everything he held dear.

The season had been merciless. Each race had been a relentless pursuit of perfection, each lap a battle against time and competitors. Max understood that this world demanded sacrifices, but lately the weight of those sacrifices had changed.

When Max glanced at his phone during a fleeting moment of respite his stomach dropped as a surge of guilt swept over him. A string of missed calls and urgent messages from you filled the screen, each one more desperate than the last.

Hey, can you please call me when you get a chance? I need to talk to you.

Max, you’re really starting to worry me. I don’t understand what's going on?

It’s been three days since we spoke properly. Can you at least let me know you’re okay?

Max’s gaze fell on the calendar, he had promised again to visit your extended family this weekend, a significant step for you both that had been previously filled with excitement and anticipation. Your family were eager to meet him, and Max had been looking forward to it as well. But now with the punishing schedule of the season, he was struggling to find even a moment to breathe, let alone make the trip.

He knew he was being a coward, but it was easier to avoid the situation than confront it directly and risk letting down the person who mattered most.

As Max approached the racetrack for another testing session, the weight of his choices hit him like a sledgehammer. He was about to miss an important milestone in your life together and he didn't think you'd be so forgiving this time.

His mind was full of conflicting emotions. He wanted to be there for you, to prove to your family that he was serious about your relationship, but the world of racing had a way of consuming everything in its path leaving no room for personal commitments.

The testing session was a blur. Max’s driving was flawless, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The track blurred into an endless ribbon of asphalt. He pushed himself to the limit, hoping that the adrenaline would drown out the guilt gnawing at his conscience.

Finally, the session ended. Max’s team were in high spirits celebrating the improved performance. He barely registered their enthusiasm, his mind was occupied with the image of you waiting for him in a small town, wondering why he had not shown up. He could picture you there, waiting for him, checking the clock, wondering if he’d even bothered to leave. And it wasn’t just about this weekend, it was about every missed call, every text he hadn’t answered, every promise he’d let slide.

The moment Max stepped out of the car he took a deep breath and pulled out his phone. He dialed your number hoping against hope that you would answer. After a few rings your voice came through the line tinged with weariness and frustration.

“Max?”

“Hey, I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been out of touch.”

“Out of touch? You’ve been completely absent! I was supposed to introduce you to my family this weekend. It was important to me.”

“I know. I wanted to be there, but things just got out of hand here. I’ve been trying to make time, but…”

“But what Max? You keep saying you’re trying, but you’re never here. There's always an excuse.”

“I’m really sorry, I’ve been working so hard this season...I thought I could make it work, I just…”

“You know what? I don’t want to hear more excuses right now. You’ve missed something important to me again, and it hurts. I needed you here, and you weren’t.”

The silence on the other end of the line was heavy, almost unbearable. Max could feel the pain that you were struggling to mask, like a knife twisting in his gut. It cut him deeper than any criticism he’d ever faced on the track.

“Please. I know I messed up, I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“Make it up to me? I don’t even know if that’s possible anymore. This wasn’t like the other times when you just forgot or lost track of time; you made the choice not to come. I’ve tried to be understanding... I know how hard this season has been, and I know how much time and dedication it takes. I never wanted to undermine that. But I don’t know how much longer we can do this. I get it, you have to make tough choices sometimes, and I’ve done my best to support you, to step back and let you focus on your goals. But it’s happening too often now and it feels like every time, you’re choosing this… this life over us. Over me. Every single time.”

Max’s throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to explain more, but he also knew that he couldn't keep making excuses for his absence, and he couldn’t bear to hurt you anymore. He’d run out of explanations, out of promises he knew he couldn’t keep.

He wanted to say something, anything to fix it, but he could hear the finality in your voice. You’d reached a breaking point, one he’d seen coming but had been too afraid to acknowledge.

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally whispered, the words feeling hollow even as he spoke them.

The silence stretched on.

“I understand if you need space.” he murmured, barely able to get the words out, blinking back tears.

Your voice was barely a whisper throat locking up, it felt like he was giving up. Was this even worth fighting for if he wasn't?

Then, in a voice so small it broke his heart all over again, you whispered, “You’re right. Maybe space is what we need right now.'

The line went dead, leaving Max alone in the garage. The celebration of the session’s success felt hollow. The echoes of the track still rang in his ears mingling with the ache of your absence.

In the days that followed Max tried to bury himself in the upcoming races, hoping that the endless rush would drown out the regret gnawing at him. He avoided reaching out to you honouring your request for space.

Each day felt like an endless rotation of driving, media commitments, and sleepless nights. The thrill of racing was overshadowed by the growing distance between you and him.

You had always been patient and understanding of the demands of Max’s career. You had supported him through the highs and lows, celebrating his victories and comforting him through the losses, but it hadn’t been enough. Each missed call and unanswered message chipped away at your resolve. You couldn’t keep repeating the same cycles and expecting a different result.

The weekend you had planned for Max to meet your family was meant to be a milestone, a step toward a future together. Instead, it felt like a crushing disappointment.

You replayed the conversations you had with Max in your mind, trying to reconcile the man you loved with the absence he had become. You had pictured this weekend as a chance for Max to understand the importance of your family, to see the life you had outside of his world.

The hurt and frustration you felt were compounded by a growing sense of doubt, doubt that maybe this life of constant motion had created a rift too wide to bridge.

You needed time to process the hurt, to focus on yourself and figure out where to go from here. The support you had hoped for seemed distant and unreliable, and the future you had envisioned together felt uncertain.

Loving him had been a beautiful dream, but you knew it was time, you hesitated just a moment before hitting send.

Max,

I need you to know that I’m not angry anymore. I’m just… tired. I need to focus on myself right now.

Max read the message over and over, his hands trembling. The message was brief and seemingly final. The reality of your words sank in, there was no dramatic declarations, no harsh accusations, just a simple statement of exhaustion, a quiet resignation that tore through him. He wanted to call, to beg you to come back, but he knew it was too late.

As the season drew to a close, Max stood on the podium, the roar of the crowd a distant echo, his gaze searching as if somehow he’d see you there. The trophy was in his hands, but it didn't feel like he had expected. He looked out over the crowd searching for a sense of fulfilment that seemed to elude him, it all felt like ashes without you beside him.

Max only thought of you as he stood amidst the celebrations, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that in the pursuit of his dreams he had sacrificed something far more precious, and wondered if there was a path back to what he had lost.

[sunshinesfreckless]

hear me the fuckkkk out its like 4am as i write this ill check over it before i send (tf i cooked so hard at 4am)

so hyunjin oneshot with him spooning reader, lazily fingering her as shes doing like duolingo or wordle or sudoku or sum that requires brain power and clarity and then if she gets it wrong hes mumbling in her ear in like a deep silky voice like that one live where he was singing red lights ab how what hes gna do if she gets it wrong n shii. also him trailing kisses down her neck the whole time teasing her tryna see how much she can stand with still using her brain? pretty please 🐸🐸🙏🙏

p.s. ily ur writing is top tier i was looking thru my following tryna see who could write it well i saw ur blog i js knew

Academic Achievements

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

Summary: Hyunjin tries to motivate his hardworking girlfriend in his own… effective way.

Warnings: Fingering, vaginal sex, no condom (Wrap it before you tap it, guys—tsk!), praise kink, Hyunjin being irresistible, mentions of exams…

A/N: Sweetie, I hope you like it! I was so nervous—I went through so many drafts, but this is the final one!

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

She hated exams. God, she hated them. But what she hated even more were these stupid mock tests — endless questions, pressure without the payoff, and the constant anxiety gnawing at her chest.

Hyunjin’s room was dim, the bedside lamp casting a soft amber glow that flickered against the walls. She sat in the middle of his bed, buried in a sea of pillows and his warm vanilla-scented sheets, wearing nothing but his oversized shirt that slipped too easily off one shoulder. The fabric brushed against her bare thighs, the hem riding up every time she shifted with a frustrated sigh.

Across the room, Hyunjin was quietly going through his night routine — shirtless, skin glowing from his skincare, the gentle tap of lotion bottles the only sound besides her annoyed mumbling. He watched her, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Baby,” he murmured, his voice low and lazy as he approached the bed, “are you gonna sleep tonight, or just keep arguing with your quiz app?”

She ignored him, chewing on her lip, eyes narrowed at the screen. “Almost done.”

Hyunjin chuckled and climbed into bed beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. He slid an arm around her waist, pulling her snugly against him, his chest flush with her back. She could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the softness of his lips ghosting just behind her ear.

“Your elbow’s gonna hurt from all that head weight,” he whispered teasingly. “At least lie on your back for a bit.”

She shook her head. “I can go study in the kitchen if it bothers you… I know you have a performance tomorrow.”

He didn’t let go. Instead, he nuzzled into her hair, speaking against her neck. “It’s not even live. Just some award show. I’d rather stay here. With you.”

His fingers slipped under the hem of the shirt she wore — his shirt — fingertips just barely brushing the bare skin of her hip. She sucked in a quiet breath, the tension in her shoulders faltering for just a second.

“Stay here and keep studying,” he murmured, voice low and warm against her neck. His hand lazily traced slow, deliberate circles across her stomach, just beneath the hem of his shirt. “I won’t be a distraction.”

She gave a half-smile. “No sweetheart, don’t you get distracted,” she teased softly.

He hummed, lips brushing her shoulder, but didn’t answer. Her attention drifted back to the screen, mock exam blinking back at her. She exhaled, refocused, and tapped her answer.

But his fingers moved lower.

They barely ghosted over the waistband of her panties — soft, testing — then down further, tracing lightly over the thin fabric. She froze, breath catching.

“Jinnie…” she whispered, warning, pleading — not sure which.

“Keep going, baby,” he purred in her ear, his breath sending a shiver down her spine. “You can do your little test, can’t you?”

His fingers pressed more firmly now, rubbing slow, measured circles just over her clit. “Every wrong answer…” he paused, kissed the shell of her ear, “…and I’ll bury my fingers deeper.”

She whimpered.

“I wanna see how smart my baby really is,” he said. “See how long that pretty little brain can focus while I stretch you open.”

Her thumb trembled as she tapped the next question. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to get it right or wrong. Either way, she was already losing the battle.

“Next question. Don’t mess it up.”

Her thumb trembled as she tapped the screen. A math problem. Of course it had to be math. She squinted at the options, trying to remember the formula, trying not to react when his fingers gently parted her folds and brushed against her clit. Barely a touch, but enough to make her hips twitch.

“Mmh, what’s the answer, smart girl?” he asked, kissing her neck as his fingertip moved in slow, teasing circles over her slick skin. “C? Or D? Pick one before I do.”

She gasped and tapped an answer.

Silence.

“Wrong,” he whispered darkly, and before she could protest, one finger slipped inside her. Just the tip. Just enough to make her clench.

“Fuck…” she breathed, her body arching back into him involuntarily.

He held her tighter, his arm around her waist locking her in place. “Already this wet, and we’ve only just started?” he murmured, dragging his finger back out slowly, only to push it in again, deeper this time. “Let’s see how many more questions you can answer with my fingers fucking your brain.”

Her thumb hovered over the next question, pulse racing, breath shaky.

“Ten more to go,” Hyunjin said, tongue flicking over the shell of her ear. “And if you get even one more wrong, I’m going to make you come with my hand over your mouth so the neighbors don’t hear how dumb I’m making you.”

Her thumb trembled over the screen, the next question a blur through the heat building behind her eyes. She could barely remember what she was doing anymore — was it chemistry? Anatomy? Irony? Nothing mattered now except the steady, slow rhythm of Hyunjin’s finger sliding in and out of her, each movement dragging a gasp from her throat.

He buried his mouth in the curve of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. His voice, deep and low like silk over velvet, melted into her ear. “You’re not even trying anymore,” he whispered, kissing just below her jaw. “What happened to my little overachiever?”

She whimpered as he added another finger, the stretch just enough to make her thighs tighten. His pace didn’t change — slow, torturous — but his words made her feel dizzy.

“Focus,” he cooed, lips brushing her pulse. “Come on, baby. Get this one right and maybe I’ll fill you up later.”

A pause. Another kiss to her throat. “Get it wrong…” His fingers curled, just right. “And I’ll make you come again and again until you forget what exams even are.”

Her hips jerked, a soft moan caught in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. His hand kept her close, the other working her open so tenderly it felt cruel.

He tilted her chin slightly, voice lowering even more, like a secret. “You feel that, sweetheart? That’s how deep my fingers are inside you. Imagine what my cock would feel like.”

Her eyes fluttered closed.

“Nuh-uh,” Hyunjin whispered, dragging his thumb up to circle her clit. “Eyes on the screen. Be good. Show me how smart that pretty little brain.”

She clenched her jaw, refusing to let her hand shake as she tapped the next answer. It had to be right. She needed it to be right.

A second passed.

Hyunjin’s soft chuckle rumbled against her back. “Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of her neck. “That’s three in a row.”

Her breath caught, body tensing with need at the sound of those two words. Good girl. The way he said it — like it tasted sweet on his tongue — made her crave more. She needed more praise, more kisses, more of his slow, addictive voice wrapping around her.

“I knew you were smart,” he whispered, dragging his tongue along the shell of her ear. “Answer another one right and I might let you come with my fingers still inside you.”

His fingers pushed deeper, curling just right, making her hips roll back instinctively. And that’s when she felt it — the hard press of his cock through his boxers, grinding slow and steady against the curve of her ass. Her breath stuttered.

“Hyunjin—” she gasped.

“You feel that?” he murmured, rocking his hips into her again, achingly slow. “That’s what you do to me, sweetheart. Sitting here, all smart and needy in my shirt… trying so hard to stay focused while my fingers are deep inside your pretty little pussy…”

Her thighs trembled as she forced her eyes back to the screen. The next question blinked at her. She couldn’t even read it through the fog in her head — her whole body was vibrating with need, her clit throbbing against the soft brush of his thumb.

Still, she answered.

Right again.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice cracking with arousal now. “Look at you. You want my praise that bad, huh? Grinding that ass into me, all wet and eager, just to hear me say you’re doing good.”

He rolled his hips again, harder this time, dragging a moan from her lips.

“You’re killing me, baby,” he groaned, kissing down the line of her throat, his fingers moving faster now — deeper, hungrier. “But you’re being so good. So fucking good. Keep going for me, yeah? Let’s see how smart you can stay when I start fingering your brain out.”

Her fingers trembled as she tapped the next answer.

Another second passed. A soft ding.

“Right again,” Hyunjin murmured, voice thick with approval. “That’s four.”

His fingers stilled inside her. She whimpered, hips twitching to chase the rhythm, but he held her firmly in place.

“Don’t be greedy, baby,” he said, pulling his hand away completely. She gasped at the sudden emptiness.

“W-Why’d you stop?” she asked, voice shaking.

“Because good girls get rewarded, right?” He shifted behind her, the rustle of fabric loud in the quiet room. A moment later, she felt it — the heat of his bare skin against hers. He had pushed his boxers down, and now his cock was pressed along the curve of her ass, thick and hard and pulsing.

She shivered.

“That’s your reward,” he whispered, grinding against her slowly, deliberately. “Feel that? You’re making me this hard, baby. Just by getting your little quiz questions right.”

She whimpered, pressing her hips back into him. But his hand closed over her waist, halting her.

“Next question,” he said, breathless against her ear. “Let’s see if you can earn something more.”

She turned her attention back to the screen, barely able to read through the heat clouding her vision. Every nerve in her body was lit up, every breath shallow and desperate. She tapped another answer.

Wrong.

Hyunjin tsked. “Tsk tsk. You were doing so well.”

Before she could react, he gripped her hips and pulled her back against him harder. His cock slid between her thighs, not inside her yet — just teasing, the head brushing her soaked folds. She let out a strangled noise.

“Now,” he growled, voice lower than ever, “you don’t get to feel me anymore.”

He rolled her onto her back. Then he climbed over her, pinning her down with his body, his cock still teasing against her folds but not entering.

“You want it?” he asked, brushing his lips over hers.

She nodded frantically.

“Then earn it. Five more. Get three right, and I’ll fuck you the way you need me to. Get less…” His hand slid back between her legs, and he slapped her clit lightly. She gasped.

“I’ll make you come, sure,” he whispered, “but you won’t get me.”

Her body arched.

“But baby…” he added, kissing the corner of her mouth. “If you get all five right… I’ll let you come while I’m inside you. I’ll whisper how proud I am while you fall apart around my cock. Deal?”

She nodded again, dazed.

“Good girl,” he breathed.

And she started the next question — heart hammering, body trembling, more desperate for his praise than she was for the perfect score.

She sucked in a shaky breath and dragged the laptop back onto her lap, screen glowing bright against the dim room. Her legs fell open just slightly, the edge of the laptop nestled above her trembling thighs. Hyunjin hovered above her, one hand braced beside her head, the other lazily stroking his cock — slow and teasing — letting her see what she was working for.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “All flushed and smart… dripping for me while you study.”

She couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, nerves shot, body taut.

“Five questions,” he said again, voice a promise. “Get them right, and I’ll fuck you full. Slow, deep, no teasing. Just you, me, and this perfect little pussy.”

Her thighs clenched.

She clicked the next answer.

Correct.

Hyunjin hummed, satisfied. “That’s one, baby. Four to go. Come on, show me.”

The second question loaded — something about physics. Her brain was barely functioning, but she closed her eyes for one second, visualized the formula, and clicked.

Correct.

He groaned softly above her. “Two. Fuck, you’re killing me.”

She glanced up and saw it — the way his hand gripped tighter at the base of his cock, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on her like she was divine. Like he was holding himself back for her.

Third question. Literature. She didn’t even have to think — muscle memory took over.

Correct.

Hyunjin let out a low, breathless moan. “Three. You’re so smart, sweetheart. So fucking smart.”

He kissed her then — slow, tongue sliding over hers, reverent. Like she was something sacred. She whimpered into his mouth, hips lifting, needing more.

Fourth question. History. She hesitated. Then tapped.

Correct.

He swore under his breath and grabbed the base of his cock tighter, precum smearing across his hand.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. That’s four. One more, baby. Just one more and I’m yours.”

She could barely see. Her body was burning, brain half-melted. But she clicked.

Correct.

Silence.

She turned her Laptop.

Hyunjin stared at the screen, then back at her, and something in him broke.

“Perfect fucking score,” he breathed.

He grabbed the laptop, set it aside, and kissed her — hard. Desperate. Then he slid down her body, spreading her thighs wide with shaking hands.

“You’re gonna feel every inch,” he said, positioning himself at her entrance, voice hoarse. “And I’m not stopping until you come all over me.”

He pushed in slowly — so achingly slow she sobbed — stretching her open, filling her inch by inch. His hands were everywhere, caressing her face, her hips, her stomach like he couldn’t believe she was real.

“Look at you,” he whispered against her mouth. “Taking me so good… so fucking good…”

He bottomed out, groaning deep in his throat as she clenched around him.

“You did so well,” he panted, starting to move. “You worked so hard. You earned this, baby. This pussy was made to be fucked like this — slow, deep, and full of me.”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist, holding him close as he fucked her — not hard, but deep. Intimate. Each thrust hit the spot perfectly, dragging cries from her lips.

“That’s it,” he whispered, kissing her jaw, her neck, her temple. “Take it, baby. Let me love you like this.”

Her walls fluttered around him, pleasure cresting high and hot in her belly.

“I want you to come just like this,” he said, burying himself deep. “With my cock inside you. Full of me. Proud of you.”

She shattered.

Her whole body arched, a cry ripped from her throat as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Hyunjin held her tight, fucked her through it, whispered how proud he was — over and over like a prayer.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, kissing her temple. “So fucking perfect.”

Her body was still twitching when Hyunjin pulled out, cock glistening with slick and twitching with the effort it took not to just sink right back in.

But then she gave him that look — glassy-eyed, lips parted, still trembling and soft and ruined — and he snapped.

“Still wet for me?” he whispered, dragging two fingers down between her legs, spreading her folds. She whimpered, too sensitive, but didn’t stop him. Couldn’t.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he groaned. “You liked that, huh? Liked me praising your smart little brain while I fucked you dumb?”

Her head lolled back on the pillow, a broken moan slipping from her mouth.

Hyunjin leaned down, licking into her like he was starving — slow, deliberate laps of his tongue over her overstimulated clit until she was squirming, gasping, legs shaking against his shoulders.

“I said you earned it,” he murmured, mouth still between her thighs. “I didn’t say we were done.”

He didn’t stop until she came again — messier, louder this time — and then, before she could recover, he was climbing over her, cock slick with both their arousal.

“Gonna give you more,” he panted, not even asking this time as he slid in again, balls-deep in one slow thrust that made her choke on a moan. “Gonna fuck you so full you won’t remember what an exam is.”

He set a brutal pace — not cruel, but hungry — dragging her down the bed with every thrust. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, arms limp above her head as he held her down, one hand gripping the headboard for leverage, the other caressing her thigh as if trying to soothe her through the overwhelming pace.

“Still doing so good for me,” he gasped, pressing his forehead against hers. “So fucking good. My good girl.”

She sobbed — overwhelmed, overstimulated, completely undone. Her body shook beneath him, slick and messy and so damn full.

“Wanna come inside you,” he moaned, losing rhythm as her walls clenched around him. “Fill you up ‘til it leaks out. You want that, baby?”

She nodded, frantic.

“Beg,” he whispered, eyes locked on hers. “Come on. You got a perfect score — show me how bad you want your prize.”

She could barely speak, but the words tumbled out anyway. “Want you to come inside me, please— please, Hyunjin— I need it— I need you.”

That was it.

He came with a sharp cry, hips slamming into hers one last time as he spilled inside, filling her so deep she could feel it, warmth flooding her core. He stayed like that for a moment — buried to the hilt, panting, arms trembling.

Then he collapsed onto her chest, kissing her collarbones, her jaw, her forehead like a man in love.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re everything.”

She stroked his hair with shaky fingers, still catching her breath.

“I should try to fail more often, so you can motivate me” she joked weakly.

He laughed — real and soft — and kissed her gently. “Don’t you dare. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

He pulled out slowly, watching his cum spill from her with a groan, and reached for the towel beside the bed.

But before he could clean her up, she grabbed his wrist.

“Wait,” she murmured, eyes wide and sleepy. “Just… stay here. Like this. For a second.”

He paused.

Then dropped the towel and curled up beside her, pulling the blanket over their bodies, wrapping her tight in his arms.

“Okay,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “Let’s stay forever.”

And she fell asleep like that — full of him, wrapped in him, her laptop still glowing softly at the foot of the bed, a perfect score blinking on the screen.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

@sapphirewaves @bemyaehiweloveskz @velvetmoonlght

[race-week]

“McLaren are Sabotaging Norris!!”

Okay, let’s have a little chat shall we?

So at the start of this year, McLaren did something that was seen as quite interesting to the other teams 

The thing they changed is their suspension, now if you’ve been following F1 or McLaren in particular the last few years, you may know that they have had some pretty significant issues with their braking and their performance in slow speed corners, however coming into Bahrain this year for testing, they didn’t seem to carry that weakness anymore.

And that could be put down to this change suspension, they have changed to a rather aggressive anti-dive suspension.

It’s believed that this change is what help them take a step forward with their performance in slow speed Corners and therefore the fact that they’ve performed better at tracks like Bahrain and China then they would’ve done with last year’s car.

McLaren issues around braking and slow speed corners have been apparent since the start of the 2022 regulations, and to be honest they’ve had weird performance under braking prior to that, even going back another five or so years.

No, this change seemingly has changed how the drivers have to approach breaking zones particularly heartbreaking zones like the ones that play a part in the performance at tracks like Bahrain China Miami

Previously it would benefit the driver to brake late and break heavy, and then accelerate quickly out of the corner (with the brake trace looking like a V).

Whilst now it appears that it’s better for the driver and the car, to brake early but carry more speed into the corner, by not applying as much braking force (so the brake trace looks more like a U).

What I believe is happening, is Norris got used to braking for corners the previous way (with the V-shaped braking), although he has previously mentioned that he had to learn how to do that to benefit to maximise the cars performance and as such I assume that it’s not so intuitive for him to switch back to U-shaped braking.

This is where I think the main difference is coming from.

I think Piastri has adapted to the swap to U-shaped braking quicker, possibly because he has had to break in a U-shaped manner more recently than Norris (i.e. in junior formulas).

I don’t think it’s a case of McLaren trying to design the car to benefit one driver or the other, as the engineers just try to design the quickest car possible, and it’s up to the drivers to adapt.

It’s quite clear to see that this change has improved the cause overall performance in slow speed corners, however it’s just a matter of the drivers adapting to it and maximising its potential.

The reason why I think these changes are probably the main contributing factor between the two is because the lap difference has been greatest at tracks with slow corners and hard braking zones.

Changing the suspension layout is a big change and it’s something the driver has to adapt to, because it’s a change that has the potential to unlock quite a bit of performance, especially at this stage of the regulations.

[simpingland]

Req: Can you write something with Ewan Mitchell and his co-star (pronounced feminine) where they are on the set of season 2 and how he is surprised by every performances that fem gives (Fem's character is bad and perverse), since since the recordings of season one he was already staring at her surprised by her actings and now with Season 2 he wants to spend more time with her, plus he likes her.

The Rehearsal// Ewan Mitchell x Fem!actress

Summary: Ewan is a method actor and it has been working fine for him. But he regrets this decision when season 2 of HOTD starts with a love scene, being partner with a lovely talented actress who propaply hates him and his mathods. But nothing is better than asking for help when one needs it, right?

|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|

Ewan watched from the monitor, patch removed but wig still on, your close-up was impressive. One look at you and you could see all the ambitions that were going through your character's mind, and he himself regretted not having told you yet. The good news was that filming for season two had just begun, and in this new season, Ewan had the opportunity to do scenes only with you.

They shouted cut, and you immediately broke into a smile, laughing after such an intense scene. You received compliments as you were photographed to keep the raccord straight.

"Congratulations, that's a good start," the director said to you. "Remember you have a special sequence tomorrow, get a good rest."

Yes, you remembered. And Tom (who played your brother Aegon) smiled mischievously at you. It was a kissing scene with Ewan, with whom you had barely exchanged a word since the moment you were confirmed as part of the cast, a year and a half ago. You only spoke a little at the audition, which was a chemistry test, and he was a sweet, unassuming guy. When he was announced as the official actor of Aemond... it was something different. You didn't interact in the scenes in the first season, his scenes were shared more with Fabien and Tom, while you had shared scenes with Olivia and Phia (Alicent and Helaena). The chemistry your characters were supposed to have was only hinted by the placement of you both in the scene or montages of shots that you only saw once the series was released. And in the meantime, Ewan had stayed away from all those with whom he didn't share any dialogue, with the excuse of staying focused on his character. Tom had already told you numerous times that Ewan thought you were a fantastic actress, but you always responded the same way.

"If he does, let him tell me so. Then I'll be flattered.”

When the script for the second season came, both of you, in your respective homes, had your hearts skipped a beat. Your character would approach Aemond in the throne room in the middle of the night. And there they not only talk, but share a kiss that promises to go further in the following seasons. Aemond confessed his love for your character, and being that it was a story taken from the world of Game of Thrones, it was sure to end in much more intimate scenes. Normal for actors and comfortable for a cast that was so friendly and close. But with Ewan being so distant and serious? It was difficult. You didn't even dare to call him. Nor did he call you. What you did do was call Tom.

"She hasn't spoken to me once since we started filming. I've seen her look at me sometimes, like she's trying to talk to me but then, before I could say a word, she's gone quiet again. Tom...I don't think I should take being a method actor so seriously," he said to the other actor.

"It amuses me immensely to be the connecting point for both of you. Don't worry, Ewan, she's a sweetheart, and very understanding. She knows that everyone has their own procedure. So if she has respected your method, you should respect hers."

"And what is her procedure?"

"According to Phia, she loves to walk back and forth repeating her lines in a thousand ways."

Right, Ewan saw the video Phia sent around the group so everyone could see how lunatic you looked. And even there, after discovering you were being filmed, you smiled tenderly at Phia asking her to stop. What else would he have missed since you weren't talking?

You had already taken off your wig, your hair was loose and your dress had been off for quite a while. You were waiting to take off your make-up when your trailer was called. You were expecting anyone, happy to have any interaction with the wonderful team around you, but when you saw Ewan, the smile must have dropped a little.

"Sorry if I'm intruding. Is it late?" Ewan asked you as he saw your friendly greeting getting lost in the air.

It wasn't dark yet, and the next day's filming was starting early, so you genuinely didn't know what to say to him.

"Well... I have to finish off some of the lines for tomorrow.’

The lines you had to say with him, and he knew that. But since that wasn't an invitation, Ewan understood instantly and nodded.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you...it's been an awesome first day of shooting for you. It's no wonder you're a fan favorite."

That made you blush.

"Well, that means a lot coming from you."

He smiled sheepishly at you, you were taller than he was, standing on the trailer and he was on the grass a few stairs down. And yet he seemed way too big.

"I promise I'll be on time tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to rehearse," he said, trying to get out of the strange conversation he had started.

You nodded and watched as he walked away, the patch in his hand and taking off his seatbelts. Did he come with the intention of chatting? My God, you'd had a chance to talk at length with your fellow cast member and you'd wasted it? You needed to go over the scene as much as possible!

"Ewan!" You called out to him, hanging almost on your doorstep, he turned with that agility that is so engaging on screen (and in person). "Are you done for the day?"

"I've got to get out of my costume. But...yes, I'm done."

"Would you mind..." you mumbled in an exaggeratedly loud voice for him to hear. How embarrassing. "Would you mind dropping by again to rehearse?"

Ewan stood still for a second. He watched you from afar, so affectionate and shy, totally contrary to your character, and felt a deep tenderness.

"I'll be back in half an hour," he promised you.

You looked forward to it, and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you'd put your make-up back on a bit. Ewan, on the other hand, was hurrying more than usual to remove his own clothes, forgetting to remove his fake scars in the rush that followed him. He was punctual, and in thirty and a half minutes, he was knocking on your door again.

"I really appreciate you doing this, Ewan," you said as he climbed into your trailer.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fun."

You looked at each other for a second, smiling, kind of gawking, which was nothing like the scene you had to recreate.

"How do you prepare for a scene?" You ask.

"I listen to some music. But I want to try what you do. "

He looked at you expectantly, and you suddenly felt embarrassed. Like the girls at the school function.

"So... I close my eyes, and I create a map where everything looks a little bit like the set."

"And what do we choose to be the throne?" Ewan smiled, which made you blush even more.

"Well... "There was a fully finished teacup, with the inelegantly squeezed bag next to it, dripping. You'd forgotten to clean it up completely. "That cup itself."

Ewan frowned slightly, teasingly, and nodded. The next step for you was harder to explain.

"Now, Ewan, I need some space."

He sat down on your couch, script to one side, the bastard having already memorized it all. And from there he watched live what he'd been craving for months, watching you pace back and forth. You read the annotations and your lines.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did," Ewan replied, intoning in the silky voice he gave Aemond.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." though you paced, your hands and gestures maintained theatricality, and you repeated the phrase three more times, all with trapped deliberation. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me."

"What pantomime do you mean?" replied Aemond.

Then your character stopped looking at Aemond to stare at the Throne. In this case you stopped to stare at the ugly teacup. You had to hold back a smile. Ewan looked at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been." Ewan got up from the sofa and approached you, as Aemond does with your character. "It is a crude, chaotic and ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

Then the laughter you'd been holding back escaped, unable to think of the mug as anything else. And Ewan laughed with you, all the tension disappearing instantly. Now he could understand the affection with which everyone spoke of you.

"I'm sorry, really," you said, getting serious again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, this is fun. I'm going to try your method. Shall we close our eyes?"

"That's right."

You closed them at the same time, thinking about the huge room, illuminated by a silver light that simulated the moon. And after a few seconds, Ewan opened his eyes to look at you. Although you didn't have your white hair, or the elegant dress, your eyes were the same, as beautiful and bright as they were behind the cameras. And he had the privilege of being the focus of your attention and having them in the foreground.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered close to your lips.

"That you tried at least" you whispered back.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as sharp as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

Then came the kiss. You looked into Ewan's eyes, up his nose and down to his lips. What was there left to throw yourself? Not much, but with him being so reclusive, with that being one of the few times you spoke to each other, it felt strange to pounce on him without consent. So you walked away, leaving the scene there.

"We can work this out with the director and the intimacy coordinator, if you like," Ewan suggested, a little flushed and extremely sweet.

You poured him a cup of tea while you discussed the romance that your characters might have developed over the years that the series skips. You imagined romantic scenes that might have led up to that kiss and concluded that they were a toxic couple, but possibly better than Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"You know, I love the way you act and I love that I discovered your process," he confessed. "I think the admiration part is not going to be too hard to act out."

"Oh...my process is really ridiculous, everyone laughs at me. I'm glad it at least works. But it gives me a hard time at auditions," you laughed nervously.

"Well, it's true that it's fun to watch. But it's certainly worth it. I don't think you have anything to envy the others, you're...magnetic." He said it with a seriousness that moved you, adding to his intense gaze. "I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to tell you sooner, because I've been thinking about it since the day they put me in the same room you were in, back at the audition.”

You froze a little, so you just said what you felt in the simplest way and with the most honest smile.

"Thank you."

Ewan took the last sip of his tea and before he left you remembered one of the thousand questions you had for him.

"Is there a reason you haven't removed the scar? Something to do with method acting?"

"Scar?"

You touched his cheek, where the scar began, and Ewan understood instantly.

"Ah, gee, I completely forgot to go through makeup. I'll get a telling off tomorrow."

"Not if you sleep on it until tomorrow" you joked. "Let me help you, I love fake wounds."

You stood next to him, towering over him a little, and lifted the thin layer of silicone with the delicacy you had seen in make-up artists. You were envious of the woman who was in charge of characterising a person as curiously attractive as Ewan. He also smelled exaggeratedly good.

When you took it off, you threw it into the creepy teacup from earlier.

"I've almost run out from, the costume department before," he justified himself. You took the opportunity to wipe that part of her face with a makeup remover wipe. "I usually do this part myself..."

"I know, but I like it..."

And while you were stroking his face with the excuse of cleaning it, Ewan was watching your lips, and didn't notice that you had noticed. You pushed the wipe away, stroking his chin, and at the same time, you both pressed your lips together. A strange kiss, something special, sweet and soft. You stretched it out, standing almost still, afraid of what would happen if you broke apart. When you finally did, you looked at each other with a look of confusion, though neither you nor Ewan pulled away.

It was a dangerous idea, he was your partner, and you had been unprofessional. You broke away.

"I think you should rest. I've distracted you too much." Your tone came out agitated and Ewan rose slowly.

"No, it's all right. I liked it. I liked everything. Didn't you?" He had emphasised the word 'everything' and was looking at you with lambent eyes.

"Yes...I loved being with you."

He said goodbye with a smile of his, and you bowed at your door like a little girl. Most of the team had already gone to rest and you barely noticed.

You had to put on more concealer than usual the next day because of the lack of sleep you'd had from that strange kiss. Ewan had kept his promise and had arrived a good while earlier to re-rehearse the scene. You did it without the kiss or the lights, just with the director's instructions and with your cheeks flushed as you exchanged glances.

"Did you practice with the kiss?" the intimacy coordinator asked you.

You were completely silent. Ewan answered for you.

"Not really, maybe it's better to give a first kiss at the moment of the shot. More realism."

"Well, then I guess you've worked out the sexual tension and dynamics of your characters."

Ewan nodded and smiled, which made you smile. Had he put hours of sleep into your little meeting yesterday? Yes, he had, and he told the woman who was putting on his scar who asked him who had removed it the day before. When you returned to the set, lights on, costumes on, cameras rolling, Ewan looked at you in the distance, asking you with his eyes if you were ready. You nodded with a shy smile, and began to act when they shouted action.

Aemond, still dressed and coming from the castle library, walked into the empty throne room to watch you. You walked behind him, in a smart dressing gown, your hair loose and trying uselessly not to make a sound. Aemond then spoke aloud.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did."

You approached Ewan, who still wouldn't look at you.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." You leaned into him a little, as the director had recommended. He was so tall and so tense that you felt as safe as if you were leaning against a stone pillar. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me." Then Aemond would look down to see you out of the corner of his eye, which made your character - and you - nervous.

"What pantomime do you mean?"

Then you looked at the throne, now there was no laughter to disturb you, only the terrible seat of swords before you. And Aemond was looking at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been. It is a brutish, chaotic, ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

After a pause, he turned fully around to look at you, his height becoming primordial in that short distance. In that low light, Ewan's visible eye looked into your eyes, dropping to your lips subtly.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered in his velvety tone.

"That you tried at least" you replied trying to keep your composure. If they knew how hard you were struggling not to fall to your knees at that moment they would have nominated you for an Emmy by now.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as clever as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

He stroked your face gently, something that coming from Ewan was tender and expected, immensely pleasing, but then you remembered that Aemond could never be so gentle in the face of his urges, and you let your own out. You pressed yourself against him, pressing your lips together with all the assurance you had longed for the night before. You could feel Ewan intensify your kiss even more, placing his hand on your neck. All the possible kisses that had been going on in your head during the night were now dwarfed by the kiss that was happening right there. As fierce as your characters, with the longing you had just discovered that you and Ewan had shared for a year and a half.

It was only when they shouted 'cut' that you broke apart, catching your breath and barely breaking away. Some applause, chatter and comments from the team, you could hear little of what they were saying. You pulled away flushed, laughing at the sudden intensity. You looked at the director as Ewan smoothed his jacket.

"Let's look at the shot, I think it was simply perfect, congratulations."

Another round of applause, and you felt Ewan brush your unruly hair out of your face, stroking it as he ruffled your hair.

"What a pity not to have to repeat this scene..." He confessed.

"That's the thing about being so talented," you joked.

"Obviously..." he removed his patch and turned back to you to ask in a quieter voice, "although I'd love to have more private acting classes with you..."

You smiled at the hint.

"I'll give them to you if in exchange you let me remove your fake scars again."

"Deal."

[infintiandbeyond]

A Rivalry for the Ages

Gojo x Teacher!Reader

Word: 6.3k

An angsty enemies to friends to lover trop with classic miscommunication and a happy ending :) Happy Reading.

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

The first time you began to see Gojo Satoru as a rival more than an enemy was after a devastating defeat. 

Your journey to becoming a teacher at Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High School had been an arduous one, marked by determination and resilience. Raised in a family renowned for their jujutsu techniques, you had always felt the weight of expectations upon your shoulders. From an early age, you exhibited a natural talent for jujutsu sorcery, but it was your unyielding spirit and relentless training that truly set you apart. 

After graduating from the distinguished Jujutsu High School in Tokyo, where you often found yourself competing with the prodigious Gojo Satoru, you decided to hone your skills further by undertaking missions across various regions. Your proficiency and unwavering dedication did not go unnoticed, earning you a reputation as a formidable jujutsu sorcerer. When the opportunity arose to join Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High School as a teacher, you seized it with both hands, eager to impart your knowledge and inspire the next generation of sorcerers. 

You knew the best way to prove yourself would be at the Sister School Goodwill Event. The months leading up to the event were filled with rigorous training sessions and tireless preparation. Your commitment to prove yourself and elevate your students' potential was unwavering. You emphasized discipline, creativity, and perseverance, pushing them to their limits while fostering a sense of camaraderie and mutual respect. 

As the event approached, excitement and anxiety intermingled. Memories of your own school days at Tokyo Jujutsu High and your rivalry with Gojo Satoru resurfaced, fueling your resolve. You frequently recalled the times you had come close to beating him, only to fall short. But now, as a teacher, your goals were different. It was not about personal glory—it was about guiding your students to victory and displaying the strength of Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High School. 

The atmosphere at the event was electrifying. The friendly yet fierce competition between the schools was palpable, and you could not help but feel a mix of pride and nervous anticipation. You had faith in your students but knew the challenges ahead were formidable. 

The air was charged with tension as the Sister School Goodwill Event commenced. As the newly appointed teacher at Kyoto Prefectural Jujutsu High School, you stood confidently, bragging about your students’ accomplishments, hoping fervently that they would surpass the Tokyo school. You had always been in the shadow of Gojo Satoru's laurels during your youth, never catching his notice. Yet, during this event, you were going to make him see you. Make him acknowledge your power and skill. 

The Sister School Goodwill Event was a grand affair, attracting spectators from all corners of the jujutsu world. Held over several days, the event featured a series of competitions designed to test the skills, strategy, and teamwork of students from both schools. 

The first day kicked off with the individual battles, where students displayed their unique techniques and prowess in one-on-one duels. As you watched from the sidelines, your anxious heart swelled with pride. Your students fought valiantly, each clash echoing with the sounds of their determination and the roars of the crowd. The intensity of the matches was beyond anything you had anticipated, and it was clear that the Tokyo students were equally prepared. 

Following the individual battles were the team events, which emphasized coordination and collective strength. The relay race through the treacherous forest terrain was particularly exhilarating, as students navigated obstacles, traps, and even summoned curses. Your students had trained tirelessly for this, and their performance was nothing short of spectacular. They moved with precision and trust in one another, highlighting the unity and discipline you had instilled in them. 

The final day of the event featured the highly anticipated baseball game, a tradition that brought a light-hearted yet fiercely competitive spirit to the proceedings. The rules were simple yet demanding, requiring not just athletic ability but also quick thinking and clever use of jujutsu techniques. The sense of camaraderie and mutual respect among the students was palpable, even as they faced off against formidable opponents. 

Throughout the event, you found yourself crossing paths with Gojo Satoru more often than you would like. His presence was as commanding as ever, and his teasing remarks kept you on your toes. Despite the underlying tension and rivalry, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of each other's skills and dedication to your respective schools. 

Each day brought its own challenges and triumphs, and by the time the baseball game arrived, the atmosphere was electric with anticipation. The stands were filled with cheering students, faculty, and alumni, all eager to see who would emerge victorious. You could feel the weight of your students' expectations and hopes, and you silently vowed to guide them to their best performance yet. 

Despite your efforts, however, the disappointment was palpable after the baseball game ended in a loss for your school. "Better luck next time," Gojo teased, a smug grin on his face as he stared down at you. It was hard making direct eye contact when your view was interrupted by such dark shades.  

You turned your head, hiding the sting of defeat, and replied with a slight smirk, "Don't get too comfortable, Gojo. We'll come back stronger." 

He chuckled, using a finger to tilt his shades down a few inches, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Is that a challenge? I look forward to it. Just don't let your students slack off." 

Rolling your eyes, you retorted, "I don't need you to tell me how to train my students. Besides, they’re already motivated enough to beat you." 

His grin widened. "I like your spirit. We should have a little wager on the next event. What do you say?" 

Raising an eyebrow, you tilted your head thoughtfully. "What's the wager?" 

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "If your students win, I'll treat you to dinner at the best restaurant in Tokyo. If mine win, you must join me for a training session. Best date you will ever have, guaranteed. Deal?" 

You extended your hand with a confident smile. "Deal. You better prepare to lose, Gojo." 

He shook your hand, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "We'll see about that." 

As you walked away, you could not help but feel a flutter of excitement. The thought of a rivalry with Gojo was exhilarating, pushing you to greater heights. 

The second time you saw Gojo Satoru as a rival, you did not think you’d ever hear the end of it. 

The next few months flew by, filled with intense training sessions and the anticipation of the upcoming the next Sister school event. The thought of Gojo’s shocked face at the victory your students fueled you to try even harder than before, you knew you would win, there was no other way. 

The day of the Goodwill Event arrived with a burst of energy and anticipation. The arena buzzed with excitement as students from different schools mingled and prepared for the competitions. You could see the dedication etched on your students' faces, a mirror of your own resolve to secure victory. 

Despite their best efforts and intense training, the competition proved to be tougher than expected. Gojo's students demonstrated exceptional skills, pushing your team to their limits. The final match came down to a nail-biting finish, with Gojo’s team narrowly clinching the win. 

The disappointment was palpable as you gathered your students afterwards. They looked exhausted and disheartened, the weight of defeat hanging heavily in the air. You took a deep breath, addressing them with a warm yet firm tone. "You all fought valiantly. Remember, this loss is not a measure of your worth or abilities. It is a steppingstone to becoming even stronger. We'll analyze what went wrong, learn from it, and come back with even greater determination." 

As you spoke, you noticed Gojo approaching with a smug but good-natured grin. “Tough break,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “But your students showed great promise. I can see why you’re so proud of them.” 

“You’re not getting rid of us that easily, Gojo,” you replied, the competitive fire still burning in your eyes. “We’ll be back, and next time, we’re taking that trophy.” 

He chuckled, a spark of admiration in his gaze. “I look forward to it. Until then, don’t forget our wager. A deal’s a deal.” 

With a nod, you turned back to your students, who were beginning to show signs of renewed hope. Together, you walked away from the arena, already planning the next phase of your training. The loss had only strengthened your resolve, and you knew that the next time you faced Gojo, it would be under different circumstances. 

As you and your students walked away from the arena, a memory from not too long ago surfaced, a stark reminder of Gojo's effortless brilliance. 

It was a particularly grim day when a powerful curse had surfaced in the heart of the city, causing panic and wrecking havoc. Determined to prove your worth, you had rushed to the scene, ready to confront the malevolent spirit. 

The sky had darkened with ominous clouds as you faced the curse, its dark aura pulsing with a menacing energy. You had fought with all your might, each attack a testament to your skill, but the curse was relentless, absorbing your efforts with an almost mocking ease. Just when it seemed like you might be overwhelmed, a familiar, nonchalant voice broke through the tension. 

"Need a hand?" Gojo's unmistakable silhouette appeared amidst the chaos, his demeanor as casual as if he were strolling through a park. Without waiting for a response, he raised a hand, and with a single, precise gesture, the curse was obliterated in an explosion of light and energy. 

You had stood there, panting, and exhausted, watching incredulously as Gojo walked over, his signature smile firmly in place. "You did well," he had said, his tone genuinely appreciative, "but sometimes, it's okay to ask for help." 

That moment had left an indelible mark on you, a potent mix of frustration and awe. It was not just his overwhelming power that struck you, but his ability to make the impossible look so effortless. It was shortly after this encounter that your phone rang, breaking the introspective silence. 

"Hello?" you answered, still catching your breath from the recent ordeal. 

"It's Masamichi Yaga," the gruff voice on the other end of the line stated. "We need your help at the Tokyo school. There's a shortage of teachers, and your experience would be invaluable." 

You hesitated, glancing at your students, who were now chatting animatedly about their plans for improvement. "I appreciate the offer, but I have my own responsibilities here." 

"I understand," Yaga replied, "but think of the impact you could have on a larger scale. These are trying times, and your skills as a mentor are greatly needed." 

The weight of his words hung in the air. You knew it was not just a call for help; it was an acknowledgment of your abilities and the importance of your role in shaping the next generation of sorcerers. After a moment's contemplation, you agreed. 

"I'll be there as soon as I can," you said, determination settling in your voice. 

Yaga's relieved sigh was almost palpable. "Thank you. Your presence will make a significant difference." 

As you ended the call, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. The challenges ahead were daunting, but this was an opportunity to grow, to push your limits, and to stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Gojo.  

The third time you saw Gojo as a rival, was when he tried his best to become your friend. 

When you arrived at the Tokyo school, Gojo was the first to greet you, his usual nonchalant demeanor firmly in place. "So, you're here now," he remarked casually, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't think you can just waltz in and take over." 

You rolled your eyes, a smirk playing at your lips. "As if I'd want to," you retorted, though you could not deny the flutter of nerves his presence always seemed to induce. 

"Good to see you haven't lost your edge," Gojo said, his tone light but sincere. "We've got a lot of work ahead of us." 

"Tell me something I don't know," you replied, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension at the thought of working alongside him. 

Gojo chuckled, his smile widening. "Don't worry, I'll try not to overshadow you too much." 

"Just try to keep up," you shot back, a playful challenge in your voice. 

Despite your cool facade, you could not deny the flutter of nerves his presence always seemed to induce. Gojo, ever the enigma, watched you closely. You did not flatter him as others did; instead, you spoke your mind, often challenging his views, earning his respect, and growing admiration. 

The next day, you found yourself standing in the training yard, surrounded by the energetic presence of his students. Each one of them brought their unique skills and personalities to the session, creating a dynamic and challenging environment. 

"Alright, everyone," you began, addressing the eager faces before you. "Today's focus is on teamwork and strategy. Let's see how you handle different scenarios together." 

The students nodded, their determination evident. You divided them into pairs, matching their strengths and weaknesses to foster growth and cooperation. As the training commenced, you could not help but be impressed by their dedication and progress. Yuuji's raw strength and agility, Megumi's tactical prowess, Nobara's fierce determination, Yuta's versatile combat skills, Maki's unwavering discipline, Toge's precise command of cursed speech, and Panda's adaptability all contributed to a formidable team. 

Throughout the session, you provided guidance and feedback, pushing them to refine their techniques and think on their feet. The atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of exertion and the clash of weapons. Despite their individual talents, it was their ability to work together that truly shone through. 

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo had been observing from the sidelines, his keen eyes taking in every detail. As the session progressed, a smile played at the corners of his lips. He was genuinely impressed by how well you managed the training, bringing out the best in each student while fostering a sense of camaraderie.  

As Gojo observed from the sidelines, he found his gaze frequently drifting towards you. Each precise instruction you gave, every moment of encouragement you offered, and the fierce commitment in your eyes as you guided the students captivated him. He could feel his heart quickening, thumping louder with every passing second. The admiration he felt was no longer about your skills or dedication; it was something deeper, more personal. He was falling for you, and it terrified him. You had been on his mind, constantly, ever since that Sister Event two years ago. Before that, it took all he could to not embarrass himself in front of you during your years in school together. He had missed you greatly and seeing you now, looking even better than you had before, made those feelings grow ten times as much. The fear of overwhelming you or coming off too strong gnawed at him, making him hesitant to even breach the subject. Yet, he could not deny the growing affection, a tender sensation that made him wish for more moments like these, where he could witness your brilliance up close. He wanted to be near you, to understand you, but the fear of ruining what fragile bond you had kept him rooted in place, torn between his feelings and his restraint. 

When the session finally drew to a close, you gathered the students around for a debrief. "Excellent work, everyone," you praised, your voice filled with pride. "You've shown remarkable progress and teamwork today. Keep pushing yourselves and supporting each other. That's how we'll grow stronger together." 

The students beamed, their spirits lifted by your words of encouragement. As they dispersed, you felt a presence beside you. Turning, you saw Gojo, his expression one of genuine admiration. 

"You handled that brilliantly," he remarked, his tone sincere. "They're lucky to have you." 

A warm flush of gratitude spread through you at his praise. "Thank you, Gojo," you replied, meeting his gaze. "It means a lot coming from you." 

He chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. "Don't let it go to your head.” 

Over the next few months, the students continued to train diligently under your guidance. Each session brought new challenges and opportunities for growth, as they honed their skills and deepened their bonds with one another. You introduced a variety of scenarios, pushing them to think creatively and work as a cohesive unit. The progress was evident; their techniques became more refined, their strategies more sophisticated, and their teamwork more seamless. 

You and Gojo often collaborated on training exercises, blending your unique approaches to create a comprehensive and dynamic curriculum. The students thrived in this environment, their confidence soaring with each passing week. Your partnership with Gojo grew stronger as well, fueled by mutual respect and a shared commitment to the students' success. Despite the occasional teasing and playful banter, a genuine camaraderie developed between you two, marked by trust and admiration. 

Through it all, Gojo's feelings for you only intensified. He found himself attracted to your passion, your dedication, and the way you effortlessly inspired those around you. The students, observant as ever, noticed the subtle shifts in his demeanor. Gojo found himself increasingly drawn to your strength and independence. It was refreshing to meet someone who did not bend over backward to seek his approval. You reminded him of why he loved being a teacher; to see raw, unfiltered talent and passion. You, on the other hand, began to see beyond Gojo's arrogance. You noticed the subtle signs of exhaustion, the heavy burden of expectations he carried, and the loneliness that lurked behind his ever-present smile. 

The students soon noticed Gojo's interest and began scheming ways to bring the two of you together. Their mischief was both endearing and exasperating, nudging you towards an unexpected friendship with Gojo. 

Megumi and Nobara collaborated to put something in motion. Their first plan involved organizing a picnic, hoping that the relaxed atmosphere would spark a deeper connection. 

"This will be perfect! They will have no choice but to talk and bond," Megumi suggested. However, an unexpected downpour forced everyone to take shelter, and the moment was lost amidst the scramble to stay dry. 

"Well, that didn't work," Nobara sighed. “We might need a little more help.” 

The next afternoon, after an intense training session, the students gathered in a quiet corner of the campus, whispering conspiratorially. Megumi explained the situation to Yuuji.  

"We need a new plan," Megumi said, his brow furrowed in thought. "Something that will really make them see their feelings for each other." 

"How about a romantic dinner?" Yuuji suggested, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "We could set it up in the training room with candles and flowers!" 

Nobara shook her head, a skeptical look on her face. "We tried that already, remember? They got called away on a mission." 

"True," Yuuji conceded. "But what if we try something more subtle this time?" 

"Like what?" Megumi asked, intrigued. 

"Maybe we can create a situation where they have to rely on each other," Yuuji proposed. "Something that will make them realize how much they mean to each other." 

Nobara nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Like a team-building exercise, but more intense. What if we pretend one of us is in danger, and only they can save us?" 

"It's risky," Megumi cautioned, "but it might just work." 

"Or we can spread a rumor," Yuuji added, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "People will start talking, and maybe they'll feel pressured to address it." 

"That's actually not a bad idea," Megumi admitted. "They might be forced to confront their feelings if everyone else is talking about it." 

"Alright, so we have two plans," Nobara summed up. "We either create a situation where they have to depend on each other, or we spread a rumor and see what happens." 

"Let's try both," Yuuji said confidently. "We can't afford to fail this time." 

With determined nods, the students dispersed, each one silently vowing to bring their teachers together no matter what it took 

Undeterred, they next arranged for a surprise team-building exercise, partnering you and Gojo for all the activities. 

"Ready to lose?" Gojo teased as you both prepared for the first challenge. Instead of fostering romance, the competitive spirit between you two only seemed to amplify, leading to playful arguments and a lot of laughter, but no confessions of love. 

"You call that a throw?" you challenged, smirking at him. 

Still determined, they resorted to spreading rumors, hoping that the gossip would force either you or Gojo to address the situation directly. 

"Did you hear? Apparently, Gojo-sensei and our instructor are an item," one student whispered. 

"Really? They do spend a lot of time together," another replied. 

This too failed, as both of you brushed off the whispers, focusing instead on your duties and responsibilities. 

"Just ignore them," you said, rolling your eyes. 

"Yeah, they're just being kids," Gojo agreed, smiling reassuringly. 

Despite their best efforts, none of the students' plans seemed to work. Yet, through these orchestrated scenarios, you and Gojo spent more time together, slowly but surely building a bond that neither of you could deny. It was clear that while the students' plans had not succeeded in the way they intended, they had inadvertently brought you closer together in a way that was genuine and unforced. 

One particular evening, after a long day of training, you found yourself in the school's courtyard, practicing alone. Gojo approached quietly, watching you with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. 

"You're pushing yourself too hard," he said, breaking the silence. "You need to rest." You turned to face him, sweat glistening on your brow.  

"I don't need your advice," you replied stubbornly.  

Gojo chuckled, "Stubborn as always, I see. Just don't wear yourself out." 

You paused, considering his words and the familiar warmth in his eyes. It struck you then - Gojo was not trying to belittle you or undermine your efforts. He was looking out for you, caring in the only way he knew how. 

Gradually, the pieces fell into place. All those times he seemed to effortlessly excel, while you struggled to catch up, were not meant to overshadow you, but to push you to greater heights. His provocations were not to demean but to challenge, to see you become the best version of yourself. 

As you gazed at him, the realization enveloped you like a soothing balm. "Thank you," you murmured, the words laden with newfound understanding. Gojo's eyes softened, a rare vulnerability flickering across his face. 

"Anytime," he replied, his voice gentle. In that moment, the barriers between you began to crumble, leaving behind a bond forged in respect and mutual admiration. 

The fourth time you saw Satoru as a rival was when you both fought to be the better friend, and in a twisted turn of events, it was him. 

The higher-ups eventually assigned both of you to a perilous Special Grade Mission. "Stay close," Gojo instructed, a rare seriousness in his tone. As you approached the dilapidated entrance of the abandoned hospital, an eerie silence enveloped the surroundings. The air was thick with malevolent energy, and the shadows seemed to twist and flicker with a life of their own. 

Suddenly, the curse emerged, a monstrous entity with grotesque limbs and a gaping maw, its eyes burning with hatred. The battle commenced with a flurry of motion. Gojo, with his unparalleled speed and precision, launched a barrage of powerful strikes, his Limitless technique creating an impenetrable barrier between you and the curse. His movements were a blur, each attack calculated to weaken the entity. 

Despite Gojo's efforts, the curse's resilience was formidable. It retaliated with ferocity, its claws slashing through the air, aiming for any vulnerable spot. You fought valiantly by Gojo's side, your attacks synchronizing with his, but the curse's strength was overwhelming. A particularly savage blow sent you crashing into a crumbling wall, pain searing through your body. 

"Stay down!" Gojo shouted, his voice edged with panic as he intensified his assault on the curse. Ignoring the pain, you pushed yourself back into the fray. 

The curse, sensing an opportunity, launched its most devastating attack. A wave of dark energy surged towards you, and before you could react, it struck with brutal force. Agony exploded in your chest as you collapsed, blood pooling around you. Gojo's eyes widened in horror, and with a roar of fury, he unleashed his full power, obliterating the curse in a blinding flash of energy. 

Rushing to your side, Gojo's hands trembled as he assessed your injuries. "Hang on," he muttered, his voice breaking. He scooped you up with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of the situation. Every second counted as he sped towards Shoko Ieiri, his breath ragged with fear and panic. 

Bursting into the infirmary, Gojo shouted, "Shoko, help!" The healer immediately sprang into action, her expression grave as she began to work on your wounds. Gojo stayed at your side, his eyes never leaving your face, silently willing you to survive. 

Days turned into weeks as you lay recuperating, your body slowly mending from the life-threatening injuries. Emotions you had long buried began to surface. The countless nights spent envying Gojo's effortless brilliance, the sting of being overlooked, all seemed distant memories compared to the genuine concern and tenderness he now showed you. His presence was a comforting balm, and you found yourself looking forward to his visits, your heart softening with each passing day. 

Emotions you had long buried began to surface. The countless nights spent envying Gojo's effortless brilliance, the sting of being overlooked, all seemed distant memories compared to the genuine concern and tenderness he now showed you. His presence was a comforting balm, and you found yourself looking forward to his visits, your heart softening with each passing day. 

The fifth time you saw Satoru as a rival, you weren’t sure if he was fighting for the same thing. 

While you were recovering, many of the students visited you, bringing warmth and cheer to your otherwise quiet days. Among your frequent visitors were Nanami Kento and Geto Suguru. The three of you quickly became close friends, spending time together and sharing stories, laughter, and a renewed sense of camaraderie. Of all your new friendships, your bond with Nanami grew the deepest. His steady presence and thoughtful conversations were a comfort, and you often found yourselves lost in discussions long after the others had left. 

"You know," Nanami said one evening, "it's refreshing to have these conversations. It reminds me of why I enjoy teaching." 

You smiled, "I feel the same way. It's good to have friends who understand." 

However, it did not take long for Gojo to notice your growing closeness with Nanami. A flicker of jealousy began to smolder within him, and he found himself bristling at the sight of you two together 

Nanami and Geto, perceptive as they were, soon picked up on Gojo's increasing discomfort. With a shared understanding and a touch of mischievousness, they devised a plan to push Gojo into confessing his true feelings before it was too late. 

One afternoon, while you were sitting in the courtyard enjoying a quiet moment, Nanami approached with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hold still," he said, leaning in closer, "I think there's something on your cheek." Before you could react, he gently brushed his thumb across your skin, his touch lingering just long enough to catch Gojo's attention from across the yard. 

Gojo's eyebrows shot up, and a storm of emotions flashed across his face. Without another word, he spun on his heel and headed straight for Geto. "Did you see that?" he fumed. "Nanami was practically caressing their face!" 

Geto stifled a laugh, understanding the ploy immediately. "You know, Gojo, you could always make your feelings clear instead of sulking and glaring like a jealous teenager." 

Gojo’s frustration boiled over. "I can't just—how do I even start?" 

"Simple," Geto smirked. "You tell them how you feel." 

With those words echoing in his mind, Gojo's resolve hardened. He could not stand the thought of losing you to someone else, even if it were Nanami. Driven by a newfound urgency, he found himself running to your apartment in the middle of the night, his breath ragged as he knocked on your door. 

When you opened it, surprise evident in your eyes, Gojo was suddenly nervous and not sure how to confess anymore. His usual confidence wavered as he stuttered, "I... I was wondering if... maybe you'd like to go out with me sometime?" 

Confused by his sudden hesitation and disoriented by being awakened at such an odd hour, you thought back to the bet he had mentioned at the Goodwill Event. "Is this about the bet?" you asked, your voice cautious. 

Gojo blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Y-yes, the bet," he quickly agreed, hoping to salvage the moment. 

You nodded reluctantly, "Alright, we can go out... for the bet." 

Relief and disappointment mixed in Gojo's eyes, but he resolved to use this opportunity to get closer to you. 

“I won’t disappoint.” Gojo aimed to cover those vulnerable feelings with a suave smirk and a wink. You stared straight into the cerulean blue eyes that had been haunting your every waking moment.  

“I’m sure you won’t. Goodnight, Satoru.” You smiled quickly and closed the door. 

As you both went your separate ways, while elated at the familiarity that you now shared, Gojo could not help but feel a pang of regret. He wanted to be honest and tell you about his true feelings, but fear of rejection held him back. His mind raced, wondering if you would ever truly understand the depth of his affection. 

You, on the other hand, felt a mixture of confusion and curiosity. You had always felt a special bond with Gojo, but the idea that he might have deeper feelings for you was something you had not fully considered. The thought of it made your heart flutter, yet the mention of the bet left you uncertain about his intentions. 

The weight of unspoken words hung heavily on both of your minds, a tangible presence that neither of you could ignore. In that moment, everything felt both exhilarating and terrifying, as if the future of your relationship hinged on the next steps you would take. 

Gojo's determination began to solidify, and he knew that he could not let this opportunity slip away. He would find a way to tell you how he truly felt, no matter how daunting the task seemed. 

The next evening, Gojo planned a wonderful date, making every effort to impress to make it memorable. He took you to a picturesque rooftop restaurant with a stunning view of the city skyline. The soft glow of candlelight and the gentle strumming of a live guitarist set the perfect romantic atmosphere. 

Throughout the evening, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You shared stories, laughed at his playful jokes, and listened as he spoke passionately about his work and his dreams. The connection between you grew stronger with every passing moment. 

After dinner, Gojo surprised you with a walk along the riverbank, where the moonlight danced on the water's surface. He held your hand, and you felt a warmth and comfort you had not experienced before. As you paused to take in the serene beauty of the night, you both turned to face each other, the air thick with unspoken emotions. 

"Tonight has been incredible," you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "I never knew you could be so romantic, Gojo." 

He chuckled, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "There's a lot you don't know about me, but I want to change that. I want us to know everything about each other." 

Gojo's eyes locked onto yours, and he slowly leaned in, his intentions clear. Your heart raced, and just as your lips were about to touch, a sudden noise startled you both, causing you to pull away. The moment passed, leaving you both with a mixture of anticipation and longing. 

"Maybe next time," he murmured, his voice laced with hope. 

Your heart sank as you were reminded of the real reason behind the date. It was all for a bet made at the goodwill event, a calculated move to win a challenge. The wonderful evening, the laughter, the almost-kiss—it was all tainted by this revelation. You could not help but feel foolish for allowing yourself to be swept away by the moment. 

The next day, during practice with the students, you could not shake the memory of the almost-kiss. You found yourself very noticeably avoiding Gojo, unsure of how to process your feelings and the unresolved tension between you. You focused intently on the lesson, doing your best to maintain a professional demeanor, but Gojo's presence was impossible to ignore. 

"What's going on? You've been avoiding me all day," Gojo said, his eyes searching yours for answers. 

You took a deep breath, your emotions a whirlwind of confusion and hurt. "You really don't get it, do you?" you replied, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and sadness. "It was all just a game to you. The date, the romantic gestures—all of it was because of a bet." 

Gojo's expression shifted from confusion to realization, his eyes widening slightly. "Wait, it wasn't just a game to me. I—" 

But you could not bear to hear any more. "Save it, Gojo. I don't want to hear your excuses," you interrupted, turning away from him. The bitterness and resentment began to creep back into your heart, and you resolved to keep your distance, avoiding him as much as possible. 

The days that followed were filled with strained interactions and a palpable tension. You focused on your duties, doing everything in your power to maintain a professional demeanor. But behind the mask, your heart ached with the sting of betrayal and the loss of what could have been. 

The first time Gojo Satoru saw you...he knew he would never let you go. 

A week later, as you were strolling along campus, Yaga called you into his office. He offered you a permanent position as a teacher, praising your dedication and skill. The offer was tempting, but your mind was made up. 

"Thank you, Yaga," you said, attempting to keep your voice steady. "But I think it's best for me to return to Kyoto. I need some time away from everything here." 

Yaga's brows furrowed in concern, but he nodded in understanding. "If that's what you feel is best, then I won't stand in your way. Just know that you'll always have a place here." 

As you walked back to your room to pack, you could not help but feel a sense of finality. You were ready to leave, to put the tumultuous emotions behind you. But unbeknownst to you, Gojo also happened to be nearby, as he was the one to encourage Yaga to keep you on, just as he had not too long ago convinced him to hire you in the first place. He had inadvertently overheard your conversation with Yaga. His heart sank, the weight of your departure hitting him like a tidal wave. 

Distraught, Gojo wandered aimlessly through the hallways until he ran into Nanami and Geto. They instantly noticed his somber expression. 

"Why the long face, Gojo?" Nanami asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Gojo let out a heavy sigh. "They're leaving. I overheard them talking to Yaga. They're going back to Kyoto." 

Geto exchanged a look with Nanami before shaking his head. "You're really going to let them walk away just like that? Come on, man, stop pouting and go get them back." 

Nanami nodded in agreement. "If they mean that much to you, then you need to fight for it. Don't let a misunderstanding ruin everything." 

Gojo's eyes lit up with a renewed determination. He knew they were right. This was his chance to make things right, to prove that his feelings were genuine. He could not be a coward anymore. Without another word, he turned on his heel and sprinted down the halls, his mind racing with thoughts of how he could convince you to stay. 

As you were nearly finished packing, you heard hurried footsteps approaching. You turned to see Gojo standing at your doorway, breathless and with a look of desperation in his eyes. 

"Please, just listen to me," he begged, stepping into the room. "I can't let you leave without telling you how I truly feel." 

You stood silent, heart pounding, as Gojo took a deep breath and continued. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. Your presence, your strength, everything about you has changed me in ways I cannot even begin to explain. I know I've made mistakes, but I'm asking you to give me one real chance. Give us a real chance" 

His voice wavered, but his resolve was clear. "Stay. Stay and let me prove to you that I'm worth it, that we can be something extraordinary together." 

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, torn between the life you had planned and the undeniable sincerity in his words. This was a decisive moment, one that could alter the course of both your lives forever. And you were ready to take that leap if it meant he kept looking at you like that. 

“Yeah, let’s do it.” 

[starmaidengarden]

i really loved the hc about doing skincare with vil, i think that’s the cutest thing ever since i always struggle with consistently doing my skincare, but having someone to do it with would probably be really motivating 😭 which inspired my request! could i get scenarios of doing skincare together with the rest of the third years as well? maybe the reader also has a hard time doing it often but doing it with their partner makes it more enjoyable 🤍

— 3th Years : x gn!reader. no cw/tw. established relationship. dividers: uzmacchiato.

note: I’m so glad you liked it! I fully understand I need a keep a consistent routine when it comes to skincare, and I always need a little motivating!!

Trey Clover ༉⋆｡˚

Trey’s all about consistency, and he’s gentle when encouraging you. He’ll set up a short, manageable routine for you both and keep you company while doing it. He is the type to remember when your toner’s running low or recommend a cream that actually works for your skin type. He offers to do it with you, not in a flashy way, but a dependable, soothing presence. He sets up a quiet, comfortable space and walks you through a gentle routine — all while talking softly about your day. “You’re doing good. It’s okay if it’s not every day."

Cater Diamond ༉⋆｡˚

Cater makes skincare into a whole event. There’s music, mood lighting, face masks in all kinds of colors, and—of course—selfies. “Come on, let’s make this fun! It’s like a mini spa day!” He’s aware of how you struggle with it and gently encourages you without pressure. He’ll even pick out products for your skin type and cheer you on. “Say cheese~! Omg, we’re glowing already! Can you feel the self-love? Skincare is way more fun with you, babe!” With him, it feels less like a task and more like a hangout with a friend who knows how to hype you up.

Leona Kingscholar ༉⋆｡˚

Leona’s approach is minimal — he just hands you a jar of moisturizer and grumbles when you say you’re too tired. You mention how hard it is to stay consistent, and Leona just scoffs, lounging back. "Then don’t. Just do it when I do." He’s not fussy, but when he does do skincare, it’s all about efficiency and comfort. He’ll drag you to lie down beside him while he throws on a cooling mask. “Put yours on. Might as well make it worth the nap.” His laid-back attitude helps take the pressure off, and honestly, lounging with him while masks do their work becomes a little oasis of peace for you both.

Vil Schoenheit ༉⋆｡˚

Vil notices your inconsistent skincare habits almost immediately, but instead of scolding, he takes a gentler approach than you'd expect. One day, he invites you to his dorm under the pretense of helping him "test a new mask," but you quickly realize he's curated an entire beginner-friendly skincare regimen just for you. He explains each product with care, never condescending—his tone is calm, confident, and reassuring. Vil doesn't demand perfection. When you admit it's hard to keep up with routines, he nods knowingly. Soon, your skincare sessions become moments of quiet reflection and care with Vil beside you. He applies product to your face with practiced hands, giving tips in his elegant voice. It’s soothing, almost meditative. On nights when you feel too drained, he insists gently, “Just sit. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Rook Hunt ༉⋆｡˚

Rook treats skincare like an art form and insists on sharing that passion with you. When he notices your inconsistency, he proposes a “soirée de soin” — a self-care evening complete with candles, soothing music, and fancy French-named products. He applies your mask with elegant precision, humming softly. Whispering praises about how radiant your skin will become — but more than that, how radiant you are. His spirit turns the process from a chore to a performance, and his poetic admiration keeps your spirits up. "Ah, your skin sings when cared for. With me, let us bring out your véritable éclat!" He even lets you paint a mask on him in return, laughing gracefully at the mess you make.

Idia Shroud ༉⋆｡˚

Idia isn't big on skincare either, but when he hears you’ve been struggling to stick to it, he offers to try some tonight together — his version of a bonding event. “I-It’s not like I care if your skin is dry or anything… b-but if we have to do this dumb IRL stuff, I guess I’ll do it… for party synergy…” He awkwardly applies face masks (poorly, but cutely) while you both watch shows or stream games, grumbling about how “normie” it feels but secretly enjoying your presence.

Malleus Draconia ༉⋆｡˚

Malleus doesn’t really understand skincare, but is incredibly interested in it because you practice it. He listens intently as you explain the process, fascinated by the idea of humans caring for themselves in such gentle ways. When you’re too tired to do it alone, he offers to help—gently applying cream to your face with his cool hands and brushing your hair back with great care. This has become a nightly ritual that grounds both of you. “I find peace in this. If it brings you comfort, then I, too, will partake every night.”

Lilia Vanrouge ༉⋆｡˚

Lilia’s skincare game is wild—he’ll show up with vampire-themed sheet masks and glittery pink under-eye patches. One night, he brings a centuries-old potion that smells like herbs, and the next, he’s got a trending skincare set he saw in a Magicam ad. He makes it fun. “Oh, ho! Let’s see if these ancient techniques can turn back time!” You never know what to expect, but his presence makes the routine exciting rather than a chore. When he finds out you’re not great at keeping up with skincare, he turns it into a bonding moment. “No worries, little bat! We’ll make a night of it.” The laughter you share keeps you relaxed, and you stop worrying about doing it "right."

[littlebluebird2000]

Twirling Hearts- part 3

pairing: yeon si-eun x reader (female reader)

rating: 18+

genre: romance, smut

warnings: overprotective sieun, school bullying, discussion about food and weight, violence, harassment, smut, mature language, sexual harassment/assault, slow-burn, jealousy, baku always being at the scene of the crime...

summary: Who would've thought that a ballerina and the school's most feared nerd would complete each other so well? Being the new student was never easy-especially not when you were the only girl transferring into an all-boys school. To make matters worse, Eunjang High has a reputation for having its fair share of troublemakers. Some of the rumors were enough to make anyone second-guess stepping through those front gates…

author's note: this chapter contains sexual content. if you are not comfortable with that, it's okay, i'll see you in the next story. changed up the cover because i felt like it :)

word count: 7k+

follow #bluebirdyeonsieun for updates on the story. for some reason, my tags aren't working :(

part : 1. , 2. , 3. , 4., 5

The stage lights dimmed, and your final pose held steady as the music faded. The applause were thunderous, echoing in your chest like a second heartbeat. You were breathless, but not just from the dance—from the rush of finally performing the piece you’d poured everything into.

Backstage, the adrenaline still buzzed through your veins as you pulled off your pointe shoes and smoothed your hair back. When you stepped out into the hallway, your friends were already there—Baku and Gotak cheering loudly, Juntae clapping with a smile, and Sieun… standing a little apart. His hands are in the pockets of his dark jacket, his posture calm, his hair a little messy like he’s been fidgeting with it.

"You were incredible," Juntae said kindly, when you approached.

"Like, no kidding. You were floating!" Gotak added, eyes wide. “Not to be rude, but I never thought I would enjoy a ballet.” You thanked them, laughing a little bit, feeling flushed and grateful.

Baku handed you a bouquet, wrapped in pastel tissue paper. It came from all of them.

“You absolutely killed it, Y/N! That one spin—you know the one—crazy.” You smiled.

You glance toward Sieun, half expecting him to look away like he usually might, but he doesn’t. His gaze stays on you, steady and unreadable, and it makes your stomach twist in a way you’re not prepared for. You suddenly feel shy, clutching the flowers in your hands a little tighter. “You were… really good.” He finally said.

You raise a brow, teasing. “Just really good?”

There’s the smallest shift in his mouth. Not quite a smile, but the kind of expression that says more than it shows. His eyes sparkled a little bit. Happiness. “You looked like you belonged up there.” He added softly.

You could feel your heart tug at the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you.”

He gives a slight nod, but his eyes stay on yours for a beat longer, something warm and unreadable in them. He then glanced away, his hand rising to the back of his neck as if he could rub away the tension building there.

Behind you, Baku makes a noise—something between a groan and a laugh. While the others broke into light chatter again, he leaned close to your ear, his voice low and amused. “He didn’t say much.” He whispered, “But he watched the whole thing like he was afraid to blink. Wouldn’t stop staring. His face was red for half the performance.”

You turned your head to him, but Baku had already straightened up, grinning innocently like nothing had happened.

You glanced at Sieun again, who was now pretending to be distracted by the recital program in his hands. The tips of his ears were indeed pink. You smiled silently to yourself, celebrating this small victory.

You take a second to look at them—each one. The faces that showed up for you. The people who made this night feel less terrifying, less like a test, and more like something to be proud of. You didn’t know this kind of friendship was possible when you first walked into Eunjang. You weren’t looking for it. But it found you anyway—in small gestures, in loyalty, in shared moments like this.

A warmth spreads through your chest. Thank you, you think, but it’s not just for tonight. It’s for everything that’s brought you to this point. For them. For Sieun. And for the unexpected comfort you’ve found along the way.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The night air was bustling with energy as you step outside the theatre, the crowd from the performance spilling out onto the streets. The breeze ruffled your skirt and a shiver passed through you. Families gather, taking pictures, congratulating their children and loved ones, the laughter and chatter blending with the hum of voices.

"Y/N." Juntae’s voice cuts through the noise, and you turn to see him looking around. "Where are your parents? They didn’t come?" The question is casual, like he’s just making conversation, but you feel that familiar twist in your stomach.

“They couldn’t make it tonight.” You said. There was a pause, the kind that usually came with sympathy or concern, but you spoke again before anyone could offer it. “I’m not upset or anything.” You added, adjusting the bouquet in your arms. “It was actually kind of nice. Less pressure.”

Sieun didn’t say anything, but something flickered across his face. It was understanding.

Baku clapped a hand on your shoulder, light and casual. “Their loss. You were amazing.”

“I was thinking… If you guys aren’t busy, do you want to come over at my place? Just to hangout?” You said, casually.

Baku lit up. “Yeah, I’m in—”

Then his eyes cut to Sieun.

He blinked once. And then—

“Oh… wait.”

It was tiny, the shift in his voice—but it was there. His posture changed. His tone got lighter. Too casual. Sieun caught it instantly. His jaw ticked. He turned slowly to look at Baku with a deadpan face.

Baku threw an arm around Juntae’s shoulders. “We can’t go. We have something planned.”

Juntae blinked. “We do?”

Baku tightened his grip. “ You know—the thing. We’ve got that super important thing.”

Gotak looked confused. “Uh? What thing?”

“The thing,” Baku repeated, giving Juntae a look that screamed please say something.

Juntae nodded too hard. “Yeah, totally. That big group… uh… charity assignment.”

Sieun exhaled through his nose.

Gotak frowned. “Charity assignment?”

“Yeah, we’re giving… our time,” Juntae said, clearly making it up as he went.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. Sieun didn’t say anything. He only rolled his eyes—barely, but it was there—and looked away like this entire conversation was physically hurting him.

“Volunteering? At 9PM? On a Friday night?” You asked, eyes narrowing.

Baku’s smile twitched. “Yeah. It’s a… night shift.”

Gotak looked between them, puzzled. “Wait, are you including me in that? I didn’t sign up for anything.”

Baku smiled brightly. “You did, actually.”

“Uh?”

“You volunteered.” Baku added. “Last week.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Well, you did.” Baku said firmly.

Gotak frowned. “I just wanted to go to Y/N’s.”

“And that’s noble,” Baku said, already guiding him away. “But the community need you more.”

Juntae gave a little wave and the three of them disappeared down the sidewalk. Gotak’s confused protests faded with distance.

Sieun didn’t look at you. He was still staring in the direction they’d gone, expressionless. “He thinks he’s clever.”

You smiled, a little amused, a little shy. “But you’re still coming over, right?”

He finally looked at you. “Of course.”

You nodded once, small and sure. “Good.”

You smile softly, a sense of relief washing over you at his words. The tension between you both seems to ease, just a little. Sieun follows beside you, the quiet between you both comfortable now. His presence, as always, is calming, but there’s something different tonight. A softness in the way he walks, in the way he occasionally glances at you from the corner of his eye.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The apartment was dimly lit, washed in the soft gold of a standing lamp in the corner. You kicked off your shoes and set the bouquet down on the kitchen counter, glancing back to see Sieun still lingering at the doorway, hands in his pockets, his gaze cautious as it swept over the space.

“Make yourself at home,” you said, offering a small smile as you padded toward the kitchen. “It’s a bit messy. I didn’t really have time to clean before the performance.”

“It’s fine.” he said, stepping inside.

You rose onto the tip of your toes, fingers grazing the top shelf of the cabinet as you searched for a vase. Nothing. Just an empty row of mugs and glasses. After a pause, you reached for a clear pitcher instead. “I should get these in water quickly.” You said, voice low as you filled the jug at the sink. The water rushed quietly, echoing in the silence between you. You carefully loosened the wrapping around the stems and arranged the bouquet in the pitcher, your fingers brushing across the soft petals.

When you turned around, Sieun was standing in the middle of the room, looking out of place but oddly endearing, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Want to sit?” You offered, gesturing to the couch.

He gave a small nod and walked over, settling stiffly at the far end. You poured two glasses of water and joined him, setting them down on the table between you. A quiet moment stretched, neither of you speaking.

“You’re really okay with your parents not coming?” He asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Yes… and no.” You said honestly. You turned toward him, leaning your elbow on the backrest. “I’m sad they didn’t make the effort.. I’m angry, too. I fought so hard to get into this ballet academy—because my mom wanted it so badly—and now she doesn’t even bother to show up. Not even a good luck text.” You exhaled. “But in a weird way, I’m glad. I didn’t have their pressure hanging over me. I could just focus on the performance. So yeah… I was sad, but I wasn’t at the same time… If that makes any sense.”

“It does.” He said quietly. He hesitated, then asked, “Do you even like dancing?”

“Lucky for Mom, I do.” You gave a small laugh. “Not as obsessively as she’d like, but yeah—I love it.”

“Well,” He began, visibly swallowing. “You’re… really good at it.” His voice was soft, almost flat, but underneath it was something uncertain.

“Oh. Thank you.” You blinked, surprised by the sudden compliment. You looked down, fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

“You looked…” His voice drifted, and he stopped. His hands tightened slightly on his knees.

You glanced at him. His face was half-shadowed in the lamplight, jaw tense with a subtle flicker of nerves.

“It’s okay,” You said gently. “You can say it. I won’t laugh.”

“Pretty.” He murmured, barely louder than a breath. “Really pretty.”

Your breath caught. You smiled down for a moment, then looked up at him, heart fluttering.

“You’re sweet.” You said , the words slipping out more quietly than you meant them to. You smiled shyly, eyes lowering as warmth crept into your cheeks.

He blinked. “Me? Sweet?”

There was no sarcasm in his voice—just genuine confusion, like it wasn’t something he’d ever considered. “No one’s ever called me that.”

You looked up at him, eyes warm, a quiet fondness in your expression. “Maybe they just don’t know you that well.”

For a moment, you hesitated. Then—quietly, deliberately—you scooted closer, closing the space between you by just a few inches. It wasn’t much, but it felt like everything.

Sieun’s breath hitched. You noticed the way his spine stiffened, then relaxed again, like he didn’t know what to do with the sudden closeness. His eyes flicked down, then back up—searching your face, uncertain but not pulling away.

Your knees nearly touched.

You could feel his warmth now, that quiet, steady presence of him. His hand shifted slightly on his knee, fingers twitching like he almost wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

“Are you nervous?” You asked, teasing, but only a little. You didn’t know where your sudden boldness came from, but you were glad for it at the moment.

His eyes flicked to yours. “A little,” He admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “You make me nervous.”

You smiled—shy, surprised, and something more. “Good,” you said. “You make me nervous too.”

He inhaled sharply through his nose, the sound enough to make your pulse race. You glanced down at his hand, still curled tensely on his knee, the tips of his fingers twitching.

Carefully, you let your hand slide just slightly—until your pinky brushed against his. Just a touch. Barely there. He froze. His fingers were cold and a little stiff at first, but they didn’t pull away. You held your breath, unsure if you’d gone too far—but then, slowly, his fingers slid into yours—tentative, clumsy, like he was afraid he might do it wrong. His hand was warm, just a little shaky, and he held on like he didn’t quite believe it was happening.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” You said quietly.

His voice was even softer. “Me too.”

Sieun still hadn’t looked away. He was holding your gaze now, like he was finally letting you see all the things he’d kept locked behind silence. But even now, you could feel it—he was holding back. Not because he didn’t want to move closer, but because he was scared to cross that invisible line.

Slowly, you leaned in, just enough for him to feel your breath. His eyes widened, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back.

"I know you won’t do anything unless I do it first." You said quietly, voice low and steady, though your heart was pounding like crazy. A small, daring smile tugged at your lips. “So I’ll go first.”

Sieun stared at you — frozen, wide-eyed, like the words knocked the air right out of him. His fingers twitched beneath your hold, and for a split second, he looked like he might run.

So you leaned in before he could.

The space between you disappeared with the soundless rush of a breath, your eyes locking with his until your nose brushed his, until you could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

You kissed him.

Your lips met his—softly. Carefully. You barely pressed into it, just enough to feel the warmth of his mouth, the uncertainty trembling through him. He was motionless at first, tense as stone, and then…

He kissed you back.

Harder than you expected. Hungrier. Like something inside him had snapped and he couldn’t hold it in anymore. His hand slid up to cup your cheek, fingers trembling, thumb brushing just below your eye as if to make sure you were real. His other hand gripped the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, like he didn’t care if he breathed again.

You let out a soft sound against his mouth, and he shivered.

When you finally pulled back, your chests were rising and falling fast, and his lips were red from the kiss — a little parted, like he couldn’t believe it.

Sieun swallowed. His voice came out rough and low. “I didn’t know it could be like that.” He whispered, eyes closed.

And then you kissed him again— slower this time, more deliberate. You wanted him to feel it. To understand without words just how long you had been holding this back.

Sieun responded with the same quiet desperation, his lips softer now, more careful, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. His hand slid to your shoulder, anchoring himself to the moment. His touch was shaky, uncertain — but you felt the way his body leaned into yours.

You parted your lips slightly, and Sieun froze — just for a beat — before following your lead. His breath caught, and a quiet sound escaped him, somewhere between a sigh and a low groan, like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. It stirred something in you.

You pulled him closer, your hand curling into the back of his sweatshirt. The kiss deepened, heat blooming between you, and for a moment, nothing else existed. Just the hush of breath, the pulse in your ears, and the way Sieun tasted like something new and dangerous and addictive.

You finally broke apart to breathe, foreheads pressed together, both of you breathing hard, there was a quiet pause.

The next kiss wasn’t rushed. It unfolded like something inevitable — slow and simmering, deepening with each passing second. Your hands found his face again, your thumbs brushing the edge of his cheekbones as his lips moved with growing confidence against yours. There was a hunger in him now, restrained but real, like he’d been holding back for too long and finally allowed himself to want.

Sieun’s hand slipped to your waist, hesitant at first, then firmer as he pulled you closer.

When your fingers slid into his hair, his breath hitched. That small sound — vulnerable, unguarded — made your pulse quicken. You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, feeling him melt into it with you.

“You’re shaking.” You whispered.

He looked dazed, a faint blush spreading across his skin. ‘I… don’t know what I’m doing.” He said, voice low.

You brushed a strand of hair away from his face, revealing his forehead. ‘Me neither.’ You said softly. ‘But this… it feels right.’

A pause.

“You don’t have to hold back, you know.” You whispered, your voice barely audible, but the words hung in the space between you like a challenge, a quiet invitation. Sieun’s eyes darkened for the briefest moment, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features. His hand now rested at the small of your back, pressing you to his side.

“Are you sure…?” he whispered, the words coming out rougher than he intended.

You nodded slowly, your voice quiet but steady. “I’m sure.” For a brief moment, his eyes locked onto yours, his gaze dark intense. A pulse of heat shot through you at the weight of it, and before you could even register what was happening, he leaned in.

It was clumsy, but there was something urgent in it. It was desperate, consuming. His lips were bruising, demanding, but you welcomed it. You couldn’t get enough of him. His tongue slipped past your lips, exploring, testing, as if he were tasting something he’d been craving for too long. He was fully in it now, giving himself over to the intensity of the moment.

His hands down your back were pulling you closer, his fingers dug into your skin. Sieun’s hands moved up to your waist, lifting you slightly as he pulled you fully on his lap, closer, straddling him. Your skirt wrinkled up and the couch creaked slightly beneath your shifting weight.

A quiet sound slipped from your lips as his hands moved lower, fingers skimming the bare skin of your thighs. His mouth left yours, trailing soft, lingering kisses down the curve of your neck. His breath was warm, unsteady, ghosting over your skin like he was trying to memorize every inch.

You felt the slightest tremble in his hands—not from hesitation, but from nerves he couldn’t quite hide. Each kiss sent a shiver down your spine, the combination of his uncertainty and growing desire making your chest tighten. His name left you in a whisper, barely audible.

Just as you were lost in the kiss, the ringing of your cellphone pierced the air, the shrill sound startling both of you. You pulled back for a moment, your breath heavy, your lips tingling from the kiss. The name on the screen made your heart skip a beat.

Baku.

Sieun’s eyes flickered down to your phone on the couch. A flicker of something dark passed across his face as he saw the name. You started to reach for your phone, but Sieun’s hand shot out to stop you. He took your wrist gently but firmly. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and full of quiet possessiveness. “Leave it.” He murmured, his voice low. It was holding a slight edge of something dangerous.

You froze for a moment, taken aback by the tone in his voice. His thumb gently brushed over your wrist as if trying to calm you, but his eyes never left yours. His breathing was still uneven, his chest rising and falling beneath you. You were caught between answering and staying in this moment, the tension between you palpable. What if it was important? But when you looked back at Sieun, his gaze told you everything. He wasn’t going to let you answer.

He leaned in again, kissing you, this time with an urgency that couldn’t be ignored. The phone’s ringing faded into the background, insignificant compared to the electric feeling of being so close to him, of being his. There was no hiding the desire in his eyes now, no pretending. You could feel the weight of him, his body reacting to yours, and it made your heart race.

With a slight movement, you shifted in his lap, your body brushing against his in just the right way, making you both moan. He let out a low breath, eyes closed, struggling to maintain control.

Sieun’s grip on your waist tightened as he pushed you down and help you rubbed yourself against himself, the friction of your bodies sending a rush of heat through both of you. His lips went back to yours.

You couldn’t help but gasp as the sensation hit you all at once, the feeling of being so close to him after so long, kissing him like this… “Y/N…” His voice was strained, thick with emotion. He was hard beneath you, his body reacting to yours in ways that made you melt.

His lips move to your jawline, then to your neck, and you gasps, tilting your head back to give him more access. It was all too much, but it felt so good. It felt right.

“Can you take it off?” Sieun asked, his voice low and breathless. “Just… that skirt—” He exhaled sharply, almost like it hurt to say. “It’s been driving me crazy.”

Without a word, you leaned back and reached for the zipper, easing it down slowly. The skirt slipped over your hips and slid down your legs in a soft rustle. You rose briefly on unsteady legs, letting it fall to the floor, forgotten. Then you returned to him, settling into his lap—your knees on either side of his thighs, arms wrapping gently around his shoulders, pulling him back into you.

A low groan escaped Sieun, your scent overwhelming every thought in his head. His hands settled instinctively on your hips, then lower, gripping and kneading the skin of your ass as you moved against him. From this angle, he had an unfiltered view of what had consumed his thoughts for weeks.

The thin fabric between you offered little cover—his gaze lingered, hungry and stunned, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

Then his mouth was on yours again, harder this time—needy, desperate.

A gasp escaped you as another wave of pleasure washed over you, your head instinctively tilting to rest against Sieun’s neck, your breath warm and unsteady against his skin. “Oh, Sieun…” You whimpered, your voice barely a breath, almost lost in the heat of the moment. Your fingers clenched at his shirt, desperate, grounding yourself to him.

The air between you was thick with tension, each breath shared between you more uneven than the last. But then Sieun’s hands faltered, and he pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with something more than just desire.

“Y/N, wait.” He breathed, his voice strained. “Please… slow down.” His eyes filled with a quiet intensity. It wasn’t hesitation, but a deeper longing, a desire to stretch this moment for as long as he could.

“I don’t want this to end too fast,” He whispered, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “I want to make it last.”

He kissed you again, but slower this time, lips soft against yours, savoring each breath, each brush of skin. There was no rush now—just the quiet exchange of breaths and the gentle press of your bodies against one another, still moving, but slowly this time.

You followed his lead, your hands finding their way back to his shoulders, holding him close as the kiss deepened, but at a gentler pace. Every shift of his lips and hips felt like it was savoring the moment, the quiet pressure of his touch making your heart race. You stayed like that for a while, tangled in each other, kissing until the world outside blurred away.

He groaned again, low in his throat. That sound — raw and unfiltered — sent a pulse of heat through you. You lifted your head a little bit, searching for his eyes. You couldn’t help but get lost in the soft intensity of his gaze.

"Your eyes... they're so beautiful." You whispered, breathless. His brow furrowed. “Everyone says they're scary... But I think they're beautiful." You leaned in just enough to press your forehead against his, heart pounding.

Something in him cracked at your words—like a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding suddenly gave way. He groaned, and his mouth found yours again, this time with more urgency. The kiss deepened, growing hungrier, more consuming, as though he needed to feel everything you were offering him.

His hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you against him as your bodies moved in sync. The rhythm stayed steady, but the intensity built, slowly and surely—until it was all heat and quiet desperation. Sieun faltered slightly, his expression cracking under the weight of everything he was feeling.

Soft moans spilled between your mouths as you held onto each other, coming undone together in a moment that felt impossibly raw and real.

Your breath came in short, shallow pulls, mixing with his as you stayed tangled together, your bodies still pressed close. Sieun’s forehead rested against your shoulder, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves. His arms were still locked around your waist, as if letting go too soon might undo what just happened. You felt the tremble in him—not fear, but something fragile and overwhelmed.

You stayed like that, wrapped around each other, breathless and dazed. Your hand found the back of his neck, fingers threading gently through his damp hair as your other arm draped across his shoulders.

Neither of you spoke.

Then, quietly, you started to giggle.

Sieun lifted his head slightly, brow furrowing like he wasn’t sure what he missed. You bit your lip, trying to hold it in, but the laugh bubbled out again, soft and breathless.

“We skipped so many steps.” You murmured, eyes crinkling. “Like—ridiculously many.”

His confusion cracked into something looser, something warmer. And then he laughed—an actual laugh, low and unsteady at first, like he wasn’t used to it. You froze for a moment, surprised by the sound, your heart catching.

It was the first time you’d heard him laugh.

You stared, wide-eyed, something warm blooming in your chest. “Was that a laugh?”

He looked away, but there was the smallest smile on his lips. “Maybe.”

Your heart fluttered, and you pressed closer to him, both of you still breathless, but now wrapped in something quieter. Something safe.

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The atmosphere was relaxed, but Baku couldn’t hide the grin plastered on his face.

As Gotak and Juntae casually went about their snacks and drinks, Baku’s eyes were glued to his phone. His thumb hovered over the screen as he checked for any missed notifications—particularly, the unanswered calls to Y/N.

When he saw there were still no replies, he let out a small laugh to himself, almost maniacal in its glee.

“Bro, what’s so funny?” Gotak asked, noticing Baku’s wide grin and the strange, almost gleeful energy radiating from him.

Baku didn't answer right away, instead scrolling through his phone one more time, his grin growing. He was clearly enjoying this.

“She didn’t pick up.” Baku said as an explanation, his voice unusually high-pitched with excitement.

Juntae, who had been quietly sipping his drink, raised an eyebrow, his confusion obvious. “So? It’s no big deal. She’s probably busy.”

Baku’s eyes flicked up to meet Juntae’s, the grin still wide on his face. “No, no, no, it’s a huge deal. She didn’t pick up...again.”

Gotak looked from Baku to Juntae, both equally confused, then turned back to Baku. “You’re acting weird. Why do you care so much? You’re acting like she hasn’t answered for a week.”

Baku laughed louder this time, almost too loud for the calm vibe of the table. “I don’t know, man. I just... I’m excited! She didn’t pick up and I think it’s a sign!”

Juntae and Gotak exchanged uncomfortable glances. Baku was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Sign of what?” Juntae asked cautiously, his tone skeptical. “That she’s busy?”

Baku’s grin didn’t falter as he leaned back in his chair, looking too pleased with himself. “No. It’s a sign that something’s happening between her and Sieun. I’m telling you, something’s going down between them.” He practically bounced in his seat, looking pleased with himself. “I knew it. They’ve been getting closer. My plan finally worked.”

Juntae raised an eyebrow, his face twisting in doubt. “I know you arranged tonight so they’d end up alone, but… Sieun? Are you sure about that? I mean, he’s been... well, distant with everyone.”

Baku’s grin didn’t fade. If anything, it grew. “Exactly! That’s why it’s so exciting. He’s not someone who just flirts with people, right? He’s been keeping it all to himself, but I can tell he’s totally into her! He acts different with her!“

He wasn’t about to tell them what Sieun had shared with him in confidence. That moment had meant something—Sieun had trusted him enough to say the kind of thing he never said out loud. Baku wasn’t going to break that.

Gotak snorted. “You’re talking like you’ve got a front-row seat to their love story.”

Baku laughed, nodding again. “I do! I’m not just their friend; I’m their matchmaker! I mean, come on, they’re practically perfect for each other. I knew from the start that this was going to happen. I just had to give them a little nudge.”

Baku leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin still on his face. He glanced at Gotak, who was still giving him a confused look. Baku couldn’t help but share just a little bit more of his excitement.

Gotak raised a brow. “What proof do you have , exactly? That she didn’t answer your call? You’re jumping to conclusions, Baku.”

Juntae nodded, quieter but equally skeptical. “Maybe her phone’s just on silent. Or she’s asleep.”

Baku scoffed, leaning forward now, eyes gleaming with something close to triumph. “Oh come on. You really think it’s just that? She hasn’t answered three calls. And she never ignores me. Not unless she’s… preoccupied.”

“Dude, you’re seriously making a whole story out of that?” Gotak said, shaking his head. “That’s not proof. That’s just your imagination going wild.”

Baku smirked, undeterred. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just good at reading people.”

“You?” Gotak said flatly.

“Alright,” Baku said, sitting up straighter. “Let’s make it interesting, then. I say something’s going on between Sieun and Y/N. If I’m right, you owe me fried chicken. If I’m wrong, I’ll cover lunch for a whole week.”

Gotak squinted at him. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Juntae glanced between them, clearly amused but staying out of the challenge.

Gotak gave in with a shrug. “Fine. But if you’re wrong, I want extra fries.”

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The kitchen was quiet except for the soft sizzle of eggs in the pan and the hum of the morning air. You moved slowly, still a little tired but warm, wrapped up in the oversized black hoodie you’d slipped on the moment you got out of bed. His hoodie. It smelled like him—clean, subtle, and something you couldn't quite name but always noticed when he was close. You’d always wanted to wear it, and now that it was on you, it felt like a secret hug even when he wasn’t around.

It was now Sunday. You had spent the whole weekend together.

Sieun had run back to his place yesterday morning to grab a few things, but the rest of the time, he stayed at yours. It felt safer that way. Fewer chances of being interrupted.

It had been awkward at first. He didn’t seem to know what he was supposed to do—where to lie, how close was too close. His body had been stiff, his movements hesitant, like he was afraid of doing something wrong.

By the second night, things felt easier. He relaxed beside you, settling into the space you made for him. The way he curled toward you in his sleep, his breath soft against your shoulder… the way his fingers found yours in the dark, like it was second nature—it all felt strangely natural. It felt safe in his arms. Not just physically, but deeper than that. Like, for once, the world outside didn’t matter. You weren’t being judged or pressured. You were just… held.

You didn’t hear his footsteps, but you felt Sieun’s quiet presence suddenly behind you, his warmth pressing gently into your back.

Then, his arms wrapped around your waist.

Slow. Firm. Wordless.

You let out a small breath, your lips curving. “You’re awake.”

“Mhm.” His voice was husky, still laced with sleep, and it vibrated softly against your shoulder as he tucked his chin there.

“You stole it,” he murmured.

You tugged the hem shyly. “…I hope you don’t mind.” You said, watching his expression. “I’ve always kind of wanted to.”

Sieun didn’t say anything at first. His eyes dropped to the hoodie again, then flicked back to your face. He looked almost… soft.

“It suits you,” he said quietly.

Your heart stuttered. “I might not give it back, you know.”

His voice was calm, but there was a trace of fondness in it. “Then I’ll just steal one of yours.” You laughed, leaning more into him.

“I’m making breakfast.” You whispered, half turning your head toward him. He nodded only. He held you tighter for a second. His breath brushed your neck, his body curved around yours like he was trying to melt into you.

You turned in his arms, the warmth of his body still at your back as you faced him. He blinked, a little startled by the sudden movement, his hands instinctively resting at your sides.

Before he could say anything, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

It was soft—barely a moment—but it stole the breath right out of him.

His eyes widened, his entire body stiffening as if his brain was still trying to catch up. You could see the pink slowly rising in his cheeks, his lips parting slightly like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

You couldn’t help but grin as you watched the color bloom on his ears, his gaze stubbornly fixed to the side like the wall was suddenly fascinating.

“Your ears are red.” You said, trying not to laugh.

Sieun tensed. “No, they’re not.”

You stepped a little closer, tilting your head with mock curiosity. “They definitely are. You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.” He muttered, still not looking at you.

You leaned in, voice low and teasing. “It’s kind of cute… You weren’t this shy last night.”

You hadn’t gone all the way—nothing further than what had happened Friday night. But it was still good. Incredibly good.

That got him. His shoulders stiffened, and his eyes finally snapped to yours, wide with embarrassment. “Y-Yah—don’t say it like that.”

You giggled, absolutely delighted. “What? It’s true. You’re all serious and quiet again, but I remember how you looked when—”

Sieun clapped a hand gently over your mouth, face burning now. “Stop talking.” He whispered, voice tight but soft, like he didn’t know whether to be mortified or pull you closer again.

Turning back around, the smile still playing on your lips, you gently slid the freshly cooked egg onto the plate of kimchi fried rice, the soft sizzle filling the space between you.

Your phone buzzed again on the counter, Baku’s name lighting up the screen—his third call in the past hour. When you didn’t answer, it was Juntae’s turn to call.

You laughed quietly, the sound warm and lazy. “They really don’t give up, huh?”

Sieun, still hovering near you, glanced at the phone with a frown. You reached out and picked it up but didn’t answer right away.

“Can I answer them now?” You asked, turning to him with a soft smile. “They’ve been calling nonstop.”

Sieun looked at you for a long second—quiet, unreadable. Then, with a small exhale, he nodded, eyes flicking to the phone then away again.

“...Yeah.” He said quietly. “I guess we should let them know you’re not dead.”

You slid a plate onto the counter. “Here. Eat.”

He gave a small nod of thanks and slipped into the chair, his back now to you, already reaching for the food.

You swiped your finger across the screen and tapped the speaker button, bracing yourself for whatever chaos was about to unleash.

“Hello?” You answered, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.

“Y/N?” Juntae’s voice came through, gentle and a bit uncertain. “Ah—sorry if I’m interrupting. Are you okay?” You could picture his furrowed brow.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for not answering sooner. I just needed a quiet weekend.”

You smiled to yourself, glancing at Sieun, who was quietly eating across from you.

There was a pause on the other end, and then a muffled rustling sound before Juntae spoke again. “It’s been two days. We were starting to get a little worried.”

In the background, you heard Gotak’s familiar, booming voice: “Tell her we thought she got kidnapped!”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “I’m fine.” You said. “I promise.”

Juntae, sounding slightly relieved, murmured, “Okay. That’s… good.”

Then Baku shouted again, “Ask her if Sieun’s still alive too!”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips. You kept your gaze on Sieun. He didn’t say anything, didn’t turn around, but you noticed the slight pause in his movements, the way his shoulders stiffened just enough to give him away.

“Sieun’s not here.” You said nonchalantly, eyes still on his back. “It’s just me.”

“Give me the phone! She’s lying.”

Your eyebrows lifted in amusement. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Baku fired back. “You’re lying through your teeth. Sieun’s there with you, isn’t he?”

Sieun still hadn’t turned around, but his fork hovered in mid-air for a second too long before he resumed eating, just a bit more slowly than before.

“Nope.” You said sweetly. “Just little ol’ me.”

Baku huffed. “Right. And what about the fact Sieun’s been MIA too, huh? He’s not answering his phone either. That’s way too convenient.”

You suppressed a grin. “Maybe he’s tired of you too.”

“Or maybe,” Baku continued smoothly, “He’s lying in your bed right now.”

You’re eyes widened in shocked amusement. “Wow. Jumping to conclusions, aren’t we?”

There was a pause, then his voice took on a slightly smoother edge. “You know, Y/N… your ballet performance? You were… kind of stunning. Not just the dancing. The way you looked on stage—man. It was something else.”

You blinked confused at the sudden change of conversation. “Uhm, thank you? I guess.” You replied, unsure if he was serious or just trying to throw Sieun off…

“I keep thinking about that dress you wore for the performance.” He added, teasing now.

Okay definitely the later…

Sieun didn’t say a word, but you saw it—the way his shoulders tightened slightly

“That white one,” Baku went on. “It hugged your body just right. Every turn, every step you took… it was impossible not to notice.”

You cleared your throat, your cheeks warming. “Baku.” You said, tone edged with warning.

“And the way the fabric shimmered under the spotlight? It made your skin look like it was glowing. Your arms, your back—don’t even get me started on your legs.” Sieun rose from his chair—slowly, silently. He still didn’t look at you, but his movements were calm, deliberate.

“I'm just saying,” Baku purred. “When you stepped on that stage, I thought—‘she could ruin me and I’d say thank you.’”

That was the last Sieun’s last straw.

He stepped over, and without a word, took the phone gently from your hand. His fingers brushed yours—warm, steady.

When he spoke, his voice was low, almost bored. But his eyes—cold and sharp—told another story.

“You’re too loud.” He said into the phone.

A beat of silence.

Then Baku’s voice erupted on the other end. “HA! I knew it! I told you, didn’t I? Now you can buy me—”

Beep.

Sieun pressed a button and ended the call with an emotionless flick of his thumb. He set the phone face down on the counter.

You turned to him, amused. “You didn’t like the compliments?”

“I didn’t like that they came from him.”

His eyes flicked to you and his gaze darkened slightly. “You looked better right now.” He said quietly, voice rough, “Hair still messy and in my shirt.”

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The next morning, you floated through the halls of the ballet academy with a lightness in your chest you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You’d kissed Sieun before leaving—just a soft press of your lips to his cheek as he mumbled something half-asleep. He’d wrapped his arms around you in return, slow and warm, holding on like he didn’t want to let go. It made leaving harder… but also, somehow, easier.

You danced like the air carried you. Even your teacher noticed.

“Light on your feet today,” She said as you held a balance mid-turn. “Good energy. Keep that.”

You smiled through your breathing, heart warm. If only she knew why.

The sun had risen higher when you finally left the academy alone, bag slung over your shoulder, hair pulled into a quick bun. There was a small ache in your muscles that felt earned. The street was quiet at first—just a few parked scooters and the hum of traffic down the block.

Then you saw them.

A small group of men loitered near the academy’s entrance gate—older, rougher around the edges, their presence too still, too intentional. One of them stood out, dressed in an orange jacket, a cigarette burning between his fingers. Smoke curled lazily from his mouth as he stared down at his phone.

You felt it before he even looked up.

That drop in your stomach. That quiet instinctive alarm.

Then his head lifted. His eyes locked onto yours—and he smiled broadly.

But it wasn’t friendly. It was a grin stretched wide with some private joke you weren’t in on. Like he was already imagining something. Something you wouldn’t find funny at all.

“Hello, little ballerina.” He said, casual and amused. “Been meaning to talk to you.”

[seahorsepencils]

I 100% believe that Nathan Fielder made a deliberate choice in focusing the episode around footage of him interacting with two autism "advocates" who are ultimately ableist and reductive in their understanding of autism. A congressman who doesn't even know what masking is, and an advocacy organization founder who uses outdated tests and won't acknowledge that not-autistic folks might benefit from rehearsing difficult social situations? That's not an accident.

If you look up Doreen Granpeesheh, you'll see that she is known for promoting the idea of autism "recovery," and that she has a history of publicly supporting the claim that there's a link between vaccines and autism. Her Wikipedia page makes very clear that she is a problematic figure whose work has been critiqued, and that she should not be taken seriously. Fielder, along with his writers and producers, would have known her reputation when booking her for the show.

A screenshot from Granpeesheh's website. Yes, it would appear she is actually proud of this headline.

And I think he's using the meeting with Cohen as a commentary on how autistic folks (and minoritized people in general, most likely) are treated by people in authority. Instead of masking and politely leaving the room, instead of picking up signals that Cohen is wrapping up the meeting without wanting to announce he's doing it on camera, Fielder purposely doesn't "take the hint" so that Cohen has to flounder and keep trying to wrap up the meeting in a way that is ultimately vague, dismissive, and rude. The longer the audience has to sit and watch that dynamic play out, the more likely we are to recognize Cohen as the bad guy in the situation rather than Fielder. It's brilliant.

And it's the exact same strategy he's using by spending the first half of the season ostensibly focusing on the first officer in those cockpit interactions, while deliberately giving screen time to guys like the "banned from every dating app" pilot to make it clear who is actually the source of the problem (and to hopefully trigger an FAA sexual harassment investigation in that one instance). In all three of these situations, he's showing us how a problematic person in power holds all the cards and is unwilling to budge.

I know there are differing opinions on what aspects of the show and his character are exaggerated or performed. As a very self-aware autistic comedy writer, this is my assessment: I think he's semi-deliberately not filling silences with masking behaviors, and asking questions he probably knows are uncomfortably direct, to create a space where others (often the neurotypical folks in these situations) have no choice to fill in the silence, which ultimately makes them say or do something relevant. I think he also acts like an unaware, unbiased observer in situations where he has a strong idea of what's going on. So whenever he says "I didn't know why" or "I didn't understand," he probably mostly does know and understand, but he knows that performing the role of an unbiased observer is a stronger strategic choice to get his message across.

He's basically playing the role of a journalist who knows that two of the most effective tools in his toolkit are a) silence when he wants a subject to reveal crucial information, and b) an "unbiased" narrative frame that makes the audience feel as if they're coming to a conclusion on their own, rather than being told what to think.

It's a nuanced approach but I think it's a smart one, especially considering that autistic-coded folks are very easily dismissed when speaking truth to power. And yeah, he's not gonna get his Congressional hearing. But pointing a camera at the problem and airing it for a massive audience, while saying "Me? I don't have an agenda; this data just presented itself in response to my neutral, unbiased question" is a pretty autistic—and often effective—approach to problem-solving.

[cuntyji]

RED SEA DIVING CLUB ౨ৎ VARIOUS X FEMALE READER

synopsis: your period is here, but guess what? so are your men, and they all have very different approaches to the situation. it’s a mess, literally, but so are you. and they all love it here.

content warnings: suggestive content (no explicit description, it's mostly just crack headcanons because writing smut scares me), periods, period sex

author's note: chuckles nervously and prays this does not flop

sukuna does a little interpretative dance in his head when you ask him to go down on you during your period. it’s a whole theatrical performance up there—twirls, jazz hands, maybe even a dramatic bow at the end. whoopsie, he loves blood, has loved it for millennia, and hey, he loves you too! there’s sheer tension in the air, a moment so raw and intimate—except he looks like a kid in a candy store, eyes practically sparkling with excitement. he thinks he looks reaalll sexy, some smug, brooding beast of a man, but in reality? he just looks giddy, like a dog that just heard the word "walk." “ohhh, baby, y'spoiling me,” he drawls, cracking his knuckles like he’s about to feast. you blink, and suddenly his face is buried between your legs like he’s got a personal vendetta against your thighs. he's winning.

choso, on the other hand, is the one asking to do the deed. he’s curious, fascinated even. “so... s'still okay, right?” he asks, blinking at you with all the innocence of a man who has lived for over a century but still somehow lacks the finer understanding of menstruation. sure, he knows what it is, but the nuances? the societal taboos? the way some guys act like you’ve summoned an ancient curse when you bleed on the sheets? nah, all of that flies right over his head. “do you want to?” you ask, testing him. he nods. so earnestly, too. “yeah.” well, are you complaining? is he stopping? hell no. he’s already got his hair tied back like he’s about to solve an economic crisis, shoulders squared like this is a challenge he’s fully prepared to take on. a scholar in his field. dedication unmatched.

toji is not squeamish. period? what period? this is child’s play to him. unlike your loser exes who whined the second a speck of red touched the sheets, toji merely grunts, “eh, we’ll wash ‘em later,” before promptly ruining them further. he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even pause—just goes about it like usual, putting the dirty in down and dirty. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand after, grins, and says, “tastes the same.” (bro?????) he doesn’t even make a thing of it. it’s just sex - just you, just the same old routine, except maybe a little messier. what a man.

gojo, meanwhile, is relieved periods are a once in a month thing. not because he minds the blood—please, (💅) he’s a sorcerer, he’s seen worse—but because, as much as he loves the post-period ovulation package deal that turns you into the horniest creature alive, he’s not exactly jumping with joy at the idea of cleaning up every time you two tear into each other. “babe, i love you,” he says, voice dripping with exaggerated affection, “but we might have to invest in some, like... plastic sheets.” yet, the moment you so much as blink your lashes at him, he’s already laying you out like a starfish. no thoughts. just action. he’s a loving partner, after all.

geto, bless his heart, frowns slightly when you mention it. this is your healing girl era, your resting girl era, and he believes in honoring that. “hmm, i think we should wait,” he says, ever the rational, reasonable man. strictly, at that. no debate. until you sigh dramatically grab your rose toy like thor's hammer, about to embark on a solo pilgrimage. and suddenly? he’s giving you a ride to poundtown. a whoooolllle first-class trip. “oh? you had the energy to go looking for that thing but not to come sit on my lap?” he muses, dark eyes narrowing as he slides a hand up your thigh. oh, joy!

nanami, on the other hand, feels like activities like these can wait. sex isn’t everything, and there are other ways to relieve your cramps. he massages your lower back, makes you warm tea, rubs slow circles into your stomach with his broad, calloused hand. but. if you beg reaaalllllly nicely, voice all soft and sweet, looking up at him with those desperate eyes... well. who is he to say no? “fine.” he exhales, already unbuttoning his shirt. “but you’re washing the sheets.”

a/n: hi

[tonfairy]

Too Tired to Hate You

pairing : academic rival! anton x fem! reader

genre : academic rivalry, angst, slow burn, mutual pining, light romance

cw : mention of anxiety, nothing explicit just making out ! | wc : 2k

💌 : hi ! sorry for not updating for like 2 weeks </3 i've been resting... and THANK U GUYS SM FOR 100 !! 🥹🩷 so so grateful for every one of u 🫶🏼🫂 (proofread, enjoy!)

It’s a regular Thursday afternoon—just another lecture, no big tests, no surprises. But for you, everything feels like it’s caving in. Your vision blurs, your thoughts twist into tangled knots of deadlines and expectations. The classroom hums with idle chatter, but in your mind? It’s turmoil. Academic pressure. Anxiety. Burnout. And worst of all, your inner voice— relentless, unforgiving.

Your heart thuds unevenly, the familiar knot of anxiety tightening. You tell yourself this classroom is just a battleground to survive — not a place for weakness. But part of you wishes someone could see past the cold walls you’ve built.

You’re welcomed by the cold, fresh air you’ve been craving all day. It feels like a breath of life. The rooftop—rarely visited by other students and tucked away from where students usually pass—is your secret escape, your quiet place to breathe and let go.

This rooftop isn’t just a place to escape noise. It’s where the suffocating expectations fade into the background—where you can remember how to just be.

You sit on one of its rusty chairs, gazing at the now glowing city, the traffic, and the restless night. Breathing in deeply, you close your eyes and let the negativity drain from you, just feeling the moment, for once.

For a brief moment, you think maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to hold it all together. You stay like that for a while, until the soft creak of the rooftop door breaks the silence. Someone else has come up. You turn slightly; there he is, Anton Lee, your long-time rival.

You hadn’t expected anyone here. Not him.

You’ve hated each other for years—known across campus for your fiery debates, dramatic eye-rolls during shared lectures, and snide remarks at student council meetings. You, a Chemistry major from the Science and Technology Department, and Anton Lee, an Interdisciplinary Studies student from the IS Department, couldn’t be more different in your approaches, priorities, or personalities.

Anton is known for being approachable—easygoing, friendly, the kind of person who gets along with everyone, from professors to freshmen. He thrives in group discussions and knows how to charm a room. You, on the other hand, are often seen as cold and arrogant. You’re serious, focused, and don’t waste time on small talk or appearances. In reality, you’re not arrogant at all—just guarded, overwhelmed, and constantly trying to live up to the weight of your own expectations.

And yet, somehow, you keep ending up in the same rooms, on the same panels, across from each other at every competition that matters.

Your departments have become unofficial rivals because of you two—students taking sides, professors pretending not to, and every academic event turning into a quiet battlefield.

But beneath the rivalry lies burnout. Exhaustion. The crushing weight of always needing to perform, to win, to be the best. Neither of you knows how to stop running.

He steps out into the cold night air. His hoodie is barely enough against the chill, but he doesn’t care—he needs air, needs quiet. The weight of back-to-back presentations and late-night study sessions presses against his ribs like a vice.

He hadn’t expected anyone to be here, especially not you. Seeing you like this, so raw and vulnerable, unsettles something deep inside him. Maybe you aren’t the enemy. He hadn’t expected anyone to be there. But you are. Sitting there like you belong to the night. Like you needed this place just as much as he does.

“You lost, Lee?” you say without glancing his way.

Anton smirks, brushing a hand through his hair. “Didn’t realize you owned the sky now, Y/N.”

You finally turn, eyebrows raised. “I don’t need to own it. Just need to escape it—something you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, please,” he says, stepping closer, voice low. “You act like Chemistry’s so high and mighty. But it’s all formulas and memorization, stuck in a lab while the rest of us actually think outside the box.”

Your lips curl into a sharp smile. “At least I’m not juggling a million half-baked ideas with no real focus. Interdisciplinary Studies? More like ‘indecisive studies.’”

Anton’s smirk falters for a moment, but he masks it quickly. “Better to be indecisive than stuck pretending to be a scientist. Don’t think those equations will save you when burnout hits.”

You match his gaze. “Maybe. But unlike you, I’m used to pressure. Maybe that’s why you’re always one step behind.”

He lets out a low laugh, shakes his head. “Keep telling yourself that, formula martyr.”

Then, without another word, he walks over and sits a few feet away from you. “I didn’t come here to talk to you.”

You don’t respond, but don’t tell him to leave, either.

Silence stretches between you, tight and strange. Not hostile, but not quite comfortable either. The kind of silence that settles between two people who are too tired to keep fighting, but too proud to admit they understand each other.

The silence is heavier than your words, filled with unspoken exhaustion. For once, neither of you feels the need to armor up.

“Do you ever… feel like you can’t breathe down there?” Anton asks suddenly, his voice lower now, stripped of its usual sharpness.

You don’t answer right away. Your gaze stays fixed on the skyline, but your posture shifts—tense, exposed.

“Every day,” you say finally, barely above a whisper. “But you wouldn’t get it.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you debated pushing him away. But maybe, just maybe, someone else feeling this same weight means you’re not as alone as you thought.

“Why? Because I smile too much?”

“Because people like you don’t need to prove anything. You’re already liked. Me? I only get noticed when I’m flawless.”

That hits deeper than either of you expected.

Anton turns to face you, brows drawn. “Is that what you think of me? That I have it easy?”

You look at him now—really look. His eyes aren’t smiling. Not tonight. There are dark circles under them, and tension in his jaw.

“I think,” you say carefully, “we’re both really good at pretending.”

“Sometimes I think… if I stop trying to be everything, I’ll disappear.”

The wind picks up, tugging at your clothes, your composure.

Anton stands and walks to the edge, leaning forward just slightly, hands on the cold railing.

“You ever wonder,” he says, “what it’d feel like to not compete? With anyone? Just… exist.”

You join him quietly, shoulder to shoulder. The warmth of him surprises you.

“I don’t remember what that feels like,” you admit.

Anton lets out a slow breath. “Maybe we forgot how.”

You glance sideways. “Or maybe no one ever taught us how to stop.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. But when he does, it’s not with sarcasm or defensiveness—just quiet truth.

“Maybe we can teach each other.”

He’s not sure what that means exactly. But for the first time in a long time, the idea of letting down his guard doesn’t seem so impossible.

He looks at you, and this time, you meet his gaze. No walls. No armor. Just… quiet.

Without thinking—without planning—he leans in.

You don’t pull away.

Your lips brush his, soft and sure, and something in his chest breaks open.

The kiss is brief. Barely a moment. But it hits. Like breathing for the first time in weeks.

The kiss isn’t sudden—it’s inevitable, like breath finding lungs.

The kiss deepens.

But not fast.

Just full—like you’re pouring months of unspoken feelings into every movement. Your hand slides into his hair, fingertips gentle at the nape of his neck, and Anton lets out the smallest sound, like he can’t breathe unless he’s touching you.

Your fingers weave into his hair—not to draw him nearer, but as if you’re grounding yourself in something tangible.

Your mouths move like muscle memory. Like you’ve done this in another life.

His hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as if you might vanish.

Then his other arm wraps around your waist, tentative at first, seeking permission. When you don’t pull away, he pulls you closer, anchoring you to him like he’s been waiting years just to hold you.

You melt into the space between you, fingers curling tighter in his hair, lips parting slightly as your rhythm discovers a new depth—slow and searching. No rush. No pressure. Just quiet intensity.

Your breath hitches when he kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and reverent. You respond in kind, grazing his lower lip with yours, lingering, as if you want to memorize the shape of him.

Your foreheads touch between kisses, breaths mingling. Your hand slides down to rest on his chest, feeling the rapid beat beneath your palm—mirroring your own.

The world blurs around you. This isn’t just a break from the pressure—it’s an admission you’ve been craving connection, even from your fiercest rival. Maybe the fight isn’t what you really needed.

His usual smirk fades, replaced by something softer, desperate. Holding you close isn’t about rivalry anymore—it’s about finding a lifeline in the chaos.

For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the pressure. Not the rivalry. Not the world below.

Maybe this rooftop’s the only place you’ve ever felt real. Just this rooftop. This moment. This softness between you that you never knew you needed.

You stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other. Not saying anything. Not needing to.

The rooftop wind presses against your back, cool and restless, but between you is warmth, steady, anchoring. Your forehead rests against Anton’s, your fingers still curled lightly in his hoodie now, grounding yourself in the feel of him.

Eventually, you pull back just slightly, just enough to see his face. His eyes are half-lidded, dazed in a way that makes something flutter low in your stomach.

“That was stupid,” you murmur, but your voice lacks conviction.

Anton lets out a small breath—half a laugh, half a sigh. “No. It wasn’t.”

Neither moves to fix it.

You look away first, blinking out at the city. Lights flicker like stars, far too many to count. “What does this mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just reaches up and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear with the gentlest touch, like you might vanish if he’s too rough with the moment.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But… I’m tired of pretending I hate you.”

He realizes how exhausting it is to keep up the act of hatred. Maybe this fragile, unexpected connection is the only thing that could give him peace.

You snort, dry and soft. “You’ve been very convincing.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, smiling faintly, “so were you.”

You stand in silence again, but this time it feels different—less tight, more open. The kind of quiet that follows a confession.

“I’m still mad at you,” you say, not quite seriously.

He raises an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For existing. For being everywhere I turn. For being good at everything without even trying.”

He grins. “I do try, you know. I’m just subtle about it.”

You roll your eyes, but it lacks venom. “Infuriating.”

“And yet, here you are. Not running away.”

Your expression softens. “I think I’m tired of running too.”

Anton leans in again, just enough to brush his lips against your temple. It’s not a kiss so much as a thank-you.

Then, without asking, he tugs you into a full hug, arms wrapping around you like he doesn’t trust the night not to take you back. You hesitate a second, then let yourself fold into it, resting your cheek against his chest.

“You’re warm,” you mutter.

He chuckles into your hair. “That’s because I’m emotionally well-adjusted.”

You snort. “You’re literally clinging to me on a rooftop. That’s not emotional stability, that’s a crisis cuddle.”

Anton grins, not letting go. “I prefer ‘therapeutic affection.’”

You roll your eyes again, but your hands stay at his back, fingers gently gripping his hoodie.

“…Gross.”

“And yet,” he murmurs into your hair, “you’re still hugging me.”

You don’t reply. You don’t have to.

Because for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like you have to prove anything. Not to him. Not to yourself.

For once, you don’t have to be perfect to be wanted.

This time, you let yourself feel the delicate ease of simply being—no expectations, no pretending, only this moment.

And that feels like a beginning.

-end-

thank you so much for reading ! ❤️‍🩹