#session 28 begin

[yasministration]

that look on your face - draco malfoy

Draco Malfoy is the type of person to stay silent in a conversation when he has nothing to say. A neutral look on his face that would make those he wasn’t close to think he hated them. Sometimes that was the case, but most of the times it just meant he had nothing to say. That’s why it was so difficult to hide his feelings for you. Any time you joined in a conversation, laughing along with the group and saying nice things, Draco had a dreamy smile on his face, his eyes trained on the way your lips moved when you spoke and your eyes lit up when you remembered something.

The boys never let him live it down. Whenever Theo, Mattheo and Blaise cause sight of him staring at you with heart eyes, they had to elbow each other to hold in their laughs. Draco would be brought out of his daze, straightening his posture and fixing his face so you wouldn’t realise just how in love he was with you.

Salazar forbid that the four boys were ever alone (which happens quite often since they share a giant dorm), because they are instantly on Draco’s back about his obsession with you. “Draco, mate, you need to remember that Potions is your favourite subject. Focus on the class, not on her face.” Would enunciate Theo, speaking to him like a child while Blaise and Mattheo broke out in laughter “Or her tits!” Riddle would add. Draco would just have to sit there and take the harassment from him friends, his pale face burning red with embarrassment. There was no use for him to try and deny his feelings for you. To his friends, or even you for that matter, because it was just so painfully obvious.

That’s why it was also so easy and drama-free for you guys to become a couple, something that isn’t common in relationships between Slytherins. The two of you had just been sat in Draco’s dorm alone, studying for your upcoming exam, but it didn’t seem as though Draco had his head in the game. “You’re giving me that look again.” Draco’s face flushed in humiliation and he looked down at his textbook, except now you were looking up at him. “What look?” “The look that makes me want to kiss you no matter how many people are around.” You answered instantly. Draco’s eyes were instantly back on you, scanning your face to find a hint of lies on your face. When he decided you weren’t lying, both his hands were cupping your jaw to bring you into a soft yet hungry kiss.

The beginning of your relationship wasn’t the end of Draco’s obsession with you, no, it was just the beginning. Draco refused to move from your side unless he had a lesson. So whether it was breakfast, lunch, dinner, study sessions in the library, conversations in the common room, he was always glued to your side, his hands on your body in some way or another. His arm would usually be around your waist, or he’d have a soft hand on your thigh, but he always had the same look on his face when hearing you talk. A loving look with a soft smile gracing his lips. A look on his face so peaceful that when his mother saw you together for the first time, she pulled you away to tell you never to break her son’s heart.

Not that you were planning to.

taglist: @rory-cakes, @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl,

[windixie]

nerdjo x reader ⟢ real man

"... did you know that a quasar emits more energy in a second than our sun will in its entire lifetime?"

"uh... sure?"

༄.° pairing . nerd! gojo x popular! reader (f)

⤷ summary . a low grade lands you a tutor session with the nerdiest boy at your university with the help of the best wingman, your professor, who knows that gojo is your only way of improving that 59.6% in your physics class. your annoyance soon turns into admiration and maybe something else as you find yourself enjoying the late night study sessions. but what happens when the physic sessions turn into sex education?

warning ⓘ tags . (18+), porn with plot me thinks, smut, gojo will give you second hand embarrassment bless his soul, protected sex that will lead to unprotected, masturbation, praise kink, oral, p in v, cream pie. sub gojo heh. jealous gojo. perv gojo. obsessive gojo.

⤷ wc . 4k (not proofread)

a/n . this is my first actual attempt to writing good smut. never got the hang of it so hopefully this turns out good. the 59.6% is specific because that is MY current grade and I might just kms if nerdjo doesn't help me out.

a/n . 2 I enjoyed writing the friendship buildup more than the actual smut :p

waking up to an email sent by your physics professor was not the best way to start off the day.

"you've got to be kidding me.." you grumbled, with your morning voice attempting to read the title of the email as your blurry eyes adjusted to the bright screen of your phone. you weren't surprised when the subject was that you are being assigned a tutor. you were aware of your current grade, but you swore you would be able to raise it up. right after partying.

your roommate, and long term friend, peaks over your shoulder as she buttoned up her pants. "yikes, I'm surprised he hasn't admitted you to a tutor earlier, haven't you had the same grade for a while now?"

you sighed knowing she was right. your grade hasn't gone up even a percentage for the past two weeks.

'meet me in class before it begins today, perhaps 10 minutes before, ill be introducing you to your tutor and we'll discuss how things will work.'

and that's how you found yourself standing in front of your teachers desk awkwardly. "he'll be here soon, he's very punctual."

you nodded in acknowledgment. you wanted to play it safe and come a few minutes earlier than the given time written on the email. '10 minutes before class'. the said class begins at 9:40. it is currently 9:28.

he was punctual alright. the moment it struck the half hour, the door swung open to reveal a tall boy- no, a really tall boy. he had white hair and blinding blue eyes behind dorky glasses. despite his nerdy look, the boy had a few facial piercings. one on his eyebrow and his lip.

that's hot.

"satoru! come in, come" your professor gestured the boy to be next to you. satoru offered a small, shy wave, which you responded with a warm smile.

"so as we all know, y/n isn't doing so well in this class." you cringed feeling your face heat up. being exposed in front of someone as smart as satoru was the ultimate humiliation.

"here's what's going to happen. there is an upcoming review test before the final. you pass that and im 99.9 percent sure that you will pass the final with enough studying. I'll leave satoru to decide how the tutoring will work, but I expect you both to meet up at least four times a week."

four times a week? four times? a week. great.

session 1.

you dragged your body into the library with your tote bag full of textbooks and practice worksheets. the library was fairly crowded with students studying for upcoming exams. you being one of them.

making your way deeper into the study area, your eyes landed on gojo who was setting up the table with his headphones plugged in. you approached him but he didn't notice you.

"satoru..?"

no answer. he was in a completely different world with the way he was humming a tune which only brought you to your last resort.

you poked his shoulder lightly which caused him to jump a little, looking over his shoulder to meet eyes with you.

"oh! hi uhm im sorry..! I didn't notice you I was just uh setting up the table. is this place okay with you? we can always pick somewhere else if your uncomfortable with being way too-"

"no no its fine with me." you interrupted his babbling which you found endearing.

"right." he chuckled before sitting down which you followed.

"alright so what exactly are you struggling with?" he asked.

what are you struggling with? "everything" you answered honestly looking at the organized textbooks- all related to physics and.. digimon?

"so.. we can start off with the basics of fundamentals of motion. such as speed and distance and maybe add in some kinematic equations. you are familiar with newtons law, right?"

you nodded as you recalled to the only thing you remembered from this god awful class.

"okay so we can skip that.. but ill still explain a little bit of it towards the end, just to make sure."

that's how you spent your first session with the boy. he's amazing at explaining, learning more from him than any past lectures. the way he is so into it you can't help but space out at the way his lips move.

"for the equations, there are a few of them, ill give you three examples then write one of each so you can practice."

your eyes fixated at the way he neatly wrote down the letters.

"so uhm.. do I multiply or-"

"you subtract this from both sides."

"got it."

this was definitely going to take a while if you couldn't even handle the basics. you handed him back the sheet where you attempted the problems.

"seems like you have a bit of difficulty deriving the equations."

you sighed. how long has it been? forty minutes? and hour?

checking your phone you were surprised to see that only 15 minutes have passed?

'just kill me at this point' you thought.

"hey hey, no phones. can't have you getting distracted, hand it over"

"I was just checking the time! don't take it away pleaseee" you begged.

"you'll be tempted to check the time every five seconds, just hand it over." you reluctantly placed it in his hand. his fingers brushed against yours and you were surprised to see how soft his were.

"lets try again. this time ill watch you solve them so I can see where you start to go wrong."

2 hours have gone by and you finally grasped how to solve the equations involving motion and acceleration.

"good job!" the praise boosted up your confidence. "only took ya thirty practice problems but you got there." he teased as he adjusted his glasses. "thanks satoru." you rolled your eyes at him.

the way you said his name went straight into his head. both of them actually.

"we should wrap it up for today"

he reached into his bag pulling out a few sheets before sliding them to you. "try and finish these by wednesday, which will be our next session. oh-" the pale boy reached for his examples. "use these for reference if you forget again."

accepting the papers, you placed them in your folder before tucking it back into your bag. "thank you, I know i'm not the easiest to teach."

"non sense. you're the first person i've tutored to actually have motivation to learn."

"you've tutored others?" you tilted your head.

"course I have. anyways, study what we've gone over today. here's my phone number-"

"youre going to have to give me back my phone in order for that" you chuckled. it felt like satorus world paused for a second as he saw your smile.

"uh right.. sorry"

it felt great to have your beautiful cellular device in the comfort of your hands.

"I usually ignore my messages.. can I give you my instagram instead?" you asked.

satoru was a bit disappointed to not be able to have your phone number, but your insta was just as good. that way he'd be able to see pictures of you.

you both exchanged users, you with your whopping 2.3k followers and him with his 40. 41 including you.

he noticed that out of the 2.3k people that follow you, you only follow around 90. he felt honored that he would be one of the lucky ones to be blessed with your follow.

"great!" satoru couldn't help the dorky grin that crept up on his face. "text me if you have any issues with the work, mkay?"

multiple sessions have passed.

you felt yourself warm up with the boy, learning more about him and his nerdy interests and the upcoming 'name as many digimon characters as you can' contest that he's pumped for explained the character book you'd see every time you met up at the library.

which you both eventually ditched after accidentally catching a couple doing... activities one shouldn't be doing in a quiet environment.

satoru couldn't help but wish that was you and him.

you both settled for a nearby cafe where he always paid for your drinks and sugary treat which he's memorized by now.

"we should go over the vocabulary today" his fingers skimmed through several papers before pulling one out that had the key to all the words you had to remember.

you were progressing and you felt confident for the review and final which were both in three months.

"here write down the words on a separate sheet and try to answer them to see which you know and which you don't."

outside of your tutor sessions, you began saying hi to each other in the hallways, exchanging small smiles in class, and late night texts.

satoru [ 10: 37 PM]

-you complete the worksheets?

you [ 10: 40 PM]

-hi! I just need to finish up the last one then im all done

satoru [ 10: 41 PM]

-thats good, mind sending me what you've done?

you [ 10 : 45 PM]

[image attached]

-im actually at a party right now..

that led to a scolding from him the next day. he couldn't care less actually no matter how many times he said to restrain yourself from partying for now because of your studies. in reality, he just didn't want any boy to see you wearing whatever revealing outfit you decided to put on.

satoru would be lying that he wouldn't feel the way his inexperienced cock would harden whenever he would see the way your skirt would ride up your thighs as you sat so prettily in front of him.

you were completely unaware of how much you affected the poor boy.

"so how'd the contest go?"

"I won obviously. named all 1400 of em." he put his hands up in victory.

you laughed at how cute you found it. him being proud over beating a bunch of kids?

"what was the price?"

"a limited edition card. super rare by the way, you have like one in a thousand chance of getting it. here! I have it on me actually."

he pulled out a card that resembled Pokemon cards which he would get annoyed when you got the two of them mixed up.

"this is the ghost bt1 diamond. you can pick one out of any Digimon of your opponent or you can delete all the Digimon if they share a name with it."

his eyes lit up whenever he talked about his interests. and you loved that about him.

"sounds cool, how much is it worth?"

"hmm I think like 300 at most."

"yeah well I remember my brother has a Pokemon card that's worth 78 grand."

"do your damn work."

as you prepared to leave, he stopped you.

"here."

he handed you the digimon card making your eyes widen.

"you're giving it to me?"

"mhm, just remembered I already have a similar card that does the exact same as this one. no need for me to have it. besides I think it would look great on your phone case."

now, whenever he takes away your phone for your study time, he can't help but smile when he looked at the card neatly placed inside the clear case with a few stickers around it.

he’d find himself late at night in the comfort of his own dorm, with his hand hesitantly palming his growing bulge at the sight of your story. the picture was of you smiling cutely at the cafe you both went at. a picture he took.

you looked gorgeous. you are gorgeous.

he doesn't remember the last time he's jerked off. maybe once in high school when his favorite cosplayer dressed up as a beloved female character of his?

pulling out his needy length, he imagined it was you. a finger grazed upon his tip smearing the pre-cum a bit as he let out a few whimpers. would you hate him if you saw him like this? all horny and pent up because of your post? or would you help him?

no matter how much he stroked himself, he just couldn't finish. he needed you.

his eyes skimmed through various websites to help his situation out.

‘how to have the best orgasm in your life’

‘best stroking methods’

‘how the female anatomy works and how to pleasure it’

‘man finishes threehu-‘

wait what was that? he scrolls back up a bit clicking on the female anatomy one. he was met with several images. diagrams showing where the most pleasurable part was for a woman.

gojo hasn’t done this much studying since his calculus exam back in elementary. who the hell let’s a seven year old solve that shit?!

by the end of the day, his brain is now stuffed with knowledge on how to pleasure you. still zero clue on how he’s ever going to bust.

2 days.

2 days until you review test and you were.. stressed to say the least. thankfully you have gone over everything from the semester and gojo made sure that you were well prepared even offering to make you a cheat sheet, allowed by the professor, to help you out during the test just in case.

"toru."

fuck. when did you begin calling him that nickname? it made gojo feel lightheaded to the point where he had to grip the end of his chair as you approached him.

"hey I was wondering if we could study at my place tonight?" you asked sweetly.

“your place..? like, where you live?”

“I hope so?” you giggled.

“y-yeah i guess but why?”

you took a seat next to him placing your bag next to your feet on the floor.

“walked past the cafe and saw that it was closed due to some renovations”

“god i hope it’s the bathroom sink. that thing sprayed me”

you both laugh at the memory of him coming out the bathroom with his hair sticking to his forehead and clothes dampened. that was the first time you’ve seen him without his glasses.

you preferred him with them on.

but you couldn’t deny that either way he still looked so handsome especially when he rolled up his now wet sleeves of his black sweater revealing veins that adorned his arms.

“I hope so. anyways I’ll text you the address later.. or actually, we can walk together if you’d like?” you offered and who was he to decline?

“sure sweetheart.”

gojo recently picked up the habit of calling you sweet names which never failed in making your stomach leap in happiness. where’s he get the sudden habit?

‘how to fluster a girl.com’

god knows where.

your house wasn’t far from the campus since you’ve been planning on attending this university ever since you were a kid due to living 20 minutes away at a walking distance.

“my parents are away at a trip so we’ll have the house to ourselves”

fuck yeah.

“they doing a business trip or..?”

“it’s their anniversary. they flew out to france and didn’t even bother inviting me” you rolled your eyes playfully making the pierced boy laugh. he recently switched out his lip piercing after his last one fell off while drinking his coffee.

he took in your house as you arrived. looking at the memories plastered on the walls. this is where you grew up..

“want anything eat?”

you.

he shook his head. “I’m alright, I ate something not long ago.” you hummed while walking upstairs, him trailing behind just to get a glimpse up your skirt seeing the pink laced panties that made him let out a low groan. his pants were uncomfortable by the time you reached your room. it was a warm environment, posters on the walls, stuffed animals on the bed. the bed he would love to fuck you in.

“s’cute” he complimented placing his bag down before he stretched out his lanky body on your bed.

his sweater slipped up a bit revealing his v line as well as his white happy trail. your breath hitched as your eyes trailed down the patch of hair before landing on the raging boner that he had. no way.

was he hard?

despite having past experience yourself, no one has ever made you finish.

gojo propped himself on both his arms. “let’s just review what I taught you at the beginning first to freshen up your memory.” you barely took in anything he said as you approached the bed as well sitting down next to him before you felt bold. you shifted sitting down on his lap instead.

satoru let out a gasp before moaning. his hands found your hips immediately. “fuck.. what are you-“ he was cut off by your subtle grinding.

“we shouldn’t..” your heart sank a bit. “you don’t want this..? I’m just trying to help you toru.”

“I know baby but I haven’t.. well I’m.. I’ve never done t-this before, god..” he mumbled embarrassed. oh so that’s what this is. he’s a virgin. “I don’t mind.. let me help you”

“please-“

“shh..” you tugged at his jeans bringing down to his knees. “You’ve never done this before?” you asked letting your acrylics tease him through his digimon boxers.

“no.. no please fuck..”

his cute whimpers went straight to your heat as you finally tugged down his boxers only to be met with the biggest cock you’ve seen. it slapped his stomach the second it was released. he was thick. the pretty pink tip was slowly turning an angry red color as he panted.

you wrapped your hand around him stroking up and down his base watching him twitch. while keeping eye contact, you let some spit fall down his cock making him moan as you used your drool as lube. his hips bucked up as he felt the warmth of your mouth around him.

“t-that’s it..”

for the first time, your lips met in a sweet and needy kiss, your hand still working wonders on him. he placed a shaking hand on your ass cupping it making sure not to break the heated kiss.

“can.. can you ride me?” the way he asked shyly made you want to ruin him even more. you nodded watching him pull off his sweater. now by all means you had zero clue that this man was built as if god made him with his own hands. you did the same, quickly undressing before he stopped you.

“please.. please keep the panties on”

“you like em?”

“fucking love them.”

after carefully placing a condom you found in your drawer on him, you guided his tip to grind just right against you. “lift up your hips a bit toru.. just move them.. back.. and forth.. good job love”

the praise didn’t help Gojos situation at all. “keep praising me..” at this point his glasses were all fogged up. your finger hooked into your panties slipping them to the side so you could slip his cock in.

“so big..” you cood

“oh god, you’re right.. fuckkk baby wait.. wait wait” he moaned filling up the room with lewd noises. the plap, plap, plap echoed. large hands found your waist helping you ride him at a quick pace.

“shit.. you’re better than I imagined.” he groaned out biting your neck sweetly. “you’ve imagined.. this? ngh!” you were surprised to see him pick up the pace. “all the time.”

gojo thought back to the website he visited frequently. his finger found your clit circling it before rubbing it repeatedly. you head fell on his shoulder as you began to shake from overstimulation. “Toru..!”

“this is where you’re weak, right? most girls have an orgasm immediately after teasing the clit”

“ngh.. nerd..!”

“so sensitive”

the raspiness in his voice was enough to make you finish. for the first time ever. gojos hips stuttered as he pulled out watching your juices spill out. he brought his fingers to his mouth tasting you. “you taste good babe”

panting, you removed the condom from his still hard length before slipping him back in.

he wasn’t even half way in before ropes of cum went inside you making gojo close his eyes letting tears of being overstimulated fall down his pretty flushed cheeks.

“be my girl..”

four things happened that day.

you came for the first time

you took away gojos virginity

you were both now dating

you didn’t study at all

but the cheat sheet did help you out a bit. after finishing up the last question, gojo walked over to the teachers desk placing it on top of it. he was the first one out of everyone to finish, like always. he looked up to where you were seated.

there you were, more focused than ever biting your nail as you answered the equations as if it was muscle memory. he was proud, smiling to himself before leaving the classroom.

toru ! [ 7: 45 AM ]

-results are in today 👀

you [ 7:46 AM]

-im nervous… i think i failed it bro im so scared toru

toru ! [ 7: 48 AM]

-I doubt that sweetheart

and he was right because the second you received back your paper with a beautiful 92% written on top of it you felt like you were in heaven. you ran towards gojo wrapping your arms around him excitedly.

“I did it! look!” you showed him your paper.

“told you. good job am proud of ya” he grinned as he once again felt his cock throb at the way you were squeezing him. “what’d you get?”

“100%”

“show off.”

he barked out a laugh before placing his hands on your hips. “we should celebrate.” he suggested. “with cake?” he hummed tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear before letting his thumb rub on your cheek affectionately. “sure pretty.”

[aaron04jpg]

Indycar crash course

(For this all I’m just going to use 2024 as an example)

I hope this is helpful feel free to ask any questions!!

1. Teams/drivers

* There is no limit on how few or many drivers can race for a single team.

* Most teams have 3 cars but some have as low as 2 and others have as high as 5

* Drivers don’t have numbers, the cars/teams do (ex: David is car #66 but will change to #41 when he changes to Aj Foyt racing)

* Additional Teams/drivers will come in for the Indy 500

2. Circuits

* circuit types – from road and street circuits to short ovals (one mile or less) and long ovals, often referred to as superspeedways.

* From what I have seen most Indycar drivers like/prefer ovals

3. Chassis and engines

* Dallara is the exclusive chassis supplier for INDYCAR. The chassis is made of carbon fibre, Kevlar and other composites, and weighs approximately 770 kg.

* Chevrolet and Honda are the two engine manufactures in the series and supply competitors

4. Tyres

* Like Formula 1, INDYCAR has a sole tyre supplier. But instead of Pirelli rubber, INDYCAR uses Firestone.

* Firestone provides three types of tyres for road and street courses, and one for ovals. On road and street courses, there is the ‘primary’ black tyre. The ‘alternate’ red tyre is a softer compound that allows for higher speeds but wears faster. A grey sidewall tyre is used in wet weather conditions.

* On ovals, only the ‘primary’ black tyre is used and if the rain falls at this type of circuit, Indy cars will not take to the track.

5. Aeroscreen

* In Formula 1, the teams have the halo. In INDYCAR, the aeroscreen is a ballistic, canopy-like windscreen anchored by titanium framework surrounding the cockpit.

6. Race weekend format

* The format of race weekends changes from race to race, however the most common is that Friday consists of two practice sessions – one in the morning and one in the afternoon.

* On Saturday, there is a morning practice session followed by qualifying in the afternoon.

* Sunday is race day and it begins with a warm-up session at road and street courses. However, on oval circuits there is no warm-up session.

7. Pit Stops

* Unlike Formula 1 where 16 team members assist during a pit-stop, just seven members of each INDYCAR team are permitted go ‘over the wall’ to execute a pit-stop.

* Team members include: four tyre changers, a fueler, a person responsible for the air jack (to raise the car to change the tyres) and an aeroscreen assistant to clean or pull a ‘tear-off’ from screen to help the driver’s vision.

* Each crew member is required wear a firesuit and helmet for protection.

* Indy cars refuel at each stop and drivers pit depending on the length of the track. In the 10 seconds it takes to fuel the car, all four tyres are changed.

8. Point scoring

* Points are awarded for all finishing positions in INDYCAR.

* First – 50 points, second – 40, third – 35, fourth – 32, fifth – 30, sixth – 28, and so on, going down to just five points for the lowest finishing position in the field.

* Bonus points are awarded for: pole position – 1 point, leading at least one race lap – 1 point, and most race laps led – 2 points.

* For the Indianapolis 500 and the final race of the season, points are doubled in those races.

TEAMS (as of end 2024 season)

1. AJ Foyt Racing

* 14 Santino Ferrucci

* 41 Sting Ray Robb

2. Andretti Global

* 26 Colton Herta

* 27 Kyle Kirkwood (logan’s friend !!)

* 28 Marcus Ericsson

3. Arrow McLaren

* 5 Pato O’Ward (McLaren reserve driver)

* 7 Alex Rossi

* 6 Nolan Siegel

4. Chip Ganassi Racing

* 8 Linus Lundqvist

* 9 Scott Dixon

* 10 Álex Paluo Montalbo

* 4 Kyffin Simpson

5. Dale Coyne Racing

* 51 Katherine Legge

* 18 Jack Harvey

6. Ed Carpenter Racing

* 20 Christian Rasmussen

* 20 Ed Carpenter (ovals only)

* 21 Rinus Veekay

7. Juncos Hollinger Racing

* 77 Romain Grosjean

* 78 Conor Daly

8. Meyer Shank Racing

* 66 David Malukas

* 60 Felix Rosenqvist

9. Rahal Letterman Lanigan Racing

* 15 Graham Rahal

* 45 Christian Lundgaard

* 30 Pietro Fittipaldi

10. Team Penske

* 2 Josef Newgarden

* 3 Scott McLaughlin (twt icon)

[madamechrissy]

Take Me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is 28-29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. Fingering, cumming, dirty talk, teasing this chap

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 8k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name.

Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right?

That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right?

Lawyer AU (If you wanna be tagged in updates let me know 💓)

<<< Chapter 2 - Masterlist - Chapter 4>>>

Chapter 3

The next morning you are sitting in the large courtroom, with its muted gray walls and long wooden benches, polished and reflecting the light above you. You are sitting at the front of the room, where the defense bench was, right next to Satoru Gojo, your notebook and pen ready to take notes.

Satoru looked fucking gorgeous, as always, but even more professional, in a black suit with a skinny tie, his white hair was slicked back just so, and his watch on his wrist was some fancy fucking silver thing that glinted bright. He peeked at it then, jotting more notes down himself, then looking over at you, giving you a little smile.

“You nervous, Miss Brat?” He murmurs, you flush at the use of that name in something like a courtroom, fidgeting a little with your pen, clicking it relentlessly, he smirks at the movement.

“A little? Honestly…” You whisper, looking around, to the Prosecution table, which had two very cutthroat lawyers sitting there, along with the lady’s family, you feel a twinge sitting close to the accused young man.

He was very, very young, eighteen years old, he sat next to his dad, one of the state Reps, both ooze old money. Satoru oozed money, sure, but these two? It was different. They seemed very quiet and worried, and were very polite, but to think you may be sitting next to a murderer…

“This is how it will go, baby girl.” He says softly, bringing your attention back to his light blue eyes.

“Don’t say stuff like that…” You trail off, and he gently rests his hand on your thigh under the table. No one could see it, and he wasn’t pushing it, but it felt so fucking… 

Good.

Fuck.

“You just pay attention, remember you’re here to observe and take notes only, let daddy work his magic.” He says with a grin, and you snort a bit, rolling your eyes at him, making him glare. “Something funny, brat?”

“Who refers to themself as Daddy?” You whisper, he grins again.

“Me, Daddy Gojo, baby.” He wiggles his brows and you cover your laugh with a hand, trying not to be inappropriate.

“All rise, for the Honorable Miss Takeuchi!” The bailiff announced, everyone in the room stood up, even Satoru, his hand sliding away from your thigh as he stands up, you do as well, until everyone is seated again.

You watch Satoru grow more serious, less playful, as he focuses intently, the judge was a stern looking woman with a sleek bun pulled tight, making her sharp features stand out more. She comes to sit on the large seat, slamming the gavel down on the table.

“Court is in session.” She says, commanding, and the prosecution begins then, one of the two lawyers standing up, making their opening statements.

“Your honor, this… monster here, has destroyed a family’s life. Even if it was a mere prostitute-” You cringe at that. “She was still a human being. It’s well known that Mr. Elrod’s son is a public nuisance. Drinking, partying, gallivanting around, and no consequences. Now, we certainly will make sure you see who this family really is.” The lawyer looks to the jury, a group of sixteen people.

"Watch the jury's faces. That's where the real battle is." His breath was warm and tickled the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, as he leans in to whisper.

“Got it.” You say softly with a nod.

“Now, the defense may make their opening statement.” Judge Takeuichi declares, and Satoru stood, unbuttoning his jacket casually, revealing the crisp white dress shirt underneath as he approached the podium.

Even his damn dress shoes were fucking gleaming, his posture was relaxed yet commanding, and every eye in the fucking room is on him. He smiles up at the judge, and even her, this stern woman, smiles a bit back at him for just a moment, before clearing her throat.

“Mr. Gojo, please commence.” She says, a little softer somehow.

“Thank you so much, truly, your reputation precedes you.” He says with a wink, and you smirk a bit. Fucking Gojo. “So… dear jury. Thank you all, for taking time out of your lives, first off. Second off, I promise, by the end of this, you’ll see that this young man is innocent.”

“Objection your Honor!”

“It’s my opening statement, your Honor.” Satoru counters, with a little pout, how did he look like some cute little boy then? The fuck.

“Overruled. Continue, Mr Gojo.”

Gojo grins. “Thank you, your honor.” He gives her a little half bow, then continues on. “Accused of killing someone? So what if he drinks, parties, what the fuck does that matter, excuse my vulgar language.”

“No worries, Mr. Gojo, please continue.” The judge damn near is swooning, at this point this is better than anything you have seen in your life, you lean forward, eagerly, jotting down notes that ended up being doodles of Gojo.

Damn it.

“Being a bit of a bad boy…” He stops, brushing a hand through his hair and damn near posing, you hear gasps behind you and see several girls swooning. “Well, it doesn’t mean you’re a bad guy. Make sense?”

The jury is nodding eagerly.

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

Gojo puts his hands together, bowing just a bit, gratefully to the judge then, and continues with his statement. You look next to you for a moment, at the accused young man who looked small and lost in his expensive suit, his eyes just a little hopeful then. His father, the state rep, sat rigidly beside him, his jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving his son.

Satoru finishes, and then comes back to sit next to you, so casual, like he didn’t just own the whole courtroom, giving you a little half turn of his pretty lips, lips so glossy and full it wasn’t fair. His long white lashes lower just as he peers at your notebook, then he’s full on fucking grinning.

Shit!

You look down in horror, since you had literally drawn a super rough little sketch of Gojo, he looked like a little chibi character, a la Hello Kitty. You even gave him a whole tail and had hearts. How did you do that, you wonder, it was like some school girl possessed you.

“I’m… sorry…” You manage, as the defense asks for the first witness, but Satoru snatches the notebook up.

“I kinda love it. Can I keep it?” You are bright red, covering your face.

“Oh please don’t… I’ll be more professional, promise.”

“It’s cute.” He says softly, but he hands it back to you, focusing on the matter at hand, listening to the Prosecution as they call up their witness.

“You’re amazing. Ugh.” He pops a candy in his mouth from the tray, a little lifesaver it looks like, handing you one too, discreetly, like it was some secret. You feel your heart flutter. Why is he so cute?

“Of course I’m amazing. Take one, keep you focused.” He puts it in your palm, and you pop it in your mouth, sucking on it, humming a bit.

“It’s yummy thank you, Professor Gojo.” You say, he just inclines his head, biting hard on the candy with a crack. How were his teeth so perfect when he did that?

How was Satoru so perfect?

What had even interested him in you that night, you wonder… but then, you stop wondering, because the last thing you need to be is soaking wet in court, you needed to focus. As you suck on the candy, it does help a bit you realize, the sugar necessary for you to calm down the jitters.

“Holy… it works.” You muse, and he just grins, pretty white teeth glinting with those damn fangs.

Soon, it’s time for Gojo to question the prosecution’s witness, and things grow tense, as the prosecution was surely well aware of Gojo’s reputation. He was one of the best cross examiners there was, hands down. You’d watched countless hours of him, you’d never admit it though, but something about seeing it in person is just different, you realize.

Gojo casually decimates everything the witness said, finding hole after hole in their story, until they’re stuttering. It’s brutal how he goes about it, as he casually struts back and forth, hands in his pockets, long legs walking about the courtroom, possessing it, while stressing the prosecution the fuck out to say the least. They were bright red, yelling objection so often it was insane.

Soon, it was time for Gojo’s witness.

"Your honor, if it pleases the court, I'd like to call Miss Haruka Itsuki to the stand," Satoru Gojo announced, his deep voice resonating through the hushed courtroom.

The bailiff nodded curtly and called out. "Miss Itsuki, would you please approach the stand."

As the young woman made her way through the little gate of the courtroom, the tension grew. You watch from your seat, right next to Gojo’s, which still boggles your mind, entranced as he peers at you for a moment, with those bright eyes and that smirk, it was just like he was Gojo… just in lawyer mode? And it was amazing.

The woman looked nervously around, her eyes fell on you for a brief moment, then to Gojo, and you saw a spark of trust in them. Haruka was a key witness for the defense, and her testimony could either make or break the case. You watched as she took the oath, her trembling hand resting on the worn leather-bound bible.

Gojo approached the stand and leaned in, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. "Miss Itsuki, how are you?”

The courtroom giggles. Satoru is known for being a little different with how he approaches things. She flushes, fiddling with her hands. “I’ve been better, Sir.”

“I’ll try to get to the point, okay?” She nods, gratefully, and you hear the care and softness in Satoru’s voice, it surprises you a bit. “Can you tell us what you saw the night of the incident?"

Hesitant at first, Haruka began to recount the events of that evening. Her voice grew stronger with each sentence, her story a stark contrast to the prosecution's narrative, much to Gojo’s obvious pleasure. His smirk was seen clear across the room, and you peek around to notice the fan club he’s accrued, the women in the seats that hang on his every word, ones that gathered in the morning when you all walked in.

Is Gojo even hotter like this?

As if you needed it to be more of a desire…

Satoru catches your attention as he comes back to the little brown bench you sit at, picking up a big binder and winking down at you. You flush, biting your lip, his bright blue eyes fucking dart to it for a moment. Then he pulls himself together and slinks back over like a damn cat.

“So could you please give me a general run down of the night? I know it’s scary…” He takes a tissue box, handing it to her. The fan club is beyond swooning now, you hear them behind you. She dabs her eyes, nodding.

"I was walking home from the library," Haruka began, her voice clear and steady, "when I saw the accused and the victim arguing. They didn't notice me at first, but then..." She paused, swallowing hard. "They did, and the woman ran off, the accused was just standing there, looking confused.”

“So, not violent at all?”

“Objection, hearsay!”

“Sustained, please reword that Mr. Gojo.”

Gojo nods. “Did it appear as if he were violent to you?”

“No. It didn’t.”

“Could you continue if you’re ready?”

"He tried to calm her down, but the victim just kept walking…" She said, her eyes never leaving Gojo's. "Then, suddenly, someone else came out of the alley. A man in a hoodie. He had a knife." The room collectively gasped as she described the violent struggle that ensued.

As the final piece of her account fell into place, Gojo stepped back, his hands folded behind his back. "Thank you, Miss Itsuki. No further questions."

The prosecutor rose, his face flushed with a mix of anger and disbelief. “Objection!” Gojo rolls his eyes.

“To what? The truth? My questioning is over. Your turn, buddy.” He blows him a kiss, and then all hell breaks loose, with the judge banging her gavel.

“Your honor! May we approach the bench?” The calmer lawyer asks, and they all go up, and you watch as Gojo’s annoyance grows, and their panic sets in. Soon, Gojo is back, sitting next to you, and they cross examine her.

The cross-examination was brutal, a verbal dance of accusations and denials. But Haruka held firm, her story unwavering, and Gojo is looking over at the prosecution.

You watched the jury members exchange glances, their expressions morphing from skepticism to doubt. The accused's family leaned in, hopeful as they talked to Satoru, thanking him.

“Don’t thank me yet. But, I’ll win, don’t worry. I always win.” He says, utterly condescending and cocky, loud enough for the fans. He turns to them, brushing his hair back and winking, and they all lose it.

“Ladies, you’ll have to leave if you can’t calm down.” The judge admonishes, and they instantly quiet.

“Satoru, you’re like famous?” You say softly, he laughs a bit, as if you weren’t at a fucking murder trial. Like this is another day.

“I know. I don’t take many cases anymore, not with teaching, just some high profile ones.” You tilt your head curiously at that, but then your attention was brought back to court.

The courtroom clock ticked away the minutes, the hours, and it became a little uncomfortable, warm, fucking tense. The air was tense, charged with the anticipation of a verdict that could hinge on the words of a single witness. You notice everyone is tired, uncomfortable…

Prosecution brings out another witness, and you study carefully, curious about the things he is saying, it’s as if he seems to be following someone’s script almost. You nervously click that pen, wondering if you should suggest something to Satoru, but you don’t want to overstep.

“Let’s adjourn for recess,” Comes the voice of the judge now. “We will meet back in an hour and a half. Get some food, and ladies, maybe get some air.” She teases the girls, and then when Gojo stands he helps you up, earning you the ire of them.

“Don’t, they’ll kill me.” You whisper, he just whistles a bit, grabbing his things, and nodding his head.

“Let’s go grab something to eat, hmm?” You nod, feeling your tummy growling quietly. You follow him through the aisles, and giggle into your hand as he waves at his fans as he walks by.

“Can we get a picture of you!” A few girls ask, and he comes and takes selfies with them, throwing up the peace sign. You just watch on in amusement, as everyone walks by you all now.

“Is this your girlfriend, Mr. Gojo!” A particular girl asks. You flush. He just throws his head back in laughter.

“Nah, she wishes.” He winks, you glare.

“Don’t we all!”

“Let’s go.” You shove past him, walking through the throngs of people, as you all step out of the room, taking a breath and leaning on the wall when you get far enough away.

Girlfriend.

You were a student.

You were just…

A one night stand.

“Everything all right? Too intense?” Satoru’s voice shakes you out of your reverie then, you sigh, nodding with a little smile. He leans on the wall next to you, casually, popping down his briefcase and crossing his arms.

“I’m fine, promise. It is a little… insane I guess. I’ve never been so close to something like that.” You don’t mention the fact that there was a stupid thrill in thinking of being his girlfriend. A stupid thrill.

You couldn’t stand him right?

“What do you wanna eat? My treat.” You look hungrily at him, and you hate it, hate what would be on the tip of your tongue if you weren’t…

“Anything is good with me. Sushi?”

“I know the perfect place, just across the street. Come on.” He hitches his head, and you follow him to his car, he holds the door open which he seems to do, something that surprises you.

Gojo surprises you.

He slides in, and you both seatbelt, he casually throws his arm over the back of your seat as he looks in the rearview to back up, far too fucking close. You tense a bit just at that, and being alone with him in this car, remembering the last time… when he’d had his hand up your skirt.

You shift your thighs, then tense when you notice his eyes dart to the motion, nothing got past him. “Aching, Miss Brat?” He purrs the words in that deep voice, as you all sit at the light.

“Nope, not at all.”

“Such a bad liar. Work on that.”

“Don’t start, Professor Dickhead.” You huff, crossing your arms, and he just smirks over at you.

“Did you not remember to masturbate last night? I told you to.”

“I did.”

Fuck.

The car is insanely tense now, his eyes wide on your face, which is bright red, your eyes catch his, and then a honk happens, and you realize Gojo is just sitting at a green light now. He sighs, shaking himself out of it, and zipping through the traffic, weaving in and out, hands tense.

“How do you?” He murmurs, as you all come to park at the restaurant, you tremble then, when he unsnaps your seatbelt, looking at you with that lustful, sexy fucking gaze.

“How do I, what?” Your voice squeaks, pathetic you muse.

Gojo leans forward a bit, brushing your hair behind your ear, doing wild things to your psyche. “How do you get off, Miss Brat?”

That whisper fucks you mentally, and you shift again, cunt throbbing from just his mere words, from that clean scent of him in his tiny sports car, mixing with the leather of his fancy damn seats. Impeccable damn seats, and you’re like to just fucking soak them if you move wrong, forcing you to press your thighs together, and he sure fucking notices that too.

“Too nervous to tell me?” He’s murmuring the words, way too close now, and you struggle to hold your composure.

“It’s none of your business, is all.” You say haughty, but you shiver as his breath is hot against your ear now.

“You’re not hitting it good enough, you’re so fucking ready I smell how turned on you are.” You gasp then, lips parted, as his hand’s back on your thigh, fucking burning you.

“Smell what?!”

“It smells good as fuck… I remember it. Vividly.” You moan then, hating what he’s doing to you.

“There’s no way. I keep it very fucking squeaky, Professor Gojo.”

He laughs at that, nipping your earlobe with sharp teeth. “You sure do, but I just can tell. It's intoxicating.”

“Whatever, so full of shit. And I just… used my fingers, mmkay? It’s no mystery to solve.” He moans a bit in your ear, and you wonder, how does he sound when he is cumming?

Ugh.

“Fingers inside or on the clit?” He’s trailing light fingers up and down your thigh, right above your knee, thank god, you’re soaking another pair of panties. You just look at him as he pulls away a bit, lost in his gaze.

“I tried inside but… it sucked.” You look away, and he laughs a bit then. “What is so funny?”

“They’re so tiny.” He picks up one of your hands then, and you see it next to his, his long fingers positively dwarfing your little ones. Your hand is swallowed in his grip, his big hand wrapping around it now. “Of course they don’t hit like mine. I’d argue not many men have hmm?”

“I haven’t been with…” You trail off, eyes wide then, freaking the fuck out, and he looks at you with confusion.

“Haven’t been with many men?” He finishes and you don’t even answer, how can you answer? That you’d not gotten off with either of the two guys you'd fucked, you hadn’t even liked sex.

What did it say about you?

You’d had chances to do more than two damn times, but you preferred to study, to read silly little books, alone, fuck you barely hung out with your only friends. It wasn’t like you hadn’t gone on dates, you had, but you never went on second dates really. And if you did, you definitely didn’t do third ones. Because you couldn’t fit them into your life, they couldn’t understand you’re just a fucking nerd honestly.

A law nerd.

“Cat got your tongue, Miss Brat?” Gojo again has interrupted your internal monologue, it’s something he’s very good at. Your eyes meet his stupidly pretty face, and you sigh.

“I guess you could say that.” Is all you manage, and his lawyer-like gaze hits hard now, then his brows raise.

“Oh fuck… you…”

“Shut it.” You glare at him.

“You’re a virgin are you fucking kidding?” He seems more upset about the thought than you, you just look away, feeling trapped now in this fancy damn car.

“No, not a virgin. Relax. Just… only a couple….” 

“Only a couple of times?” You just nod. “A couple means two, you know that yeah?”

“Like two times. Yeah. Freshman year so its been a while.”

Gojo just blinks. “Are these young college guys that shit at it?”

You snort at that. “It was uncomfortable. I just didn't really like it.”

“You’re really small so yeah it would hurt if you weren’t ready.”

“It didn't hurt, it just felt off when i fucked. I can't explain it.”

His eyes narrow. “Like off how?”

“Didn't feel right. I wondered if something was wrong with me? Like they tried I think? And… no.”

“So you have done some things, then yeah? I wasn’t your first…” You refuse to look at him, and it gets oddly quiet in the car now. You look down at your thighs, and feel his tension, as if it’s your own. “Really?!”

“Don’t worry about it, please, it’s not like it…”

“Meant something?” You blink back stupid emotion, shaking your head. “So it was just physical? Like you just… wanted to get off with someone?”

“No.” You can’t all out lie, unfortunately, you’re shit at it. You hear him sigh next to you now. “I never was very curious before. I just… studied a lot? And didn’t care to try again. Until you."

“Why do it so randomly though?”

You laugh a bit, harshly, looking at him again. “Are you judging me, Satoru? It was your idea that night.”

“Yeah but like…” He runs his hand through his hair, and you watch as his brows draw low together, and he damn near glares at you. “Like if I knew you had damn near no experience…”

You pause, and your breath catches. “Fuck, you regret it?” Your voice is hoarse, and you feel the tears coming now, as you hug yourself. He curses, softly, taking your arms down, but you lean away now.

“Fuck no. I loved pleasing you.” His grip on your wrists tighten, and you feel too many emotions at once overflowing. “But like, if I knew I wouldn’t have just sprung that the fuck on you?”

You look up at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

He curses, looking down at your lips, which you nervously lick. “Like I would have maybe just kissed you, asked you out, I-”

“Asked me out?” You whisper, and he sighs again, running a hand through his perfect hair.

“Well I was going to after before I lost sight of you... But I’d have done that first, like gone on dates… not just drank you up on a bathroom door. Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.” You whisper back, then you put one of your hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, speeding up under your palm. “I'm not a virgin please relax.”

“Close enough. I wasn’t your first orgasm right?”

“I cum on my own just fine.” You’re bright red now.

“I’m the first… orgasm someone else gave you?” You nod, a bit jerky, and he leans his head back in the car, covering his face.

“Is it that weird?”

“Yes it’s weird! It’s really weird.” You feel tears fall now and he curses, waving his hands. “No, no, it's not bad. Shit… Weird, not bad.”

“It’s embarrassing as fuck, and…. I don’t want anyone to know, I thought like I couldn't get off unless I masturbated? I don't know.”

“Not your fault, they just were trash.” You exhale, realizing how sweet he was, deep in there, under the layers of cockiness.

“You did really fucking good at it.” You whisper, looking down, burning with embarrassment, and he gently takes your shoulders, lightly brushing his hands down them. “It was a lot of fun for me, okay?”

“Yeah… I could tell that.” He smirks when you smack at him, shoving his shoulder a bit, then your hand just stops, resting there, and you look at his chest, so broad in the suit… “So I’m so attractive I make virgins go wild?”

“Shut up! Not a virgin. Just picky now.” You giggle though, and he does too, and it feels oddly comfortable, despite the ridiculous conversation.

“Oh… tips on masturbation…”

“Really, still?”

“I don’t wanna make you feel awkward being a virgin, so I will just shit talk you the same way.”

“You’re so generous, Satoru.”

“I know right? Wait… you’re being sarcastic!” You giggle again, and he just pouts at you now, with those puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t need tips. Maybe I’ll… I don’t know, go play again now that I know I can. Who knows.” You outright lie now, and earn his scowl, looking you up and down.

“No, you won’t.” He says, so self assured, your mouth drops open. “You’re not the type, at least, not unless it’s me.”

“Whatever, what would it matter? We can’t…”

“Yeah, I fucking know. But that doesn’t mean you can go fuck with someone else…”

“What?”

“Yeah, fuck that.”

You blink a bit, laughing more, and he’s really mad at you now. “You can’t tell me what to do!”

“You’re a whole fucking brat. You know that? And full of shit, because I know the only action you’re getting is getting off to the thought of me.”

Your eyes narrow. “Fuck you, Professor Dickhead.”

“You’d like to. Hmm… am I who you’ve been saving it for?” He grins even more deviously.

“I literally have fucked twice! That's not… nothing!”

“I've fucked eight times in one day casually.” You pause, inhaling, images flooding through you.

“What?! How… anatomically?”

He's fucking grinning now, as your head whirls. “Need a demonstration?”

“God!” You open the door, needing to get out of the confined little fucking car, you couldn’t breathe.

He is the only man you want… 

“Can we go eat? I'm so hungry!” He sighs, getting out of the car as well, then he’s right next to you, too close.

“Yeah, come on.” You two walk into the restaurant together, his hand at the small of your back, a gentle pressure, and your heart is racing, thundering in your chest, you notice how sleek and pretty the restaurant is.

“Mr. Gojo!” The hostess comes running, and so do a couple waitresses, and they all eagerly talk to him as you all get seated.

You struggle to cool down after you all eat, nibbling on yummy sushi, Gojo gets a fuck ton of food, and keeps shoving different things in your mouth. It oddly feels like a whole date, but it’s not, right? And would you want that?

***

“You’re quiet.” Gojo muses later on, when you all are back in the courthouse, there are still about twenty minutes before you all can go back in. You two are sitting in the little room Satoru has to go over his case, and you’re mulling over something you’d thought of earlier. “Still thinking of fucking me?”

“Oh god, Satoru.” You roll your eyes. “No, actually, it was something about that witness they brought in… it really gave me an idea. Is it okay to share? I know I’m not supposed to-”

“Nah, go for it.” He leans back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk and entwining his hands on his chest, looking far too good. You shift a bit in your seat, and hate that damn smirk when he notices.

“God, stop analyzing me all the time! Please…” You look down, cheeks bright pink, as they always were around him.

“Nah, it’s just what I do. Study people. Now, focus, and tell me what you’re thinking about it, I’m curious now.”

“Okay… Well, listen, the last witness went on about how they saw that person Haruka is accusing of having a knife on the phone, and that she was seeing shit, right?” He nods, steepling his fingers and looking at you intently. “Where are the phone records?”

Gojo sits up and tosses over a binder. “Right there, and they did make a call right before that time…”

“Yes but what about the time in between?”

“Hmm?”

“Like…” You sit on his desk, crossing your legs and scanning through the records of each message and call. “Look… it’s a ten second call. Then nothing?”

“What?” You nod, showing him, leaning forward.

“Something’s deleted, I could bet on it.”

“Bets don’t fly baby girl. We could get a warrant for their records, but I’d have to call and get one, they’re not a suspect yet, just a person of interest.” He sits up a bit, and you lean further.

You bite your lip, thinking hard. “What if we subpoena the phone records from the service provider? We could argue that we need them to corroborate the witness’s statement about the accused’s whereabouts during the call. If we can show that there was and then a suspicious deletion, it’s a strong argument for relevance.”

Gojo nods, his gaze sharp and focused. “It’s a risk, but it’s a good one. And if we play it right, we might just get what we need… it’s actually super fucking smart.”

You can’t help but beam at the compliment. “You really think so?”

“Fuck yes it is… let me see what I can do.”

He pulls out his cell phone then, and starts making calls, his voice sharp and commanding as he speaks to whoever is on the other end, different from the ease in which he talks to you. You can’t help but feel a mix of pride and anxiety. This is real, and you’re in the thick of it. You’ve never felt so alive, so important.

The possibility of uncovering the truth is tantalizing, and you want it so badly you can almost taste it…

As the time for the court to resume nears ever closer, Gojo hangs up the phone with a smirk. “Looks like we’re getting a warrant. We’re going to nail this fucker to the wall. Are you ready for this Miss Brat?”

You nod, feeling a determination you’ve never felt before. The air between you is charged with excitement and anticipation. You stand up, smoothing out your skirt, and he offers you his hand, and suddenly you all are too close, alone in that little room, and your adrenaline is running through your fucking veins, and you can see it clearly is for him too.

“It’s a fucking thrill, huh?” He whispers, his pretty blue eyes are just glittering with excitement, and you grin, nodding, hands gently gripping his strong forearms.

“It really is, fuck. I can’t believe I might actually help you?” He pulls you closer, damn near in a hug, and you realize how bad you yearn for it, for his touch, for an embrace… fuck, for one more damn kiss.

“We can’t say you helped officially, but I think I can talk to Dean Yaga and get you continued on this case, it’s not just gonna be one day you know. What ya think?” You nod, fucking thrilled at the idea.

“You think so, Satoru?”

“I do. You’re such a brilliant, bratty little thing. But I kinda already fucking knew that.” You flush under his praise, it felt so good, so well earned. When he cups your cheek so gently, you moan softly, then bite your lip hard, stopping it.

“Thank you, Satoru, really. That means a lot.” You both stand there, and then the five minute alarm goes off on both of your phones, you reach down to swipe yours off but he stops you then, grabbing your shoulders in a tight grip. “What is it?”

“Five minutes… think I could make you cum?” His eyes have gone fucking insane, you blink rapidly, lips parting.

“Wh-what!?” Your voice squeaks, and he just grins now, looking completely psycho.

And hot as fuck.

“Remember we had twenty minutes? Well… it didn’t take that long. Not for that needy little cunt of yours.” He reaches down, cupping you, pressing your skirt fabric against your throbbing pussy. You gasp, then your head falls back, and you unwillingly grind on his hand.

“Fuck what’s wrong with me?” You whisper out loud, thinking it was in your head, he laughs softly, pressing you against the door. “We can’t!”

“Just a little orgasm, baby girl. Now we have four minutes…” He slides your skirt up, finding you with his fingers, rubbing on your dripping wet panties. You shove a hand on your mouth to muffle the cry of pleasure. “Do you think I can do it?”

“You’re fucking crazy, Satoru… ugh…” Your eyes shoot up to his, locking, intense as fuck.

“You want it?” He murmurs softly, sliding down the waistband of your panties now, finding you with his long fingers, sliding up and down your slit. You shiver, clinging to his jacket tightly.

“You know I do, jerk. But we… ah!” You bury your head against his chest when he slides a finger in, so deep, you’re already pulsing around him.

“You’re soaked, baby girl. Don't you deserve some good treatment after that master fucking idea?”

“Mnh… why do you… wanna get me off? Not… you…”

“I wanna see that look in those fucking eyes again.” His voice is husky, and you fall back against the wall he's pressed you against. “Let me use my fingers at least. That's all. Yes or no?”

You just arch a leg up, wrapping it around his hip, giving the smallest little nod as your answer, and he moans, pressing deeper, sliding two fingers up inside your walls, massaging that spot he hits, the one that has you dizzy, makes your mind fuzzy. He watches you, his other hand holding your thigh up, gripping it tight so that your thigh squishes in his hold

“Satoru…” You moan his name, so quiet, biting your lip hard as you hang on to his shoulders, as he angles his arm to press up deeper.

“Shh, baby girl. Can’t get caught.” You nod, swallowing all your moans, hips arching up for more. “Good girl.”

“Fuck…” It comes out a breathy little sigh, as he’s pumping his long, thick fingers deep inside your aching cunt now, so deep, that you feel that pressure build in your tummy, feel your walls clenching his fingers, as he fucking stares at you. With those goddamn eyes.

“You’re so stupid tight.” He whispers, spreading your wetness around your clit now, rubbing it for just a moment, making your hips jerk, then he’s back fucking you with them again. “So fucking wet…”

“Mmnh… please…” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, but he seems to know, when he’s got you sitting against the desk now, and he leans down and fucking spreads you wide, spitting on your cunt. You gasp at it, at how lewd it sounds and looks, as he grins, spreading his saliva all over your puffy clit now. “Ah!”

“Pretty, perfect little cunt.” He muses, flicking two of his fingers up to your G spot, while the other hand uses a thumb to circle your clit, surrounded with his spit and your desire, and you’re starting to fall the fuck apart, hands clutching the edge of the desk for dear life, knuckles white.

“Close… close…” You cry out the words, covering your mouth when he flicks faster, working hands in perfect sync, muffling your screams, and he’s just watching you, watching your face, working your hole and your clit perfectly.

“Cum for me, pretty.” He orders silkenly, leaning closer, looming over you so fucking tall. “Now.”

You literally obey, there’s no other word for it, as you feel yourself gushing cum all over his hands, hot and sticky, and he’s moaning himself, just watching as you fall apart at his touch. You jerk and then tremble as you scream your orgasm into your hands, as you lean your head back, hips lifting off the desk with the force of it, and then you’re soaking everything.

“Oh my god…” He whispers, easing out of your little cunt, but stroking your sensitive slit, between your lips, you cry out, tears pricking your eyes, feeling how slippery you are.

“S-Satoru! Mmm! Stop, I’ll cum again. Please.” He laughs a bit, softly, looking down at your glistening pussy, dripping out wetness. “It’s so messy, stop.”

“Fuck yes it’s messy… and it’s sexy as fuck.” He whispers, as if in amazement, pulling his hand back to reveal your sticky cum, oozing off his fingers. “You’re a whole goddamn waterfall.”

“Shush… it sucks!” You hiss, struggling to breathe, but he shakes his head at you, flicking your clit one more time, before licking you off his fingers, making you damn near cum again.

“Is this just for me?” He asks softly, and you hear it, the cockiness, but also a vulnerability. You just nod, looking down.

“Yeah, it doesn’t happen like that… alone. And never with… I mean I…” The phones go off again, and you tense, he stops you before you jump up, your eyes lock.

“Feel better, Miss Brat?” You sigh, nodding.

“What’s this mean?” You ask softly, he pauses, easing your skirt down now, and you realize, you all haven’t kissed, and you ache for it now, as he leans forward, fixing up your hair that had come loose.

“It means I got my new star pupil off. Probably some kind of academic blasphemy, but…” Someone knocks then. Gojo sighs, helping you down on wobbly knees, smirking at you. “Don’t walk like a deer now, we have work.”

“Ugh… give me a minute. Fuck I’m…” You’re soaked, and Gojo looks around, then goes to the bathroom, coming back with wipes in a little pack, you go to grab it but he cleans you up, quick. You’re mortified. “I’m so sorry…”

“For being Niagra Falls?” You giggle at that. “Don’t apologize for that, maybe apologize to my stupidly hard dick.”

You peer down, mind going wild.

What did Satoru Gojo look like naked? His body felt so strong, you could only imagine that body, those muscles… and his cock? You’d felt it against you, but how thick… how long…

“Stop staring at it, making it worse, brat.” He huffs, and you feel even more embarrassed, like were you some fiend? Fucking hell.

“Sorry, Satoru… let’s go?”

“Hmm, don’t I get a thank you?” He raises a brow, and you sigh, rolling your eyes as he taps his cheek. “Plant one on me.”

You lean up, kissing one of his stupidly high cheekbones, then he turns, and your lips brush, you fucking gasp, and he exhales, grabbing you, yanking you against him, lips pressing on yours. You grip his hair, moaning into his mouth, and you’re all over each other, it’s just like that goddamn night, something just tingles, burns through your lips, through your body.

“Fuck, let’s go. Now. Shit.” He whispers, yanking back. You nod.

“Yes, yes, let’s go. Now.” You gulp, as you two hurry to the door, hands both on each others, you’re both just staring at each other, the energy in the room damn near unbearable.

What the fuck was that?

What is this?

You all manage to make it in time, and the trial goes on for a few more hours, and with each passing moment, you can feel the jury leaning more and more towards Gojo's argument. His confidence is infectious, and you can't help but be drawn in by it, just the same as everyone in the room.

���We have to wait till tomorrow for the phone deletion records.” Gojo murmurs over to you, hand on your thigh again, discreet but it feels so wrong… so deliciously fucking wrong.

“And I’ll come tomorrow?” You ask, softly, as the Prosecution wraps up for the day, Gojo grins at you.

“If you’re a good girl.” He cooes, and you roll your eyes, sighing.

“Court is adjourned for the day, we will all meet tomorrow. Get some rest, everyone.” The judge gets up, as do all of you, standing and watching her walk out, and soon you all are gathering your things, and Satoru talks to the Representative and his son, as well as his team. You wait patiently, and then you all head out.

It’s night time already, the sky is all pinks and purples, the sun has set below the horizon now, and there’s a little bit of a chill with the breeze. Satoru notices you shivering, and frowns, taking off his jacket, slinging it around your arms as you all stand on the steps of the outside of the courthouse.

“Satoru, I’m fine, you parked close.” You say, but you snuggle into the jacket, inhaling his scent, and he just shakes his head, hands in his pockets as he walks his lanky self down the steps.

“No worries, cold doesn’t bother me. Oooh, I’m like Elsa!” He shouts, spreading his arms wide and running down the steps. You burst out laughing, clutching your notebooks tightly, slowly following him. He turns and grins at you, eyes lit up like some little kid.

“How many times have you ‘Rocky’ ran up these?” You tease, as the steps were steep and long. He laughs with you.

“God, so many times!” He takes you by the shoulders, and you tense just a bit. “No one is around, Miss Brat. Relax.”

“I wouldn’t ever wanna get you in trouble…” You whisper, and you all pause at the end of the steps, the breeze blowing your hair around. Satoru sighs, brushing it with his fingers. It feels way too good.

“We haven’t fucked… yet. But, we can be careful, can’t we?”

“No, I almost fucked you yesterday in front of my dorm.” He just grins at that, pulling you to walk along with him.

“I’m the best fucking lawyer ever, do you know, I never lost a fucking case?”

“It doesn’t surprise me. You’re pretty amazing.”

“See!” You all get to his car, and he opens your door, taking his jacket that you hand him, you slide in the car, buckling in.

“I just… it’s really intense.”

Satoru revs up the engine, nodding. “Yeah, it is. But I damn sure am not having you go fuck someone because I have you all horny. I’ll just get you off.”

You blink at that. “What? That’s insane. Why do you care?”

He glares over at you. “I don’t share.”

“But… we’re not… together?”

“Not yet.” He just shrugs, and you watch the way his forearm muscles flex as he grips that steering wheel, as he turns it, driving through the evening, everything is getting darker, his words eat you alive.

Not yet?!

“You’re really insane, Satoru.”

“I know. It’s why I’m a good lawyer. You really shined today… I think you’ll do really well.”

“Really?” He nods, and you can’t stop the smile, the warmth, and you come just a little closer, holding his arm. “Can I… rest a bit? On your shoulder?” You ask so softly, he looks down at you as he hits a light. “Fuck, that’s weird huh?”

“Shut up and come here.” He unbuckles your seat belt, putting up the arm rest, and you’re against him, on the side of his chest, sliding his arm around you, and you exhale, snuggling, wrapping your arm around his waist. He continues to drive with one hand, and you kiss his neck. “Fuck…”

“You always smell so good.” You murmur, eyes heavy, because for once you just feel so damn comfortable, held by him…

It makes you ache to think about.

“You smell good too. Like… blossoms? I can’t believe I’m saying this stupid shit, wow.” You just giggle, and shut your eyes, the sounds of the car driving is oddly soothing.

“Thank you for today.”

“For making you cum?”

“For bringing me, and for listening to me. It means alot.” He sighs again. “And yeah, for making me cum.”

“Knew it!” You just snort at that, then you feel sleep lulling you. “Take a nap, Miss Brat, it’s a good hour drive.”

“Mmkay, that sounds nice.”

***

Before you know it, you’re gently being shaken awake, you blink a bit, looking up at Satoru, positively glowing in the night. You brush your fingertips along his jaw before you think better, and then you freeze, realizing what you were doing, and you ease off of him.

“Sorry, I must have dozed hard.”

“It was the orgasm.” He winks, and you roll your eyes.

“Whatever. How are you so sweet but such an ass?”

“It’s a talent, baby girl. Let me get the door.” He is opening your side, and you stand up and yawn, stretching, in front of your dorm building now. It’s gone pitch black, just a sliver of the moon and the stars now, and the wind is gently blowing Satoru’s formerly perfect hair around.

“See you tomorrow, ‘Toru?” You mumble, yawning, and he pauses you as you turn to leave, touching the small of your back. You turn, looking.

“ ‘Toru’ huh? Not Professor Dickhead tonight?” He’s got his hands on your waist, gently pressing his thumbs under your breasts. You feel desire shoot through you, arching your head back against him.

“No, not tonight.” You look back at him, as he takes your chin in his hand. “We shouldn’t act like this here.”

“I’d like to spread these thighs wide on my hood right now.” He whispers in your ear, you bite back a moan, arching your ass against him, he hisses at it. “When you masturbate thinking of me, picture that, your legs spread on my hood while I eat this pretty pussy.”

“Satoru you’re fucking evil. Ugh!” You pull away, turning and looking at him, cheeks flushed and rosy, but he’s not joking, he’s dead serious, staring at you with hooded lids.

“And when you cum next time, you’ll say ‘Toru.”

“Will I?” You back away a bit, hand still in his clutches, until his arm is stretched between you both.

“You will.”

“Why?” You look up at him.

“Because I like how it sounds from that pretty mouth.” He lifts your hand to his lips, and you tremble as they brush your knuckles, as he looks more handsome than any disney prince ever could, fucking being a gentleman? When he did the most ungentlemanly things in your mind.

“I should get some sleep.” You manage, and he smirks.

“Drink lots of water, you gotta be dehydrated from all that cumming, Niagra.”

“Oh my god!” You yank your hand away, glaring, and he’s leaning on his fancy sports car, crossing his legs and arms. “Night, Professor Dickhead.”

“Night, Miss fucking Brat.” You run off, and when you’re in your dorm you strip quickly, once again peeling sticky panties off your thighs.

Fucking hell.

It’s worse now.

You flop into your bed after a shower later, and there he is, texting you.

Professor Dickhead : I'll be there at eight am sharp.

You: I’ll be ready.

Professor Dickhead: Get some sleep, Miss Brat.

You flip on your back, holding the phone up, tired eyes making the letters on the screen jumble and go fuzzy a bit. The memory of his fingers, of his goddamn lips on yours, you’d do anything to feel it again, and that terrifies you. You can’t fuck up his life, can’t fuck up yours, but you just can’t help it. You crave him, Satoru Gojo, insane, goofy, conceited…

Bad ass fucking hot lawyer.

Shit.

You: Good night, ‘Toru.

You don’t know why, but you say that, and he texts three bubbles for a while, over and over, as you’re dozing off further. You errantly wonder what sort of reply he’s gonna come up with, something snarky? Or-

Professor Dickhead: Sweet dreams, pretty.

Fuck.

You heart the message, before hiding the phone from yourself, burying your face in your pillow, heart fucking racing.

You were screwed, huh?

Chapter 4

Chapter on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56895382/chapters/145653715#workskin

[ickyblickyy]

★彡 EXPLOSIVE HEARTS 彡★

pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

sypnosis: upon losing feelings for your boyfriend monoma, you start developing a new attraction towards the football team's quarterback. the only problem is, you two have never met. but that's where your bestest friends come in.

nine | series m.list | eleven

TEN. mouth will stay shut

DECEMBER 5TH

6:28 PM

you were glad that today’s practice was short. instead of the usual 6:45 dismissal, your coach let you all go an hour early. you’re assuming that coach yagi dismissed the football players early as well since you watched the big group of guys run off towards the locker rooms while you were leaving campus to return to the dorms.

after taking a shower and dressing into some comfortable clothes, you decided to fix your hair up a bit. you grabbed whatever necessities you needed to fix your hair before making your way to the bathroom where mina was currently showering.

after a bit, you heard the shower water turn off, indicating that mina had just finished her shower. you watched her arm reach from behind the curtains to try and grab her towel but she seemingly forgot it.

“y/n!” mina suddenly yelled, making you flinch back in surprise.

“mina! i’m right here,” you said, looking at the curtains incredulously as if she could see you.

“oops, sorry— wait, why are you in here?” mina questioned. “before you answer that, can you get my towel for me, please?”

you sighed before leaving the bathroom to retrieve mina’s towel from her room. “here,” you said, watching mina’s arm reach out for her towel once again, this time grabbing it from you.

“so, back to my question. what’re you doing in here?” mina asked, opening the curtains to reveal her towel-clad form.

“damn, i can’t use the bathroom now? i pay rent too,” you said rolling your eyes jokingly to which mina laughed at. you turned back to the mirror to check yourself out as mina stepped out of the shower to properly dry herself.

“but, i was fixing my hair,” you said, exiting the bathroom to walk to your room with mina following behind you. she leaned against the doorway of your room as she watched you grab your bag which held everything you needed for your study session with bakugou.

“where you goin’?” mina asked as you grabbed your keys and slipped your crocs on.

“to the library on campus,” you replied, skipping towards the door.

mina raised her eyebrows before stepping away from the doorway, allowing you to walk through. you suddenly felt your phone vibrate, making you stop to pull it out. you started smiling once you realized it was from bakugou saying, ‘On my way!’ followed by a, ‘autocorrect’.

“oh my god! that’s why you’re going!” mina said from behind you, looking at your phone. “you would never willingly go to the library.”

you gasped, turning to look at your friend. “of course i would!”

mina started pushing you to the front door with an excited expression on her face, ignoring your retort. “well, hurry! don’t wanna be late to your date with bakugou.”

“it’s not a date!” you said, watching mina open the door.

“yeah, yeah. whatever you say,” mina sang before ushering you out of the door and closing it behind you. you shook your head before beginning to make your way to the library.

as you arrived at the library, your heart started pounding in your chest as you opened the double doors. you were actually about to have a one on one with bakugou. it’s not like you haven’t, but it was short-lived so it didn’t count to you.

you walked through the doors, greeting the librarian with a soft, ‘hello!’ before walking deeper into the library to look around for bakugou. you spotted the ash-blond rather quickly, finding him seated at a table in the back. you walked up to him with a smile on your face.

bakugou heard footsteps approaching him but he didn’t look up until he heard the chair in front of him being pulled away from it’s spot. he looked up to see you sitting down across from him.

“hey. were you waiting long?” you asked, placing your bag on the table and unzipping it to grab your math textbook and notes.

“no. i got here like seven minutes ago,” bakugou replied gruffly, already having his things out.

you nodded, deciding not to verbally answer. instead, you opened up your textbook and turned to the start of a specific unit. bakugou looked at the page you turned to before slightly creasing his eyebrows.

“this what you havin’ problems with?” he asked, looking up at you.

“this and every unit after,” you replied.

bakugou grabbed your textbook, flipping through some pages. he landed on a page and read through it before pushing it back towards you. “do that first,” he said pointing at the seemingly hardest question on that page. you groaned after reading the question, already knowing you were bound to struggle.

for the next hour, you did some problems and bakugou would correct them. you were doing pretty good, only having minor mistakes in your work and having some problems completely correct. however, the question that bakugou just gave you made you pause.

as you were staring at the question, starting to zone out, bakugou noticed your lack of movement and looked up at you. “need help?” he questioned.

you were taken out of your trance at the sound of bakugou’s voice, looking up at him sheepishly. “yeah,” you replied. bakugou hummed a small ‘okay’ before getting up and walking around the table, making you watch him with a confused expression on your face.

“what’re you doing?” you asked the ash-blond.

“sittin’ next to you so you don’t have to crane your neck uncomfortably while i teach you how to do it,” bakugou replied, pulling out the chair next to you and sitting down.

you smiled softly at the gesture. “aww, you care about my wellbeing.”

“or i can just leave and let you fail the exam,” he quickly countered back.

“mouth will stay shut,” you replied, lips firmly pressing together in a thin line.

bakugou then started showing you how to do the problem which turned out to be a long process. you started to feel your eyes get heavy and soon enough, you were dozing off.

“dumbass, are you even—“ bakugou stopped talking when he noticed your head droop down before picking itself back up.

he stared at you for a bit, taking in your features and noticing how cute you looked right now. he realized what he was thinking and brushed those thoughts off. he then tapped your arm softly.

“l/n, wake up,” bakugou said.

you opened your eyes after feeling the fourth tap, realizing that you had dozed off. “bakugou, i’m so sorry,” you said, a bit of sleep in your voice and slightly panicked that this had to happen the one time you were with him.

“you’re good, it happens,” bakugou shrugged.

the boy got up to pack his things, you doing the same. when you finished, you tried to put the strap of your bag on your shoulder but bakugou quickly grabbed it from you. you looked at him and opened your mouth to say something before he interrupted you.

“i can hold it for ya,” he mumbled out.

“you sure?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

“you’re always worryin’. i got it,” he replied as you two started leaving the library.

it was obvious he was walking you to your dorm since he was carrying your bag so you led the way. this time, the silence was comfortable which meant you were getting somewhere.

you two reached your dorm and you took your keys out of your pocket, unlocking the door. you turned around to face bakugou, grabbing your bag from him. “thank you,” you said.

“you’re welcome,” he huffed out.

“same time tomorrow?” you questioned to which he nodded. “okay. text me when you get back to your dorm,” you smiled.

he looked at you with a small nod before turning around and walking away. you raised an eyebrow before looking away from his retrieving figure and walking into your and mina’s shared dorm.

“seems like he’s not much of a talker,” you said to yourself, making your way to your room to get dressed for bed.

after getting ready for bed and grabbing your phone to go to mina’s room, you felt your phone vibrate. you looked at it and seen a text from bakugou which read, ‘i’m at my dorm’ followed up by a, ‘goodnight l/n’. your face lit up before squealing and skipping towards mina’s room.

“minaaa, he told me goodnight but with my name this time!”

tag list: @chrofeisnightmaregf @spiderlily-w1tch-blog @iridescentrays @archer-fb @bakugouswh0r3 @singingcherri6 @parker-webs @polarbvnny @lupinandout @thebestrouge @blubearxy @itgetzweird08 @bakunianadecorazon @poemzcheng @nottherealslimshady @nnnniei3 @themultifandomgirl @123150448 @kara062284-blog @jazzypop-op @neoclb @hellokittyfeenie @iheartamora @morganadorodo @k1tk4tkatsuki @d34ly @heyits-zedo @iwa-chan-akaashi-san @first-time-fanfic-writer @corvid007 @spooky-cupid @enzstr @centerhabit @xdyledz @aliisinwonderland @saltypuffin1040 @lili-harg @xylo-rio @szired @k0z3me @alexithemiyatic @tojirin @yoonabeo @salemey @circuskatt @kunikame @iamyoursonly @armeenix @oneiratxxia10 @itsdragonius @vitanicheney666 @kovu-bunnbunn @bakutreats @perrywinklefairy @penesauce @sixxze @m-0ona

© ickyblickyy 2024 please do not steal, copy, or repost my work onto other platforms.

[sultrybaby]

Playdate (Sano Manjiro x reader)

(photo creds pinterest)

Warnings🦢: Mikey's babysitting emma's son, reader has a baby sister. fluff mostly. a little bit of angsty frustration in the beginning if u like, really squint.

Synopsis 🦢:Babysitting sucked. Mikey was tired, grumpy, and one juice box away from losing it. All he wanted was to survive one day watching his nephew. But a chance encounter on a train, with a crying baby, a hot big sis, and a very unexpected baby flirt session—changes everything.

Turns out, babysitting sucked... until it didn’t.

-

“Mikey, CALM your ass DOWN. You're acting like I want you to die,” Emma snapped, exasperation practically dripping from her voice.

“But Emma-chan~,” Mikey pouted. Grown, 28-year-old man, by the way. “I’m a renowned street racer with a reputation. And that rep does not include being seen with a toddler strapped to my chest like some kind of kangaroo.”

Emma’s eye twitched. She was this close to losing it. She’d spent the last three days in full mom-mode, trying to keep the tiny human alive and happy, and all she wanted- all- was for her husband and her brother to take the kid for one single day so she could breathe.

Her shoulders slumped, and her voice cracked as frustration bubbled over.

“You know what? Fuck you guys. I just wanted a break…”

Mikey froze. Shit. He didn’t mean to hurt her. He was just being a little selfish, and maybe dramatic.

“…I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking down. “I’ll take him for the day.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to, Emma,” he said, voice softer now.

And just like that, the tension cracked. He saw a flicker of light return to her tired eyes. He was still tired, still a little panicked, but… it felt worth it.

Twelve hours later, Mikey was dying.

It was 12:00 PM. Only noon. And he had exactly zero baby energy left in the tank. The day had just started, and he already felt like he’d aged ten years.

Mad respect to Emma. She dealt with this every single day?

He wasn’t mad at the kid—hell no. He loved his nephew. The little guy was gurgling happily against his chest, waving stubby arms. Mikey managed a tired smile.

But he was also, like, so tired. Like, nodding-off-on-public-transportation tired. His knees were swaying with the train, and he was dangerously close to face-planting into the stroller of the woman next to him.

Then came the sound.

A wail. High-pitched. Baby. And it was not coming from his nephew.

He jerked awake, glancing down—nope, his kid was fine, still vibing. The crying was coming from across the train car.

That’s when he saw her.

Gorgeous woman. Dishevelled in a sexy, endearing way. Eyes wide with panic as she bounced a squirming toddler, trying to calm her down in a flurry of rocking and shushing. It was clearly not working.

Until it did.

The baby girl suddenly stopped crying, staring at something—or someone. Mikey followed her line of sight… to his nephew.

Who was waving.

And the little girl? Waving back.

The two babies began giggling, cooing at each other like old friends, babbling nonsense across the train aisle. Mikey and the woman locked eyes at the same time.

Stunned.

Relieved.

Both definitely clocking how hot the other was.

“Your brother?” you asked, nodding at the baby strapped to his chest.

Mikey blinked. Then grinned.

“Nephew. My sister’s kid. Yours?”

"Hell nah…" you laughed, "my mama's…"

"Ahh, so your sister hmm?" Mikey drawled, looking at the little baby girl sweetly.

"Mhm" you drawled, out of energy to form full developed words….

The two babies were still in their own little world, waving and exchanging high-pitched babble like they were fluent in a secret baby language.

Mikey tilted his head, still smiling.

“Well… seeing as the kids have clearly hit it off, maybe we should, y'know, schedule a… playdate?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Playdate?”

“Totally for them,” he said, nodding solemnly. Then, grinning- “We’ll just have to be there. Supervise. Exchange numbers. For safety purposes.”

You burst out laughing. A real laugh this time, loud enough to turn a few heads on the train.

“That was so smooth,” you said, still grinning.

Mikey pretended to wipe imaginary sweat off his forehead.

“Phew. Thought I’d embarrass myself in front of a woman and two babies.”

You pulled your phone from your pocket, still chuckling.

“Alright, Mr. Playdate. Gimme your number. For ‘safety purposes,’ of course.”

Mikey tried not to look too smug as he rattled it off, and you typed it in, saving it as “Train Uncle (Hot)” without telling him.

As the train rolled to the next stop, Mikey looked down at his nephew—still wide awake, still waving—and smiled.

Babysitting sucked. His back hurt, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and he was operating on dangerous levels of caffeine and baby wipes.

But… maybe it wasn’t all bad.

“Gonna have to thank Emma for this,” he muttered under his breath.

And with that, the train doors opened.

[wonhes]

WARNINGS: SUGGESTIVE JOKES, LIGHT MAKE OUT SESSION, READER SITS ON SOHEE’S LAP (idk if that should even be a warning but just in case 😭)

DISCLAIMER: please keep in mind ALL cloud 9 characters are FICTIONAL. i’m never claiming any of the riize members are like how i’m writing them out to be in this series. if you don’t like how i’m portraying a member please simply stop reading and scroll away. thank you! 🤍

☁︎ — 7:28 PM MAY 31, 2024

looking at the mirror one last time, you quickly turn off the restroom light and move to go open the front door. at the sight of SOHEE standing in front of you, you immediately let go of the door handle and rush towards him.

meanwhile, sohee stood there rehearsing what he wanted to say to you. at the realization that the door was now open, he looks up at you and sends you a nervous smile.

“pretty girl-” he begins but is completely caught off guard with the feeling of your arms wrapping around his waist. tightly wrapping your arms around him, you rest your head on his chest. stumbling backwards a bit, sohee quickly regains his balance before dropping what he had in his hands and making way to wrap his arms around you.

“your heart is beating really fast,” you mumble after a while, slightly moving your head from his chest to take a peek at him. with rosy cheeks, sohee lets out a small chuckle and nods his head at you.

“for you,” sohee responds back. “it only ever beats fast for you.”

smiling up at him, you move over to place a kiss on his cheek and slowly remove your arms from his waist. not wanting to let go of you, sohee quickly moves a hand to grab on to yours. quickly looking down at your hands, you gently intertwine your fringes with his before taking a small step backwards to get a better view of him.

“i’m sorry,” you say, causing sohee to immediately scrunch up his face in utter confusion.

“no,” he shakes his head at you. “i’m the one who’s sorry.”

“pretty boy-” you start, only for sohee to continue shaking his head at your words.

“you have every right to be upset.” he states as he lightly squeezes your hand.

“pretty girl i’ve never-” he quietly continues. sohee finds himself avoiding eye contact, embarrassed on what he’s about to say.

“i may not know what i’m doing but what i do know is that i want you.” he says, shifting his focus back on you. “i want to keep learning more about you and what you like and don’t like,” he begins ranting. “i’ve never done this before—“ he lets out a shaky sigh. “but i really want this with you. i want to learn. i may be confused right now, not fully knowing how to navigate this but i really do want this. i want this with you. i want you.” he slightly repeats himself, trying his best not to stutter as he gives your hand another tight squeeze.

“i’m sorry it took me forever to realize i was upsetting you, i swear i didn’t do it on purpose. i didn’t mean to ignore you, or make it seem like if i was putting anton before you. i was hanging out with him to try and get him to be okay with us dating. i didn’t fully understand what was happening until it was too late. i didn’t know he was rubbing it in your face. i never meant to-”

“pretty boy-”

“no, pretty. please listen,” sohee pouts at you. “i didn't mean to hurt you and god i am so sorry that i hurt you-”

“sohee,” you let go of his hand to place both of your hands on his cheeks. “look at me,” you mumble out.

“we’re okay,” you say, causing sohee to immediately shake his head at you. “pretty boy, i was jealous because you kept hanging out with anton and ignoring me-” you sigh as you look up at him.

“it wasn’t on purpose,” sohee cuts you off, sadly eyeing you.

smiling at him, you nod at him before continuing. “i didn’t know it was because you were trying to get on his good side.”

“he’s your brother, pretty. i want him to like me enough for him to like the idea of us dating,” he mumbles shyly.

“pretty boy-”

“don't get mad but i also showed him our texts so he could help me figure out what else might be wrong.” sohee immediately scrunches up his face and closes his eyes to avoid seeing your reaction.

gasping at his sudden confession, you bring both hands to cover your mouth. “sohee,” you say in disbelief.

hesitantly opening his eyes, sohee tries his best to not mumble how cute you look with your current expression. “pretty girl, he’s my best friend,” sohee tries reasoning with you.

shaking your head at him, you bring a hand up in the air to let him know to give you a moment. “my brother saw my down bad texts,” you mumble out in complete horror. “oh my god.”

biting his bottom lip to stop himself from letting out a small chuckle, he brings his hand to grab yours once more and gently caresses your hand with his thumb.

“pretty, he saw my down bad texts too,” sohee tries making you feel better. “but thanks to him i realized what was going on.”

looking up at him confused, you tilt your head at him waiting for him to continue. “i’m sorry for not catching on to your hints. i honestly didn’t even know they were hints. i was too busy focusing on getting anton to like me again and i just- in my head it doesn’t make sense that you would want to hang out with me so i didn’t read too much into them,” he quietly added. at his confession, you soften your expression.

“pretty boy, i like you. of course i’m going to want to hang out with you. i don’t want just texts or phone calls or facetime calls,” you say pouting at him. “i want you. i want to see you, physically. i want to learn everything about you too.” you ended, smiling at him before slightly tugging at his hand. “let’s go inside?” brightly smiling down at you, he nods at your words.

“wait!” he suddenly says causing you to stop your movements. “pretty girl i dropped your flowers,” sohee sadly states as he bends down to pick up the bouquet. pouting at you, he looks down at the flowers once more and takes notice of their current state.

“pretty boy,” you giggle out, trying to take the bouquet from his hand.

“my pretty girl deserves pretty flowers, i’m so sorry. when you hugged me i just threw them on the ground without thinking,” he sadly mumbles, looking at you with big sincere eyes.

“pretty boy,” you chuckle at his expression. moving a hand to cup his cheek, you bring his focus back to you. “i think they’re beautiful.”

“i think you’re more beautiful,” he quickly says back, in a complete daze. blushing at his compliment, you send him a small shy smile.

“i’m going to kiss you, if that’s okay-” you start telling him only for him to quickly nod at you.

“yes!” he immediately answers back. “more than okay.”

giggling at his reaction, you move to stand closer to him. looking at his eyes before looking down at his lips, you move your hand to the back of his neck to softly bring him closer to you. standing up straighter, you lean forward and slowly close your eyes. at the sight of you nearing closer to him, sohee looks down at your lips before closing his eyes and slightly tilting his head and closing the gap between you two.

placing a small peck on his lips, you gently move away and offer sohee a smile only for him to immediately crash his lips against yours for another kiss.

with your lips now touching his once more, you find yourself letting go of his hand to place it on his chest. bringing a hand up to your chin, sohee continues kissing you back causing you to slowly move your hand and place it behind his neck. with both hands on his neck now, you move one towards his scalp and gently run your fingers through his hair as you deepen the kiss.

feeling your hands on him and you lightly tugging on his bottom lip, sohee immediately drops the bouquet of flowers yet again, and brings a hand to your waist to pull you closer to him, if even possible. giggling at his urgency, you give him one last peck before moving away, causing sohee to let out a small whine in protest.

“let’s go inside, yeah?” you breathlessly ask, bringing a hand to his arm to guide him towards the door.

“pretty girl,” sohee whines causing you to stop walking and look back at him. pouting at you, he looks down before shifting his focus on you. “i dropped your flowers again,” he pouts, annoyed with himself.

☁︎ — 8:56 PM MAY 31, 2024

with sohee sitting on your bed, you bring a hand up to run your fingers through his hair.

“my favorite chocolate bar is milky way by the way,” you randomly state as you move to peck his lips.

“hm?” sohee confusedly asks. unsatisfied with the small peck, sohee puckers out his lips, silently asking you for another one.

“i only want you buying me my favorite chocolate bar so i’m telling you what it is,” you giggle at his expression, moving forward to place a kiss on his nose.

“anything else i should know?” sohee asked, smiling up at you as he places his hands on your waist.

“hm, i also really like you,” you chuckle out, watching as his cheeks turn a dark shade of red. embarrassed at your confession, sohee hides his face on your chest and pulls you closer to him by hugging your waist.

“can you feel it?” you gently whisper out. “my heart.” you add.

“it’s beating really fast,” sohee states. looking up at you from his current position.

“yeah, because of you,” you state, softly smiling down at him. with a big smile on his face, sohee places a kiss on your collarbone.

“i really want to kiss you again,” sohee admits. he wants nothing more than to feel your lips against his, especially now knowing that you like him just as much as he likes you.

“nobody is stopping you,” you whisper out, gently bringing yourself to sit on his lap. with your legs now resting on each side of his hips, you shyly smile at him. “is this okay?”

“more than okay,” SOHEE mumbles back before placing his lips against your own.

☁︎ — CLOUD 9

CHAPTER 27 — pretty flowers

summary !! after years of constant pining after his best friend’s sister, yn finally takes notice of sohee and sohee swears he’s on cloud 9. or in other words, loser sohee finally gets the girl.

<- BACK | NEXT ->

CLOUD 9 MASTERLIST

˚౨ৎ˚ taglist — @acidwon @astro-doll-the-star @addorations @aeoliannie @bbina @cake1box @callanton @calumsfringe @d3junlys @emohoon @ffixtionista @gyehyeonist @haeeeeefer @hakkkuu @hisrkive @https-yeonjun @i0134 @idkhoomanmaybe @jeeluv @jiaisfox @angelseokjinie @kaelysian @keilovr @lakoya @lcvehee @lecheugo @llearlert @lostinneocity @miyawwn @molensworld @nishimuraii @nujeskz @odxrilove @parkwonbinie @renjuneoo @riizewrld @rksbae @rosesfortaro @saranghoeforanton @secretiny @seunghancore @shoberi @snowyseungs @sseastar-main @st4rryhae @sunflowerbebe07 @spookybias @talk022 @totheseok @whatsk-poppinhomies @whoisgwyn @wonbin-truther @ywnzn

[bioethicists]

Psych Abolition Chat Sessions- Fall 2024

As many of you know, I have been hosting Zoom meetings for psych abolitionists or interested parties to come together, chat, collaborate, etc since the beginning of this summer. Over the last several weeks, those chats have taken the form of informational sessions regarding harm reduction on various topics. I have been so delighted to be able to share my thoughts about these issues with you all, but I'm equally excited to transition back into a more collaborative format for the next set of sessions.

Given my capacity for the semester, my goal is to hold chats similar to the first set of sessions: open spaces to discuss psych abolition + provide community for abolitionists, as well as inspiring collaborative work amongst us all. While people are encouraged to come + contribute, 'lurking' (aka camera off, no speaking) is also encouraged! Any way that you want to show up is okay- we regularly have people attend who do not engage at all, or only engage in the chat. Chat messages are read aloud by me to ensure that chat participants feel equally included in the group.

A reminder to anyone who wants to attend that under no circumstances may anyone contact the authorities as a result of anything spoken about during the Zoom. Free discussion of self-injury + suicidality + substance use are expected without fear of being “crisis” intervened upon. That being said, the goal of these chats is not necessarily to be a support group but more to talk about psychiatric abolition, build community, + increase knowledge.

The sessions will take place as follows

Completed!

Also, if you would like to join the Madness + Liberation forum where we discuss psychiatric abolition at greater length, please feel free to fill out my Google Form here.

Those of you who need a dial-in number, please message me on Tumblr or send an anon + I will provide it.

For those of you interested in reading about some of our past chats, check out the links below!

Pilot Cycle [July 1 2024-July 29 2024] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Harm Reduction Cycle [Aug 19 2024-Sep 28 2024]

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[kittenan]

Contract of Cravings

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Contractual Relationship AU

Word Count: ~8k+

Warnings: Explicit smut (18+), unprotected sex, oral sex (m & f receiving), dirty talk, light dom/sub dynamics, spanking, overstimulation, phone/video call sex, breeding kink, pregnancy, bickering, obsessive behavior, emotional chaos, detailed sexual content.

Summary: A contract meant for pleasure spirals into an all-consuming obsession. What started as a no-strings-attached arrangement with Jung Hoseok becomes a chaotic dance of desire, bickering, and unexpected love, culminating in a life-changing revelation.

The first time you met Jung Hoseok, it was at a dimly lit bar in Gangnam, the kind of place where the air was thick with expensive perfume and the promise of bad decisions. You were nursing a martini, your third of the night, after a brutal week at your corporate job. He was across the room, leaning against the bar, his tailored suit hugging his lean frame like it was made for him. His smile was disarming, all sunshine and mischief, and his eyes—God, those eyes—locked onto yours like you were the only person in the room.

You weren’t looking for anything serious. At 28, you’d sworn off relationships after a string of heartbreaks that left you jaded. But Hoseok? He was a walking temptation, and you were too tipsy to care about consequences.

He sauntered over, his movements fluid, like he was dancing to a beat only he could hear. “Is that martini doing you justice, or should I order you something better?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You smirked, swirling the olive in your glass. “Depends. Can you keep up with me?”

His laugh was infectious, bright and unfiltered. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

That night, you talked for hours—about nothing and everything. He was a choreographer, he said, working with K-pop idols and international artists. His passion for dance spilled into every word, his hands gesturing wildly as he described his latest project. You told him about your soul-sucking job as a marketing analyst, how you craved something more but didn’t know what. The conversation flowed effortlessly, laced with flirtation and just enough tension to make your skin tingle.

By 2 a.m., you were in the backseat of a taxi, his lips on yours, his hands roaming under your dress. The kiss was desperate, all teeth and tongue, like you’d both been starving for it. You ended up at his penthouse, a sleek space with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of Seoul’s glittering skyline. Clothes hit the floor before you even made it to the bedroom.

That first night was a blur of heat and need. Hoseok fucked you like he was claiming you, his body moving with the same precision he used in his choreography. Every thrust, every touch, was deliberate, designed to unravel you. You came undone on his tongue, his fingers, his cock, until you were a trembling mess beneath him, begging for more.

When you woke up the next morning, tangled in his sheets, you expected awkwardness. Instead, he was making coffee in the kitchen, shirtless, his sweatpants slung low on his hips. “Stay for breakfast,” he said, flashing that infuriatingly charming smile. “I make a mean omelette.”

You stayed. And that was the beginning.

It wasn’t supposed to be more than a one-night stand. But Hoseok texted you the next day, a playful message about how he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you moaned his name. You met up again, and again, and soon it was a regular thing—late-night hookups, stolen moments in his studio, quickies in your apartment. The chemistry was electric, undeniable, but neither of you wanted the baggage of a real relationship.

One night, sprawled across his couch after a particularly intense session, you broached the idea. “What if we made this… official? But, like, without the feelings part.”

He propped himself up on one elbow, his brow furrowed. “What, like a contract?”

“Exactly,” you said, sitting up. “We keep doing this—fucking each other’s brains out—but no commitments, no labels. Just… pleasure.”

He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then a slow grin spread across his face. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

You smirked. “So, you in?”

He leaned in, kissing you hard, his hand slipping between your thighs. “I’m in, baby. But you better be ready for me.”

The “contract” was simple, scribbled on a napkin for laughs:

1. Fuck whenever, wherever, as long as both parties consent. 2. No catching feelings. 3. No exclusivity, but no sleeping with others without communication. 4. Either party can end it, no questions asked.

You both signed it, giggling like idiots, then sealed it with a kiss that turned into another round on his living room floor. The napkin ended up framed on his wall, a tongue-in-cheek reminder of your arrangement.

Living with Hoseok was a whirlwind. A month into the contract, he suggested you move into his penthouse. “It’s practical,” he argued. “We’re fucking all the time anyway. Save you the rent.”

You hesitated, wary of blurring lines, but the logic—and the promise of his body every night—won out. You moved in, and the penthouse was more than a home; it was a canvas for your relentless desire, every corner marked by the heat of your bodies and the echo of your gasps. The boundaries of your contract with Jung Hoseok blurred in the haze of lust, and the spaces you shared became sacred in their debauchery.

The Kitchen Counter

It was 3 a.m., the witching hour, when the world was quiet but your hunger for each other roared. You’d woken up restless, padding to the kitchen for a glass of water, your silk slip clinging to your skin. Hoseok followed, his presence a magnetic pull you couldn’t resist. He found you leaning against the marble counter, the city lights spilling through the window, casting shadows over your curves.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, his bare torso gleaming in the dim light. He wore only loose sweatpants, slung low enough to reveal the sharp V of his hips.

You smirked, setting the glass down. “Not when you’re in my head.”

He closed the distance, his hands finding your waist, pulling you against him. “Good. I like being there.” His lips crashed into yours, a kiss that was all fire and need, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he owned it. You moaned, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He spun you around, pressing your stomach against the cold marble, your slip riding up as he yanked it to your waist. “Fuck, you look so good like this,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You arched back, feeling the heat of him through his sweatpants, his erection pressing against your ass.

“Hoseok, please,” you whimpered, already soaked, your body begging for him.

He didn’t make you wait. He tugged your panties down, letting them pool at your ankles, and freed himself from his sweatpants. His cock was hard, glistening, and he teased you with it, sliding it along your folds, coating himself in your slickness. “So wet for me,” he murmured, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

“Stop teasing,” you snapped, pushing back against him.

He chuckled, low and dark, then thrust into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. You cried out, your hands scrambling for purchase on the counter, the marble biting into your palms. He set a brutal pace, each thrust deep and deliberate, his hips snapping against yours with a rhythm that mirrored his dance. His hands held you in place, one sliding up to grip your shoulder, the other digging into your hip, anchoring you as he fucked you senseless.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he groaned, leaning forward to bite the sensitive skin of your neck, his teeth sending sparks of pain and pleasure through you. The angle shifted, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur, and you screamed his name, your body trembling.

“Come for me, baby,” he commanded, his hand slipping around to rub tight circles on your clit. It was too much—the stretch of him, the pressure on your clit, the heat of his breath against your ear. You shattered, your orgasm crashing through you, your walls clenching around him as you sobbed his name. He followed moments later, his thrusts erratic, spilling inside you with a guttural moan, his body shuddering against yours.

You stayed there, panting, your bodies slick with sweat, the counter cold against your cheek. He kissed your shoulder, soft and reverent, a stark contrast to the ferocity of moments before. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered, and you laughed, breathless, your heart pounding with something you refused to name.

The Shower

The next evening, after a long day of bickering over whose turn it was to clean the dishes, you found solace in the shower. The glass enclosure was a sanctuary, the hot water cascading over your skin, washing away the tension. You didn’t hear Hoseok enter, but you felt him, his presence electric as he stepped in behind you, his naked body pressing against yours.

“Thought I’d join you,” he said, his lips brushing your ear, his hands sliding over your wet skin, tracing the curve of your waist.

You turned, smirking, the water plastering your hair to your face. ��You just want to get me dirty again.”

“Guilty,” he grinned, his eyes dark with want. He kissed you, slow and deep, the water mingling with the taste of him, his hands cupping your face like you were something precious. But the tenderness didn’t last. The kiss grew hungrier, more desperate, and you sank to your knees, the tiles hard against your skin, the water streaming over you.

His cock was already hard, thick and heavy, and you looked up at him, meeting his gaze as you licked a slow stripe along the underside. He groaned, his head tipping back, one hand bracing against the glass. “Fuck, baby, don’t tease.”

You didn’t. You took him into your mouth, your lips stretching around him, your tongue swirling over the tip. He tasted of salt and him, and you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, your hand wrapping around the base to stroke what your mouth couldn’t reach. His moans were music, raw and unfiltered, his hips twitching as he fought not to thrust too hard.

“Look at you,” he panted, his hand tangling in your wet hair, guiding your movements. “So fucking perfect, taking me like that.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him curse, his grip tightening. You worked him with your mouth and hand, slow then fast, teasing the head before taking him deep, your throat relaxing to accommodate him. The water made it messy, slick and sloppy, but you didn’t care. You wanted him undone, wanted to feel him lose control.

He warned you, his voice strained. “Gonna come, baby—fuck—” You didn’t pull away, doubling your efforts, your eyes locked on his as he came, hot and thick, spilling down your throat. You swallowed, licking him clean, savoring the way he trembled, his breaths ragged.

He pulled you up, kissing you fiercely, tasting himself on your tongue. “You’re fucking unreal,” he murmured, and you grinned, your body buzzing with pride and need.

The Balcony

The balcony was your favorite, a private oasis above Seoul’s glittering skyline. One night, after too much wine and laughter, Hoseok led you outside, the air cool against your heated skin. You wore only his oversized shirt, the hem barely covering your thighs, and he looked at you like you were his entire world.

“Out here?” you teased, leaning against the railing, the city sprawling below, the stars above.

“Out here,” he confirmed, his voice low, his hands already lifting the shirt, baring you to the night. He dropped to his knees, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh, and you shivered, not from the cold but from the promise in his touch.

He spread your legs, hooking one over his shoulder, his hands gripping your ass to hold you steady. His mouth was on you before you could brace yourself, his tongue lapping at your folds, slow and deliberate, savoring you. You gasped, your hands clutching the railing, the metal cool under your palms.

“Hoseok,” you moaned, your voice carrying into the night, unashamed. He hummed against you, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure through you, his tongue circling your clit with maddening precision. He knew exactly how to unravel you, alternating between soft licks and hard sucks, his fingers slipping inside you, curling to hit that perfect spot.

The city lights blurred, the stars spun, and all you could feel was him—his mouth, his fingers, his breath. Your moans grew louder, reckless, echoing into the Seoul night as he drove you higher, relentless in his worship. When you came, it was explosive, your body shaking, your cries raw and desperate. He didn’t stop, lapping at you until you were oversensitive, begging him to stop, to keep going, your mind a haze of pleasure.

He stood, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “You’re fucking addictive,” he said, and you pulled him closer, needing more, always more.

Hoseok’s business trips were a special kind of torture. When he was gone, the penthouse transformed from a vibrant, chaotic haven into a hollow shell, stripped of his infectious laughter, his scattered dance shoes, and the warmth of his presence. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the hum of the city below, and it gnawed at you. You hated the ache that settled in your chest, a longing that went beyond the physical need for his touch. It was the absence of his energy, his teasing grin, the way he’d hum off-key while making coffee. You missed him in ways that made your heart clench, and you loathed admitting it, even to yourself.

The first time he called from Tokyo, you were sprawled across his king-sized bed, drowning in one of his oversized shirts, the fabric smelling faintly of his cologne—citrus and cedar, a scent that made your stomach flip. It was late, the Seoul skyline glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and you were restless, your body thrumming with unmet need. The phone buzzed on the nightstand, his name lighting up the screen, and your heart skipped despite your best efforts to play it cool.

“Miss me?” Hoseok’s voice was husky, laced with that playful edge that always made your pulse race. You could hear the faint hum of his hotel room, the distant sound of Tokyo’s nightlife filtering through an open window.

“Nope,” you lied, your voice teasing, your fingers already toying with the hem of his shirt, tracing the edge where it brushed your thighs. The fabric was soft, worn, and it felt like a poor substitute for his skin.

“Liar,” he shot back, his chuckle low and knowing. “What’re you wearing?”

You smirked, leaning back against the pillows, the phone pressed to your ear. “Your shirt. Nothing else.”

He groaned, the sound raw and unfiltered, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Fuck, baby. You’re killing me.” His voice dropped, darker, more commanding. “Touch yourself. Tell me how it feels.”

Your breath hitched, your body responding before your mind could catch up. You slid your hand under the shirt, your fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teasing yourself, drawing out the anticipation. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice already breathy. “I’m touching my thighs… soft, warm. Wish it was your hands.”

“God, I wish that too,” he murmured, his voice thick with want. “Keep going. Tell me everything.”

You obeyed, your fingers slipping higher, brushing over your folds, already slick with arousal. “I’m… wet,” you said, your voice trembling with need. “So wet for you, Hobi. I’m rubbing slow circles on my clit, just like you do.”

He moaned, the sound low and guttural, and you could hear the faint rustle of fabric, the slick sound of his hand moving over himself. “Fuck, that’s it, baby. Imagine it’s me, my fingers on you, my tongue. How’s it feel?”

“So good,” you gasped, your fingers moving faster, dipping inside yourself, your hips bucking against your hand. “But it’s not enough. I need you, Hobi. Need your cock inside me.”

“Shit,” he hissed, his breaths ragged, the sound of him stroking himself growing faster, more desperate. “I’d fuck you so hard right now, baby. Pin you to that bed, make you scream my name. Keep touching yourself. Fuck your fingers, pretend it’s me.”

You did, sliding two fingers inside, curling them to hit that spot that made you see stars. Your moans filled the room, mingling with his through the phone, a symphony of desperation. “Hoseok, I’m so close,” you whimpered, your thumb circling your clit, your body trembling.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice tight, on the edge. “Let me hear you, baby.”

You shattered, your orgasm crashing through you, your walls clenching around your fingers as you cried his name, your voice raw and needy. His moans followed, broken and desperate, his breath hitching as he came, the sound of his pleasure pushing you even higher. You lay there, panting, your body slick with sweat, the phone still pressed to your ear.

“Fuck, I miss you,” he said, his voice soft now, vulnerable, and you pretended you didn’t hear the weight behind it, the emotion that threatened to crack your carefully built walls.

“Miss you too,” you whispered, before you could stop yourself, and hung up quickly, your heart pounding with something you weren’t ready to name.

Video calls were a different beast, a cruel tease that made the distance feel sharper. One night, a week into his trip, he called from his hotel room in LA, the screen lighting up with his face—shirtless, hair messy from running his hands through it, his eyes dark with a hunger that mirrored your own. He was sprawled on the bed, the city’s glow spilling through the window, and the sight of him, all lean muscle and heated gaze, made your mouth dry.

“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice low, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You look too good in my shirt.”

You grinned, angling the phone to show you were wearing another of his tees, the fabric barely covering your thighs as you sat cross-legged on the bed. “It’s all I’ve got of you right now,” you teased, your voice laced with longing.

“Not for long,” he said, his smirk widening. He propped his phone on a pillow, giving you a full view of his body, his hand already trailing down his chest, over the taut planes of his abs, to the waistband of his boxers. “Wanna play?”

Your breath caught, heat pooling in your core. “Always,” you said, shifting to mirror him, your fingers brushing the hem of the shirt, lifting it to reveal the lace of your panties.

His eyes darkened, his hand slipping beneath his boxers, freeing his cock—hard, glistening with precum, the sight making you ache. “Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, stroking himself slowly, his hips bucking slightly. “Wish this was you, baby. Wish I was fucking you right now.”

You moaned, your hand slipping beneath your panties, your fingers finding your clit, already swollen with need. “Me too,” you gasped, your other hand pushing the shirt up to expose your breasts, your nipples hardening under his gaze. “I’m so wet, Hobi. Thinking about you all day.”

“Show me,” he growled, his strokes growing faster, his eyes locked on the screen. You angled the phone lower, spreading your legs to give him a view as you pushed your panties aside, your fingers sliding through your slick folds, dipping inside yourself. His groan was visceral, his hand moving faster, his cock twitching in his grip.

You matched his rhythm, riding a pillow you’d grabbed from the bed, the friction against your core sending sparks through you. Your moans mingled with his through the screen, the sound of his voice, his ragged breaths, driving you wild. “Hoseok, I need you,” you whined, your hips grinding harder, your fingers circling your clit in time with his strokes.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he panted, his voice breaking. “Gonna fuck you so good when I’m back, baby. Gonna make you come so hard you forget your name.”

The promise pushed you over the edge, your orgasm hitting like a tidal wave, your body shaking as you cried his name, your moans echoing in the empty penthouse. He followed, his hips jerking, his cock pulsing as he came, thick ropes spilling over his hand, his groans raw and desperate.

You both stayed there, breathless, the screen a fragile tether between you. “Not enough,” you whispered, your voice small, and he nodded, his eyes soft with something unspoken.

“Never enough,” he agreed, and you both hung up, the ache in your chest sharper than ever.

When Hoseok finally returned, the air crackled with anticipation. You’d been counting the hours, your body buzzing with need, your heart traitorously loud in its longing. The moment you heard the key in the lock, you were on your feet, pacing the foyer like a caged animal. The door swung open, and there he was—tired, disheveled, but so fucking beautiful, his grin bright enough to light up the room.

He barely had time to drop his bags before you were on him, your hands tearing at his jacket, your lips crashing into his with a desperation that bordered on feral. “Fuck, I missed you,” you gasped against his mouth, your fingers clawing at his shirt, pulling it over his head.

He groaned, his hands gripping your ass, lifting you against him as he kicked the door shut. “Missed you more,” he murmured, his voice rough, his lips trailing down your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. You didn’t care. You wanted him to mark you, to claim you, to erase the weeks of distance.

He backed you against the door, the wood cool against your back, your legs wrapping around his waist. His kisses were frantic, all teeth and tongue, his hands roaming under your shirt—his shirt—cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples until you moaned. “Need you now,” you begged, your hands fumbling with his belt, freeing him from his jeans.

He didn’t hesitate, yanking your panties down, his fingers brushing your folds, finding you soaked. “Fuck, baby, you’re dripping,” he growled, his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing you for a moment before he thrust in, hard and deep.

You screamed, your nails digging into his shoulders, the stretch of him filling you perfectly, like he was made for you. He set a punishing pace, each thrust slamming you against the door, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the penthouse. It was hard, fast, desperate, no time for foreplay, no patience for anything but this.

“Missed this,” he panted, his lips brushing your ear, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place. “Missed you.”

You couldn’t respond, too lost in the feel of him, the way he hit that spot inside you with every thrust, the way his pelvis ground against your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. Your orgasm hit fast, a white-hot explosion that left you trembling, your walls clenching around him as you sobbed his name. He followed, his thrusts erratic, spilling inside you with a groan that vibrated through you both.

You stayed there, pinned against the door, your bodies slick with sweat, his forehead resting against yours. “Missed you,” he whispered again, softer now, and you pretended you didn’t hear the weight in his words, the love that lingered beneath them. You kissed him instead, slow and deep, your heart pounding with a truth you weren’t ready to face.

The contract was supposed to keep things simple, but it was anything but. You couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop wanting him, needing him, craving the way he made you feel. It wasn’t just the sex—though that was mind-blowing. It was the way he looked at you, like you were his entire world. The way he held you after, his arms tight around you, like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You started noticing little things. The way his eyes softened when you laughed. The way he’d kiss your forehead when he thought you were asleep. The way he’d linger in the doorway, watching you work, a small smile on his lips. It scared you, how much you liked it. How much you wanted more.

One night, you were lying in bed, his head on your chest, your fingers tangled through his hair. “Hoseok,” you said softly, your heart pounding. “What are we doing?”

He stilled, then looked up at you, his eyes searching. “Whatever we want,” he said, but his voice was unsteady.

You wanted to push, to ask what he meant, but fear stopped you. Instead, you kissed him, slow and deep, pouring everything you couldn’t say into it. He responded with a hunger that matched your own, his hands roaming, his body pressing closer. That night, you made love—not fucked—slowly, deliberately, every touch a confession neither of you would voice.

It came to a head during a rare moment of calm. You were cooking dinner together, a rare domestic scene, when he accidentally knocked over a glass of wine. It shattered on the floor, red liquid pooling like blood.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, grabbing a towel.

“It’s fine,” you snapped, sharper than you meant. You were on edge, the unspoken tension between you fraying your nerves.

He looked at you, hurt flashing in his eyes. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” you shot back. “Maybe it’s the fact that we’re pretending this is normal when it’s not!”

He froze, the towel dangling from his hand. “What do you mean?”

You threw your hands up, exasperated. “This! Us! We’re fucking obsessed with each other, Hoseok. We live together, we fuck every chance we get, we act like a couple, but we’re not. What the hell are we?”

He stepped closer, his voice low. “You’re the one who wanted no labels. You wanted the contract.”

“And you signed it!” you yelled, tears pricking your eyes. “But now I don’t know what I want anymore, and it’s fucking terrifying!”

He dropped the towel, pulling you into his arms. “Hey, hey, breathe. I’m scared too, okay? I’m fucking terrified because I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

You looked up at him, your heart racing. “What are you saying?”

He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “I’m saying I love you, you idiot. I’ve loved you for months, contract or no contract.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave. You wanted to run, to hide, but his eyes held you in place. “Hoseok…”

“You don’t have to say it back,” he said quickly. “Just… don’t leave. Please.”

You didn’t leave. Instead, you kissed him, your hands trembling as you clung to him. The sex that night was different—raw, emotional, a tangle of limbs and whispered confessions. When you came, tears streamed down your face, and he kissed them away, holding you like you were his everything.

For weeks, you carried the secret like a stone in your chest, its weight growing heavier with each passing day. The pregnancy test, hidden in the back of your bathroom drawer, had confirmed it one quiet morning—two pink lines that shifted the axis of your world. You hadn’t told Hoseok. The contract, the fragile love you’d only begun to embrace, the fear of upending everything—it all kept you silent. You wanted to protect this thing between you, to hold it close until you could make sense of the chaos it unleashed inside you. But your body had other plans.

It was a Sunday evening, the penthouse bathed in the golden glow of dusk, the Seoul skyline a quiet backdrop. You and Hoseok were in the kitchen, a rare moment of domesticity as you chopped vegetables for dinner, his playlist humming softly in the background. He was behind you, arms loosely around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder, teasing you about your knife skills. “You’re gonna lose a finger if you keep chopping like that,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, his voice warm with laughter.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back into him, savoring the solid heat of his body. “Says the guy who burns toast.”

He chuckled, kissing your neck, and for a moment, everything felt perfect—too perfect, like the calm before a storm. Then it hit: a wave of nausea, sharper than the usual morning sickness you’d been hiding, followed by a dizzying rush that made the room tilt. Your grip on the knife faltered, the blade clattering to the counter, and you swayed, your vision spotting with black.

“Y/N?” Hoseok’s voice was sharp, his arms tightening around you as you slumped against him, your legs buckling. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You tried to speak, to brush it off, but your tongue felt heavy, your thoughts sluggish. The world narrowed to the pounding in your head, the frantic beat of your heart, and then—nothing. You collapsed in his arms, your body limp, the kitchen fading into darkness.

When you came to senses, you were on the couch, Hoseok kneeling beside you, his face pale, his eyes wide with a fear you’d never seen before. His hands were on your face, trembling as he brushed your hair back, his voice low and urgent. “Y/N, come on, talk to me. What happened? You’re scaring me.”

Your mouth was dry, your head throbbing, but the sight of him—so undone, so raw—cracked something open inside you. “I’m okay,” you croaked, reaching for his hand, your fingers weak but desperate to reassure him. “Just… dizzy.”

“Dizzy?” His voice rose, edged with panic. “You fucking collapsed, Y/N. That’s not okay. We’re going to the hospital. Now.”

“No, wait,” you said, gripping his hand tighter, your heart racing. You couldn’t let him take you there, not yet, not when they’d find out and the truth would spill before you were ready. But his eyes, dark with worry, held yours, and you knew you couldn’t keep it from him any longer. The secret was choking you, and he deserved to know.

“Hoseok,” you whispered, your voice breaking, tears prickling your eyes. “I need to tell you something.”

He froze, his hand stilling on your cheek, his brow furrowing. “What is it?”

You swallowed, the words heavy, terrifying, but inevitable. “I’m pregnant.” Your voice was barely audible, but it hit the air like a thunderclap. “I’ve known for a few weeks. I… I didn’t know how to tell you.”

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours, as if waiting for you to take it back. Then his breath hitched, his hand dropping to your stomach, his touch tentative, like he was afraid to believe it. “Pregnant?” he repeated, his voice soft, almost reverent. “You’re… we’re having a baby?”

You nodded, tears spilling over, your chest tight with fear and hope and everything in between. “I was scared, Hobi. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t know if you’d want this, if we were ready—”

“Scared?” he cut you off, his voice cracking, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?” He pulled you into his arms, careful but fierce, like you were the most precious thing in the world. “I thought you were sick, thought I was losing you.” His voice broke, his face buried in your hair, his hands trembling as they held you close.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, clinging to him, your fingers digging into his shirt. “I didn’t want to ruin us. I love you, and I was so afraid this would change everything.”

He pulled back, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “Ruin us?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Y/N, you’re everything to me. This—” his hand slid to your stomach, soft and protective, “—this is us. Our baby. I want this. I want you. I want it all.”

The weight of his words, the love in his eyes, unraveled you. You laughed through your tears, a shaky, relieved sound, and he smiled, bright and blinding, like the sun breaking through clouds. “We’re having a baby,” he said again, as if testing the words, his voice filled with wonder.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your hand covering his on your stomach. “We are.”

He kissed you, slow and deep, pouring every unspoken promise into it, his lips tasting of salt and hope. Then he pulled back, his forehead against yours, his voice low and fierce. “Marry me. Not just because of the baby, but because I can’t imagine my life without you. Contract or not, you’re my forever.”

You searched his eyes, seeing the truth, the depth of his love, and your heart answered before your mind could catch up. “Yes,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears. “Yes, Hobi.”

The wedding was intimate, a small gathering of friends, the framed napkin from your contract hung in your new home as a reminder of the wild, messy journey that brought you here. The pregnancy was a rollercoaster—sickness, cravings, moments of doubt—but Hoseok was your constant, holding your hand, kissing your fears away, his excitement for your future infectious.

When your daughter was born, with Hoseok’s bright eyes and your stubborn smile, you looked at him, exhausted but whole, and knew this was real. The contract had been a spark, but this—love, family, forever—was the fire that would burn eternal.

A/N: For my Tumblr readers, I hope this warmed your hearts. Hoseok’s sunshine and spice are a lethal combo, and I poured all my love into this. Let me know your thoughts, and stay thirsty for more! 😘

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @btsstraykidsateez . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @mindurbuzznezz . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts

[gmasttin]

Really Good, Actually | Kylian Mbappé

| Summary: A Madrid-based creative unexpectedly finds herself leading the rebranding of Kylian Mbappé. Between cold coffees, impossible deadlines, and tense creative sessions, something more than just a campaign begins to take shape. An ironic, intimate, and emotionally sharp story about the chaos of feeling alive just when you thought you were only surviving.

| Chapter 2 is already out!!

| 3.6k words

| A/n: I read the book “Really Good, Actually” by Monica Heisey and after binging a bunch of romcoms, I decided to finally start and post one. A lighthearted story, with some romcom vibes, that I’d actually been thinking about writing for quite a while. I hope you enjoy it, and sorry for any mistakes, it's the first one I've ever written and as it's obvious, English is not my first language. Enjoy <3.

Chapter 1

Back when life was simpler, and all you had to worry about were Tupperware containers, briefs, and whether you’d make it to the 7 p.m. Pilates class.

Some mornings, you wake up with this strange sense of clarity, like everything’s aligned. The coffee’s just right, the subway arrives on time, no one crushes your toes with a pair of impossible stilettos in their rushed way to their fancy offices.

This is not one of those mornings. You’re not sure if it’s because of the weird dream (the one where you’re marrying Louis, your ex, except he’s the one wearing that wedding dress you kept eyeing, and of course, his mother steals your spot at the altar), or because you ended up arguing with your own mother again, over text, at 12:47 a.m.

But something’s off.

You feel it in the way your toothbrush slips out of your hand, at least three times. Or how your coat gets caught on the door handle right when you’re running late. Also in the fact that, for some reason, you’re wearing two completely different shoes and don’t notice until you’re already in the elevator.

You don’t go back to change them. After all, no one looks at your feet in a marketing agency. Unless you work in fashion. And you don’t work in fashion.

You work in “emotionally driven brand storytelling strategy.” Which is just a fancy way of saying you come up with excuses for people to buy things they don’t need.

At 9:08, you get to the office. You know this because the biometric check-in clock reminds you, like a threat. You throw on your jacket with the defeated air of someone who already knows there’s no hot coffee left for her.

There are two people in the office's kitchen: Lucía, who always looks like she’s either about to cry or fall in love, and Guillermo, who speaks with an exaggeratedly British accent that no one really understands.

“Morning,” he says without looking up from his phone.

“How are you?” you reply, not because you care, but because silence feels even more aggressive.

“Busy. So busy. We have that pitch with the Swiss skincare brand at eleven. And then there’s the meeting.”

Ah. The meeting.

Your boss had announced it yesterday on Teams with the gravity of someone introducing the new Messiah:

“Tomorrow, we have an important meeting. Very important. Like, potential long-term strategic client important. I need your best brains, team. Bring attitude.”

You head back to your desk, a white table that’s far too small, which you share with three other people and a dying plant everyone pretends not to be turning their backs on.

On your screen, thirty-seven tabs are open. Nine are unfinished briefs, three are online clothing stores, and one is a search for: “how to tell if you’re having an emotional breakdown or just sleep-deprived.”

You take a deep breath. Open your calendar. The event is there:

10:30 – Confidential meeting.Subject: Project Star.Attendees: Management, PR, you.

You. Lowercase. Like a typo someone forgot to fix.

You try to focus. Take a sip of your coffee (cold). Open the Excel file with your corporate smile, the one you once practiced in the kitchen mirror. But it doesn’t last.

Because at 10:28, you get a direct message from HR:

Marta (HR): | Head up to Room 5. They’re all here. Including him 👀

Including him.

Who is him? And why that emoji?

Room 5 is the good room. The one with the Scandinavian sofas and the fancy capsule coffee machine. It’s almost always empty, as if reserved for things that matter. Or for people who earn more in a year than you will in your entire career.

When you walk in, the first thing you see is your boss, wearing that smug “I closed this deal even though I didn’t do anything” smile. Then three people you don’t recognize. Suits. Serious. A woman holding a folder full of documents, and two men who look like they haven’t laughed since 2017.

And then you see him.

He’s sitting in the corner of the sofa, staring at his phone like it’s blowing up. White shirt, sleeves rolled up, expensive watch. The kind of person who doesn’t need an introduction because you’ve already seen his face twenty times—on bus stop billboards, Nike campaigns, and a live-through nightmare involving penalty kicks and your grandmother’s best friend, who is Argentine.

Kylian. The footballer. That one.

Your first thought was: He’s even better looking in real life. Your second was: Don’t look impressed.

Your boss catches your eye and motions for you to sit down.

“This is Y/N, our trusted creative director,” your boss says in that tone he uses when he’s trying to sound cool and young, despite he is entering his middle 50’s. 

You smile as best you can. Your heart’s pounding like it’s doing cardio on your behalf.

Kylian looks up. And for a fraction of a second, he looks at you.

Not in a “who are you?” kind of way, but more like “right, so you’re the one who’s supposed to fix this.”

You sit down on the opposite end of the sofa. Far enough not to seem intimidating. Close enough to pretend you’re not trying to seem anything at all.

Your boss clears his throat. That thing he always does right before saying something that sounds like a headline but means absolutely nothing.

“Well, as I was saying, this is a special project. A unique opportunity to… rewrite the narrative.”

“Rewrite the narrative” is his new favorite phrase. He’s been using it ever since someone said it at a networking event and he jotted it down on his iPhone, right next to gems like “pivot from authenticity” and “emotional capital.”

“Kylian is entering a new chapter,” he adds, as if talking about a divorce or a spiritual awakening. “His team wants to work on his personal brand from a more honest place. More connected. Something… human.”

Kylian says nothing. Still staring at his phone. Like none of this matters. Like he’d honestly rather be out training in the rain or under 600-watt studio lights.

One of the women across the table finally speaks. She looks like she handles PR. Her voice sounds like one of those self-help podcasts that tell you everything happens for a reason while selling you a course on productivity.

“We want people to meet the real Kylian. Not just the athlete. The boy who grew up in the suburbs, who loves art, who’s investing in cultural initiatives for young people.”

The boy who loves art. Right. Like every bored millionaire who collects neon sculptures and Warhol prints they don’t even understand.

“We’re thinking of a series of documentary-style content—something intimate but visually strong. Also, a small social media campaign where he speaks directly to the audience. No filter.”

Your boss nods, enthusiastically, as he adds.

“And that’s why we have Y/N. Our top creative. Brilliant. With a unique sensitivity. She knows how to connect with difficult audiences. She’s worked with NGOs, tech start-ups, an inclusive pottery workshop…”

Your name, your career, your work, it all sounds like it’s being read out loud at your professional funeral. You smile. Because that’s what’s expected.

You turn toward Kylian. He looks at you. Finally. As if he’s only just now mentally arrived in the room.

“You write the scripts?” he asks. His voice is deeper than you expected. Like someone who doesn’t rush his sentences.

“I write the ideas,” you reply. “The scripts too. But if everything goes well, no one will remember the words. Just how it made them feel.”

You’re not sure why you said that. Maybe because it sounds like something a brilliant creative would say. Maybe because you’re just a little tired of being treated like a walking PowerPoint.

He nods. Says nothing else.

Your boss clears his throat again. There are more details, of course: deadlines, photo shoots, potential trips, a budget no one dares to say out loud. Words like “engagement,” “authenticity,” and “rebranding” hover in the air like LinkedIn mosquitoes.

And you, meanwhile, are sitting there wondering how this even happened. How you went from creating ad campaigns for titanium frying pans to looking into the eyes of someone who’s probably going to be the next football legend.

At the end of the meeting, he stands and everyone follows.

You stay behind a little longer, unsure if you should head back to your desk or pretend you need to go over your notes.

He turns at the door. Gives you a quick glance. Like he’s not sure whether to say goodbye.

“So, I guess I’ll see you soon,” he says.

And without thinking too much, you reply: “Looks like it.”

Later, in the office kitchen and dining area, Lucía looks at you like you just had dinner with Brad Pitt, her eternal crush.

“So? What was he like? Was he nice? Did he talk to you?”

“He asked me one question.”

“And? How was it? Can you tell he’s French?”

“Not really. You can tell he didn’t want to be here.”

She laughs. “So basically, just like you. Soulmates.”

You pour yourself more coffee. Even though it’s already noon and you know you shouldn’t. But you need something to remind you you’re still awake. That this wasn’t just a celebrity reality show fever dream.

Your boss messages you on Teams:

“Great impression. He liked you. Work your magic.”

Work your magic. As if it were that easy. As if magic weren’t, almost always, just logistics and anxiety.

You spend the afternoon going through the briefing. They’ve sent you a 17-page document titled: “A New Era: Humanizing the Legend.”

The title alone makes you want to jump out the window.

The phrases are full of vague objectives: — Position an emotional identity. — Connect with non-sports audiences. — Turn notoriety into relatability.

There are black-and-white photos of him. One with a vintage bike. Another reading a book with no title. A third holding a little girl (his niece, according to the caption). You wonder which parts of all this are real. And which ones you’ll have to invent.

You start jotting down notes. On a post-it, you write:

What if instead of pretending he’s “the guy next door,” we show him as someone who also had to fight for what he truly wanted? Distance as truth. Fame as fracture.

You like that sentence. Fame as fracture.

You stick it to the edge of your monitor. Right next to another post-it that says: – Call the dentist. – Stop stalking Louis. – Buy tampons.

The next morning unfolds like the mornings of the past six months: fast, half-hearted, with a light drizzle of anxiety—which today, for obvious reasons, feels slightly more intense.

You’ve been summoned to a more intimate meeting. Proposed by his PR manager. Just you, the PR manager, and him.

It’s in a coworking space in Chamberí that looks like a Pinterest café with people-pleasing issues.

When you arrive, they’re already seated. He’s wearing a cap. And sunglasses. Indoors. As if he didn’t want anyone to recognize him.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” he replies. Dry. Tired. Then silence.

The PR manager talks for eleven straight minutes. You know it because you count it mentally. He nods occasionally, as if he’s listening. But you watch him and know he’s not really there. So you go for it.

“Sorry. Can I ask something?”

They both turn to you. The PR manager, with a thin smile, the kind that expects you to compliment her long monologue where she’s said everything and absolutely nothing. The kind of monologue that’s made you consider requesting medical leave and handing this project off to someone else, if all future meetings are going to be like this.

“Do you actually want to do this?” you continue.

He blinks. “This?”

“Yeah. The campaign. The rebrand. Are you actually interested in it, or are you here because someone told you to be?”

The PR manager shoots you a look that could be categorized as brand sabotage.

Kylian, however, laughs. A short laugh. But a real one.

“Does it matter?”

“A lot. If you’re not into it, it’s going to show. And if it shows, everyone’s going to see it. And if they see it, they’ll call you fake. And, then we’ll have to redo the whole campaign, but this time using the drama as the hook.”

He looks at you. “All right. I’ll try.”

“Try what?”

“To care.”

You nod and make a mental note: Functional sarcasm. Potential sense of humor. Possibly shy (or just reserved, does he not like me? If so, bad start). Possibly just fed up.

They send you clips of him “for inspiration.” Interviews. Matches. Viral moments.

There’s one in particular. A phone-recorded video on a plane. He’s on his phone. Someone off-camera asks if he’s nervous about the final. He answers:

“No. I’m tired.”

Tired. Not in a physical sense. Existentially tired.

That’s the crack. That’s where you can slip in.

The next day, he shows up at the office. Unannounced. Wearing a watch that probably costs more than a year’s rent on your flat, and the look of someone who Googled “how to dress normal” this morning and gave up halfway.

It’s four in the afternoon. You’re working the late shift today, you swapped with Mireia so you could work in a quieter environment, with fewer people to distract you while you try to figure out how the hell you’re supposed to frame this project.

“I’m here to work with you,” he says, walking toward your desk. The desk you’ve been saying for over a month now that you’ll tidy up, because honestly, it’s starting to get embarrassing. And now the embarrassment is fully devouring you from the inside out.

“Did you bring ideas? Proposals? Do you want to change something in the project?” you ask, because you’re not entirely sure why he’s here.

He doesn’t trust me, does he?

To be fair, your boss didn’t exactly sell you very well. And you wouldn’t trust someone either if they looked like they hadn’t been laid properly in five months and seventeen days (which, if asked, wouldn’t be too far from the truth), to run the documentary that’s supposed to reinvent your public image.

“No.”

You raise an eyebrow. Definitely doesn’t trust me. You think. Or maybe his PR manager sent him to spy on you, because she also doesn’t trust how you do your job, especially after you, let’s be honest, gently shredded hers the other day.

He grabs a spare chair and sits next to you, stealing Pablo’s seat, who’s now watching the interaction from the water machine like it’s a live episode of something he didn’t know he needed.

“These ‘meetings’ usually happen with PR,” you tell him. “You don’t have to be here. They can send you the details.”

“I don’t care,” he shrugs. “It’s a project about my life, right? I should know what’s being said. And what’s not.”

Then, with just the right amount of cheek: “Got any coffee? Pour me one.”

You stare at him. Did he just tell me to make him coffee? Like I’m his assistant?

And you stare a little longer. He holds your gaze, half-smirking, half-testing. That kind of expression that doesn’t fully commit to being rude or polite. As if he hasn’t decided which version of himself is most useful in a Madrid office on a Tuesday afternoon.

You inhale. Slowly.

“We don’t have personal assistants here.”

You get up. Walk toward the coffee machine without looking back. Spine straight. Jaw set. Your version of saying don’t mess with me without saying it.

“Then make us both one,” he adds from your chair, like that somehow makes it better.

The laugh escapes before you can stop it. Dry. More of a stylish snort than a laugh, really.

“Sugar? Or do you want me to draw your logo in the foam?”

“No sugar. I'm in season, gotta watch the sweets.” He says it softer this time. Almost like an apology.

When you come back with the two mugs, he’s already leaned into your monitor. Arms crossed. Eyes fixed on the project timeline you’d left open.

“All this... you do it alone?” he asks, not looking at you.

“Did you think I had a team?”

Now he turns. Looks at you fully. Something’s shifted in his face, like irony was the password to get into his world.

“No. It’s just... a lot.”

You shrug.

“It is. But hey, at least no one makes me chase a ball for a living.”

He laughs. An unexpected one. Brief. Almost sweet. And that’s when it hits you: He’s not just looking at you. He’s watching you. Like he’s trying to figure something out about you that’s not in your resumé.

The next forty minutes, you work in silence. Or at least, what passes for “working” when two people are hyper-aware of each other and there's a quiet tension in the air that neither of you knows how to name yet.

Every now and then, he asks something. About the script tone. The order of the clips. Whether his accent is “too French” for a voiceover.

“Do you think I should speak Spanish in the videos?” he asks.

You consider it.

“If you want people to see you’re making an effort, yes. If you want to sound perfect, no.”

“I want to sound real.”

“Then leave it as it is. With mistakes. With pauses. With ‘ehh’ and ‘I don’t know.’”

He nods. And something opens there. Just a crack. A window slit. But it’s real.

He’s smarter than he looks. You realize that somewhere between the conversation on narratives, social media, and how to show vulnerability without sounding like a performance. He has opinions. He asks. He listens.

And you... You’re confused. Because you don’t know if this is still work. Or if you’re slowly being pulled into the gravity of it all. Of him. Of this moment.

At some point, he laughs at something you say and looks at you like you’re brilliant. Not beautiful. Brilliant. And for some reason, that disarms you more than any physical compliment.

The next day, at 10:36 a.m., the unofficial break time for Lucía, as if the universe had conspired for this conversation to happen, Lucía shows up at your desk with a cookie in hand.

“Was it real? He was here? Pablo told me.”

You raise your gaze to meet Lucía’s eyes, like she’s reached the juiciest part of a novel she can’t stop reading. You simply nod and turn your attention back to the monitor of your computer.

“So, how was it?”

You glance at your empty coffee cup resting next to the mountain of discarded post-its, all with ideas that still don’t quite fit this project. Ideas that seem to wander like echoes, failing to capture the essence.

“Strange.”

“Strange good or strange bad?” Lucía insists, now sitting on the edge of your desk, making it feel like an interrogation. 

You sigh, gathering your thoughts.

“Strange ‘I want him back.’” You admit, letting yourself be pulled into that mix of confusion and realization you’ve been keeping to yourself.

You told her about that strange back-and-forth, that feeling you couldn’t quite describe, but Lucía, after hearing it, defined it as “professional flirting in disguise.”

“We’re not flirting.”

“Of course you are. It’s just that instead of telling him you love his smile, you told him his current storytelling is weak and redundant.”

“Because it is.”

“And he looked at you like he wanted you to write his biography and emotional resume.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Girl, I’m telling you, as a friend and as someone who’s seen all the seasons of The Bold Type, that guy cares more about your feedback than winning the Ballon d'Or.”

Exaggerations aside, something was there. A subtle thread of mutual curiosity, something that was growing without you realizing. And now, here you were: immersed in a project that would last several weeks, working alongside him. Defining the tone of his communication, developing digital pieces, planning interviews… All while trying to maintain your composure and stay focused on your workday.

You’ve come to the conclusion that it all boils down to the fact that you were bored.

You could say it was the algorithm. You could blame a well-executed digital strategy. You could use any excuse, really, and not be lying. But deep down, you know it was that. Boredom. The deadliest of mental states.

And there you were, last night, a Wednesday, with your emergency bun and a lopsided dinner in front of you, watching a video of Kylian Mbappé talking about motivation in a square format with black-and-white subtitles. He wore a white shirt, the collar a little stretched, and several buttons undone. And you wore what was left of your self-esteem and a glass of supermarket red wine.

The worst part is, the video wasn’t bad. The worst part is, it actually seemed sincere. It was in English, with a strong accent and a hesitant intonation, like he was afraid of offending the language. He said things like, "you can’t be your best version if you don’t know who you are," and you nodded. YOU NODDED. After that, you turned off your phone as if it had slapped you and went to bed without washing your face. Because boredom doesn’t just make you vulnerable; it also makes you lazy.

You told Lucía the story as if it were some ridiculous anecdote. Something to laugh about during her unofficial coffee break. But Lucía, who is not just your coworker but your version with steroids, looked at you as if you’d said something important.

“Girl, what if this is a sign?”

“A sign of what?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That you need a change. Or a quickie. Or both.”

[rainbowsky]

Yibo GTCC Pre-season Ningbo - How to Watch

I will be updating this post as info changes or becomes available, so check back if you have any issues.

FYI - Qualifying rounds are already underway and streaming live.

All listed broadcasts are Weibo livestreams

28 March 2025

10:45-11:45 CST* - First free practice session

13:00-14:00 CST - Second free practice session

15:25-16:25 CST - Third free practice session

29 March 2023 (Qualifying begins 7:30pm PST, 10:30pm EST)

10:40-10:55 CST - First qualifying round (Already underway)

11:05-11:20 CST - Second qualifying round

15:35-16:40 CST - Main Race

*China Standard Time

[httpiastri]

hiii congratulations!! could i please request a 🍈 with paul for just any of the comforting hug prompts? for after a bad race 🫶

🍈 – send me a driver and a prompt from this list of hugging prompts, these touch starved prompts, or these kiss prompts, and i will write a short blurb for you!!

author's note: thank you !!! :) hope you enjoy this post-hungary (tbh could be read as post-any bad race) angst/comfort thing. i chose prompts 22, 34, 28 & 39 <33

(also im tired asffff so this has not been properly proofread, sorry if there are any mistakes)

3k celly !!

it all started so well.

a good practice session and pole position. it was supposed to be a redemption weekend. but oh, how quickly things can turn around when you least expect them.

you've been fighting to keep your eyelids open for the past hour, the letters and words in the book your hands are holding long forgotten. dozing off seems like such a good idea, and you can hardly refrain from letting your eyes rest for just a moment...

but the little rattle of keys followed by the sound of the front door unlocking gives you a sudden spurt of energy again.

he's home.

there's a shuffle by the front door before it closes with a little click. your breath hitches in anticipation as you fold the corner of a page in your book, leaving it to rest on the bedside table while you listen for more sounds. his keys jingling as they're set atop the table by the door, heavy footsteps muffled by thick socks, a suitcase rolling down the hallway – every sound bringing him closer to you.

"why are you still up?"

paul lets his backpack fall to the floor with a thud, his expression hard to read as he looks over at you. in the low light of the bedside lamp, he looks exhausted, the bags under his eyes deeper and darker than usual. it's already late, way past midnight, but you really wanted to stay up and welcome him home, especially after the weekend he's just had.

this current season, paul has had a habit of always traveling home again the same night of his feature race; no matter how good or bad it went. he says it's because he misses you and wants to spend as much time as possible with you – but you also suspect that it's his way of escaping the pressures and expectations, especially after a harder weekend.

"i wanted to see you," you tell him with a guilty smile, blinking up towards him.

he pulls his hoodie over his head, throwing it in the direction of a chair in the corner of the room, leaving him in just his gray sweatpants and white t-shirt. when he steps closer, you move the covers out of the way and he slips onto the bed. then, it doesn't take more than a second before he's crawled into your embrace, chin heavy on your shoulder.

as your arms drape around him, he collapses completely into your touch and you can practically feel the weight of the weekend's disappointments and frustrations seep from his body. somehow, paul seems smaller than ever before, more vulnerable, as if the armor he wears so confidently around the track has been stripped away. you trace your fingers up and down his spine, hoping to absorb at least some of his burdens, and thankfully feeling the tension ease ever so slightly under your touch. you know that this moment is crucial for him; you know how much times like these help him rebuild his strength and slip away from the stress of the weekend.

you have so much to say. so many words of comfort, even more reassuring confirmations and gentle affirmations. you begin to pull away, but paul's grip on you remains firm, as if letting go of you would mean facing the reality he's trying to escape. "not yet," he mumbles into your skin. "can you... hold me for a little longer?"

you nod instantly, pressing a kiss to his temple before resting the side of your head against his again. "i won't let you go. ever."

right now, the only thing he wants is to be held, and you don't mind.

you know that sometimes, words aren't necessary.

sometimes, just being there, just holding on, is enough to make the world feel a little less heavy.

and being able to lift even just a little of that weight would be worth way more than a thousand words.

[kikyoupdates]

⭑˚💞⭑ yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, isekai

A desperate cry on your deathbed leads to you being given a fresh start at life. You're overjoyed at having finally obtained a healthy body and a real chance at living normally, only to discover that you've been transported into a yandere game, where danger lurks at every corner. Determined to protect your new life at any cost, you vow to stay as far away from the major characters of the game as possible. But things don't always go as planned.

00 — prologue 01 — a living miracle 02 — taking precautions 03 — swinging like a champ 04 — mr. two-faced 05 — the protagonist's arrival 06 — and so it begins 07 — stranger danger 08 — unexpected kinships 09 — not a partygoer 10 — awfully persistent 11 — trying a new approach 12 — top of the class 13 — swords and scones 14 — insatiable appetite 15 — an unwanted partner 16 — too close for comfrot 17 — academic distinguishment 18 — never ask for directions 19 — royally screwed 20 — call it payback 21 — stay disciplined 22 — tavern shenanigans 23 — pricked by a rose 24 — concerning weakness 25 — on school grounds 26 — knights tourney 27 — unpleasant discussion 28 — taking chances 29 — heavy heart 30 — library brainstorming session 31 — a friend's duty 32 — intoxication 33 — the aftermath 34 — dancing without a care 35 — personality shift 36 — clean slate 37 — worst date ever 38 — threatened 39 — feelings awry 40 — happiness 41 — a taste so sweet 42 — in denial 43 — revelation 44 — endless dream 45 — bereaved 46 — a hidden smile 47 — going to be okay 48 — thief's penance 49 — enraged 50 — hope and despair 51 — a sickening arrangement 52 — in theory 53 — to challenge fate

-ˋˏ ༻ Special Chapters༺ ˎˊ-

✿ halloween! 🎃 ✿ christmas! 🎄 ✿ valentine's day scenarios ✿ what could have been

More chapters are available on Quotev!

⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰

💞 main masterlist ♡ character appearances

[ali-and-stars]

SPOILERS FOR WILD LIFE ??

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Now that Wild life has officially ended, its time to see exactly "which wildcard was the most deadly?'

A few things to remember before we begin! This list will include two different kind of statistics, deaths caused purely by mechanics in the new wildcard (ex. starvation from Session Two) as well as an addition of deaths caused by players taking advantage of the mechanics in the new wildcard to score a kill whether it was intentionally or not (ex. splash potion of invisibility on another snail)

A special case for this would be the rewards given by the Quizmaster. Since players are the ones who decide if they use the items or not, they'll be counted as player kills.

Lastly! this is my first time doing one of these things so there will definitely be some mistakes. If you spot some, just comment down and I'll see what to do!

(also, ik that the wildcards were sorta featured in different episodes especially the finale but for me their fundamentally different considering for session 8 multiple wildcards were active at the same time so...)

Lets start!

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0.781% OR 1 out of 128 deaths were caused by the Size-shifting mechanic in Session One

4.688% OR 6 out of 128 deaths were caused by Hunger Mechanic in Session Two. There was 1 additional death (0.781%) through the actions of other players.

21.875% OR 28 out of 128 deaths were caused by The Immortal Snail Mechanic in Session Three. There were 2 additional deaths (1.563%) through the actions of other players.

(Although Scar's death caused by Skizz drowning his snail remains unsure, I still counted it)

0.781% OR 1 out of 128 deaths were caused by the Time Dillation Mechanic in Session Four. There were 4 additional deaths (3.125%) through the actions of other players

(This one was the hardest to judge if the wildcard had any involvement or what. So, depending on what you think, these stats could change very drastically)

3.125% OR 4 out of 128 deaths were caused by the Life Series Trivia Mechanic in Session Five. There was 1 additional death (0.781%) through the actions of other players

2.344% OR 3 out of 128 deaths were caused by the Wildlife Mechanic in Session Six. There was 1 additional death (0.781%) through the actions of other players.

0.781% OR 1 out of 128 deaths were caused by the Superpowers Mechanic in Session Seven. There were 9 additional deaths (7.031%) through the actions of other players.

And finally, 3.125% OR 4 out of 128 deaths were caused by the Callback Mechanic in Session Eight. There was 1 additional death (0.781%) through the actions of other players.

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In conclusion, 37.5% of deaths were caused by the Wildcard. And 15.625% of deaths were caused by other players taking advantage of the Wildcard. In a grand total of 53.125% !!

For the most deadly wild card WITHOUT the interference of other players, it's unsurprisingly The Immortal Snail Mechanic!!

While the wildcard players took advantage of most was the Superpowers Mechanic!!.

So! Any thoughts?

(Btw, I'd love to give a Congratulations to Joel aka Smallishbeans for winning Wild Life!!! This was the moment I've been waiting for!!)

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Emergency Commissions

Unfortunately for me, my hours have been severely cut which is going to make paying my bills this month extremely difficult. I'll also have to miss some work to take care of my mom after she has a small surgery later this month. Any support would be greatly appreciated, but please do not book outside of your own means! Things are tight for everyone, take care of yourself first and foremost!

What to Know:

As with all of my commissions, please make sure you thoroughly read my Commission Guidelines before booking.

All commissions will be 50% off of their base price. That means if you want a simple 1k drabble (like from the Drabble-a-thon) you can get that again for $5!

This sale will go on from 2/28-3/31/25

To make the commissioning process simpler, please fill out this Google Form. This will ask for your contact information, plot details, and wordcount of your commission. If you would like a guideline of average content of a story based on wordcount, please check out my Tumblr Only Fics Masterlist.

You can commission as many works as you would like during this time, each one will receive an estimated timeframe of completion. Commissions will be finished in order of when they have been received.

After the form has been filled out, I will review the commission and reach out to you through your preferred method to finalize any details and to provide a quote for your story. Once details are finalized, I will send an invoice via Paypal and upon full payment being received, work on your commission will begin! Generally, I give an update at the halfway point of the commission and I do not offer previews or revisions of stories that have been commissioned. For extremely short commissions (1k-2k) I will likely finish these in 1 session and will not provide an update before finishing the piece and sending it to you!

Thank you so much if you choose to book a commission this month, I really appreciate all of the support that I have already received so far! If you have any questions, please feel free to DM me, I'll do my best to answer!

[fenrelmercar]

GET TO KNOW YOUR OC: Fenrel "Rook" Mercar

huge thanks for this gorgeous shot of Fen with Neve's hairstyle @wickedviago !!!

tagged by @litchigaming, @amellderiva. Thank youuu darlings!

passing the challenge to: @idunnaldwir, @wickedviago, @lemonina00, @nananarc, @rook-de-rivas, @rooks-dagger, @notyourmamasdeerbat

GENERAL

Name: Fenrel Mercar

Alias: mostly known as Rook, formerly known as Wolf amongst Shadow Dragons

Gender: Cis Woman

Age: 28-29 at beginning of Veilguard, 29-30 by the end

Spoken languages: Trade, Tevene, some Elven (learning more from Bellara). Picking up some Qunlat and Antivan from Taash and Lucanis, but it's mostly swear words.

Sexual orientation: Bisexual

Occupation: In order of recency: Advisor to the Archon, Leader of the Shadow Dragons, Champion of The Fade, Leader of Veilguard, reconnaissance agent for Shadow Dragons.

FAVORITES

Colour: Red of the Shadow Dragons (@litchigaming Fen and Vesper are a matching pair)

Pastime: When she's in a good mood, playing piano, doodling. Pissed off she will go out for a training session. Long strolls in Dock Town. Reading.

Food: Not picky, will eat anything. Yes, even things Harding makes. She's more focused on what she will do after the meal rather than the meal itself.

Drink: Black coffee, but a fancy blend. If it's a really rough morning, she might indulge in whatever burnt disaster Neve would drink. Loves wine and during Veilguard events discovered Rivaini rum, but in general does not shy away from stronger liquors.

HAVE THEY...?

Graduated from university: No. She was homeschooled and never went to the circle.

Had sex: Yes

Had sex in public: Depends on what you call public.

Gotten tattoos: Had Dirthamen's Vallaslin until the events of Weisshaupt. Got her Halla tattoo at the same time she got her Vallaslin, but often forgets it's there. During certain events, she gets the Dread Wolf tattoo on her bicep. Keeps it as a reminder. (Not spoiling what events and why Dread Wolf. Answers will be in latter chapters of TDTF)

Gotten scarred: Most notable are scars on her face from botched Vallaslin removal. But yes, many, many scars.

Had a broken heart: Yes, sort of. More of a pissed off heart.

Been in love: Yes, once before Veilguard, and forever after Veilguard.

ARE THEY...?

A cuddler: Not really. She touches people subconsciously to comfort them, but is rarely open to letting anyone into her personal space in that way.

Scared easily: No.

Jealous easily: Not really. She might be more keen to start second-guessing or blaming herself than falling into jealousy.

Trustworthy: Yes

FAMILY

Siblings: None

Parents: Biological parents died trapped in the slaver ship while trying to escape the fifth blight ridden Denerim. Was found on the streets of Ventus and adopted by a single, high-ranking Tevinter military officer hailing from the family of Altus mages. He passed away shortly after she left Minrathous with Varric.

Children: Not planning to, but it's not like she thought much about it. Simply never had peace and quiet long enough to think of it.

Pets: None, but feeds as many strays as she can when visiting Dock Town. Post Veilguard adopts several cats that love to hang out in the perpetual sunset of the music room as she plays the piano.