#1 million words challenge

[cha-melodius]

Firstprince and #11 for the winter prompts!!!

(Helloooooo and Happy New Year! Convienent that at least one of these is still timely, lol. This is 11. "Competition to see who can bring the hottest date to the New Year’s party," though I've left the parenthetical spoiler out here and in the fic notes on AO3. Office AU, multiple POV. I hope you enjoy!)

May Your New Years Dreams Come True

Read it on AO3 (T, 3.1k)

Henry ~~~~~

It’s a confluence of unfortunate events that sets the whole thing off.

Henry’s standing in front of the electric kettle in the break room, waiting for his water to boil and minding his own business, when he hears a familiar cadence of footsteps coming down the corridor. After all this time, he still can’t help but tense up, no matter how hard he tries to be something approaching normal around him.

The arrival of one Alex Claremont-Diaz will never fail ruin Henry’s cool.

This time, though, he’s not alone. The nasal pitch of Hunter’s voice carries down the hallway and into the break room, even as Alex’s steps pick up speed in a futile attempt to lose him. Henry stares down at the kettle and wills it to boil faster, or for them to bypass the break room entirely, but luck is not on his side today. Alex strides in, Hunter hot on his heels, and walks immediately over to the coffee pot next to where Henry stands.

“Fox,” Alex says in greeting, and somehow that one syllable manages to be loaded.

“Alex,” Henry returns. He quirks an eyebrow; Alex rolls his eyes in the rough direction of where Hunter is still behind him and makes a gagging face that has Henry pressing his lips together against a laugh.

“… so I told her about the party and of course she wants to come. I mean, who could blame her?” Hunter is saying, the inane babbling finally resolving into words in Henry’s consciousness. “What about you, Alex? Do you have a date for the party yet?”

“Hm?” Alex hums, finally looking away from where he’s been seemingly trying to stare a hole in Henry’s head. He turns toward Hunter and smiles insincerely. “Oh, sure. Definitely. Super hot.”

Henry blinks. He doesn’t know what he expected Alex’s answer to be, but it wasn’t that.

“Oh yeah?” Hunter replies eagerly. “How hot are we talking? Because this girl I’m bringing”—he whistles in a way that makes Henry cringe—“she’s so hot.”

“Yeah, man,” Alex says in that tone of voice that Henry suspects Hunter doesn’t realize is mocking him. “Tall. Blond. Legs for days.” He pauses, his grin sharpening as he leans back against the counter with his coffee. “In fact, I’d wager money my date will by far be the hottest there.”

Hunter scoffs, which honestly Henry doesn’t understand. It’s not like Alex hasn’t pulled in some real lookers to previous years’ parties, much to Henry’s chagrin. “Really? You want to bet?”

Alex shrugs. “Sure.”

“Henry,” Hunter says suddenly, finally—and unfortunately—acknowledging that he’s actually been standing there the whole time. “You want in on this?”

“Yeah, Fox,” Alex jumps in unexpectedly, a challenging glint in his eye and an aggressive smirk on his lips. “What about your date? You want in on this?”

No, Henry most certainly does not. He doesn’t know why it didn’t occur to him that this would be an issue. The office’s party is legendary. Instead of throwing a holiday do, they go all out on New Year’s Eve: black tie, caviar, a view of the ball drop in Times Square, and of course, endless, overflowing champagne. Henry always attends alone—a fact which he knows Alex is well familiar with—because although he’s out to a significant portion of company’s employees, he’s never really felt a need to let the rest of them know anything about his personal life. It doesn’t help that none of his prospective dates never seem have the potential to match up to the one he’s always wanted to be there with. To the one person he’s longed to kiss at midnight ever since he started working here.

The same person who happens to be currently trying to set him afire with his mind from across his coffee cup. Who has to make everything into a competition. How Henry ended up regrettably and hopelessly in love with this man, he’ll never understand.

Still, there’s no explaining why his mouth opens and he says, “Why not? Fifty quid.”

“You talk like an alien,” Alex says immediately, rolling his eyes. “But you’re on. In dollars, none of that make-believe money y’all have.”

“Nice,” Hunter adds, unfortunately reminding both of them that he’s still in the room. “Let the best man win.”

~~~~~ Nora ~~~~~

“You gotta help me,” Alex says in a rush, closing the supply closet door behind him when he finds her.

Nora sighs and sets down the three reams of paper that she’d come in there to get, taking in the disarray of his curls, as if he’s been running his hands through them, and the slightly wild look in his eyes. “What did you do now?”

“It was just supposed to be a stupid joke,” he whines, like that’s should mean anything to her. “And somehow now it’s a whole thing. I think half the office is in on it.”

“Ohhhhh. The bet,” she surmises, letting a smirk tip onto her lips. It had somehow become all anyone in the office wanted to talk about in the last two days. “Yeah, not one of your best ideas. On the bright side, though, the pot is going to be huge. Maybe I can get that new GPU I’ve been wanting.”

“Hold on, you’re not telling me that you bought in too?” Nora nods, and Alex groans. “Jesus, Nora. You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? Your sister is a stone-cold fox, and in an evening gown?” She gives a low whistle. “It’s in the bag.”

“Don’t.”

Nora looks at him, then, really looks at him, for the first time since he cornered her. He’s twitchy, worried like she hasn’t seen him in a while. Whatever issue he’s currently having with Henry—because it’s always something to do with Henry—it’s weighing on him more than usual. “Wait, do you even have a date?”

“Of course I do,” he scoffs.

“Oh yeah?” she says, raising her eyebrows. As far as she knows, Alex hasn’t been out with anyone who wasn’t her or June in ages. He’s certainly not seeing anyone. “Who is she? Do I know her?”

Alex fidgets some more, chewing on the corner of his thumb. A tell. 100% chance he’s lying about something; she gives it a 45% likelihood he doesn’t have a date yet, 34% he does but she’s not actually as hot as he’s making her out to be, 21% that something else is going on that she doesn’t have the data for yet.

“Yes. No. It’s not important,” he mumbles as he tries to wave her off. “I have a date.”

She bumps the ‘something else’ percentage to 39%, maybe higher, and considers trying to ply him with bourbon sometime in the next few nights. “So it’s about Henry’s date, then,” she guesses.

At that, he looks momentarily stricken before he reigns it back in. “Why would you say that?” he demands. She definitely hit a nerve.

“Henry’s never brought a date to these things before, but he’s bringing one this year. You’re being weird about something. Ergo, it follows that Henry’s date has something to do with it.”

“You’re insane. That’s not— it has nothing to do with that.” He straightens, and sniffs dismissively. “I just think that ranking peoples’ dates’ hotness is reductive.”

“Right,” Nora laughs. “Now you do. You’re just worried you’re going to lose.”

“Definitely not,” he huffs. “Who’s even going to be the judge?”

“Oh, that’s already settled. Zahra said she would do it.” It’s the perfect solution, really. If anyone could have the authority to judge and not have anyone A) take it personally, or B) argue, it would be Zahra.

Alex drags a hand over his face, groaning miserably. “Now Zahra’s involved too?!”

~~~~~ Pez ~~~~~

Pez is pretty sure Henry is avoiding him.

It’s not an easy thing to do, given that they work in the same division and also spend a large amount of their free time together, but somehow Henry is managing it. He slips away whenever he hears Pez coming, and when Pez began sneaking up on him, he started wriggling away with some made up excuse. Pez knows very well why: the bet. The one that he couldn’t believe Henry actually agreed to when he’d heard about it secondhand. Of course, all sense seems to fly out the window whenever they’re dealing with darling Alex, so perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised.

Eventually, after an entire two days of fruitless pursuit, Pez simply shows up at his apartment unannounced and unwilling to take no for an answer. Henry surprisingly buzzes him in without question and answers the door straight away, and the way that his eyes go wide in surprise and his face actually falls—wow, rude—when he sees it’s Pez on his doorstep confirms he was expecting someone else.

“Pez,” he says weakly, trying to recover his composure and largely failing. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a guy drop by to visit his best friend?” Pez replies, pushing his way in before Henry can close the door on him. He holds out the bottle of brandy he brought as reinforcements. “We need to chat, my dear.”

Henry deflates. His hair has been styled and he’s wearing the blue sweater that Pez instructed him to deploy when he really wants to make a guy swoon over his eyes; definitely a date. “Look, I understand what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it, I do, but…” He hesitates. “I’m expecting company tonight.”

“Company,” Pez echoes, arching one elegant eyebrow at him. “Please tell me this company is the mysterious scorching-hot date that you’ve somehow managed to acquire for the New Year’s party.”

“No. Yes.” Henry sighs. “He’s going to be here any minute, Pez.”

“How convenient. I’m dying to meet him.”

“Pez—”

“Hazza, I don’t know why you’re hiding him from me,” Pez interrupts before he can finish his protest. “This is a good thing, as far as I’m concerned. I love you, but if I have to spend another New Year’s Eve watching you sulk next to the croquembouche while Alex kisses someone else at midnight I might lose my bloody mind.”

“I can promise you that’s not going to happen this year,” Henry says. He actually seems to mean it, even.

“Good. Well I’m glad you found someone, even if you won’t let me meet him yet for reasons that are entirely unfathomable to me,” Pez says, though he’s not at all satisfied.  Then he adds, as an afterthought, “Especially after having to listen to Alex go on about how ridiculously attractive his date is. I rather think he must be overselling it, personally.”

He does not miss the way that Henry goes slightly pink at that and looks away, unwilling to meet his eye, so perhaps things aren’t as rosy as they might appear. If Henry’s let himself get pulled into a silly competition because he thinks it’s going to get Alex to finally notice him, Pez is afraid he’s going to be sorely mistaken. He just hopes the poor sod that Henry’s dragging to this thing isn’t expecting too much.

“I’ll tell you soon,” Henry promises, looking slightly pained. “It’s only… everything is very new still. I don’t want to jinx anything.”

That’s— well, unexpected. Pez doesn’t know how Henry could have found some chap that he could be this interested in without him knowing about it, but apparently just such a thing seems to have happened. As his eyebrows climb ceiling-ward, he asks, “It’s serious then?”

Henry manages a small smile. “I hope so.”

~~~~~ Alex ~~~~~

Alex tugs at the front of his red velvet tux jacket even though it’s perfectly straight already, unable to stop fidgeting as anticipation thrums through his veins. The main doors to the venue keep opening and admitting not the person he’s waiting for, and he can’t resist turning to look even though he knows it’s not quite time. This was his plan, so there’s no one to blame but himself. Make an entrance, he’d said. It’ll be hilarious. Along with, Yes, I’m sure.

He’d had to say that last one a lot. This whole thing is kind of a big statement, and he could have just… not made it. His coworkers aren’t entitled to his personal life. He can’t express how much he wants this, though. He doesn’t want to hide, not when this feels like such a important part of himself. Ok, he probably could have made a smaller statement, but in his defense he never expected it blow up like this. In the end, he decided to lean into the absurdity of it all. Nora will probably call him a drama queen and June will roll her eyes, but the looks on their faces will be worth it.

Somehow he’s gotten stuck standing next to Hunter, which is terrible but also kind of appropriate given how this has started. The other man has barely left Alex alone since he arrived sans date, like he won’t be satisfied until he sees whoever is meeting Alex at the party. For his part, Alex has to admit that Hunter’s date turned out to be a very attractive woman, whom he has no idea how Hunter of all people pulled.

Still not hotter than his date.

“This mystery date of yours going to show up any time soon?” Nora teases, appearing at his side with June in tow and, inexplicably, seemingly Pez in tow as well. Alex is not sure he wants to know what’s going on there.

“Yeah. Any minute now,” Alex answers with more confidence than he feels.

“I can’t believe Hazza’s not here yet,” Pez mutters, stretching up on his toes to look around, as if Henry wouldn’t be obvious. He’s taller than most of the office, save Shaan.

Alex’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he doesn’t have to check it to know what it says. A few moments later, the venue doors open again, and this time when Alex inevitably turns to look he sees Henry walking in wearing an impeccably tailored classic black tux.

“There,” Alex says, pointing across the room.

“Huh? Where?” Hunter asks as he cranes to look. “Is she behind Henry?”

“Not exactly.”

“I don’t see anyone new, Alex, are you sure—”

Alex doesn’t hear the rest, or anything that anyone else around him says, because Henry’s confidently striding across the room toward him with a smile slowly curling onto his lips, and nothing else in the world matters anymore. Henry barely comes to a stop in front of him before Alex is tugging him down into a kiss, because standing in any proximity with Henry and not kissing him is a crime (sometimes, work days are torture). Henry’s lips move softly against his as his hand comes to rest on the narrow part of Alex’s waist, and Alex simply lets himself get lost in it for an unknown amount of time before he finally pulls back.

“Hey baby,” he says, grinning like an absolute fool. “Took you long enough. Any later and you might have missed the judging.”

“I arrived precisely when you told me to, you absolute demon,” Henry retorts affectionately. “In any case, I’m pretty sure we’ve disqualified ourselves, love.”

“Ask me if I care,” Alex murmurs against his lips, then kisses him soundly again before he can answer.

They spend most of the night fielding questions, unsurprisingly; more than once they have to engineer an actual escape from the collective clutches of Pez, Nora, and June, stealing off into a secluded corridor to get lost in each other’s arms and mouths for as long as they can manage before they get dragged back to the party. But even when they have to behave themselves and actually socialize with their coworkers, the novelty of being there together, of being able to slip his arm around Henry’s waist and press close against his side, of not having to constantly moderate looks on his face, of being able to be himself, is intoxicating. Alex feels drunk on it even moreso than the champagne, though the champagne is definitely helping.

A little before midnight, their boss commandeers the microphone from the DJ and calls for everyone’s attention. “All right you miscreants,” Zahra announces, and she must be fairly drunk herself because she’s nearly laughing as she speaks. “I’ve been informed that it’s my responsibility to judge—Jesus fucking Christ—hottest date, because you all are apparently fourteen years old.” Her eyes sweep the assembled crowd and find Alex and Henry, who remain practically glued together. “I’ve also been recently informed that two of the initiators of this farce were operating with insider information, so really, I should call the whole thing off.”

“Boo!” Alex calls out, which draws scattered laughter from the others and a reluctantly fond eye roll from Zahra.

“I should, but I won’t,” she continues.

“So who won?” someone calls out.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Zahra says, her smile going wickedly smug. “Me.”

Then she takes a few purposeful strides to the right, grabs Shaan by the arm, and drags him into a lingering kiss. The crowd immediately bursts into surprised chatter and cheers, and someone—look, it might have been Alex, but he’s not owning up to it—wolf-whistles, which finally makes her break off and glare at all of them.

“All right, all right, enough of that!” she shouts over them. “Go drink your fucking champagne and get ready for the new year. The ball drops in two minutes!”

One minute and forty-five seconds later, Henry has Alex wrapped up in his arms and is staring down at him with a look that’s so fucking smitten that Alex might actually melt. They’re standing in front of the picture windows that look out at the ball in Times Square, its lights glittering as it prepares to make its descent, but despite the frankly epic view, they only have eyes for each other. 

“Sorry I cost you fifty quid,” Henry says, sounding not very sorry at all.

“It’s dollars, you alien,” Alex huffs as he grins up at him. Henry is so achingly beautiful, the angles of his face lit up by the lights of the city, and Alex knows he was right about the bet no matter what. He shrugs, trying and probably failing to look nonchalant. “S’ok. I won anyway.”

Henry laughs. “That was terribly sentimental of you, love.”

“I know,” Alex groans, pretending to gag. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Around them, the countdown starts; neither of them even have a glass of champagne, though that’s probably for the best at this point. “I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time,” Henry murmurs, just audible over the shouted counting of their coworkers.

“Do what?”

And then, at midnight, Henry kisses him.

[ehlnofay]

the problem with posting any of my newer stuff is that it’s all So Fucking Long. stupid amounts of words. just finished my most recent ‘‘‘‘‘micro’’’’fic three days and almost five thousand words after I sat down to begin it. that’s not micro anymore that’s a whole ass fic. and it’s too much to read on tumblr dot com

[beemovieerotica]

struggling with how to word this, but putting it out there anyway:

i can fully understand the posts on here from a lot of americans being tired of "vote blue no matter who" posts when the #1 thing that people are constantly (and sometimes only?) addressing is how the republican party is going treat trans/queer people if elected.

it's part of an unfortunate pattern of prioritizing the effects on a demographic that includes white + upper class people, when people of color and those in the global south are actively and currently being killed or relegated to circumstances in which their survival is very unlikely

it is genuinely exhausting to witness this, and i was also on the fence about even participating in voting because i a) felt like it didn't matter and b) every time i voiced being frustrated with the current state of the country, white queer people would immediately step in with "but what about trans people!" -> (i am mixed race trans man)

and i say this with unending patience toward people who do this, because i know that it's not something they actively think about. but everyone already knows how the republican party is going to treat queer people. you are probably talking to another queer person when you bring up project 2025. the issue is that, for those of us who aren't white, or for those of us who are but who are conscious of ongoing struggles for people of color worldwide, the safety of people around the world feels more urgent than our own. that is the calculation that's being made.

you're not going to win votes for the democratic party by dismissing or minimizing these realities and by continually centering (white) queer people.

very few people on here and twitter are actually talking about issues beyond queer rights that concern people of color, or how the two administrations differ on these issues instead of constantly circling back to single-issue politics. this isn't an exhaustive list. but these are the issues that have actually altered my perspective and motivated me to the point of committing to casting a vote

the biden administration has been engaged in a years-long fight to allow new applicants to DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, the program that allows undocumented individuals who arrived as children to remain in the country) after the Trump administration attempted to terminate it. the program is in limbo currently because of the actions of Trump-backed judges, with those who applied before the ruling being allowed to stay, but no new applications are being processed. Trump has repeatedly toyed with the idea of just deporting the 1.8 million people, but he continues to change his mind depending on whatever the fuck goes on in his head. he cannot be relied on to be sympathetic toward people of hispanic descent or to guarantee that DREAMers will be allowed stay in the country. biden + a democratic controlled congress will allow legal challenges to the DACA moratorium to gain ground.

the biden administration is open to returning and protecting portions of culturally important indigenous land in a way that the trump administration absolutely does not give a fuck. as of may 2024, they have established seven national monuments with plans to expand the San Gabriel Monument where the Gabrielino, Kizh / Tongva, the Chumash, Kitanemuk, Serrano, and Tataviam reside. the Berryessa Snow Mountain is also on the list, as a sacred region to the Patwin.

i'm recognizing that the US's plans for clean energy have often come into conflict with tribal sovereignty, and the biden administration could absolutely do better in navigating this. but the unfortunate dichotomy is that there would be zero commitment or investment in clean energy under a trump-led government, which poses an astounding existential threat and destabilizing force to the global south beyond any human-to-human conflict. climate change has caused and will continue to cause resource shortages, greater natural disasters, and near-lethal living conditions for those in the tropics - and the actions of the highest energy consumers (US) are to blame. biden has funneled billions of dollars into climate change mitigation and clean energy generation - trump does not believe that any of it matters.

i may circle back to this and add more as it comes up, but i'm hoping that those who are skeptical / discouraged / tired of the white queer-centric discourse on tumblr and twitter can at least process some of this. please feel free to add more articles + points but i'm asking for the sake of this post to please focus on issues that affect people of color.

[lifeinacartoon]

Here's something I had previously written and posted on AO3. I had completely forgotten about it until now, but felt the urge to share it here. This piece was part of a three-sentence challenge on LiveJournal (yes, it's still around) by 1_million_words.

The prompt was: "No one knows who you are or what you do."

___

"No one knows who you are or what you do," they whispered in hushed tones as Aaron Cross moved through the shadows, a ghost in the world of espionage. His identity was buried deep within classified files, his actions known only to a select few who pulled his strings. But beneath the secrecy, he remained resolute, driven by a purpose that transcended anonymity.

[g0dlyunsub]

for the night.

the flight back from a case gets delayed and the team’s forced to book rooms for the night. what a coincidence that you’re paired with spencer.

pairing :: s5!spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: fluff, flustered spencer, this is literally just an excuse to write about spencer with crutches

word count :: 1.7k

author’s note :: one of my favorite tropes asfdfafssfsd we all know where this is going right ;)

accompanying song :: let’s fall in love for the night by finneas

“i have to admit, i am quite surprised. engine failures are extremely rare — statistically, they only occur once every 1.4 million flight hours.”

“uh-huh, very interesting.” you roll your eyes, but the smile that tempts to play on your lips is too overpowering to withhold. 

“it is!” spencer excitedly flashes you a smile. “we’re actually incredibly lucky to avoid an in-flight shutdown, which typically happens once per million flight hours-”

“reid, i think our luck might be running dry here. it’s 1 a.m., the jet’s engines are acting up, and we can’t leave portland.”

you take both of his crutches in your hands with an exasperated sigh. it’s not his fault, and you know better than to project your annoyance at him, but the disappointment of not being able to enjoy a nice, hot shower in the walls of your home has you uptight.

with an apologetic smile, you extend your shoulder to spencer; slowly, he places his hand on you, and you help him carefully descend the jet’s stairs.

the two of you are the last to join the rest of the group on the ground, and hotch sends an acknowledging nod in your direction once he sees that you’ve been assisting spencer. 

“l/n, reid, you guys okay with rooming together for the night?”

the words don’t initially register, and it’s only until spencer speaks up that you realize hotch isn’t asking – he’s confirming.

“we’re rooming in pairs?”

hotch nods, and his sidelong stare roams over spencer’s face like he’s challenging him to continue, to contest his proposal.

“emily? jj?” you pipe up this time, sending a pleading glance at both of them. they look back at you with sheepish smiles. 

“it looked like you guys were having a really good conversation back there. didn’t want to disturb you,” emily returns, slowly raising her shoulders and mouthing sorry.

spencer clears his throat and leans into your ear. “i can probably book a room at another place-”

you widen your eyes and immediately shake your head. “no, that’s not necessary, i’m completely fine with it! unless you’re… not?”

this time, spencer’s the one shaking his head fervently. “oh no, i’m entirely comfortable, perfectly content, uh- sharing a room with you.”

you display an awkward grin. “alright then, perfect.”

—

“i’ll set your bag on the table, is that okay?”

“yeah, thanks a lot.”

you heave a sigh of relief as you close the door behind you and rest spencer’s bookbag on the wooden table. spencer slowly lowers himself into a chair, and you gently lean his crutches against the walls near the door. 

you’re pleasantly surprised by the room’s decor; its soft carpet floor and mahogany picture frames hanging from the walls easily exceed your expectations for a traditional hotel room.

you’re about to make a comment commending the room’s quality when your eyes zero in on a terrifying sight.

there’s only one bed.

you do a double take, circling around the bedroom once more to check if there’s an extra mattress lying around somewhere – at this point, you really wouldn’t mind if the bed has a trundle.

“fuck me.”

“what?” 

spencer’s eyes immediately divert to you, and he stifles his reaction to your comment with a hasty cough.

you point to the bed, which prompts spencer to crane his neck to get a better view. 

“there’s only one bed.”

spencer’s eyes widen, and his gaze snaps up to your face so fast you wonder if you’ve just made a grave mistake of telling him. 

he was bound to find out anyway.

“it’s okay, i’ll take-” you start, but he cuts you off short.

“the floor? not a chance.”

you press your lips together tightly and gesture to his leg. “please, take the bed. your leg… you’re injured.”

spencer looks down at the floor briefly, a light shade of pink spreading across his face. “no, we can… we can share the bed.”

you feel your cheeks grow hot at his suggestion, but a refusal fails to surface on your lips. 

moving your hands to your hips, you nod slowly. “only because you’re insisting,” you murmur.

a brief silence veils the air, and the two of you have utterly no idea what to do next — neither of you wants to be the one to crawl into bed first.

but the clock’s hour hand had just moved past the two, and you know your eyelids aren’t going to stay open for much longer.

with a weary sigh, you gesture towards the lightswitch. “do you mind if we dimmed the lights a little?”

spencer turns, almost hobbling on his leg, and flips the switch for you. the room turns dark almost instantly, but a faint light emanates from a lamp on the nightstand.

“are you, um, going to sleep soon?”

you hate to be the first one to bring it up, but you have to — you can practically feel the tiredness tempting you like a fuzzy blanket.

“uh yeah, we should sleep.” 

you watch as spencer grabs a pillow from his side of the bed and positions it near the edge of the mattress. you’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he props himself onto the bed and rests his leg on top of the pillow, elevating his casted knee.

oh. as the realization hits you, you reach for your own pillow and gently place it next to his head. “here, use this.”

“that’s your pillow.” 

“i know.”

a soft chuckle sounds from his throat as spencer raises his head ever so slightly, allowing you to tuck the pillow beneath him.

“thanks,” he murmurs, and pats at the space next to him, urging you to join him on the bed.

once you’ve slipped your feet into the blanket, spencer stretches his arm to turn off the lamp and moves back to whisper a hushed good night into your ear.

you turn to say it back. “good n-”

his hand gently starts to wedge under your neck, and as he moves, strands of your hair coil around his fingers. 

he’s offering his arm as a pillow.

you lie frozen, your breath hitched in your throat, as his arm extends fully beneath you. 

“spence,” you exhale, caught off-guard by the sudden move.

“it’s okay. don’t worry about me,” he softly whispers, inclining his head towards your face.

you smile, though you doubt he can see your face in the pitch-black darkness. 

“sweet dreams,” you hum, and close your eyes to let sleep overtake you.

—

you wake up not to the sound of your alarm, not to the birds usually perched on the tree outside your window, but to the sound of spencer clearing his throat.

you think it’s a dream at first, but you can feel everything — the vibrations coming from his throat like he’s talking to you, his hands stroking a pattern on your back, his breaths tickling your hair.

you open your eyes to see spencer staring back at you with flustered cheeks, his eyes flickering back and forth between your face and… 

you follow his gaze and look down, only to see that your leg’s wrapped casually around his hips, anchoring him to the bed. with a panicked yelp, you immediately retract your leg and leap out of the bed, frantically apologizing to him over and over again.

“i’m so sorry about that, d-did i hurt you?”

your voice sounds scratchy from your parched throat, but how you sound right now is the least of your concerns.

spencer chuckles softly before slowly sitting up. “no, you didn’t do anything.”

you let out a relieved sigh at his response.

spencer grunts as he lifts himself up, tenderly listening to your continued apologies with a warm smile.

“by the way,” he starts, fixing his tie and reaching for his suit jacket, “we're a little late.”

“what?” you gasp, hurriedly tucking your dress shirt into your trousers, “fuck. how late?”

a pause, and then: “five minutes and twenty seconds.”

“oh my god,” you squeal as you fling your and spencer’s bag over your shoulders, “they’re probably all waiting for us.”

quickly turning the doorknob and making way for spencer’s crutches to move past the door, you rush to the elevator and hit the juddering call button.

“next time, you’re-“ you cough out as you try to catch your breath, “-you’re welcome to just push me off the bed. it’s guaranteed to wake me up instantly.”

spencer looks at you questioningly, a small grin spreading across his lips. “next time?”

you clasp a hand over your mouth. “wait no, i meant – hopefully we’ll never have to sleep in a room together ever again, but i’m saying in case-“

spencer tilts his head and lets out an amused laugh. thankfully, the elevator doors open just in time, and you’re spared the trouble of having to explain yourself further.

you bite your lips as the image of his lopsided grin lingers in the back of your mind, and the fresh regret of your words burns your face like a hot fever.

the embarrassment doesn’t end, however, as the doors open once again to reveal your team standing right outside. when the elevator’s chime echoes throughout the lobby, everyone’s heads turn to you and spencer.

you walk out with nervous steps, grimacing when hotch merely nods and announces that the plane is ready for takeoff. spencer makes his way over to derek, who tousles his hair teasingly.

“so, how’d you sleep last night?”

you freeze when rossi’s husky voice drifts into your ears.

you force out a smile. “i definitely could’ve slept better.”

“really?” he hums with a smirk, “i slept like a baby.”

“yeah, you upgraded your room, we get it, you’re rich,” you sigh, eliciting a hearty chuckle from the older agent.

once seated in your usual seat on the jet, you’re accompanied by spencer and morgan, who slump into their seats across from you.

you watch suspiciously as morgan wiggles his eyebrows at you and nudges his elbow into spencer’s sides. “so, late night, huh?”

spencer looks at you briefly, flushed cheeks failing to suppress the smile splaying across his face. 

“shut up.”

[lightseoul]

cw. gn!reader, worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), pining (the tiniest bit), a lot of cussing (typical of bkg), reader has an ex-boyfriend, reader is alluded to being smaller than bkg

masterlist | part 1, part 2 (they're all bite-sized, dw), part 4 (this one not so much), part 5 (this one too), part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

You drop your new 0.38 ballpoint pen and it goes tumbling down, down, to the pristine carpeted floor.

Right where your jaw is.

“My what?”

The man of the hour has the audacity to scoff and roll his eyes.

Is it too late to actually follow through with your fantasy of strangling him?

As if he’s daring you to go for it, he tosses you the nth annoyed look of the night. “What did I just fucking say about not making me say things twice?”

You feel yourself flush with what you think is anger and embarrassment. “Bakugou, sir—”

“And I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

Smartass.

That’s it.

Before you know it, you’re already on your feet, stalking your way toward the man with the proverbial steam coming out of your nose and ears. His eyes widen in surprise as you get closer and closer before you stop right in front of his desk, towering over him for once.

“My date? Really?” You sound so incredulous, even to yourself, and you can’t help the seed of pride that blossoms over what you think is worry dancing across his features. He’s out of his goddamn mind, and between the two of you, you’re not about to be the only whose feathers are visibly ruffled over this dumb-as-shit idea. He has no business being so cool about it.

Never mind that your heart is hammering in exasperation.

Yes, just that.

Shaking your head, you press on. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re coworkers.”

You gesture to the space between you, and he merely raises his eyebrow in response with his strong arms crossed in front of his chest—snobbish as ever. “You’re my boss and I’m your underling. And I’m the HR head, for crying out loud.”

You pause to debate whether or not to say the next thing before deciding fuck it. “And what makes you think I don’t have—”

“Do you?”

Your face scrunches involuntarily at being cut off, “What?”

He leans forward, not breaking eye contact as if he’s challenging you. “Do you have a boyfriend?” He cocks his head to the side, “Or a date, at the very least?”

Your voice is small when you respond with the pitiful truth.

“…No?”

At that, Bakugou grins. If you didn’t know any better, you would say the fucking behemoth of a man looked pleased. He pushes against the edge of his desk, effectively creating a much more appropriate distance between the two of you. “Well, that settles it then. I’ll be your dashing date, we show up to your shitty ex’s wedding, and I finally teach that dickhead a lesson or two.”

A million questions start racing in your head, like: Why is this his first solution to the problem? Did he even consider whether or not you wanted to go in the first place? What did he mean by finally? And just—why?

But the one you manage to stammer out is: “Dude—what the fuck are you going to do? Are you about to mangle a guy at his wedding?!”

He looks at you like you just unceremoniously bit his ass. “What? No. What do you take me for, a brainless Nomu who just goes apeshit?”

You can only grumble in response. Yes, sometimes.

He sighs for the umpteenth time as if you’re the one who has steered the already unpleasant conversation into this bizarre topic. He stands up from his seat, and you’re back to being the one looking up at him.

The same thing probably registers in his mind because a smug look takes over his features within seconds.

“And, if you must know, I’m going to do so by being the best trophy date ever.”

You fight the reflex to choke at his words. Instead, you squint your eyes and muster your most scrutinizing gaze. “Why are you doing this?”

Bakugou doesn’t respond for a while, choosing to circle his desk and plant himself to your right. Before you can even comprehend what’s going on, let alone jerk back at the proximity, he bends toward you until his mouth is a breadth away from your ear. His minty breath tickles your skin when he finally says: “I’m a hero, remember?”

With that, the “hero” in question sashays to the glass doorway like he didn’t just drop a bomb on you, leaving you slackjawed and unresponsive.

He’s almost out of view by the time you manage to collect yourself and blurt out a reply.

“Hey, where are you going? We still have work to do.”

“Relax,” he calls out from the hallway, his voice receding as he walks farther and farther away from you. “’m just gonna take a piss.”

When you’re sure he’s out of earshot, you slump back in your seat, all the strength that’s left apparently having dissipated after that ludicrous exchange.

How could he throw every caution to the wind just like that? Did he forget he was just one spot away from being number 1? His PR team is going to kill both of you for even thinking this.

As you wait for Bakugou to finish his trip to the comfort room, you can’t help but contemplate the absurd idea. Needless to say, and despite Bakugou’s apparent nonchalance, there’s planning involved.

What are people going to say? If (once) the people from your agency—no, anyone who knows the #2 Prohero, really (which is virtually everyone)—find out, you’re toast. You’re going to be the subject of every tabloid in Musutafu—no, the entirety of Japan and maybe even in some news sites overseas—and you are absolutely not ready for that scrutinization.

And all that over a one-day fake dating stint? You’ve got to be kidding yourself.

But the more you think about it, the less foreign and preposterous the idea becomes. You know you shouldn’t even be considering it, but you can’t help it.

Getting dumped by your boyfriend over the phone only for him to reconnect with his high school sweetheart (did they even ever lose touch?) and get engaged five months later was humbling enough, let alone going to his wedding alone?

The first, obvious answer when you first saw the invite in the mail was to not go. But the more you sat on it, the more you realized how pitiful it would be to be a no-show. Was not going wiser than going alone? Probably. But you’re sick of hiding— avoiding—and you promised yourself this year that you’ll be facing your fears head-on.

Chewing your lip in deep reflection, your brain drifts back to the very person who came up with the proposition.

He seemed sure and determined enough—and it wasn’t like Bakugou to not be calculating and to not have everything mapped out, as similar as he can be to a raging bull. He probably has thought about the consequences to the T, in the few minutes of processing your situation, potentially more than you have.

And damn it, the man is attractive.

If there’s anyone you’d bring to your ex’s wedding to make him regret everything he did to you, it would be Bakugou Katsuki. Although you’d never admit it to the man even if you were held at gunpoint.

“Oi.”

Speak of the devil.

You startle at the sound of his gruff voice, abruptly dragging you out of your reverie.

He’s now standing beside you, hands in his pockets and face studying yours closely as if he’s searching for something.

You stare him back down before you finally decide on what to say.

You can’t believe what you’re about to do.

Gulping, you maintain your gaze. “Are you sure about this?”

“Would I be suggesting it if I wasn’t?”

Fair point.

To your surprise, Bakugou crouches down to regard you and you find yourself directly face-to-face. Despite yourself, you gulp in nervousness at the sudden proximity, and you think he notices because the jackass has the nerve to flash you a smirk.

You furrow your brows in an attempt to regain your composure and any semblance of control over the situation. “And you’re sure you’re gonna succeed as, and I quote, my ‘trophy date?’”

He sneers, although he doesn’t seem to be offended by your challenge. It’s probably because the statement means nothing to him—at this exact moment, the guy is practically oozing with confidence.

Bakugou chuckles, and you find yourself grateful that you’re seated because the next thing he is about to say instantly floors you.

“One thing about me, princess, is that I always win.”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @chelbyisbord @lovra974 @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik @bunnysaursushii

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ How Would The Slytherin boys React After you tell them you’re pregnant:✦ 」

[Mattheo Riddle-Theodore Nott-Lorenzo Berkshire-Draco Malfy-Tom Riddle]

•Mattheo Riddle

1.Silence: You blurt out the news, a nervous flutter in your chest. Mattheo stares at you, processing the information. Don't panic! This is his initial shock absorbing mode.

2. More Silence: You try again. Still, silence. Don't take it personally; his mind is racing a million miles a minute.

3. The Disappearance Act: By evening, Mattheo might be MIA. Don't fret! This is probably him needing some space to grapple with the news. (Don't chase him to Knockturn Alley, though.)

4. Awkward Return: When he finally returns, you launch into a "what-are-we-going-to-do" speech. But wait! He cuts you off...

5. "Hey, it's okay” : Mattheo might surprise you with a calm demeanor. This doesn't mean he isn't nervous, but he's trying to reassure you (and maybe himself).

6. "I want it too." : Prepare for a confession! Mattheo, the king of nonchalance, might admit he wants this, with you. This might be followed by an apology for his earlier silence."Sorry, I was just shocked earlier. Shouldn't have reacted that way."

7. Confusion Reigns: "You're not mad?" you finally manage to ask, a sliver of doubt lingering.He might confess he's clueless about the whole "No," he says, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "It's just... I never thought about this stuff. Family, kids, the whole shebang. But if I'm gonna do it, I want it to be with you."  _Cue the tiny butterflies in your stomach._

8. "But with you.":He might clarify that while the whole baby thing is new, having it with you? That's something he can do.

9. Protectiveness Unleashed: Expect a shift in Mattheo. He might become fiercely protective of you and the little one on the way. (Just don't tell him it's "nesting" if he starts building a barricade around your house.),Mattheo will hover over you, insisting you take prenatal vitamins and threatening to glare down any stranger who bumps into you. It's annoyingly sweet.

10.The (Slight) Freak Out (Because It's Mattheo): Don't get too comfortable yet. There will be moments of panic. Mattheo might blurt out something about not knowing the first thing about raising a kid, or how motorbikes suddenly seem like a terrible idea. Just remind him that you're in this together, crazy as it may be.

•Theodore Nott

1. Reality Check?: Theo might blurt out, "Are you sure?" It's not doubt about your love, but the sheer unexpectedness of it all. Breathe, and calmly confirm with that positive blood test result.

2. Freak-Out Time: Picture a cartoon character with smoke billowing from their ears. That might be Theo, internally freaking out. Don't worry, it's normal (though maybe not that dramatic).

3. Parental Apocalypse?: "Your dad will kill me!" Theo might shriek, envisioning a future father-in-law wielding a shotgun.

4. Waterworks Warning: Tears might well up in your eyes, a mix of emotions swirling. He will put everything beside and try to comfort you.

5. Protective Streak: Expect a dramatic shift. Theo, the notorious rule-breaker, might turn into a fierce protector, ready to shield you from any and all perceived threats.

6. Reassurance Renaissance: He'll rush to your side, muttering reassurances like "Hey, I'm here" and "I'll be here every step of the way." "I might be freaking out internally, but I'm not going anywhere."

7. "We" is the New Word: The "me" might temporarily disappear, replaced by a constant "we." He might start talking about "our baby" and "what we need to do.".

8. Fear is a Two-Way Street: Theo might confess he's scared too. Don't be surprised; fatherhood is a big leap for anyone. Reassure him you're in this together.

9. Facing the Future, Together: Theo might not be known for responsibility, but this news could be a turning point. He might surprise you with his determination to navigate this journey with you.

10.A (Slightly Chaotic) New Chapter: Yes, there will be challenges. But with Theo by your side, even the most chaotic moments of pregnancy and parenthood can turn into an unforgettable adventure (well, maybe not all the diaper changes).

•Lorenzo Berkshire

1. Record Scratch Moment: "Excuse me, what?" Lorenzo might look like a record player with a skipped track. Don't worry, the information overload will clear soon.

2. Baby Talk Confusion: He might blurt out, "Pregnant? Like...with a baby, like a real baby ?"

5. The F-Bomb Symphony: Brace yourself for a chorus of "Oh fuck!" Lorenzo might panic a bit, but hey, at least he acknowledges the reality.

6. Apology Avalanche: Prepare for a barrage of "I'm so sorry for putting a baby on you." It's not guilt-tripping, just Lorenzo's awkward way of expressing concern.

7. Decision Time: He might cut through the tension with a simple, "Okay, what do we do?" Don't be fooled by his bluntness; he's ready to face this together. He might surprise you with a genuine, "I want it. Do you?" Expect a hint of nervousness, but mostly a determination to be a part of this.

8. Family Gathering Fiasco: Prepare for a potential meltdown when it comes to telling your families. He might blurt out, "I'm pregnant!" before you can correct him. Just take a deep breath and handle the announcement yourself later.

9. Overprotective Overload: Expect Lorenzo to morph into your personal bubble wrap. Lifting a box? Forget it. Climbing stairs? Hold on, he's got you. You might need to remind him you're not made of glass .

10. Google Goes Dad Mode: One night, you might catch him researching "how to take care of a pregnant woman" , “ How to be a good dad “ on his phone. Aww, just don’t cry you will freak him out again.

•Draco Malfy

1. Denial is a River in Egypt:  His first response? "You're lying." Don't panic. This is classic Draco, clinging to disbelief. Prepare to show him the pregnancy test, the blood test… anything to pierce his denial bubble.

2."Look Away, Not At It!": He might stubbornly refuse to even glance at the evidence. Don't take it personally; it's his defense mechanism malfunctioning.

3. Accusatory Tirade: Brace yourself for a verbal explosion. He might accuse you of lying, of trapping him, of using his family name. Remember, fear often masquerades as anger in Draco's world.

4. Protection Spells on His Pants?: He might insist he used every protection under the sun. Don't get into a magical contraception debate. Just try to explain accidents happen.

5. The Ejector Seat Option: Draco might bluntly tell you to leave. It's a knee-jerk reaction, not a reflection of his true feelings (hopefully!).

6. Standing Your Ground: Here comes the hard part. You tell him you're keeping the baby, with or without him. This might be the first crack in his emotional armor.

7. A Continent Away From Chaos: Fearing his reaction and the uncertainty of it all, you flee to another country. Girl, we feel you! But remember, you're not alone in this.

8. A Connection You Can't Deny: Despite the fear, you feel a powerful bond with the tiny life growing inside you. This little one deserves a chance, and you vow to protect them.

9. The Redemption Knocks: Two months later, a frantic pounding on your door jolts you awake. You open it to find a desperate Draco, his face etched with worry.

10. A Malfoy Regret-Fest: He confesses he searched everywhere for you, regret gnawing at him. When he learns you fled, the dam breaks. He apologizes profusely, begging you to tell him you kept the baby.

A Second Chance, Malfoy Style:

Relief washes over you as you nod, tears welling up. He wipes them away, muttering, "It's still ours. I'm so sorry. I'll never hurt you or our baby again." A genuine plea hangs in his voice.

“ Do you still love me?“ A shaky nod escapes your lips. He pleads for forgiveness, for a chance to be part of this family he never knew he craved.

This might be the start of a rocky but redemptive journey for both of you. Draco, beneath his icy exterior, might surprise you with his capacity for love and growth. Just remember, keep a communication charm handy – navigating fatherhood with Draco will likely be an… interesting adventure.

•Tom Riddle

1. The Stoic Facade: Don't be surprised if Tom remains eerily calm. His usual mask of control might slip not an inch, leaving you wondering what's going on behind those eyes.

2. Tears: A flood of emotions might be coursing through you, but Tom? His reaction might be a chilling calmness. This doesn't mean he's unfeeling, just that he processes things differently.

3. Misinterpreting Your Distress: Seeing you cry, Tom might jump to a chilling conclusion. "Is having a baby with me that terrifying?" Here comes the part where you clarify.

4. Guilt by Association: A quick "No, no!" will hopefully ease his worry. But then you blurt out your fear – you're both too young.

5. Age is Irrelevant: Tom operates on a different timeline. Age is just a number, and power? That's the real currency. He might say, "It's not about age, it's about power."

6. Power Trip for Three?: Brace yourself for a Tom Riddle monologue about the immense power your child could possess. He might see it as an extension of his own ambitions, a prodigy groomed for greatness.Don't be afraid to voice your anxieties. When you say, "Tom, I don't want my baby to be part of your plans," he might actually listen.

6. A Promise, Riddle-Style: “I promise you, I will keep them safe. I will keep you safe." But remember, Tom's definition of "safe" might not align with yours. Stay frosty.

7. Your Fears Take Center Stage: Tears welling up again? This might be the moment it dawns on Tom that you're not thrilled about the power angle. He might try to reassure you, but...

8. Promises with a Price: Tom doesn't give anything without expecting something in return. Be prepared for him to outline his expectations for your role in his grand plan.

9. A Tug-of-War for the Future: This is where things get interesting. Do you submit to his vision, or do you fight for a different future for your child? The choice is yours.

10. A Dance with Darkness: Having a child with Tom Riddle is a gamble. He might be a captivating presence, but remember, his path is paved with darkness. Are you willing to walk it with him?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[fishnapple]

THE MAP TO YOUR SOUL, YOUR DEEPEST SELF INSIDE

A simple map to help you find who you really are inside. The reading will have 4 parts: the focus, the obstacle, the gift, the guide.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

CUBE 1

The focus: Balancing opposites

It's very straightforward and direct. Your deepest self yearns to express itself openly, without masks or veils. You will find authenticity through the words you say and the beauty you cultivate. Your identity is not meant to stay in one place, stagnating but to constantly evolve, transform and refine. This can be expressed through your thoughts, your physical appearance, as within so without. Kind words and self-love go a long way. You're here to learn the way of being independent, of self-authority, standing up for yourself without being selfish.

Life's various responsibilities, the burden of being and existing, the confusions of bonds. Those are the forces that pull you in many directions, away from a simple truth: yourself, the one you've built, the one you are, the one you want to be. The moment you can be at peace with yourself will be the moment you've arrived at home, inside you.

The obstacle: You tend to lose yourself in the connections with other people. The sense of self is dissolved by the desire to connect with the other person. You might find yourself morphed into various identities with each connection. You're one person in one relationship, but you're a different person in another relationship. Relationships shape your identities. There would be a point when you're confused about who you really are, without other people. This is a challenge for you, to find your sense of self outside the connections with people. To have a stable core no matter what relationship you're in.

The gift: Your obstacle is also one of your gifts. You have the talent to connect and understand people. Navigating relationship dynamics come naturally for you. Negotiating, harmonising, understanding. So use this gift to understand yourself too. To see yourself, standing alone, independently and connect with that person. You can be with other people without sacrificing your autonomy and independence.

The guide: Find out what can spark your joy and what makes you want to act, what are you wishing for. Write them down and see the pattern, the interconnection between them. The fastest and safest path to your soul is to constantly seek expansion of your mind. If you're feeling lost, trust in your intuition and the signs given to you at the present moment. You heard someone mentioned a book, a movie, a place? You suddenly get a desire to learn something? You might want to note them down and try them for yourself. Hidden treasures of knowledge are always just around the corner. And through these seemingly random encounters, you've already been treading on the path to your soul.

CUBE 2

The focus: Freedom of creativity & uniqueness

You have a powerful presence that can touch people in a subconscious way. There's a light, a force that is constantly swirling, rolling, unfolding. The question is, how can that light exist among the sea of people without blinding others or without dimming itself? A star is bright and blinding when someone looks at it alone and closely, a star is also bright but its light is gentle and it dances on the cosmic tapestry when it exists together with other million stars on the sky. Together, they create a picture of the universe in harmony.

The path to your soul is not a lonely path that you go alone, it's a merry one with people from all different corners of the world going together, some will go away after a while, some will stay with you till the end of the journey. You will find yourself in the crowd, in the people around you, in the distant dream for an ideal world. How do you connect with people without fusing yourself with them? How do you stand apart but still be a part of something? How do you give to the world and grow in the process?

The obstacle: There's a hidden fear inside you. It's about the loss of the self, the disappearing into the mass. Order, stability and the concrete are desired. You have a lot of hidden force within you. If repressed, it can result in general resentment and anger directed at the world at large with no particular target.

Struggling to find motivation can also be a big obstacle. You need to find the roots of that struggle. Is it because it's hard to be motivated when you can't find the meaning for it? It's hard to act when you can't see the direction ahead clearly? Everything needs a meaning and a purpose. Without them, mobilising your incredible pool of energy will be difficult.

The gift: You have the gift of creativity, creating things for the world and creating your own self. You're like a sun that gives life and shines brightly. Expressing your individuality is an impulse that cannot be overridden. So wherever you go, people notice you, they will applaud you light. use this gift to bring light into other's life, help them find the courage to shine brightly like yourself.

The guide: Delve into the realm of your fears and the unknown. The more clearly you see them, the calmer it will feel. Embrace the mystical parts of life. There are certain things that can't be completely understood by just sitting down and thinking about them in practical terms. Sometimes, letting go and just observing is more effective.

There is a connection between the path you choose to go and the influences of the collective. No matter how much you deny those influences, they are still there, lying dormant in your deeper self. It's the force that keeps you connected to everyone, the sense of belonging. If you have the desire to stand apart, to not be drowned in the sea of the collective, understand that you have enough power and strength to swim gracefully alongside others.

CUBE 3

The focus: The lightness and feeling of safety

Building a home for yourself, for your soul, is what you're called to do. I see the image of someone dragging their feet through a storm, they are exhausted, all they're searching for is a shelter, a place for warmth and rest, a place to stop their weary feet. The burdens of life weigh heavily on your shoulders. There might be a time when you want to escape, to let go, that's when you need to grasp at something to anchor yourself back to the reality of life. Life can be heavy and demanding, but you can navigate it in a simple and calm manner. You may have dreams you want to fulfil, aspirations to achieve, big things to expect but at the end of the day, a safe place, a calm mind and a rested body maybe are all you really need. There's a need to strip back to simplicity and find enjoyment in your own world.

The obstacle: You might project a certain assertiveness and a competitive image to the world. But it's a cover to hide your deeper feeling. The more vulnerable you feel, the harder you tend to fight. The more confused you're about your own self, the more likely you're to chase worldly achievements without a real sense of satisfaction. This discrepancy between your inner self and your outer self will hinder your sense of peace. There's a need to find a way to communicate yourself clearer, with more coherence to the story.

The gift: You have the gift of the gab, expressing ideas and convincing other people. Your mind works in a lightning fast manner, gears constantly turning, information flows indefinitely, ideas churned out like a blinking light. You understand things instinctively, sometimes making logical leaps to arrive at the answer, making mental shortcuts. This gift can help you sail through life more smoothly and help you get out of sticky situations, which usually are the results of your expression of assertiveness or anger.

The guide: Taking small steps towards your soul in a slow and steady manner. No need to rush and worry all the time. Everything is built from the culmination of small efforts.

You will find the guiding arrows through listening to your body, to feel the concrete body of yours, the pains that arise in different place, the warmth feeling in the stomach, the hands getting cold, the electricity running through your spine, all those sensations. Don't ignore them. They help you to feel more alive, and they call you to take more care of your body. Without a healthy body, how can you live and go after your goals?

Humility is another guiding arrow. No matter how much knowledge and wisdom you have, there's always something to learn from others, assume the role of a student and try to listen. Challenges might only appear when you refuse to open your mind and learn.

CUBE 4

The focus: the potentials of transformation

I see the image of someone standing from afar, looking tentatively at the vista before them. They want to go towards it, to see for themselves is there a deeper wonder to this life that they haven't known of. The call is ever louder and more tempting each day.

There's still a distance between them and the vista, but they are looking in the right direction. Now, they just need to figure out how to close the distance. They need the courage to take the first step. They can see the rewards, they can also see the hardship. But turning away is not an option anymore. There's so much more to see, so much potential to grow.

The obstacle: I think deep down, you've already figured out the path you need to go, you just need a little nudge because of the uneasiness in knowing what needs to be done to go towards that path. It will require changes, it will require you to discard things you might have held dear in the past but are no longer serving your growth. And it all starts from the mind. You might not like to think too much about the future, the bigger plan for your life, prefer to stay in the details of your surroundings. Maybe you feel that it's never enough, you don't have enough experiences or skill, you don't have enough resources, you don't have enough visions. Which is not true. You are ready to take the plunge, much like the Fool in the Tarot.

The gift: You already have an instinctive understanding of the world around you. Learning comes naturally for you. Your deposit at the bank of knowledge is getting larger everyday and will spill over if you don't use them. The door that can lead you to the path forward is your mind. Use your mental energy to figure out the steps instead of over analysing and excessive worrying.

Putting your voice out into the world, make a statement, make a commitment to your goal, and you will be surprised how far it can take you.

The guide: If you feel overwhelmed by the amount of work that needs to be done in order to have the life you want deep down. Start small and build steadily. The word "transformation" may sound dramatic and scary, but micro-transformations happen at every moment. Grab hold of the visions floating in your heart and mind and hold them steady, study them, don't mystify them, bring them out into the mundane by backtracking the steps leading to them. You see the farthest step, then backtrack until you arrive at where you are now. Start with doable things, and gradually, you will find that a lot more are doable for you.

[buttercupjosh]

The Perfect Proposal (the 4 times you expected that Mat was going to propose + the 1 time he actually did)

(Gif credit to @mattymartin)

word count: 1,968

genres: established relationship, fluff, self-insert

warnings: none

A/N: This story is based off of the song “Joy of My Life” by Chris Stapleton and I make references to this song throughout the story. I highly recommend listening to this song before reading my story. This story is short, sweet and fluffy. It’s not set at a specific moment in time (It’s taking place in a fictional future but you could also say that it’s set this upcoming season or even a past season). It’s written with a female reader in mind because I’m a female of color but the reader doesn’t specifically have to be a POC or a woman and there’s little dialogue. This is not a sequel to Your Favorite Secret (which you can still read and check out and if you want this to be a sequel to that, you can interpret it that way). As always, I’m open to any and all feedback, comments or questions; just put them in my inbox or dm me. Thank you so much in advance for reading, I appreciate it😌

(P.S. I have other stories (linked here) that I have written for other players as well if you want to check it out)

“Someday it will come right on cue.” -Somewhere Love Is Waiting for You from the Schmigadoon TV series soundtrack

Prologue

Meeting Mat changed your life in the best way possible. You took Mat’s breath away when you met up for your very first date and since then, you continued to take his breath away in small doses every time you saw him. He added so much goodness and love into your life and you did the same for him. Mat felt so grateful to have you in his life and even though he made millions, being with you was his greatest treasure. You and Mat deeply appreciated each and every moment you had together, no matter how big or small it was; the two years that you had been together so far were some of your greatest times. You were both so smitten that you always looked at each other with such deep love and devotion and couldn’t get enough of your significant other’s presence. For a while, Mat knew that he wanted to propose to you but he just needed to figure out the best way how to and time when to ask that all-important question.

————————————————————

It finally happened. After 3 challenging years, you finally completed law school and earned your Juris Doctor degree from NYU. All of your friends and family came into town to celebrate your accomplishment. In order to accommodate everyone, Mat graciously rented a large AirBnb house in the Hamptons to host your graduation party. You handled some aspects of the party planning while Mat handled the rest and the party went very well. During the congratulations portion of the evening, Mat wanted to give a quick remark to acknowledge your achievement.

“For the past 2 years, I watched this wonderful person ambitiously work their way through law school. There were a lot of late nights, early mornings and so many case reviews and vocabulary study sessions that I think I could go get a law degree. Y/N, to say that I am proud of you is a massive understatement. My love, you are so amazing and you did it. I love you so much. Because I love you so much, I have a surprise for you.” Mat spoke.

This moment seemed like it was the right time for Mat to ask for your hand in marriage; you had been dating for a while, you lived together and blended your families together, and he had just finished a great speech that made all of the party’s attendees realize how much he was in love with you. Instead, Mat handed you an envelope. Inside the envelope was a copy of a check for the exact amount that you owed in student loans and a letter informing you that your loans were fully paid off. You couldn’t believe what was happening and began to cry.

“How did you do this?”, you mustered out through your tears of joy.

“So you know how you gave me access to your book of important information in case anything happened to you? Well, I asked Liana to call the loan office to pretend to be you and ask for your account balance”, Mat cheesily revealed.

Mat saw firsthand how much distress and frustration law school caused you so he wanted to help out someone he deeply loved by eliminating the stress of having to pay for a student loan; this surprise was better than an engagement ring.

————————————————————

After your graduation party and after the Islanders were eliminated from playoffs, it was the official start of the off-season. This year, it was a milestone birthday for Mat’s dad so the Barzal family decided to do a European summer vacation to celebrate. You were important enough to their family that you had been invited and Liana, Mat’s sister, also invited her best friend to accompany her on the trip.

Hand-in-hand with the man you considered to be the love of your life and his family, for 3 weeks, you explored England, France, Monaco, and Mat’s ancestral homeland of Italy. In England, you indulged in English culture while Mat hilariously attempted a British accent. In France, you shared plenty of kisses with your lover in the City of Love, swooning every time Mat spoke French. In Monaco, you and Mat felt like the protagonists of a spy thriller while hanging out in the city.

Once you arrived in Italy, you got to see a different side of Mat that rarely came out. He had been to Italy several times before but he was thrilled to share all that he knew about that special place with you. Mat glowed differently whenever you got authentic gelato together or when he swam in the waters along the Amalfi Coast. Of course, throughout the trip, you still spent plenty of time with Mat’s parents, sister, and her friend and attended a lovely birthday dinner on a boat for Mat’s dad while visiting Sicily.

On the plane ride traveling back to Canada after your whirlwind European tour, you thought to yourself that you were going to come back to North America with a new jewelry addition to your left hand; you did have a lot of date nights and one-on-one time with Mat on the trip. However, your wonderful boyfriend did get you a gorgeous Cartier love bracelet from the official store in Paris and you were returning back with the gift of good memories that were created with your future in-laws.

————————————————————

The remainder of the off-season went by so quickly; between weddings, summer holidays, and other events all happening, you and Mat were swept in so many different directions. Time flies when you’re having fun and soon, it was already time to return to Long Island for the hockey season.

The usual ups, downs, and chaos of the hockey season lingered in your household but you navigated through it together. As the season went on, you spent a lot of time studying for the Multistate Professional Responsibility Exam and Universal Bar Exam, which allowed you to become eligible to be admitted to the New York State Bar next year. Even though you had those responsibilities, you still supported Mat at most of his home games. One of the things about Mat that you loved was how he would always quietly tiptoe into your shared home after a late game but he loved how you always waited up for him to come home after every game, regardless of what time he returned. Before you both knew it, the year was winding down and it was almost Christmas time. You and Mat had decided to host Christmas this year and both of your families were coming. This wasn’t the first time that both of your families had been together to celebrate an occasion; they were there all together for your law school graduation earlier in the year and both sides enjoyed being together as one cohesive unit but for some reason, things felt different to you this holiday season.

You spent hours preparing and making sure that everything was right for the arrival of your guests. Christmas came and went wonderfully. It was so nice to have your families together during the holidays. You gifted Mat a new game day tie and a gift card to one of his favorite road restaurants; Mat got you a nice bag to carry all of your work things and a personalized padfolio for you to take all of your legal notes in.

Yes, you were secretly expecting a diamond underneath the tree this year but it was okay because you still got other great gifts as well. Despite wanting something else, you still deeply cherished the time you got to spend with your loved ones.

————————————————————

After the holidays were over, you and Mat settled back into your respective routines until it was All-Star Break. Mat was not chosen for the All-Star Game that year and some of the Islanders players and families decided to go to the Bahamas for their team All-Star Break trip. The time away gave you and Mat both some essential rest and relaxation. At the end of February, you were scheduled to take the Universal Bar Exam but you took a break from studying to enjoy your mini-vacation. You stayed with your lover and company at a phenomenal resort; you swam with dolphins, relaxed at the spa, and ate so much tasty food. You also enjoyed lots of group activities with Mat and his teammates and their respective significant others. During the trip, one of Mat’s best friends’, Anthony, and his long-term girlfriend, Emma got engaged. It stung a little to see someone else reach the relationship milestone you deeply desired to share with Mat and you had expected that it was going to be you and your lover’s turn to share that special romantic moment on this trip, however, you were happy for your friends.

————————————————————

One evening, you came home from a long, exhausting day of work. After passing both the Universal Bar Exam and Multistate Professional Responsibility Exam and completing some other requirements, you were admitted to the New York State Bar last month and got a job as a junior attorney. It was a pleasant surprise to see Mat cooking; he was subtly singing in the kitchen and tenderly caring for some handmade pasta. You couldn’t quite make out what song Mat was singing but it didn’t matter what it was because you had caught him singing songs that you’ve played around the house and pop songs from the radio plenty of times before. You smiled to yourself as watched him in his element before slipping away for a much-needed shower.

After you came out of the shower and changed, there was a beautiful plate of pasta waiting for you on the table. Mat tapped deep into his Italian heritage and made a delectable dinner for the two of you. You shared with Mat the details of work and although, he may not quite fully understand everything you were expressing your feelings about, he still listened to you as you rambled on. After dinner concluded, you and Mat were going to share a box of bakery cannolis and watch a movie on the couch but Mat told you to wait at the table and suddenly got up. He returned to the room with a look of nervousness on his face. You asked Mat if he was okay but you could tell that he had something important to say.

“I’ve been holding onto this ring for a while. There were so many other times that I wanted to ask but there’s just something that feels so right about this moment. Sitting here, I realized something very important. I want to spend the rest of my life, making you dinner when I can and listening to you speak. I want to continue to come home from my games to you and wake up next to you. I have the greatest honor of knowing and loving you. You have the sweetest heart that’s made of gold and you are like an angel brought down to Earth from Heaven. I want to be by your side forever. Y/N, you are the joy of my life. Will you marry me?” Mat declared while holding out the engagement ring of your dreams in a Tiffany blue box.

You were speechless because Mat was right; this was the perfect moment. You looked straight into Mat’s green eyes that you admired so dearly and accepted his marriage proposal; you were both super excited to embark on this new journey in your relationship. You and Mat swayed with each other to the sound of your fiance’s voice, serenading you to “Joy Of My Life” by Chris Stapleton, the same song Mat was singing to himself earlier. Patience was an important virtue and all of that waiting paid off at the right time.

[nejiverse]

KIDS AND CARS

Toji Fushiguro

In which Toji who has been a father for six years is bested by his own girlfriend who has never been a mother. Fem! Reader

cw: none, im starting the ‘megumi being an expressive kid’ agenda 🫡

700ish words

Megumi was at that age where he rebelled against everything and anything Toji said or did. Frankly, it was starting to annoy Toji, he was starting to think his own son was trying to make his life a living hell on purpose

Then there was you who made it seem so effortless. Toji couldn’t comprehend why his six year old son only listened to his girlfriend

This particular day, Toji had an unimpressed look etched on his face as he folded his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. He was clearly fed up

“You have to put your toys away Megumi, I keep stepping on them”, he tried to be somewhat nice, he really did. But the boy just flat out ignored him as if he was deaf or something, continuing to bash his toy cars against each other while mimicking explosion noises. He was sat comfortably on the living room carpet with not a care in the world

Toji felt like a vein was about to burst as his brow twitched involuntarily. “I’m talking to you brat”, he spoke sternly, his patience drawing thin

In Toji’s defence, the little boy’s cars were scattered absolutely everywhere, it was hard to walk by without stepping on one. Besides, he was only playing with three out of the millions of toy cars on the floor

“Don’t wanna”.

Toji itched his head and clenched his teeth. Since when did his little boy upgrade from a simple ‘no’ to a ‘don’t wanna’?

Without a doubt, out of all the opponents he had faced in his lifetime, Megumi had to be his biggest challenge yet

“Yeah well I don’t give a fu—”, before Toji could finish his sentence, a hand came over his mouth

“Be nice”, his beloved girlfriend had a frown on her face because of his vulgar language

Toji sighed, relaxing his facial muscles and unfolding his arms. “Yeah yeah”

The woman approached Megumi, crouching down beside him with two of his little toy boxes in her hands after overhearing the whole situation while she was tidying his room.

“Say Megs”, she started with the nickname he loved to hear. “I’m really bored right now, can you play a game with me?”, at the mention of a game, Megumi perked up, turning to face Y/n

“What game?”, he asked, curiosity evident in his big blue eyes

“Whoever can pick up the most cars and put them into these boxes in 30 seconds wins!”, she explained before feigning a sad expression. “Oh but I don’t think you’ll be able to beat me, I am a faster runner than you after all”

Megumi felt challenged. “Liar! I’m the fastest!”, he boasted proudly

She smirked. “We’ll see about that….3, 2, 1, go!”, and the both of them scrambled to pick up as many cars as they could from the ground

Toji watched in amazement how good she was with him without ever having any experience with kids. He definitely chose the right person to date

Later that evening, after Megumi was tucked into bed and the house was quiet (finally), Y/n got comfortable between Toji’s legs as he threw on a random movie.

“Thanks for earlier, I feel like Megumi has a secret vendetta against me at the moment”, he commented

She laughed. “Im sure he doesn’t, you just have to know how to approach him”, she leaned her head against his chest. “He really is a good kid”.

“Mhm”, he hummed against her neck as his head moved to rest on her shoulder, his arms slithering around her waist

“Makes me think we’d do alright with more, y’know?”, his hands moved under her shirt and massaged the flesh around her stomach

She couldn’t resist the smile that creeped onto her lips as she turned around in his arms. “Toji Fushiguro are you asking me to have your kids?”.

“Is that a yes?”.

Well, is it?

a/n: off topic but kinda wanna start writing for bleach now that im caught up with the newest season 🤭 (requests opened btw)

masterlist :)

[reasonsforhope]

"At HarperCollins, a lot of attention and thought is given to deciding exactly what combinations of margin measurements, font, and layout feel most appropriate for the genre, and writing style.

But in a case of do-your-part environmentalism, designers at the publishing house have now standardized a series of subtle and imperceptible alterations to normal font style, layouts, and ink that have so far removed the need for 245 million book pages, totaling 5,618 trees.

Telling the story in Fast Company, representatives from HarperCollins, one of the four largest publishing houses in the world, explained that the idea first arose in Zondervan Bibles, HarperCollins’ Christian publishing division. Being that the Bible is 2,500 pages or sometimes more, saving ink and pages was not just an environmental consideration, but one of production costs.

A new typeface called NIV Comfort Print allowed Zondervan to shave 350 pages off of every Bible, which by 2017 had amounted to 100 million pages, and which, as Fast Company points out, would be four times higher than the Empire State Building if stacked.

The production and design teams then wondered how much they could save if they applied the same concepts to other genres like romance and fiction. Aside from the invention of the eBook, publishing hasn’t changed much in the last 100 years, and the challenge was a totally novel one for the teams—to alter all their preconceived ideas and try and find a font and typeface that resulted in fewer pages without being harder to read.

They eventually standardized 14 different combinations their tests determined were the most environmentally friendly, and which delivered an unchanged reading experience.

But the challenge didn’t stop there. Printed books, one might not know, are printed in large sheets which are then folded into sections of sixteen pages, meaning that Leah Carlson-Stanisic, associate director of design at HarperCollins, has to calculate the savings of space, words, and ultimately pages with the help of her team to fall in multiples of sixteen.

Nevertheless, they have been successful with it so far, and in the recent print run of one popular book, 1 million pages (or a number near 1 million that coincides with the 16 times tables) were saved.

“We want to make sure our big titles, by prominent authors, are using these eco-fonts,” Carlson-Stanisic said. “It adds up a little bit at a time, saving more and more trees.”"

-via Good News Network, April 4, 2024

--

Note: Great! Waiting to see this on the rest of their books and at the other big publishers!

Actually, though, it's worth noting that this may not come quickly to the other large publishers, because Harper Collins almost certainly owns that font - meaning that other publishers would have to pay HarperCollins in order to use it, on an ongoing basis.

More on publishing shit and more realistic solutions here below the cut!

What I'm hoping for and think is more likely is that this will inspire the development of open source eco-friendly fonts, which would be free for anyone to use. That would make it far more likely other publishers would adopt eco-friendly fonts.

I'm also hoping it would inspire other publishers to create similar eco-friendly fonts of their own.

Ideally, there would be a whole new landscape of (hopefully mostly open source) eco-friendly fonts. And/or to see calculations of the eco-friendliness of popular existing fonts, compared to each other.

If we could have a publicly accessible list of calculations for different fonts, including fonts designed to maximize eco-friendliness, I really do think that it would affect which fonts publishers choose to use. Here's why:

Most people in publishing are on the left (notoriously, actually) and really do care about the environment

People in publishing are plenty aware of these issues re: paper and trees, I promise

Shorter books means smaller production costs - and possibly smaller shipping costs as well, over time! So it would save them money too.

Eco-friendly fonts could also be combined with other measures for greater effect, such as bamboo paper (already in use for a lot of projects where page color/quality is more flexible) and thinner paper (aka paper with a lower weight) that uses less trees.

Don't expect books to all move to just one or two different fonts, though. Publishers and typesetters and font designers will innovate to create more options instead, though it will take longer. This is because different books really do use different fonts for various different reasons - one new font to rule them all isn't really a solution here.

"Every book is in the same font" may sound like a "whatever" deal to a lot of people, but as someone who works in publishing - trust me, it would actually make your reading experience worse, even if you could never quite put your finger on why.

[cha-melodius]

If there are still slots open for the Christmas prompts, may I ask for 6. “Is that present for me?” with Lokius? (or 3. “Your lips are cold.” as a backup number). Thank you and I hope you'll reach the 1 000 000 words (also, just saying, that's very impressive!!).

(Ok, so I might have cheated a liiiiiiittle by combining two prompts into one, which was inspired by the fact that @okilokiwithpurpose had prompt #3 as a backup. But hopefully the fact that this fic is 4x as long as most of the others in this challenge makes up for it! I had written a tiny bit of this AU, but never shared, and somehow as I was looking at it again these prompts just slotted into place. So here you go, an actor AU, which I can't believe no one had written for these two before, with some fake dating thrown in for fun. I hope you all enjoy! Also: @an-asgardian I wasn't sure if your AO3 name was different, but let me know and I can gift it to you there if you like!)

True Hollywood Romance

Read it on AO3 (M, 8.1k)

Toronto International Film Festival, early September

“You cannot tell me you’re intending to wear that,” Loki blurts, in lieu of a greeting, the moment he opens the door and sees Mobius standing on the other side of it.

Mobius glances down at his outfit: a grey suit that, yes, he has worn to more than a few previous events. Not that anyone would notice. No one ever asks who Mobius is wearing, he’s never appeared on any fashion lists (best or worst), and that’s the way he likes it. He knows he’ll be comfortable, and he doesn’t have to worry about hurridly-sewn seams failing or a jacket being mistakenly cut too tight across his shoulders. He hasn’t so much cultivated his look as actively not cared about it, and he’s gotten to a point in his career where people were inclined to let him do as he wished.

Until now, it seems. Loki is still staring at him in something akin to horror, which is a bit much. It elicits a knee-jerk reaction to get defensive and dig in his heels, but Mobius shoves it down and forces a tight smile onto his face. This is to be their first official public appearance, and it wouldn’t do to start things off on the wrong foot.

“You have a better idea?” he challenges, raising his eyebrows.

“Go back in time and get a suit that’s properly tailored,” Loki opines, before he sighs, gesturing Mobius into the hotel room. “You can’t wear that shirt.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Loki gives him a withering look of disdain that is definitely pushing it. “It’s boring, Mobius. Take it off, I have one that will work.”

Mobius sighs out heavily through his nose, trying not to grind his teeth together, and reminds himself that he agreed to this. God knows why. Your career is stagnating. No one’s talking about you, Ravonna had said. You need to shake it up, and this is the perfect opportunity. Then his agent had delivered the final blow: If you want that movie green-lit, you’ll do it.

Fucking Hollywood. Odin Borson had one of the biggest production companies on the block and a troublesome, wild-child son who needed an image rehabilitation. Who better to play the moderating influence than someone who’s never been a front page headline in the tabloids in his life? The TV actor who’d been beloved in the same role he’d played for over a decade, but boring in every other respect? Even when he’d come out several years ago, the news had barely made a ripple. He’s been trying to get this movie made for years, though, so a few months of pretending to date the producer’s kid had seemed like a small price to pay.

He’s not so sure about that anymore, though.

He follows Loki through the palatial suite to an entire walk-in closet of clothes—how on Earth could he have so many, they’re only here for a few days—and waits as the other man roots around a collection of shirts. Loki pulls several out and frowns at them before tossing them away, heedless of where they land. Sequins, ruffles, lace, one that seems to be hot pink— Christ, Mobius needs a drink. 

“I really doubt any of your stuff is going to fit me,” he tries in a last-ditch effort.

“It’ll be close enough,” Loki says, waving him off dismissively. “Keep your jacket buttoned on the red carpet and no one will notice.”

Mobius sighs, again. He has a distinct feeling that his life will be easier if he just lets Loki do what he wants. Within reason. “I’m gonna have a drink. You want anything?”

Loki’s mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. “Not allowed to drink before these things anymore,” he says stiffly, still focusing on the shirts in front of him.

“Oh. Noted.”

Possibly they should have actually talked more before this, but Mobius had counted on film festival red carpets being relatively low pressure when it comes to interviews. Loki has a small part in one of the movies from Odin’s production company, hence the appearance, but he’s not a lead, so no one expects the press to want to talk to them that much. They’ve been provided a few essentially scripted lines about their relationship to use when someone inevitably asks: they met on a ski slope in Vail, hit it off over coffee, etc, etc. Never mind that Mobius has never been to Vail. He doesn’t even ski, unless you count a jet ski.

Mobius briefly wonders if he should also abstain out of courtesy, but he figures Loki would say something if it was going to be a problem. Hopefully it won’t, because there’s no way Mobius is gonna get through tonight without at least one Scotch. He’s pouring a healthy portion into a crystal tumbler from the room’s wet bar when Loki appears at his side again.

“Here. This one,” he says, thrusting the garment into Mobius’s hands. It’s a rich, cerulean blue, and when Mobius holds it out he sees it seems to be a mock turtleneck and also…

“Is this… sparkly?”

“It’s a subtle shimmer,” Loki corrects superciliously. He hesitates for a second and looks away, avoiding Mobius’s gaze, and when he continues his voice is oddly tight. “It will bring out the blue of your eyes.”

Mobius swallows. Loki’s not actually dressed yet, still wearing a bathrobe, the fronts of which have by now slipped open down to where it’s belted at his waist, revealing a tantalizing swath of smooth, sculpted chest and abs that Mobius has to force himself not to stare at. Look, he’s not a monk, and Loki is a very attractive man. That fact may or may not have swayed his decision to go along with this circus. Still, this is all fake. Loki is way out of his league, and he’d do well to remember that.

Of course, he hadn’t banked on having to deal with Loki’s chest all night. It turns out he’s not wearing a shirt at all, only the trousers and jacket of a deep green tux with tails so long and elaborate they’re reminiscent of a skirt. He looks, to put it simply, stunning, and Mobius can’t help but feel a bit dull beside him. Even in a shimmery turtleneck, which, ok, did look better under his suit than what he was planning on wearing.

The appearance goes off without a hitch. They walk the red carpet, talk to a few reporters, smile like they’re enjoying themselves. Loki sleeps through the screening of his own movie, but Mobius is enthralled. He’d never really seen much of what Loki had been in before—mostly a number of prosaic runs as villains in genre flicks and their sequels—but in this he’s utterly arresting. He steals every scene he’s in, few though they might be. It makes Mobius wonder what happened, how he got so off track in his career, because clearly he deserves a lot more.

Halfway through the movie, Loki’s head tips onto his shoulder, and he doesn’t have the heart to move him. Loki jerks awake at the audience’s applause when the credits roll, going red as he realizes that he’d been using Mobius as a pillow. His eyeliner is slightly smudged and his hair is mussed, and the whole picture is far too soft and endearing. Even though they’re surrounded by a couple hundred other people it feels remarkably intimate, and something twists in Mobius’s gut.

This might be harder than he previously expected.

~~~~~

Hollywood, California, late September

“Is that a present for me?” Loki says, a teasing note in his voice and a grin on his face as he slips into the seat opposite Mobius.

They’re sitting outside at a cafe in Hollywood, in full view of the paparazzi that lurk unsubtly across the street. Odin’s people called them, of course. Another of their scheduled appearances, this time a casual lunch. Mobius tries to smile like he doesn’t care that his every move is being documented. He’s never elicited this kind of attention during his entire career, and he’s not at all disappointed about that.

“The very one provided by your manager,” Mobius answers dryly. It had been delivered to his apartment with a note explaining that he was supposed to give it to Loki at the arranged time. “I take it you purchased this for yourself?”

“Mm,” Loki hums as he eagerly tears the top off the box and pulls a luxurious green silk scarf out of it, winding it around his neck. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling. This a thoughtful gift from my dear beau.”

Mobius feels his face go hot at the fake pet names and blames the sun. “How can you wear that right now? It’s scorching out here today.”

“I’m always cold,” Loki tells him. “So. Honey. Dearest. Beloved,” he says, grinning over the menu at Mobius’s huff as he gets more flustered by the second. Turns out bearing the full brunt of Loki’s charm is a lot. “What looks good?”

Once they get settled in things get easier, though. They actually talk, really talk, for the first time since this whole thing started, and Mobius finds out that Loki’s not only insanely good looking but also sharp and engaging, talking excitedly about this or that project, going off on long tangents about random topics that interest him. It’s so unlike the haughty, stand-offish demeanor that he’s known for that Mobius is thrown off for a second, but he ends up enjoying himself too much to think about it too hard.

“The worst place I’ve ever had to film was definitely actual Siberia,” Loki is saying. They’re now undergoing the actor’s rite of passage in getting to know one another: sharing filming horror stories.

“Oh, that was The Void, right? The post-apocalyptic one,” Mobius says without thinking.

Loki blinks at him. “I thought you hadn’t seen any of my films.”

Mobius’s chewing slows to a halt as he realizes what he’s just admitted. “I mean. I’d seen a couple.” And if, since TIFF, he’d watched all of them, that was his business and nobody else’s.

“No one’s voluntarily seen The Void, Mobius,” Loki teases, a slow grin spreading on his face. “It’s not even on any streaming services.”

That is true. Mobius had had to buy the damned thing, and even finding a copy had been trying. Which was actually a shame, because yes, the movie had been terrible—abysmal writing, with a hackneyed love story forced in at the end—but Loki’s performance was exceptional. He’d played several different versions of the same character, each twisted a little differently, and it had been a bit of revelation.

“Musta caught it when it came out,” Mobius mumbles as he shrugs, avoiding Loki’s too-mirthful gaze. “Anyway, it’s gotta be more fun than always filming on a soundstage. Fifteen years of it gets real old, let me tell you.”

“All those places you traveled to? Pompeii? Those couldn’t have all been sets,” Loki says, which surprises Mobius enough to pull his eyes off his plate again.

“Now who’s been watching old TV series?” Mobius shoots back. “You can’t expect me to believe you saw Murders in the Multiverse when it aired.”

Loki sniffs, trying his best to look as if he hadn’t just been caught out. “Those are all on Paramount Plus,” he says dismissively. “I just put them on in the background for research. Barely paid attention.”

“Right. Research,” Mobius huffs, amused. “Well, they were all sets. Even Pompeii.”

“That’s disappointing.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad, though,” Loki says, tipping his head slightly. “You stayed for a lot of seasons. Even through that miserable amnesia arc.”

Mobius snorts. “Never overestimate the pull of a steady paycheck. I still get decent residuals from that show. But after a while they didn’t want to pay me what I deserved, and I got bored playing a time cop. Wanted to do something new and different. Get out of my comfort zone.”

“Which is why you’re here,” Loki says, a flat, difficult-to-read expression on his face. If Mobius didn’t know better he’d almost say Loki looked upset, which doesn’t make any sense.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Mobius allows. He picks at his food as they fall into an awkward silence, until finally he decides to just say it. “It’s been nice getting to know you, though.”

Loki looks up at that, slightly surprised, before a careful smile spreads across his face. “Yes. It has.”

~~~~~

New York Film Festival, October

“This is inhumane,” Loki whines the moment they step out of the limo and onto the red carpet.

“You’re the one who insisted on wearing a backless outfit,” Mobius reminds him. “I warned you.”

Not far away from where they stand, the fans lining the barricades are bundled up against the frigid wind of the unseasonable cold snap that had hit New York a day before the festival. Even Mobius is uncomfortably cold, and he’s wearing a wool suit. A new bespoke Italian wool suit that Loki had insisted upon for the festival. He almost wore a scarf, too, before Loki objected. Even though it was a nice scarf. Mobius had thought the outfit was pretty sharp, actually.

Clearly, Loki has somewhat warped views on what is appropriate for the weather, because he’s wearing some kind of shiny something that Mobius doesn’t even know how to describe—like a pair of trousers with a backless waistcoat attached on top, and nothing else. Christ, this man is dead set on ruining him. Especially because he huddles close for warmth, and Mobius has really no choice but to wrap his arms around him as hundreds of camera flashes go off from the press corps area nearby.

They’ve never been this close. Mobius has pressed a hand to his lower back, and Loki has draped himself off Mobius’s elbow, casual signs of affection that are easy, but this is quite beyond that. His hands splay over Loki’s bare skin as Loki tucks himself against his chest, and suddenly their faces are bare inches apart.

“You should kiss me,” Loki murmurs.

Mobius’s brain experiences a full shutdown, and it takes several moments to reboot. “What?” he manages, his voice strangled.

“We haven’t kissed for the cameras yet.”

Mobius does not remind him that they have not kissed at all, because they’re not actually dating. They don’t have to kiss. Lots of celebrity couples keep those things more private. Certainly plenty of them have never locked lips on the red carpet. Of course, Mobius knows as well as Loki that there have been rumors—blind items, chatter in the tabloids—that their relationship is just for PR. Which is true, but that’s not what they want people to think. A kiss would help sell it. That’s all this is.

No more than a few seconds can have passed, but it feels like an eternity before he manages to give a small nod. Loki is taller than him, so he has to stretch up on his toes a little as Loki dips his head to meet him. It doesn’t need to be more than a chaste press, but Loki’s lips, slightly tacky from the gloss he’s wearing, move softly against his and linger with the barest tug on Mobius’s lower lip as they part. It very effectively punches all the air from his lungs and leaves him reeling, which is kind of suboptimal because they’re still standing on the red carpet. Then there’s the fact that Loki just stares at him after they part, his eyes slightly wide like he hadn’t really meant to do that.

“Your lips are cold,” Mobius blurts, somewhat nonsensically, because he has no idea what else to say.

It turns out to be the right thing, though, because Loki laughs softly. “Can’t imagine why,” he drawls. He pulls away slightly, and Mobius tries not to feel disappointed about that. “Can we go inside now?”

“Just a few more minutes, sweetheart.” The endearment slips out, and he can feel Loki staring at him, but he doesn’t look over.

Instead, he does his job. Slide to the side so Loki’s outfit is visible. Lace their fingers together when Loki grabs his hand. Smile for the cameras.

Ignore the massive, hard knot settling into his gut.

~~~~~

Paris, France, November

“Yeah, I got it,” Mobius says over the phone as he wrestles his suitcase through the narrow hallway. “I’ll read it soon. It does look interesting.”

“The director specifically inquired about your schedule,” Ravonna tells him. “This is a very good sign, Mobius. You’re on people’s minds.”

“I know,” he sighs, because he’s tacitly admitting that she was right.

Even if this movie isn’t what he’s after, the fact that people are actually interested in him for the first time in… well, he can’t remember—it’s definitely good. And a little surprising. It’s not that he didn’t think the plan would work, but— ok, he didn’t really think this plan would work. Apparently he was wrong about that.

The numbers on the door to the hotel suite that’s been booked for them are ornately wrought in gold leaf, and he blinks at them for a moment before fumbling with the key. To say he doesn’t stay in places like this would be vastly understating things. The concierge had looked almost offended when he said he could handle is own bags. He’s a simple guy, not built for a life like this. Ravonna is rambling in his ear as he finally manages to get the door open, but when he steps into the suite he interrupts her without a thought.

“Ravonna, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

It’s huge, of course, and outfitted in Rococo fashion, with a large sitting area, what looks to be an office-slash-library, another sitting room, a bathroom larger than his first apartment, and a bedroom with a massive four-poster bed. One bed. He’s still staring at it when Loki pops up from where he’d been reclining on one of the couches and walks over to him.

“Where’s the bellboy?” he asks, peeking around Mobius’s back as if one might be hiding there. “I was going to send for champagne.”

“It’s ten in the morning,” Mobius protests, only half paying attention.

“Mimosas, Mobius. Catch up.”

“Sorry, is that the only bed in here?”

Loki pauses in his route to the room’s telephone and looks back at him, confused. “Of course. Didn’t they tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“One of those blind items about us was definitely leaked by a hotel staff member. The one about separate rooms? We can’t afford those kinds of rumors. Hence.” Loki waves his arm at the bed, then blithely continues on to the phone.

It makes sense of course, they would be sharing a room and a bed if they were really dating, but that doesn’t make it any easier for Mobius to deal with. “I guess there are a lot of couches,” he allows. None of them look like they’ll be great for his back, but it’s only a couple of days.

Loki frowns at him. “You can’t honestly be planning to sleep on a couch, Mobius,” he scoffs. “The bed is plenty big enough for the two of us. Plus, the cleaning staff might notice.”

“Yeah, of course,” Mobius says, biting down on an exasperated sigh. He’s jet lagged, and exhausted, and being reminded of how much of an act this whole thing is frays his last nerve. “It never ends,” he groans.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this,” Loki counters. “It’s not that big of a big deal.”

“Heaven forbid we actually get some moments where we don’t have to be performing, even when we’re alone!”

Loki goes stiff, his mouth narrowing in to a hard line, and Mobius knows he’s made a mistake. “Well. I’m sorry that this is so difficult for you,” he says, his voice cold and calm in the very worst way.

“Now wait a second, it’s not about—” Mobius tries, but Loki cuts him off.

“Excuse me, I need to use the restroom,” he says, then turns swiftly on his heel and marches into it, slamming the door behind him.

Mobius winces. Christ, he mucked this one up good. They’d been getting along so well that it’d been easy to sell that they enjoyed each other’s company, but this certainly isn’t going to help things. This trip was supposed to be a ‘romantic Parisian getaway’ for the two of them. Now it seems like they’ll be testing the limits of their acting ability. Bitterly, he thinks that Loki’s clearly a good enough actor that he shouldn’t have any trouble.

The bathroom door stays firmly shut for a long time, so Mobius the only thing he really he can. He unpacks the clothes that will wrinkle and puts them out to be pressed, pokes around the library for any interesting books—which he discovers must be mostly treated for show, given that they clearly haven’t been opened in quite a long time, and anyway are all in French—he even orders a bottle of champagne sent up, along with some fresh squeezed orange juice for good measure. After a while, when Loki still hasn’t emerged, Mobius hesitantly approaches and knocks softly.

“Loki? You ok?”

At first it doesn’t seem like there will be an answer, but there’s a soft curse, then the door flings open and Loki stares at him blankly. He’s wearing a bathrobe, and his hair is wet.

“Were you showering?” Mobius asks without thinking. It’s not really any of his business.

“I was in the bath,” Loki answers, his voice even. His face his carefully arranged, neither upset nor relaxed, but still, Mobius can’t help but feel like they took three steps backwards. “Did you want the shower?”

“Actually, yeah, if it’s not too much trouble. Planes, you know,” Mobius tries, offering a tentative smile.

“Right, of course,” Loki says with excessive politeness. “It’s all yours.”

“I ordered that champagne you wanted, by the way,” Mobius offers. “Orange juice too. Dunno if there was any other fancy stuff you wanted.”

That seems to take Loki by surprise. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier,” Mobius says in a rush, wanting to get it out before Loki can interrupt him again. “I was just— well, tired from all the travel, and I reacted poorly. You’re right, the bed is huge. And for what it’s worth, this isn’t difficult for me. I mean, spending time with you. I enjoy it.”

Those words have the curious property of being simultaneously entirely too honest and a massive lie, because this has in truth become incredibly difficult for him. Difficult not to give himself away. Difficult to reconcile what they do in public with their actual relationship. Difficult to keep from falling further and further in love with Loki every moment they spend together.

Loki’s expression softens, stuck somewhere between disbelief and relief before one corner of his mouth finally tugs upward. “That’s— well, that’s nice of you to say.”

“It’s the truth, Loki. You’re a great person.”

“That’s not a common opinion, I’m afraid,” Loki says dryly, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Well, they’re wrong,” Mobius insists. “They don’t really know you.”

“And you do?”

Mobius nods confidently. “I do now. And I know I’m lucky to be your… friend,” he finishes, just managing to avoid saying something absurd like boyfriend or partner. They’re friends now, that’s not a stretch to say.

For some reason Loki flinches at that, though, so subtly it’s almost invisible. Then he’s smiling quickly to cover it, falling into his usual teasing tone as he says, “You’re right, you are lucky, Mobius. Two days of basking in my glorious presence. How will you survive?” Barely, Mobius thinks, but he chuckles all the same. “Hey, you wanna go out after this? I’m famished, and we could see some sites?”

“Sure you want to?” Loki asks, his expression sobering a touch. “We could just order room service. I mean, if you want some time off from performing…”

Yup, Mobius is gonna regret saying that for a long time. He can’t explain that it’s easy for him to act like he’s Loki’s boyfriend. That he’s not actually pretending when he ends up giving him smitten looks from across a cafe table. (Mobius has seen the paparazzi photos in the tabloids. Photographic proof of how utterly gone he is, which is all fine because that’s what they want the world to see. People don’t realize that Mobius isn’t that good of an actor. Not this time, anyway.)

Instead, he says, too honest once again, “No, I want to. Do you come to Paris a lot?”

“Yes.”

“Then show me your favorite places, ok?”

“All right,” Loki says, slowly smiling again. A genuine smile this time, pleased, like no one’s ever asked him for something like that before. “It’s a date.”

It is a date, so much a date that Mobius has to remind himself frequently that it’s not real. They eat crêpes at a café, their legs tangling together under the table, then Loki drags him off to obscure museums and tiny yet stunning churches. They stroll through the Tuileries hand-in-hand as Loki eats gelato despite the cold, and Loki leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth as they sit by the Seine. (The thrill Mobius gets at that is severely tempered by the fact that he can see the paparazzi photographing them from across the river. It’s just a photo op. It’s always a photo op.)

It’s dark outside by the time Loki leads him to the catacombs, which Mobius is pretty sure are actually closed. Not that that makes much of a difference when you’re as famous and filthy rich as Loki. What it means, though, is that they have the place to themselves, which is actually pretty creepy considering they’re surrounded by row upon row of stacked human bones.

“Of course this would be one of your favorite places,” Mobius laughs.

Loki scoffs in obviously put-upon offense, pressing one elegant hand to his chest. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How often do you come here?”

“Every time I’m in the city,” Loki admits, grinning at him.

He’d walked a bit ahead, but now he comes back to stand by Mobius’s side as he stares up at the vaulted ceiling near where they’d entered. Mobius is so distracted by their surroundings that he doesn’t notice Loki reaching out until a hand slips into his, linking their fingers together. His head snaps to the side in surprise, but Loki is looking resolutely away.

“There’s no one here, you know,” he ventures, because apparently he can’t let himself have nice things.

“I know,” Loki says. He flashes a quick smile Mobius’s way before turning back to their surroundings. His fingers loosen a bit, as if giving Mobius the chance to pull away, which is of course the last thing Mobius wants to do. He tightens his own grip, and thinks he sees Loki’s lips quirk into a smile before he starts tugging him down a corridor.

Loki talks animatedly as they walk, telling stories about the catacombs that may or may not be factual, but Mobius finds that he doesn’t really care. He spends more time looking at Loki, anyway, at the way that the warm light reflects off the walls and illuminates the cut of his cheekbones and the curve of his lips. Maybe parts of this aren’t real. Maybe Loki isn’t really his, not in the way he wants, but Mobius wasn’t lying when he said he was lucky to call him a friend, and he decides then that he’s going to enjoy the time he does get, no matter how much it hurts in the end.

~~~~~

Torino Film Festival, December

Mobius doesn’t walk the red carpet in Torino; his flight is due to get in late, and Loki is busy with a press event for his movie anyway. He’s due to meet Loki later for some exclusive party, but in the mean time he has work to do; his agent managed to score him a dinner meeting with a director he’s always admired but never dreamed he’d get to work with, and who’s got a new, hush-hush movie entering pre-production soon. He refuses to get his hopes up, but the meeting goes really well, even if it does take an unexpected turn near the end.

“I hear you’re involved with Loki Odinson now,” the director says conversationally.

“Yeah,” Mobius confirms, a little uncomfortably. He’s never sure what to say when people start asking about his personal life, and it’s even more awkward now. “Do you know him?”

“Oh, yes. He was supposed to be in one of my movies a couple of years ago.”

“What happened?”

The director gives him an inscrutable look. “The official reason was scheduling,” he says after a moment. “But we couldn’t insure him.”

Shit, Mobius should have known. A ‘couple of years ago’ was when Loki started sliding off the rails: partying endlessly, walking off sets, publicly picking fights with his golden-boy actor brother. Loki generally doesn’t talk about it, so he knows very little but what was in the press, which is probably half bullshit and anyway definitely not the whole story. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say, how much he should know, but in the end he doesn’t really need to say anything.

“You seem good for him,” the director continues. “I always did think he just needed someone to really believe in him. I’m glad he found that.”

“Er, thanks,” Mobius manages, his throat abruptly tight. “I don’t think I have a lot to do with it, though.”

“Come now, Mobius. Don’t you know you’re in the film industry? Never sell yourself short,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

Mobius is still pondering his words while he’s waiting near the entrance to the party for Loki to arrive so they can go in together. He’s running late, of course, so Mobius ends up so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice Loki’s approach until the other man is nearly in front of him. When he does, though, his mouth nearly drops open. Loki is wearing what amounts to little more than minuscule black hot pants with a sheer body suit over them, the gossamer fabric spotted with green crystals and black lace that resolves somewhat into snakes and foliage as he gets closer. Very few people could pull something like that off, but Loki is absolutely one of them.

Now Mobius understands the emerald green jacket and black silk shirt Loki had sent him to wear. They actually look like they belong together, complementary but not too matchy-matchy, though Loki still outshines him by several megawatts. Loki smirks at his no doubt stunned expression, reaching up to unbutton several the shirt almost halfway down his chest, then drags his hands down Mobius’s front and leans in close to his ear.

“It’s a party, Mobius,” he murmurs before Mobius can object. “Live a little.”

They’re extensively photographed standing in front of some kind of wall made of dense shrubbery before finally they can go inside. There, at least, there won’t be any press or paparazzi, though still plenty of eyes on them. It should be relatively low pressure, and it is at first; they chat with the other guests, and though Loki knows more people than him, he does run into someone he did a movie with years ago and who he has a nice time catching up with. But then, as the night gets later, Loki insists on dragging him onto the dance floor. Mobius doesn’t dance. It’s just not in his makeup, but there’s no saying no to Loki. That’s what he tells himself, instead of admitting that he’s a complete pushover where this man is concerned.

Mobius does his best to try to move to the beat, which makes Loki laugh at him and grab his hips in an attempt to get him to swing them, or something. It’s definitely not going to work. What’s worse, though, is when Loki gives up and just starts grinding against him. Christ, Mobius doesn’t know where to put his hands, and he knows this isn’t supposed to be a big deal but it’s a lot to have Loki pressed against him like this, and if he keeps it up things are going to get really uncomfortable really fast—

“Need some air,” Mobius gasps, wrenching himself away and stumbling off the dance floor.

He has no idea where he’s going, but he finds an exit into some kind of enclosed courtyard. There are a few people scattered around, mostly smoking, but they pay him no attention as he hurries past them and finds a relatively secluded alcove behind a bush to collapse into. It’s quiet outside and no one disturbs him, which is why he jumps a mile when a hand lands on his shoulder a short time later.

“Mobius?” Loki asks, staring at him in concern. “Are you ok?”

“Oh yeah, fine and dandy,” he lies with an admittedly weak smile. “Just got a little tight in there, is all.”

“We can leave, if you want.”

“Only if you’re ready. I don’t want to cut your night short.”

Loki sighs, and leans against the wall next to him. “These things are never quite as fun when you’re sober.” He shivers almost violently in the winter chill, crossing his arms over his front, which does precisely nothing when you’re wearing as little as he is.

Mobius doesn’t really think, just says, “c’mere,” and pulls him into his arms, wrapping him up against the cold, and Loki tucks himself against him. It’s like New York all over again, except there aren’t a hundred cameras and screaming fans around them. Just them. Just Loki’s face, so close to his. Without planning to, he reaches up and presses a thumb to the side of Loki’s lower lip, and it still feels warm against his finger but he wonders if it would be cold against his mouth.

“Mobius,” Loki whispers.

He doesn’t know which of them moves first, or maybe they both move at once, but those lips are on his again, and it’s nothing like the brief, press-approved pecks that they’ve shared before. Loki tips his head and slots their mouths firmly together, parting his lips, licking past his teeth almost tentatively at first and then with more confidence when their tongues tangle together. They kiss and they kiss until Mobius’s lungs are burning, but he doesn’t dare pull away, doesn’t dare to break the spell. Then Loki shifts in his arms, and the press of their bodies together draws a low groan from his throat that finally makes Loki withdraw. Mobius is prepared for regret, or excuses, or an attempt to laugh it off—anything but how dark his eyes are when they meet Mobius’s.

“We should go,” Loki says, and the low, rough tone of his voice reaches all the way into Mobius’s gut and tugs.

It’s a miracle that they make it back to the right limo, and no sooner has Mobius settled into the back than Loki is climbing directly into his lap. There’s a broad, mischievous grin on his face before he ducks down to kiss a path along the edge of Mobius’s jaw and onward to work a spot below his ear in a way that Mobius is almost certain is going to leave a mark. Christ, it doesn’t matter, though, because it’s so damned good. His hands slide up Loki’s thighs over the lace bodysuit until his thumbs hit the crease of his hips, and when he digs his fingers into the sides of his ass Loki moans and his hips grind forward against the rapidly tightening region of Mobius’s pants.

“You want me,” Loki murmurs near his ear, punctuating it with a little nip to the taut muscle of his neck before he sits back with a teasing smile.

“Of course I do, you absolute demon,” Mobius groans. “Look at you.” He plucks at the lace. “This isn’t clothes. I swear you’ve been trying to drive me insane.”

“Is it working?” Loki asks, bending down close to the side of his face again.

“What do you think?” Mobius growls, then captures his mouth in another bruising kiss.

Getting up to the hotel room is a fucking trial, mostly because Loki refuses to detach himself from Mobius. Thank god there’s a discreet, private entrance to the hotel and an elevator that takes them nearly directly up to their suite. Somehow Loki manages to shed the bodysuit almost instantly—Mobius doesn’t even understand how it was fastened—leaving him in just the skin-tight booty shorts, and Mobius short-circuits briefly at the sight of all that bare skin. Then there’s the way his half-hard cock is straining against the fabric, which sends a jolt of white-hot desire surging deep into Mobius’s gut. Loki turns and walks toward the bedroom, swinging his hips in a way that should be illegal, and by the time Mobius manages to scramble after him he finds Loki perched on the edge of the bed and leaning back on his hands.

“Come here,” he says, his voice nearly a purr, and Mobius’s feet obey before he even registers the request.

He stands between Loki’s spread legs as the other man looks up at him through long eyelashes thick with mascara, and feels like he’s standing on the edge of a precipice. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he murmurs, letting his fingers trail lightly across Loki’s cheek. It seems impossible, but there’s no mistaking the hungry look Loki is giving him.

“Why not?” Loki asks, one perfect eyebrow arcing upward. “You want me. I want you. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

Right. It doesn’t have to mean anything, he might have well said. Which is true. It doesn’t have to. It can just be two people finding pleasure in each other’s company. Friends with benefits are a thing. Not a thing that Mobius has ever done, but a thing nonetheless. Loki is offering everything he wanted (not everything), everything he never thought he’d get (not even close).

Why not, indeed?

After all, it’s simple enough to lean down to kiss him in answer, to let Loki’s nimble fingers efficiently divest him of his shirt and trousers. It’s simple to lose himself in the eager slide of hands and the slick heat of Loki’s mouth; so very simple to push him backward into the bed and take him apart with mouth and fingers until he’s begging, to press inside him and surrender to the pleasure that floods through his body and overwhelms all of his senses.

What’s not simple is how he feels afterward, when Loki sprawls sleepily across his chest and tangles their legs together under the covers. When they spend all night like that, wrapped up in each other’s arms. When, the next morning, Loki acts like absolutely nothing has changed, like he hasn’t just completely upended Mobius’s life.

Mobius lays in the bed for a while, just watching as Loki blithely prattles on about their schedule for the day while he rifles through his wardrobe, and then he knows: it’s going to be fucking complicated.

~~~~~

Hollywood, California, New Year’s Eve

Mobius doesn’t know what he was expecting after Loki texts him and tells him to come over early before the party, that he should bring his suit and get ready at his place, but it wasn’t for Loki to drag him inside by the collar and press him against the wall by the door. Certainly he wasn’t expecting to be kissed breathless, or for Loki to lean in close and whisper, “Will you fuck me before we go tonight?”

They’ve slept with each other a few times since Italy. Usually after one of their scheduled appearances—which Loki now fills with suggestive innuendos and hidden, risqué touches because apparently his new goal in life is to make Mobius’s life as difficult as possible—but once Loki showed up at his house in L.A. in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a silk robe and a wicked grin. Sex with Loki is frequently playful and teasing, sometimes tender (Mobius tries not to think to hard about those moments), always mind-blowing, but it’s never been like this. Desperate. He doesn’t know what to do with that, but he also doesn’t know how to say no to Loki, so he nods and lets himself be dragged off toward the bedroom.

For someone who’s main goal seemed to be sex, Loki is surprisingly fully dressed in black slacks and a plain white button-down, as if his unexpected request was a last minute decision. He allows Mobius the handful of seconds it takes him to hang up his suit for tonight on an empty hook in the closet before he pounces, pulling him into another bruising kiss as his hands drop to Mobius’s belt. It’s overwhelming, frankly, but not so overwhelming that he doesn’t feel Loki’s hands tremble as they fumble with the buckle, and that yanks him firmly out of the hazy, lust-fueled fantasy.

“Hey, hold on a second,” Mobius says as he traps Loki’s hands with his own. “What’s going on with you?”

Loki actually whines in frustration, trying ineffectually to tug out of Mobius’s grip before fixing him with a scathing glare. “Nothing. I’m fine,” he growls. “Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Actually, no. Not if you don’t tell me what’s gotten into you,” Mobius tells him flatly, punctuating it with an unimpressed look that makes him turn his face away. “This isn’t like you, Loki.”

“How would you know what’s like me?” Loki snaps, finally yanking his hands out of Mobius’s grasp and storming across the room. “A few months and you’re an expert now?”

“I think I know you pretty well, yeah,” Mobius counters, “and I know when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Loki hisses in a way that does nothing to sell that assertion. “I’m just tense about tonight and need something to take the edge off. If you’re not interested, I’m sure I can find someone else.”

Mobius can’t quite suppress a wince, but he summons what mettle he can and stares defiantly back at Loki. “Sorry, not buying it.”

The look Loki gives him is pure ice. “You think I can’t? That I couldn’t call up any number of people and have them here at a snap of my fingers?”

“Oh no, I believe that part,” Mobius says with a humorless chuckle and an utterly mirthless smile. He makes himself stroll casually over to where Loki stands, getting into his space again. “I’m sure you could get just about anyone. I don’t think you will, though, because you won’t violate the agreement.”

The agreement—worked out between Loki’s people and Mobius’s people, and which they had precisely no say over—specified that neither of them would sleep with other people for the duration, no matter how discreet they thought they could be, because the potential for a leak was just too great. For Mobius, it certainly wasn’t going to be a problem. He didn’t fool himself that it would be the same for Loki. After Torino he’d written the sex off as a fluke, a moment of madness on Loki’s part perhaps, but when it kept happening he figured that the only reason Loki was sleeping with him now was because he couldn’t have anyone else. It made more sense than the alternative, that Loki actually wants him, of all people.

Loki stares at him for a long moment, his eyes dipping to Mobius’s lips in a way that seems almost involuntarily before he drags them back up again. When he speaks again his voice is so low it’s nearly a murmur. “How do you know I haven’t already?”

“Because I know you, Loki,” Mobius answers, just as quietly. “Maybe you are tense about tonight, but that’s not all of it. So I’m gonna ask again: what’s going on?”

Another beat. Loki looks off across the room, biting his lower lip so fiercely Mobius thinks he’s going to draw blood, and when he finally turns back he looks… shattered. “Tonight’s your final obligation,” he says, his voice unsteady. “Must be a relief.”

“…What?”

He swallows and sniffs, tipping his chin up in a weak pantomime of indifference. “No more performing. You won’t have to pretend any longer.”

Mobius can’t help it: he laughs. He doesn’t mean to, especially since Loki’s clearly upset about this in some way that he can’t quite figure out, but the whole thing is just absurd.

Predictably, Loki looks taken aback at this response. “What’s so funny?”

“Loki, I haven’t been pretending for months,” Mobius sighs. At this point, it seems silly to hold anything back. He might as well know. “I’m in love with you. So if you think tonight is going to be a relief, well. You couldn’t be more wrong.”

In all the ways he might have pictured Loki reacting to such news, he never expected him to look utterly baffled. “But…” Loki trails off, searching Mobius’s face; for what, Mobius doesn’t know. “You can’t be.”

“Oh, I assure you, I can,” Mobius says, smiling a little miserably. Loki’s just staring with his mouth hanging open, so he forges on. “Look, I know you didn’t want things to be complicated, and this is the exact opposite. I never wanted to put you in this position—”

The rest of whatever he was going to say is cut off when Loki kisses him again, and there’s some desperation in it, sure, but not in the same way. Not even close. Loki’s hands are holding either side of his face, long fingers digging into his hair, his kisses slow, deep, and utterly all-encompassing. Mobius has never been kissed like this, with such focus and care, with such pure emotion poured into it and leaking out with every gasped breath. Even when Loki finally breaks the kiss he presses their foreheads together, like he can’t bear any further space between them.

“Please, complicate it,” he breathes into the narrow gap, shifting his head slightly so their noses brush together.

“Does that mean…?” Mobius trails off, because it kinda feels like a stupid question, but still. He’d like to be sure.

Loki pulls back so he can look him in the eye as he says, “I’m in love with you, Mobius. I just never thought…” He glances down and gives his head a little shake. “You’re one of the few genuinely good people in this business, you know that? I don’t deserve you.”

“Hey, no. None of that,” Mobius says, cupping a hand around Loki’s cheek and urging his face upward again. “I won’t have you talking badly about the person I love,” he teases gently.

“Mobius,” Loki groans as he rolls his eyes.

“You are good, Loki,” Mobius insists, his expression sobering. “You are.”

He honestly expects more arguing, but Loki just looks off across the room, the corners of his eyebrows thoughtfully quirking upward in the middle. “I wanted it to be real,” he says quietly. “But the further things went, the more I convinced myself it never could be. That you’d never… never really feel that way about me. Even now, I feel as if this is some kind of fever dream. I’m going to wake up tomorrow and you’ll be gone.”

“I won’t be,” Mobius promises, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Loki’s ear. “Is that what this was all about? One last hurrah before the end?”

“Something like that,” Loki admits wryly. Perfect white teeth dig into his lower lip as he slowly drags it through them. “I wanted it to be hard and rough. I wanted to feel you for days afterward.”

“Jesus Loki,” Mobius huffs, gaping at him in disbelief. He swallows hard, unsure of how to respond to that. “And now? What do you want?”

Loki lifts a hand to Mobius’s face, dragging a finger lightly along his hairline and down to the crest of his cheekbone. “Just you,” he murmurs. “In whatever way you’ll have me.”

How about that? It turns out that it is simple, after all.

[jollyhunter]

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 1.

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI! - includes explicit sexual content and sex toys, soft!dom Dean. It's a kinky writing challenge, so expect anything at this point, (nothing freaky, don't worry) but it's a surprise calendar so I won't spoil it! Also, English is not my native language

Advent calendar includes: headcanons, snippets, one shots, imagines, blurbs etc.

Words: 2,380

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

A/N: If you want to be tagged for the next parts, just let me know. And feedback is welcome!! Enjoy! 🦊

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

1st Dec. - Sunshine

“Sunshine?” You repeat the unexpected nickname with a little grin while you sit down on the edge of the motels bed. You were used to sweetheart, darling, love or even baby, but sunshine? “That’s a new one…” you remark with a teasing lift of your eyebrow, your eyes darting from his, back down to the gift on your lap.

“I thought it suited you.” He explains with an expression which was almost too innocent for him. Clearly he is trying his best to hide his knowing smile, but his excited voice betrays him. “Now open it, sunshine.”

“Uh-huh”, Your finger tugs at the unconventional gift paper, which consisted of nothing but a roll of toilet paper that hung loosely around the small package. “Interesting wrapping paper you picked there…” You comment with a wry smile. This was so typical Dean.

He chuckles at your remark, “What can I say? I’m a fan of practical gift wrapping,” he says with a cocky smirk, taking a seat next to you, “It’s eco-friendly.” The mattress dipped down from his weight and your shoulders bumped against each other. He makes a great effort to play it cool, but the slight friction was enough for you to notice the excitement and arousal which was radiating off of him. This just made you wonder even more; What the hell is that sly bastard up to this time?

Dean watches as you carefully unwrap the package, clearly intrigued by what he had given you. “But I promise, the content’s worth the toilet paper sacrifice,” he adds with a playful smirk. There it was again, that all too familiar glint in his green eyes. That flash of ‘oh baby if only you knew’.

At last, you rip the box open, your eyes peering down to be met with… Oh dear lord. Your eyes widen and Dean could see a million thoughts flicker across your face at the moment of realization. This is exactly the reaction he had hoped for. He has to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep a straight face – but fails miserably.

“You stick it where the sun don’t shine… sunshi-”

“I know where it goes.” you cut him short in a sputter, your mind still trying to catch up with this... this gift, “I just- I’ve never-…”

“- done it before. I know,” he finishes for you, his voice a mixture of teasing and reassuring, “Remember that talk we had? About tryin’ new things.” He leans over, his shoulders brushing against your chest as he reaches into the box. “You like it?”, he asks, feigning innocence. He takes the toy out of the box to trace a finger lightly over the small, jewel-adorned plug.

“I-...I- uh-,��� You start, but your eyes keep drifting down to the toy in his hand, your mind racing – damnit, you were usually confident and experienced when it came down to these things… but, to be honest, kinky stuff really hasn’t made it into your bedroom so far. But trying these things with Dean for the first time? You’d be damned for missing out on that. And hey, don't knock it till you try it, right?

“Yeh, I like it,” you finally say, trying to muster some of your usual confidence, “I mean… I did say I wanna spice it up...”

That answer hit jackpot in Dean’s expression. He bites his bottom lip, trying to contain his eagerness, yet again, failing miserably. “Well, don’t keep me waitin’,” he teases, his voice just a tad bit lower than usual. You glance down at the toy and back up at him, unsure how to approach this exactly.

Noticing your lost expression, Dean gently takes your hand and leads you to stand up in front of him, him still seated on the edge of the bed. “Strip.” His tone has an authoritative edge to it now, though his eyes remain soft, almost tender as he tries to guide you.

You feel a little shiver run down your spine; that damn voice could have made your knees buckle any time. Nodding slightly, you slowly begin to undress, stripping off layer after layer of clothing until you stand completely naked before him. Dean takes a moment to admire your body, his eyes roaming over every part of you. As his gaze lands on your hips, he speaks again, his voice a low growl. “Now turn around, sweetheart.” He places his hands on your hips, his fingers trailing over your skin, sending a row of shivers through your body. Once you face away from him, you involuntarily bite your lower lip in anticipation. With the toy in his grasp, he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Get on your hands and knees, sunshine.” You swallow thickly. But again, you obey his command without question and you drop down onto your hands and knees on the floor in front of the bed. By now you can feel the excitement and lust raise more with each of your quickened breaths. And Dean can almost smell your arousal as he has to bite back a groan from it, his bulge growing bigger. He pushes off the bed and places a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you slightly forward, forcing you to arch your back slightly. He runs his fingertips down your spine, eliciting another small shiver from you. Out of your sight, but still not going unnoticed by your ears, you hear him lick the bottom of his lips at the sight while he could feel all of his blood go south. He leans in close to you, his lips just barely brushing against your ear. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

A small whimper leaves your lips at the praise and the feeling of his firm hands on your bare skin are already enough to make you dripping wet. You hear Dean move behind you, reaching for the lube on the bedside table and what you assume, coating the toy with it. He then gently leans against your back, the cold buckle of his belt and the evidence of his arousal pressing against your bare skin. You bite back a groan from it, silently wishing nothing more but for him to unbuckle those damn pants already. But you know, you’d have to be patient for now, so you keep your needy sounds back as well as you can. At least until you gasp loudly when you suddenly feel the cool, metallic surface make contact with the warm skin of your buttocks. “Relax, baby,” he murmurs, his free hand soothingly massaging the small of your back. “I’ll be gentle.” His voice is even deeper now, filled with lust. You feel his hands continue their exploration, running over your curves and every dip, his calloused fingers caressing you like you are a work of art he wants to savour. His hands send sparks up your spine and you find yourself shudder and your breath hitch whenever his fingers brush across your most sensitive spots. “Now, this might feel a lil’ odd at first,” you hear him whisper, his lips hovering over the back of your neck as you feel his warm breath tingle your skin and the fabric of his flannel rest against your back. “Lemme know if it’s too much, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, I will,” you reassure him in a low mumble, not managing to hide the slight trepidation from your voice while your fingers idly searched the rug for something to dig your fingers into.

Dean feels you tense under his touch and he makes sure to keep his hands firm yet tender, his fingers tracing reassuringly over your skin. “Remember, just relax,” he repeats, his lisp grazing your ear as he speaks. A shaky breath escapes your lips and you do your best to loosen up your muscles and melt into his strong hands which always give you a feeling of safety, no matter what you two did. And you two had done a lot of adventurous things so far.

“I’ve got you,” you hear him whisper against your ear again. And this time you could swear you even heard some vulnerability in his voice. You trust him, always, no doubt about that. But it’s moments like these, rare little moments of him giving you a glimpse of how damn much he really cares about you feeling safe and protected in his presence, that makes you eager to reassure him. Maybe even please him a little. You hum a soft “Mhm”, silently giving him the final go.

Then, he begins to slowly press the plug forward, his hand still resting on your back, steadying you. You feel the cool and wet tip sliding further inside, spreading you surprisingly well – but then a little sting makes you gasp from the unexpected feeling, which let your muscles tense up momentarily, before you feel his soothing hands again, and you relax under his touch.

“Shhh, ‘tis alright,” he coos softly, the plug inching inside you at the same time, “Good girl. You deserve a big treat.” Your legs tremble from the sensation and a low whimper leaves your lips – it’s not bad, but still very new and you were constantly fighting the urge to clench your buttocks around the unfamiliar object. When Dean finally stilled in his movement and the toy reached its end, you couldn’t hold back the shaky exhale which was close to a soft moan. Now that your body has adjusted to it, it feels… surprisingly exciting and pleasurable. And damnit, you want more now. You need more.

A sudden pleading whine hits Dean’s ears and his smirk widens into a cocky grin at the needy noise coming from your trembling form. “You want more, sunshine?”

“Yes...please,” you whimper instantly, your hands and knees shifting along the rug, in a desperate attempt to get some friction between your thighs. He groans – this time failing to hold it back in. The sight of you, all needy and exposed and you wearing that pretty jewel adorned-plug that’s twinkling in the low light of the motel room and fuck- he just noticed how wet you are. He briefly grazes his bottom lip with his teeth before he clenches his jaw to force down a swallow, his voice a low rumble under his breath, “Goddamn honey…”. Meanwhile his fingers run along the inside of your wet thighs, scooping up some of your juice like he wanted to make sure that none of it went to waste. He brings his fingertips up to his lips where he then licks them off with a deep groan.

And that just does it to make Dean give in.

Without giving you the chance to prepare, he goes back to your pussy and effortlessly pushes two fingers past your slick lips, drawing a deep moan from you as you feel a shudder go through your body. He keeps one hand on the small of your back, while his fingers pump inside you, relentless and eager to give you the release you deserve. “You were such a good girl,” he praises you, his fingers curling inside you to hit that sweet spot which makes you almost buckle. “Oh God-” you moan shakily, the sensation of his thick fingers filling you up on one side while the butt plug is spreading your other side, was almost too much.

“You can take it, come on,” he challenges you with a gravelly voice, his teeth grazing your neck as if to dare you to talk back. “‘M gonna make sure you get what you deserve and then some,” he whispers against your ear, the sound of it a threat as much as a promise. And then he starts scissoring his fingers while holding you in place with his other hand. You groan loudly, your fingers clutching the next thing they can reach - the damn toilet paper wrapping, which rip and crumple from your nails in an instant. Your hip‘s bucking involuntarily at the increased pressure and a row of guttural moans leave your throat. “F-fuck” you whine breathlessly, the feeling of being spread and stretched becoming almost bordering painful and yet oh so pleasurable as you feel the knot inside you tighten up more and more. The working of his fingers and the pressure in your butt get you close to the edge in record time as you just give in and let him do his magic. Your legs start to shake and if it wasn’t for his fingers dug into the flesh at your hip, you’d have keeled over by now for sure. Dean increases the speed, now his thumb flicking over your swollen bundle of nerves every time he pumps his fingers inside of you again.

“F-fuck, Dean, I- I’m- I’m comin’-” your voice breaks off when his fingers hit your g-spot again and you find yourself whimper into the rug, your nails clawing at the floor.

“That’s it-” he praises you again, now slowing down his pace but thrusting them as deep as he can while his arm slams against the plug, pressing it further in - and that‘s the last push it takes to tip you over the edge. You feel your legs give in as the knot finally bursts and the wave of ecstasy hits you, your walls clenching around his fingers and your body tensing up. Dean keeps you from falling forward, his fingers still going and his grip on your hip tightening while he’s murmuring words that go past your clouded mind. He lets you ride out your hight while your juice is soaking his entire arm. You moan out his name with a final shudder before he lets you collapse to the floor.

Dean looks down at your trembling form, all spent and limp. A satisfied grin spreads across his face while his tongue swipes over his glistening arm, savouring your sweetness and cleaning some of the mess. After a moment, he kneels down behind you, his hands caressing your butt where he pulls the plug gently out, putting it aside before his hands go back to soothingly stroke your arms and legs. He places a row of tender kisses on the back of your neck, his voice a low rumble, filled with affection and pride as he whispers against the nape of your neck. “Happy first advent, sunshine.”

EDIT: I revised some of it. My sleep-deprived brain had left out some parts which I just had to add / adjust.

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Tags: (thank you lovely sweeties, I hope you enjoyed it!)

@deaniemyboo @deansjacket @literallylexa

[insidekatmind]

Meet my sister P.2-Jude Bellingham

Part.1, Part.3, Part.4

plot: Federico Valverde wants to introduce his younger sister to Jude, his teammate. He hoped that something romantic would be born between them seeing that their characters were perfect together but things take a different turn

wearnings: +18,handjob

Jude returned home that evening with a strange feeling, a tension he couldn’t shake off. He had faced plenty of people in his life: opponents on the field, critics in the press, even stubborn teammates. But you? You were different. Not only had you dared to challenge him openly, but you had gotten under his skin in a way he couldn’t explain.

He let himself fall onto his couch, phone in hand. He tried to distract himself by scrolling through notifications and messages, but your face kept popping into his mind: the way your eyes sparkled with sarcasm, the provocative smile that seemed to say, "You’ll never have the upper hand with me.”

“Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, but he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

With a resigned sigh, he opened Instagram and typed your name into the search bar. It didn’t take long to find you; your profile was verified and had millions of followers. Jude scrolled slowly, studying one photo after another.

There were pictures of you on red carpets, flawless in high-fashion gowns. Shots from ad campaigns, where your intense gaze and bold poses grabbed attention. Then, more personal images: you on a beach, the sun lighting up your skin; you in a recording studio with a satisfied smile; you laughing with a disarming naturalness.

His eyes stopped on one picture in particular: you were seated on a couch, wearing a red dress that hugged your curves perfectly. Your hair fell over your shoulders, and your smile was both sweet and mischievous.

Jude smirked, an arrogant grin reflecting his thoughts. “Sexy, no doubt about it,” he muttered to himself, leaning back into the couch. But then his smirk turned into a grimace. “But insufferable. Thinks she knows everything, always has to have the last word.”

Despite the irritation you caused him, he couldn’t look away. He kept scrolling, discovering more aspects of you that trapped him in a mix of attraction and annoyance.

“How does Federico put up with you?” he wondered, though a part of him knew that your personality was exactly what drew him in. You weren’t like the other women he knew. You didn’t try to please him or impress him. If anything, you did everything you could to challenge him.

“I don’t like you. You’re just a challenge,” he said out loud, almost as if trying to convince himself. But he knew there was something more. Maybe it was the way you never backed down, or maybe it was how your laughter managed to irritate and intrigue him at the same time.

Before he realized it, he had spent over half an hour on your profile. He abruptly shut his phone, almost annoyed at himself. “Ridiculous,” he muttered again, standing up and running a hand through his hair.

But as he headed to his bedroom, your face kept resurfacing in his mind. Jude didn’t want to admit it, but he already knew this wouldn’t be the last time he searched your name on Instagram. And that realization irritated him more than anything else.

He had just laid on the bed, his hands behind his head, trying to shake off the annoyance. But that annoyance had a very specific name: yours. He was convinced that it was enough to ignore you to stop thinking about you, but it did not work. The more he tried to drive you out of his mind, the more your sarcastic smile and intense eyes came to haunt him.

After a few minutes, he snorted frustrated, grabbed his phone and almost without thinking, went back to your Instagram profile. It was an impulsive gesture, one he knew he should not have done, but it was too late.

While scrolling through your photos once more, he found one that struck him more than the others. You were sitting on a balcony, with a breathtaking view behind you, but he didn’t notice anything around you. All his attention was on you. You wore a black dress with a dizzying slit that let your smooth skin glimpse. Your legs were crossed with natural grace, and your gaze, directed into the room, seemed to challenge anyone not to yield to your charm.

Jude stared at the picture for a few seconds, feeling his breath getting heavier. He felt his cock harden. Your body was amazing, she had already noticed that, but there was something more. Your attitude, that combination of sensuality and pride, was an open challenge. It seemed you were saying, "I know you want me, but you won’t have me easily."

«Damn...» he muttered to himself, feeling a wave of heat passing through him. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to regain control, but it was useless. His mind was filled with dirty thoughts about you, and that character which irritated him and fascinated him at the same time.

He dropped backwards on the bed, phone still in hand. With his right hand he threw his cock out of his boxer shorts and began to saw himself while his gaze returned to your picture, while a grimace was drawn on his face. «You think you are untamable, don’t you?» he said in a low voice, almost as if you were there to hear it.

The image of you gave him a shiver down his spine. He felt tense, stiff, as if the thought of you had taken over his body. He was used to having control over everything: in the field, in his personal life, with women. But you were another story.

He started to stroke his cock faster as he thought you were bent like a slut in front of him while you took his dick.

«I would tame you in a second,» he muttered, almost with anger.

But he knew that the real problem was not to tame you physically, but to tame your character. Because even though he thought you were incredibly hot, your strong temper and sarcasm drove him crazy. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to challenge you or win you over.

Jobe kept looking at your picture and continued to cut himself quickly, then came with a moan.

He closed his eyes for a moment trying to catch his breath

When he opened his eyes again, Jude closed the click phone and threw it on the bedside table. But your smile kept tormenting him. He couldn’t get you out of his head, and that irritated him more than anything. Because, deep down, he knew you’d find a way to sneak into his thoughts once again.

«I hate her»

---

The next morning, Jude arrived at the training ground still irritated with himself. He hadn’t slept well, tormented by thoughts of you. Every time he closed his eyes, your face resurfaced, along with the memory of that photo. He tried to shake off the tension, but it wasn’t easy, especially knowing that Vinicius and Kylian would be eager to ask how it went.

As he tied his cleats in the locker room, Vinicius walked in with his usual sly grin. Kylian followed closely behind, just as curious. They exchanged a knowing glance before approaching Jude.

"So, Bellingham," Vinicius started, slapping him on the back. "Federico told us you met his sister yesterday."

Jude let out a sigh, pretending indifference. "Yeah, so what?"

Kylian chuckled, leaning against the locker next to him. "So, tell us. How was it? Federico seemed so excited about the introduction."

Jude stood up, adjusting his training shirt. "Not much to say. She’s... irritating."

Vinicius raised an eyebrow, amused. "Irritating? Really? So, you didn’t like her?"

"It’s not about liking her," Jude replied, annoyed. "It’s that she has an unbearable personality. Always ready with a comeback, always provoking. She thinks she’s funny, but really..."

"But really, she made you lose your mind, huh?" Vinicius interrupted, a sly grin forming on his face.

"Stop it," Jude warned, shooting him a cold look. "She didn’t make me lose anything. She’s just another girl with a huge ego."

Kylian burst into laughter. "Yeah, sure. That’s why you’re talking about her, right? You know, Jude, when someone doesn’t really bother us, we don’t mention them at all."

Jude clenched his jaw, trying to keep his cool. "I’m not talking about her. You’re the ones who keep bringing it up."

Vinicius sat down next to him, watching him with an amused expression. "You know, Jude, I’ve seen his sister a couple of times. And I gotta say, Federico’s right: she’s a bombshell. Beautiful, talented... and with a character that doesn’t go unnoticed. Maybe that’s what bothers you."

Jude turned to him, narrowing his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean maybe you’re not used to a girl who doesn’t fall at your feet," Vinicius replied with a smirk. "Admit it, she stood her ground, and that pisses you off."

Kylian nodded, adding, "And let’s be real, someone like her isn’t exactly easy to ignore."

Jude sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You’re making a mountain out of nothing. I’m not interested."

"Right, sure," Vinicius countered, laughing. "We’ll see how long it takes for you to come up with an excuse to see her again."

Jude stood up, heading towards the field with a neutral expression. "It’s not going to happen."

But as he walked, their laughter and words continued to echo in his mind. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, he knew there was something about you that intrigued him. And that irritated him more than any provocation.

---

The night at the club had just begun, and the atmosphere was electric. Federico, Jude, Kylian, and other teammates had gathered there to unwind after an intense week. The dance floor was crowded, colorful lights flashed in every corner, and the music vibrated in the air, making everyone's heart beat to the rhythm. As always, Jude was the center of attention, surrounded by girls trying to catch his eye, but he seemed distant, as if something was distracting him. Maybe it was the thought of you, or maybe it was the irritation he still felt toward you, but he couldn't focus on anything else.

Vinicius and Kylian were more relaxed, chatting and laughing, while Federico was enjoying himself with some friends. But the atmosphere changed abruptly when the door to the club opened, revealing a figure walking in with confidence, turning everyone’s head. It was you, of course. Your entrance was theatrical, your radiant smile, and the energy you exuded from your presence seemed to be the only thing capturing everyone’s attention.

Vinicius and Kylian's eyes lit up. "Look who's here," Kylian said, impressed by your entrance. "You can't miss her."

Vinicius nodded, watching you with admiration. "It's impossible not to stare. Beautiful, confident... and that personality that makes her even more intriguing."

Meanwhile, Jude, who had been trying to ignore you until that moment, let out a visible sigh, feeling that annoying pang of irritation grow inside him. You were moving on the dance floor with natural sensuality, effortlessly, as if the music was a part of you. Every step, every movement, drew attention, and the girls around Jude seemed to forget about him, all focused on you. Jude, however, couldn't stop watching you, despite his irritation.

"Do you like her?" Vinicius asked with a smile, noticing Jude’s fixed gaze on you.

Jude shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. "No," he replied curtly. "It annoys me how she stands out like that."

"Though you can’t take your eyes off her, right?" Kylian teased, with his usual knowing grin. "Are you sure you don’t like her?"

"I don’t like her," Jude repeated, but his voice betrayed a slight uncertainty.

Meanwhile, you continued to dance, unaware of their comments. Your energy was contagious to everyone, but it seemed like it wasn’t sitting well with Jude. Every movement you made made him more tense, and every glance he threw at you made him feel strangely uneasy. He couldn’t understand what it was, but there was something about you that irritated him and at the same time attracted him, a contrast he couldn’t settle.

Vinicius and Kylian kept making appreciative comments, laughing between themselves, while Jude distanced himself from the conversation, trying to deflect the attention. But the truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about you, and the fact that he was so irritated by you made him even more annoyed.

[hekateinhell]

Welcome, Armand lovers! I’m so excited it's finally time to share my little project with you! 🖤

From November 1 - December 5, I'll be hosting Good to Embrace, Good to Love, a fandom event celebrating Armand's relationships with his four greatest loves—Marius, Lestat, Louis, and Daniel—from the book series The Vampire Chronicles.

Each week will be dedicated to one of these ships, with a bonus week of prompts that can be used for some of the many others Armand has loved in his long immortal life i.e., Bianca, Nicolas, etc.

There will be two prompts per day: a quote from the books that represents an aesthetic of the ship + a word/sentence prompt. Do one, do both, combine them—it doesn't matter as long as you have fun!

AUs and genderswaps are more than welcome!

𝕲𝖚𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘

Submissions can include fic, art, meta, headcanons, graphics, playlists, crafts, whatever!

Submissions must focus on a romantic and/or sensual element of the ship. It is ship fest, after all!

Ship combinations (threesomes or more) are also welcome—you decide which week you want to post! For example: an Armand/Lestat/Louis fic can be posted either during Week 2 (Lestat) or Week 3 (Louis).

Bonus week prompts can be used for whatever Armand ship your heart desires! And if you want to use them for Marius, Lestat, Louis, or Daniel, go for it!

Tag your submissions #ArmandShipFest and I’ll do my best to reblog! 🖤

AO3 collection here!

𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖚𝖙!

Day 1: “A blending of sadness and simple grace” / Love Affair with Damnation

Day 2: “You took my blood and it made you my slave” / Greedy Creature

Day 3: “I would have given all the world to see him white again, my marble god, my graven Father in our private bed.” / Paternal

Day 4: “My frankly carnal embraces” / Fateful Moment

Day 5: “I want to be a fool for you.” / Bruise

Day 6: “Be my challenger, be my questioner, be my bold and ungrateful pupil.” / Rebirth

Day 7: FREE DAY

Day 1: “Cinderella revealed at the ball” / Succubus

Day 2: “You break my heart, you little fool. You always did.” / Heartbreaker

Day 3: “Stinging insults and worshipful analyses” / Yearning

Day 4: “You look good to me, you damnable little devil” / Fatal Attraction

Day 5: “I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him even more radiant than he was.” / Dress Up

Day 6: “I hate you as much as I have ever loved you.” / Enemies to Lovers or Lovers to Enemies

Day 7: FREE DAY

Day 1: “The only promise of good in evil of which I could conceive.” / Enchanted

Day 2: “You would yield to me now” / The Alluring Embodiment of Misery

Day 3: “I want you more than anything in the world.” / Evanescent Flush

Day 4: “A stranger to himself and to me.” / Withering Rose

Day 5: “To seek for grace once more” / Pillars of the Household

Day 6: “Elegant phantoms in our lace and velvet” / Flame

Day 7: FREE DAY

Day 1: “I like kissing. And snuggling with dead things” / Cold To The Touch

Day 2: “Let me be a lover in the Savage Garden with you” / Exquisite Monsters

Day 3: “The freedom, the power, and the luxury” / Million Dollar Man

Day 4: Dark-Eyed Cupid / Erotic Anguish

Day 5: “Say the word my love, I'll do it. We'll be in hell together after all.” / Unholy Consequences

Day 6: “There was never any innocence for us, there was never any springtime.” / Hunting In The Rain

Day 7: FREE DAY

Day 1: “These violent delights have violent ends”* / Cage

Day 2: “You look like an angel and hold forth like a tavern knave” / The Devil's Road

Day 3: “Not made by human hands” / Lotus

Day 4: “Yet he seems the naughty boy who mocks all things” / Careless Words

Day 5: “In the very depths of Hell, do demons not love one another?” / Home

Day 6: “Vile precocious child” / Drunk

Day 7: FREE DAY

*This is the only quote not directly lifted from the books, it’s taken from Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet.

**a huge thank you to the lovely @apoptoses for the graphics, and to the Morzoi Girlies (gn) for assisting me with the prompts and always hyping me up! Love you lots. 🖤

[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. Some fingering and teasing and dirty talk 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?

Chapter 1 Masterlist

Chapter 2

You have no clue how you have survived these past couple of weeks, of watching Satoru… or Professor Dickhead… walk through the halls, like he owned them, hands in his pockets, dressed constantly like a million bucks. Of him lecturing your class, his eyes catching yours just so. Of his little comments, as he challenged you constantly in every class.

You mull over your day in class as you thumb through a philosophy book in the library.

"Let's consider another scenario.” He looks at you, and you sigh when he calls your name, he frequently gives you the hardest questions.

“Yes, Professor Gojo?” Professor Dickhead.

“Say you are a defense attorney representing a client accused of murder. The evidence against your client is overwhelming, and you even think that they may truly be guilty. However, your client confesses to you that they are innocent, and that the real killer is someone else who will strike again if they are convicted. What do you do?"

The question hangs in the air like a storm cloud, pressing down on you. You can feel the blood rushing to your face, your heart racing in your chest. The class is silent, taking pity on you, as they usually did, since Gojo loved to throw advanced moral dilemmas your way.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "I would have to do everything in my power to find the real killer, Professor Gojo. I would gather as much evidence as possible and investigate every lead, no matter how small. Even if it meant risking my client, I would not give up until justice was served."

There's a murmur of agreement from some of the students, but you can also sense the unease in the air. You can feel Professor Gojo's icy blue gaze burning into you, and you know that he's not just evaluating your answer, but he’s evaluating you , looking down your face, your lips, briefly at your chest, heating you up with every second he stands there.

"An admirable answer, I suppose." He says finally, voice dripping with sarcasm. You’re bright fucking red on your cheeks and ears now. "But let's consider the consequences of that. If you were to go down this path, you might be seen as an obstructive defense attorney, who is so obsessed with the truth she hurts her client.”

You gulp, hating the way he leans on your desk, how he casually destroys your psyche. “With all due respect Professor Gojo, I disagree.”

He raises a brow, smirking, looking so handsome you wanna smack him. There had been nothing but shared looks for two weeks, you all had crossed no lines, but every move of his makes you ache, so you despise him more. “Oh? You disagree, do you? Explain, please.”

“What sort of attorney would I be if I don’t seek the truth?”

“A shit one for defense. You’re thinking about prosecution.” His voice is mocking, as he leans forward on your desk now. “Even so, what if despite your best efforts, you were unable to find the real killer? Your client's fate rests solely on your shoulders."

You feel a knot forming in your stomach. The weight of his words is crushing, and you can't help but wonder if you've made the right choice, being here, you begin to feel those hits of doubt. Professor Gojo's gaze pierces you like a knife, making you feel exposed.

You take a deep breath and steel yourself. "My responsibility as their lawyer is to provide them with the best possible advice and guidance of course, while also upholding my own personal values. I will not put those aside."

The classroom is silent as your words hang in the air. You can feel the tension building, as if everyone is holding their breath, waiting to see how this will play out. You glance over at Professor Gojo, and his expression is unreadable, as his lips then turn up, into a little smirk, shocking you.

“You stand by your convictions, even if it fucks you over? Fucks over your entire career?” His voice raises a bit, that silken timbre hitting hard. You nod, and the bell thankfully rings. “We’ll touch more on that next week.”

The class files out, and so many people go up to him, to his desk, to ask questions or to talk, you slip out quickly, heart fucking racing. He seemed to delight in putting you on the spot, in pushing his experience and authority on you. It was overwhelming. But in a weird way, it gives you some fucking insane thrill, one you question…

***

You peek at your phone, Maki is inviting you to a party tonight. Though at the same school, you all don’t see each other much, in different dorms and different classes. You answer with an ambiguous maybe, sighing when you think of the last time you went out… when that infuriating man made you cum so fucking hard you throb thinking of it.

Fucking Gojo.

You thumb through the book, as a pretty girl comes in, wearing a gorgeous red business suit. She smiles at you, her hair is a dark brown with bangs that gently frame her face, she has a little scar on her cheek that seems to only make her more captivating. She walks to you, smiling.

“Heard Professor Gojo is giving you a hard time, huh?” You flush at that, looking down a bit. “I’m Professor Geto’s teaching assistant. Utahime.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Ms. Utahime. I've seen you around.” You stand and shake her hand, which has a surprisingly strong grip.

“Of course. I've been getting started at this new position. But Gojo? He’s a shithead.” You snort at that, and she grins. “He’s a damn good lawyer, and teacher, but he pushes hard. He pushed me very hard, I think I contemplated killing him and being my own attorney.”

You burst out laughing then, you instantly like her. “He’s a challenging professor, which I enjoy, but he certainly is-”

“Fucking gorgeous? I know ladies, you don’t have to go on about it.” Gojo walks in, his Gucci shades on, thankfully covering those ridiculous eyes of his, and his hair is casually falling over his forehead. Utahime scowls at him.

“You fucking wish, Gojo.” He sticks his tongue out at her, she flips him off, and you can’t stop your giggle.

“Something funny, Miss Brat?” He demands, staring at you, and Utahime shoves at him now. He runs around the empty library as she smacks at him.

“Gojo, do not even!”

“What Hime, jealous? Ouch!” She thwacks him good then, and you’re enamored how wild these ‘professionals’ are. In a way it’s kinda fucking awesome.

“Her name isn’t Miss Brat . Get your shit together, god.”

“You’re still sad I didn’t fuck you that night, hmm? After all these years! Ow, shit that hurts! That’ll leave a fucking mark!”

“I never wanted to fuck you, dickhead. Ugh. Anyway, let me know if you need anything…” She says your name, turning from a vicious little thing to a sweetheart, you smile at her, and Gojo scowls.

“I will, I really appreciate that! I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. Bye hunny.” She waves, scowling at Gojo as she shoves past him, and he huffs.

“Bye Hime!” She flips him off again, storming out, and you’re in a fit of giggles now, until his gaze catches you, pushing down those round shades just so. “Well, Miss Brat, whatchya reading hmm?”

He snatches the book from your hands, and you glare up at him, standing up and trying to grab it, but fucker was way too tall, you end up hopping up as he grins like some psycho, holding it out of your reach. You huff and he peers up at it, pursing those pretty glossy lips of his.

“Hmm… didn’t take you for an Aristotle girl.” He muses, and you sigh, sitting back down, crossing your arms and glaring up at him.

“What does that even mean?” You demand, and he pulls a chair, spinning it and straddling it, resting his arms on the back casually. You gulp, thinking how fucking hot he looks, shoving that down hard.

“Figured you’d like Plato.  Aristotle is a bit too logical for someone as feisty as you.” He says, flipping through the pages, his eyes scanning over it.

“I can be logical…” He smirks at that. You roll your eyes. “What are you doing here anyway?” You ask, and he smirks, placing the book down in front of you, leaning across with those stupid long arms. All of him was stupid long… 

Fuck.

“Blushing? From me just near you?” He taunts, leaning closer, you take a shaky breath, inhaling that likely expensive cologne he wore that made him even more delectable to you.

Fuck Fuck.

“No, it's just warm in here.” He laughs at your lie, and you pick the book back up, flipping to the page you were on and trying to ignore him.

“Hmm, I have an idea, Miss Brat.”

“That’s not my name, Professor Dickhead. What’s the idea?” Your eyes narrow as he slides off his shades, those glittering eyes boring into your face.

“Write a ten page essay on this book.” He taps the philosophy book you’re reading, you frown at that.

“I have enough work to do. Why extra, on philosophy?”

“Because you’ll get a reward for it. Something no one gets as a first semester, let alone a first year. What ya think?” You bite your lip a bit, taking a shaky little breath. “You’re tempted, hmm?”

“What reward?” Your eyes narrow, and he throws back his head with laughter, making you flush more.

“Not anything like that, you’re such a pervy little brat.” You scowl, standing then and gathering your books. He grips your wrist, your throat goes dry at the touch, looking down at him and his fucking grin. “Stop, you haven’t even heard me out.”

You exhale, yanking your arm back, hating what every little brush of his skin did to your body. “Go ahead.”

“I’ll take you on a field trip.” He says with a grin, you roll your eyes, snorting, before laughing hard. He glares, yanking your wrist again. “Excuse me, Miss Brat, I am your professor. You’re so disrespectful.”

“Sorry. A field trip? To where, the Zoo, Sir?” You keep giggling, and he stands, shutting them up when he’s just an inch from you with that hard body. You exhale, biting your lip again, and he gently puts his thumb to your lip, easing it from out of your teeth, shooting desire hard through your entire body.

“I wish corporal punishment was still a thing. I’d whip the fuck out of you.” He glares, and you don’t laugh then, because the thought of Gojo bending you over his desk smacking you? Yeah that did insane things…

“Sorry, Mr. Gojo.” You manage, sighing and looking up at him, clutching your books nervously to your chest. “Go ahead.”

“I’ll bring you to the case I’m working on, it’s a big one-”

“The fucking case where where the politician’s son is accused of killing that prostitute?” You interrupt, your eyes wide, he smirks.

“You would know what case I'm in. Stalker .”

You roll your eyes. “Not at all… but of course I know about it. It’s all over the news and everything. I heavily follow cases. How the fuck can I get on that? Like would the school let me?”

“Easy, write the essay. Impress me, and I’ll get the approval for it. You’re a star student already, it should be easy for you to come along. Maybe it’ll help you decide on a major, seeing the real world of law, hmm?” He suggests, and you nod eagerly. “Knew you’d be in for it. One more condition.”

“What, anything!” He smirks at your enthusiasm, and you brush your hair back nervously.

“I need it done by tomorrow. And you’ll read it out to me.” You frown at that, brows knitting, as you think of the work you’re swamped with. “If you can read it proficiently, under pressure, I’ll take you.”

“Under pressure?” You sigh when he smirks again. “Fuck… I mean… yeah, I’ll do it. I can.”

“Exactly what I thought.” He brushes the backs of his fingers against your cheek, and you tense, eyes locking on his lips. “You’re wearing makeup.”

“Um… yeah, I do a lot.”

“Not face makeup. Usually just your eyes.” You blink at that, wishing you could make your heart stop racing inside your chest.

“Ah… I mean, maybe that’s true. I looked a little pale so I threw on some bronzer.”

“Hmm. You don’t need it.” He backs away now, hands in his pockets, and you can just barely breathe now. How did he notice things like that? “All right, I’ll see you in my office at five pm sharp with it.”

You fidget, peeking at your watch. You had less than twenty hours and that was with no sleep. “I will be there with it.”

“All right Miss Brat, hop to it.” He winks at you as he walks out, so casually, and you sink back down into the chair, fucking breathless. The scariest shit? You were just as excited to spend time with Satoru as you were to see this court case, what the fuck did that say about you?

You pull out your laptop, getting to work, the library isn’t busy at this time, so you can focus on the essay without distraction. As you write, you can’t help but think of Satoru, his touch, his smell, his voice. You shake your head, focusing on the words in front of you, you could do this, you could totally knock out a ten page essay for a chance at this.

***

The next day you’re fucking drained, going through each lecture exhausted, to the point Professor Geto stopped you after class, concerned look on his handsome face, and Utahime also comes to you. She’s frowning, and you hold in your yawn, struggling to smile.

“I’m fine you all, just had an extra credit thing for Mr. Gojo.” Professor Geto smirks then, rolling his eyes, and Utahime huffs.

“Dear god, what extra credit!” Utahime whispers, and you laugh a bit at her expression, shaking your head.

“Not anything crazy. A ten page essay on this book about Aristotle he found me reading.” You hold it up, and Professor grabs it, with his elegant hands, humming a bit to himself as he studies your face then.

“Huh, Aristotle? Would take you for a Plato girl.” You giggle then, so tired you’ve lost it, yawning wide.

“Satoru…. I mean shit.” You freeze, and they both look at you curiously, making you flush red. “Professor Gojo said that too.”

“Mmm, we are best friends, makes sense.” He hands it back to you with a smile, Professor Geto was devastatingly handsome with his angled features and long hair. Another model to fuck with all of you students.

He held himself with a quiet allure, confident but not overtly insane like Satoru… Professor Gojo… fuck. You needed to be more careful.

“He shouldn’t be giving her extra work.” Utahime says to Geto, and he sighs, looking at you with chocolate eyes.

“Well, what’s the reward?” You grin at that.

“Going to his court case tomorrow.”

“Well your eyes lit right up.” Geto muses, and even Utahime nods. 

“I’d have done it too.” She comes to you and rubs your shoulder softly. “You’re done with it already?”

“Mmhmm. I have to read it to him though, ugh.”

Geto is just grinning now, and Utahime rolls her eyes. “Satoru is such a little shit, I swear. Just go in with confidence, you’ll do well.” He also touches your shoulder gently with a little smile.

You smile at them both. “Thank you all. Promise I’ll get to sleep tonight! Shit, what time is it?”

“Four fifty.”

“I gotta go! Bye!” You run out of the classroom then, exhaling as you head to Gojo’s office.

You knock on the door when you get there, and he calls out for you to enter. The office is surprisingly neat when you walk in it, a stark contrast to the chaos he brings into your life you think, but his classroom was also impeccable, so it makes sense. He’s sitting at his desk, looking up at you with those piercing eyes, leaning his chin on his hands with a smirk, looking fucking irresistable as ever.

“You’re just on time. Good.” You walk over and place the essay down. “Ah-ah. You're reading it to me, remember?”

You bite your lip, exhaling nervously, taking the paper back, then you squeak in surprise as he picks you up, sitting you on his big black desk. You look at him with wide eyes, and he’s gone to lock his door, a loud click resonating, your thoughts run fucking crazy when he’s behind you, taking your hair down out of its bun, bobby pins scattering along the desk.

“What the fuck?” You look up at him incredulously, but he just has a huge grin, his fangs glistening in the soft light of his office.

“Remember I said you’d read it under pressure?” You scowl, as he walks slowly around the desk until he’s in front of you, looming so tall, bending over until his lips are just a breath away.

You clear your throat, tilting your head back to look at him. “What about it has to do with my hair down?”

His grin grows, and he gently places a thumb and forefinger under your chin. “Nothing, I just like your hair down.”

“You’re such a shithead.” He chuckles at that, then eyes you intently.

“What is pressuring is how you feel for me.” Your mouth drops open, and you’re sputtering for a moment, opening and closing it. “You can’t act like it’s not true, just a touch…” He barely brushes a bare thigh, you hold in your moan. “Makes you tremble. And just a…” He leans in so close, breath hot against your lips. “Yeah, it makes you bright fucking red.”

“Does not.” You glare, and he just shakes his head with that annoying smirk plastered on his face, gently rubbing his fingers up and down your body now.

“Your thighs shift when you are watching me in class.” You bite back another moan, struggling to keep still, but you fail, your thighs do fucking move together. “Just like that. Think I didn't notice?” His blue eyes hit yours, and your resolve wavers.

“So my thighs shift… So what?” He leans even closer, and his thumbs brush the sensitive part of your inner thighs, making you fucking wet immediately, and you hate him for it.

“You wriggle your hips when you watch me too. Like this.” He takes them in his hands, pressing you hard on the desk, and you can’t stop the whine that comes from the back of your throat. “Need that friction hmm?”

“Fuck you, Satoru.” You whisper, feeling tears prick your eyes then, your breaths coming in little pants. “Why do this? Why push me so goddamn hard, call me out all the fucking time, with some advanced essay request? Do you really fucking dislike me so much-”

“Dislike?” He cuts you off with a glare, and you blink rapidly, swiping the little tears that fell. “You’re not as smart as I thought.”

“And you call me unintelligent! What the fuck even is this?” You go to get down and he holds you there, hands on your waist, so big they nearly cover it, squeezing and making you moan again. “Fuck, you…”

“I push you because I see potential.” He cuts you off then, and you meet his gaze, which has grown serious. “I’m doing this because…” He trails off, easing his grip and sliding his hands down your body. “Because I’m masochistic.”

You sniffle a bit, shaking your head. “You’re pushing me so hard.”

“I know. And I won’t stop.” He tilts your chin again, making you gaze at that pretty fucking face. “Now, the point is, your desire for me makes you unfocused. It’s a challenge. So we use it, and you push through it, can you do it?”

You tremble, hands hot and sweaty. You suck in a breath, shutting your eyes for a moment and focusing. You wanted to deny it, to not admit what was blatantly obvious to this conceited man. But… “Yes. I can do it.”

“Good girl.” His hands brush your hair back as he murmurs those words, in that deep timbre, you…

Fuck.

“Don’t say that.” You hate what it does to you, his words, that shit eating grin when your watery eyes open.

“Now, begin, Miss Brat. Let’s see how you handle this.” His breath is against your neck again, tickling delicate skin, making you shiver. “If you do well, you’re in tomorrow. I won’t push anything too far either, just enough to throw you off. Okay?”

You nod, realizing the challenge he was throwing, and you pick up your papers, reading out loud in the most confident voice you can muster. “Aristotle's idea of natural law holds that certain principles are inherent in human nature. That has helped to shape the development of natural law theory. Mmnh…” Saroru’s big hands brush up your thighs, making you wetter between them, you struggle to focus.

“Continue on, Miss Brat, you’ve just begun.” You clench your teeth as his fingers brush little circles, hypnotizing you, taking over all of your damn senses.

“Aristotle's emphasis on human reason and the balance between individual rights and social order has influenced the development of constitutionalism, far more than his counterparts or teachers. Plato and Socrates for example… unh. Fuck!” He laughs as he kisses your thigh, bent down between you, and your eyes go wide. Just a brush of his lips, you drop the paper.

He bends down to grab it, his breath so close to where you ache for him you feel tears prick your eyes. He smirks as he hands it back to you, leaning in close now. “So that’s what really gets you, does it remind you of that night?” He purrs the fucking words, and you clench your jaw so hard it hurts. “Does it?”

“Yes, fuck. Ugh.” You look away, and you hate it when he’s leaned against you again, as he’s read you like a book.

“Continue on, you can do this.” He orders, so casually, like he wasn't destroying your mind.

You take a breath, struggling to keep it together, when he decides to run his fingers through your hair now, reading more of the essay. You struggle not to just arch your head and enjoy it, but no, you’ve gotta fucking focus. “Aristotle's concept of justice as a balance between extremes has influenced legal theories, especially when it comes to justice as we know it… Fuck… please…”

“Shh.” His breath is hot on your ear, he nips the earlobe just so with his sharp teeth, flicking his tongue on it. You clench your thighs tight, damn near aching with how bad you want him. “Keep going, baby girl. Remember, you’re under pressure.”

You struggle to focus as the words jumble further on your paper. “Ethics is the most emphasis surely, as his focus on human character has led to a greater focus on ethical considerations in decision-making. It brings to light all of the things that make human beings tick and…”

You inhale sharply when he's behind you, brushing your hair to the side with one hand, then sliding off your blazer. “Aww, you’re a whole Aristotle stan, aren’t you baby girl? I’m so intrigued.”

 “Professor Gojo…” You trail off, he has his big hands on your shoulders, burning you through the blouse with his touch.

“You're doing really well.” He praises you, and you are surprised as fuck. “Keep going, pretty. Almost done.”

“Fuck…” You shake yourself out of it. “As for Aristotle's methodology, which emphasized empirical observation and scientific inquiry, it has influenced the development of evidence based decision making in law. It makes… mmm…”

Satoru is in front of you, brushing the back of his hand down your cheek. “No bronzer today hmm?” You flush, shaking your head. “Good, you have a natural blush when around me. Continue.” His face is buried in your hair, then soft lips kiss your temple. You're trembling so bad, trying to hold it together.

“Aristotle's concept of stability and continuity has influenced the development of legal systems as we know it. Without Aristotle's advanced ideas, we may have been much further behind. His ideas… carry…” You're almost done when he brushes his hands down the side of your breasts, blue eyes locked on yours.

“You're so close, pretty. Finish. ” He watches your back arch when he brushes his thumbs over the taut nipples, over your lacy bra and the blouse, you nearly lose it. But you finish. You fucking do it.

“To…to conclude, Aristotle's ideas have had a profound impact on various aspects of legal thought and practice, and they are still shaping the way we think about law today.”

“Good," He says, his voice gruff. "It's good."

You look up at him, your heart racing, and your eyes meet his. For a moment, the very room seems to hold its breath, and you can feel the electricity flickering between you. The tension is so palpable you could reach out and touch it, he is unusually quiet and serious, when you lean in slightly, your body betrays you, and he mirrors the movement, his face just inches from yours.

“Was it okay, Satoru? Really?” You whisper, he cups your face, nodding, and you're even closer, your hand is pulling on his tie, you can taste his minty breath, tempting you further.

“It was really good. I wouldn’t say if not. Especially for one day.” His fingers play along the neckline of your blouse, brushing your collarbone, he leaves goosebumps everywhere he touches.

“Thank you… I…”

But before anything happens, there is a knock on the door. Thank god, what even could happen between you two that would be anything other than an entire disaster?

“Busy.” Gojo mutters, and they seem to leave. He exhales, shutting his eyes for a moment and resting his forehead on yours, holding your face gently, before pulling back and staring down at you.

“What is it?” You murmur, and he shakes his head, sighing.

“You look so hot on my damn desk. This image is gonna be burned in my fucking brain.” He runs his hand through his hair, sighing.

“I…” You trail off, letting go of his tie and looking down. “Sorry, I got carried away a bit I think.”

“You?” He scoffs at that, and leans in again, barring you with his arms against the desk, gaze devouring you. “You get to go. You did a really good job.”

“Oh my god! Really?” He nods, and you grin, throwing your arms around his neck eagerly and hugging him. He tenses, and you ease away, but he pulls you back against him, standing up and holding you.

You’re dangling there in his arms as you hug him tightly, and you bury your face in his neck for a moment, feeling how good that hard body is on yours, his thrumming heart against your aching breasts. How good he smells, you want to inhale his scent forever. How much this reminds you of that night, of the guy you instantly fucking liked and wanted.

You…

“I’m sorry, Satoru. Got carried away again.” You murmur, and he eases you down, hands not leaving your little waist, he looks down at you, so intense, you can see your desire mirrored in him. In his parted lips. In his hooded eyes. “I'm tired and not thinking right.”

“Don’t apologize.” He says, voice husky.

“I’m really excited.” You ease your arms down, struggling to come down to Earth, to reality, which is damn near impossible, as you can hear your panting breaths and loud heartbeat in his quiet office.

“I’m glad. It’ll be in the morning, so just make sure to prep.” You nod eagerly, then turn to grab your things off his desk, and you’re against him again. He hisses, gripping you tight around your hips, thumbs pushing into your lower back.

You look back over your shoulder. “Satoru?”

“Why is your ass so goddamn nice? Especially in this fucking skirt.” He demands through clenched teeth, and you feel his hands tighten further, bruising grip, as he presses you against the desk.

“Fuck…” You manage to cry out, covering your mouth, when you feel his length hot and hard against the small of your back.

“Yeah, fuck.” He mutters, his hands grab your hair tight then, still loose and flowing, and you arch your head back, fucking uncaring at this point. He could fuck you then and there and you’d literally say thank you.

Why did he make you like this?

“Satoru…” It’s a little whine, his name.

“Why does my name sound so good on those fucking lips?” He’s muttering the words through gritted teeth, and pulls your head until you face him. “Do you know how badly I wanna bend you over this desk and feel that tight cunt around me?”

You manage a shake of your head, blinking rapidly, his hands slide your skirt up, and you grind your ass back for more, moaning. You know you all can’t do it, you fucking know, but the thoughts… the touches…  when he pulls the fabric of your skirt as he pulls your hair, and you breathe into each other's lips.

“We… shouldn’t… right?” You manage, his lips ghosting above yours, before easing his grip. He exhales, kissing your shoulder, sliding your skirt down, leaning over you to grab your blazer.

“I… ahem…” He puts on a smirk suddenly. “I know I get you so horny and wet, but control yourself, Miss Brat.”

‘You fucking ass!” You turn around and shove him hard, he snatches you up, wrapping the blazer around your shoulders, laughing.

“Am I wrong? Bet she’s soaked.” He slides his hand back up, and it takes everything in you to smack his hand.

“Fuck off, Professor Dickhead.” You huff, pushing past him.

“Wait…” You turn to him, glaring, and he’s got his hand running through that silvery white hair again, messing it up, making this literal perfect man look just a bit human.

“What?”

“Let me take you to your dorm. It’s gonna rain.” You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “No?”

“It’s not gonna rain. It was nice out…” Thunder claps in the background, making you jump a bit, and he just smirks. You wanna smack him. “I’ll go out in it.”

Now he glares at you. “You wanna be soaked? More than you already are.” He looks down at your lap again, you turn away. “Jesus, you're so stubborn. Will you please let me?”

“Whatever, why?” He walks past you, unlocking the door.

“You gotta be presentable tomorrow, not all sick because you got drenched. Come on, it's not like it’ll be long.” He grabs an umbrella, a long clear one, and snatches up his briefcase as well.

You quietly follow him out of the office, and through the school, until you’re at the door and see how badly it is raining, pouring down and the wind is going insane, making rain swirl around. Gojo opens the door for you, popping the giant umbrella out and putting it on top of you both.

It’s a downpour, soaking everything in seconds, except for the two of you under the clear shelter of the umbrella. You can feel the heat of his body through the fabric as he holds you close, and even with the chill of the rain, it’s like you’re on fire. Every step you take is a battle against the urge to lean into him, to let him consume you, to just say fuck it and epic kiss in the rain.

You can’t.

You don’t.

You keep walking, trying to keep your mind on anything but how badly you want to feel his hands all over you again, a mere tease, making you shiver as you all near his car, a fancy silver sports car likely worth more than anything you’ve ever seen. He opens the door, holding the umbrella still, and you climb in quickly, shivering as he comes to the other side.

Gojo revs up the engine, and the car lights up, you’re trembling as you watch his big hand wrap around the gear shift, putting the car into drive, but he looks at you first, catching your hungry fucking gaze and smirking. 

“Seatbelt, Miss Brat.” You giggle a bit, breathless, sliding it in with trembling hands.

“Sorry.” You manage, and then the car zips through the soaking wet streets. You find yourself enamored by him, by every clench of his jaw, by the way his hand grips the steering wheel.

“Need to take a picture?” He teases, and you roll your eyes, sighing, hugging the blazer around you a bit.

“Should have asked you that with me on your desk.” He smirks at that, his blue eyes catch yours just so, the windshield working overtime as you all sit at the stop sign, waiting.

“I’ve got a whole fucking mental picture I’ll use later.” You feel overheated, your chest tight with his words, fidgeting with your hands, exhaling. The rain is spattering on the roof, and it’s just you and him, together, side by side. No school, no bar, nothing but you and… “You okay? You’re quiet.”

“Yeah, just cold.” You lie straight up, shivering more. But you know it’s not the cold. It’s him. It’s the way he makes you feel, full of fucking desire that throbs through you.

“Want the heat on?” He asks softly, you shake your head, smiling over at him, as the car speeds through the wet streets, the rain beating a rhythmic pattern on the windshield, the wipers swiping back and forth in a hypnotizing dance. All of it was making your resolve lower.

“No, it's a quick ride, don’t worry.” You murmur, tensing when one of his hands goes to your thighs then, hot and burning on your chilled skin, goosebumps rising where he touches. You can feel your heart racing, your breathing getting heavier.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?” He says, his voice a rough whisper in your ear, and you blush harder than you thought possible as you look at him, realizing you all were at a stop now.

“Don’t say things like that, please… you don’t understand what they do to me.” You murmur, trying to keep your voice steady, avoiding that gaze.

“Baby girl… I know what it does to you.” His hand climbs higher, and you can’t breathe, it’s like the car is suffocating you now.

“Then don’t.” You manage to bite out, and Satoru turns back to the road, continuing to drive in the rain, and the car ride is tense, the scent of his cologne fills the small space intermingling with your own scent.

As you pull up to your dorm, you finally dare to glance at him. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are dark and intense, watching you, his gaze going down to where his hand is on your thigh. You shift in your seat, internally cursing, slick desire dripping down through your inner thighs even, so close to where his hand was it would only take the smallest inch further to reveal it.

"Listen," he says, his voice low and serious. "This isn't going to be a cakewalk. You're coming to a serious case tomorrow. You need to be on your toes."

You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and fear. "I understand. I'll be ready."

“And you won’t be interfering.” He slides his hand fucking higher, and your heart is racing now. “You don’t smack my hand away. Why?”

“You even have to ask?” You bit out, looking at him now, your lips parting, his eyes dart to them, hunger in their blue depths.

“You should smack it away.” He says, husky, and you go to take his hand off you, but you falter, instead you grip it, sliding it up that inch, to where his thumb feels it, feels the sticky wetness on you. He exhales, gripping you tightly, sliding his hand up until it comes in contact with your dripping cunt.

“Fuck…” You curse, when his thumb brushes you over your panties, and he exhales, moaning, leaning over you, and you all sit there for a moment, the rain thundering around you, your heart beating so loud it’s all you can hear.

“Saoaking fucking wet.” He murmurs, swirling his finger again and pressing up, and you fucking lose it, moaning, arching your hips up, gripping onto his business jacket, your lips right next to him.

“We shouldn’t…” You whisper, and then cry out when his long fingers stroke you up and down. “I shouldn’t have… shouldn’t be…”

“Why don’t you let me get you off real quick?” Satoru murmurs, sliding his fingers under the waistband of your panties now, moaning when he fully feels you, and you’re already gushing from just that.

“Fuck… Satoru… “ You hiss at his touch. “I can’t get it out of my fucking head. And I hate you for that.” You mumble, he tilts his head at you, eyes narrowing as he slides a finger up in you, and you throb around it, cries loud in the little car, louder than the pouring rain.

“You hate me, hmm?” He whispers, and you nod, tears pricking your eyes when he crooks his finger now, breath against your lips, you grind shamelessly in the chair, tummy clenching when he finds that spot.

“Yes. Fuck you for knowing my body somehow. And… fuck… mmmn…” Your eyes flutter shut when he crooks up again, hitting the little spot again, you see stars and black dots everywhere, cursing.

“Well guess what?” He leans even further, even closer, brows drawing low. “Fuck you for this perfect little pussy. Fuck you for being so wet.” You’re whining, pathetic now, tears pricking your eyes, as he slides his finger out, leaving you gasping.

“Fuck you completely.” You shove at him, and he scowls, then brings his finger to his mouth, sucking you off him, moaning, shutting his eyes, so fucking sexy. “Fuck you for looking like that!”

“Fuck you for tasting so fucking good.” He growls, and you’re both panting, your wetness is on his full lips. “I thought it was just alcohol, but nope. You taste as good as I remember. Now I think of eating you out while you’re at your fucking seat in class.”

“I think about sucking your dick under the fucking desk. So.” He blinks at that, and you turn insanely red, looking away. “And fuck you for that too.”

“Fuck you for always eye fucking me in class.” He growls the words, yanking your hair back, dominating every bit of your body and mind.

“Fuck you for… just fuck you, Satoru.” You’re crying now, and he’s watching you, smirking at you.

“ Are you crying ?” Your fingers itch to smack him, you shake your head, and you all sit there for a second, the rain getting harder, the windows fogging up with the heat from you two in the car, and you want to fucking kiss him so badly... You want to grab his hair and pull him into you, so he doesn’t stop, so he never stops.

But you don’t.

Because you’re both fucking insane, and you’re in a car, outside your fucking dorm. So instead you sit there, panting, trembling, staring at him, and he at you, as his grip loosens just slightly, as you feel yourself getting so wet your panties are ruined just like the damn night you met him.

“Not crying.” You say, firmly, and he smirks down you, so fucking charming and gorgeous you wanna smack him.

“You don’t wanna get off, baby girl?” He whispers, sliding his hand back down your waist, making you make some pathetic wine he seemed to enjoy.

“Of course I do, but where does it lead? Me fucking riding you in the car?” He grins big then. “Satoru…”

“You can’t just get off? You gotta fuck me hmm?”

“I need to go.” You unsnap your seatbelt, shaking hands fumbling, he slides his hands off you, unbuckling it for you.

“Poor baby can’t function, huh?” You glare again at him.

“Fuck you.”

“Gonna be all horny in the court room, how can you go?”

“I’ll use my rose toy.” At that his eyebrows shoot up, and you cover your mouth, falling back in your seat. “Fucking ignore that.”

“I am going to need a video of that.” You shove him, and he’s laughing at you now, with that pretty grin of his. It sucks.

This sucks.

“You wish, Professor Dickhead.” You go to open the door, peering at how bad it’s still down pouring.

He’s out of the car in a moment, then he’s opening yours, holding the umbrella up high so that you two are back under it together, he’s looking down at you, that white hair just a little wet. You errantly brush it back, then put your hand down, flushing, realizing where you were, who you both were. He takes the hand then, leading you to the doorway, which had an overhang.

“I’ll be here at 8 AM sharp, Miss Brat.” He murmurs, still too close, body still up against yours. You nod, shy suddenly, next to the man that had just tasted you, your fucking Professor. “Want my number?”

“What? No.” He laughs at you, white teeth showing, and it lights up his stupidly pretty face.

“Do you know how many women would die for my number?” You shrug, and he continues to laugh. “You’re such a little brat.”

“Am not. I just don’t want it.” You look down, at his exposed neck, where the knot of his tie had come loose, and your shaky hands go to slide the knot back up, you hear his hitch of his breath, see his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

“If you’re going to this case we need to keep in contact. I won’t be sending you dick pics, you’re not that lucky.” He winks and you chuckle against your own will, shaking your head and smoothing your hand down his tie.

“Mmm, true. You won’t get any videos either, Professor Dickhead.” He pouts at that, taking his phone out of his pocket then.

“My heart’s broken. But don’t worry.” He leans close, whispering in your ear, tickling it like crazy, making you throb with need. “I remember exactly how that pretty pussy looks.”

“Fuck off.” You whisper, pathetically, you don’t move, and you don’t mean it, though. Pathetic for this idiot professor who was ruining you with casual, silly little fucking movements. “Hate you.”

“I hate you . Hate how good you smell. Taste. Annoying brat.” You pull back to glare up at him, meeting his scowl. “Take my number, brat, and count yourself lucky to have it.”

“Conceited dick.” You take out your phone, and scan his little code, he pops right up in your phone. You giggle maniacally when you change his name in there, and he scowls at you.

“What’s so funny, brat?” You show him his name - Professor Dickhead- and he rolls his eyes, glaring at his phone, then smirking maniacally back, when he snaps a pic of you so quick it throws you off.

“What? Satoru!” You yank and hop up and he finally lets you see the phone, and it’s literally a pic of your cleavage in a top that’s ever so sheer and wet, with the name ‘Miss Brat’. “Dick!”

“Bitch.” You huff, turning away, and he snatches you by your wrist. “Don’t you want a picture of me?”

“Nope, sure don’t. I see you enough and it annoys me.” His laugh is hot against your neck.

“You’re a good liar, that will make you a great lawyer.” You turn to glare up at him, his touch eases, he’s just barely brushing his fingers down your hand now. You ache to hold his hand in your own, to entwine your fingers in his.

“Really, thank you, I am excited for tomorrow.” You whisper, and he sighs, hands releasing you now. You are just standing in front of him in the rain, under the cocoon the umbrella keeps you all in, hearing his breaths behind you.

“You’re welcome, little brat. Maybe if this works out and you bust your nice little fucking ass…” You yelp when he pinches you, whirling back around. “Then you’ll be in line to earn that internship. You’ve got a few months still, but…”

“Yeah?” You raise a brow. He shrugs, casually.

“If you can keep up with how hard I’m going to push you.” The words take on something else, your mind is fucking wrecked you realize.

“I can take it.” He smiles at that, touching your chin gently.

“All right, go on in, I’ll see you in the morning.”

You dash inside, and your heart is fucking pounding, when you’re up in your room you hop out of all your clothes, wincing when you slide off the underwear that’s just sticking to your goddamn thighs now. You start the shower, cursing internally as you peek at your phone, at his goddamn number.

You’d been ready to fuck this guy on his desk, on his car…

And you had shit for experience.

You wouldn’t say it, but it made it all even worse, you were so far out of your wheelhouse as it was. You struggle not to touch yourself in the damn shower, to not push this all way further than it needed to be, but you find your clit and lean back against the tile wall.

Images of him fill your head, the way he looked at you, the way his eyes had gone dark blue when he touched you. The way his voice had gotten all low and gruff when he said he fucking hated you. You start moaning out loud, as you slip your fingers in, stroking fast, but it’s nothing like just one of his ridiculously long fingers, you can’t hit that damn spot.

You go back to rubbing your clit because at this point it’s puffy and so sensitive it happens fast. You come hard, gripping the little shower bar and leaning, your knees wobbling, feeling like a damn mess, and it’s all because of him. When you’re done you slump against the wall, panting, so confused what this man made you into.

He’d make fun of you if he knew.

You step out, sighing, drying up and then getting ready for the next day, planning your outfit, planning what to bring with you. This was an insanely serious case, one of the biggest, all over the television, and you had watched Satoru on them, he was fucking the best, not that you’d stroke his ego and tell him.

Your phone lights up when you’re settled down under the blankets, and you see his number and name pop up.

Professor Dickhead: Good night, Miss Brat.

How did something so simple make you nearly tear up again? You exhale, hand shaking as you swipe it up and open the messages. You nervously bite your lower lip, lips that ached for a goddamn kiss, one you had almost three months ago now. You couldn’t get the taste off your mind. You hate this.

You: Good Night… Satoru.

Not professor Dickhead, for some reason, it didn’t fit at the moment.

Well…

Satoru Gojo hearts the message you sent, and you hate the stupid smile on your face that it brings, the smile that lingers as you fall asleep, and you dream of him, anticipating the next day, such a huge day for you and your career, but also, spending time with him.

Fucking Professor Gojo.

Chapter 3

Ch 2 Ao3 link https://archiveofourown.org/works/56895382/chapters/145101856#workskin