#I must pay them what I owe them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

madamechrissy · 13 days ago

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Losing Control Now

Pairings: Mobster Gojo x bartender F!reader

Summary: Something about running the Gojo mafia just makes Satoru so bored. Boring, boring boring. Sure, he loves money, he loves women, he loves snorting snowy powder off their bodies. He loves the power that comes from it- but he's just bored. That is, until he stumbles upon you, the brand new bartender that makes him pause, falter, and then soon he becomes obsessed, with knowing you, in every single way. Paying off your mom's debts and working two jobs, you're exhausted, but something about this pretty Mob boy just makes you... excited again. How far in are you, and how far is Satoru in the mafia world? All he knows, is he must have you.

CW: Sexual tension, eventually explicit sex, mafia themes, drug themes, violence, obsessed ass whipped ass Satoru Gojo, oral sex, possessive Gojo, drug use and drug dealing - lowkey Yandere fkn Gojo hehe. Light angst, some fluff, heavy smut, lots of teasing. This part- Making out, Gojo snorting coke off bodies, touching, teasing, and masturbation (phone sex) -WC this part- 7.2k wc

That Gojo art is by michi_ia on X!!! based on Satoru from Pour it Up (Sukuna's story) You can read it alone! Reblogs/comments so appreciated if you enjoyy!

Playlist- masterlist - Part two>>>

part one

If there was one thought running through the pretty head of Satoru Gojo’s, it’s not -sexy- the strippers dancing all around them. It’s not- thrilling- speaking of doing runs and deals. It’s not- addictive- even as he’s snorting coke off a pretty stripper’s thigh. It’s not- flattering even as he can clearly feel her heat, see her dilated eyes, the way she bites her lip.

Sure, he loves women.

Sure, he loves coke.

Sure, he loves his lifestyle, a mostly carefree mafia King, who lets people do most of the work for him. His best friend Suguru, his right hand man Sukuna, and his other partner Toji, the four of them ran this city. But it’s not- power that runs through Gojo’s head, though he enjoys that too.

The thought constantly in Satoru Gojo’s mind is…

Boring.

He leans back even now, sighing as the coke hits his nostrils, then he laps up that residue with a quick kiss with his pouty lips, the stripper gasps just a bit, and he touches her thigh, seeing a glimmering of slick from just that. Gojo loves to fuck, especially when it means nothing, when he can just let go and feel whatever he needs to in that moment.

But, even that, as he brushes his thumb across it, watching the pretty girl’s head fall to the side, her hips arch, even that has become…

Boring.

This meeting is boring, as he now smiles and winks at her, and she blushes, giggling and running to grab him another drink. His friends, they’re so…

Boring.

Business this, their territory that, what the Kamo family is doing, what the fucked ass Zenin are up to. What they need to do in order to produce enough to keep clientele satisfied. Who owes who money, who needs a lesson, and who needs protection- Satoru is happy to protect his town, his city, what is his as the top mafia family there is- or was.

The Gojo family.

But, as head of it now, it’s the last thing he really wants, in fact he has everything a man could want, endless amounts of money, loyal friends, women, pure cocaine that could help him forget the gnawing feeling deep inside. What is it? He tries not to think, as he crosses his ankle over his knee in his three piece suit, tugging at his skinny black tie, contemplating Sukuna’s words.

“The Zenin are more on the alert than ever.” He grumbles, sighing a bit as a girl hands him a drink, but he refrains from going near any of them really, hopelessly whipped by his new girlfriend. Satoru smirks a bit, earning Sukuna’s eye roll. “Out with it, Gojo.”

“You’re so whipped it’s really cute.” Sukuna’s jaw locks, standing, Satoru’s maniacally giggling, as Suguru and Toji sigh.

“Whipped!?”

“Completely, but I like this side of you. All soft-” Sukuna snatches Satoru up by his collar, earning Satoru’s glinting grin under red lights. “Aw, what’s wrong buddy?”

“It’s not being whipped it’s-”

“Whipped.” Toji earns Sukuna’s ire, as Suguru sighs and shakes his raven haired head, brushing it back a bit. “Sorry, but the kid’s right.”

Gojo snorts at Toji, rolling his pretty blue eyes. “A kid? I’m twenty seven, how is that a kid, old man.”

“Old man, the fuck?” Toji’s jaw locks, scar stretching over his lip, Satoru just smirks.

“Will you all focus?” Suguru asks with a sigh, smiling and lapping some salt off a stripper’s chest, before downing his shot, moaning as he gulps it.

“It’s boring. Ah, thanks, sweets.” Satoru smiles as the dancer hands him a drink now, and he sips it, wincing. “Ugh, not sweet enough.”

Satoru stands, and Sukuna raises a brow. “The fuck, you need even fruitier of a drink? Such a lil bitch drink already.”

“Fuck you, I like sweet things.” Satoru smiles and tilts the stripper’s chin up, watching a blush decorate her cheeks as he giggles. “I’ll go grab one, let you all keep being boring.”

“Oh whatever, Satoru.” He hears as he saunters off, determined to get a much sugarier concoction, as he steps through the club, familiar scenes unfolding, the glimmering lights bouncing off semi-naked bodies. Men with their wallets emptied, girls dealing coke baggies with bottles.

It was surely one of the places he enjoyed, it served as such a good front, along with the Casino he and Suguru ran, and many, many other ventures. A life constantly bustling from place to place, in the back of limos, women everywhere, but something yet again, even with the thrumming music of this club, just seems so boring.

That is, until he sees this girl, gorgeous but she doesn’t quite fit in, despite a banging body in fishnets that glimmer with little gems under the black lights, black booty shorts that showed much of those thighs, and a sexy little boostier. The lace cupping her breasts alone makes his cock twitch, just that!? A man who has naked women in front of him constantly.

But nothing is quite like when his blue eyes trail up her chest, past those pretty titties pushed up, to her face, lit up under the flashing reflections above. She’s biting her lower lip, concentrating, brows together as just a strand of hair falls out of it’s high pony tail, and she blows it away, an adorable little gesture. Her little hands are pouring bottles, as she measures this drink like a damn chemist.

But when her eyes catch his?

When your eyes catch his?

Sparkling and open, just a little nervous as you eye him, there’s something that sparks then, this…

He’s not bored.

Not at all.

You see him, this tall statuesque man, brightly glowing damn near with silvery white hair, but his eyes even in the dark, smoky club are so intense it makes you breathless. And he’s looking right at you, a bright pink drink in one of his giant hands, lithe body frozen just for a moment before he moves. You wait with bated breath as he does, as he steps closer, shooting you a little smirk.

His eyes glint with something deep- at first he seemed detached when you’d seen him, but now, swirling storms for eyes, model cheekbones even more accentuated as he smiles at you. Plump, glossy lips and long snowy lashes complete the prettiest face you’ve ever seen, perhaps even prettier than a painting, a silly thing for a bartender to think.

He leans with his elbows on the marble bar, tilting his head, blue eyes drinking you in, and you feel it like a physical touch. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“How do you know?” You manage to murmur, trying to be teasing, but his intensity makes your breath catch.

“I’d remember you. I’m sure.” His words like some sultry purr, as his eyes caress your body, to the point you almost moan.

Fuck, who is he?

“I am new.” You say softly, he hands you his glass then, for a brief moment your fingers brush against each other, and Satoru feels this shock, like static, as he keeps his fingers over yours.

He vividly pictures it then, having you, but fuck not having you… he wanted to have you in every fucking way. Feral from fingers brushing when he just had a stripper all over him. His lips part as he sees your cheeks heat up, your tentative and sweet little smile, while lights dance across your skin, the thrumming of music fading to the background.

It’s like some fucking movie, in slow motion, as your smile melts him. “How about you make me a drink, huh sweetheart? Ya any good at it?”

“How do you like it… Mr…”

“Gojo.” You blink in recognition, everyone knows the Gojo family, though heavy in crime, they protect people, they keep their town safe. They’re insanely powerful, and you can feel his power, as he shrugs a broad shoulder, snowy lashes lowering over his gaze.

“Mr. Gojo…”

“And you are?” When you say your name, he repeats it, softly, and you’ve never fucking heard anything better. “Well, let’s see what you can make, pretty bartender.”

Pretty.

The word is used often, but from him? Your tummy is full of rapidly flapping wings of several butterflies. You clear your throat a bit, taking the glass now. “What kind of drink, Mr. Gojo?”

“Something sweet… sweet as… I bet you taste.” You barely hear the words at the end, and you blink in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Huh?” He grins then, throwing his head back, resting a hip on the bar as he studies you harder. “You’re cute.”

“Cute, hmm.” He just grins, as you make his drink, mixing every sweet concoction you know, he sips it then, moaning and fluttering his lashes.

“Perfect.”

“You’re special, the first drink I made.”

Satoru leans far too close over that bar, as he eyes you, and he knows then, he has to fucking have you. Fuck he’d not even let you leave his damn bed, keep you pinned under him, picturing how sweet you must taste, god how you even smell when he inhales near you is addictive.

“Are you… sniffing me, Mr. Gojo?”

He smirks a bit, but inwardly?

God you smell good.

“Perfume? Is it… Versace bright Crystal?”

“How would you know that?” He’s just grinning, sipping the drink with the thin little black straw, as you wonder just… who is he?

“I’ll see you around, sweets, hmm?” You nod curiously, narrowing your eyes just a bit, sighing as he walks away, you don’t see him when he eyes you again, before stepping back into the velvet red of the VIP room.

“Took you long enough.” Toji grumbles, and Satoru looks at Sukuna then, one question in his mind, along with one thought.

The boredom?

Gone.

“Who’s the new girl?” Sukuna turns towards him, a smirk on his face, which immediately changes as his girlfriend steps in right next to Satoru, he swears Sukuna has heart eyes. Satoru looks at her as she smiles brightly, giving him a hug first, making Satoru grin at Sukuna when he scowls.

“Satoru!”

“Hey pookie how are you?” He smiles and pats her head. Satoru and Sukuna's girl had become close. “How's it living with this psycho?”

“She loves it.” Sukuna huffs and drags her away, earning the soft laughter of everyone in the room as she's sat right on his lap, brushing his hair back affectionately. Strong, tough, big ass Sukuna was just a little kitten for her. “Tell him about the new girl, brat.”

“Oh!” She repeats the name, your name, and Satoru brightens up. Sipping the sweet drink you concocted and exhaling at how good it is. “She's a friend from way back, she got into… a hard situation. So Kuna hired her because he's sweet.”

“Tch.” He glares at her as she giggles, and suddenly Satoru wonders even more about you. What situation? What did you need it for? “You like her huh?”

“Just curious, she seems…” Different, exciting, beautiful sure but there was something so intriguing, especially about her touch.

“Pretty?” Toji says with a grin, and Satoru sighs.

“Duh, just curious… she makes the sweetest drink I've ever had.”

“The way to Satoru’s heart.” Suguru says with a chuckle. Satoru comes back to sit next to him, shaking his head when a girl comes to him

“No thanks, love.” The room collectively blinks at him now, as Satorus pretty eyes rest on Sukuna’s girl, a dancer herself… well somewhat. It's not like Sukuna let's her leave his sight much. “She's your friend?”

“Yes from high school, she left and did her own thing but…” She bites her lower lip. “Um, her mom got into some… bad debts with people, gambling.”

“Oh, she's like Toji.” Sukuna mutters, earning a middle finger from the gruff man, even as he's kissing up a girl's neck.

“Fuck off.” He grumbles, and Satoru would laugh, but he's even more intrigued. “Paid my debts, shithead.”

“Shithead!?”

“So she came to help?” Satoru asks her, and she nods, smiling just a little sadly.

“Her mom left her with a house about to get foreclosed. And debt with… I can't get into too much more. But she works full time and it's only enough for bills, not the debt.”

“So she's working like what, 60 plus hours?” Satoru asks, and she nods with a frown.

“I'm hoping here she'll make enough to get it settled? Kuna may help negotiate-”

“Who is it?”

“Why so curious?” She asks, as her eyes light up. “Oh… you like her.”

“I just… am a curious boy mmkay pookie?” She giggles and then Suguru snorts in laughter next to Satoru.

“He's blushing.”

“Am not! Just… something about her seemed… different. I was curious. Is she…”

“Single? Satoru Gojo is asking that?” Toji says then, and Satoru’s eyes narrow.

“Shut it old man.”

Toji’s jaw tenses. “I swear to-”

“Ask her yourself, hmm?” Sukunas girl says, Satoru sighs, because for the first time ever he feels a little…

Nervous?

Satoru Gojo is nervous, hands sweaty, blushing over you.

Who are you?

“I mean can we… get her in the next meeting?”

“Sure lover boy.” Sukuna says with a chuckle. “Want her on your lap?”

“Maybe. Yes.” The room's atmosphere is just a little lighter, as they finish and Satoru finally heads out for the night, turning a corner and bumping right into you, causing you to almost fall, but he catches you with those big hands, steadying you carefully.

“I'm so sorry, Mr. Gojo.” You murmur softly, god your voice is pretty, it's soft and sensual. He could listen to it all day- wildly wondering how it sounds when you’d cry out his name, to the point he’s just standing there for a moment, as your eyes meet, and he notices now, you have dark circles under them. It seems whatever concealer you had faded by now.

“You headed home?” He asks, seeing you’re now wearing a jacket over that bustier, and you nod a bit, hiding a yawn.

“Yeah, I have to work at like eight am.”

Gojo blinks now, peering at his silver Rolex. “It’s like two am, what sleep are you gonna get?”

“A couple hours I hope.” Satoru holds the door open for you now, and you give him another pretty smile.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, I’ll walk you to your car, unless you want big Jim to.” He points to a giant broad shouldered man, you giggle, looking back at Gojo, who has a little mischievous glow in his eyes now.

“I’ll let you walk me, thank you.” He slings his jacket over a shoulder, holding it with one finger, the other in his pocket, as the breeze gently blows around the two of you in the quiet night.

“How many nights are you working?” He asks, you tilt your head a bit as you come to your car, a little one good on gas, really the only reason you got it.

“I’ll be working Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Do you come here often?” Satoru snorts now, leaning down over you, free hand against your car as he leans, making your heart hammer in your chest at the proximity, eying his glossy lips.

“That a pick up line, sweets?”

“What!? Oh shit… it sounded like one!?” You cover your face in embarrassment, and he chuckles now.

“Teasing you is all. I do come here a lot, I know who I’ll be getting drinks from then. That was the best one I’ve had.”

“What no way!” He just grins as you lower your hands, a little bit of your hair falling out of your pony tail again, he brushes it away casually, tucking it behind your ear, his cool fingertips making your skin tingle. He watches the hitch of your breath, feels the heat of your cheek as you look at him, wide eyed.

“You kept blowing it out of the way.” He teases softly, fingers lingering on your cheek for just a moment.

“You noticed that?” You ask softly, feeling your heart thrumming with excitement despite your exhaustion.

“Noticed you also bite your lip too much.” He brushes a thumb over it briefly, shooting desire hot through your tummy.

You hadn’t even thought of sex or intimacy, as tired as you have been, working full time and taking overtime constantly, finally having this job as well, you haven’t even considered your needs. So tired you barely get horny, but something about this… Mr. Gojo, it’s making you ache to yank him by that tie, pull him in.

Do you even remember how to be seductive?

Why are you thinking like this?

“Do I?” You ask, all you manage really, and he nods just a bit, dying to kiss the indentations on your plump lower lip.

“Sure you’re okay to drive? I have a driver.”

“Oh no I’m good, I didn't have a drink or anything. But thank you, I hope… I hope I see you again… um to make more drinks?”

You’re cute.

Fuck you’re cute.

“You’ll see me around.” He assures you, opening the door then, and you exhale a bit, sliding into your seat and starting the car. “Have a good night, bartender.”

“Bartender huh?” He winks and you wave just a bit, leaving Satoru whistling just a bit, shaking his head, unable to figure out just what this is, this feeling, as Suguru walks out, yawning and stretching.

“Oh shit, that look.”

“What look?” He asks, as they walk to their sleek black car, the driver ready holding the door open for them.

“That obsessive Satoru look.”

“Oh psh.” He rolls his pretty blue eyes, but Suguru just chuckles.

“She is pretty.”

Satoru scowls at his best friend now, who’s just smirking at him. “Don’t even think about it.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“I’m not… obsessive.”

“Mmm, alright Satoru.” He pats Satoru’s shoulder as he looks at his phone now, typing in your name casually of course- to find your socials, and any pictures of you he can save.

******

After busting your ass at your normal 9 to 5, you ran your mom’s interest payment to the intimidating Mei Mei, she’s smiling cooly, so fucking fake it makes your skin crawl, raising a brow under her light blue hair as she sees the amount. “Oh, darling, that's double, hmm?”

“I had the extra, took another job.” You yawn as you peek at your phone, realizing you have to get ready for the bar soon.

“I see, should I charge you more for each installment, since you’re doing so well now?” You blink now, shaking your head and earning her soft laugh, as she stands, tall and curvaceous, hips swaying as she tilts your chin up, long nails brushing your skin. “I was kidding, that face!”

“I’m sorry, Miss Mei. I swear I’ll try to do double but could we keep to the current please?” She nods a bit then, smiling and sauntering back to her desk, sitting on it and crossing her leg, blue dress riding up just a bit.

“I don’t mind helping, as long as you keep paying. You sure are a lot better than your mother. How is she?”

Your jaw sets. The moment your mother left town, and left you with all this debt after begging you to come back, under false pretenses, your life had become an endless cycle of pure work. Work, work, work, and nothing else, that was it.

Work. Bills. Interest.

Work, more work, more interest.

The only break had been meeting him, at the bar, Mr. Gojo.

“Smiling, darling?” You clear your throat, shaking your head.

“Just happy I’m getting this done.”

“That’s the spirit, see you next week.” She now hops down, dismissing you with a little wave of her fingers, as you hurriedly leave, leaning against the door of the fancy building as you damn near feel sick, sighing and trying to gather yourself.

You want to resent your mother, want to hate her even, but you don’t have it in you. There’s just one thing on your mind, work, work, and work. The handsome man at the bar may be a beautiful distraction, but he’d surely just stay that, the little bit of serotonin you need.

******

“On your lap?” You blink a bit, as Satoru’s grinning, leaning over the bar later that night, looking far too sexy in that pinstripe suit of his.

“So usually the strippers do, but I’d really like you too, and you will make more than you do in an hour. How much do you usually make?” You murmur a number, and he hands you hundreds instead.

“You can’t!”

“I’m taking your work time, I damn well will. Here, take it sweets.” You sigh, stepping out from behind the bar, crossing your arms under your breasts and looking up at him.

“I just, sit on your lap?”

“Well, you may have to… let me snort coke off you?” You’re a blushing mess now, and he’s laughing softly, brushing your hair back just a bit. “Just a little coke.”

“You’re kind of insane, Mr. Gojo.”

“I’ve been told. Come on, what do you say?”

So… that’s how you ended up here, in the velvety red VIP room, Toji, Sukuna, Suguru and Satoru of course are there, you see your friend on Sukuna’s lap, the lifesaver who got you this job, who waves from where she’s on his lap. You smile nervously, as Satoru sits, patting his thigh then.

“C’mon, got a seat right here.” He says with a wink, and the next few minutes you’re finding it impossible to focus.

You can feel it, Satoru’s muscled thigh against your heat, pussy throbbing around nothing at this proximity, as Sukuna, Suguru and Toji all talk amongst themselves, Toji and Suguru have stripper’s on their laps, Sukuna has your friend- his girl- on his. And you’re right here, with Satoru’s big hand against your waist, fingers wrapping around the gentle curve of it.

You try to bite back a moan at just how good it feels, and you embarrassingly wonder if he can tell, if he can feel how wet you are, surely not you hope. He’s calmly talking as he shifts his thigh just a bit, and you have to hold in your gasp, your booty shorts aren’t enough of a damn barrier, surely, not for how his thigh presses up for a moment.

“You good, sweetheart?” He murmurs to you softly, and you turn your attention to him, blinking just a bit, lips parted.

“Huh?” Is all you manage, his full lips tilt up just a bit as he tilts his head, his other hand now on your fishnet clad thigh.

“Lots of heavy topics, too much?” He’s so sweet you think, as if the problem isn’t you’re soaking your shorts, and no you didn’t even have panties on to try to help whatsoever, in such a hurry you hadn’t washed any and said fuck it.

Big mistake.

“Oh, a little bit.” You are such a liar, but what do you say? Yes, Satoru, your thigh is making me want to grind on it, to make myself cum like some pathetic-

“Try to tone 'em out, it’s what I do.” He says with a wink, and you laugh softly, breathless, as if you’d heard a word any of them said, no… your pulse is racing too loudly to hear them.

“Got it, Mr. Gojo.” He takes the little baggie one of the strippers has then, brushing your hair back off your shoulder, watching goosebumps raise across your neck, your collar bone so inviting he wants to bury his face against it.

“The Zenin are now a bigger issue than ever, they perceive that Sukuna literally took Naoya’s girl and his kid.” You frown a bit, looking over at Sukuna, who’s gripping his girl so tightly, scowling, while Toji speaks. “I know it’s not that way, but it’s what we’re up against.”

“So we fucking take em all out.” Sukuna throws back a shot, and his girl shakes her head.

“Kuna…”

“Don’t you fuckin’ Kuna me.”

“They’re cute.” Satoru murmurs, you nod in agreement, as you watch her make this giant man melt.

“They are.”

“Is right here alright?” His thumb brushes your collarbone, and you flush nervously, eyes lowering shyly as you nod. “Never done anything like this, hmm?’

“No, not at all.” You look around as the other men are doing so, however, and tilt your neck just a bit. “But I trust you.”

“Yeah?” He murmurs, you exhale, when he taps some of the ivory powder across your skin. “Stay still for me, pretty?”

Pretty.

God when he calls you pretty.

Your heart pounds out of its chest damn near when he’s gently lining it up, one hand gently brushing up your back as he leans over with a rolled one hundred, snorting it right off your skin. Something about it, snorting coke off your body, makes Satoru even harder than he already was, especially when he hears the softest of whimpers from your pretty throat.

“Fuck…” He wonders if he says it out loud, but you don't respond, still as he had commanded you to be, making him wonder wildly just how much you’d listen.

If he told you to hold these sexy thighs open, if he told you to bend over and arch your ass, if he said get on your knees. Would you obey him?

Once the powder is up his nose, his snowy lashes flutter shut, letting it run through his system, and he moans just ever so softly, before lapping up the residue from your throat. Your hand grips his hair unconsciously, without even thinking, hips shifting so he feels that heat on his thigh, making him leak precum.

You’re trembling just a bit as the tip of his tongue slips up the curve of your neck, a hand slipping up your thigh, thumb pressing under one of the diamond openings of the stockings, brushing bare skin. Your breasts are damn near in his face as they rise and fall in the thin black halter you’re wearing, nipples poking out with how they’re tightening.

He presses a little kiss on your neck with plump lips, and instead of smirking at you like he would, he can’t form a coherent thought - all he can think is he needs you, beyond a want. He needs to bite your neck and mark you up for him so beautifully, so much so none of that concealer you wear would work, no you’d have to take days off, finally relax so good with him rubbing every inch.

It’s like the room fades for you, you can’t remember there are strippers, that there are mobsters, that your friend is there, it’s all this man that’s practically a stranger, who you for some reason trust to snort this powder off you. His lips linger far too long, before he pulls back, blue eyes so dark they’re black, his pupils dilated, with a mix of cocaine and desire.

“Woah, you need the room?” Toji mentions, earning your blush, but Satoru can’t stop staring, at that vein in your neck just pulsing, aching to bite it, like some psychotic feral vampire. He feels things right now he never has, not the casual desire, not the ease of having a woman, he wants to bite, kiss and lick every goddamn inch of this sexy body shifting again on him.

“We’re actually almost finished if you can focus a moment, Satoru.” Suguru says as he pinches his nose a bit, tilting his head back and letting his own line hit.

Satoru clears his throat, gently pulling you just a bit more up his hard thigh, smiling at them all. “Go on, finish the boring shit.”

“It’s not exactly boring, Satoru. Considering we need to meet with them.”

“The Zenin?” Suguru nods, and Satoru’s jaw clenches.

“Let’s meet with the Kamo family first.” Sukuna suggests, pressing a kiss on his own girl’s neck, as she strokes back his pink locks, making Satoru ache for this from you, for everything from you. “We can see if potentially they’ll be on our side.”

“Shit, it’s a good idea.” Toji sips on his beer now, laughing as he presses it between his stripper thighs, grinning lewdly.

“I’m down for that first if everyone is in agreement. Satoru?” Suguru asks, and Satoru tries to focus on all this boring shit, when he’s much rather finger the slick he feels gathering against his expensive slacks.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll set it up.” He mumbles, and you look at him, your eyes dilated like his, but without any drug, it’s just pure want. Fucked up off his energy. “I can send everyone the details.”

“Sounds good.” Everyone gets up now, and Satoru holds you down just a bit longer, as they’re laughing and talking, heading out to the bar, he turns you to the side just a bit, tilting up your chin, hair falling down your back, brushing against where he has his arm against your back.

“You alright, sweets? That’s a lot to handle.” You blink just a bit, flushing as you shyly nod. “Ya sure?”

“I didn’t hear much.” You admit, and he exhales, his hand slipping back up your thigh, waiting for you to say something, to push off his hand, but you just watch him, eyeing him carefully, legs spreading just a bit. “I was distracted.”

“Yeah? By what, hmm?” You look away, so shy, he chuckles, leaning even closer to you. “You’re so cute.”

“You say that.”

“You are.”

“These dark circles sexy?”

“On you.”

“Mr. Gojo…” You lean closer yourself now, shifting your hips just a bit, earning his soft moan as he feels that wetness pouring against him.

“Need something, love? A thank you?”

“You gave me hundreds to be here, it’s already too generous. Why… um did you?” You ask curiously, and he looks down a bit, at your lips.

“I heard you work a lot, and can’t miss shifts. I didn’t wanna make you lose out on tips.”

“That’s so…” You’re blown away then. “I really appreciate it, but you wouldn’t have had to pay me to sit on your lap.”

“Oh yeah?” You bite your lower lip, shaking your head, when his hand slips even higher, and he eats up every bit of your expression, like you’re just as drunk off him as he is off you.

“I’m sure no girl has ever needed to get paid on your lap, Mr. Gojo.”

“My name, it’s Satoru.” You brush your hair back a bit, letting silken strands flow through your fingers, as Satoru’s hand is at the apex of your thighs, his thumb brushing right against where you’re soaked, eliciting a soft whine.

“C-can I call you that, though?”

“You can…” His thumb brushes your clit now, and you moan out loud, covering your mouth, but it’s too late, he heard it, thumb pressing where you’re sticky and so hot he can’t take it. “You’re soaked, baby girl.”

“Embarrassing… I’m so-”

“No, fuck it’s sexy.” You’re blushing further, so overheated as your thighs spread, and he moans, lips an inc from yours. “Satoru, say it.”

“Sa-”

“Are you coming Satoru?” Suguru peers in, and you quickly hop up, as Satoru considers killing his best friend. “We gotta - shit… didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no it’s fine!” You’re quickly walking out, and Satoru literally has to turn and adjust himself, groaning, head falling back.

“Shit, my bad Satoru.”

“I’ll kill you, Suguru.” He grumbles, shoving at his friend just a bit. “Let me say goodbye to her first.”

“Calling it a goodbye?”

“Fuck off, Sugu.” He’s shoving his friend, as he catches sight of you rushing to the locker rooms.

You’re splashing cool water on your neck, on your face, you don’t even recognize yourself in that mirror, with the desire making your face look like you’re lit off your ass, like you’re drugged from that cocaine on your skin. You can’t even be thinking of this, not with who you’re dealing with right now, not with all your shit, all the work you have to do.

Satoru’s beautiful but…

You’ve never been one to fuck randoms, you’re unfortunately a person that needs feelings, and fuck if you don’t already have feelings that make no sense for someone you barely know. Something about him beyond model good looks, beyond that clear confidence, something about his touch sending those shocks through you, shocks that make no sense.

The door opens, and instead of one of the girls, or even Sukuna or Toji, it’s Satoru, disheveled hair spiked up, his eyes bright fucking blue in the lights of the locker room, looking right at you. You turn back to the mirror, hastily fixing your hair, trying to act normal.

“Leaving for the night?” You ask, voice hoarse just a bit, as you ache to say so much more, but he’s walking to you, long strides, until he’s right in front of you, cupping your face with one of those big hands, exhaling sweet cool breath against your lips.

“I want you to sit on my lap during the next meeting, yeah?”

“Satoru…”

“I’ll pay more.”

“What!? Why?” You ask again, curiously, and he sighs.

“I like you there.” His vulnerability shocks you. “Meetings, business, life? It’s so fucking boring. With you it’s…”

“Different?”

“Yes, different. I can’t really… will you?” You nod then, shyly, earning his big grin. “Also, I want you to take a day off.”

“What? Off here?”

“No, your normal job. Here, for next time.” He hands you hundreds, and you shake your head, but he takes it and slips it right in your bra, backs of his fingers brushing against your breasts, eliciting a whimper. “Shit…”

“You can’t give me all this. And… taking a day off, I-”

“Fine then leave early or some shit. Just… you look like you could use a little break?”

“Don’t feel sorry for me for working a lot.” You frown a bit, and Satoru imagines just how little you’ll ever have to do, when you’re his.

“I admire it, shit. Swear I don’t feel bad for you. Just know, that’s pennies to me, okay? And I enjoyed your… I enjoyed you there.”

You smile a bit, as the cash presses against your skin, and you step closer. “Can I hug you?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Huh?”

You both giggle, and you’re looking down shyly. “Just a kiss?” Satoru presses you against the counter, his hard body hot against yours.

“Pick which lips you want kissed.” His voice is husky, as he presses a thigh between yours, and you can’t stop the soft cry that elicits from your mouth.

“Satoru…”

“I’m serious. I can put a kissy on each lips, baby girl.” He’s tilting your chin up, and you lick your lower lip nervously, as swirling blue eyes drink you in.

“Why me? You can have… anyone.”

“You’re not just anyone. But also… have you seen you?”

“Yes, silly. I look tired.”

“Psh, pick it, where you want your thank you kiss.” You brush against his thigh, and he leans down, hungrily kissing you, and then it’s over for Satoru.

When your lips, so plush and pliant under his part just a bit, your cute little gasp, his tongue slips in past the seam, and you’re whining out softly, hands clinging to his dress shirt, earning him pressing that thigh harder. You’re grinding on it, fucking shameless as your tongues meet, at first tentative on your end, but Satoru consumes your damn mouth, your everything.

He’s moaning, damn near whimpering, a hand entangling in your hair, pulling just a bit as you roll your hips. “Shit, gonna grind on my leg like that? Even wetter than that whole meeting, huh?”

“Shh, w-wasn’t…” He smiles against your lips, kissing you deeper and deeper, as you grind, damn near about to cum from the friction.

“I can take care of-”

“Ahem.” Toji and Sukuna walk in then, and Satoru exhales, resting his forehead for a moment, against yours, as your breaths mingle, thoughts wild.

Satoru Gojo is dangerous, right?

He runs the Gojo Mafia, right?

Then why is he so sweet, so caring, so… fuck, he’s thoughtful. And every bit of his danger makes you crave him even more, like a moth drawn to his bright light, the beauty of him was just a small part of it. You ached to be consumed by him, fucked until you have no more thoughts.

Not all the damn money you owe Mei Mei.

Not the responsibilities thrown all over you from your mom.

You want to be thrown in every position for this man, submit yourself to anything he wants, and the thoughts are making your brain hurt. You take a shaky breath as he pulls back finally, easing a thigh back when you see it, a slight darkening, of where you’d soaked him with your cunt. Panicking, he just turns a bit, brushing it with his thumb, putting it to his lips.

“Shit, ya’ll need a room?” Sukuna asks, as Satoru’s eyes flutter shut, and his cheeks hollow as he sucks you off him.

“We got VIP rooms, ya know. Should charge Gojo for em.” Toji teases, but Satoru is gripping your face again, making you feel like the only damn thing in the world.

“I’ll be here Thursday, take that next day off, yeah?” You nod shyly, as he then whips out his phone, handing it to you. “In case you need anything.”

“Oh… thank you.” You scan the little code, entering his number in your phone with a shaky hand, and he smiles, eyes lingering.

“Night, sweets.”

“Night, Satoru.” You murmur, as he walks out then, you damn near collapse on this counter, head leaned back, finally alone for a moment.

Satoru Gojo, who is he.

Is he the guy that runs with people like Mei, or is he different? He feels different, he seems different…

Later that night you can’t get him out of your damn mind, tossing and turning, you only have a couple hours to sleep, ever, and you can’t be spending this just thinking of Satoru all damn night. You finally bite your lower lip, shooting him a little text, hoping it wouldn’t wake him up.

You: Good night, Mr. Gojo.

Satoru: You know it’s Satoru, hmm? Can’t sleep?

You: A lot on my mind… but thank you for today, you didn’t have to.

Satoru: That’s nothing to thank me over. But, you’re welcome, have sweet dreams… of me.

You giggle then, shaking your head, and biting your thumb just a bit.

You: Only if you dream of me.

Satoru: You think I haven’t already?

You cover your face, damn near squealing, fuck he makes you feel like some little high school girl, giggling as she hears her crush on the phone. Your hands are shaking just a bit as you contemplate what to say. You are terrified to bring anyone into the shitshow that’s your life, your mom coming in and out, taking money and disappearing, your brother coming too, begging for money.

You have a mess of a life, with a cruel woman after you, threatening you constantly, and you’re scared to open up, to be happy, even for a moment. But when he texts you next, you can’t stop your heart from racing.

Satoru: You know, masturbation relaxes me, knocks me right out.

You: Oh does it now?

Satoru: Try it and let me know next time you see me.

As Satoru speaks, he’s picturing you, and he can’t stop himself from stroking his cock slowly, up and down, as he’s riding in the back of his limo, finally all alone, fuck just your three dots typing and the memory of your taste are more than enough. His head falls back as he does, stroking his cock up and down, twisting and whimpering just so, when you finally type back.

You: Hmm… it is a little relaxing.

Satoru almost loses his shit, picturing how pretty your pussy must look.

Satoru: Giving it a shot? Listening, like a good girl?

Good girl, shit. You’re whining as you run circles over your clit, and you can’t type anymore, and Satoru notices, calling you now, shocking you. “S-Satoru?”

“Lemme give you pointers.” He says huskily, and you hear him, grunting just so, making you cry out.

“What? Are you…”

“So you get good sleep, you know- f-fuck. Rub little circles on that clit, hmm sweetheart?”

“Fuck…”

“You cuss?” He asks with a breathless laugh, hearing your whine on the phone, as your fingers get slippery. “If I wasn’t going out of town I’d come right over, make sure you’re doing it right.”

“Oh, would you? What if… I w-wasn’t, ngh!” Shit, Satoru’s about to bust just hearing your breathy cry.

“I’d have to show you how, baby girl. For your sleep, you know. Maybe use my fingers, bet yours don’t hit hmm? So tiny.”

“Mnh… Y-you would?”

“Let you use my thigh.”

“Satoru!”

“My face?”

“Fuck!” You’re screaming out as your little clit twitches, just edging him to moan, pumping cum all down his hand, he groans at it, at the flooding of sensations, his head falling forward, seeing the endless white cum spurting out his pretty pink tip. “S-sorry, I don’t usually cuss I s-swear… or d-do this…”

“Shh, sweetheart, you deserve some relaxation, hmm?” His murmur makes you ache for him, as you wonder…

What is this?

He just makes you let go.

You exhale now, struggling to right yourself, adjusting your shorts, sticky just a bit, as Satoru’s wiping himself um, moaning softly. “I’ve never done this.”

“You’re so cute. So fun to corrupt.”

“Oh!”

He’s laughing softly, zipping himself back up, as he aches for you, more and more. “I’ll see you soon, maybe I’ll show you some pointers.”

“You’re so sure of yourself hmm?”

“I’m Satoru Gojo, baby girl.” But he’s not sure of himself, he’s not sure he’d last long inside your cunt, god he imagines it’s perfect, he can’t get it out of his head, those moans, those whines, that liquid heat on his thigh.

“Satoru, wherever you’re going, be safe.” Your thoughtfulness touches him then, sure he has some friends, but no one says - stay safe. He’s momentarily stunned, hearing your yawn then, smiling at it.

“Of course I will be. See, masturbation, the cure.”

You giggle, shaking your head as you yawn once more, feeling your eyelids get heavy. “What’s this… mean?”

“That you want me so bad-”

“Satoru!”

“It means you’ll sleep good.” You both laugh softly, and you sigh then.

“Good night, Satoru.”

“Good night, sweets.” He waits for you to end the call, covering his face now, as his cock throbs with aftershocks, and he knows good and damn well it’s not the last time he’d jerk off to you tonight. No, it’s definitely not, he’s in the shower later at the hotel he’s staying at for the night, wishing he could just say fuck all this, and fuck his pretty bartender.

As he lays in the fancy hotel bed, he’s stroking it again, picturing how you’d ride him, how you’d bounce on his cock. The next morning even, he’s stroking it again, until his cock fucking hurts, remembering those moans, those whimpers, those sweet little cries.

Satoru must have you.

A/N - hehe I know it's SO LATE- I'll reblog in the morning <3 I hope you all enjoy- I'm thinking 6 parts or so on this onneee, there is gonna be a lot of drama and a lot of Toru being whipped- this is kinda the intro chap. See you in the comments my lovesss

Taglist#1- @thejujvtsupost @moonchu @thikcems @yenayaps @luvmichu @antisocialinlw @sukunadckrider @gojoslefttoenail @genticcs @sukuxna0 @saitamaswifey @monster-effer @gradmacoco @bounie1 @bestelizabeth1 @alygator77 @arabellasolstice @naina326 @1satoruu @silvarys @feliaeae @jkslaugh97 @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @simp-plague @ladyneisa @distractionforyourthoughts @erintaro @ninikrumbs @yesdere @stargirl-mayaa @wstaley2 @just-lilita @lady-of-blossoms @genshingeeksworld @yaoishipper19 @angryflowerwitch @strawberrysluttt @emochosoluvr @bluebrry05 @trishiepo0 @gina239 @bunheadusa @simperisksksk @jud3thedude @breadsbasket @shhhhhhxoxo125 @starpachinko @grayluvsalex

#gojo x reader #jjk smut #gojo smut #jjk x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x you #mobster gojo #divider by cafekitsune #jujustu kaisen #satoru gojo x female reader #gojo x female reader #satoru gojo x you #yandere jjk #lowkey yandere gojo #gojo x reader smut

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gutsby · 10 days ago

Note

no offense but I feel like youre writing the same thing constantly always smut and nothing interesting can you write a different more thought provoking story

Sure thing! I wrote this one just for you, bud. I hope that it’s sufficiently thought-provoking and suited to your superior tastes. Remember, I mean no offense at all!

The Stupid Fucking Anon Chronicles

Pairing: Joel Miller x Stupid Fucking Anon

Summary: You decide to be a gigantic asshole.

Warnings: 18+. NO SMUT. SOMETHING INTERESTING! A tale so wildly thought-provoking and erudite that even its most vocal detractors must admit…it’s real different.

You were sick of seeing sex.

All the fanfiction you’d read of late? Perfunctory. Uninspired. Never mind the fact that these stories were being shared with you completely free of charge, at the writers’ own leisure, on a platform that didn’t pay in any way, shape, or form. Did I mention this shit cost $0.00?

Anyway, you’d decided to take it upon yourself that day to be a gigantic fucking asshole to one lowly writer in particular, so you pulled out your laptop and got to work.

Joel strolled into the room, sipping his beer.

“What’cha doin’, sweetheart?” he asked.

He leaned in to greet you with a kiss on the cheek, but you just swatted his touch away, too focused on the task at hand—How to be a Gigantic Fucking Asshole 101.

“Go away. I’m being insufferable online,” you snapped.

“Well, damn,” Joel said, scratching the back of his neck. “That sucks. What’s pissing you off so much, anyway?”

“This writer writes smut. Just…smut! So monotonous.”

“What, you don’t like to see us fuck?” Joel smirked.

“Well, I do, but…” you began to say, only to trail off into a blank, inane stare. You shook your head as if to clear it of the stupidity, but it was a fruitless endeavor. You were dumb as shit. “I just think their writing’s boring! There’s nothing thought-provoking to it! Just sex, sex, sex, sex!”

“Have you ever considered getting a job?” Joel asked.

“No, I enjoy being a spineless sack of shit who airs my grievances through anonymous mediums too much!”

“Oh, that makes sense,” he said. “What else?”

“And…and it’s not fair to me to read boring stuff!”

“Have you tried scrolling past their stories, maybe?”

“No. Again, I’m too fucking stupid to give that one a try. I’d much rather speak my piece to the writers online!”

Joel nodded in understanding. He heaved a sigh.

“Well, in that case…” he started, sitting down to place a hand on your shoulder and give you a firm, fuck-you look. “Maybe you should save the energy it took to type out a message to this writer, take your head out of your ass, and remember that these people owe you nothing. It makes you look like a gigantic fucking asshole when you send messages like these, denigrating the work they’ve decided to share online for free. I can assure you, the sentiment you’ve expressed in these lines will serve only to alienate the person whose writing you’re targeting. It’ll piss them off and discourage them from ever wanting to share a story online again. So before you get to typing out another one of these stupid fucking messages again, ask yourself: Am I being a Gigantic Fucking Asshole?”

You decided to shut the fuck up, for once.

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fcthots · 9 months ago

Text

Rules i think you and Jason would have in your relationship:

- there is no jokes about “if I do this for you, you can just sleep with me to pay me back lol.” He does not find it funny at all and will low key lecture you on how sex is never something you owe him.

- you have a safe word for both sex and every day life. It can just mean you’re serious about something or it means for the other person to stop what they’re doing. Either way, if you feel uncomfortable, use it.

- jokes can only go on for a day max. By jokes I mean like if you told him “yeah that singular cabinet has always been painted pink.” After various vigilante incidents, it’s important that he knows what’s real. And if the other person safewords, you HAVE to come clean.

- you can go to bed angry all you want but you will be sleeping in the same bed. At the very very least, in the same room. This came about after you didn’t sleep in bed after a tough fight. Jason woke up alone in a cold sweat after a nightmare where you died. He couldn’t tell what was real and you walked in on him having a panic attack.

- you have a panic code. For instance if he says “mask?” you have to reply “copy” (I have venom on the brain) to confirm you’re ok and vice versa. You cannot intentionally ignore the code. If the person doesn’t respond in a certain time frame, Jason will show up to your location or you will call another bat to go to his.

- you have to at least cc each other on all decisions made in your living space. You wanna change the couch? All good, but let Jason know (he has weapons stashed everywhere).

- if one of you is in a bad mood, you have a code word to relay it to the other person. It doesn’t have to be the other person you’re mad at, but it just lets you say “hey emotions are running high and I want to punch a wall. I’m not going to take a joke well right now.”

- no making fun of the other person crying. There are extenuating circumstances for when you both cry over stupid movies and such, but as a general principle you can only tease about tears in the context of sex.

- speaking of sex, if one of you degrades the other, you have to tell them you didn’t mean it and do aftercare. You cannot just leave or fall asleep. Aftercare is a must.

#saph’s thots #jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #red hood imagine #red hood x you #jason todd scenarios #smut #angst #miscellaneous

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blackkatdraws2 · 3 months ago

Text

[Toon x Mobster] Chapter 3: A Toon's Aid

Previously // Next - (chapter list) / (AO3 ver)

[contains: BLOOD / INJURY]

The small bathroom was quiet except for the occasional droplets of water from the leaky faucet. The Grim man sat on the closed toilet lid, tense, yet worn down from his nasty injuries.

Jack sat on a stool in front with a needle and thread in hand, his face taut with stress and concentration as beads of sweat slid down his forehead, trying his best to sew the wound as cleanly as he could.

He interrogates the Toon with a list of short, yet straightforward questions. They've been at it for a while now, the scarred man's cold eyes staying locked on Jack for any suspicious movements as he spoke.

“Who are you?”

"Jack Desmond, sir." He winces as the needle pierces through the edge of the wound. "I'm an office worker at-"

"Where am I?"

"C-Cel City. It's one of the- ow." Jack tugs on the strings and closes a part of the wound, cringing in sympathy at how painful it looked. "Sorry…" He habitually apologizes, feeling bad for any discomfort he might've caused the other, before continuing his sentence. "It's one of the biggest cities here, only second to Doodleheart Center."

As Jack continues to trail off giving the man some background information, the Grim man's stare slowly starts to gravitate towards the Toon’s hands. His eyes followed the way they would pause mid-air, trying to steady them from shaking, before going back to sewing carefully.

His brows furrow at this. It was unclear whether it was out of displeasure or something else, his expression as unreadable as ever, even during this painful procedure.

"What do you hope to gain from this?"

Jack blinked, looking up at the man's eyes with a startled look on his face. Then he furrows his brows, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Nothing..?" He answers, sounding just as questioning about his own decision as the other was. Then he sighs, pausing his task to think of a proper answer.

"To be honest, I… didn't want to bring you here at first." He angled his gaze downwards, feeling heavy with guilt at admitting to his true feelings and scared of how the other man might react. "I mean, you were scary and obviously not from around here," he fidgets with the needle in his fingers as he recounts his terrifying first encounter with the man, "so I meant to just call the authorities on you or something' n' leave…"

"But." Jack lifts his head up to look back at the other. Mixed within the nervousness in his eyes was genuine care. "You just looked like you needed help, so…"

The Grim man's gaze narrowed. Cold sweat continued to creep down the side of Jack's face as he swallowed his saliva, but he didn't look away, fearful that his true intentions may get deemed disingenuous by the other as he stared at him.

…

….

After a while, the Grim man heaves a deep sigh and looks away, seemingly done with his interrogation. Jack's tense frame relaxed the moment the man's eyes were off of him, inhaling in relief before quickly huffing the air back out in disgust as the smell of blood assaulted his nose. Right: the wound.

He went back into stitching, and the room was quiet after that.

Trying not to pay any mind to the silence, Jack's attention eventually began to zone in on the task at hand.

While working on the nasty wound, Jack internally thanked the stars for still being able to remember the important stuff that got taught to him years ago in school.

For a Genre with healing properties as ridiculous as theirs, all Toon citizens must have knowledge on basic medical care. Or at the very least, they must be able to aid wounded individuals in case of emergencies. It's mandatory to be taught in schools, some teaching them as early as Elementary.

Jack's memory on this is vague by this point since it's been such a long time ago. Apparently, a lot of the practices being tested and mastered back then were cultivated mostly to care for the people outside of their own Genre.

Aside from a few mixed-Genres here and there, Jack had grown up in a largely Toon-populated area with little to no contact to the other Genres outside his own. He briefly learned about non-Toon people being far more vulnerable to injuries than they were. Not having met one his entire life, he hadn’t quite grasped the severity of it all until he saw this man dying in that alleyway. It horrified him to see how much a person can be hurt to such an extreme degree.

He didn’t know what happened to the other man in order for him to end up in such a situation, and he didn’t have enough courage to ask him to be honest. But the thought that he may have gotten injured in a city of Toons of all places - and in an area near where he lived at that - made his heart brew with fear.

What happened?

There was an unending waterfall of concerned questions, and the uncertainty of it all made him feel a tad bit too afraid. He didn’t want to think about it. Not for now at least.

Honestly, if Jack had been any less reassured in his ability to at least be able to stop the heavy bleeding, he wouldn't have even thought of taking the wounded man into his apartment.

Jack did his best to finish it up as quickly as he could, though not hastily as his nerves might do more unneeded damage, imagining how much in pain the man was probably in right now.

Snip.

The thread gets cut off with a small scissor. And with that, they were done!

"Phew." Jack stretches, popping a few joints that had become tense from having to keep them steady in the air for so long. He gives the newly stitched wound a hard look, examining it.

…Still red and angry, but no more bleeding. He knows he's largely inexperienced, but he hopes this is good enough.

With that out of the way, he now had to deal with the man himself who had returned to staring at him again a while ago. The side of Jack's mouth curved up into a smile without his control, looking more like a grimace at being observed so intently by such a scary individual.

"So, uh…" His voice wobbled. He clears his throat and stands up, walking to the sink and turning on the faulty faucet to wash off the stain on his hands, struggling to appear more casual. "May I ask for your name, sir?" Jack tries to start a conversation to lessen the tension that's been building between them since the man woke up.

The other's expression doesn't shift. After a beat of silence that stretched on for a bit too long, he spoke.

“No.”

'Yep, I figured as much.' He thought to himself. "Right," Jack chuckles, drained of the usual humor he carried.

To be honest, he felt a bit tired after all of that. He'd been up all night caring for the Grim's wounds, he could really use a quick nap right now… Jack could only hope that this (probably a criminal) guy was at least nice enough to not murder him before he falls asleep.

Turning off the stream of water, he flicks the water off his hands and turns to leave. "Well,” he notes, “feel free to help yourself here. I'll go and get you something clean to wear." He then exits the bathroom, now done with the conversation he was attempting to have.

Pushing aside how he probably hadn't been following some medical rules and regulations taught to (and forgotten by) him years ago. With all the scars on that guy, he's assuming that it's probably fine to just leave him be for now, right? Surely a violence-prone-looking man like that would already know how to take care of himself when he's hurt, right? He sure hopes so. He doesn’t wanna come back to a dead body.

With that thought, Jack goes off to retrieve the clothes he had left for him by the nightstand.

"…"

Gavriel sat in silence in the bathroom, the soft hum of the distant city and the ambience of the Toon’s neighbors filtering through the walls. He was now left on his own, leaving him to reflect on the situation.

Shifting slightly, he grimaced as pain flared through his side and throughout the rest of his body. The stitches pulled, a stark reminder that he wasn’t in any shape to defend himself if something went wrong. Not that it mattered. If the Toon wanted him dead, he’d already had the chance to let him bleed out.

So why hadn’t he?

That thought didn’t bring comfort to him, only deepening his unease. The Toon’s actions were naively kind, something which he understood yet hesitated to accept.

So far, the other hadn’t given him any suspicious answers. Every question Gavriel had asked were met with genuine - albeit bumbling - honesty. The nervous man stuttered more often than not, but he hadn’t hesitated, nor had he tried to deflect or go off topic. The only weird thing happening right now was the fact that the Toon was helping him.

This behavior didn’t seem to come from a place of deception and ulterior motives. Or perhaps it did, and Gavriel just couldn’t see it yet.

In the bathroom, Gavriel could hear the other’s voice phasing through the thin apartment walls. Though his words were muffled, he sounded mournful with phrases like, "I spent money on that…" and "Tsk, tsk. What a waste." followed by a heavy sigh.

Gavriel pressed his lips into a thin line. Despite himself, the lament struck a chord. Money and food. Those were two of the main things a person must never waste in life.

Before he could fall deeper on this thought, Gavriel hears the gentle pitter patter of the Toon’s feet. He appears a moment after, quietly stepping into the bathroom with the clothes in hand. He glanced at Gavriel, who was still seated on the toilet, and carefully placed the clothes on the dry part of the sink’s edge, not having much space to put them anywhere else. His movements were quick but not rushed, clearly trying to avoid intruding too much on the other man’s space.

"Here," the Toon said softly. "The clothes I left for you. I can get you something else if these aren’t… comfortable,” he offers, looking at how much smaller the size of his own t-shirt was compared to Gavriel’s body.

He glances at Gavriel briefly before looking down at the floor, the tension in the room thick, but Jack manages a kind, almost awkward smile.

"I’ll… leave you to it then." Without waiting for a response, the Toon does a polite little head bow before turning on his heel and leaving the bathroom. He even made sure to gently close the door behind him, leaving Gavriel to change in peace.

Gavriel turned his attention to the clothes Jack had left neatly folded on the edge of the sink. Standing up, he walks over to inspect the clothes given to him. They looked cheap and would probably be a bit too tight for him to wear but it was better than staying cold and bare.

He glanced back toward the door, his brows furrowing. The Toon hadn’t lingered, hadn’t said anything besides the brief statement that the clothes were for him, nor were there any lectures, insistence, or attempts to force a conversation. Just a quiet exit. Probably to clean up the mess Gavriel had left in the other room, he guessed.

Gavriel shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to people like that Toon. People who gave generously without any strings attached or wanting something back, people who respected him, not like the wariness of his enemies or the reverence of his underlings, but simply out of basic human decency - albeit with reasonable fear. The Toon… Jack Desmond was painfully normal, perhaps a touch too kind for his own good.

His mind wandered to Desmond’s face earlier. The nervous and awkward glances, the apologetic grimaces when the needle went through his flesh, and the reluctance to meet his eyes, yet his determination to keep helping despite the tension. It had been… odd. Gavriel couldn’t pinpoint what irritated him more. Desmond’s clumsy kindness or the fact that it seemed genuine.

Gavriel sighed, his breath heavy with the weight of his thoughts. His fingers tightened around the clothes.

[This chapter has been edited.] _

Previously // Next - (chapter list)

Special thanks to @demonicrhythms for proofreading this chapter.

#toon x mobster #txm #jack desmond #gavriel huffman #oc #ocs #oc art #original character #original characters #original character art #my drawing museum

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seumyo · 11 months ago

Text

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 10:32

You tell Bakugou once that you don’t know how to take the train home, and he almost blasted your ears off with semi-yelling (or full-on yelling at some point) insults.

“Hah?” He scoffs, eyes narrowing. This information is new to him, and a surprising one at that.

You? The nerd that always bested him when it came to academics, which pissed him off the first few months in U.A.? The person who was not only book smart but was street and people smart as well?

The whole goddamn package doesn’t know how to take the train?

Really?

He’s calling bull.

“What do you mean you don’t know how to take the train home? What kind of idiot doesn’t know that?”

“I just—“ you’re abashed and really don’t know what to say, “I didn’t really— I’ve never had the chance to take one until now!” For a consistent honors student, you can’t really have everything, can you?

“How’ve you been getting to school and back, then?”

“We had a driver—“

“Fuckin’ course—“

“But hey! Listen—in my defense—my schools were usually a walking distance from our house.”

“And now what? Gonna stand here and wait for a miracle to happen?”

You nudge his side with a frustrated frown (more like a pout, Bakugou thinks.) “Quit it, asshole.”

He backtracks briefly, though you could barely tell at this point. And it’s clear enough that he takes your words into consideration. It could be the fact that you actually look scared shitless right now, something foreign to your typical lax and carefree persona.

“C’mon.” Bakugou grabs you by the arm.

“Ow— hey! Where are we going?”

“You have to learn somehow, or else you’ll look fuckin’ clueless and dumb, nerd.”

You don’t argue because you really just wanted to get home, and while you could just call in your driver, you considered that this was important information that would help you in the long run. Besides, you do agree with Bakugou that not knowing how to commute like this is embarrassing, especially at your age.

“What’s this?”

Bakugou hands you a card. It’s decorated with a minimalist logo of Musutafu’s native flower, whose color is your favorite.

“An IC card,” he simply answers.

It’s cute, you thought. You noticed how the other commuters had the standard design, so Bakugou must've gotten it personalized to your preference. How thoughtful.

“You could’ve just helped me get a ticket, though,” you murmur. You fiddle with the card in your hand, glancing at him with a puzzled expression. “I don’t think I’ll be using this card that often. It’ll be a waste.”

“Then try and use it as often as you can, nerd.”

“I’ll pay you back for this—how much was it?”

“Forget it.”

“Really, Bak—“

“Forget it,” he barks. “Keep up, you shitty extra. Or else you’d miss the last train to your station.” Bakugou starts walking, and you follow suit.

You can load your IC card at the ticket machines or the nearest ATMs. Different stations call for different ticket gates that obviously have different fares. The expiration of cards usually depends on what provider you got them from—

“What do I do now?”

You’re hesitantly in front of the ticket gate, with Bakugou on the other side. You’re like a kid who’s lost their mother in the mall.

“Just—“ Bakugou had to take a deep breath and not make a scene in the train station. He pinched the bridge of his nose, calling for all his ancestors to give him the strength to remain patient.

“Place your shitty card on the card reader. That’s it.”

You do as you’re taught, and you awed when the gates opened and let yourself walk through with a stupidly big smile on your face. “I did it!”

Bakugou thinks it’s fucking stupid of him to think that your enthusiasm for mundane things was cute. But fuck, something must be wrong with him because suddenly he feels a flurry of butterflies lodged in his throat, his heart beating ridiculously fast.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He gives you directions, how to navigate through Musutafu without getting lost, and the basic stations you’ll be passing by to get to your station. He sees you type most of the things he says on your phone, and the way you were so eager to learn was a sight to see, really.

Boarding the metro, people were just as eager to get home as you two. So you two stood, not that there was much room to do anything about it.

“Hold onto the handle unless you want to fall on your ass,” Bakugou says. His tone is hushed to not disturb the other passengers. At least he followed basic commuting etiquette.

“It’s so beautiful,” you breathe out. The passing buildings were as huge as those of U.A.’s, if not bigger. With the golden hue of the apparent descent of the sun below the horizon, Musutafu just became more beautiful in your eyes.

He scoffs.

“What’s so interestin’ about a buncha tacky buildings? Never seen one before you came here?”

“Of course I have; they’re just not like this.”

Bakugou follows your line of sight, and he thinks about it carefully. He couldn’t see what you saw, but maybe it’s because he grew up looking at this scenery. It doesn’t amaze him as much as it did when he was younger, he concludes. To you, this was a first.

An experience that could become a core memory in this city. And he’s with you as you live through it. The thought causes a familiar feeling of pride to exude from his chest.

Maybe he’ll learn to appreciate more mundane things with you too in the future.

The train stops at another station, and the people scurry out. Once in motion, you were surprised by the speed when it took off, and the motion had you stumbling back. You stumble against Bakugou.

“What did I say about keeping a firm hold on the handles, you shitty extra? That’s what those are for.” Whether it’s by instinct or unintentional, Bakugou guides your hand to hold onto the support pole. He doesn’t let go, and you didn’t make a comment about it.

“Sorry! Still getting used to it,” you quietly laugh. “I hope the people here don’t think I’m really that inexperienced when it comes to taking the metro home,” you told him. “It’s embarrassing to think that I haven’t taken one until now.”

Bakugou thinks it’s alright because you were actually on set to learn. No matter what those other extras say or comment, no matter if they give you unimpressed glances, he’s there to grant them one of his own spine-chilling glares if they had the balls to do so.

A passenger who appeared to be around your age stood up from his seat. “Excuse me, you can take my seat. I get off at the next stop,” he says. You’re a bit hesitant to take the offer, but he reassures you that it’s fine. It’ll be an awkward death for you if you don’t accept it, because now he’s standing. “Please, I insist.”

Unknown to you, Bakugou had an obvious scowl on his face until the stranger left.

“You look like you’re about to shit yourself.”

“Shut up, I’m not.”

“Jealous?”

“Hah? Why would I be—”

“Shh!” you kicked his shoe with yours.

“Quiet, remember?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, still frowning. You hold his free hand, cheekily smiling when he tries to free it from your hold. And in the end, he lets you do whatever the fuck it is that you want, but he would never ever admit that he was jealous of some nameless extra. He’s too far into liking you to help you board a train, get you a personalized IC card, miss his stop two stations ago because yours was still three stations after his, but he doesn’t think he’d be vocal about it anytime soon.

He’ll leave it to you to confess.

Then again, you already knew.

Bakugou Katsuki would not go above and beyond like this for anyone else, but he unknowingly does for you.

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megumismyhusband · 2 months ago

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Heyo! Just saw your recent post and could u kindly do sassy blue lock men and a sassier s/o 🥺 imagine them just bantering 24/7

heloo!! i love this request oh em gee😖 also if u want more don’t be afraid to ask!!!

Isagi

You sat across from Isagi at a café, both sipping your drinks. He looked up, eyebrows raised, as you scrolled through your phone.

“You’re not even paying attention to me,” he said, mock-offended.

“Maybe because you’re not interesting,” you replied without missing a beat.

“Excuse me? I’m literally the most interesting person you know.”

“You think ‘Yoichi Isagi, professional soccer player’ is a personality?” you shot back, smirking.

He gawked at you, then leaned back in his chair with a dramatic sigh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet here you are, sitting with me instead of practicing.”

“Okay, you win this one,” he muttered, hiding his grin behind his coffee cup.

“Like I ever lose,” you teased, sticking out your tongue.

Rin

“You know, for someone who says they hate distractions, you sure let me ruin your focus all the time,” you said, leaning casually against the wall of Rin’s training room.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Rin replied, not even looking up as he wiped sweat off his brow. “You’re more like… background noise.”

“Wow, it must be exhausting being this delusional,” you said with a mock-pitying tone.

He finally looked at you, eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who barged in here just to talk. What does that say about you?”

“That you secretly enjoy my company but are too emotionally stunted to admit it,” you replied with a grin.

Rin stared at you for a moment, then clicked his tongue. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re so predictable,” you shot back. “Now hurry up. I’m bored, and you owe me dinner.”

Nagi

You were trying to tidy up the living room when you tripped over something—Nagi’s ridiculously long limbs, sprawled across the floor as he napped.

“Seishiro!” you shouted, poking him with your foot.

“Hm? What?” he mumbled, barely opening his eyes.

“You’re literally in the middle of the room! Why are you like this?”

“It’s comfy,” he said, turning onto his side. “Why are you yelling so much? You’re so noisy.”

“You’re so lazy!” you retorted, picking up a pillow and tossing it at him.

He caught it effortlessly, smirking. “Lazy, but still better at everything than you.”

“Oh, really? Try being better at cleaning.”

“Pass.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, plopping down beside him.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he teased, reaching over to tug you closer.

Chigiri

Chigiri sat in front of the mirror, meticulously braiding his hair while you watched from the bed.

“You spend more time in front of that mirror than I do in a day,” you quipped, lying back with your hands behind your head.

“And it shows,” he fired back without missing a beat.

You gasped, sitting up. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Your hair’s always a mess. Just saying,” he said with a smirk, glancing at you in the mirror.

“At least I don’t cry if the wind ruins my ponytail,” you shot back, grinning.

“That happened once,” he snapped, turning to face you.

“And I’ll never let you live it down,” you said, sticking out your tongue.

“Fine. But don’t ask me to braid your hair ever again,” he huffed, turning back to the mirror.

“Please, you’ll do it anyway. You can’t resist my charm.”

“Debatable,” he muttered, though his smirk betrayed him.

Kunigami

You stood in the kitchen, staring down Kunigami as he tried to help you cook. He was currently holding a knife completely wrong.

“That’s not how you chop an onion,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“Does it matter? It’s getting chopped,” he replied, slicing unevenly.

“Yes, it matters! Are you trying to lose a finger?”

He stopped, looking at you. “Relax. I’ve been through worse on the field.”

“And yet, here you are, losing to an onion,” you teased.

Kunigami groaned but handed you the knife. “Fine. Show me how it’s done, Master Chef.”

You grabbed the knife and quickly chopped the onion into perfect pieces. “See? It’s not that hard.”

He watched, arms crossed, before muttering, “Show-off.”

“Admit it. You’d starve without me.”

“Maybe,” he said with a sly grin. “But I could live off takeout just to prove you wrong.”

Bachira

“Bet you can’t score on me,” Bachira said, holding a soccer ball and grinning mischievously.

“Bet I can,” you shot back, hands on your hips.

“You? Miss ‘I trip over air’? Okay, try.”

You glared at him but took the ball, dribbling it toward the makeshift goal. He blocked every attempt, laughing like a maniac the whole time.

“You’re so bad at this!” he teased, dancing away with the ball.

“At least I don’t look like a hyperactive squirrel on the field,” you snapped, smirking.

“Sassy! I like it,” he said, tossing the ball aside and pulling you into a hug. “But you still lost.”

“Only because you cheat,” you grumbled, burying your face in his chest.

“And you still love me!” he said, spinning you around.

“Unfortunately,” you muttered, but your smile gave you away.

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moonstruckme · 7 months ago

Note

Hii i have a request for doctor!remus or maybe emt!marauders (whichever you think goes best) with clumsy reader who is constantly covered in mystery bruises and maybe she bumps her head a lot in a just a few days between them and they find out bc they feel or see the bump or they see her bump her head and maybe gives herself a concussion ?? This is kinda what happened to me a few days ago when i smacked my head really hard and then yesterday at an appartement sighting right infront of the previous tenants and the real estate agent 😩 and i remember walking home and seeing like these white spots you see after hitting your head, you know?? And thinking oh if the boys where here they would be scolding me soo hard but also the coddling i just wanted to be wrapped up by them 😭

Oh god sorry for the long unnecessary and embarrassing backstory 😅

And ofcourse you only have to write this if you want to !! Hope you have a great day 💗🫶🏻

Thanks for the request lovely, hope your head is okay!!

cw: concussion

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 658 words

Sirius watches you, nearly falling asleep against Remus’ side at one in the afternoon. You’ve been in a funny mood all day, only wanting to lie around with the curtains drawn and watch films you hardly seem to be paying attention to. It’s not very much like you, but your boyfriends are more than happy to go along with it. Remus has been half drifting off too, while James keeps going back and forth between the kitchen to make more snacks and Sirius sits with your legs across his lap.

“Is your head still hurting you, lovie?” James asks as he sits down again, probably only for another ten minutes.

You hum discontentedly.

Remus responds by holding you to him as he leans forward, taking your water bottle from the coffee table. “Drink some more,” he tells you, voice rough with drowsiness.

Sirius watches vigilantly as you take a few slow sips. You look tired and put out, but your expression eases into something closer to contentment when Remus pets your hair approvingly. Sirius sees the moment your boyfriend’s brow furrows. His frown as he looks down at your head, moving his hand over the same spot again.

“Dove, what happened here?”

“Hm?” You look up at him, but then Remus must press down slightly because your expression pinches. “Ow.”

“What is it?” Sirius scoots closer. James leans forward in his chair, too.

“There’s a bump on the side of her head,” Remus says worriedly. He’s trying to part your hair to see better. “Can you lean forward for me, love?”

Sirius sets a hand on your shoulder, encouraging you to bend over and murmuring a thanks when you do. While Remus tries to turn on his phone flashlight, he brushes his fingers gently over your head. You inhale, and his heart flinches.

“Sorry.” He kisses your hair consolingly. “Do you remember bumping it?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, as though the mere memory exhausts you. “I knocked it on a cabinet yesterday at work.”

“You knocked it hard?” James stands up, peering over Remus’ shoulder as he inspects your head.

“It felt hard at the time, yeah.”

“Angel, why didn’t you say anything? You ought to have called us after a bump like that.”

You shrug. Sirius can see you looking sheepishly into your lap. “It was embarrassing, and it didn’t seem very bad. It’s fine now, just a bit sore.”

“But you have a headache,” Remus says dubiously, “and you’ve been tired ever since.”

You hesitate. “Yeah, but…”

“Can you look up here for me?” Sirius touches under your chin, prompting you to sit back up. He holds up his flashlight, making sure you see it before clicking it on.

Though it shouldn’t be a surprise, you flinch hard, your face scrunching with the force of your squint. Sirius clicks the light off.

He kisses the space between your brows. “I think you’ve given yourself a mild concussion, sunshine.”

“Really?” you ask, bemused, at the same time as James makes a horribly dejected sound and leans over for a hug.

“Our poor sweetheart,” he laments, bent over awkwardly with his arms around you. “No wonder you’ve been feeling so odd today, hm? We really shouldn’t be letting you watch TV while your brain’s trying to recover.”

“No, we shouldn’t,” Remus agrees, reaching for the remote and switching it off. “How do you feel about a nap, dovey? You’ve seemed sleepy.”

“That’s a good idea.” Sirius mushes another kiss into your temple. “It might help a bit with your headache, and I know Remus would nap with you.”

You hesitate. James tightens his hold and Remus strokes the hair near your injury, each of your boyfriends desperate to dote on you in their own ways. “Sure,” you say. “That could be nice.”

“There you go, lovie,” James says approvingly. “If you hadn’t wanted to cuddle with our Rem, then we would’ve had to really worry about your head.”

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pucksandpower · 10 months ago

Text

Going Once, Going Twice

Charles Leclerc x Red Bull engineer!Reader

Summary: getting roped into participating in a charity date auction changes your life forever

The lights in the grand ballroom dim as a spotlight illuminates the stage. The Master of Ceremonies, wearing an impeccably tailored tuxedo, steps up to the microphone.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” His voice booms through the speakers. “Welcome to the 12th Annual Amber Lounge F1 Charity Date Auction!”

The crowd erupts into raucous applause. You clap politely from your seat near the back of the room, shrouded in shadows.

“As always, we have an exciting lineup of eligible bachelors and bachelorettes from the Formula 1 paddock, ready to be auctioned off for a romantic date in support of disadvantaged children everywhere.”

More applause.

“But before we bring out our first participant, allow me to go over some ground rules.” The MC adopts a mock-stern tone. “Winners of each date are required to adhere to Amber Lounge’s code of conduct. That means hands to yourself at all times-” A few hoots and hollers from the audience. The MC wags his finger. “Ah ah ah, none of that now! This is for charity, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s keep it classy.”

You stifle a yawn. You’ve attended this auction for the past five years as a guest of Red Bull Racing, where you work as a race engineer. And every year it’s the same — watch your drunk colleagues get leered at by moneyed Formula 1 fans willing to pay exorbitant sums for bragging rights.

No thank you. You always politely decline the organizers’ requests for you to participate.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” The MC gestures to the wings of the stage. “Our first eligible bachelor of the evening is ...”

As he announces the first victim, an Amber Lounge organizer you recognize comes rushing over to you.

“Y/N! Thank god I found you. We have an emergency.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, Lucy?”

“One of our bachelorettes had to cancel last minute. Food poisoning.” She makes a face. “We need you to fill in.”

Your eyes widen. “What? No. Absolutely not.” You shake your head vehemently.

“Please Y/N,” Lucy begs. “We need you. The show must go on, for the children!”

“Get someone else,” you hiss. “I refuse to be leered at by old men with more money than sense.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” She gives you a stern look. “It’s unbecoming for someone your age.”

You bristle at the condescension. “I don’t care. Find another victim.”

You move to leave but Lucy grabs your arm, her eyes pleading. “Y/N, the money raised tonight will help provide life-saving surgeries for children in need. Don’t you want to help them?”

Damn. She’s good. You hesitate, cursing your bleeding heart.

Lucy presses on. “It’s just one silly little date. And you might meet someone nice!”

You highly doubt that. With a heavy sigh, you slump back into your chair.

“Fine. But you owe me. Big time.”

Lucy claps excitedly. “Thank you! I promise, you won’t regret this.”

Somehow you doubt that too.

You try unsuccessfully to calm the butterflies raging in your stomach as you wait for your turn on stage. What have you gotten yourself into?

Finally, the MC calls your name. “Our next eligible bachelorette works as a race engineer for Red Bull. But tonight, the only engine she’ll be working on is yours! Let’s give a warm welcome to Y/N Y/L/N!”

Plastering a fake smile on your face, you walk stiffly onto the stage. The lights blind you as the MC sings your praises, highlighting your “beauty, brains, and sass.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

As he finally wraps up, you scan the darkened audience nervously. A sea of unfamiliar faces look back at you, shadows obscuring their expressions. You shudder.

“Alright gentlemen, do I hear 5,000 euros to start?”

Immediately, a paunchy, ruddy-faced man in the third row thrusts up his paddle. Your stomach sinks.

"5,000 from the gentleman in row three! Do I hear 5,500?”

Another paddle shoots up from a bald man smirking lecherously at you. Your throat tightens.

"5,500! Can I get 6,000?”

The bids climb higher and you feel faint. These vultures want to buy you. Own you for a night. Your breaths come faster.

10,000 euros. 15,000. 20,000. Sweat drips down your neck as your heart hammers against your ribs.

Just as you’re about to flee the stage in tears, a smooth voice calls out, “One hundred thousand euros.”

A collective gasp sweeps the room. Your mouth falls open in shock. That’s an absurd amount, even for charity.

The MC gulps. “Erm … 100,000 euros from the gentleman in the back!” He peers into the darkness. “Sir, are you certain?”

“Oui.”

That accent … could it be?

You crane your neck, squinting against the glare of the spotlight. A familiar mop of brown hair emerges from the shadows.

Charles. Freaking. Leclerc.

Your cheeks burn crimson. What game is he playing at?

The MC finds his voice again. “R-right then. Going once, going twice ...” He slams the gavel down. “Sold for 100,000 euros! Congratulations, Monsieur Leclerc.”

Charles saunters casually up to the stage, signature smirk in place. He takes your hand and presses a feather-light kiss to your knuckles.

“Bonsoir, ma cherie. I look forward to our date.” He winks roguishly.

You stare open-mouthed, brain short-circuiting. Charles Leclerc just bought you at a date auction.

Il Predestinato.

The golden boy of Scuderia Ferrari himself.

What. Just. Happened?

***

Backstage is chaos. Flashes pop as winners pose with their purchases, champagne flowing freely. You’re quickly shuttled into a cramped makeshift office and handed a stack of paperwork.

“These are your date waivers, dear,” the organizer says briskly. “Standard liability forms.”

You scan the dense legalese numbly. This can’t be real.

A figure plops into the seat beside you, sulking. It’s your friend Ava, Mercedes’ social media manager. She was auctioned right before you.

“Well, congratu-bloody-lations,” she gripes. “Aren’t you Little Miss Popular.”

You glance up distractedly from the waiver you’re signing. “Hmm?”

“Don’t play coy. Bagging the Prince of Monaco himself for your date!” She narrows her eyes. “Meanwhile, I’m stuck going for tea and crumpets with Lord Fartington the Third over here.”

She jerks her thumb at a white-haired man being attended to by a nurse, oxygen tank wheezing.

You wince sympathetically. “Oh Ava, I’m sorry...”

She waves a hand. “Don’t be. At least the old codger’s loaded. Clearly I don’t have your charm.”

You snort. “It’s not like I planned this.”

Ava arches a brow. “You expect me to believe you aren’t thrilled about a date with Leclerc?”

Your cheeks flame as you recall Charles’ roguish wink. “It’s for charity,” you mumble.

“Uh huh. Well, you’re welcome for the extra Instagram followers.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. You hadn’t even considered the social media storm this would stir up.

Before you can spiral further, you’re pulled aside for a “date planning session.”

Charles is already there, looking completely unflappable. He greets you with a heart-stopping grin.

“Bonsoir, Y/N.”

You timidly return his smile. “Hi.”

A coordinator claps briskly. “Right! Let’s get your date scheduled.”

She turns expectantly to Charles. Your stomach flutters.

“I will pick Y/N up tomorrow at 7 pm sharp for dinner at my favorite restaurant in Monaco.” His eyes glint. “Wear something nice, chérie.”

He takes your hand, brushing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. You shudder, face aflame.

“Until then, ma belle.” With a roguish wink, he turns and saunters off.

You stare after him, fingers pressed to the spot his lips touched. A date. With Charles Leclerc. Your brain short-circuits.

“Right, that’s settled then!” The coordinator chirps, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “We’ll have a car fetch you tomorrow evening. The press will want photos, of course.”

You distantly agree, mind still whirling. You survive the rest of the paperwork marathon in a daze.

By the time you escape the clutches of the organizers, you’re exhausted. Collapsing into an Uber, you text your roommate Cassie a SOS. Wine and girl talk, stat.

She’s waiting with open arms and your emergency rosé when you drag yourself in the door.

“Rough night, babe?” She asks sympathetically, handing you a generously filled glass.

You groan. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Her eyes widen as you recount the auction. By the end, she’s fanning herself dramatically.

“Shut up. Charles Leclerc really bid 100 thousand euros for you?”

You nod, chugging your wine.

“Holy shit.” She falls back against the couch. “You have a date with an F1 driver. Charles Leclerc. The Charles Leclerc.”

You chuck a throw pillow at her. “Don’t remind me.”

She sits up, affronted. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how many girls would kill to be in your shoes right now?”

You shrug half-heartedly. Honestly, you’re still processing.

Cassie narrows her eyes. “Wait. You do actually like Charles, right?”

“As a person, sure. He’s lovely.” You avoid her gaze. “But a date?”

She tilts her head. “So you’ve never thought about him … you know … in that way?”

You squirm under her scrutiny. “Maybe. Once or twice.” Or multiple times a day.

“I knew it!” She crows triumphantly.

You throw another pillow at her, cheeks flaming. “Okay, fine! He’s totally my type and yes, I’ve fantasized.” You bury your face in your hands. “But fantasizing and actually dating are totally different!”

Cassie rubs your shoulder consolingly. “So you’re freaking out because you actually like him.”

You nod miserably. “What if I make a fool of myself? What if there’s no connection in real life?” You look at her despairingly. “I don’t know if I can handle him rejecting me.”

She squeezes your hand. “Sweetie, from what you’ve told me about Charles, I doubt you have anything to worry about.”

You nibble your lip uncertainly. Cassie may have a point. But still.

“Even if he is interested, what happens after?” you whisper. “I’ll just be another conquest.”

Cassie tilts your chin up gently. “If Charles is foolish enough to let you go, then it’s his loss. But you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

You take a deep breath. She’s right. You can do this. It’s just one date.

You spend the rest of the night gossiping and polishing off the wine. Curled under the covers later, you toss and turn fretfully. What will tomorrow bring?

You replay the auction in your mind. Charles’ smooth voice calling out that astronomical bid. His signature smirk as he claimed you as his prize. The feather-light kiss pressed to your knuckles that still tingles hours later.

A date. With Charles Leclerc. Your pulse quickens once more.

What game is he playing at? There’s no shortage of women who would gladly go out with him. So why you?

You toss and turn, mind racing. Does he actually like you? Or was this all an impulsive stunt — a boast to tell his fellow drivers about later?

You groan into your pillow. This is why you never get involved with drivers. Underneath the glitz and glamour lies a tangled web of ego and politics.

Still … when Charles looked at you with those piercing eyes on stage, just for a moment, you let yourself believe he was seeing the real you. Not just another notch on his bedpost.

You huff, punching your pillow in frustration. You’re being ridiculous. This is Charles Leclerc. Motorsport’s resident heartthrob. You would be foolish to expect more from him than a fancy dinner and bragging rights.

Wouldn’t you?

Anxiety gnaws at your gut as the clock continues to tick. What if this is all some elaborate prank or publicity stunt? What if the date goes horribly wrong?

The silver lining is that at least you helped raise money for charity. Maybe the date itself won’t be so bad. Charles seemed pleasant enough backstage ...

Ugh. You force your eyes closed, begging for sleep to take you. What will tomorrow bring? With the morning light comes your date with Charles Leclerc … for better or worse.

***

The next evening, you’re a bundle of nerves as you frantically rush around getting ready. Cassie helped you pick out a stunning new dress and spent ages on your hair and makeup.

“You look hot, babe,” she proclaims. “Knock him dead!”

You pace anxiously, stomach fluttering. This morning you half expected Charles to cancel or send an assistant with excuses. But instead you got a text from him confirming your dinner reservation along with a winking emoji that made your cheeks flame.

It’s really happening. Your fantasy date with Charles Leclerc.

At precisely 7 pm, the doorbell rings. You nearly trip over yourself rushing to answer it. Swinging open the door, you find Charles waiting on the step, looking unfairly gorgeous in a tailored suit.

In his hands is a massive bouquet of peonies. Your favorite flower, though you’ve certainly never told him that. Your eyes widen.

Charles seems momentarily stunned as he takes in your dress and styled hair. He blinks several times before a slow, heart-stopping smile spreads across his face.

“Bonsoir, mon amour. You look absolutely ravishing.”

He presents the flowers with a flourish. “For you.”

You accept them, blushing fiercely. He even brought your favorite flowers? This has to be a dream.

“They’re beautiful, thank you. Let me just put them in water.” You rush to the kitchen, pulse racing. He called you his love. In French!

You take a steadying breath before rejoining Charles outside. He leads you toward a shiny black Ferrari parked at the curb.

“Sorry, I told the Amber Lounge to cancel the car they ordered for you. I wanted to drive myself so we could talk.” He holds open the passenger door for you.

You slide in, hyper-aware of his proximity in the intimate space. The car smells like his spicy cologne. You’re suddenly very thankful for Cassie’s strategic use of double-stick tape.

Charles pulls smoothly into traffic. His hand rests temptingly close to yours on the gearshift.

“You look very beautiful tonight,” he says, glancing your way. “I apologize for staring earlier. I was just … overwhelmed.”

You blush, tucking your hair behind your ear. “It’s okay. You look very handsome yourself.”

He smiles, visibly relaxing. Soon you’re chatting comfortably about work and hobbies. He asks thoughtful questions about your life and cracks jokes that have you laughing until your stomach hurts.

You’re so immersed in conversation, you don’t notice Charles parking until he opens your door, ever the gentleman. He guides you toward an elegant restaurant overlooking the glittering Monaco harbor.

The maître d’ greets Charles enthusiastically. “Monsieur Leclerc! Wonderful to see you again. Right this way to your usual table.”

You raise your eyebrows, impressed, as he leads you to a secluded candlelit table on the balcony. Charles pulls out your chair for you. Such a gentleman.

“You come here often?” You ask teasingly as he takes his own seat.

“Oui, it is my favorite restaurant in the country,” he admits. “The cuisine is magnifique, and the staff keeps things … discreet.”

Interesting. You wonder just how many dates Charles has brought here. For some reason, the thought makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.

You’re distracted as the waiter brings champagne. Charles turns to you.

“I took the liberty of ordering for us ahead of time, I hope you do not mind. I wanted to surprise you.” His eyes twinkle. “I think you will be pleased.”

You would normally bristle at men ordering for you. But the shy hopefulness in Charles’ eyes melts your reservations.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” you say sincerely.

He beams. Soon, a parade of your favorite dishes arrives at the table — seared scallops, truffle gnocchi, crème brûlée. You gasp in delight and surprise.

“Charles, these are all my favorites! How did you know?” You narrow your eyes playfully. “Have you been stalking me?”

Charles laughs, rubbing his neck self-consciously. “No, no, nothing like that. I just … pay attention.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Uh huh. Are you sure you haven’t bugged the Red Bull kitchens?”

Charles winces. “You deserve the truth.” He takes a deep breath. “The fact is, I have, er, admired you for some time now.”

Your eyes widen. What is he saying?

Charles hurries on. “At first it was just a passing attraction. But the more I observed you, the more fascinated I became.” He looks up at you earnestly. “You are kind, funny, brilliant … unlike anyone I have ever met.”

Your pulse thunders in your ears. Charles Leclerc has noticed you — for longer than just last night. You’re reeling.

He fiddles with his napkin. “Over the years I have gradually learned your habits, your likes and dislikes. Little things, like your favorite flower, or food.” He ducks his head. “It allowed me to feel closer to you. Pathetic, I know.”

“It’s not pathetic at all,” you murmur. Your heart swells realizing just how long he’s cared. “It’s incredibly thoughtful.”

His answering smile is radiant. The rest of dinner passes enjoyably as you continue getting to know each other. Underneath Charles’ debonair charm, you find a sweet soul.

You linger over dessert, but eventually Charles pays the check. Back outside, the wind off the sea has picked up. You shiver lightly in your dress.

Charles immediately shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it around your bare shoulders. The residual warmth from his body envelops you, along with his intoxicating scent.

“Can’t have you catching a cold, chérie.” His hands linger, squeezing your shoulders gently.

You clutch the jacket, suddenly shy. “Thank you, Charles. For everything. I had a wonderful time tonight.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” His eyes are dark, tender. “I have waited so long for this moment. You have made me the happiest man alive tonight.”

Your breath catches at his sincerity. Moving slowly, giving you time to pull away, he reaches up to tuck a windblown lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers trail lightly down your neck, raising goosebumps.

When his hand cups your jaw, you lean into the caress unthinkingly. Your lips part. Charles’ gaze drops to your mouth.

Heart in your throat, you sway closer. Is he finally going to kiss you? You’ve been thinking about it all night. His eyes flutter closed ...

A car horn blares loudly, shattering the moment. You spring apart, chest heaving. Charles clears his throat.

“I, er, suppose I should get you home.” He opens the passenger door for you, hand lingering briefly on the small of your back before he rounds the car.

The drive back passes in charged silence. Walking you to the door, Charles softly strokes your knuckles with his thumb.

“I cannot remember when I have had a more wonderful evening,” he says quietly. “I hope we can do this again soon?”

“I’d really like that.” Your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Charles presses a feather-light kiss to your hand. “Bonne nuit, ma belle.”

As he drives away, you press your hands to your burning cheeks. You just had the most perfect first date with Charles Leclerc. A pinch me, I must be dreaming date.

Hugging his suit jacket tighter, you lean against the closed door and sigh happily. Maybe, just maybe, your fantasy is on its way to coming true.

***

The week after your dream date drags by endlessly. You float through your days in a happy daze, replaying every moment in your mind. The suit jacket he gave you lives on the back of your chair, filling your room with his lingering scent.

Before you know it, you’re reunited at the next Grand Prix. You wait awkwardly outside the Ferrari garage, clutching Charles’ jacket. Your excuse is returning it, but really you’re just desperate to see him again.

Does he feel the same? Your stomach twists anxiously.

“Who are you waiting for, bella ragazza?”

You startle as Charles’ performance coach Andrea appears beside you, grinning knowingly.

“Oh, um, just returning this.” You hold up the jacket weakly.

Andrea winks. “Of course. I will let our boy know you are here.”

He heads into the garage and you fidget nervously with your hair. This morning it only took Cassie threatening bodily harm for you to change your outfit five times. You settled on a flattering sundress you know Charles will appreciate before you have to change into a team uniform come time for free practice.

Suddenly Charles comes barreling out of the garage like an overeager golden retriever. His face lights up when he spots you.

“Y/N! I was just coming to find you.”

Before you can react, he sweeps you into a tight hug. You melt against him, breathing in his warmth and familiar cologne. He’s really here, in your arms.

He pulls back just far enough to beam down at you, keeping his hands on your waist. “I missed you, chérie. The days apart were torture.”

You duck your head, smiling shyly. “I missed you too.”

You offer him the folded jacket. “I, um, thought you might want this back.”

Charles tsks, pushing it gently back toward you. “No no, you must keep it. Can’t have you catching cold until our next date, non?”

His eyes sparkle playfully. You hug the jacket to your chest, absurdly giddy at having an excuse to keep it longer.

“Charles! Fred is asking for you.” His race engineer calls out apologetically.

Charles sighs regretfully. “Duty calls. But I will see you later, yes?”

He lifts your hand to his mouth, lips grazing your knuckles feather-light. Your breath catches. Then, so quickly you almost miss it, he swoops in and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, sending lightning zipping across your skin. With a last lingering look, he jogs off.

You press your fingers to your tingling skin, smiling like a loon. Andrea winks knowingly as you float away on cloud nine.

Over the next few hours, you’re bombarded by smug comments and curious questions from fellow Red Bull crew. Apparently your “secret romance” with Charles is the paddock’s gossip of choice today.

You weather the teasing good-naturedly. After all, you’re daydreaming while remembering the sensation of Charles’ lips on your skin.

After FP2 ends, you’re startled from reviewing data by a knock on your office door. You open it to find a delivery man with a truly gigantic flower arrangement.

“Delivery for Y/N Y/L/N?” He consults his clipboard. “Says these are for you personally.”

You gape at the massive vase overflowing with huge, fragrant red peonies. There must be at least four dozen stems.

“Oh, um, that’s me, thanks.” You take the towering arrangement, stunned.

The delivery man chuckles knowingly. “Popular lady. Have a nice day now.”

Shutting the door, you bury your nose in the velvety petals, inhaling deeply. There’s only one person who could have sent these.

The card confirms it.

Thinking of you each and every second, C.

Red peonies are nearly impossible to find, yet Charles managed it.

It’s undeniably a public statement. Sending your favorite flowers in the color of his team for everyone to see. Staking his claim.

Normally such male posturing would irritate you. But from Charles, it feels different. Sweet. Affectionate, even.

You press your face into the blooms again, heart overflowing. Is this what it feels like to be falling for someone? You haven’t felt this giddy in years.

Somehow, you’ve captured the attention of the amazing, thoughtful, romantic Charles Leclerc. And you have a feeling this is only the beginning.

***

“Keep pushing Checo, just a few more laps to go,” you say into the radio as your driver, Sergio Perez, circles the track in final practice.

He’s been struggling with tire degradation all weekend. You’ve made setup tweaks and simulation runs, but there’s only so much data can tell you. The stopwatch never lies.

At least his pace looks improved this session. You watch closely as he enters the home straight again, sparring with the Ferrari of Charles Leclerc for position.

You try not to stare too obviously as the scarlet car glides by. The visor obscures Charles’ handsome features, but your heart still skips a beat.

Get it together, you scold yourself. You’re at work. Ogling drivers mid-session is unprofessional.

Even if said driver happens to be the charming, romantic F1 sensation you’ve somehow found yourself falling for ...

The session ends without incident. You breathe a sigh of relief reviewing Checo’s improved lap times. All things considered, not a bad recovery from yesterday’s struggles.

You pack up your station and make your way back to Red Bull hospitality to grab a late lunch before qualifying. Scrolling your phone, you can’t resist pulling up a photo from your dream date with Charles last week.

God he looks good in a suit. And that adoring smile ...

“No wonder your head’s been in the clouds lately.”

You jump, nearly dropping your phone. Checo appears beside you, leaning over your shoulder with a knowing grin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, shoving your phone away.

“Oh come on, chica. I’ve seen the way you two stare at each other.” He nudges you playfully. “Like lovesick teenagers.”

You shove him back, rolling your eyes. “As if. Charles and I have barely even spoken.”

A bald-faced lie, but no need to feed the gossip mill further. Checo just studies you for a moment, smile turning knowing. “Ah, so it’s Charles now, is it? No more Leclerc?”

You feel your face heat. Have you been that obvious? “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh come on.” Checo bumps your shoulder playfully. “I saw the way you two were making eyes at each other all morning. Like a pair of lovestruck teenagers.”

You bury your face in your notes, mortified. Has your thing with Charles really been so noticeable?

Checo laughs. “Ah, do not be embarrassed, chica. I think it’s adorable. The race engineer and the driver, a paddock romance!”

You toss a balled up napkin at him in protest, which he dodges easily. “Stop it! There’s nothing going on.”

“Nothing, eh?” Checo’s eyes gleam impishly. “So all those flowers you got yesterday were just for fun? And I imagined you swooning over Leclerc in the garage?”

You flush even harder. Apparently you have not been as subtle as you thought.

Checo slings an arm around your shoulder. “Relax, hermanita. I am just teasing because I care.”

You lean into him, some of the tension easing.

“You know I just want you to be happy, right chica?” His expression grows serious. “Leclerc seems like a good guy. Just be careful with your heart.”

You nod, touched by his concern. “Of course. We’ve only been on two dates.” You hesitate. “But … I really like him. He’s so different than I expected.”

Checo smiles gently. “I am happy for you, truly. You deserve an amazing man.”

You grin. “Thanks, Checo.”

His smile turns impish again. “Just promise me one thing.”

You raise an eyebrow warily. “What?”

“No spilling Red Bull secrets to your new Ferrari boyfriend, eh?” He waggles his eyebrows. “I know he is muy guapo, but business is business!”

“Oh my god, stop! I would never.”

“Please. The heart eyes between you are obvious. Not that I blame you ...” He leans in conspiratorially. “Leclerc is quite the smooth talker, no?”

You lightly smack his shoulder, cheeks reddening. “Stop it. We’re just friends.”

“Mmhmm. Keep telling yourself that.”

He slings an arm around your shoulder. “Just remember your duties if you get distracted mooning over pretty Ferrari boys, yes?”

You make a face at him. “Gross. As if I’d shirk my responsibilities over some silly crush.”

Even if said crush is on Charles freaking Leclerc. You do have some professionalism.

Checo just grins knowingly as you reach the counter. He grabs a plate of food and you follow suit. Settling at a table together, he fixes you with a brotherly stare.

“In all seriousness though chica, be careful with your heart. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You soften. Underneath his joking exterior, Checo is very protective of you. He’s like the big brother you never had.

“I will, I promise. Charles has been very respectful so far. We’re taking things slow.”

“Good.” Checo pats your hand. “No one is allowed to break your heart and get away with it. Even the Prince of Monaco himself,” he adds with a wink.

You roll your eyes, but smile, leaning against his sturdy frame. “I’ll sic you on him if he steps out of line, don’t worry.”

Checo laughs. “Please do. I have always wanted an excuse to wipe that smug grin off Leclerc’s face.” His smile softens. “But truly, I hope he continues to make you happy, hermanita.”

“Thanks Checo.” You squeeze him tight, overcome with emotion. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” He ruffles your hair fondly, ignoring your cries of protest. “And if Leclerc breaks your heart, I’ll break his legs, eh?”

You laugh. “I’ll remind him of that.” You check the time. “We should head back soon.”

You both bus your plates. As you exit, Checo slings an arm around your shoulders again.

“You’ve got this chica. Just remember, the heart wants what it wants. Even if it seems loco to the rest of us.”

You lean into him gratefully. “Thanks Checo. Seriously.”

He grins down at you. “Anytime. Now let’s go smash qualifying!”

You shake your head, smiling to yourself as you return to your data analysis. As annoying as Checo’s teasing is, it’s also kind of sweet how much he cares.

You know if anyone steps out of line and hurts you, Checo will come after them in a heartbeat. But something tells you that you have nothing to worry about when it comes to Charles.

Still … you appreciate Checo looking out for you. With everyone in your corner, you feel like for once, things in your love life might actually go right.

***

Qualifying flies by in a blur of adrenaline and data analysis. In the end, Max takes pole for Red Bull, with Charles slotting into P2 for Ferrari and Checo P3. A good starting position for both your drivers.

You’re on a high as you leave the garage after the debrief that evening. The sky is dusky purple, the paddock slowly emptying out. You hum to yourself, thinking of celebrating with Cassie over FaceTime later.

Rounding a corner toward the Red Bull hotel, you’re suddenly grabbed from behind and yanked into a shadowy alleyway. Heart leaping into your throat, you open your mouth to scream-

“Shhh, it’s me!” A familiar voice hisses as a hand clamps over your mouth.

You whirl around to find Charles pressed against you, eyes glinting in the shadows. Adrenaline pounds through you.

“Jesus, you scared me half to death!” You smack his chest, pulse racing. “I thought I was being kidnapped.”

“I’m sorry, chérie.” Charles grins, utterly unrepentant. “I could not resist surprising you when I saw you walking by.”

“So you grabbed me and dragged me into a dark alley? Real romantic.” You try to look stern, but can’t quite manage it. He’s just too charming.

Charles’ smile turns sheepish. “My apologies. I did not think it through properly.” His thumb strokes over your bottom lip softly. “I suppose I was … overzealous. I could not stop thinking about you all day.”

Your breath catches at the tender look in his eyes. He sways closer, backing you up against the alley wall.

“Truthfully, I just needed to do this ...”

His lips descend on yours, firm and seeking. For one stunned moment you freeze up — before kissing him back ardently, lost in bliss. His hands thread through your hair, angling you closer as he deepens the kiss.

It’s perfect.

After endless moments, you reluctantly part, gasping for air. Charles rests his forehead against yours, eyes dark.

“I have wanted to do that since our first date,” he confesses, trailing feather-light kisses across your jaw.

You clutch his shoulders, dizzy with euphoria. “You have no idea how long I’ve thought about kissing you.”

He smiles against your skin, nipping your neck playfully. “Oh, I think I do, ma belle. Why do you think I bid on you at that auction?”

You still can’t believe your dream man wanted you just as much as you wanted him. It seems too good to be true.

Charles nuzzles your cheek tenderly. “I must be the luckiest man alive to have caught your attention.”

Heart overflowing, you draw him down into another dizzying kiss. Charles groans, crushing you closer. It feels like coming home, being in his arms. Like this is where you were always meant to be.

The distant sound of teams making their way out of the paddock finally breaks you apart. Charles caresses your face wistfully.

“I should let you get back. You need your rest before the race tomorrow and so do I.” He hesitates, looking shy. “Perhaps we could … get dinner afterwards? To celebrate?”

Your lips curve in a teasing smile. “Are you asking me on a second date, Mr. Leclerc?”

Pink stains his sharp cheekbones. “I suppose I am, Miss Y/L/N. If you would do me the honor?”

You tap your chin playfully. “Hmm. I suppose I could clear my schedule for you.”

His answering smile is radiant. On impulse, you grab his collar and pull him down into one last hungry kiss.

“Good luck tomorrow,” you whisper against his lips. “Not that you’ll need it. Don’t tell Max or Checo I said this, but you’re the most talented driver out there.”

Charles looks endearingly dazed as you gently extricate yourself from his arms. With a flirty wave, you sashay out of the alley on shaky legs, mind spinning.

Pausing at the end, you glance back to see Charles leaning against the wall, gazing after you with pure adoration. He presses two fingers to his grinning lips that still tingle from your kiss.

You blow him one last discreet kiss before continuing on your way. Wait until Cassie hears about this!

***

Race day dawns sunny and clear — perfect conditions. In the Red Bull garage, you help Checo run through final preparations, tweaking setup and chatting strategy.

“Alright, the car is dialed in and ready to fly,” you tell him confidently.

Checo grins. “Perfecto. We will beat your boyfriend today, no?” He winks.

You roll your eyes, fighting a blush. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Sure, chica.” Checo ruffles your hair before heading to the grid.

It’s a chaotic blur of adrenaline and split-second decisions as you guide Checo through the field. In the end, Max takes the win for Red Bull, with Charles clinching P2 for Ferrari and Checo rounding out the podium in P3.

You rush to congratulate the drivers after, giving Checo a warm hug. “Great drive out there! The tire management really made a difference.”

He smiles. “But not enough to beat our rivals today, eh?” His gaze slides behind you.

You turn to see Charles approaching, fresh from the podium. His race suit is unzipped to the waist, hair adorably mussed. Your mouth goes dry.

Checo smirks knowingly. “I will leave you two alone. See you at the debrief.” He saunters off with a wink.

Charles beams, pulling you into a quick hug. “Congratulations. Your strategy was brilliant today.”

You grin. “Thanks, you did amazing too.” Your face heats realizing people nearby are staring and whispering.

Charles doesn’t seem to care, keeping your hand tucked in his. “I will wait for you outside the motorhome? Then perhaps we could celebrate ...” His smile turns hopeful.

You squeeze his hand, heart skipping. “Can’t wait.”

The debrief drags by endlessly. Finally you escape the garage into the late afternoon sunlight. True to his word, Charles is waiting, freshly showered and devastatingly handsome in a button-down and slacks.

“Y/N!” In two long strides he’s sweeping you into his arms and kissing you ardently, uncaring of the crowd of mechanics around you.

Catcalls and whistles break out. You blush fiercely as Charles sets you down, lacing your fingers together.

“Get it Leclerc!” One of his mechanics yells, making lewd gestures. Charles just flips him off casually, keeping his eyes on you.

“Shall we?”

You nod, face still burning. As Charles leads you away, your Red Bull colleagues join the teasing.

“Don’t wait up tonight boys!” One calls, making kissy noises.

“She’s ditching us for the red guys now!”

“Just don’t go spilling all our secrets, Y/N!”

You hide your face against Charles’ shoulder. He chuckles, wrapping a protective arm around you.

“Pay them no mind, ma belle,” he murmurs against your hair. “They are just jealous I get to spend the evening with the most beautiful woman in the world.”

You sigh happily, cuddling closer as you leave the paddock. The teasing means well — it’s their way of saying they approve. And nothing can dampen your euphoria at being with Charles again.

At the parking lot, a shiny red Ferrari awaits. Charles opens the door for you with a gallant bow before rounding the car and sliding in.

“So, where are we going?” You ask excitedly as Charles peels out onto the road. “Or do I not get to know the secret location?”

He glances at you sidelong, eyes glinting mischievously. “You will see. Let’s just say I … pulled some strings to arrange the perfect second date for us.”

You pout playfully. “Not even a little hint?”

Charles pretends to zip his lips. “Non, it is a surprise, ma petite.” His hand finds yours, thumb grazing over your knuckles. “But I think you will appreciate the … atmosphere I have created.”

The promise in his voice sends delicious shivers down your spine. You pass the drive chatting comfortably, exchanging soft, smiling glances.

After half an hour, Charles pulls up to a beautiful chateau perched on a vineyard-spotted hillside. You gasp as he escorts you inside the charming stone lodge.

“Charles, this is amazing! How did you arrange this on such short notice?”

He smiles, pleased by your reaction. “I may have called in a favor from the owners, who are family friends. We have the whole place to ourselves tonight.” His eyes smolder.

You wander the chateau in a happy daze as Charles gives you a private tour. He’s thought of everything — flowers, candles, and even champagne chilling by the roaring fireplace.

Dinner is sumptuous, featuring all your favorite dishes paired expertly with rich wines from the vineyard. Charles is attentive as always, hanging on your every word.

Afterwards you cuddle together on the sofa, pleasantly tipsy, exchanging lazy kisses as you take in the spectacular starry view through the expansive windows.

Charles nuzzles into your neck, lips grazing your hammering pulse point. “Have I mentioned how ravishing you look tonight?”

You shiver pleasurably. “I could stand to hear it again.”

He smiles against your skin. “You, mon amour, are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” His voice drops an octave. “And it is taking every ounce of my self control not to tear that dress off you this instant.”

Heat coils in your core at the unspoken promise in his words. Your fingers curl into his hair, guiding his lips back to yours. The kiss quickly grows heated, urgent.

With obvious effort, Charles forces himself to pull back, eyes blazing. “As much as I want you, we should take this slow. I want our first time to be special.” He strokes your cheek tenderly. “You deserve to be properly worshiped.”

Your heart swells at his care for you. You really hit the jackpot with this incredible man.

Cuddling against his chest, you look up at him adoringly. “You are … amazing"

Charles’ smile is soft, sincere. “I am only that way because you inspire me to be the best version of myself.” He kisses you sweetly. “I am the luckiest man in the world to have found you.”

You’ve never felt so cared for — so intensely adored. Here in Charles’ arms is exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

One Year Later

Strolling hand in hand with Charles along the Monaco harbor, you’ve never been happier. The sun glints off the water as he brushing featherlight kisses to your knuckles, making you giggle.

Charles lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to your palm as you walk. “What are you thinking about, ma belle?”

You smile up at him. “Just reminiscing about everything that’s happened since you swept me off my feet.”

His eyes soften. “The best year of my life. I fall more in love with you every day.”

Heart full, you tug him down into a sweet kiss. Charles hums happily against your lips.

“Well isn’t this cozy!” An approaching voice interrupts. You pull apart to see Lucy, the Amber Lounge organizer who convinced you to participate in the auction last year, beaming at you both.

“Lucy! Hi.” You accept her enthusiastic hug.

“Don’t you two make the cutest couple?” She winks conspiratorially. “I always knew there was a spark between you.”

You laugh, lacing your fingers through Charles’ once more. His answering smile is radiant.

“I’m so thrilled it worked out.” Lucy glances between you eagerly. “So, given it’s almost that time of year again … any chance you lovebirds would let us auction you off once more? Think of the publicity!”

You tense, old anxieties rising. But before you can respond, Charles’ grip on your hand tightens.

“Actually, I have a better idea.” His voice is lethally pleasant. “How about I simply drop off a cheque for an 100,000 euro donation, and you leave my girlfriend alone?”

A frisson of heat shoots through you at his possessive tone. Charles rubs his thumb over your knuckles soothingly, holding your gazes, before fixing Lucy with a warning look.

“We will of course still attend the gala to show support. But the auction is off limits. Understood?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Lucy gulps. “Y-Yes, of course. My apologies if I overstepped.” She nods at you both. “Have a lovely evening!”

With that she scurries back inside the Amber Lounge.

“Good day to you.” With that, he guides you away down the street, tension radiating from him.

You glance at him in concern once you’re out of earshot. “Are you okay?”

Charles drags a hand through his hair. “Yes, I just … the thought of them putting you on display again ...” He shudders.

Your heart melts realizing why he got so defensive. You halt, turning Charles gently to face you.

“That was very macho and possessive of you back there,” you murmur, walking your fingers up his chest.

Charles winces. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to be so overbearing-”

You silence him with a finger to his lips. “Let me finish. I said it was macho and possessive.” You lean up to purr in his ear. “And so. Freaking. Hot.”

Charles’ eyes widen. Grinning, you shove him back against the brick wall and kiss him fiercely. He grunts in surprise before responding in kind, nipping your bottom lip.

“If I had known getting possessive would get this reaction, I would have done it ages ago,” he gasps out between kisses.

You silenced his laughter with your mouth, desire burning through you. The raw protectiveness Charles showed took your breath away. You’ve never felt so safe, so cared for.

Finally you break apart and Charles pulls you firmly against his chest. “I love you,” he breathes against your hair. “More than I can ever express.”

“I love you too.” You can feel the beating of his heart beneath your ear. “Now take me home and show me just how much you missed me this morning.”

Charles’ eyes darken. With a roguish grin he sweeps you into his arms, making you shriek. Laughing joyfully, he carries you down the street toward your shared apartment.

If the rest of your life together is even half as magical as this past year with Charles, you’ll die a happy woman.

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back2bluesidex · 11 months ago

Text

Novice - JJK (18+)

Pairing: Pornstar!Jungkook X Fem!Reader

Theme: PWP (porn with tiny plot), SMUT, pornstar au

Wordcount: 3k

Summary: The need of some extra money lands you on a weird job. But you are not complaining, not when you get to fuck Jeon Jungkook.

Warnings: Explicit sex, porn movie shooting, mentions of pros**tution, Jungkook is a smooth flirt, reader is nervous and shy, inexperienced reader, a little bit of flirting, missionary position, unprotected sex. NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

Read the sequel: We Need Practice

Honestly, you have no idea what you are doing here.

You have been zoning out for the past ten minutes.

Keeping your focus trained on what’s waiting for you ahead is a little tough. Especially when it’s 2 degree celsius outside and you are wearing nothing but a thin camisole and flimsy underwear.

Even though the heater is in full blast, you require to have some clothes on your body to enjoy whatever warmth it has been offering.

You question your sanity once again. Are you really doing this? You out of all people? You - the goodie two shoes?

Yeah, the situation has been like that lately.

You are in need of some extra money because some fucker voiced-phised you and you, being dumber than ever, gave them your company card number and pin. Now you owe 200 million won to your company and you don’t even have 10% of the amount to do anything about it.

Right at that time, one of your friends knocked on your door asking for a favor.

“Please, Y/N! You are perfect for the role!” she pleaded.

“What are you even saying? I don’t even have any experience-”

“That’s exactly what we want - a novice.”

And you landed on the deal or role or whatever the fuck it is, in an exchange of 250 million won. By the way, did I mention that they have paid you 50% of the amount already?

It’s good money and a one-time opportunity. All you need to do is to get fucked on camera, get the pay and avoid showing your face around this place anymore.

As simple as that.

Or as simple as you thought.

But now that you are already at the set and ready to feature in a porn movie.. You are rather nervous.

Even though they assured you and added the “blurred-face” term to your contract, it’s nerve-wracking and for multiple reasons.

First, you have almost zero experience of sex. And must I mention that you never had an orgasm in your entire life?

Second, the concept of the film is complicated. There is only one male lead but three female leads (including you). But it’s not poly. The guy plays the role of a male prostitute, who pleasures three different women with three different stages of experience. The first woman is a pro, second one is amateur and third one, you, is a novice.

The first shoot was almost over when you arrived at the set and the cast went to prepare for the second shoot. Hence, you haven’t gotten to see the guy you would be having sex with.

And it’s unsettling.

You only heard his name but couldn’t muster up the courage to search him up. What if you don’t like his face and back off? You will have to repay the 50% of the advance along with a 5% of contract violation fee. And you certainly can’t afford to do that now.

So you held on, arrived at the studio as per instructions, got your clothes and hair done and now you are waiting for them to call you outside.

“Ms. Y/N?” A voice calls you from the door and breaks your reverie. “Let’s go” the staff smiles.

You stand up and follow her outside the green room.

As you approach the main shooting set all you hear is, well, moans and groans. And those get louder and louder with each passing second.

“Sit here.” the staff says. “You can observe what they are doing and prepare yourself in the meantime. We’ll brief you on the scenes once they are done.” she places a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Too bad, ‘cause you are anything but reassured now.

“So this is how you like to be fucked? Like the bitch that you are? You slut!” the groan of the man invades each of your senses and you are shocked to say the least.

Is this how you are going to be treated here? You think to yourself. A shiver runs down your body when the sound of a sharp slap echoes inside the almost calm studio. Then another, then another. But the woman seems to enjoy it all. Her moans and whines keep getting louder.

You find your throat closing up with fear. Will you be able to enjoy it too? Or will you fuck things up?

You suddenly feel hot and sticky right between your legs. What the fuck? Are you really getting wet? Just with the sounds?

Squeezing your eyes shut you try to think of all the things you can do with the extra 50 million won.

“Great work, guys!” a loud cheer and sound of applause halt your activities. You open your eyes to measure the surroundings.

First you see the female lead coming out of the set with a cloth wrapped all around herself. She disappears with her assistant within seconds, even before you could see her face.

Then the man walks out, wearing almost nothing.

A towel is wrapped loosely around his torso and his bare body is on full view for you to enjoy.

You gulp.

The man is chugging down water as if he has been wandering in deserts for years. Your eyes fall on his Adam's apple at first, then on his glistening collarbones, his built chest, his toned abs, small waist and then on his torso.

Your anticipation makes you gulp again.

When you finally manage to drag your eyes up, you see him already staring and smirking at you.

And fuck! You choke on your own spit because you have never seen a more handsome man in your life.

Initially you thought Jeon Jungkook would be a pervert-looking middle aged ajussi but this guy looks like he is your age.

Your friends would actually pay to get fucked by a guy this hot. But you are getting it all for free? Must’ve saved your country in past life or something.

When Jungkook winks at you, you realize you have been staring at him for too long. And now you feel embarrassed.

Lord! What have you been doing!

“That’s it. I hope you have understood, Ms. Y/N?” The director peeks at you expectantly.

“I guess.. So.” You reply with a lot of doubts still playing in your mind.

“There is nothing to be nervous of,Y/N. We are not gonna send this movie to the Oscars, so you don’t have to think too much about your acting. Just do the bare minimum. Do what you are told. Jungkook will take care of the rest.” He gives you a kind smile.

You nod, reminding yourself that you need money and this is the only way.

“You guys will blur my face right?” you ask him with a low voice.

“We will. You can sue us if we don’t.” he chuckles.

You feel your nervousness and fears subsiding a bit… only to reach the peak in seconds.

“Hyung, are we good to go?” Jungkook appears from one of the green rooms, wearing his casual outfit - a white t-shirt with loose jeans.

He smiles down at you and you struggle to return his courtesy.

“Yeah, we are almost done here. Take care of Ms. Y/N, Jeon. She is very nervous.” the director gestures Jungkook to sit beside you.

Jungkook sits down with a respectable distance between you two and takes a tentative look at you before saying, “hyung, we have some time before the shoot starts right?”

The director nods a yes.

“Then.. let me talk to Y/N for a bit.”

“Yeah sure, go ahead.”

And they leave you alone with your co-star.

“Hey.” Jungkook says sweetly once you are alone in the makeshift secluded space.

“Hi.” you reply with a quiet trembling of a voice.

Jungkook chuckles at that.

“Cute.” you hear him murmuring under his breath.

“This is your first time, I guess?” He asks.

“Yeah and the last time as well.” you reply urgently, avoiding meeting his eyes as much as possible.

His eyes widen at your response, “why so?”

“I just need some extra money. So you know.. It’s a one time thing for me.”

“Oh..” Jungkook breathes out and then says, “then I will make sure it’s something you remember your entire life. I know you don’t have much experience but I won’t push you to do something crazy. I will be gentle, don’t worry. Just leave yourself up to me, relax and enjoy.” with that he rests one of his hands on top of yours and gives you a sickeningly sweet smile.

Now you don’t know how you are supposed to stay calm when your co-star’s mere presence is this nerve-wrecking.

“Okay. Cut” the director screams as you and Jungkook complete shooting the non-sexual scenes.

“You are pretty good, you know?” Jungkook slides beside you as you stand there preparing yourself for the big thing ahead.

“Ah. thanks. You are very impressive as well. I mean three times in a row is no joke. Aren’t you tired?” you reply, finally staring into his eyes.

Jungkook’s big doe, beautiful eyes almost defy the fact that he is in this business. Almost because once your eyes move lower on his body, you’ll have to admit that this is certainly his place to shine.

“I have a record of six times in a day, sweetie.” he smirks at you while winking at the same time. Your stomach flips involuntarily.

“Jungkook, Y/N, are you ready?” The director screams from his seat.

Jungkook raises his thumb to affirm him and then he looks back at you.

“As I said Y/N, don’t be nervous. I will take good care of you, okay?” Jungkook holds your hand again.

His sincere tone really melts your heart.

You nod, “okay.”

You don’t know how things will turn around but you are determined to enjoy it. You will not be seeing Jungkook anymore, anyway. So, why not take the advantage?

“Action!” the director screams.

When you look at Jungkook again, his doe eyes have turned dark.

From now on, you don’t have any dialogue. It’s only Jungkook who will do the talking, you will have to say yes or no as a response.

“So, you want me to fuck your virgin cunt because you are a bad bad girl. Is that right?” Jungkook speaks in a sultry low voice.

Your head starts spinning.

“Yes.” you reply.

He takes a step towards you as you take a step back.

“Oh. you got a voice I see.” Jungkook steps towards you again.

You know he is just acting but you can’t help but feel a burning sensation in your stomach. When you take another step back, your thighs come in contact with the bed.

He pushes on your shoulder gently, making you sit down.

“Then.. let me take care of you.” Jungkook says while sinking down on his knees.

He takes one of your feet in his hand and kisses on top of it. When his mouth wraps around your big toe, your breath hitches.

Were your feet always this sensitive?

He sucks on your big toe briefly, making it tough for you to breathe normally.

“Do you like it?” he asks, looking up at you, lips still close to your foot.

“Yes.” you mutter.

“Good girl.”

Jungkook places a kiss on your ankle next, then on your knee. His other hand kneads on your other thigh gently.

His mouth reaches to your inner thigh and hovers above your skin for a brief second. Then he kisses down, pulling out a moan from your throat.

“Lay down for me.” he requests and you oblige.

Jungkook’s fingers hook on the waistband of your panty and he slowly pulls that down revealing your glossy slit to not only him but to the entire crew.

But surprisingly you are not self conscious. Jungkook has somehow made it feel like it’s only about the two of you. And you like it that way.

“So pretty” he whispers, as if talking to your cunt.

His actions make you leak even more. You suck in a deep breath when you see him, lowering his face down to your pussy.

He places a soft kiss on your folds at first and then licks a stripe along it.

Latching his lips around your clit, he sucks on it. You lose your senses with that. Some incoherent words fly out of your mouth but you know you are not really making sense to anyone, not even yourself.

He keeps performing his ministrations, licking, sucking and occasionally biting down on your clit.

This is the very first time someone has their mouth on your cunt and you never thought it would feel this good.

“Umm.. you taste so good, sweetie.” Jungkook mumbles on your clit.

His tongue probes into your entrance, lapping up all the juices that you leak.

You grab the sheets to find something to distract the overpowering pleasure that Jungkook has been providing you with.

Your knees buckle, caging Jungkook between your legs.

Soon you feel something akin to a finger pressing down on your clit, then drawing slow circles around it, and then the circles are fast.

Your eyes roll back and your throat produces some sounds you never knew you could make.

“Fuck! So tight. I have never fucked a pussy tighter than this” Jungkook groans and it vibrates your folds.

When he pokes into your entrance again, while circling your clit, you find something coiling in your lower abdomen. Something so strong that you can’t contain it anymore.

And you have it. The very first orgasm of your life.

Your juices drain Jungkook’s mouth and chin.

“Fuck, sweetie!” Jungkook stands up, “look what have you done?” he says while climbing on the bed.

He grabs your camisole and tears it in an instant.

Even though you are in your post-oragsm glory, it shocks you regardless. You hear mumbles coming outside the set but then the director seems to say something that shuts everyone up.

As soon as your tits are on display, Jungkook grabs both of those with both of his hands.

He kneads the muscles while his mouth latches to your neck.

There is so much happening at the same time that you don’t know what to focus on.

Jungkook��s kisses drop down to your collarbone, bruising your skin and then to your tits. He wraps his pretty lips around your perked nipples, suckling those as if his life depends on it.

Your moans know no bounds. And you already feel heat building up in your stomach again.

You leave the sheets and grab Jungkook's hair instead. He groans in pleasure.

“You are driving me fucking crazy, sweetie!” Jungkook manages to say, “do you think you can take my cock now?”

“Yes.” you say desperately.

You are actually very desperate to have him inside you already.

Jungkook climbs down the bed and starts stripping. You stare at him as if he is the best mountain view in the world.

Your eyes widen upon seeing his cock and your first thought is if it will fit or not.

“Don’t worry. I will make it fit.” Jungkook replies as if reading your mind.

He then comes closer to you and lines his cock on your entrance. Putting his lips on yours he pushes his length in.

A loud earth-shattering moan comes out of your mouth, which Jungkook swallows immediately.

He grabs one of your thighs and wraps your leg around his torso, your other leg follows the suit. He takes the chance to accommodate his cock inside your hole comfortably. And once he is sure you have adjusted, he starts moving.

At first he is slow but then he starts picking up his pace.

“Does it hurt?” Jungkook mumbles in your mouth, not ceasing to kiss you all while.

“No. It feels good.” you spill the truth.

Jungkook groans at your response, emptying you for a second only to thrust his full length inside you harshly.

You whine.

He pins your wrists above your head and stares at you while fucking you dumb. His eyes are so dark that they demand you to keep staring back at them.

The skin slapping sound makes your head spin and the coil in your stomach starts getting loose.

“I-I am cum-” and before you could finish your sentence, you cum.

It Triggers Jungkook’s own orgasm. He pulls out your cock from your hole, pumps it twice and then spills his cum all over your body.

And all you could do is to stare at him dumbly with your mouth ajar.

“That was so unlike you, Jungkook.” you hear the director talking to your co-star.

Even though you don’t want to eavesdrop, you want to know what was not like him.

“I know, hyung. For the first time ever in my career I lost control.” he sighs “Y/N was… something else.”

Your face grows hot with the complement. But you know you are not going to see him again so it’s better not to think too much about it.

You grab your bag and head towards the exit, stopping to greet everyone on your way out.

“Hey” you greet him with a small voice.

Jungkook gives you a big toothy grin in return.

“Are you leaving already?” he asks, staring at your bag.

“Yes. I- um. Thanks, Jungkook. I really enjoyed it.” You tell him sincerely.

“My pleasure, Y/N. And honestly, I think I enjoyed you a little too much as well.” he replies scratching the back of his neck. The tips of his ears turn pink.

You giggle.

“That’s great. So… yeah. That’s it. I will take my leave now. Bye” waving your hands, you turn your heels to leave.

“Y/N?” but his voice stops you.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe if you don’t mind… Can we exchange numbers?”

“Umm.. maybe we can do that.”

Maybe this deal has more than just money to offer.

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #bts x you #jungkook x you #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #bts #bts oneshot

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caffeinewitchcraft · 4 days ago

Text

The Swings

There are swings hanging from the trees. Similar to playground swings, chains and rubber seats and a few rust spots around the rivets holding the two together. Helena can see them swaying deep into the forest when the breeze blows; she can hear the chains rubbing against the bark above.

The swings were not there when she made camp last night.

Helena crawls out of her tent. The triple stand of pines have one swing in the center of them. The felled oak has one hovering over it, the chain suspending it almost invisible in the shadows of the canopy above. Her tent – cheap and plastic and yellow – feels even more like a beacon now than it did last night.

Her mind skips and skitters. There are furrows in the closest branch she can see, as if the chain has worn away at the bark over a period of weeks. Maybe months. The swing arcs toward her slowly. Softly. She tumbles back into the side of her tent, the cold shock of dew against her bare arms and legs making her gasp. Then she is suddenly desperate for air. She draws it in on a long wheeze, forcing herself to pay attention to the sting of her lungs filling beyond capacity. She exhales almost silently.

Two days’ hike left means she can’t afford to leave her tent. Ideally, she’d wait for the afternoon sun to dry it, but ideals are luxuries, and she can’t afford anything better than a fucking yellow tent, so she doesn’t have many of those.

A child laughs. No- it must be a squirrel. A chipmunk. A chittering creature. An animal made that noise. Unbidden, the words of her first ranger mentor come to her.

If you get scared, it’s time to get out of the woods. There’s no coming back from that first flush of fear.

Stubbornly, Helena breathes in. Ow. Breathes out. She tugs the first support pole out of her tent. It teeters from left to right. She pulls the second.

The tent falls, and for a second – just a second – she sees a flash of something running behind the tree that lies behind it. Those weren’t woods’ colors on whatever it was. There was purple in that flash. Red.

A little girl swims to the forefront of her mind and covers her mentor’s warning. Blue eyes. Brown hair. A striped jacket in her favorite colors. Blue and red.

Don’t chase anything in the woods beyond the ravine, her mentor told her. You won’t like what chases you back.

Another curl of laughter slides through the tree trunks. It’s not an animal. Not one she knows.

Helena has a $30,000 reason to go check.

This is a writing exercise to see play around with surreal settings starting simply with swings that can’t possibly be this deep in the forest! I do about one of these every day and post the best ones on Patreon a week early if you want to check me out there and support what I do:)

Thanks for reading! (X)

#my writing #drabble #the swings #horror

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respectthepetty · 11 months ago

Text

My men are finally returning to me!

Mos and Bank finished the fittings and script readings for SunsetxVibes.

Yin and War started filming Jack and Joker.

Charles Tu is going to be in another BL.

Fluke Pusit is going to be a lead.

Max and Tul have a fanmeet.

Therefore, I owe the BL Gods what I promised, and for Pride, I'll be watching *crying internally* either a MAME series, a censored Chinese bromance, or a sexual tension-filled Korean bromance.

So far I'm picking between these, but I'm open to more (painful) suggestions. I might even create my very first poll and make the crowd choose for me:

Mame

TharnType

Love By Chance

Don't Say No

Love in the Air

Wedding Plan

Censored Chinese

The Untamed

Word of Honor

Guardian

Stay with Me

The Spirealm

Korean Bromance

The Devil Judge

Worst of Evil

I already hate myself and this endeavor, but a promise is a promise, and I'd promised the BL Gods if I got my men back, I'd finally watch something that I have been petty about without experiencing.

It is time.

#how to celebrate pride?#by hating myself #a promise is a promise #to be honest I didn't think all these would happen so fast #I thought I still had a solid year of Tul's retirement #and I thought it would be a second for Fluke to get a lead #but my blessings came quick #so I will not upset the BL Gods #I must pay them what I owe them #it is time #ahhhhhhhh!!!!!!

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carbondioxidewater · 4 months ago

Text

Make A Move

americanfootballplayer!Sukuna x fem!reader

genre: slow-burn romance, college au, fluff, angst

warnings: none so far

word count: 1.8k

(-> Pt. 2) (-> Pt. 3) (-> Pt. 4) (-> masterlist)

Being too kind is truly a disadvantage sometimes, you thought to yourself when you realized the true intentions of your counterpart.

You were sitting at a table in one of the most renowned restaurants in the city. A classmate from one of your courses invited you after you two had successfully presented your group project. He was adamant on taking you out to celebrate your success and you were too kind to decline, being relieved yourself. He wanted to pick you up from home, but you told him not to bother driving to your dorm and just meet you there.

"'My treat." he said, referring to you doing the most part. Honestly, he didn't participate too much, that's why you figured it would be just fair for him to do something for you in return. After all, you saved both of your grades.

But when he began to make remarks about your appearance and asked you what you have in mind to pay him back because he'd pay for dinner, you quickly searched for a way to get out. You cursed yourself on the inside for even accepting the invitation and not seeing through his facade - you didn't take him for that kind of guy - but of course, he's a man after all. You would never ever blame yourself for the horrible behavior of men though, this is completely on him and if you wouldn't see him constantly, you probably would've smacked him across the face. But you were not in the mood to fight, you simply wanted to flight. Of course, the bathroom was your first idea, so you excused yourself and made your way to the back of the restaurant where the sanitary rooms were.

There was a small window at the top of the wall that you could only reach when standing on the toilet, but it was big enough for you to fit through. You didn't think too much and started crawling out of it.

There were a few stacked boxes outside that you, very carefully, used for support and once you stepped fully on them, you jumped down the not too high distance to the floor. You didn't notice someone standing outside, too engulfed in your plan to get out, so when you suddenly heard a voice next to you, that certain someone startled you.

You immediately recognized the person, it was the heartthrob of the college and the most popular guy on campus. Even outside of your campus, many were familiar with his name, he was known all over the city for his excellent and extraordinary football skills - it was no other than Ryomen Sukuna.

"You know there's a door over there right?" he immediately began, cocking his head into a certain direction.

You looked to your right and to your surprise, there was a door indeed.

Shit, you thought, there must have been an exit right next to the bathrooms that you failed to see.

"Oh." you simply voiced out, not knowing what else to reply to someone you never talked to. You weren't even sure if he knew you went to the same university as him.

"Who are you running from? A horrible date?" he asked then, smirkingly.

"Just another guy who thinks I owe him a favor for something I didn't even ask for." you replied sighingly when your open and unfiltered answer quickly stunned you - usually you weren't this talkative with someone you pretty much considered a stranger. To get rid of the sudden awkwardness that emerged in you, you asked him a question back.

"And what are you doing here outside, all alone in this empty and dark alley?"

He shrugged, then started to speak again.

"Smoking." he bluntly said and held up his right hand, it was just then that you noticed the half burned cigarette in it.

"Isn't smoking allowed inside?" you questioned, remembering the sign that you definitely saw when entering the restaurant.

"Can't a man enjoy the silence and peace of the night?" he replied back.

You went silent and just stared at him, not knowing what else to say.

"What, are you scared of me? Scared of someone who enjoys spending his time in dark backstreets?" he smiled smugly and slowly came closer, caging you between him and the wall behind you. When he saw your startled face, he backed off and laughed.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to you."

"I know, you'd have your whole football career ruined and I don't take you for the guy to risk that."

At that comment, he seemed surprised.

"You know me?"

"Who doesn't." you simply waved your hand and that intrigued him.

"Don't you think this is a little unfair?" he then voiced and that confused you.

"What do you mean?"

He grinned.

"I mean that you know who I am, but I don't know who you are. Care to enlighten me?"

"Not my fault you don't notice people you share a course with." he seemed truly surprised at that.

"We're sharing a course? Which one?"

"Find it out." you then teased and immediately excused yourself right after.

"Anyways, I have to get going before my cover blows. Have fun strolling around dark alleyways all creepily." you surpressed a smile and quickly went your way. He was speechless.

Yes, you definitely intrigued him.

At home, you immediately told your friends Shoko and Utahime about the horrible evening and your encounter with THE Ryomen Sukuna. Thankfully, you three being little gossip girls made your night better.

The next monday morning came by and you were on your way to your class. You were pretty early, so you sat down on a bench near the sports field and enjoyed the morning sun shining down on you. Usually you weren't so early, coming last minute but still punctual every day, not feeling the need to be there earlier than required. You just knew how to do it.

What you didn't know is that Sukuna has been thinking about you a lot during the weekend, wondering if you really went to the same college as him. Wouldn't he have noticed you?

So when he coincidentally saw you sitting there at the bench, him being on the field behind you to use the empty space to train a little, he started to walk up to you. But before he even reached the end of the field, you were already gone, already left for your class.

That happened again and again, whenever he spotted you on campus, you always found a way to get lost in between the crowds of students, he was simply unable to get to you, not that you had noticed of course.

On friday, he finally catched you after his second class ended. He ran up to you quickly but carefully, not wanting to attract your attention to purposefully scare you a little again.

"We don't have any courses together." He remarked after basically teleporting out of nowhere and he was pleased to see you wincing. You responded in amusement.

"But it left you wondering, didn't it? That just proves my point: you don't notice your surroundings, otherwise you would've known right from the start."

"Such a shame, I was kind of looking forward to seeing you in my classes." Your heart missed a beat, causing you to fail to come up with a fitting reply, caught off guard by his response.

"Didn't know I was dealing with a pathological liar, though." he added.

"Didn't know I was dealing with a self-centered player. Oh wait, I did!" you followed suit and he catched onto that insinuation.

"You mean player as in athlete or fuckboy?" he questioned, completely amused by your insolence.

"Guess we'll never know." you shrugged and he laughed.

"Sassy. I like you." You felt yourself heating up at those words. Somehow, he was very easy to talk to.

"So, what made you exit through that window last week? Don't you know that normal people use, I don't know, doors?"

"Nothing that concerns you, I believe."

"It does, it traumatized me. Imagine you're just trying to enjoy your life, then all of a sudden someone creeps out of the window. A disturbing sight, really."

"Sorry for not meeting your standards then."

"I didn't say that." he corrected you and smiled cheekily. He was confusing you, was he flirting with you?

"So?"

"So what?"

"Your date."

You sighed. "It wasn't a date."

"Hah, and I already wondered why you were dressed so casually."

You furrowed your brows.

"Do I have to look special to go on a date?" you questioned. To be fair, you like getting ready and dressing up all prettily, but that comment made you challenge him anyways.

He laughed at your upfrontness and continued.

"Not at all. It's just that from my experience, I know people usually put more effort into their appearance when going out on a date."

"If you figured, why bother asking?" you asked, half playful half serious.

He smirked again.

"Feisty, I like that." You rolled your eyes. "I'm just curious. Am I wrong?"

"Well, I guess people only dress up for special people."

"And he wasn't?" he tilted his chin upwards but still stared down at you with his eyes, awaiting your response.

You snorted. "No, he was not."

"So? What did he do?"

"Why do you care so much? Don't you have anywhere to be?" you then asked, remembering he probably had classes to attend to after break, just like you.

"Why do you care about my obligations?"

That silenced you. He laughed.

After a small second of silence and the expectant look on his face, you gave in and told him the story.

"Happy now?" you asked after finishing.

"Of course not. That guy is an asshole." He exclaimed. His reaction surprised you, after all, he was a famous womanizer himself.

"Oh come on, no need to feign sympathy, you probably use the same methods on girls."

That made his eyes widen.

"Who do you take me for? I'm a true gentleman. Speaking of it, where's your next class? Want me to bring you?" he suggested, but you declined.

"No, thank you, I think I'm very much capable of finding the way myself."

And he was shook, never before had a girl rejected his offer.

To be honest, being reminded of last friday soured your mood and you were confused about the sudden interest Sukuna had taken in you. If he thought you'd be his new plaything, he was wrong. He has the whole campus swooning over him, but it's basic knowledge that he leads women on. You didn't have anything against him, but you were not interested in joining his world.

Sukuna stopped in his tracks for a moment and watched after you.

Oh, you're gonna be a lot of work, he thought to himself, catching himself smiling.

Had this in my drafts and I've remembered it randomly. Let me know what you think! I have a lot of ideas already...🌜

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mostlysignssomeportents · 11 months ago

Text

Podcasting “Capitalists Hate Capitalism”

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

This week on my podcast, I read "Capitalists Hate Capitalism," my latest column for Locus Magazine:

https://locusmag.com/2024/03/cory-doctorow-capitalists-hate-capitalism/

What do I mean by "capitalists hate capitalism?" It all comes down to the difference between "profits" and "rents." A capitalist takes capital (money, or the things you can buy with it) and combines it with employees' labor, and generates profits (the capitalist's share) and wages (the workers' share).

Rents, meanwhile, come from owning an asset that capitalists need to generate profits. For example, a landlord who rents a storefront to a coffee shop extracts rent from the capitalist who owns the coffee shop. Meanwhile, the capitalist who owns the cafe extracts profits from the baristas' labor.

Capitalists' founding philosophers like Adam Smith hated rents. Worse: rents were the most important source of income at the time of capitalism's founding. Feudal lords owned great swathes of land, and there were armies of serfs who were bound to that land – it was illegal for them to leave it. The serfs owed rent to lords, and so they worked the land in order grow crops and raise livestock that they handed over the to lord as rent for the land they weren't allowed to leave.

Capitalists, meanwhile, wanted to turn that land into grazing territory for sheep as a source of wool for the "dark, Satanic mills" of the industrial revolution. They wanted the serfs to be kicked off their land so that they would become "free labor" that could be hired to work in those factories.

For the founders of capitalism, a "free market" wasn't free from regulation, it was free from rents, and "free labor" came from workers who were free to leave the estates where they were born – but also free to starve unless they took a job with the capitalists.

For capitalism's philosophers, free markets and free labor weren't just a source of profits, they were also a source of virtue. Capitalists – unlike lords – had to worry about competition from one another. They had to make better goods at lower prices, lest their customers take their business elsewhere; and they had to offer higher pay and better conditions, lest their "free labor" take a job elsewhere.

This means that capitalists are haunted by the fear of losing everything, and that fear acts as a goad, driving them to find ways to make everything better for everyone: better, cheaper products that benefit shoppers; and better-paid, safer jobs that benefit workers. For Smith, capitalism is alchemy, a philosopher's stone that transforms the base metal of greed into the gold of public spiritedness.

By contrast, rentiers are insulated from competition. Their workers are bound to the land, and must toil to pay the rent no matter whether they are treated well or abused. The rent rolls in reliably, without the lord having to invest in new, better ways to bring in the harvest. It's a good life (for the lord).

Think of that coffee-shop again: if a better cafe opens across the street, the owner can lose it all, as their customers and workers switch allegiance. But for the landlord, the failure of his capitalist tenant is a feature, not a bug. Once the cafe goes bust, the landlord gets a newly vacant storefront on the same block as the hot new coffee shop that can be rented out at even higher rates to another capitalist who tries his luck.

The industrial revolution wasn't just the triumph of automation over craft processes, nor the triumph of factory owners over weavers. It was also the triumph of profits over rents. The transformation of hereditary estates worked by serfs into part of the supply chain for textile mills was attended by – and contributed to – the political ascendancy of capitalists over rentiers.

Now, obviously, capitalism didn't end rents – just as feudalism didn't require the total absence of profits. Under feudalism, capitalists still extracted profits from capital and labor; and under capitalism, rentiers still extracted rents from assets that capitalists and workers paid them to use.

The difference comes in the way that conflicts between profits and rents were resolved. Feudalism is a system where rents triumph over profits, and capitalism is a system where profits triumph over rents.

It's conflict that tells you what really matters. You love your family, but they drive you crazy. If you side with your family over your friends – even when your friends might be right and your family's probably wrong – then you value your family more than your friends. That doesn't mean you don't value your friends – it means that you value them less than your family.

Conflict is a reliable way to know whether or not you're a leftist. As Steven Brust says, the way to distinguish a leftist is to ask "What's more important, human rights, or property rights?" If you answer "Property rights are human right," you're not a leftist. Leftists don't necessarily oppose all property rights – they just think they're less important than human rights.

Think of conflicts between property rights and human rights: the grocer who deliberately renders leftover food inedible before putting it in the dumpster to ensure that hungry people can't eat it, or the landlord who keeps an apartment empty while a homeless person freezes to death on its doorstep. You don't have to say "No one can own food or a home" to say, "in these cases, property rights are interfering with human rights, so they should be overridden." For leftists property rights can be a means to human rights (like revolutionary land reformers who give peasants title to the lands they work), but where property rights interfere with human rights, they are set aside.

In his 2023 book Technofeudalism, Yanis Varoufakis claims that capitalism has given way to a new feudalism – that capitalism was a transitional phase between feudalism…and feudalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/28/cloudalists/#cloud-capital

Varoufakis's point isn't that capitalists have gone extinct. Rather, it's that today, conflicts between capital and assets – between rents and profits – reliably end with a victory of rent over profit.

Think of Amazon: the "everything store" appears to be a vast bazaar, a flea-market whose stalls are all operated by independent capitalists who decide what to sell, how to price it, and then compete to tempt shoppers. In reality, though, the whole system is owned by a single feudalist, who extracts 51% from every dollar those merchants take in, and decides who can sell, and what they can sell, and at what price, and whether anyone can even see it:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/01/managerial-discretion/#junk-fees

Or consider the patent trolls of the Eastern District of Texas. These "companies" are invisible and produce nothing. They consist solely of a serviced mailbox in a dusty, uninhabited office-building, and an overbroad patent (say, a patent on "tapping on a screen with your finger") issued by the US Patent and Trademark Office. These companies extract hundreds of millions of dollars from Apple, Google, Samsung for violating these patents. In other words, the government steps in and takes vast profits generated through productive activity by companies that make phones, and turns that money over as rent paid to unproductive companies whose sole "product" is lawsuits. It's the triumph of rent over profit.

Capitalists hate capitalism. All capitalists would rather extract rents than profits, because rents are insulated from competition. The merchants who sell on Jeff Bezos's Amazon (or open a cafe in a landlord's storefront, or license a foolish smartphone patent) bear all the risk. The landlords – of Amazon, the storefront, or the patent – get paid whether or not that risk pays off.

This is why Google, Apple and Samsung also have vast digital estates that they rent out to capitalists – everything from app stores to patent portfolios. They would much rather be in the business of renting things out to capitalists than competing with capitalists.

Hence that famous Adam Smith quote: "People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the public, or in some contrivance to raise prices." This is literally what Google and Meta do:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

And it's what Apple and Google do:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/10/27/23934961/google-antitrust-trial-defaults-search-deal-26-3-billion

Why compete with one another when you can collude, like feudal lords with adjacent estates who trust one another to return any serf they catch trying to sneak away in the dead of night?

Because of course, it's not just "free markets" that have been captured by rents ("Competition is for losers" -P. Thiel) – it's also "free labor." For years, the largest tech and entertainment companies in America illegally colluded on a "no poach" agreement not to hire one-anothers' employees:

https://techcrunch.com/2015/09/03/apple-google-other-silicon-valley-tech-giants-ordered-to-pay-415m-in-no-poaching-suit/

These companies were bitter competitors – as were these sectors. Even as Big Content was lobbying for farcical copyright law expansions and vowing to capture Big Tech, all these companies on both sides were able to set aside their differences and collude to bind their free workers to their estates and end the "wasteful competition" to secure their labor.

Of course, this is even more pronounced at the bottom of the labor market, where noncompete "agreements" are the norm. The median American worker bound by a noncompete is a fast-food worker whose employer can wield the power of the state to prevent that worker from leaving behind the Wendy's cash-register to make $0.25/hour more at the McDonald's fry trap across the street:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#neofeudal

Employers defend this as necessary to secure their investment in training their workers and to ensure the integrity of their trade secrets. But why should their investments be protected? Capitalism is about risk, and the fear that accompanies risk – fear that drives capitalists to innovate, which creates the public benefit that is the moral justification for capitalism.

Capitalists hate capitalism. They don't want free labor – they want labor bound to the land. Capitalists benefit from free labor: if you have a better company, you can tempt away the best workers and cause your inferior rival to fail. But feudalists benefit from un-free labor, from tricks like "bondage fees" that force workers to pay in order to quit their jobs:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/21/bondage-fees/#doorman-building

Companies like Petsmart use "training repayment agreement provisions" (TRAPs) to keep low-waged workers from leaving for better employers. Petsmart says it costs $5,500 to train a pet-groomer, and if that worker is fired, laid off, or quits less than two years, they have to pay that amount to Petsmart:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

Now, Petsmart is full of shit here. The "four-week training course" Petsmart claims is worth $5,500 actually only lasts for three weeks. What's more, the "training" consists of sweeping the floor and doing other low-level chores for three weeks, without pay.

But even if Petsmart were to give $5,500 worth of training to every pet-groomer, this would still be bullshit. Why should the worker bear the risk of Petsmart making a bad investment in their training? Under capitalism, risks justify rewards. Petsmart's argument for charging $50 to groom your dog and paying the groomer $15 for the job is that they took $35 worth of risk. But some of that risk is being borne by the worker – they're the ones footing the bill for the training.

For Petsmart – as for all feudalists – a worker (with all the attendant risks) can be turned into an asset, something that isn't subject to competition. Petsmart doesn't have to retain workers through superior pay and conditions – they can use the state's contract-enforcement mechanism instead.

Capitalists hate capitalism, but they love feudalism. Sure, they dress this up by claiming that governmental de-risking spurs investment: "Who would pay to train a pet-groomer if that worker could walk out the next day and shave dogs for some competing shop?"

But this is obvious nonsense. Think of Silicon Valley: high tech is the most "IP-intensive" of all industries, the sector that has had to compete most fiercely for skilled labor. And yet, Silicon Valley is in California, where noncompetes are illegal. Every single successful Silicon Valley company has thrived in an environment in which their skilled workers can walk out the door at any time and take a job with a rival company.

There's no indication that the risk of free labor prevents investment. Think of AI, the biggest investment bubble in human history. All the major AI companies are in jurisdictions where noncompetes are illegal. Anthropic – OpenAI's most serious competitor – was founded by a sister/brother team who quit senior roles at OpenAI and founded a direct competitor. No one can claim with a straight face that OpenAI is now unable to raise capital on favorable terms.

What's more, when OpenAI founder Sam Altman was forced out by his board, Microsoft offered to hire him – and 700 other OpenAI personnel – to found an OpenAI competitor. When Altman returned to the company, Microsoft invested more money in OpenAI, despite their intimate understanding that anyone could hire away the company's founder and all of its top technical staff at any time.

The idea that the departure of the Burger King trade secrets locked up in its workers' heads constitute more of a risk to the ability to operate a hamburger restaurant than the departure of the entire technical staff of OpenAI is obvious nonsense. Noncompetes aren't a way to make it possible to run a business – they're a way to make it easy to run a business, by eliminating competition and pushing the risk onto employees.

Because capitalists hate capitalism. And who can blame them? Who wouldn't prefer a life with less risk to one where you have to constantly look over your shoulder for competitors who've found a way to make a superior offer to your customers and workers?

This is why businesses are so excited about securing "IP" – that is, a government-backed right to control your workers, customers, competitors or critics:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

The argument for every IP right expansion is the same: "Who would invest in creating something new without the assurance that someone else wouldn’t copy and improve on it and put them out of business?"

That was the argument raised five years ago, during the (mercifully brief) mania for genre writers seeking trademarks on common tropes. There was the romance writer who got a trademark on the word "cocky" in book titles:

https://www.theverge.com/2018/7/16/17566276/cockygate-amazon-kindle-unlimited-algorithm-self-published-romance-novel-cabal

And the fantasy writer who wanted a trademark on "dragon slayer" in fantasy novel titles:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/06/14/son-of-cocky-a-writer-is-trying-to-trademark-dragon-slayer-for-fantasy-novels/

Who subsequently sought a trademark on any book cover featuring a person holding a weapon:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/07/19/trademark-troll-who-claims-to-own-dragon-slayer-now-wants-exclusive-rights-to-book-covers-where-someone-is-holding-a-weapon/

For these would-be rentiers, the logic was the same: "Why would I write a book about a dragon-slayer if I could lose readers to someone else who writes a book about dragon-slayers?"

In these cases, the USPTO denied or rescinded its trademarks. Profits triumphed over rents. But increasingly, rents are triumphing over profits, and rent-extraction is celebrated as "smart business," while profits are for suckers, only slightly preferable to "wages" (the worst way to get paid under both capitalism and feudalism).

That's what's behind all the talk about "passive income" – that's just a euphemism for "rent." It's what Douglas Rushkoff is referring to in Survival of the Richest when he talks about the wealthy wanting to "go meta":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/13/collapse-porn/#collapse-porn

Don't drive a cab – go meta and buy a medallion. Don't buy a medallion, go meta and found Uber. Don't found Uber, go meta and invest in Uber. Don't invest in Uber, go meta and buy options on Uber stock. Don't buy Uber stock options, go meta and buy derivatives of options on Uber stock.

"Going meta" means distancing yourself from capitalism – from income derived from profits, from competition, from risk – and cozying up to feudalism.

Capitalists have always hated capitalism. The owners of the dark Satanic mills wanted peasants turned off the land and converted into "free labor" – but they also kidnapped Napoleonic war-orphans and indentured them to ten-year terms of service, which was all you could get out of a child's body before it was ruined for further work:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/26/enochs-hammer/#thats-fronkonsteen

When Varoufakis says we've entered a new feudal age, he doesn't mean that we've abolished capitalism. He means that – for the first time in centuries – when rents go to war against profits – the rents almost always emerge victorious.

Here's the podcast episode:

https://craphound.com/news/2024/04/14/capitalists-hate-capitalism/

Here's a direct link to the MP3 (hosting courtesy of the Internet Archive; they'll host your stuff for free, forever):

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_465/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_465_-_Capitalists_Hate_Capitalism.mp3

And here's the RSS feed for my podcast:

http://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/18/in-extremis-veritas/#the-winnah

#pluralistic #technofeudalism #yanis varoufakis #rents #profits #economics #podcasts #locus magazine #mp3s

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