#there's supposed to be more elaborate works in the making but this new job is draining me

[v7n5]

Doodled to make sure that I still know how to draw (it's only been 3 weeks)

I read 1 (one) well-written fic of Carla Jean x Anton and now I'm crazy about them too.

Not a single day passes without me losing my mind (over fictional characters)

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Instacrush

max verstappen x reader

Content warnings: unprotected sex (p-in-v), rough sex, dirty talk, language, daddy kink, pining, flirting, possessive behavior, one bed trope,...

Word count: almost 7k 

Note: I'm gonna add a smau at the end so keep reading!

My masterlist

The engagement ring on your finger suited you perfectly. It wasn’t overly large or flashy, but the single diamond gave off a subtle, delicate sparkle. It was beautiful and felt just right, symbolizing the love and unity of marriage. When you looked at it in the light, you almost thought you could feel the love Max had for you.

If only that were true.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” you asked, sitting down at the table across from Max.

“So we can practice and make sure we seem like a real couple,” he replied.

You sighed, your gaze once again drifting around the hotel room. There was a small sitting area, a dining space connected to a kitchenette, one bathroom, and a bedroom. You had already pointed out the single bed, and Max, ever the professional, reminded you that part of the assignment meant you were expected to share it. After all, this was a couple’s retreat. It wouldn’t have been a problem—if only you didn’t have a crush on him.

If only it were that simple.

You were completely enamoured with Max Verstappen, the handsome three-time F1 World Champion. Instacrush wasn't something you experienced often, so he took you by surprise. It was the first time you met him on your first day at work. You were so caught up looking around the paddock, so excited for your first time ever set foot in the land of speed. You were just an intern working in the social media department. Landing a job during the global economic recession was a dream come true for you, not to mention, working for such a big and top-tier team like Red Bull. And that’s where you bumped into him, his can of Red Bull splashed all over your new team uniform. And honestly, you didn’t remember much since you were busy looking staring at his eyes. The bluest eyes you have ever seen. It was like the water in the ocean in  Maldives that you once saw in some travel magazines. It was pathetic to fall for him so hard and quickly. It had to be some sort of karma or divine intervention that you were with him in a hotel room.

Just the two of you.

“You know,” he began, wetting his lips as he leaned back in his chair. You blinked, only because you didn't want him to call you out on staring. “You don't have to look so miserable to be here. Is my company that terrible?”

“What? No. Max, you aren't a terrible company,” you promised, slumping a bit in your chair. The last thing you wanted to do was upset him. “Just been a bit since I've been in a relationship and I’m kind of rusty,” you said. 

“I’m just not sure I’m the right one for this job,” you added.

“You’re perfect for this job. Why would you think otherwise?”

You froze like a deer in headlights, even as his compliment warmed your heart. It meant a lot that he thought you would do the job well. But how were you supposed to answer that question? That you adored him and it would be torture to pretend to be with him for a few months just to back to being coworkers after?

“We should practice,” you suggested instead of giving him an answer. The backstory wasn't overly elaborate, but you had to get it right.

He leaned forward, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Did someone say something to make you think you wouldn't be good for this assignment?” He asked in a low voice. “Because I'll straighten them out.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from whimpering. The thought of him putting someone in their place to make you feel better was swoon-worthy. “No, Max. No one said anything. You're right. I’m good for this,” you said before you added, “We’re good together.”

You couldn't read the look he gave you and it became more difficult not to squirm under his gaze. “Yeah,” he whispered, leaning back and clearing his throat. “So. We’re engaged. Going to a resort for a much-needed vacation. We’ll have to mingle with some of the guests in between investigating the owner. One of the first questions will be how we met.”

With an exhale, you recited, “We met at the track. Both slammed into each other. Both said sorry at the same time”

“And you gave me your hands for me to get up,” you smiled, making a show out of reaching for the glass on the table. “Our fingers touched first. Our eyes met second.”

“And we immediately befriended at first,” he smiled.

Your heart swelled. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world when he smiled like that. “We did,” you said, trying to blink the longing from your eyes. “We went on that reserved dinner with the team and talked a bit about ourselves.” 

It was all the truth, except for the fact that you guys were never more than friends since he was with Kelly, and you. Well, you were just you, there’s nothing really special about you for him to like. You aren’t those supermodels he used to date, nor have the skinniest body type, you are chubbier, with red hair and freckles across your cheeks. Before accepting his request to be in a PR relationship with him just so he gets along with the image of not being a notorious playboy who drives a fast car as an occupation, you did ask him WHY YOU? WHY NOT SOME OTHER GIRLS? AND LET’S BE HONEST ANY OTHER GIRLS WHO ARE PRETTIER WOULD DIE TO FILL IN THE JOB, SO WHY YOU? He just stood there looking at you once again with the deepest set of blue eyes that made your knees go weak, We are friends so this is what a friend should do, right? Help each other out. And y/n I really need your helping hands now. 

“Even proposed to you at the same restaurant,” he said, gesturing to your left hand. “But I actually got the ring after our first date because I knew I wanted you to be my girl,” he said with such conviction that you found it hard to breathe.

The way his eyes softened as he gazed at you, you found yourself believing him for a moment. You had to stay rooted in realism though. The point of the mission besides the actual mission was to act as if you two were crazy about each other.

Not that you had to do any acting on your part.

You cleared your throat and pulled your hand back from the glass. “If only that were true,” you said, absentmindedly twisting the ring around your finger. You weren't cynical about love, but this whole thing was a reminder that you were single and alone. 

The silence between you two was deafening, filled only by the sound of your own heart breaking. You longed for his words to be true, for him to truly want you as his girlfriend. But deep down, you knew it was all pretend. Your fingers fidgeted with the ring again, a constant reminder of the lie you were living. The weight of the situation was almost unbearable. 

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Heat crept up your neck. You shouldn't have said anything. “I mean, what a briliant story you have in mind,” you replied to avoid saying you wanted to be his girl.

“Well, it was true, y/n.” 

You pulled yourself from your thoughts when he said your name, which sounded like it melted on his tongue. It made you press your thighs together. You needed to stay professional. 

“Most of it only, Max. Anyway, enough of that. Let’s move on,”

Max looked unsatisfied with your response, his blue eyes searching your face. He could tell you were deflecting, which was both attractive and frustrating. “Okay then. How about we move on to the next part of our relationship? The first date.” He leaned back in his chair and you mimicked his movement. 

“Ah, our first date,” you said, the memory bringing a smile to your face. “It was a classic dinner-and-a-movie type date, right?”

Max chuckled at your summation of your first date. “Yeah, it was pretty basic, but it was our first date,” he said, his voice low. “I wanted to keep things simple and focus on just the two of us. No fancy restaurants or anything like that.”

You recalled how nervous you were leading up to the date, spending hours trying to figure out what to wear and worrying about what to say. In hindsight, you didn’t need to have been so worried.

“But you looked beautiful that night,” Max continued, a small smile playing on his lips. “You always do.”

You tried to ignore the way your heart quickened at his compliment. How was it that Max Verstappen, F1 World Champion, and certified heartthrob, could say something so casually that made you feel like the most beautiful woman alive? 

“Thanks, Max,” you said, your cheeks starting to heat up. You twisted the ring on your finger, your nervous habit making its appearance. “You looked pretty good yourself, if I remember correctly.”

Max chuckled softly, his eyes fixated on your hand. “Are you nervous, Schatje?” he teased, a playful sparkle in his blue eyes. “You’re fiddling with your ring again.”

Your cheeks flushed even more. You should be used to his teasing by now, especially after the time you two had spent together recently while preparing for this PR mission. And yet, every time he called you darling, your heart would do somersaults in your chest. 

“No, I’m not,” you denied, knowing how unconvincing you sounded. “Just… practicing my part, you know. For the acting thing.”

Max’s eyes darkened slightly as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the armrest. He knew that you were avoiding something, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

He began to recite the next bit of their cover story. “What’s our favorite couple activity?”

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the mention of couple activity. "Well," you began, your voice shaky, "our favorite couple activity is definitely cooking together. It's a great way for us to bond and spend quality time together." 

“Well it must be you will be the chef and I’m your assistant then, since I couldn’t even boil an egg to save my life, Liefje.”

Max's self-deprecating comment took you a little by surprise. You were used to seeing him as the confident, world-class athlete on the track, not as a hopeless cook in the kitchen.

You chuckled softly at his admission. "Well, I guess you'll have to stick to being my sous-chef then. I can teach you a thing or two in the kitchen."

Max groaned exaggeratedly. "I suppose I'll have to stick to fetching the ingredients and looking pretty," he joked.

You rolled your eyes playfully at his remark, unable to stop yourself from smiling. "Yes, you can be the pretty one, Max. I'll do all the hard work in the kitchen."

He chuckled, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips. "Well, I guess I should be thankful that I have a gorgeous girl doing all the cooking for me, then."

His compliment left you feeling warm and tingly, but you tried to brush it off and stay focused on the task at hand.

"But you have to promise me one thing, Max," you insisted, trying to maintain your composure. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for your condition. "What's that, Schatje?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

You leaned forward a bit, your eyes meeting his. "You have to be my personal taste tester. Gotta make sure everything is just right."

Max chuckled at your condition, a smirk playing at his lips. "Ah, so I'm not only your sous-chef, but I also get the privilege of being your taste-tester?" he teased.

You nodded, a sly smile of your own on your lips. "That's right. You'll be my human guinea pig. No complaining, just eating." Max groaned dramatically, pretending to look disappointed.

Despite his initial reluctance, Max couldn't help but smile at your cheeky request. "Okay, okay, I'll be your taste-tester on one condition," he countered.

Your curiosity piqued, you asked, "And what's that?"

Max leaned forward, his eyes meeting yours, "You have to give me one of your special desserts afterward."

You laughed, surprised at his audacity. "Oh, now you're pushing it, Verstappen," you quipped. "But I suppose I can throw in a dessert for you, as a token of my appreciation for your taste-testing services."

Max leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. "Deal," he said, a playful grin on his face. "Let's hope your cooking skills are as good as your baking, Liefje."

“Why don't you have a boyfriend?” He asked suddenly.

The switch in topic jarred you. “That’s. I’m. What? How is that relevant?”

It wasn't smooth, but it was better than blurting out that your hopeless crush on him was one of the major factors.

“I’m curious,” he shrugged.

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to answer. Truth be told, your life was dominated by work, leaving little time for relationships. But if you explained that to Max, he'd probably just call you a workaholic and laugh. He was the epitome of work hard, play just as hard.

"I don't know," you finally said, trying to sound casual. "I guess I just haven't found the right person."

Max scrutinized you but didn't press the topic further. Instead, he took a sip of his water, his eyes never leaving your face. Max wasn't buying your nonchalant attitude. He leaned back in his chair, still watching you closely. "I don't believe you. You're a beautiful woman, and yet you're single."

The compliment caught you off guard. Coming from Max Verstappen, the three-time FIA Formula One World Champion, it was a lot to take in. Trying to keep your cool, you retorted, "You don't have to flatter me, Max. I know I'm not some supermodel or something."

Max's lips curled up into a sly smile. He leaned even closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Who said anything about comparing you to a supermodel?" he teased.

You felt your heart skip a beat at his proximity. He was even more attractive up close, with his sharp features and those intense blue eyes. Despite your best attempts to keep your cool, you found yourself blushing again.

"Come on, Schatje," Max said, his voice dropping an octave. "Just tell me why you don't have a boyfriend."

The intensity in Max's eyes was almost overwhelming. You fidgeted nervously in your seat, feeling increasingly flustered under his gaze. Why was he so insistent on this topic? You tried to come up with a witty retort, a clever way to deflect, but your mind was drawing a blank. His intense gaze made it hard to think straight. "It's not a big deal, Max," you finally managed to say, your voice betraying your growing nervousness.

"Bullshit." He leaned back in his chair, studying you once again. "You're avoiding the question. There must be a reason why you don't have a boyfriend."

Max's persistence made you feel inexplicably flustered. He was so adamant about knowing the reason behind your single status. You wracked your brain, trying to come up with a convincing answer that wouldn't give away your secret. But the more you fidgeted and avoided his gaze, the more he seemed to be onto you. "Come on, y/n,” he coaxed again, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his legs. "Just give me a straight answer."

Max's smirk widened as he saw the effect he was having on you. He could tell he was making you nervous, and that only made him more determined to get the answer he wanted. "You're making this even more suspicious, you know," he said, his voice laced with gentle mockery. "The more you avoid the question, the more interested I become."

There was something about the way Max said that that sent a shiver down your spine. Was he just teasing you, or was there a hint of genuine interest in his voice? It was hard to tell. "You're relentless, you know that?" you mumbled, trying to cover your nerves with sarcasm.

Max chuckled, clearly enjoying how much he was getting under your skin. "I can be very persistent when I want something."

Max's admission sent a flutter through your stomach. He was relentless in his pursuit of an answer, and it was both frustrating and exhilarating. You fidgeted in your seat, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. "And you always get what you want, don't you?" you retorted, aiming for a tone of sarcasm.

Max chuckled at your attempt at sarcasm. He seemed unfazed as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixated on you. "I do, usually," he agreed. "But you're proving to be quite the challenge, y/n."

He took in your flushed cheeks and shifting eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

Max's gaze seemed to pierce through you, reading your every reaction. "You're blushing like a schoolgirl, Schatje," he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

His observant nature was both impressive and irritating. You tried to compose yourself, to appear unfazed by his words. But the more he teased, the more flustered you became.

The sound of your phone ringing snapped you both out of whatever spell you two were under. “Shit,”  you muttered, “It’s Christian. I better-”

“Yeah, you should answer that,” he said, “I think I'm going to call it a night. It was simply lovely to have such a conversation with you, Lief”

You watched as Max stood from the table, a smirk still tugging at his lips as he stretched his arms over his head. The way his shirt pulled tight against his muscles didn’t escape your notice, but you quickly turned your focus to your phone. Christian’s name flashed on the screen, a reminder that despite the playful teasing and lingering tension, you were still on assignment.

Clearing your throat, you answered the call, doing your best to sound professional. “Hey, Christian. What’s up?”

Max lingered by the doorway to the bedroom, his blue eyes still watching you as he leaned casually against the frame. The man was frustratingly calm and composed, as if he hadn’t just spent the last several minutes flustering you beyond belief.

“Just checking in. Wanted to make sure everything’s running smoothly with you and Max,” Christian’s voice came through the speaker.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you replied, glancing at Max again. He raised an eyebrow, clearly hearing the conversation. “We’re just going over the cover story. Making sure we’re on the same page for tomorrow.”

“Good, good. Remember, we need you two to look convincing as a couple. This retreat is high-profile, and we can’t afford any slip-ups. Play the part, but don’t overdo it,” Christian said.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Got it. We’ll be convincing.”

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, you ended the call and set your phone down, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Max was still standing in the doorway, his gaze soft but unreadable.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost concerned.

“Yeah,” you replied, though your heart still raced from the earlier tension. “Just… trying to make sure I don’t mess this up.”

Max pushed himself off the doorframe and took a few steps closer to you. “You won’t. You’re doing great, Schatje. Better than I expected, actually.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—there was more behind his words than simple encouragement. But you couldn’t afford to let your hopes get the better of you. This was a job. Nothing more.

“Well, I guess I should get some sleep too,” you said, standing up from the table. “Big day tomorrow.” Max nodded, his eyes flicking briefly to the bed in the other room. “Right. About the bed…”

You froze, realizing that you had been so caught up in the conversation earlier that you hadn’t given the sleeping arrangement much thought. But now, with the two of you standing there in a hotel room alone, the reality of sharing a bed with Max Verstappen hit you like a freight train.

“I can take the couch,” he offered quickly, sensing your hesitation.

“No, Max. It’s fine. We’re supposed to be a couple, right? Couples share beds.” You tried to sound confident, but your voice wavered slightly.

Max’s lips quirked into a small smile. “True. But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You shook your head, summoning what little courage you had left. “I’ll be fine. It’s just sleeping. No big deal.”

Max didn’t argue, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something unreadable. He gestured towards the bedroom. “Ladies first.”

You swallowed hard and walked towards the bed, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. Max followed close behind, and as you both climbed into the bed, the space between you felt like an ocean. You were hyper-aware of every movement, every breath.

Max lay on his back, one arm resting behind his head, while you kept to your side, facing away from him. The silence was thick, the air filled with unspoken thoughts.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight, Max,” you replied, your voice tight with nerves.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall asleep. But the warmth of Max’s body next to you, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it was all too distracting. You tried to push the thoughts away, reminding yourself that this was all pretend. That Max Verstappen didn’t see you as anything more than a colleague helping him out.

But as the minutes ticked by, sleep continued to evade you, and you couldn’t help but wonder—what if?

What if this wasn’t just pretend? What if Max felt the same pull, the same unspoken connection that you did? What if, somewhere in the midst of this fake relationship, something real was beginning to bloom?

You shook your head at the thought, frustrated with yourself for even entertaining such a ridiculous idea. Max was a superstar, a world champion, and you were just… you.

But as you lay there, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing beside you, it was hard to ignore the tiny spark of hope flickering in your chest.

Maybe—just maybe—there was more to this story than either of you realized.

You shifted slightly in bed, careful not to disturb Max, who was still lying quietly beside you. You glanced over at him, only to find that his eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.

"Can't sleep?" he asked quietly, turning his head to look at you.

You shook your head, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his gaze. "Too much on my mind, I guess."

Max smiled faintly. "Same here."

There was a brief silence between you, and in the quiet of the night, it felt like the weight of unspoken words was suffocating. You wanted to ask him if this was all just a game to him, if he felt the same tension you did, but you were too afraid of the answer.

Instead, you settled for something safer. "Do you ever get tired of it? The pressure, the constant spotlight?"

Max turned his head fully towards you, his expression thoughtful. "Sometimes. It’s part of the job, though. I’ve learned to live with it. But yeah, there are days when it gets overwhelming."

You nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "I get that. It’s hard to find balance when the whole world is watching."

Max's eyes softened, and for a moment, it felt like the walls between you two were crumbling. "Yeah. But it’s not all bad, you know? There are people who make it easier."

You looked at him, your heart fluttering at the implication of his words. Was he talking about you? Or was this just part of his charm?

Before you could respond, Max shifted closer, closing the small gap between you. His proximity made your heart race, and you held your breath as he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"You make it easier, y/n," he whispered, his voice low and sincere.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. There was no more pretending, no more acting for the sake of the mission. It was just the two of you, lying in the dark, and suddenly, it felt like everything you had been holding back was on the verge of spilling over.

"Max," you whispered, your voice trembling as you struggled to find the right words.

But before you could say anything more, Max leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours. You imagined Max kissing you before, but didn’t think it would ever be so soft. His lips barely brushed against yours, but it felt like the beginning of something more. It tempted you like nothing else ever had. He must’ve felt it, too, since he deepened it. You melted. You surrendered. You never really stood a chance before him. 

“So, you like me? Was that why you kissed me, or, ” You asked when he pulled back a little to gaze at you. “I’m sorry. I just need to hear you say it because I really like you and have for months. Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have said that because we have a whole acting and pretending thing ahead and now you know and I don't want it to be weird.”

Your mind almost shut down when he gave you a full-blown smile and said, “Yeah, I like you. I thought it was obvious. I tried dropping little hints, talking about your smile and teasing you.” He said. “You know Kelly dumped me because I remembered your coffee order when we were at the hospitality not hers,”

You stared at Max in shock, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. Kelly dumped him over... you?

"You remembered my coffee order?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max chuckled softly, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek as he held your gaze. "Yeah," he replied. "Every single time. It wasn't something I planned to memorize, but I guess I couldn't help it. You’ve always been in the back of my mind, even when I didn’t realize it." You blinked, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of emotions. All the late-night conversations, the teasing, the moments when his touch lingered a little longer than necessary—it all clicked into place. He wasn’t just playing a part. He liked you. Max liked you.

"You really are an idiot," you said with a breathy laugh, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. The tension between you two, the unspoken feelings, had been weighing on you for so long, but now everything felt so clear.

Max grinned, his face inches from yours. "Takes one to know one," he teased, his lips brushing against yours again.

You leaned into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back. This time it wasn’t tentative or cautious. It was everything you had been holding back, all the feelings you had suppressed because you thought it was just part of the job, part of the act.

But this was real. You were real.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. Max’s forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your hands.

"Guess we’re going to have to make this mission even more believable now, huh?" Max murmured, his voice filled with that same teasing warmth.

You smiled, biting your lip as you looked up at him. "We might have to practice a little more, just to make sure we’re convincing enough."

Max laughed, a sound that sent warmth coursing through your veins. "I think we can manage that." 

A moment passed before you giggled, happiness blooming in your chest. Max Verstappen liked you. Wanted you. “Please do,” you breathed, pulling him back down for another kiss.

He groaned, ravaging your mouth as he moved on top of you. His knee pushed your legs apart so he could settle between them, swallowing down your whimpers when he pressed his growing hardness against your pussy. He ground his hips, your panties soaked as his tongue tangled with yours. The man kissed you like he had something to prove.

Like he wanted to own you.

His muscles rippled as he leaned up and grasped the bottom of your nightie. The vision of him above you like this was now engraved in your mind. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

Sleeping with him was moving fast considering you just confessed your feelings for each other, but you didn't care. “Don't stop,” you whispered, quivering as he tugged the fabric over your head.

Your hands moved up to cover your chest before he gripped your wrists. “Are you trying to hide from me?” He questioned, his smirk playful in comparison to the uncertainty in his gaze.

You didn't want him doubting himself or your want for him for a second.

“Maybe? I mean, look at you and look at…”

You wouldn't knock on your looks since you were generally confident in your appearance, but the driver was an entirely different level of gorgeous. “Don't,” he whispered, releasing a wrist so he could cup your breast. You arched your back and any uncertainty in his eyes before faded when a moan escaped your lips. “You're so fucking beautiful.”

The praise almost made your eyes water as he brought his head down, losing focus when he swept his tongue across your nipple. Your eyes fluttered shut as he did it again, a wave from a sea of ecstasy crashing over you. Your heart thudded faster, addicted to the feel of his sinful mouth, suckling gently as his hands continued to explore. You writhed beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. "Please,"

He chuckled, the vibration making your breast hum in his mouth. "Please what, baby?" He asked, his free hand moving to your other breast, pinching the nipple gently. You whimpered, your hips bucking against the floor. "Please touch me, please kiss me, please fuck me,"

“You are such a needy baby,”

"His hands slid down your sides, gripping your thighs and spreading them apart. He settled between them, his breath hot against your core. "You want me to touch you here?" He asked, his fingers gently caressing your folds through your underwear."

“You’re the reason I don't have a boyfriend,” you whined, your fingers twisting in his hair. Why did you say that?

He paused, lifting his head to look at you with a mix of confusion and realization. "Because of me?" He asked softly. "Because I'm always around, and no one else can compare?" He slid a finger underneath the fabric, touching you for the first time.

His finger traced your slit, gathering your wetness before pushing inside gently. You let out a sigh of relief, your hips tilting to meet his finger. "Is that it? Is that why you don't have a boyfriend?" He asked, curling his finger inside you, rubbing your g-spot. 

“Y-yes… It's you, has always been you, Max.” you gasped.

He added another finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. His voice was low, filled with a dominance you'd never heard from him before. "So, every time you went on a date, every time they kissed you, it was me you thought of?” 

His fingers moved faster, curling and rubbing against your g-spot. "And every time they tried to touch you, hold your hand, it was my hand you wished was there instead?" He asked, his thumb rubbing your clit in circles. "Is that it, baby?”

But what can you say more besides moaning at his touch. 

He grinned wolfishly, his eyes locked onto yours. "You can't speak because you're so turned on, thinking about me instead of them. Isn't that right?" His fingers continued to pump in and out of you, his thumb pressing circles onto your swollen nub. "Say it.”

But you’re not thinking straight. You’re not thinking straight at all when all he did was teasing you like that.

He growled, his face hovering over your core. "Say it, or I'll stop." His fingers paused, buried deep inside you. You squirmed, your hips bucking, silently begging him to continue. "Say it," he repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

“Max” you breathed, clenching your legs together.

He tsked disapprovingly, prying your legs apart with his broad shoulders. "Not until you say what I want to hear." His golden eyes bore into yours, filled with desire and determination. "Say, 'Only you, Max. Only you.'" His fingers remained motionless. 

“Jus’ need you. Need you to make it better. ‘M yours Daddy, only yours.” 

His expression softened, and he rewarded you by moving his fingers again, crooking them inside you. "Good girl," he praised, his voice gentle. "Now, wrap your legs around my shoulders. I'm going to make you come with my mouth.”

You eagerly wrapped your legs around his shoulders, locking your ankles behind his neck. He lowered his face between your thighs, his breath hot against your wet flesh. "You're so ready for me, baby," he murmured, his thumbs spreading you open. "So swollen and needy.”

And without further teasing, he pressed his lips to your clit and sucked. Hard. His fingers curled inside you again, hitting that perfect spot. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. "Oh god oh god oh god,"

Max smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue. "Feel good, baby?" he breathed. His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions. You didn't know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Max flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking. "You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?" His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the sheets and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside.

The act surprised your lover almost as much as it did you-not quite, but almost -upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him. When you whined a loud, protracted, 'FUCK!' he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this. Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Max knew you were close. He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else's. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

 "Come on my face, Liefde. Show me what a good girl you are.”

And suddenly you were coming undone all over him—crying his name, clawing his skin, squeezing your legs so tight around his head you feared you might snap it in two.

He slowly licked you clean, his gaze never leaving yours. "You taste even better than you look," he murmured, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He leaned in close, pressing his forehead to yours. "And you look... like a masterpiece.

You took his face in closer and sucked your arousal off his tongue. Took him by surprise and dragged a mindless, lazy, half-crazed and careless tongue all over his, where your juices had no doubt collected too. That slutty, fucked-out look you gave him—like your brain had all but fallen out of your head with the orgasm he’d given you—was everything Max could’ve wanted.

Max's eyes widened in surprise as you sucked his face clean, his hands instinctively coming up to hold your head in place. He groaned into your mouth, his own arousal spiking at the filthy, careless way you were using your tongue.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth to explore and taste every inch of it. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer against him, letting you feel the hard length of his cock pressed up against you.

“I need to fuck you now,” he said.

His voice was rough with desire, his patience worn thin. He reached between your legs, grabbing your thigh and tossing your leg over his shoulder. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. "Hold on, Schatje,"

He slammed into you with no warning, burying his cock deep inside your pussy in one brutal thrust. You cried out in surprise and pleasure, your walls clenching around him as he fills you completely. He grabbed your other thigh, holding you in place as he started pounding into you with ruthless intensity.

“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”

You didn’t have to say anything, just whimpering in time. Max kissed your forehead and let you fold into him as his dick wreaked havoc down below. He kissed you again, and again, and in between kisses, mumbled,

“That’s daddy’s sweet, needy little slut.”

“My perfect fucking Schatje, so good at taking my cock.”

Every syllable spoken aloud was like a brand new catalyst for your impending release. You barely nodded your head, opened your mouth and whined pathetically, but that’s exactly how Max wanted you.

"Shit, you were made for this, weren't you baby? Made to take my load." He's so lost in the way you whine, telling him he's right and he knows it when he feels the way your body clenches and flutters around him.

He pistons his hips, fucking you with abandon, his balls slapping against your ass with each brutal thrust. He reaches up to grab your breast, squeezing it roughly as he snarls in your ear. "Gonna fill this fucking pussy up with my cum, mark you as mine.”

His grip on your thighs tightened as he continued to pound into you, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. "Not till I say so, baby. You gonna wait for me, aren't you?" He grunted, his own release barreling down on him. 

“Daddy, faster, please, harder, feels so good!” You were practically sobbing, loving the way he was splitting you open.

“I'm Gonna cum, daddy! Can I cum?” Max practically growls, not missing a beat while still thrusting in you.

He grunted approvingly at your desperate pleas, his face contorting with effort as he held back his own release. "Not... till... I... say... so..." He punctuated each word with a powerful thrust, his voice harsh with command. "Look at me, baby. Look at me when you beg."

You preened, the walls of your pussy clenching around his length. “Please, daddy.” 

“Jesus, you’re making me so wet. You’re such a little whore for me.”

“I’m your whore. Always, daddy, please!”

His face contorted with pleasure as you finally gave him what he wanted. "Good girl," he hissed, his pace becoming frenzied as he finally let himself go. "You're gonna take it all, aren't you? Gonna take every last drop?" 

“Yes!!” You sob, biting down onto his shoulder to keep your cries down while he continues to fuck you into oblivion. You don't understand how such filth can spew from that pink, pouty little mouth of his. "Please-please-need-you-daddy-I'm gonna-" 

“ I’m 'yours sweet girl, all yours, go on, cum for me love, cum on my cock, it's all yours" He gazed into your eyes, cooing at your parted lips and sweat slicked skin. It didn't take long for you to shatter around him his lips smashing against yours to swallow your moans.

"Want your cum daddy" You beg , desperate to have him claim you from the inside.

"Oh fuck baby, y-you can't say that, gonna, oh fuckkk" Your words throw Max right off the edge as he lets out a deep groan stilling his hips and shooting endless ropes of his spend into you. You both lay in comfortable silence, your fingers playing with his hair now disheveled. 

“Do you mean it? After this is all over?” Anything could happen. Perhaps this was just to keep his bed warm. Something to keep him calm, you were just someone to-

"Of course Liefje" Max presses a firm kiss to your forehead, silencing the thoughts that tried to run wild. "You're mine"

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yourusername first day at work, welcome to the playground - newbie.

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user1 what a dream job 😭

user2 I wanna be there toooooo 😭

urfriend my baby's dream finally came true

yourusername wish me luck bestie

user4 what is your job?

yourusername i'm the new intern in social media for RBR

liked by redbullracing, yourusername, landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 3,962,028 others

maxverstappen1 this new (intern) social media manager has me doing all sorts of weird things, apparently the fans like me doing this…I’m yet to be convinced 😂 might need a long nap after this.

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username12 fyi we absolutely love photos like these 😂

landonorris I nearly fell off my chair laughing after scrolling through this post 😂😂😂

username13 thank you the new intern for convincing max to bless us with a world of meme worthy content, i beg for more

username14 he has no idea how much we love seeing this side of him does he???

username15 pls promote ur new intern to be ur lifelong admin @/redbullracing

redbullracing let me ask my boss first ferrari we still have open position for the new intern, wanna join? redbullracing back off mercedesamgf1 or u can work for us instead, why be an intern when u can be our new admin for a very demure, very mindfull team! username16 are they battling for the new intern 😂 username17 on track and offtrack battle

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 26,882 others

yourusername life lately as the new intern at @/redbullracing

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username18 so u r the new intern that blessed us with so much max's meme

yourusername no need to tks me 🤗 username18 u r so pretty, might be my new wife

username19 oooooh max's in the like

username20 aww so cute

username3 the outfits slay

landonorris uhhh 

username21 WHAT ARE YOU EOING HERE maxverstappen1 she's not on ur team, mate landonorris so i can not say hello to her ???

yourbff you are so effortlessly gorgeous please 😫 and whose hand is that wifey

username22 wtf is max and lando beefing in the comment

username23 shut the f up she's a swiftie OMG i need a challenge with max and checo with taylor

yourusername working on it, but these two know nothing 'bout the pop culture 😭 username24 OMG the devil works hard but u gotta work harder girl

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, yourusername and 1,826,882 others

redbullracing Taylor Swift 1 - 0 Chestappen

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maxverstappen1 do not shame ur drivers publicly like that

redbullracing we do not 🤗 landonorris how can they not know about THE TAYLOR georgerussell63 i would have won this charlesleclerc if the ferrari's challenge could be this easy

username30 they cant even score a point

username31 OMG Chestappen

liked by 826,882 others

f1wags new wag alert!!! This might be the new gf of Max and she also works for Red Bull too

username32 OMG is she y/n the old intern now admin

f1wags that's her

username33 i follow her too and she is soooooooo pretty

username34 her new ideas for all their challenges are cool too

username1 😒😒

username2 BOOOO👎

username3 so it’s official then huh?

username13 BODY IS TEAA

username24 HOLYYY

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and 3,344,234 others

maxverstappen1 i think this called hard launch and yes this is my new gf @/yourusername took all the pics since she thought i'm not very good at it

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[dyaz-stories]

casual (1) || gojo satoru x reader

chapter 1: i like the way you kiss me

synopsis: Getting recruited for a double position as a teacher for Jujutsu High in Tokyo and a strategist, tasked with assigning missions to sorcerers in the region is the perfect situation for you. It pays well, it's well regarded, and it's as safe as possible — by sorcerer standards, anyway.

There is one problem though, and his name is Gojo Satoru. The one who's supposed to collaborate with you and answer to you.

The one you can't keep your hands off...

word count: 9.5k

genre: 18+, friends with benefits to lovers, coworkers to lovers, canon divergence, smut, emotional slow burn but they fuck like rabbits

warnings/tags (chapter): fem!reader (she/her pronouns, reader is afab), takes place ~5 years before jjk0, teacher!reader, sorcerer!reader, canon-typical violence, mild angst, smut (semi-public sex, fingering [fem receiving], vaginal sex, sorta dom!gojo, corruption kink if you squint), mentioned slut shaming (not the sexy kind), gojo satoru is a little shit

A/N: This is quite the Behemoth of a first chapter, I'm sorry to say. I love really long chapters, but I can only hope you all do too and this isn't too intimidating! This is a fic I've had in mind for ages and finally got around to start an outline for and actually write it. There are actually a couple of drabbles here and there on my blog for this couple already, happening at various points of their relationship.

I really hope you will enjoy this first chapter!

‘Make use of Satoru Gojo however you see fit.’

Such are the first words spoken to you by the higher-ups, at the end of an exhausting recruitment process. You nod sharply at the instruction.

“Duly noted.”

Truth be told, you don’t see why they need to specify it. You had assumed that went without saying from the very beginning.

The job offer had, at first glance, been for a strategist who would work directly under the higher-ups for the region of Tokyo. Devising teams, advising the council, and assigning missions were supposed to be the main tasks you would have to fulfill.

‘Supposed’ because, when you were one of only three candidates left, the higher-ups had revealed that there was, in fact, a second role you would be expected to perform. One that you had not imagined would be available for decades.

A new teaching position at the Tokyo Jujutsu High School was opening up, though you couldn’t understand why for the life of you. You had no connection to the establishment yourself, having left Japan as a child and trained abroad your whole life, never returning for more than a couple of months at a time, yet you knew, as did the entirety of the sorcerer world, that Satoru Gojo had been appointed there less than a year before. Well, rumor had it that he had appointed himself, and you had to wonder if that was why they were keen to have a more… traditional teacher by his side, since firing him was an option.

In that case, your lack of ties to Satoru Gojo, Masamichi Yaga and to the Jujutsu Headquarters could explain why your name ended up being the last one on the ballot. You were the best placed to be an independent monitor.

The distorted voice keeps going, bringing you back to the present.

“Unless stated otherwise, always send him to battle first.”

You school your face so you do not let any emotion appear, though the statement surprises you. You have to assume that they don’t mean for any mission you receive, because that would be catastrophically ineffective. Then again, sending him on Grade 1 missions, if he is available, makes some sense.

“Report to us if you encounter difficulties with him,” the voice adds before falling silent without elaborating.

You understand, from the finality of their tone, that you have been dismissed, and bow your head, your movements polite and sober.

“Thank you for the trust you are placing in me. I will not disappoint you.”

“We know you won’t,” another sepulchral voice answers.

In the dark, candle-lit room, it sounds sinister enough to chill you to the bone. You wait just a second longer, in case something needs to be added, before turning on your heels and walking away. No one calls you back, and you’re more relieved about leaving the room than you would like to admit.

Outside, the summer sun is high and bright. You tilt your head backwards and close your eyes to let its rays warm your face. It will take a while before the cold instilled in you in that meeting room dissipates.

You’re expected in Jujutsu Tech by the end of August. Being a teacher there is as close to the ideal position as it gets, for a sorcerer. The pay is excellent, the risks minimal, and it commends great respect from the society at large. You have no doubt that, had the offer been for that position in the first place, numerous sorcerers far more qualified for teaching than you are would have thrown their hats in the ring. You wouldn’t have made it past the first interview.

You got lucky. Just this once, you’re going in the right direction.

You inhale deeply. For the first time in a long time, you no longer envision your life as an endless successions of missions, countries, and houses that never become homes.

For the first time in the long time, you think you have a future.

There is a spring in your step when you make your way down the stairs, away from this freezing place and the ghouls that haunt it.

Behind you, the Headquarters; ahead, Jujutsu Tech.

Masamichi Yaga is a cautious man. His handshake is warm and firm when he greets you, and though his voice is calm and steady as he guides you through the hallways of Jujutsu Tech, he remains evasive. He provides all the information you might need, answers any question you have when you ask them without missing a beat, and yet you can tell he is guarded, keeping you at arm’s length.

You cannot determine why that is with certainty, though you have a handful of hypotheses. It could just be that he isn’t used to the presence of strangers. Dealing with a total stranger is a rarity within sorcerer society, even more so in Japan. You doubt that he would know anyone who could talk about you, let alone vouch for you. You understand why that would make you a suspicious character.

Another option is that you were forced onto him as a member of his staff by the higher-ups, though you haven’t heard anything about that. With you being a complete outsider, he would not have any valid reason to outright reject your presence, not when his only teacher is frequently gone for days at a time, but that would not mean that he’d be pleased with it — or view you as trustworthy, for that matter.

The third possibility, of course, is that he just finds you off-putting.

‘Cold’, that’s how you are often described by the people around you. You don’t do it intentionally, but you also cannot pinpoint what it is that you do ‘wrong’. Something about your tone, your expressions, or lack thereof, your cold eyes, the way your mouth naturally curves downwards.

That and, of course, the trail of bad omens that you bring with you everywhere you go.

These don’t tend to be active problems when it comes to sorcerers. With normal humans, now, it’s a different story. Oh, there are exceptions, who find that this all makes you intriguing, but it typically makes it hard to build actual connections with other people. You wouldn’t normally care, but in a situation where you have to collaborate with others, you could see that becoming an issue.

You had seen that coming, of course — it wasn’t like it was new information to you. As a result, you had made sure to be on your very best behavior from the moment you’d stepped foot within Jujutsu Tech grounds. You had nodded with interest, you had reminded yourself to smile, you had asked all the right questions, and yet you could feel that you had not once managed to turn yourself into a likeable person.

Ah, well. Not being likeable would not stop you from doing your job right.

“I’ll introduce you to the rest of teaching staff,” Yaga announces, his voice deep, as he reaches a new door. His hand is hovering over the doorknob when he stills, turning to look at you. “Are you ready for this just now? They were both students here, but I assume this can all be overwhelming for a newbie.”

That is a kind sentiment.

“I’m okay.” Then, because answering in monosyllables is not what likeable people are supposed to do, you add: “I read the files available to familiarize myself with the school grounds before coming here.”

His eyebrows jump up behind his glasses, but it’s followed by a hearty chuckle.

“You’ve come prepared.” He nods, appreciative. “Good. It will be nice to have someone who takes their job seriously around here.”

You don’t have the time to question the sentence before he opens the door.

The room is small and reeks of cigarette smoke. In the middle of it, a desk, and behind it, sprawled on an elegant black chair, a white-haired man that you recognize at first glance. You let your eyes slide over him. You wouldn’t want to look too, um, curious, just yet.

The brown-haired woman with the long white coat who is perched on a window sill, doing her very best to look inconspicuous, is the one responsible for the smell. You identify her as Shoko Ieiri, school doctor and reverse cursed technique prodigy. Next to you, Yaga sighs.

“Shoko,” he protests with a paternal disapproval, “I thought you’d quit smoking?”

“I did,” she answers, staring at him, her eyes dark and tired, “and then I had to regrow a lung. Do you have any idea how much of a pain it is to regrow internal organs?”

A light laugh comes from the man in the middle of the room, and you consider that this gives you permission to look at him without coming off like you’re gawking.

He has his feet propped up on the desk, and he’s using them to push himself backwards in a precarious balance. White hair spills on the dark leather, long arms hang on both sides of the chair, and he hasn’t bothered to so much as glance in your direction so far — or at least, you don’t think he has, because white bandages are wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.

Even without being able to spot their signature blue, you know who he is. There isn’t one sorcerer in Japan, nor in the whole world, who doesn’t know his name.

Satoru Gojo, in the flesh.

“Maybe if you hadn’t cheated your way through medical school, it would be easier, don’t ya think?” he asks Ieiri with fond familiarity.

“Don’t—” Yaga takes two steps into the room, kicks the legs from underneath the chair. “—sit at my desk, Satoru.”

Effortlessly, Gojo jumps off the chair before it hits the floor and lands on his feet, facing Yaga. He is just as tall as the Principal, and from the wide grin on his face, it’s obvious that he is thrilled to have gotten a rise out of him.

“Then get me my own office already, what are you waiting for?”

“We’ll see which one of you gets an office first,” Yaga sniffs, and it doesn’t sound like Gojo is at the top of his list. “First, there is someone you need to meet.”

Ieiri has been observing you since you’ve walked into the room, not looking away when you had met her eyes. Yaga’s words have Gojo finally directing his attention to you, though, and something in the room shifts. You can’t see them, yet you know his eyes are on you, dissecting you and your cursed energy, collecting every possible bit of information on you. He walks past Yaga, burying his hands in his pockets as he approaches you. He has an easy smile placated on his lips, but you know when you’re being judged.

Behind him, both Ieiri and Yaga are still, tense. Yaga’s jaw is set, and Ieiri fiddles with a pack of cigarettes in her pocket, clearly itching for a new one. Ah, so this is the real test.

You don’t back off, staying rooted in your spot. He towers over you easily, and you have to tilt your head back just to look at him. You’d heard he was a handsome man, but you hadn’t expected it to be so obvious, even with the bandages on. He studies you, sharp jaw clenching, before the dazzling smile returns.

“Right! You’re the substitute teacher, aren’t you?”

His voice is light and airy, the previous tension completely absent from it. You blink.

“She will be teaching instead of you when you’re away on missions,” Yaga intervenes, “but that doesn’t make her a substitute. C’mon, Satoru, we’ve had this conversation already.”

On that last sentence, his voice turns into a threatening rumble.

“Sure, sure,” Gojo dismisses him without looking back, “and you’re the one who will be giving me missions as well, right?”

He keeps his tone cheerful, makes it sound like he’s just trying to have a conversation, but there is an edge in his voice, a bite. You cannot tell what he is trying to achieve with the question, though, or why he is being hostile, so you choose not to engage.

“Indeed,” you answer, bowing your head politely. “It is an honor to be meeting you all.” You make quick work of giving your name and briefly mentioning that you hadn’t grown up in Japan.

You’re met with silence, Gojo’s lips pressed together as he tries to read you. You do your very best not to give him anything to sink his teeth into.

“Your family’s known for their precognition, aren’t they?” Ieiri asks from the other side of the room.

“Foresight, yes”, you reply. Your answer is rehearsed, polished. Your family has somewhat of a reputation within the sorcerer world, but fortune tellers are a dime a dozen, even among non-sorcerers, and the results vary greatly — it’s not an ability that inspires trust, even for a legitimate sorcerer like you. You don’t wish to reveal too much of yourself just yet. “I look forward to working with you.”

A smile finally forms on her lips.

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I won’t be seeing too much of you. Would be a shame if I had to patch you up. If you want to go out drinking though, just let me know. I know all the best bars in the city!”

“She does, and she’s banned from half of them,” Gojo chimes in. Now that his focus is back on her, his tone is softer; teasing, still, but no longer harsh. “She could use an actual designated driver instead of exploiting her kouhais though, don’t you think, Shoko?”

She laughs at that, sincerely, her eyes creasing.

“Fuck you, Gojo,” she answers fondly.

“I apologize for these two,” Yaga says, wincing at the coarse language. “We’re very happy to have you here. I’m sure it will do the kids some good, having someone serious to take after.”

“Hurtful,” Gojo protests, pouting. “They’re good kids,” he adds, directing his attention back to you. He sounds proud now, no trace of his earlier defiance left. “They’ll be great soon. They just need a little push to get there.”

At that, you nod.

“Of course. I’ll do my very best to help them on that path.”

There is a second, between the moment when you finish speaking and the moment when a wide smile splits his face. In that second, his lips part, and you feel his eyes plunge into you, digging into the very core of your being. He doesn’t look pleased. No, he is sizing you up, and you doubt you measure up to his expectations as well as you should. You’re the only one facing him, though, and when he smiles, just a little too late, it all vanishes like it never happened.

“Good to hear! As long as that’s the case, I’m sure everything will go smoothly.”

It’s said differently, but it’s as threatening as the higher-ups’ last words to you. Still, behind Gojo, Yaga heaves a relieved sigh and exchanges a look with Ieiri that tells you just how worried he’d been about your arrival. To him, it looks like the situation is resolved.

“Why don’t we all go and get a drink together to welcome you properly, if we’re done here?” he asks, walking over and slapping Gojo in the back.

“Sounds good to me,” Ieiri hums.

“As long as we go somewhere with good desserts, I’m in,” Gojo declares, intertwining his fingers at the back  his head.

“You better be, Satoru,” Yaga grumbles, “you’re paying.”

“Not sure the Gojo clan has enough money for your appetite,” he sighs dramatically, “but I mean, I can try.” Then, eyeing you, “You coming or what?”

“Of course,” you say, swallowing around the unexpected knot in your throat. “Thank you for having me.”

You follow them cautiously, keeping quiet as the banter continues, hands held behind your back, observing. You had not expected to feel welcome here. You could have done without Gojo’s strange hostility, but with your track record, you had expected far worse.

“Let me know if Satoru makes your life harder, alright? I’ll talk some sense into him,” Ieiri tells you, placing a cigarette between her lips.

“And I’ll beat it into him if I have to,” Yaga adds, snatching it from Ieiri’s mouth and crumpling it between his fingers.

“I’d love to see you try,” Gojo grins.

“Noted,” you answer, “but I’m sure everything will be fine.”

This last part is a lie. Even as he’s joking around with everyone, you know he is still observing you, courtesy of the Six Eyes, watching your every move, waiting to find a fault somewhere so he can figure out what to do with you. You can’t blame him. You will be the one sending him into action, after all, even if the higher-ups would review missions assigned to grade 1 sorcerers and special grade sorcerers. Of course he’d need some time to figure out whether or not you’re trustworthy.

Not that his opinion on the subject matters to you. You’re not the type of person who needs other to like you. You don’t even need him to trust you. All he has to do is let you do your job.

Everything else is futile.

It is no surprise that the first few weeks at your job are slow. The end of summer and the beginning of fall are always quiet periods for sorcerers, and as a result, you don’t have many missions to hand out just yet. The few, low-level ones available in Tokyo are systematically claimed by Gojo before you can look into them, as training for his students.

“Kids gotta learn somehow, right?” he tells you with a grin the first time it happens.

He’s just waltzed into your classroom and he’s leaning over the desk, elbow conveniently resting on the mission files. You try not to think about how brazenly handsome he is right now, even when he is openly provoking you. You stare at his bandages, right where his eyes must be. He may be smiling at you, but there is no sincerity behind it, no joy, and that wasn’t really a question.

You shrug.

“Alright.”

The smile falters.

“Yeah? That’s alright with you?”

“Certainly. If you think these are good exercises for them, and if you plan on being there to supervise them, I don’t see any issue with it. Just return the files if there are any they can’t clear, and I’ll transfer them to the appropriate person.”

He tilts his head. Watching. Assessing.

“You should join us!” he exclaims cheerfully, smile back in its place, clapping his hands together. “The more, the merrier, isn’t that right?”

Oookay. He is testing you. The infuriating part of that is, you have no idea what he is testing you for, what he wants you to display — or fail to display. Trying to see if you’re good enough of a teacher? You have nothing to prove here, certainly not to someone who has been on the job for such a short time. Then again, you don’t see any harm in humoring him.

“No problem. Just let me know when you intend to take care of them, and I’ll be there.”

His smile widens, but you’re not sure if it means you’ve succeeded or failed his test.

“Good,” he hums. “I’ll be taking that, then.”

In one swift movement, he retrieves the files from your desk, and he walks away with them before you can say anything.

You roll your eyes — this whole song and dance are so unnecessary — but you don’t see any reason to stop him, so you just watch him leave. You catch him stopping in the doorway, turning back to look at you. The smile is still dancing on his face, all edge and teeth.

“You’re not what I expected.”

You stare at him just a moment longer, brow furrowing, before he vanishes and you’re left with nothing to look at.

‘Not what he expected’. You turn the sentence over in your mind a couple of times, trying to conjure up an image, a personality that would fit better for the role you’re supposed to play, but nothing comes up. You have two roles: teaching the future generation of sorcerers, and assigning missions. If doing one task can facilitate the other, there is no reason not to do it — and you find it even harder to comprehend why he wouldn’t have expected you to do just that.

You shake your head, willing his words out of your mind. You’ve never felt the need to meet anyone’s expectations, so why should you start now?

Taking kids to a cemetery for a mission seems in poor taste, but that’s not what you tell Gojo when he announces it as his first choice.

“The mission is for a number of grade four curses and a couple grade three,” you state instead, “but considering the spot, it’s likely more powerful ones went unnoticed. Are you sure that’s appropriate for first-years?”

“Well,” he answers, hands casually in his pockets, towering over you with all his height, “it will be good to see how adaptable they are and their abilities in the face of danger. Plus, they’ll have two guardian angels looking after them, won’t they?”

There’s that toothy smile again.

You still don’t know what it means.

“As long as you’re here, it will be fine, I guess” is what you end up answering him with a shrug.

This time, he doesn’t say anything as he leaves, doesn’t stop to look at you.

You suspect that you said exactly what he was expecting from you.

Contrary to popular belief, cemeteries don’t typically harbor powerful curses. The smaller ones are numerous, born out of loss and grief, but the bodies of non-sorcerers don’t take the pain they endured with them in the grave. They leave it all over their houses, leaking through the walls and ceilings, seeping through the cracks in the floor, cursing their loved ones.

Cemeteries remain clean.

The exception to that rule is a notable one. In any place where cursed energy accumulates for long enough, there is a risk for it to congregate to the point where strong curses can emerge. This slow growth means they learn to better hide themselves, and it makes them harder to spot and eliminate. In an ideal world, there would be a sorcerer expedition every other decade to ensure nothing big can develop, but sorcerer numbers being what they are, that is impossible to ensure. There is also a high likelihood that it would be useless anyway, a waste of time and resources, far too much firepower for the bunch of fly heads sorcerers would find.

Still, you keep an eye on the three, baby-faced first years, and chew on the inside of your cheek as they start to make their way through the alleys.

You don’t like this.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” Gojo says lightly, next to you. “You’re a grade one sorcerer, aren’t you? There’s nothing more powerful than that here. I’d know it if there was.”

“My evaluation took place in Europe. I don’t know if I would have ranked that high, had I taken it here.”

“Aw, c’mon, if even you think you’re that weak, who’s going to believe you’re strong?”

The sentence surprises a chuckle out of you. A grade two sorcerer is nothing to turn your nose at, but you can’t say you’re shocked that the Satoru Gojo would equate that status to weakness. He is so far off the scale that he would break it altogether if it wasn’t for the convenient, murky ‘special grade’ title.

You look at him, find him already turned in your direction. His lips are parted in surprise. You don’t realize it, but you have somehow managed the feat of getting Gojo’s undivided attention. The Six Eyes are focused on you, dissecting you, taking you in. This is— new. People are predictable. It’s not always a bad thing, though it gets a little boring. You— you keep catching him off guard while doing things that seem completely natural to you.

For once, you’re the one who is smiling, and he’s stunned into silence.

“It doesn’t matter to me, whether or not people think I’m strong. All I care about is—”

Teeth reflected in a pupil. Muscles like lead. A hand raised in defense. Flesh that turns into mist, there one second, gone the next. Clicks like a laugh, coming from behind. ‘Morino Iori — 1954-2010’, splattered with blood. A curse with its head thrown back, an arm coming out of its open mouth, disappearing when it swallows. Tears dripping down from the chin to the ground, barely diluting the puddle of blood that has formed there.

The rest of your sentence is lost when you turn around and take off running.

There is a string of cursed energy pulling you in the right direction, one that found its way to you, one that the cursed technique engraved in your brain knew how to decode. You’re old enough not to question it, not to struggle with the vision, and following it comes as a second nature. Just as you get there, you see Sota rounding the corner slowly, looking around, squinting, searching for something he isn’t finding. Your fingers close around the weapon at your waist, withholding your cursed energy — for now.

To a non-sorcerer, you would appear to be holding nothing but a stick. A sorcerer would know it’s a cursed weapon, though most would not be able to figure out its use.

At least, not until the curse emerges from the fog, only two steps behind Sota. In a flash, you let cursed energy irrigate your weapon, and a blade of sheer energy appears. The stick is now a scythe.

It’s in poor taste, in a cemetery, but you don’t linger on that.

You’re between the boy and the curse before he can turn around. The curse’s abilities must allow it to hide its presence, would allow it to disappear back into nothingness a mere moment after the kill, but you don’t give it the opportunity to do that. The scythe cuts through it like butter, splitting it in two. The two halves haven’t yet hit the ground that you’ve already lowered your weapon, emptying it from cursed energy as soon as you’re done.

“Are you okay?” you ask Sota, turning around to face him as you anchor it back to your waist.

“Um,” he says. He doesn’t look scared, just mildly surprised. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“What happened to seeing his abilities in the face of danger?”

You bite your lip, glancing at Gojo. He is standing atop a headstone, balancing without any struggle and watching the two of you with unmistakable amusement.

“He freezes in the face of danger,” you answer.

Sota’s eyes go wide, and he turns away from you, shaking his head. He isn’t doing it for you, though, but for Gojo.

“That’s not true! I’ve exorcised curses before, you’ve seen me do it!”

He’s desperate to prove himself to his teacher, and something sinks within you. You don’t need a vision to tell you what will happen next.

“The kid’s got a point,” Gojo lets you know. “That precognition thing of yours, how accurate is it?”

There was a time when those words would have sent you reeling back. Even now, when you’re expecting them, you feel the blood withdrawing from your face as he speaks them. But you swallow, school your features. You know better now. Fighting now will only delay the inevitable. Gojo was standing next to you anyway. With the Six Eyes, he must know for certain that you hadn’t activated any sort of cursed technique when you took off running. That alone would be enough to make him suspicious, if he didn’t already doubt you.

Cassandra’s Bargain. Tell the truth, and save only those who believe you.

Unlike others, explaining the workings of your cursed technique doesn’t make it more effective — it makes it useless. If you try to tip the scale in your favor now, you will all pay a high price for it later.

You know what Gojo is implying, about your accuracy. Most people who have foresight see a number of futures. If he suspects you saw one in which Sota died, your actions must make sense to him.

“Enough to keep me safe,” you answer, tight-lipped.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s give the kid a fighting chance from now, what d’ya say?”

That’s not how it works, but it doesn’t matter. At least Sota gets to keep his arm — until next time.

What a waste.

“Of course,” you say with a nod.

You would do it again in a heartbeat if you had to, but you no longer feel threads of cursed energy, threads of fate, pulling you in one direction or the other. Oh, they’re all around you, and you’d know much more if you activated your cursed technique, but you know how it functions. That had to be the worst that could happen. Things should be fine now.

“Start running Sota, you’ve got some catching up to do!”

“Yes, Mr. Gojo, sir!” the kid replies, all but saluting. “I won’t disappoint you.”

Gojo’s laugh at that, as the kid takes off sprinting, couldn’t be more genuine.

You lean against the pristine Morino Iori headstone — it’s disrespectful, and you formulate a silent apology, but all you can do is hope they won’t mind. You’re exhausted, and yet the tension is keeping your body in hypervigilance, refusing to go away.

Gojo approaches you, hands in his pockets. The ghost of his usual smile is dancing on his lips. For once, though, it doesn’t feel mean-spirited.

“We have to save them if they need us,” he says, voice surprisingly soft, “but it’s as least as important that we teach them how to fend for themselves.

“I don’t disagree with that.”

This kind of reasoning just isn’t worth losing an arm over.

Gojo steps closer, leaning towards you, so close his nose is almost touching yours. You suck in a quick breath through your mouth. From up close, it’s much harder to ignore how handsome he is, even without seeing his eyes. You blame your accelerating heart rate on the fact that you’re in a high-stress kind of and you’re particularly pent-up at the moment. If your skin tingles when you feel his breath against it, it’s because of the cold. Must be. Whatever it is, you don’t let it show, and you hate that you’re finding it harder to breathe.

“You’re not what I expected.”

He’s said it before, but his voice is lower now, deeper, vibrating through your body, and something that you recognize all too well twists, deep in your abdomen.

Desire.

You don’t answer. You didn’t know what to say the first time, and you sure as fuck have no clue now — don’t know what he means, don’t know what you’ve done that you weren’t supposed to, don’t know if the interest in his voice betrays the same feelings rushing through you right now. So you glare at him until he laughs, light and airy, and takes a step back.

“If you need me, I’ll be on top of the temple, watching the kids.”

You wait for him to disappear between the tombs, keeping yourself still, too still, probably, to be inconspicuous, and it’s only once you’re sure he’s gone that you let yourself exhale very, very slowly. The urge to laugh at yourself bubbles inside you, because what the fuck is wrong with you? It’s not the right time, not the right place, and not even remotely the right person.

You’re fully aware of all of that, know it in the deepest parts of your soul, and yet your eyes still trail towards the temple. You could imagine that you’re seeing Gojo’s silhouette there, if you didn’t know better.

Except you do. You do.

When you look away, you know full well you’re doing it too pointedly.

You don’t get a chance to involve yourself in the Kyoto Goodwill Event. With the beginning of fall, files are starting to accumulate. Since you’re still getting your bearings in Tokyo and familiarizing yourself with the sorcerers you can send on missions, that is what you dedicate yourself to.

Or, well, that’s what you’re told.

You know that you’re more than capable of doing several things at once without botching any of them. Masamichi Yaga and Satoru Gojo are the ones who disagree. You’re called into Yaga’s office, and Gojo is already there, leaning against the wall behind him. For once, he isn’t wearing the bandages, but rectangular sunglasses. Even from behind them, you see the faint glow of his eyes, and it takes a lot — a lot more than it should — not to stare.

“The students taking part in this year’s event will be exclusively second and third-years. Satoru knows them well.”

“Yeah, and they’ve been training for a that for a while,” Gojo says without missing a beat. Where Yaga is stern and serious, his voice is relaxed and pleasant, lightening the mood without trying to. “The third-years have already won once, so they know what they’ve got to do for a repeat.”

That’s right. Tokyo won last year, under Gojo’s guidance, for the first time since… well, since he stopped competing himself, according to what you’ve heard.

“Satoru had already started putting this year’s strategy together by the time you joined Jujutsu Tech,” Yaga adds, trying his best to sound apologetic. “So there’s no need to concern yourself with that. It’s already well-oiled.”

As far as you’re concerned, the only thing that’s well-oiled here is this routine they’re performing, all for your sake. You click your tongue, not bothering to hide your annoyance, and watch as Yaga’s fingers curl, as Gojo’s chin lifts and the blueish glow focuses on you. There’s politics in the air, you can smell it, with a role you have to play. So they think, at least. Unfortunately, you lack knowledge when it comes to Japanese society, and you cannot quite identify what that role is.

To be fair, you also don’t care for it.

“Was it really necessary to waste all of our times with this charade?”

“I beg your pardon?” Yaga asks in response. His voice thunders dangerously. He’s warning you not to cross a line.

“If you don’t want me involved, you can just say so,” you answer with a shrug. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have missions to assign.”

You don’t wait for him to dismiss you to stand up, rolling your eyes once you have your back turned on them. How bland. You’ve never seen the point of engaging with this kind of theatrics when there are such greater things at play. Having you help the kids come up with a strategy of their own, going over the basics of planning, now that could have been interesting and helpful. It’s not that you doubt Gojo’s abilities in that domain, you don’t, but it is your specialty, and you’ve had to learn to survive with resources that are significantly more limited than his. Instead of doing that, in the name of whatever internal conflict is going on here, the kids have been deprived of that experience.

How boring.

Once the door has closed behind you, Gojo lowers his head, shoulders shaking. Yaga turns around, frowning, only to find him quietly laughing to himself.

“Told you she was a weird one,” he says once he’s caught his breath.

“Maybe,” Yaga mumbles, “but there must be a reason why she was placed here.”

Gojo hums. Outside the office, he follows your cursed energy. It has always been diffuse, fickle, fizzling out around you until it becomes hard to tell where it ends — even for him. Must have something to do with your cursed technique, but he hasn’t seen you use that yet. You go straight to your classroom, where you sit behind your desk to work, like you do every day until it’s late in the night.

Yaga is right, of course. There must be a reason. But you’re at least making it fun for him to figure out.

The Kyoto Goodwill Event does not go over well.

Maybe you should get some petty satisfaction from it, but there is none to be found, just a bitter taste in your mouth. Next to you, Utahime, the Kyoto school teacher, does not look up at the screens provided by Grade 1 sorcerer Mei Mei. She has her eyes on her hands, and she is nervously rubbing her fingers. In fact, while a few outsiders who have come to see the game for their own enjoyment exclaim at the students’ impressive moves, there is only one member of the schools who seems to be enjoying himself, and that is Principal Gakuganji.

Kyoto is methodical in their approach. On an individual level, you suspect that Kyoto is far ahead of them, but as a team, they have come up with the perfect strategy — at least against the Tokyo team. They have done their research, know everything there is to know about their adversaries. Then again, having one member of the Zen’in and one member of the Kamo family on their side, even if neither have access to their families’ historical techniques, must have been quite the help to gather that information.

You don’t see them doing anything revolutionary — if anything, a team such as theirs could have been composed hundreds of years ago — but they have no need for it, not with how brutal they are willing to be, leaving devastation in their wake. They’re prepared, efficient, collected. They’re also quick, having adapted to this modified version of capture the flag, one that involves curses, without hesitation.

Tokyo defends to the best of their abilities. They prove themselves especially capable when it comes to improvising on the spot, which means that Gojo’s teaching works on that front is working, at least. The match ends up closer than Kyoto must have been hoping for, but it doesn’t change the end result.

It’s a resounding victory for Kyoto.

“Well,” Gakuganji is the first to speak as it ends, “that was quite the beautiful display of sportsmanship, don’t you think, Satoru?”

You glance at Gojo, who is sitting next to you. There’s real anger in the way his jaw tenses at the question, but by the time you blink, he’s already relaxed it.

“That was really impressive!” he laughs, throwing his head back and clapping enthusiastically. “They’ve progressed so much since last year, haven’t they? I never imagined they would be able to come this far.”

You press your lips together at the barely veiled insult.

“Indeed, that is what realized potential looks like,” Gakuganji replies, stroking his beard. “Such a shame to see your promising pupils crashing and burning… Although that’s not the first time you’ve seen that happen, is it?”

That is the least charitable way of looking at what happened there, but it is impossible to argue with the facts: Kyoto bested Tokyo. You can’t say you appreciate the way he’s talking about your students, but you don’t think it’s your place to say anything.

Gojo’s smile thins.

“Well, I’ll be looking forward to the individual tournament tomorrow,” Gakuganji adds, standing up. “In the meantime, Yaga, I assume you have planned for accommodations, and all this action has given me quite the appetite.”

He leaves the room with an unmistakably pleased smile, Yaga getting up after him. He gestures at Gojo to join them, and he’s not hiding his scowl when he stands up, unfolding his long limbs slowly. The other sorcerers follow suit, Utahime included, though she is sporting a somber expression too. You’re the only one to linger in the room, in no rush to suffer through more of Gojo and Gakuganji’s quips.

When you do leave, you stop by the infirmary, where you find Ieiri cursing through her teeth as she works on the students. Even though several of them are fully healed, they’re keeping themselves huddled up together, shoulders hanging low, eyes on the ground.

Defeated.

“Professor Gojo has already come by,” one of them informs you without bothering to look at you. “We’re fine. We’ll do better tomorrow.”

“Yes, you will,” you confirm, and you see flashes of hope on their faces, mistaking your confidence for a prophecy. Truth be told, you haven’t seen anything for the next day, but this is often the best way of using the aura that surrounds you. “But you did well today. They saw a weak spot, and they exploited it. As long as you learn from it, there is no shame in this defeat.”

That deflates them, and Ieiri snickers, glancing at you with a grin.

“Quite the pep talk you’re giving here.’

She’s right. You’ve never been good at this.

“You’re all excellent sorcerers, but even you can be defeated by people who are not as good as you, provided they’ve prepared adequately. That is what you need to take away from today. Conversely, you will be able to defeat much stronger adversaries than you, with the right approach.”

Some look thoughtful at your words — most still look just as dejected as they were when you walked in.

“We’ll work on that once this tournament is over. For now, all you need to do is rest. You’ll prevail tomorrow.”

Smiles finally break on their faces, and you take that as your cue to leave, before you can say something that would ruin it again.

You’re in no rush to join the other sorcerers just yet, so you wander through the hallways, intending to go back to the classroom that’s become your refuge in the school. You’re one corner away from it, when the window that leads to the outside slides open, and Satoru Gojo jumps in, right in front of you. It is the second floor, yet you can’t muster surprise.

He shoots you a smirk that knocks the air out of you, but it’s nothing compared to what he does next. He looks back towards the window, looking displeased, and that’s when you notice voices calling for him — Kyoto students and low-level sorcerers. You’re about to look down when he catches you. He wraps a hand around your wrist to pull you away, presses the other on the wall, next to your head, and you freeze. He’s close, and everything you’ve been feeling for weeks at this point comes rushing back in.

“You know what’s a great way of getting people’s attention off you?” he asks, smirk even wider, if possible.

“Wh—”

Then his lips are on yours.

He tastes sweet, you’re surprised to find.

It’s playful, the way he kisses you, a press of his mouth against yours, stolen, daring. It’s also all you need to admit to yourself how badly you’ve been wanting this. That’s why you’re the one who wraps your arms around his neck, kissing him back harder. He lets out a surprised noise into you, maybe a chuckle, but he certainly doesn’t fight it, even if he wasn’t planning on it. In fact, it’s quite the contrary.

He reaches greedily for your hips, pulling you to him and keeping you pressed against his hard chest. When you part your lips, there is not a moment of hesitation on his part before he pushes his tongue in, swirling it against yours. You crane your neck to give him better access to your mouth, all while holding on tight to his neck to lower him towards you. Your back is against the wall, your body arched a way that would be uncomfortable if you weren’t so hot all over, set ablaze by his touch.

When he pushes his thigh between your legs, flexing it so it rubs against you just right, your knees buckle under you. It doesn’t help that, in this position, his semi-hard cock is pressed against your abdomen, and that awakens a very special kind of hunger within you.

There is no softness to the kiss or to the way your bodies move together, just pure lust. Wetness is pooling between your legs already, in anticipation for more, more of him, more of his body, more of his touch. He’s so tall, it’s like he’s everywhere, his scent surrounding you, his body caging you against the wall effortlessly, his mouth demanding more and more of you. You roll your hips against his, trapping his cock between your bodies, and he hisses into you, his grip turning bruising — not that you mind.

“Tease,” he manages to mumble as he takes a quick breath.

There’s no room for any more words before he reattaches his mouth to yours, almost biting into you, and fuck it feels good. His lips are soft, but that must be the only thing that is soft about this kiss. He moves your skirt out of the way, one hand coming to grab your thigh so he can lift it up, and that is when your eyes snap open, some reason coming back to your lust-filled brain at last.

“Wait,” you mumble, “not here.” Your eyes dart around the dark hallway — empty, but far too in the open for your liking. Problem is, your body is aching with how much you want him, and, even if it would be the smart thing to do, you can’t bring yourself to stop now. “Classroom,” you conclude, pulling him with you.

He lets out a breathless laugh, but follows. The second the door is closed, he has you against the wall again, this time with his chest pressed to your back while his lips find your neck, teeth pulling at the skin mercilessly before dragging his tongue on the sensitive area to soothe it. You let out a sigh, but it comes out much louder than you’d intended, almost a moan, and you have to lift a hand up to cover your mouth. He snickers, but doesn’t waste any more time on teasing you.

Instead, he snakes his hand into your skirt, and this time, you don’t stop him. Long fingers move past the hem of your panties to brush against your clit and you jump, biting your lower lip to keep quiet. His lips stretch into a smile on your neck.

“You’re so fucking wet already,” he comments by your ear, rubbing his fingers over your pussy lips, purposefully not entering you.

You groan in frustration, and push your ass against his now rock-hard cock. The low moan he lets out in surprise is delightful to hear.

“As if you’re one to talk,” you reply.

“Is that how you want to play it?”

Before you can answer him, he easily pushes two fingers inside you. They’re long and they fill you so well, you have to focus every fiber of you that’s not lost in pleasure on keeping quiet. Gojo’s free to take his fingers out, then plunge them into you once more, and you can’t help clenching needily around them.

“See,” he says, and oh his low voice, the way it makes his chest vibrate against your back, it all goes straight to your core, making you gush around his fingers some more, “that’s expected of me, ‘cause everyone knows I’m sorcerer society’s problem child. Aren’t you supposed to be the good girl?”

It’s no easy task to think with his fingers pumping in and out of you relentlessly, but even through the haze of pleasure, the words make you frown.

“Says— Ah— Says who?”

He uses the heel of his palm to press against your clit, and you’d conclude that he is actively trying to render you speechless if pleasure wasn’t shooting through you like electricity.

“Hmm, I don’t know, I’d say you’re being pretty good right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Would you— fuck— would you stop talking and just fuck me already?” you still manage to bite out.

He laughs again, delighted and maybe a little fond, but he stills his fingers inside you. You get some time to catch your breath, and use whatever self-control you have left not to try and fuck yourself on his hand.

“You sure?”

“As long as you’re clean, I’m safe,” you say — maybe not your smartest moment, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.

He pulls his fingers out, and you glance at him over your shoulder. He’s still wearing the bandages over his eyes, but his jaw is uncharacteristically taut, and his movements lack their usual fluidity. You grin. Good to see you’re having an effect on him too. It becomes even more obvious when he pulls out his cock, hard and veiny. You’re not surprised by how big he is, and you find yourself licking your lips, clenching around air at the prospect of what’s to come. Shit, you cannot wait to have it inside you, stretching you out.

“I’ve been wanting to mess up that skirt for weeks,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, as he pushes it out of the way and lowers your panties.

“Then what are you waiting for?” you ask with a click of your tongue. He is still talking way more than he should.

The smirk he gives you should concern you. He presses the tip of his cock to your entrance, and then, instead of penetrating you, as you’re frozen in anticipation, slides his length against your pussy lips, sending jolts of pleasure through you, but not giving you what you need right now. You whimper pleadingly, not catching yourself fast enough to keep yourself silent. You worry that he will keep teasing, but it appears he has reached his limits too, because soon he is pushing the tip of his cock inside you, and fuck, it’s even better than you’d imagined.

You hear him grunt behind you as he starts pushing himself inside you at a devilishly slow pace. You expected him to do it all at once, so you turn around once more, ready to throw another quip at him for his relentless teasing, but the words die on your lips when you see his face. His teeth are planted in his lower lip, and his face is contorted in a pleasure that he is clearly trying to reign in, his breathing quick and shallow, his chest heaving. The sight leaves you breathless, so you stay quiet.

“So fucking tight,” he all but whines as he keeps pushing himself inside you.

He bottoms out at last, and he stills for a few seconds, all so you can adjust and not at all because he is going to come too fast if he can’t get used to how warm and welcoming you are around him first. The discreet groans he was letting out turn into a full moan when you move forward, pulling him out of you, then back, sheathing him inside you completely once more. You’d keep moving, but he grips your hips tightly, fingers digging into the flesh, to stop any movement you could make.

It doesn’t last long though, because after that, he starts moving himself, and the pace he sets it merciless. The slapping of skin on skin echoes obscenely in the empty room, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when you can barely think, not when your knees are failing you and his hands on hips are the only thing keeping you standing, not when tiny whimpers keep spilling past your lips, no matter how much you try to keep them in.

“Couldn’t be even just a little patient, hm?” he asks you. It’s undercut by the gasps that interrupt him, the pleasured moans that escape him too.

This time, you don’t find anything to answer. The angle, with you bent over, hands on the wall in a desperate attempt to stay on your feet, makes you feel so, so full that you can’t think straight. Pleasure is coursing through you with each time he hammers into you, and you clench around him helplessly each time he pulls out. He’s fast, relentless, but if the way his moans keep getting more-pitched is any indication, he’s close to reaching his climax. You’re not far yourself, you just— just need— just a little—

One of his hands abandons your hip, and you would stumble forward if he wasn’t holding you so firmly. His free hand finds its way to your clit, and pinches it expertly, just as he snaps his hips into you harder than he has so far, spilling himself inside you. The orgasm hits you like a thousand volts, and your hips jerk back uncontrollably, whole body shaking, as you ride the wave of it on his cock until it ends. Ah, you needed this so badly that, as it recedes, you can only feel content, the pleasure it gave you still tingling in your body.

For a while, the sounds of you and Gojo’s panting are all that fill the room. Finally, he pulls his sensitive, softening cock out a you with a hiss, and you ignore the squelching sound it makes. He tucks it back into his pants, and you finally find it in yourself to pull your panties back up, readjusting your skirt. Your hair is messy from the kissing earlier, but apart from that, you’re still rather presentable — you hope.

“Didn’t think you had that in you,” Gojo comments. He’s still catching his breath.

“At what point are you going to admit that you’ve just misjudged me?”

He laughs, but the smirk he shoots you, hands in his pockets, standing a few feet away from you, is proof that the distance between the two of you is back to what it was before. You don’t find yourself minding all that much. This is as good a way as any other to release tension, and you’re more relaxed than you have in weeks. The lightness of his voice tells you the same is true for him. Seems like you both got the same thing out of it, and that’s fine by you, even if it doesn’t bring you any closer.

“Once I know I was wrong,” he says. It sounds ominous, but, well, if he wants to keep clinging to that image he’s made of you, that is his problem. So far, you’d argue that it has rather worked in your favor.

You shrug.

“If you hadn’t felt that way, Tokyo would have won today,” you tell him matter-of-factly.

His smile widens.

“Guess we’ll have to see about that next year, hm?”

“I guess we will.”

Silence grows between the two of you. You normally wouldn’t mind. Now, you feel the need to say something.

“This should stay between us,” you finally manage to say. Sorcerer society can be— harsh, on women, to say the least. The last thing you need is for someone to know you’ve fucked your coworker. You’d be branded as a whore, and while you find this all horribly regressive, you’d still rather not have to deal with the fallout.

Gojo hums in agreement.

“I’m not really the type to want all my business out there either,” he tells you in a surprising display of sincerity. It’s ruined when he smirks and adds, “Next time, I think I should fuck you on your desk.”

You scoff, but you know you both hear your lack of denial loud and clear. You’re not opposed to there being a next time, provided this doesn’t get out. By the look of things, it would be mutually beneficial.

You don’t bother to answer him before you open the door, glancing outside. No one in sight. He would have known if that had been the case, of course, but you’re still relieved. You slip outside unceremoniously — it’s pretty clear you’re done here anyway — and he does nothing to hold you back.

Later, after you’ve taken a quick shower in the facilities available at the high school and you’re sat by Ieiri around the dinner table, Gakuganji can barely hide his smugness.

“Where you have been off to?” he asks Gojo, his tone making it clear just how pleased with himself he is. “Licking your wounds?”

“Something like that,” Gojo answers lightly, and you’re careful to keep your eyes on your food.

The conversation fades into the background. Your thoughts move to the upcoming solo tournament, the next day, to your students, to the missions you have to assign. And then, for the first time in forever, you find yourself distracted by something that isn’t work-related. You welcome the respite it gives you.

On your desk, next time, huh?

You could work with that.

thank you all for reading and getting all the way here! interactions are what keeps me writing, so please comment/reblog/send an ask to feed your author and have my eternal gratitude!

tagging people who expressed interest in the first chapter: @sapphiccloud @saccharine-nectarine @calypsothegoddess @aspiring-bookworm @aerismonia

[writerjayne]

This is a little sterek college AU (are they human are they werewolves who knows) one shot that I wrote on my phone with no beta or editing So apologies for the errors! The premise is a little vauge on purpose in case I want to expand this into a full story later but basically its an "Everyone grew up together" kind of vibe. Made Derek only 3 years older to make him still being in college realistic. Enjoy!

The car slowing to a stop woke Stiles. Blinking around and not fully conscious he asked confused:

"Are we there already?"

Derek glanced over from the driver's seat and chuckled. 

"No we still have like three hours. It's just a traffic jam." 

"Oh," stiles sat up a little straighter and looked around, clearly still half asleep. "We'll still get there early right?" 

"Yeah, gps says we'll arrive at 1, so plenty of time for move in," Derek assured as the traffic began inching forward. 

"Good, I need to talk to the housing department," Stiles pulled out his phone, fingers moving rapidly as he typed. 

Derek smiled indulgently. It was Stiles freshman year of college and Derek had never seen him so excited. 

"To get your key?" Derek prompted when Stiles didn't elaborate. 

"No, I need to see if they have any empty rooms," Stiles tone was almost vague, his attention on his phone. "Or any double rooms with only one occupant. Here look there's an alternative route-" 

"I'm sorry what?" Derek cut Stiles off. "You have to ask about a room? Stiles it's move in day! The day you move in!" 

"Yeah so I have to get a room to move into," Stiles rolled his eyes. "So the earlier the better! Here, take the next exit so we can get around-" 

"Mieczyslaw Genim Stilinski!!" Derek didn't roar, they were in a closed car but it was a close thing. 

"Hey hey hey, why are you middle naming me?" Stiles demanded. "Forget that, why are you first naming me?!"

"Because your father isn't here to do it!" Derek growled. "You don't have a place to live?"

"Well I did! But then Scott decided to room with Allison instead and I told him not to worry about it but when I called the place we were going to rent from they said I couldn't rent a two bedroom as one person so yes I'm going to talk to housing when we get there!" Stiles waved his hands around as he spoke, getting more agitated. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, stiles, ask the adults in your life for help?" Derek pointed out.

"Dad has enough on his plate and I had already told him scott and I were set," Stiles sounded embarrassed. 

"Your father is not the only adult in your life," Derek reminded, though not harshly. "What about my parents, hell Laura would have been happy to help or I don't know me??"

"Your parents were busy getting cora all set up," Stiles pointed out. "And I thought about calling Laura but her semester just started too..."

"And me?" Derek prompted. "I'm not exactly new at this!" 

"Honestly I forget you're an adult too," Stiles admitted sheepishly. 

"Stiles!" Derek groaned almost closing his eyes but the traffic began moving again and he focused back on the road. 

"I know I know!! That's why I want to get there early, so I can get this sorted out with the housing department!" Stiles desperately explained again before holding out his phone again. "So can we take the alternate route?" 

"What if you moved in with me?" 

Stiles jaw dropped and he half lowered the phone. Derek wasn't looking at him, the older man's eyes on the road but he was growing in thought. 

"What?"

"Move in with me," Derek repeated. "It's small but you wouldn't have to worry about rent, you could save the money you make at your job. It's technically off campus but it's not far to walk. There's also a bus stop out front-" 

"But you hate having roommates!" Stiles interrupted. "And isn't it a one bedroom?" 

"Yeah it's a little place but we can make it work. And you're not a stranger so I think I'll be fine," Derek smiled slightly. "What do you say?" 

"Okay," Stiles was almost breathless. "If you're really sure..."

"I'm sure Stiles. Now we've still got like two and a half hours to go so go back to sleep. I'll wake you up when we get there." 

"Okay," Stiles said again, smiling this time. "Thanks Der." 

"You're welcome," Derek responded with a smile. 

*****

"I'm sorry I have so many books," stiles frowned apologetic as they hauled the last two boxes up the stairs to the apartment. 

"It's fine, Stiles, I promise," Derek said for what felt like the hundredth time. 

They dropped the boxes by the half full bookshelves in the small living room before pausing to take a break. 

Heading to the kitchen Derek pulled a couple of bottles of water from the fridge, silently greatful he had come the week before to clean and stock the apartment. It hadn't been used in months and had been dusty. Derek had wanted move in day to have as minimal work as possible so he had come to prepare. 

"Are you sure about me not paying rent?" Stiles worried voice pulled Derek from his thoughts. 

"I told you it's fine. I don't pay rent, why would I make you pay rent?" Derek held out a water bottle to Stiles. "My parents own the building, specifically so family can use it without having to worry about paying for accommodations. There's always a few units empty. This one has been mine since I started school." 

"If you're sure," Stiles relented. "Do we need any groceries? I can make a run!" 

"Sure," Derek started but he was interrupted by a knock on the door and it swinging open. 

"Hey nerd, how's unpacking going?" 

Both men turned to see Erica kicking off her shoes by the door. 

"Hey Erica!" Stiles greeted brightly. "It's going pretty good! We got the sleeping arrangements sorted first then hauled everything in!" 

Erica froze for half a second at the sight of stiles before smiling. 

"What are you doing here?" She asked

"Oh I'm living here," stiles glanced between his two friends "did Derek not tell you?" 

"He did not," Erica gave Derek a pointed look and the older man rolled his eyes. 

"Cut me some slack, I didn't even know until like 3 hours ago!" Derek gave Stiles a face. "Someone thought they could show up on move in day and just find a place to stay!"

"Oh?" Erica grinned and Stiles blushed. 

"I'm going to go get some groceries now," he muttered avoiding Erica's eye and she laughed. 

"Whatever Batman," Erica plopped on the couch, pulling out her phone. "Bring me back some chocolate?" 

"Sure," Stiles agreed easily. "I won't be long!" 

"Ok be safe and call me if you get lost!" Derek said sternly. 

"This isn't the preserve Derek, GPS actually works here so I think I'll be fine!" With that stiles left, waving as he pulled the door closed. 

As soon as she hears the door latch Erica jumped up rouding on Derek. 

"This is a terrible idea!!" She exclaimed. "Why would you even suggest it?" 

"If you're gonna lecture at least help me unpack his books," Derek answered, dodging the question. 

"Seriously Derek, what were you thinking?" Erica grabbed a box and began opening it. 

"Well I wasn't gonna let him be homeless!" Derek hissed. "He's my best friend-"

"Who you've been in love with since you were what 8?" Erica crossed her arms. 

"If we're getting technical since I was 3," Derek admitted. 

Erica did the quick mental math before asking:

"God Derek, was he even born??" 

"Um not yet." 

"Derek!" Erica groaned. "What are you going to do if he brings someone home? You'll be in jail for murder!" 

"I'm not that jealous!" Derek said defensively.

"No but you are that protective!" Erica countered. 

"It won't be a problem anyway, Stiles isn't going to bring anyone home," Derek said dismissively. 

"Are we talking about the same stiles?" Erica raised an eyebrow. "Stiles stilinski? The boy who dated Lydia Martin! Stiles stilinski who dated your sister and your cousin not to mention half the lacrosse team! Say what you want but that boy can pull!" 

"Okay so we cross that bridge when we get there!" Derek continued putting books on the shelves, avoiding Erica's eye for a moment. 

"Yeah okay," Erica crossed her arms. "We'll see how that goes." 

"You want a tour or what?" Derek huffed, changing the subject. 

"Obviously," Erica grinned. "Why else do you think I came over?" 

Derek refrained from rolling his eyes and gestured for the young woman to follow him. He gave a quick tour of the living room and kitchen before opening the door to the bedroom. 

"There's only one bed?!" Erica rounded on Derek, her disbelief written across her face. 

"It's a king, we can share," Derek shrugged. "We have before."

"This is going to end so badly. This is a disaster," Erica stood dumbfounded. "Seriously what were you thinking?" 

*****

"I was thinking 'hey one less thing to stress over' Scott I wasn't thinking about how in each other's space it would be!" Stiles nearly threw his hands up in exasperation. "I didn't exactly have another option!" 

"You should have told me! Allison and I could have got a bigger place or you an I could have done this first semester together and she and I could have moved in together next semester!" Scott's worried voice came over the phone and stiles could almost see Scott nervously pacing. 

"It's Derek Scott, it'll be fine!" Stiles tried to sound confident. 

"Who you've been in love with since you were old enough to walk!" Scott pointed out.

Stiles groaned. 

"I know, I know. But honestly, how bad can this be?" 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dark Shelves 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes (archivist AU)

Summary: your new job is much of the same, with a hit of new misery.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You peer up at the romanesque pillars and the curved dome of the elaborate building. It’s a step up, a high one, and you’re proud of yourself for taking. After years in a basement, blowing dust off of rusted spoons that may as well be at the good-will, you’re finally exactly where you want to be.  

Not associate, not assistant, you are an archivist in your own right. You will not be pushed into the corner again. Though you aren’t too presumptive. You could get lost in any stacks. You like how your job affords you pockets of solitary, but you didn’t choose the career on that alone.  

You work to preserve and share the past. It sounds more noble in your head than out loud. It’s a good enough reason for you. 

You climb the stairs and pause before you pass through the double doors. Inside, the lobby is airy and polished to a shine. You try not to marvel too obviously. Too often you’ve been caught and ridiculed for the very act. Most people look at you and assume less than more of you. 

You walk up the front desk, a grand circular structure with shelves behind it. The man behind it has a metal nametag on his brown plaid shirt; Peter. You greet him stoically. You quit smiling to appease strange men a while ago. 

“Hi, I’m here to get my employee ID.” You take out your phone. “Then I’m supposed to meet someone named James.” 

“Right, I have your welcome packet,” he reaches under the desk. “It’s here.” 

“Great,” you accept the folder as he beams back at you. He’s young and fresh-faced. He must still be a student. “Thank you.” 

“Have you been her before?” He asks. 

“A couple times,” you answer. 

“Cool, cool,” he accepts, “there’s a map in there in case.” He points to the folder. “You’re going to second floor. East wing. The office number is in the email.” 

“Yes, I saw that. Thanks so much,” you nod. 

“Oh, your card’s activated. So any access thingies, just swipe,” he says. 

“Got it,” you cross your arm over the folder and continue around the desk to the double set of staircases that open behind it. 

You climb patiently. You’re early. You always are. A long academic career has drilled the habit into your very being. 

You check the email one last time and put your phone away. You’re not one for stereotypes but in your experience, the senior archivists tend to hate screens. You always resented their stubbornness. Digital backups are essential to the future of your profession. It could also just make their lives easier in general. 

As you count down the office numbers, you slow down. The short heels of your lace-up boots clack softly on the oaken floor tiles. The door you need is already open and there’s a man standing in it. He leans slightly on the frame as he faces inward. His deep voice carries behind him. 

You push your shoulders back as you approach. You don’t want to interrupt. You stop about a foot back, unsure how to go forward. You check your watch with a subtle tilt of your head. 

The man in the door is tall. He has one foot pointed to the floor, and arm bent back as he pushes back his brown corduroy jacket and grips his hip. He wears a dark blue turtleneck that meets the long tails of his outgrown hair. There’s never an in-between with archivists. They are either immaculately preened are shaggy and stuffy. 

“Right,” the man glances over his shoulder at you and his eyes squint, crinkly his nose, “I think I’m holding someone up.” He turns to face you, “hello, miss, do you need some help? Looking for the newspaper lab?” 

You’re not surprised that he assumes you to be a student. It’s a common presumption among his demographic. They are always the authority and everyone they don’t know must be ignorant. 

“No. Hello, I’m an archivist. Newly-hired. You wouldn’t happen to be James Barnes?” 

“James?” His mouth slants. “Only his mother calls him that. Bit of advice, it’s Bucky.” 

“Steve,” a voice drawls from within the open office. 

“Alright, alright,” the man shows his hands then extends one to you. “Steve Rogers. I’m the next door down. Fellow senior archivist, with James.” 

“Steve,” another snarl. 

You shake the man’s hand, “nice to meet you.” 

His cheek ticks, “you too. I like that vest. Very... quirky.” 

You don’t thank him. You merely retract your hand and adjust the scarf between the open front of your coat. He sidles out of the doorway as he wears a pompous smirk. 

“Come in,” the bodiless voice calls out to you. 

You step into the doorway. The man you’re looking for sits behind his desk. He uses an envelope open to pick at what appears to be a metal shell for a coil of parchment. He delicate traces the lines of the ornate metal cap on the end. 

“I’ll be a moment,” he says. 

“Alright,” you stand in the doorway. He doesn’t welcome you to sit. You introduce yourself in the stagnant lull. 

“I know who you are,” he grumbles as his brow wrinkles at his work. “After all, I sacrificed my day to training you.” 

You don’t appreciate the insinuation. You’re a task he doesn’t want to tend. A burden on what he really wants to do. You can find your way around just fine without him but the email said training was mandatory. You didn’t exactly have any say in who was handed that unlucky chore. 

“I have experience. Three years in the Heron’s Corner archives. And I’ve also done some volunteer work for museums. If you’d rather, I learn just as well from paper or email.” You suggest. 

He huffs, “typical.” 

You don’t reply. Whatever he assumes about you isn’t true but you’re not biting the hook. He grows exasperated and sets the container on its stands and stabs the envelope open into his pen cub. He slaps his hands on his desk and stands. 

“You young ones just want to sit at a computer all day,” he comes around and slides his hands into his pockets. “This job isn’t that.” 

“I’m aware of the job description,” you assure him. 

He stops before you and reaches to brush his fingertips along his thick beard. A thicket of hair falls forward he swoops it back just as swiftly. The cleft in his jaw deepens with his distaste. 

“That’s good. Less to explain, doll face,” he pulls his hand away to check his watch. 

“Fine, let’s get started.” He sniffs, “take notes.” 

He steps forward and you barely have a chance to get out of his way. His jacket flaps as he passes you and you stiffen as you grip the folder tightly. You reach to your coat pocket and take out your silver pen. 

It’s only the first day. Soon enough, you’ll be free to focus on your own work, and he his. 

[sanjoongie]

ℓε ℓเѵ૨ε εƭ ℓε ρℓαเรเ૨

📖Second submission for the Dragon Collab hosted by @flurrys-creativity.

📖Pairing: Knowledge Dragon! Lee Heeseung x Organizer! Reader (f)

📖Genre: smut

📖Trope: employer/employee, idiots to lovers

📖Au: modern au, dragon au, hybrid au

📖Rating: 18+, MDNI

📖Word Count: 2,904

📖Warnings: penetrative sex with no barrier, kama sutra references, slow-paced sex, breast play, begging, usage of tail during sex, horn tugging (it's a dragon kink okay)

📖Summary: when a dragon hires you to organize his horde of information, you find that he wants to add you to his treasure

1- La Gemme at l'extase with Hyunjin {fantasy dragon} | 2- Le Livre et le plaisir with Heeseung {modern dragon} | 3- Le planète and le ravissement with San {sci-fi dragon}

Never in a million years did you think your love for organization would get you a job working for a dragon hybrid.

Lee Heeseung, a hoarder of knowledge, was your employer. After a very enjoyable interview, in which you were under the impression the dragon hybrid was flirting with you, you were hired on the spot. 

The owner of the sprawling renovated mansion gave you a tour immediately, to show off his hoard, of course.

“You can pick whatever suite of rooms you’d prefer,” Heeseung explained. He threw his arms out to emphasize his point. “But you will live here. I don’t want any flimsy excuse such as transit being a reason why you couldn't work more hours.”

He was haughty, this new employer of yours. He spoke as if everything he said was a fact. But if you had had thousands of years absorbing countless texts of knowledge, perhaps you’d speak that way too. 

“Where would you like me to start?” You wondered tentatively, as the both of you strode through featureless hallways. 

“Here’s probably good,” Heeseung announced. 

He threw open two large doors and you whimpered in pain. Books, scrolls, even thumb drives, were thrown carelessly into piles here and there in the large room.

“‘Suppose it was used as a ballroom once but I have no need for dancing,” Heeseung elaborated. 

You stood up a little bit straighter, determined to do a good job, even if you felt overloaded with the amount of work. “I’ll make the appropriate arrangements.”

“Good,” Heeseung nodded firmly. “It’ll be good to have a new smell around here.”

And then he sent you a crooked smile that made your heart skip a beat. This dragon was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with breathing fire.

If you were being honest, you rarely saw the dragon hybrid after that. He didn’t care to keep tabs on you and it allowed you plenty of breathing room to do as you pleased. 

And boy, was there a lot of work to do.

Just when you thought you had gathered all the floppy disks, you’d discover a new room, and have to start all over again. You had an absolute meltdown when you discovered a few towers of computers with audio books in the basement that was meant to store kegs of liquor, but luckily, no harm had befallen the electronics. 

That incident made you track down your employer. You found him in one of his many studies that fine rainy morning. Flashes of lightning reflected off  his glasses and the tiny horns protruding from his hair. His tail swishing contently like that of a cat pushed you over the edge.

“Do you have no care over your treasures?” You shouted at him. “You simply dump them willy-nilly!”

“Isn’t that a part of your job now?” Heeseung replied, eyes glued to his book of Plato. 

“I organize, yes,” You raged. “But I am not in control of you finding more books and throwing them into a bathroom that leaks!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Heeseung denied. You felt your hackles lower. Then he said, “I only put the audio recordings in there once.”

You let out a noise of frustration and left immediately after that. 

After that, you did your best to avoid the irritating dragon hybrid. Your job was to organize his hoard, after all, not engage in frustrating conversations. 

You fully dove into your job once again, pushing into the physical aspect of moving books around. You were careful with the older books, donning gloves to inspect the titles and dates they were published. Scrolls were a bit harder to categorize but you enjoyed rolling them and applying certain ribbons to keep them in their historic eras. 

Focusing on your work eased your heart and eventually you started to feel proud of what you had accomplished. You kept meticulous notes of how everything was organized, for reference for your employer, of course. 

Said dragon hybrid found you one day when you were struggling with a container of portable hard drives.

Heeseung walked in waving a book. “I found the original copy of The Hobbit! The version before JR Tolkein retconned it for the trilogy--”

You felt the dragon’s eyes upon you and you felt disgusting immediately. What did he see? A sweaty, gross blob that he had hired to paw through his precious treasures? You stared at the book Heeseung had, refusing to meet his eyes, fanning yourself. You were overheated and about to take a break anyways.

“I’ll put some gloves on. I know exactly where it’ll go. I found a lovely poem about poppies written in World War One, it’ll fit nicely there,” You murmured, looking around for your gloves.

Heeseung completed the steps it took to bring him flush with your body. He reached around you and pulled your gloves from your back pocket.

“They’re here,” he said, a slow smile pulling his lips as he offered them to you.

You swallowed, reaching to take the gloves from him. “Ah, thank--”

You were jerked forward when Heeseung yanked on the gloves instead of releasing them to you. “You smell like dust and books,” he informed you. Why did it sound like he was saying you smelled delicious?

“Well, I am working hard here, Heeseung,” You informed him, waving your hand indistinctly around the room. 

His eyes moved up and down your disheveled form. “I can see that.”

You refused to meet his eyes and tugged discreetly at the gloves. “If you would please…?”

“I mind greatly, in fact,” Heeseung murmured. 

Was it just you or were his lips getting closer to your face?

“Heeseung,” You whimpered.

The dragon hybrid’s pupils blew wide. “Say my name like that again.”

You shook your head. “I should get going.” 

You dropped your hold on the gloves and attempted to circumvent your hybrid dragon boss. Heeseung had other ideas, however. His tail wrapped around your waist and tugged you back to his vicinity. 

“Where are you going, little bookworm?” Heeseung drawled. 

You got shivers from the nickname. “To my room.”

Heeseung clucked his tongue mockingly at you. “I don’t think so. Why are you running away from your desire?”

The dragon hit the nail on the head. That was exactly what you were doing. 

“You’re my employer. We shouldn’t cross any lines,” You argued softly.

Heeseung cocked his head. “Who’s to say what we do is wrong? No one governs me and my treasure.”

Goosebumps littered your body. “Stop that.”

Heeseung chuckled deeply. “I like you. I think I’ll keep you.”

You had a moment of courage, dragging your eyes up to meet his. The lizard-like slit that served as a pupil was almost overtaking his silver iris’. “Where would you put me? With the books? The floppy disks?”

“In my bed,” the man said with no hesitation in his voice.

“Will we make it to your bed?” You wondered.

“No.”

Heeseung’s strong fingers dug into your hair as he held your head in place to kiss you. It was slow and sensual, and you felt like you were drowning in desire. His tongue swept along the seam of your lips and you automatically opened for him. You felt his moan against your lips as he plunged his tongue inside your mouth. His tongue slowly coaxed yours into submission, to the point when Heeseung ended the kiss, your tongue came out to chase his. 

Heeseung smirked confidently. “That’s a good look on you.”

You struggled to think through the lust-filled haze your head was currently. “I--”

Heeseung’s fingers untangled themselves from your hair and opted instead to wrap around your wrist. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you, my little bookworm.”

Take care of you he did. Amongst his treasures that you had been busy sorting, he rid you of all your clothes, and his own. The look of absolute hunger on his face never disappeared. It made your heart beat, being viewed as one of the scrolls he snatched up and wanted to read. The loud obsession written all over his face made you feel something a little bit more than lust. 

Heeseung bade you to lay down and his eyes twinkled, a slight smile pulling at the edge of his lips. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to try a position from the Kama Sutra. It's called Splitting the Bamboo.”

After you nod, curious as to what Heeseung wants to do with you. 

You watch with interest as he straddles your left leg and pushes your right leg upwards. He presses wet, open mouth kisses along your calf. He moved up your leg until his pelvis was lined up with yours. 

“Can I fill you up?” The dragon hybrid asked you seductively. 

You nod again, your mind filled with only thoughts of Heeseung--all thoughts of your ‘boss’ gone out the window.

Heeseung bit down on his lower lip as he pushed into your wet core. The process of sheathing himself inside of you was pleasurable, making you mewl as he did so. A confident smile continued to pull at Heeseung’s lips; as if he took pride in making you feel good. 

“Does my little bookworm want to be pleased some more?” He crooned softly.

You couldn't decide if he was being condescending or looking to take care of you, but either way your lower half became wetter at the phrase. “Move, please,” You pleaded.

Heeseung settled into gentle waves between your legs, slowly building the pleasure inside of you. Sweet, gentle kisses littered your leg that remained slightly over his shoulder. For someone who was so matter-of-fact and flirty, you had not expected such gentle lovemaking. It was making your mind swirl dangerously.

You reached down to swipe your finger through your folds to play with your clit but Heeseung’s tail wrapped around your wrist and intercepted you. 

“I’ll get you to your climax,” He informed you coolly. “Be patient.”

The maddening pace Heeseung set drove you wild. You begged, you raged, you negotiated but Heeseung would not speed up his thrusting. If anything, he played with your body, as if your words were simply buzzing flies around his head. He would grip your breast, squeezing appreciatively, tweaking your nipple but never did his fingers flirt with your clit. 

It felt like hours that you were in a lust-filled haze, your stomach curling and winding with pleasure. “Please,” You gasped, “Please, I wanna come.”

“You should appreciate the time,” Heeseung hummed. “This is an artform.”

You let out a groan of frustration, clawing through the lust, and reached up to grab Heeseung’s horns. The hybrid let out a breathy cry, like you touching his horns did something for him. You both froze. 

Heeseung changed positions, pressing your knees to your shoulders. You groaned at how deeply he was inside of you now. He placed both of your hands on his horns again. “Hold on,” he instructed.

Heeseung lost his poise as you held onto his horns. His thrusts became sloppy and quick. A groan grew in his chest and rumbled out of his mouth. All you could do was be a receptacle for his passion and you weren’t sure you wanted it any other way. His dick was hitting so deep inside you that your jaw fell open as your climax wound tighter inside of you.

“Oh gods, Heeseung!” You shouted out his name as your climax hit you like a train.

Heeseung arched his back and his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he came inside of you. He was muttering ‘mine,mine,mine’ under his breath as his hips chased out his own climax.

All you could hear for a while was Heeseung’s heavy breathing and your whimpers as you could feel his cock twitching inside of you. You had most definitely NOT expected that when you got hired. 

Then, abruptly, Heeseung was removing himself from you and gathered his clothes. “You should clean up and take a break. You worked hard today.”

You watched Heeseung as he wandered out of the room without another word. 

You clutched your clothes to your body, feeling foolish. Everything was simply a transaction for the dragon hybrid. Obviously he thought he could fuck you and then move on. You tried to pick up the pieces of your heart off the floor along with your discarded clothing. But it was hard.

After the sex session in the room that held most of the modern books Heeseung hoarded, you were unsure where the two of you stood. It had been lovely and Heeseung certainly hadn't ravaged you like a beast, but without any words to soothe your anxiety, you spiraled days later.

“It’s fine,” You spoke to yourself out loud. 

You decided to rearrange the floppy disks according to color, certain your brain couldn't handle any actual, productive organization at this time. “I’m just another piece of his hoard, after all. He can fuck me then discard me. No strings attached.”

My little bookworm~

The nickname was infuriating, to say the least. You had to admit it matched the scenario, not to mention it made you shiver in a good way the way he crooned it, but infuriating nonetheless. What did it mean?!

“Nothing, it means nothing,” You muttered.

You couldn't decide if a floppy disk was cobalt or purple and tossed it in frustration. 

“And you said I was the one that didn’t treat my treasures with respect,” Heeseung mused out loud behind you, scaring the shit out of you.

“Heeseung!” You exclaimed, jumping up like you had been caught red-handed.

The dragon hybrid cocked his head curiously at you. “What’s got you in such a mood, little bookworm? Usually you hum and are quite happy to do your job. It’s why you got it, you know. You said you loved to organize. Such happy vibrations are good for the aura of my hoard. What’s got your horn in a twist?”

Dragons had weird sayings. Aren’t their horns already twisted?

“Nothing,” You couldn't help but pout. 

What was the point of talking about it when you felt silly in the first place? It was just sex, after all. Or that’s what you tried to tell yourself.

Heeseung had his tail draped elegantly over the crook of his arm, almost like a lady with a long train of her dress. He took a step towards you. “Do you need to unwind? Perhaps we could--”

You threw your hand up, stopping him mid-sentence. “That’s what got us here in the first place, Heeseung, I’d rather not.”

The dragon hybrid sent you a confused look. Even with his eyebrows furrowed, he looked delectable. It wasn’t fair. “Did you not enjoy it?”

“I did!” You stomped your foot for emphasis. “That’s the point! I enjoyed it so much, I don’t know what my heart feels anymore. And you clearly don’t have one.”

The corner of Heeseung’s lip pulled up in a sneer. “Are you saying dragons don’t have hearts? I didn’t think you were one of those humans. Good enough to fuck but not good enough to give your heart to?”

The silly statement slapped you in the face. “What? No, I’m saying you’ve confused me! I think I might like you but you’re so cool and collected. You patted me on the back and sent me on my way afterwards for christ sake!” Your head hung low in defeat. “Clearly I’m the only one that’s feeling anything here.”

Heeseung chuckled softly. “Oh, humans are ridiculous.”

Heeseung pulled you close to him and nuzzled your cheek. “You’re a part of my hoard now, little bookworm. I claimed you as my own. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“That I’m your property?” You stated bluntly.

“You are mine,” Heeseung emphasized. “Mine to tease, mine to tempt, mine to love.”

You raised your head hopefully. “So you did feel something for me when we slept together?”

“I’m a dragon,” Heeseung said teasingly, winking down at you. “I feel deeply about everything. It was up to your human heart to catch up.”

“Well you certainly don’t show it well,” You continued to pout.

Heeseung let out a noise, caught between a growl and a laugh. “I’ve given you a place in my mansion, let you touch everything I cherish, including my body, and you say I don’t show it well? Should I gift you the scroll that Achilles wrote to Patraclus? Shall I find you a scribbled piece of paper with Romeo’s lines to Juliet? Share with you the movie Titanic where great love conquers all? What would you like of me, little bookworm? I would do it all.”

You gape at the most long winded speech you had ever heard from Heeseung. If you were being honest with yourself, you’d listen to him all day if you could. But it wasn’t about the lilt of his voice, it was about the contents. Who knew your haughty dragon boss could wax poetic so romantically?

“That would do it, I suppose,” You couldn't help but sulk.

Heeseung laughed. “Didn’t I say I liked you and that I was going to keep you?”

You swallowed, remembering the moment vividly. “Do I still belong in your bed?”

Heeseung’s pupils blew again but instead he responded with. “You belong in my heart.”

As it turned out, it was Heeseung that had something to teach you about organization.

1- La Gemme at l'extase with Hyunjin {fantasy dragon} | 2- Le Livre at le plaisir with Heeseung {modern dragon} | 3- Le planète et le ravissement with San {sci-fi dragon}

[gildedneon]

That Which I Cannot See

That Which I Cannot See - Part 2.5 - Gold Rush

Respectfully, you may not use my work, but you are welcome to share it. My work is only intended for those 18 and older as it contains explicit adult themes.

Summary: This is a little bonus scene that takes place after the Halloween masquerade from part 2. These all work as standalones.

Pairing: Vessel x Fem!Reader 

Tags: Mirror play, mask play, concealed identity, a marble counter that is magically comfortable to sit on, don't question it, magical paint that won't throw off your Ph.

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: No edits. I wrote this in one shot. I aim to have the third and final part out in time for New Year's Eve.

Part 1 Part 2

Read on Ao3

The car ride back was pure torture. Despite somewhat behaving on our driver’s behalf, we did not take our hands or our gazes off each other. We were quite a sight in the lobby. Elaborate spooky costumes. Makeup shot to hell. He was dragging me into the bathroom the second I unlocked my hotel room door. 

“I have waited for this moment for a while.” His looming figure is a menace with that mask behind me in the large vanity mirror. 

“For what?” He places a few gentle kisses along my bare shoulder,as his hands come to the zipper of my dress. “Oh.”

“I suppose we haven’t actually seen each other without clothes yet. You didn’t have to wait this long.” I smirk.

“What was I supposed to do? Strip you bare in the middle of the garden? Where anyone might see?”

“You said no one would find us!”

“I did, didn't I?” He grins and unzips my dress, removing one shoulder at a time. Baring myself to him. Fully. Every little thing on full display under the glaring bathroom lights. As my gown falls to the floor, the mess of paint beneath my mask contrasts the expanse of my skin. His hands run along my body, pausing to grab my hips, sending shudders through me. He steps back. I watch his reflection stare down at me with that awful mask. He slowly removes his vest and then his shirt. Then just the button of his pants, the only garment remaining on his frame. 

What a pair we make. In our silly little masks, holding on to that last layer of vulnerability. 

I watch the reflection as he comes up behind me and his large hands roam my body. Teasing me until I am arching back against him. The image of us sends my blood racing. He tips me forward and I brace my arms on the counter. I feel him tease my entrance and before I can voice my impatience, he is filling me once more. My moans vibrate through the large bathroom. His hips still. 

“My dear, let’s not wake the neighbors.”

“Oh so now you want me to be quiet?” His chuckle rumbles through the space and through me.

“No but my desire for us to not be interrupted is greater.” I give a slight nod, accepting the challenge.

And what a challenge it is, because the second he thrusts into me, I have to fight to silence the gasp falling from my lips. Despite the pleasure washing through my body, I think I’m doing a pretty great job or turning my moans into quieter breathy sounds. But perhaps not as great as I thought as his hand is suddenly covering my mouth. The sight of us sends jolts of excitement straight to my core. Watching the way his body moves against mine, holding me in his grip. God, it has me clenching around him. Hitting spots deep inside me. The way he stops moving altogether, tells me I must have gotten carried away.

“Darling, that was not an invitation to be louder.” I whimper against his hand as he withdraws from me. He runs a hand up my chest, grasping my painted throat. 

“Does the sight of me having my way with you excite you that much?” I do my best to nod in his hold.

“Hmm… Well enough of that for now.” Turning me towards him, and away from the mirror, he backs me against the counter, lifting me onto it. I ache at the sight of him. His taught body contrasted against the black paint, low hanging pants, and that horrid mask. He leans over me and I fall back on my elbows, my upper back pressed against the mirror. The bite of the cold marble does nothing to quell the heat coursing through my veins. He is just staring down at me, not moving. I follow his gaze to the mess of black paint between my thighs. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I am transported back to the garden. I stare up at him, into the red void he is wearing.

“Your mask is still really fucking creepy you know” He leans into me, his arms caging me in.

“Oh I know” Vessel spits into his palm, coating himself before sliding back inside of me. One of his hands quickly finds my mouth to mask the whimpers spilling out of it. His pounding pace slows and his free hand begins to circle my clit. Testing different strokes and watching my body’s response. My toes curl as he finds his pattern. Bringing me to the edge of release in record time. I reach for him, clinging to his arms, the feel of his skin under mine is foreign but electric. My body goes taught as my release whips through me in stuttering waves. His mouth captures mine in a kiss, swallowing my sounds. Tears spring in my eyes in my fight to stay quiet. All of that effort goes out the window when he picks up his pace. My overstimulated body fighting to scramble away from the sensations while simultaneously wanting more. My nails bite into him, as I ride these near frantic waves of stimulation. With a groan he pulls out, spilling himself up my stomach. Painting my chest. I smirk in surprise as I feel a hot splash against the side of my mouth and cheek. Still twitching a bit from my own orgasm, I steady my breathing as I wait for him to speak. But he is just staring down at me, his chest heaving as he steadies his own breath. 

“Do you want to take a picture? It’ll last longer… I mean that genuinely.” I can’t see his eyes but I see the way the rest of his body lights up at my suggestion.

“I don’t have my phone with me.” He says in defeat.

“What a shame… good thing mine is on the floor in my dress.” Pushing away from the counter, he searches through the fabric, eventually freeing my phone. His hands seem to tremble a little as he goes to operate the camera. Is he nervous about this? I hold my hand out, he passes me the device and visibly relaxes. It takes me a second to find the best angles, but I snap a few photos capturing the evidence of our enjoyment this evening. Ves has tissues waiting for me as soon as I set down the phone. 

In the aftermath, a strange feeling creeps through me that we are standing mostly naked in a hotel bathroom, smeared with paint, and wearing masks. But an even stranger feeling takes its place at the thought of removing those masks. Right here. Right now… not yet.

Standing on my tip toes, I reach my arms around his neck. He pulls me into a deep kiss.

“Thank you for tonight.” I murmur against his lips. Knowing that he will understand, that for me, the night ends here. The way he wraps me in a tight hug confirms that knowing.

“It is I who should be thanking you. As always. Rest well.” For a moment, I lay my head against his chest and let myself be held in his arms. But the moment passes. Stepping away, I go to start the shower, before turning back to him.

“Sleep well Ves.” I smile at him. 

“I’m going to need it to think of our next adventure.” He says as he gathers his fallen clothing.

“Can’t wait. Maybe less running next time though.”

“Less running. I’ll make note of that.” A light laugh escapes me as he smirks from across the small space. And with one last exchange of ‘goodnights’ he turns and leaves. Whatever this is… it is getting dangerously close to something more than it was.

[walnutcookie]

Actually on the topic of jjajang i think its really interesting that she doesnt know how to make noodles. It doesnt seem like she eats them very often either, which is pretty unusual for cr characters - in most cases whenever theres a case of the cookie consuming their own ingredient theyre like an Expert on how to make it and theyre great at judging taste but as she said, shes only ever made instant noodles. I think its too early on in the update for me to really judge so take this with a grain of salt but from what im seeing i think jjajang has focused on work and her high position for so long that shes forgotten what its like to live a little. Cooking fancy food isnt a priority of hers - quick meals are most efficient. not that shes overworked per se, but being humbled and demoted and having to work at a noodle shop started as a really big offense to her but then she started to pick up on how to manage everything and it seems like shes loving it. Shes already making plans to open new locations and sourcing new ingredients so that she can expand a temporary business that was just meant to be a cover up ,,, she seems stressed, sure, but she keeps taking on more orders like she wants to cook more. Plus theres olive, whos been working a ton of casual, minimum-wage jobs and has a friendly charm, while in contrast jjajang is used to having a high and respected position and is utterly clueless as to how to not be intimidating .... i dont know how to word this actually HELP but like i think the contrast there is really important. She hated olive at first and thought he was just a dumb rookie but shes warmed up to him and respects how he uses his previous knowledge to help and is still willing to learn more so he can be even more efficient. I think shes learning a lot from him.

Anyways all of this to say i think that this all basically jjajang finally discovering herself. Discovering a love and passion for cooking, stepping out of her comfort zone and learning from the environment and people around her,,,, im really excited to see the second part to this update because dont get me wrong the writing Bothers me to some degree it fucks with pre-existing crob lore and its just generally confusing (i could elaborate in another post but. theyre so confusing abt this whole sudden alien population that nobody is supposed to know abt??) but aughh my prediction/hope is that in the end jjajang and olive continue to run the resturaunt. Or something. I think its sweet and symbolic how jjajang starts by not knowing how to cook her own ingredient and then finds out that she loves it.... or maybe im reading into this wrong HFSKDJHFKJSDHFJ

[letomills]

Elaboration on my past shameful cc hair practices (I have learned the error of my ways)

Context over there. This here post is an answer to an inquiry by @sillysoraya.

This whole time since I started trying my hand at Sims 2 cc hair recoloring/retexturing, this had been my process: find recolors by a creator whose textures I want to use as a base, export said textures from their recolors via simPE, modify and/or recolor them in GIMP, then make fresh recolor files in bodyshop, reimport them immediately, close bodyshop, promptly delete everything that was generated in the Projects folder, take the new recolor files out of the SavedSims folder, and put my edited textures onto my them by building DTX in simPE.

When I say “textures”, I mean textures that look like this, you know, the ones you see in simPE with the transparent background:

[↑ that's evannamari's DBrown retexture of Newsea Miles Away]

That's how I do it for clothing, so why wouldn't it work for hair, I told myself naively in my immense hubris.

Well turns out there's a reason why the tutorials (such as this one by DeeDee) tell you to apply the textures not in simPE but in bodyshop. You’re supposed to put your textures in the Project folder - this kind of texture, that covers more than just the alpha:

[↑ the texture on the left / the alpha on the right ↑]

And only then you reimport and let bodyshop do its thing. The alpha will do its job carving out the texture properly (or whatever kind of sorcery happens in there).

Because if you give your recolors the already alpha’d out textures with the transparent background, what I believe happens is as the transparent background gets floodfilled with black during bodyshop’s file creation process, all the parts of the texture that had some wispy half-transparent hairs on them now have a layer of black underneath. Or at least what I know for sure is that those wipsy sections don't turn out looking nice but weirdly wire-y, especially on light recolors. Many hairs don’t have wispy strands and therefore are very forgiving (which is why I didn’t see a problem when I did the Rosesims hairs for example) but others have plenty of them, like the Newsea hairs. On those, it makes a clear difference. In game, it shows most as you zoom out, for instance in CAS from a face close-up view to a full-body view. It’s the same principle as this seam problem I had a while ago (and several times since), with clothing texture that was floodfilled with white too close to the borders of the texture mapping. When you zoomed out, the white would start showing.

Anyway, this is definitely stuff that creators in the community have known for 20 years and it’s 100% my fault for not following a hair tutorial and instead relying on prior knowledge of clothing-making that turned out not to be applicable 1:1.

I’m sure I still have a lot to learn on hair retexturing even after figuring this out. I was working on Newsea Yesenia when I had the realization that I was doing things wrong, but before I upload anything else, I’m gonna go back and look at all of the hairs I’ve done so far, fix them up when needed, learn more. Fortunately I think all of the Fakeblood gender conversions are fine but I’ll check and get back to you on that, there’s something I need to investigate. Edit: yes, all the gender conversions and copy-pasta of other people's unedited textures are completely fine, thank god.

Seems like as long as the texture didn't go through GIMP's import-export, it's fine, even if I didn't apply it via the Projects folder.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter four

well it’s love, make it hurt series

four: some place we can be ourselves

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: The Mandalorian buys you a present.

Warnings: BDSM, Dom/sub dynamics, Dom!Din and sub!reader, soft Dom!Din, pain play, nipple play, p in v sex, oral (m receiving), collaring (collar in the moodboard is not completely what I wanted. tell me not to have it commissioned just for the purpose of a photo lol), some feelings

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 6: Collar, inspired by @absurdthirst's wonderful prompt list, without which I probably would not have written anything.

also on ao3

3 ABY - Fall

Neither of you were squeamish; you couldn’t be. Injuries were inevitable in your line of work. You had seen Mando burn his skin back together. He had seen you stitch up a gash on your leg.

So why was the slowly fading ring of bruises around your neck so hard for him to look at? Was he still mad about the botched job and your behavior that night? Or did it simply disgust him to see marks on you made by any other hand?

Whatever it was, he needed to get over it. The worst damage had been healed by the bacta spray on the first night, and you refused to waste more over bruising.

You were starting to get mad, now that you thought about it. You had just been examining the wounds in the mirror of the fresher. You had just gotten out, dried off, and dressed when you caught sight of your reflection.

You were up on your toes, neck craned to see around the sides. It was healing up nicely. You ran your fingers over the delicate skin, and it was far less tender. It was almost pleasant, the dull ache when you pressed on them.

Mando chose that moment to walk past. He stopped, staring at you for a half second, and hit the button to close the fresher door on you.

“Hey!” you smacked the door with your hand. “What was that for?”

But when it slid back open, the hull was empty.

You were heading out in the morning for a hunt, one that promised a challenge. As glad as you were for an interesting job, it also meant you and Mando were essentially hands-off until there was a new carbonite slab on the ship.

So really, he was going to have to get over it or live without getting his dick wet for another week. Given the voracity of his libido so far, the latter seemed unlikely.

While Mando putters around in the hull eating his dinner, you curl up in your seat in the cockpit with a book on the datapad. Your routine had settled quietly into this rhythm—he could eat without rushing, you could read without him groping at you, and you both got time alone. For two people who had been mostly solitary before, it was invaluable.

“I’m running into town,” he calls up the ladder.

“What? What for?” you yell back, but it's drowned by the pneumatics of the ramp. “What the fuck?” you say to the empty ship.

By the time he returned, the suns had set, and the moss-dripping trees outside were thick and dark. You had dozed off in your seat, feet tucked under you and head resting on your folded arms. The datapad had slipped down between your knee and the seat.

He shook your shoulder, and you stirred. Not for the first time, you marveled at how deep you could sleep here. How you had stopped flinching for your blaster. You blink up at him, a smile breaking out, until you remember why you had fallen asleep there.

“Hey, what the kriff was that? You just took off, like—” You helpfully demonstrate with a little wave of your hand and a whoosh.

He stares down at you, head cocked, hand still on your shoulder. “What’s with the outfit?” He waves a hand at you in what you're sure is a rude mockery of your previous gesture.

Oh, right. The outfit. It didn’t seem so clever now. You had wrapped yourself in an elaborate headscarf that hung over you like a hood with a tasseled cowl. And, well, nothing else. Your blanket had slipped when you sat up.

You were supposed to be waiting for him bare. Accessible. Ready. And to the little bratty voice in the back of your head that was so mad at him earlier, this was compliant. He didn’t say you couldn’t accessorize. It wasn’t denying him access to your body.

Right now, though, as he put a hand on one hip and glared down at you, it felt like maybe you were in trouble.

“I, um.” Stars, why did you think this was a good idea? You thought you could confront him about the bruises and maybe get a little roughed up in the process. And you would have enjoyed it earlier, but now, suddenly, it feels like you might cry if he yells at you.

He hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. You know when you’re being given a second chance, so you swallow hard and look back up at him.

“I’m sorry. I was kind of trying to push you, it seemed like a good idea, but I don’t want to anymore, I promise.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Why did I want to, or why do I not want to?”

He sighs heavily. “Why did you want to?”

You look down at where the datapad is lodged, picking at the edge of the cushion with your nail. “I was trying to make you mad,” you mumble.

He tilts your chin up with a bare hand. You hadn’t even noticed him take the gloves off, but it feels so nice that you almost forget you're trying to talk your way out of trouble.

“Sweetheart. Why would you want me to be mad at you? If you want me to hurt you, all you have to do is ask nicely.”

At the low rumble of his wicked words, you no longer feel the cold of the cockpit. Your mouth waters, and you’re hyper-aware of how hard your nipples are, how exposed.

“I—kind of? No, I mean—” You can’t concentrate anymore. His finger that was stroking your cheek brushes across your bottom lip, and you open automatically, waiting. Begging. He pulls it away, and you whine.

“Hmm. Not yet. I want you to finish explaining yourself.”

“I had hurt feelings.” It punches out of you, and you’re mortified to realize it's the truth. You had been telling yourself you were mad, and maybe you were, but you had been lashing out like a hurt massiff.

Mando squats down beside the chair, and you turn, crossing your legs so you can face him. “What did I do that hurt your feelings, pretty girl?”

“It’s stupid, I’m being stupid. I’m—”

His hand snaps out, and unlike the gentle touch earlier, he grips your jaw tight before slapping you sharply across the face with his other hand. You yelp, more from surprise than pain.

“What have I said about that? Are you allowed to talk about yourself that way?”

“No, sir,” you whisper.

“And why not?”

“Because I’m yours, and if I’m disrespecting myself, it means I’m disrespecting you.” It was a lesson you had learned over his knee on more than one occasion.

“Good girl. Now tell me why you’re upset.”

“It’s like you can’t even look at me anymore, when you can see my neck. I’m sorry I fucked up; I’m sorry it’s ugly. I thought if I covered it up, maybe, maybe…”

Your words die in your throat as he stands up off the floor, rubbing a tired hand over his helmet. He snaps his fingers, jerking a thumb toward the pilot seat. “Get up, c’mon, I’m not doing this here.”

You scramble to your feet, confused and a little scared. Doing what? Oh, kriff, what had you gotten yourself into?

“Grab your pillow, baby,” he called from across the room without looking.

You double back for it. He was settled in his chair when you reached him, so you let it fall with a soft thwomp before lowering yourself to your knees.

“Look at me,” he orders. “And take that off.”

Fuck. Someday you’d get it through your head and stop giving in to the urge to hide. He hated it, but it was one of the few holdups you still had.

When you obey, tossing the scarf out of sight, he reaches down and wraps his hand around the side of your neck, avoiding most of the bruising. “I didn’t look because I didn’t want you to be disgusted by me.”

You furrow your brow, opening your mouth to speak, but thinking better of it.

“You were so upset about what happened on that hunt. And I hate that it was someone else who put those there. But stars, baby, do you look beautiful all marked up. I want to sink my hands in until you’re wearing my fingerprints all the time.”

Your mouth falls open, throat dry, and you shift around on your knees. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What, no. Just. Fuck, that’s so hot.”

He leans back, studying you. “You know, I never want you to try something you’re not comfortable with just because it’ll please me.”

“I’m not, I swear. I couldn’t stop looking at them in the mirror and wishing it had been you.”

He swears darkly, leaning forward so suddenly you flinch back a little. His hand cups your cunt between your spread legs, and he swipes a finger through your folds and holds it up. It’s soaked. He chuckles. “Good girl,” and shoves the finger between your lips with no pretense.

You close your lips around the digit, sucking and watching him through wide eyes. You whine when he pulls it out.

“As much as I would like to mark you up, cyar’ika, it’s not safe. But I did have an idea for something almost as good.” He reaches into a pouch on his belt and holds up a strip of leather.

It doesn’t register right away. You stare at it and then at him. He holds it out to you flat on both hands, and you gasp. You've never seen one outside of the holos he's shown you, but you recognize it all the same.

The leather is soft and supple in the same brown as his bandolier. It has a simple double-loop closure. You run your fingers over it for a moment before he snatches it back to dangle it just out of your reach.

“I take it you like it.”

You hold your hands in your lap, biting your bottom lip and whining. He laughs and runs a hand through your hair.

“You want it, sweetheart? Want to wear my collar so everyone knows you’re mine?”

“Please,” you beg over and over.

“You are mine, right? My sweet, obedient girl.”

“Yes, sir, please. I’ll be so good for you.”

He laughs. “Of course you will, needy thing. You’re already all mine. Look at you, trying so hard to please me.”

Your face goes hot. After the last few months of him talking to you like this, you thought you’d stop being embarrassed, but it only seems to get worse.

“C’mere,” he says, voice softer as he leans back. “Want you up here so I can see.”

You scramble onto his lap, straddling him. He pulls you closer so your wet cunt smears where he strains against the flight suit, and you moan.

“Can I put it on you?”

You’re already whispering a litany of pleas before he finishes the sentence.

You stop breathing when he reaches around you, holding as still as you can. You want to feel every second of it. He gently lifts your hair out of the way to settle the strap behind your neck before pulling the ends to meet in the front. He slides it into place, tucking two fingers between the collar and your neck.

“How’s it feel, ner cyare?”

You don’t ask about the new Mando’a. He’s never told you what cyar’ika means, either. Not that you’ve asked. He says it with enough fondness that you trust it’s not mean, and this sounds the same. Not that you aren’t curious. But the only things you know about Mandalorians are things he’s told you of his own volition, and you’re afraid to push.

Your eyes are watering. You trace your fingers over the collar with shaky hands. You’re terrified, actually, because this feels like something heavier than the other ways you play. “I love it,” you whisper.

He tugs on it, yanking you closer to him, before pulling it back, grinning at the way you let your body be moved at his will. “I think I like this a lot.” He holds you in place with it, pinching and tugging on your nipples. He gives your tits a few sharp smacks to feel the way you jerk in his lap.

“Ready for me, baby?” he teases.

You know it’s rhetorical, especially given that he’s already pulled his cock out, but you moan a “yes, please, sir,” just to see the way it makes him twitch. He smacks your clit twice with the head of his cock and then just shoves it all the way in.

He tugs the collar, pulling you to bend forward at an awkward angle.

“Watch, pretty girl. Look how greedy your little pussy is. Look how well you take me.”

You can’t look away. He’s splitting you in half, the pressure sharp and incredible, but you’d never know it from the way your walls and lips are hugging his shaft, beckoning him in. He flicks your clit while you’re watching, but you still jerk back at the sting. You’re stopped short by the collar, and he laughs and does it again.

He pinches and twists at it while you make broken little sounds, moans and cries, and you squirm to get out of range of his cruel fingers. But you can’t. He’s got you pinned so well between the cage of his thighs, bent up behind you, and the grip on your collar.

He only takes pity on you when he moves his attention back to your swollen nipples.

“S’it hurt?” he pants.

You whimper.

“Really? 'Cause you’re fucking soaked, cyar’ika, and your cunt keeps squeezing me so tight. I think you like it.” He flicks your nipple to punctuate his words.

“I do, I do like it, please. Like anything you do to me.”

“Those are dangerous words, sweetheart.”

“Nuh-uh,” you grunt, face twisting as he tugs hard before switching back to your clit. “Nnn. Trust you.”

He pinches a little harder than he means to, struck by the sweet way you bare yourself to him. His fingers dip down to gather some of the slick you’re leaking around his cock, and he brings them back up to your clit, rubbing firm, tight circles.

He drops your collar and grabs your jaw, pistoning his hips up harder so the wet slap of your bodies echoes in the cockpit. “Whose cunt is this?”

“Yours, sir,” you gasp.

“Yeah? Whose beautiful, perfect slut is this?”

“Yours, sir.”

“Cum for me, cyar’ika.” He presses down hard on your clit, and his hips stutter when you immediately clench down, body jerking. He grabs you by the collar and holds you upright so you don’t fall as you twitch and scream.

He doesn’t ease up, rubbing hard at your clit. “Another one. Now.”

You don’t know how he does it. You never have to force it. He knows your body like his armory, knows how much pressure it takes to pull the trigger, knows right when to fire. You’ve never not cum when he commanded.

“Down,” he snaps after you’ve come apart on him a few more times over.

You slide off immediately, sinking down onto the pillow, mouth open and tongue out. Your hands lay in your lap, palms up, and you even remember to keep your eyes open.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me,” he groans, stroking himself furiously before shoving into your throat as he spills. You take it all, eyes on him as you watch him fall apart for once. His shaky hand strokes through your hair as he comes down before settling around your neck just below the collar.

He pulls you back up into his lap, askew so your legs dangle over one side of the chair, and he can tuck your head against his chest. You’re shaking and softly crying as he wraps you up in your forgotten blanket.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. “And cyar'ika?”

You look up at him, sniffling and trying to blink back the last of your tears.

“You did so good telling me when you were upset.”

You bury your face in his unforgiving chest plate, and he allows you the moment to hide. Someday, he thinks, maybe you’ll believe him.

*Title from "Beat Up Car" by Taking Back Sunday. (what is the Razor Crest if not a beat up car persevering?)

[muma-kitty]

alright, since some of you seem to agree with my thoughts, i think i'll elaborate a bit

sweeney todd's autism diagnosis

this might be a bit lengthy so ill spare you the scroll if youre not interested.

stiff movements (this isnt really a dancer's role)

lack of expression, tends to look either sad or angry most of the time. could just be the trauma tho

weird stilted way of speaking (hearn specific)

generally quiet and reserved outside of emotional outbursts (again, trauma)

strong sense of justice - "at the top of the hole sit the privileged few making mock of the vermin in the lower zoo"

entirely fixated on razors when reacquiring them, completely oblivious to mrs lovett talking about her massive crush on him

doesnt know what to do with his hands when not holding anything - "at last, my arm is complete again!"

[shaving contest /w pirelli and aftermath]

doesnt bother with any flash or flair, gets straight to work and gets the job done

becomes agitated and paces when expecting the beadle to arrive at his barber shop but doesnt know when (gotta have a schedule)

[epiphany]

if this isnt a textbook meltdown idk what is

mood swings (man goes through every stage of grief twice in the span of 3 minutes)

lashing out - "alright! you sir! how about a shave?"

mrs lovett trying to calm him down just upsets him even more

[a little priest]

doesnt understand what mrs lovett's hints at at first

asks what unfamiliar food is before trying it, as if hes hesitant to try new things

definitely an odd sense of humor

wordplay. so much wordplay.

more tactile stimming, this time with suspenders (hearn)

[god thats good]

upset because the package he was told would arrive by 5:45 is 15 minutes late (his SCHEDULE is RUINED)

once the chair arrives, becomes agitated when he cant get mrs lovett to stay and watch him open it (PLEASE let me share my interests!!!!)

once again calling for lovett's attention, this time to set up a system of communication. he just really wants to make sure she isnt missing his cues

[by the sea]

several minutes of sweeney being completely absorbed in his own thoughts while giving half-assed responses to at least pretend like he heard any of that nonsense

[wigmaker sequence]

time to infodump

possible echolalia? - "the madhouse? the madhouse!"

[finale]

upset that he now has to go find toby when hes expecting the judge to arrive soon (the schedule!)

doesnt seem to be aware of how threatening he sounds while calling for the kid

after killing the judge, suddenly remembers he was supposed to catch toby and runs out only to realize he didnt grab his razor (only has enough working memory for one task at a time)

im sure there are other details i missed, especially since everyone's performance is different, so feel free to add on

[goatcheesecak3]

Bus stop Pt. 5

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x F!reader

M!reader version will be out in the next few days :^)

Includes: brief mentions of past violence, allusion to ptsd/trauma, fluff, angsty themes

Summary: after much persuasion, Adam starts going to therapy. After a few sessions he's ready to face one of his biggest fears.

Adam and y/n sat in the waiting room of the therapist's office. The couple had been together for six months now, and y/n, who had always proudly gone to and advocated for therapy her whole life, had finally convinced Adam to make an appointment. This was y/n's regular therapist, Dr Luther Graham, a grey haired man in his sixties. He was exactly what you would picture if you imagined santa claus working a day job, a plump and rosy cheeked man with a long snowy white beard stuffed into a suit and suspenders. He was the sort of person anyone would feel safe talking to, which is why y/n was so sure that Adam would benefit from a session with him. Of course Adam, who was skeptical about therapy as a whole, was reluctant to pay him a visit, and only conceded that he would be willing to give therapy a try if y/n promised to go with him.

The waiting room felt like a living room from the sixties, with brown walls, art deco chairs (which looked fun, but weren't the most comfortable), and yellow mood lighting. The room felt welcoming, but in a clinical way, as though it was an alien's perception of what a human home was supposed to feel like, Adam supposed. The brown walls were adorned with certificates and plaques boasting Dr Graham's qualifications. Adam assumed that these were meant to inspire confidence in patients that this was a legitimate doctor who knew what he was doing, but for him they only reminded him of his own lack of high school diploma.

Adam's fingers were entangled with y/n's as the pair sat quietly, waiting to be called into the office. He suddenly felt a small squeeze on his hand, and turned to look at y/n.

"You're biting at your lip again, sweetie" she whispered, "what's wrong?"

Adam shook his head

"Just... this is all kinda new to me"

Y/n gave him a sympathetic smile

"Doctor Graham is lovely, I promise, you don't need to be frightened. If you really don't like it once we get in there, we can go straight home, but you'll be so proud of yourself for at least giving it a try"

Adam smiled weakly, and held y/n's hand tighter.

A wooden door creaked open, and out popped a smiling Doctor Graham's head.

"You must be Adam" he beamed, "come on in, I'm sure y/n's already told you about how this all works"

Adam shot y/n a terrified look.

"Oh, Doctor Graham, Adam was hoping I would be able to come in with him for his first session, just to make him feel more safe" y/n said calmly

"That's absolutely fine, whatever makes you most comfortable, Adam" Dr Graham smiled.

In the office were two sofas facing eachother, one which seated Doctor Graham, the other Adam and y/n. The silence was punctuated only by the ticking of an ancient looking grandfather clock, until Dr Graham spoke.

"So Adam, why don't you start by telling me a bit about yourself?

Adam turned to look at y/n, almost for approval. His eyes were asking "can I trust him? Can I tell him about me?"

"Go on, sweetheart, you don't need to be afraid" y/n encouraged him.

Adam let out a deep breath and began to speak.

"My name is Adam, I'm twenty-six and I'm a photographer. Oh, and I was kidnapped by a serial killer a few months back" he scoffed, in that familiar unserious tone.

It wasn't that Adam took what he went through lightly, quite the opposite in fact, it was just that he could only even begin to broach the subject in a jokey manner or else he'd begin to spiral.

"Would you care to elaborate on that last point for me, Adam?" Doctor Graham enquired.

"I don't really like talking about it" Adam replied.

"I understand that, not wanting to talk about a traumatic event isn't unusual. But I'm certain you often think about what you endured. Perhaps you might find some comfort in articulating those thoughts out loud, Adam. Legally I can't tell anyone about what's said in this room, so it would be just as private as your thoughts, only this way you get some advice in return" Dr Graham said.

Adam stared at his feet and considered what the doctor had said. If he was being honest with himself, it sounded like a good deal, but he was still unsure.

"You know, Adam," y/n said,  "maybe you'd feel like you could talk more freely if I stepped outside? People tend to get the most out of therapy when they have privacy"

Adam shook his head

"No, I can't do this without you, don't leave" his voice had a tinge of desperation to it, and his grip on her hand tightened, something which Doctor Graham seemed to pick up on.

"You've made it clear that you feel safer in y/n's company, why is that, Adam? Enlighten me" he asked.

Adam let out a deep breath that he didn't know he was holding.

"Y/n takes care of me and we love eachother, why wouldn't I want her to stay?"

"Well that makes sense, but judging from your reaction when you thought she might leave the room, perhaps it's less to do with you feeling comforted by her presence, but moreso afraid of her absence. Tell me, Adam, have you experienced any significant abandonment in your life?"

Adam was absolutely floored by this, Doctor Graham seemed to be able to read him like a book. His bit his lip and stared at the floor, his body tense and uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat.

"I suppose you could say that, yeah... when I was being held captive there was this doctor who was being held with me, he managed to escape and he said he'd get help but the asshole never came back."

His voice was laced with anger and hurt.

"Thank you for sharing that, Adam, I know that must have been difficult for you" Dr Graham said, "is the fear of abandonment a regular thought for you?"

Adam nodded

"I try not to let it get to me but... I don't know, I guess it's something I worry about a lot"

The conversion got a lot deeper over the hour long session, Adam opened up about his time spent in the bathroom, about how he was scared of the dark and how the sound of metal clanging put him straight back in that room. And of course, how bathrooms as a whole were something he did his best to avoid, only showering if he really had to. Dry shampoo and deodorant had been his best friends for the last few months.

"Well, that about wraps it up for today's session. Well done for being so candid and honest Adam, I hope you'll benefit from this"

"Um... thanks" Adam bit his fingernail nervously, but managed a small smile. He really was proud of himself.

"Do you think maybe... I could book another one of these? For like next week or something?" He asked shyly.

"Of course, I'm very glad you've found this helpful" Doctor Graham beamed, "I'll book you in for the same time next week?"

...

Later that day, y/n was over at Adam's apartment folding up some of his clothes and putting them away, while Adam sat on the bed bundled up with a blanket draped over his shoulders. He had been feeling somewhat vulnerable after opening up and reliving his trauma earlier on, so he was enjoying being babied a bit. Y/n had made him a warm mug of tea and taken care of any chores he needed doing around the apartment, just to give him some time to recover.

Although Adam did indeed look adorable all wrapped up, he was beginning to smell... ripe was the kind way to put it.

"Sweetheart?" Y/n asked

"Hm?"

"I was thinking about what you said earlier, about not liking bathrooms... and I was wondering if I could help you with that?"

Adam froze, his entire body tense and immediately afraid.

"Only if and when you're comfortable, maybe I could run you a bath and I'll get in with you, to make sure you know you're not on your own?"

Adam bit his lip and looked away, embarrassed.

Of course he wanted that in theory, sharing a relaxing bath with his beautiful girlfriend was any man's dream, but the reality? He was frightened. He could barely take a two minute shower, let alone a full bath.

"You don't have to make any decisions yet, but when you're ready I want you to know that I'm here for you, okay?" Y/n said, her voice soft and gentle, as though she were worried that she may scare him away.

Adam nodded, and retreated further into his blanket, feeling uneasy at the prospect of taking a bath.

"Oh sweetheart, come here" y/n said lovingly, taking a seat beside him and wrapping her arms around him, "I don't care how long it takes, I'm never giving up on you baby"

She pressed a kiss into Adam's temple, as his body relaxed and fell into her, clinging onto her tshirt tightly.

...

A week later,  Adam was due to stay at y/n's house overnight. He'd had an appointment with Doctor Graham earlier on in the day, alone this time, and had reached the conclusion that he was ready to tackle his fear of bathrooms. He was terrified, but he knew it was time. He texted y/n.

Adam: I think I want to try having a bath

Y/n: sweetheart, I'm so proud of you! Do you want to try at my place tonight?

Adam: yeah, I think I do

But I'm still really nervous

I might chicken out at the last minute

Y/n: the fact that you're even considering it is such a huge step, well done baby :) how about when you come over, ill run you a bath and you can decide later if you think you're ready to get in. We'll take this at your pace, okay honey?

Adam: that sounds good. Thank you :)

Adam arrived at y/n's apartment feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He hated feeling so helpless, so vulnerable. He wanted nothing more than to overcome his fear, but it was difficult for him. Every thought in his brain was screaming at him to turn on his heels and run home, but he wanted to be brave, and he knocked on the door.

Y/n welcomed him in with a smile and a much needed hug, before escorting him to the sofa and placing an already made mug on hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of him. She'd made it just the way Adam liked, with marshmallows and lots of cream- he had a real sweet tooth.

"I know you're nervous, but I want you to know that you don't have to do this if you don't think you're ready. Just relax and enjoy your drink, no one's gonna be upset if you don't think you can do it yet" y/n cooed, sensing Adam's fear before he had even spoke.

"Thank you" he smiled weakly, "I was thinking, maybe we could start with me just standing in the doorway to the bathroom, and I can watch while you run the bath? Just to get myself prepared?"

Y/n felt her heart ache. She was so proud of her sweet boy for being so brave, he really was trying, but it just killed her to see him so scared. Something so small, just being in a bathroom made this grown man tremble with fear like a beaten dog. She silently cursed the name jigsaw for doing this to such a sweet man.

"Alright sweetheart, if you think that might help" she replied, wiping a small bit of hot chocolate off of the corner of Adam's mouth, making him chuckle slightly.

Adam finished his drink, and hesitantly followed y/n to her bathroom. It was a simple room, not much that was worthy of note, but one thing which comforted Adam was the cleanliness of it all. No dirt, no grime, it even had a light floral smell emanating from a bowl of potpourri on the windowsill.

He stood in the doorway to the room, hugging himself and watching longingly as his girlfriend fearlessly entered the room. He wished that he could do that too.

"Alright, babe, I'm gonna turn the tap on now, I'll make sure we get the bath nice and warm okay?"

Adam couldn't speak

"Look, I've even got some bubblebath to try and make it feel a bit less serious" she comforted, showing a bottle of lavender scented bubblebath to him.

"O.. okay" Adam nodded.

As the minutes went by, Adam watched as the tub filled up, and the time to actually enter the room drew closer. With every passing second his heartbeat grew stronger, until he swore he could practically taste his pulse. He swallowed a lump that seemed to be forming in his throat and bit his lip, like he always did when he was anxious.

"Are you ready?" Y/n's voice interrupted his train of thought.

Adam shook his head, "I don't ever think I'll be ready" he laughed wearily, trying not to let himself spiral. Despite the way he felt, Adam began to get undressed, pushing through his fear as best as he could.

Y/n had removed her clothes as well and was ready to get into the bath.

"You wanna do this together?" She asked, holding her hand out for Adam to take it. His own hand trembled like a leaf, he breathed heavily through his nose, as he shut his eyes and took a step forward into the bathroom.

"Well done, sweetheart, you're doing so well"

He flinched slightly as his bare feet touched the cold tile ground, a feeling he knew all too well, but soon his feet found themselves on a soft and fluffy bathmat, and his fears depleted.

Stood next to the bath, hand in hand with y/n, Adam stared down into the water. The last time he'd been in a bath was when he had woken up in one, fully clothed, freezing and shackled to a pipe. This was nothing like that, he thought. The water looked warm and enticing, almost welcoming.

"You don't have to if you don't want-"

"No." Adam cut y/n off, "I need to do this. I.. I don't want to be scared anymore"

His words sounded confident, but his voice trembled. Tightening his grip on y/n's hand, he stepped into the water.

Y/n stepped in with him, her soft hands making their way around his body, holding him in a tight hug.

"Baby, I'm so proud of you" she whispered, kissing his cheek.

Adam gulped, he could feel his breaths becoming shallow, but he knew it was now or never.

"If.. if I sit down will you hold me?" He asked, his lips quivering

"Of course honey, I'll even wash your hair for you" y/n replied, her voice calm and reassuring. Everything about her brought Adam peace, she was his personal sanctuary. If she was with him, he could do anything.

With a deep breath, Adam sat down in the bath, leaning back into y/n's chest and letting the warm water run over his body. Y/n was hugging him tightly from behind, placing gentle kisses into the crook of his neck.

"So brave, I'm so proud of you honey"

Adam relaxed into her touch. He didn't say much, just allowed himself to feel her loving hands all over him. The way they carefully massaged his scalp with a sweet smelling shampoo, the way they gently caressed his bullet wound, accompanied by whispers of how handsome he was. An endless string of "I love you" and "I'm so proud of you" was all Adam could hear, not the sound of cold, damp dripping, the rattling of chains, or even his own thoughts. Unbelievably, he felt perfectly calm.

Once the bath was over, Adam got changed into a pair of pyjamas that y/n had bought specifically for when he stayed over. Snuggled up in bed together, he felt a sense of hope for the first time in a while. He was getting better, life was starting to be worth living.

A/n hello! Sorry this took so long to get out, I've had the flu and i haven't been able to write much without falling asleep lol. Sorry this isn't my best work, but I'm sure it's at least enjoyable! Also, I need Adam related suggestions because I'm feeling a bit lost for new ideas lately, so please leave a request! It can be something you might want to see in the bus stop series, or perhaps just a standalone fic with Adam, or some headcanons etc - anything really! I love getting requests :^)

Hope everyone is having a good new year so far! :^)

[lordshroom]

Happy One Year Anniversary to 2012 Good Genes! WOOOOO

I want to say thank you to everyone who has supported the comic! Whether it's writing a comment, leaving a like when a new chapter drops (or spamming likes as you binge it), or just reading it. Thank you <3

Hard to believe I've managed to semi-consistently update a comic for a whole ass year. When I started this comic, it was a means to force myself to learn how to draw the turtles and just force myself outside my comfort zone: dynamic posing, perspective, shivers backgrounds.

I thought I would run with this idea for a few months, get bored, then move on to something else. A fate that has unfortunately fell many of my previous projects.

But then I started recognizing the same few blogs liking the new updates. I got a few followers. I got a few comments. Every note felt like something special, a sign that people actually wanted to read this story.

So I kept making the comic. One of the biggest shifts in mindset came from when I met Gavin Smith, an artist for the IDW series, I asked him how long it took him to draw a page. He said, "It changes depending on the page. Sometimes it takes three hours sometimes it takes three days." My priorities shifted from "Get the comic done as soon as possible before I get bored" to "make the comic you want to make". The comic went from this to this. I missed coloring, so I started coloring. But I always liked inking more than coloring, so I started inking the comic pretty soon after.

This does mean the comic takes longer to get out, and that bums me out. But I don't mind taking some extra time to give the pages some zest because, well, you guys. If you're going to take the time out of your day to read the pages, I'm going to take some extra time to work on them.

My dream job has always been to be a writer. I've fluctuated between writing books, movie scripts, comic scripts, and a bunch of other stuff.

When I was little, I would imagine elaborate 2012 fan fiction. I never wrote any of this down since I was deeply embarrassed by my fascination with TMNT. It was a boy's show, and I was a girl. On top of that, 2012 became my lifelong hyperfixation. I didn't even seek out an online community for 2012, the closest I ever got was the forums for the show on the Nick site I watched the episodes on.

In high school, I realized who the hell cares and started entering the online community. I watched Rise and 2003, bought the IDW hardcovers, and started getting the figures.

Then in college, I said, "screw it," and started writing a fan fiction on AO3. It did not perform well. I tried to tell myself that I should write for myself, but it was hard to find the motivation to continue so I moved on.

Last summer, I started working on my original story and considered making it a webcomic. I watched a bunch of videos about making comics and wanted to try it out. Now, all the advice for making your first comic is to "make it small so you actually finish it!"

I did not take that advice.

The idea for 2012 Good Genes was old, like, fan-fiction-I-made-in-my-head-in-high-school old. It was different from the current comic. That old version took place post-season 5 with a bunch of OCs and Donnie being mutated into something more bug-like. I went with a retelling of "Vengence is Mine" so I wouldn't have to worry about designing any new characters/ environments, and I those handful of episodes as a blueprint.

2012 Good Genes was supposed to be a learning exercise and became something so much more with your support. That support got me to work on another fanfiction on AO3, which got so much more love than I was expecting. It was so touching that people liked my writing enough to read it without any silly pictures.

So I'm going to say it again, thank you. Thank you so much for a fantastic year. I would not be where I am today without your support.

And if you managed to get through all my rambling, here's an update!

"The Invasion!" will have four more pages which I'm still drawing. After that is an original episode that I want to take time to write a script and design a character before I start posting updates, so in the meantime I will be working on drawing some stuff for my asks and working on the next chapter for "Perfect Son".

[pilot-kratts-au]

[Standalone AU] Thunderstruck

Originating from my privately abandoned Change of Mind AU comes a oddly fearless and feisty Paisley I kept in my vault of ideas...

Her Story:

Once determined to carve a parking lot into the african savannah during a thunderstorm, instead of Team Tortuga, mother nature came in to punish her and her team. Therefore, Paisley was stuck by lightning. Once Team Tortuga got to Paisley's spot, they could reanimate her and treat her heavy burns. Somehow, she turned out to be alive as the lightning passed through her without striking the heart. The only casualties were burned patches of skin and her right eye turned blind.

Paisley was gone for a year to recover from the damage of the incident, getting special shoes to cool the burned skin tissue from Zach Varmitech and a new outfit from Donita Donata. During the recovery she ordered Rex to leave, since he kept trying to help her, which she felt offended by, telling him that she doesn't need to be "pandered to by a tall man just because she's small and fragile."

Paisley surely gained confidence after being a rare survivor of a lightning strike. Sometimes though, she felt that Rex should have been struck, especially thinking about how the lightning chose her, the tiny little person over the lanky assistant that stood next to her while it happened - possibly the true reason why she discarded him, sparing him of further secretive jealousy of hers towards him. This change of self made her disband Paisley's Paving Services since she feared to be the casualty in another natural force strike and seek Donita for guidance on how she should go on. While with her, she finally was enlightened.

Well, what was her future gonna hold? Unbelivabely, during a Donita fashion show that was supposed to be guarded by Zach and his Bots, she discovered her protective and guarding skills. Zach did a horrible job at keeping protestors of Dontias (un)ethic animal fashion at bay and Paisley managed to be the one to prevent a fashion disaster. All while using something that was similar to her fear: a tazer. Sure, you don't want to be reminded by the worst time in your life, but somehow she overcame the trauma by using high voltage to her advantage.

Donita offered Paisley to work alongside her until she would find footing on her own again. She agreed and now serves as Donitas' official bodyguard. The Wild Kratts haven't got to Paisley yet, but they will surely be shocked once they do.

((I hope you enjoyed this standalone AU character, I might elaborate on her more if you want to! It's at least something while the Pilot AU is cooking... which will take some more since I broke my dominant hand :') So I hope you can make some of this old AU Character I had in my vault))

[jakedillonok]

⸻ Logan Lerman, 28, cis man, he/him ; ] … the photo on the missing poster is of JAKE DILLON. they are TWENTY-EIGHT, and have been missing for TWO YEARS. when the sun rises, they work as A COOK. rumors in town say they can be BLUNT and HELPFUL. they chose to live in THE DINER, and have an uncanny resemblance to Aurthur Morgan (Red Dead Redemption), Carmy (The Bear), Sierra Six (The Gray Man). can they survive another night ?… [ ⸻ Jell, 30, pst, she/her, no triggers ; 

Ah, the life of a mobster. Jake grew up in the world of organized crime, as a son of the head honcho himself. He has two brothers and three sisters and boy oh boy are they a dysfunctional family. Fighting and backstabbing like you wouldn't believe, Jake learned how to get ahead by any means necessary at a young age.

While his brothers and sisters generally took to the more "business" side of the family, Jake had a unique talent for the dirty work. Intimidation, collection, other activities of a more violent nature, those all began to fall under Jake's umbrella.

He's got a real 'fuck around and find out' energy about him. Despite him not exactly looking like mob muscle should, most people can tell within a few minutes of meeting Jake that he's not someone to mess with. He's got a very understated but strong confidence to him. No one wanted a visit from Jake Dillon. It became the ultimate threat of the Dillon family. Beyond that, he wasn't really...great with people. Not a people person, that Jake. Most of his time was spent saying exactly the wrong thing and neither caring nor realizing. Most of his family would apologize on his behalf. 'Oh, sorry, that's just how he is'. Well, yeah! How the hell else was he supposed to be?

As naturally as being the Dillon family enforcer came to him, Jake didn't really want that kind of life. He didn't so much enjoy the violence, it was just what he was supposed to do. His job, at the end of the day, was to keep people in line and he did it well. It wasn't like he was haunted or felt bad, necessarily. He just...had bigger aspirations, you know? Anyone can pick up a bat and smash a head, if you ask him.

His passions lay elsewhere, in food as it turned out. He loved to cook. He spent most of his free time making elaborate meals that no one ate in the big family kitchen. It was all he really wanted to do and when Jake was 25 he realized, in the way most people do, that he had agency and could do whatever the fuck he wanted. Who was going to stop him? He was the scary, unchecked muscle of this family! Who were they going to send after him, himself?

So he left. He didn't tell anyone, just packed a few bags and set out on a journey. His family could certainly try to bring him back, but he was confident enough that they wouldn't have anyone who could drag him back howling and screeching. He set off for the other side of the country, LA bound, but unfortunately got quite...quite sidetracked.

Now he's here, and he's everyone's begrudging problem. Jake is not a nice guy. He's not easy to be friends with, he's not easy to hang out with, he's certainly not the one you go to when you're feeling down. But he's good at keeping people fed, makes surprisingly good meals with the food they're able to have, and will lend a helping hand if someone needs it.

He hasn't shared his past with people here. Still trying to put it behind him, Jake maintains that he's just a chef from New York. But over the past two years, people would have definitely noticed there's something off about him. Quick to end fights by getting involved, a strange lack of disgust or sadness when it comes to cleaning up the dead, and the flash of something dark behind his eyes every now and then.

Below are some plot ideas and connections to get us started but I'm sure there are plenty more so hit me up with all your ideas!

Begrudging friend: this person has truly tried their hardest to be Jake's friend, perhaps oblivious or simply doesn't care that Jake seems to be more annoyed by their presence than anything else. But unfortunately for Jake this person has indeed succeeded in worming their way into his inner circle of care and he would be ferally defensive of them should the need arise.

The Safe Place: This person has identified Jake as someone who is stronger and more dangerous than he looks. Because of this, the diner has become their safe place, a spot where they feel protected.

The Enemies: They do NOT get along. They've gotten into a few fights and mostly stay out of each other's orbits but every now and then they have to interact and it is never a pleasant time! This can either stay an enemy connection, or evolve into enemies with benefits or frenemies, down for anything!

The Hook-ups: open to muses of any gender! Jake doesn't form attachments very easily but he does like the familiarity of knowing someone and working with them.

[fraeuleintaka]

Remaining new names in the official Investigations 2 Localisation - Cases 1-3

This is the 68th post in the Ace Attorney Investigations Collection Countdown: 13 days left until release!

Today's topic: the remaining new names in the official Investigations 2 localisation from cases 1-3!

Thanks to the release of the demo of the Investigations Collection and some very hard-working people we now know of all the remaining new names for the characters and cases in the official I2 localisation. Since there are so many names to discuss I'm going to divide this into two posts, one for the cases 1-3 and one for cases 4+5, because most of the names we already know of (that I discussed in previous countdown posts) are from the first two cases. First, the names of the characters:

Bastian Rook (for Ethan Rooke): His last name was already known and I've talked about how I don't like that it's just the name of the chess piece he's supposed to represent, I prefer the fan translation for that one, it's a little bit less on the nose (same with "Knight" and "Knightley"). His first name sounds similar to bastion, a fortified building, which fits what the rook is and Rooke's job as a bodyguard protecting his "king". His first name in the fan translation has a similar connotation meaning "safe and strong". Between those two I don't really have a preference, they're both good choices for his first name.

Samson Tangaroa (for Jeffrey Masters): A very drastic change! His official name has a more elaborate meaning with both parts referencing mythical figures: Samson to the judge in the bible who lost his superhuman strength and was subsequently imprisoned, fitting Masters' own imprisonment, and Tangaroa to a Māori god of the sea, fitting the nautical theme of his chocolate desserts in the contest. In contrast, his fan translated name is a play on "master chef" (even going as far as giving him the nickname "Master Jeff") and not much more. Purely from the meaning his official name is obviously better but I prefer the sound of his fan translated one. It sounds more like a complete name instead of two that just got stuck together, though that might change once I read his official name in context a few times.

Judy Bound (for Katherine Hall): In this case the name puns are about equal, the official localisation goes for "duty bound" referencing her loyalty to Masters whereas the fan translation goes for "catering hall" (even more so with her nickname "Kate") keeping the mansion reference from her Japanese name and the chef theme with Masters. However, I vastly prefer her fan translated name because it's so much more elegant! Her present design doesn't fit "Judy" at all but it perfectly fits "Katherine", her past self might fit but it also fits "Kate" perfectly, and I love the contrast between the two and how much of her personality gets conveyed through it. I hope her official full name is "Judith" or something similar to get a little bit of the same sentiment across.

Carmelo Gusto (for Dane Gustavia): For Gustavia's name the change isn't as drastic but still significant. His official first name is a shortened version of "caramello" which is Italian and translates to caramel referencing his candy making. "Gusto" comes from Latin "gustus" which translates to taste, very fitting considering his business and his taste issues, and doing something "with gusto" means doing it with a lot of passion which is exactly what Gustavia has for his goal of becoming the greatest pastry chef alive. His fan translated name has his last name going for the same association with taste, "Gustavia" sounds similar to "gustatory" which comes from the same Latin source. "Dane" is a reference to "danish (pastry)", the English name for a type of pastry from Denmark keeping to his pastry chef theme. I also like the interpretation of his name referencing Gustavus Swift who apparently invented the first refrigerated railroad car which is wonderfully hilarious considering what Gustavia does in the case. I don't really mind his official name, it's a good choice, but I slightly prefer the fancier sound of "Gustavia" from the fan translation.

Delicia Scone (for Delicia Scones): Not much to talk about with this one, the names are almost the same and just use her Japanese name without changing much (referencing "delicious scone" like the British quick bread). I don't think the change from "Scones" to "Scone" makes any difference and I like that both the official localisation and the fan translation chose "Delicia" as her first name, it fits her well.

[Spoilers for Investigations 2 in the next two name entries]

Artie Frost (for Isaac Dover): The meaning of his official name is pretty obvious, "Artie" referencing his job and talent as an artist and "Frost" referencing his work with ice and his corpse being frozen. His fan translated name focuses more on the "ice" part with "Isaac Dover" being a play on "iced over" which is, again, the type of dessert he uses in the contest (sherbet) and how his corpse was hidden. I hate to repeat myself but yet again I slightly prefer his fan translated name because it sounds more serious and mature and not like a nickname. (Artie? Couldn't they at least have gone for "Artus" or something and have Delicia use "Arty" as a nickname?)

Paul Halique (for Pierre Hoquet): With this name they couldn't change around too much because the initials still had to be "PH" for the signet ring to make sense. The official localisation just used an alternate spelling of his Japanese name (Paul Holic) while the name in the fan translation doesn't have any meaning associated with it that makes sense in the game's context apart from just sounding nice. In that sense the official localisation easily wins with this one.

And now for the case names (my discussion for the new name of the first case is here):

The Captive Turnabout (for The Imprisoned Turnabout): Nothing to complain about here, "captive" and "imprisoned" mean almost the same thing. They both sound great as well, I don't prefer one over the other.

Turnabout Legacy (for The Inherited Turnabout): Wow, that official name is amazing! I love the fan translated name, don't get me wrong, and it fits but the official one has such a weight to it - Legacy - you really feel how significant this case is, to Miles in particular but also to the series as a whole. Its impact cannot be overstated and the official name absolutely does it justice. Perfect choice for one of the best cases in the entire series!