#And then ended it with an emotional slap to the face because I love building things up and then tearing it apart

[leafy-m]

My stupid story is 20k now how I do make it stop 😵

[norikuna]

CREAM SODA — gojo satoru minors dni

prologue. → you've always known that gojo satoru is a real piece of work. arrogant, haughty. definitely has a praise kink for when people always call him 'the strongest.' but you're not even friends anymore, so this isn't any of your business...right?

what you didn't know is just how nasty he is, caging you in front of a mirror to lick away blood that he spilled from the veins of another man, one who dared to touch you.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. secondary love interest in the form of a random oc, jjk lore being mildly twisted, history around the world, in-jujutsu universe (not an au), gojo going feral and batshit bonkers, rough séx, créampíe, INSANE glass-shattering jealousy, hate séx but only a bit, brééding, oràl (f. receiving). enemies to lovers, former friends, PLOT AND WORLD BUILDING BTW this isn't pẃp, éxhibitionísm, mirror séx, overstímulàtion, bratty reader but with a reason to be a hater, working together on a mission, mentions of alcohol and the crime underworld, DEFINITELY a bit dark because reader goes through emotional whiplash, descriptions of a fight and heavy injury, biting because i always somehow write gojo as a vampire type of freak?? the PRIME example of the miscommunication tropes and a case where neither person is in the right...nuance is your friend here, fake bodyguard!gojo, reader wears a dress + makeup for a formal event, angst, hurt, lashing out, some comfort and fluff

excerpt: part of you knows that you just aren't seeing those pearly gates of heaven.

you know there's going to be a bouncer at the doors, with your face printed on a photo titled: dni! fraud! liar! the world's most incompetent jujutsu sorcerer! would bounce into a criminal's bed at first chance!

word count. 22k!!!!!!! AURKAY!! song inspiration. cream soda — exo, is there someone else — the weeknd

a/n. spent way too long trying to learn ps for the header 😭 wrote this only because of the new grey suit gojo art <3 there's a secondary love interest in this for the ✨ plot ✨ but he's just a character i made up for this story. i would have used one of the other jjk men but it would made it into an au that i didn't feel like expanding on 😭

mp3.. feel that tinglin', that silky smooth cream, each swirl deepens the flavor, babe. baby, go dumb dumb!

"f-fuck, if i had known it felt like this, would've stuck my fingers in h-her a long time ago," gojo unfurls his fingers that only just separated from your fluttering pussy, and you can only watch.

equally mesmerised as his slender fingers are coated in strands of your slick, clinging to the curves of his short nails and coating them in a mirror sheen.

"have some c-class, gojo! you've lost your fuckin' mind -"

smack!

the dewy pads of his fingers have come down in a harsh arc, slapping right at your throbbing clit, and the jolt sends such an incredible crack of lightning down your spine that you're bucking your hips back up into his hand, back for more.

"some class? hah, 'm not able to do that now, baby," and you can feel gojo shudder under your touch, as you paw at the linen of his black dress shirt, raking your nails over his pectorals, "not when it f-feels like your pussy is about to, fuck, vacuum my fingers off."

"i swear to god, gojo. never say that corny shit a-again."

but it's hard to convey any sense of righteous fury like this. not when he's back to pushing the tapered ends of his long fingers in and out of your tight heat. each brush from the pads of his fingertips leaves you squealing, tugging at the snowy strands on the back of his head.

but gojo's teeth are sharp as they sink into the damp skin of your neck with an almost reverent press, easily snapping through the delicate flesh.

and you're squealing, shocked at how fucking bold gojo satoru has become, whining at how a sharp hiss pulses through you, and you can feel the warmth of blood beginning to bloom and pool over your collarbone.

"shit, 'm sorry, baby. so sorry. but i'm gonna need to see you l-like this," and suddenly gojo snaps away the pussydrunk babble falling from his candied mouth, and he's pressing a searing kiss to your jaw, and the air becomes hazy with the scent of an insanely expensive cologne, cedar and something...sweet, like cardamom.

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

not when his thick arm is around your waist, handling you until you're smack bang between his legs, right between dark slacks. and gojo has shifted, so your back is flat against the hard planes of his chest, and your knuckles can only grip at the vanity sink. so your eyes can only see your naked torso twisting in the mirror.

"keep your eyes h-here, sweets. on us."

wait. you need to pause this tape, and do a little rewind.

how did you end up here, getting finger-fucked in a luxury five star suite? by the one man on earth that you swore that you could never stand?

(earlier that day)

the chandeliers had been shimmering overhead like stars, each fine crystal caught the golden light and scattered it across the grand lobby, and it was making your eyes flare and twitch.

this entire hotel felt frozen in time, some opulent relic of the roaring twenties, translated straight into tokyo's beating heart.

it was all so...pristine, and gaudy. and even the air carried that faint scent of hefty chanel no.5 and furniture polish.

but hey, this cheque wasn't coming out of your pocket, so who were you to complain?

that's how you rationalised it to yourself, right after a smartly-dressed waiter had floated past with a tray of shimmering champagne, one that you had easily helped yourself to.

ah, fuck it.

let the bill rack up on yaga's card. the least he could do after volunteering you to the higher ups for this mission.

a thick folder rested in your lap, clipped papers inside threatening to spill over from the sheer volume of information, that made your head spin.

of course, it was all courtesy of the jujutsu administration's obsession with drowning sorcerers in needless bureaucracy. and so you leafed through it idly, your thumb skimming over the crisp edges.

names, places, dates, all laid out in haphazard detail.

what a mess, it was a lot, but not enough to fill in the gaps that gnawed at you. the higher ups never gave you everything, fuck, they hated making it easy. still, your eyes caught onto key phrases.

urgent recall of cursed object. yes, that's why you were here. and not enjoying your saturday afternoon at home.

declaration of most expenses covered, in the instances of losing a limb. fair enough, insurance was honestly hell these days.

gain access to the auction being held by the voiceless. find their leader, naoki sato.

you knew of the voiceless, most higher grade jujutsu sorcerers did. a crime syndicate so shrouded in mystery. operating overseas for decades without so much as a cloudy whisper to the general public.

you made an unimpressed face as you kept reading, crinkling sheets under your fingers. smuggling, extortion, and a great deal of unexplained murders that would leave the cast of criminal minds scratching their heads.

how tasteless. still, you weren't the law, each to their own.

however, something made this case different. it made it your apparent problem.

for the voiceless were not your usual ragtag team of ruffian criminals, intent on scamming the vulnerable and sad.

their ranks comprised of wayward jujutsu sorcerers, with a hearty appetite for special artefacts, including cursed objects.

and now here they were, back on tokyo's soil, their hands covered with more than just the regular mundane crimes that could land a man behind bars for life.

you shifted in the plush, sinking seat. flipped to a page that had been practically painted in the most unforgiving shade of neon yellow highlighter.

ah, so this was the cursed object. raijin's amulet.

there was a grainy, slightly off-centre photograph clipped to the top of the document. the image was not much to look out, all washed colours and shadows that clearly didn't speak highly of the skills of whoever was behind the camera.

a circular pendant, a darkened forged creation of bronze and jade, covered in the soot of the ages gone by. spiralled with intricate carvings that reminded you of swirling storm clouds on a summer's evening.

and at it's centre sat a jagged shard of some precious golden stone, rough-hewn at the edges.

you were certain that this was the cause behind the distorted photography, for a modern camera was simply just not meant to capture such high levels of cursed energy.

there was even a faint shape of a dragon coiled around the pendant's edges, with its claws gripping the frame as if guarding it...or imprisoning it.

you weren't sure which. you're not sure you wanted to know which.

the accompanying notes were sparse, filled with frustrated gaps that left you squinting.

believed to be an ancient relic of the heian era. captured from the treasure hoard of the early medieval sorcerer, ryōmen sukuna, after his death.

huh, you hadn't heard that name since your school-days, back when you had poured over fraying history tomes, trying to pen the perfect essay to beat out suguru's flawless grades.

said to be imbued with the power of the lightning deity, raijin. capable of summoning and manipulating thunder, and disrupting various veils and curtains. last known location: the british museum, 1982. current location: unconfirmed.

clearly not an artefact meant to sit behind public museum glass.

dangerous in the wrong hands, and priceless in the hands of all. this must have been at least leagues above your current pay grade.

your thumb hovered over the corner of the page, bruising the white paper underneath as you scanned over the rest of the text, hoping and looking for a section that would be titled: and here's how to track raijin's amulet down and find it, with no bloodshed, and just in time for dinner!

no such luck.

"figures," you muttered under your breath, shoving the folder shut with a disgusted sigh.

this entire mission reeked of playing politics. for years, the voiceless had operated under the radar of other nations, disguising the tell-tale jujutsu as unexplained natural disasters and accidents.

there had been no intervention. they had been untouchable because no-one had the foreign jurisdiction, nor the guts to intervene.

but now, with the voiceless back on home soil, it seemed the higher ups wanted to make a statement. something like 'hey, we're actually useful at our jobs of protecting the jujutsu world!' and who better to clean up their mess than you and...

gojo satoru.

speak of the devil. you glanced up towards the grand entrance of the hotel lobby, as an unfortunate doorman stood by revolving, glass doors.

your...partner strode in, with dark sunglasses perched on his nose, and you scrunched your nose, taking in his appearance.

despite gojo's striking features that could render anyone speechless, he always looked like an odd bird of prey to you.

hawkish with creepy eyes, like a big snowy owl that had been hit by a curse, transforming him and forcing him to assimilate into the world of humans.

"i wasn't sure if you would come," you called, hoping that you masked the bitterness well that he had arrived, and significantly decreased the quality of your day.

"you wouldn't say that in bed," was gojo's snarky, automated reply, before he gave you a mildly embarrassed look, as if his immature mouth moved faster than his common sense did.

"still, sorry to keep you waiting," and gojo was crushing the heel of his boot into the cream marble of the floor, tapping it, all ridiculously long legs in the same uniform dress pants that you also donned, "traffic was hell."

"you don't even have a license," you grouched with a glare that you hoped was sharp enough to cleave time and space, but you stood up all the same, "and i wasn't waiting, i was working."

click! click!

gojo snapped his fingers, reaching for the folder stacked in your arms, "yes, of course you were, sweets," and he clicked his tongue, "now, why don't you hand that to me, and go check us in? i can look over what i need to do, let's get this done before night falls."

the audacity. the absolute nerve. how so typically gojo. swooping in at the last minute for kill shot, as usual, while others poured through all the paperwork, and did all the mental heavy lifting.

"you mean what we need to do, gojo," you snapped, your scowl deepening, "you're the late one. you go check us in."

gojo arched a pale brow, and the corner of his mouth twitched as though he wished he could just unwalk through those doors now, caught between amusement and exasperation. "you used to be so nice. what happened?"

"tsk! i think you happened, gojo. didn't ask to be stuck here with you."

"ah, so you do think about me, at least. but now you're jus' so difficult all the time."

"fuck off, i'm not difficult!" you shot back, before shrinking at the foul look that an elderly couple had directed your way, muttering something about how youth just didn't know how to act indoors, "i'm just saying it's not fair -"

"fine, whatever. don't care, sweets," gojo interrupted, already rolling big, blue eyes and turning away, "i'll go do it. you just stay nice and comfortable here."

and just like that, after comfortably raising your blood pressure (and heart rate), gojo satoru strode off towards the vast front desk, hands shoved lazily into his pockets, as though the two of you weren't on the clock to hunt down and find a dangerous criminal, his syndicate and a cursed object.

you trailed behind him, resisting the violent urge to grab his stupid sunglasses and fling them across the lobby. or stomp on them.

or just sit on them.

meanwhile, your eyes landed on the last and final page of the file, where a bright pink sticky note stood out sharply against the dull black and white of the case file.

final task: retrieve artefact. execute naoki sato on site. alternatively, bring in for execution.

the words were scrawled in thick, impatient strokes of a black marker. the kind that spoke more of efficiency, than humanity.

typical. there was just nothing that higher ups of the jujutsu world loved more than lopping the head off anyone that they deemed inconvenient. quick, clean and final.

still, this decision wasn't your business, not really.

you looked up to see gojo casually leaning against the counter, and his entire demeanour radiated smooth confidence as he spoke to the receptionist.

the sweet-looking woman had fumbled her worlds almost immediately, and she had dropped her pen twice. and he had caught it with an easy smile and wink that would have made you roll your eyes clean out of your skull.

you wanted to gag.

in less than a minute, gojo had the black keycard in his hand, spinning it between his fingers like some trophy as he sauntered towards the elevators.

you sighed as he stopped in front of you, extending the card with a flourish, like a knight presenting a courtier with a wreath of fresh-cut flowers.

"we're here for a mission, gojo. not to get it wet."

the tips of his ears flushed a bright, vibrant red. but his grin didn't falter as he huffed, and snatched the keycard back. leaving your arm floundering in the air before you dropped it.

"how crude. that's not even what i asked her. but still, you're welcome, sweets," he had said, stepping into the elevator and holding the door open for you with an exaggerated stretch of his arm.

"i didn't say thank you."

gojo smiled, tilting his head in that distracting, no. what? in that irritating manner of his, "no need. i could feel the gratitude radiating off you," and he's crossing his arms against his broad chest in a way that made the tailored uniform seem unfairly snug, "warms my heart."

"what if you don't have a heart?

for a fleeting moment, something unreadable flashed in gojo's eyes, irritation easily — but something unrecognisable, but he must have smoothed it away with practised ease. for that same cocky grin returned like clockwork, infuriatingly charming and just as insincere.

"what if it only beats for you?" he shot back, wiggling his fingers dramatically, and the motion was so over-the-top that it leaned closer to sleazy than heartstopping.

"now i'm worried, you need to get shoko to check that out. sounds like a serious health issue."

"your tender concern for my well-being is what keeps my blood pumping," and you know that gojo has little regard for the personal space for others, the way that the distance between you is closing once more, in a way that makes your own pulse flicker.

"please," and you take a deliberate step back to reclaim your own space, "if i wanted you gone, i wouldn't waste my time hoping for a heart attack. i'd do it myself."

gojo shrugs, tilting his head like you had just told him a sweet joke, "you're cute when you're homicidal, y'know that?"

"and you're insufferable all the time. we all have our talents."

gojo's barked out a laugh, and the sound is annoyingly genuine. it has you grinding your teeth together, making your jaw tight.

"hey, gojo," you swivel back to the towering bean-pole behind you, leaning against a steel bar.

"mhm, what?"

"i'll give you a hundred thousand yen if you keep your mouth shut during the entire elevator ride," you mutter, staring at the ground floor map, and up to where your suite was meant to be, hands fiddling over the buttons.

"deal."

you glance back, "that easy? clan money running low, gojo?"

gojo sighs, shaking his (ridiculous) snow-cone hair, "you have no idea. spent it all on a sweet talkin' girl who kicked me to the curb. even took the dog with her. who takes the fucking dog?"

despite yourself and your iron-clad resolution to not validate gojo satoru in anything, you snort, the first genuine laugh he's pulled out of you.

you choose not to notice how his eyes suddenly seem a shade brighter, as you snicker, "you're so ridiculous."

he doesn't reply as you press an index finger into the cool metal of the elevator button, and you turn around to see him sadly miming out his broke plight, with a sack of imaginary things over his shoulder, jingling the few coins he has.

tsk. you bite your lip to stop the corners of your lips lifting up to match gojo's own, wrinkling your nose in faux distaste as you spin back around, with gritted teeth. away from the mild bane of your existence.

true to his word, and shockingly so, gojo stayed silent through the elevator ride. mostly.

you caught his restless sighs, the shuffle of his ridiculously polished boots, and the occasional sharp intake of breath like he was simply dying to say something, but kept biting it back.

good. for once, it was nice to make gojo satoru stew.

the elevator dinged, and you had already stepped out, planning to ditch him in the suite, but clearly, gojo had other ideas.

"alright, sweets," he said, hand extended, "i won the bet. hundred thousand yen, i can take a cheque too."

you stopped short, glaring at his outstretched (sculpted) hand.

"right now? just as we're gonna plan how to catch a criminal? can't we do a pay later type of thing?"

gojo's responding grin was wolfish, and his voice dropped enough to make you bristle, "sure. pay later, with a kiss."

your groan must have echoed down the hall, and without thinking, you shoved past him. your shoulder colliding with his chest in a way that was deeply satisfying.

"my kisses," you snapped, refusing to look back at him, "are worth way more than a hundred thousand yen."

gojo didn't reply immediately, no. and for a second, you thought had finally managed to shut him up enough for a moment's peace to gather the thoughts that the white-haired man always managed to unravel.

but when you dared to glance back over your shoulder, his sharp gaze was fixed on you, and his lips were pressed together oddly — the faintest dusting of cherry pink peeking out underneath his sunglasses, and falling over his cheeks.

nary a peep from gojo then, save for him rushing past you to slot the keycard into the door. but holy fuck, the sheer luxury of this suite almost made you forget that gojo satoru even existed.

sleek dark woods, glowing orange accents, and a massive window that offered a panoramic view of tokyo's skyline. and then, there was the bed.

ridiculous in its decadence. a king-sized masterpiece, draped in plush linens that looked softer than the clouds dotting the afternoon sky. framed by polished ebony bedposts that gleamed in the warm light of the suite. the mattress was practically calling out to you, to sink your back into it.

wait, where was the other bed?

"nope! absolutely not," you blurted, spinning on your heel to face gojo who had sauntered in after you, pausing mid-step and clearly, equally caught off-guard with a stunned expression on his face — before morphing into something maddeningly smug.

"what?" gojo said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "it's a bed. you've seen one before, right?"

you tried to speak in a way that wouldn't quite make it show that you felt like your tongue was lead, jabbing a finger at the bed as though it had personally offended you, "there's only one!"

gojo's lips quirked upwards, his blue eyes gleaming with that irritating mix of amusement and mischief, most likely derived from your displeasure, "now look at that, we can count to ten. baby steps."

"don't start with me," you snapped, "i'm not crashing out there. i'd rather sleep in the hallway."

gojo tilted his head, the white tufts of his hair falling around his face, as though he were considering the suggestion seriously, "not sure the hotel staff would appreciate you loitering in their five-star corridors. won't stop you though, sweets."

"you can sleep on the couch," you try to offer helpfully, relishing in how it's his turn to scowl at you.

gojo's glancing towards the sleek leather sofa in the corner, most likely worth more than your monthly rent, "tempting," he drawls, "but i don't think that thing was designed for someone with legs this long," and he's slapping his hands on his thighs, and you do your very best to not track your stare down.

"then curl up like the overgrown house cat you are -"

"fuck you mean by that?"

"or sleep on the floor!"

"i'm liking these options less and less."

but then gojo straightens, and you're starting to see a small tick reach to the corner of his bright eyes, the faintest hint of irritation seeping through his drawl, "you know, for someone so desperate to avoid me, you spend a lot of time wondering where i'm gonna sleep."

you hate the traitorous flush heating up your face, "i'm thinking about it because you're my problem."

"well i hope i'm at least your favourite problem," gojo murmurs, brushing past you to toss his dark bag onto the bed.

"so, what's it gonna be?" gojo's voice was a lazy purr, patting the mattress beside him with a grin that could have launched a thousand arguments, "join me, or keep fighting a losing battle? because -" he faked a yawn, "i think i'm starting to get a bit sleepy."

"sleepy? you're a grown man, and it's barely three in the afternoon."

gojo arches a pale brow, and you have to force yourself to stop staring at the pink curve of his lips, "and? scared you won't be able to resist me in the middle of the night?"

"you should be scared you'll wake up with a pillow smothering your face."

gojo sighs, melodramatic and loud, rolling over onto his back, "i'd rather be smothered by -"

"gojo!"

his laugh is low and rich, and it vibrates in the air in a way that make your teeth itch, and your eyes roll, desparate to change the subject and actually get back on track.

you shove the hefty file in his direction, letting him flounder to grab a hold of it, "last page. naoki sato."

gojo's entire demeanor shifts, and falls under the mention of the name, eyes a touch darker, and suddenly serious in a way that almost makes you regret being on the clock. but he's pushed himself up from the bed, his legs dangling off the edge.

"what about him?"

you frowned, still turning over the situation in your mind, "well, he's supposedly working out of this district right, i mean, even this hotel? but why? i always thought crime bosses had creepy lairs in dark alleyways or something. and not," you gesture to the five-star architecture around you, "this."

gojo's broad shoulders shrug in that lazy way of his, like everything was beneath him, but there was something else flickering behind his perched sunglasses, "i've never even met him. just heard of him," but gojo seems to be chewing each word, as if choosing them carefully, "but what i've heard? not your typical criminal? he flies high, lives the wild life out in the open, rich and shameless."

you privately held back any biting comment that came to you as easy as breathing, about gojo also being the epitome of rich...and shameless. time and place, yeah?

gojo, thank the lucky stars, had not noticed you fighting demons to keep a straight face, "but then every so often sato vanishes off the radar, and then, bam!" your partner splayed his fingers, "he strikes again. always showing in a different place. the united states, france, england, egypt..."

you raise an eyebrow, tapping at your phone, "egypt?"

"egyptian artefacts are ridiculously powerful, sweets. i mean, on a whole other level. they aren't linked with y'know...jujutsu," he gestures vaguely between the two of you, "but whatever they've got is ancient and ridiculously potent. last the higher ups heard, naoki sato managed to get his hands on an old obelisk."

you shake your head at the prospect, humouring gojo, "whatever for?"

"whatever twisted things he does in his free time, fuck if i know. but of course, he couldn't control it. instead, it summoned the spirit of a massive serpent, killed a bunch of innocent civilians."

you have the faintest collection of the mythos surrounding an ancient serpent, and the thought makes you shudder, "wouldn't the local authorities have arrested him for that?"

gojo pushes his sunglasses up his head, so you're now looking back at unblinking blue eyes ringed by white lashes, "how do you arrest a guy who's practically a ghost? they couldn't even find him after all that shit. besides, his technique is something else. enhance. practically has control over every cell in your body."

you nod slowly, hoping that you're piercing it all together correctly, "so this auction is because he's got more of these artefacts? like raijin's amulet?"

gojo nods sharply, and you're struck by the intensity of big blue eyes with whorls of storm clouds lingering between his gaze, "i guess even villainous criminals want to make profit. but we can get a front row seat to whatever he's planning next."

"and stop him before that."

"right. that's what i said."

your frown deepens, "how the fuck does an entire auction stay hidden from the public?"

after all, you had scoured the floorplan of this hotel from base to rooftop, and not a single room or corner would accomodate naoki sato, and the voiceless that follow him.

gojo shrugs with infuriating nonchalance, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the bed, "there's jujutsu that can create entire illusions. beneath this very hotel lies an entrance to a hidden ballroom, but it's been in and out of use for decades. we jus' need to slip in, find sato, and maybe shake him a few times until he spills the amulet's location."

you cross your arms, and the unfortunate truth lingers on your tongue, "if it were that easy, the higher ups wouldn't have sent you with me as backup."

"was that a compliment for me? careful, you might actually start liking me now."

and at your affronted expression, laugher is spilling out gojo satoru, sharp and cocky and awfully infectious.

you hated the sound, not because it wasn't nice, but because it was. too rich, too easy. the kind of laugh, from the strongest sorcerer to walk the earth, that made you wonder if ever took a damn thing seriously. with the unfortunate side effect of questioning why it was so annoyingly attractive at the same time.

nobody should get to look that good while being such an unbearable ass. it was unfortunate, you thought grimly, how much you liked seeing him laugh though.

"i don't think i'd ever like you at all, gojo."

but alas, the world has a cruel way of making you wish that the earth swallowed you whole. and your heart and mind certainly aren't on speaking terms with each other to coordinate properly. for the barb flies out of your mouth like an uncontrolled reflex, a rogue arrow hitting its mark.

and you're left grimacing as gojo's smile stills. not vanishing completely, but frozen while something cooler and sharper slips into his gaze. the awkward silence that follows is loud enough to make you wince and pray that a lightning bolt strikes you down right now.

gojo gives a quiet cough, and you're wondering just how much of his nonchalant facade he has left intact. fuck, you were a bit of an ass yourself.

"ah, gojo. i didn't mean -" you started, stumbling over the words, desperate to backpedal, if only for the sake of the mission. right?

"don't strain yourself pretending," gojo cuts you off, and you're mildly stung by the smooth edge of venom coating his voice, despite his relaxed smile, "let's just get this job done, yeah? it's just us two here because no-one else could put up with you. i was the only one left who actually wanted to try."

well. ouch, that was a low blow. motherfucker.

your jaw tighten, and for a moment, all you can do is stare into vibrant blue eyes. surely, that wasn't true...right? and how awful that the sharp look in his eyes softened into a smug satisfaction as he registered how his own barb had found his mark.

now, gojo satoru is leaning back with an air of victory, crossing his arms as if to bask in it. talk about drawing more blood from a wound than necessary.

"you're awful, gojo," you bit out, praying that whatever tremor lives in your throat is not enough to appear in your voice.

"yes, i know. you say that all the time."

it was almost tragic, you thought bitterly, how in those fleeting few minutes, you had found gojo satoru bearable. likeable even. insightful, in his own smug way.

but now, the two of you were back to square one, staring each other down with walls firmly back in place.

sure, your quip had been mildly unnecessary, but it wasn't like he hadn't heard your blithe and bland comments by now?

but still, gojo's words gnawed at you. the idea that no one else wanted to put up with you, except him, of all people, burrowed deeper than it had any right to.

maybe it was petty, but you weren't about to let gojo satoru have the last word.

"remember that the higher ups want naoki sato executed," you said, breaking the terse silence.

gojo didn't even glance up from the file he'd been pretending to skim, his long fingers casually flipping a page. and that nonchalance made your stomach churn with irritation.

when he finally looked up, his expression was a mix of curiosity, and disdain, as if you had become a particularly stubborn puzzle that he'd decided was not worth solving, "yes, i know that too. so what?"

"you and i both know you've had trouble executing criminals in the past."

a calculated jab, sharper than they needed to be. and you saw the impact hit almost immediately. gojo's jaw tightened, and the glint in his frosty blue eyes disappeared, replaced by something darker, furious even.

suguru geto was still well and alive, often appearing on television as a friendly priest who would cure one of all their ails such as lower back pain or bad headaches, for the low price of joining the ranks of his organisation (read: cult). but he still remained a sore point for...everyone. you, included.

gojo, especially.

and now the air between you shifted, chilling like a winter draft had snuck into the room. your eyes fell on gojo's knuckles as they tightened around the file, his expression stony.

you shouldn't have felt proud of yourself for getting under his skin, for pulling a genuine reaction from him. but you did. you'd found a crack in his flawless armour, without needing to bypass infinity.

and it was satisfying.

"f-fuck you," gojo said finally, the razor edge in his voice was matched only by the glare he pinned on you.

you crossed your arms, doing your best to feign indifference despite the adrenaline surging through you. ignoring how you felt an awful pit in your stomach sprout, rendering you rather nauseous, and quoting his previous words, "don't strain yourself pretending it's not true."

gojo satoru's glower could have melted steel, and for a moment, you wondered if you'd gone too far. but he stood, slowly, his movements deliberate as he slammed the file shut with a resounding snap.

you watched as he snatched up his smaller bag, and swung the door open with enough force that you were surprised that it didn't fall off its hinges, "just be ready by the time i get back. 'm gonna take a walk."

and you were left, alone, in a room that suddenly felt so much more suffocating.

you weren't sure how long it had been since gojo had stormed out, leaving the room icy in his absence. you hadn't moved from your spot by the door, though you told yourself that you were entirely fine.

arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin, defiant line. but even as you stared at the dark panels of the door, the lie began to unravel.

you told yourself that you just didn't care for gojo satoru. that you didn't like how he was too loud, too reckless, too overwhelming, a force that just didn't fit into the neat confines of your world.

the heat rising to your cheeks must have betrayed you, as did the tight knot in your chest. it had been...not your wisest choice to lash out at him, or to even bring up his name. suguru geto, a wound that would never close for anyone.

but more than that, you hated the memory of his expression just before he left. hurt, and anger. and something far more raw.

he would come back, you knew that much. gojo was much too dutiful to leave a mission and abandon a chance to do some good in this world. it should have been a comfort, but it did little to ease you. instead, that certainty only twisted the guilt tighter in between your ribcage.

finally, you yanked the door open, fuelled by an impulse you didn't care to name. you wanted to catch him outside, mid-pace and brooding. just so you could say...something. anything.

but the hallway was empty, stark and silent, with only the dim flicker of warm light as your witness. you bit your tongue as your stomach churned sourly with disappointment.

and instead, you just slammed the door shut, letting the sound reveberate with just as much force that gojo had slammed the door with, on his way out. you leaned against the wood, closing your eyes as you did your level best to swallow that lump of regret making a home in your throat.

pacing helped for about...three minutes. shuffling through the case files on the table did nothing but remind you of why you were here, why you had both been sent. after all, was this mission not bigger than you, or him? was this not about bringing naoki sato to justice?

it didn't feel that way.

your gaze landed on the garment bag handing from the chair, untouched from when you had pulled it out earlier, back when gojo had been inviting you...to bed.

sort of.

you unzipped the bag with (mildly) trembling hands, letting the fabric spill into your grasp. no doubt that the dress was beautiful, a masterpiece of icy, powder blue and shimmering sequins that caught the light like scattered stars.

well, this had certainly been worth half your paycheck.

your fingers brushed over the delicate embroidery, and for a moment, you felt a mild sting of your own hypocrisy and yearning heart. you accused gojo of being cold, distant and unfeeling, and yet here you were, holding a dress that reminded you of him in every way. the pale blue of the fabric, like the frost in his storm-eyes when they rested on you for too long.

if you ever came face to face with cupid, you would beat him with a baseball bat.

you sighed, dropping the dress onto the bed before gingerly stepping out of your uniform, as cool air stung your skin.

what had you been thinking, treating gojo like that? he didn't deserve your anger, not truly. you knew how much your former classmate carried, how much he gave himself to this cursed and thankless world.

but of course, the little pronged-devil on your shoulder whispered around the shell of your ear. he often drew equal blood from stinging cuts, no-one wanted to put up with you, anyway.

still, there was no use in showing up to a gathering of some of the world's most rich, wealthy and seedy looking like a hollow and shaken ghost. and this mission was just not about gojo, it was about the greater good of the jujutsu world, and that's what you repeated in your head like a mantra, as you swiped plush-red across your cheeks and lips.

a diamond necklace around your throat was the final touch. well, you say diamond, but the truth was more...cheap. still, the strand shone in linked chains of pretty crystals. and that had still been a minor fortune for one who lived on a jujutsu paycheck.

the hours had stretched the afternoon into evening, settling a fragile calm over the suite that made you ache to stretch your limbs out, and take in some fresh air.

but the silence was shattered by a sharp knock at the door, purposeful and deliberate. and it made you freeze, hands still resting on the straps of your glitzy shoes, a frown knitting your brows.

gojo had the keycard, did he not? but who else would be banging your door down?

with a sigh, you stood and lifted the hem of your dress as you crossed the room. opening the door with every intention of scolding him for whatever drama he was dragging in this time.

instead the words just about died a sad and lonely death on your tongue.

gojo satoru.

for a brief second, your thoughts emptied entirely, as though he had cast infinite void right over you, leaving you staring with a heart that hammered like a caged bird.

gone was his usual, drab uniform. instead, he had swapped the dull fabric for a sleek, black dress shirt that clung just right, paired with a crisp, grey jacket that framed his broad shoulders.

you tried to not let your gaze linger on the open gap right under the white tie that hung slightly loosened from his neck, where silk kissed creamy skin.

but gojo’s face was unreadable, distant and cool. you hated how his mere presence always seemed to tilt the world off its axis.

and you blinked, forcing your mouth to close, and you stepped back to let him in. 

"you’re late. again," you snapped, but your voice lacked its usual venom, tempered by the sharp edges of minor guilt that refused to settle in you.

"whatever. ‘m here now, aren’t i?" gojo’s tone was casual, but his eyes lingered a second too long, leaving your skin prickling with self-conscious awareness. 

it seemed that the universe needed to hit you with some karmic intervention, and you decided to take the rare moral high ground, "about earlier," you began, trying to steady yourself, "i shouldn’t have said -"

"forget it, sweets," gojo interrupted with a shrug, though his jaw was tight, "i’m not keen on hearing excuses. i get it."

you bristled, biting back the immense urge to shove him, an urge that becoming disturbingly frequent, "i wasn’t making excuses," sounding out each word slow and deliberate. anger simmering under the surface at his holier-than-thou attitude, "that was an apology."

that made gojo pause, and now he fully turned to you, expression shifting. though it was hard to read, caught between painful acknowledgement and absurd pride that would include him admitting that he was affected by what you said.

for a moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched unbearably heavy. but then gojo’s ice-gaze dropped to the necklace scattered over your throat, and he tilted his head, "not too bad," a flicker of a scoff curling at his lips.

"tch, they’re not even real," you blurted, then immediately regretted it, what was wrong with you today? you reached up, fingers grazing the cool crystals as if to shield them from his bemused scrutiny, "just thought i needed something to fit in."

gojo slid a pair of tinted sunglasses from his pocket, sliding them up his nose, smooth and practised, "in a room full of the filthy rich and tastelessly overdressed?" his pink mouth twitched, "you’ll fit in perfectly."

gojo was right. this was just…tacky.

the ground floor of the building had been nothing but a sleek, cold lifeless maze of marble, and now he had led you down into what could only be described as a scene for criminals with bad taste. an abandoned parking lot stretched out in front of you, a grimy stretch of concrete that left you expecting a quiet dead end.

until gojo waved his hand, and the illusion clearly met for non-sorcerer eyes shattered.

before you, a set of massive double doors emerged, seemingly from nowhere, and the lifting of the veil had left you disoriented, nauseous. but when the doors swung open, you almost felt like you were stepping into a warped fever dream.

this room inside was the most bizarre mixture of garish opulence that you had ever seen. gold…everything. the walls plastered in a deep red, like someone had dipped the entire place in velvet swathes and then covered it with more gold leaf.

plush, overstuffed settees sat like soft, jewel-toned thrones in every corner, and glass boxes lined the walls, each holding what looked like nothing more than expensive junk, tacky figurines and diamond-encrusted trinkets.

it was the kind of place you’d absolutely expect a mob boss to call home after a particularly long, indulgent afternoon making questionable life choices.

the hall reeked of wealth, the kind that demanded to be seen. opulence dripped from every corner — gilded fixtures, crystalline chandeliers, and glass displays showcasing treasures that screamed money but whispered nothing of taste. you twitched as you passed a goblet encrusted with enough jewels to buy a small city-state. the thought of how much it probably cost made your stomach twist.

"focus," gojo muttered at your side, his tone clipped. he squinted slightly, his sunglasses doing little to shield his six eyes from the garish light that spilled over the room like liquid gold., and you could tell it was a bit...much for his senses, making him blink rapidly. "we’ll sweep the displays, see if the amulet’s here."

you tilted your head, gesturing toward his snowy mop of hair, the unruly strands falling messily over his face and grazing the edge of his glasses. "and you’re sure they won’t recognise you, in this whole...circus?"

gojo's responding glance was sharp, flat, and utterly devoid of humour.

"most of these people wouldn’t recognise a threat if it was biting them in the ass," he said, voice low and laced with disdain. "they’re not sorcerers. just your garden-variety rich and bored — criminals, trust fund brats, maybe a politician trying to look cultured. the kind of people who buy antiques because they match their curtains and makes them look good for their friends."

the corner of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward at his cutting dismissal of the glittering nonsense around you. he had hit the nail on the head, making contempt seem like an art form.

and worse, you hated how there was something almost…sexy about it.

the thought hit you like a slap, and you forced it down immediately. gojo and sexy didn’t belong in the same sentence. not in the same universe. fuck, not even as a passing joke.

"charmed as i am by your high opinion of humanity," you said dryly, trying to ground yourself in sarcasm, "maybe don’t make it obvious you hate everyone here. we're not here to arrest every person in this room."

gojo snorted softly, his lips curving into what might have been a smirk — or at least the ghost of one. "you think so little of me. i don’t hate everyone." his eyes flicked toward you, just for a second, before returning to the vast hall ahead.

it wasn’t much. barely a glance of electric blue. but it was enough to send your pulse into a sprint, and fuck him, he had to know it. you turned your attention to the nearest display, praying he didn’t notice the warmth blooming in your cheeks.

traitorous.

"let’s just find the amulet, and sato. and get out of here," you said briskly, your voice a shade too sharp.

"mhm," gojo's voice was infuriatingly calm, but when you looked up, his gaze wasn’t on the displays. it was on you.

"you look lost."

a voice, smooth and low, slid over you like silk, stopping you cold in your tracks. it hadn't come from gojo by your side, thank the heavens above, but it didn't make your heart any steadier. you turned towards the source, and your stomach did a three-point flip.

well. hello, gorgeous.

the type of good-looking that just felt unfair. the type that made you forget your name for half a second, and then hate yourself for it. the strnger stood out against the room of puffed-up men in overpriced suits, glittering with real diamonds of their cuff-links, and rolled cigars in their hands.

your eyes fell on dark auburn strands that fell in perfectly tousled strands over his forehead, and a tailored black suit that hugged a slender waist.

"i hope you didn't wander into the wrong hall," the stranger said, curling his lips into a faint smile, fraught with suspicion as it was.

you forced yourself not to stare — at an absurdly sharp jawline, at big brown eyes. but words were a different matter entirely. you struggled to conjure them, grasping for anything remotely coherent.

you settled on an appropriate response.

"um. no, we didn’t."

not your finest moment. not even close.

before you could mentally regroup with a few brain cells, a sharp jolt yanked you back to reality. you sucked in a sharp breath as gojo's long fingers pinched the underside of your arm, a deliberate sting that left you glaring at him.

he didn’t even bother to meet your eyes.

his entire focus was fixed on the stranger, his posture taut with unspoken tension, gojo's jaw clenched so tight you thought he might crack a perfect tooth.

the air shifted subtly, a faint hum of energy emanating from gojo. you knew that hum. it meant trouble. gojo, ever the master of simmering hostility, was gearing up for something, and he was looking weirdly agitated.

and you found it tasteless to jump the first person you had run into here.

"i usually know most of the guests at my events," the stranger continued, his voice calm, unbothered — but there was an edge to it, like he already knew the answer to the question he hadn’t asked.

oh.

you felt your stomach plummet as recognition dawned.

naoki sato.

no wonder gojo looked ready to snap someone in half. naoki wasn’t just anyone — he was the head of the voiceless. the host of this auction. the man whose fortune was built on enough shady dealings to fill a large library. the one who had more blood on his hands than those who had been dealt life sentences.

one of the most wanted jujutsu criminals in the world.

"you've — " gojo started, his voice sharp, but you cut him off with a forced, almost too-bright smile.

"you've thrown quite the party," you said, your words tripping over themselves as you elbowed gojo subtly, hoping to god he’d take the hint. "i’m actually quite new to the area. just exploring, hoping to find something good tonight."

gojo let out a low grunt, a sound that promised retribution later. you ignored him and plastered on a wider smile, one you hoped would distract from your partner's upcoming reversal: red.

"and, ah. this is my bodyguard...genji," you added, giving gojo's arm a firm retributive pinch through the fabric of his jacket.

the look he shot you could've melted steel, but you held your ground, determined not to let him ruin this.

if for once, he could take your plan into account, a great deal of bloodshed could be avoided.

naoki's faint cherry smile widened, bemused, "your…bodyguard?" he echoed, gaze flickering to gojo satoru.

gojo who stood like a coiled spring, gojo who certainly was no method actor. his icy glare practically speaking volumes of 'i will burn this room down.'

"well," naoki drawled, his tone almost playful now, and you flushed, "i hope you find what you’re looking for here."

behind him, his entourage, a cadre of hulking men stuffed into suits barely containing their bulk, followed with synchronised precision. they looked more like walking fortresses than bodyguards, with their cold and suspicious eyes cutting through the room as they passed.

one of them shot you an odd look, and you forced yourself to feign interest in a nearby display of sapphire-encrusted forks.

the moment the criminal was out of earshot, gojo leaned down, "genji? really?"

you shrugged, ignoring how you felt your nerves fray. and refusing to meet him half-way, "what? okay, i panicked. it was the first name i thought of."

"yeah, that was so convincing," gojo muttered darkly beside you, and you caught some bitten off words about how he was never going on a mission with you again, how yaga should never have roped him into this.

all things you blithely ignored.

you didn’t need to look at him to know he was furious. it rolled off him in waves, the tension in his posture, the barely audible hum of cursed energy still crackling under the surface.

"we don't even know where the amulet is. and imagine if we show up in front of yaga without it. you can do whatever you like with him after we get our hands on the cursed object," you whispered back, pretending to study the ridiculous cutlery with exaggerated focus.

gojo lowered his head, as though he suddenly saw the worth in gemstones embedded in cutlery, but just enough so he could glower at you. "you're flirting," he hissed, "i could have blasted through half this room, and just finished the job by now."

you coughed and hackled, "not all of us think effective battles are fought with a hollow purple."

"and not all of us,” gojo bit back, "feel the need to blush like schoolgirls the second someone bats an eyelash at us."

heat shot through you, part anger, part something you didn’t want to name. "blush?” you snapped. "i wasn’t blushing."

"you just wanted to jump his bones. thought we weren't here to get it wet."

"i'm not entertaining this conversation," but your voice was mildly higher pitched, drawing attention, "is that why you were there? standing like an idiot, or a jealous ex-boyfriend?"

gojo's sneer faltered, just for a split second, but it was enough to make your heart lurch with a strange, vindictive triumph.

"i wasn’t jealous," he said, "i was doing my job. y'know, being a jujutsu sorcerer. bringing a criminal to justice."

you opened your mouth, ready to retort, but no words came. because he wasn’t entirely wrong, and that infuriated you more than anything.

so instead, you lifted your hand, placing it firmly on his shoulder, onto the crisp and fine fabric of his jacket. you didn't miss the way he stiffened, briefly disarmed.

"look, i've got this. just stay close."

gojo's jaw tightened, and you could feel the unspoken protest simmering there. before he could get a word in, you turned away and called out.

"hey! naoki!"

the red-haired man stopped mid-stride, turning his head back toward you with a quizzical look. the confident words you’d planned evaporated the moment his sharp, brown eyes pinned you in place.

"i mean, naoki sato. mr. sato," you fumbled, mentally kicking yourself.

brilliant start. truly one of jujutsu tech's finest.

naoki raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from confusion to faint amusement. his gaze flicked to gojo, who had crossed his arms like a fortress of disdain and immense ill-will.

"found something you like?" naoki asked smoothly.

you ignored the huff that escaped the white-haired man next to you, and forced a smile, "actually, i was hoping you could help me choose something out. i'm not an expert here, and there's just so much to see."

naoki's bodyguards shifted, their expressions darkening as if you’d committed some unspoken faux pas. but the crime boss merely tilted his head, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"ah, well," he said, drawing the word out lazily, "i don’t usually get this forward with my clients, but i suppose i'll make an exception."

his eyes slid once again to gojo, who was now glowering at a waiter hovering too close to his personal space, on the edges of infinity. "your bodyguard," naoki added helpfully, "can walk behind you. perhaps he'd like a drink to keep him occupied."

gojo's snarl could have peeled garish paint off the walls, "i don't want it."

you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the stubborn ass.

instead, you pasted on a smile, tight and sweet, and shot gojo a look that could cut glass, "our host is offering you something. you want that drink, genji."

"i don’t want cream soda," gojo muttered, all mulish in his six foot three glory.

gritting your teeth, you flashed naoki a helpless look, like what can you do? bodyguards, am i right?

and you reached for the waiter's tray, grabbing a tall glass of the offending soda and thrusting it into gojo's warm hand. then you leaned in, your voice a whisper, "take it. smile and act normal. ten minutes, that’s all i need."

for a moment, his blue eyes locked on yours, a storm of irritation twirling in them. you were now close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, close enough to notice the faintest hitch in his breath.

but gojo, for once, didn’t argue. with a final glare, he downed half the glass in one long, defiant gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing as he drank.

naoki laughed, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement, "you're very kind to the help. shall we?"

you shot gojo satoru one last look — a mix of triumph and warning —before stepping forward.

but your partner, predictably, looked like he'd rather swallow glass than stand a moment longer here. still, bodyguard is as bodyguard does, and he trailed after you like a reluctant shadow.

"i must admit," naoki began, his brown eyes catching the glittering lights as they swept over you, "it's rare to see someone so beautiful at these things. i think i would have remembered seeing you before, too. i'm usually stuck with old men trying to swindle me out of my fortune."

a flush climbed up your neck, unwelcome and irritating at what must have been calculated words, enough to flatter and also to disarm.

behind you, gojo audibly scoffed, clearly abandoning all manner of proper etiquette. you glanced over your shoulder to see him gripping the stem of a champagne flute, his knuckles white. the empty glass of cream soda had been abandoned in favour of something stronger.

he caught your eye and rolled his, making a slicing gesture at his neck followed by a pointed hurry up motion.

"ignore him," you murmured to naoki, pushing forward.

naoki’s eyes gleamed with amusement, easily unbothered as he gestured for you to continue walking. "does your bodyguard always look like he’s seconds away from murder, or is this special treatment for me?"

you didn’t dare look back at gojo, “he’s just protective," you said carefully.

naoki chuckled, "protective, sure. but of his job...or you?"

the words struck a nerve you refused to acknowledge, so you pressed the conversation forward. ignoring the jitter that erupted in your stomach.

"can i ask...," you said, tilting your head just enough to feign casual curiosity, "are these all cursed objects? or just pretty trinkets?"

naoki's amusement didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened, assessing you like you were a puzzle he was only now beginning to piece together.

"why?” he asked smoothly, "are you interested in jujutsu? i thought you were here to...browse."

fuck, caught, but not completely.

you played it off with a small shrug. "some members of my family dabble in jujutsu," you said, letting a sliver of truth escape, but letting the rest of your words drip with lies, "i can only see curses, i'm not a sorcerer. but most of my family still hates me for how i was born."

behind you, gojo shifted, his movements a touch sharper than before. he hadn’t known that, hadn't known the small truth that you had snuck into your words.

but naoki's expression softened, his smile more thoughtful now. "that’s rare. and often not appreciated, i imagine.”

you hesitated, cautiously, but nodded. "not by them, no."

"i understand. my parents hated jujutsu. thought it was unnatural, and against the way of the world. my grandfather...he was the only one who didn't," and there's a quiet sincerity threading naoki sato's words, "he raised me when my parents refused to. at least, until he passed."

something in his story tugged at you — a familiarity you hadn’t expected. your family’s disdain for your own jujutsu, their rejection, mirrored in his words. it was unsettling, but oddly not unwelcome.

"i’m sorry about your grandfather," you said softly.

"and i, about your family,” naoki replied, a calm mask settling over his features once more, reminding you so painfully of the sorcerer who trailed behind you, "no-one should be made to feel lesser, sorcerer or not."

you caught your lip between your teeth, hoping the red stain didn't catch onto your teeth, "i thought most sorcerers hated humans."

naoki shrugged, "we aren't all that different. all flesh and blood with temporary lives."

oddly wise words from a mass murderer, thief and criminal.

you glanced over at gojo again, and just as you predicted, his scowl deepened and the glass looked like it was about a shatter in his hands. if looks could kill, naoki sato would be the first to go, no questions asked, followed by you.

naoki snickered, "your shadow grows restless."

"ignore him, please," you muttered, stepping closer to a glass case to distract yourself, "what’s this?"

naoki followed, stepping closer so you could catch the scent of expensive almond and saffron, "ah," he said, gesturing at the artefact inside, "a blade, from ming dynasty china. the jade serpent on the hilt grants its wearer the ability to control minds. some say it can even raise the dead."

the claim sent a shiver down your spine, but you masked it with feigned interest, nodding as naoki moved on.

"and here," he continued, pointing to a golden ring, with an oddly boyish grin for someone dealing in murderous items, "the lion's eyes. said to see through any veil, any curse. the last treasure of the dynasty of the pharoahs."

you tried to listen, but gojo's presence loomed larger with every word. his disdain for naoki sato, his barely concealed anger at the stolen objects— it was all too palpable. when you glanced back, his scowl had deepened, and the champagne glass in his hand looked on the verge of shattering.

if looks could kill, naoki sato would already be six feet under. you would be next on the list.

you swallowed hard, turning back to naoki sato and pointing at the next display. "and this?"

naoki pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks, "the broken english crown. apparently worn by the last king to die on the battlefield, and i haven't tried it on," he shares this with you, with a conspiratorial smile, "but legends say it fractures the bones of anyone deemed not powerful enough to wear it."

this criminal was not what you had expected at all. it was hard to reconcile the image of a hardened criminal with years of ruthless ambition, with this effortless charm and disarming way of making you lose the blurred line of correct propriety. you tried not to stare at how the warm light caught his auburn hair, like the autumn leaves in the dappled sun.

and yet, it wasn’t just his looks that threw you off. it was the way he carried himself — like he had nothing to prove and everything to hide. dangerous in a different way, one that was far harder to guard against.

it reminded you of gojo satoru.

"you know, i have to admit," naoki said, gesturing to the gilded displays around him, "most of this stuff? tacky as hell. but then, you would be surprised what most people would pay for tacky."

from a swindler, fraud and scammer? you were quite sure.

"funny, coming from someone whose livelihood depends on it. isn't that gaudy by association?"

naoki winked, and you averted your gaze from long brown lashes fluttering against soft skin, "touché. but people don't want to just buy the artefact, or the cursed object. they want the story. that shit's priceless."

you swallowed, focusing on how gojo was trying to draw your attention to a glass case hidden by all the others, and you hoped you weren't squinting, "so, you're just a storyteller then?"

but beside you, naoki sato tilted his head, "you could say that."

you thought of the clipped photos printed into the file. some in black and white, and some in raging shades of colour. where naoki sato's hands had painted entire buildings in shades of sticky red, and heads rolled on the floor. where his enhance technique could burst arteries and lungs, leaving people in pieces on the floor.

"sounds dramatic," you said, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.

"life's dramatic, and too short to not take what i want," naoki replied with a faint smile, his hand lightly brushing your waist as he guided you further past long tables.

you leaned into it without thinking, a tiny movement that made a creamy, berry flush paint over naoki's features. and the sorcerer's laugh was warm, low, like he’d already won something you didn’t realise was at stake.

behind you, a sharp cough broke the moment.

gojo.

you let your lips curl into a faint smile and leaned into naoki's just a fraction more, with a very deliberate look, one that spoke of triumph and having tamed a beast.

gojo's scowl deepened, his shoulders taut with barely restrained frustration, and he started mouthing at you, silent as his lips parted. if you read his mouth carefully, well...

he was calling you rather unflattering names.

"what's that?" but it was gojo's voice that roughly cut through the air, like gravel grinding underfoot. his shaded eyes were fixed on the glass case tucked in the corner.

you followed his gaze, past his outstretched arm, and your stomach twisted.

raijin's amulet.

the cursed object you’d been hunting, the one you’d sworn to protect at all costs, gleamed innocently behind its protective glass. you could recognise the serpentine dragon coiled protectively around the stone at its centre, its intricate carving daring anyone to claim it.

your frantic eyes met gojo's. his were sharp, seething. then, both your gazes flicked to naoki.

naoki, of course, noticed nothing — or pretended not to. he let out a soft hum, following gojo's pointed stare.

"the bodyguard's interested too?"

you coughed, cutting through the rising tension before gojo could turn that look into something explosive. the glass case between them might as well have been kindling for the fire brewing.

"it's mainly for academics," you said, feigning an air of curiosity. then, with practiced innocence, you tilted your head and smiled at the dangerous special grade cursed object as if it were nothing more than an ordinary trinket.

"but it’s so pretty. what is it, really?"

naoki's hand tightened subtly on your waist, and you tried to ignore the guilt that bubbled up in your chest when his sharp features softened at your feigned interest.

"it’s just an old thing," he said, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret meant only for you, "did you know it once belonged to ryomen sukuna?"

your mouth was dry, but you kept your face blank, tilting your head as though you’d never heard the name before, "sukuna?"

naoki pressed his palm to the glass case, his expression shifting into something darker, more reverent.

"the king of curses," he murmured. "lived over a thousand years ago. ruthless. when he died, most of his treasures were plundered by clans too greedy for their own good. but this..." he tapped the glass softly. "this one? it wasn't easy to get my hands on."

you leaned closer, feigning fascination while calculating your next move, trying to figure out how you could get close enough to that glass case without shattering the illusion cast on naoki sato, "what does it do?"

for a moment, naoki's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in their depths. but just as quickly, his expression smoothed out, and he chuckled.

"trust me, beautiful," he said, his voice like silk with an edge of warning. "you don’t want to wear that thing. i could get you something far more...safe."

you forced a smile, ignoring the chill that ran down your spine. instead, you threw a quick, desperate glance at gojo — a silent plea for the strongest to listen to you: i'll distract him. you get the amulet.

gojo's expression tightened, but his head snapped once, briefly, in the faintest hint of acknowledgement.

time to move.

you let out a soft, breathy laugh and tugged naoki toward a table, your hand brushing his arm with casual ease. "let’s sit," you suggested, leaning into his toned chest just enough to sell the act. "all this walking is making me tired."

naoki's laughter was warm, a touch too easy, and he let you guide him without resistance, "tsk, whatever you want," he murmured.

now you're trusting gojo satoru, simply because you had no other choice. he had to get the amulet out of the glass before alarms began to blare, and before needless blood was spilt over the glimmering floor.

and so you sat, letting naoki have his back to gojo, oblivious to the white-haired shadow slipping closer to the case. your eyes lingered on gojo, pulse racing each time he disappeared behind one of naoki's own burly guards.

but then naoki sato's gaze locked onto you, drawing your attention back with a searing warmth that caught you off guard.

"so," he asked, eyes glinting, "what do you think of all...this?"

"it's impressive," and you're surprised at how the truth has found a home in your mouth, "i didn't ever think of different sorcerers, around the world."

naoki leaned closer, with his elbows on his thighs, propping his face upon his hands, "most people don't. here, it's all about jujutsu. tokyo, this. kyoto, that. the higher ups are so narrow-minded. stuck in their ways, obsessed with tradition. they don't know anything about the world out there."

for a moment, his words startled you. they weren’t the boastful musings of a crime boss but something else. they reminded you of how gojo spoke about the rigidity of the old ways, about why he fought so hard to change things, to create a better world for jujutsu sorcerers.

ah, focus.

"hey," naoki suddenly said, pulling you out of your thoughts. his gaze was sharper now, more intense. and over his shouder, you caught the faintest blur of white hair in the background, gojo's movements.

but it was hard to focus on anything but naoki sato's face — the sharp lines softened by his proximity, the warmth in his dark eyes that you didn’t want to admit was almost magnetic.

he was a man marked for execution, and the warrant must have been burning a hole through your suite on the highest floor.

yet here he was, looking at you like you were something worth risking everything for.

and suddenly, you weren’t sure you wanted to see autumn's locks matted with rusted blood. to see eyes go dull and lifeless.

you felt like you had the moral spine of a sponge.

"can i kiss you?"

the question hit like a punch to the gut. your lips parted, but no sound came out. and suddenly, the steps in the background stopped too.

naoki's hand came up to your jaw, his touch unexpectedly reverent, and all you could think was: distraction. right. distract him for gojo. what the fuck is taking him so long?

so you closed the distance.

naoki's lips captured yours with a softness that disarmed you, but the kiss was anything but tentative, and you could taste a sweet tang like lemons and sugar. but you let his large hands pull you closer and his touch was warm and intoxicating.

the kind that made you forget, just for a moment, that this was all a ruse.

his lips moved against yours with a heat that made everything else fade to black, and his hands slid down your waist and back, tracing lines that felt dangerously real.

when you finally pulled away for air, your lips tingled, and your breath came in short bursts. you couldn’t help yourself — you reached up, your fingers brushing against his now-flushed lips, glossy under your touch, and you hated the way your stomach twisted from the way naoki sato melted under your touch.

focus, again.

you hoped, prayed, that gojo was doing his part, taking advantage of the way you had naoki sato, one of the most dangerous men in the entire world, wrapped around your finger, and bruising his tongue into your mouth.

but your gaze flicked upwards, past his shoulder and collided with something that stopped your heart cold.

electric blue. devastatingly vibrant, crackling with a fury that hit the air like a thunderstorm.

gojo's eyes pinned you in place, shadows pooling in sharp cerulean, from shades that had slipped just a touch down his nose. no mask to shield whatever expression gojo had clearly painted across his face.

hurt? anger? what the fuck, was that betrayal?

your throat tightened, and you resisted the urge to dig your nails into naoki's tailored jacket, to hiss at gojo to get a move on. to stop standing there like he had been hit with a shovel.

but the words didn't quite form, didn't pull at the corners of your mouth to silently shape them. his expression just held you captive, no. shamed you.

and that made you angrier. he had no right to look at you like that, like you had just crossed a line that you didn't even know was there.

but under you, naoki shifted, tilted your chip up to meet his lips again, and you let him. you...wanted him to. but the heat of his lips didn't drown out the chill of gojo's stare. your own body betrayed you with a shiver, one that you couldn't quite place yourself.

nerves, or desire.

the kiss was firmer this time, insistent, as if naoki sato was staking his claim in front of an invisible audience. his hand cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw with maddening ease, over the pulse of your neck.

and for a second, it was too easy to fall into the lie. but you felt it: the searing weight of gojo's glower burning into you, not far away.

naoki pulled back just slightly, his breath fanning your lips, "hey, you're distracted," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his eyes scanning your face as though he wanted to read every thought. "should i be offended?"

"no," you said quickly, almost too quickly, "just a lot to take in."

naoki smiles, all coy and glazed lips, clearly pleased by what he thought was pure flattery, and not the glowering six-eyes shining behind him. "good. i think 'm gonna like leaving you speechless."

part of you knows that you just aren't seeing those pearly gates of heaven.

you know there's going to be a bouncer at the doors, with your face printed on a photo titled: dni! fraud! liar! the world's most incompetent jujutsu sorcerer! would bounce into a criminal's bed at first chance!

naoki's warm thumb lingers against your jaw, and your breath hitches just enough for the sorcerer to notice. you don't miss how his eyes darken, a hint of triumph gleaming in them.

you risked a glance past his shoulder again, and gojo was still there, stony-faced as naoki's own guards. but there's something else broiling in his eyes, rolling over his face like a thunderstorm cracks over a grassy plain. the fury in his eyes hadn't lessened, but now it was laced with something sharper, something that you can finally read.

jealousy. absolute glass-shattering, world-stopping levels of envy paint over gojo satoru's face.

the realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

was he jealous of naoki sato? of you? of this entire charade that you both had agreed to? or rather, the one you had roped him into.

the idea shouldn’t have thrilled you, but it did. and it terrified you just as much.

you let naoki kiss you again, forcing yourself to deepen it this time, your hands coming up to rest against his hard chest. you don't miss how he suddenly parts from your lips, panting softly into your mouth, and suddenly you're hit with the most awful wave of longing for a man who cannot have.

naoki’s large hands, however, weren’t idle. one brushed the edge of your dress, under the shoulder strap of your powder-blue gown, his thumb grazing against the fabric, and your breath hitched.

you shift, your breath stuttering as naoki's other hand slides higher, his fingers brushing against the flesh of your thigh, pushing your dress higher, and his hand brushes against the silver details on the side, scratching your skin. it's maddening how cool air meets the heat of your now exposed skin, and naoki's mouth crushes against yours, as if he's equally savouring the taste of you.

"t-there are people here," you gasp, your voice a fractured whisper, trembling at the edge of composure, "what if they can see or watch?"

gojo satoru is here. gojo is watching. you know your partner is close enough to hear every breathless sound you make, every treasonous whine that slips past your lips.

but naoki sato's mouth is curved into a plush, wicked smile, "let them look," and his teeth are grazing against the curve enough in a way that makes you arch your back into him, he who is now leaning over you, as if he's the one trying to capture you, "who cares - hah?"

any reasonable thought of your duty. of honour, of a mission flees from your head.

the sight of gojo's softly parted mouth and darkened eyes as he watches you in another man's arms spurs you on, and you let naoki sato press his lips against the hollow of his throat.

naoki's long fingers are blazing as they reach the very apex of your thighs. as they press two rough pads into the sopping slick that's gathered in your panties, as they run themselves along dampened fabric in a way that has you openly keening.

"can i?" and your eyes meet the mahogany gaze of the man above you. it's electrifying. you should be ashamed, furious at how you're just being taken like this, on display. but this is a room of the seven deadly sins, where each corner of the room is a lesson in hedonism, and obscene wealth.

"please."

but your eyes are only on gojo satoru behind him. on how he catches the pale-pink of his bottom lip between his teeth, and his face is seething. how his darkened eyes drop to naoki's hand working its way between your legs, and you wantonly roll your hips up to meet him there.

you let writhing fingers slip under the waistband of your pale-blue underwear, dipping into glossy, thick arousal. but you also don't miss the tent in gojo satoru's grey slacks, only metres away, and the frenzied look making him look pained.

you would be lying if you said you didn't enjoy moaning openly, spreading your legs just a bit wider, so gojo could get a glimpse of your drooling cunt.

"fuck, 's good. so good, naoki."

a finger travels up, away from your winking entrance to press a soft flick against your throbbing clit, "yeah?"

and the beautiful man in between your legs all but purrs. pleased beyond measure at how you've apparently been captured, heart and soul by him. and your attention snaps back to how he suddenly draws his fingers off your soaked cunt, and brings them up to his mouth.

"sweetest thing i've ever tasted, i think 'm gonna have -"

and then, it hit you.

a hot, sticky spray of liquid.

the scent of iron slammed into your senses as fresh blood splattered across your face, your chest, and stained the delicate blue of your dress into a deep and damning red. it clung to your skin, to your lips as you pressed your mouth shut, fighting the bile rising in your throat.

reversal: red crackled in the air, cursed energy humming sharp, and it had sliced through the hall like a whip. naoki's arm had been torn from your waist, wrenched away as he staggered back with a guttural hiss, and you avert your eyes from the blood that paints the space between you.

"that's enough."

gojo satoru's voice is like a thunderclap, reverberating around your ears, and when you finally meet his gaze, you're met with unbridled fury. you're not sure where his shades have gone, but you're met with the full weight of six-eyes, blazing and unrelenting.

naoki stumbles ahead of you, clutching his shoulder where blood seeps through his fingers, torn between shock and raw rage. his cherry-lips are curled back into a snarl, flush with indignation.

"hah, you're a sorcerer?," and naoki sato's voice drips with venom, heavy with disbelief.

you're not quite sure gojo satoru needs to answer. not when his presence alone sends waves of cold through the hall, cutting the air precisely, cleaving it.

but there's a man running towards the commotion, a guard encumbered by a hefty black suit, and there's a cold shock that runs through you as your eyes fall on the gun at his side.

"we think that's gojo satoru," the guard wheezes, breathless.

"you're telling me this now? i gave you fuckwits one job," naoki snarls, shaking the man, with his nails dug into the guard's shoulder.

and you're quickly pushing your dress down, letting the fabric spill over your legs once more, fighting back the hot sparks that sting at your eyes.

it's enough to snap naoki's attention back to you. and for a moment, for the briefest of moment, he wasn't the hardened criminal you had been playing this dangerous game with. a boy your age, wild and beautiful, and utterly undone.

and it heaves your stomach at how the fury in his gaze trembles slightly, just enough to reveal betrayal underneath that strikes you harder than any limitless could.and it struck you harder than any whip of magic ever could.

"i must be stupid, fuck," naoki's voice cracks as he spits the words, his expression twisted with something raw, something painfully human, "you’re a jujutsu sorcerer too, aren't you?"

the accusation was a dagger, his voice trembling with disbelief but its wholly true, and your head wavers in a half-shake, half-nod.

"you’re with him, aren't you? just another one of the higher up's lapdogs?"

the words weren’t a question — they were a condemnation.

naoki's lips are curled, and his bloodied arm is now trembling but steady, defiance burning through the pain.

and a whisper in your mind tells you to smash the glass case holding the amulet, to push through it with your bare hands, just so you can bleed alongside him.

but naoki sato's bitter scoff shatters that thought, and his gaze must have followed yours, sharp and knowing, for his hand has moved faster, pulling the gun from the guard's holster.

the blast came before you could even think, loud and jarring.

but you never saw the bullet's path, only gojo.

gojo, whose arm has snapped in front of you like a barrier, impossibly fast, and well within the bounds of his infinity. as if he had tore through space itself.

the bullet collides with infinity, ricocheting into the chaos of the panicking crowd.

naoki’s gaze didn’t waver. it slices back to gojo, sharp, calculating, and darkly amused. he must have seen it now, everything.

the truth was etched in the way gojo had positioned himself, the way his blazing blue eyes never left you, the unspoken claim humming in the air like a second heartbeat.

naoki sato's laugh is lower, bitter, and you watch the mesmerising plink! of crimson on the floor.

"he's protecting you, isn’t he?" his voice dripped with venom, each word striking like a dagger, "how sweet.”

and just like that, something broke. gojo's restraint, most likely.

you can see how his fingers are flexing, his hands lifting and cursed energy is coiling at his fingertips. his thumb and index finger brush, a telltale sign of an impending blast. hollow purple.

you clench your eyes shut, bracing for the devastation of the impact —

but naoki sato was faster.

his arms snapped outward, a surge of his own jujutsu ripping through the space between you. the bodyguards around you crumpled like ragdolls, their bodies bursting under the pressure. blood sprayed in thick, sticky waves, painting the walls, the floor — against the edges of infinity.

you opened your eyes in time to see gojo falter, his hands trembling as he stared at the carnage. even he, the unflinching sorcerer, the strongest, looked shaken by the sheer brutality of what cursed technique: enhance was capable of.

and in the heartbeat of his hesitation, naoki was gone.

"fuck's sake! s-satoru! let go of me!" you snap, voice cracking with fury as you fight against gojo's tight grasp.

his vivid focus shoots back to you, his expression a storm of anger and disbelief, "what?" and gojo's voice is razer-sharp, "if you think i'm letting you go after that stunt you pulled -"

"shut up!" and you can feel your own desperation cut through the air, "you go after him, i'll go after the amulet."

you toss your head to the shattered glass and the chaos erupting all around you, "if that thing gets lost in the mess, we've done this all for nothing!"

gojo's jaw is clenched, his mouth pressed into a hard and furious line. for a moment, you think he's going to argue with you again, but then you're dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

pain shoots through your knees as you land, but you're soon hauling yourself up.

"go!" you hiss, shoving at his shoulder, "i'll come find you when i have it."

gojo hesitates for a fraction of a second longer, then he's gone — a blur of movement faster than your eyes could track, leaving you alone in the chaos.

your hands tremble as you grab a heavy steel bar from the wreckage, swinging it with all your strength at the glass case. the sound of shattering glass barely registers as you reach inside, your fingers curling around the cold, smooth surface of the amulet.

wild shocks run through you, and you almost keel over, feeling the rush and pulse of such a cursed object against your skin. but it's safe. you have it now.

with it clutched tightly in your hand, you turned and run.

by now, you can't find it within yourself to stop the hot tears from running down your cheeks, streaming freely as you tear through the blood-soaked scene.

you run, the air sharp and cold against your skin, your heartbeat an unrelenting drum in your ears. the thump! making your head pound.

you can follow the residuals of gojo's cursed energy, lingering like a sickly beacon, drawing you back to the dull parking lot. you pushed open the doors with both hands, red smudging onto the concrete as you ignored the sting of your palms

and then you saw it. saw it all.

the scene hits you like a wrecking ball, knocking the breath clean from your lungs.

a body lies crumpled on the ground, its lifelessness more harrowing than the carnage that surrounds it. blood, thick and sticky, smears across the concrete. massive pillars, toppled like a child's toys in the wake of a clear explosion.

your gaze snags on a limp hand sprawled on the floor, and you feel your stomach twist. instinctively, your tongue slides against the back of your teeth, and the metallic tang of iron is already sleeping into your senses.

and then, there was gojo satoru.

he stands amid the wreckage, like a figure carved from shadows, and ice. and fury. his chest softly rises and falls, as though he had been running for miles, his hair disheveled and darkened with sweat.

the sight of him might have almost been human, almost comforting. if not for the gore streaked across his hands, and the thing he drops onto the concrete with a hollow thud.

you don't look at it. you don't think you can. your stomach knows the truth before your mind catches up, bile heaving within you once more.

the head of naoki sato. he would never have stood a chance against the strongest sorcerer in modern history.

final task: retrieve artefact. execute naoki sato on site. alternatively, bring in for execution.

you mind flashes back to that dastardly pink sticky note, still stuck to the case file.

what did you feel now? anger? sadness?

maybe both. maybe neither.

the blood pooling in front of gojo is already congealing, its sickly shine dimming in the cold, fluorescent light of the lot.

you were tired of seeing blood, of tasting it on your tongue, of breathing it in like the very air you needed to survive.

you’d thought there would be relief in the end. but instead, disappointment had rooted itself deep inside you, twisting itself.

naoki sato, for all his crimes and cruetly, had been...something. somewhere beneath the sly smirks and sharp words, there had been glimpses of something that almost looked like hope. he had said he wanted better — for everyone. for you. was it a lie? or had you twisted his words into something more comforting than the truth, desparate to see light where there was none?

your throat burns, but no tears come. just a hollow ache that matches the cold weight of raijin's amulet in your hand. you looked at it now, the thing you’d fought so hard to win, its edges biting into your skin, the dragon leaving its mark.

gojo's voice cut through the silence, low and ragged, and tired, "don’t look."

you hadn’t even realised you were staring, your eyes hovering dangerously close to the lifeless hand on the ground.

"i'm sorry," he had continued, his tone strangely neutral, as if apologising for a cracked glass rather than the irrevocable violence around him, that seemed to trail after him, "i had to do it."

you laughed then, short and bitter, the sound cracking like a whip against the cold air. "had to, gojo?" your voice trembled, not with fear, but something darker. something far more raw.

his gaze had snapped to you, and there it was — the thing that always churned between you two. a storm of emotions, tangled so tightly you could no longer tell where hate ended and yearning began.

"you think this is the resolution i wanted?" gojo shot back, his voice laced with something too jagged to be regret. "you think i enjoyed that?"

and in the most twisted, perverse theatre of your mind's eye, you see gojo's open-mouthed stare, focused on how another man touched you, made you his.

"i don’t know what you enjoy anymore," you take a step closer, your grip tightening on amulet until your knuckles whitened. but the air pushed from your lungs, "but - god, gojo. forget it. i-i don't even know. 'm sorry, too."

gojo sighs, and you see the exhaustion hanging over him too, "we'll go back tomorrow morning."

the walk back to your room is…suffocating. the air is thick with everything that you just cannot say, words that you can't even bring your heavy tongue to shape.

gojo is beind you, and you can feel the weight of his presence pressing between your shoulder blades, but you just can't turn around. you don't dare to. raijin's amulet is still clenched in your hand, and its edges are cutting into your palm, a form of self-flagellation you suppose.

you push the door open, and your breath catches and hitches as you slip inside, slamming it shut after he follows. locking it with shaking hands.

in the suite, the moonlight now slices through the half-drawn curtains, as the tokyo skyline glimmers underneath you. it's painting silver lines across gojo's spectral frame, and he strides to the amenities sink, a smaller outlet near the door.

you watch, as though you're holding a sacred vigil.

your gaze doesn't leave gojo's figure as he throws his jacket off his sharp torso with a disgusted sigh, leaving him in his black dress shirt and a loosened tie.

still watching as his movements are tense, restless as he cups water from the faucet in his hands, splashing it onto his face.

when he finally looks up, gojo's white is hair dripping, his tie slightly askew, and his tired eyes catch yours like a snare.

for a moment, you’re frozen. neither of you say a word. the air feels too thin to breathe, and his gaze is too much — too piercing, too relentless, too him.

you can’t take it.

with a sharp motion, you slam the amulet onto the table, the sound echoing through the quiet room. you spin on your heel and lock yourself in the bathroom, shutting him out.

inside, the luxurious space feels surreal. marble floors gleam under the soft glow of recessed lighting, gold fixtures glinting and stinging your eyes. it smells faintly of jasmine and mint, too perfect for the mess you're about to create.

you grip the edge of the sink as the first sob wrenches its way out of your chest, hot and raw.

tears spill over, cascading down your cheeks in waves you can’t control. they come faster, harder, until you’re gasping, choking on gulps of air that burn in your throat.

you sink onto the cool floor tiles, your knees pulled to your chest as the sobs wrack your body. the weight of everything, what you did, gojo's eyes gleaming, naoki sato's hands on you, the smell of blood, it all crashes over you like a tidal wave. it’s too much for a human heart to bear in one night.

but your hands are shaking as you reach for the hem of your once beautiful dress, peeling it off with clumsy, desperate motions. the air is cool against your skin, you who is now left in undergarments.

and you stare blankly at the blood that smears your arms and legs, before grabbing a small towel, dampening it under the sink and wiping crimson stains away.

small cuts sting on your skin, faint patches where glass struck you, and you hiss.

a knock rattles the bathroom door, sharp and unrelenting, dragging you back to reality.

you close your eyes and exhale through gritted teeth, your voice brittle, "not now, gojo."

silence follows, stretching out long enough to offer the illusion of peace. but then it breaks. another knock, louder, more insistent this time.

"satoru, i swear to god," you snap, your exhaustion fraying into something sharp, laced with more venom now.

there’s a sigh from the other side, audible even through the thick wood, "don't make me blast this door down."

you groan, rolling your eyes as you toss the bloodied towel onto the counter, "you wouldn't dare."

"try me. just open the door, would'you?"

you don’t have the energy to argue, and something in his tone tells you that gojo isn’t bluffing. and so you dragged yourself upright, swinging the door open with more force than necessary.

gojo stands there, with damp hair still clinging to his forehead, beads of water trailing down his templates. and his sleeves are rolled up now, revealing thick forearms flecked with rust and crimson. it wouldn't be his. no, gojo hasn't bled in over a decade.

you straighten, aware of your own state right now. in your undergarments, only shielding you from being entirely bare under his gaze. but the only clothes in this room with you are now crumpled on the floor, in a heap of ice-blue and dark red.

let him look. he's seen more than enough now.

and so you lean back against the sink, crossing your arms as your eyes meet blue, "what do you want?"

gojo hesitates, his jaw tightening as he braces himself. when he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough around the edges, "just...asking if you're alright."

the laugh that escapes you is sharp and hollow, devoid of any humour, "why wouldn't i be?"

gojo's faze flickers, his expression unreadable, but his eyes linger a moment too long. you let him trace the dried blood smeared across your collarbone, the faint scratches on your skin.

"after all of that tonight..." he starts, but the words hang in the air between the two of you, unfinished. his voice suddenly falters, and you're struck by how gojo's razor-sharp confidence has dulled into something weaker, more conflicted.

you know exactly what he means. the stunt he's referring to, in his own earlier words. you wonder what exactly is eating at him now. is it honest concern, pride? residual envy?

"please, trust me. i'm fine, we managed to do what was asked of us, anyway," you clip curtly, hoping your tone is final enough.

gojo looks at you like he doesn't believe a single syllable that slips from your bitten lips, but then his shoulders sag and he exhales sharply, "fine," he mutters, turning on his heel as if he's the one that can't stand to be near you any longer.

"wait."

the word slips out before you can stop it, and gojo pauses, and his eyes are narrowed with suspicion.

you swallow hard, suddenly unsure of yourself, and lift a clean towel from the counter, helping yourself to another one of the hotel's free amenities, "can you help me with this?"

an olive branch.

you gesture with a single finger, over dried blood that has streaked over your back, your neck. the hollow of your collarbone.

you can see the refusal dancing on his tongue, the hesitation in the way his throat bobs, and how gojo's eyes flicker over you once more.

but he doesn't refuse. gojo just wordlessly steps forward, taking the towel from your outstretched hand. you watch, silently, as he moves to the sink and runs it under cold water. you're sitting on the edge of the counter now so you face him, watching the warm golden glow of the overhead lights in his pale hair.

the porcelain is cold against your thighs as you angle yourself away from the mirror, facing gojo. the towel in his hand drips faintly, and you watch as he hesitates again, just for a fraction of a second before stepping closer.

at first, his movements are slow and careful. he's raising the towel, and his hand is steady as you feel the first touch of the cool fabric against your back. a shiver practically races down your spine, not from the cold, but from the way his arm snakes behind you, brushing against your bare skin.

it's subtle at first, but you notice it. the hitch in his breath, the faint tremour in his movements.

gojo, who is always so infuriatingly composed, is shaken. you hear it in the sorcerer's uneven exhale that he doesn't quite manage to suppress, the way his fingers press the towel just a little too harshly.

the suite is silent now except for the faint drip of water and the rasp of fabric against your skin. you should say something, anything, but the words don’t come. instead, your gaze fixes on him, his profile illuminated by the warm glow of the bathroom light.

gojo's features are always striking, almost ethereal: the ice-white hair that falls messily against his forehead, the long white lashes that frame those sharp, cerulean-blue eyes. there’s something softened by the warm light, as though the harshness of his presence, of a man who stands above heaven and earth, has been dulled just enough to make him seem almost...human again.

but you feel as though your heart must just give way, pounding so hard that it may burst. where the blood that fell from another man's veins had somehow drawn a line to gojo satoru instead.

an hour ago, you had been arched into another, naoki sato, one who had been a dead man walking. an hour ago, his hands were on you, his lips hot and insistent, and his eyes were warm, and now he’s gone. dead. gojo made sure of that. and that was always meant to happen.

the thought should make you furious. it should make you push gojo away, but instead, all you can do is sit there, feeling his hands —gentle now, impossibly careful, on your skin.

it's wrong. it's so deeply, fundamentally wrong, and yet the space another man left feels like it was carved out for gojo satoru all along.

gojo's touch slows as he runs the towel over your skin, tracing the line of your collarbone with a precision that feels almost tender. your eyes slip closed for a moment, the warmth of his hand lingering even as the cold water wipes away the blood.

then he moves again.

it happens fast enough that you barely register it. one second, gojo satoru is standing tall and focused on the task, and the next...he's leaning down. his breath ghosting over the hollow of your neck.

you feel your entire world tilt as his lips press softly against the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, a touch so light that it feels stolen.

but now you've frozen, every breath catching as though the air was snatched from your lungs. every nerve feels as though it's on fire, hyper-aware of how soft the brush of his lips was, the faint scrape of his teeth just shy of your skin.

how gojo's lips were almost reverent, like a prayer offered in silence. how he was worshipping something he couldn't ever have.

but your eyes snap open to meet his.

gojos's cerulean eyes are molten, the usual ice cracked and melting into something deep and desperate and all-consuming. they bore into yours, wild and unguraded, and the pale lashes framing them tremble lighting as though even he's unsure of what he's just done.

but gojo's pupils are also blown wide, and electric. like a storm trapped in glass.

you swallow hard, your pulse thundering in your throat. slowly, cautiously, you dip your head, just enough to give him permission without saying a word.

the look in his eyes shifts — hunger, disbelief, and something darker all tangled together. he presses his lips to your neck again, firmer this time, lingering as though committing the feel of your skin to memory. then again, slightly higher, his breath hot and uneven against you.

"satoru…" the name slips from your lips in a whisper, trembling and unbidden.

the warmth of his tongue catches you off guard, tracing the curve of your neck in a way that sends a jolt through your entire body, heat down to your thighs. it's...unhinged, but the part of you that should push him away is nowhere to be found.

gojo pulls back just enough for you to see the faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remain dark, intense, and burning with something that feels too big for the room.

"another man got to taste you," he whispers, "now i've tasted him."

you almost laugh, sharp and bitter. the sound lodging in your throat. the absurdity of it all, the jealously lacing his words like a poison vine, the way his breath still fans against your skin.

"that's insane," you manage, your voice shaking. it does little to stop the searing heat curling low in your stomach.

for a second, gojo's breath is still hot against your neck. and then suddenly, his hands are on you.

and fuck, it's not delicate at all. there's a roughness to his touch, desparate and unrestrained, as though something inside him as finally snapped.

his palms trace along your bare shoulders, sliding down to your arms, and then to your waist. his fingers press into your skin with a heat that makes you feel like you're burning from the inside out. you don't even realise when you had opened your mouth slightly, panting as if you're trying to pull more air in.

"gojo," you manage, barely audible, and you're acutely aware of the low tense ache beginning to throb in your groin.

his hands slow for a moment, resting on your sides as if he’s trying to ground himself, or stop himself. and gojo's eyes find yours again, and they’re ablaze.

"can i keep going?"

you wonder just how you've managed to unravel this man, to leave his voice hanging by a thread in the air.

you don’t answer right away, your head swimming with confusion, slick desire, and something dangerously close to surrender. gojo satoru is watching you so intently it’s like he’s searching for every unspoken answer written on your skin.

finally, you shift — subtle, but enough. your knees part slightly, just enough for him to step between your bare thighs.

"what do you want me to do?"

you're aware of the insistent, rhythmic pulsing under your panties. of how every small shift of gojo's body against yours amplifies the soft arousal forming, as your heart pounds faster.

and so you let your fingers hook onto the pale waistband of your underwear, and you watch as his gaze follows your movements.

"i want you to touch me, there. please."

you hear the white-haired man breathe out a thankful, reverent fuck before he's following the path of your own hands, hooking a slender finger into your waistband and pulling your underwear down, and off.

and you're so painfully aware of your own arousal right now, the wet that is pooling beneath you. it feels like a relief, parting your legs so your searing heat meets cool air.

"that's perfect, look at t-that," and you're suddenly whining as gojo's fingertips begin grazing sloppy folds, raking themselves over your fluttering entrance, "she's practically been beggin' for my touch all this time, hah!"

"you - ohh, gojo!" you moan, feeling awfully faint from the rippling warmth making your cunt tighten around him, each pshh! echoing in your burning ears, "y-you wish!"

gojo's laugh is a little crazed, undone as he rolls his fingers in practiced curls, at an inhuman pace. bullying his fingers into your opening, as he rasps, "yeah, i w-wish. 'm wishing for this all the time. you never knew, huh?"

"f-fuck, if i had known it felt like this, would've stuck my fingers in h-her a long time ago," gojo unfurls his fingers that only just separated from your winking pussy, and you can only watch.

equally mesmerised as his slender fingers are coated in strands of your slick, clinging to the curves of his short nails and coating them in a mirror sheen.

"have some c-class, gojo! you've lost your fuckin' mind -"

smack!

the dewy pads of his fingers have come down in a harsh arc, slapping right at your throbbing clit, and the jolt sends such an incredible crack of lightning down your spine that you're bucking your hips back up into his hand, back for more.

"some class? hah, 'm not able to do that now, baby," and you can feel gojo shudder under your touch, as you paw at the linen of his black dress shirt, raking your nails over his pectorals, "not when it f-feels like your pussy is about to, fuck, vacuum my fingers off."

"i swear to god, gojo. never say that corny shit a-again."

but it's hard to convey any sense of righteous fury like this. not when he's back to pushing the tapered ends of his long fingers in and out of your tight heat. each brush from the pads of his fingertips leaves you squealing, tugging at the snowy strands on the back of his head.

but gojo's teeth are sharp as they sink into the damp skin of your neck with an almost reverent press, easily snapping through the delicate flesh.

and you're squealing, shocked at how fucking bold gojo satoru has become, whining at how a sharp hiss pulses through you, and you can feel the warmth of blood beginning to bloom and pool over your collarbone.

"shit, 'm sorry, baby. so sorry. but i'm gonna need to see you l-like this," and suddenly gojo snaps away the pussydrunk babble falling from his candied mouth, and he's pressing a searing kiss to your jaw, and the air becomes hazy with the scent of an insanely expensive cologne, cedar and something...sweet, like cardamom.

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

not when his thick arm is around your waist, handling you until you're smack bang between his legs, right between dark slacks. and gojo has shifted, so your back is flat against the hard planes of his chest, and your knuckles can only grip at the vanity sink. so your eyes can only see your naked torso twisting in the mirror.

"keep your eyes h-here, sweets. on us."

and god, that's exactly where your eyes are. falling on a tense forearm around your waist, as the other works its fierce way through the clamping, gummy walls of your leaking cunt. and you're shuddering underneath him, feeling each brush of his fingers in you.

"w-we make a pretty sight, don't we, yeah?" and the words are spilling from gojo's lips with a certain smugness, but it's rough around the edges, strained. and you just can't look away from how utterly ruined he looks, from touching you.

you watch the glossed shine of your trickling pussy twinkle in the warm lights, as gojo pushes your thighs open wider. his frame leans over yours, taut and straining. and his lips are flushed and parted, betraying the deep ache of his breath.

"go onnn, say it. c'mon," and now gojo's whining in your ear, letting his hand push further into the mess as your pussy is practically weeping onto his fingertips, "won't let you c-cum if you don't say it."

your chest heaves with each desperate, gulping breath. and you can see gojo's vision narrow on how your tits threaten to spill out from their confines, the swell of your chest rising as you try to draw air through your close orgasmic daze. where the edges of your vision blur, and your heart is pounding erratically, "ahhh, gojo! 'm gonna, i think 'm gonna, oh my god!"

but there's more, you want so much more.

and against better thought, you push and elbow back into gojo's chest, heaving as he flicks his thumb over your aching clit.

"hah, what is it now? fuck was that for?" and the man is scowling at you, seemingly irritated that you drew him away from the hypnotic pull of your pulsing walls.

you swivel, away from the mirror so you're facing him. and your eyes fall on the heavy, pitched tent in gojo's grey slacks, one that must be aching and awfully painful from the way he's running his pink tongue over his bruised mouth.

"wan' more, gojo. on the bed."

you've reached up behind your back, unhooking the clip that was holding your bra together. it falls, and you toss it into the pile where gojo had flung your clingy panties, over your gorgeous dress.

and you think gojo satoru might have just had a minor heart attack.

his expression has shifted, lips parted as he takes in your naked form. you think you hear his breath hitch, as his eyes roam over you, unblinking. you're certain that the mildly brighter light in the room has nothing to do with what's overhead, rather the bright blue of gojo's six eyes.

you snicker at his dumbstruck expression, letting your hand curl around his wrist — marvelling at how he almost whines at the sight of you pushing him out of the bathroom suite, and onto that glorious bed that the two of you had argued over earlier in the day.

"n-not so opposed to sharing a bed with me now, sweets? oh, fuck," you don't let him get any more words out, since you're reaching for the sleek leather belt threading through the loops of his slacks, pawing at them so you can finally undress him. have him as bare as you are now.

something in your desparate touch must have made gojo snap, because now he's shuffling the two of you around, so you're practically splayed out under his warm, large hands. thighs spread, parted so your dripping cunt is displayed to the room, as he scoots closer. his knees pressing against the carpet.

"hnnghh, f-fuck, look at her. practically cryin' on me."

and what a sight. gojo satoru, the most powerful man to walk this earth in centuries is slumped beneath your thighs, close enough to your clit that when he breathes, he knocks his nose right over the sensitive bud, coating his face in that syrupy glaze.

and then its slow, painful. how his long tongue descends onto your weeping pussy, writhing flat in wide, broad strokes that leave you whining out his name.

you spread your legs even wider, fighting against gojo's tight grip on the flesh of your thighs. the thighs that are trembling as he brings his teeth up to graze your clit, and your arousal drips from his lips. making candied pink lips look like they've been glazed and dipped in sugar.

briefly, in the back of your mind, you wonder how you're going to continue to function tomorrow. how you're going to even be able to walk after gojo satoru has rendered you boneless.

you also wonder if there's a cosmic deity out there, looking at an invisible and heavenly camera with a dull look on their face. something like what can you do?

"mmhph, y'know i l-like this a lot better than that drink from earlier," and he's cooing at how you squeal and moan, "hah, what was that s-shit called? a cream soda."

you pull at the white strands of his hair, yanking gojo's head back from where his tongue had been lolling around your clit, ignoring his whine, "if y-you make a stupid, fuckin' joke about creaming, i'm g-gonna leave."

gojo rolls his eyes, but this time? this time, there's no malice in it, no irritation. his expression is almost fond, if not shadowed by the enormity of his own lust, "leaving before the main event is dumb choice, sweets."

"tch! get to i-it then, oh! what the fuck, gojo!"

he's found the right place to prod, to roll his fingers over the hood of your clit, occasionally propping his mouth down to suck at it lightly. your mouth is clamped shut, so you don't release an absurd amount of babble, wordless and airless about how good he's devouring you.

"hah," gojo huffs, pressing three flat fingers against your entrance, letting them curl into your walls, enough to tease you, "i can feel her beating for me. 's pulsing all over."

"c-can't you jus' make me cum?" your hands are desparate for some friction, running past your perked tits, down to his hair again. now clamping your thighs around his head, and the soft, snowy hair of his head tickles at your skin.

"can' believe you're talking shit when i'm e-eating you out," gojo chuckles, but you're just too mesmerised by the glint of your slick lighting a beacon over the lower half of his face, strands of slick as he pulls away from your pussy, "y'not that patient, huh?"

he's practically attached to your clit now, kissing it with a tender and yet firm press of his lips, seemingly aware of just how sensitive you are to that type of pressure.

you whimper and mewl as gojo's head disappeared back between your legs, deeper and lower as his tongue pushes into your pussy, flicking shallow thrusts that makes you breathe out gasps of his name.

"now i think 'm gonna cum, so close, satoru," with your hand firmly lodged in his platinum strands, you're rocking your hips messily, sloppily against his awaiting mouth.

"y-yeah? go on, sweets," he's moaning now too, and you don't miss how the edge of the bed rocks just a bit from him grinding the frame for some release on his own erection.

your orgasm makes your mind foggy, and you practically quake in gojo's large, warm hands. with a sharp cry of his name, followed by an endless chant of praise for the unearthly man between your legs, lapping at you as though you are his last drink, his last meal on this earth before he ascends elsewhere.

the hard streaks of white shoot through your vision, even as you come down from the incredible high, and you realise gojo has not stopped.

gojo's jaw is still locked as your slick dribbles down your folds, into his open mouth and onto his waiting tongue. the extra stimulation makes you deliriously cry out, "fuck, s-satoru! 's too much, holy fuck!"

you were still shaking, and a second orgam blurred your sight into an incredible spectrum of colours, white hot starlight and streaks of blue. that cascade of vivid tints flood your vision, each one jerking your hips and cunt forward until you felt your legs give way.

until gojo finally separated himself from your thighs, satisfied at how he had pulled two climaxes from you.

he's absolutely lost it, lost in that daze of being pussywhipped, and his eyes gleam with a feverish intensity. and when he crashes pink, glossy lips down on your mouth, you can feel him shake under your touch.

you moan, loud, as he nips at your lower lip. at how you can taste yourself on his tongue, syrup strands falling into your mouth as gojo suddenly twitches.

"i think 'm gonna have to be in you right now, otherwise i'll literally fuckin' die."

a breathy laugh falls from your lips as your partner pulls himself up, heavy limbs finally extracting themselves away from your naked body, reaching up to hook his fingers over the black crinkle of his rumpled dress shirt, pulling the fabric off.

leaving your mouth dry.

the moonlight spills over gojo's torso, and you track your eyes over his broad chest, rising and falling and flushed from his own arousal.

you follow the faint dusting of pale white hair as it disappeared past the waistband of his slacks that he's quickly making short work of, and you feel your pussy clench thinking about how badly you need to jump gojo satoru's bones.

but you're too transfixed by him, by the sculpted figure of a supposedly cold and arrogant bastard you've spent months and years rolling your eyes at.

he's real. all hot flesh and blood, and stunning. not that sneering, and infuriating man who's always one step ahead, always one callous word away from making your blood boil.

for a different heat has settled in you now, as your eyes fall on his throbbing cock that has sprung forth, up over his stomach. the tip is an angry, and furious berry-pink and you wonder just how you're going to make these inches fit.

"hah, didn’t think you'd be this shy, you know,” he says, voice a low, husky tease, as if he’s been watching your struggle. gojo's eyes glint with amusement, but there’s something deeper beneath it, something that you hope with lead him to take mercy on you.

"n-no. no," you repeat yourself more firmly, but it's far too breathless to be convincing, "no, 'm not shy."

but it's hard to form coherent thoughts when gojo satoru is towering over you, and his absurdly long and girthy shaft is twitching in between your slick folds.

"fuck you, s-satoru," you're whimpering, feeling the pulsing, rounded head of his flushed tip brush past your sensitive, drooling slit, "taking too long. jus' put it in already."

"mhmm, sweets," and gojo's bustling at your thighs now, pinching the soft and tender skin in retaliation for your touch undoing him so easily, "she can't even be patient, hah, trus' me. just lay back."

you comply, just this once. just because gojo satoru's cock looks so big, you think you need to gather all your thoughts so you'll be able to form coherent sentences later.

resting your head back on plush sheets, with the skyline twinkling in your peripheral vision as gojo's aligning himself with your cunt. he's gasping in low, shuddering breaths as his tip teases and hooks onto your inner walls.

"look at thaaat, oh! baby, fuck, wasn' even joking before, just sucking me up so fuckin' good!"

you don't reply, just mewling as he pushes inch after veiny inch into your dribbling walls, gasping as his large hands rest on the back of your thighs, pushing them further up so he can slot his torso in between your legs.

"oh my god, satoru! s-satoru, hnnhgh, it's too much — i don' think it's gon' fit," you always thought you would be embarrassed to lose composure like this in front of gojo, but you find yourself panting into the crook of his neck, raking nails down his flushed neck.

he's big, and you can feel every vein of his tapered curve hitting the right spots within you, as you shift your hips, desperate to let his sinuous cock kiss every inch of your pussy lovingly.

"gon' dumb already?" gojo's huffing, but you can see that he's not unaffected. his eyes are glazed over, hazy as he slowly draws his hips back just an inch, before scooting them forward already, "jus' gonna have to make this pussy learn from now on. don' worry, sweets. it'll fit."

the 'from now on' makes something in your pounding heart flutter.

but you have little time to focus on it as he bottoms out in your drenched cunt, as though you're hearing the slosh of your pussy coat him entirely, right up to the wiry, white hairs on his groin.

"hahh, there we go! the w-wonders of a positive attitude, don'tcha think?" and you're left with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, as he begins to pick up the pace. a steady staccato that has you jostling underneath his ministrations.

you let his mouth chase yours, capturing glossy lips with your own bite, letting him pant, and whine and praise the heavens above for how tight you're snatching him right now.

"she's p-perfect, isn't she? t-thought about it so much, y'got no idea, got no c-clue about how much i thought about you under me like this n' how you'd f-feel!"

gojo satoru is absolutely drunk from a nectar that he has tasted once. the same nectar that coats his cock in frothy, filthy rings as he pistons his hips out of your pussy.

"happy for y-you, satoru," and you're letting your nails scratch over the shell of his ear as he twitches and shudders, "but fuck, y'talk too much! jus' focus on fucking me!"

gojo's mouth quirks upwards, that knowing smirk playing on his lips as he looks at you bemused, and so hazy.

"god, a lot of that attitude now, hahh?" and he's drawling the words out, and you don't miss how he shudders when you clench around his shaft, on purpose. he's leaning in closer, barely brushing past your lips, and you wonder briefly for a split-second, gojo satoru might just really love you.

and then, without warning, his hand comes down to your side, just underneath the fat of your tits, pinching lightly at the abdomen. causing you to take a sharp intake of breath, and a dizzy huff of his name.

if you ever believed that gojo satoru was malicious in the workplace, a bane on your sanity, you had not been prepared for how he was stretching you out in all the right places.

that inhumane pace of the strongest had him snapping his hips sharply, over and over until he's hitting the spongy patch, deep within your walls.

"clamped around me like, ohh, like a fuckin' vice," gojo's grunting now, each breath coming out short puffs that match the timing of the slap! each whack of his cock delivers, pressing your hips together and coating his hips in sweet slick.

"mmph, feels so good, satoru!" you squeal, pressing a hand over your mouth so you don't wake up the entire top floor of the hotel, tits jostling with each shuffle and movement.

it's all coming down on you too quick, that electric haze shooting down your spine. made all the worse by gojo groaning and slipping his hand between his jackhammering hips, down to where your clit is practically throbbing for his touch.

he's running tight circles, before pressing the flat of his thumb under the hood of your clit, ripping a raw cry from the back of your throat, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as gojo's lips are leaving blooming marks over your neck.

"satoru, i t-think 'm gonna c-cum again," you moan, fluttering your lashes against your skin, rolling your hips up into gojo's quick fingers and brutal cock. but it feels different this time, nothing like your past two orgasms. you feel something draw its claws further into your groin, like you're going to burst and the breath will be stolen away from your lungs.

you hear gojo say something, snarky but tender as he laughs into your collarbone, as he's slapping his fingers down quickly over your clit, making you jolt. but you don't hear his words as blood roars in your eears, gushing all over his cock with a clear, sticky sheen that coats him deliciously.

makes gojo satoru groan out filthy praises over your marked skin, "didn' know you were that nasty? hahh, squirtin' over me on your first go, yeah? it's gettin' too much for me too, s-sweets. think 'm gonna hafta maaa -"

you have no inkling as to what gojo was aiming to groan out, fluttering his own blue eyes shut as his orgasm catches up to him, pumping you insanely full of thick, stringy seed. practically painting your inner walls a translucent white as you huff and whine.

but in the back of your mind, you think he wanted to marry you. a bridge you'll cross when you get to it.

"fillin' you up, good, aren't i?" and he's lost in a daze, and you watch as his muscles ripple in the light of the moon, pectorals gleaming as he stuffs you further, as if plugging his seed to stay in you, making you squirm from the delicious stimulation.

you should have paid a little more attention to your surroundings. less attention to the thick veins of his cock drilling a home in you. or less attention to how his lips curl up into a sweeter smile as he presses soft, happy kisses to your cheek while you lay exhausted, caged by his thick arms.

then, you might have noticed the lights flicker and then shatter for half the hotel's rooms.

the morning sun peeks through the curtains like an overenthusiastic alarm clock, dragging you out of sleep with its gentle warmth. you stretch lazily, limbs still heavy and sticky from the weight of...the previous night's activities.

the sheets feel ridiculous soft, kudos to the insanely over-priced hotel. and for a second, you entertain the thought of just staying here. forever.

that is, until your eyes fall on raijin's amulet over on the wooden table.

and the fact that gojo is nowhere to be found.

you blink, squinting at the empty space beside you. your first instinct is to check besides the bed, and then under it, for fear that the six-foot three man has simply fallen off.

but your gaze falls on a tiny pink sticky-note on the nightstand. one that you suspect was pilfered from the scattered case file on the couch. you peer at looping cursive, scrawled in a blue marker.

don't eat anything yet! gone to get a proper breakfast!

you can't help the soft huff that leaves you, fond in its escape. you feel this sudden urge to don some proper clothes, to go down and join him in the warm sunlight.

but then you pause. perhaps, you ought not to. it would be fun to let him miss you just a bit. the thought of the gojo satoru standing there, waiting in line for entirely average pancakes is amusement enough for you.

but before you can pull the crisp sheets over your head, your eyes catch a glimpse of something else by the bed. a small, satin-blue box that didn't exist yesterday, in the world of cruel choices and...semi-successful missions.

the memory of yesterday pulls a frown from you, but you shake your head, determined to clear your thoughts.

you reach for it, letting your fingers run over the smooth surface, before tugging at the silver ribbon cautiously. half-expecting to find something weird like gojo's usual idea of a joke like a half-naked framed photo of him with a lipstick print.

ah!

but instead, inside the box lies a thin necklace. you've stared longingly enough at shop windows to know that these are real diamonds. not the cheap kind either, a well-cut carat that makes you gasp to yourself, a flush running over your cheeks.

for a moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched unbearably heavy. but then gojo’s ice-gaze dropped to the necklace scattered over your throat, and he tilted his head, "not too bad," a flicker of a scoff curling at his lips. "tch, they’re not even real," you blurted, then immediately regretted it, what was wrong with you today? you reached up, fingers grazing the cool crystals as if to shield them from his bemused scrutiny, "just thought i needed something to fit in."

you pick it up, feeling the cold weight of it in your hand. what is this, romance? a necklace? gojo satoru doesn’t even do romance. at least, not in the way anyone would expect.

he’s the kind of guy who would absolutely get you diamonds just to throw you off balance. mission accomplished.

you glance at the sticky note again, then back at the necklace. this is way too much for your sleep-addled brain. and yet, there’s this funny little thing inside you, a warm spark that you don’t know what to do with.

fuck, when did he even have the time to get this gorgeous gift?

you’re definitely not soft, but gojo does this thing to you — he has a way of turning your whole world upside down, and now…apparently, he’s gone and done it again.

your cheeks warm, but you don't admit to it. not yet. but there's no denying the softer spot that's growing in you, the urge to have gojo satoru in your arms in this very moment so you can run your hands through soft, white hair to watch him purr. to see his cheeks flush from a sweet blush as his blue eyes flutter shut.

your eyes fall on his crumpled uniform jacket from yesterday, his discarded clothes. perhaps, you could just join him. after all, you feel words threatening to spill from your mouth and you want him to hear them.

a surprise of your own? you think you want to see gojo satoru speechless for once.

do not plagiarise or repost! likes and reblogs appreciated. btw, this jenny packham was the dress i envisioned for reader but imagine whatever you like!

[n0vazsq]

Goddess | OB87 x Reader

pairing . . . ollie bearman x singer!reader

summary . . . Oliver reassures you that beneath the glamour and expectations, he loves the real, imperfect you

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.2k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . well!! kill me rn i need to stop making oneshots about angsty songs

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . The noise of the crowd still echoed in your ears as you stepped off the stage. The adrenaline coursing through your veins felt like a distant memory, fading with every step you took away from the lights.

You tugged at the sequined dress that clung to your skin, each shimmering piece feeling heavier than it had on stage. The smile you had out there was gone, replaced by a familiar exhaustion that you couldn’t get rid of.

Ollie was waiting for you, just like he always was. His eyes lit up as you approached, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached for your hand, his fingers warm against your skin.

"You were amazing," he said softly, his voice filled with that awe he always had after your performances. Like he was seeing you for the first time, every time.

You forced a smile. "Thanks."

He didn’t notice the way your voice wavered, or if he did, he chose to ignore it. He led you to the car, the silence between you growing heavier with each passing moment. You stared out the window, watching the city blur past. The lights, the noise, all of it felt distant. Hollow.

When you got home, you kicked off your heels and pulled the pins from your hair, letting it fall around your shoulders. The sequins on your dress caught the light, but they felt like shackles now.

You could feel Ollie's eyes on you as you moved around the room, his gaze lingering like a weight you couldn’t shake.

"You’re quiet," he said finally.

You didn’t look at him. "I’m tired."

He stood up, his brows furrowed. "Something’s wrong. Talk to me."

The words hit you like a slap. You spun around to face him, the frustration that had been building all night finally boiling over. "You want me to talk to you, Ollie? Fine. Let’s talk. Are you surprised by me now? Now that the lights are off and I’m just… this?"

He blinked, taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

You laughed, but there was no emotion in it, no humour. "You took a star to bed, and now you’re waking up with me. Just me. No lights, no glamour. Just skin and bone. Just me!"

He opened his mouth to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance. "You fell for the girl on stage, didn’t you? The one who sparkles under the lights, who makes you feel like you’re part of something bigger. But that’s not real, Ollie. That’s not me."

"That’s not true," he said, his voice low. "I love you. The real you."

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. "You think you do. But you love the idea of me. The version of me you’ve created in your head. The perfect, untouchable goddess. But I’m not her. I can’t be her."

His hands were trembling. "I never wanted perfect. I wanted you."

"Did you?" Your voice broke, the words barely more than a whisper. "Or did you want the fantasy? The one you could show off, the one who makes you feel like you’re living some kind of dream? Because that’s all I am to you. A dream. And dreams always end."

He took a step closer, his eyes pleading. "I know I’ve messed up. I know I’ve put you on a pedestal, but it’s not… it’s not like that."

"Then what is it like, Ollie?" You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hold yourself together. "Because all I feel is… empty. Like you’re killing my light, piece by piece."

His face fell, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want to lose you."

A hollow laugh escaped your lips. "You never had me. Not really. You had the version of me you thought you’d love. But I’m not your Aphrodite. I’m not a goddess. I’m just… me."

He reached out, his hand trembling as he cupped your cheek. "I don’t care about the stage. I don’t care about the lights. I care about you."

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision. "Then why does it feel like I’m never enough?"

His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear. "Because I’m an idiot. Because I… I got so caught up in everything that I forgot… I forgot that you’re more than the girl on stage. You’re more than the image. And I’m so sorry."

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. The tears came harder now, the weight of everything you’d been holding in finally crashing down. "I can’t be perfect, Ollie. I can’t be what you want."

"I don’t want perfect." His voice broke, and you could hear the tears in it. "I just want you."

The words hung between you, fragile and uncertain. You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But the scars ran deep, the wounds of past expectations and disappointments etched into your skin.

"I’m not a goddess," you whispered.

"I know," he said, his voice raw. "You’re… you’re so much more than that."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. For the first time, you saw the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he always tried to hide. Maybe you weren’t the only one struggling under the weight of expectations. Maybe you weren’t the only one afraid of falling short.

The silence stretched on, but it felt different now. Softer. He pulled you into his arms, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away. And maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to heal. Together.

You stayed wrapped in his arms, the silence between you filled with unspoken words. His heart beat thrummed steadily beneath your cheek, a reminder of something real, something fragile, but still there. His hand traced gentle circles on your back, a silent apology, a silent promise.

"I’m scared," you finally admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Scared that if I remove everything and take it away, there’ll be nothing left for you to love."

Ollie pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. "Then we’ll remove it all," he said softly. "The lights, the glamour, the expectations, everything. We’ll find out what’s real. I’m not going anywhere."

Tears welled up again, but this time, they didn’t feel like a burden. They felt like a release. "You don’t know what you’re promising."

He smiled, a soft, broken thing. "I know exactly what I’m promising. I want to know you, the real you. The one who’s scared, and strong, and human. I don’t want the goddess on stage. I want the girl standing in front of me."

You let out a shaky breath, the weight on your chest lifting just a little. "What if it’s not enough?"

He cupped your face, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. "It already is. You already are."

For the first time, you let yourself believe it, just a little. Maybe he was right. Maybe love wasn’t about perfection or performance. Maybe it was about standing together in the quiet moments, stripped of everything but the raw, messy truth of who you were.

As he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, the world felt a little less heavy. "We’ll figure it out," he whispered. "Together."

And for now, that was enough.

[junkissed]

wait

member — joshua x gn reader genre — fluff, comfort (18+) word count — 1.1k synopsis — sometimes you just need to take second to wait.  warnings — allusions to past/future sex but no sex happens in this fic, implied that shua is more dom and reader is more sub, this is literally just pure aftercare notes — i never feel like i put enough aftercare into my fics because i'm usually drained by the end of writing and i just want to finish it and hit post so this is kinda to make up for that. also i'm really particular about the way aftercare is written and i feel like i never see the kind i want to read so honestly this is just a super self-indulgent fic, because if you can't find it then write it yourself or whatever toni morrison said, but i hope you can enjoy this too :) i haven't proofread this since 3am so if there's mistakes pls ignore! also this is not based on the song wait by dino as you might have assumed i just thought it was a fitting title because we all need a reminder to just slow down and wait

"wait, wait... wait!"

joshua starts to stand up off the bed, but hesitates when you call out suddenly. "what's wrong, sweetheart?" he asks quietly, eyes carefully watching your face, searching for signs and trying to figure out what you need.

"don't leave yet," you say softly, your fingers wrapping loosely around his wrist. "don't want you to go.”

he rubs his hand over the back of your palm. "just gonna get you a glass of water,” he explains but he sits back on the bed, waiting anyway.

you're exhausted and you know you both need to shower and change the sheets, but the thought of moving right now only sends you into a panic. you're overheated and sticky with sweat, but still you crave the warmth of joshua’s body next to yours, the feeling of his skin against you as close as he can possibly get.

“later?” you say the word like a statement, but your voice rises in a question. “just stay for now. please.”

there's a time and a place for everything, and joshua knows right now is not the time for rational thinking. sure, you've got twice the amount of laundry to do later and your mouth feels drier than a desert, but that can wait. it can always wait, for joshua. it can wait because right now you need to feel the grounding weight of him beside you, telling you he'll always be there, especially when you need him most. 

even though it's what he immediately wants to do, no amount of sweat-stained sheets could ever come before you in his mind. even though he knows you're thirsty and probably craving a cold shower and he wants nothing more than to jump up and take care of your every wish, that's not always what's best. yes, what you need is fresh laundry, but what you want is him. 

so he settles back in on top of the bed, easily sliding into place beside you without a second thought. because it's always about you. always has been.

"better?" he asks, his finger gently brushing your cheek in slow, repetitive motions. 

you exhale and lean into him, letting your eyes fall shut as you hum in reply. 

the gentleness of his touch is such a stark contrast from how he'd been handling you not even 15 minutes ago, but you can't help but love both sides of him. gone is the hair pulling, the slapping and biting, replaced with soft brushes of your hair and careful caresses of your skin over each of the marks he'd left in the heat of the moment.

really, it's joshua's favorite part, besides the fact that he gets the honor of fucking you and being the one to bring you pleasure. it's the part afterwards that he looks forward to, when you're at your most vulnerable and both still riding an emotional high, when he gets to build you back up after so meticulously taking you apart. it's the trust in him that you show without ever so much as saying a word, the sense of safety and comfort washing over you that only ever comes from the feeling of being held in his arms.

the air seems to hang silently around you, as if even the universe can sense that this is a moment that shouldn't be interrupted, your own little bubble together that exists outside of space and time.

you just need a second to collect yourself, and seconds turns to minutes turns to half an hour before you can fully feel like yourself again. sometimes it's minutes and sometimes it's longer, but he'll wait as long as it takes.

you slowly open your eyes and inhale, lips warming into a smile as you see joshua is still here, still cradling your head against his chest, and that this all wasn't just a pleasant dream. you can always rely on him that when you open your eyes, he'll be there waiting for you. no matter how long you need to rest, he's always there when you're ready.

your thumb brushes over his arm, and he rests his cheek against the top of your head. “okay now?” he asks. “or do you just wanna leave it and go to bed?”

as tired as you are and as comfortable as his body feels, the intense feelings have subsided a little and you've regained enough of your energy to realize that what you need most right now is a shower and a glass of water.

so joshua slips off the bed, but not without leaving you with another sweet kiss because why wouldn't he? and you let him leave without a word of protest, because you don't feel that crushing feeling in your chest anymore of being left alone when you really need someone to hug, so you just wait patiently for him to return.

he comes back not much later with cool, fresh water in your favorite cup, and he sits beside you as you drink with his hand on your thigh because now it's his turn to be cared for, and the way he feels cared for is knowing you feel good and knowing he's doing a good job at making you feel loved. and you know that he needs this time just as much as you do so you savor the seconds spent here, letting the water wash down your throat until you both feel refreshed.

“thank you,” you tell him as you sit atop the sink, watching as he sticks his hand under the faucet to see if the shower is the right temperature yet. the bed’s already been stripped of its sheets and a fresh stack of towels been laid out, one by one ticking things off joshua's mental checklist. it's a routine, one that isn't always this thorough every single night but always equal in the amount of care and love he puts in each step.

and eventually things will return to normal, and you'll wake up the next morning filled with nothing but adoration for the man still sleeping peacefully next to you, and then you'll go about your days and come home in the evening and still be so much in love with him that you do it all again. maybe it goes differently next time, faster or shorter or less intense and you don't need to wait like you did tonight.

but sometimes you need a little extra time. and joshua is a patient man.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[mooncalfed]

the way my skin clings to yours

part of the “another kiss prompt” list. making my way down because I’ve been devouring Ghost fanfiction and though I want to be fucked into next century, what I really need is some tenderness.

prompt: a kiss to make up for an argument.

It’s awkward, is what it is. Awkward, the way your eyes keep bouncing towards his and then skitter away when he meets you. It’s almost as though you don’t know him, as though you haven’t been in love with him since you first met. It’s the kind of tension that, between not-yet lovers, could be misconstrued as flirtation, but this is definitely not that.

Simon hasn’t spoken to you in days.

The two of you circle each other in your shared flat, existing in the same space and occupying the same tense energy but somehow never managing to fold back into each other. Part of you wants to rush up to him and melt the way you used to, but you promised yourself that you would stop that - that you’d build better ways of resolving arguments rather than just cave and re-establish the cycle of miscommunication.

You want him so much. You love him so much. You know this awkwardness is part and parcel of breaking a pattern, but the silence is now suffocating and you can’t help but worry that somewhere along the way you might lose him.

These thoughts crop up, unbidden, and they make the noose around your chest tighten painfully.

You’re thinking about this again tonight. Your gloved hands are washing the dishes after another silent dinner. Simon is somewhere in the flat, making no noise as per usual. In happier moments you find it amusing and are somewhat in awe of the man’s stealth.

Usually you find washing the dishes comforting, the soft sloshing of water and circular motions of your hand soothing away the day’s bumps and ruffles. But tonight, you’re tired. You’re worried. You’re lonely, and you’re sad.

What if this is it? You think, stomach twisting as your eyes heat with fear and grief. What if this is the beginning of the end?

Tears begin to drip down your face as you contemplate the demise of your relationship.

You just love him so much. You want the best for him. You want the best for you. You believe with all your soul that what’s best for you both is to be together. But not like this.

You don’t have any energy left to wipe your face, so you watch as they drip into the soapy water and lean all your weight onto the counter for support.

Warm hands land gently on your shoulders and you start, completely taken by surprise.

Simon turns you around slowly to face him, and as you raise your head to meet his gaze, you see his eyes take in the tracks on your cheeks. He sighs, a tired, worn sigh.

Your eyes dart away and you quickly unglove your hands to slap at your cheeks.

His mask is back on. Has been since you had the argument. He does this - you guess it’s his way of shielding himself from you. You know it’s to protect his thoughts and that it makes him feel safe, but you can’t help but feel hurt. Sometimes the boundary feels like distance, like he doesn’t trust you.

Simon’s hand comes to guide your chin up so you’re facing him straight on.

He sighs again. You tense.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is raspy from days without use.

Tears flood your eyes and you are immediately weeping. His words give you permission to feel the deep hurt you’ve been keeping at bay.

You cough through your tears, a rather ugly sound, but you just can’t help it. Your hands grip the front of his shirt as though he might disappear into thin air.

Simon shushes you and takes a step closer, pushing your back against the edge of the sink and lining his warm, firm torso against yours. You bury your head in his chest and take deep gulps of his scent between thick sniffles.

He gives you time to recover yourself, and then his two big palms come to pull your head back gently. Gorgeous, expressive eyes stare longingly at you, and you swallow up every ounce of emotion he is offering.

Your powdery, silicone-scented fingers graze his chin. Can I? You ask with your eyes.

Simon nods minutely, craning his head for easier access.

You peel his mask up slowly, achingly slowly, as though he were a wounded animal. The two of you look at each other the whole time. His unveiling has never been more precious.

You roll up the black cotton just enough to reveal his lips and brush your thumb over the cracked skin of his bottom lip.

His eyes dart down to your lips, following the movement of your tongue when it appears for a moment to soothe your own bitten lip.

“Can I?” You whisper, fingertips moving in to brush against his cheek. Simon leans into your hand and melts more into your body. A leg slides between yours and you can’t voice how loved it makes you feel to be allowed to be wedged against him.

Simon doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans down and ever so tenderly pushes his lips against yours. The contact makes your nose prickle yet again with emotion.

The two of you stay like that for a few moments, kissing each other with closed lips as though you were kissing for the first time.

Simon pulls away, and you enjoy the tackiness of your lips as the skin clings to his. It mirrors how you feel. You never want him to pull away again, you just can’t handle it.

He takes a deep breath, the intake so large and long and deep that it pushes you even further back into the counter edge.

Simon shifts his hand, one resting on your neck with a thumb caressing your skin while the other cradles your jaw. He’s held you many times like this with varying levels of intensity, but this is by far the gentlest. It lacks the lust and intensity of moments he has you pinned down, slick and naked, but this time… the air crackles.

His lips part slightly and he pushes back in to kiss you again. He kisses you long and slow and soft and every atom of your body vibrates with the knowledge that he came to find you.

You love him so, and you have so much hope.

[frickingnerd]

the world is (y)ours

pairing: ganondorf x fem!reader

summary: you love ganon, you really do. but you worry he has gone too far this time...

tags: manipulation, mention of death/murder (nothing graphic), toxic relationship, established relationship

“w-what… what did you do…?”

you couldn't take your eyes off the ruins of the city. only days ago, this place was a lively city, with dozens of people living in it. but now, it was burned down to ashes. you couldn't even make out what the burned down buildings used to be. and in the middle of all those ruins and ashes stood the man you loved.

“they were in my way, so i got rid of them”

he had his back turned to you and you could only imagine that his eyes were wandering through the remains of the city as well. yet he seemed to feel no remorse.

“they were in your way!?” you stepped forward. “all of them? all those innocent people were in your way? every single one of them?”

ganon didn't reply. because he couldn't. there was nothing he could say to defend himself.

“this…” suddenly, he raised his voice. “this is what we wanted. with this town gone, there's a gap in power. i'll be there to fill it and then we'll–”

before he could finish speaking, your hand met his face. normally, nobody would've been able to land a single hit on him. but he was careless. ganon thought he could let his guard down around you. but clearly, he couldn't.

“this isn't what we wanted! this is what you want! you want to seize control over hyrule! i only wanted to be with you–!!”

you tried to go in for another slap, but this time ganon was prepared. he grabbed your wrist and held your hand up. he was so much taller than you and yet you struggled against him. while you kicked and screamed at him, telling him to let go of you, he barely even bat an eye. there wasn't a single emotion on his face. he looked as calm as ever, until eventually he shoved you against the nearest wall, hands pinned above your head.

“you lost.” he told you calmly.

“no, you lost your way–!!” you screamed back. “you told me we'd be king and queen of hyrule! but not like this! not by killing people and taking those positions by force! this isn't how it was supposed to be… you changed…”

those last two words were barely a whisper, yet ganon heard them so clearly. the grip around your wrist loosened and one of his hands found its way to gently caress your cheek.

“i'm still the man you trust” he reminded you. “being your king was always my dream, my love. i just want us to rule, side by side. don't you want this? don't you want to be with me? don't you want to see me happy?”

you knew this was a trick. he'd have you tell him that you still love and trust him. in the end, you'd be the one apologizing, while he faces no consequences for his actions. because it was always like this. you loved him and you still saw the man he used to be in him. but that man was gone. and yet, you wouldn't stop chasing who he used to be…

“i… i still want to be with you.”

you lowered your head, too ashamed to even look at him. perhaps if you had looked at him, you would’ve seen that sinister smile spreading over his lips, as he spoke:

“i know you'd say that, my love”

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 1

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

previous | masterlist | next

---

"Tell me the news," Minseo says before you're even all the way through the door, hauling you over to the couch pushed against the back wall of the room.

Hayoon’s head turns, seated on the other end watching the final four members of their group clean choreography. You don't know her very well compared to Minseo and a couple of the others; she's only been a trainee at JYP for a matter of months, and you'd started working as a group just ten or twelve weeks ago.

Minseo though, you've known for years, ever since she entered the company with no dance skills to speak of but the full voice of an angel. Minseo, you'd been excited beyond belief to debut with. Minseo, you'd been friends with through the worst and the best years here, until they had pulled you apart with no warning.

"This is a lot of manic energy when I could be about to tell you that my contract is terminated," you say, to hide the way your teeth rattle against each other, your heart pounding in your chest. Your nerves are run ragged from the hours spent in that room, executives staring you down - and even now, Hayoon stares from the corner, however unobtrusively.

Minseo bites back a ruder comment, a hand slapping your knee. "That's not the face you'd be wearing if they ended your contract," she tells you confidently. Probably correctly, too.

You can't stop the small smile that tugs at your lips, the rise of emotion down in your chest that squeezes at your lungs. "See?" Minseo cries, pointing at you. "They didn't fire you. They made you an offer."

Slowly, you nod. "They made me an offer," you admit - and for a minute, all the apprehension that has been building in your chest relieves. You're going to debut, one way or another. You're going to live out the dream you've all been chasing for so long now; you're just going to do it-

"Solo debut?" Minseo guesses, and your smile tightens, struggling to slide right off your face. 

"Group debut," you correct her; and then, because there's no better way to tell her, blurt out, "They offered me a contract within an established group. To replace a missing member."

Minseo stares at you, her fingers stiff where they cling to the seat cushion you sit upon. "Which group?" she questions - skipping over, for now, how unusual the circumstances are, the hundred other questions there are to ask about how and why and what the hell are you talking about.

You take a breath, because it's only going to get weirder. "Stray Kids?" you say tentatively, as if she might not know the name - but of course she does. Everyone here knows of them, if not knowing them personally.

"That's a male group," Hayoon says from the corner, because Minseo is too busy stuttering her way through several questions to voice any single one clearly. 

"JYP are interested in making them a co-ed group, if I'm interested in taking the contract," you reply, near-verbatim from the meeting you've just sat through, and twist in your seat to look at her. You don't know her very well, but you've always liked her - calm under pressure, logical and shrewd in her judgment, yet still able to have fun outside of practice. 

"In what world are you not taking the contract?" asks Minseo, who has never once let an opportunity slip through her cut-throat little fingers.

"In this world, maybe," Hayoon shoots back without hesitation, "where she'd be the only girl in a group that's not only all male but also two years her senior."

You don't know how Hayoon managed to sum it all up in one sentence, but she's right; the hesitation that builds up in your chest, the welling fear that you're going to end up somewhere worse than an empty dorm room, your friends debuting without you. It's because of the untenable position the executives have offered you - to join a group of seniors, to always be an other within their unit...

"What happens if you don't take the contract?" Minseo asks.

"I get dropped from the company," you answer, and then shrug. You think it comes off as very nonchalant, despite the pit in your stomach. "I'll be too old for the next planned group, and they aren't willing to offer me a solo contract."

"But they can offer a random contract in a male group?" Minseo presses.

Hayoon is pensive, her brow creased in thought. "Co-ed groups are insanely popular right now," she says, "but adding a girl to an existing boy group is...weird."

"It's creating publicity for the group and the company," you recite, the words still fresh in your mind from another woman's mouth. "They want to do something new and exciting. Something people might talk about."

"Everything always comes down to money or clout," Hayoon sighs.

"I think you should do it," Minseo puts in, leaning back into the sofa. "What else are you going to do, just quit? You've been here like six years for nothing then."

"Four," you correct her, though six isn't wrong; the first two years had just been spent in another company, slowly realizing that they had no intention of debuting you. "And I can try another company still. I'm twenty-two and I look like, eighteen, I'm not dead."

"Another company is risky though," Hayoon points out. "You're trusted and respected in JYP - if I were them, that's why I'd have offered you the contract, not because of talent or anything. Another company isn't going to care at all if you get a chance to debut, even if you audition perfectly and never make a mistake."

"How are you so wise, unnie?" Minseo asks teasingly, and a smile curves the other girl's lips.

"I've been around the block a few times," she responds. "Got friends in high places, giving me advice. How do you think I got here?"

You feel slightly uncomfortable at that; the insinuation she's making. The thought creeps into your head that she stole your spot, but you chase it away just as quickly as it comes - your spot is empty now, not filled by someone else. Your fight is with whatever face of management looked at a photo of you and decided to rip it up, not the girls down here, and there is no point losing friends and allies over it anyway. It's already done. Midnight isn't the path you will be allowed to take.

You turn to look at Hayoon, somewhat surprised at what else she is saying. "You think I should do it too?" you question.

Hayoon is slow to answer, thinking it through one last time. "It's a shit choice," she says, the language slipping from her tongue in a carefully constructed way that says she doesn't care who hears it. "You either become a scapegoat for whatever happens with Stray Kids, or you throw yourself to the wolves of the industry. Solo debut would be much kinder."

"But if you stay," Minseo tacks onto the end, "we get to hang out every day still."

"If you stay," Hayoon interrupts, "you debut in a company you trust and a group known for doing their own thing and protecting each other. If you're going to be added to any group, they're definitely one of the better options."

"Their leader was in the meeting," you say suddenly, your eyes turning to the polished wood of the floor. "He didn't seem very happy about the idea."

"Bang Chan sunbaenim?" Minseo says. "He's really nice though."

"How would you know that?" Hayoon asks. 

Minseo throws a hand up, defensive. "I just see him around, I don't know. Everyone knows Stray Kids are nice guys."

"Nice or not, he was pretty vocal about not wanting a new member in his group," you sigh. 

Hayoon falls silent, apparently without a rebuttal to this statement. "He'll just have to get over it then," Minseo says, elbowing you gently. "What's he going to do, ice you out? He could lose his whole group doing that."

"You're very rude," Hayoon says, leaning forward to look at Minseo. "I don't know what the best decision is. Stay or go, it's a risk either way. You don't know what kind of group you'll end up in with another company either."

"And they want an answer by tomorrow," you add dejectedly.

Minseo pats your arm, Hayoon a quiet, grounding weight on the other side. "You'll make the right choice," she says. "You're way smarter than me, and way better at singing - if I'm going to be mega-famous, you're going to be there quicker."

Despite yourself, a small smile quirks in the corner of your mouth. "But not better at dancing?"

Minseo laughs, open-mouthed and mocking. "No way," she replies. "You'll never be better at dancing than me. Nice try."

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids @hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts @puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @keepswingin

[alientitty]

Persona 5 (Royal) Guys Punchability Rating

Should you, playing as Joker, take a swing at your confidants? Find out here!

I-The Magician: Morgana

Hey, he's just a little kitty cat! It might be annoying how he doesn't let you go out at night and keeps talking when you're trying to read or meditate, but when he's not around it's clear you can barely function without a feline handler. He does keep saying weird shit to Ann though. 3/10

IV-The Emperor: Yusuke Kitagawa

Is it even fair? The guy's a toothpick. He's gonna blow away with the next breeze. His stamina in the Metaverse comes entirely from sitting around thinking about the darkness of the human soul re:art all day. Isn't he a starving orphan? But he does keeping saying out-of-pocket shit and you don't care how gay he is, that's no excuse for being a misogynist. Violence isn't the answer, but he'll feel the passion behind your slap, even if he doesn't entirely approve of the method. 5/10

V-The Hierophant: Sojiro Sakura

Aww, isn't he such a lovable tough guy? Basically your new dad, generational enmity and all. Hey wait why is he checking out your teenage friends. Hitting on all these younger women. Isn't he like 50? 60? If he's in his 60s you worry his brittle bones will shatter on impact, but if it's 50s then he's fair game. Maybe he'll finally trust you after some male bonding through friendly roughhousing and all. Depending on how early it is in the game there's a chance you'll be out on the street, though. 6/10

VI-The Chariot: Ryuji Sakamoto

He's your homeboy, your bro, your best buddy! And sometimes friends deck friends when they get outta line. You do feel kinda bad since he's been trying to channel all those big water sign emotions into becoming a gym rat instead of getting goaded into fights and all, but you'll keep it clean. You love him, but he can be so embarrassing in front of your other friends! Maybe he'd stop chasing skirts like a doofus if he just got some friendly skin-on-skin contact with other guys now and then. Wait, what? Well, anyways, it's totally a fair fight. As you throw the first punch you remember, wait, isn't he a domestic violence survivor? Shit. 9/10

XI-Justice: Goro Akechi

You can't tell if he's actually cool or just pretentious, but you've been waiting for a chance to wipe that shit-eating grin off his pretty face. You bet he has a 15-step skincare routine to get that perfect glow when he delivers a backhanded compliment that subtly conveys how much he thinks he's better than you. Staring each other down across the billiard tables while you play a verbal game of cat-and-mouse isn't enough. This cold war's gotta heat up. And, spoiler alert, he will challenge you to a duel...and then some. This ends with one of you on his knees. 10/10

XII-The Hanged Man: Munehisa Iwai

What beef do you even have with this guy? He's the hot gun guy who gives you custom builds in exchange for glimpses into the life of a Goodfellas side character. Besides, with his history, you don't wanna risk it. He's way too experienced and strong and grizzled and smoldering and...ahem. Maybe you would learn something. 4/10

XVI-The Tower: Shinya Oda

That's a kid. You do wanna punch the people making this poor child's life so hard, though. 0/10

XVIII-The Moon: Yuuki Mishima

He looks up to you so much it just wouldn't be fair. You've seen him beat up so much already that, even if he asked you to fight him, it'd be like kicking a puppy. He can be annoying and a creep and maybe even a little scary sometimes, but a punch is not what he needs. 2/10

XIX-The Sun: Toranosuke Yoshida

Dad?! For real, though, he's just about the only adult in this game besides Lala-chan who seems actually cognizant of the fact that you're a teenager. If you tried to take a swing at him he'd be incredibly disappointed that his lessons didn't stick, and you'd never forgive yourself for letting him down. 1/10

(Igor isn't here because he's nothing. As in, literally immaterial. You can't punch your dreamscape spirit guide with your real life human hands. He's, just, not there.)

1-The Councillor: Takuto Maruki

The most punchable guy in the entire game. Everyone thinks that self-effacing, oblivious beta male act is so charming, but you're not buying it. He's only there for Shujin to cover its ass until it cycles out of the news and is either willingly complicit or too incompetent to notice. He thinks his disarming, approachable shtick is a therapeutic icebreaker, but it's more like a lack of boundaries bordering on malpractice. He's one of those self-described "empaths" who projects his own personal issues onto everybody else and plays the victim when you call him out on it. The last thing you or any other troubled teens need is this bumbling, paternalistic stooge messing around in your heads. Plus, every time he makes that stupid pouty face you wanna slap the license outta him. Hey, does he even have one? 11/10

Bonus: Protagonist/ Joker / Your Name Here

Well, you play as him, so he's kind of you? The dialog options let you be a little mean or creepy sometimes, so I guess it's up to the player to decide if he's a jerk or not. Or you can take all those options as reflective of his personality (add in the fake glasses and Uniqlo mannequin getups, and he's kind of an asshole). Just keep in mind that, for a guy who eats a single loaf of bread at lunch every day, he's surprisingly built and pretty strong. You'll be in for quite a fight you can't back out of if you take a swing at him. At yourself?

??/10

[letsgetrowdy43]

my house is warm (Rowan’s Version)—

I listened to the song "my house is warm" by Sombr and immediately was like "ADAM AND SUNNY BREAK CORE!" so please enjoy, and maybe give the song a listen cause it's really good!

Warnings: a little angsty, nothing too bad, just a hallowing in self pity Adam and a heartbroken sunny, some drinking/partying, lmk if there is anything I missed!

Au Masterlist!!

"I wanna call your phone with nothing in mind, just to hear you breathe on the other line. I try to reach for you but your skin's full of thorns. Oh, this town is cold but my house is warm"

The second Sunny left Adam's apartment that day, he knew it had all been a mistake.

He couldn't decipher if this break was something he needed or if it was a way to run away from the build-up of issues that were growing in his life. Afraid of burdening the ones around him, especially her, he just made it a clean break with a slight promise of a future.

He stared at his phone screen tapping through Instagram stories before landing on hers, a bright smile on her face as she celebrated the Umich football team winning the Natty. She was smiling, she looked so genuine, so perfect, so real, and to him she looked so happy, without him. Her nose scrunched with excitement as she hugged closely to her roommate, the two of them standing just before the TV in their living room, dressed in Michigan colours as they posed in front of the scene of the quarterback holding up the trophy.

He hesitantly hit the like button at the bottom corner of the screen before tapping off of her story to look at her account, eyes landing on the lack of their highlight. The compilation of photos that once was labelled with a little "A" followed by a heart emoji was gone, none of their memories over the past year visible on the account.

It kinda felt like a slap right in the face, but this is what he deserved, this was his punishment for ruining something so good.

He missed it, missed her, she was easily the person in the world he loved the most, and somehow he had managed to fuck up a relationship he cherished so deeply. Missing the ability to just call, to talk to her 'just because'. But remembering that towards the end, he wasn't ever calling her just because he could, he was becoming a chore to her.

He needed to free her.

Kent tapped Adam's shoulder as he caught him stalking the girl's profile, "we should get dinner soon," he said nodding towards the door as Adam just cleared his throat and turned his phone off. "Sounds good!"

★★★

"How did it end like this? I wanna talk to you, talk to you again. How did we get here so quick? I watch you walk right pass me like we never did what we did"

Luca handed the girl a drink as she sat on the sophomore's couch, her eyes wandering the room with a pout on her lips as she looked at the boy whose face dropped at the sight of her sadness. The whole team and a few alpha phi girls were pregaming before they headed out to the bar.

Her eyes had been glued to her phone screen most of the night, staring at a single notification saying that Adam had liked her story. It was moments like this, with all the fun surrounding her, where she hated him for making her fall in love with him. Something about having fun now felt foreign to her, it felt so distant, because she'd been on a constant loop of self-pity and emotions.

Her lips formed a straight line as she looked up at the guy who had become her best friend, "are you okay Sun?" he mumbled as he sat down next to her and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. She flashed him her phone and shrugged, "just miss him," she whispered, trying to keep her voice down around her friends, the topic of Adam and the breakup seemed to be the only thing they wanted to talk about, but she wasn't willing to talk about him in the light of the asshole ex-boyfriend, Adam was her everything.

"I understand," he mumbled, his hand rubbing up and down her arm reassuringly as she leaned against him, "but let's not focus on the sad tonight, let's get drunk and pretend like everything is okay, just for a few hours," he clinked his beer can with her cooler and took a swig. Sunny smiled as she mimicked his actions, "That sounds like a really fucking good idea," she smiled slightly as she looked around the room at her friends, Nick catching her glimpse and motioning for her to come join their game of beer pong, which she happily obliged.

'Just for tonight' she thought as she smiled and made her way across the room to the group surrounding the kitchen table.

★★★

"I can't right my wrongs but I can write another song, I can't take you out but we can get along. If I went away, would you chase the train? Oh, this town is dark but my house is warm"

Allstar week was meant to be a whole week of just relaxing and getting his mind off of hockey and stress, but as soon as Luca, Gavin, and Rutger convinced him to come back to Ann Arbour for the oof week he knew it would be nothing of the sorts.

The first sign of trouble was that the second he arrived at the sophomore house and was met face to face with Charlotte, Sunny's roommate, leaving Gavin's room, he knew that this week was going to be less tranquil then planned.

He smiled awkwardly as her face grew red and murmured a short bye to the boys before taking off.

Their lives were so intertwined at this point that there was no ignoring each other, they were doomed to run into each other at one point, and it was just a matter of time before they were face to face. Faces flustered and chests heaving with the raw emotion of this realization that they were no longer together.

That was sign number one, the second came only a few short hours later when he was sitting in the student section of Yost alongside Rutgers girlfriend. He was a little on edge, he loved this place, loved the atmosphere of the building and the crowd, but he had learned to love within the walls of this building, fought battles in the building, and even made a name for himself, and now he was back and there was this feeling of melancholy looming over this head. Adam had this gut-wrenching feeling that something was going to go wrong.

Then it happened, he saw her, for only a short few seconds. Her gentle eyes meeting his, Sunny was clad in his old Blue Michigan jersey, something he'd given to her for home games and never asked for back after the season ended, and she looked perfect. She looked almost glowing, cheeks nipped pink from the chilly air, her hair cut noticeably shorter with bangs, smile so wide as her roommate handed her the sheet of paper that listed out tonight's line up.

He was almost gutted that she looked so beautiful, and he looked like a shell of himself.

She was stuck in place for a second, her stomach dropped as they just stared at one another. But she was abruptly brought back to reality by her friend who tugged on her sleeve to keep walking.

Her cheeks grew increasingly pink as she sent him a slight wave, but someone got in the way of her little action and it went missed before she was dragged down the stairs to her seat by the glass.

Adam felt nauseous, his eyes meeting Kayleigh's as she watched him turn pale, "you okay?" she asked as her eyes went back to the game. "Yeah yeah, I just need some water," he said unconvincingly before taking off in the direction of the concession stands, his eyes searching the crowds for the blue jersey, but he couldn't pick her out of the sea of maize and blue.

He couldn't find her in the crowd, and that was enough for him to leave the arena and text the boys that he got sick.

★★★

"How did it end like this? I wanna talk to you, talk to you again, how did we get here so quick? I watch you walk right pass, like we never did what we did."

Three months is how long it took for Adam to reach out, and it all happened because of a short message Luca sent him.

"You need to get your shit together Adam," frustration filling his tone as he sighed, "Someone kissed Sunny, and I'm not calling to rat her out or to tell you that she is talking to other people, I'm calling to tell you that she is being tortured cause she can't move on from you cause she won't allow herself to, and you're not doing anything to relieve her from that pain," he paused for a second, "I love you man, but get your shit together, figure it out cause she's not going to wait forever, and you too have something too good to let go of," the line went silent as Adam stared at his desk in shock.

His brows furrowed for a second before letting his emotions get the best of him and dialling her number.

It rang once before she picked it up, confusion filling her senses as she put the phone up to her ear, "Adam? Is everything okay?" "No" "What's wrong?" her voice more alert as she tensed at what seemed to be anger in his tone. "You kissed someone, and didn't tell me!"

She blinked slowly, trying to gather all of the anger coursing through her veins at such an inconsiderate thing but was to worry her like that and then use that vulnerability to get upset with her over something so stupid.

"I'm sorry, you called, after ignoring me for months to get mad at me because someone kissed me, and I didn't tell you?" "I-" "No you dont get to do that Adam, you cut me out of your life, and I get it and I understand why, but you can't be mad at me for something that I for one didn't want and two had no way to tell you cause you iced me out."

She paused waiting for a response but was met with silence, "if you want to talk about it do it like an adult, tell me why you are upset and we can get through it," she sighed as he searched for the words. "I don't have anything to say, that was irrational and immature of me, sorry." She laughed at his formal tone which made him let out a chuckle, "good," is all she said as she stared at the promise ring on her finger that she never took off.

Words danced on the tip of his tongue as both ends went awkwardly silent, he considered the weight of them, how badly he needed to get them off his chest before he just spat them out, "I missed you," he said firmly causing her to smile. "I miss you too Adam," she whispered, as he settled into his bed.

"I've been meaning to call you," he sighed, "I just didn't know how to reach out, I've complicated everything Sunny, and I'm sorry that I was inconsiderate of how this all would affect you." Sunny sniffled on the other end, her hands wiping away the tears as she leaned against the headboard of the bed, "Thank you, but please don't apologize for putting yourself first, I just want you to be okay."

"Are you okay? are you doing better?" she asked, immediately hearing a soft huff on the other end. "I'm doing better, just trying to make it through the season," he shrugged as she hummed in agreement, "are you okay." "Not really, it's been hard," she answered truthfully, her voice cracked causing him to tense, "but I'm happy you called, I've missed hearing your voice." "I've missed yours too."

Adam and she stayed up talking for a few more hours, mumbling and spilling about all the life events they'd missed over the course of the three months they were no-contact.

As she went to hang up Adam stopped her by saying her name one last time, "I just want to say that if I'm holding you back Sun please don't feel like you need to hold onto me because you think that you have to," Luca's words replayed in his head, ones about him torturing her, like physiological warfare, "what I'm trying to say is that if this isn't working for you anymore, I'm okay with that, I just want you to be happy."

Sunny sat silently on the other end for a second, "That's not what I want Adam," she let out a little breathless cry "I love you so fucking much, I would never throw that away unless you want me to, if this is you trying to tell me to move on then I will do that for you," she said, the tears coming back as she squeezed her eyes shut to stop the stinging. "That's not what I want, I want you." "Good, cause I want you too" "Good," he said, a grin growing on his face as she hummed at their shared realization.

★★★

"I still see your face in every single crowd. Oh, I just wanted to make your mama proud"

The rest of the year became a blur for Adam, the only thing he found himself looking forward to was playing the Redwings in Detroit one last time for the 23-24 season, knowing that his brother and best friends would be in attendance.

His eyes searched the crowd for Luca and Rutger, the two boys grinning and waving at Adam on the ice as he flashed them each a smile, his heart stopping momentarily as he looked next to them to see a girl with short brown hair sporting a Fantilli jersey, his heartstrings pulled as Cole bumped into him making him loose sight of her. By the time his eyes find his brother and friends once again, she's no longer there.

The game goes on, it's long and his plays aren't working as in favour as he'd hoped. The bluejackets were down by one and the tensions were high as the time counted down. Second by second, he felt the time slowing down as he got puck possession right in front of the Redwings net and took a slap shot right through the open area, the goal horn going off as his arms raised in the air out of excitement.

His eyes found the crowd again, searching for her, looking to Luca who was on his feet cheering, and then he saw her familiar face in the sea of people, but the second he blinked she was gone again.

his brows furrowed as his mind switched back into game mode as he went down the line of the bench to fist bump everyone loudly cheering now that the score was tied. he sat down, eyes looking back at the crowd, darting from section to section, seeing if he could catch a glimpse of her comforting face once again.

But he couldn't find her.

After the game, which went into overtime, and ended with a Kent game-winning goal assisted by Adam, he met Luca and the boys down in the visitor's tunnel.

A smile on his face as his brother pulled him into his chest, "nicely done Mo," Rut said from behind Luca, their grins contagious as Adam pulled the other boy in for a hug.

"Missed you guys," he said as Rutger ruffled his hair. "You're such a softy," he laughed causing Adam to shrug. "We missed you too," Luca elbowed Rut as he pushed him to the side.

Adam fixed the collar of his dress shirt as he looked at the CBJ merch his brother was sporting, remembering back to the game.

"Was sunny here?" Rutger stopped his loud rambling, his grin replaced with an awkward smile as Luca stared at his brother with confusion. "um no? I don't think so," he said watching as Adam's lips formed a straight line and he nodded curtly. "Oh, I thought I saw her in the crowd," he said trying to play it cool, but instead coming across as extremely unconvincing.

The guys stared at him with wide eyes, trying to decipher if they should ask before Adam shook his head and just smiled, “It's whatever, do you think guys wanna do dinner before I have to get on my flight?”

★★★

"Baby in another life I can, call your phone just to hear you breathe again"

He put the phone up to his ear, his hand rubbing his temples as he fought off the fatigued state he found himself in.

"Adam?" she said groggily, a sleepy haze in her voice and her heart beating at a fast pace from the startling ringing sound of her phone. "Sorry, I don't know why I called, just felt like I needed too," he whispered as she hummed in agreeance. "It's okay, just surprised me for a second," she mumbled, the heels of her hands rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she rolled over and propped herself up on her elbow.

It remained silent for a second before she spoke up, "Are you okay?" "I think I'm going insane" "Well I could've told you that," she joked, her lips pulling into a smile as he let out a huff. "I'm serious, I keep seeing you everywhere I go, like tonight at the game, I saw you with Luca, but it wasn't you," he confessed as she bit back a smile at the sound of desperation and confusion that laced his voice.

"Did you want me there?" He let out a groan at the question, she was playing mind games with him, "that's a dumb question, you know the answer" "I want to hear you say it," she persisted, the grin on her face grew as she listened to his deep breaths. "I want you with me at all times Sunny," he said in a 'duh' tone as she let out a noise of contentment.

It fell silent again, the confession taking up the space between them as they sat with the weight of his words for a second.

“I watched from home, so I was there in spirit,” she confessed, Adams grin growing “You still watch my games?” “Of course, I didn't stop caring about you the second I left that apartment Adam,” he nodded along with her words as he laid back down on his hotel bed.

he was struck by the comment, his heart beating harshly in his chest as it dawned on hims just how this all could've been avoided if he had just been a little less in his head, “I really fucked us up.” “You were just doing what you thought right” “Well I was very wrong, and I hate that I can't just call when I feel like it, or that my friends look at me like a kicked puppy when they talk about you, I was so wrong about everything” “Yeah?”

A comfortable realization sat in each of their chests, as Sunny stared at the promise ring that still sat on her bedside table, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she searched for the right words.

“Off-season is in a few weeks, and so is my summer vacation, we can talk about all of this then, okay?” “Okay,” he said, she could hear the smile on his face through the phone.

She stared at the clock on her bedside table looking at how late it was, eyes heavy as she ran her fingers through her bed head, “I have an early class so I have to let you go,” she mumbled. Adam nodded and let out a little hum, “okay, sorry for calling again,” “No I'm really happy you did, this was good.” “Okay,” he waited for a second before whispering a quick “love you.” “I love you too Adam,” she mumbled before hanging up to leave him with his thoughts.

-

-

-

[blacknovelist]

(one piece wano arc spoilers)

So like @guardianlioness and I were talking about one piece and thematic stuff and generally losing our minds and we were talking especially about like

How Zoro and Sanji and Luffy are a Trio but also how Zoro and Sanji are explicitly also painted to be a duo to Luffy, right, like. They're the "Wings of the Pirate King". Together, they protect and look after the crew, but also their captain. They are, effectively, equals in what they do, "official" roles IN the crew itself aside. Zoro, with his high physical power as their physical defense and Sanji, with his high empathy and compassion as an emotional bulwark

And

Like

Okay. Here's the thing. Here's the proverbial problem. Cause right now, as it stands, Oda's introduced an unbalance to the duo. We were specifically talking about how frustrating it kind of is that the imbalance exists.

Because Oda gave Zoro conqueror's haki. He and Luffy share this— but it leaves Sanji as an odd one out. Thematically, it makes no sense to end with this like... off kilter seesaw. Why would you build these two up to BE on even standing only to take that away from them? Don't get me wrong, Zoro having conqueror's haki is a delicious character choice that I think adds fascinating complexity to Zoro and his position in the crew. He's a powerhouse, he's exerting his will over reality, and he follows his Captain the future Pirate King without question. Haki. Love it. Brilliant. But it makes no sense in the overarching thematic line between him and Sanji in regards to Luffy.

Giving Sanji conqueror's naturally wouldn't fix the issue, because frankly that defeats the entire purpose OF the char building that's been established in whole cake island. Sanji rejected the line of noble, of royalty, of power. It makes no SENSE for sanji to have it, he's not someone looking TO conquer or overcome the way Zoro is, it doesn't FIT him. And saying the stuff with his raid suit and the Germa augmentation rearing its head is the balance point is nonsensical for the same reason. Sanji already rejected all of that power and what it means and reclaimed it in a new way. Explicitly, directly, he denounced these things, directly ASSOCIATES them with a loss of humanity and his very self, wants nothing more to DO with it. Not only does it not make sense, but going back on it would be a slap in the face to all the development Sanji's gone through up until now, even laying aside the fact that it doesn't parallel Luffy at all so the unbalance isn't really addressed in that case.

But you know. Conqueror's Haki isn't the only thing Luffy has to proverbially offer. Conqueror's Haki is the overt, the direct, the loud and forceful. There's a lot we don't understand, between the stuff we do. It bears down and exerts over reality, makes demands of it. It tells you to listen.

What do we know about The Voice Of All Things? Not a lot. We know it seems to enable one to hear not the words, but the intention, the truth of other living things and even in objects, especially those with will like the Poneglyphs. We know Roger had it, Zunesha has it, the Kozuki line seemed generally to have it. The Three Eyed tribe may be capable of awakening it in themselves. We don't know if it's purely something you're born with or not. We don't know what it means, if anything, except for this: to hear the voice is to listen to the world around you and understand its heart.

When Luffy enters Gear 5, the only one who can tell at first is Zunesha. Zunesha can hear his heartbeat, and conveys this through the Voice to Momonosuke.

The anime conveys it more clearly, but it's in the manga text, too. Immediately after Zunesha realizes this... Onigashima is shaking. No one quite knows yet what's going on, other than Kaido is here and the world around them is trembling. Those on the battlefield, they've got front row seats to witnessing the transformation, what comes next.

Zoro and Sanji have finished their fights. They're conked the fuck out post battle, like usual... or they should be. But here's the thing. Right after Zunesha calls for Joyboy, from a room distant to the fighting, offset from the war waging outside...

Sanji's part in the major battles is over by this point. If they wanted to emphasize a "the crew knows their captain" moment, why not showcase the other strawhats too? The ones not on ground zero? But it doesn't show anyone else. It focuses. on. him.

Sanji, who's a deeply compassionate and kind man. Sanji, who stopped and paid attention even to the biological relatives he couldn't stand when he could've walked free without a care. Sanji, with his skills in Observation, in already listening to and feeling out others' intentions...

Zoro having conqueror's haki doesn't make sense on its own. It unbalances the duality of the Wings of the Pirate King. But give Sanji the power to hear the Voice Of All Things or something damn well close... that's a pretty good parallel to each other and their roles to Luffy, don't you think?

[good-omens-classic]

I just watched all 6 episodes of season 2 in a row and I am having a very hard verbalizing the way I'm feeling.

I am speechless, and not in a good way.

For five and a half episodes, I was on board. I didn't expect to like this, but despite myself I found myself laughing and getting emotional and getting invested in the story, in a way I haven't been since first reading Good Omens and falling in love with it all those years ago. Nearly a decade ago at this point. I had problems with season 1 and the way the fandom changed, but that felt mostly natural and just like differences of opinion and interpretation.

The ending of season 2 feels actively malicious. Especially coming from someone who couldn't stop touting over and over on Twitter about what a nice queer love story this is.

Everything wasn't perfect--but it was...nice. It was something. It was engaging and I was starting to feel excited again, not like I'm going to start writing fanfiction again excited but at the very least I'm thinking, I can enjoy watching people enjoy this from the sidelines.

And then the second half of the last episode came. And Aziraphale wants to go back to Heaven to lead the angels. Not only is that a completely nonsensical thing for Metatron to invite him to do, but Aziraphale's entire character is that he's happy on Earth. He's happy on Earth with Crowley. OF COURSE CROWLEY REFUSED TO GO BACK TO HEAVEN. The entire fucking point is they belong ON EARTH, together, with the humans. Our own side, their own side, the humans' being neither good nor evil but full of potential and power and them learning they can be that way too.

That's the point. That's always been the point. NEIL GAIMAN KNOWS THAT'S THE POINT. Aziraphale was clearly very unhappy with this decision, and hesitant. The show made it VERY clear he was unhappy and unsure after Crowley gave him a reminder of what they were supposed to be about...and he just went anyway.

And he did this right as Crowley declares his love and FUCKING KISSES HIM. In this, supposedly the cutest best queer love story. Nobody can even say "Well they just don't have that kind of relationship, they don't need to say I love you or kiss or hold hands" anymore because THEY LITERALLY DID KISS. And then IMMEDIATELY said goodbye to each other.

Tragedy is not just about making the audience unhappy. Tragedy is making the audience ache because of something sad and unavoidable, of knowing the characters could be happy in a better world. Good omens has always been about building that world, to me. I thought maybe they were going to go in that direction, with Aziraphale and Crowley building a non-apocalypse, at peace world on Earth together, with Aziraphale's newfound authority to teach all the angels and demons the benefits of humanity. That is, in my mind, the culmination of the themes of the original story, and the one I thought season 1 mostly got right except for some stumbling blocks. But this... This feels like a slap in the face.

The tragedy here is not that Aziraphale and Crowley can't be together, but that the writers....that Neil Gaiman threw away everything in the original story, everything from season 1, Hell, everything from earlier in season 2, about Aziraphale's character development and the most important themes of the story. And for what? Who finds this ending narratively satisfying, let alone is happy with it?

I was enjoying this. Maybe it was just because so much time has passed since season 1 that I've been able to more effectively separate the versions and think of them as different stories, and just enjoy them for what they are separately, or maybe it's because there was no other version of this story for me to silently constantly compare it to, but I was enjoying this...a lot more than I enjoyed season 1. I thought it was cute, I thought Gabriel and Beelzebub deciding to basically do WHAT CROWLEY AND AZIRAPHALE SHOULD HAVE DONE and make a "third side" was a great extension of the themes of the story, and all the Aziraphale and Crowley flashbacks set it up so perfectly for Aziraphale to realize at the end: The problem IS systemic, and Heaven isn't the "good guys." and Aziraphale clearly realizes this! And yet he doesn't act on it. If the last half an hour had just been Aziraphale going "I don't want to lead Heaven actually, I belong here on Earth if you want to come to me on how to run things the Earth way," and then he skips off holding Crowley's hand. To me that would be not only the happiest AND most narratively neat, wrapped up conclusion for season 2, but also THE ENTIRE FUCKING POINT OF THE ENTIRE FRANCHISE. and ALL the character development s2 had been setting up in the first five fucking episodes.

It just all got thrown in the garbage.

I'm tired. This could have been such a good, good story, and I was prepared to be disappointed, but nothing could have prepared me for this. When the clip of Aziraphale and Crowley kissing got leaked, I was bracing myself for it to be some sort of like....joke, or dream sequence that didn't actually happen. I was not prepared for THIS.

Someone please convince me it wasn't this bad. Someone please spin it in a way I hadn't thought of before that makes it make sense. Someone please disagree with me and explain why.

[wavypotatochips]

Hi cutie! Hope you're doing amazing.

I want to request (if you are accepting requests) something with Sergio where he's too overwhelmed with training and stressed with some business and when reader and him are at it he calls her the wrong name and she doesn't let her explain and it's angsty but at the end she talks with him because she saw how he's not doing well at a match and they fix it and maybe a fluffy ending ❤️ please ❤️

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐎𝐮𝐭 | 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 𝐑𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐬

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: Sergio Ramos x Female Reader

Word Count : 1.8k

𝘈𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦: I am,! I hope you are as well (: and Thank you so much for requesting!! I Hope you like how I represent your idea ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚!!

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ♥

As you sit in your apartment, waiting for Sergio to come home from training, you can feel the tension building inside you. You've been arguing a lot lately, and it's starting to take a toll on your relationship. Sergio has been so stressed with his soccer training and his business ventures that he's been snapping at you more than usual.

When he finally comes home, you can tell he's in a bad mood. He's quiet as he takes off his shoes and walks into the living room.

"What's wrong?" you ask, your voice gentle.

"Nothing," he says shortly.

You can feel your frustration building. You know something is bothering him, and you want to help, but he won't talk to you. This is how it has been going for some weeks now.

"Please, Sergio," you say, trying to keep your voice calm. "I can tell something's wrong. Talk to me."

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "It's just everything," he says finally. "I'm so overwhelmed with training and trying to manage my business. I feel like I can't keep up with everything."

"I know it's a lot," you say, reaching out to take his hand. "But you don't have to do it all alone. Is there anything I can do for you?..... I'm here for you. We're a team, remember?"

He looks at you, and for a moment, you think he might open up. But then his expression darkens.

"You don't understand," he says, his voice rising. "You don't know what it's like to have all this pressure on you all the time."

Your heart sinks as he lashes out at you. You know he's stressed, but you don't deserve to be treated this way.

"I understand more than you think," you say, your voice shaking with anger. "I may not be a futebol player, but I have my own stresses and pressures to deal with."

He looks at you, his eyes flashing. "Oh, really? What pressures do you have, Jocelyn?"

Hearing him mention the name of a different girl—specifically, his ex—makes your eyes expand and heart drop. With the media continuously comparing you to her, hearing him call you her name felt like a slap in the face.

"Wait Y/N I-I didnt mean to call you Jocelyn, it just accidentally slipped out!" he says quickly, his eyes widening. "It's just-," You leave the living room not wanting to hear his explanation. The damage has already been done. You can't believe he would call you another girl's name, and you can feel the hurt and anger boiling up inside you.

He watches you leave, his face filled with regret. "¡Por favor, no te vayas T/N! ¡Déjame explicarte!"(Please, don't go Y/N! Let me explain!)

Even if you wanted to, you can't listen to him right now. You need to get out of the apartment, to clear your head and figure out what to do next.

As you walk through the streets of Madrid, your mind is filled with conflicting emotions. Sergio has your love, but you can't let him treat you like this. Because of his attitude toward you for weeks, you already knew you were going to leave the house to get away from him at some point. His calling you the name of another female was the cherry on top. You need to stand up for yourself, to show him that you won't tolerate being treated with disrespect. A tiny sigh escapes your lips as you pull your phone from your pocket, deciding that it would be best to spend the next few nights at your best friend's house.

As your best friend answered the phone, you informed her of the situation. You didn't go into great depth, but you did say that you and Sergio had an argument and you needed a day or two to get your thoughts straight. Of course, she said you could come over and she would come get you immediately. Without even wanting to go back to your house to gather some things, you sent her the precise location of where you are right now.You decide to text Sergio even though you didn't want to, telling him that you'll be back in a few days. You then immediately mute the chat so you won't have to hear any notifications from him. Roughly 15 minutes later , your best friend arrives and drives you to her place.

As promised, you stayed at her home for three days while ignoring Sergio's calls and messages. Yet, as the days pass, you start to miss him. You think about all the good times you've shared, the moments of laughter and love. Although  you two have been experiencing a rough patch, you don't want to throw everything away.

As the evening progresses, you are reminded that Sergio has a game tonight. While still harboring some resentment toward him as a result of what transpired between you two, you decide to go to his game because you miss him and want to show your support for him.

You know that he's been under a lot of pressure lately, and you shouldn't have let your own frustrations get in the way of being supportive.

~ Later that night ~

You make your way to your seat in the stadium, surrounded by excited fans all cheering for PSG. Your heart swells with pride as you see Sergio take his place on the field. He looks focused and determined, his eyes scanning the crowd until they lock with yours. He sends you a small smile and a nod, and you feel a sense of reassurance wash over you.

The match begins and you're completely absorbed in watching Sergio play. He's one of the best defenders in the world, and it's a thrill to see him in action. But as the match goes on, you start to notice that something seems off. He's not playing with his usual finesse and precision, and his movements are a bit slower than usual. Your heart sinks as you realize that he's not having his best game. You can see the frustration written all over his face, and it's clear that he's not in his best form. You start to worry about what this will mean for him, and for the team.

After the match ends, you wait for Sergio outside the locker room. When he emerges, you can see that he's exhausted and disappointed. He looks up and sees you waiting for him, and his expression softens.

"Hey," you say gently, reaching out to touch his arm. He does not respond, rather he wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly. You don't mind his sweaty body. You hold onto him tightly, not bothering to let go anytime soon.

Sergio lets out a deep sigh and removes himself from you after a few minutes. He opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it, “Mi amor (my love) I'm so sorry for walking out on you like that…” You say sympathetically, as you have been thinking these past days and feel as if now you fully understand how difficult it must be for him to balance his personal and professional life. "I know you didn't mean to say her name nor be rude to me," you say softly. "I know you've been going through a lot lately."

Sergio looks at you with gratitude and affection. "You shouldnt be the one apologizing, my love, I should be. I've been not treating you the way you deserve to be treated these past few weeks and It took you to leave for me to realize my wrongs, " he says, taking your hand in his. "I should have been more honest with you about what's been going on. I'm just really stressed out with training and the business stuff, and it's been affecting me more than I realized."

You listen attentively as he explains everything that's been weighing on him, and you feel a deep sense of empathy for him. You know that it's not easy to juggle so many responsibilities, and that it takes a toll on even the strongest of people. "Is there anything I can do to help?" you ask, wanting to offer your support in any way you can. Sergio gives you a small smile and pulls you into a hug. "Just being here with me means everything," he whispers. "Thank you for understanding."

You both stand there for a few moments, wrapped in each other's arms, before you finally pull away. "Do you want to talk about it some more?" you ask, wanting to give him the chance to vent.

Sergio nods and you both find a quiet corner of the stadium to sit down and talk. As he shares his worries and frustrations with you, you listen with an open heart and offer words of comfort and encouragement.

By the end of your conversation, you can see the weight lifted off his shoulders. He's still stressed and overwhelmed, but knowing that he has your love and support makes all the difference.

As you make your way out of the stadium, hand in hand, you both feel a renewed sense of closeness and understanding. You nod your head, understanding. "I get it. But you can't keep it all bottled up, Sergio. It's not good for you, for us, or for anyone. You have to talk to me, or someone you trust, about what you're feeling. It's not a weakness to ask for help when you need it. It's the strongest thing you can do."

Sergio looks at you with a mixture of appreciation and sadness. "I know, and I'm sorry. I just...I don't know how to fix it. Everything seems to be piling up and I can't seem to catch a break."

You take his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll figure it out together, okay? We'll take it one step at a time, and we'll get through it. But you have to promise me that you'll talk to me when you need to. I can't help you if I don't know what's going on."

Sergio nods, his eyes meeting yours. "I promise. I'll talk to you."

You smile, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "Good. Now, let's go home and have a nice dinner together. We'll take a break from everything and just enjoy each other's company."

Once at your house, the rest of the night is spent cooking together, sharing stories, and just being present in each other's company. It's a small moment of peace in the midst of chaos, but it's exactly what you both needed.

As the night draws to a close, you cuddle up on the couch together, watching a movie and enjoying each other's warmth.

"I love you," Sergio whispers, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I love you too," you reply, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "And I'm here for you, no matter what."

Sergio pulls you closer, his arms wrapped tightly around you. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice filled with gratitude.

You both drift off to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms, feeling a sense of peace and comfort that only comes from being with the person you love. And you know that, no matter what challenges lie ahead, you'll face them together.

[hils79]

Hils Watches Only Friends - Ep 12

Well I'm glad someone hasn't forgotten

That is not how rehab for alcohol addiction works. "It's okay if you have a little tipple but only if you're at home."

Oh please you were hitting on Mew literally 5 minutes ago

DUDE! Honestly, if I was Sand I would bail on both of them right the fuck now.

Look, normally I am in favour of a love triangle being solved with an OT3 but Boeing is the absolute worst and Sand deserves better.

GOOD!

This is a weird thing to add to the final episode of a drama. Things should be wrapping up not adding angst for the sake of it

Oh here we go. Mew about to tell them what Boeing did to him and Top. Chaos vengeance is back on the menu where is my popcorn

Hehe. It's funny because this is a drama

I mean he might not have sexually assaulted her brother but he still deserved to be slapped

I can't believe he just called rollerblading a vintage sport. Fuck, I'm old. I remember when rollerblades were a fancy new invention and everyone switched from skates to blades

YAY! The three of them teaming up to take down Boeing. I hope this is the last we will see of him

Oh no! I thought we were done with this. Well, I suppose he needs to fuck with Boston and Nick's admittedly cute 'let's be boyfriends until I love to the US' relationship

I mean they are basically the same person so sure. FFS Boston you couldn't keep it in your pants for a few weeks?

Honestly I think Nick's story is the most heartbreaking in this entire drama

Boston's like 'what all I did was stick my tongue in another man's mouth'

Sand speaks the truth

Wow okay I was not expecting them to make me cry yet here we are. Stupid emotions making me feel things.

I'm not sure a friendship group with this much fucked up history should be drunkenly playing truth or dare on New Year's Eve

Honestly you have to give props to Neo for playing such an unrepentant asshole so well. Look at him he's a puppy when he's not bastarding.

He is such a good boyfriend

Mew still a stone cold badass I see. Love it.

Nick is absolutely making the right decision but I'm still sad for reasons I don't even really understand. I think it's mostly Neo's puppy face

Uh...I was not expecting Top's hotel to catch fire 5 mins from the end wtf

I shouldn't laugh but they just evacuated an entire hotel and apparently these are the only people who were in the building

Oh, shit, I really shouldn't be laughing. I totally forgot Top has trauma from being involved in a fire when he was a kid

AHHHHHHHHHHHH! IT'S MIX! This just made my heart so happy!

You know what? I actually loved this drama! Everyone is a hot mess disaster gay but it was fun even when it was frustrating. I had a great time

And this is good timing because I'm going out of town tomorrow for my sister's wedding. I'll start a new drama when I get back in a few days

[thenextdawn-temporarilyclosed]

SOOO I was thinking it could either be a Wednesday or Jenna fic.

Reader has anger problems maybe like I.E.D and R and Jenna are arguing and R has been at work or something bad happened that day and they are just getting worse. Anyway maybe R did do something awful and Jenna pushes them(little shove) and they continue shouting at eachother, getting in eachother faces and R is quite a tall and big person so they like tower over Jenna, but they full on lose it and slap Jenna round the face.(R takes a step back)Jenna starts crying silently with a shaky hand on her cheek and looking up at R tears in her eyes and just in disbelief, meanwhile R is just paralysed and maybe tries to touch Jenna and steps closer to her but Jenna flinches back and tells R to get out and R just silently nods tears in their eyes and manages to kiss her forehead whilst she is tense. R has gone somewhere just thinking over and over( R may have or still does have an abusive dad and they keep thinking they are like him) .Later they come back and Jenna is asleep on their bed and R slowly walks in and sees a big bruise on her face and just breaks down and slowly strokes her cheek and kisses her forehead and bruise. R knows that they can't sleep in the bed because they don't want Jenna to wake up to them so they sleep on the floor next to her. In the morning she wakes up and sees R on the floor and just sits up in bed and sits on the end of the bed looking back at them. Eventually R wakes up and sees Jenna and they quickly get up and just is speechless(mouth opening and closing like a fish) and Jenna just says "why" and R walks closer to her and asks permission to hold her hand and when they do they kneel down in front of her and just continues to apologise and you can decide what happens. Also maybe when R leaves earlier that morning after slapping her Jenna calls a friend idk who or family and R is close by and that friend or family could see R and confronts them and is angry and R is still crying and that friend or family could punch them but R just allows it yk. Sorry this was so long.!!

Not My Fault

Word count: 1.5K

Summary: request above

Warnings: angst, swearing

Pairing: Jenna Ortega X Fem!Reader

I loved writing this so much! I love writing angst in general but this? Ughhh😍🤍✨

———

That day had been extremely tiring at work, everyone was blaming you for doing stuff wrong while you were doing your best. Sure you weren’t the best person for that job but you tried your hardest. Everyone knew yet everyone refused to accepted because they just needed you to get the job done. This has a particular effect on you, having been recently diagnosed with I.E.D (intermittent explosive Disorder) you tried your best to stay calm in these situations, but nothing was working. You’d end up building up emotions and have really bad episodes, but with the help of your girlfriend, Jenna, you always managed to suppress your rage.

However this was not quite the day. As soon as you got home you were breathing heavily, you just wanted to calm down in your girlfriends arms but she wasn’t having any of it as she was working on her laptop. “Jen, please I really need to calm down-“ you said as you walked around the room trying not to go on full rage mode, but it was getting hard. She knew about your disorder and she didn’t seem to care at the moment.“would you just listen to me for a few seconds?” You raised your voice, and she got upset, standing up as she pushed you back. “Can’t you see I’m working? God just leave me alone for a few seconds!” She raised her voice at you. You tried your best not to break and give into your rage but it was getting hard.

“J-Jen please don’t do this to me right now. I need you-“ she was quick to interrupt you. “Yeah, that’s the fucking problem, (Y/N)” she started, you looked at her with tears in your eyes. “You always need me. I can never get a freaking moment alone!” You started breathing heavily again as she yelled at you. You scratched on your own skin trying to control yourself “you need to give me my fucking moments alone!” She continued on full screaming, but at this point you couldn’t even control yourself. With no control over yourself you ended up slapping her hard across her face, making her stumble back.

Suddenly the room went quiet, you froze on your spot and Jenna looked at you, tears in her eyes as she brought a hand to her cheek which stinger a lot right now. ‘What did I just do?’ Was your first thought as you looked at your own hand in utter shock. She was shaking. Jenna was shaking probably with fear and it was all your fault. You had to make up for it. “Jen I’m sorry I didn’t mean-“ you walked closer to her and she flinched back in fear, tears living her eyes as she kept her hand on her cheek, other hand in front of herself to prevent you from getting any closer to her. “Don’t touch me” she stated, with a stern tone. “Babe please, it wasn’t my fault you-“ she interrupted you once again. “Get out.” She said without looking at you.

“W-what?” You asked her, tears staining your own face as well. “I SAID GET OUT! (Y/N) GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE” (let’s be honest, this part reminded me of the scream movie) she yelled at you, hand still grasping her own cheek as she cried and looked at you, you could see nothing but fear in her eyes. You put on your coat and left, going to a nearby park no one ever went to. You knew what you did was wrong, and you didn’t want to, but you had lost control of yourself. Jenna knew that you could lose control, but she never expected you to throw yourself at her.

Here you were, kicking trees in that abandoned park as you kept on thinking you were like your father. ‘Am I like him? Is this why I have no friends? Is this why I might be loosing Jenna?’ Your head was filled with these questions to which you had no answer as you kept on kicking trees. Then suddenly, you heard a voice. “Taking out your frustrations huh?” You turned around, Percy was standing close to you as you stopped punching your tree. “Did you talk to Jenna? How is she?” You immediately asked him, puffy eyes from crying, he looked at you with an expression that was a mix of disgust and pity.

“Well how do you think she is? Her girlfriend just slapped her across the face, she’s shocked. You should be ashamed of yourself” he stated, and you knew he was right. He couldn’t have said something else. “I wasn’t myself Percy! I lost control, I didn’t want to but I did, I didn’t realize what I was doing!” You stated as you walked closer to him, which only got him to throw a fist at your face in return, which made you fall backwards. You didn’t fight back, you knew you deserved it. “She knows about your disorder, she has always told you to go to therapy because her help wasn’t enough. Now if you end up losing her, that’s on you” he said and left, leaving you there. The punch had hurt your jaw, but you knew you definitely deserved it.

You stayed at the park for the whole day, waiting for night to come so that you could go back home and sleep on the couch, without waking Jenna up. It was after midnight when you came back home, each light in the house was turned off which made you sigh of relief. You walked in what should be your shared room, as you walked to Jenna’s side of the bed. Her eyes were swollen, nose tip red and dry lips. You saw that the slap you gave her caused a huge bruise to cover her whole cheek, which only made you disgusted in yourself that you hit her with so much force you didn’t even know you had. You knew she had a deep sleep so you took advantage of the moment to kiss her bruised cheek and forehead, before going to the living room and sleep on the couch.

You didn’t sleep the whole night and you were up at first lights, but you stayed laid down on the couch. You kept thinking about Percy’s words. ‘If you end up loosing her, that’s on you.’ You knew he was right, and deep down you hoped that you wouldn’t loose her. You would break if you did, even if it was indeed your fault. You were up making coffees for you and Jenna after a couple hours when you heard Jenna come out of the room. You looked at her, hood over her head, eyes puffy and swollen still filled with tears. You wanted to talk to her, say something. Yet none of the words you had in mind came out. She looked at you and you could just say she was on the verge of tears.

“Why…?” She asked you with a raspy voice, you knew it was because of all the crying. She hadn’t specified the subject of the conversation, but you knew she was asking you why had you slapped her. “Jen, I’m so so sorry” you started again, tears making their way up to your eyes. You stepped over to her, but she flinched again so you stepped back again. “Babe I’m so so sorry” you started crying as you looked down. You knew now that she was gonna push you away from her. “I could blame my disorder, but I don’t really know if it’s that anymore… all I know is that I fear that I’m becoming more like my father..” she knew about your father, but she also knew that you were nothing like him. However she said nothing.

“I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t do it on purpose Jen I swear-“ by now you were sobbing and you got to your knees. you just wanted to hold her in your arms, but now you were scared to hurt her. “Please give me another chance-“ you said in between sobs and looked at her. She was quiet for a while until she wasn’t. “…come here” she said, her voice making you stand up. “Are you sure?” You asked sniffling. “Yes, I’m sure… hug me please” she said, you could see she was about to break again so you pulled her in your arms. You hug was loose at first, you were too afraid to hurt her. But she was the one to tighten the hug. You tightened it as a consequence and soon enough the two of you pulled back slightly, though still remaining in the hug as you brought a hand to her cheek, gently caressing the bruise. “I’m sorry…” you whispered and she smiled slightly at you.

“It’s okay honey… but promise me that you’re going to therapy now” she said and you smiled slightly. “I promise.”

[phos-phorus]

Another angsty Launt ficlet with an open (not so happy) ending

Longer than the previous snippets but filled with angst to the brim. Maybe I’ll expand it a bit and give them a happy end since I’m really not that satisfied with this version so far.

Anyways I’d love to know what you guys think of it and I hope you enjoy!

“Niki!” James’s voice was a whip crack through the pits, causing multiple heads to turn. Niki looked up, his expression hardening as he met James’s furious gaze.

“What is it, James?” Niki asked, his voice cool and detached.

James’s fists were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. “You know damn well what this is about. Your team’s pathetic act of getting me disqualified. You couldn’t beat me on the track, so you had to get rid of me some other ratty way? That’s a fucking coward’s move.”

Niki’s eyes narrowed. “Cowardly? Your car didn’t meet the regulations. We followed the rules, and the officials agreed. If anyone’s to blame, it’s your own team for not building a legal car. But it's easier to blame others than admit you fucked up, huh?.”

James took a step closer, his voice rising with every word. “Don’t give me that technicality bullshit, Lauda. Just because you drive a Ferrari, you think you know everything! You and Ferrari couldn’t handle losing, so you took the cheap way out. You’ve always been obsessed with winning, but this? This is a new low. Even for you”

Niki stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “We played by the book, James. Racing isn’t just about driving fast; it’s about discipline, precision, strategy. Qualities you clearly lack.”

James laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Discipline? Strategy? You’re so wrapped up in your calculations that you’ve forgotten what it means to really race. To feel the car, to embrace the danger. I should’ve listened to the others. You’re a machine, Niki. A cold, unfeeling machine.” He looked down at the German with a mocking scoff “I don’t even know why I called a backstabbing, ugly little Rat like you my friend.”

The words hit Niki like a slap, but he kept his composure. “And you’re a reckless fool. You risk your life and everyone else’s for the sake of your ego. You don’t respect the car, the track, or the people who depend on you. You’re so busy being the charming playboy that you don’t care who you hurt along the way.”

James’s eyes blazed with fury as he stepped closer to Lauda. “At least I’m living, Niki. At least I’m not hiding behind a wall of fear and rules. You’re scared. Scared of losing, scared of taking risks, scared of really living. Face it, rat. You’re nothing but a coward.”

Niki’s vision blurred, his emotions a mess of hurt and and anger, and he's pushing James away from him before he's actually even realized his arms were moving. “You think I don’t know fear?” he said, his voice shaking and his eyes not daring to meet the Brit’s. “I live with it every day. But I don’t let it control me. I use it to make me better, to make me smarter. That’s what keeps me alive.”

"Coward." James repeats, trying to slap Niki’a arms away. "You can't even look me in the eye." Niki shoves him back with a force that surprised them both and there's a glint in James’ eyes. "You gonna hit me? Is this how you sort out your fights? Punch them in the face and walk away, Rat, Mr Robot and no fucking emotion at all? No. You’re weak. You’re a pathetic excuse of a man and a driver-"

"Shut up!" Niki screams. He's shaking, on one hand he wants to cry, on the other actually plant his fist in the smug grin of the Brit but he knew he wouldn’t stand a real chance in a physical fight with Hunt. He's stepping back from James, his voice trembling as he tries to speak, "If you hate me so much then just leave me alone! I don't need you, just fuck off for all I care." The tears that welled up in his eyes finally spilling.

"Are you crying?" James laughs incredulously. “Oh, poor Niki,” he mocked. “Always the victim, always playing the martyr. You’re pathetic.”

Niki couldn’t take it anymore. The pain, the fury, the shame—all of it boiled over in an instant. With a choked sound, he pulled away, turning and walking swiftly out of the garage, ignoring the startled looks of the mechanics and team members.

[thunderstroked]

Boiling Method || Mona & Felix

TIMING: current. LOCATION: mona's apartment. PARTIES: @recoveringdreamer & @thunderstroked SUMMARY: mona sits with felix and learns what is happening with them. CONTENT: emotional abuse.

Mona sat across from Felix, expression pinched. There was something they weren’t telling her, and while she’d never been the type to pry, Felix was her friend, and she refused to let him go through whatever it was he was going through alone. It had taken a long time to build up that kind of friendship with somebody, and the only other person she could think of that fit into that category had been Inge. Felix, however, was not Inge. Felix was a former version of themself, from what Mona could tell, even if she hadn’t known them for very long. Still, she leaned forward, slapping the table that they sat at with her palms. 

“You’re lost in thought again. What is it this time?” Perhaps a more aggressive approach was necessary here. Did he think that she did not mean it when she said she cared? If that were the case, she might wring his neck right there and then. There were only a few times that she had come to care for somebody so deeply, and this was one of those times. “Honesty, Felix. Give it.”  

—

They hadn’t been sleeping well. It was hard to sleep in the boiler room, hard to feel safe enough to settle down and close their eyes. Every time they tried, their heart seemed to flutter in their chest. Every footstep in the hall outside the boiler room sent it flying to their throat, sure that someone would barge in and interrupt the small amount of peace they could find. The dripping of the leak in the ceiling grated on them, the quiet sounds of the boiler felt too loud. That was to say nothing of the dirty mattress with the springs that dug into their back or the sheen of sweat that covered them in the heat of the small space. 

It had made it hard to focus, hard to remain present in the moment. He felt guilty about it now, pulled from tireless thoughts by Mona’s gentle prompting. Shifting their weight in their seat, they offered her an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” they said quietly. “I’m just — I’ve been really tired lately. But it isn’t anything you have to worry about! Everything’s fine, I just haven’t been sleeping well.” Didn’t Mona have enough going on without his problems being added to the pile? Didn’t everyone? Felix didn’t think they were very important, in the grand scheme of things.

—

Mona watched Felix, noticing the subtle twitch of his eye, as if backing up his story on just how exhausted he was. It frustrated Mona to no end that he wasn’t being honest with her. Did he feel as though he couldn’t? Was there something that was holding him back from it? Mona had endured two months stuck in fox form, and to be brushed off like this felt a little disheartening, even if Felix didn’t mean for it to come across that way. She knew she shouldn’t be frustrated with them specifically, because it was clear that whatever had happened was out of their hands. 

“You’ve been saying that for weeks. That you’re tired. I know tired, and you look it, but what else is happening?” She gave him a stern look before leaning forward, her own hair hanging in her face as she waved a hand in front of theirs. “I cannot help you if you do not tell me what happened.” Mona wasn’t sure what all she could do, but she would try. As much as she hated this town, she had two people in this town she loved more than the frustration she held for Wicked’s Rest. 

—

Felix brought a hand up, pinching the bridge of their nose between two fingers and trying, desperately, not to cry. It was stupid, wasn’t it? How hard it was to keep yourself together when exhaustion clung to you like this. The tiniest things could feel earth-shattering, the smallest slights could burn through you with ease. Felix swallowed, throat tight and chest aching. Part of them wanted to explode, to tell Mona everything, to take comfort in their best friend and just hope that she could help them make things better. But did they deserve that? Did she? Mona did so much for them already; wouldn’t asking for more just be… taking advantage?

Blinking their eyes open, they looked at her and shook their head slightly. “I don’t want… I shouldn’t add things to your plate, Mona. You’ve — You just spent months dealing with… something awful, and scary, and — and I shouldn’t be piling more on. I’m sorry. You deserve a lot better than that. I want to be here for you. You know? I want to help you… readjust, get back to yourself. That’s what I want to do.”

—

Felix looked like they were going to fall apart, and something in Mona’s chest stirred. It was clear there was something very wrong, but would Felix trust her enough to tell her? Was this not so much about trust, but about something else? Mona forced the feeling of frustration down, strangling it with her heel. She wouldn’t fall prey to those emotions when it came to Felix, because it was clear that there was something bigger at play, something that Mona could not yet see. That Felix was not allowing her to see. 

“Felix, if I did not feel like I couldn’t handle it, I would not be asking you. Stop making decisions for me, or for others.” There was a pointed edge to her words and she sighed, getting up from her seat to circle the table and drop into a kneel next to where they sat. Mona placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I care about you, and as much as I care about myself, what I went through is done. It was solved. It’s fine. I’m here for you now, and it’s clear you need me. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but please let me find a way to alleviate whatever it is.” 

—

Would it be easier if telling her everything was an option? If the Grit Pit’s cruel contract didn’t tie their tongue into knots, if it didn’t bar them from saying the truth of their employment plainly and clearly, would this feel any simpler? It seemed odd to complain about something they weren’t even allowed to speak about in detail, seemed silly to invent some game of charades to help her guess how their life was being ruined. Three words. Second word: punch. No. Hit. No. Fight. Yes! The mental image might have been laughable if it didn’t ache the way it did.

Felix swallowed as Mona got up, as she circled the table and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. There were a lot of things he couldn’t tell her, but maybe there were some things he could. “I… One of the people I work for is my — um, my ex-boyfriend. And some things — you know, like I told you, I got — I got in trouble at work. And now, I can’t — I’m not…” They trailed off, unable to find the words they wanted. “I want to get away from him,” they said quietly. “From — From all of it. But I can’t. There are — There are reasons why I can’t. And I can’t change them or fix it. I’m just — I’m stuck. And now I’m more stuck than I was before.” It was vague and it hardly made any sense, but Felix had to be careful. They had to dance around the wording of their contract any way that they could. They’d learned that the hard way.

—

“Men,” Mona hissed bitterly, scrunching her nose. She knew now was probably not the time, so she pursed her lips, nodding as if to encourage Felix to move along in his explanation. “You’re… stuck.” What did that mean? Could it mean something similar to the way she had been stuck, fused to her fox form no matter how many times she had tried to shift out of it? It’d been a flower that had helped her, but she figured that was not the case here. It didn’t seem the same at all. 

“Stuck, because…” Had something been said? A contract signed? “Did you write something down? Sign it?” Mona tried to understand, not completely getting why Felix couldn’t tell her outright. It went completely over her head, just why they wouldn’t be able to. “Was it magic?” In this town, that seemed possible. “There has to be some way to break a spell if that’s the case.” After learning that Felix had worked at the Grit Pit, she’d done some research, but hadn’t gotten very far. It was all kept hush hush.

—

Felix let out a nervous, uncertain half-laugh at her simple statement, looking down at their hands and wringing them together absently. There was no judgment to her tone; he’d known there wouldn’t be, but it was still a relief. They shifted their weight as she asked the inevitable question, shrugging a shoulder and not knowing if they wanted her to drop it or keep pushing. Did it matter, they wondered, if Mona knew the truth if she couldn’t do anything about it? Wouldn’t knowing only serve to make her feel helpless the same way he did? She wouldn’t do what Wyatt and Zane had, wouldn’t go behind their back and make things worse for them because she was trying to make things better. She wouldn’t do what Charlie had, either, wouldn’t get herself into trouble because she wanted to know what Felix wasn’t telling her. He trusted Mona implicitly, but it still felt wrong to drag her into this. The helplessness that came with this situation wasn’t something they’d wish on her.

“It’s… not a spell.” Uncertain frustration tugged at his chest, the contract’s bind wrapping a hand around his throat like a silent warning. “It’s — something else. But it’s not — I can’t break it. The only one who can is…” They trailed off, grimacing. Leo had made it pretty clear that it was up to him whether or not Felix was freed from the Pit, and Felix doubted that he’d ever decide to show mercy. He might have grown bored of being with them, but he never seemed to tire of tormenting them. Felix didn’t know why, didn’t know what they’d done to earn the ire their ex seemed to regard them with. “It’s dangerous to try. Trying is what… got me into trouble.”

—

Mona watched Felix intently, searching their features as they spoke. “Not a spell,” Mona echoed, finally understanding. It was with the help of their comment afterwards. “A fae bind?” She knew that Felix wouldn’t be able to confirm whether or not she was right, but Mona figured that she was. It all felt so obvious now. Felix’s cut descriptions of their work life, of the way they couldn’t mention too much. 

Anger boiled in the pit of Mona’s stomach, an unfamiliar feeling. She flexed her fingers, then leaned up to pull Felix into a hug. “I’m sorry you’ve had to endure this, whether it’s been alone or not.” Surely, if somebody knew, they would have done something to help, right? Or was it not that simple? She recalled the fae bind she had been under and how it had controlled aspects of her life. squared her jaw, getting to her feet. “I understand, but I will try to help you in… other ways.” She offered them a small, encouraging smile. She didn’t know what that looked like yet, but she would brainstorm. She would figure it out. Perhaps she could enlist Inge to help her. “Is there anything you want me to do? That I can do?” She wouldn’t go against their warnings, not because she was self-preserving, but because she knew that by going behind their back, it may result in a harsher sentence. 

—

It was a guessing game, wasn’t it? A quiet back and forth that led to a truth that could only be told in pieces, each new connection bringing as much dread as it did relief. Felix sighed as Mona finally hit the nail on the head, nodding with a small grimace. Was it better to have it out there? There was still so much shame that came with it, like it was a thing he should feel guilty for. Shouldn’t they have known better? Shouldn’t they have been smarter about all of this? How many of their problems would have been solved if they weren’t so stupid? 

Mona pulled them into a hug, and Felix wondered how much they actually deserved her sympathy. “It… I mean, it’s my own fault, isn’t it?” Leo was always eager to remind them of this, always quick to point it out. I can’t do anything to you that you didn’t agree to, you know, he’d say, and Felix couldn’t argue with it. Hadn’t they signed that contract with their eyes wide open? Hadn’t they made every promise they’d ever spoken to Leo on purpose? Everything weighing on them was put there by their own clumsy hands. How much of Mona’s understanding did they really deserve? They sighed, looking down at their feet with a shrug. “I… don’t know what can be done,” they admitted. “I know — I know you shouldn’t try to get me out of it. Going to him, trying to talk to him or threaten him or — That’s not what I want.” Mona, they thought, would listen to this plea. They were sure of it.

—

“No, of course not.” Not all fae were into trickery and word play. Not all of them had dedicated their lives to sending others into a flurry of turmoil and Mona knew that, but it was apparent that whatever fae Felix had run into, that had been their outcome. Mona felt sorry for them, even if she knew they wouldn’t want her to. 

“I won’t do that, I would never do that if you ask me not to.” There was a time and place for ignoring what was asked of her, but when it came to fae binds, things became tricky. Things got… convoluted, and the last thing Mona wanted to do was make things worse for Felix. It was clear that things were already terrible, given his new sleeping arrangements. Had that been a part of it, too? Had Felix willingly given another promise? For the sake of themself, or something else? “Do they have something else over you? The fae, I mean. Aside from the promise?” That was perhaps a good place to start– understanding what had happened to get Felix to this point. 

—

Mona didn’t think it was his fault. She wasn’t the first to assure Felix of this, though it never quite seemed true. Wasn’t Felix the one who had made that promise? Hadn’t they done so with their eyes wide open? Maybe they’d had the wrong idea about what it meant, and maybe they wouldn’t have done it if they hadn’t been so sure that they were helping someone they loved, but hadn’t they still signed that contract of their own free will? They shrugged in response to Mona’s reassurances, unable to believe them fully even if they’d never insult their friend by accusing her of dishonesty. 

“Thank you.” This assurance did bring relief with it. The last thing Felix wanted was for Mona to get into trouble. They didn’t want to get into any more trouble, either, but that was a far more selfish desire. If they got into trouble, they could handle it. If Mona got tied up in all this? Felix didn’t think they’d be able to forgive themself. He shrugged at her question, throat feeling tight. “He… knows me very well. Knows what to… use against me, I guess. He got me to, um, thank him so he could keep me in the boiler room. Because he — My friends went to him. They were trying to help me, but they just… pissed him off. And he didn’t hurt them, and he said I should thank him for that. I didn’t want him to… change his mind, you know? So I — I gave him what he wanted. He’s good at getting what he wants.” The confession made them feel small, but they found they didn’t fear judgment for it. Not from Mona. 

—

Mona refused to become agitated with Felix. His delicate nature and reluctance to believe in himself had been a point of contention before, but at this time, it was impossible to lay in on him about those things. She wanted to believe in him in the way he needed, and perhaps that was to say nothing at all, and instead offer him support in the now instead of speaking to a future that neither of them could clearly see. 

As she listened to Felix explain what had gotten him to the boiler room, she let out an annoyed breath. “Of course. He’s prolonging it, cutting you off.” That had happened to her, in a way. Only, there’d been no promise. It was simply the decaying relationship with her mother and all of the things that were never said, head in a guillotine. “That isn’t your fault. He did something to you to hurt you, and you did something to keep your friends safe. You weren’t wrong for doing that. You do know that, don’t you?” She offered them a small smile, somewhat less encouraging than the last. The situation Felix was in was… far worse than what she had anticipated. “Are you able to tell me the conditions of the promise at all? Is there anything that will fulfill it?”

— 

The thing about Mona, the thing that made her Felix’s best friend in the world, was that no matter the situation, she’d always at least try to understand. The two of them operated differently, there was no doubt about that. They viewed the world through different lenses, understood different parts of it to different extents. But that had never once stopped Mona from at least trying to understand Felix’s point of view. And, once she’d done that, she’d help them find solutions. Mona was proactive, a planner. Sometimes, Felix needed someone like that in their life.

They smiled as that understanding washed over them now, feeling a little lighter in spite of everything. “Yeah,” they confirmed with a small nod. They’d wished, a thousand times over the years, that Leo had just let the break be clean. Why keep Felix around just to torment them? Had they been that bad during the course of their relationship? Had they been so insufferable that Leo genuinely believed they deserved some retribution for it? “I don’t regret it,” they admitted. “Keeping my friends safe, I don’t — I don’t regret that. I’d do it again.” Zane and Wyatt might have messed up, might have gone against what Felix had asked them to do, but they didn’t deserve to be hurt for trying to help him. Sighing, they shrugged. “I just… I’m stuck until he says I’m not. He gets to decide.” Wasn’t that always how it went?

—

Mona knew that Felix would have saved their friends a million times over and ended up in the same spot without much complaint, but it made her upset to know that they blamed themselves for it instead of the person whose fault it actually was. She watched them for a moment longer, a sad smile pulling at the corners of her lips. 

“I wouldn’t figure you would. Regret it, I mean.” But it was awful what had happened to them because they cared so deeply. Mona got to her feet, moving to the opposite side of the kitchen to grab Felix a glass of water. “Well, maybe something can help him decide.” She tossed a glance over her shoulder, “maybe there’s something that can push him forward.” It was a dangerous game to play, and she wouldn’t do anything without their permission, but to see them in this state was infuriating. “We’ll figure it out, Felix.” After the glass was filled, she returned to Felix’s side and placed it in front of him. “I won’t do anything unless you tell me to do it, but I’ll think of ways to help regardless.” 

—

The last thing they wanted was to piss Leo off any more, but they knew there was little risk of Mona running off on her own without their say now that she knew how things had gone for Zane and Wyatt. And, regardless of how things might have gone between them, Felix did like to think of themself as something of an expert on what pissed Leo off. It was the kind of thing they’d learned by necessity throughout their relationship, the sort of lesson that became a survival tactic sooner instead of later. With Felix offering input, maybe they could find a way to… convince Leo without angering him further. It was kind of the only shot they had.

“Thanks, Mona,” they breathed a sigh of relief at her promise, secure in the idea that she wouldn’t act without them. “We’ll figure something out.” Mona was one of the smartest people he knew. With her at their side, Felix was pretty sure they could do anything.