#delicate black babe

[bahamian-mami]

Mami

[maddestmewmew]

speaking as a transmasc but i think a lot of us cling to what we hate in portrayals of us, where were always shown as thin little babies with delicate cutesy wutsey features, instead of people with flaws and body hair and fat in weird places, and they apply that to their depictions of transfems, and fail to realize theyre projecting what They dont like onto trans women, and also fail to think abt theyre DOING the exact thing they dont like: creating caricatures of trans people.

like yeah, trans women Can have hair and beards and flat chests, but some of you are kiiiind of sounding to sound like that “let men be feminine” meme the way ur going around like “HEY!! we need more depictions of trans women as men in dresses!!!”

[s0lidblack]

[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!

[the-flaneur]

silk ribbons and scraps of lace

pairing: f1 grid x reader [headcanon]

ft. lewis hamilton, max verstappen, charles leclerc, carlos sainz, lando norris, oscar piastri, george russell

summary: your man loves it when you wear some lingerie, but what happens when you're not exactly wearing the right colours...

warnings: very suggestive AND 18+, MDNI, NSFW -> sexual foreplay, fingering

wc: 3860

[masterlist] [requests]

lewis

[you're wearing red bull lingerie]

lewis stepped out of the steamy bathroom, his chiselled physique glistening with water as he wrapped a plush towel around his waist. he froze mid-step when his gaze fell upon you, curves barely contained within a provocative red bull lingerie set. the azure fabric clung to your every dip and swell, highlighting your breasts and the tantalising v of your hips.

a look of shock crossed lewis' handsome face, his dark brows knitting together in disbelief. "what...the fuck?" he sputtered, clearly taken aback by this unexpected sight. his eyes roamed over your body, drinking in the erotic display before him. the driver's initial confusion slowly gave way to a growing arousal, his cock beginning to stiffen beneath the towel.

"i thought we agreed on mercedes branding only," he frowned, pressing slowly towards your waiting body on the bed. you giggled at his reaction, "oh come on, don’t be such a spoilsport! it’s just a little fun," you leaned closer, one hand pressing harshly against the quilt as you reach up to playfully tug at the towel draped low on his hips 

"besides, i like how the blue really makes my skin pop" you say with a wink, letting your fingers graze the hardening bulge straining against the towel.

you spun around, your ass presented like a feast for his eyes. the thong leaving little to the imagination as you arch your spine, running hands down the side to cup your ass cheeks, "what do you think, babe? does it make me look good enough to ride on your mercedes?" you smirk.

a deep, rumbling chuckle escaped lewis' lips as he watched your playful antics; he couldn't help but let his gaze linger on the tiny thong. the blue fabric seemed to glow against your skin, drawing attention to the tantalising curve of your ass. "you're certainly making a case for it," lewis murmured, his voice low and husky with lust. he allowed you to tug the towel free, letting it drop to the floor as his eyes devoured the sight of you nearly naked body.

“disappointed it’s not ferrari?” you laugh, watching him reaching for the thong before snapping it harshly back against your skin. moaning, his gaze remained fixed on you, drinking in the sight of your legs and the delicate lace of your bra

he reached out, his calloused fingertips tracing the edge of the red bull logo emblazoned across your chest. "i suppose we could make an exception, just this once," he purred, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak of your breast, making you gasp.

lewis leaned in close, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispered, "after all, i'd hate to deny my girl the chance to show off her assets."

max

[you're wearing aston martin lingerie]

max had fumbled carelessly with the hotel keycard in the final hours of the night as he returned, but he was more alert than ever at the sight before him - you, his girlfriend, clad in provocative aston martin lingerie, sprawled seductively across the king-sized bed. the green ensemble hugged your curves like a second skin, emblazoned with metallic black stripes. a matching diamond choker encircled your neck, while thigh-high stockings and stiletto heels added an air of submission to your already alluring presence.

max's eyes widened, his initial unwariness swiftly replaced by arousal as he took in the stunning view. "what...what is this?" he asked, his deep voice laced with a mix of surprise and desire.

you smiled coyly, running a hand along the sleek fabric of the bodice, "just getting into the spirit of things, darling," you purred, slowly sliding off the bed to crawl towards him. your hips swayed hypnotically with each step, the lingerie clinging to every dip and curve.

max's gaze was transfixed, following the movement of your body, mesmerised. his breath quickened, and he felt his cock stir to life beneath the pants he had worn out to the restaurant with checo and other red bull personnel.

"i thought we could play a little game before bed," you continued, reaching out to trail a finger down his chest. "winner gets to choose the dessert later.” your touch sent shivers through him, and he swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure. "and what exactly is this game?" he asked, his voice husky with growing need.

you grinned up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief, “one match of cod, then you can rip off the aston martin. otherwise i wear aston martin gear for fernando next race. he is my favourite driver after all,”

max's competitive nature flared to life at the challenge. "fine, let's do it," he agreed, a determined glint in his eye. "but i'm warning you, i'm not going easy just because you're looking sexy as hell."

as the familiar sounds of the game filled the room, you dove into the match, fingers flying across keyboards. sweat began to bead on max's brow, less from exertion than from the sheer eroticism of the situation. every so often, his gaze would drift to the tantalising display of flesh barely contained by your aston martin lingerie, making his pulse race and his resolve waver.

meanwhile, you remained focused, though you couldn't help but notice the growing bulge in max's pants as the minutes ticked by, “having problems there maxie boo?” you teased, leaning over to circle a finger over his zipper. max grunted at you in frustration, his usually steady hands trembling slightly as he tried to regain control of his character. the close quarters of the hotel room made it difficult to ignore the enticing scent of your perfume mingling with the sweat on his skin, further distracting him from the task at hand.

"shut up and keep playing," he muttered under his breath, shooting a half-hearted glare. despite his gruff demeanour, a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, betraying his amusement at your teasing. you laughed lightly, fingers dancing across the keyboard as you expertly dispatched an enemy. "maybe you should focus more on the game and less on the view, hmm?"

max's jaw clenched, a surge of determination propelling him to concentrate harder on the screen. but it was a losing battle against your intoxicating allure, the way your breasts rose and fell with each breath and the tantalising glimpse of cleavage whenever you leaned forward.

his grip on the mouse tightened, knuckles turning white as he fought to maintain his composure. "i've got this," he growled, his character finally managing to flank and eliminate their final opponent.

“guess you won, want a reward now?” 

with a triumphant grin, max grabbed your waist, pulling you onto his thick thighs, "i think it's time for me to rip off that delicious outfit," he said, his voice low and husky with desire. you bit your lip, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes as you reached behind your back and unclasped the bra, letting it fall away to reveal your breasts.

you grin and starts to pull at the zipper, revealing his impressive erection straining upwards. "mmm, looks like someone's ready for dessert," you purrs, wrapping your fingers around his thick shaft and giving it a slow, teasing stroke.

max groaned, his head falling back as your warm hand enveloped his rigid length. the sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. he watched through heavy-lidded eyes as you pumped him gently.

"once i get started, i don't stop until i'm satisfied," he warned, his voice strained with need.

emboldened by his words, you leaned in closer, hot breath fanning over his ear as you whispered, "then let's hope you're very, very hungry tonight." with that, you sank to your knees before him, lips parting to wrap around the swollen head of his cock.

charles

[you're wearing kick sauber lingerie]

charles' eyes widened in shock as he stared at the garish neon green lingerie adorning your body through the screen. "mon dieu," he muttered under his breath, clearly taken aback by the bold choice of attire. his gaze roamed over the bright, clashing colours, the tacky patterns, and the unflattering cut of the kick sauber set - each detail a testament to the outfit's egregious lack of style.

charles swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure despite the unsettling visual assault. he cleared his throat and attempted a diplomatic response, not wanting to hurt his lover's feelings. "ah, chérie...while i appreciate the, uh, enthusiasm behind your selection, perhaps we could find something a bit more...subdued for our next video call?" he offered a tentative smile, hoping to soften the blow of his criticism.

“i thought this would be fun, a little surprise for you. besides, it’s not like you’re gonna see me in public dressed like this. and technically i am repping your old team,” you giggled, leaning in closer to the camera, and giving him an eyeful of cleavage as the neon fabric stretched taut across your breasts.

charles' jaw clenched as you leaned in closer, the stretchy neon fabric accentuating your cleavage mere inches from the camera lens. despite his initial revulsion, he found himself captivated by the brazen display, his gaze lingering on the curves before reluctantly meeting your mischievous grin.

"ahh, mais oui, i remember now why i left sauber," he quipped dryly, attempting to deflect the attention from your provocative attire. however, the corner of his mouth twitched upward, betraying a hint of amusement beneath his exasperation.

you smirked again, pleased that your outfit had gotten such a reaction out of him, “i know you secretly love seeing me all dolled up in crazy outfits.” spinning around slowly, you gave him a full view of the neon green thong riding low on your hips and the matching garter belt holding up sheer stockings.

“besides, if you don’t like it, you can always cover your eyes while we talk…” you trailed off, whilst charles frantically grabbed his phone.

"non, non, i think i'll keep my eyes open," he replied, his voice taking on a huskier tone. "the, ahem, 'dressing' you've done here is quite...eye-catching." he paused, his gaze drifting back to your exposed cleavage before meeting your playful gaze once more.

"and i suppose it's only fair, considering how often you see me in those tight racing suits," charles added with a sly smirk, his mind undoubtedly wandering to the many intimate moments you had shared after a long race, "but perhaps we could find a compromise for future video calls?"

carlos

[you're wearing mercedes lingerie]

carlos stares at you, his eyes widening as they scanned your body clad in the tight-fitting biking gear, only to land on the provocative lingerie peeking out underneath. a visible shiver ran down his spine at the unexpected sight.

"what...what is this?" he stammered, trying to process the combination of athletic wear and lacy undergarments. his gaze lingered on the way the black and silver g-string peaked out from your shorts, accentuating your hips, before his eyes wandered back up to the silver cups visible beneath your bolero. carlos' face flushed a deep crimson, his racing heart pounding in his chest. the intense desire coursing through him was undeniable, yet so was the confusion. "we're supposed to go for a bike ride," he managed to say, his voice strained with arousal.

you gave him a sly smile, hands resting on your hips as you arched an eyebrow playfully. "oh, we are, mi amor," you purred, taking a step closer to him. "but first, i need you to help me adjust this."

you reached behind, slowly unclasping the laces of the bra top. the cold air reveals your hardened nipples, poking against the delicate material, "i think these might get in the way of my aerodynamics," you tease, giving the cups a gentle tug. they slip down, exposing bare skin to carlos' hungry gaze. you let the bra dangle around your wrist teasingly, the cool air causing my nipples to stiffen further.

carlos' breath hitched as he watched, transfixed, as you bared yourself to him. his mouth went dry, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes roamed over your newly exposed flesh. the way your pert nipples stood at attention, begging for his touch, nearly undid him right then and there. "fuck, you're driving me crazy," he groaned, his resolve crumbling under the onslaught of your seductive display. without thinking, he reached out to cup one of your breasts, thumb grazing over the sensitive peak. a low growl rumbled in his throat as he felt it stiffen further against his palm.

"you know i can't resist you like this," carlos admitted, his other hand coming up to gently squeeze the other breast, fingers rolling the nipple between them. "maybe we should skip the bike ride altogether..."

you tease him that you can't, you and his friends almost approaching your apartment for the ride. carlos' hands continued their exploration of your body, fingers dancing across your heated skin as he struggled to maintain control. but the mention of others waiting for you snapped him back to reality.

"we can't, not now," he agreed reluctantly, even as his cock twitched in his shorts, straining against the confines. "but maybe we can find a quick solution..."

with a mischievous glint in his eye, carlos bent down and captured one of your hardened nipples between his teeth, giving it a gentle nibble before soothing it with his tongue. with your seductive moaning, he repeated the action on the other side, leaving you gasping and writhing against him.

"there, now you shouldn't have any aerodynamic issues. but find me after the ride, maybe we can work on them further," he said with a smirk, straightening up to admire his handiwork. your nipples were red and puffy, glistening with his saliva, just the way he liked them.

lando

[you're wearing haas lingerie]

lando sat at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee as you sauntered over, a sly smile playing on your lips. the early morning light danced across your curves, accentuating the lacy red and white lingerie hugging your body like a second skin. 

his eyes widened as they roamed over your barely concealed assets, a flicker of lust igniting within him. but then, a shadow crossed his features, his brow furrowing in displeasure. he set down his cup with a clatter.

"you can't wear that," lando stated firmly, his voice low and commanding. "those colours aren't mine," he reached out, his fingers brushing against the delicate fabric of your lingerie, tracing the white stripes that contrasted so boldly with the deep crimson.

your cheeks flushed at lando's stern rebuke, but there was an undercurrent of excitement beneath your surprise. his touch sends shivers down your spine, the heat of his palm seeping through the thin lace.

"i thought... well, i wanted to show my support," you stammered, biting your lip. the intensity in his gaze made it hard to focus on anything else. lando leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "my team wears papaya, love. not this...american red and white." his hand slid lower, cupping your ass through the sheer material. "mclaren girls know how to dress properly."

he gave your rear a firm squeeze, pulling you flush against his growing arousal. "now, why don't you change into something more appropriate... for your boyfriend's taste?"

you trembled slightly under lando's dominant touch, your heart racing at the dark possession in his tone. the rough calluses on his fingers scraped deliciously against your sensitive skin as he groped you, "i'm sorry baby, i didn't mean to disrespect your team," you breathed, pressing yourself wantonly against the thick bulge now straining in his track pants. "i just wanted to look sexy for you..."

your hands slid up his muscular chest to loop around his neck. you arched your back, pushing your breasts together enticingly above the scalloped edge of your bra. the flimsy lace did little to conceal your hardening nipples.

"what if i told you i'd wear mclaren colours later? would that make you happy, handsome?" you purred sultrily, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

a low growl rumbled in lando's chest as he felt your soft curves moulding against his abs. his large hands gripped your hips, kneading the supple flesh as he ground his cloth-covered erection against your core.

"that's more like it, princess," he murmured approvingly, nipping at your earlobe. "but i think you need a reminder of who you belong to first."

in one swift motion, lando stood, sweeping you up into his strong arms. he carried you bridal style towards the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them. depositing you on the plush mattress, he crawled over you with a predatory gleam in his eye.

"i'm going to fuck you so hard, you won't even remember what other colors look like," he promised darkly, hooking his thumbs into your panties.

oscar

[you're wearing alpine lingerie]

as oscar stepped through the front door of his melbourne childhood home, he's greeted by the tantalising sight of you standing before him in the foyer. your alpine lingerie clings to your curves, the pink and blue hues a bold statement against your skin. the delicate lace trim and sheer panels leave little to the imagination, showcasing your pert nipples and thighs.

oscar's eyes widen slightly as he takes in the provocative ensemble, a mix of surprise and arousal flickering across his features. he clears his throat, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance despite the obvious effect you're having on him.

"uh, nice... outfit?" he ventures hesitantly, his gaze drifting back to your body as if drawn by an unseen force. as oscar's eyes roam over your nearly naked form, you notice a visible bulge forming in his shorts. his cheeks flush a deep crimson, betraying his attempts to appear unaffected by your seductive display.

"i mean…you look... very pretty," oscar stammers, taking a tentative step closer. his voice drops an octave, heavy with desire. he reaches out a hand, lightly brushing a finger along the edge of the lingerie's lace trim. a shiver runs down your spine at the intimate contact, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan.

"i thought you'd appreciate the nod to my favourite f1 team," you reply coyly, arching an eyebrow, "even if you definitely don't share the same enthusiasm."

oscar chuckles softly, his touch lingering on the delicate fabric of your lingerie. "well, i suppose even a formula one driver can appreciate a beautiful woman, regardless of her allegiances." his other hand comes up to cup your chin, tilting your face towards his. oscar's lips brush against yours in a gentle, teasing kiss. when he pulls back, his eyes smoulder with barely contained lust.

oscar's hands slide down to grip your hips, pulling you flush against his rigid length. "but let's be real, baby," he murmurs against your ear, nipping at the lobe playfully. "you could wear the colours of any team and still manage to turn me on like this."

his hot breath fanning over your skin as he steps back to admire you fully. "wanna make me like alpine again?" oscar teases, his fingers trailing along your inner thigh, edging higher with each passing second. "because right now, all i can think about is how good you taste..."

he leans in, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss as his digits brush against your slick folds. oscar groans low in his throat, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core. "christ, you're soaked already," he marvels, circling your clit with deliberate slowness. "maybe we should start with getting you out of those panties..."

george

[you're wearing vcarb lingerie]

the meeting room was filled with hushed conversations and stern faces as high-level executives debated new marketing strategies. amidst this sea of seriousness, you discreetly pulled out your phone, your heart racing with anticipation. 

with a quick tap, you sent the provocative photo to george, which you had taken earlier this morning, before you had both left for work. in the image, you wore nothing but a lacy blue vcarb lingerie set, the delicate fabric clinging to your curves like a second skin. your breasts were barely contained within the cups, and the panties left little to the imagination.

as you hit send, a sly smile played on your lips. you knew the risks - what if someone noticed? what if george didn't respond right away? but the thrill of the clandestine act sent shivers down your spine.

minutes ticked by, each one an eternity as you waited for his reply.

suddenly, your phone buzzed with an incoming text. george's name flashed on the screen, accompanied by a winking emoji. your pulse quickened as you opened the message.

"i'm going to need a closer look at those vcarbs. official gpda business of course," he wrote, followed by several emojis, "meet me in the parking garage after the meeting."

a rush of heat flooded through you at his bold suggestion. this was definitely not part of your original plan, but the idea of sneaking off to indulge in some forbidden pleasure with your secret lover was too enticing to resist. you glanced around the room, ensuring no one had noticed your exchange. satisfied, you typed back, "i'll be waiting, but make it fast. we both know how strict they can be about employee conduct. especially with you,"

fifteen minutes later, the meeting adjourned and attendees began filing out of the conference room. you lingered behind, feigning interest in some marketing materials on the table while keeping a watchful eye on the clock. finally, the last stragglers departed, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the lingering scent of expensive leather. you gathered your things and made your way to the elevators, your heels clicking against the polished marble floor.

in the dimly lit parking garage, you spotted george leaning against his sleek silver mercedes. his eyes locked onto yours as you approached, a hungry gleam in their depths. he straightened up, his tailored suit accentuating his body.

"flattery will get you everywhere," you purred, pressing yourself against him. the cool metal of the car seemed to sear your skin as you moulded your body to george's. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against his hard chest. george's hands roamed over your curves, tracing the edges of your blue lingerie. "i've been thinking about these all meeting," he whispered hotly in your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. without waiting for a response, george palmed his hands under your skirt, before slowly tugging down your panties, watching them as they fell to the floor. left bare before him, you felt a surge of vulnerability mixed with excitement.

"you look even more stunning than the photo," george murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. george's gaze raked over your exposed flesh, his eyes darkened with lust, thumb grazed your clit, making you gasp.

"you're playing with fire here," you warned, even as your hips tilted forward, seeking more of his touch. "we could get caught..."

"but that's half the thrill, isn't it?" george countered, his fingers dipping beneath the skirt again to tease your slick folds. "imagine the scandal if we got caught fucking in the company garage."

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

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© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Infernal Shadows 02

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: HAUSER - Adagio (Albinoni)

A/N: I’m so glad part one did well! I really liked this idea and hoped other people would too. As always comment if you want to be tagged and I will tag you in the next post! I wanted this to be three parts, but depending on how much I can fit in this chapter and the next one, I’ll see if I need to make four parts. The song at the beginning of this chapter is meant to be played when the line “ The music picked up” Is read. Skip to 5:35 for it to play smoothly, or as smoothly as possible.

Word count: 3.k or something over that idk I got too lazy to count :(

Taglist: @dollops-of-delusion @nebusokuxp @scrunchss @rosedasy @valluvz @chesstras @pishybowl @iaaeav @forgotten-blues @22carolina08 @roboticsuccubus83 @doflamingadonquixote

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part One. // Part three.

Within, the grand foyer unveiled itself, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail in stark contrast against a black and white color scheme. Crystal chandeliers, dangling from lofty black ceilings, cast their brilliance upon white walls adorned with ornate mirrors. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich black and white fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, establishing cozy settings for guests to assemble and engage in enriching conversations. Each room murmured tales of a past era – intricately patterned black and white wallpaper, frames gilded in black to showcase classical art, and a subtle aroma of aged wood and lavender lingering in the air, harmonizing with the monochromatic elegance. The guests walking in all marveled at the details of the mansion.

Charlotte and Vagatha both stepped in, Charlotte in awe of the detailing. A shadow figure bent down slightly to offer her a drink, to which she happily took.

“Vaggie this is all so beautiful. I hope I can make a good impression.” Charlotte said, turning to her partner to ease her nerves. Vagatha just smiled, a hand on her shoulder lovingly.

“You’re gonna do great babe, besides, there’s so many people here, if one likes it I’m sure other people will get on board too.” Vagatha said.

“Or they can laugh at you if one person points out how ridiculous it is.” Husk said, chugging his drink before placing it back on the servers tray.

“Thanks for the kind words Husk.” Vagatha said sarcastically. He just shrugged, looking towards the bar area which was practically calling him over.

Upstairs in your room, you stared at yourself in the mirror as your shadows made the finishing touches on your outfit. Draped in a long, elegant black gown that gracefully embraced your commanding figure, the fabric cascaded like shadows. Delicate chain motifs intertwine with the dress, creating an alluring dance of darkness. A chain belt cinches your waist, a subtle nod to your captivating ability to ensnare and command over your shadows. Completing the regalia, silver chain cuffs adorn your wrists, reflecting both power and refinement.

“Madame, the guests are all in the lobby awaiting your arrival.” One of the shadows said. You nodded, stepping down from your showcase, winking to yourself in the mirror before chuckling to yourself. A shadow approaches you, bowing in respect before holding out a tray with your drink, a contrast to your dark colors. You take the glass in your hand, another shadow lightly putting a thermometer in your drink so it’s the perfect temperature for you, fifteen point five degrees Celsius. The liquid is a light yellow-ish green, Lafite-Rothschild, an expensive French wine you tried in 1906 when you were alive. Lifting it to your lips, you take a long sip and sigh, the spicy and earth notes, mixed with a hint of tobacco and red Barrie’s dance on your tongue like a performance of Gavotte. You pull back with a sigh, setting the glass down, a perfect Ridel Vinum Bordeaux, personally crafted for you as the bottom of the glass is a Smokey black, fading into clear glass towards the top.

“Let’s get this Gala started shall we~?”

In the lobby, guests were socializing amongst themselves. Velvet, Vox and Valentino had split for a short while. After the incident outside, the two overlords wouldn’t stop tantalizing the picture box about his fit of frustration dealing with the Radio Demon. From the lobby, there were large crystal doors revealing the back exterior of the house. The greenery was just perfect, with cobblestone flooring revealing another bloody fountain. Vox stood with his drink, speaking to some sinner he couldn’t remember the name of, about how well his business was going.

“You ever get,” Vox asked, eyeing one of the shadows who stood in a corner, white eyes soulless as they held out drinks to guests. “Creeped out by those, things?” Vox asked, turning back to the sinner. He just scoffed.

“Please, they’re always around and as far as I know, harmless.” The sinner said. At that, a shadow appeared between the two, taking their empty glasses and replacing it with new, full ones. Vox tried his hardest not to seem alarmed at this, and took the glass silently, sipping his drink slowly as it floated away. It was then he took in the shadows appearance. They all looked the same. Tall figures, Smokey outlines, but no feel or hands, just a faded end to their limbs. Their eyes were white and soulless, almost as it they were vacant, a shell of what they used to be. There were no facial features, just two white circles and a thin white line for their mouth. Each one however, had a light Smokey chain around their chest, wrapped in the shape of an X.

“What are the chains for then? They’re pretty much smoke, what do they need chains forever?” Vox asked. The associate laughed, but before he could answer, another overlord stepped in.

“They have chains because they’re claimed souls.” Fredrick Von Eldritch says, his sister Bethesda in toe. The two grin, a shadow following behind them with a tray of their drinks. “If you get invited to the gala long enough, you get a personal one.” He said with a wink, gesturing to the shadow behind the two.

“They’re quite cute once you get used to them.” Bethesda said with a smile, cooing at the shadow lightly. Yet, it still remained expressionless.

“Actually, now that you say that.” The sinner says, looking around for a moment. “It’s been awfully quiet with a laugh track being played.” He says, referring to Alastor. Vox just rolls his eyes.

“Who gives a shit about where that old timey freak is?” Vox asks. Fredrick and Bethesda snicker to each other, catching Vox’s attention.

“Probably hunting for his dear Madame.” Bethesda said dramatically, laying her head on her brothers shoulder and batting her lashes playfully. Fredrick and the sinner laughed at his sisters antics, but Vox grew serious.

“What does that mean? He knows her?” Vox asked, to which Fredrick scoffed, finishing his drink before reaching for another off the shadows server tray.

“Of course he does. She died before him, and they’re the closest overlords in time period. Well, aside from Zestial and her.” Fredrick explained. Vox didn’t say anything else, instead looking to the red ‘moon’ of hell, before glancing at the blood fountain. He had heard rumors about being at the Madame’s table, and how she gave the inside to all her projects and plans before the next extermination. Apparently, this year was supposed to be ‘different’ as people had been talking.

“When does this dinner start anyway? We’ve been standing out here for two hours.” Vox said annoyed.

“In a few minutes, Madame will make her grand entrance. She will socialize with the guests as it is polite to have one on one time with them. Then she will spend the rest of the time while the orchestra gets together deciding on contenders to sit at her table.” A shadow walking by said, stopping to stare at Vox. “Madame is always watching.” It then said, turning to serve other guests. Vox said nothing, instead turning on his heel and making his way inside the mansion. How could someone feel suffocated outside? Fredrick and Bethesda said nothing, watching him go, but sharing a glance between each other before making their leave too, leaving the sinner all by his lonesome.

Inside, Charlotte and Vagatha conversed about how she could get people behind her project.

“Maybe if I sing-“

“Please no. These people are too…” Vagatha said, glancing around the room. Everyone seemed too, fake. Vagatha knew Charlotte being herself around these people would do absolutely no good to the hotel, and though she hated telling Charlotte these things, she knew her kindness would be frowned upon, and made fun of. “Serious for that kind of thing.” Vagatha finished, taking a sip of her champagne. She settled for champagne in a flute while Charlotte drank water, wanting to hydrate herself in hopes to calm her nerves.

“I heard that Madame might be making her entrance soon.” Charlotte said nervously, looking around. She half expected her parents to show up, but knew how they rarely liked getting involved in overlord affairs. She’d be surprised if they showed up.

“Then when she does you can try to pitch your idea to her.” Vagatha said supportively. Charlotte just smiled and nodded, hoping someone would listen to her. She had tried practicing on two sinners moments ago, to which they both laughed and called her delusional. The defeat was beginning to get to her, and she hadn’t even started yet.

With Velvet, she began studying the interior of the old-styled mansion. She was trying her hardest to not be too rude about it, but of course she had her comments, but ultimately kept them to herself. Cramoisie, your fashion line, was the top fashion brand in hell, everyone wanted a piece of it. Velvet had never had an article for herself, despite trying her hardest to get something, anything, even a sample. But people feigned for it like drugs. Velvets line was successful sure, but with your validation and guidance, she could become perfection, the same way you were. Everyone in hell looked up to you, shit, you had even gotten Lilith’s praise as she was photographed wearing a custom piece you designed for her. Your work was art in its purist form, and Velvet kept a close eye on her other colleagues to make sure they didn’t fuck your chance up. Velvet had her assistant hold samples and sketches of designs Velvet had been working on, wanting to show you her best work in hopes of winning you over. She could brag about having you support her line, and her fans would die of excitement. Maybe, she could get you to design her a custom piece, or Velvet could design one for you. The possibilities were limitless, if you agreed to meet with her of course. But that was all the more reason why she needed to make sure she had a seat at your table tonight. She needed to get close to you.

“Are you fucking high?” Velvet whispered to Valentino, who just chuckled softly at her.

“What’s the matter hermosa? Just enjoy the Gala, we’re here to have fun right?” He asked with a giggle. Velvet huffed, deciding to find Vox, hoping he could straighten Valentino out. Valentino would not fuck up her chance tonight.

Near the large staircase in the middle of the room, Alastor stood, glass of whiskey in his clawed hands. He smiles, humming to himself while quietly back up into a wall, careful to scan the room quickly before he disappears into the shadows. Then, moments later, appears in a room separate from the gala. It’s a study, your study. Alastor takes a step forward and quickly the shadows in the room seemed to deepen, casting larger, more dramatic silhouettes that seemed to dance on the walls. The interplay of darkness and light only heightened the mysterious allure of the study. In the midst of this chiaroscuro ambiance, Alastor found himself surrounded by an atmosphere that mirrored the complex nature of the figure depicted in the portrait hanging above the fireplace, which was in the far back wall of the study. It was the only light source in the room. Black wooden shelves lined against the tall walls, showcasing famous pieces of literature, all hand picked and to your liking. The fire place, crafted with dark marble, commanded his attention. Above the mantel, a striking portrait of Madame hung, capturing his focus, like a trance. The image portrayed a being universally admired, yet equally feared; someone who elicited both admiration and intimidation all at once, you.

“Hm, hiding now are we?” Alastor asks with a grin, tutting lightly. “That’s not very proper of you Madame~” He says, calling out to you. Seconds later, a dark shadow appears in the corner of the room, taking up the entire corner, before a shadowy figure steps out. Similar to the servant’s out in the lobby, Alastor’s eye twitch’s slightly.

“Oh don’t be so pissy. You know no one gets to see me before my entrance.” You say, the shadow expressionless, but Alastor can hear your tone through the figure, taunting him. He sighs, setting his staff on a slant along his foot.

“And here I thought I could connect with an old friend.” Alastor said with a chuckle, staring down the shadowy figure, hoping his gaze would ease you to show yourself to him. But alas, stuck in your ways, you didn’t show yourself, instead laughing, though the figure did not open its mouth, making your ‘shadow a-presence’ all the more eerie.

“If you really want to speak with me it can wait until my entrance. I should be done soon.” You say, before Alastor just smiles, tossing his staff from hand to hand.

“Well if you’re really going to make me wait, mind you speed the process up a bit? You know it doesn’t take much to make you look breath-taking.” Alastor compliments, but earns a scoff from you.

“Oh please, don’t start with me ‘Radio Demon.’” You mock, before the shadow figure begins to step back.

“Wait, a moment before you go.” Alastor says, standing his staff on the floor. The shadow figure stops, before you speak again.

“Make it quick. You know how much energy it takes to keep this up.” You say.

“So, about this hotel business. I know she’s planning to talk to you about it.”

“Yes the idea you tell me so much about.” You say sarcastically. Alastor had told you bits and pieces about the princess’s project, but didn’t tell you what it was for exactly, leaving you to wonder how important it really was if even he wouldn’t speak on it.

“Well you know how much I crave entertainment. Is it possible to make a request for the seating arraignment tonight?” Alastor asks. You laugh, figure still unmoving.

“Humorous to think you even have a seat. You’ve been gone for what? Seven years?” You say with a scoff.

“You’ve been gone decades my dear, you didn’t even show up to your last twenty gala’s, having your pity shadows do it for you. I doubt you should be speaking on the matter.”

At that, you chuckle to yourself before the shadow begins to back into the corner, black smoke enveloping the corner like a cloud. “I presume you would be correct. Well, I’m off now. Don’t sneak into my quarters again.” You say finally before disappearing. Alastor just grins, stepping into his own shadow, joining the other guests.

The shadows had slowly but, eventually ushered the guests into the lobby, everyone gathering around the staircase as the shadows lined up against the railings, the orchestra playing the music you had specifically requested. You were about to make your grand entrance, something you hadn’t done in centuries. Everyone stood around, awaiting your arrival, the shadows momentarily disappearing to give the guests more space to crowd around. Candles lit along the walls, as well as floating lights appearing going up the staircase. There, the shadows took their place, two on each step on opposite sides, facing each other. The music picked up, the lights focusing at the top of the stairs. Black smoke began to roll down the steps slowly, the anticipation for your arrival growing. The music gets calm for a moment, a larger shadow figure standing at the top of the staircase. It’s larger than any of the other shadows in the room, standing at fifteen feet tall. It speaks in a monotone voice, but loud and commanding.

“Thank you all for your attendance tonight. The Crimson Gala is held once every year to start the new year with all those who survived the extermination. This being said, Madame would like to say her personal congratulations for not being apart of the bloodshed this year. While the past years she has used me to say that she will unfortunately not be in attendance, I am pleased to say that tonight, along with all the new guests, she will make her grand entrance. Presenting to you, the prowess of darkness and queen of shadows, Madame.”

The lights shine bright, and the shadow vanishes quickly. Velvet shushes Vox and Valentino, eyes practically bulging out of her skull to see you. Alastor just stares, waiting in anticipation. Charlie claps her hands quietly to herself while Vaggie just smiles. Rosie sips her glass, eyes waiting to see what outfit you’ve put together this time. At the top of the staircase, a large black smokey circle opens at the bottom of the floor, smoke swirling upwards slowly in a tornado form, smoke getting quicker as it swirls around itself. It gets larger, and guests closer to the stairs have to back up a bit as the wind picks up. Carmilla turns her face to the side, not wanting the wind to mess up her hair too much. Finally, the music picks up again, the peak point in the song, which lasts eight seconds, before the smoke falls to the side in one swoop, leaving you in the midst, now on display for all guests to see. The music continues, the chains against your dress glistening under the light. The music continues the play as you take steps down, looking at the guests. There’s a serious expression on your face, but somehow neutral all the same. Your shadows had added last minute black lace gloves, which went up to your forearm. The bottom of your dress had a lace trimming, as well as the bodice being laced with trim along the bust area. The jewelry was a simple black diamond crystal on a metal chain around your neck, paired with black diamond earrings. The cuff links on your hand remained all the same though. Finally reaching the end of the steps, everyone clapped, now finally being graced with your presence.

Velvet was in awe, staring at you with wide eyes like a child being gifted the most precious thing. Her excitement grew enormously, watching you shake hands and socialize with guests. She had never seen you before, after you had gone ghost for centuries, hardly anyone had photos of you. Hell she didn’t even know what you sounded like.

Charlie was so excited to meet you. She hadn’t seen you in, forever, and was now finally excited to be seen as your equal. Well, that was what she had hoped at least. Having seen a portrait of you in her parents' home when she was younger, she learned of the close relationship between Lilith and you. The anticipation had built over the years, and now, finally, she looked forward to being seen as your equal. Her hope was to hopefully get your support for the hotel, aiming to elevate her standing in the eyes of others. With your backing, she believed people would take both her and the redemption project more seriously, fostering a genuine desire for redemption. Maybe it would even work.

Husk smiled as he watched you socialize with guests. He was glad to finally see you back out again. He never knew why you went into hiding of course, but he never had the balls to ask, so he just stood quiet. When you disappeared, it was after a particularly rough extermination, and he knew something had happened, he just didn’t know what. Since then, the world only had glimpses of you to go on. Some sinners were starting to think you were a myth, since you never showed your face at the Crimson Gala, especially since you were the host.

Vox was taken aback, a sense of confusion and unease settling within him. Your presence had caught him off guard; he had anticipated something different, perhaps an older figure. The unexpected impact left him feeling uneasy, realizing the gravity of your influence. It dawned on him why Velvet had stressed the importance of making a favorable impression. Apart from Zestial and the twins, you stood as one of the strongest and most enduring overlords. In Vox's mind, securing your alliance was imperative for the success of his company. Your potential support would make his endeavors foolproof. Everything had to be flawless – not for any personal reasons, of course, but solely for the sake of his company. He needed you.

Making your rounds to guests, you began to get closer to your colleagues. With a wave to Stolas, and a nod to Zeezie, you run into the Radio Demon himself, Alastor. He grins, sharp teeth getting you. He smiles and nods his head, and you nod back. Alastor takes in your stoic expression, before carefully taking in your outfit.

“My, my, Madame, you’ve truly outdone yourself tonight. Your choice in attire is as captivating as ever – a perfect blend of elegance and sensibility. Quite the spectacle for the grand event, don’t you think?” He asked, holding his arm out to you. You take it, and the two of you walk around the lobby together, conversing.

“Well you don’t look to bad for yourself. Maybe going into hibernation was perfect for you.” You say back, and he grins.

“You’re too kind darling.” He says, dead heart quickening. He puts a hand to his chest, mocking fragility. “Your words leave me breathless my dear.” He says with false dramatics. You roll your eyes and smack his arm playfully.

“Oh please, your ego is quite large enough already, yes?” You ask. He doesn’t say much else, but instead, gently moves you to the side while you look at your shadows, now waltzing around in the middle of the lobby, putting on a performance.

“Did you plan that?” Alastor asks. You shake your head.

“No, but the music is perfect for it, so I let them be. They’re already trapped with me, I might as well make them useful.” You say, and Alastor just hums, a laugh track playing. However, as the two of you walk, his track screeches to a halt upon seeing Vox approach the two of you.

“Madame.” Vox says, nodding his head. His expression is serious, and though you’ve heard of him, you’ve never seen him.

“Ah hello. Vox I presume?” You ask, free hand reaching forward to shake his own outstretched hand. The two of you shake hands, and Alastor can’t ignore the way he fights to keep his smile. Why he could just shove his staff right into that flace faced fuckers scree-

“Alastor, I suppose you’ve met Mr.Vox before, correct?” You ask. Alastor nods with a smile, and you notice the way it stretches almost painfully across his face. It makes you uneasy, but you ignore the feeling. He’d surely tell about what this is about later on in the night you supposed.

“Why yes we have! I’ve made him loose his signal quite a few times.” Alastor says with a laugh, his laugh track playing. Vox doesnt say anything, though he doesnt have too as his eye twitching had given enough away. The two clearly did not like each other. Than again, you had felt the same way about Alastor when you first met him, so the feeling was understandable.

“Madame, a dance?” Vox asked, turning his attention back to you. You thought for a moment, before untangling your arm from Alastors and nodding to Vox, taking his outstretched hand to you and leading you to the dance floor, which now had a couple other sinners dancing as well. Alastor held onto his staff tight, but relaxed as you discreetly slid him a card. In white with black lettering, cursive font. Seat number five. He was invited to your table. Guaranteed a seat. That was enough to have him back in light spirits, now searching out his dear friend Rosie to share the good news.

Velvet had been looking for you all over, her assistant close in toe. She had tried her hardest to get to you when you initially made your enterance, but alas you had been too overcrowded with people for her to get to you. She had heard rumors about how you hated rudeness and disrespect. That meant no interruptions, and no loud speaking, or vulgar language. She was sure to keep herself in check, and that meant her colleagues too. So, naturally, you could imagine her shock upon seeing Vox dancing with you on the dance floor, black dress twirling at your feet. You looked so regal, so elegant, flawless. She wanted to be just like you. She waited patiently on the sidelines, waiting for the dance to end. She could see the two of you having a conversation, but couldn’t pinpoint what about.

“So, I presume you’re one of the, newer overlords?” You asked as the two of you danced. Vox chuckled, leading you slowly.

“New? Well, maybe to you I would be. I heard you haven’t really left your own head for quite some time.” Vox says lowly. You nod, letting him dip you.

“Yes that would be correct. So what are you supposed to be exactly?” You ask, quite unsure of his purpose. Overlords are meant to have a strong leading purpose in hell, so what was his?

“Well, you’re looking at the head of Vox Tech. A software company.” He says, and you hum in understanding.

“So modern technology.” You confirm, and he nods, pearly whites shining brightly back at you.

“You’re looking at the future Madame.” Vox says, spinning you quickly, before bringing you close by your hip.

“Interesting. So, what’s your social influence?” You ask. Vox thinks for a moment, before laughing to himself.

“People have televisions in all their homes. Any piece of modern technology comes strictly from me. With a little mind control, there isn’t any influence I don’t have.” Vox says, noticing a sinner walk by with a smart watch, to which he holds a finger up to you, sending himself through it, and then to another sinner with their smartphone, making his way around the room in seconds before he’s back in front of you, stepping in time for the next number. “See? Nothing I can’t do.” He says with a wink. You nod slowly, looking around the room. Being back out in the spotlight after being gone for so long makes you feel a bit, behind. But with an overlord like this in your circle, maybe this could be a way for you to keep up with the current world, get you back up to pace. The dance finally comes to a close, and the two of you bow to one another, before you summon a card, handing it to Vox. Seat number nine. Vox grinned at you, giving you a nod. You nod back, before looking at another sinner who’s asked to speak with you. With that, you leave Vox at the dance floor, white card in hand. His spot at your table was secured. But, this made his emotions churn even more. What was this feeling he had? He was happy yes, but for the companies sake. But, maybe for once, he could mix just a little business with pleasure.

Charlotte had lost her partner at the bar and had been looking for her for quite some time. However, instead of finding Vagatha, she found you instead. You had seemed to be finishing a conversation with Vox, and though she disliked him, she took her chance the moment she saw you walking away.

“Excuse me, Madame- Miss- Um.” Charlotte said quickly, causing you to stop in your tracks. She got closer to you, now a few inches away. It was then she realized how tall you were compared to her. You were easily around seven feet, or just under that. With your heels that was. You looking down at her made her feel intimidated, small, like the child. But, feeling her nerves rise, she began to ramble again. “I know you probably have a lot to do tonight and I don’t want to take up your time, I just want you to hear me out, if that’s okay with you of course.” Charlotte said quickly, pausing to inhale. You narrowed your eyes at her, snapping your fingers and causing a shadow to appear next to you, singular glass on the tray. It was the same tall shadow from earlier, with the same drink. Again, using testing the temperature of the drink, before nodding to you so you could take it. You lifted the glass to your lips, maintaining eye contact with Charlotte as you drank the wine in one go, putting it down on the tray with a sigh.

“Go on.” You replied, now intrigued. You knew who she was. “You’re the girl with the hotel? Lucifer and Lilith’s child, correct?” You asked. Charlotte smiled, stars appearing in her eyes as she gushed.

“You know who I am?” She asked surprised. You nodded, cracking a small smile for the first time tonight, causing many eyes to stare in shock. You hardly ever smiled. In fact, there were three counts ever of you smiling in hell. Once, when you first got to hell, killing and claiming territory, and smiling once you finally settled down. The second being after World War One, when so many souls came to you seeking ‘help’ yet only being met with contracts. Third, being just before the extermination you disappeared after. You had gone through your belongings from Earth that managed to get brought to you from the surface, and was looking at family photos with one other overlord. Zestial. Now, at the gala, here was Lucifer’s brat, as some would call, making you crack a grin at her giddiness.

“Of course I know who you are. Do you forget I know your mother? You’re practically a niece of mine at this point.” You say, motioning at Charlotte to walk with you. “Now, what is this hotel I’ve heard about?” You ask. She beams at this and follows excitedly.

“OkaysobasicallyIhavethishotelandit’scalledthe’HazbinHotel’whichisforsinnerswhowantobebetterandredeemthemselvestotryand-“ You stopped her, allowing her to take a breath of air after rambling for so long. You lead her outside, finding a nearby bench to sit on. With how quickly she spoke, she needed all the ‘fresh’ air she could get right?

“Why are you speaking so quickly? Also, sinners who want to better themselves? Where would you find those?” You ask with a laugh, the same tall shadow appearing with a glass for you. Again, you sip on your drink as Charlotte collects herself together.

“Usually if I explain slowly people cut me off and I never get to finish, so I’ve gotten used to just saying everything as quickly as possible so they don’t cut me off and actually listen to what I have to say.” Charlotte says, again rather quickly. “Like I was saying; the Hazbin Hotel is a place for sinners who want to better themselves to possibly try to get into heaven through redemption, and I know what you’re thinking, we’ve all died and got sent here, but I believe people can change and that everyone deserves second chances.” Charlotte explained. She saw the look of confusion on your face, and began to speak again. “We already have two residents, who are making strides to be better people every day with group activities and I believe it’s working. If I could just get other people on board, people like you on board who actually believe in my cause, then we can get rid of extermination and maybe save some people here.” Charlotte explained. You thought for a moment, and the fact you hadn’t laughed in her face yet gave her some hope that maybe she had gotten through to you. You stood up, setting your empty glass on the tray before the shadow disappeared.

“Honestly,” You said with a sigh, looking around, your eyes landing on your shadows serving other guests. “The entire project sounds delusional.” You said sharply. Charlotte looked down at this, defeated, before standing as well.

“Well, thank you for hearing me out I guess. You’re the only other person who has aside from Alastor. So, thank you for your time.” Charlotte said, turning to walk back inside the gala, head hanging low with tears brimming her eyes. Maybe it was the connection to her mother, maybe it was because she reminded you of her mother. But, something had to change.

“I didn’t say we were done speaking Charlotte.” You said sharply again. She stopped and tensed up at that, before turning around, wiping a tear that slipped down her cheek.

“W-what?” She asked. You stepped forward to her, putting your hands flat together before smoke encased them. Then seconds later it was gone, and in your hands was a white card. You handed it to her with a nod.

“It sounds delusional. But, maybe someone will like that about you.” You said. She read the card, face dropping once she realized what it meant.

“So, so I can sit with you tonight? I can pitch my idea?” She asked excitedly. You nodded, patting her shoulder.

“Yes you may. I’ll allow you to have your time. You get thirty minutes, there will be overlords and royalty there, I’m sure someone is bound to take an interest in it.” You say. Charlotte squeals excitedly before jumping up and down, clapping her hands.

“Oh my goodness! Thank you so so so much!! You won’t regret this I swear!” Charlotte said, and you just nodded.

“Of course I won’t. I don’t make mistakes.” You say, before walking past her. “Oh, and thank Alastor for that. He was insistent you be present at my table tonight.” You say to her. She’s left standing outside in shock, watching as you walk back into the lobby to socialize with other guests.

It seemed Velvet had finally caught you, rushing her assistant to follow you as she made her way over to you.

“Madame, you look absolutely breathtaking tonight! Your presence here is like a beacon of individuality and charisma,” she exclaims, eyes sparkling. You look her up and down for a moment, stopping in your tracks to listen to her. Something feels, odd about this one. “I’ve been ardently following your unique style for ages, and it’s truly an honor to be in your presence. The way you effortlessly blend boldness with subtlety, it’s unparalleled, truly outstanding. Now, I’ve ventured into a daring new fashion brand, and I can’t help but envision you as the unrivaled star in my collection. Picture it: the illustrious Madame, gracing the world with a revolutionary expression of style. This would be the perfect way to make your way back into the public eye, and of course you would look ravishing doing so.” Velvet said, her assistant handing you sketches of Velvets designs, and photographs of some of her work on her models. “So, what do you say Madame? Will you be the luminary of a new era in Hell’s fashion?” Velvet says. You grow quiet for a moment. Aside from Rosie, you’ve had no other overlord come into the fashion realm, and Rosie is only partially in it as a side hustle, but everyone knows it’s your thing. The designs are things you would never wear, bold and odd colors together, like a child’s clothing line.

“Is this for children?” You ask. Velvet nearly chokes and her assistant tenses up.

“No Madame. It’s modern fashion.” Velvet says cautiously. She knows what she’s doing. Correcting you. No one ever does that. You don’t need to be corrected because you know what you’re looking at. A sad fashion designer who wants you to slap your name on her sloppy work so if it goes up in flames it’s your reputation taking the fall, not her’s.

“So all your models look like they came from a whore house? Correct?” You ask. Velvet’s jaw drops and her assistant hides a laugh. Velvet, inhaling softly, tries her hardest not to cry on the spot. You’re her idol. She can’t fuck this up.

“No Madame! Not at all!” She says, showing you a design she had made personally for you. Based on your other collections, she knows your favorite color is black, so that’s a plus. All she had to do was add a bit more, of her flair to it. It was a black jumpsuit, with a fur coat that dropped down to the knees, black with white fur around the edges of the coat and the cuffs. The sketch wasn’t half bad, and quite frankly better than the others. Maybe it was the forgiving mood Charlotte had put you in. Velvet hands you the design and you skim over it, taking in the details, the hair and eye makeup, the shoes and jewelry notes written on the side. The sketches aren’t bad, but modern fashion isn’t your fashion.

“I’ll consider it. Do you mind if I keep these?” You ask. Velvet shakes her head, handing you the folder from her assistants hands.

“Please, take whatever you’d like Madame!” Velvet says. You nod, flipping through the pages.

“You’ll hear from me soon. In the meantime, I want new sketches of these designs. Modern fashion is fast fashion. Nothing stays memorable that way. You want to be good?” You ask her, and she nods quickly. “Then be better. Modesty and elegance are what people strive for. It radiates power, and everyone is greedy for that. If you can sell that through an item, you won’t ever go out of style.” You say, handing her back the folder, keeping the sketch she’d done for you. Well, at least you liked something. Vevelt nodded her head and watched you walk away, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Um, miss?” Her assistant asked.

“What?” Velvet asked annoyingly.

“She left a card on the folder.”

At that , Velvets eyes snapped down at the folder, before she screamed in excitement. Seat number six. She was invited to your table. Mission accomplished. Now, with only six seats left to fill, you were off to talk to your other guests. The night had proved to be interesting, and you knew your encore would not disappoint.

[gghostwriter]

A Series of Happenstance

Spencer Reid x House!Daughter!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer loathed to see you and the one time he pleaded to Trope:Angst; think post Tobias Spencer Reid w.c: 5.2k Disclaimer: I am no way a medical personnel, least of all a psychiatrist so there will be medical inaccuracies A/N: this is part one of my house!daughter series and it’s angst, babes. Spencer is just mean and lashing out here which is totally understandable. It also took a while since writing such heavy pieces of fiction takes a toll on me but I hope, especially to the ones who were excited for this series, love it still. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The first meeting

Spencer didn’t want to be here—here being in this cream colored, four cornered room, facing off the ultimate nemesis of profiler. Not an unsolvable case, not an unsub, but rather a psychiatrist contracted by the FBI for psych evaluation. 

He was fine, he insisted to Hotch. He can compartmentalize well, he rationalized to Gideon. He just needed rest and the comfort of his own bed, he stated to the whole team. But protocols were protocols and his unit chief was a stickler to rules especially when it involved the care for his team. 

That was how he found himself on a Tuesday afternoon, sitting in silence and watching the ticking of the clock as if it was the most interesting piece of art there was. 

The tension was stifling. Spencer could almost see it tainting his vision red. Biting the insides of his cheek, he wanted to keep everything in. 

No, he needed to. 

He knew he was being rude, petulant even but for once, he didn’t have it in him to care. He didn’t know you. You were a complete stranger being paid by the government to report back any findings that could keep him out of the field. It wasn’t fair. You were just accepting the call of duty but you bore the brunt of his ire and hostile gaze. 

In the normal setting, he would have found you intriguing. Your office colored in taupe—cold, distant, and linked to the desire to escape from the world but in the farthest side of the room was a shelf littered with books and small knick knacks that seemed to be collected over the years rather than curated to match the professional setting. The books ranged from published psychology dissertations, medical teaching materials, and collections of essays from well-revered and obscure writers. 

You were dressed in black and white, standard for your importance, but your nails were painted in a pale pink color—close to looking natural but not quite. And lastly, your looks. 

You were beautiful, don’t get him wrong, he may not have the same experiences as Morgan did with the opposite sex but he knows a beautiful attractive woman when he sees one. No, it wasn’t that, it was how young you looked—almost or maybe even sharing the same age as him. 

A genius, then.

A prodigy in your own field just like him. 

“Doctor Reid,” the low timber of your voice bringing him out of his musings. It sent a shiver down his spine when he first heard you speak. A reaction that he catalogued in his mind as a mystery to be revisited later on. 

He subtly tilted his head to the side, an indication that you had his attention albeit reluctantly.

“Anything you say in this room is strictly confidential,” you gestured with your hand. “No file or notes will be passed to your unit chief or any personnels of the brass. I promise you.”

He scoffed, breaking his vow of silence. “That’s not a hundred percent true, Doctor. Lying to get your patient to talk can only get you so far.”

“I understand where you’re coming from but all I submit to the FBI is my conclusion if you’re fit to go back to work or not, patient-confidentiality still stands—” your delicate fingers feebly holding your pen. “Now, I sensed a little resentment. Is it coming from your self-loathing about having to choose a victim for Tobias Hankel or is it your displaced anger from separating with your team liaison, Agent Jareau?” 

He glared at you. How dare you imply the seething anger from within him is directed at anyone but himself. “What? No, no, no. I’m not angry at anything or anyone! Maybe at you and this whole evaluation but never at JJ or—” he cut himself off.

“The suspect,” you continued on for him, jotting down notes on your black leather journal.

“The unsub. Unknown subject.” He corrected, second nature of him to do so. “We call them the unsub.”

You nodded, a lock of hair falling away from your bun. A distracting motion that momentarily rendered him speechless. “Alright. Are you angry at yourself and your decision to separate with Agent Jareau during the case?”

He scoffed but opted to stay silent. Spencer had already given too much of his emotion away by answering the earlier questions. 

For any regular citizen, it may seem like the opposite but given the sound of you scribbling away on the pages of the notebook, you beg to differ.

You crossed your pant covered leg and stared into his eyes, a maneuver that could mean two things: 1) you were sizing him up, which was highly unlikely given the dynamics, regardless of his hostility or 2) you were trying to connect with him, a move backed by science that stated eye contact releases oxytocin—a bonding hormone. 

A study he didn’t want to prove right at the moment.

“Do you perhaps feel remorse for the unsub?”

His left eye twitched. “Tobias Hankel.”

“Is there a reason behind why you’d prefer to call the unsub by name?” You further asked, having found a sore subject to poke and prod to elicit a reaction.

The answer was yes, of course. Tobias was just a victim as much as he, Spencer Reid, was—the unsub, in his eyes, was a victim of bad fate that resulted in fracturing his psyche but a shrink didn’t need to know that. 

To be exact, the FBI didn’t need to know that he, an active and upstanding agent, felt remorse and guilt for not being able to save Tobias. Human emotion rarely had a place in bureaucracy and paperwork.

“How old are you?” Spencer nonchalantly inquired to throw you off his trail. “You look too young to be a Doctor contracted by the brass.”

You scribbled something again in your notebook before answering in a monotone voice as if your reply has been well rehearsed. “24, about to turn 25 and yes, I do look young. I graduated early due to my intelligence which I believe is the same case for you, Doctor—” you clasped your hands in front of you, leaning slightly forward. “—which brings us back to the topic, the anger inside of you, who is it directed to?”

His eyes shifted to the clock—5pm. 

A small smile graced his face. The time was up.

“Well, I believe we’re done here, Doctor—” he proceeded to stand up, picking on an imaginary lint as he did so. “—I would say it’s been nice meeting you but that would be a lie you’d no doubt catch and analyze.”

Your lips pressed thinly together, imitating a smile but Spencer knew that move quite well—you were reining in any unsolicited and possibly inappropriate comment regarding his snappy behavior. 

A small chuckle escaped his lips. If he, a profiler, considered you, a psychiatrist, his number one nemesis, there was no doubt you consider him the same. 

As he was about to step out of the office, your slender fingers brandished a calling card.

“Here’s my number—” he gingerly took it as if it contained some unknown pathogen. “—and my door is always open when you’re ready to talk, Doctor Reid.”

He nodded once, a goodbye. “Doctor House.”

There was little doubt in Spencer’s mind that he’d never willingly stop by your office again but if he had been paying attention to your subtle patronizing words of farewell, he would have picked up that this encounter was far from over. 

Especially when he found out on a busy Tuesday morning from Hotch that you had deemed him unfit to return back to the field—effectively barring him from the jet on its way to Idaho. 

The second meeting

There was a series of rapid knocks on your office door. 

As a psychiatrist with your own practice, it was highly unusual for clients to suddenly show up with no prior appointments or even a customary phone call. 

It was a Tuesday morning and like clockwork, you’ve allotted the first half of the day in catching up with paperwork dealing with your office and evaluations for the FBI. 

That gave you a pause, remembering a snipping agent who you deemed unfit for duty. Dr. Spencer Reid. The genius profiler who joined the ranks at the tender age of 22. A prodigy in his old field, just like you.

He was closed off, simmering with rage almost, and there was little doubt in your mind that he was the one behind the door, ceaselessly knocking. After all, when you sent in your evaluation directly to his unit chief, the stoic man’s face twitched with concern and maybe a little bit of annoyance in the paperwork it would entail.

“Come in,” you called out, hands clasping together on top of your desk. A perfect picture of professionalism.

The door swung open, revealing a tightly wounded Dr. Spencer Reid. 

With a thick cardigan adorning on his body and a leather satchel draped over his shoulders to his front, he looked normal. But you knew better, his choice of outerwear represented a security blanket in the middle of September and his placement of satchel acted as a shield and its’ straps a stress ball. With just that one look you knew he wasn’t ready to back with his team. 

“Dr. Reid, what can I do for you?” You asked, hand unclasping and indicating to the seat in front of you. “Please sit.” 

Closing the door behind him, he shuffled closer to your desk but made no indication to sit down. “I’d rather stand, Dr. House, and I think you know why I’m here.”

A show of dominance. Right away, he wanted control the outcome of this conversation to his favor. It was textbook psychology, a taunt you wanted no part of.

A slight smile appeared on your face, one that could be translated as friendly for those open and condescending for those closed off. “I believe I don’t follow.” 

“My evaluation, you made a mistake,” the left corner of his mouth lifting for a smirk. There was a vein visible on his temple, his anger and will to bottle it up manifesting physically. 

You tilted your head to the side, unwavering in your gaze, hands clasped and index fingers tapping together. The pause and silence was a standard tactic to get a patient to break, similar to what law enforcement uses with suspects but results may vary especially when used on a seasoned profiler.

Right away, Spencer understood your tactic. “That won’t work. We use that in every case, I know the standard—” he looked around the room. “—should I lower the temperature too?” 

You answered with silence. The agent in front of you now was no longer thinking clearly. His objective mind that would deem him fit to return for duty clouded with emotion, anger and something else. 

His right hand touched above his left wrist. A subconscious move provoked by your unrelenting gaze. A move that gave away an important piece of information that his unit chief no doubt omitted in the reports.

Ah.

Tobias Hankel was a drug addict.

And in turn has subjected the agent in front of you to his vices.

You sighed. Suddenly the case no longer felt black and white, it was treading close to home as you remembered your father who’s abusing Vicodin in lieu of his leg pain. It was a sore spot for you—a clink in your armor. 

“Sit, please,” you indicated to the chair in front of you again.

Spencer complied this time, having heard a change in your tone. 

“Dr Reid,” you started. “I believe my evaluation of you is still correct—”

He opened his mouth to argue.

“—but, please let me finish, perhaps we can compromise. As a psychiatrist, it’s not in my practice to give in to my client’s demands but as you are not a regular client, I believe it would be beneficial for the both of us to reach an understanding.”

You walked towards the locked cabinet to your right. It was where you kept all medical equipments—including medicine for patients. Reaching back to the depths of the lower shelf, your hand brought out a non-descriptive black pouch from its hiding. You sat beside Spencer, effectively communicating that you are both on the same level.

“I will approve your return for duty as long as you come back for a couple of sessions, not FBI contracted, strictly confidential, and you—” handing him the zipped pouch before continuing on. “—get drug tested.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he knew that his unit chief and mentor kept the delicate nature of his case out of the bureau and wondered how you pieced everything together. He underestimated you, you realized. A mistake on his end. 

“I’m a psychiatrist, I know the signs Dr. Reid, and besides, I’m a genius just like you,” you adjusted your posture, slightly leaning back. 

Check. 

He smiled, one that you could say no longer contained malice. It was instead filled with resignation and relief. “You’re right. I underestimated you, Dr. House.”

Standing up, you dusted imaginary lint from your black pencil skirt before extending your hand out for a handshake. 

He hesitated before reaching over shaking it once. His hands were rough and calloused from frequent holding of his gun but felt oddly warm and soothing. It represented who he was in your eyes—prickly and rough around the edges but soft and good on the inside.

As he exited your office with a soft thud of the door behind him, you admitted to yourself that you took a huge gamble. Rather than a checkmate, all you did was check his king. You didn’t ask if he had built his own stash of drugs after the case was finished. It was a risk you were willing to take just to take a step closer in getting the agent to trust you. Baby steps were better than nothing. You could work with that.

There was still the drug test you could rely on. A black and white piece of paper that would tell the truth if done at the right time. After all, the most important teaching your father, the older Dr. House, has imparted on you was—

Everybody lies.

The third meeting

The bar at the corner Main Street on a Friday night was a rare place for you to be. The echoes of its pulsing music could be heard a couple of shops away, luring bodies than the space could ever handle like it were Pied Piper and the people—by extension, you, were the unsuspecting kids. The lights were colored orange, giving the area a tint of good times and bad decisions. The aged brick walls discolored in a multitude of shades and the decorative posters were aimlessly nailed to the wall. There was a section far from the bar that was filled with moving bodies—people letting loose and exhibiting what you’d call a mating dance for anyone interested and beside the bar were two dart boards, popular with the crowd, but had seen better days. 

This wasn’t your usual scene as you excused your way to the bar tucked at the center space. It wasn’t due to snobbery, like what your friend Kyle once joked, it was preference.

The sticky floor beneath your sensible nude heels had you wishing that your feet were tucked in a soft blanket with mind numbing television playing in the background instead of navigating the throng of people holding their drink of choice and inhaling the musky scent of liquor and sweat.

“Haven’t seen you around here,” a tenor voice flirted from beside you.

Your eyebrow raised as you took in the source—a burly African-American with a buzzcut. There was something distinct about him that set him apart from the rest. It wasn’t his built or the way his grey shirt stretched to fit around his biceps. It also wasn’t the twinkle in his eye as he tried to entice you to flirt back. One of his hands drifted down to his waist and with his wide leg stance, you knew.

A cop. An off duty law enforcement officer.

You laughed. “Does that line usually work on women, especially from—” you paused for suspense. ”—a cop?”

“Okay,” the stranger chuckled. “Close, want to try again?”

A smile stretched your glossed pink lips. You were never one to back away from a challenge—it was one of the traits you inherited from the other Dr House.

“Well, if we’re basing it on where the bar is located nearby and my fifty percent guess from a while ago, I’d say you were a cop—maybe for a couple of years, before joining the FBI. Maybe counter terrorism—” the memory of Dr. Reid talking about his team found its way to the forefront of your mind. “—or by any chance, the BAU?”

He could no longer hide the surprise from his face. “Right, that’s right. What gave it away? Was it my ruggedly handsome looks or are you just a mind reader?”

You thanked the bartender before trying to find your way out of the surge of people behind you, clamoring to place their order. The stranger stretched out his muscular arms, guiding you away from the bar towards his booth.

“Just a mind reader,” you simplified—an action that came as second nature to you. In the past, when you would disclose your job as a psychiatrist, people would react in two ways. One, they’d get subconscious that you’d read into every body language they’d have, causing them to shy away or two, they’d become over-zealous and ask you to diagnose them all in good fun like it was some sort of magician’s trick.

A mop of light brown curly hair parked beside a long blonde hair caught your periphery. He had his back turned but it was a presence you’ve slowly started getting familiar with. It was Dr. Spencer Reid, out in the natural setting, a first.

Your eyes slowly widened as you realized where he was guiding you and who he might be. 

“Huh,” you uttered under your breath before flashing a smile to the stranger beside you. “Are you by any chance, Derek Morgan?”

“Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out. How’d you do that, Ms. Mind Reader?”

A different timber of voice answered. “It’s because I told her—” a pair of hazel eyes turned to you, filled with accusation. “—Dr. House. Are you keeping tabs on me?” 

“Dr. Reid, I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

He scoffed. “In a bar? Near my office? The statistics on seeing me here is actually surprisingly high.”

He was hostile, understandably so as here you were, a stranger, who knows his deepest, darkest secret mixing in with the otherwise innocent parties of his personal life. It was no harm, caused no click in your armor—he’d been cooperative as of the late within the confines of your office but seeing you beyond the four corners of your taupe walls threw him off the loop.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” the blonde woman beside Spencer, flashed you a smile, hand stretching out for a handshake. “I’m Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ.”

You shook her hand. “Ah, it’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau.” 

“So, how do you know Spence?”

You smiled, unsure on how to disclose your psychiatrist-patient relationship with someone he works with. You didn’t know how much his team members knew about his scheduled Saturday meetings with you or if they even knew at all what Dr. Reid was going through.

From the past appointments, you’ve categorized the agent as an anxious avoidant type—something geniuses who grew up in a non-secure household tend to share. Yourself, included.

Your eyes glanced at Spencer before drifting towards the table behind him, subtly trying to figure out his choice of drink. You hoped it was non-alcoholic. He’d be suffering from withdrawals and if he clung to a substitute vice, you’d have to find a roundabout way to tackle the issue without pushing him to close off again. You didn’t need that, he was just starting to open up after all, plus if he stopped cooperating, you’d have no choice but to bring it up to his supervisors, jeopardizing his career. 

A clear glass came into view as he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other.

Water. It was water.

You breathed a sigh of relief before slowly panning up, locking eyes with Dr. Reid. His gaze narrowed, having understood what you were checking on.

Checkmate.

“She’s FBI’s contracted psychiatrist,” he explained, jaw tight from anger. 

You flashed him a little smile before averting your eyes in chagrin.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look a little to young to be a licensed doctor,” Agent Jareau observed. 

“I graduated early.”

Morgan’s left hand pats your back while the other pats Dr. Reid’s. “Another genius, then. You’d get along great with our pretty boy over here. He’s always going on and on about facts and statistics—“

“No offense Morgan, but I don’t think we’d get along at all,” Spencer sneered. “I’d rather not get to know someone who has an ulterior motive.”

Your hand tightened around your glass. “It’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau and Agent Morgan but I think my friends would be looking for me,” you flashed the young agent a dejected smile. “Dr. Reid, hope to see you again soon.”

“I don’t,” he sardonically replied.

You nodded once before turning back to where you friends would be, settled in the four seater booth, unaware that you may have just burned the rocky bridge you’ve built with a patient in need. 

The fourth meeting

A warbled hum roused you from slumber. 

With one eye straining to stay open, the digital clock on your dresser displayed 12:21. Midnight—the time for humans to all be in stupor but based on the humming, subdued underneath your pillow, there was one exception.

You sat up, blindly reaching for the phone. There was no programmed name for the number and right away, an eerie feeling started swirling in your gut. This was no social call. A call this hour could only be one thing, an emergency.

“Hello. Who is this?” Your voice still rough from sleep.

No answer. 

You pressed the phone closer to your ear, hard enough to possibly leave a mark. There were light rustles on the other end that indicated a presence, a person that wouldn’t or couldn’t answer your inquiry.

“Hello,” you tried again, voice raising at the end from tension. “Is anyone there?”

There was silence. The dread in your stomach further worsening as if group of bats decided to wreak havoc in its dark crevices. There was no indication that this was a prank call and there was also no indication that it wasn’t. 

You bit your lip, torn between hanging up and waiting for an existence to make itself known. It could be nothing or it could be—your train of thought suddenly taking a sharp left turn to the corner that a certain FBI agent unknowingly occupies. You had given him your number, having scrawled it at the back of your calling card during the very first meeting, purely out of the goodness of trying to put back the broken genius that graced and intrigued your doors.

“Dr. Spencer Reid?” You hesitantly asked, hoping that your intuition was wrong. That this wasn’t the agent calling for help.

A deep groan answered.

“Oh gods,” you breathed out. “Okay, okay. Just—shit, just stay on the line. I’m coming, I swear. Just—fuck.” Your feet scrambled out of the apartment, never mind the lights or the chill that the midnight had cloaked the air with.

It was your worst nightmare. You knew what this call was, you knew his state on the other side of the phone by experience.

Hands trembling as you started the ignition of your car and speedily backing up the parking lot and out the streets in little time. 

“Spencer,” formality be damned at this point as you turned a sharp right, your GPS indicating 8 minutes away from destination. “Spencer, are you still there?” 

A light rustle replied. 

“I’m almost there, hang on for me, okay,” your hand letting go of the steering wheel to push the tousled hair away from your face.

Each second felt like an eternity, each time passed threatened to push your mind into the fog of panic and memory of your very own father taking a whole bottle of Oxycodone and leaving a message for you and your grandmother. The panic, the fear, and the dread of that very moment had come back in two folds.

Your clammy fingers leaving pinch marks on the back of your palm. “Not now, not now,” you whispered to yourself. “I can’t have an attack now, keep it together.” 

“Dr. House,” Spencer gravely slurred.

You haphazardly parked the car at the nearest available sidewalk space, uncaring if by some miracle you get ticketed. “I’m here, Spencer. I’m here.”

There was a groan as you hurriedly ran up the apartment stairs, grateful that the security below was surprisingly lax.

Third floor, get to the third floor. I need to get to the third floor—you repeated under your breath. You could have called an ambulance or better yet his team member, SSA Derek Morgan, but you felt the urge to make sure he was alright. To make him see that someone else besides from his mother and team care about him. To make him see that life was worth living, no matter the good or the bad.

“Spencer, I’m outside your door,” you tried to catch your breath. “Do you think you could let me in?”

And for a few seconds, there was only the tense silence before a series of gasps and groans crescendo’ed louder and louder from the phone speaker and on the other side of the door. 

Shit. You knew what those grunts of pain and pleas meant, he was seizing.

Slamming down on the ground, uncaring if your exposed knees get bruised, you sent a silent thank you to your past self for leaving a hair pin inside the pockets of your sleep shorts. Breaking and entering was yet another skill set you learned from the other Dr House and his team of skilled doctors, you just never imagined you’d be applying that knowledge in breaking and entering a federal agent’s home. 

The door unlocked and you barreled your way to the living space where a frightful sight greeted you—Spencer on the floor, laying still as if he was peacefully sleeping.

“No, no, no,” you slid beside him, mind cataloguing every detail for the right action. An empty needle near his exposed right arm and an empty glass bottle of Dilaudid.

No rise and fall of the chest.

And no pulse. Medical training kicking in, you tilted his head up, clearing the pathway, and started chest compressions.

One. Two. Three—

“C’mon, Spencer, breathe,” you grunted in between pumps.

One. Two. Three. Four—

You leaned down to his chapped lips, blowing air to his mouth. “I need you to breathe for me, okay. Breathe, Spencer.” 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five—

“Breathe, c’mon Spencer,” you knew there was a high probability for the agent to have his own stash of narcotics and in by agreeing to keep his secret, lest he loses his badge, to get him to open up was a gamble. A risk you were now regrettably paying for.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six—

“Dammit Spencer, I could lose my license for this. Breathe, I need you to breathe.”

A sputtering of coughs escaped his lips.

“Oh thank you, thank you,” you breathed out, arms sagging from the pressure of performing CPR and the weight of fear that you might have been too late. 

Spencer groaned. “Dr. House?”

You nodded, the salty tears blurring your vision. The image of him lying still was burned into your memory, the same way the mirage of your own father lying in a pool of his own vomit. He’s alive—they’re both alive.

Your hands angrily erased the rivulets the tears left behind on your cheeks. Now wasn’t the time to give in to relief and emotion. Although Spencer was out of the woods, there was still a huge uphill battle to tackle. 

“I’ll carry you to bed, lean your weight on me,” you huffed as you helped him up the floor, making sure to take in most of his weight that you could.

The form of you, tears still streaming down your face and steps away from a breakdown, and his hunched form, weak and pliant, was a sight to behold. It was a sight after battle—after the white flag had been waved and the injured tying their best to find their way back to life.

It was sad. It was hopeful.

It was a brush on humanity’s eternal friend, death. Death that still loomed in the corners of the apartment, biding his time to take what was promised.

You laid him gently on the bed before running back to the spied kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. The smell of books permeated the air as if to try and bring your panicked mind back to the present. If it were any other day, you would have found yourself perusing his shelves of eclectic classic literature but this wasn’t the right time and place.

Your bare feet sliding across the floor to make its way back to the groaning figure on the bed, threatening to sit up.

“No,” you tapped his shoulder to get him back down. “I need you to rest.” 

“But—”

“No buts Spencer. Rest, I’ll stay here.” 

His drooping eyes reading yours, trying to find any type of lie that would break his being further than it already was. Spencer was a broken man and this was the first time you could see written in his eyes his plea for help and company. “You promise?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

His hands blindly groping across the bed spread before it found the treasure it was searching for, your hand. He enveloped his with yours, calloused fingers intertwining with smooth. A contrast that brought him comfort—you were here. You were real. You felt safe. You saved him.

He was alive.

And with that, his eyes closed to fall into a peaceful slumber, one that he hadn’t had in months. 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Between Fear and Trust

Summary - Grappling with the potential harm to her unborn child and the overwhelming anxiety of her protective husband, their love and trust are tested in a fragile dance of reassurance and emotional turmoil.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - Pregnancy anxiety, injury

Word count - 2032

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Jacaerys Velaryon was a protective man, often to the point where his vigilance bordered on excessive. His concern, though rooted in love, sometimes felt stifling.

"I don't think you should be doing that," Jace said, his voice gentle but firm. I sighed softly, setting down the needlepoint in my hands before turning to face him.

"And what harm could possibly come from needlework?" I asked.

As he approached, I gestured to the fabric spread out on the table, the intricate design slowly coming to life.

"Look, it's Vermax," I said, pointing at the olive green and pale orange dragon that was beginning to take shape on the black tunic. 

The dragon's fierce eyes and outstretched wings were just starting to emerge from the fabric. I felt a swell of pride as I watched his eyes follow the delicate work.

Jace's expression softened into a tender smile as he looked at the half-finished dragon, and then back at me. The sight of my enthusiastic face, so absorbed in the craft, caused a wave of affection to surge through him. His gaze lingered on me, a mixture of admiration and concern.

"You're straining yourself," he said softly, his tone a blend of warmth and insistence. 

He stepped closer and gently helped me to my feet, his hands moving with a practised tenderness. His fingers brushed lightly against my swollen belly, and he began to rub it in soothing, circular motions. 

"Jace, you must cease this," I said with a gentle smile, placing my hand over his. His frown deepened, and I could see the concern etched into his features. "You're becoming overbearing."

He swallowed hard, his eyes searching mine. "I only want to keep you safe, to keep our child safe," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he cupped my face in his hand.

"I can't walk through these halls without feeling like I'm doing something wrong," I confessed, my voice tinged with frustration. "I care deeply for this babe too, but your constant worry... it frightens me."

Jace exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. When he pulled back, his frown remained, but there was a softness in his gaze.

"I don't mean to cause you distress," he said quietly, his voice laced with regret. I nodded, understanding his intentions even if they sometimes overwhelmed me.

After a moment of silence, I shifted slightly "I could use some tea though," I said, trying to lighten the mood. Before the words were fully out of my mouth, Jace was already moving to stand.

"I'll get it for you," he said quickly, his voice filled with determination but I reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm to stop him.

"No, Jace. I think I can manage to fetch some tea," I said, my tone gentle yet firm. 

His hesitation was palpable, a visible battle between his desire to protect me and the recognition that I needed this small act of independence. His eyes flickered with concern as he looked at me, and I could see how difficult it was for him to let go.

"It's just tea," I added softly, attempting to soothe his worries. 

Finally, with a reluctant nod, he stepped back. "Just be careful," he murmured, his voice almost pleading as he watched me.

I gave him a reassuring smile, appreciating his concession. "I will," I promised, as I turned and made my way across the room.

As I reached the door, I glanced back over my shoulder, my thoughts drifting to a happier distraction. 

"Perhaps we could visit Vermax when I return," I suggested, my voice carrying a hopeful lilt. "I miss him dearly."

I heard Jace's quiet laughter from behind me, a sound that was both tender and indulgent. 

I knew it would take a great deal of convincing for him to agree to let me see the dragon again, especially considering my condition. But the thought of visiting Vermax seemed to lighten the mood, if only slightly.

Jace's voice followed me, a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You'll have to charm me into it, I suppose" he called out with a fond chuckle. 

I smiled to myself as I stepped into the hallway, the soft glow of the sconces casting a warm light on the stone walls.

The castle's usual grandeur was eerily muted, the soft thud of my footsteps on the cold, echoing stone a lonely sound in the vast, empty hallway. Each step seemed to reverberate with an ominous, hollow note.

The familiar surroundings, normally comforting, now felt like a path strewn with obstacles as I descended the grand staircase. 

The slight twist in my ankle was so sudden, so unexpected, that I barely had time to react before I felt myself falling. One moment I was moving cautiously, and the next, I felt my body lurch uncontrollably.

I tumbled down the last few steps, the world around me spinning in a blur of stone and panic. 

The impact was jarring, pain radiating through my body as I came to a stop on the cold floor. My ears rang, a sharp, disorienting sound that drowned out everything else. 

A thin, red line of blood trickled from the gash on my forehead, warm and sticky against my skin but all I could think about was the deep, gnawing fear that gripped my heart.

Anxiety clawed at me as I lay there, my breaths coming in short, frantic gasps. My hands flew instinctively to my swollen stomach, pressing down as if to protect the life within me.

"Please, please be okay," I whispered, the words trembling on my lips as I tried to steady my racing thoughts. 

I needed to get up, to find Jace, to reassure myself that everything was alright but I couldn't move. I was paralyzed by fear, by the pain that coursed through me, and by the overwhelming dread of what might have just happened.

"My lady," a voice gasped, cutting through the haze of my fear. 

I blinked, trying to focus on the figure rushing toward me. The armour clanked loudly in the quiet hallway, the sound harsh against the silence.

"Ser Erryk," I mumbled weakly, recognizing the Queensguard as he knelt beside me, his expression stricken with concern.

"My lady, are you hurt?" he asked urgently, his eyes scanning me for injuries. His hands hovered, unsure of where to touch, or how to help. 

I could see the panic in his eyes, the same panic I felt bubbling inside me.

"My... my head," I whispered, feeling the warmth of the blood trickling down my forehead. "And my ankle... but the babe..." My voice broke, and tears welled up in my eyes. "Ser Erryk, please, I need to get to Jace."

Without hesitation, Ser Erryk scooped me into his arms, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. 

The movement sent a jolt of pain through my ankle, and I winced, clutching my belly protectively as he began carrying me back to my chambers.

The journey was a blur of worry and pain, every step echoing my pounding heartbeat. The closer we got to the room, the more I felt the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me. 

By the time we reached the door, I was trembling, my mind a whirlwind of fear and guilt.

As Ser Erryk pushed the door open with his shoulder, Jace shot up from his seat, his face instantly pale with alarm when he saw me cradled in Ser Erryk's arms, blood smeared on my forehead.

"What happened?" Jace's voice was sharp, edged with panic as he rushed to my side, his hands immediately reaching for me. He looked between Ser Erryk and me, desperation in his eyes. 

"What happened?" he repeated, his voice breaking.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. The tears I had been holding back burst forth, and I began to sob uncontrollably. 

"I'm so sorry, Jace," I cried, my voice trembling with guilt. "I fell—I shouldn't have gone—I'm so sorry." The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, my apologies intertwining with my sobs.

Ser Erryk quickly explained, his voice steady but grave. "She lost her footing on the stairs, my prince. It was an accident." 

His words were meant to soothe, but they did little to ease the storm of emotions that swirled within me.

Jace's eyes softened with anguish as he knelt beside the bed where Ser Erryk gently laid me down. He cupped my face with trembling hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streamed down my cheeks.

"Shh, it's alright," Jace murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"You're alright, and that's all that matters." His fingers were gentle as they stroked my hair, trying to calm me, but I could see the fear in his eyes, the same fear that was consuming me.

"I was just so scared," I choked out, my hands still clutching my belly as if to reassure myself that our child was safe. "I should have listened to you... I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "None of this is your fault." He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering against the cut there as if he could kiss away the pain.

But the guilt still gnawed at me. "I just wanted to walk... to feel normal," I whispered, the words heavy with regret. "But I've made everything worse."

Jace shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

"You didn't do anything wrong. I just want you and our child to be safe. That's all that matters to me." His voice cracked as he spoke, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close as if to shield me from everything that had happened.

I buried my face in his chest, my tears soaking into his tunic as he rocked me gently. His heartbeat was strong and steady against my ear, a constant reminder that I wasn't alone, that we were in this together.

"I'll take care of you," Jace whispered his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

"We'll call for a maester," he continued, his tone steady and reassuring. "Everything will be alright." His gaze shifted to Ser Erryk, who stood nearby, concern etched into his features. 

With a nod of understanding, Ser Erryk left the chamber to fulfil Jace's unspoken command, the door closing softly behind him.

But as the door clicked shut, a fresh wave of anxiety washed over me. I pulled away from Jace's embrace, my hands trembling as I looked up at him, fear gripping my heart. 

"Jace... what if I've done something?" The words came out in a shaky whisper, my voice barely holding together as I voiced the deepest of my fears.

His expression softened immediately, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of my tears as he searched my eyes for the pain that haunted me.

"My love," he said, his voice tender but firm, "you've done nothing wrong." His words were like a lifeline, pulling me back from the abyss of my worries. 

"We must trust that the gods have good intentions for us. We've been blessed with this child, and we will see them into this world together."

Despite his reassurances, doubt lingered in my heart. "But what if—"

"Shh," Jace interrupted gently, pressing a finger to my lips. "No 'what ifs,'" he murmured, his gaze unwavering. "We cannot let fear dictate our lives. Whatever happens, we will face it together, as we always have."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, and I closed my eyes, letting his words sink in. The warmth of his breath against my skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the strength in his embrace all worked to calm the storm within me. 

Slowly, I began to breathe easier, the frantic pace of my thoughts slowing to match the rhythm of his heart.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice a gentle echo in the quiet room. "And I always will be."

As the moments passed, the tension in my body began to ease, replaced by a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright. 

A/n - Inspired by that one scene of Meredith falling down the stairs in Grey's.

[crescenthistory]

Hello, I love your writing and recently I’ve been kind of obsessed with Regulus calling reader Amour, so my request would be Regulus x fem!reader where he calls her Amour like a prayer or a mantra while reader kisses his neck, jaw, lips, just loving him. Thank you for your work !

i always write french!black brothers, so regulus will always use the pet name amour for reader in my fics ✊ thank you for requesting babe<3

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: suggestive/steamy (18+, mdni), heavy make-out session, grinding, suggestive remarks, but no actual smut, gn!reader, domestic bliss, established relationship, inappropriate use of the french language, regulus' slutty waist, tooth-rotting fluff

His fingertips trailed up and down the length of your arm tantalisingly; a barely there touch, a brush spelling out the casual love simmering beneath the surface.

With closed eyes you let out a content sigh, leaning further back into the soft cushions of your sofa.

"Alright, amour?"

You could hear the smile in his voice and lolled your head sideways to open your eyes and see it for yourself. Regulus sat comfortably beside you in your shared living room, eyes still trained on the flimsy paperback he had in hand. You both abandoned any professional work you had to get done earlier, and opted for settling into the quiet comfort of the evening, enjoying the radiating warmth and affection from the person beside you.

"Can't think of any complaints right now, no." His eyes flitted up to find the teasing in your own, and let out a small entertained sound.

"No?" Regulus placed his paperback upside down on the armrest, so that he could angle his body more sideways towards you. He already had one arm around your shoulders where he grazed you absentmindedly, but now he placed a purposeful hand on your thigh and squeezed. "What a miracle that is."

"I'll have you know, I am perfectly agreeable," you quipped back, leaning into his touch.

Regulus' eyes flitted slowly between your own as the smile on his face grew steadier. It felt impeccably at home. "You're perfect, alright." His low voice rumbled slightly in his chest on the way out and felt like a soft touch against your eardrums. You sighed again, seemingly melting into him – he readily accepted your weight.

"Not what I meant," you whispered. A steadying hand placed on his shoulder as you mirrored his slow creeping towards you, faces gravitating closer.

"It's what I meant."

The fingertips that had mapped out your arm made their final journey upwards, continuing past your shoulder and grazing a sweet path up to the underside of your chin. With two fingers, he encouraged your chin forward the last few centimetres until your lips met his and you could taste his tranquil smile.

Soft lips meeting each other in greeting for the first time in an hour or two, a coming home of sorts despite having been bundled up beside each other the whole time. Regulus' fingers moved back to splay out across your jaw, settling his pinky on your neck and his middle finger in that lovely spot behind your ear. His grip was firm but still delicate, holding you with conviction and care all at the same time. It brought a smile back to your face as you thought of how his kisses were much the same.

"What's so funny, beautiful?" he murmured against your lips, swallowing your answer before you could give it as he captured your bottom lip between his own.

You fought a giggle at his antics, instead breathing out through your nose and welcoming his continued touches. Your own hands travelled up from his shoulders to his hair, brushing through it and playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. His lips moved leisurely against yours, slightly open-mouthed and sweet.

When you came apart, you kissed his upper lip gently, revelling in the sigh he let out of his own, foreheads pressed together. "I just love you," you whispered.

All at once, the distance between the two of you felt overwhelmingly too large and your body ached to feel his warmth, his touch. You let your arms cross behind his neck, gripping onto his shoulders and pressing your chests flush against each other, while easing one leg out from beneath you to climb onto his lap. Regulus, who had just smiled lovingly at you, let one arm come to hold your hip and help stabilise you as you straddled him, inching as close to him as physically possible. "You love me, hm?" His eyes surveyed yours with a playful undertone.

Once you were settled comfortably in his lap, you nudged your nose into his, humming at the contact. "Allegedly," you said conspiratorially to which he gave a faux gasp.

You were quick to capture that gasp with your mouth.

If the first kiss was two lovers reuniting on the sofa they had been studying on together, then this kiss was a declaration of persevering devotion, a prayer whispered into the embrace of each other. This was deeper, both physically and emotionally as you took advantage of his parted lips to slip your tongue past them, meeting his own with a hum reverberating through you. Regulus groaned in turn, wrapping his arms tightly around your back to pull you even closer, fingers splaying out wide. His back came slightly off the cushions as he leaned against you, chasing your lips with every slight parting, and you couldn’t help the slight giggle that escaped your throat when you noticed.

“You’re acting like you’ve missed me,” you whispered as you parted from the fervent kiss to pepper smaller, lighter ones across his face as you caught your breath. 

“I always miss you, amour.” You glanced at him to see that his eyes had drifted shut for a moment, relishing in your doting affection pressed into every available crevice on his face, paying particular attention to the freckles splattered on top of his cheekbones and temples.

“That simply won’t do.” 

Your heart sang as you found his lips once more, only to find him instantly fighting to deepen the kiss, to have you impossibly more intertwined with him, one hand at last tangling in your hair to angle your head just the way he liked. You took the opportunity to let your own touches travel, dragging your fingertips teasingly down his neck and stroking across his shoulders clad in his sensible jumper. “Mind if this comes off?” you murmured in between open-mouthed kisses, tugging on his collar. 

Regulus wasted no time pulling away and dragging his jumper over his head, revealing his black skin-tight cropped tanktop beneath, though not without lifting a teasing eyebrow in reference to your intentions – which only went higher into his curly hair when he saw how your eyes took in his exposed collarbones and lower midriff. A truly sinful pair of hips on this one.

“Seems like someone’s missed me too,” he said smugly, all the while grasping a handful of the hair at the nape of your neck while dragging your face back towards his. “C’mere, pretty.”

With very little desire in your body to resist his kisses when he looked so domestic and blissed out, you abandoned your marveling of the boy beneath your hands to kiss him even more passionately. Your hands clutched at his jaw for stability when he dragged you back to him, but as soon as you were melting against his measured, satisfied kisses, you let them travel once more.

Your fingertips ghosted across his collarbones, one hand stopping to splay out across his heart and press down firmly enough for Regulus to sigh against you. The other found the v-shape on his hips, tracing them up and down, fingers occasionally hooking into the waistband of his trousers teasingly, a thrill shooting through you at the low groan that escaped him whenever you did.

“Gods, I just love you.” You whispered it against his lips, moving your hands all over his upper body as if you could not get enough; you decidedly could not and knew right there and then that if you were to die in his arms now, it would have been a happy death. “So much.”

“I love you, amour.” His voice was gravelly and breathless, coming apart even beneath such light touches – witnessing the effect you had on him never once ceased to amaze you. 

When you let your lips diverge from his own this time, you did not simply part for breath, instead trailing paths across his skin with the same attention and vigour you had given to his beautiful mouth. He let out a sigh, letting you have your way with him and shower him in the affection that seemed to be painfully bursting out of you, hands settling firmly on your hips to keep you close. “I love it when you call me that.” You pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting your tongue dart out to kiss at the curve of his jaw, making your way to his ear, no skin going untouched, unloved.

“Call you what? Amour?” His breath stuttered throughout his question. You merely hummed in approval as you kissed the divot at the end of his jaw, feeling his chest rattle as you did so. “I always call you that.” Beneath your lips and fingertips trailing the other side of his face, you could feel his skin moving with the tell-tale signs of his growing smile.

“And I always love it,” you whispered into his ear before catching his earlobe between your teeth. The slight hiss and groan that followed sent sparks through you, and you tugged at his ear with your bite, tasting the metal of his piercings on your tongue. 

“Amour,” he moaned then, and you would be remiss if you did not let one of your hands keep exploring further down, spurred on by his term of endearment for you.

As you moved down the right side of his throat, you kissed and lapped and bit, easily forming evidence of your love across his pale, shimmery skin. The contrast always settled happily in your stomach when you looked at it, purple on white, you on Regulus.

Your hand that had held the other side of his face slid into his hair, grasping a handful at the nape of his neck and using it to pull his head further to the left, allowing you greater access. Once more, Regulus let out a moan at the slight sting and you knew it was on purpose when he whispered another hoarse, “Amour.”

You hummed in appraisal against his throat as you kissed, feeling the vibrations move through him. Your free hand kept toying with his waistband, slipping your fingers just far enough beneath to cause his breath to catch, but never truly doing anything, instead enjoying having your love all to yourself and accepting of the doting you ached to give him. It had been a long journey to accept any form of affection, let alone worship, so now that you had him freely all to yourself, you never passed up the opportunity.

With your hand in his hair, you pulled his head further back, granting you better access to his throat and chest, pressing a soft kiss to where his throat was bobbing as he swallowed at your ministrations. You kissed your way down to the dip between his neck and shoulder, where you gave him a particularly rough lovebite. His hands on your hips jerked towards him, essentially dragging your core across his, eliciting groans from the both of you. “Oh, amour,” he whispered, looking down at you with husky bedroom eyes.

You let your tongue lap over your bite, kissing across his prominent collarbones instead, trailing them up and down with a feverish tongue. With your hand in his waistband, you slipped around to his backside, dipping the rest of your hand in to get a handful of his ass. You used the momentum of his hips bucking upwards to grind yourself down against him, smiling through your kisses at the lovely sounds he was making.

“Amour, amour, amour.” Regulus was chanting your term of endearment as if it was a prayer, a mantra to get you to continue; and you would never deny him anything he asked for. You continued rolling your hips back and forth on top of his, heat pooling in your stomach as you felt him twitch and jerk beneath you. You moved your hand from his hair to settle onto his chest for leverage, palm pushing firmly into his left nipple as your nails buried their way into his skin through his sheer tanktop. All the while you were kissing across his collarbones, nipping and then soothing the skin immediately with your tongue, leaving saliva-covered bruises in your wake. 

“You’re so good for me, my love,” you whispered into the dent between his collarbones, and he let out a sound that seemed to be the mix of a breathless laugh and a sullen moan.

“Told you I missed you,” he managed to quip out, breath hitching once more as you repositioned yourself slightly to roll your core directly against his, only separated by thin fabrics of clothing. “Comment pourrais-je ne pas le faire, alors que tu m'aimes tant?”

Your turn to groan as you leaned your forehead against his slightly slick skin. “Just love you,” you mumbled once more before continuing your attack on his lovely body.

With trembling fingers, Regulus slipped a hand across your cheek and into your hair, encouraging you to let go of the skin right above his tanktop – which you had half a mind to remove, if it didn’t accentuate his waist so beautifully – and brought your face back up to his.

The grin you were met with left nothing to the imagination as to what he was feeling, physically or emotionally. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled your face closer and closer until your lips were hovering millimetres above his own that were tilted to the side, ready to accept you in full. “Me laisserais-tu t'avoir, mon amour?”

You shuddered and tried to close the distance between you, but Regulus had regained some control as he regarded you with nothing short of marvel, and he held your head in place. “Hm?” he questioned then, teasing aligned in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you said,” you all but whined, in a quieter voice than you thought possible. Normally, you might have made some quip about it, but at the moment you were pure putty in his hands.

“I said,” he whispered, using his grip on the back of your head to tilt your head to the side, until it was the shell of your ear grazing his lips and not your own. “Would you let me have you, my love?”

Shivers ran down your spine at his tone, your hands clutching him harder, closer, wanting always to get closer. When he turned your head to meet his eyes once more, his pupils had nearly eclipsed the grey irises you loved so much.

His smile was somehow both devilish and soft at the same time as he took in how breathless he could make you with just a few words.

“Please.”

No sooner had you uttered the word before his lips were back on yours, hungry and loving, his hands moving to your ass to hoist you up into the air and carry you against him to your shared bedroom.

The perfect night of domestic bliss.

[xjcjuis]

COLOGNE

pairing: billie eilish x reader

synopsis: "you said she's scared of me? // maybe it's 'cause i'm wearing your cologne"

warnings: fluff, jealous!billie, some random girl named vanessa, terms of endearment teehee

wordcount: 1.1k

a/n: hi sorry i disappeared for two weeks 😢 got busy

"does this make my hips look too wide?" you ask, partly directed to yourself, partly to your girlfriend who was also in the room. you're checking yourself out in your bedroom's mirror, hands attempting to delicately smoothen out the creases in the dress's cloth.

"mm, no," billie hums, but one look in front of you tells you that she's not even paying attention.

"babe," you whine, "you're not even looking!" you twist a little to see the side view of your figure. "i think my chub's showing."

billie looks up from her phone to you, now the one checking you out with a not-so-subtle onceover before setting down the device and walking up to you.

she's clad in a black dress to match with yours, thin straps over her shoulders and the cloth itself pushing up what needs to be and accentuating what can be. you watch her come through the mirror, breath hitching when her arms smoothly wrap around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as she takes you in almost lazily, hooded eyes gazing intensely enough that it gets you hot in an airconditioned room.

"so?" she murmurs, voice low. "nothing's wrong with you. you look so, so beautiful."

billie kisses your temple softly, letting her lips stay on your skin for a second longer than a peck. "my gorgeous girl. in fact, it's a privilege for the others to even see you in casual wear. in this?" her hands slide a little lower to rub circles on your hipbone. "i might as well keep you home and to my self, pretty baby."

"pervert." you scoff, spraying some of billie's cologne on your skin, acting annoyed but you were really feeling pretty pleased with yourself. her words definitely helped with your self-esteem, as you knew it would, and with your comment your girlfriend only laughs and lands another kiss on your cheek.

"you're perfect, my love. and so is this ass."

a playful smack, a threatened spray in the eyes from you, and she dodges and walks out the door.

"come out in a minute or i definitely will leave you at home."

"i hate you."

fast forward to the thing you were preparing for in the first place - an award show and, of course, what comes next.

after event parties were never your thing, even as a celebrity's significant other.

as a homebody you would much rather stay at home, watching tv or scrolling through your phone or perhaps reading a nice long book by the window wrapped up in your girlfriend's warm arms, but no.

instead you were here, taking up the role of billie's plus one to a post-award show celebration. it's not that you weren't happy about physically being there to support her, but being surrounded by people on another level of fame and luxury as you were was, in a sense, intimidating.

your girlfriend wasn't there to be your comfort all the time either; her friends and other singers who recognized her came over to talk. at some point the two of you had gotten separated, although you still had her in your line of sight from a distance.

"i just have to do this thing, okay baby? i'll be back."

so you stand near a wall with nothing but juice in hand, too nervous to let loose and get drunk with your safety person currently occupied. your hands were clasped together, small purse hanging from your fingers, dress starting to feel a little uncomfortable despite the seemingly endless compliments and kisses billie had thrown you for it a few hours before.

"what's a pretty girl like you doing alone?"

you jump a little at the unexpected voice. turning towards the sound, you lock eyes with a girl for a brief second before you avert your gaze, intimidated by her hooded gaze and pricey ensemble. she was pretty, yes, but she wasn't your girlfriend and so you weren't very interested in conversation.

but just to be polite, you indulge in one. "oh, i'm not alone. i'm just, um, waiting."

you shoot her a small smile, clutching your little handbag tighter and standing a little straighter.

her lips curl upward as she takes a couple steps closer, hand swiftly dropping her wine glass on a tray a waiter passing by was holding. "for? company? i'm here now. i'm vanessa."

she was a little cocky, but with a velvet voice like that, you soon fall into a comfortable discussion with her.

'how was your day's were exchanged, what do you do for work, childhood, family members - of course, not everything was spilled, but more than small talk.

the light chat turns to the subject of style and preferences, more specifically your dress, your hairstyle, your perfume.

vanessa leans too close for a whiff. not for you, she seems at a respectable enough distance from you, but definitely for billie who'd been watching from the moment she had approached you.

the singer's eyes narrow when vanessa's look the wrong way, the chatter of the personalities around her fading into the background when she gets too touchy with you, a huff of annoyance and perhaps jealousy when a random girl takes a breath of her girl's scent in.

and the fact that you didn't seem bothered by it? oh, she has got to put an end to this nonsense.

"hi, doll face." billie says intro your ear, voice an octave lower than how it had been mere seconds ago.

you feel relief flooding through your veins upon feeling familiar hands rest on you, oblivious to the staring contest billie had started with the woman in front of you long before she actually had her hands on you.

her grip on your hips tighten, more protective than usual. "sorry i took so long, i didn't mean to make you wait," she continues, pressing a kiss to your shoulder bone.

"i-" vanessa tries to speak, but billie cuts her off.

"you smell good, my love."

you twitch a little, feeling a slight tickle as your girlfriend's nose glides across your skin to plant another kiss on your jaw.

"it's your cologne, baby-" your words end abruptly as billie starts to kiss the sensitive skin of your neck, and your teeth trap your bottom lip in between them so as not to show any outward signs of your enjoyment.

vanessa, who'd grown uncomfortable at the obvious public display of affection, clears her throat at your apologetic glance. "billie, right? nice to finally meet you, i'm-"

"i don't care who you are," billie replies, blunt and straightforward. "i don't want you flirting with my girlfriend, and frankly i'm not very interested in getting to know you."

"billie!" you hiss, watching the woman walk away disgruntled. "don't be rude."

"i don't care," she repeats, hooking her fingers underneath your chin. "i don't like sharing what's mine."

and she kisses you on the mouth, fully, in the middle of a crowded room.

[seattlesellie]

training wheels.

this is an old draft that i wrote a long time ago, about ellie using the strap on you for the first time. ♡‧₊˚

warnings: strap on sex (r!reciving) , first time , praise kink (for both) , soft and loving dom top!ellie , sub bottom!reader , cock grinding , thumb sucking .

──★ we have to make it clear on the fact that ellie was so unbelievably thrilled, yet so incredibly tentative when she first fucked you with her strap on. she’s been waiting for it, waiting to be the one claiming you from inside. she’s had it sitting snuggly in a box tucked below her bed for a while now, and she’d always eye it, have some sort of stare down with the black box. should she? or should she not? she wondered, but when three of her fingers were scissoring inside of you and you muttered that “please, d- deeper” she knew that fuck it — she should.

──★ so expectably, the first words that came out of her quivering lips when she aligned the silicone shaft with your sopping entrance, were “are you sure? i need to know you want this, please”, and you — being so eager yet so timid, only responded with two fervent nods. clearly, it wasn’t enough for ellie, in fact, it wasn’t enough at all, so her voice got very stern all of a sudden. it was that tone she only uses when she’s commanding someone to do something on patrol, when she’s directing someone on where to go, or showing them how to polish a precious weapon. it carries a deepness to it, raspy, it’s strong and forceful, nothing that falls short of intimidating. it's a different side of ellie, one that you don't know quite as well. “use your words, m’not doing this unless you use them”, and when she notices how you thickly gulp, huffing out a shaky breath from your nose, she soothes you with a delicate kiss on your temple. you whine, that kiss makes you want more. as soft as it may be, it makes you buck your hips inwards and let go of a needy high pitched moan. ellie shushes you with her sweet “i know babe, i know” — and you know that she knows, so why won’t she just put it inside?

──★ perhaps it’s the need to affirm herself that you do want this, or maybe it’s this greed she holds and the yearning to hear you say it. she’s looking deep into your blown out eyes, your dark irises, nods her head twice and waits for your words. meanwhile, whilst she waits, she slides her thumb down to caress just above your clit. she’s circling your skin with a touch to soothe, or perhaps signaling you what she’ll do when it’s inside, she'll never neglect your little button. when you look down, she hums. “words, mhm?” she murmurs. you can tell she’s all tensed up, fighting the urge to just slide it inside because she knows she can, she knows you need it by the way your chest heaves up and down, and by the way there’s a small puddle of slick that formed on the flimsy bedsheet below. moreover, she has prepared you for it, first with her skilled tongue, then with her skilled fingers. “want it, i need…” you whisper, voice airy yet cracking. ellie removes her finger from your pelvis, brings it up to your cheek and caresses softly. “need what, pretty girl, huh? need what?”

──★ truthfully, you don’t really know how to call it, she’s never really referenced it by it’s name, just called it a “thing” you “might need” when she realized how eagerly your hole pulls her fingers inside, and squeezes like she might run away if you don’t. so when you see the deep, dark purple shaft (with two distinct veins on the side) you simply giggle out of inexperience, and a tinge of embarrassment. ellie smirks, looking down at you, then grins with her eyebrows arched up in amusement. “ellie… i dunno, uh, how to call it… i mean —“ and she stops you mid sentence, smacking your lips softly with hers. she chuckles, matches your giggle even, a deep blush appearing on the apples of her cheeks because fuck — what if you laugh, what if you don’t like it, or what if you don’t want to use those dirty words she likes calling her silicone buddy by. “uh… shit babe, it’s, well you can call it…” she stammers, now attempting to stifle her laugh. you look up at her and form a tight line with your lips. your chest’s heaving and stifling giggles because fuck it, she’s cute when she’s embarrassed, and how fucking precious is it that you can laugh with her even in a moment like this. you cunt can ache for her and you can still be silly together and giggle like kids because you trust her and she trusts you.

──★ she buries her face in the crook of your neck, groaning yet giggling and nearly falling on top of you. when her hips slightly buck down, in result of her laughs, the silicone shaft grinds itself up against your slippery slit, and you whine her name so loud her giggles stop like she’s been hit on the face with a rock. now, you can hear her harsh breaths in your ear, loud with anticipation and want, lips resting on the pulse of your neck. she realizes you must fucking love the grinding of it all, so she moves her hips back and forth to grind up against you some more. “uh huh, like that?” she murmurs, and to every whimper she responds with a groan like she can feel it, like she can actually feel your greedy wet lips wrapping around her. she nibbles on your earlobe, making you shiver, and breathes deeply before speaking into your ear. “fuuuuu” she gasps and it’s breathless, like she’s trying to form actual words but they only come out as muffled gibberish. she breathes again, gaining her courage. “my cock… say you want my cock”.

──★ it really is lewd, “her cock” — as if it’s hers, attached to her, as if she can feel it. it makes your tummy tie in knots, makes your throat feel clogged, your breaths come out harsher and bordering on wheezing before you murmur those words. when the mushroom like tip bumps up against your clit, it’s oh so delicious and fuck it — you want, as lewd as may be, you need her cock. “i want your cock, ellie, inside” you cry for her, and she nearly growls in your ear. although it’s bordering on perverted now, she asks you a simple “inside where?”, it makes you hiccup against her skin, and you don’t even realize she’s smiling so bright inside the crook of your neck. she understands that if she eggs you on, you will fucking say it, so she repeats with a raspy; “c'mon, where?”

──★ when it becomes crystal clear to you that unless you voice everything out; she won’t give it to you, and you’re practically clenching in and out over nothing — you whisper “need… ellie, i need it in my pussy, please, please, please” and god, she nearly regrets making you say it because she might burst inside her boxers if you keep begging for it like such a needy girl. she takes a moment to think about it, needy, needy, needy, needy for her, for her cock — needy for her to fuck you, needy for her inside and christ sake you’re begging and she didn’t even ask you to. you’re feeding her ego with every plea, with every quivering breath and you don’t even know it. meanwhile, whilst she’s busy thinking about how to pull back on her goddamn nearing on untouched orgasm, she doesn’t even realize your hand is wrapped around her dick and you’re nearly pushing it inside. when she sees it, she nearly goes cross eyed. she grabs your hand and pushes it up, chasing your eyes with hers. “what are you doing, huh?” she drawls, affirming her dominance with an iron grip on your wrist. you’re actually helpless, caught in the act, wiggling your hips and rolling them upwards. “p-please, ellie!” you beg, and the knots inside ellie’s own stomach feel like they’re tightening more and more they might break like glass. she wraps her own hand around the shaft and nearly pushes the tip in. you wince — and to that ellie shushes. “look at me, jus’ look at me”, and how can you not? she looks so adoring, a squiggly smile on her lips when she realizes the tip damn near slipped from how soaked up you are. the actual noise it makes, moist and sticky, makes ellie whimper out your name. “y’hear that?”, she murmurs and of course you can, in fact it makes you embarrassed but she praises you once more, making the embarrassment nothing but a fleeting little feeling. “sounds so good baby, s’all for me?” — all for her.

──★ she pushes the tip inside, no longer gripping your wrist above your head, intently guiding it to hold her wherever you want. you decide on one hand on her bicep, the other one on the back of her neck. there’s a pinching pain inside of your cunt, but it’s so fucking delicious because it’s her thats creating it — that when you wince it comes out as more of a blissful moan and a gasp. she won’t let you suffer, not for one second more, so she slides her hand down to caress your clit as she pushes more inches in. “mhm, ‘s, ‘so good baby… you’re so good, doin’ so good for me, you got this… yeah? i got you” she’s rambling, searching and scanning your face for any sign of pain or regret, and when she catches that you’re smiling, actually smiling with a tear shedding from your eye, she moans so loud you have to seal her lips with yours or else the whole town of jackson might hear.

──★ the more inches she slides inside, the more ellie lets loose of her gritted teeth. her mouth goes slightly agape, “stay open for me, jus’ like that, fuckyou’resogood” she croons, still circling and toying with your puffy clit from below. your thighs are nothing but trembling and shaking like jelly, body, flesh and brain turning into mushy pink and ellie shaped goo, and the fact that she doesn’t stop with her praising and sweet nothings, repeating how good you are, how brave, and tight — makes your heart flutter inside of your chest. when all of it’s length is finally inside of your gummy walls, she lets it sit there for a few faint moments before she begins thrusting. “just for me, got that? just for me, this is mine, all mine” she murmurs more to herself than to you, but you make sure to affirm her nevertheless. “m’yours, please ‘mo— ‘more”, you’re begging for that sharp friction, for that movement, but ellie needs to treasure this moment so she simply looks down. it’s all inside, it’s her cock that’s inside — claiming you, so she marvels, examines and thoroughly looks at your pussy clenching on her dick like it’s a goddamn work of art. if you squeezed down on her fingers like they might run away, the squeeze you have down on her cock — “god damn” she whispers, might need to take a picture and fucking frame it. finally, she catches your pleading gaze. “gonna move now, babe, c— can i move?”, and you whine, because it’s beginning to feel unfair, so she connects her lips with yours and slides her hot tongue inside. she breaks the kiss, grinning like she won the apocalypse lottery. “mhm, gonna move, gonna give you what you want”

──★ at first, she thrusts agonizingly slow like a snail. moves her hips backwards and doesn’t slam it fully inside, lets the tip hang nearly outside of your entrance and then slowly but deliciously slips it in again. you wail, actually wail for her to go deeper, and it clicks in her head when you scratch her back in a way that makes her hiss. she bottoms out fully, moving backwards and then slides inwards again. she won’t stop looking into your goddamn eyes, then stares into your lips that are now “o” shaped. she’s flushed and she’s biting her bottom lip so hard it might draw blood, but then she asks you “t’feels good?” and doesn’t add that cocky “huh?” that she loves to murmur when her fingers are the ones your cunt is hugging, because she actually needs to know. “mhm, good ellie, you’re so good to me” you praise, which sends ellie into a goddamn frenzy — eyelids fluttering and falling heavy as a deep, throaty chuckle escapes from within. “god fuckin’ damn, how did i even…” then she slams it again, which makes both of you gasp. her right thigh shakes, “fuckin’ get so fuckin’ lucky with you?”, she wont stop cussing, slurring up her words and misplacing her “fucks” and her “fucking”s. the louder your moans get, the braver ellie grows, pumping her cock harder now, milking every thrust and every whimper, “who’s f-f fucking you, hm?” she asks, and her thumb neglects your clit but you don’t even need it anymore since she’s giving it to you so good from within. her digit meets your face, caressing the corner of your lip, which makes you take your tongue out and ellie realizes you want it inside as well. you seem to want everything inside, huh? she thinks. her cock, her fingers, her tongue, her goddamn thumb. she complies out of want, curiosity, how slutty would you look sucking on her finger. admittedly, she’s had dreams about it, about you; bent down on your knees sucking on a popsicle in july, sucking a lollipop as she watches from above. she gazes at your cheeks hollow in as she slides her thumb in and out, but you bite it and she gasps — keep it inside cause you’re about to suck it, then she loses it entirely. “you’re fuckin’ gonna make me fuckin’ cum” she whimpers, she says it like she's scared, like she's surprised or confused because heavens how could it be possible?

──★ knowing that you were about to make her cum untouched makes the coil in your stomach nearly snap. you're prideful now, but your pussy feels like it’s quivering so much you simply don't know and can't grasp on how to be cocky about it like she does. another praise escapes your lips, "love your dick s-s- so so much", and ellie growls, she feels depraved and sick, absolutely pussydrunk and on the verge of a heart attack. her rule, however, is that she cannot under any circumstance come before you do, so she speeds up. grabbing both of your cheeks with her hands, she squeezes them together and coos. "you're gonna cum for me" she commands, so your eyebrows furrow together and your eyes close shut. she's dominating you to the verge of tears, so when ellie tells you to cum, you will do as she says. "g, g- gonna cum, it’s, s'-so much" you warn, absolutely breathless, toes curling inside of your socks.

──★ you could call her delusional or crazy, but when you nearly reach your orgasm, she feels your walls hugging her tightly. fortunately for you, ellie is nothing but talkative. it may be odd, because she’s not much of a blabber mouth, but when she’s inside and you’re being fucked out on her strap, talking you through it is all she seems to wanna do. “can f-feel that little pussy hugging me, fuck, gonna give me a big one? pretty girl? give ellie a big one, c’mon”, she’s relentless with it, fast and chasing her own high, not knowing where to goddamn look — your eyes that scream “i love you” or your pussy that’s begging to be filled up some more, or maybe your lips that are covered with drool. she settles however, on your eyes. you nod profusely, “gonna give it to you… mhm” you hiccup, which ellie deems as nothing but so fuckin’ cute, to the point where she wants to break you in half just to hear that “cuteness” some more. when your eyes roll back to the top of your head, cunt filled to the brim — ellie swears something to herself. she’s gonna fuck you every day. if humanly possible, she would have fucked you all the time. so you give it to her, a real big one, one that leaves you paralyzed, not even moaning — sweet sticky mouth fully agape with a choked up scream of her name. she wants to warn you that she’s about to cum too, but you’re too quick to notice. “cum for me, ellie” you beg in that sweet voice of yours and she cums with a huge , lovey-dovey, cumdrunk smile plastered across on her face.

──★ when you’re done, she cleans you up with a wet towel and kisses you everywhere. then — “i picked up a new book and it has a bunch of pics of cool bugs, y’wanna see?”. you’re fucked and in love.

[sun-kissy]

okay, so i'm here for a an ask for each of your cutesy celebration, so be ready for a little spam ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

first, since you seem a bit cold so lemme wrap you with a

🧣scarf with Sirius and could the prompt be "wanna cuddle? you know, just to keep warm." and "so, how much longer do you plan on using me as your personal space heater?" from the cold prompts

love you very very much, san (๑>◡<๑)

ivy, my love! here's your scarf, thank you so much for the request <333 🧣

forever | s.b.

— "Wanna cuddle? You know, just to keep warm." & "So, how much longer do you plan on using me as your personal space heater?"

sirius black x reader

summary: you're cold, and you're in love with sirius

tw: smoking, fluff

Sirius sighs and tips his head back, wisps of delicate smoke rising from his lips. You knew angels would fawn over his loveliness if they could see him like this. He brings the cigarette away from his mouth, catching your stare with a smile. “No cigarettes in the house, I know.”

“I’d really prefer no cigarettes at all, but yeah, that’s the bare minimum,” you murmur, placing his mug of coffee on the table before curling up on the other end of the couch with yours.

Sirius was at your place for the holidays. Your roommate was out for the week, and you hated spending Christmas, or anything really, alone. James was back home with family and Remus was celebrating it with his girl. That left Sirius. Just Sirius, which did awful things to your heart.

He flashes you another grin, and this time has the dignity to look at least slightly apologetic. He doesn’t snuff the cigarette out. You don’t ask him to.

You lean back with your gaze on him, holding your breath so as to not inhale anything you wouldn’t want to. Sirius stares back at you.

“What?”

“Nothing! Just —“ you exhale, scrunching up your face. “At least blow it away from me?”

“But then I can’t look at your pretty face,” he retorts, tilting his head teasingly.

Your heart twists someway crummy behind your ribs. “Sirius.”

“Okay, okay,” he huffs out, shifting slightly so he’s facing the television. “Happy?”

“Very. Thank you,” you mutter, rolling your eyes when he chuckles and shakes his head.

A couple of minutes pass by, a comfortable silence falling over the two of you. He stares at the wall; you at him. Sirius is always pretty – but prettier like this. You know it’s impossible, but his cheekbones seem to soften when the smoke leaves his pale lips. His eyes flutter shut when he sighs.

You feel your heart swell a little, like the poisoned gas he’s blowing out is filling you up in the shape of love.

Sirius catches you. “What now?”

“Nothing.”

You pause. Christmas was tomorrow. A few other friends would be coming over, and you’d lose Sirius in the sea of them. He’d pack his bags and leave the next morning, and you’d lose him from your apartment. But you had him today. His heart sat unguarded, in plain sight. Maybe he had girls left, right and centre latching their claws onto it the moment he stepped out. But for tonight, you could take it with the tips of your fingers, hold it in the palm of your hands and cradle it close to yours.

“Actually,” you speak up. Sirius startles, looking back around at you curiously.

“Do you wanna…” you clear your throat, smoke from his pretty lips blowing over you like a fog. A fog you’d love to get lost in. “Wanna cuddle? You know, just to keep warm.”

He looks confused for a moment, and you’re sure you’ve screwed it up. Sirius was never going to come over again, and he’d warn Remus and James not to either. You were going to end up a loner with a broken heart.

“Sure.”

You blink, surprised. “Huh?”

Sirius smiles, and it’s every lovely word you could ever think of. “I said sure. Get over here, babe.”

It should’ve been embarrassing how quickly you crawled over to him, but you can’t feel it right now, every little bit of your heart taken up by some form of love. The fat of your thigh melds into his as you press up to him cross legged.

Sirius is always gentle with his touch, but somehow kinder now. He snuffs the cigarette out in the ashtray on the table; the one you bought just because he always came over. He curls his palm around the curve of your hip, and you think maybe that’s what your love handles were for, for him to love.

“You good?”

I’m more than good, I’m happy. I love you. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he murmurs, pulling you impossibly closer. You’d say your heart was doing flips; but you can’t feel it from how hard you’re squished up against him. You let yourself close your eyes. 

You stay like that for a while. Sirius is thinking about warming you up, you are thinking about how much love he had to have for you, to let you hug him on a random Tuesday and hold you like you’re fragile. Too much love. Not as much as you, though, you’re sure of it.

“So,” Sirius starts softly, as soft as his touch where he’s rubbing your hip. “How much longer do you plan on using me as your personal space heater?”

There’s an undertone of teasing you decide to ignore. It’s laden with love, and love is all you need. “As long as you’ll allow.”

“Hm,” he muses, lips quirking up as he wraps his other arm around your waist too. It’s your lucky day, you think. “My arms have no curfew, sweetheart. They’re content to hold you as long as you please.”

You smile. Sirius can’t see it, but he can feel it. You mumble something incoherent as you turn your face into his chest, but it sounds suspiciously like forever.

san's christmas sleepover

[the-californicationist]

Mirror Image

The 141 boys buy a mirror for your bedroom... (TW: elements of cnc)

Gaz is the type of guy who would leave you filthy little notes written on it in your own expensive lipstick, knowing good and well you'd drag him to the shops to buy you three more. They start off tame -- Flash yourself for me, babe ;) -- but now, weeks later, after plenty of mirror-related games, you wake up to your largest dildo suctioned to the glass with a little post-it stuck to the fat tip that says -- Suck it til you come. Send me the vid xx. And when he finally gets home, he gives your pussy plenty of hard cock to keep you full while you show him how deep you can swallow your toy.

Ghost catches you staring at yourself in it one night. He'd just taken you out for your anniversary dinner, and you were admiring the silky black dress he'd bought you, admiring how your nipples are just barely visible through the thin fabric. "Like what you see, missus? ...'cause I fuckin' do." His hand traced its way around your ribs, reaching for your freely hanging breast, plucking ever so delicately at your peak beneath the silk and making you squirm. Before you know it, your dress is rucked up above your thighs, the neckline shoved down to show off those bouncing tits, and you're so full of his drooling prick that you can hardly see straight.

Soap doesn't hang it on the wall. Oh, no. That baby is positioned right above the bed, retro-style, and every night (...every. night.) he pounds into you, making you watch yourself over his shoulder, letting you see the way his muscles ripple and pop in his shoulders and legs as he ruts into you endlessly. Sometimes, he makes you ride him reversed, your juicy ass directly in his line of sight. He forces your hips to hump him at a wild pace, even if you beg him to let you take a break, yanking your hair down your back and forcing your face up toward the mirror so he can wink at you in the dark glass.

Price comes home early one night and catches you touching yourself in the soft glow of the mirror's backlight. You have it on the floor, propped up at an angle, you fingers plunging deep inside your wet holes, eyes fixated on the way your pussy glistens in front of you. "She's pretty, innit she?" You gasp, hurrying to try and cover yourself, but he catches you by the nape of your neck, tossing you like a ragdoll on all fours, shoving your face into the cold glass. "Give 'er a kiss, love." You don't understand what he's asking at first, but he doesn't wait. You feel his fat cockhead stretching you so wide that it burns, slipping into your slick slit inch by punishing inch, and his hand crushes into the sides of your throat, forcing your jaw to make contact with the glass. "C'mon, sweetheart. Show me how you use that mouth." So, you obey, kissing your own reflection, making a mess of the smooth glass with your lips and tongue, your hot breath and ragged screams fogging up the reflection.

[mirainwonderland]

Leon Kennedy One Shot

Content: fluff, established relationship, allusion to mature themes (bondage?)but fades to black so no real NSFW wanted to keep it pg

Pairing: Leon X reader

Synopsis: You get bored and tie a ribbon around his bicep

A/N: I wrote the first bit of this when I was half asleep lol idk I thought it turned out bad but I reread, edited, and finished it and now I’m happy with it so enjoyyy ^_^ I think the concept is cute and I wanted to write it outside of a smutty context (even though technically it ends up there but whatever) have fun x

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

“There!” You announce, sitting cross-legged on the couch while Leon works on his computer beside you. He’d been at it for hours, and you were admittedly a little bored. He kept saying “Almost done babe”, but that felt like hours ago now. So with nothing better to do, you decide to amuse yourself by getting some of your pink ribbon and tying the most perfect bow you could around his bicep while he typed away on some boring report. Leon had asked you what the hell you were doing, but you shrugged, and he just let you, most of his focus on work he needs to finish.

It had taken you way too many tries to get it this perfect, and you grin at your accomplishment as the tips of your fingers tickle the bunny ears of the satin bow. It’s something you’ve secretly always wanted to try. You loved his arms and seeing the delicate fabric of the ribbon tied around his muscles like some spiffy package that was all yours was tantalizing. It was satisfying to see his calloused muscles adorned with a signature of something that was so distinctly you, that you can’t help but feel a little spark of warmth and pride as a smile lights up your face.

He spares a glance over his shoulder at your little piece of art, a ghost of a smile not quite manifesting on his face in its entirety.

“Pretty.” He humors you, clicking his mousepad a couple of times in half-baked attention. You crinkle your nose, huffing a puff of air through it. Even if he’s mostly focused on work, he can’t help himself when it comes to giving you a little bit of a (lovingly) hard time. And he’d be lying if he told himself didn’t think your little pink ribbon was cute.

“Hey!” You protest as his bicep suddenly flexes, the ribbon popping at its tension point and fluttering onto the cushion of the couch.

“Stoppp…!” You draw out the word in a light-heartedly annoyed whine, picking the tatters of your little art piece off the couch.

You grab a new strand of ribbon, tying it around his bicep once again in three or four tries, biting your lip in concentration. Leon dulls an affectionate smirk as he watches you out of the corner of his eye, his attention shifting over more to your little antics. You lean back, blowing a strand of hair from your face.

He has to do it again.

“No don’t— no!” You scold, grabbing onto his arm when he begins to flex his bicep again. Your hands don’t fit all the way around of course, put you still push your palms towards each other into the muscle on either side, trying to force him to relax and not mess up your little masterpiece.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating in his chest and sending warm tingles down your back at the domesticity of it as he relaxes the muscle. It’s not often you see him this relaxed, and it feels really nice whenever you catch a glimpse of this side of him.

His computer is discarded, and in a flash he grabs your hands, pinning your wrists together as he reaches for your vulnerable sides. You erupt into an uncontrollable fit of laughter as he tickles you, his bicep flexing and relaxing under the ribbon still tied to his arm.

“Let’s see how you like it. C’mere.” He grabs a strand of ribbon himself, winding it around your wrists and tying them off so you’re stuck. You squeal as he throws your arms a loop around his neck, and nuzzles your nose and face, making you writhe and giggle beneath him ticklishly as his hands ruthlessly attack your sides.

Your elbows dig into his shoulders as you laugh, writhing wildly under him. Curse your ticklish spots and sensitive nerve endings, and screw him for knowing where they are.

“Stop! Sto-“ You’re cut off as his fingers flatten against your ribs and his lips abruptly press against yours in a breathless flare of a kiss.

Traces of breathless laughter spill from your mouth when he releases them, as your chest heaves up and down against his for air.

“I’m stuck!” Your wrists writhe against the bindings of silk, eliciting no reaction of sympathy from Leon like you intended. “Leon-“

“Nah, I like you like this.” Refusing to help you, he peck your lips again, pressing doting little kisses all over your cheeks and nose. You erupts into soft giggled again, making warmth flood through his chest and invigorate his tired muscles.

He pulls back again to look down at your rosy face.

“Untie me.”

His gaze flickers to the ceiling as if in thought momentarily before returning to you. His voice rumbles deep in his chest, vibrating into yours. “Mm… No.”

“Leon!” You whine, making him chuckle again and drop his lips to yours once more. He snatches you up in his arms so suddenly you squeal, fingers digging into the back of his shirt as he bounces you once in his arms for a better grip.

“I’ve got a pretty little package,” He says walking with you to your bedroom, nuzzling your face affectionately, making you show him that adorable smile he loves. “And I’m gonna open it.”

And open it he does.

All night long.

[springtyme]

hey babes 💖 congrats on the 2k! you deserve it, i'm literally obsessed with your writing! 🥂 can i request a drabble and moodboard for older hubby price? thank youu <33

𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐇��𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 ♡

Thank you so much, hun! ♡ I hope you like this, it was so enjoyable to make! (like, boy oh boy, what I wouldn't do to have this man be my hubby)

Main Masterlist || John Price Playlist || 141 Masterlist

You can’t help but smile back at your reflection as you stand in front of the full body mirror of your bedroom, applying your lipstick, your favourite little black dress hugging your curves as you gently sways to the smooth, melodic voice of Ella Fitzgerald coming from the speaker on your nightstand. 

You’re just so excited for tonight, the first date night you and John have had in months as he has been away at base. You are so engrossed in the music and the happy anticipation bubbling inside your chest that you don’t even notice as John steps into the room at first, but as the rich scent of his cologne fills the air you catch his gaze in the mirror. He truly is a sight for sore eyes as he stands there, leaning against the door frame as he buttons up his dress shirt, a smile playing at the corner of his lips, the most kissable lips you’ve ever known. 

He watches you for a moment, his blue eyes sparkling with adoration as he takes in the sight of you, before stepping further into the room, walking up behind you with determined steps and wrapping his arms around your waist.  “God, you’re stunning,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck. The gentle touch of his lips sends a shiver down your spine. 

“You’re looking pretty handsome yourself,” you reply, turning around in his arms to face him with a smile. His eyes soften as he looks at you, his hand reaching up to adjust your necklace. His fingers trail along your exposed skin, sending goosebumps in their wake as he fingers the pendant hanging from your neck. You can feel the intensity of his gaze as he continues to look at you, his love for you shining through. 

“You’re flattering me, darling,” John says, his voice filled with warmth. “But really, I can’t take my eyes off of you. You take my breath away every time.”

You feel your heart swell with love for this man, this man who never fails to make you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. You reach up to cup his cheek, running your thumb along his jawline as you look into his eyes, the stubbles of his beard gently scratching against your soft fingertips. “You always know what to say to make a girl feel special,” you say with a soft giggle.

“It’s easy when all I have to say is the truth,” he replies, leaning in to capture your lips in a sweet and tender kiss. “You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever known, inside and out,” he whispers so softly against your lips. 

You melt into the kiss, feeling the love and passion between you two like a warm blanket wrapping around you on a cold winter night. As you finally pull away, you can’t help but smile at the crimson of your lipstick that’s now staining the corner of his mouth. With a giggle, you reach up and gently wipe away the trace of your crime. But before you can finish, John takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips, planting a soft kiss at the delicate skin of your pulse point before bringing his lips to the golden band of your wedding ring, pressing a soft kiss to the line of diamonds that is encircling your ring finger.

“And I love you so much,” he murmurs against your skin, his eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration. 

You feel a rush of warmth in your chest, your heart swelling with happiness at his words. “I love you too John, more than words can express,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I’ve missed you so much.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you close as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume. “I’ve missed you too, love,” he murmurs, his voice filled with longing. “But I’m home now, and I’m gonna stay here for a while, I promise.”

You smile against his chest, feeling content and at peace in his arms. The world outside disappears as you revel in the warmth of his embrace, the love that surrounds you both like a cocoon. And as Ella Fitzgerald’s voice continues to serenade you from the speakers you melt into each other, swaying gently to the music, lost in the moment and in each other.

[seungkw1]

pretty little present — smg

♡ pairing: bf!mingi x afab!reader ♡ theme: smut ♡ wc: 2.5k ♡ warnings: dom!mingi, sub!reader, size kink (obviously), reader wears lingerie, mingi picks up reader and carries them, masturbation (f. & m.), oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), multiple orgasms (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex (do not do this), dacryphilia, possessiveness, creampie, reader gets one (1) hickey, pet names (princess, doll, babygirl), great aftercare, fluff ending ♡ a/n: i don’t normally write atz but bestie @myhimbomingi requested a mingi fic and i absolutely said yes!! i had such a fun time writing him hehe

The soft light of early dawn filters through your eyelids as you slowly drift into consciousness. You roll over, flopping your arm over your sleeping boyfriend to snuggle up next to him - but your hand hits nothing but the bedsheets. You sleepily pry your eyes open to see his side of the bed vacant. You grab your phone to check your texts - sure enough, you have a message from Mingi, sent at 6:14am:

good morning babe :) sorry to leave without saying goodbye but i didnt wanna wake u, u looked so cute!! i had to leave early for work today but i promise i’ll make it up to u! i left u a present on the counter, we’ll put it to good use tonight ;) love you ❤️

You were planning on going back to sleep, but now you're simply too curious. You hop out of bed and make your way to the kitchen. There, on the counter, you see a flat, gift-wrapped box - creamy white in color with baby pink ribbons tying it together. Whatever it is, it looks expensive. You untie the pastel bow and remove the lid. Underneath several layers of crisp white tissue paper, you find your present: a lingerie set. 

The set is jet black, made of silky mesh adorned with lace and satin ribbons. It’s light as a feather, buttery soft to the touch - clearly a luxury item. You've never worn anything like it in your life, but it's beautiful. 

You pull your phone out to text your boyfriend. 

got your gift, hurry home to me ;) 

The typing bubble immediately pops up. Within seconds he responds. 

i will baby 😘

The day passes at an annoyingly slow pace. You didn't have much to do today anyway, so you try to occupy yourself with chores, but you can't help daydreaming about what all Mingi will be doing to you later. 

Finally, evening rolls around - Mingi will be home soon. 

You take a quick shower to freshen up, afterwards donning your new lingerie set. With all its various straps it takes you a few minutes to even figure out how to get it on, but once you do you step in front of your full length mirror to check it out. You knew it was gonna be really pretty on, but you look fucking hot. You start thinking about how feral it's going to make Mingi - quickly ruining the delicate panties at the mere thought of him. 

You grab some leggings and a big tshirt and throw them on. Another peek in the mirror verifies that you can't tell what you're wearing underneath the comfy clothes - all the more perfect to surprise him with. 

A few minutes later, you hear the sound of the front door being unlocked and opened. 

“Babe, I’m home!” Mingi calls out. 

You flutter on over to meet him, practically skipping as you jump into his arms. He pulls you in for a big kiss, placing his large hand on the back of your head, petting your hair softly as he holds you tight against him. As his lips depart from yours, he smiles, gazing at you with pure love. 

“I missed you,” you tell him as you place your hand on his chest. 

“I missed you too,” he replies as he kisses your forehead. 

“Soooo,” he starts as he tosses his bag down and kicks his shoes off. “What do you say we try out your new present?”

“Already?” you reply coyly. “Don’t you wanna eat dinner first?”

“It can wait,” he says as he lightly grabs onto your chin. His voice turns low and rumbly. 

“I’d rather eat you.”

You giggle. “Well somebody's horny.”

“I've been thinking about you all day - thinking about how good you're gonna look in your gift.” He strokes your jaw with his thumb. “Gonna be my pretty little present.”

He grabs the hem of your tshirt, starting to pull it off of you. 

“Why don't we get you out of these clothes already and-”

He stops. He’s lifted your shirt just enough to reveal the black lacy lingerie underneath. 

“Oh.”

“One step ahead of you, baby,” you say sweetly. 

“Fuckkkkk,” he groans. He helps you lift your shirt the rest of the way off, flinging it aside as he takes in the sight of you. The mesh lining of the bra is entirely sheer, putting your nipples on full display. The coolness of the room combined with how turned on you’re getting makes them perk up, poking through the delicate fabric. 

He brushes his fingers over the protruding buds, making them even harder. He licks his lips as he gazes at you, the love in his eyes quickly turning into lust. 

You reach for the waist of your leggings, sliding them off of you to reveal the rest of the set. You kick them aside, standing up before him to show yourself off.

“Turn around for me,” Mingi commands.

You give him a twirl, wiggling your butt as your back faces him. He grabs onto you with both hands, squeezing your ass, kneading the soft flesh in his hands.

You let him touch you for a few moments before you spin around, grabbing his hands as you pull him with you toward the bedroom.

“Come on, what are you waiting for?” you tease.

Before you can take another step you feel your feet depart from the ground - Mingi grabs you by the waist, lifting you off the floor as he picks you up. He practically tosses you over his shoulder as he carries you down the hallway, his arm wrapped tightly around your torso as he holds you against him. 

“Hey!!” you shout, but a big grin spreads across your face. So he’s in this kind of mood. You know he’s about to throw you around, have his way with you - even more so than normal. You feel your pussy clench in anticipation. 

You arrive at the bedroom. Mingi tosses you onto the bed - you land on your back, resting upon the pile of pillows. You keep your legs open, showing off your pussy through the sheer fabric of your underwear. 

“So wet for me already,” he says as he runs two fingers lightly across your clothed slit. He gives your cunt a gentle smack. 

“Touch yourself for me, princess. Leave your panties on.”

You obediently slide your fingers to your core. Mingi quickly pulls his shirt over his head, then reaches for his belt. You begin stroking your clit through the soft mesh as you watch him remove his clothes, freeing the large bulge that has formed in his pants. He pulls his boxers down, his length springing free. As many times as you’ve had sex with him, you’re still always taken aback by his size. His cock is thick, long, hard - precum already dribbling from his tip. He strokes himself a few times as he watches you. You slip your fingers underneath your panties, sliding them into your opening. You moan softly at the sensation - but you know this is absolutely nothing compared to how much his cock is going to fill you up. 

He watches you slowly fuck yourself for a minute, gripping his length in his fist. As you start to wriggle slightly to your own touch, he steps forward. You yelp as he grabs you by the ankles, yanking you toward the edge of the mattress. He kneels down, leaning against the bed, positioning his face in front of your cunt. His hands slide up the underside of your thighs, pushing your legs up and into the bed, nearly folding you in half as he opens you up even further before him. He sticks his tongue out, dragging its tip ever so lightly over your clit through the panties - it’s enough to drive you insane.

“Mingi,” you whine, trying to push yourself into his mouth. He retracts his head, not letting you get what you want just yet.

“What’s that, baby?” he asks. The way he’s staring at you, you can tell he is dying to taste you - but he doesn’t miss the opportunity to taunt you a bit.

“Please,” you softly mumble under your breath.

“Use your words, doll. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Want your mouth on me,” you manage to utter, still trying to push your cunt against his mouth - but his grip on you is too strong. “Want you to make me cum.”

“Like this?” he asks, teasing you once more as his tongue dances over your pussy.

“God, yes,” you cry. You feel like you’re going to lose your mind if he delays any further. 

“Or,” he continues as he reaches beneath the hem of your panties, pulling them aside. The coolness of the air hits your soaked core, countered by the hot exhales of Mingi’s breath against you. “Like this…”

He dives into you, his warm mouth greeting your cunt as his tongue traces between your folds. He sticks the tip into your hole - you’re so wet right now that it slips in with ease. You groan as he fucks you with his tongue, his nose pressing against your clit as he swirls his tongue around inside you. He pulls it out, flattening his tongue and licking a big stripe up your center before latching onto your clit. You cry out at the overpowering stimulation, writhing beneath Mingi’s strong arms as he sucks on the sensitive bud. A white-hot sensation swells in your gut, burning delightfully as you feel your orgasm approach. Your body tenses, your legs beginning to quiver as Mingi devours you. You reach for his head, grasping onto his hair as your climax takes over. You scream out Mingi’s name as you cum on his face, his tongue moving relentlessly against your clit as you ride out your high. He grips onto you until the very end, face buried in your pussy as you come down. Just when you think it’s over, he starts up again, sucking on your clit as he slips his fingers into you, curling them perfectly to reach your g-spot. Within moments, you’re cumming again, grinding against his tongue as overwhelming pleasure courses through your veins. He slows his motions, giving your clit a few last gentle licks as he slides his fingers out of you. They’re dripping wet, as is his entire chin - he places them in his mouth, licking them clean, making sure he doesn’t waste a single drop of you. 

You lay there, your chest rising up and down with heavy breaths as you try to recover. Mingi crawls up to meet your face, kissing you slowly on the mouth as he lays his weight upon you - resting on his forearms so he doesn’t completely squish you. You feel his cock throbbing against your cunt as he makes out with you - you can just tell he is unbearably hard. 

Mingi’s lips part from yours - barely, just enough so he can gaze into your eyes as he strokes your hair.

“Please fuck me,” you beg, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He nuzzles his head into your neck, sucking at your skin - lightly, but enough that you know it’ll leave a mark. 

“Anything for my princess,” he whispers into your ear. 

He stands up, pulling your hips toward him. He grabs onto the panties, ripping them off of you and throwing them aside. He lines his cock up with your entrance; he pushes just the head in, but he’s already stretching you out. Slowly he slides his full length into you - you cry out at the overwhelming fullness. He rests inside you for a few moments, letting you get used to his size. You begin shifting your hips, trying to ride his cock from beneath him. Mingi grins.

“So eager,” he coos, tracing his fingers over your stomach. “Are you ready babygirl?”

“Uh-huh,” you mewl, nodding your head swiftly.

He begins fucking you, steadily at first, but your cries quickly makes him increase his pace. Tears flow from your eyes as his thickness stretches you with each motion. He grasps tightly onto your hips, pulling you against him as he thrusts into you. He looks down at you, his pretty baby, losing all composure on his cock. He moans loudly, uninhibited - he doesn’t care if the whole world hears him. He wants everybody to know you’re his.

He reaches down, feeling your breasts through the lacy sheer bra.

“So pretty,” he groans. “So perfect, all mine.”

His hand slides down to your stomach, pushing down on your abdomen as he fucks you. The other reaches for your clit - you didn’t think you could possibly cum again, but the gentle pressure of his fingers combined with his cock nearly splitting you in half just feels too good. 

“Gonna cum,” you manage to get out, barely able to speak through your cries of pleasure. 

“Cum for me babygirl,” Mingi growls, very near his own release.

You cum on his cock, crying out his name as your walls squeeze around him - sending him over the edge. He releases, painting your insides with his hot white ropes. He grasps onto your hips, holding you down against him as his cock pulsates inside you. He breathes heavily, grunting as he gives you every last spurt of his cum. As he finishes, he holds still, his cock resting inside you. He leans over, careful not to pull out just yet - gently he grabs your jaw as he kisses you, his lips hungrily interlocked with yours. 

“Wait right here baby,” he says softly as your mouths finally part. You groan as he carefully pulls his cock out of you, immediately missing the sensation. Mingi quickly makes his way to the bathroom; he returns with a small towel, doused in warm water. Gently he cleans you up, cautious as not to overstimulate you. As he finishes he tosses the towel back into the bathroom, scooping you up and pulling you into the bed with him. He tucks the both of you underneath the blankets, taking you in his arms as he nuzzles up against you. 

“Are you cold?” he asks, kissing you on the forehead.

“Not with you here.”

“Good.”

You lay there in silence, deep breaths filling the air as you relax into each other's arms.

“Thanks for the present, baby,” you finally say, your voice soft and sleepy.

“You’re welcome, love.”

“You did completely rip it to shreds, though,” you remind him.

Mingi smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, I got a little carried away. You just looked too good.”

He cradles your cheek in his palm. “I’ll just have to get you another one,” he tells you with a kiss.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” you say as you snuggle up into him. “Just give me a few business weeks to recover from this please.”

He laughs, drawing you even closer into him. You begin to drift off to sleep, comfortable and warm in his embrace.

“Mingi?” you say softly.

“Yes, babe?”

“I love you.”

You feel his cheeks turn into a smile.

“I love you too, baby.”