#gilded serendipity

[cardansriddle]

Gilded Serendipity - (tom riddle x oc)

Part 3/10: "False God"

Story summary: A summer meant to be spent in the tranquil seaside mansion of Rosier's was not supposed to sway hearts like rustling leaves. Sereia Nova was most definitely not supposed to feel drawn to Tom Riddle. Yet August had a way of weaving chaos and desire together, only to dissolve into the shadows, leaving behind a bittersweet aftermath- an ephemeral illusion of love.

(gif not mine)

PART 1 PART 2

chapter warnings: sensual themes.

A/N: took me a whileee but here is the third part!!

:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ.

The subconscious was always a bitter thing. It liked playing wicked games with its owner, taking the things the person did not want to think about out of that pocket of forbidden thoughts and bringing it to the very front of the mind. 

Sereia was cursing her brain as she was hurriedly descending the stairs. Her mind was cruel, replaying the night before like a broken film reel, unrelenting in its vividity. She could still feel the ghost of his touch trailing illicit whispers along her skin. The shape of his lips haunted her own. 

She was going insane, and there was nothing she could do to put an end to it. With that one kiss, Tom had sunk his fangs deep into her vein, poisoning her blood with the feel of him so she would not dare forget it. Sereia had spent a good hour in the bath, scrubbing her skin raw until it was red and irritated, yet his touch remained imprinted. No amount of effort could wash away his claim.

"Merlin's beard, Ria, did you sleep at all? You look like...death." 

She huffed and shot him a sharp glare. "Not in the mood, Tony.""

"Woah, alright. Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today." He grumbled, putting his hands up as if to surrender. The witch was half-tempted to hit him, but stopped when Walburga entered the room with a sly smirk curling on her lips.

"Who woke up in your bed?" She questioned. Her eyes flicked to Sereia, and they suddenly shone with mirth. "Our Sereia here? It was about time." 

Sereia's cheeks flushed at her comment, and she helplessly looked at Antoine to say something. But before he could utter a word, Avery strutted into the room.

"What was about time?" He asked lazily, barely attempting to cover his mouth as he yawned. "Well?"

"Sereia and Antoine here. Apparently they were up to no good last night." The brunette winked cheekily, and shot her an approving smile. "I must say, dear Ria, I did not know you had it in you. Always thought you were a prude."

Sereia was sure her whole face was the same shade as the maroon wine Avery was holding in his hand. The boy stared between them for a moment, before frowning. "Salazar's spit, Antoine. I wanted to woo her this summer." He paused, as if reconsidering, and then strode towards the girl. She barely registered more people filing into the room as he leaned closer to her. "But, I assure you, should you fall into my arms, I will make you see the stars. I am much better company in bed than Antoine."

"Avery, enough." Tony warned from next to her. 

Walburga laughed. "Well, Avery, Abraxas, you owe me ten galleons. They fucked before winter." 

I buried my face in my palms. "Tony!"

"Everyone, shut it. Sereia and I most definetely did not fuck. So please, shut your mouths."

"But—"

"You misheard, Walburga. She did not sleep in my bed. We are strictly platonic."

The girl seemed to recover from her embarassed state and added. "Exactly. It's more of a he's my brother type of situation and what you all are suggesting is— it's just gross."

She lifted her chin, attempting to rid herself of the embarassment and mortification that the conversation had caused. Straightening her spine, she regarded eeryone around her. They all looked either amused or confused. When her eyes met Riddle's, she had to surpress her shudder at the intensity behind his heated gaze. She could not quite read his expression, but the displeasure was as evident as ever. Flashes of the previous night suddenly invaded her mind, and she had to avert her gaze quickly lest she blushed once more. 

Clapping his hands, and snapping the girl from her brief memory lane, Antoine drew the attention to himself. "Great, let us end this conversation now!" He questioned from beside her, and she felt the ghost of his fingers brushing against her elbow in reassurance. Her gaze subconsciously saught Riddle's, and when she saw the dark look he was shooting to where Antoine's hand was touching, the girl stepped aside. Her friend shot her a confused look, but she just shrugged. 

"Can we eat now that that's settled?" She rose an expectant brow, gesturing towards the table that had already been set and filled with food. Avery was the first to break the pregnant silence, huffing and puffing about how he was starving. Seria shared a look with Antoine before following Avery's lead and taking a seat. As she placed some fruits onto her plate, the chair beside her was pulled back and she could feel before she could see that it was Riddle. It was bizarre— the way she could simply feel the air still whenever she was in his presence. It was like the very atmosphere was telling— no— warning her that he was near, that she should brace herself to face him.

His clothed arm brushed hers as he shifted, and the girl had to resist the urge to shiver. 

"Salazar's spit, Riddle, are you not parched in those clothes?" Antoine suddenly questioned, and suddenly all eyes were on the wizard. 

"Some people have the decency not to walk around naked, Rosier. Perhaps you should take notes." Walburga muttered snidely. 

"It was the middle of the night! Am I supposed to walk in a whole three-piece suit at the crack of dawn?"

"A shirt and sleeping pants would suffice." 

"Can you cut it out? This is making me lose my appetite." Abraxas grumbled abruptly, his voice slicing through the escalating bickering. A smirk of triumph flashed across his face as the table fell into a silence. He grabbed his cutlery and digged into his breakfast aggressively. 

Sereia, feeling a lack of appetite, mechanically nibbled on assorted fruits. She tuned out Lestrange and Rosier as they began squabbling again about another matter she did not care to know. She was about to reach for her goblet when a warm breath tickled her cheek, drawing her attention.

"Had I known you'd run to Rosier to finish what I started, perhaps I would not have let you slip away so easily, little siren." Tom whispered lowly, Tom murmured, his lips grazing the curve of her ear with each syllable. The girl try as she might, could not help the shudder that ran through her body.

He noticed. Of course, he did. He never missed a thing. Yet, before he could revel in his discernment, she retorted, her voice a low hiss meant to avoid alarming the others nearby. "How dare you?" she countered, struggling to keep her voice subdued. She truly could not believe the nerve of him to imply such a thing. "I did not run to anyone. Antoine and I certainly did not spend the night together, so I'd appreciate if you refrained from implying that I'm a whore."

"I never said that." 

"You implied it."

"I did not."

"Whatever. But if we are talking about whores, why not talk about you?" She turned her head to meet his gaze squarely. "You are the resident whore of Hogwarts, perhaps second place to Avery, or maybe you just hide it better." She watched as surprise flickered across his features for a fleeting moment before he swiftly masked it, as if it had never been there at all. "I will not be a plaything, Riddle. While you may find amusement in Walburga, you will not find me so compliant," she declared, her tone firm, before redirecting her attention to the others at the table. Meanwhile, Tom studied her profile, a barely perceptible smirk tugging at his lips. She was a fiery little thing, and oh how he relished a challenge. 

Not used not having the last word, he leaned to whisper in her ear once again. "You may resist all you want, but I will have you succumb to me." he murmured, his gaze searching her face for a reaction. She responded with a smirk, but she did not deign to meet his eyes. 

"Maybe I will consider it... if you beg."

He laughed loudly at that, genuinely amused at her bravery. Everyone at the table suddenly diverted their attention towards them, disbelief flashing across their features at seeing Riddle laugh. 

"Is he—"

"Salazar's spit..."

"What's so funny?"

Tom hummed softly, a languid smile lingering on his lips as he casually draped an arm over the back of Sereia's chair. She clenched her teeth in frustration at his nearness, struggling to push aside the unwelcome flood of thoughts crowding her mind. "Miss Nova here has a good sense of humour, that is all." 

Sereia lowered her gaze, avoiding the curious stares of those around her, and brought her goblet to her lips in a feeble attempt to distract herself. 

"Sereia—"

The girl sprung from her seat with far more enthusiasm than was necessary. "Time to go for a swim!" she declared with a forced smile, her discomfort palpable, before hastily departing from the table, nearly breaking into a run as she fled the house.

Walburga's gaze shifted to Tom, flickering between the self-satisfied, lazy grin etched on his face and the intensity of his gaze fixed on the doorway through which Sereia had hastily departed through mere moments ago.

"Look at little Sereia starting to charm boys." Abraxas snorted, looking at Antoine with a mirthful smile. "You will have to work overtime to ward off the boys now, mate." 

"Shut it. I do not do anything of the sort. She is free to court whomever she likes whenever she likes." He paused, rethinking his words. "Except you all."

"Really? How about the time in third year you hexed Arnold because he kissed her on the cheek?" Avery rose a brow.

"Or the time in fourth year you petrified that git who was going on a date with her?" Malfoy added.

"Remember when—"

"Alright! Alright! So fucking be it! None of you are allowed to pursue anything romantic, sexual— especially sexual— relations with her. Off-limits!" 

"Mate, that's unfair! She's not even your sister, you can't put a ban like that!" Avery whined, rolling his eyes in a very exaggerated manner. 

"She is like my little sister in every manner except by blood."

Dahlia Greengrass pouted, looking affronted at the way the wizards were behaving. "Leave it be, everyone. Would you rather ruin your friendship with Antoine by pursuing Sereia? The entirety is Hogwarts isn't enough for you all to corrupt?" She questioned. "Leave the poor girl alone."

Riddle observed the scene unfolding with a curious glint in his eyes. 

"Thank you, Dahlia." Antoine said gratefully. "Now that everything is loud and clear, let's go join Ria before she starts wondering what took us so long." 

Everyone muttered their agreement as they stood.

"Tom, would you like to head to the library first?" Walburga asked as everyone started filing out of the room. 

Tom glanced at the witch momentarily before looking away distractedly. "I shall like to rest for a bit before rejoining the company." He did not wait for a reply before striding away in the opposite direction.

Walburga watched his retreating back, the familiar bitter taste feeling her mouth as it always did whenever he disregarded her in such a belittling manner. She begrudgingly followed after the group, glancing back one last time in hopes that Tom also would, but he had already disappeared up the stairs, and the girl heaved a sigh in disappointment. 

Her sharp gaze fixated on the distant figure, observing as the girl who managed to coax a rare laugh from Tom Riddle swam gracefully in the water. Sereia Nova had never posed a threat in her mind. Antoine's best friend had always been a sweet little thing, too pure to be around the likes of them. Though Walburga harbored fondness for the girl, her desires lay elsewhere — with Tom Riddle. 

She pondered the allure that Sereia held for Tom. Was it her innocence, her sweetness? Or was she simply another conquest in his relentless pursuit to tarnish purity? Perhaps, she mused, innocence was a challenge for him, something to be conquered and corrupted at his whim.

At least that is what Walburga told herself as she smiled bittersweetly at the younger witch.

:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ.

"Ria." Antoine began, his tone firm, signaling to Sereia that a lecture was imminent. 

"I know what you're going to say, but it's nothing alright? I am not involved with Riddle...like that." Sereia interjected, her words rushed and defensive, preempting Antoine's anticipated disapproval.

Antoine's furrowed brow softened slightly, but skepticism still lingered in his gaze. With a resigned sigh, he conceded, "I will choose to take your word for it. But I will tell you this, Ria— my friends are all off-limits. They are the worst pick of the bunch for any girl." He paused, as if another thought had just invaded his already disturbed mind. "Actually, just do not go for any Slytherins. You can go for uh...Hufflepuff perhaps? They do not have a bad bone in their body. Be kind and all that shite, yeah? Yeah. No Gryffindorks either I suppose, they're all gits—"

"Tony!"

"What?"

"Would you like to arrange who I will be marrying too? Stop acting like my father. Fine, I will not date your friends out of my respect for you, but other than that you have no right to dictate who I can and can't date."

"But—"  Antoine began to protest, but Sereia cut him off with a firm stare.

"Dahlia!" Sereia's sharp call drew the attention of the girl, who began to swim over with a curious expression. Sereia shot a warning look at Antoine, silently telling him to behave.

"Yes, darling?" 

"Nothing. It's just an effective way of shutting him up." Sereia smirked, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"What is?"

"Any mention of you." 

As Dahlia's cheeks flushed with a soft hue of pink, Antoine's face transformed into a vivid crimson, the color spreading like wildfire across his features. Sereia couldn't suppress a satisfied grin as she watched the effect of her diversion tactic unfold. "Well, I'll leave you be. It's time for my nap!" 

"You just woke up!"

"Nope, that was a while ago." "Nope, that was a while ago," she singsonged, her voice carrying over the gentle lapping of the waves as she began trudging out of the water, droplets cascading from her form like shimmering diamonds. Her eyes met Avery's across the distance, his grin mirroring her own playful one as he responded with a mock salute, the sun casting playful glimmers in his eyes.

As she approached the shore, she glanced over her shoulder at the call of her name, catching Abraxas's gaze, his eyes alight with something she could not decipher as he swam towards her, his sleek form slicing effortlessly through the water. His expression morphed into a sickly sweet smile as he drew nearer.

"My dear, dear Sereia," he greeted her with exaggerated warmth, his voice dripping with faux sincerity.

"What is it?" Sereia replied, her tone laced with playful anticipation, already bracing herself for his inevitable request.

"Would you be so kind and bring us a wine?"

Sereia raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you ask one of the house elves?"

"You see, I'm craving a particular one and seeing as the creatures can't read...it complicates things. Can you get me the Chateau d'Yquem?"

Sereia couldn't help but laugh at his audacity, her playful demeanor unwavering. "Does Antoine know you're drinking his most expensive reserves dry?" she retorted, her tone teasing

Abraxas replied with a casual shrug, his smile unapologetic. "He encourages it"

Sereia rolled her eyes. "Alright. But know that you are very annoying." She conceded, her words accompanied by a playful splash in his direction.

"Thank you, Sereia," Abraxas replied, his sweet smile bordering on saccharine as he watched her depart, a twinkle of mischief gleaming in his eyes. Sereia narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously before turning on her heel and heading out of the water. She quickly slipped on her sheer beach cover over her wet swimsuit, debating whether to change into dry clothes or return to the water after fulfilling Abraxas' request. 

She hummed a random melody as she walked away from the private beach and slipped into the garden that lead to the winery, running her hands through her wet hair and slicking it back. 

She trekked the familiar path through the greenery, each step accompanied by the gentle rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. The summer sun cast golden rays that danced across her skin, warming her with its tender caress. As she neared the fountain, its marble basin shimmered in the sunlight and the girl resisted the urge to dip her fingers into the cool water. 

"Out for a stroll, little siren?" A familiar voice, smooth as silk and laced with a taunting edge, shattered the serenity of her surroundings. 

Her movements stilled, her senses alert to the presence behind her. She hesitated to turn, wary of facing the figure who she had been trying to cast out of her mind. She knew as soon as she met his eyes the thoughts of yesterday's kiss would come back to haunt her once again—or the bold teasing she had unabashedly engaged in during breakfast.

With a steadying breath, she shut her eyes, grappling with the urge to flee or confront him. Before she could decide, a warm breath ghosted over her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Tom had drawn closer, his proximity suffusing her with a mixture of apprehension and something she dared not name.

"Or have you come to see me beg?" He murmured into her ear. 

Suppressing the rising panic in her chest, she attempted to step away, only to find his hand firmly encircling her waist, anchoring her in place. Her breath caught in her throat as his touch ignited a flurry of conflicting emotions within her. Her gaze dropped to the hand sliding further until his entire arm covered her stomach. 

"Unhand me, Riddle. I am just going to the winery." Sereia tried to protest against his advances, her voice twinged with defiance that wavered due to his proximity.

"Are you now?" He asked, and even though she could not see him, she could feel the amused smirk that was no doubt on his face. 

"Yea—Yes. I am expected to return." She insisted.

Tom hummed, a low, tantalizing sound that sent a tremor through her core. "What a shame," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. Just as she thought he was going to let her go, he abruptly spun her around to face him. Caught off guard, she stumbled, her heart pounding erratically as she braced her hands against his chest lest she crashed into him. "You will not be going back anytime soon."

"What?"

"Can't have you running to Rosier to finish what I started. That would make me unseemly would it not?"

"Riddle, what are you say—"

"It would create the impression that I leave a lady unsatisfied. Which is insulting." His lips brushed hers with every syllable, and Sereia was finding it harder by the second to resist the temptation of him. She desperately willed herself to push him away and leave before the situation would escalate any further. But she was immobilised. He had her right where he wanted, and her traitorous body was craving him. Any further protest was cut short as his lips captured hers in a searing kiss and she found it bothersome how she did not hesitate to kiss him back. 

His lips moved with a fervent urgency, coaxing a response from her that she couldn't deny. Each brush of his mouth against hers sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her, erasing whatever had remnants of rational thought. 

Her hands moved on their own accord, sliding over his chest, collarbones, and moving up to tangle themselves in his dark hair. He groaned as she tugged at his locks and the world around her fell away at the guttural sound. His kiss was a tempest, fierce and consuming, igniting a fire within her that blazed with undeniable fervor. She yielded to him, her senses overwhelmed by the heady rush of his touch, every nerve in her body electrified.

His hand moved to the hem of sheer cover dress, fingers brushing against her inner thighs before bunching up the fabric and tugging it upwards. Tom stepped towards her, forcing her to blindly walk backwards until she felt marble digging into her back. He broke away from the kiss to momentarily lift her to sit on the edge of the fountain. 

Sereia suppressed a whine at the loss of contact, but a loud moan escaped her throat when his lips fell to the hollow of her throat and sucked, no doubt leaving a bruise with his ministrations. She should have told him to stop— or at the very least not mark her up for all to see, but she found she did not care. She wanted—no— needed more of him. 

Her fingers dropped to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling, trying to pull them open. She had only gotten half of them undone when he grabbed her wrists. "No." He panted. "This time I will make you beg. We can save that for next time."

Sereia was confused, but was quick to retort. "What makes you think there is going to be a next time?" She asked through laboured breaths, dazed eyes roving over his dilated pupils and his swollen lips. For the first time ever, he looked like a mess, and Sereia could not get enough of the sight. 

Tom only smirked in response, his fingers going under her cover to pull at the strings of her bikini bottoms. She trembled beneath his touch, her pulse racing with a heady mix of anticipation and desire. 

"Because I am going to make you beg for a next time."

Sereia's jaw dropped when he sunk to his knees, his eyes ablaze with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. 

:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ:☆ﾟ.

[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.

[simplygojo]

The Devil He Made Me - Ch. 12

author's note ⸺ Alright guys I got a bit carried away with this chapter, that's why i'm posting it so late IMSORRY! But this is my version of the beach episode-except its a pool, lol. I hope you've all been well, I'm super excited for these upcoming chapters...I hope you are too! luv u all <3 Also my bad bc I did not edit this at all

pairing ⸺ Satoru Gojo x reader

chapter summary ⸺ After a very angsty night due to all the events of the day prior, Gojo takes you to a hotel before heading to the Gojo estate for a while to sort things out and go someplace safe. Little do you know—its a nice ass hotel, and he's brought along a surprise.

word count ⸺ 6.3k

warnings ⸺ good times, fluff, pool party! mild angst, reader uses female pronouns

taglist ⸺ @mawhoreagaa; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @simplyyyuji; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi; @angryglitterperfection; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; @cococola-cocaine; @sdv98o; @theendx888; @dvmb4ssbiatch; @sugxryratz; @kinny-away; @crankyarchives; @enfppuff; @nanamisrighthand; If you’d like to be added to the series tag list, leave a comment below:)

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The hum of the car blends with the city’s distant sounds as the sleek black vehicle zips through Tokyo’s streets. 

You glance at Gojo in the driver’s seat, one hand casually resting on the steering wheel while he taps a rhythm with the other. He's unusually quiet, a sly smile tugging at his lips like he's savouring some inside joke.

You can’t help but give him a curious look. “You’re being suspiciously quiet, Gojo.”

He grins, his eyes hidden behind his trademark sunglasses. 

“Suspicious? Me? No, no. I’m just soaking up the atmosphere. You’ll see why soon enough.”

“Atmosphere?” You echo, eyeing the cityscape flashing by the window. “We’re just going to a hotel. Right?”

“Oh, we’re going to the hotel, thank you very much,” he says, giving you a conspiratorial look. “Only the best. You’ll get it when we get there.”

You shake your head, wondering what he’s got planned. With Gojo, there’s always a fifty-fifty chance of something extravagant or completely chaotic. 

"Oh, come on. I know you’re excited. You deserve a little luxury, and besides—" he pauses for dramatic effect, "—we’re going all out." 

He makes a finger-gun gesture at you like this whole thing is part of some elaborate game he’s running, and you roll your eyes.

Before you can press him for more details, the car takes a sharp turn, and your jaw drops as you take in the hotel in front of you. 

It’s towering, sleek, and wrapped in glistening glass panels that reflect the city lights back out in shimmering fragments. 

The whole place screams opulence.

As Gojo pulls up to the grand entrance, a flock of impeccably dressed bellhops practically materializes to greet the car. One of them opens your door with a polite bow, while two more appear on Gojo’s side, ready to relieve you both of your bags.

You step out, blinking at the scene. “I thought we were just staying here for the night, not moving in.”

Gojo slides out of the driver’s seat, tossing his sunglasses into the car before he gives you an exaggerated shrug. 

“Why would we settle for ‘just a room’?” He grins, then gestures toward the lobby’s gilded doors. “Come on, you’re gonna love this.”

He leads you inside, where a glistening chandelier illuminates the lobby, bathing the space in golden light. 

You’re still in awe when he presses the button for the top floor, and you side-eye him with a mix of intrigue and suspicion. “Just what exactly are we walking into?”

“You’ll see,” he says, winking. “Trust me.”

You smile but roll your eyes. His playfulness is a great distraction from the nerves that had been simmering just below the surface all day. 

The moment Gojo had suggested a night out before heading to his place, you'd felt a mix of anticipation and unease. 

Spending time alone with him, away from the academy, made you wonder what he had planned. Gojo always had that unpredictable edge—one moment, he'd be serious, focused, even a bit mysterious, and the next, he'd be grinning with that mischievous sparkle in his eye, as if he’d just thought of the world’s greatest prank.

The elevator ride up feels endless, the anticipation building as the numbers climb higher and higher. 

The elevator ride up feels endless, the anticipation building as the numbers climb higher and higher. 

You glance at Gojo, who’s sporting a smug grin, hands casually in his pockets, looking all too pleased with himself. 

Just as you open your mouth to ask what exactly he’s dragged you into, the elevator chimes, and the doors slide open.

A loud “SURPRISE!” nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

Standing in the hallway, dressed in fuzzy robes, are Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi. Yuji’s grinning from ear to ear, holding up a peace sign; Nobara looks smug, clearly revelling in the shock on your face, and Megumi’s leaning against the wall, attempting to act as if he’s above all this, though even he’s stifling a small smile.

Gojo raises his hands as if presenting a grand prize. 

“I couldn’t leave them out of the fun! What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t bring the whole team?” He winks at you before throwing an arm around Yuji. 

“Besides, I rented out the entire top floor! Each of you gets your own room, fully stocked, premium everything. And don’t worry,” he adds, turning to you with a grin, “I made sure we have a connected suite so I can keep an eye on you.”

Nobara smirked, folding her arms as she gave you and Gojo a knowing look.

“Ohhh, a connected suite, huh? Gotta keep an eye on her, orrrr…?” She raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence but clearly enjoying your flustered reaction.

Yuji snickers, nudging Megumi. “Yeah, totally for ‘safety,’ right? Good thing we’re all here to keep you two in line,” he says, barely stifling his laughter.

Gojo just rolls his eyes, though he’s clearly amused by their suggestion. 

“Exactly. I wouldn’t trust any of you to keep from causing chaos without proper supervision,” he says, ruffling Yuji’s hair. “Besides, who says I’m not keeping an eye on all of you?”

You try to brush off the teasing, but Nobara’s grin only widens. “Sure, sure, Gojo-sensei. Whatever you say,” she sings, clearly not buying his excuse.

You feel the heat rising to your face, and Gojo’s only response is a wink in your direction, as if to say, Let them think what they want.

Nobara claps her hands together in delight. “I knew this wasn’t just gonna be a ‘simple night out.’ You’re really spoiling us, sensei!”

Yuji bounces over, nudging you with a conspiratorial grin. “Gojo-sensei said there’s room service and a rooftop pool!”

“Oh, and karaoke,” Nobara adds, her eyes gleaming as she nudges Megumi. “We’ll find out if our ‘Mr. Cool’ here has any hidden talents.”

Megumi sighs, folding his arms and glaring half-heartedly at Gojo. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as the whole scene unfolds. Gojo gives you a smug grin, clearly revelling in his grand reveal.

Gojo gives a dramatic sigh, as if their surprise is the greatest validation he’s ever received. 

“You all deserve a night to unwind—just make sure not to destroy anything. I promised management we’d behave,” he says, looking pointedly at Nobara, who immediately rolls her eyes.

Gojo claps his hands together, grinning as if he’s just announced the party of the century. 

“Alright, troops! Meet me at the rooftop pool in twenty minutes. Swimsuits are in your rooms—yes, I thought of everything.” He flashes a look that’s somehow both playful and utterly smug.

Yuji pumps a fist in the air, already halfway down the hall. “Race you there!”

Megumi groans, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “As long as you don’t start cannonballing the second you get there.”

Nobara tosses her hair, giving Gojo a cheeky salute. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to keep everyone in line,” she says with a smirk aimed your way.

Gojo chuckles, then turns to you, offering his arm. 

“Shall we, partner?” He tilts his head toward the suite, a glint in his eye that suggests this might be just the beginning of his elaborate surprises for the night.

Looping your arm through his, you walk together down the plush, carpeted hallway. When you reach the end, Gojo swipes the keycard and opens the door to a sprawling suite that practically glows with opulence.

He gestures dramatically, like he’s unveiling a masterpiece. “Behold—your palace for the night.”

Stepping inside, you take in the stunning view of Tokyo’s skyline from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room itself is a blend of sleek modern design and luxurious comfort, with plush seating, a massive bed, and a mini-bar that’s practically overflowing. You’re still processing it all when Gojo nudges you toward the far wall.

“Best part’s over here,” he says, sliding open a frosted glass door halfway to reveal a small passage that connects to his suite next door.

Gojo slides the frosted glass door open with a flourish, revealing a narrow passage leading into his suite. 

He taps the glass, grinning like he’s showing off a masterpiece. “See? Practically paper-thin. If anything happens, I’ll be right there in an instant.”

You smirk, crossing your arms. “And by ‘anything,’ you mean…?”

He feigns innocence, his eyes wide but gleaming with mischief. 

“Oh, you know, emergencies.” He taps his chin as if thinking it over. “Like, if you forget how to work the TV or you need someone to fetch you snacks…or I get bored.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “So, the real reason you set this up is to play hero over a snack shortage?”

He leans in just a bit closer, his voice dropping playfully. “Maybe I just didn’t want you to feel alone. It’s a big, fancy hotel, after all.”

You let out a small laugh, amused. “You really think you’re that charming, huh?”

“Hey, just looking out for you,” he quips back with a wink.

Just then, you hear a loud crash from the hall, followed by Yuji shouting, “Megumi! Nobara! Help! The snack cart’s tipping!”

Gojo sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. “And there they go, ten seconds in.”He jokes, already heading toward the door. 

“But really—twenty minutes at the pool. Don’t let me be the only one in a ridiculous inflatable.”

With one last smirk, he disappears, leaving you alone in the lavish space. 

—

You sit there in the stillness of the room, letting the quiet settle around you. After everything that’s happened today, the silence feels jarring—almost unnatural. 

Your mind races back to that morning, the instant shock of recognizing the man in your nightmares: Suguru Geto. 

Even now, the thought sends a shiver down your spine. And to think he’d actually been in your room…watching, lingering right there. Just hours ago, you’d been consumed by fear and dread.

And now? 

Gojo’s acting as if none of it matters, whisking you and the others off to a luxury hotel like this is just another day. 

Maybe he’s just trying to help you escape it all, you reason. Maybe he wants you to relax, to have one night where you don’t have to look over your shoulder. It’d be… surprisingly thoughtful of him.

But as much as his carefree, reassuring presence feels good now, that doesn’t ease the confusion swirling in your mind. 

You and Gojo shared a heated moment that felt so vivid, so intensely real, it left you breathless. For a second, it seemed as though something unspoken had finally surfaced. 

And then, just like that, he pulled away. He put up that huge wall between you, cold and unreadable—as if he regretted every second.

Yet somehow, over the last two days, that distance seems to be fading again. And then there was that conversation with Nanami–There’s a warmth in his eyes, a kind of ease in his smile that makes it feel like you’re finally seeing the real Gojo. 

You can’t help but wonder if he’s going through his own uncertainties. Or maybe he’s as good at hiding his fears as he is at conjuring his charm.

With a sigh, you glance at the sliding door connecting your room to his, the thin glass a reminder of how close he really was.

—

You step onto the rooftop, the night sky sprawling endlessly above, lights from the Tokyo skyline flickering like distant stars.

The pool area is beautiful and sleek, lined with lounge chairs and the faint glow of soft, underwater lights casting a tranquil ambiance over the water. 

A cool breeze brushes over your skin, and you clutch the towel draped over your shoulders, pulling it a little tighter as you take in the scene.

Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara are already in the pool, laughing and splashing around.

Yuji hollered something to Megumi, who responded with his usual half-hearted irritation, and Nobara just rolled her eyes, enjoying herself despite her feigned annoyance. 

Standing by the edge of the pool, Gojo is stretching in his swim trunks, clearly ready to dive in.

When his gaze lands on you, his grin widens, his expression teasing.

"Thought you'd never make it," he calls over. 

"Gonna get in, or are you just here to supervise?" He gestures to the inflatable swans bobbing cheerfully in the water, a little ridiculous against the upscale backdrop of the rooftop pool, yet perfectly fitting his playful style.

As you walk toward him, you can’t help but notice that without his usual layers and long coat, he looks somehow...different—broader, the play of muscles over his arms and chest clearly defined. 

You’d always known he was strong, but seeing him like this gives you a fresh appreciation for just how powerful he really is.

His confidence radiates off him, casual and effortless, and when he catches you looking, he smirks in a way that makes your cheeks warm.

Rolling your eyes to cover up your reaction, you nod toward the pool. "Just waiting for the right moment to make an entrance," you say, giving him a smirk of your own.

He chuckles, tossing you a wink before raising his arms to dive. With a graceful, fluid motion, he springs into the pool, slicing through the water smoothly before resurfacing.

His hair, now wet and falling into his face, gleams under the soft pool lights, and there’s a hint of smug satisfaction on his face as he shakes the water out, blinking at you with mischief in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you slip off your towel and drape it over one of the lounge chairs, walking confidently to the edge of the pool before sliding in, the cool water washing over your skin as you wade toward the others.

The water is refreshing, soothing away the last remnants of tension from the day.

Your swimsuit, black and simple, hugs your body perfectly. The fabric conforms to your curves, and as the water slicks your skin, it only highlights the way the suit fits you. 

Despite your attempts to focus on the others, you can feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as if nothing else in the world exists except for you at that moment. 

The way his gaze moves over your body is undeniable, like he’s studying the way your swimsuit fits, the way your body moves with the water. 

His attention lingers, tracing the curve of your waist, the way your hips shift as you move, and the way the wet fabric clings to your chest. His eyes travel the length of your legs as they move beneath the surface, the water shimmering as it follows the lines of your form.

Yuji immediately waves at you and grins once he notices you got in the water. 

"Hey! Come over here! I’ve gotta show you something." He hands you a bright blue pool noodle, his eyes sparkling with childlike enthusiasm. 

“This is the best way to mess with people.” Demonstrating, he dunks one end of the noodle into the water, then blows into the other end, sending a stream of water splashing directly at Megumi.

You laugh, following his lead and getting a quick splash aimed right at Yuji’s shoulder.

The two of you quickly descend into a playful back-and-forth, aiming noodle streams at each other and dodging around with exaggerated, dramatic dives as if you’re in some kind of slow-motion water fight. 

Yuji, laughing so hard he’s nearly choking, gives you a high-five as you successfully splash him.

Meanwhile, on the edge of the pool, Gojo has been watching you, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he takes in the way you laugh, splashing water at Yuji with unexpected ease. 

He watches how your hair, damp now from your battles with Yuji, falls in wet strands down your back, the water pooling around your shoulders as it drips down your neck.

The delicate shine of your skin catches the light, droplets of water trickling down your arms and over your collarbone.

There’s something almost soft in his gaze, as if he's seeing a side of you that surprises him—or maybe just one he’s glad to witness. 

His eyes linger on you, trailing over the graceful curve of your shoulders, the way the water smooths over your skin.

But Nobara, noticing his attention as she floats past on her hot pink floatie, is quick to break him out of his reverie. 

She splashes a handful of water his way, hitting him right in the face. "Stop gawking!" she scolds, a playful edge to her tone.

Gojo blinks, taken by surprise. His mouth opens to protest, but he only laughs, flicking some water back in Nobara’s direction. 

"Hey, can’t a guy admire his...team?"

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed. "Yeah right," she teases, her gaze flicking from you to Gojo with a knowing grin.

Unaware of the exchange, you continue splashing with Yuji until you’re both out of breath, leaning against the side of the pool to catch your breath. 

The cool water, the laughter, the lightheartedness—it’s all a welcome distraction, an unexpected reprieve from the day’s earlier revelations.

Only moments after you had stopped your pool noodle battle, Yuji gets out of the pool and walks over to the deep end, stretching his arms out in front of him before taking a big jump into the deep end.

He swims back over to you and Megumi, Gojo approaching also as he sat goofily on a pool noodle. "Alright, your turn y/n! Think you can dive like me?"

You pause, looking at the water with a hesitant smile. "Well... I don’t know...I don’t really remember if I’ve ever swam before…" you reply, your voice trailing off, unsure of your own abilities.

Yuji smirks, his energy contagious. “Come on, I bet you could! Just try it, you’ve got this!”

With his encouragement ringing in your ears, you take a deep breath and walk up the pool steps towards the deep end.

Once at the end, you crouch slightly, preparing for the dive, but as soon as you push off the edge and your head hits the water, everything changes.

The moment your body submerges, the water feels different—like it's not just water, but a veil lifting. 

A flood of memories crashes over you, sharp and overwhelming. You see yourself as a child, your hair slicked back just like it is now, diving into a pool. 

Your little sister is beside you, laughing, urging you on as you practice your dives together. You can almost feel the warm sun on your back, hear the splashing of the water, the excitement in her voice. 

The sound of your family in the background, their voices calling you to take your time, to perfect your dive.

For a second, it’s like everything else falls away. 

It’s just you, in the water, in the past, with your family, laughing, swimming. It’s such a real and intimate memory, you can almost smell the chlorine, taste the fresh air as it mixes with the feeling of the pool beneath your feet.

You break the surface of the water with a gasp, the moment leaving you breathless. Your heart pounds in your chest, and as you come up, you can't help but grin widely, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

“I used to swim! I remember I used to swim!” The words spill out before you even realize you’ve said them, and there’s a moment of shock in your voice as you come to terms with what just happened.

The flood of memories, so vivid, so real, feels like a key turning in your mind. For the first time, pieces of your past—pieces you never thought you'd get back—are falling into place.

As you break through the surface of the water, your heart races, and you let out a breathless laugh, the exhilaration of the moment overwhelming you. Your eyes are wide, sparkling with newfound joy, and your chest swells with the excitement of what you've just discovered.

“I used to swim! I remember I used to swim!” you exclaim again, your voice still carrying the shock and wonder of the realization.

Yuji, treading water nearby, blinks in surprise. "Huh? What? You used to swim?"

Megumi lifts his head from the water, his brow furrowed in confusion, trying to process what you’ve just said. “Wait, you… you remember swimming?”

Your grin is bright, the flood of memories still fresh in your mind. “Yeah! I do! I remember my sister... we used to go to the pool together. We practiced diving, and... I remember the sound of her laughing, and... the smell of the chlorine... I had a sister. I—” You pause, the weight of your own words sinking in, as if the mere mention of her name makes her presence feel real again.

The group is quiet for a second, taking in the significance of what you’ve just shared. You’ve gotten a piece of yourself back—something so personal and meaningful. Yuji’s face lights up with enthusiasm, his voice warm and full of excitement.

“That's amazing, y/n!” He calls out, grinning like it’s his own personal victory. “You’re remembering things! That’s huge!”

Nobara, floating past on her hot pink floatie, claps her hands together. “Yeah, that’s a big deal! You’ve got some real memories back. That’s progress, y/n!”

Megumi, though usually a bit more reserved, offers a small but genuine smile, clearly happy for you. “Good to hear. That's a step in the right direction.”

Gojo, standing in the middle of the shallow end with his arms folded, lets out a deep breath, his usual playful demeanour giving way to something more sincere. 

“See? I told you you were making progress. You’ve got more memories waiting for you. I knew you had it in you.”

Your heart swells at their reactions, the collective happiness of your friends filling you with warmth.

For the first time in a while, you feel like you’re not entirely lost, like there are pieces of your past coming back to you, one fragment at a time.

“I remember my sister,” you repeat, as if saying it again makes it more real. "I can't believe it... I have a sister."

The group looks at each other, nodding and sharing quiet smiles. You can feel their support, their belief in you. It’s not just a small step—it’s a breakthrough.

And as you stand there in the pool, surrounded by people who care, you realize that even though you don’t have all the answers yet, you’re moving forward. 

You’ve gained something tonight, something that was yours all along.

Gojo, his playful smile returning, gives a nod of approval. “Alright, y/n, looks like we’ve got a swimmer in the group now. You’re on your way to being a full-fledged diver.”

The others laugh, and the mood shifts back to its usual lightheartedness. But for you, there’s something deeper now—something that’s been restored. Your past, your memories, are slowly coming back, and with them, you’re beginning to understand more about who you are.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel so alone in the dark.

—

The soft click of the suite door closing behind you echoed in the quiet space, and you exhaled, letting the weight of the day settle on your shoulders. The room was as extravagant as before, but its opulence felt distant, secondary to the whirl of thoughts in your mind.

You couldn’t help it but your mind drifted back to that conversation you had overheard between Gojo and Nanami just a few days ago.

Their words replayed in your head, his voice low but insistent in that rare serious tone he used only when he meant something deeply.

“She doesn’t know how much I need her to be okay,’ Gojo had said, the tone of desperation evident in his voice. 

‘Then let her see it,” Nanami had replied.

Shaking your head, you made your way to the bathroom, hoping a hot shower might help clear your mind.

The bathroom was a masterpiece of modern luxury, with sleek marble counters, gleaming fixtures, and a rainfall shower that looked more like a spa experience than a simple rinse.

You turned the water on, letting the heat build until steam clouded the glass walls. 

Peeling off your swimsuit, you stepped under the cascade of water, the warmth instantly soothing your tense muscles.

For a few moments, the only sound was the steady rhythm of water hitting the tiles, a gentle white noise that filled the space.

You tilted your head back, letting the stream run over your face, down your back, carrying away the salt and chlorine and the weight of the day.

But no matter how soothing the shower was, your thoughts kept circling back.

‘She’s in my head—everywhere I look.’

Why had he said it with such conviction? Such quiet protectiveness? Gojo, for all his teasing and playful arrogance, had always seemed untouchable, always wearing that mask of flippancy. Yet in that moment, he’d sounded so... different.

Did he really feel that way? As someone worth fighting for? Or was it just Gojo being Gojo—throwing himself into situations out of principle, out of defiance against authority?

You sighed, resting your forehead against the cool tiles. The heat of the water contrasted sharply with the strange warmth blooming in your chest, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

And then there was the other side of it—the nagging confusion that came with Gojo himself. He was impossible to figure out, swinging between moments of genuine care and infuriating smugness. 

One minute, he was flirting shamelessly, his words laced with a confidence that made your head spin. The next, he was cool and distant, as if pulling back the moment things got too real.

But that moment with Nanami... It had felt real. Too real to ignore.

“Get a grip,” you muttered to yourself, running a hand through your wet hair.

You let the water run a little longer, hoping to wash away the lingering mix of confusion and... whatever else it was. 

Yet as you finally turned off the shower and stepped onto the heated tiles, wrapping a plush towel around yourself, you couldn’t shake the memory of his voice, or the strange, unspoken something it stirred in you.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t simple. And with Gojo, you doubted it ever would be.

As you walked back into your room, you noticed the folded pair of black silk pyjamas on the bed.

He really did think of everything…

—

After a while of reading one of the books you had brought, you were interrupted by a soft knock at the frosted glass door between your room and Gojos.

The knock at the frosted glass door was soft, but in the quiet of your room, it sounded louder than it should. 

You glanced up from the book in your lap, a little startled. Sliding off the bed, you made your way over and slid the door open.

There he was, Gojo, leaning lazily against the doorframe, his damp hair falling in soft tufts around his face. He looked more relaxed than usual, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and loose gray sweatpants, but his trademark grin was still firmly in place.

“Can’t sleep,” he said with a casual shrug, stepping inside as if it were his room.

“You never seem to,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in. 

“Should I be worried this is becoming a habit?”

He chuckled, making himself comfortable by sitting at the edge of your bed. “Nah, just thought I’d check in on you. See how you’re holding up after earlier.”

You folded your arms, leaning against the wall. “I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle. But you—” You gestured toward him. “You look like you haven’t even tried to sleep. What gives?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I just don’t sleep much. Don’t really need to.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unconvinced. “Yeah, but why not? You’ve got to get tired like everyone else, right?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, as if debating whether to answer. Finally, he let out a sigh, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s not that I don’t get tired. I just can’t sleep the way normal people do.”

You frowned, moving to sit beside him on the bed. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at you briefly before turning his gaze to the wide windows, the glittering city lights reflected in his eyes. 

“You know my Infinity technique,” he began. “It’s always on. Even when I’m not actively thinking about it, it’s working in the background, keeping me untouchable.”

You nodded, vaguely familiar with the concept from what you’d learned about cursed techniques.

“To keep it running all the time, I can’t let my mind completely shut off,” he continued. “Even when I sleep, part of me is still monitoring it, making sure it stays active. I’ve trained myself to sort of… half-sleep. But it’s not the same as real rest. Three, maybe four hours a night is all I can manage. Anything more, and I risk losing control of the technique.”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavier than you’d expected. “That sounds… awful,” you said quietly.

He gave a small, lopsided smile, but there was no humour in it. “It’s not ideal, but it works. And it keeps people safe, so… it’s worth it.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening at the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his voice. For all his teasing and bravado, there was a depth to him you were only just beginning to see. 

“Still,” you said softly, “it must be exhausting.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But I’ve been doing it for so long, it’s just… part of who I am now.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you shifted your gaze to the windows, the city lights stretching endlessly into the distance.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked after a moment.

“Miss what?”

“Being able to just… rest. No Infinity, no responsibilities, just being… you.”

He was quiet for a long time, his expression unreadable. “Maybe,” he said finally. “But it’s not like I have much of a choice. If I didn’t keep it on, people would get hurt. I can’t let that happen.”

You nodded, the quiet conviction in his voice striking a chord in you. “It’s a lot to carry,” you said softly.

He glanced at you, his usual smirk returning. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me now? Because I’ve got to warn you, I’m a tough nut to crack.”

You rolled your eyes, relieved to see a hint of his usual self shining through. “No, I just think… maybe you should let someone else help you carry the weight every once in a while.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Are you volunteering?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, though the warmth in his gaze made it hard to hold onto your feigned annoyance.

He chuckled, leaning back on his hands. “You’re pretty cute when you’re all serious, you know that?”

“Satoru,” you warned, though your tone lacked any real bite.

The playful edge in his chuckle faded as silence settled between you again. 

He leaned back, his hands propping him up on the bed as his gaze shifted back to the cityscape outside. You followed his line of sight, watching the lights twinkle like stars on the horizon.

But your mind wasn’t on the view. It was on him.

You thought back to all the moments you’d spent with Gojo since you met him—the way he carried himself, always carefree and teasing, as if the weight of the world didn’t touch him. 

Now, sitting here with him, you realized it wasn’t that the weight didn’t touch him. It was that he refused to let anyone see how much it did.

Your chest tightened again, a mix of sympathy and something else you couldn’t quite name. 

He wasn’t just Satoru Gojo, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, the one who could take on anything and walk away unscathed. He was also just… a man. A man who carried more than anyone should ever have to, who never let himself rest because too much was at stake.

It made sense now, why he acted the way he did. The jokes, the cockiness, the endless energy—it was all a shield. 

A way to keep people from looking too closely, from seeing how much he gave up to be who he was.

And now, you had seen it.

Finally, you shifted slightly on the bed, pulling your legs up to sit cross-legged beside him. “I get it now,” you said softly.

He turned his head slightly, one eyebrow quirking up. “Get what?”

“Why you are the way you are,” you said, your voice low. 

“You’re not just… Satoru Gojo. You’re the Satoru Gojo. The strongest. The one everyone relies on. It’s like…” You hesitated, unsure if your words would sound foolish.

“Like what?” He prompted, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“It’s like you’re the sun,” you said finally. “Bright, untouchable. But no one ever thinks about how lonely it must be, burning that brightly all the time.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he looked at you as if seeing you in a new light. “That’s poetic,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I’m being serious,” you said, nudging his arm lightly with your knee. “You carry so much, and you make it look effortless. But it’s not, is it? Effortless.”

He looked away, his gaze fixed on the glowing cityscape. “No,” he admitted. “It’s not.”

The quiet honesty in his voice made your chest tighten. 

You wanted to reach out, to tell him he didn’t have to bear it all alone, but you didn’t know how. Instead, you tucked your arms around your knees, leaning against the bedpost as you studied his profile.

“You don’t let people see this side of you often, do you?” you asked.

“Only on special occasions,” he replied with a smirk, though his voice lacked its usual teasing edge.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, lucky me. Should I feel honoured or concerned that I’m your VIP audience tonight?”

The faintest chuckle escaped him, and his smirk softened into something gentler. “A little bit of both, probably.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt heavy, like the room was holding its breath.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” you asked softly, breaking the quiet.

He didn’t look at you this time. “Tired of what?”

“Being you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “The strongest. The one everyone depends on.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he let out a quiet laugh, but it wasn’t like his usual one. It was softer, more subdued. “I think if I let myself get tired of it, I wouldn’t be able to take it anymore.”

You frowned, the ache in your chest growing. “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” he replied lightly, but his tone lacked its usual playfulness.

You shifted closer to him, your legs brushing against his. 

“You shouldn’t have to do it alone, though. Don’t you want something more out of life?”

His smile lingered, but he didn’t reply. 

Instead, he turned his attention back to the window, his eyes distant waiting for a few moments before speaking again. 

“It’s not about what I want,” he said finally. “It’s about what I can do. And what I can do… no one else can. It may not be fair, y/n, but its the way it is.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Because he was right—for all the unfairness of it—he was right.

The quiet between you lingered, neither uncomfortable nor easy. 

The city lights reflected off the glass, painting faint patterns of gold and silver across the room. 

You wanted to say something, to push back against the resignation in his voice, but no words seemed fitting. What could you say to someone who carried the world and made it look effortless, even when it wasn’t?

Gojo leaned back slightly, resting his weight on his hands, his gaze distant but thoughtful. Finally, he exhaled, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. 

“You should get some sleep,” he said lightly, standing up and walking backwards towards the frosted glass door.”

“Big day tomorrow. The Gojo estate, bright and early. You’ll get to see the big mansion with no one living in it–well except us for a short while ‘till we get things figured out.”

“Sounds thrilling,” you said, your attempt at levity falling a little flat.

You sat there for a moment, staring at the space he’d just left. 

The weight of the conversation lingered in the air, a quiet reminder of just how much more there was to him than his usual carefree demeanour.

Finally, you let out a breath, sliding under the covers and curling up against the mattress. 

The faint patterns of light from the city still danced across the walls, but your eyes felt heavy now, your body sinking into the comfort of the bed.

As you drifted off, your thoughts lingered on his words—on the way he carried so much without complaint, on the rare vulnerability he’d let slip. 

Tomorrow would come, bright and early, but tonight, you let yourself hope that maybe, just maybe, you could ease even a fraction of the burden he carried.

Sleep found you, though not without the quiet echo of his voice following you into your dreams.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

A List of "Poetic" Words

to include in your next poem

Ambrosian: Anything particularly delightful to taste or smell.

Amort: Spiritless; lifeless.

Apollonian: Harmonious, measured, ordered or balanced in character.

Ariose: Characterized by melody; songlike.

Aureate: Golden, gilded, brilliant or splendid.

Caliginous: Misty, dim, murky, obscure or dark.

Gossamer: Something extremely light, flimsy, or delicate.

Halcyon: Calm, quiet, peaceful or undisturbed (usually accompanied by ‘days’).

Inveigle: To entice, lure, or ensnare by flattery or artful talk or inducements.

Mawkish: Sentimental in an exaggerated or false way.

Motley: Being of different colors combined.

Nebulous: Cloudy or cloudlike.

Panacea: A remedy for all disease or ills; cure-all.

Pellucid: Allowing the maximum passage of light, as glass; translucent.

Penumbra: A half-shadow, or the edge of a shadow.

Puerile: Of or pertaining to a child or to childhood.

Quiddity: The quality that makes a thing what it is; the essential nature of a thing.

Quintessential: The purest, most typical or refined example of its kind.

Scurrilous: Something coarse or indecent in the language it uses; or, as the early lexicographer Samuel Johnson put it: ‘using such language as only the licence of a buffoon can warrant’.

Seraphic: Blissfully serene; rapt.

Serendipity: When a happy and unexpected discovery occurs by accident.

Slattern: A woman or girl untidy or slovenly in person, habits and surroundings.

Sylphlike: A slender, graceful woman or girl. One of a race of supernatural beings supposed to inhabit the air.

Vellichor: Refers to the appealing mystique of an old bookshop.

Sanguinolency: Something bloody or something related to blood.

If any of these words make it into your next poem/s or stories, please tag me or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Word Lists

[generalb]

favorite word?

Difficult choice! But luckily enough, I’ve been making a list of words and phrases that I like the sound of, and I think that would fit the bill. I’ll go ahead and copy paste it here:

List of words/phrases that sound good

61

In my solitude

Be that as it may

Ebicenezer

Ebinizer

Vltava

Establishing a rapport

Buffeted

Riddled

Charcuterie

Serendipity

77

Bartholomew

Vigilantism

Villain

Principle

For all that it were

Expenditure

Envious

Velvet

Azumarill

Nonchalant

Sated hunger

Strut

Hand in unlovable hand

Chronicles

Smithereens

Elixir

It’s a marvelous night for a moon dance

Chunk a change

Centrifuge

Basking

Virtual Insanity

coming out of the woodwork

Zodiac

Ancient cheese with a deadly disease

Tumultuous

Ancestral Sickos

This time tomorrow

Simple simplicities

Gilded

Hollys folly

Satellite

Detect

Detest

Fiber

Vindication

Sustained

Hefty

Outlandish

Sláinte(slawn-sha) meaning: cheers. Irish word

Lingo

Raze

Shcmutz

Garb

Tantamount

Duration

Crass

Niche

Mildew

Bedlam

Few

Aquiesce

Travesty

Brimful

Clattering

Chicanery

Advocate

Overflowing lobby

Shadowtackle

Petrichor

Debris

Distinct

Candle in a coal mine

Hickory

Jettison

Render

Extinguish

Agathokakological

Satisfice

Shatom shbom

Seventy

Outlast

Persevere

Peril

Furrowed

Invoke

Ego of a god

Stibnite

Lurking

Reliquary

Sanctimonious

Facade

Caveat

Cobalt

Festering

Trepidation

Groggy

Vermin

Torrent

Grotto

Addled

Bismuth

Ricochet

Clobbered

Riposte

Copious

Foam

Remedy

Rubicon

Baffled

Agelast (a-juh-last)

Adhesive

Artifact

Apparatus

Splendor

Deluge

Pointedly ignored

Sects

Covet

Scavenger

Reign

Will you knock on the door when you’re done

Brisk

Schism

Deigned

Tuft

Cauldron

Barrel

Gnarly

Peachy

Hulabalu

Nuance

Shenanigans

Bartolomeo

Audacious

Scaring the living daylights out

Accrue

Albuquerque

Varmint

Hellbent

Almanac

Zenith

Frostbite

Radiant

Dreg

I’ll be damned

[jilytoberfest]

Teenage Audiences and Up rated fics

Rules: It is not necessary to re-read the stories given below again. Having read them once in the past past year is more than enough! This challenge will go on till the 23th of October! As and when you’re done getting a bingo, post the finished bingo card on your blog, tagging this account! Whosoever posts the proper finished bingo first, wins (or anyone who’s read all/most of these fics)

The full list of fics and authors are below the cut:

Ao3 Is Down by @annabtg

Relationship advice by @gwenmontrose

Gilded by @charmingwillow

Icebreaker by @jamesunderwater @charmsandtealeaves

Meet Me At Midnight by @practicecourts

The summer I fell in love @annasghosts

Enchanted by @ohmygodshesinsane

Take a chance on me by @wearingaberetinparis

To the Potter Boy I Hated Before by @chierafied

You Make Snow Melt by @wearingaberetinparis

What would you do by @sunshinemarauder

Young and Restless by @annabtg

Serendipity by desperateforsanity (I’d love it if someone can @ their tumblr blog, i couldn’t find it)

to love by @possessingtheproperspirit

Knock, Knock, Knockin’ on Evans’ Door by DropTheBasil

it aches a little by @fireblts

A Thrill Divine, Down My Spine by @kay-elle-cee

you don't know me (but I know you) by @emeralddoeadeer

Back then you knew I always liked you by @saptashati

Never Quite Awake by @sunshinemarauder

when resiliency shatters by @kay-elle-cee

Customer In Law by @annabtg

At the Beginning by @suzyq31

a million on the scoville scale by @clare-with-no-i

Big Little Lion Man. (Curiosity Killed the Cat But Satisfaction Brought it Back) by @practicecourts

[theink-stainedfolk]

Find The Word Tag

Thank you @drchenquill for the tag

I'll be making up random paragraphs from my story Quill & Court because the words given to me matches the story.

My words are: Fame, greed, gold, shine

Fame

In the sprawling metropolis of Wadiyya, fame was a coveted currency, traded among the elite like precious jewels. Within the glittering halls of the royal palace, whispers of ambition and desire echoed through the corridors, as courtiers vied for the king's favor in hopes of ascending to greater heights of renown. Yet, beyond the gilded facade of the capital, fame took on a different guise, sought after by artists and artisans whose creations adorned the city streets. Among them, a humble poet dared to dream of etching his name into the annals of history, weaving verses that spoke to the hearts of all who heard them. But in a world where fame could be both a blessing and a curse, he soon discovered that the true measure of his legacy lay not in the adoration of the masses, but in the sincerity of his words and the depth of his convictions.

Greed

In the shadows of opulent palaces and bustling markets, greed lurked like a silent predator, ready to ensnare the unwary in its grasp. Behind the façade of camaraderie and camaraderie at court, whispered schemes and clandestine dealings festered, fueled by the insatiable hunger for power and wealth. Within the heart of Wadiyya, amidst the glittering treasures and lavish displays, lay the temptation to grasp for more, to hoard riches and influence without heed for consequence or compassion. Yet, as fortunes rose and fell like the shifting sands of the desert, those consumed by greed found themselves ensnared in a web of their own making, their ambitions ultimately leading to their downfall.

Gold

In the sun-drenched streets of Wadiyya, the allure of gold shimmered like a mirage, tempting even the most steadfast souls with promises of untold riches and boundless opulence. From the gleaming treasures hoarded within the royal vaults to the intricate jewelry adorning the necks of nobles, gold held sway over the hearts and minds of all who walked the city's hallowed boulevards. Yet, amidst the dazzle of wealth and abundance, some discovered that the true value of gold lay not in its luster, but in the joy it could bring to others. For in the giving of alms to the needy or the adornment of sacred temples, the true richness of gold revealed itself, shining not only in its brilliance but also in the compassion and generosity it inspired.

Shine

In the bustling marketplace of Wadiyya, the morning sun cast its golden rays upon the city, illuminating the myriad treasures on display with a radiant shine that seemed to beckon all who passed by. From the polished gems that adorned the jeweler's stalls to the shimmering silks fluttering in the breeze, every corner of the market gleamed with an irresistible allure. Yet, amidst the dazzling spectacle of wealth and opulence, there existed a beauty far more profound – the shine of genuine laughter, the sparkle of heartfelt camaraderie, and the gleam of kindness reflected in the eyes of strangers. For in the heart of Wadiyya, it was not just the treasures that shone brightest, but the intangible moments of connection and joy that illuminated the city like a beacon of hope in the desert.

I'll tag @finickyfelix @willtheweaver @ascotwriting @sshawthorne

Your words are: Serendipity, Ephemeral, Labyrinthine, Radiant

[duckprintspress]

Storm Break and Sunlight: An Excerpt from “To Drive the Hundred Miles”

Pre-orders for To Drive the Hundred Miles, Alec J. Marsh’s contemporary novella about a trans man returning home to Serendipity, Washington, for the holidays, close on October 20th, 2023. With only 4 days left, we’re still $600 shy of our funding goal. If you haven’t checked out the campaign yet, this is a great time to do so! And if you have checked it out, whether you’ve backed or not, help us out with a signal boost! Spreading the word about our campaigns is one of the quickest, easy ways that every single person who follows us on social media can help us reach our funding goals.

Don’t know about the book yet?

Serendipity, WA is filled with Christmas cheer, beautiful mountain views, and trans man Will’s feminist Wiccan family. Home for the holidays, he avoids their clumsy attempts at support by hiding in the local coffee shop and flirting with Bea, a friend from high school. The beautiful landscapes can’t make up for the the realities of being queer in a small town, and Bea wants out. Will grabs for a prosperity spell, and finds a new way to connect to the magic he’s become estranged from. New romance and optimism get them through the holidays, ready to face their next problems.

This excerpt:

We drove out of the trees into a clear patch of highway, and I sighed. The clouds were dark and green overhead, filled with snow or hail, and the patchy trees stood out sharp and black against them. A single beam of sunlight cracked through, gilding the edges of the storm break with gold. “Nice view,” I said. “It’s always a nice view.” “I miss it,” I admitted.

Learn about author Alec J. Marsh, the book To Drive the Hundred Miles, our campaign goals, and more, by visiting our campaign page!

[remembering-the-future]

Lecture on Emboss, Halvah, Clast, and the Evolutionary Aberrations of Homo Sapiens

Ladies and gentlemen of the intellectual elite, we gather today to probe the profound intricacies of human evolution, a subject which, as you know, oscillates between serendipity and the most unrefined blunders of nature. Let us begin with the trite yet illuminating analog of embossing, a term that surely evokes the shallow aesthetic pretensions of humanity itself. Much like the ornamental embellishment on fine paper, evolution has embossed the human form with vestigial appendages and curious adaptations—each marking our species as both sophisticated and tragically misguided. Nature, in its infinite jest, has bestowed upon us features we neither fully understand nor entirely require, much like a gilded, but useless, piece of stationery.

Now, consider halvah, that cloying, overly saccharine confection. Does this not perfectly encapsulate the essence of Homo sapiens’ cognitive evolution? A species, once hunter-gatherers of astonishing resilience, now seeks solace in convoluted pleasures, drowning in sweet, yet ultimately vacuous, distractions. Our evolutionary trajectory has been skewed by the indulgence in such metaphorical halvah—simple at its core but riddled with unnecessary complexity. Indeed, the development of the prefrontal cortex, designed to handle the rigors of survival, now fritters away in the pursuit of trivial, sugary pleasures.

Next, we must consider the term clast, which, in the geological parlance, refers to a fragment of rock, a remnant of something once whole and complete. It is in this metaphor that we witness the slow fragmentation of human purpose. With each technological advancement, with each new social construction, humanity splinters further from its foundational essence. We are but clasts of our former selves, mere shards of biological potential scattered across the sands of time, eroded by the tide of convenience and ill-conceived progress.

And so, we arrive at the grand farce of human evolution. Homo sapiens, with its towering skyscrapers and laughable hubris, imagines itself the pinnacle of nature’s design. Yet in reality, we are a species embossed with unnecessary complexity, sweetened by intellectual halvah, and broken into evolutionary clasts. We have, to put it succinctly, out-evolved our usefulness. Perhaps, in the grand design of the cosmos, it is not the survival of the fittest that will prevail but the survival of the simplest—those species who resist the temptation of unnecessary adornment, empty pleasure, and fragmentation.

And with that, I leave you to contemplate your place in this tragic comedy of errors.

[cardansriddle]

dude the way gilded serendipity is written is just so beautiful what the fuck. what kind of drugs did you put into your writing there bc im in love

I LOVE U THANK U 😭

(it's more of an experimental project and I'm just putting more thought into the writing than the plot tbh. also I put a lot of references, so props to everyone who catches them)

[alternatepen]

Chasing Northern Lights: Act 4

Thonglor, Bangkok 2023

As the sun-kissed photoshoot drew to its inevitable conclusion, North's experienced hands deftly packed away his cherished equipment. Each camera and lens was carefully cradled & secured in its designated case, a ritual he had perfected over countless shoots. The satisfying click of the locks resonated with a sense of accomplishment, as though each piece of gear had played its part in creating visual magic.

Yet, instead of succumbing to the lure of a well-deserved rest or the comforts of home, North found himself inexplicably drawn to the complex's vibrant atmosphere. The allure of the place, its energy and ever-changing tapestry of life, beckoned to him like a siren's song. The day was an anomaly in Bangkok, a rare gift of a breezy afternoon, and North intended to seize it, to explore the visual wonders the day might unfold.

His journey within the complex was more than a casual stroll; it was a visual quest. The camera, now resting comfortably around his neck, was poised for action. North sought out moments of serendipity and beauty, from the intricate play of light and shadow on the polished floors to the candid expressions of shoppers lost in their retail reverie. In each snapshot, he captured fragments of existence, preserving them as timeless artefacts of the human experience.

With every click of the shutter, North immortalized fragments of life that might otherwise slip into oblivion. He was an artist who thrived on the beauty of the mundane, capturing the essence of fleeting moments. The gilded rays of the setting sun painted the scene before him with strokes of warmth and shadow, coaxing out the hidden details that might escape an untrained eye.

His lens found solace in the candid moments of strangers passing by—a couple engaged in playful conversation, their laughter frozen in time; a food vendor, apron stained with the day's work, deftly crafting a delicious snack; a child chasing a stray balloon, eyes filled with pure wonder. These were the stories within stories that North sought to reveal, each photograph a testament to the extraordinary within the ordinary.

As he continued his photographic journey through the shopping complex, his camera lens was drawn to the architectural marvels that surrounded him. He sought out the interplay of light & shadow on sleek, modern facades, transforming them into abstract compositions. Patterns in glass windows became intricate mosaics, and the complex's structural elements were reborn as works of art. North had a gift for seeing beyond the surface, unearthing hidden narratives and breathing life into the inanimate. In his photographic odyssey, North was more than an observer; he was a visual storyteller, weaving the threads of everyday life into a tapestry of enduring moments.

North ascended to the rooftop haven that felt like an oasis amidst the urban sprawl. The afternoon sun, with its gentle golden touch, transformed the rooftop yard into a sanctuary where time seemed to slow. Here, amid an ensemble of potted plants and the soothing caress of the breeze, he could pause, breathe, and reflect. The urban jungle that stretched out beneath him, bustling with life and hidden stories, now felt distant and hushed, its cacophony muted by the serene charm of this elevated respite.

The idea of a leisurely coffee enticed him, and North's impulsive decision to explore the rooftop café unfolded like a serendipitous page in his visual diary. As he ventured forth, his camera, slung securely across his chest, remained ever at the ready. With each step, he felt a sense of anticipation—a heightened awareness that every corner of this hidden gem might yield a composition, a play of light and shadow, or a candid moment of urban poetry worth capturing.

As North stepped across the threshold of the café, he was instantly embraced by the intoxicating scent of freshly brewed coffee, a rich, earthy aroma that seemed to infuse the very air he breathed. His ritual began with the familiar order of his signature hot flat white. As the barista prepared the velvety concoction, North's fingers instinctively wrapped around the comforting warmth of his vintage camera, never more than an arm's length away. The café's interior, bathed in the golden hues of the sun's descent, unfolded before him like a theatre of light and shadow, each corner exuding a unique charm that begged to be captured.

Sunlight poured through the windows, dappling every surface with intricate patterns of illumination and darkness. It was as if the cosmos had orchestrated this dance of photons exclusively for North's lens, presenting him with an ephemeral canvas where the mundane transcended into the extraordinary. The play of light and shadow created a symphony of visual poetry, casting a spell that even the most casual observer could not escape. It was in these moments that his Nikon F3 became an extension of his soul, capturing not just images but emotions, stories, and the very essence of existence itself.

Amidst this exquisite interplay, his lens gravitated towards a figure positioned at the café's farthest corner. This solitary presence seemed to exist in perfect harmony with the golden radiance pouring through the windows, an embodiment of quiet confidence bathed in the luminous embrace of the setting sun. The silver glasses frames perched upon the figure's nose glistened like precious relics, capturing the sun's rays in a mesmerising, almost ethereal, fashion. North's heart raced with the recognition of a moment that demanded to be preserved, to be held in perpetuity as a testament to the serendipitous beauty that life, and his lens, could offer. Without hesitation, the camera clicked, its shutter capturing not just an image but an entire story, immortalising the solitary subject and the ineffable essence of the moment.

For one suspended moment, North found himself entranced by the figure at the corner of the café. It was an inexplicable pull, a magnetic force that tugged at the strings of his memory, like encountering a long-lost melody that danced on the edge of recognition. He watched in fascination as the sunlight played upon the figure's features, each contour etched in delicate chiaroscuro. In those fleeting seconds, the person seemed endearing, as though they held a secret known only to the universe.

It was as if he were gazing upon a living, breathing déjà vu, a sensation that clawed at the recesses of his memory, demanding recognition yet remaining maddeningly elusive. In those fleeting moments, North found himself teetering on the precipice of recollection, the tantalizing spectre of something important hovering just beyond his grasp.

He couldn't help but study the person a fraction longer than he intended. The silver glasses frames, the way the sunlight played upon them, the poise with which the figure sat, it all felt uncannily familiar. His attention bordered on rudeness, and North abruptly averted his gaze, not wanting to intrude any further upon the person's solitude.

Inside, a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts swirled like a tempestuous sea. It was as if he were on the precipice of a profound revelation, an answer to a question he hadn't yet asked. He furrowed his brow, the mental gears churning as he strained to remember. Who was this person, and why did they evoke such an inexplicable sense of recognition?

An emotional tempest churned within him, an intricate tapestry of curiosity, nostalgia, and a burning desire to remember. He felt as though he stood on the precipice of a revelation—an elusive memory that danced at the edges of his consciousness. A name, a place, a shared experience—the fragments of recollection taunted him like elusive fireflies in the night. He couldn't help but wonder if they had met before, in some distant corner of his past, their presence etched into the annals of his life.

As North's mind raced to reconcile the past with the present, the vibrant memory of that fateful night in Jökulsárlón burst forth with breathtaking clarity. It was as if a long-forgotten canvas had suddenly been brought to life with vivid strokes of color. He could see it all again—the inky, obsidian sky illuminated by the ethereal dance of the northern lights, their radiant green and violet hues painting a celestial masterpiece.

And there, beneath that celestial canopy, stood the enigmatic figure—just as he was now, but bathed in the elusive, otherworldly glow of the aurora borealis. It wasn't merely a photograph coming to life in North's mind; it was a living, breathing moment of time. The subject gleamed faintly under the celestial spectacle, casting a captivating silhouette that seemed almost surreal against the backdrop of the Arctic night.

In his mental image, North could see the figure's poised stance, their backlit form accentuating the sharp edges of silver glasses frames, which caught the dancing lights in a mesmerizing play of reflections. The enigma of that moment, frozen in time, was now unfurling before North's eyes. Every detail—the figure's stillness, the quiet intensity of the scene, and the haunting beauty of the aurora—was etched into his memory as if it had imprinted itself on his soul.

North's heart quickened, the vividness of the recollection leaving him momentarily breathless. It was a connection between two points in time, a thread that had woven its way through the tapestry of their lives. As he prepared to bridge the gap between memory and reality, North couldn't help but marvel at the cosmic design that had led them to this serendipitous juncture—a juncture where the past and present converged in a symphony of light and longing.

Fate had orchestrated a reunion, weaving their stories back together in a twist of serendipity. It was his chance, the opportunity he had longed for—to introduce himself, to finally unmask the mysterious being who had unknowingly become the muse of his famed photograph.

With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, North knew he couldn't let this moment slip through his fingers. He yearned to see the smile that had enchanted him in the dimly lit jazz bar, to witness the sparkle in those captivating doe eyes, to hear the vivacious laughter that had resonated in the candlelit ambiance. North was determined to delve beyond the surface and uncover the depths of the person who had sparked his curiosity & ignited his creative passion.

North felt a surge of excitement coursing through his veins. The café's serene atmosphere seemed to echo his racing heartbeat, and he couldn't wait to bridge the gap between them. It was a chance to rewrite their story, to transform a chance encounter into a profound connection—a moment that held the promise of something more. North was ready to step into the unknown, eager to embark on this unexpected journey that fate had laid before him.

As North prepared to rise from his seat, a palpable tension hung in the air, the seconds feeling like an eternity. He was on the precipice of taking that pivotal step to greet the mysterious guy, whose presence had become a beacon of intrigue. The bustling café around them seemed to fade into the background, and for that suspended moment, it felt as though the universe held its breath in anticipation.

But then fate delivered yet another unexpected twist. Another figure, confident and purposeful, glided effortlessly toward his table. Clad in a crisp white button-up shirt, his jet-black hair meticulously parted, and his face bearing an uncanny resemblance to a sculpture by Michelangelo himself, this newcomer exuded an aura of irresistible charm.

With a seamless grace, the newcomer seated himself directly across from the unsuspecting subject. He wore an air of quiet assurance, hands folded across his chest, as if standing sentinel to protect the subject's moment of solitude. A patient stillness enveloped him as he patiently awaited acknowledgment, an unspoken presence signifying guardianship over the enigmatic figure.

North's heart sank, and a pang of melancholy washed over him like a shadow cast by the setting sun. It was yet another missed chance, a twist of fate that seemed to revel in playing with his emotions. The universe, it appeared, was a capricious storyteller, weaving narratives only to obscure them once more. The weight of this missed connection settled heavily upon North's shoulders, a poignant reminder of life's capricious dance.

He watched as the enigmatic subject and the striking newcomer engaged in what seemed to be an animated conversation. Their silhouettes against the backdrop of the café's golden-hour ambiance created an almost cinematic tableau. Words exchanged, laughter shared, and gestures made—North could only imagine the depth of their interaction.

Regret gnawed at him, a bitter taste in his mouth. It was a painful reminder that sometimes, despite the universe's playful orchestrations, timing remained elusive. Yet, North couldn't help but be captivated by the unfolding scene. As much as his heart ached for the missed opportunity, he found solace in knowing that, somewhere, two souls had found each other in the most unexpected of ways. In this bittersweet moment, he glimpsed the intricacies of human connection and the unpredictability of life's grand narrative.

As the café's golden-hour glow began to dim, North continued to watch the two figures, now deep in conversation, their connection growing stronger with each passing moment. The melancholy that had gripped him earlier began to ebb away, replaced by a quiet sense of wonder and gratitude.

In that moment, North knew that their paths had crossed for a reason. The missed chance was not a conclusion but a prologue —a prologue to a story yet to be written. As the universe continued to spin its enigmatic tales, he couldn't help but smile at the possibilities that lay ahead. Perhaps fate, in all its whimsy, was not done with them yet.

With a heart filled with anticipation, North collected his camera, leaving behind the traces of another fleeting encounter. As he stepped out into the evening, the city's vibrant energy wrapped around him like a familiar embrace. He carried with him the memory of that serendipitous day, knowing that the next chapter of their story awaited, its pages still blank, its tales yet untold.

[To Be Continued.]

[countercharmda]

serendipity is surprisingly one of my first muses to be unapologetically, blatantly good aligned i think. im not quite sure why exactly, but at the start of act iii he comes to terms with the fact that...yeah...he could kill an elder brain. ease everything back to normal, hopefully. compared to my last muse, who looked at his party attempting to solve a war that had been going on and off for centuries and said 'we are absolutely not qualified for this' i think it's very interesting.

to ren this feels like the best way to go down in the history books. to be gilded in fame and glory and become someone worth knowing. worth loving. idk it's very interesting to me

[generalb]

Current List of words/phrases that sound good

61

In my solitude

Be that as it may

Ebicenezer

Ebinizer

Vltava

Establishing a rapport

Buffeted

Riddled

Charcuterie

Serendipity

77

Bartholomew

Vigilantism

Villain

Principle

For all that it were

Expenditure

Envious

Velvet

Azumarill

Nonchalant

Sated hunger

Strut

Hand in unlovable hand

Chronicles

Smithereens

Elixir

It’s a marvelous night for a moon dance

Chunk a change

Centrifuge

Basking

Virtual Insanity

coming out of the woodwork

Zodiac

Ancient cheese with a deadly disease

Tumultuous

Ancestral Sickos

This time tomorrow

Simple simplicities

Gilded

Hollys folly

Satellite

Detect

Detest

Fiber

Vindication

Sustained

Hefty

Outlandish

Sláinte(slawn-sha) meaning: cheers. Irish word

Lingo

Raze

Shcmutz

Garb

Tantamount

Duration

Crass

Niche

Mildew

Bedlam

Few

Aquiesce

Travesty

Brimful

Clattering

Chicanery

Advocate

Overflowing lobby

Shadowtackle

Petrichor

Debris

[mrs-gray]

MIDNIGHT GRAY – Part III

Michael Gray x female reader (OFC / OC) – A Peaky Blinders™ fanfiction

Summary: You needed a drink after the meeting with Tommy Shelby and Michael Gray. Unfortunately some drunk men harassed you...will someone save you?

Characters: Michael Gray, OFC, Tommy Shelby, Lizzie Stark (Lizzie Shelby), Isaiah Jesus, Finn Shelby 

Word Count: 6k

Status: Incomplete

Warning(s): English is my second language, melancholy, smoking, drinking, strong language, non-con elements

Published: March 2022

Part 3 of the ‘Midnight Gray’-saga

Author's note: Slow burn, (Fr)Enemies to lovers

Song recommendations for this chapter:

She Remembers – Max Richter

Oh My God – Adele

In a Sentimental Mood – Ella Fitzgerald 

Music To Watch Boys To – Lana Del Rey

Just When I Thought – Jacob Banks

WTF – Sasha Alex Sloan

Pervious Chapters:

Chapter 1 – Serendipity – a fortunate happenstance 

Chapter 2: Zemblanity – the inevitable discovery of what we would rather not know; the opposite of serendipity

꧁ ________________________꧂

Chapter 3:

Drapetomania – an overwhelming urge to run away.

What a troublesome night, haunted by bad dreams you thought once you opened your eyes after a very sleepless rest. You needed a moment to adjust to the still foreign environment. Then it hit you like lightning, your whole body shivered in return. 

Realization like an avalanche – Shelby Mansion, my new gilded cage. Furthermore the meeting with Thomas and Mr. Gray. What a nightmare and you just woke up from one…

You sat up in your canopy bed, starring out of the window for several minutes. You hugged your knees and your head rested on top of them. The grey sky so gloomy and drab, resembling your own inner mood.

You couldn’t decide what will turn out to be worse today – signing over your property, your goods and chattels, to Thomas Shelby or enduring Michael Gray while doing so? 

Your heart felt torn even though a little spark of joy kept on resonating within your stomach but you decided to ignore it and let it drift by like the cloudy weather waiting outside. 

He betrayed you. It hurt, badly. Don’t trust him again! Keep yourself locked from his charisma and the undeniable chemistry the two of you shared. It will be for the better...you thought.

You decided to go for a ride. Feeling the warm horse skin galloping under your saddle was a pleasant distraction. Once you came back after a couple of hours you took a bath, ate and enjoyed a few cups of tea while finishing Thomas Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd – you always enjoyed reading this novel, no matter how many times you’ve already delved into this fictional masterpiece.

It was time to get dressed you thought after observing the watch hanging on the forest green wall. You chose a black dress, tight around your waist with a pleated skirt. A white collar and matching wristbands should be suitable for today. 

You mascaraed your greenish blue eyes, added some rosy blush and lipstick. You tied your gold-coloured hair back in a ponytail, little curls swinging in the back around your rips. Modest pearl earrings would be enough for this meeting you thought and took a look in the mirror.

Your reflection showed a perfect image but it was the exact opposite to your troubled mind. Luckily you always seemed calm and firm on the outside, never allowing others to know how you really felt – today would be a good day to use this special boon. 

You walked down the stairs and asked one of the servants for Thomas. She informed you that he left the mansion hours ago and you were told to wait for one of his men to drive you to Birmingham. 

It’s funny how all the things that used to be ordinary and so very taken for granted seemed to become way more important once you’ve lost your freedom – you loved to drive ever since you got your first car; however you gave in to this strange, almost comedic situation and let one of Thomas’ men drive you to his city office. 

If only you could get rid of his henchman in the driver's seat and escape  – out of Birmingham, out of this perdition. The vehicle abruptly stopped in front of the meeting spot – The Shelby Company Limited.

Your driver got out of the car, lit a cigarette and attentively watched you while opening the door of Thomas’ city office. Liberty, more like self determination lost. 

You walked down the wooden corridor and a beautiful raven-black haired woman sat in front of you. She stopped writing and looked up. 

‘Miss Huntington-Coldwell?’ She assumed, navy blue eyes studying you. 

‘Yes. I am about to have an appointment with Mr. Sh…’ You said and she interrupted you.

‘Mr. Shelby will arrive a little bit later than scheduled.’ She stood up and added. ‘Please follow me.’

The secretary was a very tall and attractive lady, no wonder that Thomas hired her. Guardedness aside, he still is just a man after all. 

You came along an empty office, the inscription on the door saying ‘accountant’. 

Assuming that Michael Gray would most definitely be in his office by now gave you some hope and you inwardly sent up a quick prayer that he won’t attend the meeting. 

She gestured to the door that was left ajar and your eyes instantly locked with his. It seemed like someone cheered too soon. 

‘Mr. Gray.’ You greeted him, not out of joy but out of manner.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Coldwell.’ He rose to his feet and walked over to the bar. 

‘What's your poison?’ He asked while pouring himself whiskey in a crystal glass. 

‘You!’ You thought. His eyes met yours again and it seemed like the severity of your hatred towards him got the better of you. 

His signature brow lifted in a suspicious way, the other side of his mouth formed a smirk.

‘Did I just say that out loud?’ You asked yourself and started to panic.

‘I can’t blame you, Miss.’ He said casually, almost sounding amused. 

Fuck! I said it out loud. 

‘It’s shortly after 5 o'clock and you’re already drinking?’ You asked him, wanting to distract him from your awkward remark. 

‘Wakeful night.’ He drank some of the whiskey and continued. ‘Helps me to endure the long days.’

You stared at him, wanting to read his body language, slightly tilting your head while doing so. Apparently I haven’t been the only one having troubles sleeping tonight? He surely deserved it…you tried to persuade yourself. He indeed looked tired. It didn’t made him less handsome but the dark circles under his midnight blue eyes were a testimony to long working days and probably nights as well – you almost felt sorry for him... 

‘…it might help you to endure me, Miss.’ He cockily stated.

‘Right enough!’ You replied. 

‘Whiskey?’ He asked again. 

‘Scotch.’ You retorted. 

He wanted to pass you the glass filled with Scotch but you pretended to be occupied with something in your handbag. He sighed but he still had a smugly grin resting on his face.    

You grabbed the crystal glass from the table and raised it in the air. 

‘Here’s to cheating, stealing and drinking.’ You uttered mockingly.

‘Cheers.’ He raised his glass in approval, fully aware of your spiteful undertone.

The taste of the Scotch was heady and now you had to agree – day drinking might become your new passion. It will most definitely help you to endure the upcoming months. 

‘Miss Coldwell.’ He started and slowly strode a few steps inside the office. One hand still holding his whiskey glass, the other one nonchalantly resting in his pocket. 

You weren’t in the mood for his speech, he didn’t even gave you enough time to let the alcohol work and reach your blood – you exhaled deeply. He put his glass down on the table and his hands leant on the chairback, opposite from you. He avoided your gaze for a few silent moments.

‘I know I’ve hurt you.’ Then his eyes pierced yours, gleaming with truthfulness. 

‘I know that.’ He insisted so very intense. 

‘I…’ He arose again and rubbed his temple. 

‘It wouldn’t have made any difference.’ He declare himself.

‘On the contrary! It would have made a difference…to me.’ Your voice broke. You needed to swallow and drank some more of your Scotch. 

‘The moment I knew who you were…I.’ He paused and looked away, lost in thought. He deeply exhaled and regained his posture. 

‘I couldn’t dare to put you in danger.’ He reached for his drink and took another sip of his whiskey. 

‘It would have made everything worse, trust me.’ He laughed in a cruel way to himself, starring into the distance and lightly biting his full bottom lip. 

Thereafter he fastened his eyes with yours again and they begged for your forgiveness. You sat there in silence, studying him and trying to judge the trueness in his words. 

‘Sure, I could have smuggled you out of Birmingham, perhaps even the country…but Miss, I know what my family is capable of.’ His blue eyes matched his sad smile. 

‘I couldn't reconcile your destiny with my conscience and move one like I wouldn't be the one to blame for your death sentence.’ He lit a cigarette and audibly exhaled the first drag of tobacco, then absentmindedly shook his head. 

‘Not after I met you.’ He confessed, just above a throaty whisper. 

Your eyes locked again and you knew that he was telling the truth and it almost tore you apart. 

‘I know.’ You breathed and looked down, not longer able to hold his gaze. 

He came closer and sat down in the chair next to you, knees almost touching. 

‘Now I can do everything in my power to keep you safe, Miss. To protect you.’  You looked up again, apprehending his face – sincerity written all over it. 

‘Like I said yesterday, I will make up for it.’ He repeated sternly.

‘I promise.’ He breathed calmly. 

This moment was intimate. No physical touch needed, to feel connected to him... Suddenly the door opened and Tommy entered his office. 

‘Miss Coldwell, Michael.’ He shortly greeted and exhaled deeply while removing his coat and sat down right beside you.

Michael once again caught a fleeting glimpse of your greenish blue eyes and you wondered – how could he affect you like this? He was right. It would have made everything worse…hearing that he truly cared for you isn't helping matters. 

Thomas spread dozens of documents all over the table.

‘Miss Coldwell, you know that once the signing over is officially confirmed, your father’s hereditary debt is repaid. It becomes legally binding on your next birthday.’ Thomas informed you and it upset you but you kept your stoic facade. 

He kept on talking like you didn’t know that you would have to sell your soul to the devil, simply because your father made one wrong choice; trusting his friend who betrayed him in the end. One fatal decision let to this moment. 

‘If only your father didn’t get involved with the Shelby clan!’ You let your thoughts spin around in your head...

Surely they ended the feud between your father and his former friend but the Shelbys weren’t there to protect your father from being killed by one of his old friend’s followers. 

Down to the present day you couldn’t believe that your father agreed to this covenant. Transferring everything to Thomas Shelby in exchange for their help. That was very unlike him – he would rather die than shaking hands with some notorious gypsy gangster…

‘Let’s begin with the properties.’ Thomas decided and lit a cigarette, smoke tarnished the yellowish lamplight. 

Michael cleared his throat and laid down one paper after the other. Starting with Gosford House in Scotland, Drumlanrig Castle in Scotland next, Dyffryn House in Wales, followed by Bodrhyddan Hall in North Wales...

You��ve stayed silent the whole time, signing countless of papers and just like that your estates vanished. Funds, cars, stocks as well as art and paintings weren’t yours, not any longer.

You felt an overly forceful stare coming from Thomas and you looked right back into his sky blue eyes.

‘Is there a problem, Mr. Shelby?’ You held his gaze straightfaced. 

‘You’re surprisingly calm, Miss Coldwell.’ He acknowledged, his brows a bit furrowed – a sign of suspicion. 

You didn’t response but your eyes kept on saying everything you wanted him to know. 

‘Jewellery next.’ He said and his eyes ogled down to the platinum charm around your neck. 

‘No!’ You implied. 

‘You can take everything but you certainly won’t take this away from me!’ You insisted, your eyes ready to fight, your hand around the charm, gripping it so tightly as if your life depended on it.

‘It’s my mothers. It’s the only thing she left me.’ You said sternly, eyes drowning in wrath now. 

How could he be so greedy? 

‘You can have everything else…but not this.’ You were trapped in a hopeless situation but wouldn’t go down, not without a fight. 

‘Tommy!’ Michael appealed urgently, subtly admonishing his uncle.

‘I respect that.’ Thomas replied and lit yet another cigarette. 

__________________________________________________

Hours passed, ink dried.

‘Alright, seems like we’re done for today.’ Thomas declared and looked at his gilded pocket watch. 

‘What about my Cousin?’ You asked Thomas, eyes wide open. 

‘We will discuss this topic another time, Miss Coldwell.’ He replied dryly. 

‘This topic?’ You said disgusted by Thomas Shelby’s arrogance. 

‘But you said you would agree to get him out of captivity, once I cleared my father’s debt.’ You almost shouted.

‘So it will be.’ He replied so calmly, you felt the infuriation heating up your entire body. 

‘You will get him out...right? I signed over all that I had. You said you’re a man of your word, Mr. Shelby!’ Your eyes full of pleading and also temper. 

‘Miss Coldwell, the signing over covered the contractual conditions. Your cousin wasn’t a part of the deal.’ He said and lit a cigarette. 

‘You’re kidding, right?’ Your voice filled with fury, your rib cage raising from suppressed tension. 

‘Everything I have ever owned is yours now… What could I possibly offer you to get him out?’ You looked at him perplexed.

You could barely contain yourself anymore, being on the edge of your seat. All of a sudden you felt Michael’s left hand on your thigh, resting on top of your pleated skirt, trying to calm you down – you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. 

Thomas stared at you wordlessly and it felt like half an eternity until he finally responded. 

‘I will try to get your cousin out of his captivity and you will fulfil tasks for me?’ Thomas finally answered.

‘What kind of tasks?’ You asked and crossed your arms, brows furrowed. 

‘It depends on upcoming events. Once you’ll be needed, you will comply with my wish.’ He declared.

‘Settled!’ You stood up, grabbed your handbag as well as your coat and walked down the corridor. 

You pushed the front door open, not caring about the loud slam. You put on your gloves and the cold air was surprisingly refreshing, cooling down your nerves and mind. 

The man who drove you to Birmingham approached you. 

‘God!’ How much you hated this insanity. Your whole body stiffened and you couldn’t regain control over your mind. It was overwhelming, simply too much for you. Tears slowly building up and you didn’t want to show this kind of emotion, not in front of one of Thomas’ henchmen nor anyone else. Everything seemed forlorn, tears kept on running down your blushed cheeks.

It felt harder to breathe. Each gasp hurt more than the last one. Suddenly two hands grabbed your arms from behind. 

‘Miss Coldwell.’ A familiar velvety voice lingered in your ears. 

You turned around and Michael repeated his gesture, now facing you while his hands found their way around your upper arms. 

He kept some distance between the two of you in order to make you feel comfortable.

‘Thomas wants me to driver her back.’ The driver said non empathetically. 

You shot him a questionable look – he couldn’t be serious? 

‘Fuck Tommy’s orders! I will take care of her.’ Michael gave him a warning and the man finally drove off.  

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling down your reddened cheeks. Your feeling heart betrayed your otherwise usually emotional cold and reserved composure – how much you hated yourself for being so vulnerable, so very lost in this moment. You wanted to be the strong young women you always aimed for others to see, each and every single day – and there you stood in a complete turmoil.

You walked a few steps back in order to evade his touch and create distance between the two of you. Suddenly you felt bricks behind your back. 

Michael came closer and closer, ignoring your personal space which would have been more than appropriate and embraced you, tightly. You just stood there, unable to move, unable to think but still able to feel - and it scared you. It felt so right standing there, in his arms. 

Mixed feelings overwhelmed you and you suddenly pushed him away.

‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ You screamed in a hoarse voice. You wept bitterly and his eyes softened. You wondered if he honestly cared? 

‘Just leave me alone!’ You whispered scarcely audible, your head hung low. 

He couldn’t endure to see you like this – looking like a picture of misery. 

‘Come here.’ He said so self-evidently. 

This time you couldn’t fight back and truth be told, you even welcomed his tight embracement. It made you feel surprisingly safe, as if he prevented you from falling apart entirely. 

You smelled the rich smell of his musky cologne and inhaled it deeply. One of his hands holding your back, the other one resting at the back of your head, in the utmost gentle way. 

You didn’t know how long he held you in his strong arms but he made sure to hold you as long as you needed it. 

‘Thank you.’ You breathed, so very sore from crying. 

You ended the embrace and reached for your handkerchief, wiping away your fluid sadness. 

‘I don’t know if you should keep it or if I want it back?’ He said with a cheeky smile, never leaving your eyes. 

‘Pardon me?’ Your eyes widened in bewilderment. 

‘Your handkerchief. I mean...actually mine.’ He said showing you his perfect teeth now.

‘Oh.’ Your glazed eyes looked down at the tear-flooded fabric in your hand. 

‘I will clean it and give it back to you…this time.’ You replied shyly, your voice sounding innocent. 

‘No! Keep it…though I hope you won’t ever need it again.’ He replied compassionately. 

Your eyes locked with his blue ones and you gave him a sad smile in return before you absentmindedly let your head fall again. 

He put his leather gloves on, drew closer to you and his now gloved finger tenderly raised your chin, his action demanding you to look at him. 

‘Want to drown your sorrow, Miss?’ He raised his signature brow and awaited your answer.

‘I bet you won’t want to waste your whole life listening to my melancholy woe, Mr. Gray?’ You couldn’t hold back a small smile.  

‘I think I could spare a lifetime.’ He jokingly remarked and his facial expression reassured you. 

He led you through a few of Birmingham’s streets, his hand never leaving the small of your back.

‘Thank you, Mr. Gray…’ You struggled for words, not looking at him, yet you continued. ‘…and also for letting me vent, again.’

‘That goes without saying, Miss.’ The corner of his mouth forming an honest smile. 

‘If you please…’ He opened the door of a pub called The Garrison. 

You walked in first and he helped you out of your black fur coat.

‘Thank you. I’m about to powder my nose.’ You spoke out and disappeared in the pub’s lavatory.

You refreshed your maquillage and wanted to rebuild the perfect mask – powder, lipstick and some blush would definitely help to recreate your formerly neat appearance. You put some perfume on both sides of your neck, gently applying it by using the back of your wrist. 

You observed your reflection and were surprised that once again the old saying is indeed true – Appearances are deceiving. 

There was no evidence left of your emotional outburst, except for the mournfulness in your eyes but no make up in the world could possibly hide it.

You headed back to Michael, past dozens of men who eyeballed you, yet you didn’t pay attention to their staring nor comments, also a few whistles now and then – both of your eyes fixed only on one another. 

Michael’s hand casually rested in his pinstriped suit pants pocket, the other one holding a glass of whiskey. He looked so very attractive and his intense stare made you wonder what he thought about…

Michael lifted his head and he let his captivating blue eyes wander from your eyes down your body and up again, taking his time observing you – like a hunter and his prey.

You didn’t mind his attention, in fact you liked the idea of making him aroused, swinging your hips a little bit more than usually, while approaching him.

You saw an unfamiliar man standing next to Michael. He was tall, dressed just as dapper as the other Shelbys and his skin was tanned, shimmering amber-brown. 

‘Well, look who it isn’t!’ The stranger addressed me, visibly delighted.

‘Princess Harlow, right?’ He smirked smugly. 

‘I am not a princess. I’m Harlow.’ You calmly mentioned.

‘Isaiah.’ He introduced himself and placed a kiss on top of your delicate hand, never leaving your eyes. 

‘Well...you can be my princess any time.’ He said and he was so charming, you couldn’t be mad at him. His golden brown eyes winked at you in a flirtatious way. 

You smiled but didn’t replied anything. 

Michael stood there watching you and his friend Isaiah silently while sipping his whiskey. 

‘Your eyes are mesmerizing.’ Isaiah asseverated truthfully. 

‘I just wanted to say the same! I have never seen eyes that golden…like the sun is shining through them.’ You said sounding innocently. 

‘Not as hypnotizing and beautiful as yours, Miss Harlow.’ He refuted. 

‘Beautiful eyes?…I bet she never heard that before.’ Michael snorted and shook his head in annoyance. 

You shot a glance at Michael and didn’t understand his constant moodiness. 

You decided to focus on Isaiah and also Finn, who just came back from the bar; a beer mug in one hand, a champagne flute in the other. 

‘Thank you Finn.’ You said with kind eyes. 

‘I didn’t know what you wanted and I guessed you would like some champagne?’ He said a bit nervous, his ears reddened. 

‘Yes, that‘s so kind of you!’ You gratefully replied. 

‘She prefers Scotch!’ Michael said even more displeased than before. 

You bit your lip, trying to contain the aggravation inside of you. You couldn’t believe what he just said – your blood began to boil in your veins. 

‘I also like the taste of champagne, Mr. Gray…and you aren’t my spokesman, are you?’ You stated levelly but your eyes certainly showed the ire you were trying to hide. 

Both of you started a staring contest.

Isaiah spoke again and you faced him instead. 

‘Your eyes, Harlow, are they grey or green?’ Isaiah asked but it sounded more like a statement.

‘Blue!’ Finn interposed.

Isaiah came closer and closer until you felt his breath on your skin. You knew he would jump at the chance to be this close to you. 

‘Her left one is silvery blue, her right one icy green.’ Michael interrupted him and shot his friend Isaiah a warning glance, while his jaw tensed.

You furrowed your brows and pierced Michael, not understanding why he suddenly acted like this. 

‘I would say…’ Isaiah came even closer now and you guessed he did on purpose, also enjoying to provoke Michael even more. 

‘He’s right.’ You declared, addressing Michael. 

Michael raised his brow, smugness written all over his face. 

‘I know.’ He added shortly, his voice so very self-pleased. 

The mood was so tense, thanks to his arrogance. 

You drowned your champagne with one gulp, the little bubbles tickling your throat in a refreshing way.

‘Two things are missing in here, gentlemen...’ You started to say and looked around the pub, all 3 men listened to you. 

‘…some music as well as a goddam Scotch. Therefore I am about to go to the bar and get myself one, now!’ You facetiously exclaimed. 

‘…unless someone…’ Your eyes locked with Michaels again and you continued. ‘…disagrees with my reckless and bloody deed?’ You smiled so very alluringly in order to mock Michael knowingly and also willingly.

His tongue slid over his lip and he gave you a daring glimpse. You knew that he didn’t want you to carry this joke too far.

You went to the counter of the bar and your pent-up tension might added to the swing of your hips - and it seemed to work. Several men whistled at you and tried to gain your attention but you focused on the pecan brown liquid. Still you felt flattered, mainly because it drove him mad. 

His jaw clenched constantly on your way back to the them. 

‘As far as I can gather you already turned every poor blokes head in here.’ Isaiah commented buoyantly. 

‘Guess we’re not the only ones fancying you?’ He joked and smiled coquettishly. 

You laughed out loud and and shook your head. 

‘No!’ You stated and narrowed your eyes to underline your honest negation.

‘Or she simply enjoys to tempt all men?’ Michael retaliated, his dark blue eyes sharp as a blade. 

‘All men?’ You repeated slowly, your voice broke slightly. His rude comment hit so very deep and he knew it. 

‘I need some fresh air.’ You blurted and avoided everyone’s gaze, while you put on you leather gloves and raven-black fur coat. 

Finn wanted to accompany you, same as Isaiah but you denied. 

You pushed the door of the pub open and closed your eyes, inhaling the cold air of the night. How much you hated him!

‘Bastard!’ You spoke out to yourself. 

You felt ashamed for trusting him, again – crying in his arms not even one hour ago. Why did he do this to you? It seemed like he wanted to tease you in such a callous way. He enjoyed this game, his game. But why? You asked yourself.

Buried in thought two men approached you. One of them made you move back, till you felt the hard bricks of the house wall behind you. 

‘Today’s your lucky day, kitten.’ He reached for your hair and closed his eyes smelling the light scent of peonies and roses. 

You smelled the alcohol in his boozy breath, then you heard the clang of church bells in the distance. 

‘Seems like my fortunate day just ended, gentlemen.’ You stated and walked past him.

His other friend came closer and blocked your way. 

‘Where are you going, kitty?’ He firmly grabbed you by your hair and pulled you back. He opened your coat and it made you shiver. One of his hands grabbed your rip cage now, the other one squeezing your bum. 

‘Let me go!’ You pushed him away but he stood his ground and both men laughed menacingly, as his grip tightened even more. 

‘Don’t fucking touch her.’ Michael came into view, his hands rested in his coat pockets. 

It worked! Due to the distraction the man loosened his solid grip and you freed yourself from his touch. 

‘Well, look for another slag, mate!’ He spat out.

‘I won’t say it again.’ Michael threatened him overly composed. 

Isaiah and Finn joined the situation and their footsteps became harsher. 

‘What's going on here?’ Isaiah’s voice blazed.

‘I think we need to teach those fucking bastards a lesson.’ Michael addressed both of his friends. 

The other drunkard saw Finn and his mimic changed instantly. 

‘Fuck Pete! These kiddos are Peaky Blinders!’ Fear was visibly inked on his whole face. 

Michael exchanged a few words with Isaiah and turned to you again, his hand on the small of your back guiding you out of the street – his pace way faster than before. You turned around and wanted to see what would happen to the two drunk men. 

‘Come along! Let’s go to the car.’ He uttered resolutely.

‘What are you about to do to the…’ You questioned him uncertainly but he interrupted you right away. 

‘We take care of them.’ He answered vaguely and you turned into the left alley, where his car parked, not very far from you. 

‘You don’t kill them...do you?’ You asked obviously alarmed and searched for an answer, scanning his profile. 

Michael stopped dead in his tracks. 

‘Are you serious?’ His tone full of disgust and he drew nearer to you until you felt his heavy breath on you face. 

‘You tell me!’ You countered and mirrored his rage. 

Your eyes stayed locked for moments – then he regained his composure, lit a cigarette and his jaw tensed, yet another time.

‘What difference will it make, if those bastards live to see the next dawn?’ He distanced and turned his back on you.

‘They don’t deserve to die!’ You protested and ran after him. 

His right forefingers pointed at you and his eyes narrowed. 

‘Such unworthy rabble…’ He pointed in the direction of the men now but kept his eyes fixated on you. 

‘…they won’t deserve the air in their lungs!’ He yelled out every single word. 

‘…but death? I know they were dishonourable but…’ You began to speak.

‘Dishonourable?’ He spat out in disbelief and threw away his burning cigarette.

‘…but they only did what they did due to the alcohol!’ You responded in defence. 

He came closer again, eying you with squinted orbs. 

‘It’s true.’ He testified. 

‘What?’ You asked annoyed and frustrated. 

‘You really want to tempt every men.’ He smiled but his eyes told a different story. 

‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ You shouted equally hurt and outraged.

Your gloved hand found its way on the left side of his chiseled face. Surely, you were mad at those men but you hated Michael even more – nonetheless you whispered an apology straightway. 

His head turned to the side, once you hit him and Michael laughed cockily. 

‘Son of a gun!’ You thought – he liked it!

‘A little fire in you? I like that!’ He scoffed haughty. 

‘Really?’ Your brow raised but you remained serene. 

'In that case I will never hit you again.’ You promised, your eyes showed your incomprehension.

He reached for your gloved hand but you pulled away. 

It physically hurt to fight back the tears, swelling in your eyes. 

‘Fuck!’ He cursed and took a few steps back, both palms of his hands resting on either side of his temples. 

‘Miss Coldwell. I am sorry.’ His expression changed. 

‘I can’t stand to…’ He started to say but inhaled and it seemed like the oxygen tamed his grudge. 

‘The way those bastards…’ He pointed in their direction again. ‘… as well as all the other guys in the pub undressed you with their filthy eyes.’ His jaw didn’t stop clenching and he looked away and stared into the distance. 

‘Even the way Isaiah looked at you!’ His tone became sharper. 

Your eyes met and his mimic was imbued with revulsion, disapproval and even...jealousy?

‘You looked at me even more blatantly, Mr. Gray.’ You laughed out of frustration – he nodded. 

‘That’s true.’ He agreed and his proud overconfidence bothered you even more. 

‘You should not provoke their reaction like this!’ He exhorted you as if he had the right to do so. 

‘...and now you will kill them?’ You asked him again, this time even more irritated. 

He turned his back on you and his exhaled breath overclouded the weak streetlamp light. 

‘Are you serious? You better shoot me right away too! Problems solved once and for all.’ You shouted, your body shuddered and it felt like you were on the verge of collapse. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ He disgorged, visibly scandalized.

‘I would never want to hurt you!’ If looks could kill, his eyes would have. 

‘You are doing quite a fantastic job doing the opposite, Mr. Gray!’ You smiled at Michael in a taunting way and even clapped your hands.

‘If you were mine I would…’ He retorted but you stopped him. 

‘…lock me in a cage? Too bad! Your family already did that!’ You eyed him up and down and mirrored his angered mimic.  

‘I trusted you! Unfortunately again!’ The annoyance in your shouting voice filled the whole alley.

‘Funny how I lost your trust, even though I never betrayed you. How tragic!’ He mocked you and showed his perfect teeth in an evil half grin. 

‘You are also a liar!’ You counterattacked while your hands profusely gesticulated.  

‘A liar?’ He furiously asked the truth behind your accusation, almost sounding hurt. ‘You can't be serious!’

‘Yes! A fucking liar!’ You repeated stoically. ‘You lied and told me that you would take the next train to Southampton and still you came from London!’ 

He guffawed but not in a heartfelt kind of way. He turned around and came back to you, even closer than before. His lips were so close to your ear that the heat of his breath ran shivers down your spine.

‘…it never crossed your mind that I had business in Southampton first and London afterwards?’ He raised his brow and his smile became cocky but also unusually charming.

‘Oh.’ You closed your eyes for a few seconds, shame written all over your body. 

His blue eyes searched for yours and when you opened them again he looked all the way down to your soul. 

‘I’m not a fucking liar, Miss.’ His voice was soothingly even again as he repeated excessively smug. 

You looked to the floor, then up through your long lashes again. You gazed at each other – lost in this tense, almost intimate moment. He looked away, wetting his bottom lip and clenched his jaw thereafter.

Out of nowhere he forced you to walk a few steps back until you hit the wall behind you. He supported his weight with both of his arms, fists resting on the bricks – his body encircled you.

The intensity of his steady gaze was inexpressible. You instinctively moistened your plump lips, while his eyes followed your unconscious gesture. Michael bit his own in return and his eyes shot back to look at yours. He drew even closer, your foreheads nearly touching. 

Lips only a knife blade apart – you could almost taste the whiskey in his breath. Your heart was beating so fast and erratic, he must have heard it. All at once he let his right hand fall, shortly after the left one too – yet he didn’t walk away, didn’t take a step back nor loosed the closeness between you, coat hems already touching. 

Both of you leered at each other. You were furious with him as he drove you mad – but still you wanted to carry on this heated dispute, more like battle. It would have been so easy to grab him by the collar of his coat, pull him even closer to you and kiss him. Let your tongues continue this war.

A few heartbeats past by and he abruptly slammed his right fist against the wall, right next to your head. He inhaled deeply, not even blinking once and sternly kept a straight face – all while the blood ran down and covered his fingers crimson red. 

You reached for your, well, his handkerchief and observed the fresh cuts on his knuckles. You wanted to stop the bleeding and gently pressed the fabric against his wounds. 

Your eyes met and shared meaningful glances...

__________________________________________________

The ride back crowned it all. 

Not a single word came out of your mouth, Michael emulated your deeds. 

‘Thank God!’ You finally arrived at Arrow House and you would have never believed that you would actually be happy to be back at the Shelby mansion – just the absurd thought was ridiculous and beyond your wildest dreams. 

He parked next to the waterspout fountain, in front of the entrance. You reached for your handbag that you placed on the rear bench seat. The car door opened – of course he had to open it and you tried your best not to roll your eyes.

You walked the few steps to the front door and before you could even think through your next action, your head turned. Your gaze met his and you stared at each other – a mixture of regret, sadness, so much temper and also longing in each of your eyes.

You couldn’t stand his glare anymore and opened the door and shut it close behind you, the sound of tires rolling over the pebbles caught your ears. 

You hated him with every single fibre of your whole being – if only it wasn't for that damn unnecessary little thing called heart...

꧁ ________________________꧂

To be continued...

Thank you so much for reading my third chapter – sending you all much love & positivity! ✨💕💫

[viviennevermillion]

2k followers event prompt list

Here's the word prompt list for my 2k followers event! Feel free to send in requests after reading the rules and checking the request status in my pinned post!

This event is for the following fandoms:

• Twisted Wonderland

• Shining Nikki (only for mutuals)

• My Hero Academia (for Class 1-A, Toshinori, Aizawa, Hawks and All for One)

Feel free to use these prompts as well for whatever you want :3

abditory [n.]: a place to store valuables

acrasia [n.]: lack of self-control

amaranthine [adj.]: eternally beautiful and unfading; undying; a deep purple-red color

apricity [n.]: the warmth of the sun in winter

ataraxia [n.]: a state of serene calmness; poised; composed

atavistic [adj.]: relating back to ideas or feelings that people had in the distant past

atelophobia [n.]: the fear of imperfection; the fear of never being good enough

aubade [n.]: a love song sung at dawn; dawn serenade

aureate [adj.]: golden or gilded; brilliant; splendid

basorexia [n.]: the overwhelming desire to kiss

brontide [n.]: the low rumble of distant thunder

brumous [adj.]: foggy, wintery and sunless

cordolium [n.]: heartache; heartfelt sorrow

dolorous [adj.]: grieving; mournful; full of sorrow

drapetomania [n.]: an overwhelming urge to run away

eccendesiast [n.]: a person who fakes a smile

ephemeral [adj.]: short-lived; lasting only for a short time

epiphany [n.]: a sudden realization

eutony [n.]: the pleasantness of a word's sound

evanescent [adj.]: soon passing out of sight, memory or existence

exulansis [n.]: the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because others are unable to relate to it

felicity [n.]: intense happiness

induratize [v.]: to make one's own heart hardened or resistant to someone's pleas or advances, or to the idea of love

insouciant [adj.]: uncaring; unconcerned; emotionally uninvested

insusurration [n.]: the act of whispering into something

irenic [adj.]: promoting peace

kainotophobia [n.]: fear of changes

marcid [adj.]: withered; incredibly exhausted

meliorism [n.]: the belief that the world gets better; the belief that humans can improve the world

metanoia [n.]: the journey of changing one's mind, heart, self or way of life; repentance

monachopsis [n.]: the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place

moonstruck [adj.]: unable to think or act normally; especially because of being in love

nemophilist [n.]: someone who loves the forest

nubivagant [adj.]: moving among clouds

noetic [adj.]: of or associated with or requiring the usage of the mind

oblivion [n.]: the state of being unaware of what is happening around you

onism [n.]: the awareness of how little of the world you'll experience; unfulfilled experiences

paroxysm [n.]: sudden outburst of emotions

pertinacious [adj.]: determined to continue doing something; stubbornly unyielding

petrichor [n.]: the smell in the air after it's been raining

pluviophile [n.]: a lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days

poiesis [n.]: creation; creative power or ability

psithurism [n.]: the sound of wind in the trees

psychomachy [n.]: a conflict of the soul; a conflict between the body and the soul

redamancy [n.]: the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full

resilience [n.]: the ability to become strong, healthy or successful again after something bad happens

reverie [n.]: absent-minded dreaming while awake; an abstracted state of absorption

sciamachy [n.]: a battle against imaginary enemies; fighting your shadow

serein [n.]: a fine, light rain that falls from a clear sky in the early morning hours or in the early hours of night; evening serenity

serendipity [n.]: finding something good without looking for it

sillage [n.]: the scent of someone's perfume lingering in the air

solivagant [adj.]: wandering alone

succor [n.]: an instance of kind behavior, lifting someone emotionally

supernal [adj.]: pertaining to the sky or to heaven; celestial; of special beauty or rare excellence

synodic [adj.]: relating to or involving the conjunction of stars, planets or other celestial objects

tacenda [n.]: things better left unsaid

thantophobia [n.]: the fear of losing someone you love

toska [n.]: a dull ache of the soul; a sick pining; a spiritual anguish

trouvaille [n.]: something lovely discovered by chance

vindication [n.]: the justification for some act or belief

volent [adj.]: exercising will power

weltschmerz [n.]: sadness or melancholy at the state the world is in

werifesteria [v.]: to wander longingly through the forest in search of mystery

yonderly [adj.]: mentally or emotionally distant; absent-minded

zephyr [n.]: a gentle, mild breeze