#my fucking god that face of his is insane

[curtins]

CREAM SODA — gojo satoru minors dni

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

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

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

smack!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

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

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

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

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

(earlier that day)

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

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

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

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

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

ah, fuck it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

no such luck.

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

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

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

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

gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

click! click!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

or just sit on them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you wanted to gag.

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

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

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

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

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

"i didn't say thank you."

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

"what if you don't have a heart?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"mhm, what?"

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

"deal."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

wait, where was the other bed?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"fuck you mean by that?"

"or sleep on the floor!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"gojo!"

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

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

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

"what about him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"and stop him before that."

"right. that's what i said."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo, especially.

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

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

and it was satisfying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it didn't feel that way.

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

sort of.

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

well, this had certainly been worth half your paycheck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo was right. this was just…tacky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

traitorous.

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

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

"you look lost."

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

well. hello, gorgeous.

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

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

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

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

you settled on an appropriate response.

"um. no, we didn’t."

not your finest moment. not even close.

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

he didn’t even bother to meet your eyes.

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

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

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

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

oh.

you felt your stomach plummet as recognition dawned.

naoki sato.

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

one of the most wanted jujutsu criminals in the world.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

all things you blithely ignored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"hey! naoki!"

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

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

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

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

"found something you like?" naoki asked smoothly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fuck, caught, but not completely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

naoki snickered, "your shadow grows restless."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it reminded you of gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

behind you, a sharp cough broke the moment.

gojo.

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

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

he was calling you rather unflattering names.

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

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

raijin's amulet.

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

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

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

"the bodyguard's interested too?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

time to move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ah, focus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"can i kiss you?"

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

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

so you closed the distance.

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

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

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

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

focus, again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

nerves, or desire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then, it hit you.

a hot, sticky spray of liquid.

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

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

"that's enough."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but naoki sato was faster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then you saw it. saw it all.

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

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

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

and then, there was gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

what did you feel now? anger? sadness?

maybe both. maybe neither.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you can’t take it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"wait."

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

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

an olive branch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

then he moves again.

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

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

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

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

but your eyes snap open to meet his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"can i keep going?"

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

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

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

"what do you want me to do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

smack!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

leaving your mouth dry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and the fact that gojo is nowhere to be found.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ah!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[whorelaud]

OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron ¡ (02)

social media & irl AU !

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother. ch content sexual jokes, rafe being a tease !

NAVIGATION. series masterlist | 01 ¡ 02 ¡ 03

yourusername

liked by sarahcameron, rafecameron and 1,129 others yourusername me and gf on a mermaids date  🧜‍♀️ 

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sarahcameron GF 🙈🙈🙈 most beautiful girl ive ever seen ↳ yourusername BABYYY ily

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Involving yourself with Rafe Cameron, whom you later found out was good friends with your brother, was definitely not a part of your plan. 

Spending the next two months with him meant coming to terms with your actions, perhaps take responsibility for the mess you created out of this situation. Had you further dug into his information, paid attention to the last name splattered across your screen, you would not have ended up in the bathroom, contemplating whether going downstairs was a good idea. 

Avoiding him could be an option right now, but you knew you'd have to face him one day, whether it was today, or another. And while he stayed oblivious to the incident, you couldn’t help the embarrassment that flushed your face everytime his eyes would lock with yours.

You somehow spent the afternoon together, his lingering gazes leaving you a nervous mess every time his eyes fell on you. He’d stare at you for a few seconds, letting tension heave through the air, almost as if it was the most casual thing ever, as if he’s not your brother’s best friend, someone so off limits, forbidden to the touch. 

Besides that, it was nice, you got to spend more time with Sarah, catch up with the girl and everything you missed out on in the past few hours she was gone. It distracted you from your embarrassment, eternally grateful, because you don’t think you’ll be capable of spending another minute within Rafe’s presence without exploding. 

Taking a deep breath, you mustered up the courage to head downstairs, taking each step with haste. Sarah perked up when the hardwood creaked underneath you, causing you to come to a halt. Sarah called out your name, addressing you with the hand she waved in your direction, her excitement instantly replacing the frown spread across your face with a smile. 

“What took you so long?” Her lips jut into a pout, tucking her hair behind her ear. She welcomed you with open arms, chuckling when you accepted the embrace with a content hum “You know, I missed you.” 

“You were jus’ talking to me.” You muffled out, relaxing as the blonde rocked your bodies back and forth. 

“It’s not the same!” She exclaimed, pulling away for a moment. “It’s not everyday I get to see you in real life.” 

Ryan cleared his throat, in an attempt to earn yours and Sarah’s attention. To his satisfaction, he did, causing your gaze to shift back to the latter, instantly detecting the disgusted expression he had splattered across his face. 

“Can you save this for later, and please help me out?” Ryan questioned, making you roll your eyes. “You think I called you down so you could be all over each other?” 

“Shut up.” Sarah stuck out her tongue, teasing the latter from where she stood. 

You scrunched your nose, tensing when you sensed Rafe’s burning glare from the corner of your eyes. The boy’s glances were intense, almost as if he was staring at you for the purpose of undressing you with his gaze, and that, yeah, it never failed to knock a breath out of your chest, creating a flustered mess out of you. 

Sarah returned to her old position, standing behind the counter with you following in her steps, striving to see what they were up to. Your lips formed into an ‘o’ shape, peaking with interest when you noticed the deviled eggs Ryan was plating.

“That looks good,” you hummed, turning in Ryan’s direction, who conceitedly nodded, proud of the dish they had displayed on the counter. “Don’t people usually make these for thanksgiving, though?”

“That’s what I said!” Sarah agreed, giggling when Ryan grumbled, disapproving of your statement. 

“You’re acting like you’re not gonna eat them!” He elbowed your side, acknowledging you with his chin when you hissed, faking a pained expression. “Stop complaining and grab more plates, we need them for the mash potatoes.” 

“The only thing missing is the turkey, at this point.” You scoffed, mumbling to yourself, though Ryan could still hear you. “Where’s the plates?” 

“Uhh,” Sarah started, observing the cabinets behind you. She pointed to one of them with her finger, your eyes instantly following where her digit landed. “You can find some in there.”

With a nod, you shuffled to approach the stacked cabinets, aiming for the one Sarah was referring to. A groan instantly escaped your throat, gaze trailing up to the plates positioned on the top shelf. 

“Why on earth are these cabinets so high?” You whined, standing on your tippy toes to grab the dishes, merely to end up with nothing in your grasp. “And why are you putting plates on the top shelf?! None of you could reach them!” 

You extended your arm once again, stretching out your body in an attempt to seize the plates, losing your balance when you maintained the same position for a little too long, eventually failing to achieve what you were aiming for. 

Ryan mumbled a few words of complaints, rushing you to grab the plates faster, though he noticed that you were struggling, not offering to step in and help you. You paused for a second, calculating how you were going to capture the plates without asking for help, as that was a no in your watch. 

Right, you could use a chair, and although that was quite the embarrassment, it was the only option you had, even if it meant making a fool out of yourself. 

“Here, lemme try.” 

You tensed where you stood, breath hitching when Rafe shuffled behind you, his broad chest colliding against your back. Your vision blurred as you inhaled his scent, his musky cologne intoxicating your senses. 

Your gaze trailed up his arm, where it hovered over your shoulder, the brief contact sending goosebumps down your spine. And if you weren’t aware before, you definitely are now, enjoying the sight of him towering over you a little too much for your liking. 

The latter grunted as he reached for the plates, capturing them with a little difficulty. The sound instantly echoed through your ears, blinding you whole, that you had no right being this into it. Your mind wandered with thoughts you shouldn’t even ponder about, not as the boy was innocently stepping in to help, when your own brother couldn’t. 

“There you go.” Rafe muttered, voice barely above a whisper. He placed the plates on the counter in front of you, moving to catch sight of your reaction, chuckling when he noticed how flustered you were, mouth slightly parting with an exhale. “Did I startle you? Sorry, I was jus’ tryin’ to help.” 

“Right,” you said through a breath, blinking far too many times for your liking. “Thank you, I– that was really nice.” 

“Mhm.” He leaned his arm over the counter, admiring you with a knowing smile tugging at his lips. He stood still for a moment, almost as if he was seeking something out of you, perchance a reply, if that was even appropriate in this situation.

“What?” You asked, cluelessly staring back at him, fingers clutching the plates you had in hand. 

“Could you hurry up!” Ryan interrupted, causing you to jolt from where you stood, leaving Rafe hanging as you headed in your brother’s direction. “The food’s about to run cold.”

“You could’ve helped me grab them, dickhead.” You scoffed, failing to keep your eyes to yourself as you stole a glance in Rafe’s direction, breath catching in your throat when you spotted him yet staring at you, with the same mischievous smile he had from earlier. 

He’s only helping, you’re acting like this because it caught you off guard, right? Fuck, you were totally screwed, how were you supposed to act normal when Rafe was behaving like a gentleman, doing everything in his power to make you comfortable, whether it’s him helping you grab the plates, or him offering you a drink with the scorching hot sun. 

Either way, this was bad, for your mental being, and the boundaries you created for yourself. It’s only been a day, what will happen in the next few weeks you’re spending with him? You don’t know, but what you do know is that they’ll be hell, tortuous, even.

Sarah passed you the pot of mash, politely asking you to plate it, making it hard for you to refuse the request. You did as told, doing it as neatly as physically possible, with Ryan nagging over your head, telling you to be more cautious in the process. 

You managed to get what you were asked for done, with the boy pestering you nonstop throughout it, creating a frustrated mess out of you. Rafe offered a helping hand, arranging the plates on the table, for each person they were serving. 

The elders came through the front door, having been gone for most of the time they’ve been here, excusing themselves for what you assumed was a business meeting. You embraced your mom in a hug, presenting the food to her with your free arm, snickering when she squealed, taken aback by all the food displayed on the table. 

Dinner was chaotic, filled with chatter and giggles as everyone bonded over the food, getting to catch up with each other. Ward was quite the man, and while you did dislike him, witnessing all the times he was harsh to Sarah, you couldn’t dodge his curious questions, not when everyone surrounding you thought of you as angel who wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

You kept to yourself for most of the time, amused by Sarah and Ryan arguing over who cooked each dish, fighting to claim their credit. And as for Rafe, well, he was there, sitting besides Ryan, who was across from you.

“You’re oddly quiet, Bug.” Sarah suddenly started, talking over the elders, who were chatting about business. “Is everything okay?”

“Huh, yeah!” You nodded, flashing her an endearing smile, one Sarah contently returned. 

“It’s only ‘cause there’s people around,” Ryan clicked his teeth, having heard the conversation. “Trust, she’s such a brat, don’t encourage her to keep talking, otherwise, she’ll never shut up.” 

“Can you not?” You muffled through gritted teeth, kicking his foot from underneath the table. “Could you also move? You’re all up in my space.” 

“That’s uh,” Rafe choked out, taking a sip off of the glass of water splattered across his side of the table. “That’s my leg.” 

You froze your spot, eyes widening with shock when you peaked under the table, discerning that it was Rafe’s leg you were kicking, Ryan’s far back positioned inches away from his chair. Sarah mimicked your action, chuckling when she caught sight of the ridiculous sight, entertained by the situation. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You apologized, eyebrows furrowing with concern. “I thought you were Ryan.”

“It’s okay.” He dismisses, flashing you a gentle smile. “Sorry for ruining your uh– plans.” 

“Why are you apologizing?” Ryan jutted his lips into a pout, turning to glimpse at Rafe, whose face filled with concern. “You’re supposed to defend me. Why are you taking her side?” 

“Mhm,” Rafe hummed, going along with the bit. His fingers found the curve of Ryan’s jaw, cupping his face in a teasing manner. “Did I hurt your feelings? I’m sorry, I’ll be more cautious next time. Do you want a kiss, sweetheart?” 

Ryan nodded, nuzzling into the latter’s hand, letting his eyes fall shut when Rafe leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss to his forehead. The mere sight made you sick to your stomach, with Sarah just as cringed out as you were, grumbling with detest.

Looks like you had some competition. 

“Can you not?” Sarah huffed, “We’re eating.” 

“She doesn’t get it.” Ryan shook his head with disappointment, withdrawing from the touch. Rafe agreed by nodding, patting Ryan’s shoulder before he got back to eating, acting as if that was the normalest thing they’ve done over dinner. 

Fancy plating was all fun and games until you had to do the dishes, and with the little work you did tonight, it did not look good on your watch. Ryan excused himself out of the list, with Sarah following behind, informing you that they made dinner, meaning it was your turn to do the dishes. 

Which, truth be told was fair, you totally understood where they were coming from, because if that was you, you would’ve done the same thing. 

“I’ll help out.” Rafe joined in, the suggestion creating a nervous mess out of you. 

That’s how you ended up in front of the sink, watching as plates piled up with every dish Rafe brought, instantly joining your side after he tidied up the table, wiping it clean to ensure a disinfected setting. 

Your contained giggles seeped through the silence, observing as Rafe clumsily scrubbed a plate, stumbling as it almost slipped from his hands. A sigh of relief escaped his parted lips, tightening his hold around it before it could further slither through his fingers. 

“You don’t need to do it.” You uttered, catching Rafe’s attention, who turned to face you with a smug grin spread across his lips, oblivious to the teasing smile you flashed him.

“Why?” He curled one of his eyebrows with confusion, scrubbing the plate with all his might, though it was past its limit. “Do you not want my help?”

“It’s not that,” you playfully rolled your eyes, rinsing off the excess soap. “It just looks like you’re struggling.” 

“‘That so?” He shot back, mimicking your action, copying your each move to make sure he’s doing it right. 

“Mhm.” You mused, letting silence linger through the air, atmosphere heaving with tension. 

“You know,” Rafe started, eyes glued to his gloved hands. “You’re different over text.” 

You almost drop the plate in your hand, caught off guard by the latter’s statement. Rafe maintained a blank expression, continuing what he was doing while you tensed in your spot, too dumbfounded to move, or respond. 

“I–” you stammered, abandoning the dishes piled in the sink, and focusing your whole attention on Rafe. “Why are you bringing that up?” 

“Should I not?” He questioned, stealing a swift glance in your direction as he cocked his head to the side, intrigued by how the conversation was flowing. “I mean, you did text me this morning, am I supposed to pretend it didn’t happen?”

“You said it yourself,” you started, suddenly feeling your throat go dry. “Ryan’s my brother, it would be best if we didn’t discuss this.” 

“Why not?” He muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not like we’re doin’ anythin’ weird, y’know? I mean, you did leave an impression on me.”

“impression?” You repeated, jeered by his words as your mouth moved faster than your brain. “Did you know we’d be meeting here?” 

“Well,” he replied, rinsing off the soapy dishes. “I can’t say I didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you say anything, then?” You whispered, afraid others would overhear your conversation. “Had you told me, I wouldn’t have continued speaking to you. Do you know how awkward things are now that you’re here?” 

“Why?” Rafe hushed out, pausing for a second, before he turned to face you, now leveling his face with your own. “Am I making you nervous?” 

Your throat ran dry, taken aback by the question. Was he flirting with you? And if not, why did it have such a big effect on you? Tolling you with temptation in ways you knew were impossible, out of reach, even. 

“What?” You uttered through a breath, face flushing with heat. “No– no it’s just–”

“I’m just messing.” He snickered, amused by how flustered you grew, stuttering to mutter a coherent statement out. 

“That wasn’t funny.” You grumbled out, fluttering your eyes at the latter, visibly embarrassed by the reaction the boy received from you. 

“Right.” He chuckled, not sounding convinced at all. 

The next few minutes filled with tension, as you both fell quiet, letting silence heave the air. Rafe didn’t seem as affected as you were, maintaining a blank expression the whole time you were a mess, too embarrassed to be in the boy’s presence, who seemed oblivious to the uncomfortable atmosphere he had created. 

You instantly excused yourself to your room afterwards, telling the boy you were sleepy, though it was too early for bed. You needed a moment to yourself, even if it meant lying through your teeth.

Besides, you weren’t the only one who was gone, as Sarah was nowhere in sight, disappearing once you were done. She was probably talking to her boyfriend, hence you know how clingy they were with each other. 

You took a quick shower, freshening up before bed, immediately followed with your skin care routine, playing soft music in the background while you did so. You dressed yourself in comfortable pajamas, instantly slipping under your covers, letting the warmness engulf your body whole. 

Your eyes droswed with sleep, after a few hours of scrolling through your phone, not noticing the time, only acknowledging how late it was when you received a notification that earned your attention. Your breath almost hitched as you opened the DM, caught off guard by who it was from. 

It was Rafe.

a/n THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT ON THIS WTH!! i wasnt expectingt it ily mwahh!! & just a little fyi this story will have more irl parts, it wont be solely sm based as i alr have stated in the beginning! it will definitely have social media, but im not abandoning the irl part of it yk 😣 that being said, feel free to lmk if you want to be removed/added to the taglist :) (in order to stay on it, you need to interact with the posts)

TAGLIST @greyswaren @slut-4-gojo @depthsofdespairr @littlelamy @lilithblackkk @cnnamongrl @mattyskies @percysley @jaklvbub @inlovewithdob @ilovefiction4lmen @theeternaloptimistt @maybejj @icaqttt @idgasb @purplerose291 @shincidios @laniirackssss @malibuhearts @adulterated-cocaine @bugg06 @murdockcastleslut @drwstarkeys @pretymads @klmaaaoooo @wearemadeofstardust0 @urbrunettebombshell @stylestarkey @riverxsq @louxmcl @totalswag @cl4uus @simpforboys @tearsfromasliverwolf-blog @bilssturns @fandomhopped @strsdoulikedem @congratsloserr @dr3wstarkey @xoxo-ada @stvrligghtt @rafeswhoooreee @kythefangirl25 @chaneydoll @blushmimi @akobx @empath-bunny @flirtism @stopnala @rafecameronswifeyy

[steveslevis]

i love you, it’s ruining my life

azriel x cassian’s sister!reader - part 3 of 3

summary: you finally start to recover from the attack at Windhaven, but struggle with the ghost of your suppressed mating bond.

warnings: mentions of injury and assault self-deprecation, use of painkillers, two idiots in love, lots of angst <3

word count: 9.6k (sowwy <333)

Three weeks, four days and thirteen hours. 

That’s how long Azriel stayed away from the House of Wind, from Velaris, to give you space and time to heal. 

He would’ve stayed away longer if it hadn’t been for Rhys’ incessant questioning ringing through his mind while he wasted the days training with the soldiers in Windhaven. The soldiers that were left after he and Cassian had banished–or taken care of–the ones who had planned to rebel with Cormac and Balvard. 

He would’ve stayed forever in Windhaven, as a punishment to himself for everything he’s put you through by pretending you didn’t even exist for the last four fucking centuries. 

But he couldn’t. 

Rhys demanded his presence at dinner tonight, telling him that he would have to face this–face you–eventually. Azriel knew that, that he would have to face you. He could handle seeing you again to make sure you were safe once more, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle seeing the fake glare you’d put on at dinner when you looked his way. 

Truly, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to be in the same room as you right now, because he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself from telling you to wipe that fake hatred right off your face, from grabbing you by the neck and kissing you in front of everyone, just like he’d wanted to for the last four fucking centuries. 

Still, he swallows his feelings and keeps the shadowy wall up around his heart as he heads to the Townhouse, mentally preparing himself to pretend as if he doesn’t know that you, of all people, are his mate. 

——————————————————————

Three light knocks on your bedroom door signaled that your brother was on the other side, causing you to hum in response, to which he took as an invitation into the room. 

You looked up from your spot on the bed, your thumb wedging between the pages of the book you were immersed in seconds before while you searched for your bookmark that was lost somewhere between your comforter and the fluffy white throw you had laid over your legs. 

“You’re disrupting my reading time,” you say to your brother with a glare, finally finding the bookmark you’d been searching for to shove it into your book, “I was just getting to the good part.” 

“Well, too bad, your disgusting romance novel can wait.” Cassian says with a grimace, pushing the door open to lean against the frame while glaring back at you, “it’s time for dinner. At the Townhouse.”

A groan falls from your lips at his words, making you shake your head as you toss the book onto the bedside table next to the other books Nesta had lent to you in the last few weeks to keep you from driving yourself insane while bedridden. 

“Do I have to?” you say with a frown, forcing your legs over the side of the bed to stand, since you already know the answer to your own question.

Cassian is at your side in an instant as you stand from the bed, making you shoot him another glare when he grabs your forearm to help you up.

“I can stand on my own, y’know.” you snap, shrugging out of his grip as you walk across the room to put on your shoes, “It’s been three, almost four, weeks now for God's sake.”

“Okay, okay fine.” your brother says, throwing his hands up in defeat as you walk across the room with ease. “Just hurry up, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.” 

You bite your tongue to hold back from throwing another snide remark his way, quickly sliding into the shoes you’d toed off earlier in the day. Dread filled your chest as you turned back to Cassian, slowly realizing that you’d be–well, Cassian would be–flying to the Townhouse for dinner. 

The thought of being unable to fly yourself to the home across town makes you feel so empty and detached, like you’re no longer deserving of your spot in the Night court or the Inner Circle. You weren’t sure you could even use your daemati powers anymore to be honest, you’d been so drained mentally and physically that you hadn’t even tried. 

You felt so useless and alone and sad and so fucking worthless–

“Hey,” Cassian’s voice interrupted your thoughts, his elbow nudging your forearm lightly as he peers down at you, a smile–one that you can tell is forced–on his face, “you ready?”

You knew he wanted to say more, to tell you to get out of your own head, but held back for the risk of starting an argument. So you only smile up at him and nod, shoving your feelings down as you walk towards the balcony of your room, letting your brother take the lead as he takes to the sky. 

The wind against your skin is such a freeing feeling that you nearly forget that your wings aren’t the ones carrying your own body, but Cassians’. The crisp evening air nips at your cheeks as you fly over Velaris, as if the city is welcoming you home after so long stuffed in the House of Wind. A genuine smile crosses your face for a moment during the short flight, heart fluttering as you let the wind welcome you. 

The trip is over just as quickly as it started, and you’re being set down on the steps of the Townhouse before you even realize it. 

There’s a lone tear trailing down your cheek as Cassian sets you down, causing him to frown at you when he notices. 

“Soon, Y/N.” is all he says, smoothing your wind-blown hair down before turning to push the front door open.

Once again you’re forced to push your emotions down, to put on a weak smile as the two of you walk into the Townhouse. You’re greeted in the entryway by Feyre, who hugged you as if she hadn’t seen you in weeks, though she had seen you mere hours ago to drop off your favorite pastries to the House of Wind during breakfast, before pulling you towards the kitchen almost immediately, insisting you come to taste the new wine she’d bought to celebrate with before dinner. 

Before you could protest, you find yourself in the kitchen with Mor, Amren, and all three of the Archeron sisters. Mor is the first to wrap you in a hug, a grin spreads across her perfectly red lips as she pulls you in for a gentle hug. Elain follows closely behind Mor, quietly asking how you were feeling as she holds out a plate of fruit for you to choose from as she speaks. 

Nesta and Amren sit on the stools on the other side of the kitchen island, both giving you sidelong, but somewhat kind glances as they were deep in conversation. You didn’t take the cold welcome personally, as you and Nesta had become close over the last few weeks in the House of Wind, and Amren was…well, Amren. 

Feyre comes up beside you as you chat with Elain, a small and sympathetic smile on her lips as she extends a glass filled with what you can only assume to be faerie wine towards you. Your heart drops as she does, mind immediately thrown back to that moment when you were shoulder-to-shoulder with Cormac, the last time you’d drank wine. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to stomach drinking it again in all honesty. Before you can shake your head in protest, Feyre opens her mouth to speak instead.

“My special faerie wine, just for you.” Feyre says quietly enough for only you to hear, giving you an understanding look as she still extends the glass, “I didn’t think you’d feel up to drinking just yet, but I know how annoyingly incessant the males can be about celebratory drinks, so here,” you take the glass from her hesitantly, giving her a weak smile, “just some sparkling juice, I promise. There’s a whole bottle in there that I already told everyone was just for you.”

You smile at the High Lady, a sparkle of relief lighting your eyes as she reassures you. You had divulged the whole truth to her a week after the incident, letting her see into your mind to understand the extent of the damage that had been done that night in Windhaven, and even divulged a little too much about Azriel in the heat of the moment, too. She had known you felt more comfortable with her than with any man, and in that moment you were grateful Rhys had found an equally skilled mate who could help you when he couldn’t.

“Thank you, Feyre, really, this means a lot to me.” you say genuinely, pulling her back in for another hug, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill at the sentiment. 

You cursed yourself for being so emotional lately, but knew there was no stopping the inner turmoil you were dealing with unless you went straight to the source, to Azriel to finally spill your guts, which you knew wasn’t in the cards any time soon. 

You spent the next thirty minutes sharing laughs and talking about nothing in particular with Mor and Feyre, only stopping to give Elain input on the new tart she was trying to make for dessert. The empty feeling in your chest from the last three weeks in near solitude was quickly replaced by one of warmth and happiness, finally feeling at home once again in the room full of your favorite females. 

It was foolish of you to think the sentiment would last, though. You should’ve known that this wouldn’t be a normal and happy night, that you’d be faced with the one person you didn’t want to see. 

You nearly dropped the glass of sparkling juice when you pushed through the kitchen doors and into the dining room, faced with not two, but three Illyrian males at the table. They’re lost in conversation when you and Mor enter, but Azriel’s attention quickly snaps in your direction, eyes widening for such a short moment that you’re unsure if you imagine it or if they actually do. You collect yourself before turning your attention to your brother and Rhys, who both stopped talking to look over at you and the rest of the females walking through the kitchen door. 

“Finally done gossiping so we can start dinner?” Rhys suggests as you all begin to take your typical seats at the table, yours being between Cassian and Mor.

Habitual conversations begin as soon as everyone sits down, food soon appearing in front of everyone thanks to Rhys. Things feel relatively normal as you pile the food passed to you onto your own plate, unsure of how much you’ll actually eat of it as your mind wanders back into thoughts of the hazel-eyed, mysterious asshole sitting across the grand table from you. 

Every once in a while, you feel his eyes on yours as you pick at your food, as if he’s checking on you. And with every look in your direction, you feel yourself sinking into the chair beneath you, wishing for nothing more than the ability to winnow in that moment.

You felt like you’d fully regressed back to that person you were when you’d just found out Azriel was your mate, the shell of a female that it had made you was once more. You cursed the Gods for making this male have such a strong effect on you, for making you want nothing more than to be with him, to grab him by the neck and kiss him in front of everyone, just like you’d wanted to for your entire life.

But you knew better than that, knew that you had to keep up the act like you hated him as much as he hated you, knew that you would have to wait until that Gods damned bond snapped for him, however long that would take.

So you did what you did best, shooting a glare in his direction the next time you saw him looking your way, in hopes it would keep him from looking your way and make you fall even further into that shell than you already had. 

You’d already fallen so deep into that hole during your time at dinner that you barely heard when Nesta said your name, voice sounding like it was coming from miles away. 

“Sorry, Nes.” you reply, giving her a sheepish smile, “what’d you say?”

“I asked if you were ready for tomorrow?” she repeated, eyes sharp yet understanding as she looked your way.

“Oh–Yeah!” you say, a laugh falling from your lips, nodding quickly, “Of course, I’m excited to get back out there.”

“Back out where?” Cassian interjected, concern lacing his words as he turned towards you, never stopping his shoveling of the potatoes from his plate into his mouth as he spoke.

“You’re such a pig, finish eating before you talk.” you retort, shoving his shoulder with a disgusted look, “but if you must know, I’m coming to training with the Valkyries tomorrow morning.”

“Training?” your brother says with wide eyes as he drops his fork with a loud clunk onto the plate. “Like hell you are.”

“I am perfectly capable of training again, Cassian.” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him. 

He opens his mouth to make another snark, yet protective comment at your words when the world seems to stop for a moment, a humorless laugh coming from the other side of the table, coming from the male who’d been staring at you all night long. 

A laugh. He actually fucking laughed at the thought of you training.

Wide eyes from everyone at the table focus on the shadowsinger, the air seems to go still as everyone waits anxiously for the next words.

“Do you have something to say about my training, spymaster?” you nearly snarl at the male who seemed to share an equally annoyed expression with you.

“Like hell you’re perfectly capable.” he says lowly, eyes flickering to your still-healing wings at your back. “You can barely hold your own weight right now, let alone the wings at your back pulling you down and leaving you fucking limping from your back and hip pain. You wouldn’t be able to hold your own training for more than five minutes out there. You’re—You haven’t fucking healed at all. You haven’t been cleared to fly, let alone train in any capacity. It would be so damn foolish to even let you step foot out there.” Nobody dares to interrupt the male as he continues his rant, “I’m sure you’re back on those damn pain killers too, considering you can’t even feel—”

“Azriel—“ Rhys’ voice comes out in a quiet warning as he shoots his brother a glare, knowing exactly where he was going with his next sentence.

Everyone else at the table continues to stare at Azriel, seeing through the facade to see a love-sick and extremely worried male. You, on the other hand can only feel anger radiating off the male, can only feel spiteful words being spewed your way.

“No, Rhys.” you say with a bitter smile, blinking back the tears that are threatening to fall from your shimmering eyes, “let him continue, he obviously knows what’s best for me.”

The table is silent at your watery retort, even the previously fuming Azriel grounded by the tears in your eyes.

It hits him like a wall of bricks then, all the regret he had for the foolish rampage he had begun to slip into. His chest nearly caves in as he takes in the scene in front of him, how broken you looked as stared back at him, he could feel the anger and embarrassment radiating off you.

He opens his mouth to backtrack, to apologize, to take back the venom that just spewed from his lips and toward you, toward his fucking mate. But words fail him now, unsure of how he can make it any better at this moment.

“Tell me, Azriel.” you muse bitterly, “do you think it would just be better for me to follow the true Illyrian customs then? Should I have let Cormac and Balvard clip my wings? Should I have let Ci–”

Now Rhys cuts you off with a warning growl, knowing you were about to expose your tragic past in ways you’d regret as soon as they’d fall from your lips. 

“No, no.” Azriel shakes his head rapidly at your words, blinking quickly, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Like hell I did,” you scoff, pushing your chair from the table loudly, tossing your napkin onto the tabletop before excusing yourself.

Azriel knew better than to follow you, knew it wouldn’t end well if he tried to.

You sat on the couch near the fireplace only one room over from everyone, listening to their low conversations. Listening as Cassian scolded Azriel, telling him how stupid he was for trying to push you too soon, and how he needed to give you time and space. The wording of your brother’s scolding confused you slightly, but you didn’t care. You only cared about the hollowness that crept back into your chest, the empty feeling from where you couldn’t feel that unrequited bond anymore, likely from the painkillers that dulled any magic within you. So you let your silent tears flow, let yourself cry over the man who you had convinced yourself could never love you, let yourself drift into a sad sleep on the couch, the warmth of the fireplace inviting you into a dreamless state.

Unsure of how much time had passed, you awoke to the feeling of weight on the other side of the loveseat you sat on and a dark breeze passing over your neck, the caress of a shadow over your skin. 

Your eyes flutter open and Azriel’s heart almost breaks at the state of you. Your wings are tucked behind you tightly as if you were ashamed of them, eyes glossy from the remnants of sleep and tears, lips full and red from trying to bite back the sobs that threatened to escape before you let sleep take you in. The look you give him is one of confusion at first, but quickly turns to one of frustration then anger at the sight of the male in front of you.

He tries with everything in himself to reach out to you, to your soul, to tell you he’s there, but he can’t get through that haze in between the two of you put up by those painkiller tonics Madja gave you. She’d explained to him that you wouldn’t know that the bond had snapped for him until you were completely off the tonics, your magic was restored to its full power and he willingly uncovered his side of the bond to you. So he would wait, would try his hardest to befriend you and make you realize that he never hated you until that moment actually comes when you feel the snap. 

“Before you try to kill me–and rightfully so–” he starts, pushing his hand out in front of you, holding a plate of the tart Elain had made for dessert out to you, “I come with a peace offering, your favorite.”

You narrow your eyes at him, hesitant to take the plate from him at first. But there’s a pleading and truly apologetic look in his eyes, one that makes you give in almost immediately. You take the plate from him finally, gaining a small smile from the shadowsinger that makes your heart skip a beat, though you don’t let it show. 

Azriel watches as you take the first bite wordlessly, watching your features soften as you let out a soft groan, mumbling about how good it is.

“How would you know berries are my favorite?” you question finally, setting the fork back on the plate after another bite.

“You and Cass, you’d always give him your melons and he’d give you his berries at breakfast in Windhaven–” Azriel says, cutting himself off when he sees you wince at the mention of the camp, frowning as he speaks, “s–sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head.

“No–no. I’m sorry, for everything.” he replies, sitting up straighter on the couch to sit face-to-face with you. “For being an ass when you said you work alone, for doubting your abilities, for–for acting like you don’t exist for the last four and a half centuries.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you say with a sad smile, sinking back into the shell of self-doubt you’d grown accustomed to, “I get it, you don’t want anything to do with me.”

“I–That’s anything but true.” Azriel says, shaking his head quickly, the corners of his lips pulling into a frown. “I know I acted like that but–I want to know you. I want to get to know you and be your friend. I just–just never knew how to approach you.” 

Truthfully, he wants to say that he never knew how to approach you without giving in to his desires and without telling you how much he needs you in every way, shape and form. 

You look up to him, weary eyes meeting his hazel ones in a curious gaze. You’re unsure if you truly believe him or not, but the look in his eyes seems sincere so you stay silent for now, willing him to continue. 

“I wanna make it all up to you,” he suggests, gauging your reaction as you continue to eat the tart. “I wanna train you, wanna help you get back to being the warrior that you were before everything happened. I can work with Madja too, to make sure that you’re healing properly and not over-exerting your wings. I can help you–”

“Why would you wanna help me now?” you interject quietly, still not believing that he actually wants to help you after essentially calling you incapable less than an hour ago, “did–did Rhys put you up to this? Did Cassian–”

“No, nobody put me up to this.” Azriel starts, shaking his head quickly, “I shouldn’t have said all those things back there, I was just worried. I don’t want you to get hurt anymore than you already are.”

You stare at the male for a long moment, searching through those amber eyes for any notes of deception but find none. Your heart tugs for his, trying to feel him through the obsidian smoke and gray haze between your souls, but there’s nothing, no tug in return, for now. The logical, and traumatized, part of your brain is screaming at you to run from the Illyrian male in front of you and never look back. But the romantic, and bonded, part of your heart is screaming at you to take anything he’ll give you, to trust him endlessly.

You were never one to listen to logic, anyways. 

“Fine.” you say finally, narrowing your eyes at him. “We start tomorrow. If you don’t think it’s good for me to train with the Valkyries yet then I’ll come after they leave in the morning.”

“You’ve got a deal.” Azriel says, smiling wider than you think you’ve ever seen him smile, making your heart flutter as you can’t help but give an equally wide smile in return. “I’ll see you at ten.”

——————————————————————

The late morning sun beat down on you as soon as you stepped foot on the roof of the House of Wind the next morning, dressed in your fighting leathers.

You spot Cassian, Nesta and Azriel across the roof, so deep in conversation that they didn’t notice your arrival.

“Are you ready to get your ass handed to you, Shadowsinger?”

The three turn to you when you speak, the ghost of a smile on Azriel’s lips when he takes you in, taking in your raw beauty as you stand in front of him in your leathers with your beloved sword sheathed at your side, your wings hanging higher than usual as you grin excitedly over at them. Azriel swears his heart skips a beat when he takes it all in, the hope glimmering in your eyes makes him extremely grateful that he decided to shove his feelings aside to help you train. 

“Oh, you’re not doing any kind of combat today.” Cassian scoffs at you, as if he’s offended that you’d even think you were going to spar with the Shadowsinger during your training.

Your smile falls as your brother talks down to you, and almost instantly turns into a scowl directed at him.

“You aren’t training me today, so you have no say in what I do and don’t do during this session, asshole.” you snap back as you take one last step to stand in front of Cassian, shoving your finger against his chest pointedly. 

There’s an expression you can’t quite read on your brother’s face when you look up at him, but he only ignores your combative response, looking to Azriel instead. He sighs and slaps Azriel’s shoulder before mumbling ‘good luck, brother’ under his breath as he begins to walk away. Before you can question the odd interaction, he and Nesta are already making their way back into the House of Wind. You turn to Azriel then, brows furrowing as you stare at the Shadowsinger. He gives you a sympathetic look then, his eyes softening as he notes the confusion in yours.

“Don’t shoot the messenger here, but I did speak to Madja in order to see what she’s okay with you doing during these training sessions.” he starts, brows knitting together as he tries to think of how to explain the situation. “Long story short, she doesn’t think you’ll be ready for combat or flight for another month or so.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach at his words, disappointment settling in your core as you feel your throat start to constrict and tears prick your eyes. You only shake your head in disbelief, though you know deep down that you’re in no shape to even think about sparring right now, considering your body is running off three and a half hours of sleep and an extreme amount of pain tonics. You’d been telling yourself that you were healing perfectly for the last three weeks, but it truly has been anything but perfect. 

Azriel reaches for your elbow with one hand as you take a step back in shock, concern filling his hazel eyes as he watches your internal panic.

“I know that’s not what you wanna hear today, but I promise that it’s for the best. Madja won’t clear you because she knows you have a lot of healing to do before fighting again.” Azriel interjects gently, careful with his words so he doesn’t set you off. 

“W–Well, what did she say I could do?” you say quietly as your voice strains, using all your strength to hold back from breaking down in front of him. You don’t have the energy to argue with him about it, to tell him that you’re fine. You want to scream and cry and fight him, but you know it’s no use. 

“She suggested that we try some of the exercises that we use during initial flight lessons in the camps, as physical therapy in a way.” he says, and you can tell he doesn’t like the thought of doing that based on the tone of his voice.

“Like–doing the exercises we teach the children when they’re learning how to fly?” you retort, brow furrowed as you mull over the suggestion. “That–That’s ridiculous. I’m five centuries old for fucks sake, I will not be treated like a damn child–”

Your eyes are squeezed shut in frustration as you speak, so you don’t see Azriel’s hands reach up to cup your cheeks, only feel it as you start your angry spiel, but it’s jarring enough to stop you in your tracks. Your eyes fly open at the featherlight touch, looking up to see the Shadowsinger staring at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before. 

“I can’t let you get hurt, I–I can’t let you do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.” he says once he’s got your attention, “You can’t fly right now, you’re still healing. I know Madja has you on bone-mending medications and is giving you tendon repair salve every damn day and I know you should not strain your wings with anything other than light physical therapy right now. I know how much flying means to you and I know you don’t want to be treated like a child but please.” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper as he stares down at you, “Please, just let me help you heal, let me show you that I want to help you and that I’ve never hated you. A–And once you’re healed, once Madja clears you for flight and combat, we will do anything you want.”

There’s a sense of urgency in Azriel’s voice as he pleads his case, his hands firm against your cheeks as he stares down at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen from him before. He looks desperate, broken even. Little do you know, he’s tugging with all his might on his side of the clouded bond, silently hoping that you’ll feel him if he pulls hard enough, though it doesn’t work. You search his eyes for any signs of dishonesty, for any ill intent, but find none, so you sigh.

“Fine,” you finally say, forcing yourself to stay composed in front of the male as you step back and out of his grasp, though the feeling of his touch lingers on your cheeks as though he’s still grazing them. “Let’s get started, then.” 

Azriel’s shoulders sag in relief, surprised that you give in without much of a fight. Truthfully, you’re too mentally exhausted to even think about protesting, too tired of being kicked down every time you get your hopes up. So in the moment you choose to lower your expectations and tell yourself that you don’t deserve to fly anymore after being too damn stupid to see the attack coming, that you have to earn your wings back, that you might never earn your wings back if things go poorly. 

“Right,” he says with a nod as he stands up a little straighter, trying to stay serious as you look at him expectantly, “we can start with some simple things, like wing-lifts and getting your back and shoulders back into shape with a few different workouts.”

——————————————————————

Your training sessions with Azriel carry on for weeks, spending every single morning together after the Valkyries leave their training sessions. Sometimes you’ll see Gwyn or Emerie with Nesta when you make it up there a little early. There’s always an ache in your chest when you see the females, desperate to get better so you can just fucking train with them finally.

But you push your feelings aside and train with Azriel, pushing yourself past the point that you knew you should, but you couldn’t help it. Azriel always asked if you were okay to train, he genuinely could never tell, since you’d become almost completely unreadable after the incident.

Your body ached after every session, joints sore and wings aching, but you didn’t care. You needed to get better, you needed to get strong again and never let anything or anyone get to you in any way ever again. 

Though you were with the shadowsinger every single day, he felt as though he wasn’t making any progress with getting to know you or making you open up to him. His heart ached with longing after every training session, when you’d simply mumble a ‘thanks’ to him and make your way back to your bedroom at the House of Wind. He would try to joke with you, try to make conversation with you, hell, he’d even try to tug on that damn bond as hard as he could, but he could never seem to get through to you. So, he gave you space, gave you time, gave you what he thought you wanted from him instead of what he wanted. 

His desires could wait until you were off the pain tonics and could finally feel him reaching out to you.

Since you couldn’t be sent on any missions until you were off the pain tonics that suppressed your daemati skills, you had all the free time in the world. Any time not spent training your body, you spent training your mind. Though you didn’t have the ability to use your powers, you could still waste the days away with your nose buried in books about how to hone your skills and how to strengthen your mental shields. 

Everyone in the Inner Circle notices you reverting back to the shell of a person that you were when you initially found out that you were mated to Azriel, but this time was different. You were even quieter, kept to yourself even more, and they could all tell that you beat yourself up over every little thing you’d do wrong. Cassian tried to call you out on it one time when you were in the living room with him, Rhys and Feyre, but soon swore to never mention your new behavior again after you threatened to destroy him with your mind once you were able to use your powers again when he inquired. 

The only one who you ever confided in about your self-loathing and hatred was Feyre, she was the only one you felt you could trust enough to talk about everything with, about the mating bond, about the wing-clipping, about it all. She made it a point to check on you almost daily after that, insisting that you spend time with her a few times a week, whether it’s only to sit in silence and read your books together at the River House or to run errands around Velaris. You’re eternally grateful for her being there for you, for her forcing you to leave your bedroom and spend time thinking about anything other than the self-deprecating thoughts you had about yourself. 

It’s almost three whole months before Madja clears you to come off your pain tonics, but warns that the first full day off of them will not be completely pain-free. 

You heed her warning and tell the Shadowsinger that you won’t be attending training the next morning, in case you’re in excruciating pain. You swear you see a flicker of disappointment in his eyes when you tell him, but the expression is gone before you can question it, and so is he, as he turns on his heels to avoid facing you as his chest aches and his stomach churns at the thought of you possibly not wanting to train with him anymore. 

——————————————————————

Azriel is woken from a dead sleep in a cold sweat, shadows skittering nervously around his head as he sits up, an unfamiliar gnawing feeling eating away at his chest.

He looks around, glancing out the window to realize it’s still the middle of the night. He feels it again, that tug in his chest. It’s a feeling of agony and panic, a feeling coming from deep in his soul. It was something he’d never felt before, something so curious that he wasn’t sure how to deal with it, until the shadows came closer to his ears, whispering mate, mate, mate, in his ear.  

His heart flutters at the words, hands shaky as he pushes himself up in the bed. It’s the first time since you’d been on those painkillers that he’d been able to actually feel you through, actually reach out for you. 

He could tell you weren’t doing well by the tension on the thread between your souls, but he wasn’t sure what to do to help.

In that moment he thanked the Cauldron for fae hearing, because he heard a muffled cry of agony coming from down the hall that once again made his chest ache. Immediately he stands from bed, hastily shoving a sheathed Truth Teller into his sleep pants pocket before making his way out of the bedroom.

It nearly feels like an out-of-body experience as he rushes toward your room, mindlessly opening the door. All he can think about is helping you, making you feel better. He doesn’t even know what’s on the other side of that door, doesn’t know if you actually need help or not, but he’s ready to face whatever it is no questions asked, to help his mate. 

You’re laying on your side in the middle of your large bed when he steps in, only the moonlight flooding in from the window lighting your figure underneath the sheets. Your wings flare weakly as you squirm, small cries escaping your lips as your eyes squeeze shut. Azriel can tell you’re sleeping, and likely having an awfully realistic nightmare considering how strongly he could feel you when he woke. 

He rushes to the bed, sitting on the edge while reaching for your face. His large hands stroke your cheeks as he tugs for you through the bond, silently attempting to soothe you, willing you to wake from the nightmare.

It takes nearly a minute for you to stop thrashing in his grip, for you to finally come back to consciousness. 

You’re clammy when you wake, sweat and tears glistening over your face as your eyes flutter open. Your brow furrows when you look to see who helped you come down from the Gods awful nightmare, and it’s none other than your mate. 

Azriel gives you a gentle smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are shining with concern as he grasps your cheeks gently.

“There you are,” he says softly, hands finally falling from your face, “I—I wanted to make sure you were okay, heard you from across the hall.”

You stare up at the male before you for a long moment, taking in everything you can about your current situation. Azriel has one hand on your arm and the other next to your side, your faces mere inches from each other from when you sat up slightly in the bed. It’s the closest the two of you had ever been, and it took everything in you to not reach out and touch him to bring him even closer, to kiss him and never let go. 

It takes a few moments for you to fully register what’s happening. When you finally do, you sit up and push out of Azriel’s grip, embarrassment flushing through your chest as you stare at him. He stands from the bed as you sit up, something deep within him taking over and telling him you need space, and a glass of water. He knows the bond is directing his every move now, which makes his heart throb against his chest as he turns to your bedside table. There’s a carafe next to your pile of novels, which he takes in his unsteady hands to pour into the accompanying glass. 

He’s back to sitting on the edge of the bed in an instant, far enough away to give you space as you catch your breath. You take the glass of water when he offers, taking a long sip before looking back to him. When your gaze slips back to his, you become painfully aware of the very shirtless male in front of you. Your cheeks flush as your mind slips to places it shouldn’t for a millisecond, but you compose yourself quickly when his brow furrows. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” he presses, a frown on his lips as he watches you carefully.

“Y–Yeah, I did.” you breathe out, hands shaky as you raise one to run your fingers through your hair. “I guess those tonics were repressing more than just physical pain.”

“You stopped taking the painkillers?” Azriel asks, trying not to sound too excited. “Did you get cleared from Madja? Did she say it was okay?”

You nod once, wondering why he’s so invested in your consumption of pain tonics all of a sudden.

It all makes sense to Azriel then, why he could feel you so intensely after not feeling you through the bond for so long.

A rush of relief mixed with a twinge of terror flows through Azriel when you nod, realizing he has less time to mentally prepare for the truth that the two of you would have to face very soon. But it also means he’ll finally get to breathe around you, finally admit that he knows that you’re his mate, his fated lover. 

Deep down, you know it too, but are too scared to admit it at the moment.

So the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, neither sure of what to say to the other. Two cowards in love, two cowards afraid to fess up, two cowards staring the mating bond in the face but choosing to ignore it for the sake of saving their hearts. 

The silence between you is too much for Azriel, so he stands from the bed. You look up to him, eyes shining with a look that he can only describe as fearful enough to make him stop in his tracks.

You truly are disappointed when he stands, secretly wishing he’d attempt to coddle you and offer to take care of you. You curse yourself silently for letting yourself feel so much towards him in this vulnerable moment, especially after working so hard to become an emotionless wall of obsidian for the last three months. 

“I–I’m sorry for barging in, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” he stammers, watching as his shadows insist on swirling around you in a protective manner insteading of coming back to him. “If you’re really okay, I’ll just go–”

“S–Stay.” you nearly beg, eyes shimmering with tears you didn’t know were there as you stare up at him. His face flares with shock at your words, taken aback by your desperation. “I–I mean, if you don’t mind. I just–just would really appreciate the company.” you continue, feeling pathetic as you try to reel yourself back in mentally before you start sobbing in front of him.

“If you want me to, I can, I’ll keep guard for you if it makes you feel safe.” he says simply, smiling weakly at you. 

Azriel is quiet as he walks towards the desk on the other side of your room, pulling the chair to face towards the bed before sitting down. He turns to you to see your brow furrow as he sits, lips pulled into a frown. His gaze softens as you stare at him and you know you look pitiful, but can’t help the way your heart aches for him, the way your body craves his next to yours right now. 

“Are you alright?” he questions, frowning back at you as his shadows skitter around your face in an attempt to soothe you. 

“Would you–fuck.” you murmur, blinking back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Would you want to stay in the bed with me?”

He’s up in an instant, his heart working faster than his mind as he nods at you. Your own heart skips a beat as he glides over to the bed, climbing into the spot that you leave for him. He slips under the covers but sits with his back propped against the pillows, halfway sitting up as one of his wings hovers over you in a protective manner. 

You can’t help but give him a watery smile as you inch closer to where he’s sitting, looking up at him as if you’re waiting for permission to approach him. He gives you an inviting smile back, adjusting his arms so you can get as close to him as you want. You’re hesitant at first, but push past your doubts as you lay next to him, your body flush against his side as you lean your head against his warm chest. 

You try to go back to sleep, but your body is still tense against his, on edge as the nightmare you just woke up from replays in your head every time you close your eyes. Azriel’s arm relaxes at your back, his hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder gently.

“I’m here,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he reaches down to wipe a rogue tear that slipped down your cheek. “You can sleep, you’re safe with me.”

That’s all you need to hear for your body to fully relax finally, drifting to sleep as you try not to think about the conversation you’ll have to have with the shadowsinger in the morning.

——————————————————————

Sunlight streams through the large window in your bedroom when you wake, groaning softly as you grab a pillow to cover your eyes and curse yourself internally for forgetting to shut the blinds last night. 

It takes a moment for you to realize that your bed is emptier than it was when you fell back asleep last night, the space where the shadowsinger once sat now empty next to you. You sit up in bed when you realize you’re alone, a sinking feeling in your chest as you do. 

The sinking feeling is quickly replaced by one of joy when you look to the empty side of the bed and see what he left in his place. There’s a silver tray on the bedside table next to where Azriel slept, and on top of it is a plate with an almond croissant from your favorite bakery and a cup of berries next to a glass of water and the rest of the pills and salves that Madja had you on. 

A note sits by the food that reads ‘Gone to train. Didn’t want to wake you, you looked too peaceful. Enjoy.’ 

You truly don’t stop smiling the entire time you eat, unable to fight the giddiness that you feel from the tiny act of kindness. You read over the note at least ten times, memorizing every swirl and scribble of his writing before starting to get ready for the day. 

Though there’s an ache in your wings as you stretch them when getting dressed, just like Madja had warned you about, you realize that you haven’t felt this good in months. Your chest feels lighter, mind clearer, and eyes brighter as you think about your mate. 

Mate…Mate…fuck.

Your excited mood sours when you think about the conversation that has yet to be had with Azriel. You’re almost entirely sure that he knows now, considering you’re 99.99% certain you could feel his concern for you striking down the bond last night when you woke from your nightmare. 

It takes you longer than it should to get into your leathers, but you’ve decided that you want to train, want to face Azriel this morning, want to see which of you will be the first to break. 

The sun feels more intense than normal as you make it to the roof of the House of Wind, just in time to see Azriel, Cassian, and–surprisingly–Rhys stowing their weapons away after wrapping up their own training. It’s well past the time that the Valkyries finish their daily session, so the three of them must’ve wanted to take advantage of you asking for the day off, using the hour to spar with each other instead. They’re all shirtless, likely due to the heat, so your eyes obviously drift directly to your mate as soon as you step foot onto the roof. 

He’s facing away from you, so you can see the swirls of his dark tattoos over the expanse of his back and shoulders. There’s sweat beading down his neck and you can see that his hair is slightly damp as he runs his fingers through it. Your mind wanders as you stare at him, wondering what it would be like to dig your fingers into the skin of his back while you’re under–

Your thoughts are interrupted by a lone shadow snaking around your hand as Azriel whips around, looking in your direction likely due to his other shadows alerting him to your presence. He raises a brow when he sees you in your leathers, mouth open as if he’s about to speak as you approach the trio, but he says nothing. 

“We thought you were taking the day off today,” Cassian says, stepping in for Azriel as he’s obviously at a loss for words. 

“I was supposed to be,” you start, looking down to your side to adjust the sword there as it wobbles in its sheath, “but Madja’s prediction about my pain levels after coming off of the pain tonic were wrong, I’m feeling great this morning. So, I decided to come up and train, with or without a trainer.”

Azriel doesn’t miss the way your eyes glimmer with confidence and hope as you speak to your brother, knowing that he’s not likely to try to argue with you now that you’re cleared to spar and use your powers again. It’s the happiest he’s seen you in months, and it makes his heart swell, accidentally projecting his adoration in your direction. Your smile falters as you feel a tug at your own chest, eyes flicking towards him as your heart lurches. 

As the two of you stare at each other with wide eyes, you feel a talon rake down your obsidian mental walls that you’re finally able to put up again. 

Are you alright? Rhys questions wordlessly, making you finally break your staring contest with Azriel.

Quite alright. Just ready to spar and have a very serious conversation with a specific shadowsinger, if you don’t mind giving us some privacy. You snap mentally, glaring at Rhys as he smirks at you. 

Is it finally happening? He retorts teasingly.

Not if you don’t get out of my head and off this damn roof. You bite back before slamming your mental shields back up, blocking the High Lord from teasing you anymore. 

“Well, I don’t have any urgent tasks this morning, so we can continue with training as usual if you’d like.” Azriel suggests, the faintest smile on his lips as he stares at you. 

Cassian looks between the two of you for a moment, eyes wide before taking a step back with Rhys, who leads him away before he can ruin the moment for you. He’s probably silently telling your brother what’s about to happen as they walk away, considering you hear Cassian say ‘fucking finally’ as they reach the door.

“That sounds great,” you say finally, smiling at him meekly.

The morning proceeds as usual, but you’re a little more distant than usual, and it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that he’s standing in front of you shirtless as he instructs you how to kick and punch defensively, or the fact that you just felt him tug on the bond. Yeah, it definitely has nothing to do with either of those things. 

“You’re distracted.” Azriel says matter-of-factly when you throw a half-assed punch that he easily blocks with his forearm. 

“Oh, am I?” you say sarcastically, sweat beading down your forehead as you throw another kick towards the male, though he easily pushes your leg back down. 

“Wanna talk about it? Or do you just want to punch it out?” he suggests, raising a brow as you huff in annoyance. 

“Just wanna punch it out, can’t–can’t talk about it.” you retort, shaking your head.

You’re terrified to admit what you felt earlier, terrified that he’s going to laugh in your face and tell you that he’d never want you and that you’ve been pining over him to no avail. 

“I think you can talk about it. I think you’re just scared,” he taunts, confidence rising in him as he feels your frustration and longing subconsciously projected down the bond.

“You’ll laugh at me,” you pant out, pushing down your feelings as you throw another punch. “You’ll hate me and never talk to me again if I talk about it.”

That’s when Azriel’s face drops, his hand coming up to grasp your wrist when you try to throw one last punch. He feels like he’s just been punched in the gut, like he’s the biggest asshole in the world. You truly think he hates you and that he would never want anything to do with you other than training you and being acquaintances. His heart lurches at the thought, but he keeps his composure as he looks down to you.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he insists, frowning at you. 

Your breath hitches as he maintains his light hold on your wrist, tugging you closer so you’re shielded by his wings from the sun beating down on you. 

“You–You don’t get it.” you say, voice barely audible as you fear for the worst.

You tell yourself that he’s going to want nothing to do with you after you finally say what you’ve both been feeling for the last day, that he’s going to reject the bond and never speak to you again. That’s what you’ve told yourself since the day the bond snapped for you all those years ago, so why would it be any different now?

“What don’t I get?” he implores.

He wants you to be the one to admit it, to confirm what he’s been feeling, to confirm that he isn’t delusional. He needs to hear you say it, he feels like he’s going to die if you don’t say it in the next thirty seconds to be honest.

“You can say it, tell me what I don’t get.” he coaxes, eyes glued on yours as you stare at his hand wrapped around your wrist. “I won’t laugh at you.”

You finally look up at him with that, seeing that there’s nothing but serious adoration shining in his eyes as he waits impatiently for you to speak. He’s about to explode if you don’t just fucking admit it.

“I know that you know, Azriel.” you say bluntly, frowning up at him, “I–I know that you know that I’m your Gods-damned mate, and I know that you’ve been ignoring it because you don’t want it to be true. I know you wish that anyone else in this world was your mate–”

Before you can continue your breakdown, you feel two warm hands on your cheeks, pulling you towards the male in front of you. Something wonderful blooms in your chest as he leans down, pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss. There’s five hundred fucking years of intensity behind that kiss and it almost knocks you off your feet, but Azriel is there to wrap a strong arm around your waist to pull your body flush to his instead.

He doesn’t pull away for a while, savoring the way your lips feel against his as if it’s the last time he’ll ever be able to touch you in his life. It feels so right to be kissing you, like your bodies are made to be flush against each other, like your lips were made to mold to each other’s. 

Once he does pull away, there’s a wild look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, one you can only assume is filled with love and satisfaction. 

“I don’t know what made you think that I would hate the idea of being your mate, but I’ve been waiting five fucking centuries for this moment right here.” he says against your lips, both of your souls humming with excitement as he pulls you back in for another quick kiss. “It’s a true honor to be your mate, and I promise to make up for every moment of lost time that we had over the last five decades in any way that I can. I promise to keep you safe and never let you feel alone ever again. You’re not getting rid of me for a very long time.”

Relief washes over you at his words, though you’re unable to completely comprehend the fact that he actually wants you back. It’ll come to you eventually, so for now you push the doubt you have away in order to enjoy the moment the two of you are sharing.

“You promise?” you say, eyes shimmering with more tears, thankfully these ones are happy tears for once.

“I promise,” he retorts with a smile, “I promise to give you everything you deserve and more, okay?”

“That sounds perfect to me,” you giggle, reaching up to cup his cheeks gently as he leans into your touch. 

He grins and pulls you in for another kiss, this one just as passionate as the last, if not more. You never want him to pull away, never want to forget the feeling of his lips against yours. It feels as though time stops for a moment while the two of you stand there, soaking up all of the love shimmering through the bond between your souls.

“Hey! Finish up your love fest and get your asses inside.” you hear your brother call out from the door to the roof, wondering if he was eavesdropping this entire time, “It’s time to celebrate you two idiots finally admitting what we’ve all been waiting to happen for years.” 

Azriel chuckles against your lips one more time before pulling away, placing a kiss on your forehead before reaching for your hand. 

“You ready?” he asks gently as you intertwine your fingers with his. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” you retort, following him inside to begin the rest of your eternal lives, finally together. 

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[missaengg]

Who Are You?

Pairing: Rafayel x f!reader Tags: nsfw, mdni, smut, some fluff and humor if you squint, kitchen sex, nipple play, p in v sex, creampie, pouty Rafayel Word Count: 2526 “Who are you?” Oh god, not this game again. Rafayel was pouting because of some unknown transgression you had committed against him, and he demanded restitution for your offense. A sinfully, delightful repayment. One you were only happy to oblige. ao3 link here.

“Who are you?”

Oh god, not this game again. You glanced at Rafayel, clocking his over exaggerated pout. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was staring you down like you were an absolute god damn stranger in his kitchen. You could feel your blood pressure rising. As much as you loved this man in front of you, it was no secret he could also very much be a child. A fact Thomas would only be too happy to confirm.

“How did you get into my house?”

A frustrating, annoying child.

“Rafayel, will you please—“ 

“I don’t listen to people I don’t know.”

You groaned. “Will you please stop acting like a five year old and—“

“Lalala, I can’t hear you.” Rafayel plugged his ears with his fingers and sang obnoxiously at the top of his lungs.

You let out a slow, agitated sigh. The last time he played this game, it had taken an hour of coaxing and a bribery of kisses to get him to stop, all because you had forgotten to send him a ‘good morning’ text that day.

“Oh my god, what have I done now?”

Rafayel stopped. He stared at you with those gorgeous blue and pink eyes of his as if you were an absolute dunce for not knowing the transgression you committed against him. “You really don’t know?”

“No!”

Rafayel’s eyes deeply bore into yours, and after a long pause, he asked, “Who are you again?”

Ugh. This… This bitch! A deep, aggravated growl exploded from your throat. Sometimes… sometimes you really wanted to slap him silly. He was driving you absolutely fucking insane! Why couldn’t he just tell you what was upsetting him?

“Rafayel, I swear to god I’m going to kill you if you don’t tell me what I’ve done to upset you.”

“How the fuck do you not know?” Rafayel petulantly asked. “It’s so obvious.”

“Clearly it’s not because I don’t know!” You fought off the urge to shout a string of expletives. If you could read his mind, you would in a heartbeat, but unfortunately, because you were only human, you needed him to tell you in words why he was so upset.

Rafayel crossed his arms again, his pout deepening on his face to the point you wondered just how much farther his bottom lip could jut out. He scowled at you from across the kitchen island. A stalemate, one where the first to break would lose.

You played his game back, crossing your arms, raising an eyebrow. Your steely eyes drilled into his, daring him to continue.

The clock on the wall ticked away.

Tick… 

Tick… 

Tick…

You raised an eyebrow at the man standing in front of you as if to ask, ‘Well, you going to tell me or not?’

Tick…

Rafayel’s eye twitched.

Tick…

He scrunched his nose into that childish expression you adored — most of the time.

Tick.

“You didn’t come see me last night!”

There it was. Victory. You suppressed the urge to smirk in celebration.

“I see,” you drawled.

Rafayel’s pout grew deeper, his bottom lip indeed jutting out even further than you thought possible.  A furious blush spread across his cheeks and up his ears, a consequence of breaking his composure. “I demand restitution for your offense.”

You slunk towards him, keeping your brows furrowed in mock concern. “What did you have in mind?”

Rafayel opened his mouth and closed it, his pouty lips puckering as he deliberated on what would be the most appropriate form of repayment.  Approaching him, you placed your palms on his chest, slowly sliding them up until they were locked around his neck.

“What can I do to make it better?” you purred into his ear, now a dark beet red from how flush your body was with his. “Hm?”

Rafayel faltered, especially as you nibbled on his earlobe. You could feel him tense each time your teeth lightly pulled on the soft flesh of his ear, his resolve chipping with each caress of your tongue.

“Fuck, cutie.” Rafayel’s ragged breaths tickled your neck. His hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, his fingernails digging into the skin underneath.

“Is this restitution enough for you?” You tongued Rafayel’s neck where you could feel his heart beating rapidly, grazing your teeth right above his artery. 

“No,” he forcefully groaned, a shudder running through him when you suddenly nipped him. Rafayel ground his hip against you, his arousal demanding stimulation.

“No? How about if I do this?” You trailed your hands down his back to his ass grabbing both cheeks and jerking his hips into you.

“No…”

You slowly undulated your pelvis against his painfully hard erection eliciting choked groans from the stupefied man. Grinning wickedly, you sensually pressed your lips to his, biting his bottom lip and then caressing it with your tongue, all while your hips moved against his arousal. Rafayel shivered, his breath catching in his throat, delicious little breathy moans spilling from his lips.

“Is this enough for you?”

A guttural choked groan escaped Rafayel when you slipped your hand into his pants, stroking his twitching member. A dark heat smoldered in his hazy eyes. He looked alluringly erotic.

“Stop— stop teasin’ me,” Rafayel husked, burying his head in the crook of your neck. His hands roamed up and down your back, fingernails burrowing in your flesh with every squeeze you gave his shaft. “Hah…”

The hot puffs of air from his breaths wisping on your neck sent tingles tickling down your spine. Your own arousal began to pool, a needy throbbing growing between your legs. Closing your eyes, you subconsciously rubbed your pelvis against his trying to find some relief from the swelling tension.

“I’m not teasing,” you fired back, “I’m making up for my… my transgression.”

Rafayel whined when you removed your hand from inside his pants, but quickly realized you stopped to unbutton them instead. ”Want more… more than this.” 

He wasted no time kicking off both his pants and his underwear discarding them haphazardly off to the side. Your eyes darkened at the sight of him standing at attention, swollen to the point of bursting. You licked your lips. His tip glistened with his obvious desire.

Rafayel roughly spun you around against the island, bunching your skirt up around your waist and yanking down your damp underwear.

“Rafayel,” you squeaked in surprise. “We cook here.”

Rafayel ran his length through your folds, coating himself with your slick. “Don’t care. S’my repayment,” he mumbled, lining himself up with your entrance. In one swift go, he plunged in, sinking in until he was fully buried.

You let out a sharp gasp, a flash of white overtaking your vision. You were practically dripping, but it didn’t matter how ready you were for him, he somehow always managed to stretch you out to the point you felt as if you’d split in two.

Rafayel gripped the sides of your hips, hissing at how readily you sucked him in. “Fuck, cutie, you feel so… so good,” he choked, his greedy hands kneading your breasts, fingers pinching with no regard as to whether he caused you any pain.

Each hard pinch sent a spark shooting through you, the pain only adding to the pleasure blooming within your lower abdomen. You snapped your head back, gasping at a particularly rough pinch.

Rafayel lowered his mouth to your neck, sucking hard, no doubt leaving a dark bruise. His mark.

“Raf, not where people can see,” you weakly objected.

He thrust into you slowly, taking his time to pull out and sink in his entire length. “But then” –he swirled his tongue against the darkening bruise– “how’re people” –he moved up higher on your neck– “going to know” –he sucked down hard again– “y’were a naughty girl?”

He bit down and pinched your nipple simultaneously, and you keened, the combination of pain and pleasure Rafayel provided you too much. You trembled in his hands, so hard you had to brace yourself against the counter if only to prevent your shaking legs from crumpling beneath you.

“How else am I going to hear you” –he snapped his hips– “make that lewd sound?”

You moaned. Rafayel entered you so deeply, you swore you could feel the tip of his cock in your throat.

“Besides, s’my repayment, right? Can do… can do whatever I want.” Rafayel rolled against you in a slow, steady pace, and his bulbous tip dragged sinfully along your walls, teasing that sensitive patch of gummy flesh that left you writhing in his hands.

“Raf, harder,” you whined, pushing your hips back, desperate to hear the slap of your skin hitting his. 

“Fuck,” Rafayel rasped under his breath.

He pulled out, and before you could even begin to process how empty you felt without his presence inside you, he whirled you around and grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you onto the kitchen island. He moved so quickly you didn’t have time to yelp or note how cold the granite felt on your ass.

Rafayel’s lips came crashing down on yours. His tongue flicked your bottom lip. Your head spun trying to keep up. You parted your mouth, allowing him to dart in and twine your tongues while your heavy breaths mingled together. You curled your fingers into his hair, raking your fingernails against his scalp.

“Y’drive me… crazy,” he breathed.

“Should… be saying… the same thing… about… you,” you quipped in between kisses.

You tugged on the hem of his shirt. You wanted to feel him, all of him, against you. Breaking away, Rafayel ripped the damn thing off of him and tossed it somewhere you couldn’t see because he immediately attacked your own right after, pulling your shirt over head and capturing your nipple between his teeth.

You arched your back, tugging his hair a little harder than you intended. You heard him mutter something you couldn’t quite catch under his breath, too absorbed in the delectable way his mouth ravaged your inflamed peaks. 

“Raf, would you just… just fuck me already,” you demanded, the unbearable ache between your legs now too agonizing to ignore. 

Your plea seemed to light a fire within Rafayel, and he gripped you firmly by your thighs, hauling you towards him until your ass hung precariously off the edge of the counter. Holding you in place, he dove in, and without waiting, he bucked his hips. You gasped. Your arms instinctively rose to his shoulders in a futile attempt to brace yourself from his assault.

Your cunt sang, avariciously clenching around his shaft with no intention of letting go. Unlike the slow, methodical thrusts from before, Rafayel pounded into you without abandon in a dizzying speed. 

He was bullying your cervix, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. 

You hooked your legs around him driving him in as deep as he could go. “Deeper, Raf,” you pleaded, catching his eyes. “Need you… need you deeper.”

Rafayel gazed into your eyes, and then abruptly rammed your hips.

“Fuck!” you screamed, reeling from the sudden sting of pressure radiating through your lower stomach.

“That deep enough… for you?” he growled.

Stars dotted your vision, and all you could do was mewl as you clutched his shoulders with all the strength you had left in your fingers. You heard Rafayel snicker, but his moment of triumph was short-lived when your legs locked around him even tighter.

Shit, cutie,” he rasped.

Your clit brushed the jut of his pelvis every time Rafayel even shifted. Your head flopped back, your eyes closed. “Feels… fuck… feels so… good,” you whimpered.

Your bodies rocked together. The coil within you grew taut, a bundle of energy ready to burst and fling free with the slightest provocation.

“Raf…” you whispered hoarsely.

“Shit, cutie, I’m–” Rafayel took in a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m–”

His body tensed, and then he spilled into you, jerking with every spurt of his hot cum. You enveloped his head in your arms, stroking the back of his head as he helplessly clung to you.

“I love you… so… so much… so… fuck, cutie… don’t even… know,” Rafayel babbled, his voice a strangled, hopeless mess.

His sweet, earnest cries set your heart aflame, the tipping point for your own release, and the coil within you snapped. You felt yourself clamp down around his pulsating length, and your body roiled with ecstasy, shattering into a million pieces.

“God, Raf…”

Your body was on fire. Your blood roared in your ears, and you captured his lips with your own, falling deeper into your shared intoxication. The two of you shared kiss after dizzying kiss, riding out the blissed-out haze of your releases together.

You planted one last kiss on his swollen lips before pulling back. “So, was that enough of a repayment for you?”

Rafayel nodded blankly, and you tittered at the blank glaze in his eyes. 

“Good.” You brushed your lips on the tip of his nose. “Next time, can you please just tell me why you’re upset instead of being difficult about it?”

You watched as clarity returned to Rafayel and he wrinkled his nose.

“Baby, I’ve waited 800 years for you. The least you can do is let me pout about petty things.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re still holding that over my head, are we?”

“Yep,” Rafayel drawled, smirking at you. “For as looooooong as I waited for you.” He exaggerated the ‘o’ in the word ‘long’ as if to make his point.

You sighed and shook your head, but a smile danced on your lips. “Fine,” you conceded. “If it means I get a good dicking like this in the process, I guess it can’t be helped.”

You cackled with glee as Rafayel sputtered, another blush coloring his cheeks. You held his burning cheeks in your hands and tenderly pressed your lips to his.

“I love you,” you murmured, peering into his eyes. “Even when you’re being a child.”

This time, it was Rafayel who rolled his eyes, but he pounced, bombarding your face with wet kisses.

“Rafayel, stop,” you squealed and made a fruitless effort to push him away.

“No,” he protested.  “I waited 800 years for you. Least you can do is let me love you as much as I want.”

You melted, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning into him with your full body, a wicked thought occurring to you. “You know,” you whispered suggestively into his ear. “We still haven’t christened the grand piano sitting in your living room.”

You snickered when Rafayel choked, but yelped when he swept you into a princess carry. 

“Should probably fix that, shouldn’t we?” He devilishly grinned and strode out of the kitchen with you kicking delightfully in his arms.

“Raf, put me down,” you cried as you swatted at his shoulder.

“No, we’re going to go christen the piano.”

You rolled your eyes again, but you hummed, snuggling into his hold. As much as Rafayel drove you insane, you couldn’t stay mad at him, not when he warmed your heart just as much. 

Maybe the childish nature of your boyfriend wasn’t so bad after all.

[hoffmansgirl]

WEST SIDE ━ father charlie ׂ ׅ ✿ ⋆˚⊹

a/n. sum sub charlie for anon <3 as always, hope you enjoy ♡ // as always feedback is deeply appreciated !🗣️ warnings. nsfw content! sub!charlie x fem!dom!reader ‧begging ‧ slapping ‧ creampie ‧ unprotected piv ‧ blasphemy as always

"angel, i can't", charlie cried out, throwing his head back against the headrest. he looked a mess; his usually perfectly combed hair was all over the place, damp against his glistening forehead. his chest was moving rapidly with uneven breaths ⎯ muscles clenching every now and then as you run your hands over his chiselled shoulders. lips slightly parted, cries and incoherent mumbles leaving his mouth with every withdraw of your hips. and his eyes ⎯ wide, almost black in the church's dim lightning; pleading, staring back into your playful ones.

your smell was intoxicating ⎯ the bitter almond and cherry combination making his head spin. your hips moved against his slowly, the obscene sounds of your wetness sliding down his cock, along with your ragged breathing and charlie's moans filled the church, as you created a song of your own.

"oh, baby, but you wanted this", you cooed, running your hand over his cheek soothingly. he would never get over the way you rode him ⎯ how your hips moved with purpose, grinding against his own, pinning him to the chair so that he wouldn't try to move and control your rhythm. no, this time, you took it slowly ⎯ driving him insane, causing tears to brim in the corners of his pretty eyes.

"look at you", you teased, taking a hold of his necklace, fiddling with the glistening cross laying on the centre of his chest. "a man of god. letting me use him however i please. in the very chair he sits during his masses, to warn of the sins of the flesh", you sang, grinding your hips down onto his own, feeling him deep in your stomach. a soft breath left your chest as the chilly air hit your exposed skin, charlie's hands digging into your hips painfully.

"only for you, angel", he mumbled, throwing his head back, and you felt his cock twitch inside you. a grin made its way onto your face, your hips slamming against him.

"good boy. my good boy", you whispered softly, adoration filling your chest at the sight ⎯ father charlie, completely at your mercy, for once.

"yes, yes, yes", the priest chanted as you rolled your hips, sinking down on him again and again. the clenching of your cunt against his aching cock made charlie whimper lowly.

"'m so fucking close", deep groan left his chest ⎯ at which without hesitation, you slapped his cheek with force. gasp left his mouth, lower lip trembling, pleading eyes snapping open to look at you.

"watch your mouth", you spat, and before he could control himself, he was already coming deep inside of you. his whole body shook uncontrollably when his cum painted your walls, the sensation making you let out a surprised, shaky breath.

"oh god, 'm sorry, so sorry, angel⎯ fuck, yes", charlie groaned, wrapping his arms around you, his greedy lips pressing against your ear tightly. another harsh slap to his cheek, and he was a whimpering mess, begging you to stop. "a-angel, i can't", he practically melted into the chair, gasping for air, cock twitching inside of your velvety walls.

"you fucking wanted it. now take it", you arched your back, causing his dick to hit even deeper inside of you. with a strangled moan, you grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at you ⎯ gaze clouded with lust, sheer layer of sweat covering his body.

he looked divine.

"poor baby. open your mouth f'me". and charlie obeyed, tongue rolling out involuntarily ⎯ the feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock making his head spin. the moment your warm spit landed on his tongue, his eyes rolled back, and he swallowed audibly ⎯ already beginning to feel his second orgasm nearing. your lips ghosted over his own, breathless moans leaving his mouth as he pressed you flat against his chest.

"i'm your good boy. please, tell me i'm your good boy", he sniffled softly, and you smirked, rolling your hips on top of him teasingly.

"you are my good boy".

hoffmansgirl 2024.

nicholas chavez masterlist | request here .ᐟ

[vaguely-concerned]

just had the thought 'in the end the most important thing varric taught rook was how to make a home for, with, and in other people' and then I had to go lie down on the floor and clutch at my head in unceasing agony for a few hours, as you may well imagine. hawke and the kirkwall crew........ in the end you kind of saved the world a bit in the most characteristically indirect and chaotic of ways. not by anything in particular that you did or achieved or accomplished (lmao imagine!), but just by -- having existed, and by the love that was always there, despite it all, in all its imperfections, even when no one was saved by it in the end. you're not here right now and you're not quite haunting the narrative but I hear your voices bickering and arguing and laughing from the other room. (and so, I think, does varric. all the time.)

'did you think you mattered, hawke? did you think anything you ever did mattered?' yeah actually, varric says with da2 and keeps saying through the series. you were here. and I loved you. and as it turns out that mattered more than almost anything in the world, no matter how long it lasted or how fucked up it was at the time or what else happens, because varric manages to pass that feeling, that intangible... home, that echo of you all as you were together, that love, hopefully the best parts of it, on to someone else for them to bring with them on their journey, with their family. and maybe the world will be kinder this time. you never know. merrill's line of 'Everything affects everything. We were born, a bunch of things happened, and now we're in a mess with our friends.' varric's greatest fear of becoming his parents. even through the wreck and the ruin of the world, ghosts upon ghosts upon ghosts of love -- malcolm hawke, who we never even see, but his life touched hawke's and hawke's touched varric's and varric's touched rook's and rook is passing it on to the family they're creating. the unbroken legacy of love shines through in ways that are stronger and stranger than any magic. help

[hanniejji]

birthdays and burnt pancakes

— hoshina soshiro x gn!reader

— notes: and it's a comeback! thank fuck for a consistent job schedule oh my god. coming back to writing with an 8-12 hours job is a risky take since rest is a luxury itself, but im gonna give it my very best! happy birthday to my husband i love him so much wtf | [masterlist]

words: 715 | warnings: suggestive but no nasty.

“y'know, i always thought one of the best things to wake up to is you cuddled up to me in one of my shirts.”

“oh my god,” your hand tightened their hold around the handle of the pan, the other retreating its grip on the spatula in favor of clutching into a fist at your chest from fright.

“you scared the fuck out of me,” you hissed and glared pointedly at the smug man.

soshiro, ever the sly man, remains hunched behind the kitchen island, chin propped on his palm with his watchful gaze looking over your busy form with a grin. if you weren't so caught up in the way his sudden appearance took you by surprise, you would've spent some time admiring how untroubled he seemed to be at the moment, so unlike his stiff and composed self on duty.

relaxation, to someone with soshiro's occupation, is luxury itself.

“what can i say?” he hums, “the view is too good for me not to say so out loud.”

“oh shush it,” you turn around to face the frying pan with a grumble, scooping and flipping the pancake.

you hear him suppress his laughter before he shuffles around the kitchen island to stand behind you. calloused and firm hands rest upon either side of your hips, the familiar touch never failing to bring goosebumps along your spine. more so at the warmth of his breath on the skin of your nape.

“you should go back to bed, i'll finish this up in a moment.”

“but i miss you.”

you can hear the pout in his voice. what a whiny man.

“we have the day to ourselves, love,” you turn your head to place a quick peck on the corner of his lips. “i just want to bring my birthday boy his breakfast in bed and then we can go about your day however you want us to spend it, okay?”

“oh? what if i have a different breakfast in mind, hm?” he hums against your ear, fingers now rising up and under your(his) shirt to feel your skin, “one that is currently right in the palm of my hands?”

“you're insatiable and it hasn't even been hours through the morning.”

he snickers at the deadpan tone of your voice, resting his chin on your shoulder to watch you pour the batter in the pan to make another batch, wordlessly complying to your earlier request with a fond look in his eyes.

such a domestic activity and it's driving him insane with all the possibilities of a future spending each and every morning like this with you—ending each and every night with you.

oh god, he's really all in with you, isn't he?

“i really do love the sight of you making breakfast for the both of us early in the morning,” he hums contentedly, the smile on his face obvious from the tone of his voice. “makes me want to marry the life out of you.”

the mention of such commitment escaping his lips so casually brought a flurry of warmth to your cheeks and a funny feeling in your stomach. you know hoshina soshiro well enough to know that he wouldn't spew such things if he doesn't mean them in the slightest. perhaps he says it as a way to seal a promise to you without directly addressing the matter. in any case, it will be a topic for a different day, when the both of you are ready to tackle that stage in your relationship. you do nothing to deny or oppose his statement.

“although,” he drags out a playful tone, “nothing will beat the sight of your disheveled hair sprawled across your pillow, dazed look on your face from lust with your lips parted while we–”

“how are you this horny so early in the morning?” you abruptly elbowed his torso in a futile attempt to save yourself from embarrassment and further teasing.

“also, stop bothering me while i'm cooking!”

“i was merely stating a fact!” he jested with a chime of giggles, nuzzling his face into your hair and wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer to his chest.

“i can't help it when you're being this adorable first thing in the morning!”

“i'm going to feed you burnt pancakes.”

— © 2024 do not copy and repost my works!

[mythalism]

it’s so interesting bc i actually was not one of the people advocating for an inquisitor da4 main character like many others were before we knew anything about veilguard. like i fully wanted and expected a new protagonist because yeah it makes sense to have a new protagonist for a new story in a new place. but then they literally wrote a game where every 5 seconds i went “wow this would be so much more impactful if i was playing as my inquisitor”. “wow sure wish i was playing my inquisitor right now”. “wow this would be the culmination of a 10 year journey for my inquisitor but im playing as some random idiot instead.” like they COULD HAVE written a story where it made sense to be rook and that’s what i expected and anticipated. but the plot of veilguard is not that story.

anyway this is 100% about me being bitter that it’s rook and not my lavellan that got to go meet the fragment and earn mythal’s favor. like my dalish first lavellan who was elevated to near godhood by the armies of the faithful against her will coming face to face with the all-mother the most central goddess of her people and having her be a total fucking bitch to her…. if lavellan was the one to look her in the eye and say that she should have respected solas more…. for her to confront her over the blight and for failing to be the goddess her people needed……. for her to earn her respect and favor after everything she had seen and been through…. the has walked through her temple she has completed her rituals she has met her sentinels and they called her SHEMLEN but if she could just prove herself to MYTHAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this isn’t even beginning to touch on how both of their love for solas would come through in this moment. even without that it would be an insane moment for any dalish inquisitor that just does not feel satisfying for the only vaguely elven rook who cannot even be sufficiently dalish. and even for non-elven inquisitors…. MORRIGAN CONFIRMS JUST BEFORE THIS CONVO THAT MYTHAL WAS WITHIN ANDRASTE!? so any inquisitor would get to confront the prophetess they are the herald of. any inquisitor could mention meeting Flemeth and how this Mythal should help them because that other part of her helped them once before. any inquisitor could bring up their shared betrayal by solas. god there is so much they could have done with this FUCK!!!!!!!!

the reason they couldn’t is probably because the moment mythal realized that my dumbass inky had both 1. fucked solas and 2. drank from the well of sorrows she would make her head explode with a thought. actually now im thinking about how insane this would be. imagine she basically casts a successful feeblemind on an inquisitor who drank from the well who challenges her + romanced solas and then u gotta drag her back to the lighthouse and tell solas his super ex situationship feeble-minded his most recent ex gf because she was dumb enough to drink her bath water after he begged her not to. ok brb actually i should write this

[brotherwtf]

Freaky proooompt: bucky talking a big talk about bottom for the first time and as soon as Gale gets a single finger in him he’s done for. Absolutely gone. Whimpering, whining, drooling, melting into the mattress as Gale takes him apart and he makes it so easy in spite of all his talk, big dog that’s all bark and no bite and just wants to be loved. Buck fucking him hard, face down ass up is life changing

oh man anon mouthy Bucky is all I've ever needed I fear, he would talk SUCH a big fucking game and then he's immediately rendered speechless, a moan choking his words as soon as Gale starts to touch him

he agreed to bottom because Gale casually challenged him one time because John jokingly teased him about being so sore after they had sex, to which Gale responded "let me know how YOU feel after all of the positions you put me in" and Johns just like aight bet I'll do you one better, I bet you come before I do and Gales just smirks and rolls his eyes "sure John" and they agree to let John bottom

and of course Gale is stupid gentle with him, can't imagine being rough or holding John down or anything, and Johns being peak John by being the brattiest son of a bitch alive, but oh can you imagine John getting shoved off of his high horse when Gale runs a hand up his spine to hold his neck down, uses his other hand to massage John's ass cheeks in preparation, and oh God poor John is already moaning and keening into the sheets from Gale's feather light touches

he still tries to hold onto his brattiness, tells Gale he's just tickling him, he's not really that worked up until Gale gently circles his hole with his finger and Johns hips are bucking forward, pathetic noises spilling into the hand clapped over his mouth

and when Gale finally fucks his cock into John? oh my God John would be so embarrassed if he wasn't so fucking cock drunk, blabbering and drooling into the sheets as Gale starts to move, the hand in his hair pushing him down into the bed to muffle his sounds even more, pathetic, drooling sounds that would give any porn star a run for their money and Johns making them right now, just because he's bottoming for Gale

Gale starts off gentle, teasing almost, which only makes John even more insane because it's not enough, he wants more, literally begs and cries for Gale to give it to him more, he NEEDS Gales cock, and Gale smirks, holds his neck down and fucks into him brutally, thighs slapping on John's as he holds John down with his hand, using his other hand to force John's hips back onto his cock and he's hitting somewhere so deep that John can almost feel it in his throat, feels like he's choking on it

he almost screams when he comes, the moan ripped from him as his hips shake, his thighs tremble as he collapses into the bed, all while Gale soothes him with a hand running up and down his back, telling him he did such a good job for him, kisses his hair and tells him he was so good, and John has never felt so pleased in his life

John does feel sore the next morning, but he would rather die than tell Gale he was right, but Gale notices quickly how John hobbles around their room and can't help but smile at his stupid partner

clegan being stupid!! my favorite genre I fear

[shinjisdone]

So....I am thinking about Alucard (again) but his Vlad version....oh, his Vlad version. hits different, different vibe, really good. Unfortunately, just because he changes his appereance, Alucard himself is still the same we know in the show, no matter what form he takes. Him appearing as his former self wouldn't be much of a difference so...

Vlad!Alucard Who Has Amnesia And Still Thinks He Is The Leader Of Wallachia - But His Obsession With You Still Remains...

HEAVILY based on my other ramblings, the detailed one as well as small headcanons here.

TW: HEAVY MENTIONS OF RELIGION, VLAD BEING INSANE AND USING RELIGION TO COMMIT MURDER, SEEING YOU AS AN ANGEL SENT FROM THE HEAVENS FOR HIM, RACISM(? He hates the Ottomen? He's like...from the old times ya know) MYSOGINY (his boss is a woman???), OBSESSION, MURDER COMMITTED FOR YOU, WORSHIP THAT IS ALSO DEGRADING, HE IS NOT OKAY AND NEITHER WILL YOU BE

None...none of this was supposed to happen.

Seras was just in time to block the finishing blow as Integra stared at this creature...the monster Alucard.

Yet, something was wrong, terribly wrong. The form he took on was that of his old and foolish human self and his eyes were nothing of the bloodlust and glee she remembered.

It was pure anger. Pure and cold rage as he gazed about anything in the room.

The long, tattered cloak, the heavy armor he refused to get off and that sword he clung to as if it was the only thing he had. Where are his guns? Where are the glasses she gave him? Where is that smarmy grin, the snicker, the mocking humor, where was Alucard?

Seras' begs of her master reached deaf ears. He was barely listening to her, as if he wasn't even in the same realm as they were, somewhere else entirely. Spacing out but still getting angry at the young vampire's resistance.

The insistence that Integra was his master seemed to displease him as well. He spoke in a thick accent, spatting out that he only has one master and it is no woman.

This wasn't him, she feared. He returned so fast after consuming Schrödinger, but this never could be her Alucard. The one she freed from her father's shackles.

No...he was shackled to something else now.

Shackled to his curse that was you. Chained to his willfull obsession, to his fantasy, his twisted form of love. Integra should have seen it coming that this Alucard would drop his weapon instantly the moment you entered her chambers. His blood-red eyes widening as his breath was caught in throat. Seemingly he had forgotten everyone else there as she watched the man stumble towards you in awe. His hands shook as he kept himself together from touching your radiance and committing sin. Like a puppet on a stage, he fell to his knees, bowing his head to you, dark locks falling in front of his gentle face.

"...Forgive my intrudence, holy angel. Giveth to me the message of God as I offer my prayers."

Fucking hell. It truly was Alucard.

The Bird Of Hermes Is My Name...

It was laughable how quickly this thing was putty in your hands.

Integra sighed, at the end of her wits, but was relieved that this monster was able to be tamed by you. This was no other than Alucard for sure. It was sickening to see him still cling onto that part of himself when it came to you.

As confused as you and Seras may be, she ordered for you to look after him for now. Do not act surprised. Did you think she wouldn't ask that of you?

Both she and you know how Alucard is. And it pains you, terrifies you - because even as he cannot seem to remember himself as the Nosferatu he is - the Dracula Hellsing took prisoner, the one true vampire walking this earth as an immortal being - he is and always will be your monster.

Now he calls himself Vlad the Impaler. The ruler of Wallachia but you do not have the heart nor patience to explain this time and place to him. That his kingdom is no more.

He speaks differently. Voice the same but heavy with a thick accent and speaking in the most polite but proud way you've seen.

You tell him that this place harbors no enemies. There are no Ottomen, no traitors of Wallachia. He believes without a second thought and kneels once again before you. "I thank thee for the sanctuary, o angel." You can cringe as much as you like but he will not stop.

Additionally, Alucard seemed to have forgotten his powers and immortality or perhaps, has not yet regained them. He thinks himself as human and expects an accomodation for one. You offer him a room and though the modernity and the fact he feels no hunger are a novelty to him, he spares these things no thought.

Again, he bows and thanks you once again. "For what reason haseth God brought me here? What message will thy bring me?"

What a load of bullshit. This could not be the Alucard you know (and fear). He may look like him, sound like him but he would never utter such words. With a frown, you step forward and he immediately straightened his pose. As you observe his form, he stares back in awe at the mere short distance of the two of you. A mere servant in the presence of such goodness, such holiness. "Is it really you?" You mutter and gingerly reach for his face. A shudder runs through him as you cup his face and a sigh escaped him. "The touch of an angel..." For a moment, he closed his eyes to memorize and bask in the feeling before gawking back down to you. "I art Count Vlad, thy humble servant. I shall bring death to all thy enemies and have them be a sacrifice."

Your frown deepened and you retracted your hands. "I am no angel. I am...a human. That is all." Alucard's eyes widened and he immediately but gently shook his head. It was like he was hearing blasphemy. "Thou must be. How else could there be such radiance and grace?" He put a hand to his chest, "How else could my heart feel twisted and touched by thy presence? How else could I be so full of veneration at the sight of thy beauty and holiness? Why else..."

Alucard seemed to struggle for words as his breath got caught and his eyes narrowed. You could feel your heart pounding as well but out of fear.

"...does my very existence stop at what I ought to do and be at the sight of thee? Why else had God sent thee to me? Let me be thy vassal, the one who shall shed blood and keep thy hand clean and pure. Let me know, o angel."

Eating My Own Wings...

He was more terrifying than you thought possible.

You almost wished for the old Alucard to be back. This one is a senile, insane warlord who believes each little lie he tells himself. The lies of his kingdom, his faith, that you are an angel sent to him.

It was revoulting.

In the past he wouldn't keep his eyes off of you and never wiped that stupid grin off his face. But now, he bows his head, not daring to stare at you directly or for too long as if he was worthy of your beautiful sight. He showers you in compliments and even prayers. To him, you are a prayer, a benelovence that blesses him. Each word that leaves your mouth and each touch he so eagerly awaits even as he pretends to be humble, are a blessing. To even be in the same realm as you, as you obviously landed from above to see him, is nothing short of a blessing that must be met with gratitude.

Even as he speaks of gratitude and unworthiness, you can clearly and quickly notice that he seeks you out contanstly. The heavy stomps of his armor are hard to ignore. He stalks you without any intention to hide and his face remains blank but soft. The unruly nature of this form of his makes him look so...wild and unkempt with his disheveled hair and the messy mustache...but this form seemed the most non-hostile.

Although he stalks you, he barely lets out a word - aside from begging for your message from God, thanking you again and again for blessing him and imploring for an order, any order to do good in your name. For you. For you to notice him and validate his actions as a warlord.

He must be doing good. The bloodshed and the battles are his prayers and they must reach you, so please, please, tell him he is doing everything right by striking down his enemies.

No matter how many times you tell him you are no benelovent creature, he refuses to believe you. You must hide your identity for men are greedy and will cut off your wings. No one else can see you for what you really are aside from him, of course. It's a way to stroke his ego. Only he can understand and see you for he is God's most humble, most powerful, most blessed servant. He will be rewarded for all he has done and endured, so of course only he knows you are an angel! Everyone else is a blind fool.

As much as he sings your praises, Alucard is too much in awe to touch you. You are a holy being and he cannot ever have the audacity to simply touch you. But, as hypocritical as it is, he reveres in the willing touches he receives from you. Each a prayer, each a blessing. An angel caressing him and showing him...love. True love he has never known. He was always a monster on the battlefield and the common men were traitors and wrongdoers. Only a holy being could hold the essence of true and unconditional love - only you. Only you can love him.

Alucard has lost the wit, the mockery, the giddiness of battle. The only emotions you can make out on his face are reverance and a gentleness that you dared describe as obsession.

No matter what he could ever go through...he was still your sick monster.

The same monster that hesitates to touch you. The monster that won't leave you alone. The same monster that watches you sleep with bated breath, mesmerized by your peaceful figure and the undying wish to craddle you, to share the same peace you feel just once in his life. But he cannot. The only thing left for him is to adore you from afar with a lovesick expression.

...To Keep Me Tame.

The enemy draws closer and so he draws out his sword. He needs no army to protect you and devote the next sacrifice for you. Before every battle, he kneels and lets out an incantation. Promising you glory and the enemy's head all in your name.

"I shan't have any filth taint thy radiance, o angel. The enemy shall lose their pitiful life for daring to approach thee."

His vow is commandable but the way he eagerly turns around and swings his blade with such rage at the danger to absolutely maul them before they can scream out their regrets and begs for mercy. You can't tell if he simply is enraged at the sight of any enemy of the Count Vlad, for wanting to hurt and mock you, or if there is still this bloodlust hidden deep in his dead heart. You do not know. He doesn't squeal in glee when he strikes them down, does not talk down to them. Alucard is as silent as ever as Vlad but the ferocity is still the same.

He returns, reeking and spilled with blood, as he offers you their head. Fearing he will take it the wrong way if you reject it - after all, all he does is for his faith - you try to gently tell him that it's enough, that he doesn't need to fight any more. It works, for he believes his angel.

Still, the look of anticipation in his eyes make you sick. Perhaps one day, you cannot take it anymore. He does his job as Hellsing's hound well unwittingly but the way he seeks you out and looks at you is more than enough. You tell him you are no angel, may be kind to him, may show him humanity, love, but you are not a holy being. That he shouldn't see you as something you are not!

So...stop with the devotion. The sacrifice. This obsession that isn't love.

A monster cannot love. He should know. He is the one who told you!

"...Then what...am I here for?" He told you one day, defeated and disheartened. The desperation on his face was almost shocking.

"...Why am I here in this world if not to serve thee? Why did any of this happen? Why would I march and fight again and again through this wasteland of my own kingdom if...if I cannot have thee?"

You step back. Alucard genuinely sounded heartbroken.

"Each of these non-believing monsters hunting me...I have to kill them, do I not? None of them have the same strength that I have, the will to pray and serve God the way I have! I have swallowed my own armies, my own land just to keep moving on. I kept moving on into this strange, confusing place...all to reach thee, no? That is why I kept on killing, to meet thee, did I not? Is it not what I am here for?"

Alucard stomps towards you, not bowing his head once. He holds onto your arms first with his metal glove, before placing one gently against your face. His eyes are wide and red.

"No one else marched on as I. No one else could ever imagine thy form. Only I can, only I am worthy enough to see thee, to meet and reach thee. To serve thee. My angel."

[rodolfoparras]

yeah no I uh did thought some other things with that kind of question— /lh

"Again?" Linus groaned, not really at the sight of you're panting heavily by the closure of his tent, face flushed and that huge bulge attempting to rip your pants down, he secretly likes this view of you. But it's starting to worrying how often you're being like this from the aphrodisiac mushroom you found in the mines— it's like you purposely do this for the sake of having him.

He knows you don't go to other people to fix this problem of yours, Harvey could have just given you prescription to fix this, but no, no—

"Does my pussy feels that fucking good for you to keep eating that mushroom?" The homeless man sits up on his sleeping bag, a finger gesturing for you to come closer, and the look in your eyes are already making him as feverish. "You could have just asked, y'know."

The way you're eating his hole right now is absolutely divine, it was like a damn starved man being presented in front of him a forbidden food, and Linus couldn't tucking think except the need for you to get over it. You're here to use him, right? The town people should be grateful for him to take care of their beloved farmer here.

"Fuck fuck r- right there, ha!!" He was right. And god does it feels fucking good when you rubbing against those spots that made him see stars, so deep he could feel you at the back of his throat, a white ring forming from how quick and how much you've came in him. "Don't you dare pull out— that's the least you could do if you want me to help you again."

🪂

CAN U GUYS STOP LEAVING MASTERPIECESIN MY I BOX AND STARG POSTING TBEM IM GOING INSANE AAAAH / lh

[jjonglemons]

all my works can be found here

Eyes On You

my friend requested i write a dom/stalker yeosang fanfic so enjoy my freaktiny ;)

Summary: yeosang can't stay away from you, nor can you stay away from him. you both feel crazy, so what else is there to do but feel it together?

WC: 1.8k

Tags: smut, cnc, stalking, toxic, stalker!yeosang, victim!reader, dom!yeosang, sub!reader, fem!reader, dark, some dacryphila, praise, dirty talk, unprotected sex (don't)

There you were. 

You were sitting in the corner of a local cafe, sipping on what seemed to be a cappuccino whilst you typed away on your laptop. Ever so often, you’d let out an exasperated sigh, slamming your fingers onto the keys out of frustration. You buried your head into your hands before regaining composure and continuing your work.

Yeosang sat quietly in the opposite corner, sneaking glances at you throughout reading a novel. He tried to make it as subtle as possible, yet wanted to somehow indicate to you that he was watching. Truthfully, you had noticed him looking at you nearly every time you were both in the cafe, but never had the courage to actually confront him.

In all honesty, you were simultaneously terrified and thrilled by the thought of Yeosang constantly watching you. Following you. You’d never said a word to this man in your life, but the way his hair draped over his eyes while the little bits of chocolate peeked through the gaps and met yours made you forget the fact he had been stalking you for nearly two weeks.

It all started on a Monday evening on your walk home from work. You stopped by the grocery store on your way back, feeling moved to buy a bouquet of flowers to decorate your home. You’d been so drained from your week that you were in need of something to brighten up your space and curb your bad mood. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, bumping into a body as you turned the corner to reach the cashier. You looked up, taking in the face of who was the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

“No worries,” the man chuckled, stepping aside so you could pass.

You felt his eyes on you as you quickly shuffled passed him to the counter. You could sense the man’s gaze boring into the back of your head the entire checkout process.

“Thank you,” you smiled at the cashier, trying to hide your growing nervousness as you hastily grabbed the bouquet and exited the shop.

Yeosang was careful to stay at a distance as he trailed behind you. He watched the way your body swayed in the dimly lit streets, the way your ass bounced with each step. He couldn’t help but salivate at the thought and gripping it as he pounded his cock into you while you screamed for more. 

Once you reached your apartment, you glanced nervously at your surroundings before speedily going inside and slamming the door shut. Whoever this man was, he wanted you to know he was there; that he was watching. But he also wanted you to be somewhat oblivious to his presence. He certainly did a good job of maintaining that ideal, because that’s exactly how you felt.

The cycle continued from then on. He memorised every route you took home and to run errands, when you would take your lunch break, and even when you’d step outside onto your balcony to partake in a joint. 

Yeosang felt insane. No, he didn’t feel insane. He was insane. Never in his life had he been so obsessed with someone that he stalked their every move. He couldn’t stop. God, he was so enamoured by the thrill of it all. 

And you were, too.

On your way out of the cafe, you shot him a nearly unnoticeable, needy look as you gently bit your bottom lip, purposefully manoeuvring your step in a way that would have him drooling. Yeosang let out a short breath, eyes widening as he watched your thighs exit the building.

Fuck, he thought, I’m really going to fucking lose it if she keeps this up. 

You wanted him to lose it. Perversely, you wanted him to break into your apartment in the eerie hours of the night and slam you against the wall, hands pressed against your dripping cunt. 

He could picture it, too; your pretty little tears running down your face as you tried to keep him out. But he’d win, and he’d take you until you came undone beneath him as his cock filled every inch of you. You’d moan his name over and over as he thrusted with no remorse, releasing himself into your beautiful cunt. 

That night as you stood on the balcony, you peered at the corner where he always sat. There was a bench right across from the small community park beside your apartment complex. You took a puff of your joint and giggled as he continued to “read” his novel, knowing full well it was just a cover up so he wouldn’t look suspicious to the locals. At a certain point, his eyes met yours. You swallowed hard, shocked that you could sense each other’s gaze despite the grand distance between you two.

A few moments later, he stood up and began to approach your apartment building.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, quickly snuffing out the half-smoked joint, and shakily going back inside of your apartment. You closed the curtains, still being sure to take a few peeks here and there to see where he was. 

You saw him standing at the door, and his eyes met yours again for a brief moment. You closed the gap of the curtain quickly, startled and fell to the floor. Your heart was pounding and your hands began to sweat. You were horrified, yet somehow aroused by the whole ordeal, your throbbing cunt beginning to create a pool in your panties.

“Love,” you heard the man sing from the floor below, “I’d really like to see you.”

Your mind was pulling you into two different directions. No, you screamed in your head, he’s a stalker, y/n, what’s wrong with you? You stood up from the floor, slowly making your way towards the buzzer to let him in. 

“I must be crazy,” you said to yourself, “I can’t believe I’m actually about to let him in.”

And you did. You pressed open the front door, seconds later hearing a knock at the door of your apartment unit.

“Love,” the man sang again, “please open up.”

He was enjoying the game. The chase was driving him mad, and you were the guide. Silently, you turned the locks on your door, gently stepping away towards the center of the room.

“Y-you can come in now,” you exhaled shakily, bracing yourself for his entrance.

The door knob clicked, the slight creaking of the door becoming drowned out by the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Instantly, you found yourself running towards it in an attempt to shut it in his face and lock it again. 

“Don’t be so mean,” he instigated, fighting against your resistance on the other side, “I know you want to play.”

“N-no please,” you began to cry. The crazy part was that you had begun to stop putting force against the door, allowing him the opportunity to fully enter your apartment. You stumbled back towards the center of the room again, standing completely still as he came in and shut the door behind him.

“Finally,” the man breathed, slowly approaching you. You stood frozen as his hands feathered up and down your arms. The tears continued to paint your cheeks. His smile seemed almost sinister, and you found yourself squeezing your thighs together because of your growing arousal. He noticed and chuckled. “Oh? It seems like you’re enjoying this, hmm?” You gulped as his mouth hovered over your ear. “Tell me,” he whispered, “am I right?”

“Y-yes,” you hesitated, inhaling sharply as his arms came in contact with your hips. He gently brushed his fingertips along them. 

“Good,” he hummed, stepping back for a moment, “then, I’m going to take you now.”

You didn’t have time to respond before he had you shoved against your living room wall, nipping at your neck as his hands slipped up your thighs.

“You have time to stop me, you know.”

But you didn’t stop him. You allowed yourself to melt into his touch, eyes rolling backwards as his fingers pressed your skin. He trailed them upwards towards your sex. You threw your hands up to grips his hair as his fingers came in contact with your sensitive nub. You whimpered as he lightly tugged it between his pointer and middle, using his thumb to spread out your slick simultaneously.

“Oh, wow,” he hissed, “you really are enjoying this, aren’t you, stranger?”

“Y/N,” you managed to choke out between moans, “my name is Y/N.”

“Hi, Y/N,” he grinned, shoving one finger into you, “I’m Yeosang.” The room was filled with your cries as he curled his finger into you, soon adding a second. “Oh, baby, I can’t wait to put my cock into you.”

“Please,” you begged, squirming in his grip.

“Not yet,” he cooed, “I want you to come all over my fingers first. Can you do that for me?”

“I-I can.”

“Good.”

Yeosang began to pick up his speed, playfully matching your moans as you released yourself onto his fingers.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, feeling your warmth spread along his hand, “you did so well for me, love.”

“Did I?” You asked, eyes glistening as you looked up at him with a puppy-like pout. 

Yeosang couldn’t handle it. Seconds later you were on the couch, face pressed into cushions and ass up. “You absolutely did,” he praised, pushing himself into you.

You cried both from the pain of the lack of adjustment and the pleasure of his cock rubbing your walls. He pounded into you with a relentless speed, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your back. You gripped the couch as you screamed his name, gasping for air.

“Yeosang! Fuck!”

He gripped your hair, forcing your body to arch upwards. “That’s it,” he seethed, slapping your ass one time, “say it again,” then another. 

“Yeosang!”

“Louder, baby,” he commanded, squeezing your waist harshly, “I know you can.”

“S-shit,” you choked as he moved his hands from your hair to your throat, keeping you steady in your current position, “YEOSANG!”

“Oh, fuck,” he yelled, pushing his final thrust into you, “please let me come in you, love.”

“Please,” you mewled, completely falling apart beneath him. You pressed down your palm onto your throbbing clit, using the final bit of stimulation to come a second time.

Yeosang let out a loud groan as he painted your walls white, your juices mixing with his. You could feel him throbbing inside of you as he twitched, collapsing onto your back.

The two of you lay there in silence for a few moments, breathing heavily as you tried to come to.

“Guess we aren’t strangers anymore, huh?” You teased.

“Only if you don’t want to be.”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think, “maybe break in a few more times and we’ll see.”

[chasedeys]

https://www.tumblr.com/chasedeys/767908190114447360/httpswwwtumblrcomchasedeys767907676016476160

Jesus Christ he pulled up on Joe ???! I need this devotion

he did 😔😔🤚🤚🤚

the Lakers Date in gifset form and in video form like look at joe staring at ja'marr like that and giggling and shit oh my god joe ja'marr is sure as hell funnier than you but really? ja'marr putting his arms around joe which is just. yeah. look at that little scratch and then actually reaching his arms out and then just saying something short and random 😭 you know. casual. and joe barely reacting to it ok whatever. oh and also there's this hilarious twitter thread in reaction to it lmao.

this is the wowing backstory (everyone say thank you to carmen's big brain!!) to the date and kind of why this felt like a psychological attack beyond the implication that this was A Basketball Date. basically ja'marr flew his ass to arizona for joe because the man was having the shittiest week and was sooooo weirdly messy about it because he posted a vague blurry ass insta story of his location and then deleted it (?????) god what is wrong with him. like the photo was obviously a quick little snap of him in a car with just a location posted in the middle of the night like it didn't matter what the pic was only the location and was posted the minute he arrived (?) like he was announcing where he was for a very specific reason and then deleted it like it served its purpose and he didn't need it anymore. (is that not basic teenager in love 101........)

on joe being miserable -> like joe went to a club and flipped people off and i think one of the events he had was the signing with obj and kd (beloved kevin durant <3 but its sooo random why the fuck was kd there im so confused as to what this event was) and joe's expressions throughout all the videos and photos were either flat as fuck or straight up not-enjoying-shit. the next time he gets snapped in public it's with ja'marr on a basketball court with matching outfits finally smiling and laughing right and doing silly shit like clapping all up against ja'marr's face like a besotted dork......mind you he clapped because ja'marr was on camera probably getting introduced to the stadium so everyone could technically see it so it was like he was teasing the ever living shit out of ja'marr who was trying to be all cool throwing peace signs only to get stunted on by his embarrassing ass man who just wouldn't let him live jesus i'm sorry but i'm genuinely wondering why he clapped that way. look at his impish little smile joe oh my god stop.

but he was really finally acting all goofy and silly and smiling and laughing genuinely when ja'marr showed up and yapped at him!!!!!!! insane. shining example of devotion and codependency tbh.

some Speculation! which i love to do unfortunately for everyone around me:

this was planned from the start way before joe went through apparent hell or something. they bought the tickets way back with dj and sam and this was like the only thing joe looked forward to which is why he was finally smiling and laughing and actually managed to get through the week.

from that event they had together kd gave tickets to obj (pretty sure he was also there but like on the opposite side of the court?? idk) and joe and joe requested/bought more tickets and invited ja'marr and sam and dj because he was in heavy need of Friendship Love Moral Support from his guys. yeah.

(the favorite. the full of love theory) ja'marr found out joe was Going Through It (from joe himself? from obj? from his manager? the internet? other friends? who knows) and flew his ass to arizona having bought the plane ticket within minutes of ending the call/text regarding the joe situation. knew joe needed some refreshing/healing so he searched up what arizona had going on for them that week or he was planning on watching the game from his home anyway idk and immediately bought court-side tickets for the game. invited dj and sam so joe would be surrounded by more close friends who he would feel comforted by. arrived in phoenix in the middle of the night, snapped a quick photo for ig announcing where he was, joe saw it and sent ???????? in reply, ja'marr then deletes the ig story bc he doesn't want anyone else asking shit too, and finally crashed joe's pity party and has him smiling within minutes. am i crazy. yes. am i free. also yes.

THE CLOTHES THING they're literally wearing yellow and purple -> lakers and coincidentally lsu's colors!!! technically suns' too i think. did they plan on matching or did they each plan on wearing lakers colors in the first place (these divas...) and just had that one-brain-ism thing they got going on. ja'marr was sooooo pretty btw 😭😭 his faceeeee the dimple the hairrrr i miss his cornrows he looks sooo good in bright mustard yellow toooooo somebody save me from myself.

OH and dj reader and sam were there too okay 😭 like they weren't there alone. that la lunch date was like this lakers date 2.0 bc they weren't alone damn it but it weirdly seems that way 😭 when you're in love etc. or maybe because they just weren't mentioned as much as these two :( but I'm really pleased that joe could smile surrounded by his teammates <3 joy etc.

okay bye 😭

[russeliarat]

So I've encountered some WILD vague posting about the CCCC fandom and it's arguments about gore fics. I haven't directly interacted with this fandom for over a year - not because of anything bad, I just moved on to other interests to be clear, however the fact that this issue that I encountered a full YEAR ago is still a prominent issue in the fandom is crazy. And according to my boyfriend, who still actively engages with the main section of the fandom and their fanfictions, it's apparently gotten a LOT worse.

So I'm gonna be clear, I still engage with CCCC and CJ's media. I still listen to his music, I still engage with art on tumblr, as well as headcanons, I still draw HMSW (plus two of my system's cohosts are directly sourced from the media). I just haven't read the fanfiction or gone on CJFS for a while. Hearing that this has been so bad, it's come to vague posting back and forth on tumblr makes me so fuckin fed up with this shit.

Read to the end of my post before you form an opinion on this, I have nuance, okay?

Hi people, maybe it doesn't take a genius to take a step back and figure out that saying that you should be allowed to make reasonless and intense gore, abuse, and torture fics about a REAL GUY'S personification of his own personal struggles with mental health and suicide is insanely entitled /neg.

Heart, Mind, Soul, and Whole are not just independent characters from Chonny Jash. They are his (self-admitted) personifications of his mental health struggles, thusly, they are him. CJ has said that Whole is just him.

Excusing making fanfiction about intense abuse and gore and torture and cannibalism and god knows what else about HMSW on 'they're AUs' or 'they're interpretations' is not okay. Usually, I'd agree that you should be allowed to make fanfiction freely without people telling you what to do. HOWEVER! This is a real man's struggle with his mental health so I think that there are certain lines and boundaries that should be placed out of respect for CJ. Reasonless gore isn't necessarily bad, but reasonless gore about a real person's struggles is above and beyond disgusting. I've seen someone argue that saying that is government state censorship...

Guys, there is a distinctive difference between 'reasonless fluff' and 'reasonless gore'. One is wanting them to get along and be nice. The other is wanting them to torture each other. I don't think it takes a genius to understand there's a huge difference between 'I want them to snuggle' and 'I want violence to be done upon them'.

I think over the past year, I've kept this idea to myself because I wasn't directly involved and I didn't want to face the backlash at the time. Then my boyfriend got slammed in dms by someone who had these views, so now I'm pissed. I have personal shit in the game now and I cannot hold myself at bay anymore because I'm at my wits fucking end.

I think a lot of writers who delve into these intense topics should keep in mind 'what would CJ think if he saw that I was making fics about gore/abuse/torture with characters that personify himself?' Not because all gore or abuse is bad, they can be used for some wonderful symbolism or tension when pulled off with meaning and though and tact - rather, it's because some people take it way too far, sometimes without realising. I've seen a lot of people I was close to get stuck in an echo-chamber and not realise they spiraled from the headcanon that The Juno Incident was a violent blinding to something as intense as frequent abuse or gore between HMS.

I want the people on the opposing side to realise that I'm not going after gore or violence or intense themes. Some of my favourite pieces of media contain very violent, gory, abusive, intensely triggering themes, and sometimes, they are reasonless and because the developer or writer wanted to explore different forms of horror and fear. I don't personally believe that those kinds of themes should carry over to CCCC because (for the fifth time I'm mentioning it but I feel like I really need to drill it into some people's heads) the album is about a real person's struggle with suicide and his own mental health.

I'm not trying to censor anyone's views, it's just that I think sometimes there's just general common sense boundaries surrounding fandoms that are about someone's mental health.

An additional point is how often these fics tend to be quite ableist and I do see these writers project their internalised ableism onto HMS, which is a much bigger issue in the fandom since about 90% of people headcanon Heart as being somewhere on the blind spectrum and Mind as having some sort of issue with his voice that means he needs to use a vocal implant/Mind being a robot (which can very quickly spiral into ableism depending on how it's used).

Frequently, I see people portray Heart's blindness as making him weak or helpless and the same with Mind and Soul if people headcanon them as having implants or prosthetics or some form of disability and use it in their gore fics. Due to a lot of gore/torture fics using helplessness from injury as horror, it can very easily become quite ableist. I've been in fandoms with a whole month dedicated to harming their faves, and this can be an issue with them as well, not just the CCCC fandom. It can be done without ableism, but more often than not (especially in the CCCC fandom) people aren't looking for it when they write and can create ableist fics about a helpless character because their new/old disabilities.

I also saw someone talking about mischaracterisation and how that ties into this whole thing, but that's for another time because it's partially a separate topic that I could do a full length thesis essay on, so I'll do it another time.

TLDR; Don't make gore/torture/abuse fics about a real person's personifications of himself and his mental health/suicide struggle. That's fucked???

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

cry tears of puddles on ground here some incoherent snippets of what text partner about silco jinx father daughter dynamic that am going insane over rn hands n knees on ground begging sobbing n too busy do that to clean up or be coherent - n idk how much actual media analysis support by show evidence n how much it just me imagine things self insert wishful thinking - n there also may be from a few to many undescribed screenshots of season 1 because god have 100+ in camera roll

.

weak for father child esp found father child trope imperfect father but i will love you unconditionally i will try to be the best father can be for you even if i am irreparably messed up and so are you & imperfect child traumatized act out slowly losing grip with reality n will lash out will be rebellious ruin us all but you’ll be the best father i’ve ever had

(no diss on vanco tho)

him clumsily lift arm n hesitate n not know what to do not know if he should do not know how to do

subtle facial expression from “what’s going on what do i do” -> sadness (for powder n for his younger self) -> anger n determined n vengeful (for power n for his younger self) in span of seconds

“you’re my daughter. i’ll never forsake you.”

“don’t cry. you’re perfect.” AS HIS LAST WORDS

“show them. we’ll show them all” his voice echo after his death as she shoot missile. n she did. she did!!!!! to have so many people growing up not believe in her think her useless say that to her face - n her figure out how to use gemstone BY SELF with no previous guide!!! with no upside tech with only what she can get there!! build bombs now even viktor n jace n those people say near impossible disassemble without explode in face. n entire time silco believe in her BELIEVE IN HER SUPPORT HER. WE’ll show them. WE. n THEY DID!!!! they did!!! together!!!! he’s dead by time she fire missile but they really did. the fact his voice echo with her as she do it, fact that animation flash to his body as she do it— also fact that. every step of way they did. she top most demanded by name person, most threatening person.

doctor scene “are you ready to lose her” “she can take it.” FATHER

believing in her bc she can because she HIS daughter n HIS daughter can take it n also believing in her because he needs to he needs her so she will take it she make it she HAS TO because he can’t lose her he can’t be without her

a father who did objectively HORRIBLE things. with SHITTY morals but also REALLY HOPEFUL (word choice) ones in twisted way.

be complicated character who is shitty for flooding undercity with drugs be drug lord but in same time doing that because he truly want zaun freedom - like think it important emphasize its. not HIM be ruler of zaun at least not directly phrased that way but fact that zaun freedom. like he very much could just directly say “one day zaun be free n am rule over” but he didn’t say second part. he not altruistic by any means but also!!!! he is???

all that complicated cruel will-do-anything-to-achieve-his-goal-beyond-himself villain-ness in direct contract with having the ONE SOFT SPOT of his daughter who FUCKS SHIT UP who is DIFFICULT who UNCONTROLLABLE UNPREDICTABLE n he loves her UNCONDITIONALLY he spoils her gives her so many lee way

the fact that someone so fucked up someone so actively make things difficult for him. can be loved

no am don’t have issues at all

also calling jinx difficult n fucked up n ruin things with all love in world not in derogatory way. because. it’s like. am fucked up. am difficult. am severely traumatized. am want burn whole world down for leaving me behind for betray me. in many people eye am more trouble me than am worth. n idea of. a father who love me just the way that am call me perfect. even if. [ ].

n to call someone like that. perfect

n to. mean it.

to genuinely see n treat her as perfect

even after she mistakenly shoot you killing you - to be constantly put in jeopardy by her fucked up ness to be harmed n killed by her fucked up ness. to see mistake as just that - mistake. n to forgive you for that no questions asked to love you unconditionally despite that or even because of that. for her mistake cost you your life n for your last word be tell her don’t cry, that she perfect.

down to willing give up his whole dream whole goal whole purpose he fought for all these fucking years - thing he gave his entire life towards.

because he refuse give her up he refuse leave her abandon her use her as pawn

“you’re my daughter. i’ll never forsake you.” like genuinely truly believe he mean this he truly won’t take the deal with upside even if that mean zaun freedom because he refuse abandon jinx. he not just saying it to be manipulative or just saying be lying because he’s tied up with her have gun beside her he know she very much may fire

his “everyone betrayed you/us but i’ll never. am gave you everything” may be see as “you have no one but me” manipulative n maybe is but more importantly think that like. he genuinely believe that. like that his entire character origin. his entire motive.

the fact that she killed him n he don’t blame her one bit.

the fact the villain character clumsily learning how to take care of a child

he truly see her n treat her like her daughter not a pawn not a subject. more times than not instead of have her on leash as his subject he is leashed by her

to be so utterly broken n love someone

to be so utterly broken n be loved unconditionally by someone

two character who betrayed by entire world by people who once closest to them

n him swearing that he will never ever fucking do that to her. that they may not have other people they may have entire world against them but they have each other

n him FOLLOWING THAT down to his last breath

him not following that would have make his life n make more than his life so much easier

BUT HE REFUSE TO

also he didn’t betray her by lying to her that her sister is dead he genuinely believed her sister dead. leading to the funniest frame n line ever

“FROM THE DEAD???????”

[passionwillow]

David “Deacon” Kay - Smut Headcanons

I am back on my bullshit, I can’t get enough of this man. 😩❤️

WARNINGS: Smut, 18+, age gap, race inclusive and plus sized!reader inclusive

****************************************************

- He loves to be the dominant one in the bedroom. If you wanted to take charge, he’d gladly let you and he’d enjoy it! But he falls more easily into the roll of making the decisions and leading the way.

- CONSENT IS SO IMPORTANT TO HIM. If you’re not in the mood, or just don’t feel up to it, he’s content to snuggle you instead. If you’re in the middle of sex and can’t continue, he’s stopping in a heartbeat. Your comfort is the most important thing to him.

- He is a fucking MUNCH. He would spend hours between your legs if you’d let him. Hearing your moans, feeling your hands in his hair and your thighs squeezing his head.. It’s heaven for him. And he knows exactly what he’s doing.

- The second you suggest or agree to sit on his face he’s laying there ready to go and so fucking excited. And he means sit. None of that hovering bullshit, or being afraid to smother him. He wants to be smothered and buried in your pussy.

- He loves staring into your eyes while you guys are having sex. That’s part of the reason he loves missionary so much, so he can see all the emotions going through you, the pleasure etched on your face.

- HICKEYS. He loves marking you all over your neck, chest, tits. He wants to make it known who you belong to and who brings you this much pleasure.

- And don’t ever be shy about marking him. Bite him, claw his back to shreds, he loves each and every mark.

- Oh god he loves pushing down on your stomach while you’re fucking. Feeling his cock in your tummy, thrusting slow and deep so not only he can feel it, but so you can feel every inch of him.

- There’s something about taking you in the kitchen that’s appealing to him. Bending you over the counter, the table, and fucking you senseless. If there’s food cooking, oh well. It’ll have to wait.

- He loves taking you from behind so he can watch his cock slide in and out of you. It drives him insane. It also allows him to smack and admire your ass.

- Grabbing you by the hair and pulling your head back so you’re pressed back into him, his low, throaty voice whispering in your ear as he’s pounding you..

- “You like that, hm? Feel good?” “That’s it.. take Daddy’s cock.” “Let me hear you, baby girl, don’t be shy.”

- He’s insatiable for you. Absolutely obsessed.

- SHOWER SEX. He’ll have you pressed up against the wall before you can ever start washing yourself. Leg hitched around his waist, his thrusts so slow and deep you can hardly stand it, his hands squeezing and pulling at you.

- And then after he’s the sweetest, softest man as he cleans you up and washes you.

- CALL HIM DADDY. It drives him insane and gets him so fucking horny. He loves being older than you, being the one in charge and getting to care for you. It isn’t that he thinks he can take advantage of you, it’s the fact you trust him so much.

- This man loves to tease. He loves to get you laid out in the bed, vibrator to your clit, and watch you writhe and moan as he smirks. The vibrator traveling down between your slick folds before moving back to your clit, his eyes dark as he practically drools over the soaked mess between your legs.

- And right before you’re about to cum, right as you get to the edge, he’s pulling back and edging you with a grin.

- (you secretly love it because god it makes it so more intense)

- He’ll do this over and over until you’re a whimpering mess, his own cock straining in his jeans as he torments you, only stopping when you threaten him with bodily harm.

- He’s stripping down in record time and thrusting into you with a throaty groan, your slick walls fluttering around his thick shaft.

- This man is fit, and his stamina is ridiculous. He’ll easily get through 2 rounds, giving you the most mind blowing orgasms and filling you up with his cum. By then you’re a limp mess, but he’s more than happy to treat you like his pillow princess.

- He loves overstimulating you, seeing just how far he can push you and how many times he can get you to cum for him. He’ll use his cock, his mouth, his fingers, or your toys. If it ever gets to be too much, he’ll stop right away.

- Oh god his fingers.. They’re long, they’re thick, and he knows just how to work you. Curling and teasing that sweet spot inside you, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit.. He’ll have you unraveling in no time.

- Speaking of cum.. He loves finishing inside you. It’s a primal urge for him to cum inside, marking you and making you his. Watching his cum slide out of you, using his fingers to push it all back in..

- He loves when you get emboldened and take charge. Push him into the nearest wall, onto the nearest bed, and he’s grinning ear to ear. Use the handcuffs on him and he’s a hard, aching mess.

- His favorite thing you’ve done when you’ve taken charge is the time you cuffed him to the headboard and teased his cock with your mouth and hands. He could have sworn he was going to explode from the constant teasing and pleasure.

- His aftercare is god tier. He’ll have a warm cloth in hand and wipe you down with the softest touch. Water and snacks are already on the table, and he’s holding you like you’re the most precious thing (you are to him).