#so i somehow wrote my friend into my story when i didn't even know my friend yet?

[norikuna]

CREAM SODA — gojo satoru minors dni

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

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

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

smack!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

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

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

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

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

(earlier that day)

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

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

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

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

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

ah, fuck it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

no such luck.

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

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

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

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

gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

click! click!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

or just sit on them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you wanted to gag.

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

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

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

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

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

"i didn't say thank you."

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

"what if you don't have a heart?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"mhm, what?"

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

"deal."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

wait, where was the other bed?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"fuck you mean by that?"

"or sleep on the floor!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"gojo!"

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

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

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

"what about him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"and stop him before that."

"right. that's what i said."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo, especially.

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

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

and it was satisfying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it didn't feel that way.

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

sort of.

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

well, this had certainly been worth half your paycheck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

gojo was right. this was just…tacky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

traitorous.

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

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

"you look lost."

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

well. hello, gorgeous.

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

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

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

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

you settled on an appropriate response.

"um. no, we didn’t."

not your finest moment. not even close.

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

he didn’t even bother to meet your eyes.

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

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

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

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

oh.

you felt your stomach plummet as recognition dawned.

naoki sato.

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

one of the most wanted jujutsu criminals in the world.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

all things you blithely ignored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"hey! naoki!"

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

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

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

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

"found something you like?" naoki asked smoothly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fuck, caught, but not completely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

naoki snickered, "your shadow grows restless."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it reminded you of gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

behind you, a sharp cough broke the moment.

gojo.

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

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

he was calling you rather unflattering names.

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

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

raijin's amulet.

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

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

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

"the bodyguard's interested too?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

time to move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ah, focus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"can i kiss you?"

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

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

so you closed the distance.

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

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

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

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

focus, again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

nerves, or desire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then, it hit you.

a hot, sticky spray of liquid.

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

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

"that's enough."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but naoki sato was faster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then you saw it. saw it all.

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

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

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

and then, there was gojo satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

what did you feel now? anger? sadness?

maybe both. maybe neither.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you can’t take it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"wait."

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

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

an olive branch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

then he moves again.

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

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

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

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

but your eyes snap open to meet his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"can i keep going?"

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

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

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

"what do you want me to do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

smack!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

leaving your mouth dry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and the fact that gojo is nowhere to be found.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ah!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[midnightcrw]

Provocative

Pairing: Alastor x fem!reader

Summary: Lucifer visits the Hazbin Hotel because his daughter called him, but there he sees a good friend he hasn't seen in a long time.

Warnings: Swearing, even though it's only one swear word (this is fluff, by the way)

a/n: Since you all wanted a second part, I finally wrote one, although I really wasn't sure how to continue. I tried my best, and unfortunately, I'm not that happy with it, but hopefully, you all will like it somehow / Part 1

A headache threatened to make itself known as you looked unimpressed as the King of Hell shook your shoulders, causing you to rock back and forth.

"Did your parents drop you on your head when you were a kid?" Lucifer asked in a desperate tone, not wanting to believe that you and Alastor were a thing (obviously still not knowing that you're married to each other).

"Maybe," you said nonchalantly, ready to push him away if he didn't stop shaking you.

"But-" that's it, you thought as you pushed Lucifer's hands away from your shoulders, surprising him by that before cupping his face in your hand, squeezing his cheeks tightly as he stared at you with wide eyes.

"Listen to me," you began in a stern tone, glaring at him, making him visibly swallow. "You're going to let your daughter show you around, or I'm going to skin you infront of everyone."

With that, you let go of his face as you dusted off your hands, as if you had touched something dirty.

The rest of the residents could only stare with shocked expressions. Fortunately, they hadn't heard what you had said, but from what they had seen, it was definitely intense, as no one would dare do such a thing to the Ruler of Hell.

Though Alastor didn't look shocked, he seemed to be fuming as one of his eyes twitched while the crazed grin never left his face.

"Okay... Anyway, Dad. Look at this lovely parlor where people can get to know each other and share secrets and stories and intimate feelings!" The excitement was vivid in Charlie's tone as she had her beautiful smile on her face.

She was already trying to move on, wanting to make her point to her dad and you appreciated the fact that you weren't in the spotlight anymore.

Thinking that you were finally getting some peace, you sighed in relief before you felt Alastor's head on top of yours.

"Tell me, darling. How long have you known this little pesky, but surely powerful man?" The 'powerful' was emphasized, as the static seemed to get even more grating with his snippy tone.

Alastor was not the jealous type, you knew that. But he always had his moments, loving to meddle in other people's affairs while hiding his own.

Huffing, you turned around and looked up at him, "While you were gone for seven years, I might have befriended him."

The anger was evident in your voice as you did not explain further. Not only had your husband left you for a few years out of nowhere, but now he was suddenly trying to pry information out of you.

Alastor just laughed at your answer and shook his head while your hands clenched into fists.

And before you could curse him, he suddenly moved much closer, almost pressing his forehead against yours. "Surely for nothing of lustful nature," he whispered sharply, sounding almost disgusted as he uttered the word 'lustful'.

"Maybe I should have," two could play this game, and you certainly weren't going to back down now, since he loved to provoke you so much.

Hearing your reply, the static increased as his antlers grew before he suddenly disappeared in front of your eyes, now standing further away from you.

"Charlie has a very unique vision," your husband began as he approached Charlie, speaking very animatedly, "I am happy to fulfill her bizarre requests," he said, placing his hand on the blonde's shoulder as she thanked him.

Of course, seeing that didn't make Lucifer happy at all, since he was already planning to kill Alastor when he got the chance.

And to be honest, at this point, you couldn't care less, almost ready to encourage Lucifer.

"Quite an impressive young lady. We're all very proud of her." The man dressed in red knew what he was doing as he pulled Charlie closer.

Somehow, even though he was angry, the short man managed to steer the conversation to another topic, such as getting introduced to the rest of the people in the hotel.

With a smile on her face, Charlie pulled Vaggie near her, "This is Vaggie. She's my girlfriend."

You had probably never seen Lucifer so relieved as a grin made its way across his face, "Oh my golly, you like girls?"

You truly wanted to bang your head against something, knowing that he was going to embarrass himself.

"Yes, so do I. We have so much in common. You put her there, Maggie," he said as he pulled Vaggie into a bone crushing hug, making her a bit uncomfortable with his enthusiasm.

"He didn't even get the name right..." you muttered, rubbing your temple in frustration.

And of course, it wouldn't be Alastor if he didn't continue to annoy you further, "Everything all right, my sweet?"

"Would be much better without you here," you said, avoiding eye contact, not wanting to deal with him right now.

"Is that so?" Alastor whispered in your ear with a toothy grin on his face, looking pleased with himself as you flinched at the sudden closeness.

All you could do was exhale sharply as you stepped away from him, even though he teleported right back into your personal space.

Ignoring him, you just watched the rest of the residents.

"Hello, I clean." Niffty giggled to herself as she grabbed hold of Lucifer's coat, causing him to stare at her with an uncertain expression on his face.

"Don't you dare throw the chandelier to the floor," you whispered, already one step ahead of him.

"Oh, and how well you know me," Alastor said in a delighted voice, and now you wished you hadn't told him that, because it seemed that another plan was brewing in that big head of his.

Without warning, your husband suddenly put an arm around your waist as he walked you closer to the rest of the people.

"You must be proud of Charlie since she has already found people who want to redeem themselves," the grin didn't leave his face as usual as the attention was once again back on you and Alastor.

Lucifer's eye twitched as he looked at you, not liking the fact that the deer was holding his friend so close.

"Sure I am," the short man said as he pulled you out of the radio demon's grip, causing the static to be heard.

"Doesn't seem like it," Alastor said quickly, jumping to the next topic before Lucifer could interject in annoyance, "I even remember the exact moment Charlie needed help, and of course, being the perfect gentleman, I couldn't help but lend a hand." He chuckled to himself as he suddenly grabbed your hand, wanting to pull you to him, but Lucifer didn't let go of your hand, but nonetheless he continued to talk anyway.

"You could almost call me dad," Alastor said with a sinister grin as both men continued to pull on your hand.

"Surely no one would call you that," the King of Hell said with contempt in his voice as he glared at your husband and suddenly turned his eyes to you, "I promise you, you can do better than this. Have you seen his haircut?"

"I see it every day," you muttered.

Charlie didn't seem to be in a better mood than you, as she let herself fall onto the sofa while Vaggie patted her head. And somehow Angel Dust was eating popcorn, even holding the popcorn bag in front of the Princess of Hell as she started to eat some of it while they all watched the three of you.

"In fact, she sees it every day and every night," Alastor added with a crazed look in his eyes as he started to get annoyed.

The look on Lucifer's face was hilarious. One would really like to see his reaction if he knew that Alastor wasn't interested in anything sexual, but just loved to anger people, especially those who didn't pay attention to him.

"Nobody wants to see that atrocity!"

"Well, she loves it!"

"She doesn't!"

And before things could get worse, Husk suddenly said, "Mimzy is here."

With that, your eyes widened as you looked towards the entrance while the men stopped pulling on your hands.

Oh and how you hated her.

"Surely you all missed me!" The voice of the beautiful little woman was heard, clearly directed at your husband.

Fuck no, you thought.

Taglist

@nonetheartist

@anuttellaa

@explosionkatsu

@randomuser-89

@nightlydream

@itsmskeisha

@l0ca1ax010t1

[notanactressyayy]

—𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭—

pairing . Natasha Romanoff x fem! reader

summary . she needs you, in multiple ways — she's just scared to ask for it.

warnings . smut — I am NOT responsible for the content you consume — thigh riding, scissoring, fingering, vulnerable sex (because yes), taking care of Nat because she deserves it.

notes . English is not my first language, I'm brazilian, so I apologize for any grammar mistakes. this is probably the first fic I ever post so hi hi!!!

(I'm sorry if this is bad, I literally wrote that in a waiting room, completely in a rush.)

divider credits: @cafekitsune ^^

You didn't know exactly why the TV was on. You weren't interested on the show, and Natasha wasn't even looking at it. Her eyes looked down as she fidgeted with her fingers. You could tell she was anxious, that something was bothering her.

You just never expected that this was something to do with you — no, you didn't do anything wrong. It was her.

Natasha and you met years ago, and had been in a situationship for a while now. You weren't friends, but somehow, you couldn't recall the time you started dating (because it never existed). Friends with benefits was too cliché, and maybe not enough to describe what you actually had with her.

To begin with it, you met Natasha when she was still an Avenger. You were never part of the team, but they treated you as if you were. You were close to everyone, but specially Natasha. There was a reason she had let that happen, since according to her, she was in New York to be a hero, and not to have friends.

Friends.

The moment the russian started to blush whenever Thor teased her about how close she was to you or when you simply stared at her for a few seconds or more was when she realized that she made a mistake. A good one, she hoped. In a heartbeat, she was telling you her story.

You listened — just, listened. Your hand went to brush her hair behind her ear whenever she looked down, and the sparkle of pride in your eyes was not something she could miss. You didn't pity her. You didn't try to bring up a justification for what she went through, or to bring up a solution to fix her. You were proud of her for who she became, and were there for her whenever she didn't want to be that person for a while.

It was with that trust in you that she found herself wanting, craving even, something more. She's human, wether she like it or not. She can't deny her feelings or urges, not even the most dangerous spy can.

So her walls broke when you said you were going with her to Norway after the Avengers split.

Natasha shifted a little in the couch, the blankets around her getting all crumpled as she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Your focus went from the soft patting of the raindrops in the window to the woman next to you, as you frowned a bit.

"Nat?" you called, leaning your side against the backrest of the couch and looking at her. "What's wrong?"

She turned to you, a little startled, but tried to shake it off with a small grin. "Oh, it's nothing. It's just a little hot in here."

"We're in Norway," you laughed, giving her that goddamn smile of yours. "And.. it's raining."

"The..." she shook her head, failing miserably to come up with an excuse. "The blankets are making me hot."

"Mhm, are they?" you raised an eyebrow, and pulled the blankets off you both, and letting half of them fall to the floor. "Better?"

Natasha shivered, but nodded nonetheless. You saw she was unquiet, and that this looked a little more serious than the normal.

"Natasha."

"Yeah?"

"What is going on?" you repeated your question, scooting closer to her and placing your hand above hers — just to make things worse.

Natasha almost whined at your action, which made you pull your hand back and frown even more. "I'm sorry,"

"No, it's not your fault." she shook her head. "It's mine."

"Then tell me." you smiled softly, lifting her head up to meet your eyes with your pointer finger. The sight of her green orbs was something you maybe never saw before.

"I..." she mumbled, clearing her throat. She then grabbed your hand and held your wrist gently, not sure of what to do next. "I don't know."

"It's okay," you whispered, bringing her hand up and placing a kiss on it. You had no problem with being affectionate and she didn't mind either, but today, it was different.

"Y/n". Natasha whispered back, looking into your eyes and getting lost in them. She was clearly unsure of what to do, and how to express what she was feeling. So she brought your hand up and placed your palm above her heart. Faster than the speed of light.

"Hey..." you cooed, tilting your head as you felt the aggressive beating against your hand. "You... are you, scared of something?"

"No." she quickly shook her head. She wasn't having any negative emotions right now. "I'm not anxious, I'm not scared.. I'm just.."

"Just what?"

The fact she was not having an anxious episode or a panic attack made you slightly relaxed, but not completely — then you realized, the touches you were giving her made her sensitive. She was needy.

The Red Room turned her into a closed person, and that didn't completely vanish when she was with you — it was like there was a bug in her system that had to be fixed, soon. She couldn't be totally open, but not completely closed.

You smiled at the thought, and leaned in closer, inches away from her face, which made her breathing uneven. "Tell me what you need, Nat."

"I..." she took a deep inhale and placed her hand on your cheek, pulling you into an unexpected kiss — a desperate one.

She kissed you frantically, her movements with urgency as she placed her hands behind your neck, trying to pull you close. You couldn't say you expected this, but it wasn't unwelcomed either.

Your hands went to her waist as she shyly crawled onto your lap, her legs hooking around your hips as she pulled away for air, her forehead against yours.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." she breathed, feeling her eyes start to burn with unleashed tears.

"You have absolutely nothing to apologize for." you murmured, arms gently wrapping around her as she straddled you. "It's okay, let's not rush things. Let's take deep breaths, mhm?"

The fact you wanted her to calm down before anything almost calmed her down instantly, but she breathed with you, then leaned her head on yours, her cheek on your hair.

"I just need something," she whispered, more calmly now. "I—I think I need you."

"And I'm here," you turned your head to press a kiss on her temple, caressing her back. The redhead melted.

Natasha leaned down to kiss your lips again, but not with urgency. She sighed softly against your lips, her hands moving to hold your face, and yours, to hold her waist. It didn't take long for her to start moving slowly — she shifted, instead of straddling your lap, her legs were around your thigh. Your eyes opened, and you broke the kiss to look at her.

"Nat, my love," you whispered. "Are you sure of this?"

"Please." she uttered back, closing her eyes and gripping your shoulders. "I know you'd ever hurt me.. you would never disrespect me, you would stop if I asked you to. Right... right?"

You smiled sadly, realizing she was trying to reassure herself, and not actually ask you this. "Yes, yes, Natasha. I want to take care of you. I want to see you, beyond that shell they turned you in. I want you to feel comfortable enough with me to ask for this, and this is such a big step for you."

She sighed in relief, hearing the honesty in your voice. She nodded, clearing her throat. She leaned down, hiding her face on the crook of her neck and pressing small, gentle kisses on it. Then her hips started to slowly move, and the tiniest bit of friction made her gasp. "Y/n..."

"Shh," you held her hips, guiding her through her own pace. The little high waisted shorts she wore rolled up, so surprisingly thick that you could feel her wetness. "That's great, Natty. Move yourself for me, like this."

Natasha whined at your words, starting to grind against you slightly faster. The clothes were starting to feel uncomfortable, as she felt the need of you seeing her. She grabbed your hands, and slowly moved them underneath her blouse.

You did what she wanted, grazing your fingernails against her skin and slowly massaging her flesh, resulting in a soft moan of hers. "Take it off." You looked at her with a questioning look, even if you had an idea of what she was asking for. "Undress me, Y/n."

Given her permission, you smoothly lifted her blouse and pulled it over her head, letting it fall to the floor. She stopped her movements briefly, just so you could slide her shorts and panties down her thighs, her heat now in contact with your leg making you groan.

She felt your hands moving up to unclasp her bra and smirked softly, holding her arms out so you could take down the straps. That woman was surely breathtaking, her body, her marks, her scars, her voice, her everything.

"Natty," you uttered, pressing kisses in the valley between her breasts and moving up, to her ear. "There's so much I wanna do with you..."

Natasha closed her eyes, your touch making her shiver again, as she began to fastly grind her pussy against your thigh. "Please." she quickly removed your shirt and soon enough, you both were completely naked.

The feeling of skin against hers, the human touch that she never felt when getting off with a strap while thinking of you was unbelievable, a touch that she knew that wouldn't hurt her. It was so good, so different from the men she seduced when a spy, so different from the men that touched her in the Red Room.

"My pretty girl," you hissed, throwing your leg above hers and starting to grind yourself with her. "So beautiful, and all mine."

"Yes," she panted, burying her face in your neck again as her nails lightly scratched your back. "Y/n, please."

"You're coming with me." you sweetly commanded. Natasha started to whisper things in Russian that you couldn't really understand, but you took it as a sign that she was close.

Soon enough, Natasha's legs started to shake and her moans on your ear got slightly louder, you both coming together, her juices mixing with yours. She didn't stop, though. You gasped, looking up at her. She still needed more.

"Touch me." Natasha growled, grabbing your hand and moving it close to her cunt. She was starting to feel confident, and you liked it.

You didn't think twice before burying your middle and pointer fingers on her hole, using your thumb to slowly rub circles on her clit, biting your lip at the sight of her back arched. All for you.

"God, Y/n," she moaned, using her own hands to squeeze her breasts and circle her hard nipples. "Yes, just like that."

"You like it like this?" you asked, shoving one more finger inside her, her moans getting louder. She slowly started to lift herself from your fingers, just to lower her hips again, riding your fingers. "You're gonna come for me again?"

"Yes!" she nodded frantically, her breaths coming in little gasps for air. She gripped your shoulders tightly, throwing her head back and orgasming again. It took a while for her to calm down, and you didn't waste time before gently taking her and laying her down on the couch, spreading her legs and pressing soft kisses on her inner thighs, licking her juices and making her squirm around.

"Y/n," she murmured quietly, reaching her arms out.

"Oh, baby." you pulled Nat into an embrace, holding her close to your chest and caressing her hair, running your fingers through her red locks. "It's alright."

Natasha whimpered, wanting to hide herself in your arms and never come out again. She closed her eyes and laid her head on your chest, arms circling your waist.

The talk about this could wait. The silence was comfortable enough for now.

[zara-renata]

So I had one holiday prompt that I couldn't include in the big holiday prompt fic I posted last week, and I also have been receiving some really sweet and cute ideas that weren't exactly requests, but the ideas were so nice that I wanted to write something for them. I've gathered them into one story that I hope isn't disappointing. I had intended to do separate, cute little drabbles, but I had a bad day the other day and somehow uh, really dark angst happened, and then I used the ideas people sent for the comfort half of the fic? So please forgive me for just... taking it as dark as you can go before including the sweet, cute ideas that people requested. I hope you like the result anyway, although please read the content warnings. Several of the people who sent requests/ideas apologized for doing so, as if sending the ideas was 'too much', but you don't have to apologize for sending asks. My requests are open, and I like seeing everyone's ideas even if I don't end up being able to write for them, or if I tweak them a little to make them work for the story that comes out of my brain despite my best laid plans to stick to an outline.

The river | ao3 | masterlist

It's Christmas Eve, you're at the end of your rope after an absolutely awful year, and you decide to end it all after pushing everyone in your life away. Sylus pulls you from the brink and convinces you to keep going.

Sylus x fem reader, Sylus x mc, hurt/comfort, angst, grief, banter, fluff. CW: attempted suicide, depressed thoughts, NSFW, Sylus penetrating reader (this is not sex ed, do not follow these idiots' example, no discussion of condom or birth control, this is fantasy and we're not going to worry about that in the fic)

Ask #1 You asked to keep sending silly little ideas for you to write so I thought I'd give my own request! After Caleb and Gran (supposedly) die it's pretty much canon that MC refuses help from their friends and isolates themself in certain ways. I always imagine MC sometimes sees Sylus as "the only one they have left" since he is the only one who goes out of his way to check up on MC. But MC kinda grows to resent this and has a moment when their drunk/really going through it and basically ask Sylus why he doesn't leave them be so they can just rot away in peace. Sorry if this is too lengthy or I'm overstepping! Brain worms are getting to me

Ask #2 Okay, so random thoughts here, but do you know that superstition that’s like, “the places where you have moles on your body show where your lover kissed you in a past life”? But like… can you imagine what it would be like if MC had a mole in the exact spot where Sylus bit her during Abyssal Mark (cus I have one there lol) and then that superstition randomly gets brought up, only for MC to show him that mole and Sylus is just s h o o k??? N e way that’s my random thoughts lol (sorry if this is a lot 💀)

Ask #3 I love the way you write the MC and I find myself relating to them at least 99% of the time. Sometimes I just imagine them giving Sylus one of those "Do you like me? Circle yes or no!" Love letters to Sylus because they are terrified of rejection -> i wrote the MC in this story really, really depressed, so if this didn't hit the spot for you in terms of fear of rejection, let me know, and I can include your prompt in another story idea I had before this one that's a lot lighter and sweeter before I got hit by the angst truck that this fic turned out to be. just let me know!

Ask #4 the last holiday prompt! -> idk if anyone sent it yet but from the xmas prompt list, i would love to see what you do with number 8 -> I'm so sorry that this is what I did with it, I hope you like it anyway😭

Thank you everyone who has sent me ideas! If you've sent me a request and I haven't answered it yet, it's because I'm still intending to do something with it.

Here you are. Again.

At the end of a long day. A long week. A long year. 

A long rope.

It’s the dark, this time of year. 

Maybe. 

You’re restless. You’ve passed through the Deepspace Hunters Association doors for the last time this year. Empty days of leave stretch before you.

Normally, it would still be light out, leaving this early. But not now, this deep into the year—it’s already full night, as you leave work early.

The bright lights of the building pour over your upturned face as you look back, just once. You don’t know what for. You’ve successfully severed most of the ties you had built before.

Before everything.

Tara, Xavier. After Caleb, Josephine—they reached out, over and over, and you bit their outstretched hands with your sharp, sharp teeth. 

You snapped enough times that they keep their distance, now. 

They’re still kind. 

Tara still comes, sits on your desk, shares tidbits of gossip during the workday. But she no longer invites you along to karaoke, to after-work drinks with other coworkers.

You and Xav work in sync, as you eliminate wanderers. He walks you to your door at the end of the day. But he no longer offers to lend you books. No longer invites you to the bookstore, or to try new restaurants.

You watch his broad back as he walks away from you, down your apartment building’s hallway. He feels as far away as a star in the velvet night sky.

It’s not their fault. You did this.

You wanted this.

You turn away from the warm light beaming from the Association as you leave early, the Christmas lights glittering in the windows, the holiday party you’re skipping still in full swing in the open, sleek company restaurant area on the ground floor. A division-wide shindig, to celebrate the end of the year, the holidays.

The night is cold. Fairy lights, nets of bright pinpricks in the dark night, cover the trees lining the sidewalk. Decorative light displays stretch across the busy road at periodic intervals, over the canals that parallel the streets, the gondolas and tour-boats festive under their own lights, red ribbons flapping in the cold winter wind.

You think about how they never recovered a body.

Only Josephine’s ashes fill an urn, sitting in a cold niche of a quiet columbarium. Caleb’s urn is empty.

You start walking, fast, along the busy sidewalk. People are out shopping, scurrying to tie up last minute errands before the city shuts down for the holiday tomorrow.

You want to unzip your coat. Unzip your uniform. Unzip your skin, your ribcage. Leave all these pieces of yourself behind, for others to puzzle over. To sweep up with the rest of the refuse left over from festive party goers on the street. You want to dissipate in the cold winter air like your breath with each cursed inhale, exhale.

You settle for beginning to jog to the metro station, your feet carrying you faster, faster, your boots heavy on the sidewalk. You see it lit in the distance, but you can’t stand the thought of being underground right now. Buried alive, with all the other people. You sprint past it. 

You’re graceful enough to duck and weave, not disturb anyone else, until the crowds thin.

You’re running, running, the city is streaming past, like the tears from your eyes. Wet from the cold, because you haven’t cried since waking up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s silver chain glittering in the firelight on the walk up to your grandmother’s burning house.

Tears won’t bring a body back.

You don’t know how much longer you can stand this.

The days, one after another. Alarm, moving through the dark to get to work. Moving through the dark to get back to your apartment at the end of the day.

The pain—your only constant, now. The only thing you expect, have to look forward to, day after blurred day. 

An echoing emptiness, like an urn without ashes. An emptiness that feels so full that your skin could burst with it.

You think about your apartment. The festive city outside its windows. The half-opened bottle of wine in the fridge, the only thing in it.

You veer from your neighborhood. Keep running. You’re sweating under your winter coat, your heavy Hunter uniform. It doesn’t matter.

You run, and run, and run, until you run out of streets, sidewalk.

Just the river, wide and black. There is a bridge, soaring over the water, in the distance. Its lights reflected in the water, along with the urban nightscape. Stars above, stars below.

You could drown in them.

You look at the bridge.

You could drown in it all.

There’s no one left, after all.

Who will miss you?

You slow. Stop.

Your breath is heavy in the quiet air. Fairy lights sparkle here, too. Pretty swooping light displays top each lamppost along the river path. 

You would have gone to identify the body, as you did with Gran. She didn’t look like herself. Not even a sleeping version of herself. They did their best, reconstructing her face. But it wasn’t the stitches, the bruising. It was that she simply wasn’t there anymore. Like a stranger’s body on display. An empty house after the residents have been forced to flee in a night of unimaginable violence. 

But running your hands through her hair, one last time. It soothed something in you. Enough that you could breathe in the cold mortuary air. Could nod. Could watch as they covered her again. As they escorted you out into the bustling hospital hallways, to stand under cold fluorescent lights. To stare vacantly at the wall, until you felt a strange, familiar feeling. You looked up, saw Zayne watching you, at the end of the long hallway. You stared at him, memorizing his beautiful face. His dark hair. His severe, cold loveliness. You let yourself look one last time, and he let you. Through the people filling the hallway, each walking with purpose, they were a blur and he was  across the world, across time, a part of your past that should never have reappeared in your present. It hurt too much, to look at his beautiful, distant face. He left you behind, once. He should have stayed gone. You can’t stand to experience the loss again, the loss you felt every time he listened to your heart, expressionless, a stranger with a beautiful, familiar face from your past, a past in which Caleb was still alive. 

You looked at Zayne one last time, across a bustling hallway in a place full of life, of death, and he let you. You then turned, headed to the reception desk. You switched doctors, hospitals.

You blocked his number, so you’ll never know if he sent you a text, tried to call and ask why, after. He let you walk out. Which is as it should be.

You wanted this.

The water churns under the whipping wind, the fast current. It looks so cold. Cold enough to numb. Cold enough to finally put out the fire that’s been burning in you, ever since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace shimmering in the flames.

You think of running your hands through his hair. Something the fire robbed you of—it would have been your first time, your last time. He would pat your head. Call you pipsqueak. Ignore your protests to not mess up your hair, to not treat you like a little kid. But he would always duck out of the way anytime you tried to return the favor, tease him, tousle his hair. His pretty brunette hair that always looked so soft. Now you’ll never know how soft it really was.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. The car headlights meteors streaking along their guardrail-gated orbit.

You think about going home. Waking up tomorrow, Christmas Day. The silence. You think about going back to work. Killing wanderer after wanderer. Wondering which one will be the one to finally kill you.

The days blur. The constant emptiness echoing inside your apartment, inside your ribcage.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. You imagine running your hands through Caleb’s hair for the first, the last time. A tender goodbye you’ll never have, because they never found his body.

There’s no one left to miss you.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You fish it out.

Rafayel no longer calls, or texts you words. He just sends photos, every once in a while. Mundane details of everyday life, rendered extraordinary through his artist’s eye. Paintings he’s working on. A foreign landscape. Leaves glistening with dew. The moon, waxing full.

You haven’t answered in months. You look at each one, tuck your phone back in your pocket.

You look back at the water. Think about taking a photo of the reflected stars, the thin crescent moon in the black waves, think of sending him one last response. But even you’re not that cruel. You don’t want him to realize later, that he was the last one to say anything to you.

You don’t open his text. You block his number. Tuck the phone back into your pocket.

You start to walk toward the bridge. As you walk, you keep your eyes on the path, its edges. Decorative, smooth stones line the walkway along the river embankment. You pick them up, here and there, as you walk. Slip them into your coat pockets.

Eventually you run out of room in your coat pockets, add more to your pants pockets. 

You turn your eyes back to the bridge, looming now.

You think of your empty fridge. Josephine’s empty face. An empty urn.

You’re ready to scoop out what’s left of you, leave it behind on the sidewalk, smoldering as the cold night finally smothers the endless fire, the only thing left inside you. Maybe it will warm someone else, in passing. A last good deed, from you to someone in the world.

A metal staircase, leading up, up, into the black sky, mirroring the dark river, your heavy boots echoing. The cars are loud. If you close your eyes, they could be the rushing waves of an ocean, instead of a river of traffic, above a river of water.

You keep your eyes open. You’re not going to pretend that you’re not doing what you’re doing, now. You’re not at the ocean, its pure salt air drifting through your hair, now whipping around your face. You’re on a busy, exhaust- and oil-stained commuter bridge on the night before Christmas, having cut your ties with everyone you have always known never wanted or needed you in the first place. What’s the difference if a wanderer kills you tomorrow, or if something kills you today? Just empty time, blurry days, photo frames without pictures.

The guardrail isn’t so high as one would guess. It’s an easy step up. An easy step over. You stand, looking back over the city where you were raised. The city that contains all the past versions of yourself, from the moment you were pulled screaming into life from a mother whose face you’ll never know, through to now, an empty shell of a person. If your fellow hunters could see inside you, they’d mistake you for a wanderer and put you down, like the scientists who experimented on you, your own grandmother, did years ago.

Since learning that Gran was one of the people who fucked with your heart, you have often resented that she and her colleagues weren’t successful in finishing the job years ago, when they had the chance.

But now you wonder, standing over a dark, freezing river that reflects what’s inside you now, maybe they did finish it. You just didn’t realize it. Not till tonight, as you look down in the mirror of the rushing water, far below.

Even now, the tears won’t come.

What use are tears, when they can’t bring a body back. When they can’t wash it clean. When they can’t lovingly touch it, one last time, soft strands of hair under your fingers.

Your tears, your heart, your suffering, your existence—useless, for the entirety of a life you can only half remember.

You wonder if it’s the dark, tonight. Why tonight, and not yesterday? Why not six months ago? 

Because it took that long to sever the ties binding you here?

Now you are assured, no one will miss you. It will take days before anyone even notices your absence because of your holiday leave.

You hope that they’ll assume it was a wanderer. Bad luck. Wrong time, wrong place. A modest little plaque on the wall of heroes, even though you know you’re no hero.

In the end, it doesn’t matter why it’s tonight, and not any other night.

No need to be dramatic, pretending there’s meaning in the meaningless.

You put your hands on the guardrail, the metal colder than your freezing hands. You lift a heavy booted foot. Take a deep breath. 

It’s so cold. It will be over before you know it. You’ve read that from this height, it’s the impact, and not the drowning.

You’ve always had dreams of flying. 

You lift your other foot, arms thrown wide for balance, just for a moment. The world feels so big, here at the end. The stars above, the stars below, the doubled crescent moon. You’re ready to drown in it all.

You only have one hope.

I don’t want to be reborn.

You breathe, empty your mind of Tara’s earnest smile, Xavier’s soft laughter, Zayne’s steady hands, Rafayel’s flashing violet eyes. Josephine’s empty face. Caleb’s soft, untouchable hair.

You let yourself fall.

You’re flying. Your heart is soaring. Your heart is seizing. The relief, the terror, mingle. You can’t scream, even if you wanted to.

You’re flying and it’s everything you ever dreamt, until it’s not.

Your body jerks, abruptly. Your hair whips down, lashes your face. You grunt with the impact against… nothing. You’re suspended over the water, drifting in the air. The wind tugs at your stone-weighted coat.

You twist away from the water, craning your neck to look up, up, back at the bridge.

You have withstood the uselessness of tears for almost a year now. But now, you want to cry so badly the pain of the need steals your breath.

You knew he was cruel. You knew he was merciless. You knew that he hated you. You just didn’t realize how much, until now.

You hang suspended over a dark, rushing river, wrapped in scarlet and ink tendrils, looking up into the sneering face of the one person you refused to think about as you made your final decision tonight, at the end of your desolate, half-remembered life.

His evol begins to lift you, away from the merciful impact, the numbing water. You, your past, your heart, the memories and despair and stones filling your pockets seem weightless, wrapped in his power.

His usual mask of bored indifference is gone. He is finally showing you his true face, what he must always feel when he looks at you—fury and disgust.

He says nothing, as he pulls you from the depths, back into the world. As he sets you gently back on your heavy feet on the sidewalk in front of him. His evol evaporates, winter breath in the wind.

He looks at your face with his wine-dark eyes. Looks at the water. Flicks his gaze back to your face.

You will not cry in front of this man. This man who hates you so much he won’t even let you seek the peace of death. Death, which has always been too good for you, but not for the people you loved the most.

You clench your jaw as the fire re-ignites in your chest. The flames you had tried so hard to scoop out, to leave behind.

You don’t want to feel this much anymore.

If you speak, you know you’ll cry. You can’t stand it.

Maybe, with enough repetition, he’ll get bored. He gets bored so easily, after all.

You turn, try to launch yourself over the guardrail again.

This time, it’s not his evol, but his arms that wrap around you, pull you back from the fall.

You struggle, throwing your elbows, kicking, throwing your head back, hoping to catch his perfect nose, break it under the hardness of your stupid, useless skull.

He says nothing, just holds you tighter, wraps one arm around your waist, the other over your chest, his big hand cradling the side of your face, pressing your head back into his own chest, as he hunches over you, an immovable wall of warmth. As you fight to break free of his hold, you are wrapped in his scent—cloves, gun oil. 

Sylus.

Eventually, you tire yourself out—despite all of your strength, it is no match for his. He holds you against himself easily, as you pant, lungs burning with the effort, the sweat warm once again under your Hunter’s uniform. You become aware of a whimpering, the keening of a wounded animal.

It’s coming from your throat. Your eyes burn. You go limp in his arms.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. A voice like warm liquor in your veins. You think he’ll let you go. You prepare, hoping you can get to the guardrail again. Maybe this time he won't be so fast. But instead of releasing you, getting away from you as fast as he can, the arm around your waist moves up, cradling your upper back. He scoops his other arm under your legs, holds you against himself like you’re a delicate princess, if you were anyone else. But because it’s you, he’s probably just holding you like a useless sack of shit that would be too annoying to drop. He begins to walk, his stride steady, brisk.

He looks down into your face. “I bought a dress for you. Silk. A design like stars over a flowing river. That’s the only river you’re allowed in tonight, kitten.”

You stare at him. His breath puffs white in the cold air. The face of disgusted fury is replaced by his usual bored mask.

Why is he doing this to you? He wanted to kill you, just a few months ago. Why not let you do the job for him?

He is the only person in your life who didn’t take the hint. Who kept showing up, after you made it clear that you didn’t want their presence anymore. That you couldn’t handle the ties, because ties become nooses, snapping your neck when the other person leaves you behind.

When he showed up where you were, in a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the street, on a jog, you would turn, move in the other direction. He would match your stride, doggedly pestering you with questions, asking you about your evening or weekend plans, telling you silly stories from the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran’s latest antics. Sometimes he’d just walk in contemplative silence, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, or jog quietly next to you, never losing his breath, never complaining about the pace.

When you would routinely see him at various restaurants you were headed to in order to pick up takeout, you’d leave your food, immediately turning and hurrying away. When the same food was delivered to your door half an hour later, you’d refuse to answer, letting the confused and irritated delivery man leave. A half hour after that, the same man would be back, yell through the door that he had instructions to leave the food even if no one answered, and then he’d make good on his promise. You were faced with the choice of either letting the food go to waste, or eating it guiltily at your kitchen island.

No matter how many times you told the delivery person of the almost daily packages you received with no return address that you didn’t want to accept delivery, they would always insist that their instructions were to deliver regardless of recipient response. You were welcome to bin the items after receipt, but if you didn’t accept, the packages would just pile so high outside of your door that you couldn’t reach your apartment anymore.

You would accept, and then donate whatever exquisite item was inside to women’s shelters, children’s homes, university museums, soup kitchens, fundraiser auctions. No matter how clear it was that you wouldn’t accept anything from him, Sylus never stopped sending you gifts.

When you were sick, he’d show up personally, barge into your apartment when you were too tired to look at the doorbell camera before answering, a duffel bag gripped in his big hand filled with fever reducing medicine, homemade soup from his home chef, painkillers, hot water bottles, cooling pads, muscle pads, vitamins. He’d lounge on your couch, manspreading, insisting that he wouldn’t leave until he saw you swallow the pills and drink a gigantic glass of water.

He’d wait until you lay back down on your messy bed, until you fell asleep. He’d be gone when you woke again, but your apartment would be clean and your fridge and freezer would be stuffed full of healthy pre-prepared food.

You were half-convinced he was just buttering, fattening his prey before getting bored and mercifully ending its life.

Tonight, you are now fully convinced.

“Did your tongue freeze in your mouth?” he asks, descending the stairs you had just walked up, thinking it was your last time ascending them. “Do you need mouth-to-mouth to warm it up again?”

You scowl at him, at how appealing the idea of Sylus’s tongue in your mouth is, even now. You hate yourself, your traitorous body for being drawn to him, even now. “What’s the point of talking, when you never listen?” you grind out, your throat sore. You hadn’t realized how much your animal wailing had wrecked your throat. At least the tears are no longer so close to the surface that they’re threatening to spill.

“I listen to every word out of your beautiful mouth,” he counters serenely, with that same inexplicable kindness that makes your heart hurt. So at odds with how you know he must really feel about you. “I just listen to more than your mouth in order to hear what you’re really saying.”

“What?” You stare at his beautiful face, the way the lamplight illuminates its sharp features for a brief moment, before the night swallows it again as he moves between lampposts on his way… somewhere. Back the way you just came from.

He spares you a glance. “Your mouth says one thing, while the rest of you is screaming something else.”

You feel the blood draining from your face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

One corner of his beautiful mouth lifts. “Don’t play dumb, kitten. You’re too smart for it to be convincing.”

You were just falling into the river. You were just about to be free. How did you get here again? In this man’s arms, his smug, roguish smile filling you with the unease of being seen. 

“I mean, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more honest about the fact that you want people to fight for you, right?”

You begin to struggle again, shame lancing through you, making your body unbearable to be in. You know it’s weak, to have wanted so desperately that the people you were carving from your life would see what you were doing and stop you, place their hands over yours holding the cleaver, gently push it down, down, until it dropped from your grasp—how desperately you wanted them to step into your space, hold you tightly, just like this man who sees right through you is holding you now. You wanted Tara to keep inviting you out with your ridiculous colleagues, to sing your heart out at shitty karaoke clubs, to forcibly drag you to sleepovers and arcade nights. You wanted Xavier to push himself into your apartment, try to bake something horrible in your oven, sheepishly offer to go to the bakery with you instead when the fire alarm inevitably went off. You wanted Zayne to walk through the crowd to reach you at the other end of the hallway after you identified Josephine’s body, to ask to take your hand, to ask how you were doing, even though you knew you wouldn’t have been able to answer. You wanted Rafayel to keep inventing excuses for you to visit his studio, to keep insisting that he needed you to accompany him to expositions and fancy lunches as his bodyguard. 

But none of them did in the end, and that’s okay. You kept pushing them away, because your terror of their leaving was apparently bigger than your need for their presence in your life, and at least if they were already gone, as they inevitably would be, you’d finally be free. 

But the last person you would want to see this utterly humiliating need inside you, exposing you like this, is the one looking down at you right now with deceptively soft, all-seeing eyes.

You know the feeling, this need, of pulling away and pulling away and then being heartbroken when people finally let you is weak, and pathetic.

You may experience weak and pathetic feelings, but you’re not weak or pathetic. Not at your core. You were prepared to do what was necessary, to save yourself from the pain of your emptiness, the fire raging inside your chest. You weren’t asking anything of anyone. You were doing it all on your own. 

Not a burden. 

Never a fucking burden. 

You clench your teeth, buck in Sylus’s arms.

He just holds you tightly, a straightjacket for the insanity that you’re feeling, the insanity of this man, out of all the people in your life, stripping you of your masks, flaying you so that all of your most tender, shameful parts are exposed to both him and yourself.

“Stop that. You’re just going to tire yourself further, when I need you tonight.”

Of course. The quid pro quo. He helped you with the auction, the Aether Core. Now you owe him. He doesn’t give a fuck if you live or die—he just can’t let one of his assets destroy itself before it fulfills his purpose.

You go limp in his arms. Turn your head away from him.

He continues his train of thought. “No, it wouldn’t kill you to tell the truth to your friends, so you decided to take matters into your own hands, huh? Telling the people in your life that you actually need them wouldn’t kill you, so why bother, right, when you can just jump off of a fucking bridge?” His voice sounds like the night you met him. Controlled anger. Disgust. Accusation.

Then there’s something wrong with her.

You thought you had killed everything inside of you already. The yearning for human connection. The kindness of a friend. Family holding you in their arms. You thought you had scooped out most of it, even as some of it rekindled when he pulled you back from the fall.

But the way you’re hurting now, at the memory of his hate, the reminder that the people you love won’t fight for you even if it would be fighting against you, and that this man, for all of his false generosity, never cared for you from the beginning, that his gifts and his visits were all what you knew them to be, all along—a bored predator toying with its prey before using it and consuming it. 

You let your thoughts drift back to the bridge, push your pain away. Feed it to the fire. When he’s done with you, maybe you won’t even have to jump.

“Just shut up, Sylus. I’ll help you with your problem tonight. Just promise me you’ll toss me over yourself, when you’re done with me,” you tell the night, because you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

He stops walking. The wind is so cold against your face. You wish he’d snap your neck, right now. You’re so fucking tired.

“Look at me.” His voice is low. Menacing.

You watch the water. Wonder how long it would take if you just walked out into it, without jumping. Just walk in with your stone-weighted coat and let the cold paralyze you, the current pull you under.

“Look at me, my heart,” he whispers. The change in his tone, his bizarre endearment, has you turning your head, looking up into his face. “That is one promise I can never make you.” He looks like he’s in pain. You don’t know why. He leans down, rests his forehead against yours, hunching his big shoulders, lifting your body in his arms so he can meet you. His breath is warm against your lips. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

You want to snort. It’s rich, coming from him—the same man who is telling you not to tell him to shut up, after all the things he said to you as he starved you, strangled you.

“Please don’t tell me to kill you. To hurt you. That hurts me.”

You stare up into his face. See the sincerity in his eyes. The wind whips your hair. He wasn’t upset that you told him to shut up, but that you asked him to kill you? “What does it matter? Aren’t you going to, in the end?”

“Why would I stop you tonight, if I wanted you to die?”

Of course he won’t answer outright. When has Sylus Qin ever answered a direct question?

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Why bother stopping me, unless you just need to use me and then be done with me? I can’t be that irreplaceable. Just get someone else to put on the dress, and let me get on with my fucking life. Someone who you can train to say just the right things, at just the right time, who’ll look good in whatever fancy shit you want to put her in. There’s gotta be easier idiots than me to serve your purpose.”

He closes his eyes, breathes in the cold night air. When he opens them, you have to look away. You can’t handle whatever is in them. “I know I hurt you, when we first met. That I said cruel things to you. I’m sorry.”

You laugh, even as your heart wrenches at this strange apology. Of course he doesn’t explain what offended him so much about your existence at the beginning. Why he treated you exactly how you deserved. Probably just whatever he saw when he used his Aether Core on you. He saw the echoing chambers of your empty, fucked up heart and was enraged that it was you, and not someone worthy, who would absorb the Aether Core. “There’s never been any need to varnish the truth, Sylus. You almost choked me to death the day we met. You should have fucking finished what you started,” you sneer. “Why does no one ever finish what they start?” You think of Josephine, her researcher cronies. Think of Caleb, his promise to return, the last text he ever sent you. Your fucking parents, who you will never know.

You don’t expect an answer.

And yet, you’re surprised when Sylus wordlessly releases his hold on you. Lets you slip from his arms, sets you back on your feet. You settle in your heavy boots, the weight of your coat, the stones in your pockets, grounding you to the earth.

The lamplight shines in his silver-sheened, wind-tousled hair. His cheeks are red from the cold.

Of course. Of course.

No tool is irreplaceable.

You’re not irreplaceable.

You finally said the right thing, to push him away.

This is it. This is it. This is it. 

Your mind returns to the bridge. Your hand is holding the cleaver, dripping with the blood from the last unwelcome tether to your life.

You try to memorize his face, just as you did Zayne’s, but for some reason looking at Sylus’s face hurts you so much more despite having known him for so little time. Just a sigh, in the timeline of your life. The warm glow of his irises. The softness of his lower lip. The pride in his shoulders, his nose. 

Maybe you didn’t want to think of him before jumping because you had fallen in love with him, despite the fact that any affection he offered was counterfeit—the steady way he breathed next to you on a jog, the way he spread out on your couch, his dry humor, his intelligence, his piercing gaze, his kindness that was actually more cruel than if he had just tossed you out and never bothered to look for you again after the auction.

You knew it was fake. You knew it was calculated. You knew that the reality was, because he had told you from the very beginning—

Don’t tell me that you like me. Is this all so you can get my attention?

Clearly you’ve read too many fairytales.

And yet you had believed, in the bright moments of receiving his kind attention, in the fairytale. Just for a heartbeat. A raindrop, splattering on the ground.

You thought that you couldn’t bear to see what it looks like when Sylus finally tires of you pushing him away, and stops reaching out, as everyone else has. 

But with just a few words, you’ve finally managed to do it. He set the burden of you down, and now he’ll walk away, replace you with some other beautiful, breathing tool.

You learn in this moment that you actually can bear it. You can bear anything, as long as you know that very soon, you won’t have to bear anything at all.

“You wanted the truth?” you say, suddenly, the relief flooding through you that the worst has happened, that you’re now actually free. You think of the fabric of the dress, liquid stars over a night river, and wonder whose body it will caress, with Sylus’s big hand on her waist, his gentle fingers drifting across her collarbone, his forehead pressed against hers, for whatever ruse he needs to run tonight, on Christmas Eve.

He grows still. Watches you carefully, as if searching your face for a trick. You look back at him steadily, scooping everything inside you out, letting it splatter onto the sidewalk, here along this dark riverbank.

“Will you give it to me?” he finally asks.

“As a parting thank you gift, for cutting me loose.” You nod. Take a shuddering breath of the frigid air. “Here is me telling you the truth: you should treat the woman who ends up wearing the dress you got with more gentleness than you did me at the beginning. You could have the world eating out of the palm of your hand, if you skip the cruelty at the beginning and just treat people the way you treated me in the last few months. She’ll do anything for you, I think, if you do. Because somehow you made me love you, despite our beginning. I could bear to cut everyone else loose but you.” You laugh, and the sound is like icicles snapping, shattering on the ground. “Thank you for doing it for me, instead. It’s probably the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

You smile at him. 

You don’t know why you’re surprised that he just frowns deeply, brow furrowing. 

Well. That’s okay. You never expected him to be pleased to see your face, smiling or not.

“Good luck, Sylus.”

You turn, begin to walk back the way you came, for the second time tonight. Your thoughts are already at the bridge. You’ve been falling for months now. Soon you’ll finally hit the crystal water and shatter. 

You hope you won’t be reborn.

“You said you love me.” His deep, low voice is carried by the wind.

You stop, turn your head. “Stupid, huh?” you ask, wondering if he wants to pour salt into the wound you just willingly exposed to him.

“Why would you love someone who treated you the way I did?”

You turn fully, face him across the night, one last time. “You’re so fucking funny. I’ve always appreciated men who can make me laugh.” You shrug. “And I’m a pathetic fool. You pretended to be kind, and I lapped it up like the thirsty dog I am.”

He tilts his head, takes a step towards you. “That’s all?”

You take a step back. You don’t need him and his pretty face, his delicious scent any closer to torment you.

You offer him more truth. “Of course not.”

“What else?”

You sigh. “What does it matter? We’ll never see each other again.”

He shakes his head. “Indulge me.”

So salt, it is. You press your fingers into the most tender part of yourself, peel yourself wide open. “Your cleverness. How sweet you can be when you want something—strangely pliant, for such a big, powerful man. The self confidence you have. I could say, do anything and you did so well pretending to never be embarrassed of me. You made me believe, very briefly, that you really wanted to be with me, do anything, go anywhere, just because I was there. It’s quite impressive, really. I can see why you’re so good at business. You’re competent. You’re beautiful to look at.” You pause, shake your head in turn. “But you already know all that. You know why you’re loveable. You made me feel cherished in a way that no one ever has, even as I was pushing you away. But honestly, those are just parts of you. They don’t fully cover what it is about you that makes my heart ache when I look at you. I love you because you’re you. Even hearing your name makes my heart race. Seeing your shoes in my foyer, because they were on your feet. The curve of your wrist, because it belongs to you. I know it’s pathetic, and stupid.” You shrug again. “Can’t help it, though.”

He stares at you. 

You prod him. “Is that enough?”

“How can you ask if that’s enough, when it’s everything?”

You look at him in confusion. “Huh?”

He takes a step towards you, frowning. “Are you only telling me all this because you think I’ve finally given up and allowed you to push me away, because I set you back on your feet?”

You take a step back, as he takes another step forward.“What do you mean ‘I think’ you’ve given up?” You squint at him.

“Did you only tell me all this because you’re going straight back to the bridge to try again?”

You take another step back at the intensity of his face, his question. “What does it matter? You don’t have to worry about what happens to me after this.”

He takes two steps. “You tell me you love everything about me, and then you plan to fuck off and leave me alone again?”

Okay, this was a mistake. You don’t know why he’s mad, but he’s mad again. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what else to say. You’ve been sorry your whole life. This is yet another miscalculation. You should have just left. What did you think would happen if you told him how you feel? That he’d be happy about your pathetic heart bleeding pitifully for him?

He strides over to you, his long legs outpacing your own. “If you’re sorry, don’t fucking do it.”

“What?”

He looks down into your face, so close you can smell him again, you can see the fine lines around his eyes as he frowns. “If you’re really sorry for loving me, for ever meeting me—which are the only things you have to be sorry for, then make it up to me by staying. Don’t leave me. Don’t push me away anymore. Just stay, and love me.”

You huff. “Are you really that desperate for help tonight?”

He lifts his hands, places his palms on your cheeks, his long fingers dipping into your hair. “No, I’m desperate for you tonight. It’s Christmas—I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do. I want to spend it with you. You made me watch you jump off of a goddamned bridge. What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?” He sounds so upset. You’ve never seen him like this. The fear is naked on his lovely face.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What does it matter? You said you could get someone else for the dress, for tonight.” You’re so confused. Why is he acting like this?

“I didn’t say any of that. You suggested that I replace you with someone else, I set you on the ground to make sure you were looking at my face, that you were listening to my words when I told you that you’re irreplaceable. That no one else will do. That after watching you almost die, I can’t continue being cautious and trying not to frighten you away anymore.”

“You… what?” 

“You love me. Right? You weren’t lying?” he looks uncertain, like he can’t quite believe it.

You can’t bring yourself to lie. The truth is out. You’re witnessing the fallout. There’s no point in backpedaling. “Yeah.”

He nods, once, decisively. “Okay. That’s enough.”

You sigh in relief. Maybe he’ll let you go, finally, finally.

He checks his chunky watch, the platinum flashing in the lamplight. “There’s still time.”

“Time for what?”

“For my plans tonight. Come.” He closes the distance, sweeps you into his arms again, cradles your body against him like something fragile.

“What plans? Listen—” you start to argue.

“No. Now it’s my turn to speak, and for you to listen.” he squeezes you tightly. “Today was the last day you spend alone. If you can’t live for yourself, then you can live for me, until you remember why you want to live for yourself again. No matter what you say, or what you do to get rid of me, it’s not going to work.”

You can’t even process what is happening. “What are you—?” you begin, but he cuts you off again.

His voice is strained, rough. “You love me. So you have to take responsibility. You have to stay.”

You don’t know what to say. 

I’m desperate for you tonight.

You can’t believe this. He hates you. He has hated you from the beginning. He was so kind to you because he wanted to use you for something he never bothered explaining to you. He needs you for your resonance, your amplification of his powers.

You’re irreplaceable. No one else will do.

Because of your resonance?

I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do.

He carries you along the wind-swept riverbank, through the frigid night. Stars above, stars below.

You made me watch you jump off a goddamned bridge.

You didn’t think anyone was left to care.

You were so careful, severing ties like arteries, so that you wouldn’t leave the world with more pain than you found it. It was already bleeding so much.

You just were so tired of bleeding with it.

As if sensing the turn of your thoughts, Sylus carries you to the edge of the river’ embankment, where the concrete falls away, drops into the water.

He sets you down again, but doesn’t let you go. His big hands slide down the outside of your coat, dip into your pockets.

He pulls out a smooth stone. Turns it in his hands.

“I’ll never understand how someone so light can weigh so heavily in me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.”

His ember eyes flick back to yours. He hands you the stone.

“This is your conviction that the world won’t miss you, if you’re gone. You will hold it in your hand, one last time. And then you will throw it in the water.” He wraps your cold fingers around the stone. Somehow, his fingers are still warm.

You grasp it, look up into his face. You see yourself in them. It hurts, to be seen so clearly. You’re so ashamed. “How did you know?”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head a little. Opens them. “I looked into your soul, the day we met. I know you’re too soft-hearted in this life to kill yourself if you thought it would hurt someone else. You don’t carry that spite, anymore.”

In this life.

Anymore.

You can’t bring yourself to ask him what he means. You only know that once again, Sylus Qin has seen inside you, has seen you, in a way no one else ever has.

“But I don’t think anyone would miss me. I made sure of it.”

He huffs. “You’re a fool, if you actually believe that. The people you’ve pushed away still love you. But if you can’t believe that yet, then you can’t pretend to yourself that you’re disposable anymore, if for no other reason than I’m standing here now, telling you that I would miss you.”

You think of Tara, sitting on your desk, nudging a steaming latte she got for you on her way to work toward you, asking if you’ve heard the latest about Simone and Andrew.

You think of Xavier, walking you to your door at the end of a nasty wanderer encounter, reaching out, brushing a bit of mud off your cheek, then smearing it across his own cheek. See, we match now.

You think of Zayne, waiting across a busy hallway, patient, letting you choose to approach him, and respecting you by letting you walk away.

You think of Raf, the beauty he shares with you with every photo, the funny strings of emoji that don’t demand an answer.

“How do you know, that they would miss me?” you ask Sylus quietly.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, sweetie. Do you think I haven’t seen your friends’ faces when you walk away from them?”

You clutch the stone in your hand. “I don’t think I can change my thoughts, my conviction, just like that.”

“You love me, so you have to try. Throw it. Every time you try to drag it back up, I’ll remind you that you threw it away, and you can let it stay at the bottom of the river.” He reaches up, caresses your cheek with his fingertips.

You want to cry. You want to cry, because you’re so afraid. If you let yourself believe that people love you, you have to stay, for them. You have to feel, every day, the weight of grief, of existence, the pain of being alive, of being inside yourself, your body. The hollowness will return, even with your friends, even with Sylus filling most of it.

It’s like he can read your thoughts as his eyes devour your face, as his fingers tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I won’t let you pretend, anymore. You love me, and I will not survive if you aren’t here with me. So you have to stay. We don’t have to accept that life is a curse. We can fight back. Make it something better.”

“I’m scared,” you say.

His eyes are so tender, as he watches your mouth form your biggest truth, set it free in the night. “I will protect you, until you can protect yourself again. There’s nothing to be afraid of, if we’re together.”

You want to believe him. Your heart beats painfully behind your ribs. The moon is a sharp crescent in the sky. 

But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.

“You’ll really stay?”

He finally smiles, a faint Sylus smile that feels like a grin. “I told you. Today was the last day you’ll ever be alone. You can’t get rid of me now, no matter what you do, or say.”

You turn, holding the stone in your cold hands. You think of all the lies you’ve been telling yourself, about your friends, your place in their lives, because you were so tired of living with an unnameable grief, one you carried inside you long before Caleb and Josephine died, but whose loss compounded, made unbearable the original sorrow.

And I will not survive if you aren’t here with me.

You don’t know why he feels this way. Does he love you too? He hasn’t said so. Can he even love you, in the way you love him?

Does it matter? 

It’s enough, that he says he’ll stay. That he wants you to stay alive. That he’ll help remind you, when the whispers drift back in your mind, telling you that you’re just a burden, that no one actually loves you, would miss you when you’re gone. When the hollowness echoes so loudly it’s all you can hear.

You lean back, lift the stone, throw it as hard as you can, as far as you can, into the rushing river.

You don’t hear its splash over the wind.

You turn back to Sylus.

He dips into your pocket again. Pulls out another stone. “Your guilt, for having lived. For having been born.”

You take it from him. Let your mind drift. Feel along the contours of your memories, the jagged, missing pieces, all the way back to when it fades to black. You throw the stone.

You don’t see it sink to the riverbed.

He dips into your pocket again. “Your shame, for needing others. For being human, and imperfect. For not being able to do it all alone. For wanting to be loved.”

You take the stone. “Is it really okay?” you ask, helplessly. There’s no point pretending everything he is saying isn’t true. “To want these things, when I haven’t earned them?”

He steps closer to you. Places his hands on your shoulders, draws you in. “There is no okay, or not okay. There is no crime and punishment, no transgression, no sin. How can it be shameful, to want what you were born to want? Why does love have to be earned, instead of just given?”

You lean into him, press your face into his chest, his thick wool coat soft against your skin.

“I don’t know.”

He reaches into your pocket, places a stone in your other hand. “One for your shame, one for the idea that love must be earned. Throw them.”

You lean back again, and it’s already too far away from him. But you throw each stone, and they disappear under the cold water.

“That’s enough, for now. We’ll take the rest home.” He draws you back into his arms. Lifts you without effort, stone-filled pockets and all. The weight of all of you.  “When you have thoughts of shame, of guilt, of not being loved, we’ll come back. You’ll throw them again. Until they’re all gone. We’ll gather other stones, when other feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.”

Sylus carries you along the path back to the road that snakes along the river. His motorcycle gleams under a bright lamppost.

He settles a helmet on your head, checks to make sure it’s secure. Puts his own on. You sit behind him, cling to him. Rest your head against his broad back, close your eyes. The motorcycle is loud, and he drives it carefully through the busy, holiday bustling streets, until he reaches your apartment building. He holds your hand as he leads you through the front doors, as he stands quietly beside you in the elevator, his red, warm eyes never leaving your face in the elevator mirrors. He leads you to your front door, waits patiently while you unlock it with your cold finger.

In the hallway, he kneels at your feet, unlaces your tall boots while you look down at him, the soft fall of his silver hair, his big, nimble fingers working the laces.

He then removes his own boots. His coat. He’s wearing a garishly bright Christmas sweater, with prancing reindeer. He hangs his coat on a peg in the wall. He turns, slowly unzips yours. Eyes flicking between the zipper and your face. He gently lifts it from your body, again like it’s weightless, even though it’s still filled with stones. He pulls it from your arms, hangs it next to his.

He pulls you further into your place.

The first thing you notice is the warmth. It’s so warm, like someone came in while you were gone and turned on the heating.

The next thing you notice is the Christmas tree. The one you didn’t get this year, because the thought of the holidays without Caleb and your grandmother was unbearable.

Beautifully, tastefully decorated. Silver and gold, twinkling lights. Its pine scent fills your place.

Sylus moves to a record player on one of the cabinets along your living room wall. A record player that wasn’t here before you went to work today. He fiddles with the arm, and suddenly Joni Mitchell’s River fills your house.

It’s coming on Christmas

They’re cutting down trees

They're putting up reindeer

And singing songs of joy and peace

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He walks back to you. “Is this okay?”

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

Whoa I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The music flows around you, paralyzing you. You stare into his face, into the warm glow of his eyes. How could you have missed this? The way he’s looking at you now? Through all the long months since the auction?

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The words wash over you, through you. The scent of pine warms you, memories without form filling you with the sense of home, safety, love.

I made my baby cry

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

Now I've gone and lost the best baby

That I ever had

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He takes your hands in his, thumbs across your skin. “Is it too much?”

You think of how cold it was, standing on the guardrail of the bridge. 

You were running toward the bridge, while Sylus was filling your home with warmth.

What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?

You think of him spreading out on your couch, as a fever raged through your body. You think of your freezer, filled with food. You think of the takeout boxes, still steaming, sitting in front of your closed door.

You think of him hanging delicate ornaments on a fragrant tree. 

I made my baby cry

You shake your head, the enormity of what almost happened filling you. The enormity of the choice you made, that you enacted, until Sylus pulled you back from the rushing dark.

You start to shake.

“Kitten?”

“It’s not too much,” you say, teeth chattering. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

He stares down at you, seems to make a decision. “Shower. Now.”

You nod, moving away from him, but he follows. 

Inside your small bathroom, he takes up the entire space. He peels off your hunter’s uniform, tosses it beyond the open bathroom door. His gaze flicks from your undershirt, your underwear, to your face. “Do you want me to leave?”

You think of the dark water, an impact that never came. Sylus plugging in the record player, choosing a record with one of your favorite Christmas songs on it. Placing it delicately on the turntable.

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again.”

He smiles a little. “I mean, leave the bathroom.”

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again,” you repeat.

He stares into your eyes. Nods. Lifts your undershirt. He reaches behind you, unhooks your bra with the same agility that he unlaced your boots. He lifts it from your body, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales.

You shiver.

He tosses the bra behind him. Kneels. Pulls your underwear from your hips, down your legs. You step out of them. He stands again.

He leans over, his ridiculous, festive sweater soft against your cheek, as he reaches past you to turn on the shower faucet. As he messes with the knobs until steam begins to fill the small space. He nudges you forward, past the sliding glass door and into the small shower cabin, letting the hot water pour over you. You turn, watch him through the clear glass. He picks up your underwear, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales as he did with your bra. His eyes close for a moment, and then open. He tucks the little slip of fabric into his pants pocket, sits on the closed toilet, rests his elbows on his knees, and continues to watch you.

You let the hot water flow over your tired, cold body. You stare at Sylus’s face, let it fill your vision, blot out the rushing river, the impact that never came, the idea of everything you would have missed, if he hadn’t pulled you out. Everything you would have missed, in such a short amount of time. What else would you miss, if he hadn’t caught you? If he could give you so much within an hour, how much would you have missed in a day? In a week?

What have you been fighting, this whole time? 

Just yourself. 

You think of the stones at the bottom of the riverbed, instead of your body. Your conviction that you’re not loved, your guilt, your shame, instead of you.

You stare at the man who handed you each one, and told you to get rid of them, instead of yourself. The man sitting in your tiny bathroom, filling it with his big body, his even bigger presence, staring at you, staring at him.

You stop shaking.

Reach for the body wash, lather your hands. Run your hands along your body, under your armpits. He frowns, eyes on your hands. You palm your breasts, dip between your legs.

He lowers his head, eyes still on your hands, rests his full lips on his long steepled fingers.

You finish lathering your body, let the water wash it away. He’s too far away, even this close, on the other side of the glass.

As you turn off the water, he stands, lifts one of your towels from the rack. Holds it out for you. You step into it, him, let him wrap it around you. He turns you both, so that you’re looking in the bathroom mirror, which is mostly fogged.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod, soaking in his warmth at your back, the steam of the bathroom. 

You have a question, a question you can’t bring yourself to say out loud yet.

You reach out with one hand. Trace a finger through the fogged mirror.

Sylus watches you, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

Letters, a question.

Do you like me? Circle yes or no

Sylus smiles again, lifts an eyebrow. He reaches out, takes your hand in his. He circles no with your finger.

You frown, heart sinking, but Sylus just whispers, “Patience, kitten,” and flattens your palm across like. Guides your finger again, just above the erased like, drags it through the moisture in an elegant script.

love

He then gently sets your hand down. Lifts his own, circles with one long finger, yes.

He watches your reaction in the mirror.

You had no idea.

This whole time, you had no idea, even though he was showing you, with every ‘chance’ encounter, his pestering you with questions about work, life, his silly stories about the N109 Zone. His packages at your door. Fever medication, a big glass of water shoved into your hands.

You think of the rushing water, what almost happened. What you almost missed.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me believe you still hated me?”

He looks down at you now, away from your reflection in the mirror. His eyes trail your face, down your curved neck. He palms the back of your neck, his thumb drifting along the side, over a mole there.

“Have you heard of the myth that where we have moles is where someone kissed us in a past life?”

Even if so much has changed between you in just the last few hours, you’re reassured that Sylus Qin still can’t answer a straightforward question with a straightforward answer.

You shake your head. “No, I had never heard of that.”

Sylus smiles, and it looks a little sad. He leans down, presses the softest of kisses against your skin, the mole there. “Like most human legends, it’s a pretty lie. Not quite true.”

You laugh. “I could have guessed as much.” You tilt your neck, enjoying the press of his warm lips on your skin for the first time.

He opens his mouth, runs his teeth over where he just kissed you. Bites, gently.

You shiver again. Press your neck into, instead of away from his teeth.

He bites harder.

You gasp.

“I was afraid I’d frighten you with the enormity of my feelings for you, when in your mind, we’d only just met,” he murmurs against your neck, his saliva, the indentation of his teeth hot on your skin.

He bites again, presses himself into your ass through the towel. You realize he’s hard.

You forget about the last part of his sentence. Had you not only just met?

You lift your hands, let the towel unfurl from around your body, let it drop to the floor.

You almost died tonight.

What have you been fighting this whole time?

Just yourself. 

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

You turn in his arms. He’s breathing hard, cheeks pink.

“You love me?”

He closes his eyes. Opens them. Shakes his head. “Love isn’t intense enough.”

“Adore me?” You lift your arms, wrap them around his neck. Pull his face closer to your own.

He shakes his head again. “Still not enough.”

“You won’t survive without me?” You lift on your toes, his soft sweater almost unbearable against your sensitive nipples.

He nods. “You’re getting closer. Can’t breathe without you. When I saw you jump…” He swallows, thickly. “You might as well have pulled me down with you, beloved. If it ever gets to be too much again, take me with you. I’ll never leave you alone again. Promise me the same,” he demands, big, calloused hands running up your naked sides, the fabric of his dark jeans rough against your body, where your thighs meet, as he helplessly nudges against you again with his hips, his hard dick behind his zipper.

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

“I wouldn’t have known, unless you told me,” you breathe against his lips. “Promise that you’ll tell me how you’re feeling from now on, and I’ll promise to take you with me if I can’t leave the stones in the riverbed, even with you here.”

His voice is deep, rough like the fabric of his pants against your sensitive skin. “Deal.” He closes the distance, presses his soft lips to yours. Licks into your mouth.

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

His hands drift down your sides as his tongue dips into your throat, as he swallows your noises of pleasure, just from kissing him, his hands on you. He grips your ass, urges your legs around his waist. He carries you out of the tiny, steaming bathroom, manages not to knock you against the doorway, or into any furniture on the way to your bedroom, even as he continues to kiss you, as your hands in his soft hair probably block his peripheral view. He lays you down on your bed, the puff of your duvet. It’s so warm in your place that you’re not even shivering. You watch as he pulls his cheerful sweater and undershirt over his head, tosses them to the floor. As he unzips himself, hastily yanks down his pants and boxers, his socks. He blankets you with his big body.

You wrap your arms around him, pull him tightly to you, arch your breasts into his chest. He leans down, runs his nose along your cheek, inhales the scent of your hair at your temple. You just feel each other, for a long stretch of time. His soft chest hair against your skin, the silken skin of his dick between your thighs where he just leisurely rubs himself against you, as your palms run down the muscles of his back, the line of his spine. You’ve refused to think of him like this, ever since he wrapped his hand around your throat. You couldn’t bear his beauty, through all the long months that followed. You fled, every time your heart raced at the flash of silver as he approached you, met you where you were, over and over and over.

But now he says he has loved you, through it all. That he’ll never leave you alone again.

You let yourself feel him, under your hands, under your tongue, as you lick into his ear, feel him shiver. As you squeeze your thighs together, offering him a tight, snug space for him to keep pleasuring himself, as you feel your own wetness begin to coat your inner thighs, his cock, the longer you feel him on top of you, inhale the scent of his skin, the ever-present gun oil, the cloves, his clean sweat underneath it all.

After a lifetime, or only a few minutes, he leans down, says softly into your ear. “I want you. Tell me you want me too.”

“Can’t you tell?” you ask, bucking a little, squeezing him with your legs again.

He makes a low, pleasured sound in his throat. “I want to hear you say it. You’ve gone through a lot tonight. I need to know you actually want this. That you’re not just—” his breath hitches, as you move your hips again, as his dick slips between your wet, soft places. “That you’re not too tired to say otherwise, not thinking straight.”

“Use your Aether Core on me. Then you’ll know that my body is telling you what my mouth would, if I said the words.” You smile at him, teasing. 

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

You had wanted to fly. You had settled for flying for a brief moment, before shattering. 

But Sylus is offering you constant flight, under, over, along his crow’s wings.

You think of the rushing water. The tide of cars behind you, the wind whipping your hair. You almost missed this. You don’t want to waste any more time.

He lowers his forehead to yours, breathes, speaks against your saliva-slick lips with his own. “I don’t want to use my Aether Core on you. I want the words in your mouth, in your heart. I want your free will, your freely given consent. I almost lost you because I tried to force you, at the beginning. You believed I hated you, this whole time. Don’t ask me to force you again, my heart.”

You understand. You accept his request, his demand. “I want you, Sylus.”

He exhales, shifts above you, slips his wet cock between your legs, slides into your body with gentle, firm, graceful waves of his hips.

You whine, the feeling of fullness layering into the pleasure of the warmth of his skin, the taste of his tongue. For once, the feelings inside you threatening to burst out of your skin are so good, instead of painful, so pleasurable, that you can barely stand it. 

He kisses you, his velvet tongue big, heavy in your mouth. You suck, whine again as he lifts a hand, palms your breast, begins to thrust into you.

You are filled with him. His warmth. The size of him.

You widen your legs, wrap them around his thick ass. Urge him with your own body to move faster, to fuck you harder. He gives you everything you want. Just the pressure of his body against yours has you coming, the release bright, sudden—you shake with it.

Your pleasure seems to trigger his. He grunts, roots into you, buries his teeth in your neck, bites where he bit you before, over the mole on your neck. The sting makes you clench, and he whimpers, groans, comes with a jerk of his hips.

He slows, still filling you, still pleasuring you, as he lifts his head to look into your eyes.

You stare at each other, breath mingling, warm between you. 

You smile at him. 

He smiles at you. Nudges your nose with his.

“Can we do that again?” you ask.

He laughs, low and surprised. “Yeah,” he says, kissing you softly. “Just tell me, and I’m yours, anytime, anyplace.”

“I’m telling you.” You move your hips, feel his cum drip drown your ass. Feel him gasp at your movement.

“Now?” He’s surprised again.

“Problem?” you grin at him. 

“Fuck no.” He kisses you, hard. Slips out of you. Flips you over, lifts your hips with one big hand, pressing his other between your shoulder blades.

He presses his cock back between your legs, the slide easy and wet, and fucks you until you come again, until he blankets your back with his sweat-slicked, matted-hair chest.

“Was that enough, your highness?” he teases.

“I’m telling you,” you pant, wondering what he’ll do. 

“As you wish,” he murmurs, before flipping you again. Before watching your face as he slowly, leisurely works himself, his cum into you, makes you come again. 

In the morning, the sky through your windows is heavy, dark, gray. You wake slowly. Turn your head, find Sylus’s sleeping face next to yours on the pillow. He’s lying on his stomach. You take in the dark sweep of his lashes, his generous mouth, slightly parted.

You slip out of the bed, use the bathroom. You wander into the living room, gaze at the Christmas tree, its twinkling lights.

It’s Christmas.

Caleb and your grandmother are dead. 

But you’re still alive.

Your body aches from Sylus’s efforts, but it feels good. For once, it feels good to be inside your body. To breathe deeply.

You think of riverstones, sinking deep in the riverbed.

You know that the feelings tied to them will try to rise, clawing to the surface again.

We’ll gather other stones, when your feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.

Your eyes drift to the top of the Christmas tree. It’s empty.

“I thought we should finish it together.” Sylus’s warm arms wrap around you from behind. He leans over your shoulder, kisses your cheek softly. “Do you want to do the honors?”

You smile, wrapping your hands over his forearms around your waist. “You’re taller.”

“Use me as much as you like, kitten.” He turns, grabs a pretty golden glass tree-topper from your kitchen table, hands it to you. He lifts you up onto one shoulder, easily, and you fit it gently over the highest point of the tree. He holds you against him, as he lowers you. You slide along his body, until he sets you gently on your feet again.

You both stand, admiring it for a moment. It’s beautiful, like the rest of the decorations.

You hug him, look up into his face.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

He smiles down at you, ruby eyes twinkling with reflected light from the tree. 

You would have missed this moment, and all the moments like it, if Sylus hadn’t stopped you last night. You shudder, hug him more tightly. 

You know your feelings will return. That no one person can solve a lifetime of wounds. But you promised him that you’d try. That you’d stay. You can only do your best.

You hear your phone vibrating, reluctantly pull away from him, head to your coat in the hallway where you thought you left it last night, but Sylus stops you. He points at your kitchen island. Your phone is lying on the counter. You look at him in confusion, but go to check it.

You’re shocked at how many missed texts you have.

From Tara.

Xavier.

Your eyes widen.

Zayne, who you thought you had blocked, months ago.

Rafayel, who you’re sure you blocked last night.

Each one is a response from a text you never sent. Telling them Merry Christmas. Telling them you love them. Telling them you hope to spend time with them soon.

None of them shame you, call you out on your behavior of the last year. Even Zayne simply suggests that you try a new bakery, that you’ve been in his thoughts, that he’s relieved you felt comfortable enough to reach out. Rafayel sends a bunch of firework emojis, suggests blowing shit up on the beach for New Year’s.

You turn to Sylus.

He looks steadily back at you, silver hair sleep-tousled, wine-bright eyes glowing.

Your eyes feel hot, and you realize you’re crying, the tears fat on your cheeks, dripping down your neck. 

This is the first time you’ve cried since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace bright in the reflected fire.

Sylus walks over to you. Leans down, licks the tears from your cheeks with his warm tongue, one after the other. He kisses you, ignoring your suddenly snotty nose, your morning breath.

“If it’s too much, we can take it slow. We can throw more stones in the river. But please answer your friends. You need them. And you’re a fool, if you can’t see that they need you too, if that makes you feel better about your own need.”

You continue to cry as you wrap your arms around Sylus’s neck. As he gently sways with you, to music that isn’t playing. He hums, and you think it’s Joni Mitchell’s The River, but you can’t be sure. You smile against his chest.

A thought occurs to you.

“Last night, you said there was still time. That you had plans for us, a pretty dress for me. What did we miss?”

Sylus sighs, holds you closer against himself. “Don’t worry about it.”

You stop, look up into his face. “What did you have planned, Sylus? Are you sorry we missed it?”

He smiles at you. “Oh yes, so sorry I got to spend all night fucking you instead of going to a holiday concert featuring the organ.” His voice drips sarcasm. “But we can go tonight, if you’d like to make it up to me.”

You laugh, bury your face back into his chest. “And here I had planned to suck your cock while watching a black and white Christmas film marathon tonight,” you say forlornly. You smile into his chest as he chokes. “Oh well, the concert it is.”

He just laughs, rich and deep, and continues to sway you slowly in your living room.

“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Sylus says against your hair, in your pine scented apartment, as snow begins to fall outside your windows, as your phone continues to vibrate, filled with the love of your friends.

Here you are. Again.

You’re so grateful, to be here, again.

[leashybebes]

Congrats on your milestone! 🥳

For the prompt:

I enjoy your Buck & Bobby stories and I would love some Bobby & Tommy bonding. Maybe Bobby gives Tommy the secret ingredient for the lasagna that he haven't even given Buck yet?

no pressure, if it sparks joy 🥰

thank you! it does spark joy, so naturally i wrote some angst. i'm so sorry, i don't think this is exactly what you were looking for!! sorryyyyy. IOU one (1) fluff

It's purely a coincidence that Bobby sees him first, as he's coming back from calling Athena to make sure she'd got back from work okay. Tommy's just stepping into the station, looking around - eagerly, Bobby thinks at first.

"Hey, Tommy. This is a nice surprise," he says, and the way Tommy almost flinches at the sound of his voice makes him think it's more like anxiously. "You're looking for Buck?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I know there's a few hours left of your shift."

"That's okay. I sent him and Eddie on a supply run so provided they don't manage to start a riot somehow they should be back soon."

"Oh, that's - sure, I'll just go - " Tommy half turns to head back outside.

Since Tommy came back into their lives, Bobby has been pleasantly surprised at how easy it is to read him. Of everyone at the 118 when Bobby first arrived, Tommy was the most locked down, the slowest to open up. He's a pretty open book nowadays, and not just with the way he looks at Buck. Right now though, there's more than a hint of that stiff, cautious young man Bobby first met.

"Tommy, is everything okay?"

"Um. Yeah," Tommy says, but there are unshed tears in his eyes all of a sudden, and his lips are pressed tightly together.

"My office," Bobby offers. "C'mon."

Tommy hesitates, and Bobby gets a hand on his elbow, not about to take no for an answer. Tommy tenses for a second but then his body sags, giving in, and he lets himself be walked up the stairs and past the couch. Chim looks up from his phone with a grin, but Bobby gives him a minute shake of the head, and he settles back, looking troubled.

Bobby steers Tommy into his office and closes the door. Tommy sits in the same chair he'd sat in all those years ago, when he'd admitted to Bobby how much he missed flying, and they'd started working on his transfer. Bobby doesn't put the desk between them this time, leaning against the corner of it instead.

Tommy's eyes are on his hands which are in his lap. Which are shaking, Bobby realizes.

"What's up, kid?"

"My, uh. My dad died," Tommy says, and it sounds like he's surprised that he let it come out.

Bobby's been enjoying getting to know this new, realer version of Tommy, and he thinks they're well on their way to being friends, but he's very aware that he's not the one who's needed here right now.

"You want me to give Buck a call? Get him back here?"

"No, you don't have to do that," Tommy says. "I'm fine."

Bobby privately thinks that if Tommy was actually fine, he'd have waited out the rest of Buck's shift instead of walking into the station looking like he has a fingertip hold on his composure.

"Okay," he says. 

"Really," Tommy says. "We hadn't even spoken in ten years."

As though that will make it less complicated, rather than more so.

"It was, uh. Liver cancer, in the end. Ironic, really," Tommy says, and then falters, looking like he wants to clap a hand over his mouth. 

Bobby feels like he has a sense of where this is going, and he tips his head. "Yeah?"

"Sorry, that was a shitty thing to - he was in recovery for a long time."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Tommy."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was. Well, you know."

"Yeah."

Tommy rubs a hand over his eyes, like he's embarrassed about a complicated relationship with an alcoholic father. Bobby aches for him, sneaks a quick glance at the clock, trying to estimate how long it'll take Buck and Eddie to get back. 

"He actually…he'd been sober since a few years after I got out of the army. Didn't start working the program until I was enlisted, but it finally stuck. It didn't make him a good person, but he felt like it did."

"Yeah, that's a risk," Bobby admits. "I guess Buck told you about my - "

Tommy's laugh sounds a little hollow, but his smile looks genuine. "No. In the nicest possible way, I could see you white knuckling from a mile off."

Bobby reevaluates some of how cautious Tommy was around him to begin with.

"Yeah, you do get good at spotting the signs," he allows. "Mostly in other people, in my case."

Tommy nods. "I have a lot of rules," he says. "No neat spirits. Not after a bad shift. Not alone."

"You stick to 'em?"

"Mostly. All the time, lately."

It's Bobby's turn to nod. "That's good."

"My cousin's organizing a funeral," Tommy says suddenly. "I don't - do I go?"

Bobby's well aware that Tommy probably wouldn't have deliberately come to him with this, but they're here now, so he takes a careful breath and asks, "Do you want to go?"

"I want - " Tommy looks away, knuckles at his eyes. "I want a dad I could just grieve."

And oh boy, does Bobby get that. He squeezes Tommy's shoulder, although what he really wants to do is scoop this mountain of a man into a hug.

"Whatever you decide," he says, "You have people in your corner, Tommy. You're going to get through this."

Tommy nods. Says, "Yeah." And then, "Yeah," again, with a little more belief behind it this time.

Bobby draws breath to speak, but before he can, he hears the thundering of footsteps up the stairs, the familiar sound of Buck and Eddie bickering. Tommy straightens up, half turns in his chair, like even with a door between them, he's orbiting around Buck just like always.

Bobby crosses to the door, and leans out to call, "Hey, Buck. Get in here, please?"

"Aw, Cap, what'd I - " Buck says as he shoves the last of his bags into Eddie's overloaded arms and heads to the office. "Tommy? Babe, what are you doing here?"

"I'll leave you boys to it," Bobby says, patting Tommy's shoulder on his way out of the door.

Tommy looks up, catches Bobby's wrist. "Thank you," he says, his voice thick.

"Any time," Bobby tells him, meaning it. There's a lot more he means too, a lot more he could say, but he can see Buck practically vibrating as the anxiety ratchets up so he takes his leave, shutting the door behind him.

In the kitchen, everyone else is in a deeply unsubtle huddle, and they look at him expectantly. He shrugs and nods his head at the bags on the island. 

"That stuff gonna put itself away?"

They grumble but get to it, and Bobby sends up a silent prayer that the alarms stay quiet for now. It's answered, and Buck comes out of the office alone ten minutes later and beelines for Bobby.

"Hey, can I - "

"Take him home," Bobby says. "Look after each other."

"We always do," Buck promises. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Everything okay?" Eddie asks, the designated spokesperson for the peanut gallery, Chim and Hen at his back.

"Call you later," Buck offers, heading back to the office to collect Tommy.

"C'mon, I know for a fact you all have jobs," Bobby says with a clap of his hands that sends them scattering, trying to make sure Buck and Tommy have a clear run at the exit without being accosted by any well-meaning enquiries.

The two of them pass him a minute later, Buck speaking too quietly for Bobby to hear, and Tommy nodding in response. He watches them head out, sees the way Buck gets an arm around Tommy's waist, the way he looks steadfast and solid, ready to shoulder the weight of this with Tommy. He sees the way Tommy leans into him, like he's ready to let Buck do it.

Yeah, Bobby thinks. They're going to be okay.

[loviestar58]

Sassy Viktor dating HC’s AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

(I need to see how sassy he would be in everyday life pls he’s so entertaining)

🤲

Thank you sm have a lovely day :D

🧡~Dating Sassy Viktor HC's/Scenarios~🧡

My first ever request! I hope it's good I'm not gonna lie I had some difficulty with this idk why shdudbdh

This'll be a mix of Viktor being sassy, sarcastic, teasing, and just being a general playful menace lol

Enjoy‼️💖

🩼~Feins offense at any little thing you do. We've all seen his face, he can make the most offended face imaginable. For example he'd make you something to eat (he can't really cook well and doesn't do it often but he does for you cause he loves you) and he'd serve it to you all smiles, and you'd be all smiles too. Viktor cooking? What a rare treat! Until you bite into it and feel your tongue yell at you "oooo this isn't right..". You try to hide it, chewing slowly, but he sees it immediately, asking if something is wrong.

"Oh it's nothing, just..interesting. The flavor doesn't feel right, I think you put too much salt and herbs-"

His face would scrunch into that offended look, eyes wide and rolling his eyes

"Oh, so you're a food critic now? Judging the food I put my heart and soul into to make for you? I see how it is.."

He'd pout and take his own bite, thinking you were overreacting

You weren't

🩼~It is a common occurrence to whack you with his cane. Usually he does it to get his way in petty arguments, you could be talking about how a certain formula was written wrong in his notes, him being so tired he didn't notice and miscalculated something, but he'd never admit to it. Anytime you tried to show him, he'd lift his cane to your shins and try to grab the book back. You'd recoil and try to dodge each time, laughing at how far he'd go to stay in the right, but he somehow always caught you off guard, and of course he'd never miss a chance to diss you, even if he was completely in the wrong

"You're just mad you're wrong!"

"I'm not wrong, lovely, you just lack the vision to see my genius"

"Well, "Genius", you wrote it wrong!"

"Perhaps you do need your eyes checked.."

🩼~This is Jinx's line in the show, but he totally would pull this classic

"So, Viktor, I've been thinking-"

"Well, thats quite the dangerous endeavor for you"

🩼~Would never let you live it down that you fumbled your attempt at asking him out, having gotten so nervous cause I mean. Look at him. You'd try to tell the story to some friends and make it seem like you were so confident and successful in asking him out, but he'd SO quickly chime in and rat you out

"Wh-"

🩼~Also would probably overuse the line "Suureee lovely, whatever you say" in the most sarcastic tone ever whenever you two have little back and forth banters and you're determined to prove you're right. When you'd call him out on it he'd respond with a knowing smirk and offended face "What? I would never! I do not know what you are talking about!" Hand on his chest, practically clutching his non-existant pearls in a dramatically comedic way

"Hmm that's not quite how I remember it. I remember you shaking like one of those ehh..chihuahuas, that pee all over themselves. And your words sounded more like squeaks of a mouse. I don't know where you got the notion that that is the epitome of confidence, but it must not have been a reliable source"

You'd hit his shoulder blushing profusely as he laughs, saying a playful "I love you" before ruffling your hair, making you role your eyes and pout

🩼~Attempting to get a pet is impossible with Viktor. He'd always say that they both don't have time to take care of an animal, that his work was too dangerous to have one around, no matter how much your beg, he'd just shit you down. That's when he says that he already has you, and that's enough work on its own alongside his inventing

"Are you implying that I'm like a pet?"

"You seem to love jumping to conclusions cause I said no such thing, but if you insist on seeing it that way, then yes. You're like a little rampaging Poro. Energetic, small, and a thorn in my side on occasion"

He'd chuckle as he watched you feign offense, your face pouty but unable to keep the smile from your lips, cause it is kinda funny how you can be compared to such a creature so easily. And you do the same, comparing him to a sassy cat. Which he doesn't deny and swiftly confirms by swatting at you with his cane in retaliation for the comment

I am so sorry this is short, I genuinely couldn't think of too much cause I felt I was just repeating the same things over and over again and not being creative..and I think I made him more teasing than sassy, but I tried😭

I hope this is what you were hoping for, even a little! If not, I'm sorry😖🙏🏼

[jweekgoji]

Can you do another part of yandere D-16, please 😭 I love the stories so much! Make us pleasure him so bad until he's wimpering, then tons of aftercare! And make us love him, not just a one-night stand 😭

Yandere!D-16/Reader

tw: some minot changes in canon, slight yandere themes, valve fingering (MDNI), gn!reader, D-16 has a valve, sub!D-16, soft dom!reader, power dynamic cogged!reader/cogless!d-16. word count: ~1650 a/n: this can be considered as a second part to this. but I think (??) it also can be related to this. probably somewhere between the other two I wrote before. there are a few similar requests about d-16, but I want to do all of them differently as much as my creativity lets me. tagging since I was asked: @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main

The day D-16 met you felt like experiencing one of those vivid dreams he constantly had. His whole body was in pain; the loud ringing in the processor made his optics see the tiny stars circling around him in the air. Thank you, Pax, this is exactly how he wanted to spend his day! And totally not to ogle your sleek, shiny alt mode from his seat..!

Oh no, oh, Primus. You probably saw it all too, aren't you?

D-16 groaned in pain as he tried to sit up. He leaned his frame against the wall, holding onto the dented shoulder. Orion left him waiting here, all alone, as the blue-and-red mech tried to endlessly explain the situation they were in. The optimism this guy sometimes had...he can only pray in his mind that somehow you hadn't seen him failing on the race.

Maybe you had never noticed him, just passed through without paying attention. Yeah, this is more like true. After all, he's so  gray in every sense of the word; among all the other miner bots, how is he any different? Too small in this world to be noticed.

The day was a disaster of any means. The cold looks he received from other racers as he waited for the repair, that awkward meeting with Sentinel, and of course, Darkwing just had to be there too. The moment Orion and him leave this area and go back to mines, there's no escape from their supervisor. How much more lucky does he get today again?

D-16 was nervous to the core of his spark. The thoughts of “Why did I even follow him...especially on the day when Sentinel Prime arrived?” or “I hope they don't know it was me” flooding his mind.

Another worst thing was, you hadn't even won the race! Chromia got before you just in mere seconds, and the possibility of him, being the reason behind this fail only made D-16 sigh in disappointment. 

“You and your friend put on quite a show today,” your voice suddenly came from beside him.

D-16 almost jumped up from his seat at the sight of you, and for a moment, his spark stopped beating. He barely had time to process what you told him before suddenly, the little miner rises to his feet and looks up at you with those big optics.

You saw that his mouth was open, but not a single word came out from his mouth. The poor thing was so scared, he had so many thoughts running through his head, but he couldn't pick a single one to voice it to you. You could only calm him down slightly by holding your hands in the air, trying to show that you didn't mean any malice.

“I'm sorry, I probably ruined your chance of winning this race,” his optics ran his eyes around as if he was trying to find the right words to say to you. “I'm a big fan, and I would never want-”

“I was going to say that you two actually made this race a little more interesting than usual,” you interrupted him. “Racing against the same bots isn't as interesting as it used to be. I admire that.”

You admire him. D-16 falls silent again, but even though he's stopped saying anything then, his optics perfectly captured all the thoughts in his processor. Love.

He never thought he'd ever meet a bot in a higher position than him who would treat him with a speck of kindness. That brief moment when the Sentinel shook his hand was the first such occasion. His idol, standing right next to him, shook his hand. Somebody pinch him harder!

Then there was you. Someone who had always held a special place in his spark. So small, incredibly fragile in your hands, but every time D-16 is near you, it beats so hard, as if your mere presence is enough to give him more strength.

He doesn't know what you see in him. He's an ordinary and insignificant miner, there are hundreds if not thousands like him. Even Primus didn't give him any bright colors.

He never had a chance to think about standards of beauty, certainly there was barely enough time to rest after hours of non-stop work. There were one time he could hear the conversation between the supervisors as they discussed the celebrities of Iacon. Blurr, Windblade, Rosanna, they all just glowed in relation to the dull, battered frames of his coworkers, definitely not the ideal of beauty that exists on Cybertron.

And yet, here you are, right next to him, and your hands are holding him so gently, so close to your chassis. He moans softly as you move your fingers inside him. Only two, no more, no matter how often he begged and whimpered for you to add another, you always denied him.

“Just relax and feel every touch from me,” you kiss the corner of his mouth softly.

Right. Calm down, D. You're already giving him too much time, begging you for more would be wrong, he doesn't want to seem pushy to you. If this continues, you'll just get disappointed in him and walk away.

“Mgggh...!” D-16 instinctively arched his back. A loud, needy moan once again escapes his lips.

Sometimes he feels like, aside from your obvious charm, you can definitely read his mind, and your every slightest movement is calculated to make him forget his rank.

He's so wet, the lube coating your fingers and already managing to slowly flow down his inner thighs. For a second, you think about just flipping him over on his back and burying your head between his legs, making him scream and beg to give him a break from the endless round of overloads you're giving him.

But no, that would be too much for the first time, wouldn't it? You don't want to scare the poor, little miner away with your twisted thoughts. Not now, anyway.

In the time it takes you to give yourself to daydream, D-16 only gets more impatient. Moving his hips, he practically fucks himself with your fingers. His head is thrown back, and the servos cling tightly to your shoulders, squeezing gently, each time he lowers his own body down.

He feels so full, but that small, carnal desire for more can't help but pollute his mind. More, more, please give him more. Perhaps because of a sliver of fear that you're about to leave again, he'll be left alone and with nothing, and all he'll have are memories. He wants to get as much as he can while there's still a chance.

“Careful, or you'll hurt yourself,” you gently lay your other servo on his waist.

Tiny. You can't help but want to run your finger over every little bump on his body, every little rough edge...something about him fascinates you, that slight naivety and eagerness to make you proud. He's just hard to say no to.

You gently guide his movements. He's inexperienced, but the desire for something more, even though he hardly knows what he's doing, clouds his mind. You feel his tight, small valve squeezing your digits like a vise. His initially quiet, needy meows grow louder, and by the little blush on his cheeks, you realize he's embarrassed.

“Can I overload? Please,” he whimpers shyly, hiding his face in the curve of your neck. “Ahhh...I'm so sorry, I can't take it anymore.”

How sweet. You've convinced him so many times that it's okay, he shouldn't have to keep hiding his pretty face every time you hold him like this. You don't care what position he takes, miner or not, you want him to feel like an equal. He deserves to be pleasured just as much. To love and be loved.

You nod, making a mental note to talk to him about it later. His habit of pleasing bots ranking above him just kills you.

D-16 wraps his arms around your neck, leaning slightly closer, as much as he can. He so wishes it was your spike instead of your fingers, stretching his valve with every thrust.

But he'll never admit it, he'd rather take whatever you offer him, because he loves you so much. Every touch from you, every glance in his direction, it's all so overwhelming.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you-” he repeats over and over, his hips desperately meeting every thrust of your fingers inside him.

You feel him squeeze your digits again, his breathing halting for a moment before he exhales heavily and then nearly collapses on top of you.

D-16 leans his forehead against yours, closing his optics to slowly gather his thoughts. You barely move your fingers, still deep inside him, and even a slight twitch earns a whimper from him. Still very sensitive, you should definitely work on his stamina.

You gently take his chin, tilting his head up to give him a small kiss. He moans softly, but reciprocates the kiss.

D-16 has never seemed plain to you. Unusually strong despite his height and lack of t-cog, his body covered in many scratches after cycles of hard work. But now you are treating him with such care.

 He cherishes it so much. Sometimes he wonders if you have any idea how many times he's touched himself, with you in mind? How an embarrassingly lot of pictures of you he keeps plastered all over the wall? I guess that's a question for another day.

You may not have won the race, but you got more than that today.

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 12 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: When Anna noticed that a new poem by her favorite, amateur writer had been posted, she was afraid to read the finality in his tone. But Bob always managed to surprise her. And maybe she could find a way to surprise Kevin, too.

Warnings: Angst, Kevin is a dick, adult language, 18+

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

After that, it was radio silence. Anna didn't reach out to Bob, and he didn't try to either. He went to the Hard Deck on Friday night and lasted about an hour before excusing himself. Nobody asked him why he was bailing after one ginger ale and a single cup of peanuts, and that was enough to tell him that everyone knew. Everyone knew he slept with Anna. Everyone knew she was married. Everyone knew that they shouldn't talk about it in front of him for fear that the ladies would snap their necks. Even Nat was being very kind and considerate which wasn't really like her at all. 

When Bob was halfway to the door, he felt a small hand curl around the back of his bicep. "I'll see you tomorrow night for D&D?"

He nodded down at Jessica's hopeful face. "Yeah. I can pick you up if you want."

Her face brightened a little bit. "I'll text you in the morning." He turned to walk out, and her hand slid down his arm. "Hey, Bob? Don't give up hope on her, okay?"

He didn't know how to respond, so he just kept walking. He had no idea what to say or what to think. It wasn't like he could stop loving someone overnight. He didn't really want to either. Anna's life was quite frankly messier than he had ever expected. She did a pretty good job of hiding it from everyone, and it seemed like she would have continued down that path if they didn't have sex. And that was the other issue; it wasn't just sex to Bob. Anna knew about the things he tried to hide himself, and she seemed to want him in that moment anyway. 

Her words from the previous night made him ache. 

'You're perfect. You're Sky Writing. You're the handsome man from the bookstore who smells like tea and soap. You're Bob, the guy my friends knew I would fall in love with as soon as I met them.'

If that meant she was in love with him or that she thought she could be someday, then he was afraid to walk away from her. But now he was terrified of getting hurt or somehow hurting Anna like Kevin had. Part of him believed if he could just see Anna's husband with his own eyes, confirm that he was exactly the way she described him, then he might be able accept that she just needed time to settle her divorce and to heal. If that was the case, he wanted to make it work. 

In the meantime, when he got home, he ended up standing in his living room, staring at his bookshelf before going upstairs and staring at his bed. He could still picture her red hair all spread out for him. He could still feel it between his fingers as the silky strands slid along his palm. He could taste her on his tongue. He could hear her telling him what she wanted.

Bob picked up his computer and slipped under the covers, knowing he wasn't going to be able to sleep right now.

----------------------------

It had been there since early Saturday morning. A new one. Anna desperately wanted to read it and memorize it like she had the others, but she was afraid to face the finality. Her email alert mocked her every time she looked at it.

Sky Writing has posted a new, original work! Click the link below to check out the subscriber that you follow!

Bob wrote a new poem, and she didn't think she could handle reading exactly how he viewed her now. He'd never be like Kevin, openly belittling her or putting her down, but she knew the shiny packaging had been removed now, and he saw what was really inside. Just a mess of a human. She put off reading it and put off reading it, but when she was sitting at her desk at work on Monday, she made herself decide between reading the new poem or calling Kevin. After a fairly short debate, she decided to read the poem. It was probably so bad, calling Kevin later wouldn't even feel painful in comparison. 

She tapped on the link in her email and was taken to something so unexpected, she gasped as she read it.

There is empty space on my bookshelf,

The one I bought with you in mind.

I didn't know it was for you at the time,

But one night made it obvious,

Before an instance took it.

Reality surpassed intention today.

Your worn favorites and mine pristine,

Should mingle and mix,

Genre forgotten.

Dog eared pages became so endearing.

But I'll never see them on my shelf,

Unless you come back and stay this time.

The format was different from what he usually wrote, but it was so obviously Sky Writing. So obviously Bob. So obviously about her. And he didn't sound angry. Could he possibly miss her after everything she did and said?

She jumped when her phone vibrated on her desk, and for a split second, she believed it could be Bob. Her heart beat faster with anticipation, but it was from somebody else.

Jessica Reed: If you don't come down to this weird tree right now, we're going to come up and get you.

Anna had lost track of time. It was after noon now. She knew that her friends were trying to make sure she was holding herself together after she refused to go to the Hard Deck over the weekend. How could she continue to go somewhere that Bob had the rights to first? It wasn't until she read his Sky Writing poem that she thought perhaps there was a chance he might not only be okay with her presence but perhaps even miss her like she missed him.

With her sad little lunch in hand, she dragged herself down to the quad, trying to decide when was the best time to call Kevin. She was tired of going through lawyers who couldn't seem to get him to budge, and each ninety day window just ate away at more of her soul. She should have been so much more careful with her writing when she had the opportunity, and now he'd completely locked her out of being able to access it. 

No, she was going to have to beg him, plead with him, anything it took to get what she wanted without giving away where she'd moved. Maybe if he agreed to let her have her manuscript, one of her friends would let her borrow money for a flight back to New Jersey to retrieve it. She was getting ahead of herself, but she couldn't help it. She needed to at least get this one thing.

"There she is!"

Anna looked up to see her friends directly in front of her on the bench by the tree, and the fact that they both looked happy to see her made her heart ache. "Hi," she said softly as she sat down between them when they both scooted over.

"Hummus?" her friend asked, passing along a container while she bit into her perfect looking chicken salad sandwich on artisan bread. Anna accepted a few bites of Bradley's gourmet snack, because she was absolutely starving today.

"Thanks," she murmured, and she let herself sink into the background a little bit as the two other women continued the conversation they'd been having. Now that she was down here with his friends, she couldn't stop thinking about Bob again. His soft hair and his kind eyes. The way he always paid attention to her when she was talking. How good he made her feel.

She listened to her friends argue about alumni weekend for a few minutes before she finally cut them off to ask, "Has Bob said anything about me?" Both of them looked at her, and she quickly added, "I can't stop thinking about him."

Jessica smiled softly and said, "Not a word, but I've never seen him look so sad. And I mean that in a good way, because although I know he's confused and hurt, I'm pretty sure he just misses you."

"But," the other woman quickly cut in, "the most important thing right now is making sure you take care of yourself. Even if you are in love with Bob."

"Oh!" Jessica exclaimed. "I have an idea! We could just kill Kevin!"

Anna snorted in spite of herself. "That would actually solve a lot of my problems. Maybe even all of them."

"Only one problem with that," Advanced Calculus said blandly. "You're not a killer, Jessica."

"I could kill someone," Jessica muttered under her breath, and truly Anna almost laughed, because Jessica Reed was one of the gentlest people she'd ever met. The most violent thing about her was her Dungeons & Dragons character. "I could at least probably slap him."

"He wouldn't know what hit him," Anna said, and all three women erupted into laughter. And it felt so strange to feel genuine happiness, even if it only lasted for a few seconds, that Anna almost started crying. As their amusement died down, she asked her friends, "Do you think.... Bob would respond if I texted him?"

Jessica squeaked, and then both women said, "Yes."

---------------------------

Bob was back to square one. Back at the bookstore. He was fifteen minutes early. He was already looking through the Classics. He was about to meet up with Anna. He was nervous.

Nat scoffed when he told her where he was going, and he truly did appreciate that his friend wanted him to proceed with caution, but she just didn't understand how Anna made him feel. Being friends with her after sleeping together a total of one time might kill him, but he knew that was probably all he could have now.

It was almost like he could sense that she was there. He looked up from the Shakespeare volume in his hand, and he saw her walk in the door. As he got closer to the loft railing, he saw her glance up and meet his eyes like it was some depraved version of Romeo and Juliet. She mouthed the word Hi before she headed for the stairs, and in less than a minute, she was standing right in front of him. 

Anna looked nervous, but everything else was just the same. Those perfect freckles decorated her face. Her brown eyes were bright. Her pretty hair was in a messy braid. He saw her burgundy nail polish as she fidgeted with her denim jacket. He wanted to know if she still thought he was the kind of person she could love. He wanted to ask her if her husband was any closer to signing papers. Instead he said, "I was surprised when you texted me."

Her eyes went wide, and he wished he could shove his foot in his mouth as she started looking around anywhere but at his face. "I need some books for my feminist literature course, and I just thought maybe you'd like more books for your bookshelf."

Had she read his newest poem? It was a sloppy one that he wrote late on Friday night and posted on a whim. She could have deleted her account by now or vowed never to read anything else by Sky Writing. But that didn't stop the poem from being about her.

"I do need some more books for my shelves," he replied, and her eyes finally settled on his again. "And you don't have to be nervous around me. I know you're dealing with a lot, and I promise I won't touch you or anything."

Now she just looked sad and distraught, but she nodded and turned down the very aisle where they first met. Bob had to fight to keep a few feet of space between them as she said, "I'm looking for Mary Wollstonecraft, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and Elizabeth Cady Stanton."

They worked their way slowly up and back down each aisle, falling into a natural conversation in spite of the awkwardness between them. In spite of the way Bob couldn't keep himself from looking at her as she ran her fingers along the spines. When she wanted something that was on a top shelf, he reached it down for her. When her hands got full, he offered his up for her use. And to his delight and also sadness, she kept recommending books for him along the way. That's how he ended up with Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day as well as The Importance of Being Earnest in his hand when she led the way downstairs to pay.

Bob cleared his throat as Anna reached into her pocket for some cash. "I can get them."

Her brown eyes snapped up to meet his, and her cheeks turned pink. He already knew what Kevin did, and while he didn't think there was any harm in saying it, he could tell that she at least had her pride intact. "The college is going to reimburse me," she said firmly before handing forty dollars across the counter.

"Right," Bob said before paying for his own books. When they walked out into the fading sunlight, he looked down into her pretty face. "Will you let me drive you home? Not because I think I need to, but because I want to?"

She seemed at war with herself as she looked across the street and pressed her lips together. But her eyes fluttered closed and she said, "I would really appreciate that."

The interior of his truck was quiet the whole way as their books sat on the seat between them. Only the soft hum of the radio helped Bob hold his thoughts at bay. The ride wasn't too long, and when they were most of the way there, Anna finally spoke. 

"I'm going to deal with my shit. I promise."

Unsure exactly how he should respond, Bob simply said, "Okay."

When he pulled up in front of her building, he turned toward her, intending to ask if she wanted him to walk her up, but she was gathering her books together as she said, "I don't know how you feel about me now. I don't know if you could want me again. But I am going to deal with Kevin. I am going to fix my life. Because I want to move on. I need to." When he was so flustered that he didn't immediately respond, Anna said, "You know where to find me. Thanks for the ride."

He watched her run up the sidewalk before struggling to open the door with her arms full, and then she ducked inside when he finally figured out what he wanted to say. "I'll find you."

-------------------------------

If Anna even had a hope or a prayer at a chance with Bob ever again, she needed to work up the nerve. A real chance with him now that he knew all about her disastrous marriage was what she wanted, but she needed to sort Kevin out first. 

As far as she could tell, everything came down to two options: keep her freedom by giving Kevin ownership of her manuscript, or keep her self worth by fighting until she didn't have anything left to give up. And both of them sounded terrifying. The whole weekend passed where she tried so many times to call him. She took her phone out again and again, let her thumb hover over her husband's phone number, and then chickened out. His voice was like a distant memory, and she didn't want to bring it back to the forefront of her mind. He hadn't reached out one time since she up and left without telling him where she was going, and she was afraid to let him know where she was now.

The worst part was, he would know immediately why she was calling. He knew that he had the one thing she wanted. He cut off her access to the cloud files where she should have been able to piece her writing back together. It would have been time consuming, but she would have been all too happy to do it. She should have known better than to let him have so much of her life and so many of her resources in only his name, but there was a time when she trusted him. That was the part that made her so sick. She had trusted her husband, and now look where it got her.

A shiver went through her body as she woke up for work too early on Monday morning. She wanted Kevin's computer where everything was saved. She wanted access to the cloud. She didn't want a damn penny from him otherwise. She was aggressively brushing her teeth, wishing she had more to eat than a granola bar when she spit out her toothpaste and rinsed her mouth.

She hated him. She hated him so much, she was going to call him right now. Without a backward glance, she marched over to where her phone was charging and pulled the cable out. Before she could even think about exactly what she was going to say, she tapped on his stupid name.

Anna was breathing fast and deep, her heart pounding in her ears when she heard his voice for the first time in so many months.

"Anna?" he asked, her whole body cringing after just one word. His voice was scratchy as if she had woken him up, but it was 9:16 in New Jersey. He should be on his way to work if not there already.

"Kevin," she snapped, gripping her phone tighter. She was getting angrier by the second as she listened to him yawn while she looked around her tiny apartment.

His tone was condescending as he said, "Of course you'd call me at six in the fucking morning after I haven't hear a word from you except through a lawyer since July. What the hell do you want?"

She couldn't do this. She couldn't talk to him. While she felt strong a few minutes ago, her resolve was already crumbling. She wanted to tell him that he knew damn well what she wanted, but then she zeroed in on what he said. "What do you mean it's six in the morning? It's after nine."

His voice was suddenly loud and harsh. "I meant exactly what I said. I'm in California for a medical convention. Now get to the point of your call."

Her mouth felt like sandpaper as she carefully put her phone on speaker. She started searching for Neurological conventions in California while she told him, "I just want my manuscript. Please, Kevin. That's all I want, and then you can be rid of me."

The bite was gone from his voice, replaced by a lazy tone, and he spoke to her as if she were a very simple child. "It's not going to happen, Anna. I didn't cut off access to it for no reason. It's worth money. You can pay me for it, or you can kiss it goodbye. I might even publish it myself."

She was gasping for air as she scrolled through her search results, coming up with a conference in Carlsbad that was starting today. As the page loaded, she swallowed and told him, "I'll sue you if you do." But even she knew she was full of shit.

"What what money, Anna? I'm surprised you can still afford your lawyers. I don't even want to know what you're doing to make ends meet right now."

Then she saw it. She saw his name. He was a keynote speaker at the National Neurological Physicians Association conference. He was less than an hour away. She sank down to her knees in surprise and fear. Her mind was swirling with information and ideas, and she couldn't even comprehend what Kevin was saying now.

"What?" she gasped.

"I said come up with some money for me, or I'm not signing shit." Then he ended the call as her hands started shaking. She dropped her phone onto her bed. He was in Carlsbad. Maybe she could surprise him. Maybe she could talk him into it easier in person.

Anna had to run to the bathroom to be sick, but her mind was made up. Once she cleaned herself up again, she tearfully made the decision to cancel her morning classes via email, and then she started grabbing her purse and her essentials. She folded up the newest copy of the divorce paperwork her lawyer had emailed to her and tucked it away. Then she ran for the bus stop, nearly tripping several times as she read through the schedule of speakers who were at the conference this week on her phone. If she caught a bus within the next fifteen minutes, she might make it in time to see Kevin right before he gave his welcome speech.

---------------------------

We will meet Kevin in the next chapter. Now is an acceptable time to start sharpening your knives. Bob, please don't give up on Anna. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 13

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[forthevillains]

Merry Xmas!!!! xxx as a late Xmas present to us Wesker simps could we pretty please cuz some more obssessive /yandere type Wesker pleasssseee!!! Love your work xx

MERRY LATE XMAS!<3 and thank you so much I really appreciate it!

I’ve been ill so I’m late with this and I hope it’s not as bad (wrote it w a fever lol). This is a short scenario that spawned in my head and wouldn’t leave so I hope you enjoy<3 btw no spice in this one as it wasn’t specified if you want it there or not

You've worked for Umbrella for quite a while, spending perhaps too much time in the laboratory, wondering about the new possibilities of what you were creating in there. You've always been very keen on developing new things, researching whatever you lacked knowledge of. You were smart, oh definitely, such a young thing with such a curious brain. Even if you didn't know it, it brought you very much advantages among your colleagues. Especially since a special someone took a liking to you.

Wesker's been around you ever since you got promoted, moved forward to do things of higher importance, to spend time with more privileged people who have fallen so passionately deep with their job you could barely keep up a normal conversation. Not him though, never him. He's always been an observant man, thus he noticed even the slightest of discomfort in your expressions. He always knew exactly how you felt, what you were thinking and sometimes it has made you feel uneasy at how easily he could read you. It all began so innocently you would’ve thought you found your soulmate rather than a future stalker, rather a madman desiring nothing more than to own, possess.

"In need of any help, dearheart?" he'd ask whenever he noticed you carrying way too many envelopes that they almost slipped past your tensed forearms. Little did you know that they were mostly empty, that it was him who purposely put so many in there so that he could seem like a gentleman, trying to help you out. And it sure worked on you every damn time.

____________________________________

It was late, well past midnight. You were silently cursing yourself for making such a stupid decision to work during holidays. Everyone is with their family at the moment, having a great time, laughing together, telling each other stories from their wonderful lives and you? You were locked up in a lab, taking notes about the newest virus that Umbrella worked on.

The sterile silence of the underground laboratory enveloped the air, save for the soft hum of machinery in the background. You were just about to be done with it for today, your mind was going places, other places than where it should be at the moment and you could barely think straight when your mind was flooded with the images of your warm bed. You thought you could get distracted enough that maybe you wouldn't feel so terrible about having no family or friends to spend time with during Christmas, maybe feel a little more important, feel like you're being productive in a way... But it didn't work.

Suddenly, you could've sworn you heard footsteps. You turned to look down the corridor, but no one was there. Only the faint light from the lab panels illuminated the otherwise dark hallways.

You sighed, wondering just why did you think it was such a great idea to stay here during the night. What had your mind going places that were too far to get back from though, was the fact that Wesker himself decided to stay as well. You didn't talk to each other of course, you somehow ought to keep it professional and not intertwine with what he had to do... But the thought of being alone in here with him, even if he was in another room... The thought sent a strange mixture of frustration and... something else fluttering in your chest.

The quiet click of boots against tile echoed down the hall once more, and you turned just in time to see him approach. His tall frame, cold expression, and piercing sunglasses made him almost ethereal in the dim lighting, like a god descending from his private throne. Weren’t you a realist you would’ve definitely believed that he was indeed one.

"You're still here," he observed in his usual clipped tone. There was no question in his voice. It was simply a statement, one that you knew was far from casual curiosity.

"Where else would I be?" you questioned, immediately regretting that maybe that was a little too well played for him. That the right words would be all for you to vent to him, just like you’ve already done a few times. It made you anxious, eyes flicking away, trying not to meet his gaze. He could definitely notice, he surely knew…

You hated how he always knew when something was off. Of course he'd know that you were just avoiding how pathetic and lonely you felt outside these walls. Without anyone to talk to, anyone to ask for  advice... You didn't have him. That's what he kept telling himself. That you're just so miserable on your own that you willingly overwork yourself, only to be around him. And he wouldn't have it any other way. You belong with him, you can’t be happy on your own.

A slight smirk curled on his lips. "Well there could be loads of answers to that question, dearheart. What's more important is... Where do you wish to be?" It made you think for a second and you nearly blurted out that you'd only wish to be with him, working on whatever he was working on, feeling his presence, being close to him, simply breathing the same air while being able to steal small glances. But you didn't. You couldn't say it out loud.

His approach was slow, calculated. He never rushed, never had to. He was certain of everything—of you, of your thoughts, of your desires. The closer he got, the more you felt your heart begin to race, against all rational thought. What was he even doing? Has he lost his mind?

You had no idea of any of his desires, not how much he wished for an opportunity like this, to get you all alone, all to himself, with nowhere else to run to. It was like a dream come true and he felt exactly like a kid finally getting his favorite candy. He was willing to take a bite, oh definitely and not just one, but he has yet to savor such moment.

Wesker reached you, and without a word, his hand came up to rest against the side of your face, cold but firm. His thumb stroked your cheek, and you flinched, not from discomfort, but from the way his touch felt as though it had always been meant for you—like it had been planned. Every part of you screamed to step back, to pull away, to find a way to escape, but his gaze held you in place, like a trap you couldn't escape.

"You're trembling," he remarked, his voice low, darkly amused. "Why? Are you afraid of me?" His eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and something darker—something that felt like possession.

"I'm not afraid," you whispered, voice small and fragile. Even you knew the lie didn't hold weight. You were afraid, but there was something else too. Something that went far deeper. Mixture of that something with fear was weirdly addictive to you and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to run or play along whatever game he’s come up with this time.

He tilted your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. The intense heat in his eyes sent a shock through your body. He'd always been this way, relentless in his desire to break you down, piece by piece, until you were nothing but a part of him. You were never truly free. Not when he was around.

"Don't lie to me," he purred, the words a dangerous promise. "I can hear your heart racing. Your body betrays you."

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand slid down your neck, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin there. It was a delicate touch, one that made your stomach tighten in a way you couldn't deny. A part of you hated the way your body reacted to him, how your pulse quickened when he was near, but you couldn't stop it.

"You like me, don't you?" Wesker's voice dropped even lower, almost a growl now. There it was, reading you like a book, saying words that even you didn’t know were true before he said them out loud. His fingers brushed along the collar of your shirt, sending a shiver down your spine. His control over you was suffocating, but the worst part was... you didn't know if you wanted to break free.

"I... I don't like you. I mean I do - not like that - I mean-" You fell silent. There was nothing more you could do, you know that he knew now, you only assured him by your nervousness.

Wesker's smile widened, but it wasn't kind. It was something colder, something darker. "We both know that isn't true. Don't play these games with me, darling. No need to be shy now." His lips hovered near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "I like you too, you know?"

Your eyes widened. Normally you would’ve loved to hear those words, but the tone of his voice… You couldn’t quite figure out his intentions and it made shivers run down your spine. His presence alone was overwhelming at this very moment. His fingers threaded through your hair, tugging your head back slightly to expose your neck. The intimacy was suffocating, and yet you couldn't look away, couldn't push him off. His dominance was intoxicating, all-consuming. "Don’t be scared now, my dear. Believe that I take good care of what’s mine,” he manages a disappointed frown. As if you fearing him was hurting him in a way when in reality - he liked it. He wouldn’t necessarily hurt you, but he liked to see you trembling underneath his touch, seeing the battle you were having with yourself over what you yourself truly want.

"I'm going to make you feel so good you won't be able to go on without me, my dear, I can promise you that." His hand came up to caress your cheek, his fingers gentle on your skin as he looked into your eyes through his dark shades. "You’ll learn that soon enough, very soon.” And after he let out those words, you knew that there was no way back from this…

[ikeuverse]

party in the u.s.a | sjy

pairing: jake x fem!reader  genres: fluff, humor wc: 2.5k+

꒰ 𝅄 warnings ꒱ : just a few curses and (a lot of) kissing.

꒰ 𝅄 synopsis ꒱ : you've never missed watching your best friend play, but unfortunately a match falls right on the day of a super-important exam. jake is distraught because it's right when his team loses, making him listen to the one song that everyone knows he listens to when he's sad… it's up to you to sort it out somehow.

꒰ 𝅄 notes ꒱ : the vote for the next story had our dear jake as the winner, so here it is! i wrote this one a while ago at the time of the live he said he listens to this song when he's sad, so i thought about it and just came up with this. i hope you like it!

꒰ 𝅄 masterlist ꒱

"Are you really not going to watch my game today?" Jake's melancholy voice almost made your heart break even more.

It was more than obvious that you wanted to go, not least because you had never missed a single one of his games for the university team. But that same university was tearing your sanity apart by holding an exam in the middle of the afternoon, where more than half the students would be watching the soccer team play.

Jake was the top scorer. Famous for his relentless passing, his perfect goals – not to mention his breathtaking looks. You, as his best friend, couldn't deny the slight crush you felt. It was ridiculous to say that kind of thing when you knew that half the campus fell in love with him.

But on that particular day, it wasn't as if you weren't going because you wanted to. Your teacher would kill you – and your whole class – if you missed that test. It was important. So was Jake's game. Ever since you became friends at the beginning of high school and he joined every sport possible, you went to watch him play. It was a tradition for both of you, even if it was raining. That's why you accumulated raincoats of all colors in your closet and even one or two different umbrellas; one of them even too big for your liking to hold your friends when they went with you.

You did everything for Jake and he recognized that, so much so that he felt selfish when he sulked all day just because you weren't going today. He wouldn't meet your eyes once you got on the pitch.

He couldn't hear you shouting his name after a goal or even running up to the stands and hugging your friends. A mere excuse he had since you were always with all of them, so Jake could hug you too.

A long sigh left your lips as you left the university hall. The pencil and pen pressed against your fingers as you walked through the corridors with the thought that you had done well. The content was extensive, and the whole thing was giving you a headache, but studying every night had been worth it after all. Because even when you felt tired, even when you'd exhausted yourself studying at night, Jake would show up to keep you company.

Shit, Jake. You quickly checked your cell phone for a message from him, because by that time the game was surely over.

To your surprise, he hadn't sent anything, but your cell phone had hundreds of messages from Jungwon and Heeseung. Your heart sank at this.

Dialing the number of one of the boys, you were grateful when Jungwon answered on the second ring.

"Y/n?" he didn't even wait for you to say anything, just seeing your name flashing on the screen of his cell phone.

"Jungwon, hey. Is everything okay?" you knew it wasn't. And Jungwon knew that you were smart enough to know that since he had called your cell phone at least six times. Heeseung called four more.

"Well, no..." there was a slight pause on the other end of the line, his footsteps instinctively tightening as he walked across campus "Can you come to our apartment?"

He didn't even have to ask you once more to get you to agree and say you'd be there as soon as possible. It was a relief that the boys' apartment wasn't so far from the college, even if running hadn't been a good idea, but the desperation of Jungwon's call made your heart squeeze and think of a thousand different scenarios.

Had Jake been hurt during the game? What had happened to make things go wrong like that? The thought of Jake being hurt made your whole body ache, and he blamed himself for not being there and for not providing enough assistance.

It was the only game you hadn't been to in all these years of friendship, so this feeling was rather new. Add to that the fact that you'd had a crush on him for a while, wanting to see him play or do something alongside him, but that was something that wouldn't even come out of your mouth.

Standing in front of the apartment complex, it didn't take long for you to enter and go straight to the elevator that gave access to the boys' floor. But especially today, the journey seemed much longer and more time-consuming, and you'd been doing it for so long that you couldn't even count, but it was torturing you so much.

"Y/n" Jungwon called out as soon as the door opened, without letting you realize that you had already reached their floor, stopped at the door and even rang the bell.

"Hi" you hugged him briefly, entering the apartment and being greeted by Heeseung with a quick hug as well "So?"

"Look…" Jungwon sighed as he closed the door. The three of you walked to the center of the room as he took the initiative in the conversation "You know, we lost the game today…"

He didn't want you to feel guilty at all. Jungwon understood about your commitments, even Sunghoon was with you – because he was from your class – taking that damn exam. You both lost today's game.

"What? Wait… Did you really lose?" your eyes widened.

"It was just a friendly, anyway" Heeseung flopped down on the sofa, picking up a cushion to rest his head on "The problem is that Jake is devastated."

Yes, he hated losing a game. You knew that.

"But I don't think it has anything to do with our defeat today" Jungwon nibbled the inside of his cheek, staring directly at you. Your eyes wandered between him and Heeseung, a frown on the face of the older man sitting on the sofa.

"He's been listening to Party in the U.S.A since we arrived, y/n. You need to do something because I can't take it anymore," he exploded.

You laughed softly, seeing Jungwon give you a disapproving look straight away. Perhaps they had rehearsed a better way to tell you something, but Heeseung's impatience made him practically beg for your help.

"And how am I going to do that? Maybe going there will be worse because I didn't go to see today's game…"

"On the contrary" Jungwon quickly interrupted, "You're the only person who can make him turn that thing off."

"Why?"

A moment of silence and Heeseung dropped the cushion, getting up from the sofa.

"It's so obvious, y/n" he rolled his eyes, but there was a playful smile on his lips as he took hold of your shoulders and led you down the corridor of the apartment. The corridor gave access to the three bedrooms as well as the bathroom.

Jake's room was the last in the corridor and, as soon as you and Heeseung got close to the door, you understood why the other two boys were so frustrated. The music was extremely loud even with the door closed – and possibly locked – while you could hear nothing but Miley Cyrus' voice.

You turned to Heeseung, noticing now that Jungwon was also behind him. Both of them looked at you with such anticipation as you stared back at them.

"How am I supposed to compete with that? When he hears that song…" you whimpered, Jungwon taking the lead to hold you by the shoulders this time.

"We trust you and the power you have over that crybaby" he winked at her, laughing and making her laugh too "Now make him turn it off or I'm breaking that little speaker today."

Both you and Heeseung knew that would never happen. It would be easier for the older one to break the speaker or for you to hide it in your apartment than for little Jungwon to do anything that would make Jake sad or even angrier.

So, turning towards his bedroom door again, you dared to give it a few knocks.

No answer.

A few more knocks and Jungwon's hands came off your shoulders. You heard footsteps moving away, looking back while the two boys were still there. As if to encourage you.

When you knocked once more, the music seemed to get even louder. As if Jake didn't want to be interrupted from his moment. You snorted at this and turned the handle on an impulse, praying that it was open or you'd punch that door until it opened.

And to your surprise it was. Jake didn't usually lock his door because he knew his friends wouldn't come into his room unless he gave permission when he was in those melancholy moments. He hadn't realized that you had opened the door until the bang of closing it made him jump out of bed.

Looking at you with an astonished face, Jake got up from the bed and practically ran towards you. His eyes were glued to yours, bright and fixed on your eyes. He didn't look like he'd cried, but he was about to if you hadn't shown up for a few more minutes.

"Y/n? What are you doing here?" he asked, you were only able to understand because of the proximity. Your shoulders shrugged and your hands went straight to your ears, indicating that you couldn't hear properly because the music was still too loud "Fuck, I'm sorry" Jake ran over to the speaker to turn it down to a considerable volume. He didn't want to stop listening to you because he still felt bad, but he would leave the music in a more comfortable setting so that he could hear your voice more clearly.

"What did you ask me?" you said after he came closer, big eyes staring at you and lips parted.

He didn't need to know that you had heard him perfectly, you just needed an excuse for him to say something and then think about how to continue the conversation.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again.

Jake seemed restless in his seat, his hands hovering at his sides and sometimes going to the hem of the sweatshirt he was wearing to play with something between his fingers.

"The boys couldn't stand the music" you smiled, but he didn't reciprocate because he had looked away from you "And I wanted to know how you were after the game."

"We lost" he said dryly, staring at you for a brief moment "Happy now?"

Jake walked away from you, his hands running through his hair as he let out a long sigh. He had his eyes closed, but you couldn't see because he preferred to keep his back to you.

"Why would I be happy about this, Jake?" you didn't want to feel upset by his tone, knowing that it was a big part of the frustration he felt. Jake sighed again, turning towards you.

"Because in all these years of friendship, you've never lost a game I've played" he was angry, you could see the way his brow furrowed as he spoke. His forehead wrinkled and his lips reddened because he had brushed his teeth a few times before speaking.

"I had a test today, it's not like I'm going to lose your game because I just wanted to," you said in the same tone, trying to get it into his head once and for all.

Jake knew he was being selfish, he knew it, and he would never interfere with your future either, because university was important to both of you. But the frustration over his newly discovered feelings for you, Heeseung, and Jungwon's teasing and the loss of today's game only intensified and he knew he would explode at some point.

Listening to Party In the U.S.A would be the only thing that would de-stress him from that whole incredibly shitty day.

"Anyway, Heeseung said it was friendly, it wasn't even a big deal" you shrugged and didn't know why you'd said it. But you knew it hadn't been a good idea when Jake got angry again. His eyes darkened and he was about to scream from the looks of it.

"So my game was no good, y/n? Is that what you mean?" he asked, you opened your mouth to say something, but Jake was quicker "You know what? Fuck, it really wasn't a big deal whether you went or not" he turned the music back up to the same volume as before, if not even louder.

The looping of Miley's voice had never entered your mind so much at that moment and you knew you wouldn't be hearing that song for weeks to come.

Talking to Jake hadn't gone as well as you'd hoped because not only was he upset, but you were upset too. It wasn't possible that your best friend was acting like this just because you hadn't gone to the game.

But then Heeseung's words echoed in your mind. It's so obvious. You didn't like to play the fool for that kind of thing, especially when it seemed to be completely reciprocated. Losing Jake's feelings for you wasn't in your plans, even more so after you came to accept that you felt it too, even if he didn't know it.

So your body acted better than your mind and, before you knew it, your hands were resting on the back of his swivel chair. With a little effort to make it spin along with Jake's body, you managed to catch his startled gaze as he started to face you.

"Y/n, you—"

"No time for bullshit, you little shit" you cursed angrily, but your actions said completely the opposite when your fingers gently held Jake's face just to keep him in place.

You pressed your lips to his and a long sigh came out of Jake's mouth at the sudden contact. He remained static for a few seconds, processing whether this was really happening or whether he was imagining it too much. But no, he wasn't dreaming and he realized it when the tip of your tongue pressed against his lips to ask for passage.

Jake gave in willingly, he wasn't going to turn down something he dreamed about practically every night even though he thought it was wrong to fantasize about his best friend.

In one swift movement, his hands grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap. The kiss took on even more rhythm and desire as the two of you attacked each other's lips. Your hands tangled in Jake's hair and pulled slowly as he pressed you against his body.

Gasping breaths, foreheads pressed together and the tip of his nose lightly brushing against yours.

"Jake" you called after a period of silence, him murmuring softly as he caressed your waist over the T-shirt you were wearing.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Don't listen to that song anymore, please?" he laughed at your question, opening his eyes to find yours still closed.

You were so beautiful, but you looked even more stunning with your lips red and moist with his saliva mixed with yours from the kiss you shared with him, sitting on his lap. Jake couldn't help letting out a sigh, closing his eyes, and brushing his lips against yours again.

"Only if you kiss me more often like you did today," he whispered, causing a shiver to run through his entire body "I bet that'll calm me down more than any song I could ever listen to."

© ikeuverse, 2023. do not copy, translate or steal my stories.

[starrywyatt]

chapter 1: at least i don't post myself shitting on the internet

☆ never saw it comin'- a george clarkey story ☆

! THIS STORY READS BEST IN DARK MODE !

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

madison's pov:

two years ago, i graduated from performing arts university with a first in musical theatre and a masters in songwriting. the day i graduated, i shared the song i wrote for my final project to tiktok. somehow, i woke up to 10 million views and calls from major record labels wanting to sign me. fast forward two years and my debut album has just gone #1 the same day it was released.

my label were pushing me to do press, so i decided to go on one of my good friends, andrew's boyfriend's podcast. i was going on the useless hotline! i was so excited.

btw, george is ill so i'm just gonna join max as a co-host for the episode

so don't be nervous!

omg amazing okay

i feel better knowing you'll be there

i had never met george before, so i felt more comfortable talking about the album knowing andrew would be there as it was so personal to me.

"hey!" andrew pulls me in for a hug outside the front of the building where they film. "so happy to see you again!" i reciprocate the hug. i follow him upstairs and we make it to the studio. the past year has been so busy i definitely haven't made as much of an effort to spend time with andrew as i should have. i walk in and am greeted by a very excited max. i have met max a handful of times but he's always been so supportive of my music and is essentially my biggest fan. "the album has been ON REPEAT!" he says excitedly. i say hello to their producer, callum too and he briefs us on what we should talk about and then the cameras start rolling.

"i'm max balegde" max starts "and i'm george clarke" andrew says, sat in george's seat making me laugh. they then introduce me and i walk on to the set and andrew moves seats. "i don't think anyone would even notice george isn't here" max shrugs. "and today we are joined by arguably my favourite musician to ever exist, madison scott!" max cheers and claps and i laugh nervously. "even above little mix?" i question. "well... you're toeing a thin line" he adds. 

we continue the intro for a while and max explains where george is and what he's been up to himself this week. "i wonder if anyone knows that me and andrew went to university together" i say. "yeah i wonder" andrew replies. "we literally lived together for 2 years" i laugh. "i know that's crazy to me. like when andrew mentioned he knew you i was in shock. what do you mean my andrew is friends with THE madison scott!" max says.

"anyways, we HAVE to talk about the album" max continues. "he has literally had it on repeat since midnight yesterday" andrew laughs. "it's just so good" max says. "thank you, that's so kind. yeah i mean it's called 'never saw it comin' i think that covers a lot of aspects of my life. like we literally left uni, i uploaded the song that i wrote for my dissertation to tiktok and suddenly it had 10 million views. and then my boyfriend dumped me, didn't see that one coming for sure" i say and andrew interrupts me, "hate to say it, but thank god because he was an asshole" "yeah you're not wrong, there is a few songs about him on this album but a lot of it is just about the growing pains of kind of growing up but also throwing the spanner of so called fame into the mix" i explain. "so i have to ask, will there be a tour?" max says, clapping his hands with excitement. "if so, i WILL be front row!" he adds on the end. "well hopefully! it's all in talks at the moment, i need to pick a support act actually" i say. "i know someone that would be perfect" max explains. "who?" i ask looking at him inquisitively. "i'll tell you after the podcast, i don't want to ruin the surprise for people because i really think it could happen" max explains and we do the rest of the podcast solving dilemmas and me and andrew recapping funny stories from our uni experience.

"great episode guys! thanks for coming, madison" producer callum smiles to me. "so who's this support act you're thinking of?" i turn to max. "arthur hill! he's so good" max says. "oh yeah, that would be so good" andrew agrees. "arthur hill" i say to myself. "i feel like i've heard the name" i say, almost questioning. "we've had him on the podcast" callum says, from behind us. "yeah, he's george's friend" max continues. "ahh okay, i'll have a look and put his name forward to the team. most people we've spoke to are unavailable for the dates we've chosen" i shrug. "we're actually going out to freedom (the club) with arthur and some of george's friends tonight. you should come! celebrate your album and meet arthur" max suggests and i hesitate for a moment but end agreeing. i guess we're going out...

i make it back to my flat and abigail, my best friend and flatmate is sat on the sofa. "we're going out out tonight" i say, dropping my bag on the kitchen counter. "i'm listening" she turns around with a big smile on her face. "andrew and max invited me out with some of their friends. they want me to meet arthur hill, say he could be a good support act?" i say, almost questioning the last part. "plusss, we get to celebrate your album!" abi says, excitedly. "something like that" i laugh. "okay great, do you know what time?" she asks me. "pres at the boys flat at 9" i tell her before getting up to go shower.

as usual, we get ready together in my room. abigail was on her phone, "shall i look at arthur's instagram and see who his friends are" abi says. i roll my eyes, "we'll literally meet them in like an hour" i laugh, now curling my hair. "ooo, he was at a football event earlier today with 3 guys" abigail explains and my social anxiety kicks in and i do kind of want to see who we could be potentially meeting. "chris, another arthur and george" she reads out the instagram tags. "the one in the middle is cute" abigail says. "abigail! you can't be going for my work colleague's friends" i joke. "colleague?" she laughs. "well i could be working with him" i shrug, laughing.

i was finally ready to go and we were heading over to the boy's flat for pres as they lived near the club. i was slightly nervous but we took some cans with us for the tube to give us some liquid confidence. we met andrew and max at the tube station and walked to the boy's flat together.

max calls george and he comes downstairs to meet us and i suddenly question if the boys even know if we're coming. "hello guys, come on up" george says, holding the door open for all of us and i smile thank you. "congrats on the album by the way" he says to me as i walk past him holding the door, catching me completely off guard, i almost look around as if someone else had released an album this week. "oh, thank you" i laugh nervously.

we make it upstairs and there's 3 other boys waiting for us to appear. "no way THE madison scott is in my kitchen!" the boy i recognised to be arthur hill says in a mock accent as we arrive. i laugh, "where?" i say looking behind me, making him laugh also and he walks over and hugs me. "lovely to meet you" he says and i introduce him to abigail. the other two get up to hug us. "hi, i'm arthur, the other one" he laughs and hugs me. "madison, nice to meet you" i say, also laughing. "hi, i'm chris" he hugs me.

"what's everyone drinking?" arthur h asks us all. "we bought some vodka and mixers" i say pointing to abigail's bag. "we all know you're all gonna be drinking beer, lads lads lads" max says making everyone laugh and he was right all 4 boys had cans of beer in their hands.

"so you're all content creators?" i ask the boys, trying to make conversation. "yeah, been doing it for years now" chris says, sipping his drink. "i don't know if you'd have seen them, they're football videos" he laughs. "yeah i don't think i've ever watched a football video to be honest" i laugh. "i think i've seen one of your videos" i say, pointing to arthur tv. "oh wow, really?" he smiles, shocked. " oh yeah, we watched a 90 day fiance recap thing" abigail points to me. "no way" george laughs. "yeah, we love the show!" i laugh and arthur raises his hand for a high five and i hit it. "i just make shit content really" george shrugs. "back yourself" i say to him. "or are you literally shitting in the content?" i ask, making everyone laugh. "yes, that's exactly what i do!" george agrees. "i mean i would like to call myself a singer but i have to create content to promote it" arthur sighs. "yeah felt you on that one" i agree with him. i don't know if he's heard anything about me potentially bringing him on tour yet so i decide not to mention it as i want to see if i get on with him but to be completely honest it was going well so far.

the drinks and conversation were flowing and it was finally time to head to the club. "so we'll get a couple ubers, if that's okay" arthur h says and i agree and book an uber for me, abigail, max and andrew and the boys do it for themselves. they both pull up at the same time and we hop in the cars and make our way to the club.

we get out the cars and make our way inside, thankfully the boys had contacted the club beforehand and we got guest list entry so we could just go straight in. we make our way over to the bar and suddenly there's about 4 people that ask me for photos, i of course take them and thank the people for coming over and george turns to me. "someone's popular" he smirks. "oh shut up, mr guestlist" i joke to him. "we don't like to wait with the peasants" he jokes and my mouth forms an O at his comment but i continue laughing. "the fames got to you" i say and we're interrupted by arthur h, "everyone good with jägerbombs?" he asks and we all agree.

we do the shots and head over to the dance floor. i spent most of the evening dancing with abigail and max and andrew but i could feel myself sobering up so i told everyone i was going to head to the bar. "wait did you say bar?" george says to me. "yeah, i need another drink" i say. "okay i'm coming, i do too" i nod and he follows behinds me.

we make it to the bar and there's a long queue, typical. "what you getting?" george asks me. "not sure, whatever will get me more drunk" i laugh. "probably double vodka coke or something" i shrug. "yeah i'm thinking similar" he says. "so, you listened to my album?" i smirk to george. "hmm, no i heard it's pretty shite" he shrugs. "wow, that's rude" i say, pretending to clutch my chest. "at least i don't post videos of myself shitting on the internet" i continue. "that's not what i do!" he says, laughing. "well you never told me what you actually do" i say but then we're interrupted as george was next to be served. "hi, can i get 2 double vodka cokes?" he says and i just assume he's ordering 2 for himself as he did seem pretty sober. but once he's done, he hands one to me. "what? you didn't have to buy me one!" i say, smiling. "take it as a peace offering for calling your music shite" he says, as i take the cup and i look up and smile at him. "thank you" i say and we walk back to the group. as we walk back, my song, 'good 4 u' starts playing.

"oh noooo" i say, putting my head in my hand knowing everyone is probably looking at me. i decide i need some dutch courage so down the drink that's in my hands and feel the rush go straight to my head. i look up and abigail and max grab one of my hands each and put my arms up in the air. i look up and all the boys are singing along, even george whose been too sober to sing pretty much a single word the whole night. "GOOD FOR YOUUU" we all scream the last words of the chorus and i almost forget it's my own song and just dance and sing along. as the song finishes, i look over to george and lean forward towards him, "thought my music was shite" i joke and he just shrugs, making me shake my head jokingly. we all keep dancing and after two more round of shots, i'm pretty drunk. "to madison for releasing the second best album of the year, following mine" arthur says as we all raise our shots in the air, laughing.

it was currently 1:40am and i assumed everyone would want to stay until the end so after the shots, we head back to the dancefloor. i had noticed abigail and chris had been getting close all night, so i left them to it. "you've seen them two talking all night too right?" i turn to arthur hill and he agrees, "i thought it was just me. i wouldn't worry too much, chris has shit rizz" arthur says, making me laugh.

"we're just going to the smoking area" abigail comes over and says to me, walking off with chris and i raise my eyebrows, she doesn't smoke. "okay" i laugh and she just smiles, definitely drunk but i let her do her thing. "where are they going?" george leans over and asks me. "to the smoking area?" i almost question. "chris doesn't smoke" george laughs. "neither does abigail!" i almost yell. "how the hell has chris managed to speak to a girl?" arthur tv says and everyone laughs. "to be honest, it would be more shocking if it was george!" arthur hill jokes and george just shrugs, unphased by the joke.

we carried on dancing a bit longer, me, andrew and max getting way too into every song. arthur h matched our energy but the other arthur and george watched on and laughed at us. i finally started to get tired and wanted to go home. "are chris and abigail still outside?" i ask the boys and they nod. "i want to leave, can one of you come with me to get them?" i say, not knowing how to approach chris but knowing i can convince abigail to leave. "let's go find the small man" george says and follows behind me to the smoking area.

we make it to the area and it's pretty much empty and they were not there. "chris is probably here, you just can't see him" george says, looking down at the floor. "shush, that's mean" i lightly slap george's shoulder, whilst laughing. "you still laughed" he points at my face. "i don't think they're here. for god sake" i say, sitting on the bench behind me as my legs hurt and all the booths were taken inside. "should we head back inside?" george asks. "my legs hurt, i might just sit for a second. you can go back in" i say. "to be honest, dancing isn't really my thing anyways. i'll sit" he says, sitting next to me. "what do you come to the club for then? pulling girls?" i say. "ahh yes, big ladies man, me. whopping success rate of 0" he says in a mock accent. "no way i believe that. you've definitely pulled at least 2 girls... in your lifetime" i say trying to be generous. "well, who knows" he shrugs and i roll my eyes. there's a gust of wind and it causes shivers across my whole body. "fucking hell, how is it still cold in spring" i say and george turns to me and sees my arms crossed, rubbing to make heat. "do you want my jacket?" george asks. i look up at him, "and you say you've never pulled a girl whilst you're pulling moves like that" i laugh. "it's just called being a good person" he says, taking the jacket off. "are you sure?" i ask "just take it" he says and hands it to me. i put it on and it's definitely oversized but it makes me much warmer than i was minutes ago. "are you not cold?" i ask. "honestly, no i was actually quite warm. i am just naturally a warm person. that's in temperature and looks" he smirks. "i knew the cockiness was in you somewhere" i say. "what does that mean?" he laughs. "well earlier, when you said your videos were shit. i know deep down you don't think that. i reckon you back yourself" i explain. "i mean, yeah i'm slightly confident in myself i guess" he shrugs. "be confident, it's attractive. girls will flock to you" i shrug. "did you just call me attractive?" he turns to face me. "what? no i did not!" i laugh.

"there you two are! abigail and chris came back, let's go!" andrew says, ushering us back to the club. we hug goodbye to the boys and the four of us taxi back to the tube station. we say goodbye to max and andrew and head back to our flat. me and abigail were both pretty much falling asleep on the tube but thankfully make it back to our apartment.

andrew text me to ask if we made it back,

i had never met george before, so i felt more comfortable talking about the album knowing andrew would be there as it was so personal to me.

"hey!" andrew pulls me in for a hug outside the front of the building where they film. "so happy to see you again!" i reciprocate the hug. i follow him upstairs and we make it to the studio. the past year has been so busy i definitely haven't made as much of an effort to spend time with andrew as i should have. i walk in and am greeted by a very excited max. i have met max a handful of times but he's always been so supportive of my music and is essentially my biggest fan. "the album has been ON REPEAT!" he says excitedly. i say hello to their producer, callum too and he briefs us on what we should talk about and then the cameras start rolling.

"i'm max balegde" max starts "and i'm george clarke" andrew says, sat in george's seat making me laugh. they then introduce me and i walk on to the set and andrew moves seats. "i don't think anyone would even notice george isn't here" max shrugs. "and today we are joined by arguably my favourite musician to ever exist, madison scott!" max cheers and claps and i laugh nervously. "even above little mix?" i question. "well... you're toeing a thin line" he adds. 

we continue the intro for a while and max explains where george is and what he's been up to himself this week. "i wonder if anyone knows that me and andrew went to university together" i say. "yeah i wonder" andrew replies. "we literally lived together for 2 years" i laugh. "i know that's crazy to me. like when andrew mentioned he knew you i was in shock. what do you mean my andrew is friends with THE madison scott!" max says.

"anyways, we HAVE to talk about the album" max continues. "he has literally had it on repeat since midnight yesterday" andrew laughs. "it's just so good" max says. "thank you, that's so kind. yeah i mean it's called 'never saw it comin' i think that covers a lot of aspects of my life. like we literally left uni, i uploaded the song that i wrote for my dissertation to tiktok and suddenly it had 10 million views. and then my boyfriend dumped me, didn't see that one coming for sure" i say and andrew interrupts me, "hate to say it, but thank god because he was an asshole" "yeah you're not wrong, there is a few songs about him on this album but a lot of it is just about the growing pains of kind of growing up but also throwing the spanner of so called fame into the mix" i explain. "so i have to ask, will there be a tour?" max says, clapping his hands with excitement. "if so, i WILL be front row!" he adds on the end. "well hopefully! it's all in talks at the moment, i need to pick a support act actually" i say. "i know someone that would be perfect" max explains. "who?" i ask looking at him inquisitively. "i'll tell you after the podcast, i don't want to ruin the surprise for people because i really think it could happen" max explains and we do the rest of the podcast solving dilemmas and me and andrew recapping funny stories from our uni experience.

"great episode guys! thanks for coming, madison" producer callum smiles to me. "so who's this support act you're thinking of?" i turn to max. "arthur hill! he's so good" max says. "oh yeah, that would be so good" andrew agrees. "arthur hill" i say to myself. "i feel like i've heard the name" i say, almost questioning. "we've had him on the podcast" callum says, from behind us. "yeah, he's george's friend" max continues. "ahh okay, i'll have a look and put his name forward to the team. most people we've spoke to are unavailable for the dates we've chosen" i shrug. "we're actually going out to freedom (the club) with arthur and some of george's friends tonight. you should come! celebrate your album and meet arthur" max suggests and i hesitate for a moment but end agreeing. i guess we're going out...

i make it back to my flat and abigail, my best friend and flatmate is sat on the sofa. "we're going out out tonight" i say, dropping my bag on the kitchen counter. "i'm listening" she turns around with a big smile on her face. "andrew and max invited me out with some of their friends. they want me to meet arthur hill, say he could be a good support act?" i say, almost questioning the last part. "plusss, we get to celebrate your album!" abi says, excitedly. "something like that" i laugh. "okay great, do you know what time?" she asks me. "pres at the boys flat at 9" i tell her before getting up to go shower.

as usual, we get ready together in my room. abigail was on her phone, "shall i look at arthur's instagram and see who his friends are" abi says. i roll my eyes, "we'll literally meet them in like an hour" i laugh, now curling my hair. "ooo, he was at a football event earlier today with 3 guys" abigail explains and my social anxiety kicks in and i do kind of want to see who we could be potentially meeting. "chris, another arthur and george" she reads out the instagram tags. "the one in the middle is cute" abigail says. "abigail! you can't be going for my work colleague's friends" i joke. "colleague?" she laughs. "well i could be working with him" i shrug, laughing.

i was finally ready to go and we were heading over to the boy's flat for pres as they lived near the club. i was slightly nervous but we took some cans with us for the tube to give us some liquid confidence. we met andrew and max at the tube station and walked to the boy's flat together.

max calls george and he comes downstairs to meet us and i suddenly question if the boys even know if we're coming. "hello guys, come on up" george says, holding the door open for all of us and i smile thank you. "congrats on the album by the way" he says to me as i walk past him holding the door, catching me completely off guard, i almost look around as if someone else had released an album this week. "oh, thank you" i laugh nervously.

we make it upstairs and there's 3 other boys waiting for us to appear. "no way THE madison scott is in my kitchen!" the boy i recognised to be arthur hill says in a mock accent as we arrive. i laugh, "where?" i say looking behind me, making him laugh also and he walks over and hugs me. "lovely to meet you" he says and i introduce him to abigail. the other two get up to hug us. "hi, i'm arthur, the other one" he laughs and hugs me. "madison, nice to meet you" i say, also laughing. "hi, i'm chris" he hugs me.

"what's everyone drinking?" arthur h asks us all. "we bought some vodka and mixers" i say pointing to abigail's bag. "we all know you're all gonna be drinking beer, lads lads lads" max says making everyone laugh and he was right all 4 boys had cans of beer in their hands.

"so you're all content creators?" i ask the boys, trying to make conversation. "yeah, been doing it for years now" chris says, sipping his drink. "i don't know if you'd have seen them, they're football videos" he laughs. "yeah i don't think i've ever watched a football video to be honest" i laugh. "i think i've seen one of your videos" i say, pointing to arthur tv. "oh wow, really?" he smiles, shocked. " oh yeah, we watched a 90 day fiance recap thing" abigail points to me. "no way" george laughs. "yeah, we love the show!" i laugh and arthur raises his hand for a high five and i hit it. "i just make shit content really" george shrugs. "back yourself" i say to him. "or are you literally shitting in the content?" i ask, making everyone laugh. "yes, that's exactly what i do!" george agrees. "i mean i would like to call myself a singer but i have to create content to promote it" arthur sighs. "yeah felt you on that one" i agree with him. i don't know if he's heard anything about me potentially bringing him on tour yet so i decide not to mention it as i want to see if i get on with him but to be completely honest it was going well so far.

the drinks and conversation were flowing and it was finally time to head to the club. "so we'll get a couple ubers, if that's okay" arthur h says and i agree and book an uber for me, abigail, max and andrew and the boys do it for themselves. they both pull up at the same time and we hop in the cars and make our way to the club.

we get out the cars and make our way inside, thankfully the boys had contacted the club beforehand and we got guest list entry so we could just go straight in. we make our way over to the bar and suddenly there's about 4 people that ask me for photos, i of course take them and thank the people for coming over and george turns to me. "someone's popular" he smirks. "oh shut up, mr guestlist" i joke to him. "we don't like to wait with the peasants" he jokes and my mouth forms an O at his comment but i continue laughing. "the fames got to you" i say and we're interrupted by arthur h, "everyone good with jägerbombs?" he asks and we all agree.

we do the shots and head over to the dance floor. i spent most of the evening dancing with abigail and max and andrew but i could feel myself sobering up so i told everyone i was going to head to the bar. "wait did you say bar?" george says to me. "yeah, i need another drink" i say. "okay i'm coming, i do too" i nod and he follows behinds me.

we make it to the bar and there's a long queue, typical. "what you getting?" george asks me. "not sure, whatever will get me more drunk" i laugh. "probably double vodka coke or something" i shrug. "yeah i'm thinking similar" he says. "so, you listened to my album?" i smirk to george. "hmm, no i heard it's pretty shite" he shrugs. "wow, that's rude" i say, pretending to clutch my chest. "at least i don't post videos of myself shitting on the internet" i continue. "that's not what i do!" he says, laughing. "well you never told me what you actually do" i say but then we're interrupted as george was next to be served. "hi, can i get 2 double vodka cokes?" he says and i just assume he's ordering 2 for himself as he did seem pretty sober. but once he's done, he hands one to me. "what? you didn't have to buy me one!" i say, smiling. "take it as a peace offering for calling your music shite" he says, as i take the cup and i look up and smile at him. "thank you" i say and we walk back to the group. as we walk back, my song, 'good 4 u' starts playing.

"oh noooo" i say, putting my head in my hand knowing everyone is probably looking at me. i decide i need some dutch courage so down the drink that's in my hands and feel the rush go straight to my head. i look up and abigail and max grab one of my hands each and put my arms up in the air. i look up and all the boys are singing along, even george whose been too sober to sing pretty much a single word the whole night. "GOOD FOR YOUUU" we all scream the last words of the chorus and i almost forget it's my own song and just dance and sing along. as the song finishes, i look over to george and lean forward towards him, "thought my music was shite" i joke and he just shrugs, making me shake my head jokingly. we all keep dancing and after two more round of shots, i'm pretty drunk. "to madison for releasing the second best album of the year, following mine" arthur says as we all raise our shots in the air, laughing.

it was currently 1:40am and i assumed everyone would want to stay until the end so after the shots, we head back to the dancefloor. i had noticed abigail and chris had been getting close all night, so i left them to it. "you've seen them two talking all night too right?" i turn to arthur hill and he agrees, "i thought it was just me. i wouldn't worry too much, chris has shit rizz" arthur says, making me laugh.

"we're just going to the smoking area" abigail comes over and says to me, walking off with chris and i raise my eyebrows, she doesn't smoke. "okay" i laugh and she just smiles, definitely drunk but i let her do her thing. "where are they going?" george leans over and asks me. "to the smoking area?" i almost question. "chris doesn't smoke" george laughs. "neither does abigail!" i almost yell. "how the hell has chris managed to speak to a girl?" arthur tv says and everyone laughs. "to be honest, it would be more shocking if it was george!" arthur hill jokes and george just shrugs, unphased by the joke.

we carried on dancing a bit longer, me, andrew and max getting way too into every song. arthur h matched our energy but the other arthur and george watched on and laughed at us. i finally started to get tired and wanted to go home. "are chris and abigail still outside?" i ask the boys and they nod. "i want to leave, can one of you come with me to get them?" i say, not knowing how to approach chris but knowing i can convince abigail to leave. "let's go find the small man" george says and follows behind me to the smoking area.

we make it to the area and it's pretty much empty and they were not there. "chris is probably here, you just can't see him" george says, looking down at the floor. "shush, that's mean" i lightly slap george's shoulder, whilst laughing. "you still laughed" he points at my face. "i don't think they're here. for god sake" i say, sitting on the bench behind me as my legs hurt and all the booths were taken inside. "should we head back inside?" george asks. "my legs hurt, i might just sit for a second. you can go back in" i say. "to be honest, dancing isn't really my thing anyways. i'll sit" he says, sitting next to me. "what do you come to the club for then? pulling girls?" i say. "ahh yes, big ladies man, me. whopping success rate of 0" he says in a mock accent. "no way i believe that. you've definitely pulled at least 2 girls... in your lifetime" i say trying to be generous. "well, who knows" he shrugs and i roll my eyes. there's a gust of wind and it causes shivers across my whole body. "fucking hell, how is it still cold in spring" i say and george turns to me and sees my arms crossed, rubbing to make heat. "do you want my jacket?" george asks. i look up at him, "and you say you've never pulled a girl whilst you're pulling moves like that" i laugh. "it's just called being a good person" he says, taking the jacket off. "are you sure?" i ask "just take it" he says and hands it to me. i put it on and it's definitely oversized but it makes me much warmer than i was minutes ago. "are you not cold?" i ask. "honestly, no i was actually quite warm. i am just naturally a warm person. that's in temperature and looks" he smirks. "i knew the cockiness was in you somewhere" i say. "what does that mean?" he laughs. "well earlier, when you said your videos were shit. i know deep down you don't think that. i reckon you back yourself" i explain. "i mean, yeah i'm slightly confident in myself i guess" he shrugs. "be confident, it's attractive. girls will flock to you" i shrug. "did you just call me attractive?" he turns to face me. "what? no i did not!" i laugh.

"there you two are! abigail and chris came back, let's go!" andrew says, ushering us back to the club. we hug goodbye to the boys and the four of us taxi back to the tube station. we say goodbye to max and andrew and head back to our flat. me and abigail were both pretty much falling asleep on the tube but thankfully make it back to our apartment.

andrew text me to ask if we made it back,

did you guys make it back okay? x

almost fell asleep on the tube but made it back, all good x

thank you for tonight, we had so much fun!

no worries, i'm so glad you came we need to do it more often!

1000%

i turn my phone off, put a glass of water next to abi's bed as she was a lot more drunk than me and decide to make a quick instagram post before heading to sleep.

i head to bed and wake up the next day and the comments are going crazy about me and george...

[the-head-ancho-chilli]

The Hashira and their Sense of Humor

Apologies for the hiatus! A lot has happened over the last couple of months and I'm finally getting some of them (somewhat) resolved through therapy and A LOT of patience with myself. So here's a post that I written back in October that brings me so much joy! Thank you all for your patience ^^

Word count: 2k~

Mitsuri Kanroji

You know those types of people who want to tell you a really funny story but they need to stop laughing first?

And they've been laughing for the past fifteen minutes?

Yeah that's Mitsuri

I'm not entirely sure what to categorize this either than comedic storytelling

She could probably be a standup comedian too, she has some good stories to tell

But Mitsuri is really in her element when when someone else is telling a mildly amusing story

She will just keep adding onto it to somehow make it even more funnier than it was originally intended

Misturi could make an inside joke between you guys too, she is the designated funny friend of the Hashira

I also feel like she sometimes makes self-deprecating jokes, but not on any serious topics

Like she enjoys poking fun at the fact that she's still single

For an example, Mitsuri and Shinobu could be making an order at a restaurant for lunch

By the time Mitsuri finishes her first round of food and hands the dishes to the waiter, she accidentally drops them causing all the plates and bowls to shatter all over the floor

She tries to help clean up but the staff insists that she shouldn't worry about it

Sitting back down with Shinobu, cheeks red from embarrassment, Mitsuri will crack an awkward smile and say "Yeah, this is why I'm still single!"

Obanai Iguro

Obanai is the most sarcastic motherfucker on this list

I feel like his number one policy is "Don't ask me stupid questions"

He's already annoyed like 70% of the time, just don't annoy him even more

But then again...

"Hey Obanai, did you lose this?" "No I was just playing hide and seek with an inanimate object for fun, YES I fucking dropped it"

"You look really tired, are you doing okay?" "Hell yeah, nothing says healthy like eye bags as dark as my hair"

"Can I pet your snake?" "Yeah you just gotta let him nibble you first but don't worry, he's only venomous"

Usually he's kinda rude about it but he does have his nice moments

"Hey Obanai, can you pass me that?" Obanai will just say no but hand and just hand it to you anyways

Some people just don't understand sarcasm all the time and that's when he kinda runs into some trouble

Obanai and Kyojuro were walking to a meeting together, but Obanai had forgotten his jacket AND haori

It was quite chilly outside too, so poor Obanai was shivering while trying to keep Kaburamaru warm

Kyojuro asked Obanai "My friend, winter is coming! Aren't you cold?"

Obanai deadpanned and said "Of course not, I'm just practicing my acting. Glad to see that my shivering is that convincing"

"How interesting! Maybe you should audition for a play at the theatre!"

Obanai's annoyance kept him warm for the rest of the day

Tengen Uzui

Quite an obvious statement, but Tengen’s humor mainly comprises of sex jokes and innuendos

The man has three wives, of course he would find that shit funny

Like he will be in the middle of a meeting, and everyone will line up to receive some gifts from Kagaya

He will say "Come in a straight line, my students"

Tengen will chuckle and say "That's what she said"

Tengen is also the type to be "gay with the homies" and loves to embarrass Sanemi and Obanai by making jokes about being in love or hooking up with them

He chooses specifically those two because it felt awkward to make the jokes to Gyomei

Tengen once spent forty-five minutes explaining to Kyojuro that he didn't actually want to buy him dinner after Kyojuro gave him a genuinely offended look to the highest degree

"How deceitful of you, Tengen"

He pretty much wrote off saying jokes like that to Kyojuro following that incident, but he really can't help himself sometimes

I don't think that Tengen solely has generic innuendos he uses on everyone, he likes testing what SPECIFIC category of sex jokes makes people uncomfortable

Like if Giyu goes to the bathroom, Tengen will saunter up with a finger gun on his chin and ask "Pissing all by yourself, handsome?"

Everyone is throwing their shoes at him

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Of course this sadistic bastard likes slapstick, what we’re you thinking?

He may be good at holding in a laugh, but you can still see that stupid smirk on his face if anyone stumbles

One time Tengen's six foot ass fell face first while running late to a meeting

Sanemi actually struggled to keep his composure that day, he had to bite his lips together to hide the uncontrollable grin on his face

People getting smacked upside the head, tripping others, people getting violently angry, Sanemi loves it all

He refuses to admit that Zenitsu is funny

Now a regular civilian is one thing, but children getting roughed up is another

there was a particular incident where Sanemi had come across some kids swinging on a tree branch near a market he occasionally visited

This week ass branch definitely didn't have the strength to hold up any of those kids

So Sanemi did what any sane person would, and stuck around to watch this disaster happen

Well unfortunately for this one child, the branch snapped mid-swing and fell right on their face

And there was Sanemi, a hand over his stomach from laughing at these dumb kids

He didn't even stop to help them or anything, just calmed down from laughing so hard and walked away to continue shopping

Shinobu Kocho

An absolute queen of insult humor

Even Sanemi can’t beat Shinobu at her best

Do you even think she would stick with the basic ass jokes? Of course not

She can be an absolute menace if she really wants to

Shinobu is just tired of everyone's shit, and she can get even more exhausted from putting on that smile nearly as much as Kyojuro

She just can't keep up

Which brings me to my main point, which is that Shinobu's funny side usually comes out in rants or vents with the people closest to her

She and Mitsuri both express their humor by storytelling, Shinobu's just originates more from anger an annoyance rather than an effort to be entertaining

Regardless of who Shinobu's around, everyone can tell that when she walks through the door with steam coming out of her ears, everyone's gonna be laughing their asses off

As anyone can agree if they've worked in any form of customer service, there are some days where you are so damn close to breaking your cool

When Tengen got placed in the Butterfly Estate's infirmary, Shinobu was actually going to kill a patient instead of saving them for once

Like this man was just demanding shit and teasing his friend left and right, and Aoi had never been so afraid of her mentor in her entire life

Aoi tried to calm her down, "Sticks and stones Shinobu, don't let him get to you!"

Tengen only snickered

Ooooo, she lost her shit

"Sticks and stones may break my bones but PLEASE. FUCK. OFF"

Angy Shinobu is best Shinobu

Kyojuro Rengoku

Look me in the eyes and tell me Kyojuro doesn’t like puns

I know you can't do it

He will howl with laughter nearly every time you tell him a pun

"Hey Kyo, you're never gonna believe it! Remember my friend with a bakery? Well it just burned down!"

At first he'll show genuine concern, politely shouting "How unfortunate!"

"Don't worry about it, his business is toast"

Give him a minute...

"Ahahaha! Good one!"

Not only does he like being told puns, but if he has a good opportunity to tell a well timed pun he will not stop giggling until he tells it

One time you, Tengen, Mitsuri, and Kyojuro were all trying to decide where to eat after a long day of work

At one point Tengen suggested hotpot, even offering to take you all to one that Makio and Suma liked

Kyojuro tried muffling his laughing, but his attention was redirected when you asked him what he thought of the idea

Finally able to cease his giggles, Kyojuro proudly shouted "SOUPER"

It doesn't matter if you find the joke funny or not, Kyojuro's laughter is so contagious that you're dying at the silly pun

What a fucking dork <3

Giyu Tomioka

If there was a form of comedy that’s applicable at any given moment, Giyu would use it on a daily basis

Luckily for him, Giyu discovered it very quicky and refuses to let the tactic go

That's right, Giyu is physically incapable of stopping himself from making a "your mom" joke

Everyone can blame Obanai for that one

Quite literally at any opportunity, Giyu will mutter the phrase under his breath

Unfortunately, because it has become such an unconscious thing for Giyu, this bad habit of his ends up kicking his ass at the worst of times

with all due respect to Giyu's efforts, it just makes him unintentionally funny

in an awkward way

Giyu visited one of his favourite restaurants on his day off, the waiter asked "Is there anything else you would like, sir?" after giving his order

Now Giyu didn't mean it, he really didn't

It just slipped out of his mouth so easily

"Your mom"

Let me tell you, the silence was absolutely deafening

After the two stared at each other in mutual confusion, Giyu just wordlessly left due to the sheer embarrassment and awkwardness he had caused

He tried to go back, truly, Giyu made the effort and walked through the door

But he made uncomfortable eye contact with that same waiter and walked out

He hasn't gone back to that restaurant since ;,)

Gyomei Himijima

I have already established in my Gyomei Headcannons post that Gyomei is the dad friend of the Hashira (go check out that post if you haven’t btw ^^)

So of course he's going to make dad jokes, everyone saw this coming

God forbid you ever complain around him, he will see it as an opportunity (usually)

"Man, I'm really hungry" Gyomei will hand you a bento box and say "Hi hungry, I'm prepared

He is THAT GUY that makes "I haven't seen you since last year!" jokes

Every single year without fail

Shockingly, Gyomei and Kyojuro will bond over their mutual love for super corny jokes

One time while training Genya, Gyomei asked him "Child, what is long and sticky?"

Genya paused his routine to think for a moment, slightly disturbed by the question

"I don't know what you- fresh mochi?" Gyomei shook his head

Genya made a claw gesture with his hands, knowing Gyomei couldn't see it

"No idea, what's long and sticky?"

Gyomei gave a small, sly smile before responding

"A stick, little one"

To be honest, Gyomei's jokes do annoy some of the Hashira whenever he makes them (mainly Shinobu, Obanai and Tengen)

Normally because he's so calm about it

Tengen usually is one to lose his temper over it though

"You really got a joke for about everything, huh?" "Indeed I do, Tengen. I even have one about construction"

Tengen's eye will twitch as he taunts Gyomei "Oh yeah? Well let's hear it then!"

"I'm afraid I can't, my friend. I'm still working on it"

Kyojuro's laugh echoes throughout the meeting as Tengen realizes he most definitely walked into that one

Muichiro Tokito

His sense of humor is weird

That’s all I have, anything that Muichiro finds funny is actually kinda strange

He does this thing where he will go in with a fistbump, but change it to a high five last second

Muichiro can do it the other way around too, but regardless it results in this silly fist-five thing that makes him chuckle

He's a little bit of a devious child so his sense of humor kinda comes from whatever will annoy the other Hashira

Sometimes he will sit in the middle of a meeting and just blow raspberries while spacing out a little

It annoys the fuck out of Sanemi and Obanai because Muichiro's spit gets EVERYWHERE

Even Giyu thinks that kid comes with his own splash zone

He's not one for pranks per say, but he likes reaping a bit of terror amongst the other Hashira

One time Muichiro stole Tengen's red eyeliner one weekend purely for entertainment

the next day when everyone showed up to the meeting, people got to witness a very distressed Tengen

Holding up Sanemi and Obanai midair by the collar of their shirts, Tengen interrogated the both of them where they hid his shockingly expensive liner

Of course no one would suspect the slobbering kid, who was inconspicuously blowing raspberries

Had anyone asked Muichiro if he saw Tengen's liner, Muichiro would turn to the fuming man and giggle

Secretly, Aoi is Muichiro's unknowing accomplice in these scenarios

"Here Aoi, could you hold this for a while?" "Uhh, sure? What is it for?" "Hmm? Oh nothing..."

Don't underestimate this little shit

꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚ ꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚ ꒷꒦˚︶︶꒦꒷︶꒷꒦˚

Hey y’all! Hope you liked this post, it was such a pleasure to write it ^^

I’m hoping that now I’ll be able to write more for this blog now that I have more time, and I have more posts lined up in the future :)

Ask box and requests are still open, just please read the rules before submitting anything!

[lovingseventeen]

Hey, Zin! Hope you're healthy and doing fine! May I request a post about what would svt do when they have a crush on someone? This idea just popped up in my mind in a broad daylight, and I think you're the perfect writer for this 🥰

svt when they have a crush

a/n: i wrote this in a svt x you pov, i hope that's fine :))

seungcheol: 

❀ offers to do anything and everything for his crush

❀ he sees you struggling to open a water bottle? he's ever so casually speed walking to open it for you

❀ you're about to open a door for yourself? no you're not!

❀ "oh! i got it" he'll tell you, holding the door with a strong hand as he watches you leave the room

❀ tries to be brave but the second his you lean into his face slightly (maybe even just to tease him) he's soft like putty

jeonghan:

❀ teases, teases, and teases his crush but in a very lighthearted way

❀ maybe the two of you are hanging out and casually playing basketball

❀ if you miss he's all "ayy, why are you doing it like that" but he's so smiley as he watches you

❀ but in the end he tries to help you out, but ALSO uses this as a moment to flex how good he is

joshua: 

❀ charms the hell out of his crush

❀ light touches on your arms when you're talking, a hand on your back as you walk through a crowd so he doesn't lose you, casually leaning in to hear you speak a little clearer

❀ but of course he'll never cross a boundary he knows about

❀ idk i feel like he just knows how to make someone fall for him too

❀ his stomach may be tumbling whenever you smile at him but you'd have no idea

jun: 

❀ somewhat gaslights himself into thinking that he doesn't have that much of a crush

❀ but the members do catch him searching for your name in the list of who liked his most recent post

❀ "do you think i look okay in this? so why they didn't like the picture?"

❀ "bro you posted it two minutes ago, they literally probably haven't seen it yet"

hoshi: 

❀ he's always the life of any gathering, but he does get uncharacteristically quiet when you're around

❀ doesn't really know how to start a conversation (case in point - think of how he was handing stuff out at their concert that one time)

❀ but if you're eating together he does place a couple of extra things on your plate

❀ "you should have this"

❀ will also get very pink if you return the gesture LOL

wonwoo: 

❀ you'd miss it if you weren't observant

❀ but he does think of you a lot and he does small gestures that show it

❀ maybe he was walking by a shop and saw a small keychain he thought you'd like

❀ "you mentioned this show right? i saw this the other day and thought of you" he tells you

❀ he loves seeing you light up over the little keychain and he smiles whenever he sees it on your bag knowing he got it for you

woozi:

❀ will avoid you for the longest time because he feels like his stomach somersaults every time he sees you

❀ but one day he can't take it anymore and he'll blurt it out directly because he feels like he might just explode if he holds it in any longer

dokyeom: 

❀ never actually announces that he has a crush on you but every single one of his members has heard ENOUGH about you that they know

❀ finds himself bringing you up in half of his conversations and he can't stop it

❀ "did you guys see y/n's post? they look so pretty in it..."

❀ he likes all of your stories where you're in the photo somehow- whether it's a selfie, a picture with a friend, or you showing off an outfit

❀ "you know what y/n said to me? they said they liked my new hair" he'll hum (he'll think about that compliment for a week)

❀ for someone who mentions you a lot he gets weirdly quiet when you're around and his members get their revenge by pointing it out LOL

mingyu:

❀ puppy vibes ofc - i had to do it

❀ thinks he's being subtle with how often he's glancing at his crush but he kind of isn't

❀ listens so intently when you talk, but he doesn't realize that you notice the sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you

❀ gets so pouty when he bakes a bunch of cookies and his members eat all of it before he gets to give you one

minghao:

❀ someone who actually succeeds in being subtle LOL

❀ always makes sure you’re walking on the inside of the sidewalk type of guy

❀ casually never lets you pay for anything

❀ “i got it, don’t worry about it” whenever you two eat out

❀ eventually confesses in the perfect setting and perfect timing in private too - just so you don’t feel pressured either

seungkwan: 

❀ someone who'll win you a plushie at a carnival game or one of those claw machines

❀ “y/n watch this” he’ll tell you, seemingly confident in his athletic ability (secretly he’s freaking out) at one of those carnival games where you just have to shoot a basketball

❀ “so here’s the technique for these machines” he’ll also say, as he presses the button that signals for the claw to drop

❀ maybe you go home with 2 plushies that day, or 7

vernon: 

❀ awkward but cute laughs when you make a joke

❀ i feel like he'll compliment you in a very vernon way???

❀ "your jacket looks big on you, but in a cool way"

❀ "oh is this hairstyle new?" "oh yeah it is" *he just does a thumbs up*

chan:

❀ will try to do some kind of dance move or impersonation of michael jackson or something to impress you but it leads to him falling over

❀ he’s about to go home and delete his social media when he hears your laugh

❀ but he also sees that it’s not a mean one, and that you’re hurrying over to crouch next to him

❀ “okay king of pop” you tease, “are you okay though?”

❀ great, just when he thinks he can’t get any more smitten :’)

[aangarchy]

Netflix atla live action review ep 4-6

So, they completely ruined Bumi. Spoiler warning.

The more episodes pass by the more confused i get with the choices that were made. I wrote down commentary for the episodes and the thing that i wrote down the most was "why does this happen?". The writing is incredibly confusing and messy, feels too rushed in some spaces and too slow in others. There's just... so much going on and so little at the same time. They brought in elements that in the OG don't get introduced until later in s1, s2, the comics, or even the legend of Korra. The reason these things get introduced so early here is not clear at all, because they don't serve any purpose other than to be an obstacle to Aang, Sokka and Katara on their way to the North.

Mai and Ty Lee are.. there. They get introduced earlier but they don't serve any purpose at the moment other than stand around, watch Azula train, ask questions so that Azula can give us the answers the viewer needs. My guess is they only got introduced for the audience who watched the OG to go "oh we know them!". We get the secret tunnel story earlier too, but it has absolutely nothing to do with love. Somehow "love is brightest in the dark" now correlates to the badgermoles being able to sense a human's emotion. It's a waste of a storyline, doesn't teach us anything about love, gives us Omashu lore which is useless bc neither Sokka nor Katara actually use love to escape the tunnels. Also Oma and Shu are lesbians now, but you only know that bc they changed Shu's pronouns. Wow, so progressive! We have lesbians in the story now! Boy do i feel represented as a sapphic!

We get Koh early on as well, but his entire gig got changed. Now suddenly he doesn't steal faces but he "feeds", and hunts using the fog of lost souls (which is tlok lore mind you) as a tool to trap humans. We introduce the mother of faces (comic book lore!), or rather pendant of her that Koh owns. There's no reason for her to exist in this story though other than to be an easter egg to everyone who read the search (Not even the majority of the fandom!) and to offer a solution to this problem we've created, which is Koh capturing our friends in order to eat them and us not being able to convince him into letting them go. There's no feeling of dread in the Koh scenes at all because the whole problem of not showing emotion is just not a thing now. No suspense, no fear, just a weird cgi clown face worm. The worm doesn't even menacingly circle around Aang to invoke a feeling of being surrounded, it just sits there. I also just don't understand why Koh is here already bc now who is going to give us information about Tui and La?

This decision also creates a problem that Hei Bai's story just isn't about Hei Bai anymore. We get fed a few lines from a talking fox about how the forest spirit got hurt, but there's really no solution? Aang buries a pinecone in front of the statue and tells him not to give up hope but he didn't even really need to do that, because Hei Bai wasn't the one kidnapping villagers! It was Koh. Why did we appease Hei Bai if Koh was the real villain? Hei Bai/Koh's story leads us to Roku, but Roku is completely useless. All he does is undermine Kyoshi's advice to Aang, tell Aang about the mother of faces pendant so he can appease Koh, and then we leave. I knew in advance Roku wasn't going to warn Aang about the comet here bc Albert Kim already told us working with a deadline like that with child actors is just impossible. But with Roku suddenly not being Aang's main Avatar guide he just gets nothing to do. There's no suspense in this part of the story either, bc the time limit of the winter solstice isn't a thing here at all. Aang also ends up flying over Fire Nation borders without issue, and gets led right into the sanctuary without the puzzle of figuring out how to open the door, and without the problem of Zhao's soldiers waiting for him when he comes out. It creates this issue of there not being any excitement, at least for me. I genuinely am getting a bit bored with the show, which was never an issue with the OG for me. There's a reason all of this extra material didn't get introduced until later on. There's too many characters and they all get too little time to really do anything useful, they're not fleshed out, the stories aren't thought through and it ends up getting very confusing and boring. I'm genuinely curious for the perspective of people who have never watched the OG cartoon, bc i wonder if they're even able to follow along without prior knowledge of this universe.

Bumi is just... not Bumi. They completely changed his character to be this bitter old senile man that resents Aang for abandoning the world. This doesn't make any sense because in this version of the story Bumi shouldn't know that Aang is the Avatar at all, because Aang was told right before he disappeared! So why does Bumi immediately know that Aang is the Avatar, and why does Aang immediately recognize him? Also the original point of Bumi's tests is to get Aang to approach fights and puzzles from a different angle, so he can learn versatility as the Avatar. But here the tests are just happening because Bumi is mad at Aang for leaving and wants to get back at him for being gone so long. He says some lines about Aang having to learn to make hard choices and you can't rely on your friends, but Aang ends up proving him wrong in the end! What is even the point of Bumi's part in the story now, except for him just being another obstacle on the way to the North Pole?

There's a lot of instances where I feel like the bond between characters gets completely lost. We barely spend any time with the side characters like the mechanist, Teo, Jet and the freedom fighters, and the people in the spirit village. It makes some scenes feel very out of place. These storylines all happen at once, and they don't get their individual moments to shine. We have no room to feel betrayed by Jet or Sai, because we barely got to know them to begin with. Jet and Sai only spend time with One member of the gaang each, but when their betrayals come to light the rest of the group acts devastated, as if it was their dear friend. Sokka also gets really mad about the Jet thing, but he only met Jet once when he smuggled them into Omashu, and Jet didn't even tell Sokka his name. He said it afterwards when Katara met him again. It makes absolutely no sense why Sokka is yelling at Katara for trusting Jet only bc she finds him attractive, when Sokka wasn't even there during all of that!

The sense of family between the gaang that we get from the original also just doesn't happen here. Especially because these characters so far have spent more time apart than together. Aang constantly gets separated from Sokka and Katara, leaving no room for them to bond. We get Katara and Sokka bonding, but they shouldn't need those types of scenes because they're already siblings (which isn't very clear in the show either btw!). I ended up forgetting that Sokka and Katara were trapped by Koh, bc we spend so much time away from them (a whole episode, which is now an hour!).

I have little to no criticism for the Blue Spirit story. Want to guess why that is? Bc they left it pretty much untouched. We even get a little bit of an extra scene, with Zuko and Aang talking while Zuko recovers after getting hurt during the escape. I liked this choice, especially bc it highlights how conflicted Zuko is.

This is where we get Zuko's backstory. I have one question here: why did they make Ozai more sensible and less ruthless? Was that a Daniel Dae Kim decision? Bc it feels like a Daniel Dae Kim thing to do. They're very on the nose with the way Ozai is abusing Zuko and Azula, but then they turn around and make this man visit Zuko after he burned him and praise Zuko about finding the Avatar. I understand that they did this to show how Ozai uses Zuko's accomplishments in order to push Azula, but even if it were to do that: the original Ozai would NEVER. The problem here as well is that they don't let the viewers draw any conclusions themselves anymore. They're holding the viewer's hand through the whole thing, leaving no room for nuance or doubt.

I just finished episode 7 and 8 and I have Things To Say. None of which are good. Writing it down is challenging so it might take a day or two.

[krizariel]

Oh don't tell me... you are f*cking my ex?!

(crack, not-fic, jaytim with past timsteph) Talking with friends about how a friend - who was into jaytim and was a tim fan before he was even registered in my radar - unintentionally got me into jaytim; but then he moved on pretty much as I came in and now he has to put up with me and my never-ending duck giggling butt emojis. Or how he eloquently put it: "I'm literally like a tragic dramatic irony mythical Greek MC, just a plaything of fate" Anyway, I remembered this vague idea and then this took shape:

No-capes AU in which Tim was never adopted by Bruce, but the rest (including Steph and Jason) were. Jason is very protective of his family, especially his sisters. And yes, Steph is a gremlin and gets in trouble more often than not, but damn it no one messes with his sister.

Tim and Steph started dating during mid-school; Tim tends to be asked out more often than not and he has trouble saying no. Often times he does not feel truly attracted to anyone; but he does not want to be seen as uptight or impolite or worse... questioned. He often accepts his dates until eventually they get bored of him. Steph was a change of pace of him and at some point he genuinely was feeling attraction to her; but maybe not to the extent she deserved. She asked him out and was always the one initiating anything, and he'd often go along with it. She was amazing, full of life, funny and so pretty; Tim didn't know what exactly she saw in him. However, she'd quickly notice his lack of enthusiasm/interest and often they'd fight. Why say yes when you aren't truly into it? They were on and off for a year until they broke things off for real. Jason of course hated Tim's guts; be that way whatever, but making his sister cry and mistreating her was a different story. After breaking up, Tim tried to reach out to Steph later, to try and explain himself better and be honest with her. She deserved that much. Except Jason found him before Tim could reach his sister; punched him hard enough to send him off-balance, grabbed him and pushed him against the wall to make it very clear he should not get near his sister again or else... (and Tim was scared to shit because danger danger but also creepily turned on when Jason grabbed him and raised him off the floor so easily. He needs to consult a therapist as to why Jason threatening turned him on and somehow that started his bi awakening) Eventually Steph and Tim moved on with their lives, continue dating other people, and given that they still have friends they reconnect, reminiscence of the past and talk it out. They also eventually come out and bond over both being bi. Fast forward years later, neither Tim or Jason had seen each other again; but Tim stays in touch with Steph. Tim is a well known editor at a big publisher and Jay is an aspiring book writer. Steph had given Tim her brother's original novel draft and he actually loved it. Steph: So, remember my brother Jason? Tim: Your hot brother who kicked my ass in front of half the school hates my guts? how could I forget. Steph: Yeah! He is the one who wrote this fabulous piece. Think you can help him? Tim *internally trying not to scream because what are the odds*: ...Sure. If he agrees to meet, I have time tomorrow. But you better be there, in case he remembers he told me not to get near you. I fear for my life. Steph: Don't be dramatic, he probably doesn't even remember you.

---- Steph: Sooo... I have a friend who is an editor at X publisher. He read your work and loved it. He actually thinks it has high chances to be published. Jason: Really? Steph: Yeah! Told him we could meet with him tomorrow for coffee and go over the details. Jason: Wait who is this friend? Do I know him? Steph: Well... remember this boyfriend I had back in mid-school... Jason, as he stops what he is doing, turns to Steph and glares: The one I hit and pushed against the wall and told to never get near you ever again? That one? Steph: Yes! Jason: Wait, he got actually near you again? *starts cracking knuckles* Steph: Yes, but not that way! I wouldn't take that human disaster for a ride and I'd pity anyone who'd date him. Plus I'm perfect with Cass, thank you very much. But we made peace long time ago and we've been good friends since. I'm sure he doesn't hold grudges, after all he knows the work is yours and had no trouble! It's been years, we have all grown up and moved on.

Jason: Fine. ---- The meeting was awkward at the beginning (especially due to Jason's perpetual scowl) but Tim is clearly very professional and jumps right into business. They exchange contact information. It's clear Tim genuinely likes Jason's work. He puts a lot of effort in navigating Jason through the process, giving detailed comments/notes and Jason is happy to see someone catching on the little details and talk excitedly about them. May not be much but internally he is preening. They start meeting often for coffee, at first they'd talk more about work rather than chitchat and then their meetings started evolving into less work and more random talk, getting to know each other. Sometimes they don't finish talking about the book because they got too distracted. Tim opens up about his teen years, how he was (and still is) too dumb for relationships. He didn't know better but as he matured he learned to accept himself. Jason realizes Tim wasn't that bad of a guy as he thought; just someone making mistakes, learning and growing.

Tim finds he hasn't enjoyed someone's company in a while. He has dated guys before and has matured enough to be better and accept what he wants. But as years went by he poured himself into work and has been so busy, he doesn't exactly have lasting relationships so he stopped altogether. This time around, he feels like he genuinely is giving his all. He decides that he will see that Jason's book becomes a reality because Jason is talented, he is amazing and deserves this. And then, he will gather the courage and ask him out. Jason is also troubled because he is developing a fat crush on his sister's ex and he did NOT see that coming.

The day Jason's book is finally out, they celebrate and Tim asks Jason out on a date. ----

Later: Steph: SMH I can't believe you! Jason: ... it's your fault

[steddieprompts]

Ok so this is more of a full fledged story than a prompt but work with me here (sorry for typos, i wrote this quick):

Medieval Steddie and possible ronance au: Eddie is a bard who has been banished from the castle. He functions now as a guide to adventurers, having completed a fair few adventures himself. He'll take any wannabe knight or reward seeking peasant anywhere in the kingdom and beyond for a price.

Steve, or Stephon really, is the Prince of the same castle Eddie was banished from. His friend, Robin of House Buckley, a rebellious young linguist, has disappeared in Goblin country. Steve has to save her, not only because Robin is his closest friend, but because his father has vowed to banish Steve if he doesn't do something with his life.

Steve finds Eddie and is somewhat disguised in light armor with no crests from the castle or opulent furnishings. Eddie, in truth, doesn't recognize Steve at first, just clocks him as someone of status. Eddie isn't a huge fan of high status knights taking up for-reward jobs (and there is a reward for Robin, she comes from a respected science house and her parents are worried). Why not leave these jobs to people who need the dough? But he takes Steve on as a client because even if Steve doesn't need the money, Eddie sure does.

...........

They start their adventure off in terse interactions. Eddie doesn't like this pompous rich guy and Steve doesn't like how Eddie keeps giving him the side eye. Steve finally asks him one night what his problem is. Eddie makes some remark about how people who obviously already have a patron (is that what you call people who hire knights?) shouldn't be taking on stand alone quests. They already get enough benefits from being an employed knight. Steve scoffs as soon as he hears it.

"I'm trained, but I'm not a knight. And I didn't take this quest on fir the money. Robs is my friend. I told her not to go out there alone."

Eddie eases up after that, still a little suspicious about Steve's background, but if he isn't lying about being friends with Robin, then maybe Steve is ok. Eddie had done some side work for the Buckley house before and they were fine people in his book.

They keep going, this time on more amicable terms, even branching towards friendly, but Eddie can't seem to shake the feeling that he knows Steve.

They are a day at most from Goblin country when Eddie finally places it. Steve is prince Stephon. They argue and it blows up. Why would Steve hide his identity? Why wouldn't he at least tell Eddie? Is he doing this for Robin or just to secure a place on the throne?

Eddie revokes the quest, says Steve is on his own, and storms off... but he realizes Robin is still in danger so he backtracks. The thing is, Eddie was mad about Steve's secret identity, but he was more mad at himself that he had grown attached to Steve... maybe had feelings for him.

He doesn't catch up to Steve until they find Robin, who has somehow convinced the Duchess Nancy from the Wheeler fiefdom to help her in her quest, doing battle with a fuck-huge troll (Nancy is in armor BTW, she is very fetching). Steve busts in in the nick of time but three people still aren't enough to take it down. Enter Eddie, running and yelling like he does in the show to turn the tide of the battle and they defeat the troll.

Robin and Nancy explain there is something much more sinister than goblin unrest happening and that they have discovered a necromancer by the name of Vecna who is stirring up trouble.

They continue the quest to find and defeat vecna and along the way Eddie and Steve have a heart to heart and are friendly again; flirting even.

When they finally find vecna and do battle, they win, but Eddie is grievously injured. Steve rushes him to a hermits house that he knows of on the edge of goblin country where the two hermits Sir Jon and Sir Argyle nurse Eddie back to health with their strange herbs and medicine. Steve doesn't leave his side. When Eddie wakes he divulged his undying love for the prince and he and Steve become hermits themselves, watching the goblin boarder for any sign of Vecna.

Nancy and Robin take Steve's place and rule over a happy, healthy, well educated kingdom.

the end.