#their interviews i could watch them all day

[sevsgiirl]

— ambessa being a sugar mommy and spoiling reader

synopsis: after graduating from university, you were struggling to make ends mean. thankfully, you landed a job in a huge company… whose ceo happens to have already set her sights on you.

tags: ceo!ambessa, younger!reader, oral sex, office sex, imbalanced power dynamics.

note: I’ve recently finished lipstick devil on webtoon and I just NEEDED to get this idea off my chest. I’m planning to turn this idea into a longer fic but for now here’s some headcanons about ceo!ambessa spoiling you :’)

𖥔 you honestly weren’t used to it. all your life you’ve learned to monitor your expenses, to never spend beyond your budget even when you had extra money to spare — to put other people’s needs before your own.

𖥔 after graduating university and working enough minimum wage jobs to build up your resume, you finally landed a position on noxus corp. as part of the marking sales department.

𖥔 professor grayson referred you to one of her friends who works at the company, who then asked you for your portfolio and after a month of processing your applications, you passed the interview and got accepted.

𖥔 it was a miracle you even got accepted given how strict the requirements were, but it seems as though the head office deemed you qualified.

𖥔 the first couple of weeks working at the firm went by smoothly. it was your typical 9-5 office job, you never understood why your co-workers said that the position isn’t for the weak.

𖥔 that was until you met her. ambessa merdarda. the ceo herself.

𖥔 on the day you first saw her you almost slid past her peripheral, but unlucky for you, nothing goes unnoticed by ambessa.

𖥔 when she noticed you, she just couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. at how the pencil skirt you wore stretched deliciously around your hips and how it stopped below your knees. it was long enough to be work appropriate, but your figure left a lot for one’s imagination to go crazy.

𖥔 how every time she caught a glimpse of you at the breakroom or when you bent down to retrieve something from the drawers, she’d watch the way your ass swelled in the tight skirt. making her lick her lips before she forced herself to avert her gaze.

𖥔 however, it became harder and harder to resist you. eventually, she asked one of the lower departments to hand her the spreadsheet for the week’s overview, even though that’s usually assessed by the manager. but she needed an excuse to see you up close.

𖥔 as if it wasn’t enough, she asked them to have you deliver it for her by name.

𖥔 “I’ve seen the new hire. please. have her deliver the spreadsheet for me. I want to know if she’s capable.”

𖥔 she knows it’s bullshit. she never cared to check how competent the new hires were because those were mundane details she left others to do.

𖥔 but the second you knocked on her door and stepped inside her office, all doe-eyed and shy, your voice quiet as you called out her name “ms. medarda?” she knew right then and there she had to have you.

𖥔 six months have passed since and here you are now, sprawled on her desk with your skirt ridden up to your thighs as your slick dripped from her cherry coated lips down to her chin as she ate you out like a woman starved.

𖥔 “bessa…” you mewled as you threw your head back and gripped the edge of the mahogany desk, feeling your orgasm approaching.

𖥔 she hummed, pulling away from your swollen clit to place a chaste kiss on your inner thigh.

𖥔 “you’ve been so good to me, dear.” she purred as her piercing eyes looked up at you “I’ve made reservations for us this evening. you’ve been working so much these past few weeks, it’s only fair I return the favor.”

𖥔 and return the favor she did.

𖥔 that’s how ambessa prefers to spoil you in the relationship. she’s tried multiple times to make you resign at the company, saying you didn’t need the job because she could provide for you. but you were insistent that you still need to make a living for yourself because you never know when the circumstances will turn on you.

𖥔 she was quite offended by the implication that she’ll ever grow bored of you, then again she’d be lying if she said that your practical mindset wasn’t what drew her in to begin with. so she let it slide. but that still didn’t stop her.

𖥔 so she’s been working hard to convince you that just isn’t the case. that she is serious about you and your relationship. that she could see it working it out on the long run and that you could rely on her to fulfill all your needs.

𖥔 and so she does it by showering you not only with mind blowing sex in between meetings and after you clock out of your shift, but also by surprising you with fresh bouquets of flowers on your desk every morning.

𖥔 people in the office likely figured out what was happening between you two but were just too scared to ask you about it, especially knowing how scary ambessa is.

𖥔 you weren’t used to being the center of attention let alone when it comes to personal matters such as your relationship, and you’ve told her that. but that still doesn’t stop her from spoiling you left and right.

𖥔 “if others cause you trouble about it, let me know. I’ll have them fired.”

𖥔 she swore it was a joke when you reprimanded her about the threat, but you knew deep down if you actually had a problem she’d stay true to her word.

𖥔 with that, your co-workers never spoke a word about it. even when the bouquets turned to expensive chocolates imported from europe, to a huge teddy bear that was about the same height as you, to a new office desktop you realized was a mac computer, completely different from the others that your office mate jayce couldn’t conceal his surprise.

𖥔 “how come she gets a mac computer while we have a lenovo?” he exclaimed only to get yelled at by the others telling him to shut up and move on.

𖥔 or when she called you into her office one afternoon saying she had a surprise “I just remembered you telling me you’ve had the same phone since your junior year.” she smiled before handing you a white paper bag “to go along with the computer.”

𖥔 and sure enough, there was a new phone inside.

𖥔 “bessa…” you sighed as you gave her one of your failed attempts of a glare “you can’t keep buying me gifts like this.”

𖥔 “well, I asked you to take my card but you said-“

𖥔 “that’s not what I mean.” you argued while she reached forward and smoothened the furrow between your eyebrows.

𖥔 “just let me spoil you, my love.” she said, wrapping her strong arms around you as she pulled you against her chest “you never known when to take a break or receive any reward for your hard work. so let me. let me spoil you rotten.”

𖥔 you bit your lower lip, not being able to hide the way your cheeks reddened at her words “you smother me too much.”

𖥔 she smirked as she leaned down and nosed at your jaw “I’d give you the world if I could, dear.” she muttered “just say the word. if only you stopped being so stubborn and resigned, you could come live with me and you’d never have to work a day in your life. just you, with all the luxuries in the world as you wait for me on our bed…”

𖥔 her hand reaches down to cup you from underneath your skirt and you couldn’t repress the moan that slipped past your lips.

𖥔 she lets out a groan feeling your soaked cunt “then I’ll come home, fuck you from night until morning before it’s time for me to leave for work again. and all you have to do is be a good, doting little wife for me.” she gently takes your jaw in her hand to capture your lips “doesn’t that sound enticing, no?”

𖥔 god, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.

[81pastrys]

Can I have 12/13 year old Hamilton's daughter and she's at the paddock on race day and is chatting with skysports and it get progressively more off topic (racism/sexism/etc) and the other drivers come to defend her before Lewis comes out??

Thanks gorgeous/handsome

People Talk

Summary— SkySports has Beatrice do an interview, but when a commentator makes a sexist comment she clocks him.

Warnings— sexist comment towards female racers

A/N— absolutely love the name suggestions too!!

Beatrice was well known around the paddock, so much so skysports asked to speak with her before a practice. Other drivers noticed and some stayed to watch, she was an intelligent 12 year old.

“So Beatrice, how does it feel to watch in red now?” She’s gotten the question so many times, her answer differs but stays relatively the same.

“I love it, I mean the people are different, all I’ve known is Mercedes but yeah it’s definitely a change.” She laughed a bit and more questions followed. “Repeat that for me I’m sorry?” One of the commentators made a comment on female racers.

“Female racers don’t do as well in formula cars?” He asked. She nodded and her attitude changed. “Look at the statistics given, I mean a man can pull more time out the same car that a female drove in.” He said.

“How long had the female been racing though? Was she confident in that car?” Beatrice asked, he stuttered. “A man can probably adjust quicker but if we’re comparing statistics put equal leveled drivers in cars and then come back to me. Thank you.” She tried to hand the microphone away but they ushered her to stay.

Lando was watching the interview and saw her demeanor changed. She was no longer comfortable to be in the interview. “No that’s enough, she said she’s done.” Lando was firm but polite. He grabbed her hand and pulled her away. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, that comment just made me uncomfortable.” She said, he could see her anxiety spike when they asked her to stay. Lewis saw them and walked up. “Hey dad.” She weakly smiled at him.

“Hey Bea, what’s wrong?” Lewis could see her mood different from when he left her with SkySports. “Did they say something rude?” He knew SkySports talked about any driver anyway they wanted.

“No they made a sexist comment.” She said confidently. She never hesitated to tell Lewis her worries. “Thank you Lando.” She hugged Lando and then went to her father’s garage.

“Did they bring up how females don’t do as well?” Lewis asked, they’ve asked it before. He always ignored the question or changed the topic. He gave up convincing them.

“Yeah and I told him to put equal leveled drivers in the same car and then come back to me.” She laughed at her own comeback. Lewis high fives her and realized it didn’t bother her as much as he thought it might.

I completely read the request wrong so I actually have a different one too BUT this was the request (I’ll post the other one too)

@il0vereadingstuff @kallanfiona

[ellswritings]

Shake It For Me

Cody Rhodes x Reader

TW: Country music (ik ik, I’m sorry. It’s cute tho I promise), cursing, men who can’t take no for an answer, Cody being possessive/protective, foul language, some spiciness (2/10), neck kissing, I think that’s it…

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling

═══════•°• ⚠ •°•═══════

Nashville Tennessee.

One of Y/N’s favorite places to be. Whenever she saw that they would be putting on a show in Music City, she couldn’t help but smile. It was one of the only other places she would consider living in besides her hometown. The people are amazing, the food is phenomenal, the sights are beautiful, and even though she would never admit it out loud, country music is her guilty pleasure.

When the plane landed earlier that day, she was practically buzzing with excitement. Everyone in the locker room watched her with amusement as she went through the entire day with a huge smile on her face. Her energy was so contagious that she managed to convince even the people who usually don’t like going out after shows to go out with them to the bar.

Cody watched his best friend with nothing but adoration and enthusiasm. He loves seeing her like this, so in her element. He spent the entire day before the show with her, allowing her to drag him to all of her favorite places. Broadway Street, her favorite hole-in-the-wall barbecue joint, the boot shop she always stopped at even though she already had a closet full of cowboy boots. They decided to sight see while they could since they had to spend the entirety of their Friday at the arena for SmackDown.

It was already pretty late after the show ended and the talent was released, but she was determined to go out to the bar. She had her outfit for the night packed in her gym bag and everything. A sparkly red top, cut off shorts, and a nice pair of brown cowboy boots. She looked like a native to the city. Even with exhaustion swirling around inside them, simply seeing the bright smile on her face was enough to get everyone to the bar she had found.

It was one of the most lovely honky tonk bars in Nashville. People were eating, talking, dancing, and drinking. It carried a wholesome feeling where tourists and locals could come together just to enjoy their evening. It was a safe place where everyone could soak in the neon lights and whiskey-heavy air.

And Y/N was absolutely thriving.

Cody, on the other hand, was just along for the ride.

It's not that he didn’t want to be there. He always went out with Y/N after shows when she wanted to go. Sometimes they would simply go back to their shared hotel room and watch a movie, or they’d do a little snack run to a local gas station and sit up talking, it all just depended. But the two of them always ended up sharing a hotel room whenever going anywhere, so they usually drove and stuck together when going out.

He had a beer in his grip, the condensation of the glass hitting the soft skin of his hand due to the humidity in the air. His drink was mostly untouched, only a sip here and there. They planned on calling an uber when it came time to leave, but something inside of him told him not to drink. He leaned against the bar nodding along to whatever Josh and Jon were saying to one another. He wishes he could say he was paying attention, but truthfully, he wasn’t. His eyes kept flickering to Y/N.

She managed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. From conversations and laughing with Rebecca (Becky Lynch), to taking tequila shots with Bianca and Trinity, and even dancing to the beat while she talked animatedly to Kevin and Rami. She fit right into the lively scene, looked like she was exactly where she belonged standing under the flashing lights.

Cody always knew she loved nights out like this. Where it was everyone just enjoying their time, not worried about catching an early flight or interviews. She said it felt like a family outing, and with all of them being on the road so much and being away from home, it was nice to have a makeshift family here.

There was just something different about seeing her here though. Seeing her in her true element, completely in her zone, having all the fun in the world. It was nice seeing her so carefree. Y/N has a tendency of carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She takes on her own burdens along with everyone else’s, because that’s just who she is. She loves everyone and would do anything to help.

That’s what drew him to her in the first place. They’ve been friends since his ‘Dashing’ Cody Rhodes phase. Even when he left WWE, she was the one person who consistently kept in touch with him, who went out of her way to visit him in Atlanta, who came to see his shows when he was in AEW, who never missed a birthday or important milestone in his life. She even threw him a huge welcome back party when he returned to WWE. Y/N stood by his side always. She truly was his best and closest friend.

“You know… you got a bit of a staring problem.”

Cody blinked, turning his head over to Colby who took the empty seat next to Josh and Jon. The twins snicker at the man’s joke causing Cody to roll his eyes playfully. The knowing smirk on his three friends' faces makes him sigh, pushing his beer further away from him.

“I do not,” he denies smoothly, keeping his face stoic. He tries to cover up his reaction by retaining an unbothered tone, but glass is harder to see through.

“Uh-huh,” Colby nods mockingly, taking a sip of his own drink. “Anyone who’s glanced your way knows those baby blues have been on her since we got here.”

“He’s got a point,” Jon jumps in with a menacing grin. “You like lookin’ at her so much, why don’t you just… I don’t know– hang out with her?” He quips sassily.

“I am hanging out with her,” Cody tells them. “She’s just having fun with other people too. I don’t need to suffocate her all the time.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Josh chuckles. “Don’t y’all practically live together? Stayin’ in the same hotel rooms n’ shit. Woulda thought you’d be attached at the hip tonight. ‘Specially after her win against Natalya.”

“I’m just letting her enjoy her night,” Cody tries to laugh it off. “Damn. It’s almost like you want me to be following her around.”

“It is entertaining watching you trail her like a puppy dog,” Colby laughs obnoxiously, Cody lightly smacking his arm.

“I don’t follow her around.”

“Sure, man,” Colby pats his back, getting up to go bother his wife. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Cody ignores him, but he does force himself to look away from Y/N. It makes him uneasy taking his eyes off of her. Despite Y/N knowing Nashville like the back of her hand, neither of them are from here. It’s a city filled with strange people that they don’t know. Anything could happen and it makes him shift uncomfortably. It takes about five minutes before he finally caves and turns back around to find her.

That’s when the music shifts.

It’s a newer song that she showed him in the car a few months ago. “A Bar Song (Tipsy)” by Shaboozey. He remembers her mentioning there was a line dance that accompanied the tune, but they never had enough time for her to teach it to him.

He watches as Y/N’s face lights up. She excitedly shakes Bianca’s arm, a small squeal escaping her lips. “C’mon, I know this one!” She exclaims, trying ot pull the EST onto the dance floor.

Biance laughs but shakes her head, “You pick the one damn dance I don’t know.”

“I can show it to you,” Y/N pleads. “Please, please, please, please…” she folds her hands together beggingly.

“Just go do it,” Bianca encourages her. “I’ll join you on the next one.”

This 9 to 5 ain’t working

So why the hell do I work so hard

Y/N huffs with a small pout but nonetheless runs out to the dance floor. She hops in the front of the line, quickly picking up where everyone else is already at. Cody barely noticed that she had gone, he knew it was only a matter of time before she ended up on the dance floor. It’s her thing. But just because he wasn’t looking at her, doesn’t mean everyone else wasn’t.

A low whistle is heard from Austin Theory as Grayson Waller’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Damn…” Theory sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. “Look at her!” He claps loudly. “Go L/N, go!”

“Man, I didn’t even know Y/N had that in her,” Grayson adds.

Cody frowns, his grip on his beer tightening. He knows their comments don’t mean anything, but it annoys him sufficiently hearing anyone comment on his best friend. “Had what in her?” He asks with a small sigh.

“Dude,” Austin snorts, gesturing over to the front of the bar, “Just look.”

So, he did.

He turns, glancing back to where he was just looking. She had just gotten in line for the dance, but when his eyes find her again– fuck. He wasn’t at all prepared to see what he does when he sees her dancing form.

One, here comes the two to the three to the four

Tell 'em bring another out, we need plenty more

Two steppin' on the table, she don't need a dancefloor

Oh my, good Lord

People were lining up all around her. It’s not hard to see that she became the center of attention in a very short amount of time. Her movements are so fluid, like she’s secretly been a professional dancer this entire time rather than a wrestler. Her feet move perfectly in time with the beat, her hips matching the upbeat rhythm. It sends Cody’s mind spinning as he tries to keep up with her movements, but it’s almost impossible. All he sees is a blur of sparkling red and the clack of her heeled boots.

Every step she takes, every spin, every heel touch is deliberate. She knows the hold she has on the entire bar. Everyone is either watching her to pick up on the steps or simply just to stare. Her movements are completely effortless yet… dangerous.

Someone pour me up a double shot of whiskey

They know me and Jack Daniels got a history

There's a party downtown near Fifth Street

Everybody at the bar gettin' tipsy

Everybody at the bar gettin' tipsy

Everybody at the bar gettin' tipsy

She adds one extra step that clearly wasn’t originally in the choreography. She spins, dropping low to the ground which makes something catch in the American Nightmare’s throat. He clenches his beer even more than he was before. Because– holy shit.

He’d never seen her in this light before.

He always knew she was beautiful. Just because he’s her best friend doesn’t mean he’s blind. He’s aware of how easily she could turn heads. Her mere presence gains attention no matter where she goes. But this? This is something else. Something that made his stomach tighten in a way he wasn’t sure he wanted to acknowledge.

But his trance is quickly broken when he notices a guy slowly finding his way towards Y/N. Cody’s icy stare locks onto the approaching threat. The stranger clearly thinks he’s slick, that no one can see what he’s doing, but Cody did. He saw his intentions from clear across the bar. He tries to fit in with the large crowd, dancing his way towards the front unil he finally reaches his destination.

Y/N.

Cody stiffens as he watches he man lean forward, whispering something into Y/N’s ear. She laughs at whatever it was– not the kind of laugh she gives Cody whenever he tells her a joke, but a polite, dismissive one. One that should have communicated she didn’t want to have a conversation.

“I haven’t seen you around here before.”

Y/N fights the urge to roll her eyes. This is the exact reason why she wanted Bianca to come out onto the floor with her. It’s easier to get rid of over zealous guys when she has back up. She doesn’t usually like to cause confrontation, especially on the night’s where she gets to go out, but she’s not afraid of it. She just really didn’t want to engage or cause a scene if she she could avoid it. She doesn’t have to ruin his night, and he doesn’t have to ruin hers. Hopefully he knows how to take a hint.

“Yeah, I’m in town visiting for the weekend,” she replies in a clipped tone. “So, if you’ll excuse me.”

She tries to dance away from him, but he doesn’t back down. Y/N can already feel the upcoming conversation and she knows the stranger isn’t going to take her bruising his ego very lightly. She ried to make a graceful escape, but he clearly couldn’t take that for an answer.

“Visitng, huh?” He licks his bottom lip, his movements sloppy in comparison to hers. “What for?”

“Work.” Once again her answer is cut and dry, not revealing too much about herself, showing she has no interest in continuing the conversation.

“Well, what’s a pretty lil’ thing like you do for work?” He inches closer to her, his head dipping down closer to her neck. She can smell the cheap bourbon on his breath and it makes her eye twitch. She tries to take a blatant step forward to get out of the situation. At this point she just wants off the dance floor even though the song isn’t over yet. “Oh c’mon darlin’, where you goin’?” He moves to try and grab her waist. “I’m just tryin’ to get to know you.”

Y/N grabs his wrist, not tight enough to hurt him, but firm enough to get her message across. “Don’t touch me,” she says stiffly. “Find someone else to bother.”

If she wanted to, she could lay him out across the bar floor in a second. She’s taken down women who are bigger than him, but again, she doesn’t feel the need to cause a scene and get herself kicked out of the bar. Especially when it was her idea to go out. She doesn’t want to ruin her friends’ night over some guy who can’t keep his hands to himself.

“You really gonna be like that?” He deepens his voice to try and make himself sound more intimidating. He shrugs, “That’s all right. I don’t mind a little game of cat n’ mouse.”

Y/N sighs. It’s almost like he begins to move in slow motion. She can see his hands are now trying to skim far too low for comfort. She braces herself to get kicked out of the bar for breaking the guy's nose when suddenly a familiar arm coils itself around her waist, pulling her into his chest. In an instant her senses are flooded with the familiar addictive mix of woodsy cologne, clean aftershave, and a hint of warm leather.

Cody.

He lowers his head, his lips ghosting across her neck as he glares daggers into the man in front of them. He places chaste kisses along her skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. It’s a clear claim of what’s his. A silent warning.

The strange man looks startled by Cody’s appearance. Y/N has to admit that she’s a bit surprised herself. One minute he was lounging at the bar with the guys and the next he’s behind her, his hands griping her hips like a vice. Not that she could dwell on it for long as her mind is fogged by his intoxicating presence. She finds herself leaning into his touch, her head falling against his chest. Normally, she would be more considerate, not being so touchy with her best friend, but there’s something about the possessiveness in his stance that makes her forget he’s her best friend in the first place.

The man blinks, clearly thrown by the way Y/N immediately reacted to Cody, “Uh–”

“She’s not interested,” Cody said flatly. His voice was calm. Too calm.

He scoffs, probably feeling emasculated by the way Cody doubles his size just in muscle. “I don’t see her complainin’ about me being here.”

Cody’s grip on her tightens, “That’s because she doesn’t have to.”

The guy looks like he’s about to say something again, but he’s startled by Y/N suddenly letting out a breahy moan. That’s when he notices Cody full on nipping at Y/N’s neck, leaving marks over her soft skin. Y/N is so lost in the feeling of Cody Rhodes that she doesn’t even realize the guy had left. He had muttered something under his breath that neither of them caught before finally taking off.

Y/N giggles, “He’s gone…” she says teasingly. “You can stop that now.” Not that puts forth any effort to move away from him.

Cody barely looks up, keeping her flush against him, “Y’know… I think I’m good where I’m at,” he mumbles.

Y/N smiles, turning in his arms in order to face him. She loops her arms around his neck, amusement dancing in her eyes. “So, what? You just decided to mosey on over here and stake your claim?” She pokes fun at his show of possessiveness.

Cody smirks, enjoying the new view of her face, “Just figured you could use a better dance partner.”

Her eyes light up, “Oh?” She grins, her fingers lacing through his bright blonde locks. “And you think you’re up for that?”

Cody admires the way the light dances on her face for a moment before smiling softly, “Why don’t you teach me?”

The flirty tension disappears for a moment and all she feels is pure love for the man in front of her. Her face is overtaken with excitement as she grabs his hands and places them exactly where she wants them.

“You ever tried swing dancing before?” She asks him with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

He raises an eyebrow, “No… But I’ve heard of it.”

“Well, saddle up cowboy,” she says in the worst southern accent he’s ever heard. “ ‘Cause I’m about to take your ass for a ride.”

“Country Girl (Shake It For Me)” blasts through the bar as Y/N begins the dance. Other people are participating in the designated line dance for the song which looks about just as complicated as what Y/N was trying to show him.

“Normally the guy leads, but since you’re a newbie, I’ll take the reins,” she says with a cocky smirk that makes Cody roll his eyes. “Just don’t fight me, okay? I’ll give you a little nudge every time I want you to move. Just follow my lead.”

Got a little boom in my big truck

Gonna open up the doors and turn it up

Gonna stomp my boots in the Georgia mud

Gonna watch you make me fall in love

Get up on the hood of my daddy's tractor

Up on the tool box, it don't matter

Down on the tailgate

Girl I can't wait

To watch you do your thing

Cody is slightly taken aback by how quick paced the dance moves. He watches in awe as Y/N leads him through the dance, but somehow makes it seem like it’s him doing all the work. She spins herself outwards before flinging herself back into him, hooking her leg around his to slide down. He squats down slightly with her, following along closely.

Y/N grins, “Look at you, cassanova,” she says teasingly. “You’re a natural.”

“I’ve got a good teacher,” he fires back, his tone gravelly and his eyes solely focused on her.

Shake it for the young bucks sittin' in the honky-tonks

For the rednecks rockin' 'til the break of dawn

The DJ spinnin' that country song

C'mon, c'mon, c'mon

Shake it for the birds, shake it for the bees

Shake it for the catfish swimmin' down deep in the creek

For the crickets and the critters and the squirrels

Shake it to the moon, shake it for me girl

Y/N lets out a small yelp as Cody spins her rapidly under his arm before dipping her in time with the beat drop. She raises her eyebrows as he pulls her back up, suddenly taking control from her as they keep dancing. She nods her head, “Not bad…” she teases. “But don’t get too cocky.”

Cody hums, his grip tightening just enough to send a shiver up her spine. Without warning, he practically threw her outwards before pulling her back in, having her jump in the air and into his arms. Her legs are tucked under his bicep as he uses the momentum to rock forward before launching her back out onto the floor. Y/N feels the breath leave her lungs, not knowing how he picked up on such an advanced move so fast. She exhales shakily as they continue to dance.

“Show off,” she breathes out, her chest rising and falling as she tries to steady herself.

He chuckles, his face mere inches from hers. “You walked right into that one.”

“I’m starting to think maybe you have done this before,” Y/N raises a suspicious brow.

“And why would I lie to you?” Cody asks her with a small smile.

“So I would be more impressed when you pulled something like that,” She titles her head, once again spinning under his arm.

Now dance, like a dandelion

In the wind on the hill underneath the pines

Yeah, move like the river flows

Feel the kick drum down deep in your toes

All I wanna do is get to holdin' you

And get to knowin' you

And get to showin' you

And get to lovin' you

'Fore the night is through

Baby, you know what to do

“Ever think maybe I’m just a fast learner?” He counters with his signature half-smile.

“Hmm,” Y/N looks him up and down, still not convinced in he sliightest. “You may pick certain things up quickly, Rhodes, but that foot work tells me you have some experience.” She nods towards his boot-clad feet that are moving far too smoothly for it to be his first time.

He sighs dramatically, his smile growing. “All right, all right…” his sparkling orbs meet hers. “You caught me.”

Y/N scoffs loudly as he dips her and swings her body up. She squeezes his hand as a way to scold him, “Why didn’t you just tell me you knew how to swing?”

Cody’s eyes soften as he looks at her. The way her eyes glimmer under the light of the bar. The way her posture is more relaxed than usual due to the small amounts of alcohol circulating through her system. She looks free, comfortable even. Seeing her here compared to at work, it’s nice. Watching her be able to let go.

“...Maybe I did just want to impress you,” he admits quietly.

Y/N’s heart flutters at the confession. She shoots him a dopey smile of her own, her hand moving before her brain can register. She cups the side of his face as they continue dancing to the beat of the next song that starts to play. “You always impress me, Rhodes…” she says tenderly. “You don’t even have to try. You’ve been impressing me since your ‘Dashing’ days.”

Cody laughs, his chest rumbling with the melody of his own voice. Y/N’s always loved the sound of his laugh. It’s more satisfying to hear than the music blasting through the speakers around them. “You mean that?”

“Of course,” Y/N laughs like it’s the most incredulous thing she’s ever been asked. “You’re always finding new ways to keep me on my toes.”

He leans into her touch, her hand never leaving his face. His fingers trace small circles onto the small amount of exposed skin between her top and shorts. He’s never felt more comfortable in his life. The way their bodies move perfectly in sync, the trail of chills he leaves whenever he moves his hands to a different location. The way his own heart rate speeds up when she lightly fiddles with the ends of his hair.

At this point, they both knew what they did to each other.

And it was about time they both stopped acting like it didn’t affect them.

This wouldn’t be the first time one of them got a little too possessive over the other. Y/N would never admit to it, but she’s interjected herself into many conversations Cody has had with other females who got a little too close for comfort. Cody did the same. He remembered a specific moment when Damian Priest tried his hand at flirting with her, and all Cody remembers was seeing red before he was suddenly pulling Y/N away with some fake emergency he came up with.

They both chalked it up to friendly behavior, using the excuse that no one was good enough for the other. And they did truly believe that, but not for unselfish reasons. It’s because they believed the only person meant for the other was each other.

“Y’know, you say that, but then you’re the one out here pulling out crazy dance moves that I didn’t even know you could do,” he whispers in her ear as she spins around. Her back is now flushly pressed against his chest. His breath hitches when she rolls her hips at just the right time with the perfect amount of pressure. “I mean… why did you never tell me you could move like this?”

Y/N leans her head to look back up at him, looping her hands around his neck. “You never asked.”

Cody leans down to whisper in her ear, his smile growing when she pushes herself impossibly closer to him. “You’ll have to show me what else you’re hiding when we get back to the hotel…”

“You askin’ for private dance lessons, Rhodes?” Y/N grins teasingly.

“Obviously,” Cody scoffs out even though both of them know that is nowhere near what he meant. “I might have some basic swing experience, but I’ve clearly got some catching up to do if I’m gonna be your new dance partner.”

“That’s a big commitment…” Y/N warns. Cody is now suddenly aware of how close her face is to his. Her lips are ghosting his, the smell of tequila and minty gum infiltrating his senses. “You sure you’re up for the challenge?”

“As long as you’re willing to keep me around,” he replies, somehow managing to inch closer to her, noses brushing against each other.

“I’ve managed to keep you on a leash for this long,” she smiles. “I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon...”

And with that, she closes the gap between them, her lips colliding with his. The kiss is tender and full of yearning. After years of unspoken tensions and pretending to be just friends, it has to be the most satisfying thing in the world to feel one another in this capacity. Y/N shifts, turning around to fully face him, lips only separating for a split second before she’s back on him.

The entire bar around them fades as Cody wraps his arms around her waist. He pulls her into him, embracing her in the way he’s always wanted to. Words couldn’t convey everything that this kiss does. They know exactly what the other is thinking, what they want to say, simply by the way their mouths move in sync.

Y/N smiles against his lips, her own giddiness getting the best of her. Cody pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead to hers, “What are you smiling like that for, huh?”

Y/N rolls her eyes and tries to push him away but he doesn’t let her move even a centimeter further. “Nuh uh,” he teases. “Who’s got you smiling like that?”

Y/N huffs, not wanting to give him the satisfaction just yet, “You already know why, asshole.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I wanna hear you say it,” he raises an expectant eyebrow. “So I’ll ask again…” he leans forward, “why are you smiling?”

She’s never been able to fight the influence his perfectly blue eyes have on her. Any time he flashed those icy irises in her direction, she knew she was a goner. Reluctantly, she sighs, “Because of you…”

His cocky smirk returns, “Yeah? Because of me?”

Y/N wants to wipe the smugness of his face, but she can’t help finding it endearing, “Yes. Because of you.”

“Well, shit…” he smiles goofily. “If I would’ve known I could make you smile like that I would’ve kissed you sooner.”

“Oh shut up,” she scoffs out a laugh before grabbing his collar and pulling him into once more, connecting her lips with his again.

Now this time both of them are smiling and anyone looking at them knows those dopey smiles aren’t fading anytime soon. The line of friendship that was once between them has been completely obliterated. There was no going back from this.

And it’s clear, neither of them wanted to.

[eternallyordinary]

"He Belongs to You" - Part 21

⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘

Series Masterlist<3

Summary: A vow is made, a line is crossed, and the search tightens—no one will escape untouched.

Warnings: violence, language, possessive love, death, trauma, kidnapping, mental illness, blood, grapic details

⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。

Ashley’s phone rings.

She’s in the back of a black Vought SUV, halfway through a bottle of antacids and an iced coffee that’s already gone warm, scrolling through tomorrow’s media schedule. Another charity gala. Another staged crime scene. Another 5 a.m. interview for a supe who can’t form a sentence without threatening a cameraman.

The screen lights up.

HOMELANDER

Her breath catches. He never calls. Not unless something’s wrong. She answers immediately, voice tight but composed.

“Hi—”

“I need you at the convention center. Now.”

Her stomach drops.

“Is everything alright?”

A long pause.

Then—

“No.”

Click.

The call ends.

Ashley’s hands are already shaking as she throws her tablet aside and barks at the driver to turn around. She doesn’t know what she’s walking into. But whatever it is… she knows she has to clean it up.

—

The mess is everywhere.

Not just the blood on the floor.

Not just the crater Homelander kicked through the steel door. Like it was cardboard.

Ashley stands in the center of what can only be described as the aftermath of carnage.

The air still carries the weight of violence, thick with the ghost of screams and scorched flesh. The walls are scorched. The floor is stained. And yet here she is—heels planted in the blood-soaked carpet, trying to make sense of a massacre no PR spin could ever clean.

A white-noise generator hums in the corner. The smell of ozone and scorched plastic still hangs in the air. There's dried blood on the ceiling.

She’s surrounded by a sea of assistants, PR crisis managers, legal counsel, and an actual Pentagon liaison who won’t stop asking to “speak to Homelander.”

“He��s not available!” Ashley snaps for the third time.

She presses her earpiece.

“I don’t give a fuck if the NSA wants to flag it. Tell them it’s a fucking Vought energy weapons test gone wrong. Blame it on Black Noir. Just do your fucking job!"

She turns back to the man from the White House. He looks pale.

“We’ve already deactivated all press badges that were active that night. Anyone who steps forward gets sued for libel before they can say the word ‘Homelander.’ Are we clear?”

The man just nods. What else can he do?

The President has called her personally. Twice. And Ashley has had to spin the same story—over and over again.

It was a glitch.

A test gone wrong.

A private altercation involving a rogue foreign operative who has since been dealt with.

It’s all bullshit.

And everyone knows it.

But no one dares say it out loud.

Because if the public finds out that a member of The Seven has vanished without a trace, and that Homelander killed federal agents in the aftermath…

That’s not just bad optics.

That’s nuclear.

Ashley watches men in hazmat suits carry out a body bag—what’s left of the agent Homelander punched through the chest. She sighs, rubs her temples, and mutters to herself.

“At this point, I need a priest, not a PR team.”

—

10 Days Later

⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。

Ten days since you disappeared without a trace.

Ten days since your phone was found shattered, your bag abandoned, your name erased from the itinerary of the event you never made it to.

Ten days since Homelander lasered through federal agents inside a private safe room—without warning.

No one dares speak your name in the halls. Not even in whispers.

Because if he hears it…

God, help whoever says it wrong.

Meanwhile, The Seven are restless.

They’ve been instructed to keep appearances up—press junkets, morning show appearances, and two staged crime scene clean-ups—but there’s an unspoken tension in the air.

They feel his absence.

When Homelander’s in the room, you know where the danger is. But when he’s not…

It's like waiting for lightening to strike.

Sage sits with A-Train and The Deep in the Vought Tower breakroom, though the word break feels like a joke at this point.

The overhead lights buzz faintly, too bright against the sterile white tile. A-Train is hunched over a protein shake he hasn’t touched. The Deep picks at a bowl of cold cereal like it’s the last meal he’ll ever eat. No one speaks for a long time.

The room is too quiet—too still—for a space usually filled with banter, gossip, and casual ego-stroking. But ever since you went missing, everything’s shifted.

The Seven aren’t acting like gods anymore. They’re acting like people trapped in a building with something that could explode at any second. A ticking time bomb in the form of a man.

Sage finally breaks the silence.

“He’s unraveling.”

A-Train doesn’t look up. “Yeah, no shit.”

“He hasn’t said the bitches name once,” The Deep mutters. “Not out loud.”

“Because if he says it,” Sage says, folding her arms, “it’ll make it real.”

A beat passes.

A-Train shifts uncomfortably. “I heard he raided a remote airstrip in Alaska because someone mentioned a Vought transport went off radar near there. Killed the entire crew. They didn’t even know who she was…”

Silence.

Then—

“I think she's dead.” The Deep blurts, tone low, unsure if he even means it.

The door creaks.

And suddenly—he’s there.

Homelander.

He stands in the doorway, silent, unmoving.

His shadow cuts across the linoleum. His suit is wrinkled, stained. His eyes—bloodshot and rimmed with something that might be exhaustion or something much worse.

The Deep freezes.

Everyone does.

Sage is the first to recover, pushing off the counter, trying to look like she wasn’t just part of that conversation.

Homelander takes a single step into the room.

“What did you say?”

His voice is calm. The kind of calm that burns.

The Deep's mouth opens and closes like he’s forgotten how to speak.

“I didn’t—I mean, I wasn’t saying—”

“Say it again,” Homelander says, voice now dropping into something colder.

“I—I just—”

He walks forward slowly, each step deliberate, the room shrinking around them with every movement.

“Go ahead. Say it. Say she's dead.”

The Deep swallows hard, glancing toward the others like they might bail him out. No one does.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters. “I just meant… it’s been a while. No sign. It’s looking…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

Homelander stands directly in front of him now, staring him down like he’s nothing more than dust.

“She’s not dead,” Homelander says softly. "But if she dies..."

He leans in, barely whispering now.

“You’ll all be dead, too.”

And just like that—he turns and walks out. The door swings shut behind him, echoing in the silence he leaves behind.

And no one says a word. They just look at each other.

Little do they know, you're somewhere out there…

Alive, but barely.

You don’t know how long you’ve been chained. The basement is cold. Quiet. Timeless.

And the man watching you—Eli’s brother, Andrew—talks to ghosts. Talks to his dead brother like he’s sitting right next to him, asking for advice.

He feeds you sometimes. Talks to you like you’re a doll. Other times, he disappears for hours, muttering about “setting the scene.”

You're not sure what that means. But it doesn't sound good.

Meanwhile, Homelander finds himself tearing through another abandoned facility, walls echoing with screams that don't last long.

Still no trace, but he won’t stop. And when he finds you—when he finally brings you home—he makes himself a promise: he’ll never, ever let you out of his sight again. Not for a second. Not for anything.

⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。

tags: @raginginkedslut @lilyalone @naty-1001 @helreyy @emily048

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

#Can I Be Friends With Them?

[randomszzz]

"love has always been the world's best secret ingredient" -> "I'd rather just get rid of them" Joshua kiryu

"there's only one way to stay alive in this shibuya: Trust your partner" -> "in a way, he's been alone all his life" Joshua Kiryu

[faunandfloraas]

Wait til people find out you can, in fact, love dogs AND cats. Even other animals outside those two as well, crazy I know.

[skitskatdacat63]

This is my personal crossover event of the century

[jonny-be-gewd]

[pokeybananas]

Today my couples therapy asked me: "so how long have you known you liked girls for and not liked men?"

Me: "a few months. It was a big surprise!"

Like I'm not sure people realize how much of a surprise it is to find out you're a lesbian at 29.

[redflannelsheets]

.

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[riley-beautrelle]

It's so beautiful

Louis and Lestat.

[seddair]

Hmm

[nanamiskentos]

SCORCHED EARTH ✤ (五条 悟, gojo satoru)

── NO GOD, THE ONLY MAN IN THE SKY IS ME. Gojo Satoru is the nation's treasure, and its most dangerous asset. In a world where Supes are lauded as celebrities and heroes, there's only a select few that sees superheroes for what they really are ─ cogs in the propaganda machine, corrupt and lecherous. You're determined to hunt down the golden boy that leads them, to find Gojo Satoru and bring him down. But he's just as obsessed with you, and he gets to you first.

➤ 𝐉𝐉𝐊, gojo satoru & afab!reader, wc ─ 5k

cw ─ MDNI. enemies to lovers, THE BOYS AU, love/hate sex, HOMELANDER GOJO 😁, superhero au, cat & mouse dynamics, vigilante!reader, evil!gojo to some extent, mentions of a plane crash to be safe, kitchen sèx, breaking n' entering but they're into that, súb!gojo if u squint, fíngèring, òral (f), usage of powers, 3x01 homelander/butcher inspired, BIG DÍCK GOJO!!

呪術廻戦 : 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ( author says ) s/o to the evil man who inspired the gojo in this fic. and these scenes: 1/2 ofc (i'd rec watching to understand who reader/gojo is also inspired by). art, gojouify.

A ballpoint cap balances between your teeth as you scribble furiously, blue ink streaking across a spare napkin. The address is way too far out, a shipping container, two hours away and tucked into the skeletal maze of the port.

"This is a long drive for a maybe." You press the phone tighter against your ear, frowning at the scrawled numbers and letters, "You're sure I'll find something?"

On the other end, Nanami exhales sharply, the sound of a clock ticking faintly over the static. He's still in the office, no doubt hunched over a desk lit by the sickly glow of a desk lamp.

"Well," he hedges, ever the careful one, "I wouldn't go alone."

You tip your chair back, gaze drifting to the chaotic sprawl of files pinned to the red-string board by the wall. Photographs, names, offshore accounts that all lead back to the same festering rot. Lawmakers, politicians and billionaires.

The smiling, all-powerful titans who owned the system that was supposed to hold them accountable.

At the centre of it all? Gojo Satoru. The strongest superhero that the world had ever seen, barely held in check by Vought and international courts.

You chew at the soft inside of your cheek, "And you're sure this is the best lead we have?"

"After that shitshow at Congress?" Nanami sounds tired, stretched far too thin, "This is the only lead we have, or the only thing that I can find right now."

Ah, yes. The hearing.

The day you almost had them — Gojo, Vought and every polished, pre-packaged lie they peddled. A smoking gun to set the set the system ablaze.

And then, you could only watch the live television stream as every key witness's head popped like a balloon. Blood spraying against mahagony desks, gray matter splattered across the Capitol.

And not many had managed to escape that room unscathed. Save for a select few politicians and reporters, dealing out breathless, shaken interviews alongside an unshaken Gojo Satoru and Congressmen Geto.

You exhale through your nose, fingers tightening around the napkin, "Yeah, I'll check it out. See if I can find somethin' to nail that cunt."

"Let me know what you find," Nanami intones, a pause. And then, in a far more cautious tone, like he already knows you won't take heed, "Stay safe. And if you do come across Gojo, do not engage with him. In any way."

The line clicks dead.

You toss the streaky pen aside, reaching instead for the amber bottle on the cluttered table, the burn of whisky that's begging to be made familiar once more.

Regardless, it's far too late now to head out and check the address, for night has fallen and you doubt you'll manage to get far.

Beyond the murky glass of your balcony doors, the city pulses with sleepless energy. Neon signs flickering like dying embers, billboards — no doubt plastered with the airbrushed faces of the Supes who run this nation.

Sirens wail in the distance, and somewhere, far beyond the skyline you swear you see it.

A streak of white and blue, fast as lightning, splitting the sky for a fraction of a second. You blink, gummy and dry, nothing. Just the tired hallucinations of an exhausted, paranoid mind.

Pretending that there isn't a ghost in the sky watching you right back.

Your apartment is dying.

The walls peel like old skin, flaking onto the floors that were never properly finished. The overhead light's flickering, buzzing with a weak and dying hum. And the power outlets sputter like they resent being used. It's not a home, it never really was. Just another hideout, another temporary grave you haven't had to lie down in yet.

You press your knuckles into your eyes, willing the exhaustion away, but it sits heavy in your bones. Haven't you been running long enough? But even now, even here, you know it's not enough.

Because he knows. Gojo Satoru must have caught onto your trail months ago, and you can feel it in the way that the law often seems to let you go, and nation-wide manhunts culminate in no harm done. Like Gojo's toying with you.

Your fingers skim over the mess of papers on the table, stopping beneath a stack of unpaid bills and flyers. A small USB drive, wrapped in blue and silver.

Ah. Flight 37, a transatlantic flight carrying 123 passangers that never managed to land safely. But a goldmine had been fished out the torn wreckage, a shaky video clip that held proof of what Gojo Satoru truly was.

Not a saviour, not a hero. Not the golden boy that was worshipped on screens, talk shows and the international stage of diplomacy.

There's a prickling sensation under your skin, a slow burn that crawls up your arms. Then, it sinks deeper, heat. Your stomach clenches, cramping up as nausea slams into you like a freight train, your head spinning, your vision pulsing black at the edges.

You stumble, dropping the USB on the table as desparate fingers gripping the kitchen counter to stay upright. But you recognise the blisters blooming on the pads of your fingers, slow and ugly welts that bloom like flowers of rot.

This is no wayward sickness, for you would recognise the familiar decay of radioactive exposure. Something that's not quite human, or mortal.

Your blood turns to ice. Hold tightening around the edge of the counter, nails digging into the cheap laminate. Slowly, carefully, you approach the balcony.

The terracotta curtains are coarse under your fingers as you pull them aside. The city beyond is still alive, cars streaking through wet pavements and lights beaming in the smog. But it all feels muted.

Standing on the ledge, hands folded neatly behind his back, Gojo Satoru.

Your breath stutters as you force yourself to inhale, exhale. Slow and steady, through your nose. Whatever sick ploy he's radiating, you know it's simply meant to shake you. A twisted power play on his end.

So you hold your ground, and after a moment, the nausea ebbs. The blisters on your fingertips sealing over, cells stitching the edges of your frayed flesh back together.

You've never seen Gojo out of that deep blue suit, never without the brass eagles that pin the ridiculous cape over his broad back. Most heroes at least pretend to be human, some charade that they cling to for the chance of a secret life, away from the eyes of the press and the authorities. Supes often put on disguises, and casual clothes, something to blend in with the mortals that they claim to protect.

But Gojo?

There's no separation, no mask nor pretense. He doesn't walk among mortal men, he hovers above them. There's no separating him from the brutal power he wields — capable of striking a laser through a man's skull, or razing a city to rubble. Just a god with a PR-approved script, and the power to carve regimes into ribbons.

And yet, aren't you still standing?

If the strongest wanted you dead, he would have made a spectacle of it. Blood and fireworks for the evening news, another death used as collateral propaganda so the masses can thank him. That's the only mercy that Gojo knows.

You school your features, masking the instinct to flee. Or toss a plastic chair at his face. Gojo is akin to a hungry shark, and fear is blood in the water. You know that the safest way to deal with him is sheer indifference. If you give him nothing, he has nothing to bite or feast on.

You tilt your head, resting your weight against the large window as you pry it open. Letting the night air seep in, cold pricking at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the chill that Gojo's already dragged in with him.

He's staring. The blindfold is gone, and those impossible blue eyes fix on you, as though they're trying carve a jagged cut straight your ribcage — his handsome features stilled to stone.

You arch a brow, "If you're here to watch me get off, it'll cost you a tenner."

A beat of silence. And then, the smallest flicker of something that isn't amusement, but not quite irritation. Gojo doesn't rise to the bait, but his brow ticks up. The barest movement, as though he's debating whether or not to indulge you.

Jaw twitching as though Gojo seems to chew his words, slow and measured, "May I come in?"

You stare at him, gaze sweeping up and down, almost against your will. The way his suit hugs his body, emphasising the unfair curve of his chest, the sharp lines of Gojo's muscles, the tensions in the fabric as it stretches taut over skin. Eyes falling to the strand of white hair that flutters across his face, swaying in the night's breeze. Absurdly perfect, as if he's crafted from some celestial ideal.

But you refuse to indulge him, pressing your lips together tightly, not even a flicker of acknowledgement to the fact that he's standing on your balcony like he owns the damn place. Slowly, you step aside from the window, taking the invitation. Gojo doesn't need permission, but you give it anyway.

As Gojo sweeps past, your eyes linger on the sharp strands of his undercut, the delicate sweep of his hair, so pale it almost looks unreal. But you can see his nose wrinkle, disgust painted across his fine features as electric eyes skim the clutter of your apartment. The peeling walls, the cracked appliances, the mess of papers strewn across your table.

Gojo stops at the red string board, his gaze lingering on the photos and notes that have been painstakingly pinned up, and you see his mouth twitch. As though he's amused by your conspiracy, your obsession, your silent war.

"It's really always about me, isn't it?" Gojo's tone carries the faintest edge of mockery, that damn entertained smile curling the corners of his petal-pink lips.

Your jaw tightens, a flash of anger rearing up inside you. You tear your gaze away from him, "Why are you here? Got no-one to fuckin' torture over at Vought?"

Gojo sighs, almost theatrically, and he's puffing his cheeks out. As though he's bored, like this is a mild inconvenience for him, "So, you're going on a trip tomorrow, huh?"

You track his gaze to the napkin still resting on the table, the address scribbled carelessly across its surface, "What's it to you?" Hoping that your voice is level, and as neutral as it can get.

Gojo Satoru doesn't quite answer immediately. Instead, he pulls off those thick blue gloves, one finger at a time. His hands are oddly elegant, but you know just how capable they are of ending a life in a second, how capable they are of tearing a throat out without breaking a sweat. The very same hands now tuck the gloves into the bronze-metal band of his belt with an almost unsettling level of care.

"Well, I'm just hurt you're going somewhere without me," Gojo quips slyly, "We could have had ourselves a little road trip, sweetheart. Thelma and Louise on the open road, eh?"

You don't say anything, although you're dying to mention how Thelma & Louise ends. Gojo just rolls his searing-blue eyes skywards dramatically, as though he's used to your stubborn attitude.

"Y'know, I could jus' pull you apart, limb by limb," Gojo tacks on casually, "Make you tell me where you're going."

You can feel the tension in your gut tighten, but you refuse to let the Supe catch onto it, although you have no doubt that his superhuman senses can hear the beat of your heart pumping, every hitch in your breath.

"Nah," you bite back, "That'd be worthless. Victim always goes into shock. You gotta' start small. Fingers, nails, ears..." Your voice trails off, calling Gojo's bluff, forcing your words out as if the prospect doesn't shake you.

Gojo's vibrant, jewel-tone stare doesn't break, but the amusement in his eyes sharpens like iron against a whetstone. "It could be a matter of national security, you know," he murmurs, "I have a duty to protect his nation, to weed out any enemies of the state."

You huff in weary, mock exasperation, dragging a hand over your chin in faux-contemplation, "Look, uh, I don't mean to be rude, but can we just skip to the part where you laser my fuckin' brains out?"

Gojo just swears under his breath, "Oh, for fuck's sake," he's muttering, side-stepping around your rickety table, stepping closer as an almost fond smile tugs at his lips, "Where's the fun in that? Come on, look at ya'. It'd be like putting down a wounded dog?"

You don't flinch, you refuse the possibility. But there's that pulse of heat, low in your spine, when Gojo leans into your space. An electric storm about to crack wide as he studies you, eyes falling to the table where your cards are laid out blatantly, and you jolt. Remembering the innocuous little thing, that USB. The one that could very well be his undoing.

"What do you have on me, doll?" Gojo drawls, his voice smooth and untempered, towering over you like an impossibly magnetic force. You hold your ground as his eyes widen, "You do have something, I presume?"

With slow precision (and trembling fingers), you lift the USB, dangling it between your nails as Gojo's eyes flicker for a split second. Amused smile slipping just enough to show something that's less calculated. As though he knows what you grasp, what you're capable of.

Gojo's expression hardens for a split moment, blush-pink lips parted as he watches you, drinks in the sight of you gredily. All before cold steels locks into place once more, his demeanour laced with something far more callous, like a man cornered who knows exactly how to strike back.

"Go ahead. Release it," Gojo steps closer, until you can feel his breath against your skin, and you catch the tang of iron and clean, expensive leather. "Let's light this candle, huh? I mean, sure, I'll lose everything, doll. But then, I'll have nothin' to lose." His voice is quiet, but there's unmistakable malice beneath it.

"First, I'll take out the nerve centres. The seat of the government, the High Courts. Then, any domestic defense capabilities. Critical infrastructure, cellular, Internet, all of it. And then?" Gojo pauses, teeth catching onto the plush flesh of his lower lip.

"Then, I'll just wipe this city right off the fuckin' map, for fun," Gojo adds, a dark smile curling at the edges of his lips, "Hell, I'll throw in that little town your friend's from. Kento, right? Nanami, from the office? Because, why not?"

Gojo's lips brush the shell of your ear, and you resist the urge to shiver, locking your eyes with his own defiantly, venomously as he continues, "See, sweetheart, I'd prefer to be loved. Y'know, as the strongest, I really would. But if you take that away from me? Well, being feared is A-one, okey-doke by me."

Gojo wants you to challenge him, to hear you break the silence with something other than terror, "So, doll," he murmurs, practically cooing, "Go ahead. Do it." His lips curl, sharp fangs poking out from his glossy, red mouth, "No? You don't wanna? Well, then, I'd say you have absolutely no fuckin' leverage. Because I am the strongest, and I can really do whatever the fuck I want."

You blink angrily, breath catching as Gojo watches you with an almost affection gleam in his eyes. As though he's enjoying this, this sparring match where he's got you pinned. So you swallow thickly, and deep down, you know he's right.

Gojo Satoru is unstoppable. He could easily turn on the world that worships him, props him up, and there's nothing anyone could do about it. No nuclear treaty, no tank nor fighter jet could stand a chance against Unlimited Void or Hollow Purple.

There's no undoing the seams and stitches that hold Gojo together. None, apart from...

Your eyes flicker downwards, instinctively, to the thick curve that bulges through the tight suit he dons. That mouth-watering, delicious bulge that's packed, and if Gojo steps any closer, it would jostle against your thigh.

You inch closer, smoothly, grasping at the stray strand of ice-white hair to tuck it behind Gojo's ears. His expression widening, raw and open for a split second as he shivers, purrs.

"Say I call your bluff, Gojo," you say coolly, "What are you gonna' do, right here, right now?" Your hand trails away from his ear, brushing the high, stiff collar of his suit. Fingers gently pressing into the warm flesh of his neck. You feel his pulse jump under your touch, staccato beats that hiccup along.

And you could have sworn that Gojo breathes out a gentle sigh, lips parting around the words, "Finally."

But his cerulean eyes are narrowed, jaw still clenched, as though he's trying to figure out your angle. Now, he truly does push closer to you so that packed curve brushes against your thigh. And it's big, larger-than-life, like everything about Gojo Satoru is.

Fuck this, you shake your head, as though you're tossing away your rationality. Reaching up to thread your fingers through soft, white hair. Pulling Gojo closer as he groans, closing the distance. Lips crashing against your own, forceful and desperate.

You can feel Gojo freeze, stutter as he seems to work through his shock. But then, something irrevocably shifts in him. Ocean-blue eyes fluttering close, so white lashes kiss his creamy skin. A large hand gripping at your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

It's rough, and messy — and your tongue lingers on the taste of something like espresso, and sweet, sugar syrup to boot. The creamy taste of Gojo Satoru that lingers on your tongue and makes your mouth water.

"Tch', you –" Gojo murmurs, as though all the air in the world has been stolen from his lungs, "You jus' don't k-know how long I've wanted this. Ever since you, heh, fired that bullet at me when we first met."

His tone is erratic, large hands splayed against the small of your back, pushing you further against the kitchen counter.

"That shit went right through ya' head," you breathe, struggling to stay steady against the hard plane of Gojo's form, the muscles curling into you, "Didn't do a fuckin' thing."

Gojo's giggling, giggling as though he's already drunk on your touch, so utterly dangerous. Tugging at your top, fingers spread wide over the curve of your chest. Flicking at the sharp peaks of your nipples, "Waste of a perfectly good round, eh, doll?"

The tips of Gojo's ears are a searing shade of crimson, as he's pulling and toying with your clothes. You have never, ever in your wildest and most illicit fantasies imagined Gojo Satoru like this.

You've never pictured him so obedient, so desperate to meld into your hold. Bright blue eyes glazed over, filmy and hazy as his cheeks are mottled pink.

The most dangerous man in the entire world (or so you'd wager) has you firm against the cracking plastic of your counter, with his lips finding home on whatever skin he can find. Kissing, bruising, sucking at the tender flesh in a way that you know will leave blooming marks.

"C-can I?" Gojo pleads, as though he hasn't spent a lifetime whispering quiet threats into your ear, but now his large hand is softly pressed against the back of your neck.

Slick-strands falling from his lips as he sips at your taste, sucking gently on your tongue.

He kisses you firmly with such force that it leaves you dizzy, and the way he strokes at your cheek with a bruised knuckle is far too tender for a man who's practically a walking, ticking bomb.

He's roughly cupping your tits, kneading at the soft fat and flesh, "Hah, pretty, aren'tcha?" Strands of snow-white hair tickling at your neck as Gojo leans his head down, wrapping his lips around your nipple, lickin' and sucking wherever he can reach.

You arch your spine, pulling Gojo even closer. Grinding your clothed core right up against the hard length taut in that damned suit. Feeling every inch brush up against you.

"F-fuck," Gojo murmurs, slurring out babble and praise out through his kiss-swollen lips. You're slowly rocking your hips back and forth, unintentionally honestly, but you're desperate for some friction to relieve the ache that's blooming within your searing groin.

The pads of his fingers are tilting your jaw at the perfect angle, swollen lips sticky against yours, "Just like that," Gojo grunts, running his pink tongue over the kiss-bitten flesh of your own mouth, "N-not so mouthy now, are we?"

But then, because you think Gojo Satoru is unable to go even a second without antagonising you, the white-haired man is lifting his head. Glossy eyes tearing over your apartment as he pulls an unimpressed face, "Damn, this place is kinda' a dump. You really live like this?"

Your fingers latch onto the stray strands on his head, bucking your hips into his bulge harsher, "Says the cunt who made me a fugitive."

Gojo shakes his head, making a faint pshh, dismissive sound as he scoops you up, biceps not even curling to strain as he roughly stomps towards your meagre, thin bed. Laying you flat on the flat mattress as he rumples the waistband of your pants, hooking his thumb underneath the fabric.

You don't even realise it at first, but you're admiring those razor-sharp, strikingly handsome features. Watching as Gojo tugs at his cape, rough and coarse until the fabric tears away from his shoulder plates — until the azure stars and stripes end up on the wooden floor discarded.

"So, doll, how exactly do ya' want me? " Gojo titters, gently pulling a finger into the flimsy cotton of your panties. You can see his nose twitch, eyes flutter shut for a split second as he visibly reels from the messy, filthy slick pooling under his nails. You can only groan, arching at the sudden stimulation as he begins to crook his fingers faster against your folds.

You suddenly pull your thighs taut together, clenching the flesh to trap his hand, "Taste me, Gojo." Breath shuddering as Gojo's fingers suddenly still, ice-blue eyes blown wide at your gall to give him a command.

But he's always been an excellent soldier, hasn't he? Because he seems to be moving on autopilot, pulling his dripping fingers away and gently lolling his tongue on your translucent sheen, "Hah, I can't believe you're g-giving me orders." Gojo almost whimpers at your sweet tang, desperate to have your pussy drool into his waiting mouth.

"M-more, can you – oh, fuck," You inhale sharply, feeling Gojo's fingers imprint on your thighs, firmly spreading your legs apart so he can shuffle further back, his breath moist against your wet cunt, "Heh, never thought you'd ever be like this."

Gojo gives you a flat look, the underside of his eyes crinkling as he stares at you, "Don't get used to t-this." He's grumbling, but his eyes are blown wide, tongue darting out of his mouth to catch a stray drop of your precious arousal dribbling down your inner thigh, "It's just 'cause –"

You don't give his smart-alec mouth time to formulate any words, groaning as you pull at the thick, soft and tousled strands of white hair. Letting the tip of his sharp nose nudge against your clit as Gojo suddenly muffles a desparate, thirst-laden whine, "Mhm, mhm, fuck!"

"Yeah, y-yeah," You breathe, sighing in relief as he presses his tongue flat against your pussy, laving thickly at the glossy folds that he's desperate to munch at, "That's what I thought."

Stifled sounds prick at your ears, a mantra of words falling from Gojo's mouth, something that sounds suspiciously like "Thank you, t-thank you, thank —." The strongest man in the entire world losing his mind, so grateful to wrap his lips against your swollen bud, your throbbing clit as he sucks. Hard.

Your walls clench suddenly, and you can feel the tip of Gojo's tongue prod at your entrance. That length somehow managing to render you gummy, dazed and speechless as he pushes the wet muscle into your cunt, "Ah, ahh, 'Toru, please."

Nothing prepares you for how Gojo's long, slender fingers come to slap at your pussy. Lengthy digits pistoning right into your tender, sensitive walls as he's eager to curve and search for that sweet spot that will make you scream, "What'dya call me, sweets? 'Toru?"

Gojo's looking up at you, and if you didn't know better, you'd say his expression was almost shy. Those eyes, blue like the core of a searing star, like something inhuman was barely contained and desperate to break free. There's something eerie about how bright they are, how they seem to glow even in the dim, murky light of your apartment.

There's glossy, snapping strands of Gojo's new favourite thirst-quencher falling from his lips as he laps at you. Long lashes fluttering against high cheekbones as there's a slight sheen of exertion beading at his temple, "If, if I had known that all I had to do to shut ya' up was eat you out, then —" Gojo whistles low, the vibrations echoing through your cunt, "Woulda' drank this pussy a longgg time ago."

You buck your hips against his nose, canting against his shapely nose bridge, "Don't get c-cocky." Seems that Gojo's just that desperate for you to boss him around, because he's already turning his attention and bratty mouth back to your cunt, licking you right up until he's certain you're seeing stars.

He's still got his suit on, broad-shoulders snugly wrapped in the textured fabric. Sculpting over his bicep even as he draws you even closer, until he's face to face with his new, second favourite girl. With you being his number #1, of course, Gojo isn't afraid to admit that you plotting to kill him has turned him on immensely over the years.

The idea of you planting your thighs around his head 'til he's devoid of air has had him pulling and jerking at his cock, whimpering until he was shooting blanks.

"Come on," and Gojo's snickering at his own play on words, "Or s-should I say c-cum on." Smacking his lips filthily against your folds, fingers pushing at your clit and rubbing furious circles over and over again until you feel the world go blank, and you're star-struck.

Gojo's whispering sweet nothings, adoring praise into your cunt as you ride out your high against his face, "Pretty girl, s-so good for me, heh. Think 'm fuckin' addicted."

You're already lazily pulling yourself up, propping yourself back on your elbows as you take in the sight of a teary-eyed Gojo Satoru. You watch as he pulls himself up, frame towering over you in the flimsy bed as he tugs and paws at the thick, firm bulge in his suit. Now darkened with a translucent patch of his release.

Gojo's fisting his hand over his cock in some ineffective form of relief, "Wanna' show you, g-gorgeous, wanna' show you how the strongest fucks."

But then, his eyes are looking up, wide and superhuman. Searing blue that lights up the dim room like a torch, and it's only then you notice that the lightbulb that once precariously teetered from your ceiling has shattered, and there's a crack in the large window that you swore you've never seen before.

And clutched within Gojo Satoru's fingers, shards of silver metal and blue chips. Fuck, that hag, that doped-up cunt must have had that USB clenched between his fingers the entire time, swiping it off the table when you pulled him in.

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart," Gojo scoffs, pulling out a cock that beams with an angry, red mushroom tip. Thick spurts of cum already clinging to the slit as he hisses, and your thighs clench in anticipation of the delicious split, "I got something b-better for you right here."

[running-in-the-dark]

I keep watching that damn interview (the one from this morning) again and again

I'm very surprised that it seems to be having such an effect on me, but it is.