#those reasons being the 'who was this character made by/for' and being pushed away from him because of that

[joannerowling]

that g*iman article is so vile holy shit. it makes the stink his fanbase has risen after the podcast even more rancid. at this point im confident that people who are wholeheartedly trying to please the gender movement are either spineless coward or predators who are building themselves a loyal support net. bc even now his fandom still have a problem with victims going to a "terf podcast" and treat it on the same level as actual serial sexual violence. like be fucking real for once. and it took them like a month to start actually taking about the basics instead of running a fucking conspiracy about secret trans rights sabotage.

also, ive made a personal observation. this whole incident has turned me away from good omens book and series 100% the minute I've finished listening to the podcast. I haven't gone back ever since and don't feel any significant loss about it what so ever. Analysing this made the constant moaning about ethics of consuming content from La Sorcière TERF maléfique and producing fan works about it pathetic. if they had any consistent principles, like they demand everyone else to have, it wouldn't be such a tragedy in the first place. I can, of course, recognise that HP probably has a much more significant role for these people than anything g*iman ever produced. but the question remains – if she is so harmful and evil, and she harms you personally, why are you still engaging with her universe and characters? I've read a lot of g*iman to be very confident in saying that his books and comics do contain disturbing shit that is unsettling and unpleasant, and that looks and feels like it was a choice to write it that way. i was being turn away from his works simply because the content was uncomfortable and g*iman was starting to look like a hypocrite because of what he said and wrote. good omens was sorta like the last straw, partially become it was co-written by Prattchet (his attitude towards Rowling soured my experience with his lit too, btw. thnx, Joanne, for sparing me lots of time and nerves 🩵), and it's gone now too. so like, if the hp book are crawling with bigotry that makes them feel unsafe and targeted, why even touch them still? read another book, indeed.

Reading the article convinced me to listen to the podcast (now that it's been added to Deezer i can do that in the train, yeah!), and my god, it's absolutely horrific what these women went through.

But re: your second paragraph. Here's the thing, i don't think clues about writers doing horrible shit out of the public eye are to be found in their work (as Gaiman himself apparently put it, writers can lie). It's not his fiction which should have tipped people of, it's his actions.

Middle aged married man with kids, publically hanging on tumblr, a website known for being full of insecure teenage girls and younger women who find refuge in fandom culture. Plenty of famous men would probably do the same if they didn't fear it'd look suspect, but the fact that Gaiman was bold enough to actually do it spoke of someone who had compulsions he couldn't reign in even if it would have been smarter. And those types are usually the ones who act on their impulses.

The fact that he has high charisma in general. Not just with young women but older writers as well, men and women. He's reasonably attractive for a man his age and very eloquent. Never trust a man who can make that sort of impression on people.

The way he used Pratchett's death and their friendship to prop himself up. Well, that one is touchy i guess, they were clearly friends, but i don't know, i always had a bad vibe about this. Adapting Good Omens was fine, but he pushed season 2 with this "Terry would have loved this, it's the sequel we always planned on writing" angle i knew he was a manipulator who would steep low to get what he wanted.

The fact he never directly attacked JKR, unlike other men of his ilk (like RT Davies or GRRM), only once published that ask of that anon on his tumblr who said she'd plagiarised Diana Wynne Jones (which she obviously didn't). Gaiman just answered "we should always read more of Diana Wynne Jones" or something like that. Sly fucker.

[invinciblerodent]

(oh, i should not be trying to playfully weigh in on a "who's your LEAST favorite companion?" post, it starts off lighthearted and then it makes me go on my Fenris-rant again)

[orange-coloredsky-archive]

idk. i feel like theres some nuance to be had about preston & marcy long in a similar light. being annoyed by preston's presentation in the game is a perfectly fine thing in my book. another example of "i like this (character), but theyre not a good (character)". i do this with both preston and x6. you dont have to go into how preston is actually secretly a well written groundbreaking character to like him. its fine.

being discomforted by and not wanting to engage bethesda's horrible execution of characters of color & WOMAN characters of color specifically is like. a totally understandable perspective as well. marcy long in-game pisses me off and makes me sad because shes a piss poor characterization written by a bunch of white men who probably only thought "haha what if we made this person who survived a tragedy a total bitch haha wouldnt that be funny and edgy" when they decided on anything about her. it sucks and makes me feel bad.

[zoomclown]

thinking about Jonathan Sims and Samama Khalid.

Thinking about how, by all laws of Horror Story Trope, Jon should not be the protagonist. If I'd never heard of tma and you showed me a lineup of the archives crew and asked me to guess who died first I would have pointed to Jon. He's the paranoid professor archetype. The one who dies discovering some crucial bit of information at the beginning to push the plot forward. He's unfriendly, cowardly, insecure, and makes other people do his investigation for him for all of season 1. He doesn't do anything even remotely heroic until the second half of the show. He has no interest in romance for the first half of the show. The audience wasn't even aware Jon had a dark past until he starts telling us about A Guest for Mr. Spider. But he is *Chosen.* Despite the fact that he has no actual qualities of a hero, he's chosen as the eyes special boy. Over the course of the show he starts to become more and more like an actual protagonist. He starts trying to save the world, resist the eye, all that jazz. For one reason or another, being the Archivist turns Jonathan "definition of a side character" Sims into the main character.

Then we have Sam. Sam starts acting like a horror/mystery protagonist almost immediately. He is young, charming, has a mysterious past (that we are made aware of pretty much right away) and a curiosity that causes him to frequently put himself personally in the path of The Horrors. He pokes around where he doesn't belong and looks for clues. He's the center of an office love triangle for goodness sake. He has a strong sense of duty to others and will put himself in harms way to protect those he loves. He exudes main character energy. He has everything a horror protagonist needs to push the plot along. But Sam wasn't *Chosen.* Despite being exactly the person you'd expect the plot to follow. And I can't help but wonder if, in the same way that the narrative made Jon important, it's going to make Sam unimportant. Irrelevant. If, with his rejection from The Magnus Institute, Sam is going to disappear completely. Become a mystery.

Because at the end of the day, so much of your life, your impact on the world, your relevance, has absolutely nothing to do with you. So much of it has everything to do with those in power, and whether they decide you're important.

It all comes down to your own rotten luck.

[rxmye]

" 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 "

𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐂 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 — you're his entire world, his only thought, the very illness that has corrupted his mind and body . . .

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / mentions of sleep medication / pathetic yandere / suggestive content / a character slightly aimed towards people with a savior complex

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: edited, Lucas first fanfic is out !! . . click here to read it !! <3

He was someone with fleeting attraction—yet a hopeless romantic, who'd spend most of his class time doodling away in his notebook instead of taking actual notes, writing these scenarios that played out in his mind—tired hazy doodles of small characters, blurry lines of writing, scribbled out text, as he struggled to stay awake—

He had never had a proper sleeping schedule, and if he did he'd never stick to it, a night owl who often faced the consequences of his own actions, sleep medication was something he was all too familiar with, the feeling of being restless without sleep, his nerves always on edge, dark circles under his eyes made him feel insecure, and alarmingly out of character.

He felt something touch his back, he froze, nerves all over the place, a pit growing in his stomach as he turned almost instinctively to face whoever touched him, pushing their hand off harshly . . . "Hey Yoichi . . what's up with you man, why so aggressive?!" Lucas asked . . and then he froze, letting out a nervous and rather embarrassed chuckle, "Ah—um . . sorry Lucas . . just feeling a little tired that's all", he replied softly, voice barely coming out.

To be quite honest, when he first saw you, Yoichi thought nothing of it, he sat at the very back and you for some reason, sat in front of him, not that he minds, you're presence covered him from the teachers eyesight, which allowed him to do whatever he wanted, he was even able to drift off to sleep during that period.

However, it wasn't until he found himself, drawing tiny versions of you in his notebook, little doodles, pink ink staining the paper as he hearted your initials together—his name then your last name . . your name then his last name . . . names of future children—that he realized he was crushing on you . . . big time.

His emotions was fleeting, it had always been, he didn't think much of it . . it was just a simple crush, everyone has one of those, and they go away with time.

Yoichi was a punctual student—and a well organized one—he'd rarely forget his books, much less the notebook with his embarrassing doodles of him and you, it would ruin his image to be quite honest . . yet for some reason he had forgotten it in class today, it could've been his ever-growing restlessness due to a lack of sleep, or maybe the caffeine that's been fucking with his head since early in the morning—he sighed—knocking himself out of his own thoughts, as he twisted the doorknob, hopefully the teacher left the class unlocked.

The door was open, to his utter relieve . . . wait . . . "y/n?", he spoke, taken aback—you were soundly asleep on your desk—you looked so at . . peace . . . calm? . . . Nothing could describe the emotions he felt as he approached you, slowly reaching over to his desk and grabbing his notebook, quickly stuffing it in his backpack—he should go . . , that would be the best course of action . . .

Yet he couldn't . . . he knelt down on the floor, leaning his head on the desk, starring at your face, looking into every curve and line, in his eyes every imperfection just made you even more perfect, the pattern of your breath was soothing to his otherwise restless mind, a soothing scent radiated off of you, and for the first time in months, he felt sleepy . . . like he could sleep without a care . . . everything felt so right. . .—nothing felt displaced or disoriented.

That was the day that started it all, it seems, Yoichi had started forming something that was akin to obsession, he couldn't sleep at all without you—a piece of you—something that reminded him of that calming scent that he felt that day, you calmed his overdriven nerves, you halted his troubles for more than a fleeting moment.

Yoichi knew what he was doing was odd, especially when he found himself picking up the wrapper you threw out, and taking inhaling it, his eyes growing half lidded—he felt like a drug addict—drunk off of you . .

Fleeting touches would tick off his ever delusional mind, a small compliment could set him on overdrive and in the back of his head he knew he was growing addicted, a pit in his stomach grew as he felt slightly disgusted with himself, with the obscene and rather degrading things he'd do, just to get something touched by you.

Lucas stared at his friend, who seemed no better than dead, "Are ya' okay?" he asked, looking him up and down, "You look like a train-wreck", he stated half out of concern and half out of clear disdain and possibly curiosity, "Is it normal?", Yoichi spoke up, taking a gulp of air as he continued, "to want someone so badly that it's hard to explain—like—a part of me feels obsessed, like I feel like carving my own heart out and showing them just to prove my love wont be enough—they could claw out my fingernails—and from where I'm standing, I'd still look at them with only love . . . but at the same time I feel disgusted with the feelings I feel—", Yoichi kept blabbering on, until his friend shushed him, taking a sip of his drink as he jokingly replied, "I mean . . if you love them that much, then their clearly the one . . ."

Yoichi blanked out, as Lucas chuckled, he has no idea how much of his teasing words Yoichi would take to heart that day nor of it's lasting consequences . . .

want more, buy my limited time only advent calendar?

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[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!

[maybeiwasjustjade]

Genuinely, perhaps 99% of me, believes that the only reason Condal and Hess made HOTD Aegon a r*pist/have adult Aegon’s introduction the aftermath of the SA of a maid, was because they knew that if Aegon was just a drunk and a cheat—like almost all Westerosi men—he would be too tragic of a character not to root for, and they really couldn’t have that. No, Aegon has to be the monster to Rhaenyra’s saint, because if you took away the act that made him monstrous, he’s so easy to root for, and the TB/TG divide would be significantly larger.

Cheating and visiting brothels are quite common in Westeros, with the vast majority of male characters doing one or the other or both. Drinking is even more so. Aegon would still be palatable with either or both traits because it doesn’t make him worse than Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra had three bastards with Harwin because Laenor’s gay, so it makes her affair understandable and valid. Aegon was forced to marry his own sister as a young teen, and clearly despises the whole targ-incest tradition. Why is it a crime that he doesn’t find his little sister sexually or romantically attractive???

Aegon’s basically a Greek tragedy made flesh. The eldest son conceived to be a long-awaited heir, yet simultaneously cheated out of a birthright. Born wanted yet unwanted, the heir who is not an heir. Meant to be loved, yet raised without it, with a mother’s disdain and fear as his only companion. His father stopped wanting him sometime after his second birthday (probably around the time Jacaerys was born), and his mother never wanted him anyway. His mere existence is a threat to a crown he never wanted, yet nobody cared when they placed it on his head. He wants love but no one loves him, and contrary to popular belief, that lack of love didn’t just stem from adulthood. He was a little boy once too, who very much didn’t deserve that level of apathy.

Married to his sister despite his clear disdain for his family’s incestuous tradition. Forced to father children on her at the grand old age of sixteen (and she fourteen). The only thing he ever really loved was his dragon, and the children he had. And even those he loses to tragedy, and someone else’s doing.

It’s not at all a surprise that Aegon’s defining trait is his love for Sunfyre. A ridiculously strong bond, born from years of having only each other. Moreover, a dragon is the symbol of power, which Aegon has little of. He can’t protect himself from his own family’s abuse or machinations, and unless he claims the crown everyone he loves will die. Dragons also represent freedom, and the ability to just fly away. And if there’s one thing Aegon wants more than anything in the world, it’s to run away from his family and the accursed throne.

In that, he’s not so different than a young Rhaenyra (pre-personality change anyway). Young Rhaenyra hated having to conform to societal standards. Hated having no choice but to marry, and to whom. She too wanted to fly away to freedom. There’s too many parallels between the two, even down to their ages pre-timeskip. Rhaenyra was about 18, and Aegon now is only 20. Yet Rhaenyra at 16’s only problem was whether her infant brother would replace her as heir, while Aegon’s was being forced to play house with his sister and newborn twins.

Perhaps misogyny and society would always be Rhaenyra’s greatest opponent, and the same Aegon’s ally when it comes to their claims, but it was not the only issue. Precedent declared that Aegon would be heir ahead of her, yet it was Rhaenyra’s position and honor that Viserys defied law for, even when she committed high treason against the crown thrice. She got everything; Aegon had nothing. He’s the underdog of the story, not her. So had they not made him an on screen r*pist (unlike Daemon who was off-screen one and merely an on-screen pedo and wife-killer), it would’ve been very hard for the writers to push their “Rhaenyra good, TG bad” narrative. Those two would’ve had too many parallels and foils for it to work, and they really couldn’t have that, could they.

No, Aegon has to be the villain; Rhaenyra has to be the hero. It’s a black and white war, good vs evil. That’s the story HOTD is trying to sell, and not at all the complex tragedy of a family tearing itself and its dynasty into pieces over greed and idiocy.

[adalindofcabinsix]

that kind of love never dies (I)

summary: the one where barbara thinks about an act of rebellion.

pairing: jake x mc

word count: 1.3K

warnings: tkolnd takes place after the events of episode 10; cover images found on pinterest; english is not my first language.

author’s note: even though she lives in the usa, my main character, barbara, is brazilian. i added terms and expressions that we use in our country, as well as cultural elements, to this fanfic. the words that appear in portuguese are highlighted and you can contact me if you have any questions.

masterlist

Barbara was sprawled out on the dorm carpet, reading a Lucy Maud Montgomery novel she found by chance in the university library, when her cell phone began vibrating on the nightstand. Without wasting time, she closed the book and got up, waiting to hear from her roommate, Meera, but, when Barbara swiped her finger across the lock screen, she found some text messages from an unknown number.

i would like to invite you again to eat something at that chinese restaurant

if you want to meet me, just show up there tomorrow

i'll be waiting for you :)

Her head started to throb just at the possibility of it being who she was imagining, but she quickly pushed the thought away.

Jake wouldn't put himself in danger like that.

After everything that happened in Grimrock, Duskwood's chief of police, Alan Bloomgate, personally went after her to conduct the interrogation, and, more than once, made it very clear that it was best for her to stay away from her new friends for a while. He didn't go into detail when he told her about what happened at the Ironsplinter Mine, but he confirmed that Richy was alive — despite having some serious injuries — and that Jake had fled from the FBI agents during the confusion caused by the explosion.

All the messages she sent and received during that time became evidence. Barbara had what it took to close Hannah Donfort's case literally in the palm of her hand, including the kidnapper's confession.

Consequently, she also had the means that could lead the people who were after Jake straight to him.

She was interrogated by the FBI countless times for months, until Alan decided to intervene and convinced her to hand over her cell phone to them in exchange for her old life. Since then, Barbara has not been part of the joint investigation. Or at least that's what they say — she's too smart to really believe that.

For a few seconds, she considered the chance that it was someone trying to play a trick on her. The video Lilly Donfort posted accusing her of kidnapping had gone viral across the Columbia University campus. Even her grandmother, who lived in the interior of Brazil, found out about her involvement with a hacker wanted by the North American government. However, no one else knew about the brief conversation they had about the chinese restaurant.

Except, of course, the FBI.

Without a doubt, it was a trap. Barbara felt her face turn red. It seemed that solving an old international murder case, giving up her privacy, being forced to abandon her group of friends and possibly cheating on the guy she was in love with was not enough. She also needed to act as bait when it was convenient.

Barbara huffed, irritated. Little did they know that Jake had no contact. Their partnership in crime had ended almost a year ago.

Still, there was no reason to decline the invitation. She could very well take advantage of the opportunity to tell some truths to those nosy agents, and as a bonus she would have an excuse to go to Germany without Alan being able to question her too openly.

Her lips lifted into a smile as the plan emerged in her mind.

After going through customs at Zurich Airport, picking up luggage and going to an exchange office to exchange some notes, only an hour and fifteen minutes by car separated Barbara from Duskwood. Luckily, there were several yellow taxis forming a line next to the sidewalk, because it would be a nightmare to have to deal with someone trying to compete for the same vehicle as her.

She walked out of the lounge, pulling her hot pink rolling suitcase, and turned on her smartphone to announce on the family's group chat that she had arrived safely. But before she could check her contact list to see if her parents were online, she collided with a young man's broad chest.

She jumped away from him, apologizing — or at least trying to — in german. He laughed softly, grabbing her arm to stop her from tripping over herself, and for a moment, Barbara forgot to even breathe. The young man seemed to be a few years older than her, he was tall, had dark hair and prominent round eyes that resembled the curve of a teardrop, he was wearing a white sweatshirt with a hood and black jeans.

“I'm sorry, I didn't see you.” He spoke in english, with a slight accent.

“No problem, it was my fault.” Barbara quickly straightened up, realizing that she had somehow stared too long.

The young man analyzed her from head to toe with amusement before bending down and picking up the cell phone that had flown out of her hand during the impact.

“I believe this is yours.” He joked, handing the device to her.

“Thank you.”

He nodded curtly and turned, making his way through the travelers entering and exiting the airport, as silent as a wraith.

She was inexplicably disappointed to see him leave, however she had more important things to deal with. Then, she handed the luggage to the driver to put in the trunk and got into the taxi, giving the address of the Gates Hotel, on the outskirts of Duskwood.

Barbara ran across the room, feeling the cold floor beneath her feet. She was considerably late, but as far as she remembered, she had never arrived on time to participate in the interrogations, so whoever was waiting for her at the restaurant wouldn't mind too much. She put on a black strapless dress, put on her highest heels and curled her wet hair with her fingers, leaving a small trail of water on the floor.

Through an opening in the peach curtains, she noticed that the rain had picked up outside, beating violently against the window pane. She cursed under her breath, hoping someone at the front desk could lend her an umbrella, and before Barbara could procrastinate her meeting with the FBI Special Agent any further, she took one last look at the floor mirror near the entrance hall, realizing that she was dressed for revenge.

“Someone would definitely approve of that.”

Smiling to herself, she went down a small flight of stairs to the ground floor, where the girl at the reception was reading a magazine with Nicholas Galitzine's photo on the cover.

“How can I help you?” She asked in english, without taking her eyes off the celebrity gossip.

“Hey, how you doin'? Could you lend me an umbrella, please?”

“Of course.” She said, reaching for the object under the counter and handing it to her. “A fee of two euros will be added to your room bill.” Barbara sighed, surprised, as she mentally converted the currency. “What?” The receptionist looked up, frowning. “Did you think it would be free?”

“No, obviously not.” Barbara lied, smiling politely.

“Return it by midnight or I will have to charge the full value of the item.” The girl announced, turning her attention to the magazine. Then she added: “Nice dress.”

“Okay, I'll pay when I check out.” She assured, walking towards the glass doors while opening her rented umbrella. “And thank you.”

“Have fun, Cinderella!”

Barbara regretted walking out the door as soon as she set foot on the sidewalk. Not just because of the rain, but because of the wind blowing your hair back. In any case, she had come too far to give up, and despite the storm, she could see the lights of the chinese restaurant through the blue haze a few meters ahead, on the other side of the street.

Before she could take another step, someone grabbed her arm and turned her around.

“What?” She blinked in amazement at the handsome young man she had met at the airport.

“Come with me.” He said, pulling her away from the hotel entrance.

“You are crazy? I do not know you!” Barbara shouted, dropping the umbrella near her feet. The rain completely drenched them both in moments. “Me solta!”

“Barbara, please.” He asked, breathing short.

The sadness in his voice stopped her struggling.

“How do you…?” She gasped, eyes wide. “Jake?”

taglist: @daniiiworlds; @labemquarts; @deinily

[the-orange-solace]

When I was a child, I watched an episode of Criminal Minds where a man had a split personality. A woman who killed other women who threatened the man she formed to protect. I remember her sitting in the dark on a couch, a cigarette in hand beside a lamp, as she spoke to an Agent about why she had to kill them, that it was to protect him. It was her entire purpose for existing.

As a child, I used to pace empty halls in the middle of the night and lay in bed, repeating in my mind that I would be the only being in my body. I will not break into multiple people. I will be in control. I have to be because, at the time, I believed I could break into those monstrous plurals you see on TV. The ones that killed their family after years of neglect, abuse, and wrongdoing. The ones you should be afraid of ever becoming, no matter who you are or your situation.

So I became terrified.

And yet, nearly every night, I'd look up at the sky or the ceiling and beg for something to change—to not be alone. I was stuck pretending I was a different character, a type of escapism that sometimes got out of hand, lost in an identity that wasn't my own. Looking up and imagining being taken away, every character I adored was by my side, caring for me in return. I had to keep going, be them, and exist in a world with them.

I'd made up stories, different realities, and places in my mind to escape to, as well as explanations for things my underdeveloped brain couldn't comprehend in the place I found myself within. I clung to concepts, characters, and situations that reflected my own, and soon, I no longer felt alone—not with all the escapism I conjured up, not with the different identities to help me face what was happening.

But I was in control. I was one being. No matter what. I had to be a single being because that was good. I had to be good.

I would never hurt anyone, and being many meant being bad. I couldn't be bad.

When I was a teenager, I started researching and getting involved in minority and disabled spaces. I loved being informed, the stories, the many perspectives, and the complexity of humanity. So it was no surprise when I shared a plural headcanon with a friend, and they felt safe coming out to me. They were many. They took my hand and guided me through a community I was fascinated with and wanted to aid and represent like so many others.

I spent years learning, staying silent as others spoke, just listening to everything I could. But then, one day, like so many others, I spoke through a different facet, a different identity I had created as a child. The many faces of me represented things I could not be, I could not hold, nor could I handle. I was struggling; some of me wanted to lash out. So she did. She lashed out.

As always, I was faced with kindness, listening ears, and aid that then pushed me more to the surface from drowning. But I never left; just another part of me was lost, right? Of course. People are complex. I deal with my emotions in a complex way. Of course.

My plurally disabled friend watched as I became more comfortable speaking through the identities I had, whether they were facets of myself or characters that helped me. Soon enough, the continuous "role-play" and "emotional processing" developed into normal conversation, a comfort, a relief.

They kindly approached me and asked if I was a system, too. They had never met anyone who spoke to themselves like I do, definitely not any singlets. None of our other friends did, in person or not, not even people in our families. It was just us.

The fear from my childhood arose. I couldn't be multiple; I couldn't be more than one. It was bad. But hadn't I learned about Plurality? All its ups and downs? Its complexities and nuances? I accepted it wholeheartedly; I learned and evolved from the demonized perception I was given as a child. So, why was it still bad?

Because I must be lying; I must be a fake, a poser. It was the only reason, wasn't it? I had seen so many conversations and arguments about fakes, those who wished to be special. Had I somehow become the harm they spoke of? How could I do this to a community I swore to listen to and fight for?

I obsessed over it, forcing the panic, dissociation, habit, and ease of speaking in multiple identities and beings of myself away. I buried it as deep as I could for the betterment of everyone else. The community didn't deserve such harm, and I wouldn't bring it to their doorstep if I claimed it to be something I'm not.

The loathing became so present it formed into tics that caused aches and disruptions in my life. Multiple stressors--along with an identity crisis--will do that to someone. So my shoulder and neck muscles ached from shrugging, flexing, and all the repetitive movements I couldn't stop without crying from the suppression. So I didn't. I let it disrupt and hurt.

Then, one day, someone, some random, unknown system to me out in the world, spoke about how it didn't matter what was real or not; it didn't hurt anyone. Plurality and the belief of it didn't hurt anyone. It hurt no one to discover themselves, to test the waters, to simply pry into yourself and learn. There was no shame in figuring yourself, or yourselves, out. There was no right or wrong, nothing to be ashamed of or fearful of. Just another part of living.

So I did. I poked and prodded. I gave my parts names, spoke to them in the middle of the night, asked questions, got to know them, and learned we couldn't talk through words at first but could emotions and sensations. I realized I couldn't find where my Plurality started or where it ended, that we—oh god, we—the idea was so surreal but...comforting—were so combined, living without specific individuality outside of me that there was no separation in sight. Not that I could figure out. For so long, I believed everything was just me. Only me.

But now it was someone else, too. These things that made no sense, these things that felt out of place or special, unique, and ever-changing could be someone else.

Someone else.

The more I reflected, learned, applied, and prodded, the more things made sense. Until one day, I looked at my friends, held my breath, and spoke. Stated that it like it was a sin for me of all people to say.

I was plural.

No one blinked an eye. No one questioned it outside of boundaries and clarification. It wasn't surprising that their childhood friend was many. How surprising could it be when they used so many different names for different parts of themselves to express hard things?

It was astonishing.

And here we are, years and years later, grown and still learning, living, fighting, but more in touch with ourselves than ever before with so many more sys friends and aquatints. More experiences, a better understanding.

It's not shameful to learn, apply, and reflect. You take nothing from anyone but your time and open-minded exploration of the world and yourself(ves). There is no evil in being human, living life, phase or not. There is nothing wrong with you, any of you, for existing or living. You just are. I embrace you, I embrace us, and I embrace everything that comes with a life of many.

So, if you're struggling, just know you're not alone outside the body. We know, and so do many others. It's going to be okay; you'll find yourself in time. Don't rush it. There will always be time.

[sweetfictionalworld]

A New Beginning (Orm Marius x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Orm finds a new life on the surface.

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Breeding Kink, Creampie.

Author's notes: Watching Aquaman The Lost Kingdom and my beloved Orm again hit me with a wave of inspiration. Can't believe it's been five years since I last wrote about him. I know this won't get many notes, cause he isn't a very popular character, but I don't care. I finally got some inspiration again.

Standing on the balcony, you looked across the green landscape and smiled as Orm wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" he murmured into your neck as he placed feather-light kisses on your skin.

Blushing, you leaned your head to the side and sighed blissfully as his lips traveled down your skin and you started reminiscing about how you met.

"Here you go, Sir."

You put down the cheeseburger in front of Orm and he looked up at you with those curious, blue eyes you'd grown accustomed to seeing every day. Eyes that made your belly flutter from the first day he looked at you.

"Thank you, y/n," Orm said and smiled. "And I've told you. Please, call me Orm."

You smiled shyly and fluttered your eyes down as you nodded. "You know, Orm. You've come here every day for a month now, eating the same thing. How on earth do you stay in such good shape?"

Orm shrugged his shoulders. "Good metabolism, I guess."

You let out a soft chuckle and walked away to the next table. Orm watched as you worked, jealous of the other men receiving that beautiful smile of yours. It wasn't just the cheeseburger pulling him back here every day. Ever since that first day you served him, he had been lost in your smile. At first, he hated you for it, hated himself for allowing a human to have this power over him. But over time, he came to like these humans and their ordinary life. You humans weren't so bad after all. And you...Orm wetted his lips. Should he muster the courage to ask you out? Orm frowned. When did he become so shy and uncertain of himself? When he was King, he had no problem getting women. Or perhaps, the true reason for that was because he had been King...

You took a deep breath and smoothed down your apron as you looked over at Orm's table. You studied the short, soft curls on his neck, imagining running your fingers through them...Your eyes landed on his broad shoulders and arms, wondering what he looked like underneath his clothes. You lowered your gaze and a shy smile grazed your features. You wanted to ask him out so badly, but wasn't sure he felt the same way about you. Sure, he had given you looks indicating that he did. But who knew? You'd definitely been wrong about these things in the past. Perhaps, you were being delusional? After all, what would a handsome man like him see in you?

"Y/n?"

You were drawn back to reality by Orm's voice. You fluttered your eyes and looked up at him, pushing your thoughts to the back of your mind. You smiled and cleared your voice.

"Yes?"

"I..." Orm looked down at the floor and rubbed the back of his head. He almost looked...nervous?" "I was wondering, if you would like to go out with me sometime?"

A pang of heat washed over you and you stared at the man in front of you, your eyes blinking slowly as if time slowed down. Orm saw the look in your eyes and knew he'd made a terrible mistake.

"I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"I would love to go out with you!"

It was Orm's time to stare at you, his mouth half-open in shock.

"Really?"

You nodded and smiled. "Really."

Orm's hands traveled down your stomach and slid underneath your nightgown, a low growl rumbling in his chest as his fingers ran across the thin fabric of your underwear. His touch sent a warm spark of arousal through your clit. Moaning softly, you leaned back against his warm, naked chest, your hips bucking gently against his hand, searching for the pleasure you knew was waiting.

"I want a child with you, y/n," Orm whispered and pushed his fingers underneath your panties, groaning when he felt how wet you already were for him. His cock twitched in response, growing hard inside his pajama pants. He loved how in tune your body was with his, always responding so delightfully to his touches.

Your heart leaped at his words, making you unaware of the pleasure his fingers were rubbing on your clit. Turning around, you cupped his face and looked into his kind, blue eyes.

"Are you sure?" you asked, your sparkling eyes betraying your happiness. You knew he would be an amazing dad, but you never knew if the family life was something he wanted. Not until he'd asked you to marry him. Then you had hope that someday he wanted to have children with you.

"Yes. I've never been more certain about anything in my entire life," Orm said and grabbed your legs, lifted you up, and wrapped them around his waist. Truth be told, seeing Arthur with Mera and their son had awakened a longing in him. And he swore to be the kind of father he never had, a caring, loving dad who would do anything for his family.

Orm carried you silently into the bedroom and dropped you down onto the bed, his eyes burning with an intense passion you hadn't seen in him before as he looked intensely into your eyes. Your eyes traveled down his muscular body. Damn, you would never get used to how incredibly well-shaped his body was. He looked like one of those ancient God statues carved in marble.

Orm couldn't control himself anymore, the sight of the shape of your tempting breasts and hard nipples beneath the fabric of your silk nightgown making his dick twitch greedily.

"I will fill you up so many times you'll be dripping for days and my child is growing inside your belly," he grumbled through his tensed jaw and ripped your underwear off of you.

"Orm?!" Your eyes widened as you stared up at your husband, your lower belly filling with an uncontrollable, pulsing heat. What was up with him? You'd never seen him like this before.

Orm only growled and pulled his pants down, his gaze never leaving yours as he stepped out of the pants and crawled on top of you. He grabbed your legs and pushed inside you in one swift movement, making you gasp and clutch onto his lower arms. Orm groaned at your tightness and started thrusting into you deeply at a hard, relentless pace.

"Fuck!" you moaned in a breathy gasp, your nails digging into Orm's arms as he pounded you so roughly that the bed rocked and creaked. His cock hit that sweet spot deep inside you, creating a wave of pleasure searing through your core at every thrust. Feeling the force of an overwhelming orgasm approaching, you tilted your head back, your lips slightly parted as you closed your eyes and surrendered to the sensations flowing through your body.

Orm looked down at the pleasured expression on your face as he thrust into you, felt the tightening of your walls, and knew you were close. Straightening up on his knees, he grabbed your hips and thrust even deeper inside you, his breath quickened and chest glistening with sweat.

You gasped when Orm changed his position, and his thrusts grew harder and deeper. Opening your eyes, you looked up into his eyes filled with so much want and need.

"Please, Orm...fill me up. Put a baby in my belly," you whispered through his pounding thrusts.

Orm's eyes widened and darkened at your words, and you could feel his cock swelling impossibly big inside you.

"Fuck...," Orm grunted quietly and thrust faster until he pumped into you a final time, emptying his full load inside you. Throwing his head back, he growled as his hips bucked erratically, pumping every drop of seed he had to offer deep inside your belly.

"Oh, Orm...," you moaned as he came inside you, his swelling cock pushing you over the edge of climax. Lifting your hips, you cried out with pleasure as you clenched around him, your pussy milking his cock like a vice.

Looking down, Orm watched as his cock twitched inside you, filling you up with every last drop until you were full, and it began to drizzle out around his cock still lodged inside of you. The erotic sight made him rock hard again, his dick swelling inside your still twitching walls.

Your eyes widened when you felt his cock swell inside you, and a new wave of arousal spiked through your belly. Your pussy clenched in response, and Orm smirked down at you, an amused chuckle rumbling through his chest.

"I love you, y/n."

Smiling back, you cupped his face. "I love you too, Orm."

Orm quirked an eyebrow and smirked anew. "Ready for round two?"

You giggled softly and pulled him down for a kiss. "Always."

Thank you for taking your time to read ♡

[hs-is-loml]

Another Pawn in Your Game. (c.s)

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Capitol!Reader

Summary: you felt betrayed by coriolanus and lucy gray's act in the capitol zoo. or coriolanus coaxes you into thinking what he did was okay.

Warnings: minor felix ravinstill x reader (one-sided). angst. manipulative snow who knows all the right words to say. they stay together in the end. UNEDITED

a/n: if you have seen my post about coriolanus before reading this, my stand does not change. and i am not trying to justify anything. that being said i do find him an interesting character to write for with his complexity!

masterlist

You couldn’t believe your eyes from the act that Coriolanus and Lucy Gray were pulling in front of Lucky Flickerman. Introducing her. Holding hands with a district. You felt eyes of pity land on you from around the table as you were with Arachne, Felix, and Clemensia.

“Did you know that he was going to do that?” Arachne hounded on you.

Clemensia added, “Is that not cheating?” 

“I wish I knew,” you scoffed, continuing to look at the screen of Coriolanus staring at Lucy Gray with ​​narrowed eyes. “He didn’t tell me anything.” 

“Maybe it’s time you realize you can do better than Snow,” Felix grinned while you all watched as the peacekeepers dragged away Coriolanus. “Always more options around…”

“Felix, I would love for you to say that to his face,” Clemensia snickered at his poor attempt at flirting.

“Oh, please. No one would ever dare,” Arachne rolled her eyes at the two and began to get up as the bell rang. 

You walked alongside the group with Felix on your side. You felt him place a hand on your back and leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Let me know when you get tired of him, will you?”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Y/n!” Sejanus called your name from behind the group, walking quickly to catch your arm before you walked through the doors while everyone headed in. “What was that with Felix?”

He held a concerned expression, and the grip on your upper arm began to tingle. “Sejanus,” you tried to move your arm and he finally took notice, dropping his hand and muttering apologies.

“I didn’t mean to grab you that hard. I’m sorry.”

Taking a deep breath in you explained to him, “Coryo wants to make a fool out of me. You saw what he did in the cage. Felix is simply taking his chance.”

After Doctor Gaul had left the room, you neglected Coriolanus’ attempts to have a word with you, and you continued to keep a conversation with Sejanus. You felt the irritation that radiated off his body when he noticed that you were purposely ignoring him.

“He looks like he is going to murder me if I keep talking to you, Y/n,” Sejanus quietly pointed out as he looked back and forth from you to Coriolanus. 

“He’s lucky if I don’t murder him for what he pulled,” the blank expression that was written across your face mildly scared Sejanus not knowing how you truly felt. 

“At least acknowledge him or something, Y/n,” he pushed.

“And why should I?”

“Because, because this is unlike you and Coryo,” he tried to explain but failed to give any valid reasoning to you.

You turned to your other side and looked at him with darting eyes, “Hello, Coriolanus,” you articulated the entirety of his name. It felt foreign on your tongue. 

He met you with perplexion at your sudden coldness, “Y/n/n. Dearest. What is the matter with you?” He knew that he had said or done something wrong as you gathered your things and went to Dean Highbottom to be excused. 

“How was your little songbird, Coriolanus?” Arachne teased and was aware you could still hear them before you walked out of the room. Livia continued, “Fragile, little thing she is. I do hope her death is rather quick.”

“She’s okay.”

“Did everyone hear that?” Arachne looked around the room to those who were interested in where she was taking this. “Coryo made sure his songbird is okay.”

 Coriolanus had no time for games as his mind wandered back to you, “Arachne. What is the point of all of this?” he snapped at her.

A smirk planted visibly across her face, “Is your Dearest okay, though?” she mocked him.

The realization was evident as it spread to his face. He looked over to Sejanus who avoided his stare by pretending he was focused on his paper instead. 

“Felix, you know he has no shame in going after you once he sees this,” you mentioned knowing the rather possessive tendencies that Coriolanus had to the boy who followed you out. 

Felix hid his nervousness with a chuckle, “What could he do? I’m the president’s son.”

“I’m just warning you,” you went through your bag to look for the rose Coriolanus had given to you this morning. 

“Y/n. You don’t deserve what he did to you,” he tried to reach out for your hand but you had pulled away before he had gotten the chance to. 

Having found the rose, you glanced around for a trash bin to toss it in, “Oh, believe me. I know.”

“Isn’t that one of the roses that Lucy Gray had in her hair earlier when we saw her on the screen?” Felix observed the rose in your hand and noticed it was the same pure white as the one that was in Lucy Gray’s hair. “Is that from him?” he made the connection with the frown you held.

“Yes.” 

He bellowed another laugh as he realized the Coriolanus was found in even more mistakes. “That bastard.”

Coriolanus was searching for you throughout the academy grounds once the bell had rung. He found no luck in finding you until he passed a hallway he had never seen you go into before, and there you were standing by a pillar with Felix Ravinstill standing too closely for Coriolanus’ comfort. Though he could tell that you had not reciprocated Felix’s intentions, it didn’t help the rising jealousy that was consuming his mind. 

For a moment, his vision was red as he saw Felix take his Grandma' am’s rose out of your hands. It had taken everything in him to not launch himself at Felix as he didn’t want to be convicted of murder before the Games even started. He was already in too far. 

Your head turned as you heard a call of your name from Coriolanus, “Y/n.” Through the tone of his voice, you knew he was not asking for you but rather commanding.

Before you started to make your way to him, Felix caught your hand and pulled you back for a moment whispering in your ear while making direct eye contact with Coriolanus, “Make him pay for it, yeah? And don’t forget my offer will always stand for you.” Coriolanus stood there with a tense jaw and flared nostrils as he watched.

Felix smirked at him, seeing you walk towards his direction but going pass him, “Come along, Coriolanus.” 

The silence was starting to get to the both of you as neither of you chose to speak a word before arriving in front of your house. Your parents rarely being home helped your situation because you figured that an argument was going to begin right as the door was closed behind you. 

That’s how it always was. The picture perfect couple in the public eye to keep appearances up than a cracked frame when it was just the two of you. 

“What was that about, Y/n?” he fumed the second the door was shut. You ignored him as you went to put your bag away in your room. “You cannot keep avoiding me here. And don’t think I am going to let go of what you did today.”

“What I did?” you talked baffled.

“You are making a joke out of us-”

“Is it fun for you?” you interrupted him, finally meeting his burning stare.

“Is what fun?” he gritted his teeth at the lack of specificity in your question.

You began to laugh maniacally and spat out, “Making a fool out of me. You already made me a laughing stock for everyone to see.”

 “Is this about-” he started but you didn’t give him a chance to finish.

“Of course, this is about her, Coriolanus!” you proclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hold her hand? And for goodness sake, a district girl from 12 of all people! You are the one ruining us.”

“She is my tribute,” he defended.

“YOU GAVE HER A ROSE!” you yelled at him in frustration. “How do you not see a problem with that?”

“The rose is nothing compared to what you let Felix do today,” he said, enraged, taking steps closer to you, but your hand met his chest, keeping him at arm's length. “You are mine. Not his.”

“And what? She is also yours now too?” you closed your eyes as they welled with tears that you had tried to blink away. 

He moved your hand and grasped it as he stood in front of you. He cupped your cheek with his other hand and softened his tone, “She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“And how am I supposed to trust your word?” you threw at him and saw a look of hurt flash on his face but it had left just as quick. “Everyone told me it was a mistake to be with you.”

“Do you believe it was?” he blanked, tightening his hold on your hand. 

“I do not know what to believe anymore.”

“It was an act. A farce. She needs to win,” he stroked your cheek with his thumb. “I need to win.”

Your body was tense with vexation and you spoke through clenched teeth, “Am I just another pawn in your game as well? The easiest one you can sacrifice?” It felt like your heart was ready to burst from out of your ribcage waiting for his answer. 

He brushed a piece of fallen hair away from your face and uttered, “No, you are My Queen.”

[mrsrookhunt]

What to Expect When Your Lab Experiment Drinks Formula

PART TWO, PART THREE

A continuation (Mini fic Ver.) fic of what I made for Rook, HERE

| Synop.: You and your lab partner make a mistake in your potion, one that comes out looking strangely like it's related to you.. |

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto, Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge, Floyd Leech, Sebek Zigvolt, (Rook Hunt) x MC

Warnings: Suggestive (Floyd), Angst (Sebek), implied light manipulation (Malleus)

Scroll Farther Alert! There's a narration cut for the second part of each fic after the first portion. Don't miss it! Each ends with fluff. Sebek's is long, fair warning.

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You're trying to make a simple transformation potion, aging up a tadpole to a frog, when you add the wrong ingredient, and use one drop too many on the poor tadpole. The result is a child that looks eerily like the two of you...

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Azul Ashengrotto

"Holy-- great sevens, Azul, is that a child??"

He holds it up a foot away from him, equally baffled.

"Don't ask me! You're the one who insisted on using the wrong ingredients!"

"You were the one who picked those--"

"WAHHHHHH--" The baby flails its arms and fusses at your petty squabbles.

You turn your attention back to the small creature, looking disoriented from being held so far away from any solid ground.

Azul's watching too, as the child seems to scold you both with an oddly knowing glare that could kill.

You've seen that glare before--

"Azul, am I crazy, or does that thing look like you??"

"Weh." It motions towards you as Azul looks over it.

"Gracious, so it does. And it looks like you too. Look at its' nose and eyes."

You come closer to look, but the baby seems intent on having you hold it, squirming out of Azul's hands.

"Ahem, I believe the little one wants you--"

He pushes the wiggly baby into your arms, taking the moment to reposition his glasses, which had slid down with nervous sweat.

"I'll go talk to professor Crewel, there is undoubtedly something he can do about this."

Malleus Draconia

"Child of man! What is that you're holding?"

"Um... it was supposed to be a frog...."

Malleus takes it from you, holding it cautiously. The little baby he holds has soft black hair, slit-pupiled eyes the same color as yours, and suspiciously familiar shorter horns. It coos at him and motions to his horns with curious, grabby hands.

"Whatever we did, we must have touched it at the same time, Tsunotarou... Because it looks like a mix of both of us."

He puts it on the back of his neck with his arms up to support the chubby infant as it grabs at his horns.

"Hm. It's quite cute, Child of man. We can keep it in Diasomnia if Ramshackle doesn't have the capacity to care for it."

You stare on in disbelief.

"It's... its a frog with a transformation potion... we can't keep it, Malleus!"

He frowns, taking the infant down from his shoulders and cradling the small bundle to his chest.

"The potion had birch seed in it. The transformation is permanent; so I don't see a reason to get rid of it."

Malleus smiles, tickling its chubby cheeks.

"There's no way it's totally permane-- Wait. Didn't you have me add some of those ingredients? Did you know this would happen?"

Malleus is suspiciously silent.

"Malleu--"

"I'll go ask professor Crewel if there's a reversal." He sighs, handing the baby to you and moping all the way to the desk.

Lilia Vanrouge

"If you wanted a baby, precious, you could've just asked--"

You nearly slap him. So cocky, when there's a baby that looks suspiciously like you and Lilia on the table where a grown frog should be.

"Sevens, Lilia, this is not the time--"

He chuckles.

"In my defense, I told you not to use a sprig of pine."

You splutter, lost for words and flustered. The baby certainly seems to share Lilia's sense of humor, giggling mischievously at your flustered expression.

You pick it up before Lilia can, determined to barge straight into professor Crewel's office if you had to to get an answer on what this thing was.

"Heh, MC, the baby's smiling at you--" Lilia calls from a distance. You look down and find that the baby is indeed wholeheartedly excited that you're paying it attention, reaching its chubby arms up to feel your face and grab your nose.

"Aww.. so cute," You whisper, blowing a stray breath into its face for amusement.

"I heard that!" Lilia shouts from the table. "Don't go getting too attached now. I'm not raising another child, darling."

"Shush! I'm taking it to the professor right now, you have nothing to worry about."

Floyd Leech

"SHRIMPY, CAN WE KEEP IT---"

Floyd is whirling the baby around in excited twirls.

It's a very cute moment, but you're still baffled at the little creature's existence-- since it very much didn't exist about 10 seconds ago.

"Floyd, I'm pretty sure that's just an oversized tadpole..."

He stops in mock offense, thrusting the baby into your face.

"Does this look like a tadpole to you?? Unless you're suggesting that we both look like tadpoles, in which case, I'm taking offense because this baby looks like us."

He puts it down to play with its tiny legs.

"Look, shrimpy! It's going for a walk--" He pauses to think. "A sky walk!!" And continues to make the little one's legs 'walk'.

While Floyd is busy making baby noises to amuse the child, you're panicking. This potion had birch seed-- an ingredient known to make transformation potions permanent, if you remembered correctly.

"Floyd, c'mon, give it here, we need to take this to profess--"

"NOO we'll keep it!!!" Floyd holds the baby tight to his chest. "It's wayyy too cute!"

You pry the baby from him reluctantly.

"We cannot just keep a child, Floyd, it's not an animal--"

"If you take this one I'm just gonna make another one!!" He cries, moving to grab another tadpole from the tank.

"NO NO NO NO FLOYD--"

"Well don't take my little sea-star then!!"

You sigh.

"I'm almost 100% sure this is permanent anyway, but neither of us are in a position to care for this baby. We might as well take it to the professors and see if they can do something. We can't just hide the fact that we accidentally made a baby for our final project anyway---"

He mutters something about 'could've made a baby other ways, but it had to be the boring way', but allows you to go with the little one, who coos in your ear.

You hear a clatter.

"GET YOUR HAND OUT OF THE TADPOLE TANK, FLOYD--"

Sebek Zigvolt

"Human, explain. Explain----"

The baby bites his finger, which apparently was pointing at it too close for its liking.

"Ouch--! What do you think you're doing, little tyke? Do you think that just because you're an infant that you have an excuse to bite a retainer of the great Waka-sama??"

The baby looks blankly at him.

"You can't scold a baby, Sebek." You scoffed, bouncing the child on your hip.

"Fine! But you still have to explain why this child has my hair and eyes and....-- isn't that your nose?" He looks momentarily horrified as he comes to the conclusion you came to minutes earlier.

"Oh NO NO NO NO MC THAT IS NOT OUR CHILD, TELL ME THAT CREATURE ISN'T OURS--"

"For goodness sake Sebek you're shouting right in our baby's ear--"

"'OUR'?? THAT IS NOT 'OUR' ANYTHING, THAT IS YOUR POTIONOLOGY MISTAKE AND NOTHING MORE--"

He's babbling nearly incoherently at this point, and you have to stop the baby from attempting to bite him again out of what you can only assume is annoyance.

"...I would NEVER have a child with a lowly, magicless human, this CANNOT get out---"

"waah...wEHHHHHHHH"

Sebek stops talking for a moment, ears ringing.

You, too, are shocked.

"Sebek.. if it's not your child then I have ANOTHER auditory atrocity of a person to avoid on this planet."

"..."

"I'm taking it to professor Crewel."

"I think that's wise."

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You/ your lab partner take the child to professor Crewel, who determines that it is in fact a permanent transformation, and that biologically the baby is as much yours as any other naturally born to the two of you.

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Azul Ashengrotto

"Are... you ok, Azul? You've been staring into space for a... ahem, awhile."

The baby crawls around the the VIP Room of Mostro Lounge, bumping into walls. You suspect it may need glasses.

Surprisingly, the baby seems well-tempered, unless you have the misfortune of holding it the wrong way or otherwise inconveniencing it, to which it seems highly irritated.

However, it was one 'just like your father' comment that sent the already figity Azul into an unresponsive state.

"Was, um.. was that too soon?" You ask tentatively.

"..Yes.. yes, I think it was." He responds distantly.

"Azul, it's gonna be ok. We'll figure it out." You get up from the floor to hold his hand.

He meets your gaze, eyes sharp and calculating.

"Yes, of course we'll be fine, how could we not be? Finances are no issue and we could always hire a babysitter and.... well, it's not that. It's just a lot to take in."

"Today's been wild," You agree softly, gently picking up the baby to put it in his lap. "But I'm here for you."

You lean down to the baby's level.

"We're here for you, little one."

Malleus Draconia

"I still CANNOT believe you knew, Malleus--"

You're still squabbling with him pointlessly, even though the damage is already done. You can honestly say you've well warmed up to the baby, and Malleus seems to be doing worse than you on the details, having apparently very little idea how to care for a child other than playing with it.

"I'm sorry, Child of Man. I didn't know it was permanent," He insists calmly, but you don't quite believe that.

You sigh. He can act clueless as long as he'd like, but the overly exuberant smile on his face while interacting with your child says more than words.

He picked up the baby and put it down on his bed, already having sewn little, special pillows for the baby to sleep comfortably with its horns.

"You better be a good dad, you hear me?" You say, less threatening that you thought it would come out.

He beckons you over to the bed to lay down next to your baby.

"I will, Child of Man, I promise."

Lilia Vanrouge

You knock on his dorm room door, baby on your hip.

"So..um.. bad news, Lilia... it's perman-- Are you having a party?"

He shoos out at least 10 members of Diasomnia.

"I know, dear. Unfortunately I didn't realize what you had done in time to stop you. So I was having a little 'last moments of freedom party'. How sad, and Silver was essentially all grown up now.. Well, what's another 16 years?"

You're speechless. You had kind of forgotten that he was Silver's adoptive father.

"I'm... sorry, Lilia, I should've payed closer attention to the instructions and I screwed up--"

"Hush, it's fine. It's not the end of the world."

He takes the baby from you.

"I already brought in an old cradle and some food for our little one, see?"

He points out an old wooden crib next to his bed.

"Wow... you're.. so prepared, and I haven't even thought about that stuff.."

He smiled at you, nuzzling the baby's cheek a few times simultaneously.

"I'll admit, it got me a little excited. I didn't think an old man like myself would get the chance to raise a child of my own flesh and blood. But never say never, I suppose. You have nothing to worry about, precious. What you don't know, I have already experienced."

"...Thank you for being so understanding, Lilia."

"Of course, dear, after all, we're a family now."

Bonus the one stipulation is that you will not and will not ever share the cooking duties with him. Silver makes you swear by it to avoid his own childhood traumas for his younger siblings.

Floyd Leech

You brace yourself for the inevitable flurry of excitement before knocking on Floyd's door.

"WHERE'S MY LITTLE SEA STARRRRRR~~~~" You hear from the other side of the door before the door flies open. You hand the baby off to Floyd, who's more than ecstatic.

"It's permanent," you sigh, hoping he's listening. "We have to take care of the baby now--"

"WheeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEE" Floyd runs back and forth across the small room with the child, making faces all the while.

"Floyd!" You scold, finally breaking his stride.

"Ehh? I hear you, shrimpy, how can I not? It's ok, I have a plan. We'll love this baby with our whole hearts!"

"...That's the plan?"

"I spent two hours thinking of it, do you like it?"

"That child cannot stay here," A smooth voice cuts in. "This room is much too small for the two of us, let alone a third."

"Oh, hey Jade, didn't see ya come in," Floyd remarks casually. "And obviously I've thought of that. The baby will live in Ramshackle, because there's more space. It just needs some touch ups to be babyproof, is all."

"Touch-ups? It needs a whole remodel."

Floyd grins.

"Got an idea, shrimpy. Transfer to Octavinelle! Then the baby can share a room with you and we'll all be nearby!"

"Oh forget it, I'm asking Crowley to help me improve Ramshackle. Until then, you'll have to deal with the living arrangements." You put your hands on your hips and give Jade a look that means you'll raise hell if he doesn't agree to you and Floyd's half-baked plans.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt, so long as it was temporary."

"YESSSSS!!!!!"

Floyd's excitement leads to him jumping on you.

"D'ya hear that, Shrimpy? That means you can stay here too. And we'll be one big happy family."

Sebek Zigvolt

"Sebek?" You gently knock on his door, after having been told he'd been doing nothing but pacing around all evening.

"Sebek," you call again, a bit louder.

The door swings open violently.

"What?? Who dare disturb my-- oh. Human." He ushers you into his room swiftly.

"You still have the child? When does it leave?" He asked quickly.

"It doesn't," You said bluntly, putting down the freshly bathed and swaddled bundle onto his bed.

"Don't touch----! Ugh.. Besides... What do you mean, 'it doesn't'? It's leaving, I will not have that thing associated with the Zigvolt name just because of some lowly human's stupid mistakes!"

If you weren't so exhausted, you would be shouting at a decibel rivaling his own.

"Sevens, Sebek, it's permanent, no way around it. I can't go back in time and change this-! You were the one reading off the ingredients anyway, how dare you blame this on me?" You challenge.

"Ah-ahh.. Well, why didn't you check yourself?? Do I need to do everything for you!?" He crossed his arms.

"No, but you do need to do your task, and competently!"

That seemed to shut him up.

"W-whatever. I cannot be a proper retainer to--"

"Fine. Then don't raise the baby at all, I'll take care of it. I never said you had to involved."

"...I.. Human, I didn't say that." His tone seems to soften. You know he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders in his mind but you still find it hard to excuse his poor behavior.

He sits down next to the baby, picking it up at arms length.

"It's cute, just a bit. But I pity it.. it has even less faerie blood than me."

"Is that the heart of this?" You question gently, knowing it's a sore subject.

"Yes, I suppose so.."

"Sebek. Your heritage doesn't define you, and it won't define our child. You are an amazing, devoted person, and you've worked hard to be the person you are, and that's really all that matters. You have no reason to be upset, or worried. We can make this work, I promise. And I promise that I'll there to help you get through this. That is, if you're willing to."

He sighs, taking your hand.

"I fear I am diluting my sullied bloodline more than it already is. The Zigvolt family works with the royal family as their right-hand consults and guards. It's been that way for generations. But who would want a fae so adulterated with human genetics by their side?"

"I don't think that's true. If you really think that's the case, then why is Silver allowed to train as a protector as well? Malleus and Lilia are equally respectful of you both. You don't have to give up your family's title and honor just because of this."

He stiffens, a proud smile on his face.

"You are right, human! I shall not let this get the best of me. I will raise my child to be as dutiful as me!"

You laugh, relieved that he's warming up to the idea of having a family.

You kiss him on the forehead, giving him a hug that encompasses the baby in the middle.

"I'll work hard at being a good father, I swear on it."

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-June 30th, 2023

-Kaori

[softlymaximoff]

The Sun, Moon and Stars

18+ ONLY MEN & MINORS DNI (blank blogs will be blocked you do not have my permission to republish my work onto any platform.

— A/N: NO ONE DIES DONT WORRY, I’m sorry this took so long to get out, but here it is xx

— Summary: without your sun, the moon could only do so much until she herself was pleading for the warmth of her lover to return.

— Characters: WandaNat x Reader

— Warnings: ANGST, shutting Nat out, missing Wanda hours

— Word Count: 2.5k

Natasha wasn’t a sad person. She didn’t dwell upon the little things or throw a pity party when things didn’t go her way. She was a woman of confidence and bravery. Yet when you caught her staring at the empty picture frame in the living room, your heart shattered just a little bit more.

She didn’t do it often, nor did you point it out when she did. There would be a communal group gathering and she’d just be staring subtly at the mantelpiece holding the frame. It used to be a selfie of you three on one of your monthly picnic dates about a year ago and now the witch was no where to be found. Fury had sent her on a mission, a mission so risky that absolutely no contact was to be made.

After four months Natasha was having doubts of her beautiful girlfriend returning and it was the start of her downfall. You could see it, you could feel it. She was empty, those beautiful green eyes that you adored became dull and grey. You tried to be there for her, you really did. You snuggled with her on days she couldn’t sleep, you’d kiss her temples the way Wanda would, you even learned Wanda’s Sokovian lullabies to ease the redhead’s nightmares.

But she just pushed you further and further away. Wanda was the glue, she was the one who nurtured your insecurities and built a loving and safe space for you three to share them. Now there was nothing left. The training room became Natasha’s sanctum, the punching bags and the ring as her desired therapy. Nobody could drag her out of there, not even the wounded look on your face when she ignored your pleas to come back to bed.

It was coming into the fifth month of the mission and the Russian looked like a completely different person. Her eyes were sunken in, her cheeks hollowed out just that little more and her hair was always in a jagged plait rather than her usual neat braid. Clearly a sign of self neglect. “Tasha” your voice echoed softly throughout the training room as you sat in the ring and watched her work out. “I’m busy” she replied monotonously and hit a harder punch in the training bag. “Okay” you whispered as you just sat there.

You weren’t gonna leave her alone to her thoughts, especially not at this ungodly hour of the morning. The least you could do is be in her presence. Just being around her was enough for you. After a few minutes of staring hopelessly at her you sighed and leant back so you were lying flat on the training mats. What would Wanda say about Natasha? Would they have a big argument again? Would they be better off without your contribution to the relationship? Did they really need you or were you just an extra? Were you the reason they were stressed so much?

You didn’t realise you were actually crying until you felt a few tears run along the sides of your face tickling your cheeks. Not wanting to alert your already pent up girlfriend, you muffled a quiet sniffle in the sleeve of your hoodie, Wanda’s hoodie. With a quick glance towards Natasha, you hoped she hadn’t heard it and by the subtle lip bite she did, you knew she was aware. So you quietly got up from the training mats and cast one more look at your Natty before leaving the room with a heavy sigh ghosting your shadow.

You longed for Wanda, your other heart, your sun, your security. The three of you had a running theme that Wanda was the sun, Nat was the moon and you were the stars but lately the warmth from your sun was getting just a little more foreign with every passing day Wanda was not home. For the moon, she was just as beautiful but when she refused to guide you in the dark while her lover was absent, you felt lost and neglected. So with the well rehearsed routine of shutting out until you were hiding away in a pile of Wanda’s clothing, you kept a brave face and scampered to your shared room.

Letting your body fall into the false security of a hug you broke, body wracking with silenced sobs and suppressed hiccups. It didn’t take long for your body to physically exhaust itself as you cried your way into a restless slumber. The small ballet inspired alarm clock read 4:37am and only then did Natasha return to bed, wordlessly slipping in behind you as her own silent tears hit the back of your neck. Being the big spoon was always her thing, she could protect you even in your sleep yet at the same time be her most vulnerable self without fear of judgement. “We need you Wanda, I need you moy lyubov” she whispered into the crook of your neck and bit her lip to try and silence her pleas.

Hours passed and the two of you stayed asleep, Natasha subconsciously waking up in a panicked state every few hours but you were pretty much dead to the world. With that being said, you were surprisingly awake properly before Natasha was. The spy instinctively gripped your body in her sleep when you tried to get up to go to the bathroom so you had to think relatively quick. You weaved one of Wanda’s hoodies between your bodies and gave a sad smile when the red head let out a small whimper at the familiar smell. It honestly broke your heart to see her so broken and vulnerable. Where the hell was your Wanda.

Your feet padded along the compound floorboards as you made yourself home in the kitchen, routinely making the early riser’s coffees and sticking them in the fridge with little post it notes, something you had picked up from Wanda. God you missed her. You took your lukewarm mug and sat yourself on the small ledge of the windowsill in the lounge room, watching as the world came to life. A few deer in the open training fields complimenting the dewy morning glow on the grass. The sound of the fridge opening made your ears perk up but you refused to turn around, your demeanour too close to crumbling for it to be exposed. It was Kate, she settled herself opposite you and wordlessly joined you in observing the fields. The silence was comfortable, for once. “She’ll be back” the young archer whispered in the chill air as she grabbed your hand.

“How can you be sure, it’s been months” your voice trembled as you took in a shaky breath and squeezed her hand in an act of desperation. “She’s Wanda” Kate mumbled and pulled you in for a hug, your cries finally escaping into her comfort. You were tired, so tired and you were losing all hope. She held you until your cries gently subsided into nothing but hiccups and ragged breaths. Clint was the next one to make themselves known as he rummaged around in the fridge and sat on the sofa, clearly waiting for Kate to escape your grip to train with him. Makes sense as to why Kate was up so early, the girl could sleep for years if she wanted to.

“Sorry Katie, sorry Clint I’ll give her back” you chuckled embarrassedly swiping at your reddened cheeks as you completely pulled away from the younger avenger. “Do you want to come with us? Maybe get your mind off it all?” Clint offered empathetically and you nodded your head bashfully. Taking one last sip of your coffee before gathering up all the dishes to put them in the sink, following them out shortly after. Maybe it was a good idea. Unbeknownst to you Natasha had seen the whole thing from the end of the hallway, too angry at herself to make a sound. She should have been the one comforting you, not her teammates. If she had just put her stupid emotions aside she could be the one being strong for the two of you.

When you were well out of sight she made her way into the kitchen grabbing her breakfast and sitting criss cross at the table. She peeled the post it notes off her cold breakfast bowl gently and coffee mug, putting them in her sleep short pockets. She had kept them, all five months worth of your silly little post it notes to have some sense of Wanda with her. She was almost finished her breakfast when Yelena came into the kitchen, Kate’s old band tee hanging off her shoulder and a pair of her boxers. “Put some clothes on cytka, it’s 8am” Natasha grumbled and Yelena just flipped her off, snatching a strawberry of her sister’s bowl.

“Any news on Wanda?” She asked softly when she got comfortable opposite of Nat. “No” the redhead sighed and dropped her spoon, now just playing with her oats and fruit bowl. “She’ll be home soon sestra, I promise” the blonde moved to stand beside her sister and the older widow turned into her letting a few tears slip out. Yelena hadn’t seen Nat cry much, only one time when she accidentally tore a muscle in her already scarred left shoulder and another when she lost her arrow necklace this one time. “It’s so hard Lena, I need my Wanda” Natasha pleaded into her sisters embrace and Yelena struggled to hold back her own tears. Her sister was broken. Truly broken.

The siblings kept their small comforts until Yelena physically felt Nats heart rate slow down a little, kissing her head to mimic how their mother used to when they were little. “Pain only makes you stronger Natty, you’re the strongest person I know after Mama” Yelena mumbled and her sister just sighed deeply before pulling away from the hug, sniffling into her sleeve. “Thank you Lena, Kate’s training with Clint in the shooting range if you want to see her before your debrief meeting this morning” the older widow informed and Yelena said her thanks before scampering her way in that direction. She’d never admit it but she was whipped for the archer.

Natasha sat at the table for a while, clearing her bowl early on and the woman just sat there. She pulled her knees up and hugged them, the smell of Wanda’s hoodie reeling her into a false sense of familiarity as she buried her head in her knees. “Please come home” she whispered into the soft fabric, her pleas falling on deaf ears as the kitchen held a sorrowful silence. Something deep inside her belly decided to lead her to the communal record player and throw on a vinyl that the three of you would listen to when you were missing one. She skipped training that day and just sat by the record player all day, flipping through albums of artists that made her think of Wanda. That’s where you found her by noon. Two empty coffee cups and a half eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich next to her as company.

With a soft look in your eyes, you decided to let her be, for once she wasn’t overworking herself and was showing some emotion. You weren’t about to interrupt her and make her shut off again. So you found your way into one of Tony’s smaller labs and busied yourself with some new suit mechanics, after all you could do with a new upgrade. You lost track of time pretty easily as you were drowning in new ways for functions to work stealthily into your suit that when FRIDAY alerted you with a time break you flinched. “I’m afraid Mr Stark has is now locking up this room. Your time stamp in Novo-Electrics presents at 4:38:30h. Do you wish to finish up your suit mechanics in your remaining 7 minutes or shall I save your work for next time?” The A.I politely informed you and you asked to save until next time.

You gathered up your plannings on the scrap material paper and put them back in your design folder, securing the instructions with tape on the front page so you wouldn’t forget next time. “Thank you FRIDAY, you can lock up now, can you also let Tony know that he’s got stupid rules” you rolled your eyes at the billionaire’s rules. He always made sure every room has a time limit and an hourly digital check up on your health so no one was spending their life in one room.

You stepped around the compound quietly as it was currently dinner time and you didn't necessarily want to be around people who weren't Wanda. You were almost at your room when a sneaky blonde grabbed your arm and pulled you into her own room. "Yelena wha-" "Quiet, listen to me" she whispered in a hush and you furrowed your brows as she sat you down on her bed. "Please try and talk to Natasha, she doesn't say much but her eyes say it all. Please don't give up on my sister" her russian accent sounding vulnerable and soft instead of her ususal rough and intimidating accent.

"I'm not giving up on her, not now not ever. She's all I have left, I can't lose her too" you looked down and tried to hide the way those words stung. Yelena just sighed and pulled you in for a gentle but firm hug. "She'll be back, trust me" her hope for Wanda really made you want to believe but there had been no contact for so long that hope was a foreign concept.

"Lena dinner is- oh sorry" Natasha trailed off in an awkward stutter as she saw you sitting on Yelena's bed with tear stained cheeks. "No no uh its okay, I'll just be in my room I'll eat later" you rushed out and started to escape the room but Nat's quick grip on your upper forearm made you freeze. "Have dinner with us, with me" she whispered in a strained voice and those damn green eyes clouded over ever so slightly. "Are you sure? I don't want to intrude" you looked down and fumbled your hands in your sleeves, hitching your breath when Nat tilted your chin back up.

"You've never been an intruder, not now or with Wanda here. Your still ours moya lyubov" "Yours. She's gone Nat 100%" you crumbled in her arms. Yelena slipped out of the room and into the dining room to let you have your space and you couldn't have felt more foolish. You were missing Wanda heavily as was Natasha. You needed her but the Widow needed you. "Please don't shut me out my love, I need you too please. I need you" Nat's voice broke and in that moment, so did your heart.

[inthelibrarybtw]

you’re gonna go far | two - the country club

SERIES MASTERLIST pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

summary: where Rafe who hates pogues has a soft spot for one, who couldn't care less about him, she's too independent and too focused on graduating college and making it out of the Cut to pay attention to him or where they say they don't like each other yet for a reason they are always at the same place at the same time, him making time for her and her never pushing him away but again they don't like each other. word count: 4.5k content: kelce being an asshole, tension, angst, manhandling (not from rafe), cursing, suggestive, probably inaccurate golf talk, topper being nice for once. authors note: it took me too long to finish it i apologize, i'm not the biggest fan of this but i had to set the scene and introduce some very important characters for the story to continue and to finally get on to the juicy stuff. i read it like 4 times but if you see a grammar error let me know i can always miss things. enjoy!

Working on Figure 8 for a pogue was very common, those were usually the better paid jobs so naturally that’s where usually everyone wanted to work or went looking for a job. You actually spent more time on Figure 8 than most of your friends. You had been on multiple jobs over the years, bookshop, coffee shop, retail, babysitting, waitressing in different places, the one night fancy events were the best, the check was big even though you would usually end up almost passing out from exhaustion. The job you were in was one of the best, it was at a cute bistro aimed at girls. The vibes were very girly, the uniform was pretty, everything about the job was good, everything but the clients, the older clients were the problem most of the time. You couldn’t stand another minute more of these stupid older women in their 40s treating you as if you were a freaking alien and all you could do was smile and nod even when you wanted to spill their drinks on them, scream at them or even spit on their food. 

You would expect trashy behavior from girls your age and they had their moments but usually they didn’t care or if they knew you through Sarah they were nice but the problem was usually their mothers and one kook girl group and oh they made sure to make your life a living hell. And that’s why now your patience was at negative 100 and you were looking for a new job that was as good as this one in the financial area and that you could enjoy at least a bit. 

The days after the Boneyard party you were focused on looking for a new job which had help you ignore everything that had happened with Rafe that night, but some of the things you said and he said were replaying in your mind making it a little bit harder to concentrate and since you spent too much time on Figure 8 you had been on edge not wanting to bump into him but again that little bistro was aimed at women and too girly for him to even set foot in so that was the only thing keeping you at ease.

You wanted to find another job on your own, this one Lily had helped you secure it and you were forever grateful but you didn’t want to ask for her help again or Richard’s. Lily and Richard were this old couple you had met around a year and a half ago, give or take. You had met them in the coffee shop you used to work at before. They were regulars and usually came by on slow days so you always sat with them and quickly they became your friends. They had helped you one to secure a better job and two to know when you could apply for a scholarship at community college last year. They were in a sense like godparents, they had always wanted a daughter or granddaughter and it didn’t happen so when they met you, a girl around their grandsons age and with how sweet and kind you were to them they just wanted to look out for you while that wasn’t the only reason or even the main one it was the one they gave you, you still didn’t understand it but you never pushed them to tell you the truth. Your mom was aware they were your friends and in how they had basically made you their goddaughter and as a little strange it was for a 20 year old to be friends with a couple in their 70s she was so grateful for how much they had helped you. They had pushed you to make decisions like going to college and helped you find a job, your mother couldn’t thank them enough for the big impact they had in your life. Sometimes people just needed someone external like a mentor to make them do things they wouldn’t normally do and that’s what they were for you. 

You had already been studying for a year and in a couple months you were starting your sophomore year of college, nursing had always been your dream but you were going to study to be a teacher until by grace meaning Lily, had talked to you she finally convinced you to go for what you really wanted, your mother had been fighting with you about it and when you finally made the decision she could almost kiss Lily. That’s another reason why your mom was grateful for them, their advice went through more easily probably because of the age and well your mom knew how stubborn you were, you were like her so she couldn’t really blame you for not listening to her all the time. But you did listen to her this time and that’s why you ended up knocking on Lily and Richard’s house that day. You felt like a puppy with her tail in between her legs, you were unsuccessful at finding a new job on your own and your mom told you to ask for help. It took a while to convince you but there you were. 

“Oh sweetie what an amazing surprise!” Lily smiled when she opened the door to greet you, letting you in their house, it was crazy how familiar it felt. “Richard! Look who came to visit us” she said with the warmest smile ever. 

She let you in, or more like dragged you inside, it felt familiar. Still you felt like you were abusing their trust and their kindness, they didn’t see it like that but you did “Well hello you!” Richard says “what brings you here today? More of Lily’s food? Because i can’t blame you if you do” he chuckles 

“Uh not precisely” you smile, feeling like the worst person it’s okay to ask for help you kept repeating in your mind. Lily noticed your uneasiness and decided to distract you. 

“Why don’t you sit here?” she pointed to the kitchen island “I was waiting for some cookies to cool you can help me decorate them God knows Richard won’t do it” 

“I can help to eat them” he pointed out while walking to sit on the couch, the kitchen had a little sitting area “so tell us what brings you around?” you silently sigh, grabbing a piping bag to help Lily decorate the cookies

“Richard shut it, she can come by with no reason if she wants, she’s always welcome” Lily says while putting the icing on the cookies and giving you a knowing look, how on earth does she do that? 

He rolls his eyes playfully “No, I didn't mean it like that, you know that, right Y/N?” Richard is used to Lily’s attitude, you chuckle and nod. For a while you kept quiet, indulging in the talk, finding the courage to finally speak up and ask for their help. 

“So how’s work?” Lily asked, you didn’t notice the knowing look she had given you, she knew you weren’t liking it, you haven’t told her anything but she knew since she usually went by to get together with her friends but she always noticed the disgust in your face when talking to certain people. You had never been good at hiding emotions with your face, maybe you didn’t talk but your face sure did. 

“Uh it’s good yeah” you tried to sound convincing, dodging her gaze. They exchanged a look, Lily had told her suspicions to Richard and they had already thought about a new job that you had mentioned you would like to get. 

“So there’s no chance you would like to change jobs?” Richard asks as he keeps going through his phone. You stare at him, like it’s a joke.

“Oh…” is the only thing that comes out of your mouth. Lily turns to look at you, lifting one eyebrow. 

“Don’t worry sweetie, if you’re happy where you are don’t let us push you to do something you don’t want to” You didn’t notice but Lily mouthed you’ll see to Richard

“I wouldn’t mind knowing, i-” you pause for a second “if it’s not for me maybe I know someone who might need it” you try to make it sound as if you’re okay with your current job. 

“It’s at the Country Club as beverage cart girl it has great pay and tips can be really good too, with how you are we’re sure you won’t have problems with that but if it’s not for you please let us know of someone who might be interested” Lily kept explaining “I’ll admit it can be a little tedious since you have to be on a cart all day around the golf course” your eyes light up bev cart girl, you wanted that job for a while but there were no openings. 

“I want it, if it’s okay” you admit, but you look down you can’t stop feeling guilty, it’s okay to let people help 

Lily smiled kindly “Well that’s terrific, right Richard?” 

“Of course it is, now we’re gonna see you more” he says kindly, you relax. They always meant good, you slapped yourself mentally for feeling guilty or ashamed 

“They want you there on Friday so they can train you” you nodded at Lily and spent the rest of the afternoon with them. 

—

During the week after the Boneyard party, Rafe had been in a sour mood, he had been snapping at anyone, Sarah was so over his tantrums to the point that she even went out of her way to talk to Topper so maybe he could help or take him out of the house because she couldn’t stand another second with his bitchy ass.

So that’s how he ended up in the Country Club with Topper and Kelce. Topper didn’t think much on why Rafe was in such a foul mood. Normally it was because of a fight with his dad so he thought it was that again. Wrong, everything was reminding him of you and he tried really hard to just ignore what he was feeling and all the awful things he had said to you but it was like his subconscious was torturing him and he was beyond frustrated. 

Golfing with his friends usually helped him get distracted but this time it didn’t work, he was more quiet and not very into the game. He was attempting (and failing) to play golf, getting even more frustrated because the one thing he did to take his mind off things was not working and to make things even worse he saw you driving that stupid golf cart. 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me” he mutter to himself

One thing that didn’t cross your mind when you accepted the job was the fact that Rafe liked golf and that he actually spent a lot of time at the Country Club, maybe because you didn’t know he liked golf. It had been five days since you had started working there up to that point you hadn’t thought about Rafe until you saw him, you cursed mentally, it was a rule to stop every time you saw a group of golfers just in case they needed something. You parked the cart, Topper and Kelce started approaching. 

You can do it, it’s your job now you told yourself, you put on a fake smile that was very easily wiped off. 

“Well, well, well if it isn’t our favorite bev cart girl?” Kelce said, his voice dripping something that made you feel uncomfortable 

“This is the first time you’re seeing me around” you stated as you got out of the cart. The glances Kelce was giving to you made you feel uneasy but you tried to ignore him the best you could 

“Yeah but it doesn’t mean we haven’t heard from you” Topper was staring at you, not intentionally but he was, he wasn’t gonna lie you were very pretty, easy on the eyes. Rafe noticed the way they were looking at you and unlike Kelce he was not amused. 

“Shut it both of you” he snaps at them. Topper finally looks away but in confusion as to why Rafe was so annoyed, Sarah was not lying was the only thing he thought. 

“Uh… anything you guys want?” you asked focusing again on why you had stopped and not them for a second 

“Oh we definitely want something”  Kelce said, his tone dripping with something else you didn’t like. You stood near the cart allowing you to put some distance between them, Kelce more specifically “Got something planned after your shift?” Topper rolls his eyes at the flirting attempts of Kelce, while Rafe just tenses up a little more seeing you’re just awkwardly smiling trying to avoid whatever Kelce is trying to do. 

“Back off idiot, you’re making her uncomfortable” Rafe speaks up, his tone firm and with a hint of warning. You looked at him for a second, silently thanking him but you didn’t forget how awful he made you feel, you knew you had to get over it but you were only human and his words had hurt you a little too much for your liking and seeing him again just brought it back.

“What’s up with you man? Can’t a guy just flirt with the pretty bev cart girl? I'm not doing any harm am I?” Kelce said with a hint of arrogance, you would’ve slapped his face right there but you were working and if you did you would be fired and you needed to work. 

“Since you guys don’t need anything I have to go back to my rounds” you said ignoring everything that Kelce had said and walking back to the driver's seat. Much to your disgrace you felt a hand grabbing your arm. Kelce’s hand. 

“Wait- don’t leave just yet we’re having a nice little conversation aren’t we? Can’t we have a little fun?” Kelce grins, while Topper just stands there not knowing if he should intervene or not, he is gauging at Rafe’s reaction and at what Kelce might try to do. 

“Let go” you say your tone firm, you might be getting too stressed but you’re not letting it show 

“Aw don’t be like that, just wanna talk” he keeps the grip on your arm, not willing to let go 

“You don’t need your hands to talk, so let go” you pulled your arm back, his grip unwavering

“Feisty, I like that” his eyes roam shamelessly over your body, you feel so uncomfortable and helpless. In any other scenario you wouldn’t but right now it was either you kicked him and lost your job or try to handle the situation the best you could. 

“I really need to go, unless you guys want any drinks” you kept trying to deviate the conversation back to the original reason for your stop. 

“How about we start with your number?” Kelce said, Topper widening his eyes in shock and Rafe just clenched his jaw more, how much more was his friend gonna push you? And how much longer until he breaks? “Although I know one thing I want to drink” Kelce added his tone as suggestive as it could get 

“Jesus, Kelce stop” Topper looked at him and put a hand over his shoulder, he had felt the tension in the air and either he stopped him or he knew Rafe was gonna do something so much worse 

The grip on your arm loosened a bit when he turned to Topper but then he looked back at you “Come on pretty face, just give me your number, it won’t hurt” you shook your head immediately 

“I really need to get back to work” you looked at Topper and Rafe, silently pleading to make Kelce stop, you would’ve never expected to be silently asking Rafe to do something but this was getting out of hand. He was having an inner turmoil, he wanted to beat Kelce’s ass and help you but he was completely frozen in anger. 

“Aw come on we’re not done here yet” he fake pouts for a second, getting a little closer to you, you try to pull back but unfortunately he’s stronger than you. You glance again at the other two, at that point you didn’t care who did something but you needed help. 

Topper notices how Rafe is clenching his jaw and his veins are popping out. He takes one step up but before hell breaks loose Topper speaks up with a firm tone “Kelce that’s enough. Let her go” you feel like you’re about to relax but much to your disgrace Kelce is still holding your arm and harder this time.  

“What? We’re having fun aren’t we? She’s fine” 

“No, she’s not, you're making her uncomfortable, let her go now.” Topper notices how he didn’t let go and notice how Rafe was about to break and he knew he was gonna regret it not because Kelce didn’t deserve it but because you were gonna see it, it was an unknown thing for you but he had beat up a guy once or twice at parties when they said some comments just like the ones Kelce was making but worse. But he always made sure you weren’t around or ever found out about it. Yes you had seen him fight JJ or John B but that was purely because they were pissing him off and it wasn’t related to you. 

“Dude she doesn’t want your ‘fun’ This isn’t about what you want but what she wants and clearly is not this. Now back off and let her go” Topper’s tone was firm, at that Kelce let you go. Rafe on the other hand was fuming one at how far Kelce had taken things and two at Topper for defending you, he knew being mad at his friend for defending you was a bit childish but it was more because he had stepped up instead of him. 

At the second Kelce had let you go, you gave Topper a small smile and he basically dragged Kelce away. 

“If you need anything I’ll be around” you didn’t want to be around them for one more second. You glanced at Rafe one more time before leaving, his gaze filled with something you couldn’t understand, you ignored it and got back to the cart and drove away. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Rafe finally spoke up, pushing Kelce back a little too hard “Think you’re funny?” 

“Jeez calm down, it was all in good faith” Kelce smirked, Topper shook his head and intervened before it could escalate to something else. 

“Kelce… you’ve done enough. Didn’t you have that meeting with your parents today? You should leave” Topper tried searching for excuses to kick his friend out before Rafe could beat him up. Kelced huffed but he did in fact have something else to do so he left. 

After he left Topper brought back his attention to Rafe “Hey man, you okay?” he was actually trying to be a good friend, while Rafe was seething still angry about everything that had just happened. 

“Just peachy” the image of Kelce grabbing you, your face… damn it your face, the stress and maybe even fear, why didn’t he do something? He cared for you, yet he didn’t do anything. He was even more angry this time with himself. 

“Come on, let’s play, it'll help” he nodded. Yes, golf should help but it didn’t, he kept looking where you had driven away. After what felt like an eternity you showed up again, you were surprised they were still playing, you noticed just two sets of clubs meaning Kelce was no longer there, it gave you peace.

“I hate this game” Rafe mutters under his breath after hitting the ball with more force than necessary. He was so in his head he hadn’t noticed when you showed up until you talked. 

“Hey” you talked in a soft yet cold tone, catching him off guard

“Hey” his face was serious, angry even but his tone had gone soft when he noticed it was you

“Do you guys need anything? Snacks, water, ice?” your tone was cold, only made him feel even more guilty. 

“No, we’re good for now” until that moment he didn’t notice your uniform, it suited you, the color, everything, it accentuated your body in ways he found enticing and infuriating. He shook his head “But you could stick around for a bit” Topper looked at him confused and interested in the change of demeanor once you had showed up. He was trying to make up for what had happened at the party and with Kelce without addressing the issues. 

“I-” you had been caught off guard but you recovered quickly “I can’t, there’s other golfers who might need something and I’m still working” 

Rafe seems disappointed? He knows you have to work but he doesn’t want you to go. Topper catches the way his shoulder slightly slump and decides to intervene “Not even a five minute break? I bet it can be tiring having to go around in this heat and serving a lot of people” he was not wrong but still you couldn’t

“I can’t, I have scheduled breaks and that’s in an hour… unless you guys buy something from the cart I can’t stay” 

“How about a refill on golf balls? I lost some already and I’m running low” he has a slight smirk on his face trying his best to make you loosen up, he’s lying he never loses a golf ball but it was the first excuse that came to mind and it was believable.

“I'm not the girl for that” you admit with a serious face “but I know someone who can help” 

“Can’t make an exception? We won’t snitch” he smirked at you, what was he trying to do? You wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. 

“I don’t know… I could but only if I get a good tip” you shrugged, you could do it yes it wasn’t something you would normally do but in your training they had told you that even if it wasn’t part of your job description you had to learn in case of an staff emergency. This was far from being that and you were still annoyed at everything revolving around him so you were gonna try everything to make him back off. 

“You got yourself a deal” he agreed almost immediately. You had said that so he could stop asking, but it had caused the opposite reaction. You sighed giving up, at least you were gonna get money out of this. 

“I’ll be back then… how many do you need?” 

“I’ll take three” his smirk was still plastered on his face, Topper looked in between the two of you, he tried to suppress a smile at the palpable attraction between the two of you, or more the attraction Rafe had for you. The very noticeable change in his demeanor and humor once you had shown up it was like you had brightened up his day. 

“Okay, Topper do you need anything?” you asked being polite 

“No no, I’m fine thanks” to which you nodded once and walked away saying a quiet I’ll be back, leaving the cart there and making your way to go pick the three golf balls. Once you were out of earshot Topper turns to Rafe and grins widely 

“Dude, you’re like down bad for her” he chuckled 

“Shut up man” Rafe says as he glares back at Topper 

“No, seriously it's like you’re almost drooling over her” He knew it was true, he wasn’t going to admit it but he knew you had some kind of power over him even if it was just by being there. 

“You’re being insane” 

“Oh I'm insane?, when have you ever been like this? You’re trying too hard to get on her good side, I really never thought I’d see the day, Rafe Cameron pining over a girl, that by the way doesn’t seem to like you” Rafe feels exposed at what Topper is saying so he tries to cover it up

“It’s not like that, she’s just… nice to look at” key on tried to cover it up, he failed miserably, but much to his luck before Topper could keep poking him you showed up again. 

You walked back with the three golf balls in your hand “Better tip me good, I went out of my way for these three balls” you gave them to him gently, he was a member you had to be nice.

“Oh don’t worry sweetheart I’ll tip you good” he smirked, he didn’t intend to sound so flirty but it came out so naturally. Topper had to bite a laugh, it was too funny for him seeing Rafe like this. 

“Are you guys really sure you don’t want or need anything from the cart? Snacks? Water? Shots?” you ignored his comment and asked once again getting a little annoyed. 

“I’m really okay, thanks though” Topper answered your question

“You guys make my job harder” you admit to both of them 

“Well maybe we like making things hard for you” Rafe teased back and you rolled your eyes

“Yeah I see that, you sent me for golf balls when im a bev cart girl emphasis on BEV” you crossed your arms

“Maybe I just wanted to see you walk away in that outfit” his tone was dripping with flirtiness and playfulness like he didn’t mean it but he did, which didn’t make you feel like you were being objectified unlike Kelce had made you feel “Besides I’m sure you have some way I can reward you for all this good service” his smirk unfaltering 

“I accept cash right now” you smile knowingly putting your hand out, you would never ask for tips but it was Rafe, he had been an asshole, his friend had basically harassed you, and he made you go look for stupid golf balls, a little money was nothing. 

“Ah ever the businesswoman” he chuckled “Fine” he pulled out his wallet a 20 dollar bill and placed it in your hand, the brief contact sending a jolt down his back 

“Just that?” you pushed “I think I deserve more for all the emotional damage I had to go through” you perked a brow at him, he huffed. 

“Emotional damage are you…” he trailed off biting his tongue, he could tell you were already angry and from The Boneyard party he knew better than to poke you more, so because he had felt awful he let it go “Fine” he pulled another 20 dollar bill “are you happy now?” he rolled his eyes

“Very” you faked smiled “Now if you excuse me there’s people who will not waste my time and will tip me without me having to ask” you rolled your eyes, walking back to your cart and driving away. 

“Fuck…” he muttered to himself 

“Rafe, my man, you got it bad” Topper said, grabbing Rafe’s shoulders and shaking him “Also what did you do to that girl? It was like she was shooting daggers at you” 

“Shut up will you?” he shook his head “let’s finish this game I can still beat you”

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INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

[tossawary]

A quote and thoughts regarding Shen Yuan's opinions on Liu Mingyan and the "sexiness" of the Liu Mingyan versus Sha Hualing setup. He knows what he should be feeling in this situation as a "normal straight guy", but I don't think he's actually feeling it.

"Shen Qingqiu was very fond of this female lead, and it wasn't only because Liu Mingya's beauty points were the highest. It was also because she had great poise. She always understood the big picture and grasped the general situation, and her conduct was fair and honest. Even in Luo Binghe's gigantic harem, a wife with both intelligence and moral character was rare.

There was one more appeal factor. Liu Mingyan was the only female character for whom Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky didn't write detailed sex scenes. Many readers had been highly dissatisfied with this arrangement, to the point that they spammed the comments with their ranting, but this had given Liu Mingyan something no other female lead had: an image as clear as ice and pure as jade!

Can't be helped, the unobtainable ones are always the best.

[Sweatdropping shrug kaomoji that I can't type out.]

This was what made the second match worth watching. An evil demoness naturally demanded a righteous saintess as a rival. Every man dreamed of being caught between an angel and a devil. To watch them jealously vie with each other over him one moment, then risk life and limb for his sake in the next - that was the highest, most sacred, perverted fantasy of every male organism. He could drunk off the wild, untamed charm of the wicked seductress, and at the same time his heart would ache for the austere taste of the pure saintess who kept pulling him closer only to push him away!

One had to admit, "Great Master" Airplane was genuinely good at nailing what people found satisfying. Shen Qingqiu couldn't help giving Luo Binghe another glance.

Luo Binghe found it very hard to not care about that gaze. Why exactly did Shen Qingqiu keep looking at him? Was it possible that Shizun... really had an interest in him?"

Volume 1, Chapter 2, pages 111-112.

I'm not sure where to start with this! It's a lot! I'll just work backwards: it is very funny to have Shen Qingqiu repeatedly looking towards Luo Binghe, trying to see Binghe's reactions to Sha Hualing and Liu Mingyan, and Binghe's just like, "Shizun is looking at me???" I think "interest" in this case just means interest in Binghe as a disciple with potential, rather than anything else. Binghe is not paying any real attention to Sha Hualing or Liu Mingyan's attractiveness.

Oh! A rare compliment towards "Great Master" Airplane! Shen Yuan, don't strain those rarely used muscles!

I do find it amusing that Shen Yuan refers to Liu Mingyan as "moral" and "righteous" and "pure" here. The vibe I got with Liu Mingyan is that she sided with Luo Binghe to take down her brother's murderer, which I would agree is righteous and abides by a set of morals. But the first few pages of SVSSS inform us that PIDW Luo Binghe viciously destroyed the great cultivation sects, which means that PIDW wife Liu Mingyan either helped or stepped aside when a whole bunch of murder happened.

And the "my favorite wife is the one with no (or limited) sex scenes" is a classic Shen Yuan moment and one of the reasons he reads as being strongly on the asexuality spectrum to me. The way that he talks about heterosexual "male" desire gives me the same vibe. Like he's separated from it. Like he knows this is what he's "supposed" to feel and he just... doesn't... and it's possibly hard for him to recognize what sexual desire feels like (as opposed to, say, general sexual arousal that doesn't necessarily have a target) if he's never actually experienced it himself. He knows what he should be feeling if he was the "every man" reader of PIDW.

Even when he talks about Sha Hualing and Liu Mingyan's appeal, he says "wild, untamed charm" and "pulling him closer only to push him away" as the key components of the fantasy. Like, "being flirted with" and "being fought over and fought for" and "appreciating a distant beauty" are more important than "having sex". "The most appealing thing about Liu Mingyan is that she wouldn't actually go through with trying to have sex with me," says Shen Yuan.

He's like, "Oh, I can recognize that Liu Mingyan and Sha Hualing are physically attractive, that probably means I'm an Ordinary Straight Man." Even though the way that he talked about Liu Qingge's looks in the Ling Xi Caves was... not very heterosexual... and here, he mostly seems excited just to see one of his favorite characters.

Admittedly, Sha Hualing appears 15-16 here and I think Liu Mingyan is around the same age (she doesn't have her spiritual sword yet), so Shen Yuan is probably also not attracted to them just because they're teenagers. (I do not interpret him as sexually or romantically interested in Binghe at all at this point in time.) I headcanon Shen Yuan being 20-ish at this point in time, so he's probably not that much older than SHL or LMY, but they're probably around his younger sister's age (Shen Yuan's younger sister was old enough to be reading non-con, gay, BDSM erotica.) Sha Hualing shows up half-naked and Shen Yuan is just like, "Where are your shoes? Did you walk here like this? Wasn't that painful?"

In my opinion, Shen Yuan seems a little... relieved... to think that no one could be sexually or romantically interested in the scum villain. He does lament that it's hard to get a girlfriend like this, sure. He does think that he's going to die and that he'd eventually lose any woman to Binghe, so there's no point in trying. But he really, really does not try. "Oh, I can't pursue anyone because they'd never be interested in me! How frustrating! ...Anyway! Moving on to enjoy the many other little pleasures of life! Like food and monsters!" I think the closest he comes to flirting with anyone is when speaking to Liu Qingge in the Ling Xi Caves, while Liu Qingge is coughing up blood, and that did not seem intentional.

I think if he had transmigrated into any other character, who wasn't an "unappealing" villain, Shen Yuan still wouldn't pursue women. I think he'd be like, "Well, I want a beautiful woman, because I have standards! But all beautiful women belong to the protagonist, and no one is better than Binghe, there's no way I'd win that competition, so there's no point in trying!" At which point, it's just like, "Shen Yuan, anyone becomes beautiful when you love or like them; I don't think you actually want to fuck women."

I think if Shen Yuan had transmigrated in as Luo Binghe, he still wouldn't try to pursue women. He'd be like, "I'm just raising my standards for the harem! Some of those wives were not very intelligent or in possession of good moral character! Nearly three-digits is disrespectful to the better wives! I'm only interested in especially beautiful and skilled women, like Liu Mingyan, who's perfect! (And also won't try to have sex with me.)"

Like, I am not against a bisexual Shen Yuan. I am willing to be persuaded to go along with many different interpretations! But he does read to me generally as a gay asexual / demisexual who hasn't yet realized that a desire to be fawned over and an ability to recognize beauty is not necessarily the same thing as sexual attraction. (I do think he is attracted to Binghe after Binghe gets back from the Endless Abyss, but his feelings there are tied up in his very real, reasonable fear of murder and mutilation.)

[itsscriptory]

Another Post About Showing and Telling

I feel like it’s a rite of passage for a writing blog to talk about show, don’t tell, so I’ll take a crack at it. 

First of all, to get it out of the way, show, don’t tell is good advice for specific situations, but it’s been taken to mean always show, never tell and that’s not helpful. If you really want to paint with broad brushstrokes, then the better advice would be: Show more than tell. Showing and telling should both be tools in your writer’s toolbox. 

But why should we show more than tell? Because showing is the key to the reader's emotional experience with your story. There are many posts and books out there that go over how to turn your telling into showing (like using active verbs instead of passive, for example, or using concrete, specific details in your descriptions), but I think it’s important to fully digest why we’re making those changes and why the reasoning will push us to become better writers. 

It all comes down to emotion. Writing For Emotional Impact by Karl Iglesias encourages writers to start thinking to themselves: “I’m in the emotion-delivery business, and my job is to evoke emotions in a reader.” Dialogue, theme, setting, pacing, character development, word choice, structure, POV, showing and telling. These are all tools a writer uses in varying proportions to best manipulate a reader’s emotions. The good news is that when a reader picks up a book, they’re willing to be manipulated. In fact, they hope to be. The tough news is that you have to deliver on a sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph, scene by scene, and chapter by chapter basis. But that’s okay, because you’re a writer, dammit, and this struggle is where the art of the craft is. 

Showing is where the emotional complexities of our characters, theme, and plot can be revealed gradually without giving too much away too early and robbing engagement from the reader. Showing is what makes the resolution and the journey satisfying. So you can see how much weight it carries and why we want more of that than telling. We’re trying to evoke emotion from the reader, not talk at them like we’re recounting a dream we had last night (yawn). And it’s easier to evoke emotion if we keep them curious. Engaged.

Part of revealing the story gradually through showing is planting evidence for a conclusion that you leave the reader to make themselves, or a conclusion that you will reveal later. Donald Maas in The Emotional Craft of Fiction writes, “The ingredient behind effective showing can be summed up in this word: subtext. When there’s a feeling we’re not being told, but it is evident anyway, that underlying feeling is the subtext. It’s the unspoken emotional truth.” And then a fandom is born and continues to thrive for decades after the show ended! Really, though. Subtext is an ingredient in showing, which fosters engagement, which makes the reader feel something. Sometimes passionately. Every story I love and keep coming back to in one form or another has that special place in my heart because of how it made me feel.

I’ll try to give a simple example here to illustrate subtext and reader engagement at work. Using setting and a couple action beats as an opportunity for subtext, let’s say a character and her sister arrive at their grandmother’s house. Character A remains standing in the corner when invited in, hugging herself, frowning at the green knitted blanket hanging over the couch that looks like the color of nausea. Character B walks easily into the living room, running her hand over the green blanket that reminds her of nature and wellness. In Character B's perspective, she admires her grandmother's craftiness. But it's only in Character's A perspective that we notice the store tag on the blanket. Who do we think has the better relationship with their grandmother, given the evidence? Which one seems more naïve or eager to see her grandmother in a certain light? What assumptions can we make about the grandmother? Might she be putting on a performance of being grandmotherly? The mental work the reader does here would be completely thwarted if the scene had started with “Hannah didn’t like her grandmother because she valued material wealth and appearances over forming a genuine connection with her family.” We can show that instead over time by filtering the world through the perspectives of our characters, and even making it pack an emotional punch if we’re strategic about it.

But I had mentioned that contrary to what show, don’t tell asks us to do, telling isn’t something we should throw away. It can be a tool in its own right. 

Telling is explaining, and explaining keeps people distant from what’s happening in the story. How many times has an “I love you” felt kinda meh in a story because that character hasn’t earned that confession by showing their love through their actions or making some sort of sacrifice? How many times have your eyes glazed over while reading the fourth paragraph of an info dump? How many times, when talking about a book you just read, have you said “well, the first 80 pages were slow…” because it was all backstory? Or maybe a story is entirely forgettable because the telling leaves nothing to the imagination. Donald Maas writes, “Put on a page what a character feels and there’s a pretty good chance that, paradoxically, what the reader feels is nothing.”

However, telling has one thing on showing: efficiency. If a book only showed, then it could go on forever and ever. So a writer has to learn how to weave both showing and telling into the story to control the pacing and delivery of information. If you want subtext or you want something to be vague on purpose, then you’ll probably want to show. If you want to deliver information quickly and with clarity, then you might want to try telling. Does it need to make logical sense to understand the upcoming scene? Maybe tell. Is this transition unimportant to the story and you don’t want to linger? Try telling and see how it works! Ask your beta readers how it worked for them. Of course, if you’re writing in the literary genre, you might be doing a whole lot of telling because what propels the reader to the next page and the next chapter is the form, the prose, and the sheer depth of the exploration of flawed characters. 

It’s all about balance. And practice. Next time you read a book and you find yourself moved, try to figure out how the author just evoked that feeling from you. Was it stated plainly, or was it shown through action? Was it stated plainly after a whole book’s worth of setup through subtext? Was it unexpected? What was the balance of showing and telling that led to it? Or, if you find your focus trailing off, try to figure out why. Then, when you’re editing your own work, you’ll have the tools you need to identify the weak points and make revisions. And it’s okay (even expected) if the perfect balance of showing and telling doesn’t occur in the first draft. The Artful Edit by Susan Bell (highly recommended) talks a lot about the revisions that went into The Great Gatsby. You'll find that his writing struggles are comfortingly familiar. Luckily, he certainly had a wonderful editor :)

For further reading/watching: 

[VIDEO] ShaelinWrites—Show, Don’t Tell | what it means and how to use it

[BOOK] Showing and Telling in Fiction by Marcy Kennedy [BOOK] A Writer’s Guide to Active Setting by Mary Buckham