#but what if I…✨expanded✨ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

em1i2a3 · 2 months ago

Text

I Wanna Get Lost With You

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry/The Void x Stark!Thunderbolt!Reader

Summary: After a rough night, you find yourself with a rare day off–the one that you take on the same day every year in memoriam for the fallen. So you head into the city to spend your feelings away on the only thing that makes sense to you: gifts for your favourite team of scrappy anti-heros…And Bob.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Spoilers for Thunderbolts because everyone from Thunderbolts is in this and is involved and there is events from the movie that are mentioned :). Fluff, a hint of angst (because of the reader having a rough night…and a rough couple of years in general), Brief Mentioning of Grief and Loss, Bucky is kind of a reluctant father figure to the reader, Bob is Bob and he’s a softie who’s seen it all, Reader and Bob have an established friendship, Smut.

Smut Warnings: Hot and Heavy Makeout Session, Grinding, Cuddling with Some ✨Spice ✨(ahem…Fingering and handjobs lol), Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all, you know the drill), Bob is a softie, reader knows what she likes (a bit of a soft dominant vibe but not really). This is like a mix of comfort sex, and like purely desperate sex, you’ll see, you’ll see. Lol, Aftercare (because that’s hot too)

Author’s Note: This request was given to me by @xlittlemissydjx and I just had to do it when I read it (I also accidentally deleted the request by accident lol). I really expanded the landscape of it though, but I hope it meets what you were looking for :). Thanks I know I have a lot of pending part 2’s of one-shots, but I really couldn’t resist the opportunity to put a little bit of everything into this story, Angst, Fluff, and Smut. The holy trinity lol. Enjoy :))

Note About Requests!!!: I’m working through them! I have about 14 things I need to do! So be patient! They should all be done at varying times within the next week and a half (I get in the zone enough to get two a day out so hopefully that can help!)

Word Count: 18,416 (…Wow)

You had been tossing and turning all night, and it showed the second you stepped into the kitchen that morning. It was written in the heaviness of your steps, the way you continuously readjusted your sweater as if it was too tight–even though it was two sizes too big–, and it was painted across your eyes with the faint smudge of exhaustion that clung to the corners of them.

You had your tells–the little things that gave it away, and the team knew all of them. They knew when you didn’t get enough sleep, or when you didn’t get any sleep at all. You didn’t even have to say a word to them, they could just gauge it from your facial expressions. If you weren’t your usual chirpy self–the version of you that compensated your sadness with jokes and filled the room with noise–they knew what they were in for.

And today? You hadn’t said a word.

The moment you walked into the kitchen though you were pulled into the chaotic scene unfolding in front of you, as the scent of scorched butter hit your nose.

“I told you to spray the pan, Bob. Did you spray it or not?” Walker’s voice rang out, sharp with his distinct signature brand of early-morning frustration. He stood by the oven, hunched over it with a spatula in his hand wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and a “Grill Sergeant” apron. Bob stood a few feet away, sheepish and visibly wilting by the tone that Walker was taking with him. His shoulders were hunched forward, and his fingers were busy wringing the hem of his flour-streaked sweater–the nervous habit he hadn’t kicked.

Over the past few weeks, Bob had started volunteering for kitchen duty more and more–not because he was good at it, because unfortunately he wasn’t and everyone had learned it the hard way–but because he liked the idea of it. Of helping. Of contributing back to the compound as he was in his recovery process from his incident in New York. He had also mentioned to you in passing that it helped him feel like he was normal again, and it reminded him of the simpler times.

But now, with flour scattered everywhere, batter dripping down the front of the counter, and Walker looming over him with the interrogating questions, he was clearly second-guessing his life choices.

”I…I thought I did.” He mumbled, looking around the kitchen, “I could’ve sworn I had the can in my hand.” He whispered, confused.

”Then what happened, hm?” Walker questioned, “Did the damn thing disappear out of your hand or something?” You reached up to rub the tiredness out of your eyes, letting out a sigh, which got the room's attention almost instantly–like you sucked the air out of it.

“Walker, what have I said about taking it easy on Bob, for the love of God.” Your voice wasn’t loud, because it didn’t need to be. Even with being the youngest in the group, you were seasoned enough to be feared, especially by Walker–which was always surprising for the ones who would see the both of you interact.

Bob looked over at you immediately the moment your voice broke through the room–firm and quiet, how you always were–and just like that, his posture shifted. Not completely–he was still wringing the hem of his sweater and looking sheepish–but something in him softened.

You always did that to him. You walked into a room, and it was like the gravity in the room shifted. You were never loud with him, your energy was controlled, but even if you were the loud person that you were around the others, Bob still lit up, in the same way a quiet house lights up when someone finally opens the blinds. His breathing got a little easier. His shoulders dropped just a little lower. Like he knew–even without words–that if anything ever went wrong, you’d be there to shield him from the worst of it.

And you always were, since the day you met in the O.X.E Vault, the day things changed for you–for the better of course.

You defended him the way no one else really did. The way nobody else really could replicate. You caught every nervous tick he had, you knew when to pull him out of situations he couldn’t handle, and you filled in his silences when he got overwhelmed and went quiet, answering hard questions for him with that calm, dry tone that let everyone know there were lines that were crossed.

You didn’t baby him, but you stood with him.

And Bob–who had spent so much of his life being pushed to the side, forgotten, or abused–had never really known what it was like to be protected like that, and he paid you back in the only way he knew how; by being your constant. A little planet in your very tight orbit, always trying, always showing up, always offering whatever soft, steady care he could muster.

You would say you took care of him in public, and he took care of you in private.

You’d never talked about it–not in direct words–but the arrangement was understood. He knew when to slip a cup of tea into your hand on the nights when your hands shook too hard to make one yourself. You knew when to plant yourself between him and a room full of sharp voices. He knew when to knock gently on your door and ask if you’d eaten. You knew when to tug him by the sleeve and get him out of conversations that made his breath short and his voice crack.

‘Hey, there’s only so many ruined breakfasts a man can take before he snaps.” Walker replied, holding up the pan that had what looked to be a burnt pancake glued onto it, “Look at what he did. This is literally my last one.” You didn’t even flinch. You gave the pancake a passing glance, then turned your attention back to Walker, your arms loosely crossing over your chest.

”And yet somehow the world keeps spinning, Walker. Why didn’t you take the harder stuff if you knew there was a possibility of Bob ruining your prized pan?” There was a long pause, until Walker held his hands up in mock surrender.

”Fine…Fine…You’re right. I’m sorry.” You raised an eyebrow.

”And apologize to Bob.” You added, watching Walker glance sideways at him.

”Sorry, Bob.” Bob gave a quick, awkward nod.

”It’s okay…” He whispered under his breath.

You didn’t wait for the rest of the interaction to be done, as you walked from the entrance of the kitchen and made your way toward the fridge, cracking the door open to grab a chilled bottle of water. The cold bit into your palm–and you lingered there for a moment, letting the cool air brush over your skin before closing the door again.

You stepped towards Bob then.

”You good?” You asked, voice low now, like it was just meant for him. He nodded, hesitating for only a breath.

”Yeah…I-I didn’t mean to screw things up so badly…I was just trying to help.” You let out a quiet sigh. The kind that carried the tail-end of exhaustion and affection at the same time, in equal measures, giving Walker a death stare, before reaching out to Bob, patting the side of his arm. It wasn’t too soft, nor too hard–it was just right to comfort him.

“Well,” You murmured, letting a touch of warmth back into your voice, “Go help by setting up the table, okay? I’ll order some food for everyone, and if you hear Walker screaming for his life, just ignore it.” This drew out a laugh from Bob–small and unguarded, a little surprised, like he hadn’t expected it to break free from his mouth in the way it did. It wasn’t loud, but it was full-bodied and real, the kind that deepened the flush that was always on his cheeks. Walker furrowed his brow from where he stood.

”What was that?” You didn’t answer him, you were already pulling your phone from the front pocket of your father’s hoodie, tapping through the food delivery app with the kind of speed that only came from someone who routinely cleaned up the emotional aftermath of other people’s messes.

”Nothing, I was just telling Bob I’m ordering breakfast for everyone, hope you like hash browns.” You said flatly, your tone disinterested as your thumb hovered over your usual go-to breakfast place, the one that you used to go to on your birthday.

Bob, still smiling faintly to himself, took this as his cue to duck out of the kitchen without another word, moving towards the dining area with a new sense of purpose. Walker watched him for a second as he left the room, leaving the two of you alone together, before shaking his head.

”You’re too soft on him.” You didn’t look up from your phone as you added seven orders of bacon to the cart.

”I’m just going to give you a friendly reminder that he helped us out of the Void and bought us time to save him, and another reminder that he saved our lives at the vault too. We owe him the softness, and the stability.” Walker sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was trying to physically scratch the tension out of his spine.

”Still. The guy’s not made of glass. I think you forget that he beat the shit out of us in this very tower.” He shot back, which made you look up from your phone.

”That was the Sentry. You know that. And you only bring that up because you’re still butthurt that your shield hasn’t been fixed.” Walker grunted, caught somewhere between irritation and reluctant defeat. He shook his head again, slower this time, then dropped his spatula into the sink.

”Fine…You win.” He muttered.

”I always do,” You replied, looking back down at your phone to add three extra croissants to the order just in case someone got picky, going to check out.

”You gonna be in the training room later, thought we could spar together.” You paused for a second, glancing up at him for a moment, before processing your order and locking your phone, sliding it back into the hoodie pocket.

”No,” You said simply, turning the cap off your water, taking a quick sip, letting the coolness spread across your chest, “It’s my day off.” You added, which caught his attention immediately.

”Off? You don’t take days off.”

“I do today, we haven’t known each other long enough for you to see me take a day off anyways…So why is this such a surprise?”Walker furrowed his brow a bit.

”It’s just a bit weird, taking a random Tuesday off, what’s the occasion?” You met his eyes, almost annoyed by the line of questioning.

“It’s just for me, that’s all.”

——————-

After cleaning up everyone’s plates after breakfast, you collected your keys from the dish on the counter and slipped them into your pocket. No one questioned you. No one stopped you.

Bob had been in the middle of rinsing out the orange juice glasses, sleeves damp with his concentration fixed on the smallest marks, like he was trying not to think too hard. You gave him a soft pat on the back as you passed. He didn’t turn, but you felt the way he leaned into it, a silent acknowledgement.

You didn’t say goodbye. It wasn’t that kind of day.

Instead, you made your way down the corridor, past the glass-paneled lounge where Yelena and Ava were arguing over something that sounded like movie night logistics, and past the half-lit training room where the mats were still scuffed from the week before.

The elevator greeted you with a soft ding, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the main lobby, knowing you had to make a stop before travelling into the heart of the city. The doors slid shut in front of you, sealing off the noise of the compound, and the silence that followed settled in your chest. The elevator hummed quietly beneath your feet, the numbers ticking down slower than usual, like it knew what kind of day it was for you.

When the doors finally opened, the lobby was quiet. You stepped out quickly, turning on your heel to go down the hallway that was right beside the elevator. It was silent, cleaner than the rest of the compound, and dimmer–there was less foot traffic so that’s why it was normally lit like a mortuary. The air down this hall always felt heavier, because it was the lead up to something you visited frequently.

Your boots echoed against the polished tile, until the corridor opened into the memorial wing. A long, curved hall with framed photos and holographic projections lining both sides–names etched into the glass like ghosts.

The “Hall of the Fallen,” they called it. A name you hated to say out loud, because to you they were your people.

The entire wing had only come to be because you forced it into existence. During the final round of renovations, when Valentina wanted the east wing reserved for press briefings and high-tech sparring simulations, you had walked into her office, dropped a folder full of lawsuit drafts onto her desk, and told her plainly that if your father didn’t have a place in this building, neither would you. You knew you sounded out of line, but because the tower used to be his, you thought the leverage would be something to hold over her head.

“I will sue you into the sun,” You had said calmly, “And I’ll have Pepper on the line within the hour to back me.”

So she relented.

And now… Here it was.

Each section of the wall was backlit in soft amber light. Not cold and sterile, but warm–like candlelight. Like the kind of lighting your dad always insisted on in the Tower because he said it was more comforting and less lab-like.

Your eyes tracked instinctively toward the far right. You never had to look for it, because you knew exactly where he was, call it a daughterly instinct.

The large framed photograph of Tony Stark stood in front of you. No helmet, no Iron Man suit. Just him, in a slightly crooked tie and a hand resting on your shoulder. The image had been cropped, but you remembered where this was taken. He’d been giving a press conference and you snuck up beside him mid-speech. He had rolled his eyes and laughed, pulling you into the shot like it was nothing.

You slowly stepped forward, putting out your hand to reach for him, but before you could, you noticed someone already standing near the center of the hallway, facing a different frame.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets, hair slicked back like he was going for a meeting…Bucky.

He didn’t turn at the sound of your steps. He didn’t have to. He knew you would be here. It was the anniversary of your fathers death after all.

He was standing in front of Steve’s photo–head slightly bowed, jaw clenched, like the weight of all the memories he had with him had curled itself around his spine and wouldn’t let go.

You approached him slowly, your boots muffled now by the soft carpet that lined the central arc of the memorial wing. Bucky hadn’t moved, his eyes were locked on the image of Steve–clean-cut, square-jawed, with his warm smile forever frozen in time. You stopped beside him to stand shoulder to shoulder.

For a few moments, neither of you said anything, you just stared at the photo, breathing deeply, in reflection of the moments you all got together. After a minute you cleared your throat, pushing the lump to the side so you could speak.

”You missed breakfast.” Bucky let out a slow breath through his nose.

”Didn’t really feel like having pancakes today.” You cracked a small smile.

”Wasn’t pancakes…Bob ruined Walker's last pan by burning them.” His lip twitched just a little.

“Sounds like I didn’t miss much then.” He said, the ghost of a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth before fading again. The silence between you returned, but it wasn’t empty–it was heavy. Full of everything neither of you had ever needed to say out loud.

Your eyes lingered on the picture of Steve for a moment, before shifting sideways to study Bucky instead. He looked older in this light. Not tired–just…Quieter. Softer around the edges in a way that only grief can carve into a man.

“How long have you been down here?” You asked.

”About thirty minutes, I had a meeting today actually so that’s also why I missed breakfast.” Bucky shifted his weight slightly, eyes still trained on the photo, “Didn’t think I’d end up staying this long, but you know…Memories make you lose track of time.” You nodded slowly, getting a bit closer to him, slipping your arm into his, feeling the coolness of his vibranium radiating through his jacket. He let out a slow, steady exhale, letting your hand rest there, and in that small gesture, you felt the quiet return of the role he’d carved out between the both of you–it was reluctant at first, but unshakable now.

”You know…” You murmured after a beat, “He would’ve been really proud of you.” Bucky didn’t speak right away, but you could see his jaw clench at your words, before nodding.

”Tony would’ve been proud of you too.” That made you scoff, but softly. You looked down at your boots, your fingers curling slightly around the curve of his arm.

”Definitely not,” You said with a dry laugh, “I don’t think he ever intended on me being on a team like this…Or carrying on his legacy at all, really. Especially not with how I started this…With Val and everything.” You added.

”We all do stupid things sometimes, but now you’re a part of something bigger than yourself. I’m telling you…He would’ve been very happy to see you in action.” You looked down at your feet, with a soft smile coming up on your face before nodding.

It hit you again–like it always did this time of year–that Bucky had become the closest thing you had left to family. Apart from Pepper and Morgan, he was the only one that truly stood by you. This year was different of course, especially with your new teammates, but it made you think back to how far the both of you truly came.

Because it never started that way. In fact, you didn’t think Bucky would’ve offered you the protection he did. He was quiet and watchful, always keeping people at arm’s length. But something changed at your father’s funeral.

He found you that day–after the speeches and the silence, after Pepper had walked Morgan inside of the house to make her some food and Rhodes offered his condolences. You were standing by the water, not crying, just looking out onto the way the sun was setting, wearing one of Tony’s old jackets because it still smelled like his aftershave.

You didn’t even hear Bucky approach until he was beside you, and when he spoke, it was the only thing that had cut through the fog in your brain that day.

“If you ever need anything…” He said, quietly, like it wasn’t a promise he had been planning to make, “Anything at all…I’m one phone call away. No questions asked.” You had looked up at him, surprised that he was even talking to you, especially after everything that had happened between him and your father, but all you did was give him a nod, and a thank you.

Then, four years later, when you found yourself stuck in the desert with Walker, Ava, and Yelena, after escaping the death trap that was the O.X.E. Vault, and witnessing Bob turn into a human asteroid, you had pulled out your phone and dialed his number.

You remembered the look on Walker’s face as you pulled out your phone and started dialing.

”Who the hell are you calling in the middle of the desert?” You looked up at him, shielding your phone away from him.

”My emergency contact…Someone who’s not going to let us die out here.” You muttered, putting the phone to your ear. It only had to ring once, before he picked it up.

”Y/N, hey, you think I can call you back in a few minutes.” He said, like he was in a rush, like he was packing.

”Bucky, I’m in trouble.” Walker’s face had immediately dropped, his mouth opening slightly. Yelena had seen the look, and she had whispered something to him, not understanding the visceral reaction.

“Bucky!?” Walker exclaimed, you looked over at him confused, pressing your finger to your lips–afraid that his voice would echo through the open space and gain some sort of attention possibly.

”…Y/N…Was that John Walker's voice that I just heard?” Your brows furrowed, still trying to piece together what the hell was happening.

“Y-Yeah. Listen, we don’t have time to go into details because I need to conserve my battery, but we are in a desert in Utah, and we’re lost. I need you to help me…Will you please help me?” He had already been packing his motorcycle to start making his way over after receiving a call from Mel with her coordinates, and immediately he started connecting the dots that you were somehow involved. Before the line of questioning even left his lips, he remembered what he told you at the funeral and reluctantly spoke.

”Okay. I’ll track your coordinates and be there as fast as I can, just…For the love of God stay safe.” You nodded.

”I will, I’ll see you soon…Thank you Bucky.” Then you hung up the phone.

”How the fuck do you know Bucky Barnes?!” Was the first question out of Walker's mouth.

Then all the details were out in the open for everyone to know; how you knew him, how you were Tony’s daughter, how you joined Val’s list of operatives because you felt like you wanted to do something and she offered it to keep you busy. You were surprised that your identity wasn’t known to the group, so it was a relief when they quietly gave a nod to you almost as if to say they were sorry for even asking. Then the unplanned limo pickup from Alexei had happened, which intruded on the plans a little bit and ended with you having to reset your own shoulder, but to be reunited with Bucky Barnes was a heaven sent.

“Been watching you on TV at those congress hearings, congratulations by the way.” He let out a soft laugh at that comment, adjusting your shoulder into the proper position.

”Yeah well…I guess a lot of unexpected things have happened over the past couple of years.” He said, still a bit concerned with the details on how you somehow got wrapped up in all of this. But once again, he said no questions asked and he stuck to it.

Now as you stood side by side today though, it was easy to say that he was like a father figure you never thought you would have again, and you were grateful for all of it, regardless of how it fell into place.

”…I sometimes wish he got to see me with you guys too…” You whispered, breaking the silence. Bucky glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

”I’m telling you, he would’ve liked it. Sometimes when I see you at briefings you have the same mannerisms he had, same attitude and stuff. I was never really around him but I heard stories from Steve. It’s like you’re a carbon copy of him in female form.” That drew a soft laugh out of you.

“While I do appreciate being compared to him, I can never be as good.” There was a pause, and he sighed.

”There’s no ‘good’ kid…You’re doing the best you can with the cards you’ve been dealt. And I’m proud of you, we all are, even though none of us really say it often enough.” Bucky’s words settled into your chest like something warm and grounding, something heavy in the best possible way. You blinked a few times, swallowing the knot in your throat before it could turn into something embarrassing, and that’s when an idea popped into your mind.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment longer, just breathing. Just being.

Then, slowly–almost uncertain–Bucky shifted, and his arm moved around your shoulders. He didn’t pull you in abruptly. He didn’t force the moment. It was gentle. Intentional. Like he was offering the hug, not giving it. It was something Bucky rarely did, but in a moment where comfort was needed he would push the discomfort off for you.

You leaned into it immediately.

Your arms came around his middle, anchoring yourself to the familiar weight of him. You didn’t close your eyes, but you let your cheek rest against his chest and took a breath. He smelled like leather and clean soap, and the faint trace of a piney cologne he always insisted he didn’t wear. You both stayed like that for a few beats–just enough to feel steady again.

“Thanks Buck,” You mumbled, your voice quiet.

“Anytime,” He replied, equally soft.

You pulled back, brushing your sleeve against your face subtly wiping a small tear that was forming in the corner of your eye as you stepped away.

“Alright…Enough with the sappiness…” You sighed, your tone turning a bit lighter now, “I’m heading into the city to do a bit of shopping therapy…” Bucky arched an eyebrow.

”Shopping therapy huh? Guess it’s better than drinking. And you’re going without your second shadow?” You looked at him confused.

”Who?” Bucky gave you a look, one of those deadpan, all-knowing stares.

”Bob,” He responded, “You think he’s not going to notice that you’re gone for the whole day?” A guilty grin tugged at the corner of your mouth. Everyone knew how close you were to him, but Bucky was the one person to know how deep it truly went, how much Bob actually knew about you, down to the little details, and the darkest parts.

”I slipped out while he was rinsing the glasses, I figure I’ll have about an hour of radio silence until someone calls to tell me he’s looking for me.” Bucky huffed a dry laugh through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

“I’ll shoot let him know of my whereabouts in a bit…Don’t worry.” You promised, stuffing your hands into your hoodie pocket. “Just wanted a little time to myself. Got an idea I need to run with, and I think it’ll help.”

He didn’t press for more. He never did. That was the good thing about Bucky–he could read you like a book, but he only turned the pages when you were ready.

“Well,” he said after a moment, adjusting the collar of his jacket, “Don’t get lost in any candle shops.”

“No promises.”

You turned to go, but paused halfway down the hall and glanced back. He was still standing there in front of Steve’s photo, hands back in his pockets, eyes distant. You softened.

“I’ll be back later tonight. Might be close to dinner, maybe after. But tell the others not to start movie night without me.”

Bucky nodded, glancing over his shoulder.

“They’ll wait,” He said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You offered him a small smile–one of the rare, real ones–and gave a little wave as you turned and headed out.

The elevator doors closed behind you with a soft ding, and for the first time that day, you felt the flicker of excitement hum through your chest. You weren’t sure exactly what you were looking for yet–but you were going to find something for each of them. Something thoughtful. Something that said thank you for being here, for staying, for putting up with me.

Even if you’d never say it out loud.

———————

You had returned that night thirty minutes after dinner was wrapping up. Everyone was still mingling in the kitchen, the remnants of takeout cartons and half-eaten desserts scattered across the island, but when the elevator dinged, every head instinctively turned toward the hallway.

When the doors slid open and you stepped out–flanked by two interns struggling with your overflow of tissue-paper-filled bags–you didn’t even get a full step before you called out.

“Everyone stay in the kitchen! No peeking!” You warned, your voice commanding but playful. “I’m serious, if I catch one head in that hallway, I’m throwing dessert in the trash.”

That got a ripple of muffled laughter from the group.

“You act like we don’t eat dessert before dinner,” Yelena shouted back.

Despite your warning though, Bob didn’t get the memo.

You barely made it halfway to the living room, with the interns trailing behind you, when the sound of socked feet came pattering rapidly around the corner.

Bob appeared, cheeks flushed, his light brown hair a little mussed, his eyes wide and brimming with unfiltered concern. He wore a pair of black sweat pants and an oversized dark grey sweater that covered his broad frame, it made him look fragile and small–even though beneath his clothes it was far from the image he was trying to portray. You had caught glimpses of his body in little increments, sometimes by accident you would walk in as he was pulling on his shirt and you’d catch the lean muscles on his back flexing, once you saw his abs when he reached up to grab something, and once in a while you’d catch him with his sleeves rolled up, and you’d see the cool blue veins that rose from the planes of his forearms. Sometimes you wished you’d see more of him, but you were fine with what you had the privilege of seeing. He looked like he’d been waiting by the kitchen threshold all evening, just listening for the elevator.

“Hey—are you okay?” He asked, his voice already rushing. “I—I remembered what day it was, and I didn’t know if you wanted space or if you wanted company, but then you left without saying anything and I didn’t wanna crowd you but—”

“Bob!” You cut in quickly, spinning around to shield the bags with your body. “Close your eyes!” He startled like someone had set off a firecracker behind him.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He blurted, immediately slapping his hands over his face. “I didn’t see anything! I swear…I only saw you, not the-uh-the stuff-whatever the stuff is…”

You let out a long sigh, shaking your head as one of the interns behind you adjusted their grip on a delicate gift bag.

“Here,” You whispered to them, handing off what you were holding. “Take these into the living room...And thank you again for the help, oh and make sure the box is put in my room okay? First on the right.”

“No problem.” The intern nodded, already moving with the caution of someone who had been thoroughly briefed with the other intern trailing behind.

Once your hands were free, you turned back to Bob. He stood perfectly still with his palms mashed over his face like a kid in a surprise party gone wrong–lips pressed into a worried line, shoulders a little too rigid. You let out a soft sigh, stepping towards him–knowing you scared him a bit– and reached up for his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face slowly.

”You can open your eyes now…I didn’t mean to scare you…I just have a surprise for everyone. Sorry…” You said gently, watching as his lashes fluttered open, his eyes instantly meeting yours, with that all too familiar look–soft and worried and wired, like he had been on the edge of his seat waiting for your return.

”I-It’s okay…I was just…I was w-worried about y-you. I remembered what today was after Walker mentioned to me that you took the day off…And I felt like such an idiot f-for not che-.” Bob’s words halted immediately when your fingers touched his lips–just two of them, soft but still–to quietly tell him to stop talking. His breath caught in his throat, and you could feel the way his shoulders tensed under your touch, frozen like a deer in headlights. His eyes went wide, and then slowly his cheeks flushed a deep, unmistakable red, blooming from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears.

It was the kind of color that told you everything without a word.

You didn’t tease him for it. You didn’t move your hand right away either.

You just held his gaze, steady and gentle, letting the silence do the heavy lifting.

“I’m okay,” You whispered, your voice barely audible above the distant murmur of the others in the kitchen. “Really.”

His brows drew together just slightly, like he didn’t believe you entirely, like he was still cataloguing every detail of your expression for proof. But your hand stayed right there between you, steadying the weight that always seemed to pile up in his chest when he couldn’t fix things, or make you feel better.

You felt him breathe in–and that tiny shift, that barely-there exhale through his nose, was the signal that he heard you. That he believed you…Even if just for now.

You slowly dropped your hand, the warmth of your fingers leaving his skin with the ghost of your touch. He blinked, like coming out of a daze, and looked like he didn’t quite know what to do.

“Okay,” He said quietly. He was still flushed, avoiding your eyes, knowing that he just had to take your word for it, even though he knew how much this day was a dark reminder of what you were most ashamed of.

He only knew this because he had seen it.

In the O.X.E vault, after you, Walker, Ava, Yelena, and Bob had barely escaped the incinerator, you had all collapsed into a breathless heap in one of the elevator areas., sweaty, and rattling with adrenaline. No one celebrated. It was too soon for that. Tension still clung to the air like smoke, and the five of you were still strangers.

You had sat against a wall, jaw clenched, blinking through the pain that was radiating from your ribs. The quietness was deafening.

Yelena hadn’t moved much. She sat cross-legged on the far end of the room, her elbows on her knees, and her sharp eyes trained on Bob–who was pacing a few feet away, muttering under his breath. His hands trembled slightly, and his voice barely registered above a whisper, like he was listing something he didn’t want to forget. You couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but just watching him pace in that mint green scrub set, made you tense up, there was just a feeling in those moments that something was wrong.

That’s when you noticed Yelena’s expression. Not skeptical. Not calculating. Just…off.

You pushed yourself to your feet, wincing as your ribs protested, and made your way toward her. She didn’t look up until you crouched beside her.

“What’s going on?” You asked, voice low, “You hurt or something?” Her eyes didn’t leave Bob, when she shook her head at your question.

“I need you to touch him.” She whispered under her breath.

“Touch who?” You asked, shifting on your feet a bit, confused at what she was saying to you.

“Bob.” Her voice was even, but her brows furrowed. “I saw something…But I need to know if I’m just going crazy or if it was real.” You could feel yourself grow more and more concerned just by how shaken up she looked.

”Yelena…What did you see?” She shook her head at you.

”Can you just go do it? Please.” You stared at her for a second longer, then nodded. You didn’t understand it, but something in her voice had pulled up, like she was scared of something. You stood up and dusted your palms off, turning around to approach Bob, who was still pacing back and forth, taking four steps before turning and doing the same towards the other side, whispering to himself still.

Walker and Ava were still talking, strategizing how you were all going to get out, and neither of them noticed when you moved past them. Bob didn’t hear you coming either, he was too wrapped up in his own storm to even see your slow approach.

”Hey,” You said gently. He startled almost immediately, his eyes snapping to you like you had dropped him in a pot of ice cold water, “Do you mind coming with me for a second?”

“I-I’m f-fine.” He replied quickly, a reflexive panic in his voice, like he had done something bad, and he was afraid of being punished. You gave him a soft smile though, almost like you knew you needed to make yourself a little less aggressive, especially after he had seen you go head to head with Walker over something so minor you couldn’t even remember..

”I know, I just want to check something, okay?” He looked down at you with such hesitation that you honestly thought he was going to say no, but even back then he had a distinct soft spot reserved for you. His eyes were an odd shade of blue that day, and you had seen distinct little flecks of what seemed to be an off yellow peering through. Back then you chalked it up to being the lighting.

”…Okay.” He whispered. You gave him a little smile, and took hold of the sleeve of his scrub top, leading him towards the side of one of the concrete pillars, just far enough to shield you both from the rest of the group. The tension in Bob’s shoulders hadn’t eased. If anything, being pulled away from the others made him more rigid, as if you were going to reprimand him.

“You hurt anywhere?” You asked, nodding toward his chest, his ribs, his shoulders.

“No…No…I mean, not really j-just some scratches and stuff b-but I’m okay, r-really.” You squinted at him, and you could see the way his breath hitched in his throat a little, like he was nervous or trying to hide something. Your eyes scanned over his dust covered face, watching him shift uncomfortably, as if being under your gaze felt like he was being smothered.

“Mind if I check?” He looked like he wanted to say no, like he wanted to tell you he was fine again so he could go back to his pacing, but instead, after a beat of hesitation, lifted his arm up slowly to you, with his palm up.

You reached forward slowly, and grabbed his hand.

Then everything slipped.

The world around you–the gritty concrete, the stale air, the faint hum of the vault’s broken systems–all vanished in an instant, replaced by heat, light, and the faint crackle of fire.

Your body didn’t move, but your heart slammed like it was being punched. You knew this place. The ruined battlefield. The shattered husk of the Avengers compound after the snap had been reversed. Twilight bleeding across rubble. Smoke curling in the air. The air was so thick it clung to your skin like regret.

You saw them–Peter, Pepper, Rhodey. All of them gathered around the figure on the ground.

And there he was.

Your father.

Collapsed. Barely breathing. The right side of his face blistered from the energy surge of the Infinity Stones. His arc reactor flickering like the dying heartbeat it had become. His mouth was slack, his breathing shallow.

He was dying.

And you were nowhere near him.

But you had been. You remembered it clearly now, clearer than ever–how you had stepped forward when they pulled him from the wreckage. How you’d seen him, gasping for air. How you’d started walking toward him and then–froze. Stopped in your tracks.

You had walked away.

The grief you’d locked down in the deepest corners of yourself–boxed and buried for years–rushed back to the surface with the brutal weight of tidal force. Your knees hit the ground in the memory, even though your body in the vault hadn’t moved.

Your chest heaved.

Because this wasn’t a memory.

This was your shame.

The moment you’d never told anyone about. The moment even Pepper didn’t know. The moment you abandoned him because you couldn’t watch the man who raised you die.

And now Bob—Bob, who you barely knew at the time—was seeing it too. Sucked into the deepest darkest secret you had. You tried to pull away, but the memory gripped you like a vice.

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut.

Peter was crying.

Pepper leaned in and whispered something too quiet to hear.

And you–you were nowhere near him. You had your hands over your mouth, hiding behind a crumbled slab of wall, like a coward. Crying silently, too ashamed to show your face.

The memory ended like a door slamming shut.

The vault came crashing back into view. Cold. Harsh. Fluorescent.

And you stumbled backward, your hand jerking away from Bob’s as if it had burned you. Your back hit the pillar, hard, and you bent over, one hand gripping your ribs like they were splitting open. You were breathing heavily, but holding back the tears, because you needed to remain strong, you had to or else you weren’t going to get out of the vault alive.

Bob didn’t say anything at first.

He just stood there, his hand still half-raised like he hadn’t realized you’d let go. His chest rose and fell unevenly, not with fear, but with something more fragile—remorse, maybe. Guilt. A kind of stunned softness that only existed in people who had never been given permission to hold something that delicate, and now had to live with the knowledge that they did.

He didn’t look at you right away. He was staring at the spot where your hand had touched his, like it still lingered there.

“I-I’m sorry…” He whispered, which caused your head to snap up at him. You had been expecting confusion. Denial. Questions, maybe. But not an apology.

“I-I don’t know how to c-control it. I didn’t mean to do it.” He said under his breath, kind of like he was muttering it to himself. The strangest thing about it all though was that you didn’t feel angry. You should have. You should’ve been furious that he’d been pulled into something so private. But there was something in the way he looked at you now–like he understood you in a way–that made your breath catch.

“Just…Don’t tell anybody about this.” You said hoarsely, wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve, as you pushed yourself up off the pillar to recover.

”I-I won’t,” He said immediately, “I’d n-never do t-that, I-I promise.” He added, and you believed him.

Even though the moment passed, even though Walker barked something from across the room and Ava told everyone to regroup, even though Bob turned to leave first to give you space–you knew in your gut that it had shifted something.

And now, standing in the present day, in the quiet hallway outside the kitchen, you realized that he really did keep that promise he made all those months ago…But that just spoke to who Bob was, and who he had always been.

——————

The lights in the compound’s living room had been dimmed for movie night, the projector humming softly behind the couch as the team shuffled in with snacks in hand.

You stood in the middle of the chaotic scene of bags and boxes, arms crossed, eyeing them as they made their way over to their designated spots that they typically claimed during movie nights. Yelena kicked her feet up onto the coffee table like it was her birthright. Walker was already grumbling at Ava for stealing the corner seat he liked to stretch out in. Alexei lumbered over with a bowl of popcorn that definitely wasn’t for sharing, and Bucky, as always, took the spot by the far armrest, the one with the clearest view of the exit. Bob lingered near the back of the couch, waiting–always waiting–until he was sure everyone else was settled before choosing a spot closest to you.

You cleared your throat, but it barely registered above the chatter that was happening around you.

”Hey!” You exclaimed, and that’s when heads turned. Walker paused mid-bite. Yelena glanced over her shoulder. Bob straightened immediately like someone had called his full name in school. Even Bucky looked up, one brow arching in curiosity. The projector hadn’t started yet, but the anticipation for the movie had everyone on autopilot. Until now.

“I, uh…” You started, then immediately hated the sound of your own voice. Awkwardly, you cleared your throat, and tried again, “Before we start the movie, I need to say something.” They sat in anticipation, thinking that you were going to announce something either tragic, or shockingly happy. Your hands fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve as you took a breath, the hush in the room now bordering on tense.

“Today’s always been a shitty day for me,” you said simply, and the honesty of it settled over them like dust. “Most of you probably figured that out. Some of you knew… or saw more than you were supposed to.” Your eyes flicked briefly toward Bob, and then back.

“But this year felt different. I didn’t want to sit with it by myself. I didn’t want to spend the day pretending it wasn’t happening just to make it easier to breathe.”

You exhaled.

“And I didn’t want to feel alone. So instead… I went shopping.”

There were a few scattered smiles at that. Ava smirked. Yelena tilted her head. Alexei made a noise that sounded like a chuckle and a snore at once.

“I got you all something. Nothing huge. Just things that made me think of you. Things I thought might make you smile. Because whether you like it or not, you’re my team now. You’re my people–my family. And I wanted to say thank you. For being here. For staying.”

You paused, blinking away the weight behind your eyes.

“For putting up with me.”

There was silence. But the kind that meant something. The kind you didn’t want to break too fast.

Then, you turned to the bags behind you and grabbed the first one.

“Ava,” you said, walking it over. “Noise-cancelling headphones and a pass to a rage room. Because, let’s be honest, we annoy the shit out of you.”

Ava cracked a genuine smile. “They better let me bring my own bat.”

“No promises.”

Next: “Yelena.” You passed her a smaller black box. “New utility belt. And some custom knives and batons I had made. Not saying you need them. But I also didn’t want to find out what would happen if you didn’t have them.”

Yelena grinned, flipping the latch open immediately. “You do love me.”

“Very much.” You replied with a smile.

“Walker,” You said, tossing him a medium-sized box that thunked heavily into his lap. “New pans, and a mini travel sized grill.”

“Thank God,” He muttered, already tearing the paper. “And they’re even better quality than the last ones.”

“Alexei.” You handed off two heavy bottles wrapped in tissue paper. “Vodka. The expensive kind.”

“Oh…Oh this is not going to survive night,” He replied, already cracking the top open.

“I figured.”

Then, you looked at Bucky.

“For you,” You said more quietly, stepping over and handing him a neatly wrapped parcel, “A metal polishing and cleaning kit, so you can stop using the dishwasher on your arm. And I got you an appointment for a bike detailing. Full job. New coat of black, too.”

He blinked slowly, surprised. “You remembered that?”

“You yelled about it for thirty minutes. I’d have to be concussed not to remember.”

He smiled. It was the small kind, but it stayed on his face longer than you expected.

You turned to Bob last, and something in your chest fluttered a little harder than you were ready for.

He was sitting upright, hands folded in his lap, trying not to look too eager, but his eyes flicked up to yours like he was bracing for impact. You walked over slowly, cradling the last item with more care than the others, and stopped just in front of him.

“This one’s for you,” You said gently, and handed him the book.

It wasn’t wrapped. No fancy paper, no ribbon–just a hardcover in a matte finish, with The Creative Act by Rick Rubin printed across the front in clean black letters.

Bob’s eyes flicked down to it. His hands moved slowly, reverent almost, as he turned the book over, like he wanted to feel the weight of it first before opening it. He ran his thumb along the edge before he finally slipped the front cover open–and there it was, tucked just inside the front page.

A handwritten note on a small square of folded paper that you had taken from Bob’s desk when you snuck in just before the movie.

Written in your slanted, slightly chaotic handwriting.

’The real gift is in your bedroom.’ Just the words alone affected him immediately.

His ears flushed red at first, before blooming down to his cheeks, and over his neck like a fire that couldn’t be put out. His eyes darted up to you, then back to the page, like he was checking to make sure if he’d read it right.

Then, with a bit too much urgency, he shut the book. Yelena was already leaning over from her seat to look at him.

”What’d you get?” She asked, her voice laced with amusement, seeing the deep blush that continued to burn on his cheeks.

”Yeah, let’s see,” Walker added, craning his neck, “It didn’t even have wrapping. What is it?” Bob shook his head quickly, holding the book close to his chest like it might be pried from him if he held it out too far from him.

”It’s…It’s j-just a book.” Everyone exchanged glances at one another, then looked over at you, then Bob.

”You’re turning that red over a book?” Ava raised an eyebrow. You watched as Bob sank slightly into himself, clutching the book like it was something far more scandalous than a hardcover on creative philosophy.

“You didn’t even open it all the way, you just opened the cover.” Yelena added.

”I-I don’t have to,” He stammered, adjusting the book in his arms, “It’s o-one Y/N and I saw at the b-bookstore a while ago that’s all.” Now all eyes turned to you. You gave a small, innocent smile.

“It really is just a book guys,” You said simply, meeting their suspicious looks with a calm ease, “Like Bob said…We saw it at the bookstore a while ago and he didn’t buy it. So I just got it for him now. No big deal.” Then you went to the couch to take up your space, looking back at Bob who was already coming to sit in the space that was available beside you. “Now…We can commence movie night.” You added, feeling Bob adjust beside you slightly, bumping his knee against yours almost like he was giving you a nudge, before settling in completely.

——————-

Eventually, everyone fell asleep in their spots apart from you and Bob.

The projector had long since gone dark, the soft white glow replaced by the quiet hush of breath and shifting limbs. The living room had become a patchwork of tangled limbs, half-eaten snacks, and drooping blankets. You and Bob sat in the warm silence at the edge of it all, knees still brushing where they’d been for the past hour.

He hadn’t opened the book again–not since that first flustered glance. But his fingers never stopped grazing the edges of the cover. He was still holding onto it carefully, like it might slip through his hands if he blinked too fast. You leaned toward him slightly, just enough so that your shoulder nudged him to get his attention.

”Hey,” You whispered. He glanced over at you, like he’s been waiting for you to say something because he was too scared to do it himself, “Wanna see your real gift now?” You asked, a small smile appearing on your lips. Bob could feel his heart pumping out of his chest as he began to overheat like a furnace.

“Y-Yeah…I mean…Y-yeah if you’re ready to s-show me.” You rose slowly, careful not to kick over a stray popcorn bowl or stir anyone from their half-snoring sprawl. Your eyes flicked briefly over the room to make sure no one was stirring—Yelena had curled into a blanket cocoon, Walker was snoring like a truck engine, and Alexei’s head had slumped against the back of the couch, drool threatening the upholstery. Bucky’s eyes were shut, but you could tell by the slight twitch in his jaw he was only pretending to sleep, which was typical for him. Turning back to Bob, you extended your hand toward him, palm open, wrist loose.

“Come on,” You whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Just make sure to be quiet cause if they wake up we’ll never hear the end of it.” He nodded–one firm, terrified little nod–and slid his fingers into yours. His hand was warm and clammy, but you didn’t mind the feeling. Quite honestly, you wished he did this more often, because it gave you this ease, the kind that only he truly provided. You squeezed his hand gently before tugging him up onto his feet, and he followed like you’d cast a spell over him.

You led him carefully through the living room, toes skimming across the floor like a cat, weaving between bodies and blankets until you reached the edge of the wing that led to your rooms.

The hallway was dim and quiet, the only light coming from the soft golden hue of the floor runners and the faint spill of moonlight through the high windows. You padded down the hardwood floor hand in hand, every step muffled, every breath shared. Bob stayed impossibly close to you, so close in fact that you could practically feel his breath on your neck, as if putting too much space between the both of you might make the whole moment disappear.

When you reached his door, you stopped just short of the frame and turned to him with a look that was half excitement, half warning.

“Okay, you’re gonna have to cover your eyes.” You whispered, looking up at him with one of the soft smiles you always gave him when you needed him to do something for you.

“W-What? Why?” He asked quietly under his breath, still holding onto your hand, only it was a little tighter now, probably from the nerves that were clawing away in the pit of his stomach.

“Just trust me…You won’t regret it.” Bob let out a quiet, breathy laugh–more like a whimper, really–and gave you the softest, most defeated sigh, like his heart had already left his chest and he was just trying to keep his limbs from shaking.

“A-Alright…” He whispered, leaning just a little closer to you, close enough that you could feel his breath hitting your cheeks, “Just…Just don’t let m-me trip or walk into something…Please.” You gave his hand another reassuring squeeze.

“Hasn’t happened before, and I’m not planning on letting that happen now.” You teased, before softly adding “Now…Close your eyes.” Bob obeyed, raising his free hand over his face with careful fingers, blocking his vision as if you were leading him into a sacred place rather than his own bedroom. You nudged the door open with your foot and gave his hand a gentle tug, leading him across the threshold.

You didn’t need to turn on a light.

His room always felt a little like stepping into a different plane of calm. The kind of space that knew quiet in its bones. Moonlight fell in soft silver lines across the floor through his half-open blinds, slicing the darkness into gentle pieces. The windows of his room were quite large, which was the reason why everyone assigned it to him, because if he ever had an episode and didn’t want to come out of his room, he would at least get some sunlight.

His bed was unmade, but it was clean, it always was–Bob didn’t like messes too much, and the comforter was crumpled in a way that suggested he hadn’t been able to stay still for more than a minute. His nightstand had a glass of water and a half-melted candle that still smelled faintly like lavender, which was something that he had learned calmed him through you. There were books stacked under the window. T-shirts folded too neatly on the open shelves. A jacket draped on the chair in the corner.

His room was basically a manifestation of things he picked up from you and bits and pieces of himself that he couldn’t shake. It was a perfect balance, especially when he was too scared to go to your room when you were out on missions–when he was missing you terribly.

And then–right there in the center of the room, illuminated perfectly by the soft glow spilling through the curtains–was the record player.

Matte black, sleek, minimalist. Quiet in its confidence. It sat on a low wooden console table that you had bought pre-assembled. Beside it, propped open just slightly, was a padded carrying case–and inside there were three of your records that he had constantly put on whenever he would end up in your room: Loveless by My Bloody Valentine, Last Splash by The Breeders, and Elton John’s Self Titled.

On nights like these–when you had nothing to do–Bob would come and listen to a record with you while lying on your bed. The both of you would stare at the ceiling and talk, usually it was about anything and nothing at all, that’s just how it had always been. Sometimes you guys would touch, hold hands just as a source of comfort, but it never went further than that, because neither of you wanted to possibly put the friendship in jeopardy.

Tonight would be one of those nights that you would be able to lie with him thankfully.

You looked up at Bob who was still shielding his eyes even though he was clearly trembling with anticipation. You gave the hand that was intertwined with yours one last squeeze and leaned close enough that your arms brushed.

”Alright,” You whispered, “You can open them now.” Bob’s hand dropped from his eyes like he was lifting the lid on something sacred.

And the second his gaze landed on the record player, his entire face changed.

His shoulders softened, his chest lifted like he’d just taken the first real breath in hours–and then came the smile. Wide, radiant, boyish. One that reached all the way up to his eyes and cracked something open in you.

He stepped forward slowly, like he was approaching something precious. His fingers hovered above the turntable for a moment before he crouched down in front of it, knees tucked in, head tilted with something like awe. The soft light haloed around him, catching on the strands of his hair and the curve of his jaw. You saw his lips part slightly, saw the way he swallowed thickly.

Then his sleeve came up–quick and almost sheepish–and he dabbed at the corners of his eyes with the back of his wrist. He thought you wouldn’t notice if he did it quickly but you knew his tells, and you knew when something was wrong with him. When he let out a small sniffle, you were at his side in an instant.

“Bob?” You whispered, dropping to your knees beside him, voice soft, uncertain. “Hey…What’s wrong?”

He didn’t look at you at first. Just shook his head quickly, eyes still fixed on the player.

“Nothing–Nothing’s wrong,” He said quickly, but his voice cracked halfway through. “I’m just–God–this is…It’s too much.”He whispered to himself, pressing a trembling hand to his eyes again to wipe off another set of tears.

Your brows knit together, and you lifted a hand instinctively, hovering just above his shoulder but not quite touching.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, I just–”

“I love it,” He interrupted gently, finally turning to face you. His eyes were wet, his cheeks flushed, and there was that dazed smile again, wide and aching. “I love it so much.”

You let out a soft, quiet exhale, the kind you didn’t even know you were holding, relieved that you didn’t do anything wrong.

And then–without warning–he leaned into you.

Not cautiously. Not halfway.

Fully.

Bob wrapped his arms around you with all the care and all the weight of someone who had wanted to do it for a very long time. One arm slid around your lower back while the other curled protectively around your shoulders, tucking you against him like you were the only thing he could hold onto. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and you felt his breath hitch against your neck.

You froze for just a second–stunned by the sheer intensity of it–before you melted into him. Your arms wound around his back, your hands gripping at the soft fabric of his sweater. You closed your eyes and held him, not just because you were trying to comfort him, but also because you needed it just as much as he did.

Bob breathed in deeply, inhaling your warmth, and your sweet scent–a mixture of iris and clementines. He said you smelled like summer to him once, and he stuck by that even to this day, because it was intoxicating to him, and it was you…That’s what he liked most.

Your hand drifted up slowly to the back of his neck, letting your fingers brush through his hair with a tenderness so natural it almost startled you. He didn’t flinch, or shy away, instead you felt him melt into you just a little more, like your touch was untying the knots that were within him.

“I-I’m sorry,” He murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder, “I-I didn’t mean to cry…No one’s ever gotten me something t-this nice before.” You let out a soft huff against him, pulling back just enough so you could look at him, your fingers curling gently so you were cradling the back of his head.

”Bob…” You whispered, then smiled with a soft ache, “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m glad it means something to you…” He looked up at you with wide, glassy blue eyes, still watering slightly at the corners.

”It really…It really does…It-It means everything to me Y/N…” He replied.

A silence settled between the both of you in that moment, not awkward but charged–thick with feelings that were just cresting on the horizon. You brought your other hand up to his face, letting your thumb brush along the curve of his jaw before you dropped it to rest over his chest, right where you could feel his heartbeat drumming just under the fabric of his sweater. When you pressed a little harder you could feel the muscle flex against your touch,–a reflex from Bob.

“So…Uh…Does this mean I c-can’t come to your r-room anymore to listen to vinyls?” You raised an eyebrow at that comment, leaning in just a little so your noses were almost touching, as you allowed the edge of your voice to dip playfully.

”Actually…It’s an excuse for me to come in here once in a while.” He was taken aback by your comment, but it had hit him like a lightning bolt.

His mouth parted slightly, eyes locking with yours as if you just upended gravity. You could see when it fully clicked for him–what it meant, what you wanted it to mean. The warmth in his face scattered deeper now, but this time, he didn’t look away.

”W-Well then…I-I think you should use that e-excuse…A-All the time then.” You tilted your head a bit, a smirk coming up on your lips, realizing what he was giving back now.

”All the time hm?” He nodded, keeping his eyes glued to yours, his pupils dilating slightly to adjust more to the darkness, and to take more of you in.

”A-As much as you want Y/N...Every n-night even i-if you want.” Your heart fluttered–too loud, too strong–but you didn’t let it show except for the little smile that cracked wide across your face. You slid your hand up to the collar of his sweater, your thumb running along the thin skin on his neck.

“Well,” You said, leaning in, “Why don’t we start now then…” Bob didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because the second those words left your lips–why don’t we start now then–the air between you changed. Like it folded in on itself. Like the gravity in the room evaporated completely and every ounce of tension that had lived in stolen glances and almost-touches finally snapped tight, pulling the two of you together like you’d never really meant to be apart in the first place.

Your lips found his.

Soft. Certain. Slow at first–just a press. Just a whisper of something that had been waiting so long to be real. Bob shuddered under you, like every nerve in his body had lit up at once. His hands came up instinctively, almost blindly—one settling on your waist, the other cradling the curve of your back like he was afraid you’d vanish.

But you didn’t.

You kissed him again.

And again.

Breathing into each other between the spaces. Your mouths never fully parted–they just shifted, adjusted, and learned. His lips moved with yours like he was starved for the taste, like he had imagined it so many times but never dared to believe he’d ever actually feel it. You felt his breath catch in the back of his throat, felt the way he tensed, and then eased, melting into it like he finally believed it was happening.

When you moved closer to him Bob let out the softest gasp into your mouth, it was barely a sound, but it still hit you like an electric current. You deepened the kiss, tilting your head as your hands slid higher into his hair. You gripped at the soft strands and gave them a gentle tug, just enough to guide his head back just a little–earning a low, breathless sound, stealing it straight out of his chest.

With trembling strength, Bob shifted, pulling you with him slowly until you were in his lap, your knees sliding on either side of his thighs, straddling him. His hands gripped at your hips, thumbs pressing into the fabric of your shirt like you were something holy to him. When your weight settled over him completely it made Bob feel like the world had gone totally quiet–like he could live in this moment and never need anything else for survival.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his as your fingers brushed his flushed cheeks. Bob’s lips were still parted, his breath coming in soft, stuttered exhales that fanned across your mouth. His hands had stilled on your hips, still holding you like he was scared to grip too tightly, like if he held too hard you might vanish again.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, voice low and weighted with something deeper than just desire. Bob nodded immediately, so fast it was almost a flinch.

“Y-Yeah,” He breathed, “Y-Yeah, anything you want–just–God, I want you to take whatever y-you want.”

You smiled, touching your nose to his briefly, before leaning back enough to sit upright on his lap. Bob’s hands stayed where they were, unmoving, as if he was afraid to go any further unless you guided him. And you would. Because this was yours to take if you wanted it–and he had already given it so freely.

Your hands slipped to the hem of your shirt, and you pulled it over your head in one smooth motion. The fabric whispered over your skin as it came off, and you dropped it onto the floor beside you without looking away from him.

Bob’s breath hitched.

You were wearing a thin, slate-colored bra–and barely anything between your body and the chill in the air. The moonlight caught on the curve of your breasts and the subtle rise and fall of your breathing, but it also revealed more than just your skin.

Faint, jagged lines kissed across your ribs and shoulders. Scars from old missions, burns, nicks, remnants of the life you’d led before this–before the Thunderbolts. Each one a story you rarely told. Some puckered. Some silver. A few newer, still healing. They caught the light and glimmered in ways they never had before–because now, someone was really looking at them. You saw Bob’s eyes flicker down over them like he was cataloging each one with the kind of care and thoughtfulness that made your throat tighten.

And then there was the necklace.

Stark tech. Thin chain. Sleek design. The pendant was small, flat, shaped like a coin and glowing faintly from within–pulse blue, soft as breath. It had been a gift from Tony. A prototype for a fail-safe, disguised as a keepsake. Only a few people in the compound even knew it wasn’t just jewelry. You never explained it, never offered context. But you didn’t move to hide it now

His eyes lifted again–tentative, trembling–and met yours. You saw the way he swallowed hard, saw the way he tried to stop himself from looking lower, like he didn’t want to disrespect the moment. But his gaze dropped again anyway, helpless against the gravity of you. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He looked stunned.

“I know,” You murmured, softer this time, like you were trying to soothe the bashful panic behind his wide-eyed stare. “It’s a lot.”

“No–n-no, it’s not–” Bob’s voice cracked as he tried to sit up straighter, his hands tightening a little on your hips. “You’re–God, you’re beautiful, and it’s e-everything I imagined.” You tilted your head to the side, a teasing glint blooming behind your eyes as you traced your fingers slowly up his arms.

”You’ve imagined this?” You asked, voice light but thick with hea, watching Bob’s entire face turn a deeper shade of red in the moonlight, like he was caught committing a crime. His lips parted as he scrambled for a respectful response, but you didn’t give him a chance. You leaned in, lips hovering just above his, your breath slipping into his mouth as you whispered, “What else have you imagined?” Bob exhaled shakily, the sound brushing your mouth. His hands flexed unconsciously on your hips as though trying to ground himself–like if he didn’t hold onto you, he might drift right out of the moment.

“I’ve…” He whispered, his voice barely audible over the heavy breathing the both of you were doing, “T-Thought about touching you…Like t-this.” He began to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, leaving a trail of heat and wetness from his lips all the way down to your neck, before he opened his mouth against you, right below your ear, placing a lingering kiss that made you push your chest against his with the heat that curled around you.

“I’ve t-though about what your s-skin would feel against m-mine,” He murmured, trembling as his lips traced the column of your throat, “And how you would sound i-if I kissed you h-here…” He added, placing a kiss against your pulse point, listening to the small sigh that escaped your mouth.

His breath was shaky against your neck as his lips lingered at the little patch of skin that thumped against his touch, his nose brushing against the soft dip of your throat while his hands remained firmly planted on your hips–too still, too solid, like he didn’t trust himself to move without falling apart.

But then, as if pulled by some gravitational force he could no longer fight, one of his hands slid upward. Slowly. Tentatively. Fingertips brushing over the hem of your bra, skimming your ribs, following the curve of your waist until they reached the delicate strap resting on your shoulder. His knuckles trembled, but his touch was impossibly gentle, as if even the fabric you wore deserved to be worshipped.

He kissed your jaw again–open-mouthed, soft–and then you felt the light tug at your shoulder as he slipped the strap down. The fabric eased across your skin with a quiet drag, and you shivered beneath it, watching the way his eyes followed the path like it was sacred scripture.

His lips returned to your skin, grazing over the hollow of your collarbone before whispering into it–so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

”C-Can I look?” You nodded.

”Yes…Of course.” You whispered. His hand twitched where it rested at the curve of your spine, and then, with a sort of hesitance that nearly broke you, he slid his hand up to the clasp of your bra, his fingertips brushing clumsily along them, missing the latch twice. You couldn’t help but smile at the fumbling, as he let out a breathy, nervous laugh against your skin, while his forehead dropped to your shoulder in a sheepish show of surrender.

”I-I swear I’m trying,” He murmured, the corners of his lips curling up. You laughed with him, soft and unhurried, before pressing a kiss to his temple.

“I’ve got it,” You said, reaching one arm behind yourself with practiced ease. The clasp gave one tiny click and you slid the loose straps down your arms, letting it join your t-shirt that was beside you. When you straightened back up, bare now in the soft glow of the moonlight, Bob didn’t move at first, he just stared.

Not in a greedy way, not in the way you were used to being looked at, it was with such desire and want it made your stomach turn. Like he was trying to memorize the details of your body so when he closed his eyes he’d be able to picture it.

His hands slid up slowly from your waist, palms wide, cautious, and trembling just slightly as they moved to trace along your ribs. His thumbs brushed upward–barely skimming the outer swell of your breasts–before he let out a long, shaky breath and leaned in. His lips pressed to the curve of your breast, just above your heart, and you felt the sigh leave him as he held you like you were something holy.

You curled your fingers into his hair, watching him.

“Bob…” You whispered, but it was barely a sound.

He lifted his head just long enough to meet your gaze. His cheeks were flushed, his lips already kiss-bitten and pink.

“I-I’ve imagined this so many times,” He said softly, almost apologetically. “But it never felt like this. I-It never felt this real.”

And then his mouth returned to your skin–this time lower.

He kissed across the top of your breast, then the underside, open-mouthed, so gentle you almost whimpered. His tongue barely grazed, only enough to tease, to taste. You felt the warmth of him, the way he held one breast up in his hand with delicate fingers while he mouthed softly at the other. You gasped when his lips closed over your nipple, sucking gently, and your back arched toward him without meaning to.

You slid your hands beneath the hem of his sweater, then under his shirt, fingers meeting hot, bare skin. He jumped slightly at the sudden contact, pulling back from your chest just enough to pant softly against it.

“C-Cold hands,” He whispered breathlessly, grinning faintly against your skin even though his whole body was burning with heat. “Or maybe I’m j-just really warm…” You laughed again, low and soft.

“You are, I think I can even feel your blood boiling.” You joked, keeping your hands under his shirt, palms smoothing across his back and up over the planes of his stomach and chest. You could feel how solid he was beneath you–not just strong, but sensitive, pliant, like he wanted to give all of himself over to your hands, your mouth, your gaze.

And he did.

Bob went back to your breasts, now kissing them between worshipful sighs and breathless, choked words.

“You’re so…So soft,” He murmured against your skin, his lips brushing your sternum. “So warm… I didn’t know it could feel like this. I-I didn’t know it could feel this good just…Just to be close to you...”

You felt a swell of something tender and aching crash into your chest.

You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up so he’d look at you. And he did with red-cheeks, wide-eyes, and lips that were still shining faintly from the saliva that coated them. And then you leaned in again and kissed him—deeper this time. Slower. You pushed your tongue into his mouth, tasting him, letting him taste you.

His arms wrapped tighter around your waist again and this time, he moved.

“C-Can I…” He panted into the kiss, “Can I bring you to t-the bed?”You nodded against his lips.

“Yes, Bob. Please.” He stood slowly, hands steadying you as he rose, and then–without any real effort at all–he lifted you into his arms. You clutched at his shirt as your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, a soft gasp leaving your lips.

”Jesus, sometimes I forget you’re a superhuman basically…” He laughed–nervous but proud that he surprised you with his strength.

”I d-don’t really show it off, so I don’t b-blame you for forgetting.” He murmured, as his skin continued to heat up against you. He walked the two of you the short distance to the unmade bed and lowered you gently onto the cold sheets.

But instead of climbing on top of you, he slid in beside you, curling close–not out of hesitation, but intimacy.

You turned onto your side, your body instinctively seeking him, and hooked one leg over his hip, bringing your thigh around him and pulling him in. The moment he was close enough, you kissed him again–your hands sliding up into his hair, fingers threading through the soft brown strands at the back of his head.

Immediately, he melted into the kiss, groaning softly into your mouth–barely audible, but it vibrated through your chest, and curled low in your stomach– where the tension began to build. Your lips moved against each other in a rhythm that felt like it had been written in the marrow of your bones, like the both of you belonged there together in that moment.

And then Bob pulled back–just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, eating away at the lush blue, his lips were wet and parted as he breathed shallowly, trembling slightly.

”I-I wanna feel everything,” He whispered.

Then with a move that felt bolder than anything he’d ever done, he pulled at the collar of his sweater, pulling it off. The hem dragged over his head, catching slightly on his hair before he tossed it aside, his t-shirt following soon after–slightly rumpled and damp from how hot he was getting.

The moonlight etched the shape of him–slender but strong, pale skin kissed splashed with little drops of freckles and barely-there scars. You saw the muscles move under the skin of his stomach when he breathed in, saw the way his chest rose and fell like he was trying to stay steady in a storm of want.

He slid his arm under your neck and around your shoulders, pulling you close, gathering you into the crook of his body like he needed every inch of contact. Your leg stayed hooked over his waist, your hips now pressed firmly together, heat and need blooming where your bodies touched.

His hand slid slowly down your spine, palm wide, curling gently around the dip of your lower back.

And then he kissed you again.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t rushed. It was molten. Deep. Slow and desperate.

You could feel the way his lips moved with a kind of hunger that didn’t want to consume you–it wanted to worship every inch of you.

As your tongues brushed, you shifted your hips, rolling gently against the line of his thigh. His breath hitched, a surprised little gasp breaking the kiss.

And then his knee shifted.

He tilted his leg slightly between yours, giving you the perfect angle to move against him–and you did. Slowly at first. Just the press of your body rocking into his. You moaned softly against his lips as you rolled your hips again, dragging yourself along him with just the right amount of pressure. It wasn’t loud, but it vibrated between your mouths, slipping into him like a secret you wanted him to feel in his bones.

His lips barely touched yours now–just ghosting–warm and open and trembling, like he was terrified to break the moment. You breathed in at the same time he exhaled, your lips parting in tandem, and it felt like you were drinking each other in. Breath passed between you in small, shared gasps, heat curling where mouths nearly met, where words became vapor.

“Bob…” You whispered into him, and his name felt like silk on your tongue.

The air between your mouths wasn’t even air anymore. It was communion. Heat. Exchange. Like you were tethered by the sheer force of needing each other. His nose brushed yours. Your foreheads pressed together. His breath hit your tongue before it hit his own lungs.

And still–you craved Bob’s touch even more.

You reached between your bodies, your fingers skimming over his wrist before curling around it gently. His pulse jumped under your touch.

You guided his hand down until his knuckles met the waistband of your sweatpants. His breath faltered.

“I need more…” You whispered, voice raw and low–on the brink of begging, “Please…”

Bob didn’t speak at first. He just nodded, quickly like that word please had been carved into him. Then, with trembling fingers, he tugged at the tie of your sweatpants, undoing the bow with care, like he was unwrapping something sacred.

As he did, your fingers slipped down to the tie of his–mirroring him. Equal.

He froze just a little.

“W-What…What are you doing?” he asked, voice cracking like a matchstick in the dark.

Your hand kept working the knot, lips hovering over his, your nose brushing his as you breathed:

“I don’t want to be the only one being touched like this.” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, jaw tightening, chest rising as he tried to hold himself together. But your voice–your need–had undone him completely. He nodded again, slower this time, gaze trailing down to where your hands were now at each other’s waistbands.

And then you both moved.

It wasn’t graceful–no art to it. Just need. Just fumbling, frantic hands pushing sweatpants down over hips, wriggling out of the fabric together in a tangle of half-laughs and sharp breaths and grazes of skin.

Your legs kicked the soft fabric off the edge of the bed and his did the same.

And then you were back–wrapped around each other again. The arm beneath your head pulled you in slowly, as his hand splayed between your shoulder blades, fingers curling slightly like he needed to grab onto something to keep him in the moment. Your thigh returned to his hip, locking yourself into him, and the kiss you shared was now pure fire. It was teeth and tongue and breath and a low, desperate sound torn straight from his throat.

You kissed him like you couldn’t get deep enough. Like you’d climb inside his chest if he let you. And he would. He would.

His hand slid up the back of your neck and into your hair as your mouth’s finally slowed, pulling back slightly to breathe. Your lips stayed apart for him, letting a whisper of space between you.

Your noses touched. His forehead pressed to yours. And when you opened your eyes, he was already staring–flushed and wide and wrecked in the most beautiful way.

Then Bob’s hand moved. Slowly. Purposefully.

He brought it to your mouth, two fingers extended–not tentative, but gently.

“Let me,” He whispered.

You nodded, opening your mouth just a little more for him. You took his fingers in without hesitation, wrapping your tongue around them, wetting them with slow, deliberate passes. His eyes fluttered closed, his breath shaking as you sucked softly–just enough to coat them in warmth.

When he withdrew, he immediately slid his hand down. Beneath your underwear.

And when his fingers found you–hot, wet, already aching for him–he moaned into your cheek.

“Oh, God…” Was all he could choke out, as he slid through your arousal, slow and careful, dragging every drop of slickness to your clit in gentle circles. You gasped–your whole body arching forward into him, closing your eyes at the sensation of his fingers against you.

Your hand moved too now–down his chest, over the soft lines of his abdomen–until your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs. He hissed at the contact, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

You found him hard and hot in your hand, thick and twitching under your fingers as you wrapped around him, stroking slow. Just once. Just enough to feel him jump in your palm.

Bob groaned, low and guttural against your skin.

You both moved together, hands working in tandem–your touch on him firm and steady, his fingers stroking you in slow circles until he dipped one inside. Then another. Stretching you gently, curling just enough to make your breath catch, your thighs tremble.

The bed creaked softly beneath you as the both of you writhed beneath each others hands

Skin to skin. Mouth to mouth. You moved together like a tide pull–rocking, gasping, fingers slipping and sliding against one another.

Bob adjusted himself slightly, pressing closer to you, before moving his fingers quicker now–they were still gentle, but there was more purpose to his movements. Like he couldn’t help it. Like your body had hypnotized him into doing exactly what you needed him to do, and his only job was to listen. The pads of his fingers pressed and curled inside you, while his thumb circled your clit with more pressure than before, and the sensation that came from this change bloomed in sharp and immediate trembles.

You gasped–high and sudden–your head tilting back into the solidness of his arm that was wrapped around the back of your neck. Your hand that was wrapped around him, stilled. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

It was too much.

Your free hand flew to his shoulder, fingers digging in, nails curling against the slope of muscle. You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the bed, to the moment, to yourself.

Bob’s breath caught as he felt you seize around him, as he watched your eyes flutter and your mouth part in a soundless moan that finally broke into a quiet, desperate whimper. His name left your lips like a secret you’d never told anyone else–torn from the center of you. He could feel it, the way your body trembled against him, the way your muscles clenched around his fingers in tight, rhythmic pulses.

And he watched.

He watched you come undone with a look of sheer awe painted across his face. His lips parted slightly, eyes fixed on yours, and then on your mouth, like he couldn’t decide what was more beautiful: the way you looked when you fell apart, or the sound of his name when you did.

Your brows furrowed with the force of it, your thighs tightening around his hips, your breath breaking apart like waves crashing on rock.

Bob didn’t stop—not until he felt you ride the last crest of it, your body softening again beneath him. And when you finally blinked, eyes unfocused and lips still parted, he leaned forward and kissed your cheek. Reverent. Almost trembling.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, gently, like he didn’t want to startle you after such a fragile, shattering moment. You shivered at the loss, and he whispered something into your skin—too soft to make out. But his breath was warm. His lips were warm.

And then he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

His hand hovered between you, the slick still glistening faintly in the low light. But he didn’t wipe it away. He just looked at you like you were the most divine thing he’d ever seen.

“C-Can I take these off?” He asked, his voice thick with longing, with excitement, with the weight of everything he was holding back.

His hand ghosted over the band of your underwear, waiting.

You nodded slowly, still breathless, still catching your bearings.

”Yes…Yes please…Please just do what you want to me Bob…I’m already yours.” The moment those words left your lips, one thing inside Bob snapped like a wire that had been wrapped too tight. It wasn’t in a wild, unruly way though. No–this was quiet, controlled, but powerful.

His breath shuddered in his chest as he surged forward to kiss you harder this time, deepening it almost instantly. It was desperate but gently, like he needed to pour all the feelings he couldn’t say into your mouth, into the space between your teeth and tongue and breath.

As he kissed you, his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, dragging the last barrier down slowly, reverently. His knuckles skimmed your thighs, your hips, the swell of your backside. The fabric clung slightly, then surrendered, pooling around your knees before you helped kick it away.

Bob’s hand dipped next to his own waistband, and you could feel the moment he slid his briefs off. The subtle lift of his hips. The faint brush of heat and bare skin against yours. He was pressed close now–every inch of him.

And when you looked down between your bodies, when your eyes caught the sight of him fully bared–his length flushed light red and thick, curving slightly, the tip glistening with need–you felt heat flood every nerve in your body. The moment was more than just physical. It was overwhelming. He was ready, so ready, not just in body but in soul, in the way he looked at you like you were gravity and breath and sky all at once.

Bob swallowed hard, as if he could feel you seeing all of him, as if the intimacy of being witnessed so completely was almost too much to bear.

But he didn’t look away.

Instead, he shifted–slowly, carefully–until he was over you. His hands pressed into the bed on either side of your body, muscles tense as though he were anchoring himself to the world. You welcomed him with a soft sigh, parting your legs wider to cradle his hips, letting him settle into the space that had always been meant for him–since the day you realized you wanted him like this.

He leaned down first–pressing a kiss to your chest. Right between your breasts. Then another to the slope of one, then the other. Then higher. His lips grazed your sternum, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. Each kiss was warm, slow, and sacred.

By the time his mouth found yours again, you were breathless from just the journey of it.

He kissed you with everything. Not just hunger, but reverence. Like your lips were a language he’d studied for years but only just learned how to speak.

And then–without a word–he reached for your hand.

You let him take it easily, watching the way his long fingers wrapped around yours. He brought it up gently, pressing it down into the mattress beside your head, his grip secure but soft–like he wanted to hold you in place but never trap you.

That one motion nearly undid you.

It wasn’t restraint.

It was his way of closeness. The kind that made you feel tethered to him, like your bodies weren’t just aligned–they were entwined, they were marking. Like they were made to be this close. Built for this level of intimacy for only each other.

His forehead rested against yours again. You could feel every exhale fan across your lips.

“I wanna go slow,” He whimpered, voice breaking like dusk light through the curtains. “I wanna…Wanna feel all of you…Every second of you…”

You reached your free hand up to his face, and your thumb brushed across his cheekbone, slow and tender, like you were tracing the edge of a secret only you were allowed to know. His skin was warm beneath your touch–warmer than it had ever been–and you could feel the tremble in his breath as he waited, eyes searching yours like they were the only compass he had left.

“And I want you to lose yourself in me.” You replied. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment he just breathed like your words had cracked something open in his chest. When he looked at you again, there was something new behind his expression–like awe and fear had melted into devotion.

“If anything becomes too much, you have to tell me…” He said, voice almost broken with the weight of care. You nodded, but your hand tightened in his.

”It won’t…But I promise if it does I will tell you.” He dipped his head lower again, as if he couldn't bear the space between your mouths any longer, and pressed a kiss to your lips again absorbing the softness of them, the warmth. Your hand threaded through his hair, fingertips curling at the nape of his neck, guiding him so he was pressed right against you.

And then–his hand moved down between your bodies. You felt the slow drag of his palm against the outside of your thigh, then the careful slide of his fingers as he reached down and guided himself to you. He breathed out when he felt you coat him, your wetness catching on every ridge of him as he slid himself against your entrance–once, twice, gathering all of you onto him. His body twitched with restraint. His jaw clenched. He pressed his forehead harder against yours as if the contact was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart entirely.

The moment he pushed in, your bodies stopped breathing.

Your mouth parted with a gasp–sharp and soft–as he sank into you slowly, inch by inch, until you felt your body stretch and adjust to every curve of him. Bob choked on a breath the second he felt your warmth take him in, his face screwing up in something between a sob and a moan. His forehead pressed harder against yours, like if he moved any other way he’d fall apart.

“God–oh, God…” He whispered, voice ragged and frayed at the edges. “Holy…You’re…You’re so” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He was too overwhelmed by the feel of you wrapped around him, every pulse and tremble drawing him deeper into the haze of you.

Your hand clenched tighter in his, and you felt the way his fingers locked with yours, grounding himself with your grip as he bottomed out. A low, aching sound slipped from your throat and caught in the space between your lips, and you felt it shake against his mouth as he kissed you again–slow, reverent, his tongue barely brushing yours as he tried to breathe.

“You’re doing so good,” You whispered into him, your voice like silk over fire. “Just stay right there. Just let me feel you…”

He whimpered at that, a broken noise into your mouth, like the praise undid him. He didn’t move–couldn’t, not yet at least. He was just holding himself there, buried inside you, feeling the way your body fluttered around him.

“I-It’s like…Like you’re pulling me apart,” He said, breathless. “And putting me back together all at once…”

His hand left yours slowly, reluctantly, fingers sliding down your wrist with a feather-light touch as he reached for your thigh. You felt it happen in stages–the way his hand cradled the back of your knee, the way he gently guided your leg up higher on his waist, opening you up further, angling himself deeper.

The shift made your breath catch. He slid in even further, the new position sending a wave of pressure right through your core, and you gasped into his mouth. Bob groaned–breathlessly low, lost—and his hips jolted forward once, like he couldn’t help himself.

You could feel him trembling above you, his hand still gripping your thigh like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

“I need…” he murmured into your neck, voice barely coherent, “Need to be closer—need to feel all of you.”

“You are,” You whispered back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close. “You’re already in every part of me.”

He rocked into you, slow at first–agonizing in its care–like he wanted to memorize every detail, every sound you made when he moved. Your bodies stayed pressed together, chest to chest, lips to jaw, gasps shared like breathless secrets.

And then you reached up.

You cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, until your fingers slid gently into his mouth. Bob’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and stunned–and then he groaned, low in his chest, as he closed his lips around them.

You watched him–watched his lashes flutter, his breath hitch, the way his hips stuttered forward harder now, more desperate, like the taste of you on his tongue had undone something deep and buried inside him.

You moaned at the sight of it–at the way he sucked your thumbs, not rough, but with such reverence you almost passed out, on the brink of obedience.

You slipped your thumbs from his mouth slowly, watching the glossy string of saliva stretch and catch in the moonlight like silk spun from reverence. Bob’s lips stayed parted, his breath hot against your fingers, his tongue brushing the edge of one thumb as you pulled it away. And then, without breaking the contact, you trailed the damp touch down his jaw–soft, deliberate, leaving a glistening line in its wake.

His whole body stilled.

You felt him twitch inside you, felt the sharp inhale he tried and failed to control. And then your fingers tilted his chin up.

“Look at me,” You whispered, your voice low and rich with everything you couldn’t say with words alone. His eyes lifted to yours like he was coming up for air, like your gaze was the only thing keeping him from dissolving into the moment completely. He looked wrecked–beautifully so. Lips kiss-bruised, cheeks flushed to the tips of his ears, pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes completely now. You could see every flicker of awe in his expression, every ounce of need, of surrender. You brushed your fingers along the edge of his jaw, then swept them up into his hair, pushing the sweat-dampened strands from his forehead with aching tenderness. His breath caught when you did it, like your touch alone unraveled something buried too deep for him to reach.

“You’re doing so good…You feel so good inside me, Bob.” You whispered, voice like velvet as your thumbs stroked the sides of his face. His hips stuttered forward—once, then again. A trembling gasp slipped from his throat as he sank in deeper, the pace no longer slow but no less careful. It was desperate now. Steady and aching. Each thrust felt like it was pulled from the center of him, like he was trying to carve himself into your body—leaving a part of his soul there.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room in soft, rhythmic slaps. Your breathing hitched with each one, your legs tightening around his hips to pull him in, to keep him close. You could feel how badly he was trying to keep control, how every movement was threaded with reverence and restraint. But his body–his need–was beginning to override his fear.

And you wanted that.

“Don’t hold back,” You said between soft gasps, brushing his hair back again, curling your fingers against his neck. “I want you to give it to me. Everything.”

His face twisted like he was going to cry. He dipped down and kissed you hard, and sloppily, like he was already too far gone to keep it clean. His tongue slipped into your mouth, searching for yours, and when he found it, he moaned into the kiss like he’d been starving for it. He fucked you through it–deeper now, faster–his hips rolling in a way that had your head falling back onto the pillows.

“Oh God…Oh–fuck–Bob,” You whined, your nails raking lightly down his back. He gasped at the sharp drag, chasing the friction because he liked the burn it brought him.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” He choked, voice breaking as his thrusts grew uneven. “I can’t—I can’t slow down—I n-need—”

”No…Fuck. Don’t apologize you feel so fucking good. Please––Please don’t fucking stop.” You interrupted, desperate now, feeling your stomach twisting into knots. He dropped his forehead against yours again, lips brushing yours with every breath, and drove into you harder. Deeper. Each movement was more desperate, more pleading, as if his body was trying to reach some part of you his words couldn’t. The bed shifted beneath you, the frame creaking, but neither of you noticed. Not when it felt like your souls were colliding.

You felt everything building again, fast–hot and coiled and pulsing at the center of you.

“Bob…” You whimpered, your voice cracking with need, “I-I’m close, I’m so close…” His eyes met yours again–blown wide, glassy, nodding.

“I-I’m gonna come too,” He panted, and then the question tumbled out of him, desperate and ragged–“Where—Where do you want me to…?”

Your body trembled.

“In me,” You breathed, cupping his cheek again, pulling him close, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Inside me, Bob. I want to feel it dripping out of me all day tomorrow.”

And that was it.

Bob cried out–barely a sound, more of a broken whimper–and buried himself to the hilt inside you. His hips stilled with a violent shudder, and then he came. You felt the heat of it, the way his body jerked as he pulsed inside you, moaning your name like it was the only prayer he knew. His arms locked around you, trembling as he held you through it.

And then–seconds later–you followed.

You clenched around him as your body went tight, your back arching off the bed, your lips parting in a soundless cry that turned into a whimper of his name. He felt you come around him, fluttering, pulsing, your legs tightening around his waist as your body shook with the force of it.

He kissed you through the aftershocks–soft and slow now. Like a thank you. Like an apology. Like he was still trying to give you more even after he’d already given you everything. Then he collapsed into your arms, chest heaving, lips brushing against your throat with such tenderness you were beginning to feel overwhelmed by how much he truly cared about you.

And then–out of nowhere–you laughed. It wasn’t loud or mocking. It was soft, breathy, and stunned.

“W-What? What did I––Did I do something?” He asked, lifting his head quickly, eyes wide and flushed with concern. You reached up, still giggling as your fingers gently swept the hair off his forehead.

”No,” You said with a smile so wide your cheeks ached, “No, it’s nothing like that, it’s just…I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner.” You could see the relief in Bob’s eyes when you said it, as he let out the softest laugh. A breathless, giddy kind of noise.

”I-I was so scared to mess the friendship up…” He admitted, his nose brushing yours again, voice low and shy, “But I’ve wanted you for so long…” You nodded.

”I know,” You whispered, kissing his cheek, “Me too Bob.” He let the moment linger for a heartbeat longer, then shifted slightly, wincing as he carefully pulled back. You gasped quietly at the sensation of him slipping out, a hot flutter leaving your core in the wake of it. You tightened your thighs reflexively as you sighed, and Bob caught the look on your face instantly.

“Are you okay?” He asked, concerned now, pushing your hair back from your forehead.

”Just a bit sore,” You admitted, cheeks flushed, “It’s been a while since I…Y’know.” Bob nodded, slowly getting up from the bed, pulling on the boxers he had on before.

”I’ll be right back–I’m gonna grab a warm washcloth, okay?” He said gently, giving you a gentle kiss on your lips, “Don’t move.” You smiled at him.

”Okay.” You whispered, watching his silhouette pad across the room and disappear into the bathroom, as he turned on the pale white light. You could hear the gentle rush of water, the sound of the towel drawer sliding open, and the rustle of cloth.

He returned a minute later, stopping at his dresser to pull a pair of boxer shorts and one of his old, soft t-shirts, before making his way back to you.

“A-Alright,” He whispered, setting the clothes beside you as he kneeled back onto the bed, “You tell me if anything hurts…Okay?” You nodded, watching as he eased your thighs open. You winced slightly at the sting, but bit back a gasp. He brought the cloth between your legs and cleaned you carefully, delicately, like every part of you was sacred. The warmth helped a bit with the soreness thankfully, so now all you felt was the euphoria of the come down.

Once he finished, he set the cloth on the bedside table, then helped ease the boxers up your legs. They were soft and loose around your thighs, a simple comfort, as you lifted your hips slightly to help. He then tugged the shirt gently over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves with a kind of tender concentration like he was worried he might do it wrong.

When it was all done he let out a soft sigh, one full of warmth and the heavy pull of contentment. You were blissed out, sore in a way that felt good. And he was still looking at you with such admiration it made your heart race.

You lifted your arms in front of you.

The motion was simple–gentle, slow, but deliberate. An offering. A request. And Bob’s entire body reacted to it like it was instinct. He didn’t say anything–didn’t need to. His shoulders dipped forward as he crawled up into your arms, letting himself be folded against your chest, nuzzling in like he was coming home. He was careful, even now–making sure his weight didn’t press too much into your legs, tugging the thin top sheet off the corner of the bed before wrapping it loosely around both of your bodies.

He laid his head on your chest, just over your heart, and you felt him exhale fully for what might’ve been the first time all night. His arm slipped around your waist, his other hand curling loosely over your ribs as he pressed his cheek to the center of you, listening.

You held him close, your arms winding around his shoulders, fingers sliding gently into his hair, brushing slowly along his scalp in lazy, thoughtful strokes. He hummed–barely a sound, more of a breath–but it vibrated softly into the shirt you wore.

The sheet was thin, barely a whisper of fabric between you and the cooling air, but you didn’t need more than that. Not when you had this. The weight of him. The heat of him. Bob tilted his face slightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the fabric at the underside of your breast, where your heartbeat fluttered near the surface. You smiled at him, your hand stroking down the back of his neck, feeling the way he melted into you even further.

“Y-You’re amazing Y/N…” He whispered, “And I’m so…So in love with you.”

3K notes · View notes

nanamiskentos · 7 months ago

Text

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.

"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.

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!

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

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.

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

"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!

1K notes · View notes