#downright horrifying even

[sus-amogus-bot]

11 Susderman

[ghostbsuter]

"I can see dead people." He mentions with a shrug, using the chopsticks to fish more noodles into his mouth.

Dick stares at him. "Huh."

"Is that why you help?" He asks, getting more spring rolls.

"Yeah. Once someone becomes a ghost, word gets out quick, and they come to me. Always tatling about unfairness and justice." The kid waves the words around, rolling his eyes.

Dick just pretens to he uninterested, despite his mind racing at the new info. He is piecing past moments together, every shadow leaping away, every note with tips, leads and—

Huh.

"Do you... like it? Doing all that?" Richard approaches thus carefully, brows furrowed at the kid opposite of him.

Danny moves his head, giving a 'so-so' answer. "It's not much to like, I can see ghosts, and they know it and use it. If it brings them to peace or whatever– well, that's just a plus."

Dick stares. He places his chopsticks down and looks at Danny worried.

In turn, the kid sighs. "Sometimes gifts become curses the longer you have it."

And Dick understands.

Mind made up, he throws a pair of keys at the kid, watching fondly as the other catches them with confusion.

"Next time use these, instead of entering through the window."

Danny mock-salutes with a shit eating grin. "Yes, Officer grayson."

[scalproie]

Heichachi: So sad that even tho I love my family I had to put them down for being devils and destined for evil 😔 Alas there was no other way 😔

Jun, kissing Kaz and hugging Jin: Skill issue.

[shinelikethunder]

when you're trying your best under terrible necessity, but your best kind of sucks

john winchester: sorry kids, but when your entire family may or may not be on a demonic hit list and you've got a revenge quest to get cracking on, the price of survival is constant combat-readiness and being forever alone. everyone sam & dean run into for the next season and a half: holy shit are you johnny winchester's boys? john winchester: it's a lonely life, knowing monsters exist. there's no one i can leave you with. there's no one you can turn to. there ARE no trusted adults within five hundred miles of here. like half a dozen other hunters: it's THE sam and dean! thought i'd never get to meet you two in the flesh, what with your daddy being a bridge-burning asshole who doesn't play nice with others... john winchester: if i'm harsh about expecting my orders to be followed, it's because i'm scared out of my mind for your safety. this isn't the life i wanted for you, but it's necessity: you gotta grow up fast and learn to kill or be killed. a goddamn greek chorus by this point: no offense to your old man but if anyone tried to invite my KID along on the reckless bullshit you boys get into, i'd whoop their ass. dean, a well-adjusted young adult whose daddy raised him right: wow, aren't you worried your teenager is gonna get killed because you chickened out of teaching them normal life skills, like going out and shaking their ass as werewolf bait?

[avid-idiot]

Storytime: I found out today that there are people who genuinely believe I dated this one girl back in middle school (I literally hate her guts)

[vexinghearts]

I can't help but absolutely love when people rate the EAS alarms man 😭

[asidian]

I've seen a lot of talk about how hell affected Edwin's pain tolerance, but not very much breaking down how it seems to have affected the way he manages emotion. So to that end, here we go:

Edwin Payne vs emotions (and how his no good very bad helltime messed with him something awful)

Dead Boy Detectives does a very good job early on of establishing the fact that Edwin is not particularly good with people. He's stilted, he's repressed, and though he can be incredibly kind to the people he cares about, he can also be quite abrasive, particularly to those he doesn't know well.

Time and time again, we see Charles step in to be the face man. Charles is the one to greet the clients, to take note of their names, to set them at ease. Charles is the one to support Crystal emotionally, and his interactions with Edwin seem to imply that he's done the same for Edwin, over the years. Charles has to remind Edwin to mind his bedside manner, and he explains to Crystal that Edwin forgets how to talk to people sometimes, because of how long he spent in hell.

In short, these boys compensate for each other's strengths and weaknesses in a lot of ways, and Charles is very much the one doing the emotional heavy lifting in this partnership.

And there's a reason for that, laid out in the text and subtext all throughout the show, and the narrative handles it brilliantly.

Edwin's actor does a fantastic job in expressing the character's reactions – or rather, lack of them. Because in the most shocking scenes throughout the show, Edwin often doesn't seem as horrified as the others in the face of events that ought to be horrific. In the Devlin house, he seems as though the murders scarcely affect him. When the jumper at the top of the lighthouse throws herself down, he's downright composed in comparison to everyone else.

And Edwin repeatedly shows or expresses that emotion makes him uncomfortable. When Crystal and Charles are fighting in episode five, he requests that they set their feelings aside until the case is finished. At the end of the episode, he says that the day has been entirely too full of emotions for his taste.

So, what is it specifically about emotion that bothers him so much?

In hell, emotion meant an awful, bloody death.

Panicking over potential incoming horrors? Nope, sorry, too loud. Dead again. Having a sobbing breakdown in a corner? Nope, sorry, too loud. Injured and trying to keep it down so it doesn't get worse? Nope, sorry, that's too loud, too.

Again and again, we see Edwin trying to tamp down on his emotions, but also, tellingly, trying to keep his emotions subdued and quiet.

When Charles finds him in hell, he's crying without making a single sound. When Esther starts to torture him in episode eight, he doesn't scream at first. He's trained himself out of making noise when something hurts or frightens him.

Of course he wants to set emotions aside until the case is done. He's spent seventy years learning what happens if you don't. You take care of business first. If, and only if, there's an after? That's when you let yourself feel.

Early on, when Edwin and Charles need to find the correct book but Edwin is unable to access their office due to the Cat King's bracelet, Edwin is upset. He's frustrated and out of sorts, blocked from making progress on the thing he knows he needs to be doing – hurting himself trying to get his arm through the mirror until Charles stops him. It's Charles who has to step in and help him calm down. It's Charles who has to remind him to breathe through what is very likely a panicked throwback to those times when if he could not solve his way out of a problem, it would very literally get him killed. In this scene, we get a brief glimpse of how Edwin looks when he starts to lose his grip on his rigid control.

And that's before we even get to these things:

Because as awful as the doll spider was, it wasn't the only thing skulking around the Doll House. Charles stumbles across misery wraiths when he goes to rescue Edwin from hell – and we know from the Devlin house episode that Edwin is extremely aware of what they do and how they operate. They were in his space, looking for despair to feed off during a time when he had it in spades.

Taken all together? It's an absolutely heartbreaking picture.

This boy seemed a little socially awkward before his death, from what we see of his time before hell. But afterward? He's had seventy long years of having to teach himself to regulate his own emotions, under pain of excruciating torture if he didn't do it well enough.

With an object lesson like that, over and over again, for literal decades, it's no wonder that Edwin has such a hard time navigating emotions and everything surrounding them.

[my-castles-crumbling]

pretty - September 3 - Jegulus - @stag-microfic - word count: 274

He was having a bad day.

No, 'bad' didn't even begin to cover it. Working at a coffee whop to make ends meet after being disowned by your bigoted parents was horrible on the best days, downright hell on the worst. But today, he wanted to cry. To just crumple up his apron and leave the place, screaming.

Until a small hand tapped his side.

"'Scuse me?" A quiet voice asked, causing Regulus to look over from the table he was wiping off.

The voice belonged to a child of about 7 or 8 years, with black hair and startlingly green eyes. He grinned at Regulus, making him soften a bit. "How can I help you? Are you lost?" Regulus asked, shoulders finally sagging a bit.

"No, it's just...can I tell you a secret?" the boy asked, blinking innocently.

A bit nervously, Regulus nodded and leaned in.

"My Dad says you're pretty," the boy whispered loudly, beaming from ear to ear.

Regulus let out a gasp of laughter, pulling back. But before he could say anything a man nearby hurried up.

"Harry!" he said, admonishing the child. "What have I told you? We don't talk to strangers! I'm so sorry," he said, addressing Regulus.

But Regulus was transfixed, because this man was stunning, his dark hair and hazel eyes captivating him.

"Oh, it's-"

"It's alright, Dad," Harry shrugged, smiling. "I was just telling him you think he's pretty!"

Regulus couldn't help but crack up at the man's horrified expression. "It's okay," he smirked. "You're quite pretty, yourself."

It was only then that the other man stopped blushing and pulled out his phone to get Regulus's number.

[augustinewrites]

“pleeeease, shoko? as my best friend–”

“hold on,” shoko sputters, choking on her drink. “who said i was your best friend?”

“do you think i’d pay for lunch if you weren’t?”

the woman sets down her chopsticks, sending him an unimpressed look. “that’s what this is for? to bribe me into being your best friend so i can tell my actual best friend to go out with you?”

satoru leans forward in his seat, grinning from ear to ear. “i’m not asking you to tell anyone anything. i’m just saying, plant a few seeds here and there. maybe mention how devastated i was to get friend-zoned and that i’m way too hot to be strictly friendship material.”

“that’s way too unbelievable, coming from me. maybe you should ask nanami…”

“no, it has to be you. you think anyone would believe nanamin if he said i was a total smokeshow?” he asks, shaking his head.

“well, no one would believe him because it’s not true.”

“you’re being mean,” satoru pouts. “you’re supposed to be my best friend–”

“friendship isn’t how you’ll get me to do your bidding,” shoko interrupts. “i like whiskey.”

_____

“this is really good,” you hum in approval as you take another sip. it’s smooth, sweet, and strong. much better than any whiskey you and shoko have shared before. “how on earth did you afford this?”

“a friend bought a few bottles for me,” she waves off, settling herself into the opposite end of her couch. “so…how was your date on saturday? with that guy from the kyoto school?”

“it was okay. but i don’t think i’ll see him again,” you tell her honestly. “he just wasn’t…” 

“wasn’t gojo?” 

“what?” you ask. the idea that you didn’t enjoy your last date because he wasn’t gojo was downright ridiculous, but the quickened beat of your heart is trying to tell you otherwise. “why would you– you think i like gojo?” 

satoru gojo, whose second job seemed to be roping you into his nonsense back in your school days (and taking the fall when yaga eventually caught you). who showed off during missions and always yelled for you to watch (he has a small scar on his cheek from a failed infinity barrier projection). who now routinely showed up to your apartment uninvited to watch a film with you (and always left with a few rolls of your toilet paper).

“you don’t have to like him,” your best friend says, pulling you out of your thoughts. “you just have to sit on him.”

“ieiri!” you shout, horrified. “we’re friends. friends don’t sleep with friends.”

“what? i slept with him once - in a moment of complete weakness - and we’re still friends.”

“but now you no longer sleep with men,” you point out. 

she seems taken aback by that for a moment, but eventually shrugs it off. “true, but it’s different for you guys.”

“how?”

shoko fills the bottom of her glass with a heavy pour. “because he’s actually in love with you. he may be stupid and annoying, but maybe he does the things he does around you because he likes making you laugh, even if it’s at him.”

_____

satoru stumbles backwards into the wall, using his grip on your waist to pull you flush against him. you’d barged into his apartment, ignoring his questions and immediately pulling him in for a kiss.

“i thought–” he tries to get out between kisses. “–you didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

you draw back to look at him, smiling. “i have other friends.”

[planariaareneat]

How The Nocturnal Bottleneck and Nipples Make Us Human

Almost every post here considers what humans do have, really. It’s a little tiring; realistically every world has its harsh environments and vicious species and a sophont to match. We probably wouldn’t be unique for our adaptability or our persistence or even adrenaline

But our evolution is fucked up as hell, to put it lightly.

Mammals went through what’s been dubbed the nocturnal bottleneck essentially since the start of the mesozoic right up until the Cretaceous ended the archosaur’s exclusive hold over the daylight. We lost a lot of things from every mammal spending most of its time in either a cramped, suffocating burrow or scrounging around in the faint hours of nighttime. Our blood cells lost their nuclei to hold more oxygen while we spent time deep underground, we lost protections against ultraviolet rays in our skin and eyes, we can’t even repair our own DNA using the light of the sun. Most aliens probably wouldn’t have such traits unless their evolution followed a very similar path to ours. They’d be able to see ultraviolet and wouldn’t have to worry about sunburn and all the wonderful privileges essentially all fish, birds, amphibians, and reptiles enjoy as we speak. 

There’s also what we gained from spending so much time in the dark.

Brown fat is only found in mammals, it’s a special type of fat which bear cells with several oil droplets and are utterly jammed with mitochondria. This lets it make heat, a lot of it, fast. We don’t even need to shiver to induce this heat generation from brown adipose tissue - factor in our downright hyperactive mitochondria, and we can warm up quickly. Sure, it doesn’t have too much use in adult humans, but it keeps our infants warm and still provides a little boost the whole run we have in this universe.

Unless aliens also went through a time where their small ancestors had to face cold nights, they’d have to produce heat the old fashioned way when chilled. Aliens might have to shiver the whole time they’re in a cold room while the human watches in confusion, quite literally unshaken, and wonders if the room is a lot colder than the thermostat set to 60 says. The aliens stare at their companion in confusion, it’s just a normal temperature to shiver at after all, how is the human sitting so still?

Our small ancestors spending all their time out foraging at night is also why we have such a good sense of touch, smell, and hearing. They were more important senses than vision (we’re lucky to have even redeveloped basic color vision, frankly) at the time and place and simply ended up continuing to serve us well. Birds and reptiles rarely have acute senses of smell and the latter especially are lucky to have acute hearing, and birds rarely have impeccable hearing themselves either. Our skin is free of scales and honed to sensitivity, and our external ears and complicated ear bones provide an immense range of hearing (from 20 all the way to 17,000 hertz!).

Aliens might not be able to pin down the chirp of a cricket or the light click of a lock being picked. The human might be the only one on board a ship that can pick out the finer sounds of the engine’s constant thrum and know the critical difference between when everything is fine and when something is wrong. The human could probably pick out the sounds of an approaching enemy’s careless footsteps - they’re only as light enough for *them* to stop hearing them, after all - and be the one to see the horrified expression (well, more on that later) on their face when we get the drop on them in spite of their perceived stealth. 

But perhaps the most versatile, convoluted, amazing, and utterly unique trait we have is right on your face this instant. Lips.

Lips in most animals are a simple seal to hold in the mouth’s moisture and protect the teeth, even if they’re supple they’re NEVER muscular except in mammals, and we have only one thing to thank for it; milk and nipples. Lips evolved exclusively to allow babies to suckle, it required a vacuum to be created in the mouth, and with no other animal having anything like a nipple it never happened in other animals. Many animals make milk, to be frank, but no other animal has nipples.

Your cheeks and lips are a marvel among tetrapods, no other animal can suck like mammals can. Aliens wouldn’t have straws or even be able to sip from the edge of a glass, they’d have to have a proboscis or simply tilt the whole thing back. Aliens likely won’t have woodwind instruments or balloons you can blow into. We take so much about our lips for granted. Hell, our muscular faces are vital for expressions, we’re probably absolute facial contortionists among a cast of creatures with mandibles and beaks and expressionless scaly maws. Aliens might find us ridiculously easy to read, if anything, compared to their own kind (all the better to deceive them) - or perhaps they’d find us hard to decipher anyways, with our lack of color-changing skin or erectable crests of bright feathers. Baring teeth might not be seen as a sign of aggression in most of the universe, smiling would be all too distinctly human. 

Perhaps with how infectious we are sometimes, that’s what we’d contribute to the universe; others might have to make do with opening their mouths just enough to show their teeth or splaying their innumerable mouthparts with just the right curve, but perhaps we’d teach the galaxy to smile, one ally at a time. 

Wouldn’t that be amazing?

[alexiroflife]

"red"

MDNI, very suggestive content

satoru gojo x singer!reader

Synopsis: utahime brings satoru and shoko to a bar to watch her friend perform, and satoru is immediately whipped for you the moment you step on stage. utahime warns him, however, not to get close to you, but how could he refuse the way you look at him?

to sum it up: you have a strong effect on men, satoru included, and despite the stories utahime tells him about you, you match other's freak

WC: 15,482

Warning(s): smut smut smut, unprotected sex, dom/switch, vulgar language,

happy 500 followers!! thank you all so much for your love and support, you're all amazing. i can't believe there are already half a thousand of you. here is my gift to you and i hope you enjoy <3

-

The moment Utahime proposed going out to see her friend perform at a grungy bar smack in the middle of the city, Satoru was incredibly skeptical. Normally, the white haired sorcerer was left in charge of staff outings since, according to him, he had the most creativity out of the group of professors that trekked out into the late night after long, grueling weeks of training their students. 

It was a good thing he took charge of their activities, too, since everyone else’s suggestions were always so boring. Nanami’s idea of an entertaining night out wasn’t even to actually go out, but to stay indoors with a cup of tea and a newspaper cracked open over his lap. Yaga tended to lean toward artistic outings, such as pottery barns or knitting classes, solely due to the bias of his cursed technique. Ichiji hardly ever even made any suggestions himself, often allowing other opinions to overpower his own to the point where he didn’t even want to bother chiming in. Shoko only really wanted to visit anywhere that allowed her to drink and smoke, so she wasn’t much of a problem. And Mei Mei, well, Satoru hardly knew what the hell motivated Mei Mei’s interests aside from some means to winning money, and he was never too keen on allowing her rather questionable interests to lead the group out.

While everyone liked to complain when Satoru dragged them along to engage in the things he wanted to do, they normally all ended up enjoying themselves by the time the night was over. Even Utahime, who would have stepped freely into oncoming traffic before admitting that Satoru’s suggestion that she would initially turn her nose up at the beginning of the night brought a smile to her face by the middle of the evening. He had a knack for these kinds of things, bringing his colleagues together socially in the best ways he deemed how.

Nevertheless, the indigo haired woman pushed her luck enough to finally let Satoru relent his control for one single evening when she groaned on and on about how she refused to miss the performance of some woman she hadn’t even bothered to mention until now. Satoru only did so for the sake of gloating purposes in case this so-called friend of hers turned out to be far less engaging than Utahime claimed. He determined that she wouldn’t hear the end of it for as long as the two of them kept in contact from this night going forward.

Tonight, the group had narrowed down to a select few as well. Mei Mei thankfully had duties to attend to elsewhere, Ichiji had to babysit his niece, and Nanami downright turned down the evening completely, leaving only him, Shoko, and Utahime alone to attend this mystery friend’s show. 

Utahime had in fact begged Satoru not to tag along once she realized that so few people would be coming and she was not entirely fond of him impeding on what could have been girl time with Ieiri, but he persisted, assuring her that he would be delighted to tag along to see what all the fuss was about. Utahime was horrified, to say the least, but she knew that once Satoru had decided upon involving himself in something, there was no way of turning him elsewhere. 

So the three professors trekked on that Friday evening, pushing through busy crowds of people until they approached what Satoru could only describe as a hole in the wall smack in the middle of a row of shops and restaurants. It was a small brick building with a hazy led sign spelling out what he assumed to be the name of the establishment with narrow black doors and the scent of liquor tingling the air as people walked in and out. It was clearly a busy and popular place, well worn by the years and buzzing with visitors. He could hear the overlapping chatter of hundreds through the walls from the outside, loud laughter, the scraping of seats against hardwood floors, and the clinking of beer bottles and flasks. 

This wasn’t exactly the type of place he had expected Utahime to take interest in, leading him to only grow more curious about who exactly they were about to see inside this enticing little building.

“This is it?” Shoko asked coolly, twisting her cigarette over to the other side of her mouth as her brown eyes examined the outside.

Utahime hummed, double checking her phone screen displaying a text bubble with an address that she had been following. “Yeah, I guess it is,” she nodded, looking back up.

“Huh,” Satoru said, scratching the back of his head as he examined the spot along with the two women beside him. “Didn’t peg you for the grungy type, Utahime,” he teased. The said woman gritted her teeth, tossing a glare over her shoulder through the side of her eye. 

“What the hell do you know about my interests?” she hissed.

Satoru smiled, shrugging. He took the first steps toward the door, grinning smugly at Utahime as he brushed past her. “Enough to know that you’ve always been too much of a goody-two-shoes to come somewhere like here all by yourself.”

Utahime growled, clenching her phone tighter within her grasp as Satoru pushed the door open, the noisiness of the inside immediately blaring out into the atmosphere. 

“After you,” he smirked, her eyes twitching.

Shoko patted the woman’s shoulder softly before making her way inside. “Don’t let this idiot sway you with his nonsense, Hime,” she advised with a light smile. “You don’t want him to win, do you?”

That question was enough to get Utahime to straighten herself up, following suit behind the brunette. “Like hell I do,” she grumbled. Satoru snickered, letting the door swing closed behind him once they all made it inside.

Satoru had been right about his earlier observation. It was absolutely packed inside, the space much larger than it looked from standing before the exterior. A series of occupied tables took up the majority of the space, where customers sat and talked vividly, surfaces cluttered by bottles of finished and unfinished alcohol. On the left side of the room, the bar resided with crowds swarming the countertops.

The atmosphere was so dark. If Satoru hadn’t been gifted with his six eyes, he likely would have had to squint to find his way through the dimness. The space was illuminated in a lazy, red glow, specs of golden spouting from the bar for the sake of the bartenders and low hanging lamps swinging over the tables. 

At the very front of the room was a small stage, concealed by a thick velvet curtain. A few men dressed in black stood at the floor chattering amongst themselves and gesturing above, likely in charge of managing the performers or the stage functions. 

“Well, look at you, Utahime,” Shoko patted the woman on the back enthusiastically, the trio standing at the entrance. “You got some spunk in you.”

“It’s not me, it's (Y/n),” the hazelnut eyed woman rolled her eyes. “She’s the one performing at these places.”

“Then you must have some sick friends we don’t know about.”

“And to think, I had no idea you had any friends outside of your colleagues,” Satoru chimed in, inspiring a vein to bulge in Utahime’s forehead. “So, where is this ‘friend’ of yours? I’m starting to think she isn’t even real.”

“Shut up, Gojo! She’s real!” the sorcerer barked. “She told me her performance slot was at ten. That’s in five minutes.”

“We’d better grab a seat then, huh?”

“She said she had the manager save us one up front. I guess we should go check it out.”

“You guys go ahead,” Ieiri waved her hand. “I’m gonna grab a drink. You want?”

“Nah. You know how I get, so no alcohol for Satoru. But here,” Satoru stopped her with his hand on her shoulder. He dug into the pocket of his pants and handed her his wallet. “Go crazy. The black one’s unlimited.”

Shoko quirked a mischievous brow, snatching the leather wallet between her index and middle finger. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Satoru,” she said. “Utahime? Anything?”

“Just surprise me. I’ll need something to get through being out with this idiot.”

Satoru grinned playfully and Shoko nodded before walking off. 

Utahime clicked her tongue, dissatisfied with the fact that she was left alone with the man next to her. Satoru immediately detected her displeasure and smiled, leaning over her shoulder and gesturing his arm forward. “Lead the way.”

“Get away from me.”

Upon spotting a vacant table to the far left in front of the stage, Utahime took the lead as she shuffled awkwardly through the cramped pathways to make her way to the seat. Once the two made it, she spoke shortly with the man standing guard nearby to tell him that she was the expected visitor in which this seat had been reserved for. The man backed off accordingly, recognizing her face from the description he must have been given beforehand. 

The two sorcerers sat down across from each other, Satoru leaning back in his wooden seat with a contented exhalation. “This is a nice change of pace,” he said. 

“If you’re mocking me, quit it. (Y/n) is very talented and I wouldn’t come here if I didn’t think it would be worth it.”

“About that. I’ve been meaning to ask. Why are we hearing about this (Y/n) person now, all of a sudden? You’ve never mentioned her before.”

“Because she’s a human being with her own line of work separate from sorcery. There’s no need to bring her up when we’re on duty. We all have personal lives,” Utahime spoke flatly, fiddling with her purse with her gaze down and brows angled with irritation.

“But she’s human and she knows about you somehow?” Satoru tilted his head.

“She has an idea of the weird things that go on around this country, if that’s what you mean,” Iori sighed. “Even so, none of it concerns her. She’s got nothing to do with any of this stuff.”

“Where do you know her from?”

“God, you’re so nosy,” Utahime scrunched her nose. She hung her bag by its strap over the back of her chair and leaned back. “We’re old friends, that’s all.”

“‘Old friends?’ Why so vague, Utahime?” the blue eyed man pried, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m just curious to know about who we’ll be watching, that’s all.”

“Your motives are never that simple. You can shut up and watch without knowing her entire life’s story.”

“Okay. Touchy.”

Utahime grinded her teeth together. “So help me, Gojo, if you don’t behave tonight I’m ripping your hair out in your sleep, strand by strand.”

Satoru gasped dramatically, hands flying to his snowing locks fuzzy with misty dust of red casted down upon him by the ambience. “What?! No! Not my beautiful hair,” he pouted. “You’re so mean to me…”

“I’d hope so.”

Satoru threw his arm over the back of his seat. The lights suddenly flared lethargically, blinking between darkness and red to signify the commencement of a performance. Satoru noticed the way Utahime shifted in her seat immediately, turning her attention upward with a gentle smile reaching her features. Satoru followed her gaze and looked up, supposing that he’d see for himself what all the fuss was about.

The lights finally melted into darkness, blocking out the sea of tables in inky blackness with the only light provided now by the stage. Footsteps came into Satoru’s earshot, and he turned to find Shoko squeezing her way over to them, two drinks and his wallet somehow cradled in her arms. She plopped into the empty seat between Utahime and Satoru with a huff, leaning her body over to set the drinks down carefully. The brunette slid Satoru’s wallet over to him across the table. 

“I’ll come back for that later,” she whispered, and Gojo snorted, tucking it away. 

A short man with a scruffy beard climbed his way onto the stage from the steps on the far right, a microphone in hand. He stood before the curtain at the edge of the platform, waiting for the chatter to completely die down before he spoke.

“Good evenin’, everyone. Hope we’re all havin’ a good night.”

A few straggling hollers of excitement and a symphony of claps resounded throughout the space in response. Satoru took the opportunity to clap loudly along with everyone else, Utahime shielding her face with her hand in embarrassment.

“Alright, that’s what I like to hear,” the man nodded, grin widening. “Now, I ain’t gonna stand here long. I know what you’re all here for. So just remember to keep your damn ringers off during the performance. That shit gets distracting for our singer. And if you’re already wasted, which I can already tell most of you are-” a few laughs jump out from the crowd. “-don’t go tryin’ to climb onto stage to join her either. I know how some of you can get. Yeah, I’m lookin’ at you in the back.”

Satoru found the statement strange, to say the least. Utahime’s friend must have been incredibly popular within this establishment to spark the kind of attention that inspired men to try to get onto stage with her. Then again, looking around at the crowd, he couldn’t say that he expected much decorum from them. 

“Alright, I’m done talkin’. Here she comes folks. You know her, you love her, she makes you wanna risk leavin’ the wife, our very own (Y/n) (L/n)!”

The crowd roared, the very mention of your name enough to bring a few intoxicated stragglers to their feet, cupping their hands around their mouths to whistle and shout for your entrance. 

Satoru watched carefully as the announcer left the stage, admittedly intrigued. The overhead stage lights softened, isolating a single spotlight that glared against the ridges in the curtain. The surrounding atmosphere up there mellowed into sultry hues of purple and blue, complementing the recurring overarching red that sank over the space.

The curtains pulled back with a squeak, and there you were.

The white haired man’s brows lifted slowly, subconsciously, when the sight of you revealed itself like a gift on display after a tauntingly slow drag of a satin ribbon between pinched fingers.

You stood beneath the light, fingers clutching the handle of the microphone stand. Your shoulders curved with passion, body hunched into the circular ring around the speaker as though you were drawn to it like it was a piece of you. Your eyes were closed, dark lashes coated with tiny specs of gold from your eyeshadow dusting your smooth cheeks. Your lips, glossed sinfully red, grazed your mic as you took in deep breaths that expanded your bare chest, sweat or glitter glimmering over the shiny (s/c) skin of your collarbone and shoulders, twinkling beneath the overhead beam. 

Adorned over your figure was a tight satin dress that accentuated every detail of your body, gliding over the curves of your hips and hugging your waist generously, cutting off over your thighs. Incredibly sheer tights ran over your smooth legs and down to your feet, snug in a pair of shiny heels you wore all too comfortably. 

“Holy shit,” Satoru heard Shoko whisper. “That’s (Y/n)?”

Utahime hummed in affirmation. “Yes, it is.”

“She’s fucking hot.”

Satoru couldn’t have agreed more. You were more than hot, you were unnaturally, criminally gorgeous. You stood on that stage, soaking in the all the praise that this dive had to offer as if you had done so a million times over, your air of confidence capturing you in a sultry glow complemented by the way those red lights submerged into your aura like smooth molasses milking into cake batter.

Delicately, you opened your eyes, revealing the maroon glint of your (e/c) irises as they danced over the room warmly. Your lips pressed together into a smooth, seductive smile, reading the room and your audience and what they wanted from you, and you catered simply with the look in your eye and the smallest tilt of your enticing, blood red lips. 

Satoru couldn’t look away. You had grabbed his attention, fully, easily. 

The warbled blare of a saxophone brought Satoru’s attention to the small band of instruments he had failed to register behind you when the curtains first pulled away. A large man worked his fingers over the instrument beside a sleek black piano that eventually trickled with a flirtatious flutter into the saxophone’s accompaniment. The commotion within the crowd died down as the music rose gradually, tenderly.

You swayed slowly to the lazy melody, tapping your fingers against the mic handle. Your heel tapped against the floor and your hips, fuck your hips, swung gently with the will of the music. All the amusement Satoru once harbored had completely drained from his body. He felt suddenly earnest, consumed by the sight of you complemented by the symphony that followed, and he watched eagerly in anticipation for your lips to part, for sound to fly from your mouth. He awaited your voice with a sense of severity, face blank, eyes slightly wide. 

As though he had summoned it, a rich note dragged through the air, deep, earthy, vibrating with soul and captivating ardor. The tune ripped through his ears, floating into the atmosphere like a dove gliding its wings through the air, touching the surface of water and rippling waves. It took several moments before Satoru realized that this blissful sound was coming from you. Your lips puckered ever so gently, brows angling as the space between your lips released the most hypnotizing vibrato he had ever heard in his life. 

Chills crawled down his spine from the back of his neck as your voice nearly blended into the glide of the saxophone, slippery yet controlled and achingly sensual. You sang so effortlessly, tone mature and impassioned by your engrossed facial contortions and the subtle movements of your body. Whoops jumped into the air, followed by more claps from stunned listeners, and Satoru couldn’t decide whether he wanted to join them in rejoicing over you or turn around to tell them all to shut the fuck up so he could hear you more clearly.

He was lucky to be so close, watching you within near proximity as your lids lowered over your eyes then lifted with each note and lyric you sang, head turning and face scrunching accordingly. You were so physically reactive to your own voice, to the words that left you, to the people watching and the space you resided. You filled the room with your presence, capturing the building with your intoxicating charm. Your voice was as sexy as you were, and you sang and moved slowly enough for Satoru to take note of every detail. 

The sorcerer sat there hypnotized, dizzy from you. He couldn’t even be bothered with turning to look at Shoko or Utahime to see what they were thinking, but due to their rather stiff silence, he assumed that they were in the exact same boat as him and everyone else within the room.

After a minute or so of sluggish bliss, the pianist shifted the tone of the music and played something bright and mischievous. The saxophone quickly adapted, slurring into the uplifted beat. The crowd reacted swiftly and your crimson lips spread to reveal your shiny white teeth, a grin devilish enough to feel as though Satoru wasn’t supposed to be looking. 

Your jaw dropped to ease out a loud, booming note that sparked the bar into an uproar, your leg lifting and curving over the mic stand. You leaned forward, pressed the bar into your figure as you allowed that inhumane note to drift yourself forward with a tilted chin as you gaze over the crowd over your nose with those feline, hazy eyes. 

Satoru’s eyes gawked over the shimmer of your thin stalkings when you raised your thigh up, the hem of your dress teasing the lace cutoff that cupped over the upper flesh. 

Then, you stood back upward, yanking the mic from the stand to strut downstage, wiring dragging in your wake. You crouched down, voice fluttering handsomely through the speakers with your simultaneous and sudden engagement with those below center. You sang as though you were speaking to individual audience members, knees bent and arm dangled over them, head craning as your eyes isolated everyone, face by face. 

A shout of your name jumped out as you looked around, and you loved it, responding with a playful wink as you maneuvered yourself into a seated position. Your legs dangled over the ledge, ankle crossing over the other and weight leaning on one hand.

“She’s so good, isn’t she?” Satoru heard Utahime whisper excitedly into Shoko’s direction.

Good was an understatement. You were flawless. A gem. A fucking masterpiece hidden within the confined walls of this establishment.

You were so smooth, shifting about languidly like your body was melting into all the right positions. You were like a drug to survey, seeping through Satoru’s veins and numbing his senses, leaving you to be the only thing within this space that he was perceptually aware of. 

He watched you turn to look all around, finally drifting your face into the direction of his table. Your eyes found Utahime first, a glimpse of amiable excitement flickering through your gaze with a twitch in your smile. The said woman waved enthusiastically with a beam. Your smile brightened as you continued singing, (e/c) eyes dancing over Shoko and then finally onto Satoru.

The white haired man stilled under the spotlight of your gaze, your piercing eyes far more intense now that they had connected with him. His skin tingled, sapphire eyes holding your own as something within you sparked, eyes jumping ever so subtly as you took in his frame. 

Satoru wasn’t normally easily swayed into speechlessness, let alone nervousness, but damn. Your eyes were practically devouring him whole as they shamelessly roamed over his body, hungrily, as if you were going to pounce on him. 

Satoru grew hyper aware of his physical reaction to you in that moment. His heart was pumping steadily yet loudly within his ears and his throat had run dry, Adam’s apple bobbing whilst he tried to appear unfazed by you to no avail. A battle of dominance transpired between your shared eye contact, and he couldn’t deny the fact that you were winning. Your voice floating on in compliance with your gaze wrapped him into a chokehold, burned his peach skin, and for the first time in his life he felt rivaled by a human woman’s natural power outside of his ordinary world of sorcery and chaos. 

Your hand supporting your body weight slid out, your figure leaning along with it and your eyes failing to leave Satoru’s even for a second. Your hand carried you until you were laying on your side, hand propping up your cheek and left leg crossed over the other. The blue eyed man’s eyes widened as he took in the manner in which you presented yourself before him, for him. The mic pressed into your soft lips, your gloss grazing the speaker, corners of your mouth curving with sensual delight. 

You looked so edible like this, mesmerizing him with your voice like a siren out of sea. Your beautiful legs, your jutted hip, those gorgeous lashes, and lord help him, those juicy red lips that had him seeing stars. Red, Satoru observed, was your color as its shade cradled you and illuminated the frame of your body. He drank in your artistry in awe, the room growing warmer around him with each bat of your lashes and gliding of your fingers down your dress. 

Cheers surrounded, but all Satoru could focus on was your face and the sudden ache arousing from his crotch. He glanced down momentarily and caught sight of the growing bulge stretching his nice pants and exhaled heavily. He rested his elbow on the table and slid his hand over his mouth, peering back up at you with blown pupils. 

It was going to be a long night. 

Your grin twinged with an air of satisfaction when you noticed Satoru’s response to your rather blatant flirting, and you pushed yourself back up. You tilted your head over into the opposite direction slowly, eyes trained on his until the very last second, and then they broke away.

Satoru’s daze shattered when a balled up napkin bounced off of his infinity shield. He turned rigidly to find Utahime glaring at him angrily, lips curled into a disapproving frown. “Don’t even think about it,” she seethed.

Gojo examined her for a moment before a devious smirk crept its way back on his lips. He shifted, crossing his legs to attempt to hide the current problem poking into his pants, and grinned. “No promises,” he mouthed and Utahime groaned, ripping her eyes away from him as if the sight of his face disgusted her. 

Your performance ended far too soon for Satoru’s liking. When he looked back up, the accompaniment was dwindling down into the slow pace that it had begun with. You were back on your feet, turning your back to the audience to saunter over to the mic stand. You carefully slid the handle back into its holder, voice soothing into a low, conclusive note that fluttered regally off into a momentary stunned silence. 

You stilled, inhaling sharply as the song reached its end. You blinked your eyes, as though reawakening from a daze, and looked up contentedly. Your hands fell to your sides and you awaited applause that came as rapidly as you had aroused the entire room. 

Gojo made sure that he was the first to jump to his feet, clapping wildly with a ridiculous grin. Everyone else followed, showering you in praise, compliments, a standing ovation well deserved. Shoko ‘whooped’ next to him, joining in on Satoru’s boisterousness while Utahime clapped a bit more politely with a proud smile. 

You gave a little bow, your smile radiant enough to put the sun to shame. You looked over everyone in grateful acknowledgement before turning your attention back to your friend’s table. You took the opportunity to return Utahime’s wave merrily, bringing your fingers to your lips and blowing a kiss to the brown eyed woman. 

Satoru and Shoko’s cheers picked up in volume, and your eyes brought themselves back to them. Your shoulders jerked with a soft chuckle, giving the two of them an introductory wave. Satoru brightened when you looked at him again, gazes exchanging an internal, mutual address of one another’s tension. 

You drew your top lip down, suppressing a bigger smile as you stared at him. Your gaze traveled downward for half a second and your eyes went big. You were quick to brush a hand over your amused expression and lower your gaze the moment the curtains drew over you and shut, concealing your beauty once more.

Satoru jutted out his bottom lip in momentary befuddlement, looking down to be reminded by his… problem. He was lucky that he was wearing pants that were tighter around his lower waist and crotch area, keeping the print of his dick somewhat compressed, but you had still managed to notice from your view upstage. 

Well, more accurately, you had been looking. 

Satoru grew ecstatic at the notion. 

“You!” Utahime pointed an accusatory finger at the blue eyed man once the applause had died down and chatter arose once more. People began to leave after your show had ended, having only come to watch you sing, and hell, Satoru couldn’t blame them. 

Satoru lowered his hands and pointed an innocent finger to his chest. “Me?”

“If you sleep with (Y/n), so help me-”

“Woah, hold on now,” Satoru stopped her. “What makes you think I’m the kind of guy to go around sleeping with strangers?”

“Oh don’t play coy, I saw the way you two were looking at each other earlier,” she rolled her eyes. “I hardly care what you do in your free time- frankly it makes me gag to think about it- but please just leave (Y/n) out of it.”

“Oh come on, it’s not my fault she was looking at me. What’s a guy to do in that situation?” Satoru shrugged. “I’m sorry I can't help my incredibly good looks.”

“I mean it, Gojo.”

“Utahime, let’s be real. She’s your friend. I wouldn’t do anything to mess with her. I’m not the horrible guy you take me for.”

“I don’t think you’re horrible, I think you’re an idiot whose arrogance is going to get you in a world of trouble one day. And I’m not even talking about how you’d affect her, I’m talking about her.”

“Hm? How do you mean?”

“She will eat you alive.”

“Eat me alive?” he repeated curiously. The prospect had only further piqued his interest. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you… I’m just thinking maybe I should see for myself.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Shoko laughed. “Think of it this way, Utahime. If Satoru sleeps with your friend, he’ll be admitting that you chose a great place for us to hang out tonight. After he doubted you, and all.”

Utahime paused, a noble grin reaching her features with the touch of her finger to her chin. “That’s right! He’d have to admit that he was wrong about me. Looks like you’re not the only one who knows how to plan a fun night out, huh?”

Satoru watched the woman gloat in her newfound honor with a blank face. “Jeez, Utahime. I didn’t think you were so obsessed with trivial things like proving me wrong. I was just playing around earlier,” he badgered, successfully rousing her agitation and disrupting her temporary air of victory. 

“I can’t stand you!”

“So,” Shoko sighed, turning to observe the flow of people exiting the space as the lights rose once more overhead. “Are we gonna get to meet this girl, or what? She put on a hell of a show.”

“Oh… yeah, hold on,” Utahime pulled out her phone. “She told me before to just wait for her to text saying that we can head backstage. I think she’s in the dressing room.”

Satoru buzzed with the anticipation of seeing you up close. Something about the way you stood up there, the way you presented yourself, the way you looked at him made every fiber in his being tremble with excitement as though you were a celebrity he had only dreamed about gaining the privilege to encounter in person until this very moment. 

He looked over his shoulder at all the drunken men who had been hollering your name and brimmed with vanity. Those poor idiots could only ever ponder about speaking with you one on one and seeing you up close, when he was able to saunter his way back to you with absolutely no obstacles in his way. It was foolish of him to sneer down at these non-sorcerers, who had been established as far beneath him the moment he was born, but he couldn’t help the pride that swarmed his chest when he thought about the advantage that he already had with you in comparison.

“Ah, there it is,” Utahime smiled upon seeing your name pop up on her screen. “Alright let’s go. Gojo, keep it together.”

“When have I ever done anything but that,” he grinned.

The three found themselves being led up the stage and behind the curtain by the same guy who had presented your performance. They walked through the narrow right wing and toward a door at the end of the room. The man knocked loudly upon it, announcing to you through the barrier that you had visitors before walking off. Another shiver wracked Satoru’s body when your honey-like voice called out that the door was open.

Utahime turned the knob slowly, peering into the room hesitantly. “(Y/n)?”

The door opened widely, revealing you sitting at a foggy mirror and a beaten leather chair. The surrounding clutter of storage and clothing was enough to show that you had been in this space often despite its rugged, vintage look. 

The light of your vanity illuminated the brick space. You looked up when the door fully opened, and that jaw dropping smile graced your red lips again. 

“Utahime,” you greeted happily. Iori beamed, rushing into the room to wrap you up in a hug the moment you stood. You let out a surprised huff, easing into her arms and chuckling. “I’m so glad you made it,” you said, rubbing her back. 

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it for the world! The second I knew you were performing here, I came running,” Utahime replied, pulling away to look at you. “You were so amazing out there.”

“Aw, you think so?” you raised your brows, serene grin broadening. 

“Absolutely! You made everyone go crazy.”

“I try my best,” you shrugged, eyes darting over to the brunette and the white haired man standing at the doorway. You raised a brow. “I see you brought some friends with you.”

“Ah,” Utahime recalled, releasing you from her grip. “Yes, these are my colleagues. This is Ieiri Shoko and… Gojo Satoru,” she grumbled the latter bitterly, slimming her eyes at his cocky gaze. 

You hummed. “Oh yeah?” those eyes of yours flickered over Satoru rather noticeably. “Well, nice to meet you both. I hope you enjoyed the show.”

“Enjoyed it?” Shoko echoed, crossing her arms with a tipsy grin. “We loved it. You’ve got a crazy set of pipes on you. And that dress? Fucking incredible.”

You accepted the compliment genuinely. “Thank you, you’re sweet.”

“How long have you been performing?”

You followed the owner of that voice and found yourself staring into captivating blue hues once more. A small smile rested on his lips and his hands were tucked into his pockets as he looked at you. 

You sharpened your gaze and lowered your lids. “Do you mean here or in general?”

He shrugged, glossy lips puckering as if in thought. “Both.”

A glint flickered through your eyes when you responded, leg crossing over the other. “Been performing for ten years, here for one.”

Satoru lifted his chin and parted his lips, humming in understanding. “So you’re a real professional then.” 

“I don’t know, what do you think I am?” you asked him.

Gojo immediately picked up on the light banter that you were encouraging, therefore he, so taken by the sight of you, could do nothing but play along. Especially when you proceeded to check him out with absolutely no remorse.

“I think you’re good enough to be with the stars somewhere. On a big stage with a big crowd. Bigger than any of us could imagine.”

Flattery, though common, still seemed to have a rather carnal effect on you. You tilted your head over your shoulder, eyes glistening with intrigue. “Who says I haven’t been?”

You clearly liked to challenge, to push your limits and see if your words and responses were strong enough to make the man before you falter or stumble over his words. If Satoru Gojo were anyone else in this world, he internally conceded that he would have, but he liked this daring persona you harbored. He liked the way that you were aware of the fact that you could bring a man to his knees with a look alone, the way you could shift your words to chip away at someone’s resolve and make them a mess at your feet. 

He thought it was so hot. 

If Utahime had been right about you earlier, that you would eat him alive if he had been presented the chance to make a proper move on you, he would have let you consume him blissfully. 

He wanted you to consume him.

“You’re right,” Satoru chuckled lowly. “If you have, you’d be right where you should be. In the limelight.”

Your smile spread as your locked gaze soaked him in, and Satoru knew that he was set. 

“Alright,” Utahime’s voice cut through the thick air. Her expression was bored, having very clearly witnessed what was slowly unveiling before her. While she didn’t approve of it in the slightest, she was hardly the least bit surprised.

Shoko had kept quiet as well, looking between you and Satoru with knowing widened eyes and a tight laugh-suppressing smile. 

“(Y/n)? When’s your next show?” Iori asked you, clenching her jaw when her eyes cut through Satoru threateningly. The said man hardly cared, for you were initiating far more of the tension rising between the two of you than he was. After all, Satoru hadn’t been bluffing before when he had questioned the accusation thrown about regarding his sex life. He was a busy man with very little to no free time aside from the few hour block he took out of his Friday evenings to spend time with his fellow sorcerers. 

Of course, women were drawn to him, but he found very little interest in entertaining their efforts. In his mind, the act would have been like poking fun at forgotten admirers for the sake of entertainment. It was beneath him, sleeping around, and he hardly trusted anyone enough with his powerful mind and body to be vulnerable with them. Consequently, he kept to himself, flirting around every now and then but never crossing the line between pretty words and physical intimacy.

So to be dragged into your will with little effort had stunned him, more so because he was not opposed to your unspoken invitation in comparison to how he would have normally reacted to someone’s advances. You looked like you were trouble, conniving, gaining control of a room with the tricks of your beauty and your talent. You knew full well that you were an unfathomable treasure, a sex symbol amongst the little world that you had built for yourself, and that alone was dangerous. Satoru knew so because he himself was just as dangerous for the same reasons and far more. 

You weren’t even intimidated by his presence, like most human women were. He was abnormally tall with prominent features that stood out like a sore thumb; snowy white locks that glowed blindingly in the sunlight and eyes as vast and blue as the sky above. Normally, people shivered under his gaze, cowered in his wake, but you demanded his submission as though he was just another man, and hell, he couldn’t even be offended because he wanted you just like any other man. 

“Usually I perform every Friday,” you started, pulling your eyes from Gojo to look back at Utahime. “But next week they’ve got another guest performing in my place ‘cause I want off. Sometimes I do stuff at the bar in one city over too, but during the weekends. You’re welcome to come check it out whenever. All of you.”

“We’ll definitely have to stop by more often. I can’t believe I’ve been missing you all this time.”

“Aw, don’t worry about it. I can only imagine how swamped you are with work and everything, being a professor and all. Just come when you can, no hard feelings.”

“Do you have a social media handle?” Ieiri asked. You nodded, smiling.

“Yeah, it’s my full name pushed together. You follow me, and I’ll follow you. I love making new friends.”

The brunette immediately exchanged information with you, and just like that, the night was over.

Utahime was the first to bid farewell, claiming that she had to get up early the following morning for some business to attend to that Satoru and Shoko knew as a quick mission orchestrated by Tokyo Jujutsu High. She gave you another tight hug and Shoko followed, telling you that it was great meeting before turning to the door with Utahime. Satoru was the last to leave the room, turning over his shoulder to casually part with you. 

You watched him closely, leaning your hip against your vanity with your hand on upon the other. Your red lips pressed together in a stiff smile, desiring eyes watching as you said goodbye, though you knew deep in your gut that this wouldn’t be your last time seeing Satoru Gojo.

On the way out, Satoru stopped in his tracks on the stage steps, standing over the now completely vacant building. Utahime and Shoko walked with their arms linked to the exit, Shoko stopping first when she realized that Satoru was not directly behind them. The women turned, catching sight of him looking around the room calmly.

“Satoru!” Shoko called out. “You coming or what?”

He smiled, lowering his head to look at the brunette from across the room. “Nah,” he sighed contentedly. “I think I’ll take in the ambience a bit more and… ponder over the performance we just watched. Why end the night so early, you know?”

Utahime’s expression fell flat. “It’s a quarter past midnight,” she deadpanned.

“And yet, there’s still so much the night has to offer.”

Shoko snorted, turning back around and waving her hand over her head. “Whatever you say. Text me after you get laid.”

“Like I said, Shoko, you know I’m not that kind of guy!”

Utahime huffed, shaking her head in disdain. “You’re playing with fire, Gojo. We all know you’re the strongest, but you shouldn’t underestimate that woman’s control. She will break you.”

Satoru scoffed, waving the indigo haired woman off. “Please. I’m unbreakable.”

Utahime rolled her eyes and turned her back to the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. “It’s your funeral.”

His funeral, huh?

Satoru never knew himself to be the masochistic type, but somehow, the thought of you metaphorically killing him only made him harder. 

You emerged from behind the velvet curtain about ten minutes after Shoko and Utahime left. You were rifling through your purse for the keys to lock up, which the owner usually entrusted you to do when you performed because you were close personal friends. 

Your heels clicked and echoed throughout the vacant space, no signs of life aside from the sound of your footsteps. Even so, you knew you weren’t alone before you had even rounded that corner to exit backstage. You could sense the overwhelming presence of that friend of Iori’s who had been ogling over, and you hadn’t been surprised. When you looked up from your bag and saw his tall figure sitting patiently at the same table he had occupied earlier that night, chin propped in his fist and eyes glowing through the dim space to find yours, you lowered your arms knowingly. 

“Hate to break it to you, but the show’s over, pretty boy,” you said smugly. “You’ll be waiting in the dark forever until my next one.”

“That’s okay. I was actually waiting for you,” Satoru replied suavely.

“Is that so?” you stepped down the stairs slowly to make your way over to him. “I don’t give autographs, if that’s what you’re looking for. I haven’t made it that big yet.”

“Whattt? No way. I thought you said you’ve been with all kinds of stars before.”

You walked up to the table, slinging your purse off of your arm and tossing it carelessly on the surface. “Don’t get me wrong. One day I will be,” you sighed. “Just not yet.”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me,” Satoru grinned, watching in the dim light as you slid into the seat across from him. “I’ve never seen anyone perform the way you did.”

“You must not get out much,” you teased. “I’m really not all that special in places like these.”

“Okay, we both know that’s bullshit,” Satoru cocked a brow, giving you a look as your grin widened. “You’re unreal on that stage. I’ve been around enough to know that.”

“Clearly,” you chuckled. “I appreciate the flattery, Gojo.”

Your laugh was heavenly, and holy shit, you remembered his name.

“Satoru,” he corrected you, quickly ridding the both of you of any formalities that could have gotten in the way. Your lips parted slightly with fascination, and you caught the way Satoru’s eyes jumped to the motion.

“Right. Satoru,” you tested his first name on your lips, and Satoru thought that he would have combusted right then and there.

If that hadn’t been enough to blow a fuse in his brain, sitting so close to you and taking in your features within your proximity was a gift within itself. You were even prettier up close, the details he couldn’t quite admire from when you were on stage fully displaying themselves before him exquisitely.

Your eyes were so heavy, lined with a coat of black liner that deepened, accentuated the rich hue of your alluring eyes and your skin so smooth beneath the expertly applied coat of makeup you wore for your performance. You still had on that dress too, only it was concealed by a leather coat that reached your thighs, hiding what Satoru so desperately wanted to see now that he was mere feet away from you. 

“So, a colleague of Utahime’s, huh?” you prodded, seeking further information from him. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a teacher.”

Satoru laughed lightly at the sentiment, momentarily forgetting that you had no clue about what his profession could have possibly entailed. “I get that a lot,” he elected to say.

“And at a religious school no less?”

You were testing the water. 

“It’s just work,” Satoru shrugged. “I never thought about it as religious or non-religious, which I know is probably weird to say since I am a professor there.”

“No, I get what you mean,” you said. “Work is just work,” you repeated his words, and Satoru smiled.

“Exactly.”

“Then you come to these kinds of bars for, what, a break from all the sanctity?” you mused.

“Not really. I’m actually not much of a drinker. I only came here for the entertainment. Per Utahime’s suggestion, of course.”

“Right,” you smiled. “Speaking of, Utahime doesn’t seem to like you very much. I only got that from the way she introduced you like she wanted your head on a silver platter,” you observed smugly, Satoru releasing an amused breath. 

“She acts like she hates me, but I’ve known her for years. She’s just always been easy to mess with and she lets me pick on her.”

You laughed, clearly understanding what he meant. “So you’re that kind of guy, huh? Picking on poor Utahime. No wonder she hates you.”

“Well, when you put it like that, you make me sound like some kinda monster,” Satoru sulked slightly, much to your amusement.

“I wouldn’t mind it if you were. I could take it.” 

Satoru’s cock twitched, your words alone enough to further stimulate his lust for you. 

You could take it.

The phrase had so many different possible connotations, and you knew it. Your eyes said it all as they melted over his face, surveying his facial reaction to the way you lifted a nail between your teeth to bite down on it mid sentence. 

It drove him crazy. 

“You don’t seem like the type though,” you countered your previous statement. Satoru leaned forward slightly, inquisitive. 

“No?”

“Nah, you seem too nice.”

The blue eyed man snorted. “You think I’m nice?”

“Or maybe that’s not the right word,” your painted finger tapped against your bottom lip, the flesh so plush beneath your touch. 

He wanted to feel that softness against him. He wanted your lipstick to stain his body. To stain his life. He wanted you so bad. 

“I mean, I guess I do consider myself to be generous,” Satoru played along, a laugh bubbling in his throat.

“Mmmm,” you pressed your lips together, slimming your eyes and setting your elbows onto the table. You leaned into him, eying him closely, studying his cunning smile and pressing your chest into the table. “I take it back.”

“Damn, you don’t think I’m nice anymore?”

“You’re more… extroverted,” you decided. “You know how to talk to people, and it comes off as generosity. Sometimes. But in reality, it’s just you being lighthearted.”

“So lightheartedness and generosity aren’t the same thing?”

“Hell no,” you smirked. “You could be a dickhead and still be spirited.”

He chuckled again. You were so forward. “You’ve got a point.”

“You’re also a little flirty, you know that?” you specified. “I think that’s a part of your ‘lightheartedness.’”

“Oh really?” the strongest sorcerer shifted to open his fist and lean his cheek over in his palm, peering down at you through his lashes. “Pretty, if I’m flirty, then you must be in love with me.”

You were momentarily stunned by the comment, your pleasure with the conversation only growing as Satoru grew more brazen. “Wow. That’s a new one,” you grinned, pretty teeth on display again, and Gojo found himself mirroring the sun before him. 

“I’m just saying, I’m not the only one who’s been flirting. You can’t tell me otherwise.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” you admitted freely, your tongue swiping over your bottom lip. Satoru sucked in a heavy breath as his pants only grew tighter. “Hate to break it to you, though, I don’t do love if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not. Somehow I didn’t peg you as the type.”

“What did you peg me for?”

Satoru took a few seconds to reply, staring at you. “As a woman who your friend told me would eat me alive.”

“What?” you released a real laugh this time. It was a loud, bright sound that boomed through the empty space and left Satoru’s cheeks aching and dimples popping from how hard he was smiling in reaction to it. He watched the way your head tilted back and your eyes scrunched closed, your expression displaying true thrill. 

You were so beautiful, he couldn’t stand it.

“Why’s that so funny?” he asked in the midst of his idiotic simpering.

You swiped a finger under your eye as you calmed, shaking your head with lingering giggles. “Because Utahime would say something like that about me,” you exhaled. 

“Can I ask if she was wrong?”

You interlocked your fingers, elbows on the table, and rested your chin atop them. “No, she’s not,” you said, softly. “But you know that anyway, don’t you? You look pretty smart.”

“Aw, thanks for noticing,” Satoru cooed. “You’re right. I knew that the second I saw you.”

You hummed, dragging your eyes over his face, then down to his hands. “Then why are you here, Satoru? To get eaten alive?”

There went Satoru dick for the third time that night, jumping excitedly within the confines of his pants. The predicament began to grow rather uncomfortable, and you were quick to notice when he shifted in his seat in an attempt to be subtle and his dark pupils expanded amidst the pools of sapphire beneath his messy hair. 

Your perfectly plucked brow arched as you looked down when he shifted. “Problem?” you asked knowingly, sensually, and god, you were only making his situation worse. Your lips bounced apart with the end of your question, your mouth now slightly agape. 

Satoru could feel his skin burn, your presence unbearably intoxicating. 

A muscle in Gojo’s brow twitched as you lowered your palms flat to the table and pushed, your chair scooting loudly across the floor. Blue pools of desire followed your figure as you rose from your chair slowly, rounding the table with your fingers dragging along the surface. Satoru’s heart was hammering, entirely fixated on you as you approached and stood over him. 

Suddenly, you kicked your foot out and knocked it against the front leg of his chair. Hooking the point of your heel over it, you dragged the furniture away from the table to face you. You broke your eyes from his to look down, the image of his throbbing hardon meeting your eyes kindly.

“Looks like it,” you answered for yourself.

Satoru instinctively released his technique when he saw you coming into him. You leaned over and pressed onto his shoulder, throwing your leg around him to straddle his lap. Satoru hissed, corner of his lips twirling up as his eyes flew to where your thighs crowded around his crotch, tights stretching perfectly over the way the fat of your thighs expanded when you sat.

You pouted, sliding your arms around his neck and tilting your head down to meet his lowered eyes. “What’s wrong? Got no more talk in you?”

The white haired man trembled under you, wordlessly taking you in. You smelled so good, your scent invading every one of his heightened senses as your gentle fingers dragged over the nape of his neck. You leaned in closer, brushing your wine red lips over his glossy ones as he exhaled shakily, warm breath fanning against your skin.

“Am I making you nervous, pretty boy?” you whispered into him, and he fucking shuddered. “I thought you wanted this…”

Your fingers tangled up and into his hair, pushing his locks from his forehead and tilting his head back. You looked over him, marveling at his beauty as his cheeks reddened and his hands cupped over your waist. His lashes fluttered with the brush of your fingers through his silky strands, eyes inky pools as he looked up at you desperately. 

“Funny, your dick may be making all the moves for you,” you teased, words vulgar as they dripped from your tongue.

Satoru’s length jumped against your inner thigh, hardening beneath your weight. He clenched his jaw and drew his brows together, digging his fingers into your hips under your coat. You hummed, drawing your lips to his ear. “See? All of a sudden he’s more talkative than you are.”

“Fuck,” Gojo hissed, your voice in his ear snapping something deep within him. “Baby, you’re something else.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” your fingers curved down the side of his jaw and over his throat. “You gonna let me ruin you?”

Satoru smiled breathlessly, his grip around you tightening. “I should be asking you the same thing, pretty…” his heavy hands smoothed down over your ass, pushing you further up against him. You raised your brows, pulling away to look down at him daringly. 

“That’s pretty cocky for a guy who lost his words for a second, there,” you licked your lips. 

“Oh, baby, you have no idea how cocky I can be.”

You grabbed a fist full of his shirt, tugging harshly. “Then prove it.”

Your mouths were clashing into each other’s before Satoru could even process his next thought, which only would have been something about you. Your lips were so soft, plush as a cloud as they mashed into his own, your red gloss smearing over his lips and chin, painting him red, and Satoru knew then that he could die happy. 

Satoru reached up blindly and pushed your jacket off your shoulders. You swiftly shimmied out of the fabric, letting it drop to the floor whilst your lips remained locked hungrily in a primal, hot, greedy battle. The white haired man immediately snatched the opportunity to feel over your body, memorizing the curves that followed his hands beneath the smooth fabric of your tight dress. His legs spread beneath you, feet pressing into the floor to hump up into your hips as your body curved into him like the trickle of water smoothing down a pipe. 

He grunted into your mouth as you nipped and bit, curling your tongue into his mouth to fight for your authority. Satoru welcomed your dominance, floating into a twisted heaven as your hand curled over his throat and your tits pressed into his shirt through your dress, thighs rubbing over his sides and nails dragging down his chest to rip open the buttons of his shirt. 

“That shirt was expensive,” he breathed heatedly into you between the swift seconds your lips broke apart. Wet smacking filled your ears as you pressed back in, pushing your body flush against his large frame and licking your tongue along his lip.

“I don’t care,” you purred. Satoru released a shaky moan, slamming his lips back into yours, eager to taste every bit of your lipstick and the slick of your tongue. 

You jumped back to stretch the material of his shirt further apart, buttons popping with the revelation of his flushed, bare pecs and the hint of his well-sculpted upper abdomen. You dragged the shirt from his shoulders, Satoru yanking his arms free to grab your cheeks and press you harder into him. “Your lips feel so good,” he huffed mindlessly, a string of saliva pulling from the two of you as you parted. 

“All I did was kiss you,” you breathed.

“So kiss me more,” he demanded. “Everywhere. Wherever. I don’t give a fuck.”

“So bossy,” you groaned, teeth grazing his jaw as you slid your hands down his exposed skin, feeling over the ridges of his abdominals. Satoru jerked, breath releasing with a vocalized sigh as your touch smoothed over his stomach. You popped open the last button of his shirt and ripped it out from under him, throwing it over your shoulder with a pretty smirk, lipstick smudged messily over your cheek. “I’ll kiss you when I want to kiss you, where I want to kiss you.”

“Don’t be like tha-mmm…”

Your hand slid over the bulge of his pants as you pressed yourself up above it to free the space for your access. Satoru clenched his jaw and watched intensely as your fingers traced over the outline of his hard on teasingly, teeth sinking into your lip as you monitored his reaction. “You feel big, Toru,” you observed sweetly. “Can I call you that? Toru? You like that, baby?”

“Fuck, yes,” he heaved, eyes blurry. “Call me whatever the fuck you want.”

“Atta boy,” you praised, pressing your lips to his cheek as his cock jerked beneath your hand. “Ohhh, look at that. Someone likes praise…”

“You’re- killing me, baby,” he looked up at you, jaw hanging as stuttered breaths escaped him. “Need you to take care of my cock, pretty, can’t handle the way you’re touching me.”

“You must be so used to getting what you want,” you sighed. You leaned to place your finger at the base of his balls, watching the way his body jumped. You slid your finger all the way up his concealed shaft slowly before ripping it away with a sweet smile. Satoru made a noise like a dissatisfied whine in his throat. “I already told you, I’ll do what I want when I want it.”

He tossed his head back, brows curling. “(Y/n),” he whimpered.

“Ooo, don’t say my name like that,” you pushed your hips back down to roll against his cock, a pretty moan fluttering from his muscular throat. “You’ll get me even wetter than I already am.”

Satoru’s hands clutched down onto your thighs, squeezing harshly with aching want. 

“Relax,” you ordered, and he did, sinking back into the chair as your hands climbed over him and your lips touched the crook of his jaw. “Good boy.”

You slid your tongue along his skin, sinking your teeth into his neck like a damn vampire, smoothing your open mouth over the stinging bites, marking his skin redder than that makeup you wore. Satoru breathed heavily, twitching beneath you uncontrollably. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, and he was already a mess at your will. His moans strained in his throat as you sucked circles on his neck mercilessly, capturing any piece of his perfect skin you could find. 

He needed you to free his cock so badly. It was causing him pain, at this point, how achingly hard he was. He could feel precum already staining his underwear and soaking through his slacks, but you kept him waiting, pressing you clothed mound to his bulge as his grasping hands pulled your dress over your legs and scrunched it around your waist. 

Your lace cut offs and string panties unveiled themselves to him and he almost came then and there beneath you. You were so bad, dressing like this to perform as though you were asking to get fucked afterward. As though you knew Satoru had walked through those doors and would melt into putty the moment you laid your hand on his chest.

“Uh uh,” you whispered, feeling Satoru press his dick up into you again. He could feel the slipperiness between your thighs, soaking your thin underwear and threatening to pool through to touch his clothes. “Stop that,” you said firmly, glaring up at him from where you had begun nipping at his chest. 

Your back was arched, your ass sticking out over his lap, and oh, you were just begging to be fucked, but Satoru couldn’t bring himself to do anything but what you told him. Not yet at least. He got off on the way you dominated him, the way you took control with no idea that if he wanted to he could have snapped you in half. 

Only, if he wanted to. 

“Pretty, I want you so bad,” Satoru said through gritted teeth, gazing longingly at you through the mess of his hair. He involuntarily bucked up into you again and you gasped, gripping his shoulder tightly with one hand and onto the hand that gripped your waist with the other. 

There you were. He had finally gotten a reaction from you.

Your face darkened, your eyes hard. You looked back up at him with eyes that could kill, expression falling into intensified hunger. Satoru gulped.

You lifted your hips and grinded them forward, pressing them down and swiveling your lower body with rapid pressure. Gojo inhaled sharply, eying the way you slithered across his dick like a goddamn snake, movements glossy and abrupt. His fingers dug into the skin of your waist, curling into the waistband of your panties and stretching at them eagerly. 

“You’re so fucking impatient,” you growled, rolling your hips over him again and moaning softly when his bulge rubbed against your clit. “Shit, how fucking big are you, Toru?”

“You would- hah- know if you took my f-fucking cock out, princess,” Satoru moaned, pulling at your hips to keep them in motion. You finally complied, rocking your sopping cunt against him slowly, the friction against your heat sparking waves of pleasure to your brain.

“Mmm, fuck,” you whispered. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Baby, come on,” Satoru begged, encouraging you to keep going. You began to get yourself off, using his hardon to stroke against you dripping pussy as humped his pants, pulling back and pushing in, back and in. “There you go, pretty, grind that pussy onto me. Make yourself feel good…”

“I said- ah- s-shut up!” You pushed him back by his shoulders harshly, holding him still against the back of the chair as you rode him out through your pants, brows furrowed and mouth hanging open. Your pace quickened, your clit throbbing with each grind it took against his length. “Why do you feel like this with fucking pants on?” you breathed out, confounded by howquickly he was making you feel this good.

“Take them-ngh, fuck- o-off, and it’ll feel better.”

You fumed, slapping a hand over Satoru’s mouth as you glided your throbbing pussy into him hard. A muffled groan escaped Satoru’s mouth, eyes threatening to roll back as a string of curses fled your lips. 

You wanted him to shut up. No man had ever spoken to you this much, in such a manner that Gojo was encouraging you with that sweet, needy desperation lacing his deep voice. It was only dragging more arousal from your cunt, and you weren’t used to this. You weren’t used to responding to a man’s body and mouth this way. 

You usually did all the talking. You were normally the one watching in amusement as a man shook like a leaf underneath you. You were usually the one experiencing less pleasure, but hell, you had only dry humped Satoru for five minutes and your pussy was already pathetically crying for him. And his mouth, god, he just wouldn’t be quiet, and his inability to do so was threatening to weaken you.

You truly did not want to comply with his desires, but you could no longer deny that the both of you longed for the same thing. 

You kept your hand secure over Satoru’s mouth, his fucked out gaze drinking you in as you hurriedly unbuckled his belt, fumbling over the straps and leaning away from him momentarily to do so. Satoru’s hands moved to help you, but you pushed them away, pressing against his mouth harder.

“Don’t touch,” you ordered. His groan of frustration and want vibrated against your palm, his hands grabbing immediately into the plush of your exposed ass beneath you bunched dress. 

You scooted further down Satoru’s legs so that you could tug his pants down once you got his belt out of the way. You hadn’t even bothered to stand to pull them all the way down, for you were in far too much of a rush to free his dick to care.

Your fingers found the hem of his boxers, ripping them down quickly. Your lips curved back into a smile, your frustration fading, when his gorgeous cock flew free and smacked angrily against Satoru’s abdomen. A smear of shiny precum spread over his skin in his tip’s wake, the pink head oozing generously. Your eyes grew, internally and temporarily stunned by Satoru’s size. He was long, unnaturally so, with bulging veins wrapped around his shaft and trailing upward. A soft tuft of white hair resided above his dick at the end of a teased happy trail.

Your (e/c) eyes admired his entire figure once more, his heaving breathing, sweaty brawny chest, the love bites you left behind, littering his collarbone and either side of his neck within circles of your lipsticks stains that trailed up to his nose behind your hand, his flushed skin, and sex dazed sapphire pools. 

“You’re such a pretty boy, Toru,” you praised. A glimmer of light flickered through his pupils in reaction to your gentle words, a stark contrast to the way harshly you pushed into him. 

Gradually, you wrapped your free digits around his base. Satoru moaned, broken voice rumbling into your hand. Your tongue touched the top row of your teeth as you reveled in the feeling of his dick in your hand. It twitched within your soft palm, fluttering toward you with a mind of it’s own.

“You wanna do me a favor, baby?” you asked, and Satoru nodded eagerly. “You wanna move my panties to the side so I can slide your pretty dick inside me?”

Satoru trembled, nodding again with fervor. You leaned down and kissed his cheek again. 

“Go ahead,” you spurred him on.

The white haired sorcerer wasted no time in reaching under you to rip his fingers into the thin strap of your thong. He stretched the band out desperately before feeling his way further down, freezing when he touched a cool patch of slick dripping from the cloth hiding your pussy from him. 

He pushed the fabric aside as you had advised him to and experimentally slid his fingers over your slit, collecting your sticky fluid as it seeped down his palm. His chest jumped with another muffled moan, eyes hardening when your dark lashes flickered and your thighs jerked over him. You were so wet for him, and you were trying not to show it on your face, but Satoru could tell that you were deprived of him, of real, attentive, passionate doting. He could tell that you needed him as much as he needed you.

Satoru allowed his mind to wander as he sank his index finger past your lips and into your warm, gooey walls. You mewled, hips bucking downward. “Satoru,” you warned, but your voice lacked your previous grit. The blue eyed man smirked behind your palm just seconds prior to your removal of it from his mouth. Your lids grew heavy over your eyes as he dragged his finger out and pushed it back in slowly, swirling around your gummy insides. “Ahhh, shit- f-fuck you!” you moaned, the sounds you released so pretty.

“Don’t fight it, gorgeous,” Satoru coaxed, finding his voice again. He plunged his finger deeper inside you, twisting and twirling so slowly that you almost saw stars. “Fucking hell, this pussy is so greedy. She’s sucking in my finger like it’s nothing. Such a perfect cunt for me.”

“St-Stop with that c-cocky shit, oohhh god,” you gasped, lowering yourself back down and ducking your head into Satoru’s shoulder as he worked another finger into you slowly, your juices squelching loudly with their lazy pump in and out. 

“So you can be cocky, but I can’t, hm?” he turned to murmur into your hair, listening to the sinful sounds your needy pussy made around his fingers. Your arousal proceeded to flood over him like a pool, drenching his wrist and dripping onto his balls and the wooden chair. “Mmmm, you really like this, baby. You’re drenching me so good, almost like you’ve never been fingered before.”

“This’s exactly-y why I covered y’r mouth,” you mumbled, breath hot against his neck. “You talk too goddamn muchhh, fuck, Toru, right there! Right fucking there, like thattt…”

“Hm? Like this?” he curled the tips of his fingers against your walls and you yelped, notifying him that he had discovered your sweet spot. “Right there, right pretty?”

“I already told you, yes,” you moaned, gripping the back of his chair. “Yes, yes,” you murmured, and Satoru hissed.

“Enjoy it, baby. So pretty. Such a gorgeous girl, such a gorgeous little pussy…”

“Fuck, Satoru,” you exhaled raggedly. The said man made a noise of acknowledgement, hypnotized by the steady stroke of his fingers into you. With your hand still wrapped over his cock, you slid your it up his shaft slowly, squeezing softly. Satoru’s fingers froze inside you, his face burying into your hair.

“Oh my god…” he grunted, closing his eyes. “Your hands are so perfect.”

“You’re whipped,” you teased, lifting your hips up into the air so that his fingers could reluctantly leave. 

Satoru studied the stretch of slick that connected his fingers to your cunt as they left your walls. Before he could protest, you were guiding his tip toward you and sliding your sloppy cunt overtop of it.

“(Y/n), fuckkkk,” Satoru drawled, jaw slack while he watched you ease your way down over him. The tip of his puffy dick slowly disappeared within your slimy walls, and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull with the toss of his head backward. His fingernails imprinted into your sides as you sank down, swallowing his girth and taking him into you.

You huffed out, moaning loudly with your hands now pressed into Satoru’s bare chest. His girth was quick to stretch you before you had even made it halfway. A whine caught in the back of your throat as your face tightened. You had never taken someone so big before, and he was filling you up so deliciously. You could feel every twitch, every curve, every ridge and vein of his heavy, lengthy cock as it slipped further into you, your walls tightening instinctively around him the further down you went.

“Oh, baby,” you purred. “Your dick’so… nghhh, shittt!”

“She’s soakin’ me,” Satoru choked out, assisting your glide down with the drag of your hips to his own. “So tight, god, pretty, you can’t be fucking real. You- this fucking pussy, hahhh, that’s it, baby. That’s it, keeping going. All the way. Please, baby, please. Want to fill you up. Need to be all inside this messy cunt.”

“So big,” you mused, watching as he sank into you halfway, and for the first time in your life, you paused. “Fuck, you’re in my stomach!”

“Take it all, honey, take fucking all of it. You got it, pretty girl. Keep going.”

“Don’t- hah- need your help, fucking- fuck!” You sank down further, pushing with the pull of Satoru’s desperate hands. Your breath left your lungs momentarily, Satoru’s long dick sliding up to the hilt of your pussy and stretching you absolutely full. You could feel him everywhere, your bum reaching his balls the moment you saddled onto him completely.

Satoru’s face stilled into blissful emptiness, staring down at where you were connected and the bulge that prodded against your lower tummy. “That’a girl, fuck, you’re so good,” he babbled, hands sliding up your back. His fingers blindly grabbing for a zipper. He peeled it down once he pinched it, curving his hands under your slipping dress as he exposed your bare skin to the empty space. 

The straps of your dress fell down your shoulders accordingly, revealing the plush of your pretty tits that peaked over the fabric. Satoru was overwhelmed, struck by your entire being as you warmed his trembling dick, perky nipples pressing into his line of sight as your dress fell around your waist.

Satoru pushed in, pressing his hands to your lower back and arching you into him as he touched his lips to the center of your tits. His dick nudged your insides with the motion and you inhaled sharply, holding onto him tightly.

“Could you be any more fucking perfect,” he grumbled, catching your perky nimble between his lips.

Your body leaned back and he craned forward along with you, hands supporting your weight to him as he teased your nipple between his teeth. His tongue followed swiftly, lapping over your bud and sucking hungrily off your tit, spit drooling from his mouth as he made out with the plush fat. Your moans carried just as your singing had, lifting melodically into the space and bouncing regally off of the confined walls and casting Satoru deeper under your trance.

“Smell s’good, taste so good, feel so, so good. Can’t get enough of you baby, can’t.”

“You’re so sappy,” you whispered, head rolling on your shoulders and eyes closing as your cunt clenched around him in pleasure.

Satoru moaned into your chest, marking up your boobs as you had his neck. “C’mon, baby,” he grunted. “Kill me.”

You were quick to carefully lift your hips, Satoru’s length sliding along your gummy walls. You were slow at first with the withdrawal before lowering yourself down heavily, his cock slamming back into your aching pussy. 

You both moaned in unison, and you wasted no more time. You set a steady pace, pushing up and pushing back down to sink over Satoru’s dick, juices leaking and mixing into his precum as you clenched repeatedly around him. You rode him out carefully, nails digging into his shoulders. 

“That’s it,” Satoru purred, peering up at you from under your other tit, eyes dark enough to sink into. “Ride me out, gorgeous, use my cock.”

“Fuck, Toru, you’ve got such a good dick,” you whimpered, reaching up to tug into his hair. Gojo’s eyes rolled, skin slapping lewdly with the collision of your ass rippling against his thighs. The slimy sound of his rock hard cock sliding from your drenched heat was like music to your ears, better than any song you had ever sung, better than any cheers you had ever received.

“Ah-ngh, baby, baby,” Satoru blabbered, already fucked out. “So fucking wet, dripping all over me. Pussy feels so good, so so good…”

“Yeah? You like when I ride your dick, baby? You like being the only one I get to fuck after my show? You like being my toy, tonight?”

“Fuck yes, love it so much. Fucking love the way you fuck this cock, pretty, don’t fucking stop.”

“That’s a good boy, Toru,” you purred, sitting fully onto him mid bounce to roll your hips into his. Satoru moaned loudly, uncaring of his volume. His mouth found your tit again, sucking like a madman as you rode him deeply, ensuring that he felt every corner of your pussy around him and that you felt every glide of his slender cock into your wet heat. “You’re so good, taking my pussy, yeah?”

His cock jerked inside you and he nodded dumbly, tongue swirling desperately over your reddened nipple. You hummed in ecstasy, pushing into him once more and pressing him back as you threw your ass down onto him, slick and pre melting between your connection and stretching with the rapid slaps of your hips into his. You moaned, brows pinching as you brought your lips to Satoru’s parted ones, his groans and whines sliding into your mouth with the insertion of your tongue against his. 

“Yessss,” you cooed into him. “So big, you’re filling me up so good.”

“I ca- nghhah,” Gojo was a mess, moaning helplessly as you bounced mercilessly onto his cock, trapping him against you so that neither of you had anywhere to go. “Sl-Slow down, pretty, fuckkk, shit, slow down,” he begged, but you ignored his pleas, bouncing faster as he held your hips shakily.

“Can’t take it, Toru? Hm?”

“Gonna make me fuckin’ cum already, baby, please…”

“So soon?” you nudged, lifting your hips up to roll slowly over his tip before slamming back down, continuing you pace. Satoru choked over his own voice, leaning his head back and slumping into the chair as it rocked angrily beneath your weight, attempting to support your angry thrusts. “Mmm, not surprised, baby. Saw the way you- shit, were looking at me earlier. Saw… saw your pretty hard on from onstage. You wanted my pussy so bad, didn’t you? You wanted to be snug inside me the second you saw me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he whimpered, eyes screwed shut. “Needed you. Needed to fuck you in this pretty little slutty dress. Needed my dick in this pussy the moment you laid there in front of me. Fuck, wanted to take you right there,” he whined. His hands slid back to your thighs, pressing and clawing and squeezing. 

“I know, pretty boy, I know…”

“S’much better than I imagined. F-Fuck, fucking perfect. You’re so perfect. Fucking me just right, pretty.”

“You’ve got such a filthy mouth,” you groaned, head tossing back when Satoru’s dick brushed against your cervix, veins rubbing against your g-spot as you switched to rocking back and forth over him. Satoru’s hands grabbed your ass, his eyes flickering between the way your tits jiggled with your body and his dick bulged against your lower stomach with your grinding.

You knew just how to treat his dick, keeping him snug within your wet cavern and massaging it with the fluidity of your hips. “Nghmm, right there, Toru. Right thereee,” you sighed, face contorting with pleasure.

“Don’t stop, honey,” he reached a hand up to your face. “Don’t stop, keep going. Make yourself cum on my dick.”

“Fuck!”

“Yeahhhh,” he smoothed his thumb over your cheek. “Gorgeous baby, you look gorgeous.”

“Stop that,” you whimpered through broken moans, attempting to shift away from the warmth of his palm.

“Nuh-uh, pretty, let me look at you,” Satoru laced his fingers into the back of your hair, holding your face steady and your eyes to his. “Need to see those pretty eyes, they make me so hard.”

You couldn’t fight the moan that caught you, eyes swimming into his as you rolled your hips over his cock, eyes growing heavier and heavier as a knot built in your lower abdomen and your cunt clenched more frequently.

“Mhmmm,” Satoru hummed in satisfaction. “Keep looking at me, baby.”

“I said stop the sappy shit,” you gritted out through clenched teeth. You didn’t have time to pull his hand away, however, when his feet planted into the floor and he pushed up into you, throwing his arms around your lower waist to hold you to him. You cried out, curling against his chest as Satoru thrusted up into you desperately, balls slapping up against your skin as his hazy eyes peered over your shoulder to watch the connection.

“Come on, baby,” he grumbled into your ear. “Don’t give me that, let me admire you like you deserve.”

“Aghhhh, fuckkk,” you sobbed, your body rocking wildly with the force of Satoru’s thrusts. “God, m’fucking close.”

“Me too, pretty, me too,” Satoru’s voice dipped down ruggedly, an animalistic hoarseness to his tone. He couldn’t stop, fucking into you like a rabbit as if it was the very last thing on earth he was going to do. 

You whined, cunt drooling over him as it prepared you for your orgasm. Your clit rubbed against his rigid abdomen, stimulating your nerves further as you quickly approached.

“Give it to me, princess. Milk my fucking cock.”

“Cum inside, Toru,” you demanded, sinking your teeth into his shoulder. “Want your cum in me…”

“Fuck, baby, fuckkkk- mmmm, shit!”

Like an ocean crashing down onto the shore, your orgasms met each other simultaneously, juices drenching his cock with slippery white cream and sticky fluid. Satoru’s arms tightened around you, his seed splurging into your cunt endlessly, his hips rocking with the continual stream of his hot cum into your aching pussy. 

Your moans mixed into each other’s loudly, building into a symphony as you rode out your high, grinding weakly into him as your vision went white.

Satoru’s legs twitched, your own practically numb around his waist. His cum proceeded to leak into you, dripping down your legs and onto the floor. The two of you sat there in your breathless aftermath for a moment, Satoru tucking his nose into your shoulder and pressing a soft kiss there. He felt you sink against him, his hands smoothing gently over your back.

The moment you twitched against him, however, his cock jolted with continuous life. Satoru grunted, pushing himself up into you carefully to ease the remaining ache in his dick. You made a low noise, shifting your hips around him.

“Baby,” Satoru sighed. “Let me bring another one out of you.”

You twisted your head to the side, peeling back to look down at him curiously, slowly. Your eyes were tired, yet still dripping with lust, a soft smile playing at your lips. “Another one?” you repeated, somewhat shocked by his persistence.

“Please,” he whispered. “Need to feel you cum around me again.”

Before you could even respond, he was gripping you tight and standing from his now sticky seat. You kept your legs wrapped around him as he carefully laid you on the table, pushing your purse out of the way.

Satoru leaned over you, kissing your lips hungrily then pulling back to peck down your chest and stomach. He was suddenly so soft, caressing you and kissing you, and you watched suspiciously, unfamiliar and normally opposing this kind of contact.

Yet, you allowed Satoru to proceed.

His hands smoothed over your waist, his pants falling to his ankles. He yanked your bunched dress up and over your head, ridding your waist of the clothing article and throwing it carelessly to the side. He yanked your panties down further and slid a thumb over your clit, rubbing gentle, soothing circles over your sensitive, sopping bundle of nerves. 

You jolted, feeling his cock harden inside you again as he locked your lips together. He kept his finger rolling over your soaked clit, swallowing your mewls and soft moans into his mouth.

Your hands flew to his shoulders as he pushed into you gently, his cum dripping from your entrance and squishing back up into your cunt with his soft thrust. You broke your lips from his and moaned against him, angling your brows as your pleasure built back up in an instant. 

“Let me take care of this pretty pussy,” Satoru mumbled gently. “Seems like y’always take care of everyone else.”

“Satoru-“

“Shhh,” he hushed you as a broken moan fanned over his lips. He pulled back and thrusted back into you again, watching how your mouth froze open cutely and your eyes hardened. “Wanna keep feeling you. Let me keep feeling you.”

“Oh godddd…”

“Yeah, baby, yeah,” Satoru mumbled against you, pussy-drunk. He slid in and out of you with ease, pressing between your legs and pushing fully into you, ensuring that you felt every inch of him gliding back into your pretty cunt, stuffing your cunt back up with his cum. “Could stay in this pussy forever. Shit, she’s so loud. Such a good pussy. My good pussy.”

“Y-gonna split me in h-half,” you stammered, and Satoru grinned a dopey fucked out smile as he gazed at you.

“Look at you, baby,” he cooed, setting a slow pace that gradually picked up speed, rocking into you with the continuous swift caress of your clit. Your body was twitching, brows furling into the sky. “God, fucking look at you. M’so lucky, so lucky I got to have you tonight and not those other- f-fucking, ngh- bastards staring you up and down. Tonight, this pussy is for me. She’s treating me so good.., ruining me for any other pussy.”

“Uhhh, Toru,” you quivered. Satoru responded swiftly, bucking his hips and plowing into you rapidly, watching as your chest stuttered with shattered breaths and your legs writhed around him the quicker he moved circles over your puffy clit. “Gonna- fuck, what the fuckkk, gonna cum againnn…”

“Fuck, can’t get enough of you. Want you to come undone, baby, let go. Let gooo.”

You clawed at his arms, watching his fingers work over your clit and his dick spear into your quivering walls. You dragged your nails down his bicep, leaving bright red scratches, but Satoru couldn’t have cared less. 

You came again without warning, liquid gushing around his dick with your stunning cries. Satoru’s eyes glazed over, hand ripping from your clit so that he could cage over you, pressing his body down into yours as he demolished your pussy, squirt sprouting over his skin and with each pull away before he thrusted back in. Your fluids flew everywhere, and Satoru kept going. 

“Fuck!! Fuck, fuck, fuck, give it to me, baby, fuck meeee, fuck me harder, Toru!”

You were fucking insatiable. You clawed at his back as his inhumane strength kicked in, his hips snapping against yours with feral aggression, grunting and crying out into your ear. 

“Keep squirting on my dick, baby, just fucking like that. You’re so fucking good, love this sloppy cunt. It’s all for me, pretty, all for me.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and Satoru wasn’t far behind you. He snapped himself into you three more times before stilling with a hefty groan, ropes more of his cum pooling into you and spilling onto the ground. He kept his body locked on top of yours, legs kicking around his torso as he fed you his seed, moaning pathetically into your skin. If you weren’t on birth control, you were absolutely sure that Satoru Gojo would have gotten you pregnant.

You huffed heavily, closing your eyes to catch your breath and soak in the silence. Never in your life had you been fucked the way this man had just fucked you at your place of work, and never in your life had you been worshipped or handled the way he had done so to you, despite your understanding of your impact on men.

You laughed suddenly once recovered, body jumping with your amusement. Satoru lifted his head from you, peering down at you, dazed, with his own gentle smile on his lips. 

“What’s funny?” he murmured, eyes taking you in like you hung the moon and the stars.

“Nothing, I just- don’t know what I expected from you,” you sighe.

Satoru tilted his head. “In a good or bad way?”

“A fucking good way.”

Your response was enough to have Satoru beaming, lowering his forehead to rest on your chest momentarily. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he breathed. “You really are something else, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“No, really,” he lifted his head for a final time to lock eyes. “I mean it.”

Your face fell slightly as he looked at you. You sucked your teeth, pushing him away the moment your cheeks tingled. “You’re still too sappy.”

Satoru laughed softly. “How could I not be when you’re talented, gorgeous, and you have the best pussy I’ve ever felt in my life?”

“You’re telling me stuff I already know, honey. I’ve heard it all before..”

“Guess I’ll just tell you again and again,” Satoru grinned, stealing a swift kiss from your nose before sitting up carefully, looking down at where the two of you were still connected. “Uhhh… you wouldn’t happen to have a towel around here, do you?”

You grimaced, sitting up on your shoulders to survey the mess that kept the two of you united. You looked up at him, corners of your lips twitching. 

“How about we give each other head, lick it up, and call it a night?”

Satoru whipped his head back up to stare at you with wide eyes. You knew you had steered into the right direction when you felt his length harden inside you again.

“Sounds good to me,” he smirked.

•

The following day, Satoru dialed Utahime’s at around one pm. The line rang for a bit before it finally picked up.

“What?” the woman growled into the mic. 

“Utahimeee,” Satoru greeted cheerfully, instantly feeling the aggravation wave off of the brown eyed women from the other end of the line. “How are you today?”

“Fine, Gojo. What do you want?”

“Nothing, really. I just wanted to call to tell you that you were right all along. I’m humble enough to admit that. Last night was undoubtedly the best staff outing that we’ve ever had, and it was all thanks to you. I’ll let you plan the things we do more often now,” he beamed. 

“…”

Satoru could envision her pinching the bridge of her nose while her other hand pressed the phone to her ear.

Satoru’s lips tugged downward as he tried to hold back the amused laugh that was threatening to leave him. “You there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Oh. Did you hear what I said?”

“You two had sex, didn’t you?”

“Whatttt?” Satoru scoffed. “Me and who?”

“WHO ELSE, IDIOT?!”

The blue eyed man chuckled slightly. “Look, I never kiss and tell.”

“Then why did you call me?!”

“To thank you for your evening suggestion, obviously,” he said. “Oh, and to tell you that I put your little inquiry to the test.”

“What inquiry?”

“That (Y/n) would break me.”

Utahime exhaled loudly. “I really don’t want to hear about that details-“

“I told you already. I don’t kiss and tell,” Satoru reassured. “But, I will say, she’s really not all that evil.”

“I never said she was evil.”

“You said something along those lines.”

“Yes, I meant she schemes. You had sex with her once, Gojo. As long as it stays that way, it’ll be fine. But the longer you spend time with her, the deeper you’ll fall, and the faster you’ll be torn to shreds. She’s my friend and I love her, but I know very well how she gets with men. I’ve seen it a hundred times over.”

Satoru pursed his lips, thinking back to the two of you exchanging numbers after he had walked you home. 

“Utahime, let’s not forget who’s the strongest sorcerer of the modern age here. I’ll be fine. I don’t risk falling for anyone.”

“…yeah, that’s what they all say.”

Satoru didn’t take Utahime’s warning seriously, of course. You were too pretty for him to turn away from you so quickly, and if you were willing to keep a casual relationship that didn’t interfere with his line of work or your separation from so, he didn’t see any harm in the matter.

Satoru Gojo was the strongest to roam this planet, yes, but you had still somehow managed to bring the strongest to a point of vulnerability, to a place where he was willing to release his technique for you effortlessly, which he never did in the presence of anyone outside of his students, let alone for a non-sorcerer.

Satoru could absolutely understand and physically see where Utahime was coming from, for your impact on him was strangely inhumane despite you being one yourself but hell, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get you out of his head if he didn’t at least stop by to see you perform and feel himself inside you one more time, if anything. 

After all, what could have been the harm in that?

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act III, Scene I: The Fake Dating)

It doesn’t occur to you how serious the situation has become until you're forced to sign your fake relationship on paper.

Part warning: none, this might be the slowest burn I have ever written Words: 2.4k A/n: The original plan was to update this series twice a week, but I overestimated myself, so I will be posting each Thursday around this time. I hope you understand <3

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Spencer wasn’t sure how he would go through with this. The idea seemed simple enough on the surface—pretend to date, fool everyone, and finally find peace. Yet, the more he thought about it, the more complex it became, and the more complicated it was, the more crazy it seemed.

This was not what he had signed up for when he joined the BAU. Chasing criminals? Sure. Analyzing behavioral patterns? Absolutely. But pretending to date you to avoid the relentless meddling from his friends? Insane wasn't a strong enough word for it. It was ludicrous.

And even that word wasn’t enough. It was downright preposterous. How had rational, analytical work turned into this bizarre social experiment? Yet, here he was, ready to play his part even when he couldn’t ignore the absurdity of it all.

“Well, well, well.” Spencer looked up to see you walking from the opposite direction, both of you stopping right at the entrance of the bureau’s expansive building. “If it isn’t my new boyfriend.”

He narrowed his eyes. Why did you seem… so normal about this? Weren’t you the one who hated his guts? Weren’t you the one who avoided him every time you had the chance? Were you really that desperate to get the team off your back?

“What? You’re not going to greet your girlfriend?”

He forced a smile, trying to hide his irritation. “Good morning,” he replied curtly, opening the door for you.

You walked past him, and Spencer tried not to stare at you, but it was impossible to ignore the way your hair shone under the morning sun or how your perfume subtly filled the air as you brushed by him. He cleared his throat and followed you inside, wondering how long he could keep up this act without losing his sanity.

“We need some ground rules,” he muttered, nodding towards security as you both passed through the entrance.

You raised an eyebrow. “Ground rules? You mean besides pretending to be madly in love?”

“We are not in love. We just started dating,” Spencer said, pressing the elevator button. “So no spontaneous public displays of affection. We don’t want to overdo it.”

“What’s your definition of overdoing it?”

Spencer waited until the elevator doors slid shut, giving you a little privacy. "No touching. Especially no hand-holding," he stated firmly.

You scoffed. "Who on earth wouldn't want to hold their girlfriend's hand?"

He replied without missing a beat. "Do you know how many germs are transferred when you hold hands? An average of 3,000 bacteria from 150 different species, not to mention the potential viruses.”

“Wow, remind me to never shake hands with you during flu season.”

He shrugged. “I’m just stating the facts.”

“Okay, germaphobe,” you deadpanned, leaning back against the elevator wall. “What’s acceptable then? A nod from across the room? Morse code blinking?”

He considered for a moment, then offered a compromise, “How about an arm around your shoulder when we’re sitting? Or a quick side hug?”

“Side hug,” you echoed, mockingly horrified. “How romantic. Our friends will believe we’re madly in love for sure.”

“We are not in love.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” you replied dryly, standing straight again and turning toward him. “Can we at least try to look like a couple who actually like each other?”

That was the problem. You both didn’t like each other. “Fine,” he sighed. “What do you suggest?”

You paused, considering the best way to make this look believable. “How about you hold onto my waist from behind as we walk? It’s a common gesture, and it looks natural.”

Spencer blinked, taken aback by the suggestion. “Hold your waist? As in, really close?”

“Yes, Reid, that’s generally where the waist is located.”

He frowned at you. “That sounds a bit too… personal, don’t you think?”

“Isn’t that the whole point? To convince them we’re a couple?”

He hesitated, the image of his hands on your waist flashing through his mind. He suddenly imagined the warmth of your body against his, the subtle, pleasant scent of your perfume enveloping him. He could almost feel the way you’d be tucked right to his side, your height fitting perfectly against him, your head nestled just below his chin.

His heart unexpectedly started to race. The idea of holding you that close, feeling the rise and fall of your breath, the slight brush of your hair against his cheek—it was almost too intimate, too real. And he didn’t want to acknowledge that. He wasn’t sure if he could trust himself to play the role convincingly without his emotions betraying him.

“Reid?”

Spencer snapped out of his thoughts, realizing he had been silent for too long. You were watching him impatiently.

“You know what? Do whatever you want.” You turned away, facing the elevator door, clearly frustrated by his hesitation. “Just stand there like a statue for all I care.”

His eyes slowly fell to your waist, considering his options... Maybe it wasn’t that bad. The idea of his hand resting there, guiding you, didn’t seem as unbearable as he initially imagined. The gesture seemed innocent enough. Not too much, not too little. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything, apparently. Because it happened all at once.

One, he reached his hand toward you.

Two, the elevator door swung open.

And three, as you started to move forward, his hand managed to slip before it landed onto your ass.

You shrieked at the top of your lungs.

"Reid!" 

Spencer's face turned red as he quickly retrieved his hand, stammering, "I-I'm sorry! That wasn't—"

But he wasn’t fast enough, because standing on the other side of the elevator door was Derek, witnessing the whole thing. His eyebrows shot up, and a slow grin spread across his face.

"What do we have here?” Derek drawled, crossing his arms. "Spencer Reid, getting a little too friendly?"

Spencer's mortification deepened as he tried to explain, "It's not what it looks like, I swear!"

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure, pretty boy. Whatever you say." He stepped to the side. “Well, aren’t you two lovebirds going to get to work?”

Trying to recover from the embarrassment, Spencer nodded quickly, his face still burning. He guided you out of the elevator with a brief, cautious touch on your back that stayed strictly in the safe zone.

You both hurried toward the glass doors, leaving Derek laughing behind you. You slightly leaned closer to him. “I could sue you for sexual harassment, you know.”

“It was an accident! You moved too quickly.”

“Sure, blame it on me,” you retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you pushed through the glass doors ahead of him.

Spencer quickened his pace to keep up, matching your brisk walk. “I am blaming it on you. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t suddenly decided to move forward.”

“Right, because clearly, I should have anticipated your clumsiness.”

He shot you a sideways glance. “My clumsiness? You’re the one who—”

“There you are!”

You both turned to see JJ walking toward you, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Hotch is looking for you.”

You started to walk away. “Sure, I’ll go see him—”

JJ shook her head, her smile widening. “No, you don’t understand. He’s looking for you,” she pointed a finger at Spencer, then swung it back to you, “And you. Both of you, together.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. “Both of us? Why?"

“Something about filling in paperwork?”

He frowned, but as the implication of Hotch calling you both at the same time for paperwork sank in, he snapped his head toward you, his eyes wide with realization. You turned toward him at the same moment, and the gravity of your seemingly innocent lie spiraled down on him, making the whole situation feel alarmingly real. 

The weight of it pressed on Spencer’s chest. How could he possibly forget about the most important thing in all of this? He had an eidetic memory, he was good at recalling even the smallest details, but how could he not remember the need to officially disclose workplace relationships?

The reality of potentially signing official documents to confirm this fake relationship made his palms sweat.

“This is stupid,” you whispered when JJ finally left the two of you. “Maybe we should think this through.”

Spencer looked down at you. You were right, this was stupid. It was getting out of hand. But as he noticed the way you stared up at him, with your wide, doe-like eyes sparkling under the light, something shifted. This whole lie had started as a means to an end, a way to fend off the relentless teasing. But now, standing there with you, it felt like more than just a plan. Maybe it was the thrill of the unknown, or the strange comfort of the lie. Maybe it wasn’t just about fooling the team.

Maybe he was starting to fool himself too.

Spencer took a deep breath. “No,” he said softly, more to himself than to you. “We started this, we should go through with it.”

Before you could respond, he placed his hand on your lower back, feeling the warmth of your body through the thin fabric of your blouse before his palm slid over to your waist. Your eyes widened in surprise at the sudden gesture, but you didn't pull away.

What have you done?

You couldn’t believe you had actually signed the papers. The weight of the pen felt so heavy in your hand, the ink seeming to dry slower than usual as you scrawled your name on the dotted line. This was supposed to be a simple, harmless plan, but now it was documented. Official.

How did it come to this?

You watched as Spencer took the pen from you, his hand brushing yours momentarily. He glanced at you before turning his attention back to the document. The hesitation was brief, but you saw it—the flicker of doubt before he pressed the pen on to the paper and signed his name next to yours.

What the hell are we doing?

“Alright,” Hotch said, taking the papers and giving you both a nod. “This is a bit formal, but it’s necessary under bureau policy. If there are any changes in your relationship status, you should report immediately.”

You nodded, barely hearing his words over the pounding of your heart.

“Again, congratulations.”

Your stomach churned. You were going to be sick.

“Thank you,” Spencer responded. Hotch then dismissed you both, and as you turned to leave, Spencer's hand gently touched your back. You were the one who urged him to act his part, but it felt too intimate, too real at that moment. You quickly increased your pace, putting some distance between you as you walked down into the bullpen.

Penelope was sitting on your chair, chatting animatedly with the rest of the team in the open space. She looked up when you both arrived. “Well, look who’s back!” Penelope called out. “How did it go?"

You weren't surprised everyone understood what being called in, together at that, by Hotch implied.

“It went… as expected,” you replied, forcing a smile. Spencer stood a bit awkwardly beside you, his usual composure slightly ruffled.

"This is amazing,” Penelope sighed. "Oh! you know what we should do?"

You eyed her warily. "What?"

"This totally calls for a celebration!"

Your eyes widened. "Let's not—"

"Are you guys free this weekend?" Penelope turned toward the rest of the team.

Derek leaned back in his chair with a wide grin. "You know I'm always up for a party."

Spencer looked between you and the rest of the team, clearly uncomfortable. "I don't think that’s necessary—"

"He's right, Spencer isn't much of a party freak," JJ chimed in, joining in the conversation from her desk. "We should do something more relaxing."

"No, that's not what I meant—"

"You know what we haven't done in a while?" Emily asked, walking closer with a thoughtful look before she settled onto your desk, leaning slightly against it. "We haven't gone to the pool lately."

Penelope perked up at the idea. "Rossi's villa?"

Emily confirmed her with a nod. "Rossi's villa. He’s always saying we should use it more anyway.”

At any given chance, you would jump at the idea. You loved relaxing by the pool. You loved basking under the sun with a cool drink in your hand, the smell of chlorine in the air, and the refreshing splash of water on your skin. And Rossi’s pool was the perfect place for that.

It was a villa located an hour’s drive away that seemed more suited to a resort than a private residence. It was far from the city, mostly unoccupied, but always welcoming. You had been there before, stayed overnight there too, and all those fun memories were still vivid in your mind. You even recalled the time Emily was caught skinny dipping at night. Or the time Derek kicked Spencer out of the pool after realizing he had been hustling him at basketball the week before.

It had been fun then, but the more you reflected on those memories, the deeper your frown became. They had happened way before everything fell apart, before the tension had strained your friendship. It was a time when everything felt simpler, when Spencer was one of your closest friends. And now, ironically, he was your boyfriend.

Fake boyfriend.

"So it's settled, then?" Penelope’s voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the present.

Honestly, you didn’t want to go. How were you even going to pull this off? A weekend by the pool, while usually the perfect highlight for your summer, now felt like walking into a scripted play where your every gesture would be scrutinized. Not just by anyone, but by skilled profilers who could sniff out a lie like a shark smells blood in the water.

The fear of being exposed, of embarrassing yourself—or worse, damaging your career—was gnawing at you. It made you increasingly anxious. Yet backing out wasn’t an option either. It would raise too many questions and invite too much speculation.

So you closed the distance between you and Spencer and linked your arm through his, ignoring the slight panic in his eyes. “Sure,” you said, turning to Penelope as you mustered a smile. “Sounds fun.”

Penelope beamed at you. Spencer, on the other hand, felt the exact opposite. The idea of spending an entire weekend pretending to be in a relationship filled him with dread.

And he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was bound to go wrong.

[colonelarr0w]

Read part two here!

His head was so quiet. 

Your head was so loud. 

That voice didn’t belong to you, nor did it belong to the pink-haired boy who stares at you with widened, scared eyes. His hands shake as they reach out for you, but there’s something that stops him from closing the distance.  

You blink, eyes heavy as something inside of your chest twists — almost painfully so. You lift a hand to the front of your shirt, bunching up the fabric and glancing up at Yuuji. He still looks downright horrified, but you can’t seem to figure out why. 

And suddenly … everything in your head was silent.  

In front of you stretched an endless void, the light diminishing completely before you could even process that it was there. You open your mouth to speak, or to yell for help, but nothing but a pathetic garble falls from your parted lips. 

“Hmm, didn’t think I would enjoy a brat’s body quite as much as I do this one.”  

It’s your voice, but at the same time, it isn’t. 

Yuuji’s heart drops to his stomach, widened eyes burning with tears. Now he knew why you sounded so different.  

Those dark black marks. 

Those rings around your wrists. 

That sadistic glint to your usually softened eyes.  

No. 

Yuuji stares silently, his heart now in his throat as he stares at you … or rather … your body.  

Your eyes flicker up to meet his own, and he can see the last traces of you being promptly snuffed out like a candle left out for too long.  

“Let her go.” 

A deep chuckle that feels so unlike you tumbles from your parted lips. Your head tilts back, eyes glaring down your nose at Yuuji.  

Yuuji swallows the growing lump in his throat, clenching his hands into white-knuckled fists.  

Shit. 

Do you guys wanna see this continued? I half-assed this in class LMAO.  

[dalishious]

Alistair vs. Cullen

It really annoys me when people act like Alistair and Cullen are the same character, when they are very different.

Alistair grew up with child neglect. When visiting Denerim, Eamon kept him in the kennels. At Redcliffe, he slept in the stables on a pile of hay. Alistair also recounts a time when he was locked in the dungeons for a day before someone came to get him out. And of course he also talks about how Isolde despised him, and “made sure the castle wasn't a home.” But is still convinced that Eamon is a good person and he deserved all that. Cullen had a very fortunate upbringing with a loving family who supported him and what he wanted in life.

Alistair never wanted to be a Templar; he was forced into joining the Order by Eamon. He is vocal about how much he despised this, and considers Duncan recruiting him for the Wardens as “saving” him from them. The only thing he says he enjoyed about Templar training was the educational component, which he did not receive previously. Alistair was a poor recruit because he frankly did not want to be there, and therefore did not take it very seriously. He saw practices like the Harrowing as horrifying, and deepened his dislike of being a Templar further. And as time goes on, he becomes even less of a supporter of the Order; he outright says Meredith is the biggest threat to Kirkwall in Dragon Age II, if made king of Ferelden. It was always Cullen’s dream to be a Templar, and would even force his younger sister to “play the apostate” for his “training” before being recruited. Cullen was an enthusiastic recruit who considered Templar training “all that he had imagined”, and “did not hesitate” in taking his vows. Even the Harrowing did not waver his devotion to the Order, which by Dragon Age II becomes downright fanatical and tyrannical, practically worshipping Meredith. (Though this was later attempted to be retconned in Dragon Age: Inquisition… just as poorly as all the other retcons in that game, taking the path of “just pretend he never said and did all those things!”)

There is a lot of dialogue from Alistair about how much he dislikes the Chantry. Cullen, on the other hand, is extremely faithful and the only criticism he ever has about the Chantry is that they don’t treat the Templars well enough.

Alistair has a good sense of humour—in fact, it’s one of his biggest coping mechanisms. Cullen wouldn’t know a joke if it hit him in the face.

The player can disagree with Alistair on every turn. He is presented as sometimes being right, and sometimes being wrong, like most people. (Side note: more than that, you can be downright verbally, emotionally, and physically abusive to Alistair. Holy shit, I didn’t even realize how bad it can get until reading through the dialogue in the toolset, because I’ve never picked those options in game. I was honest to god flabbergasted and very uncomfortable through much of it.) The player rarely has the chance to even mildly disagree with Cullen. On the rare occasion you do, the dialogue is painted as if the player is being an unreasonable asshole, and he never even addresses what they say. (Example.)

The only reason I think people are capable of mistaking them for another is because fandom likes to donate Alistair’s personality onto Cullen. That and the the ever-frequent whitewashing of Alistair doesn’t help matters. But I’m not even a Cullen fan and I think it’s a disservice to both of them to act like they’re just Alistair and Alistair 2.0, honestly.

[leclucklerc]

Hard Carry CL16 - 02. Down Under

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: Conflict arises as a hotshot rookie decided that the current world champion is the next opponent to beat.

Word Count: 5.3k

Previous Masterlist Next

Y/n l/n is a superstar inside and outside of Formula One.

It's the way she smiles and crinkled eyes. It's the way she handle interviews with pr trained answers and cheeky quips here and there. It's the way that she always dress to impress, catching everyone attention, be it on the grid or even in fashion week.

It's the way she made winning looks so easy. How she made making into the podium is just a regular Sunday for her. How she would gave the spectators a race that can be remembered by them for the rest of their life.

By the time she finished up her first season, people had called her a superstar in the making. Awed by the sheer talent and grit that she seemed to have for the sport. Finishing third in the standings of 2012 Formula One season, people have to admit that they’re entering a new era in Formula One.

When she finished her second season in Formula One, she’s a certified superstar, evident from the driver championship that she had won that year. When she finished her third season in 2014, she became a legend as she won the driver championship for two straight times. 

It’s almost as if everyone forgets all the slurs and bad things that they had called the female just a few years prior. As if, all of the negative press and criticism being directed towards her are nothing but an old news.

Maybe it’s because she finally proven herself that she can conquer the world of motorsport with her talent. Or maybe it’s just because people found more exciting things to talked and shit about. Who knows? Y/n certainly don’t.

Though, that doesn’t mean that the female forgets all the shitty things that happened to her when she first entered Formula One.

“She’s going to fuck half the grid,” said one commentator, ignoring the fact that the female is seventeen years old, and most drivers are in their mid to late twenties. “She’s going to ruin the sport.”

“A fucking barbie,” said another one. “That’s what she is.”

There are more. More things being said that’s downright horrifying and disgusting. She knows that no one cares about her age, that one of the ugly consequences of her entering a male dominated sport as a girl is the sexualization that she will eventually receive. But still, hearing all these things is gross beyond words.

Her sex life seems to be a favorite topic of them. Talks about she’s dating or fucking who, how she is seen talking with one driver and the next day a news station will say that she’s fucking him and ruining his family. Talks about her being a slut who parties too hard and a raging alcoholic for drinking alcohols during her downtime.

As if, her life is nothing, but a trainwreck of a circus show for them to watch and laughed upon.

It was during that horrible first season when y/n realized, that to be a champion you need to be an overall asshole.

A sick and twisted personality of hers that she always kept under her bright smiles and friendly front. It’s more to always have that competitiveness – on the track or off the track. To always have that fire and determination to always be the best. To actually believe and have the confidence to say that yes, I am the best driver in the grid. Yes, I make no mistake.

Be the best or be nothing. Show the world your worth or you will be worthless. The black and white view that you have to be so fucking successful or be nothing at all.

(It took y/n awhile to recognize that.)

The first time she realized it was when she won her first race in China. It was a close race, with her almost hitting a Mercedes and her own teammate. Back then – way too drowned in the euphoria of winning her first race – she doesn’t realize what that means to the people around her. Mainly, to other drivers on the grid.

There are a lot of drivers that came from a different time period. A period where Formula One has a rigid structure and strict unseen rules. For them, who had lives in that time period, y/n arrival and all the changes that she had brought, looks like a threat for them. A challenger who appeared to challenge their authority.

“If you drive that Porsche, anyone can win.”

“I don’t get it, she drives dangerously. She should’ve received a penalty for that.”

“I just don’t understand what the hell FIA is thinking! I know they’re all about diversity and inclusivity lately but-“

Y/n turned off the tv in front of her, face blank.

The phrase ‘never meet your heroes’ rang true inside of her head. Because hearing all of those things from her own childhood heroes is a bit tragic beyond doubt.

After all, these men are the people she had looked up to. They’re the reason why she wants to race in Formula One. They’re the reason why she have such a deep love for motorsport and why she’s trying her hardest to show all of them her capabilities.

Knowing the horrible and degrading things they called her should saddened her.

Though, instead, she doesn’t feel anything.

For a moment, she felt empty, as she sat there inside of her empty hotel room. She could hear chatters from the hallway outside, no doubt from the Porsche team who’s staying in the same floor as her. Besides that, everything felt a bit empty. And silent.

She just sat there, staring at the dark screen of the television in front of her. The euphoria of her earlier win had left without any trace.

Maybe it's because that she had gotten used to it. That these kind of talks is nothing new for her and slowly - but surely - had become a part of their daily life.

But no one deserves to live like this. No one deserves to be judged just because of their gender. No one deserves to have their skills and talent to be dismissed just because they don't have an extra weight between their legs.

Y/n, doesn't deserve this.

And in one second, that empty feeling was replaced by anger.

What right do they have to say things like that?

What right do they have to judge her life and talent like that?

Some never even won a race in their life! Or even get into the podium! Some even drive for shitty teams that have a brick of a car. A mid-tier driver that doesn’t have enough talent for the bigger teams. Now, just because they lost to a girl almost half their age, they think they have the right to talk shit to her?

So fucking funny. It almost made her laugh.

Barbie, slut, whore, the downfall for Formula One.

Barbie, slut, whore, the downfall for Formula One.

Honestly, it was frustrating that there are some older drivers that won’t accept their loss. It was more frustrating to hear all of their declarations that if they were also put inside y/n’s Porsche, they can drive better than her.

All that talks that questioned her ability just because of her age and gender. All of the talks that keep underestimating her over and over again.

Maybe that’s why she turned up like this, to have this kind of twisted and sick personality.

“Y/n,” started Herman as he introduced the young man besides him. She almost get a sense of déjà vu at the image. After all, this happened almost every year. Herman calling her to a meeting room just before the pre-season testing. Herman, introducing her to her newest teammate of the year.

Tall, blond, blue eyes. Probably some kid they picked off of F2 or other racing category randomly. She wonder how long this kid will last. How long, will it take for him to blow his gasket off.

“This is Henry Santos, your newest teammate,” said the older man as he gestured towards the male. He looked around y/n age and got starry eyed as he stared at y/n.

Typical, y/n almost scoffed out. It’s the same routine every year.

Almost immediately, she plastered a smile. It was so wide and so immediate. To the point it’s almost fake. “Hi,” she grinned. “Nice to meet you, I’m y/n l/n.”

Henry also nodded, excitement radiating off of him. “I know,” he said. “I’m a big fan.”

“That’s sweet,” she answered before turning her head towards Herman. “So, team briefing?”

Herman as well as other employee for Porsche immediately ushered them inside one of their meeting room in their motorhome. Talks about plans, the cars, and the upcoming season began as y/n listened to it attentively.

The same thing could be said to Henry as the kid could be seen writing a lot of things on his notebook, from his gaze, she could see how serious he is.

It’s the same look that she sees every year.

Kids being picked by Porsche for the position of their second seat. Kids, who was hoping to be able to stay in Porsche – one of Formula One top team, contenders for the championship – for more than one year.

Kids, who salivated at the thought of taking y/n’s seat.

She always blame her horrible experiences in the grid for this twisted personality of her. This kind of competitiveness, the urgency to always see as if they’re her rivals. The ability to unable see anyone as anything but competitors for her seat as uncertainty eats up her heart and whispered words that made her doubt everyone.

Sometimes, she felt a bit guilty, considering a lot of these kids, when they first entered Porsche, are good kids. Someone that just want to left their marks in Formula One.

But everyone wants to leave their marks in Formula One.

Everyone, wants to be the world champion.

Y/n included.

With three world titles under her name, it only made her hungrier for the title of the world champion. Some called her greedy, some called her over ambitious, but y/n thinks that’s just normal. When you taste the taste of winning once, there’s no going back. She's sure that Lewis and Sebastian shared the same feeling.

After that high of being the world champion, there is no way they want to lose it. The taste of winning is addicting after all. It's a dangerous drug to every driver. Once you taste it, you will always want more.

The same thing could be said for her teammates for the past few years.

If you’re in a Porsche, you will be part of the top team. You will fight for wins and podiums. It’s hard, to let it go, for your teammate. No matter how amazing they are.

She guess she has to be grateful that she’s the number one driver in the team.

The Formula One season started soon after that, kicking it off in Australia. Just like every year, Herman will force her to get along with her teammate, shoving them inside of the same private plane and made them do various media activities together.

Contrary to popular belief, she really doesn’t mind. Henry seems like a good kid. A bit nervous, a bit starry eyed. Nothing that she can’t handle. All of their media responsibilities ended for the day before it was time for them to do their driver briefing.

“You seem to get along with your new teammate,” called out a new voice, effectively catching her attention during her journey towards the briefing room. Henry had said that he needs to take some things back in their motorhome first, making y/n doing the journey alone.

“Maxie,” greeted y/n with a grin.

The so called ‘Maxie’ frowned.  “Don’t call me that,” he said. She could see an entourage of Red Bull employees all around him, no doubt protecting Christian’s very own prodigy from whatever danger he could have inside a guarded area.

Daniel couldn't be seen near him. It made her remember all the hushed talks about the Aussie contract renewal with Red Bull.

The woman laughed. “Aw, is little Maxie mad?” she said as she slung an arm around his shoulder – which is a feat itself considering he’s taller than her. “Don’t be that way to your best friend.”

“You’re not my best friend.”

“We so are!”

Years ago, back in 2015, when a kid called Max Verstappen joined Formula One, y/n felt that it was her duty to guide the lost little lamb. Or maybe it’s just her excuse to bully the new rookie.

You really can’t blame her for that. After all, she had been the youngest kid on the grid for years. She debuted when she was barely 17, she doesn’t even have a normal driving license. So that’s why when she first saw Helmut Marko newest golden boy, she thought that it was her time to be the reliable guy on the grid and helped Max to adjust to the Formula One lifestyle.

Which had not been going pretty well, considering Max is not the cutest kid on the planet – he broods, like a lot. Also Christian is basically in love with the kid. He’ll probably sell his own family for Max. 

She was not even surprised the slightest when it was announced that he and Kyvat will do a driver swap back in 2016. Controversial but interesting. She likes it.

“Ah, is that the Netflix crew?” said y/n as she waved towards the camera near them as they walked towards the briefing room. “Sorry babes, no camera during the briefings.”

“They know that,” muttered Max. “They just like following us around.”

“Ooo, spicy, stalker much, eh?”

A Red Bull employee actually chocked out a laugh at that and y/n count that as a win. The walk towards the briefing room is uneventful and was filled with small talks between her and Max. Some of the employees would chimed in, giving their own opinion or remarks but it’s pretty boring mostly.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive at the room.

Surprisingly, the first thing that she saw is a familiar pair of green eyes.

“Ah,” she said, stopping a bit in order to not bump into the male in front of her. “Charles,” greeted the woman good-naturedly. “You’re pretty early.”

Charles who came from the opposite direction, flushed a bit at that. He still got his pretty face which is nice. “I- uh, I don’t want to be late,” he replied. 

“A good mindset,” she said, giving him a thumbs up. “Anyway, have you met-“

“Charles,” greeted Max, with a nod of his head.

Charles too, gave him a nod. “Max.”

Both of them stared at each other silently at that, as if they're in the middle of sizing up each other before a battle. And maybe they are.

Y/n blinked. There seems an odd tension between the pair. “You guys know each other?” she asked, as the three of them enter the room. The female immediately sat at front.

Max, who decided to sit next to her, shrugged. “We met a lot during karting,” he answered, as if that explained the thick tension between the two of them.

“Yes,” replied Charles as he sat at her other side. “We often race against each other.”

“Ah,” she said. “Rivals huh? Neat.”

The door opened again at that, signalling the arrival of another set of drivers.

“Playing nice with the babies, y/n?” laughed Sebastian Vettel, clad in the familiar but still obnoxious red of Ferrari. She could see Kimi walking in alongside him, though just as usual, the man merely greeted her with a nod of his head before he take a seat behind them.

“For real,” she answered. “Gotta protect these kids hopes and dreams.”

“This is my fourth season,” argued Max back.

“Babies,” said y/n again.

Sebastian answered that with a laugh before he greeted Charles with small greeting and a pat on his back. It’s obvious that they had met beforehand. 

Slowly after that, more and more drivers appeared as low chatters began amongst themselves. Y/n was mainly occupied with both Charles and Max, though sometimes other drivers would greet her or chimed their opinion or two.

“Okay ladies and gentlemen,” started the man from FIA as he stood at the front of the room. “Let’s start the briefing. Is there any concern?”

And that officially starts the 2018 Formula One season.

The first time Charles ever saw y/n, was back in 2012.

It was the year where many things happened. He was entering almost the end of his karting days, looking for sponsors and teams who would want to support him for the higher categories. It was the year where he almost questioned his decision to be a racing driver. 

It was the year, where he realized that a future in Formula One is something that not everyone can reach.

To Charles back then, 2012 was one of the hardest year for his racing career. At the end of 2011, his father had confide to him that they’re running low on funds. That supporting his very expensive hobby will be harder and harder to do. It had stumped him, a realization about the harsh reality of the world.

Charles will be always grateful for Jules and all of his help after that. After all, without the man, he’s not sure if he will able to continue racing.

It was also the year where he found himself idolizing a new driver in Formula One. 

He first noticed her in a magazine. Charles doesn’t even know why did he picked that magazine all those years back. Maybe it was because she’s the only female in the stack of motorsport magazines. Maybe it was because she’s standing in front of a Formula One car, her face plastered on the cover with a headline that he will never forget.

"Youngest Race Winner in Formula One, y/n l/n," could be seen staring back at him. Behind that, in a font that is a bit smaller, the magazine too had added, 'The First Female Driver to ever won a Formula One Race.'

There’s something fierce and intimidating on her face as she stared back at her. It was as if she’s telling the world that she’s a winner. That she had arrived in the Formula One scene with one goal in mind.

To win.

Charles flipped open the magazine and began reading the article being dedicated to the female. About her passion, about her journey so far, and about her team. It is safe to say, that he was hooked ever since then.

As someone that wants to become a Formula One driver, it's only normal to follow the latest news regarding the sport. About the teams, or maybe the junior programs and opportunities that they had that can help his karting career. The arrival of Porsche back in 2012 was a really big moment for any fans of motorsport, so is y/n's arrival at the paddock.

For months, or even for the whole season, what people could talked about in the karting track is about the female. Oftentimes, she's an object of awe and reverent. As someone that started to break many boundaries that's being placed on the sport. Other times, she's an object of mockery and disapproval. Mostly due to her unconventional way to get her seat.

Honestly, back then, he also felt a bit apprehensive at that. After all, wouldn’t it be nice if he also came from a wealthy family that can just buy a whole Formula One team to support his dream? He wouldn’t have to work as hard as he is now, he wouldn’t have to desperately try to find sponsors or teams who would give him a bit of their time.

Maybe, if he came from a wealthy family, Arthur won’t have to give up karting.

That subject is still a sore spot for him. He knows that karting is an expensive sport, he knows that there is no way that his family can support two people karting at the same time. He knows, that he should be grateful that he’s the one being chosen for the investment.

But still, even after years, the guilt just won’t left him.

It’s the way he could see Arthur’s eyes dimmed a bit when he came for his races. It’s the way he would sometimes brought Charles’s old kart and use it in a track late at nights – thinking that no one will notice. His little brother is still as supportive as ever, cheering for him and wholly opened for discussions about his races, but Charles is not stupid. He can see how hurt Arthur was. 

And well, that served as more than enough motivation for him to race as hard as he can.

That reservation that he has for y/n l/n instantly disappeared as he watch the course of Formula One 2012 season. To him back then, it was really amazing for someone so young – only two years older than him – to be able to enter the pinnacle of racing and absolutely dominates the scene.

He watched the videos of her maiden win at the Chinese Grand Prix. He had obsessed over the overtakes that she did in Bahrain Grand Prix. That’s why, when the Monaco Grand Prix came around, he found himself watching it from the balcony of his friend apartment. 

The Grand Prix weekend had always brought a lot of fanfare. From the literal reconstruction of roads to the festive mood that people in Monaco seems to have, the Grand Prix weekend is something that Charles had always looked forward to.

“You seems more excited than usual,” said his friend, leaning forwards to his balcony railings. From their position here, he can almost heard the loud cheering from the grandstand or even the hustle and bustle that the Grand Prix seems to always brought to Monaco.

I’m going to race there one day, he thought, just like the years before. I’m going to be a Ferrari driver and I’m going to win the Monaco Grand Prix.

“Well,” started the Monegasque. “I have a new favourite driver.”

His friend raised his eyebrow. “Alonso?” he asked. “No, is it Felipe Massa?”

Charles shook his head. “Nah,” he denied. “L/n.”

At that, his friend stared at him. “Huh,” he finally let out. “It’s kind of weird not seeing you cheer for Ferrari.”

“I always cheer for Ferrari,” corrected Charles. “It’s just that I have another favourite driver on the grid.” 

“Mhm,” hummed his friend. “Not surprised though.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Cause you’re active in karting and all,” said the male. 

Charles blinked. “What do you even mean by that?”

“Like she’s a female and she’s one of the top driver,” explained his friend. “I just think that it would be obvious for guys like you – those who actively pursue racing as their career – to have some kind of crush to her.”

Crush?

And- and that stumped him.

It almost made him remember all of the things being said towards y/n. All the weird comments about her being a female or her attractive appearance. How she is more marketable and can play with the male fantasy and that it gave her an advantage compared to her other male counterparts.

How sexualized she is by everyone in the media.

He doesn’t like that.

Why is people talking about her gender when she made that insane overtake last race? Why is people talking about her in such a sexualized way when she’s literally the youngest race winner that Formula One had ever had?

All of them saw her as if she’s an object. As if, she’s in Formula One just to fuck around the grid and leave. They didn’t see her as the driver who won the China Grand Prix. They didn’t see her as the driver who got P2 in her debut race. They didn’t see her as a driver that has any worth for their attention and respect.

It was a bit of a horrifying realization. 

He knows that the world of motorsport has its own values and ideals. How people think that it’s a sport only for men and a job as a racing driver is something exclusive to someone who has balls between their legs. 

“No,” he replied, hand tightening around the railing. “I don’t like her just because of that.”

Because the woman is more amazing than that. He knows that she’s attractive. Anyone who has a pair of working eyes can see that. But that’s not the only reason why he put her in a pedestal so high. 

He likes her because she’s only two years older than him and she’s already a race winner. He likes her because she won’t back down from all the shitty things that the media had said about her ever since her debut. He likes her because she fights for the championship against drivers with an infinite experience and skills. Charles likes her because she’s an amazing driver. Charles likes her, because she has the skills to back up her seat in Formula One.

Not because-

A black Porsche car zoomed past him.

Not because-

He watched her finishing the race at fourth in Monaco.

Charles likes her, because she’s someone that is changing the sport.

She’s someone more amazing than how the media is portraying her. A fighter, someone that’s fighting for her voice to be heard. 

His idol.

From that on, he followed her career attentively. His family called it obsession but he likes to call it admiration. From her maiden driver championship in 2013, to her third one in 2017, he had followed it all.

He watched her win three championships. He watched her break countless records. He watched her turned all of those criticisms into words of adorations and worships.

A legend. A superstar. The best driver on the grid.

It had served as an amazing motivation for him to pursue his career in Formula One. Especially during darker times in life where he had questioned his place in the sport so many times. After loss and loss, the female had always became some sort of motivation for him to continue his racing career.

So after winning F2 and being offered a seat in Sauber, he was excited.

That offer had been a testament of his skill, that someone finally acknowledge him. That offer had made the lie that he had told his dad before his passing a truth, that the guilt won’t eat him up once more. That offer had made the dream that he had held for so long a reality.

That offer had made him even closer to y/n.

When Fred had offered him to meet the female during the pre-season testing he had took up the offer in an instant.

The phrase ‘never meet your heroes’ is something that he would like to disagree because meeting y/n is like a dream come true. She’s Charming and witty. A hard worker and attentive to whatever nonsense he said during their meeting. Y/n is just so nice, just like how he imagine her to be.

Charles almost tripped himself when she asked for his number after that because holy shit- 

Somehow, after that meeting, he convinced himself that they stood at an equal ground. That after years and years of blood, sweat, and tears, Charles finally found himself on an equal ground with his idol.

He had never been so wrong.

He looked up, and he could see the female stood in front of the podium in front of him. Her smile bright, as she sprayed champagne towards Sebastian and Lewis who respectively stood at the second and third place.

It’s 2018 and it’s the Australian Grand Prix.

It’s 2018, and Charles saw the person that he had idolized for a long time won a race that Charles also participates in.

It was almost surreal to see her like this. To see the woman he had chatted with at the Porsche hospitality a few weeks ago to the woman who just won the first race of the season. The three of them – y/n, Sebastian, and Lewis – looks almost unreal to him.

The top drivers in the grid. The three world champions.

The best of the best.

His own 15th position on the grid stings a bit. Which is a bit unreasonable because he drives a Sauber. There is no way a Sauber could defeat cars from the top teams. Him, being a 15th position in a Sauber should be a pretty good achievement already.

But alas, it just doesn’t feel enough.

When they had chatted during the pre-session testing, it had gave him a fake illusion about them being an equal. After all, Charles is a Formula One driver now. He drives in the pinnacle of motorsport. He had shown the world that he’s capable to be a Formula One driver. Just like what he had dreamt of for years.

Today, is a harsh wake up call.

Y/n had looked so friendly and attainable that it gave him a false sense of hope that they stood on the same ground. Maybe it’s the euphoria of being promoted to F1 or maybe it’s the euphoria of managing to meet the woman that he had idolized for so many years.

Seeing this, her being at the top of the rankings while him, at the bottom, is a harsh reality check for him.

Because they’re not equal.

She’s still the faraway star that he can’t reach and he’s still the silent admirer that doesn’t have the courage to reach for her.

He’s still Charles Leclerc and she’s y/n l/n. Formula One superstar and legend. 

If he want her to look at him, to make sure that she remember his name, then he has to be better. He has to prove that he will worth her time.

Drive to Survive Season 1 Episode 3

It’s all about Porsche.

“It seems like a curse,” laughed Christian. “No one can hold off the second seat of Porsche for more than two years.”

A montage of past drivers could be seen. In some clips, a younger y/n could be seen standing or talking with the past drivers. It’s clear that these people are the previous holder of Porsche’s second seat.

“I think that it’s a known secret,” started Will as he stared at the camera. “While y/n portrays herself as a fun loving and charming woman, it’s clear that she is really strict and competitive towards her teammate.”

Y/n and Henry could be seen at that, the both of them entering a Porsche car. From how it looks, it seems that the both of them are going to the track together from their hotel. Henry could be seen wearing the standard Porsche polo shirt while y/n in wearing an oversized Porsche racing jacket and a sports bra underneath it.

“Are you driving?” asked the female, raising her eyebrows from behind her sunglasses.

“Sure,” said the male as they both entered the car, “I can drive.”

“Well if you can’t drive all of us are fucked,” answered the female as she sat on her seat. Y/n sitting at the front while two of their staff sat the back.

“Are you excited?” asked the staff as they made their way. “It’s your debut race.”

“I am,” laughed Henry. “There’s a lot of expectations that came with being a Porsche driver.”

During this conversation, y/n doesn’t seems interested in the conversation as she scrolled on her phone silently. The show made it more dramatic as they show a scene where there’s some kind of awkward silence inside the car.

After that, both y/n and Henry could be seen entering the grid. The female are laughing and taking pictures as well as giving autographs to her fans. From this image, we could see how much of a superstar the female is. Though, as they continue their way, the female could be seen greeting other employees and other drivers in a friendly way while Henry could be seen looking confused at the back.

A rookie and a superstar. A very different image.

“It’s not a bad trait to have,” clarified Will. “Because in order to be a world champion, you have to be competitive. In this sport, your first rival should always be your teammate. After all-“

Two Porsche could be seen racing against each other.

“-You have the exact same car-“

A team radio could be heard between Henry and the race engineer who’s ordering for the male to do a pitstop.

“-the same team strategy-“

A scene of two Porsche crashed into each other could be seen.

“And the same competitiveness to show that you’re the best driver on the team.”

The scene changed back into the interview room as Henry Santos appeared. His name could be seen besides him and his position as Porsche driver are written underneath it.

“My name is Henry Santos and I race for Porsche Royale Formula One team,” answered the male smoothly. A question was being asked offscreen as Henry could be seen listening and blinking before he let out a laugh. “Yes, there are a lot of pressure, considering this is my rookie year.”

On the screen, the standings from 2017 could be seen where Porsche won the constructor championship and y/n winning the driver championship. Henry voice too, could be seen as a voiceover, “Porsche is a winning team,” he said. “I want to be someone that can honour that ambition.”

“Do you think you can become the number one driver in Porsche?” asked the producer.

Henry’s smile froze as there’s a stretch of silence after that question.

It’s clear that Netflix wants some kind of drama from that question. The fight of Porsche’s number one driver position. A rookie versus the world champion.

“Yes,” he finally answered. “Yes I believe I can.”

It was almost like a declaration of war. After all, y/n is the reigning world champion. She’s the one that’s using the number one on her car this year. A consistent driver that always shows a remarkable performance each year.

For a rookie like Henry to say that, it’s a bold claim to have.

“A conflict,” said Christian as he appeared once again. “Will bound to happen in a team like that.”

Taglist!

@mellowarcadefun @glai1023-blog @jjkclub @newlifeforus @jpg3 @sp1cycurry @eternalharry @be-your-coffee-pot @itsjustkhaos @chanshintien @fairiesdowntheroad @not-laracroft @ilovegreengrapes @nzygftoji @reblog-princess @aaaooz @chasing-liberosis @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @reneny @hiraethrhapsody @stevesworld9 @miniboast @notleclerc @willowpains @lndonrris @laura-naruto-fan1998 @yaren23 @gills-lounge @asfaraslifegets @dl-yum @dessxoxsworld @goldenchemistry @vellicora @neoteez7 @lana-d3l-rey @mynameisangeloflife @fennecspage @yuriankasavchuk @hascrt-ay @kihc-zya @leilanixx @cha-hot @mafiulaputaama @hockeyboysarehot @stopeatread @lovewithmary @inloveallthetime

[galacticgraffiti]

❁ Sugar (I've developed a taste for you) ❁

!!! NSFW ⋆ 18+ ⋆ Minors DNI !!!

Summary: Astarion asks for a favour and ends up getting more than what he bargained for (or: I'm a lesbian but this fictional little vampire twink can get it)

Rating: Explicit (for eventual smut) Wordcount: 2.4k Descriptors: I try to keep my reader-inserts fairly neutral, but let me know if anything slips through the cracks! Astarion is his usual self, pathetic and awful yet somehow also lovable as fuck. CW: bad flirting, friends with benefits (and the benefit is bloodsucking lol), blood, blood drinking, biting, hint of praise kink, eventual proper smut, nicknames, so much innuendo

✦⋆ Main Masterlist ⋆✦⋆ If you prefer AO3 ⋆✦

༻────• ༻❁༺ •────༺

Chapter 1: My my, those eyes like fire

He could be lovely if he wasn’t so self-involved.

That is the first thought you have when you meet Astarion. He is not downright mean, but something about him just bugs you. He flirts with every creature on two legs (sometimes even those with more), but that’s not it.

Something about all his honeyed words just feels so… insincere. 

You think Astarion has something to hide, and you desperately want to know what it is. So far, he has shown no signs of weakness, and he is as much as self-entitled twat as when you first met him. And this continues to be your opinion of him… up until today.

The day has been hard. Your feet hurt, your hands have blisters, and you are smeared with blood pretty much all over. Your shirt has been ripped and frankly, you don’t know when you might find the time to mend it. There is a giant bloodstain on the thigh of your trousers, and you are pretty sure your hair has become completely encrusted in blood quite some time ago.

But you have made it back to camp and that is all that counts.

As you shake out your bedroll and try to ignore the fact that this is the seventh night in a row that you’ll have had bland stew for dinner, you catch Astarion’s eyes across the fire.

His gaze is… odd.

You have seen him in the heat of battle, you’ve seen the glint in his eye when he comes up with another of his devious plans. You’ve even seen him amused, shaking with laughter when Gale recited an - admittedly very ambiguous - poem to you.

But you have never seen him like this. It’s not affection, nor is it desire that lights up his delicate features. He almost looks… desperate. Like he is starving for something, and you can’t place your finger on what it is.

As soon as Astarion notices that you have caught him, his eyes flick away. He saunters off, way too casual to not be obvious about it.

You stare after him, vaguely confused. But then, Karlach makes her way over to ask for more stew, and you forget all about it. For the moment.

Her smile makes your belly flutter, and you wish you knew more about her, and so you do your best to make conversation, joking and asking shallow questions.

Astarion’s eyes haunt you through dinner.

Even though the day was exhausting, the nights in your little camp are starting to grow on you. Gale is funny in his own, book-wormish way. You have learned that Karlach is downright hilarious in her joy about the world outside of Avernus, and Wyll is always scandalised by her, which is admittedly quite fun to watch. Lae’zel and Shadowheart keep to themselves a bit more, but even they share the meals with the rest of you.

You laugh when Karlach imitates Wyll’s horrified expression, but in spite of yourself. your eyes keep wandering to the silver hair of your elven companion who is sitting across from you.

Astarion is staring at you again, his eyes focused on some point below your jaw. He is watching you intently, seemingly unaware you have caught him. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away - he just stares at you as your spoon scrapes along the bottom of your bowl.

Only when you get up to wash off before you go to bed does he move again.

Sometimes, Astarion reminds you of a scared animal in the way he moves, his eyes flicking back and forth, his hands trembling slightly whenever he is not in battle. He hides right out in the open, behind his swagger and his dirty jokes and innuendos, behind his beautiful face and his beautiful body.

Tonight, though, even in all his desperation, Astarion is not prey. He is a predator. And like any talented predator, he has managed to get his prey away from the protection of the group.

You are kneeling in the small stream that runs by the camp, washing your bowl, your clothes, yourself - everything is dirty and soaked in mud, sweat and blood. You are barely wearing anything, but your companions have seen you in much more precarious situations at this point.

Astarion approaches quietly, sneaking up on you in that manner where you can never tell whether it is intentional or not. He is just… there, suddenly, shedding his clothes next to you, blood still smeared on his pale skin.

He stops short of the water, watching you from the riverbank. You try not to gawk as he undresses, but something about him seems unusually anxious. The way he pushes hit foot forward so slowly, testing the water, makes you wonder if he might not know how to swim.

Astarion smiles suddenly, taking a step into the stream and towards you, then another, his smile growing the deeper he wades into the water. Dark red streaks appear in the water where the blood is washed from his pale skin.

He clears his throat and raises a sharp brow.

“And how are you feeling tonight, sweet thing?” he inquires. His eyes flick over your body, focusing on a point below your ear for a moment before he rips his gaze away again.

“‘M alright,” you answer, brow furrowed as you scrub your shirt a little harder than you actually need to. Why he has to be so infuriating with his nicknames, you’ll never know. “Today was… a lot. I wanted to have a quiet moment.”

“Ah.”

He doesn’t seem to get the hint. He merely wades further into the stream, shimmering pearls of water running down his back. When you don’t say anything else, he turns to face you once again.

“Are you not going to ask me how I am, darling?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you mumble, throwing your shirt to the side, Clearly, you’re not getting anywhere with it tonight.

“Tsk, so rude. Somebody should really teach you some manners.” He clicks his tongue at you like you are an insubordinate child, shaking his head until droplets hit you.

You press your lips together. If he wasn’t so beautiful, he wouldn’t get away with half the things he does, and it frustrates you to no end. You catch yourself forgiving him on occasions where you don’t mean to, simply because his face is the prettiest things you have ever seen, and you hate it.

Astarion watches you carefully, gauging your mood. You stare back at him defiantly. What the hell could he want from you, anyway?

The hunger in his eyes is back, you notice - that desperation that you can’t quite place. There is a pained expression around his mouth, and despite all his cockiness, he is clearly not doing entirely well - his skin even paler than usual, his hands shaking a little when he crosses his arms.

Astarion yawns, his gaze raking over you in a way that makes you shiver. You tell yourself it’s just the cold of the water.

“Well, I was going to ask you for your help, but you are in a terrible mood.” He inspects his fingernails, and even though you know exactly that he is baiting you, you can’t help yourself.

“You? Need my help? Never thought the day would come.” Your voice is biting, but you can’t hide the note of curiosity that sneaks in.

“Don’t make me out to be such a horrible companion.” Astarion takes a step closer to you through the water. You take a step back. He laughs, but his eyes catch on your neck again. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

You shrug.

“Sometimes you are.”

“Hm.” He raises his brows, and takes another step towards you. This time, you don’t step back. “Well, I suppose that can’t be helped, my love. We all have good and bad days, don’t we?” He cocks his head. “And today has been quite hard for me.”

You make a non-committal noise, staring him down. What in the hells is he trying to do? Seduce you?

Your body likes that thought much more than your mind does.

Astarion is watching you intently. He stretches out his hand to take yours, and in your surprise, you don’t even pull back. His thumb rests right against the delicate inside of your wrist, and he closes his eyes.

You wait for him to drone on about how he carried your group on the battlefield, to gloat that you now owe him your life seven times over, but he doesn’t. Astarion stays eerily still, breathing deeply as his thumb strokes your wrist, pressing against your pulse point.

You can’t keep quiet any longer, not with the odd way he is behaving. Maybe he got hit by a spell, or…

“Any reason today was particularly hard for you?” You meant to sound sarcastic, but the question comes out sounding sincere. You scold yourself for caring so much.

Your skin burns like fire where he is touching you. Astarion’s eyes open, and he looks at you like he was a million miles away. He is so close now - much closer than you realised. You can see the fiery ring around his irises.

“I…” To your surprise, his voice is hesitant and quiet. “It’s easier to just… show you. You see, I need something from you, my darling.”

You frown.

“Why ask me? You could ask any of us, and most of them would be more inclined to help than I am. I’ve seen the way that Gale watches you at the fire-”

“Gale?” Astarion sounds genuinely amused. “Darling, do you think I’m asking you for sexual favours right now?”

“I- yes?” Your voice is full of uncertainty. “I mean… is that not what you were going to say?”

Astarion smiles, small and sharp.

“No.” He is even closer to you now, his thumb still caressing the skin of your wrist. “Even though I would not be disinclined if you offered… you are quite beautiful, you know?”

“Mh. Thank you?” You wish your heart would not beat faster at the way he looks at you. It’s a look that doesn’t fit the words that fall from his lips, a look that betrays the desperation with which he needs this favour. “What-”

“What I am asking for is simple.” He is so close now he could kiss you if you leaned in. “All I want is… a taste.”

“I- what?”

His lips are on your neck, his hand in your hair. You are not quite sure when that happened.

“Say yes, sweet thing,” he breathes. “Just a taste of your blood and-”

“My blood?” You sound more distraught than you actually feel. You are… oddly resigned. You should have seen this coming - you knew something was up with him, you knew he wasn’t telling you the whole truth.

And now, here you are. With a fucking vampire. His lips graze your pulse point, and your heart beats faster. You can feel the heat of his breath when he utters a single word.

“Please.”

It’s that one word that changes everything. Just like that, he has you. All the arrogance, all the superiority is gone from his voice, and what is left is just hunger and the fear that you might reject him. For a moment, you are sure you must have imagined it, but then, Astarion repeats himself.

“Please.” His hand tightens around your wrist, though he is trembling more than you are. “Just a taste, no more.”

Your lips are numb when you answer, your mind screaming at you not to let him- this is dangerous, this is stupid- you have already lost so much blood in the fight today and-

“Yes.” Your hands are on his shoulders, then in his silver hair. He smells so good; even after this horrid day. Your voice is softer than you intend for it to be, but his desperation makes you weak. “If you need it, it’s yours.”

Astarion makes a sound that shatters you, and before you can think too much about your own colossal stupidity, his fangs sink into your neck. 

It’s not painful.

It’s uncomfortable, but the fear that bites into your heart ebbs after mere seconds. Astarion’s hands are surprisingly warm against you, keeping you upright. Your head falls to the side, granting him easier access and - oh.

Why does it feel so good?

You become acutely aware of your blood flowing from the small puncture wounds in your neck, and for a moment, you panic, stiffening in Astarion’s arms.

“There, there, sweet thing.” His lips don’t raise an inch from your neck. “It’s alright, just trust me. Just a taste, all I want is a taste…”

Your head is swimming.

“You have tasted me,” you whisper, trying to pull away. When you look into Astarion’s eyes, there is a red glint in them - and a sadness that overwhelms you.

“No taste of you will ever be enough.” Astarion looks up at you from beneath long lashes. “You are divine, my love.”

The tip of his tongue wets his lips, licking up the small droplets of blood that linger.

You stare at him, trying with all your might to focus.

“You said… just a taste. No more than you need.”

His finger traces your jaw, down your neck, and your whole body is on fire.

“If it were up to me, I would need all of you,” Astarion sighs, his lips on your neck again, his tongue lapping at the blood that flows from the wound he has given you. “I would take and take, and give you so much in return. I would have you in ways you did not even know you wanted. Taste everything you have to offer.”

You shiver when he raises your wrist to his mouth, soft lips pressing to delicate skin.

“I would cherish you, keep you. My little pet, so perfect, so beautiful in every way. So eager to give what I need. Would you give me more if I asked?”

“Of course,” your lips say even though those were not the words you were planning to utter. But how could you ever say no to him? “If that’s what you need.”

Astarion’s sigh is one of rapture and delight.

“So obedient for me… You know, all these days I thought you hated me.” He chuckles to himself. “I suppose even I can be wrong sometimes.”

His teeth sink back into your neck, and the world goes dark.

༻────• ༻❁༺ •────༺

>> Next Chapter

HELLO MY DOVES i finally found time to format this for tumblr so here you go, for those who are not in love with the bear, you can get the twink, as a treat.

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