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xtra7s · 2 months

Note

Hey! Would you be okay with writing about one of billies friends recently had a baby and she sees how amazing we are with kids! It brings up the topic of us wanting to have kids together in the future-thank you beautiful! 🫶🏻

𝙇𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙚𝙨

Billie Eilish x gn!reader

Synopsis: Billie and Y/N pay Finneas and Claudias new family a visit

Content: fluff. pure fluff.

Word Count: 1.1k

a/n: i hope you like it! sorry if its bad, Ive had terrible writers block and havent been writing lately.

The sun dipped below the horizon as Billie and Y/N pulled up to Finneas and Claudia's cozy house. Billie was excited to spend time with her brother and his new family, especially now that Claudia had given birth to a beautiful baby girl just a few weeks ago.

The door swung open, revealing Finneas with a warm smile. "Hey, you two! Come on in," he greeted them.

As they entered, the sound of a gentle lullaby filled the air. Claudia was in the living room, cradling their newborn daughter, Lily. Billie's eyes lit up at the sight of the tiny bundle in Claudia's arms.

"Aw, look at her! She's so tiny and cute," Billie cooed.

Claudia grinned, careful not to wake the peacefully sleeping Lily. "She takes after her mom, don't you think?" she teased.

Billie chuckled and leaned down to get a closer look at the baby. "Hi there, Lily," she whispered. "I'm your aunt Billie. You're gonna have so much fun with us."

Y/N couldn't help but smile at the sweet scene unfolding before them. Billie, known for her bold stage presence, seemed to transform into a soft, caring presence around the baby.

"Can I hold her?" Billie asked, her eyes wide with anticipation.

"Of course!" Claudia carefully handed Lily over to Billie, who cradled the baby in her arms with a mixture of awe and tenderness.

Y/N watched as Billie's face lit up with joy. The singer gently rocked Lily, singing a soft melody under her breath. The baby stirred, her eyes fluttering open to meet Billie's.

"Hey, beautiful. Did you miss me?" Billie whispered, earning a heartwarming coo from Lily.

Finneas couldn't help but snap a quick picture of the precious moment. "Looks like Lily has a new favorite aunt," he teased.

Billie shot him a playful glare, but her attention was quickly back on the baby. Y/N couldn't resist capturing the wholesome scene in their hearts, knowing that this would be a day they'd fondly remember.

As Y/N engaged in a heartfelt conversation with Finneas, Billie continued her enchanting interaction with Lily. The living room was filled with the soft murmurs of a lullaby as Billie cradled the baby in her arms, her eyes locked onto Lily's tiny face.

Meanwhile, Finneas couldn't resist teasing Y/N about the adorable scene unfolding before them. "You know," he said with a mischievous grin, "seeing Billie with Lily makes me think you two should join the parent club. Our kids could be best friends."

Y/N chuckled, the idea sparking a mix of excitement and nervousness. "You think so?"

Finneas nodded, his eyes glinting with playful enthusiasm. "Absolutely. Just imagine family picnics, playdates, and our kids growing up together. It would be a blast."

Y/N couldn't help but picture it – a future filled with laughter, shared moments, and the pitter-patter of little feet. Meanwhile, Billie continued to shower Lily with affection, making silly faces and eliciting delighted coos from the baby.

Finneas leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Besides, it's about time you and Billie share the joy of parenting. I can already tell she's a natural with babies."

As Y/N and Finneas shared a laugh, Billie, sensing the conversation's direction, looked over with a playful smirk. "What's so funny over there, you two?"

Finneas winked at Y/N. "Just discussing the possibility of our kids being BFFs someday."

Billie raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of excitement crossing her eyes. "I like the sound of that. Our own little crew."

Y/N joined the banter, feeling a mix of warmth and anticipation. "Looks like we might need to start planning for the future, huh?"

Billie grinned, gently handing Lily back to Claudia. "I'm all in for whatever makes us happy. And if that includes tiny humans and playdates, count me in."

The night continued with laughter, music, and shared dreams of a future filled with love and family. As Y/N and Billie left Finneas and Claudia's house, the teasing from Finneas lingered in the air.

"Better start practicing diaper-changing skills," Finneas called out with a wink.

Y/N and Billie exchanged amused glances, knowing that their journey toward parenthood had just received a playful nudge from a brother with a knack for mischief. The idea of a shared future, where their children could grow up together, resonated in their hearts, making the prospect of starting a family even more enticing.

As Y/N observed Billie cradling Lily in her arms, a warmth spread through their heart. Billie's eyes were filled with a genuine adoration that melted away any remaining doubts or fears about the idea of starting a family. The way Billie effortlessly connected with the tiny bundle of joy ignited a spark of excitement in Y/N.

As the night unfolded, Y/N couldn't help but find themselves lost in thoughts of the future. The image of Billie, with a child of their own, played vividly in their mind. It wasn't just about the shared moments with a baby; it was about the love, the tenderness, and the undeniable joy that seemed to radiate from Billie's every interaction with Lily.

In the quiet moments of the evening, as Y/N and Billie drove home, the topic arose naturally.

"You were amazing with Lily, Billie," Y/N commented, a soft smile playing on their lips.

Billie grinned, her eyes reflecting the happiness that still lingered from the time spent with the baby. "She's such a cutie, isn't she?"

Y/N nodded, their gaze drifting toward the passing city lights. "You know, I can't help but imagine our own little family someday. I can already see you being the most incredible mom."

Billie's hand found its way to Y/N's, fingers intertwining in a reassuring grip. "Really?" she asked, a genuine curiosity in her voice.

"Absolutely," Y/N affirmed. "The way you held Lily, the love in your eyes—it made me realize how beautiful our life could be with a child of our own. I can't wait for the day when we get to experience that together."

A soft, reflective silence settled in the car as the couple continued their journey home. The air was filled with a shared anticipation, a sense of excitement for the possibilities that lay ahead. Billie stole glances at Y/N, her heart swelling with affection for the person she envisioned building a future with.

As they arrived home, Y/N couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. Billie's love for Lily had opened a door to a future they both desired. The thought of creating a family together, filled with laughter, love, and the same warmth they had witnessed that night, was a dream worth pursuing.

Wrapped in each other's arms, Y/N and Billie embraced the promise of a future that held the sweet melody of parenthood. The journey toward building their own family had just begun, and the love they had witnessed that night became the guiding star illuminating the path ahead.

#Billie eilish x reader #Billie eilish #lgbtq #Billie #Eilish #goldwing #FINNEAS #Claudia #i’m so gay help

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satorutini · 4 months

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goldwing - gojo satoru ; geto suguru

pairing: gojo satoru/reader/geto suguru

summary: If you weren't mine, I'd be jealous of your love. Or-; you're an up-and-coming screenwriter, a late bloomer in your career who has suddenly found herself shaking hands with Hollywood's elite. when your idol upends your entire reputation at an award ceremony, how much are you willing to risk to set things straight?

rating: mature; eventual smut

wc: 4.3k

ch: 1/?

this was supposed to be a one-shot but it just. spiraled out of my control so quickly so here's a multichapter fic yay! I'm so excited, I can't wait to try my hand at writing unhinged gojo. it soothes a certain spot in my soul idk. no beta reader yet, just my two brain cells and Grammarly. happy new year! <3

read on ao3

The night was alive with the glare of camera flashes, the buzz of excited chatter, and the unmistakable air of glamour that draped the red carpet. Tonight was a celebration of the industry's finest, glittering beneath the spotlight of fame. Directors, actors, and actresses alike slunk across the strip of velvet, limbering out of long, jet-black limousines that line the block along the venue with all the practiced ease and grace that eluded you. You watch from behind a crowd of interviewers and paparazzi that line the roped-off walkway like over-excited attendees at a zoo as each star pauses to pose, preen, and bless a few poor reporters in the press pit with a bit of small talk in front of the onslaught of cameras.

Shoko Ieiri hides a laugh behind her cigarette-holding hand as the lead actress competing in the drama category trips over the train of a gown in a very unflattering aquamarine shade.

"Don't laugh," you admonished, albeit both secretly tickled and relieved to see a bit of humanity in an environment with such an intimidating aura. You don't think you've ever even been near clothes this expensive in your entire life. The passing thought makes you itch in your borrowed slip. "That could have just as easily been you."

Your famous friend, who had just completed her turn down the red carpet and was now hiding in your company for a quick smoke break, simply dismisses the thought with a scoff. She knows just as well as you do how unlikely it would be. She was practically nursed and weaned at these kinds of events. You glance around at the eager-eyed reporters, the influencers, the fresh-faced actors that climb out of the next limousine, and then back at your companion. A red carpet walk at an award ceremony to her was like what you imagine attending Sunday service was like to some people. Familiar, ritual even.

You can't help but blush when she catches you gazing at her pensively, grinning as she turns her amusement towards you. "You look good like this. In all of this, I mean," she gestures vaguely towards the dress she generously lent you, and then about the venue. "You look good. It suits you. I know I've already said this but…I'm seriously glad we met up again under these circumstances."

"Oh," You glow at her praise, her generous honesty anchoring you in this larger-than-life moment that's felt like it could slip away in an instant. You're afraid to breath too hard or blink too slow. It's probably evident that you're nervous, but you don't tell Shoko you've been feeling so out of place since you arrived that you're half expecting to be carried out by security at any moment now. You're doing your best to keep your composure. "Thanks…seriously."

You and Shoko had been good friends – best friends, even – in childhood until she was picked up by a popular family sitcom in your last year of elementary school and fast-tracked into stardom. You don't remember the exact circumstances of the situation, maybe just that you had felt a little slighted once you had returned to school after the summer break to find that your friend had picked up and moved to L.A. with little warning. Communication was strained, and inconsistent, and then eventually petered out as years passed. The sitcom had eventually become internationally beloved, and it's cast along with it. Shoko always existed in your periphery, but never long enough for you to gather the courage to reach out again. She was a star, in every sense of the word. So, when she came by the studio one day to surprise the lead actress for your short film, Utahime Iori, with a visit, you were pleasantly surprised as well.

Your brief reunion revealed that Shoko had been living the whirlwind, if not a bit traumatic, life of a typical child star. She and Utahime, a talented indie film starlet, were a very welcome presence in your life as you navigated your own late-blooming career.

Tonight, your Western short film was in the running to receive its very first accolade.

Well, not very first. A flurry of positive reviews and first-place prizes at film festivals is what led you here. But here, this-

"Ah, hell. Here comes the clown car."

You're startled out of your musing by Shoko's ire and a rise in the clamor from the crowd in front of you. Like a disturbed ant hill, the reports swarm to the front of the carpet, crying out for the newcomer's attention before they've even propped open the doors to a sleek, matte black foreign sports car with a brilliant baby blue racing stripe that glides to a stop at the start of the carpet. For a moment, anticipation rolls over the crowd and reflexively, you hold your breath. It feels as though time itself comes to a stop.

I've seen that car before; you think to yourself. Where have I seen that car before?

The car doors lift – lift – and out steps Satoru Gojo, the nepotism-blessed scion of a bygone Hollywood era. With a disinterested tilt of his head, Gojo straightens and adjusts his shades once, and the crowd erupts into chaos.

Gojo's rise to directorial prominence had been swift and tumultuous, his wealth and power inherited rather than earned. His family's name, etched in the golden annals of old Hollywood, had bequeathed him not just an unimaginable fortune, but also a reputation of mystery and privilege. He was first introduced to the industry during a failed attempt by his family to get him into acting as a kid. But Gojo quickly realized he didn't take to following directions too well – he preferred to be the one giving them. Thus, after a few years long hiatus in school and a very public downward spiral, the young starlet reemerged on the scene with a break-through fantasy thriller that would go on to become one of the most recognized film franchises and successful book-to-movie adaptations to date.

His shockingly white hair and startling blue eyes made him a rather memorable character. To those who worked within the film industry, he was well respected in his field but known to be prideful, cocky, demanding, and overly ambitious. But boy did he know how to work a camera. The contrast between Gojo's charisma on camera and the whispers of his notoriously cold, borderline demeaning, arrogance on set had set him apart in an industry that thrived on eccentricities. The tabloids did well to keep tabs on him. Gojo was often deemed reckless, uninhibited, and entitled, but most of all, Satoru Gojo was your fucking hero.

You would give anything to experience the way you felt watching Gojo's debut movie again for the first time. You remember the day so vividly, remember settling into the theater and griping to a classmate who accompanied you to see the movie that it wasn't fair that someone like him got to direct a big-name film just because he was rich. And then you can recall being effectively shut the hell up as your mind proceeded to be blown over the course of an hour and forty minutes.

You nearly float off of your toes trying to catch a glimpse of the shock of white hair over the crowd. "That-that's-,"

Dressed in a tailored black suit, Gojo pretends to shield his eyes from the relentless flashes, granting his on-lookers a smile that's all teeth. Even from where you stand, it looks a bit menacing.

At his side stands his enigmatic best friend and former child actor Suguru Geto, who grants the frenzied crowd an easygoing smile as Gojo slings an arm around him.

You notice Shoko tense beside you, quiet displeasure radiating off of her stance. She absently flicks away her dead cigarette bud. You catch the scowl marring her typically unperturbed demeanor as she turns sharply on her heel. "Let's head inside."

Shoko and Geto starred in the same sitcom for years, until they eventually aged out of their roles and the show was terminated after nine seasons. There had been a time, in your late teens and early twenties, when you saw the three of them in tabloids quite frequently. Satoru, with his impulse and daring, Suguru, with his brooding intensity, and Shoko, with her sultry, laidback charm, formed the trifecta of an unconventional trio that thrived on exclusivity and recklessness. Rager parties. DUIs. House raids. In the interim years between his schooling and his first film debut, Satoru Gojo and the company he kept were a menace to L.A. society.

You confess…there may have been a smaller, less important, more alternative reason to why reuniting with Shoko had been so serendipitous.

You're not entirely sure what their relationship is like now, but judging by the look on her face, it wouldn't work in your favor tonight. So, in the spirit of being a good friend, you force your feet to follow Shoko into the venue, even as your heart tugs in the direction of the man who inspired your career. As you retreat inside, you think you can hear him laugh.

Despite your best efforts, it is hard not to look a little starstruck while you sit through the award show. The audience glitters with critically acclaimed stars and new heartthrobs alike. The actors are wonderful but it's the screenplay writers whose every word you hang off of when they're brought to the stage and the directors who you fawn over when they squeeze past your section with a preoccupied, "excuse me."

At intermission, Utahime gasps from her seat beside Shoko. In her hands is her phone, unlocked and open to some social media feed.

"Fuck…shit!"

You learn over your friend, an eyebrow raised. From what you know of Utahime, she isn't one to sling vulgar language around carelessly. "Is something wrong?"

But Shoko is already one step ahead of you, prying the phone from her friend (girlfriend??)'s fingers and skimming over the opened post. She must not like whatever she sees, because the look on her face turns grim. "Fuck indeed."

"Can someone-, can one of you please just tell me what's going on?" You struggle not to feel exasperated, fiddling with your own phone to see if maybe it'll pop up on your own feed.

"It's Gojo," answers Utahime with more disdain than you're used to hearing associated with that name, which is quite a lot when you think back on it. "He mentioned our short film. In an interview."

All at once, your heart soars in your chest and your brain struggles to comprehend those words in the same utterance in real, real life.

"Gojo? Satoru Gojo? Said something about our short film?" You short circuit. "He's watched our short film?!"

Joy doesn't even begin to cover the immense feeling inside you. For a split second, you're overwhelmed with astonishment, veneration, and gratitude. You could rejoice-!

But then.

Then you pick up on Utahime's tone.

You notice how quickly Shoko is skimming through posts. The furrow in her brow. That oppressive force you'd felt outside has followed you into the venue and hovers over the three of you like a storm cloud, threatening to suck the air from your lungs. That bright, shining feeling in your gut suddenly sours in apprehension.

"What - um…What did he say?"

The lights in the venue lower, signaling the resumption of the award ceremony. When Shoko tilts the screen in your direction, the headline nearly blares back at you in the dim lighting.

Red Carpet Update: Satoru Gojo Calls Breakout Western Romance Short Film Blander than Triscuit Crackers

You rush out of the theater and into the bathroom quickly enough for no one to notice you almost vomit. In your haste, you finally give a name to the cold feeling you felt beside Shoko outside and in the venue. The expression that clouded her face and snuffed out the warmth in her eyes.

Resentment.

A hotel hosts the after-party. The interview took place a little over two hours ago, but the damage is done. That much is evident as you scroll through your flooded mentions, holed up in a cushy stall in the glitzy women's bathroom. Sat on the toilet and despondent. You've replayed the 30-second clip of the actual interview enough times tonight to recite his comments word for word by now.

The gleam in Satoru Gojo's smile is as bright and disarming in person as it is on camera.

"A Netflix original? Yeah, I can tell," he scoffs, then mutters more so to his companion – who stands quietly, looking uninterested at his side – than the interviewer, "They're really just giving these away to just about anyone now these days, huh?"

The words rattle around in your head like marbles in a tin jar. Loud, concussive. The weight of the moment settles on your shoulders like an unforgiving burden. While it's not enough to break the internet and go viral, your reputation is about to take a brutal hit. You press your phone to your forehead and try not to spiral. The cacophony of judgment online, the concept of failing your idol – it all threatens to swallow you whole.

Boring? Bland? You poured your heart and soul into writing that screenplay. What did Satoru Gojo, a director of fantasy films based on a series that was already written, published, and well-beloved, know about good writing? Or Westerns and romance for that matter?

As your grief churns into rage, a text notification from Shoko pulls you from your festering thoughts.

The text reads you can't hide in there forever, you know.

You open the message and scoff, smiling watery as you type your reply. Bet.

Tears threaten to overwhelm you again. This should be the best night of your life. You won! You actually won in your category, your first real award. And instead of living it up and celebrating with the wonderfully talented cast and director, instead of collecting your congratulations and basking in the revelry of your accomplishment, you are here. Excusing yourself from the party to slip away into the bathroom every few minutes because the mortification was unbearable.

Every well-wisher you had received greeted you with a slight look of pity in their eyes. Their voices are a little too high. Their handshakes are a little too eager. But you knew; they all knew. The only thing keeping you from ditching was Shoko's steadfast presence and the obligation to celebrate the cast members. This night was for them too.

With that in mind, you gather your resolve and slip out of the bathroom. Only to collide straight into someone waiting just outside.

"Fuck, are you okay?"

Whoever you bump into is like rushing at a solid wall of soft flesh. You stagger backward with the force of your collision as Suguru Geto, the infamous partner of the bringer of your demise, reaches to brace your shoulders.

"Ah-no, no!" You smack his hands away and then hold up your own as if to ward him off, feeling a bit childish and miffed that he hadn't stumbled at all. Your face is still flushed from remembering Gojo's biting comments. "Don't touch me! I'm good, thank you."

The man that hovers over you is tall and well-built. The world watched Suguru grow up on television, filling out a gangly little boy into this intimidating, silent force. His lengthy, gorgeous, inky black hair, quick wit, and sly smile earned him the title of heartbreaker at a young age. You would swoon at the way his muscles shift under that suit if only you weren't so fucking humiliated.

"Hey," Geto says, his renowned stoicism momentarily replaced by a flicker of concern. He murmurs your name. "You look like you could use a breather."

Your guard is up, but his peculiar sincerity breaks through the walls you've hastily erected tonight. Besides, he's not the one who made shitty comments about your work. He just stood there and watched in amusement as the real instigator did. His low-lidded gaze meets yours, and for a moment, the air crackles with unspoken tension.

"Yeah, maybe," you respond, your voice carrying the weight of frustration. You eye him warily.

Suguru steps aside, allowing you space to pass, but instead of letting you walk away, he falls into step beside you. The relentless rhythm of the party pounds in the background, nearly vibrating your skull as you squeeze your way through the glittering crowd to a quieter corner of the bar. At the far end, you spot Shoko and Utahime with the rest of your cast and figure it's better to keep your distance while you entertain your dubious follower.

"Look, about what Satoru said," Suguru starts, his tone low and apologetic. "He can be…reckless with his words. I wanted to apologize on his behalf."

The actor seems to crowd you into the bar counter, propping himself up on the surface and resting his cheek on his knuckles.

You raise an eyebrow, a mixture of skepticism and curiosity dancing in your eyes. What the hell is even happening tonight? How do you even know who I am?

"Is he making you do this, or do you just really feel that bad for me, after watching your friend publicly humiliate my work?"

You wonder why he's not apologizing to the actors, to the director, or maybe he's already gone out of his way to do that already, in your absence. And then you think of Shoko and figure that's an unlikely case.

Suguru has paused as if weighing his words carefully. "A bit of both, maybe…"

He takes in your disheveled appearance and exasperated expression. You figure your makeup hadn't fared well after the first onslaught of tears at the award show. Despite a night of what you can only assume has only been full of drinking and partying – Satoru walked away with six awards – there isn't a hair out of place on Suguru. His long tresses swept back into a slick bun, Suguru manages to make even a custom tailor tux look effortless and easygoing. As he scans your face, you can only imagine what you must look like to him.

Your new companion gestures the bartender over.

"Whiskey?" he offers, as if it's a universal remedy for wounds inflicted by Satoru's sharp tongue

You wordlessly accept the offer with a nod. The pair of you sit in uneasy silence until your drink arrives. Taking a swig from the glass as the warmth of the alcohol courses through you, you find yourself at least a little less likely to send the next white-haired person you spot to high hell. Distantly, you think you hear your sound producer cackle with glee above the noise of the party, obviously a few drinks ahead of you since your retreat to the bathroom. You down your drink with a grimace. I need to catch up.

"Not a whiskey girl?" The actor beside you simpers. The pleasant buzz of liquor makes it a little less annoying when his shoulder bumps into yours.

You ignore the question, deflecting with one of your own. "So what, are you like his clean-up crew or something? Your boyfriend pisses somebody off and you…"

You gesture vaguely at his stance, his teasing smile.

"…charm my way into their panties?"

"I was going to say good graces, but I'm sure that works out fine for you too."

Suguru laughs into his glass, warm and genuine. He's so close, you can feel the way the sound rumbles through his chest. You blame the blood rushing to your cheeks on the drink. Begrudgingly, you can't help but grin a little too.

Not one to be put on the spot, you ask him how he knew your name and how he recognized you. Rather sheepishly, Suguru admits that the only reason Satoru knew of your short film was because of him.

"I was already watching it, but he came in on the other half and-,"

"You mean he didn't even see the whole thing?" Your exclamation comes out sounding more like a squawk, feeling the effects of your second glass. "You're not doing a very good job of defending his case."

When Suguru chuckles, the warm air brushes the tip of your ear from where he leans over you, no longer wanting to yell over the volume of the party. "Satoru is…he can be pretty opinionated."

You catch the hint of adoration in his tone as he speaks about the man and subconsciously lean away in an attempt to widen the space between you - trying to throw yourself a life raft. You think back to how he didn't deny it when you referred to Gojo as his boyfriend and feel an inkling of discomfort.

As if noticing your unease, Suguru leans against the wall behind him, and the conversation shifts from apologies to shared experiences – Suguru's tales of the ruthless film industry before he came to work with Gojo, your shared struggles of creative expression, and the thin line between success and failure, which seems to be the theme for the night.

The more Suguru talks, the more you find yourself lowering your guard. Throughout the night, you find yourself wanting to make him laugh and glow at the results. His smile humanizes him. Gradually, a mutual affinity begins to form between the two of you. A shared understanding that transcends the chaos of the party, stemming from your shared admiration of Gojo. A deep admiration, you explain to your new acquaintance as the party dies down a little, that makes his ruthless comments and public dismissal hurt more than any loss at an award show.

"I can't help but feel like I disappointed him, y'know?" You murmur, resting your chin on your free hand.

When a singular, long finger extends to tilt your head in his direction, you nearly jump back at Suguru's sudden proximity. The whiskey has you feeling loose and easily flustered and god, when did he get so close to your face?

His thumb brushes your lower lip, and he freezes you with that low-lidded gaze. This close, his cologne tickles your nose, pleasant and intoxicating. It's not hard to sense that something else prowls beneath his easygoing demeanor. Something predatory that itches to catch you in its maws.

"You did," says Suguru, and you purse your lips, eyes glued to the bar counter. "But I think we can fix that."

You laugh but don't bother asking him how. Gojo has made your place in this industry, amongst your peers, incredibly clear tonight.

He leans in, and again, you wonder where Gojo is.

The same thumb that had traced over your mouth now encourages your lips to free.

"He's not my boyfriend, y'know," Suguru murmurs.

You grin, somehow both feeling spiteful and as though you know better. "If you say so."

Your lips brush, and then Suguru is pressing you into the bar, one hand resting on your hip, the other on your chin, molding himself into you. His kiss is short and sweet and tastes like whiskey. He sighs into your mouth and you think you catch a hint of cigarettes and spearmint too. The actor's grasp on your chin is both tender and assertive. For a single moment, the world narrows down to the feeling of his lips on yours.

Until your phone vibrates violently in your pocket, startling you from Suguru's hold.

"Oh, shit," you fret, whipping out your phone to see the caller ID. "It's Shoko."

Before you answer, Suguru swipes the phone from your hands and lets it emit its final ring before opening the contacts on your phone. You watch in disbelief as he adds his number and then drops the device back into your open hands.

"When you're ready to earn your keep, call me,"

With a wink, he slinks into the remnants of the crowd, disappearing as though he were simply a figment of your imagination to begin with. Dumbfounded by what just transpired, you're slow to remember to call Shoko back, who is armed and ready to give you an earful once you finally do.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been blowing up your phone for the past thirty minutes, and Utahime is sick, and our ride is here, we need to go-,"

In the background, you think you can hear Utahime moan something about her stomach. You wince.

"Sorry," As you make your way toward the exit, you can't help but scan the crowd of retiring partygoers. "Someone wanted to apologize to me."

Shoko either doesn't hear you or doesn't care as she argues with her chauffeur over the correctness of your address, but promptly hangs up after a sharply delivered, "Hurry!"

There's a lightness in your step as you exit the hotel that wasn't there when you arrived. Emotionally and physically exhausted after tonight's conundrum, a smile dances on the edge of your lips when you think about the number on your phone.

You think you can accept that maybe you won't be receiving that apology in person, from the person that owes it to you the most. You can accept that if this is what you get in return.

A pair of brilliant blue eyes track your every move between the bar and the bathroom behind a precariously set pair of shades. Satoru watches with rapt curiosity from his section at the corner of the party. After the third time you had excused yourself from your cheerful crew and cast, he had pointed Suguru in your direction.

Throughout the night he had observed the dynamic between you and his best friend, not at all surprised when you're quick to fall for his charm. When Suguru bends to kiss you, Satoru takes his leave for the night, feeling thoroughly satisfied.

You didn't really know it yet, but you had something Satoru wanted. And he had every intention of getting it, even if it meant getting his hands a little dirty.

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #geto x reader #jjk #geto smut #celebrity!au #possessive!gojo #fanfic #director!gojo #screenwriter!reader #actor!gojo #goldwing

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