𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑺𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑶𝑹𝑹𝑶𝑾⇢ Gojo Satoru

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈 - 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒

GOJO SATORU COULD STILL FEEL THE VICIOUS HANDS TUGGING ON THE CHAINS OF THE UNBREAKABLE VOW. It had been almost a full week since his meeting with Léa Dubois, yet the unbearable weight of the oath he swore kept on suffocating him long after the woman let him go. The pain faded away, but unfortunately for the Gojo heir, the same could not be said for the humiliation that still coursed through his veins.

He could take the pain, the blind hot agony that swarm him still haunting him seven days later. It was like a nightmare, one he could not escape from, no matter how hard he tried or how much distance he put between him and Léa.

Gods, the woman was in fucking Paris. And yet, he could still feel her brutal Cursed Energy lingering around his heart, a silent warning to remind him of his place. Gojo shook his head, discarding the thought and downing the shot in one swift move. Fuck Léa. He couldn't help but curse in his own mind, the only place where he knew he was safe from her spies. Fuck The Magistrate.

Maybe that's why he came here tonight, to the dark corners of Neo Masquerade where he knew no one would bother him. It was Sunday night and, like usual around this time of the year, the club was packed to the brim with people looking for a good time and hoping to escape reality. That's what Satoru was seeking when he appeared in front of the familiar welcoming neon sign.

Somehow, it was easier being here. Easier than being at home and bearing the shame of Léa's punishment. Easier than coming to the apartment he shared with Megumi and having no explanation to give him. It was like running away, and maybe with one less shot of vodka in his system, he might have felt some sort of shame for it. Not tonight, though. Tonight, Satoru's plan was to drink his weight in alcohol, to get himself lost between the breasts of a stranger and if things went well, hopefully get to burry his cock somewhere warm and tight.

It was crude, the way he thought on nights like these, but right now the sorcerer couldn't bring himself to care. He was far too tired to concern himself with propriety, not when he could be fucking some woman instead. Satoru laughed, a brief moment of lucidity washing over him as he imagined what his grandmother would say if she saw him now.

What his bride would say, if she found him here, camouflaged between these lowlifes with nothing better to do other than to ogle the clientele. It was easy to get lost in the music, the low humming bass that made the walls vibrate and the dancing bodies in the pit.

Satoru knew this was a mistake the moment he stepped foot in the club, yet he couldn't bring himself to back away once he was in the throes of this den of depravity. He didn't particularly this kind of vibe, it wasn't his scene and he certainly didn't make it a habit of coming here, but there was something oddly recomforting about these four walls, like a long lost home that beckoned him in, a siren singing her song hoping to lure him into this den of sin.

For the first time in a while, the sorcerer finally understood Mikazuki. This had been her place long before it was his and, as Satoru lost himself among the dancing crowd, he finally caved into the allure. It was like taking a breath of fresh air after years of drowning under the weight of the vow. It was freeing, a kind of relief Satoru didn't know he needed. In Neo Masquerade, he wasn't the Gojo heir, he wasn't Eshima's husband to be, he wasn't Sene prized grandson. He was just him, Satoru; a boy walking the line between temptation and regret. The freedom of that reality was almost as intoxicating as the alcohol in his blood. Almost.

So he danced. And danced. And danced. He grabbed, he touched, and he kissed whoever was willing, getting drunk on the feeling of wilderness that overtook his senses. Satoru was so far gone he barely noticed when Kinzoku Mikazuki arrived at the scene. Actually, he didn't realise until a full hour later, and by then, Mikazuki was tumbling onto the dancefloor, so drunk she could barely stand straight.

It was a tragedy waiting to happen, but Satoru didn't feel the need to intervene, opting to watch her from a distance instead. She looked small here, her body getting lost between the crowd in the pit, her lifeless grey hair swallowed by a sea of dark hues and red neon which illuminated the whole dancefloor. The sorceress didn't care, putting her arms up and dancing to the music, her body barely covered by the piece of silver sequin while she swayed her hips.

Gojo licked his lips, catching himself staring a bit too hard, not that he could help himself when she moved like that. It was pure sin, her sweat-stricken skin glowing under the neon lights while her hair cascaded down her back in long luscious curls. Mikazuki was divine, every move of hers sinuous and suggestive. It didn't take long for her to catch someone's attention. Actually, Satoru would have had an easier time naming the people who hadn't noticed, since everyone seemed to be watching her with rapt awareness.

The sorcerer couldn't blame them, not when he was watching her with those same lascivious eyes. The only difference was that, no matter how much he craved her, he would never be able to touch her. So, unable to do anything else, Satoru watched. The Gojo heir leaned back on his chair, holding a glass of vodka-cola in his hand while his eyes never left Mikazuki. If the sorceress sensed his presence, she didn't show it. With everyone's attention on her, it didn't take long for a man to join in, hands moving to her hips as he tugged on her, pressing her flush against his chest.