#Oh and that moment in chapter 29

[thebatrodenused]

I wonder how many people think jaron is a creep because of some of the things hes done in his life

Example a, imogen acting like they did the nasty in the runaway king to get jaron out of trouble-

Poor jaron, people really think the worst of him, huh?

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Special Episode VI 

Labor of Love - Part II

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's insanely talented creator @zestys-stuff. Thank you so much for allowing me to play around with your characters!

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (25) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (20) featuring Metkayina!Zu’té (29)

Warnings: zero smut, angst angst angst, mention of past trauma, expletives, pregnancy, contractions, heavily described labour, blood, mild physical violence, reader is really going through it, ralak is too but he'll be alright i promise, brother!neteyam makes a star appearance, cute family fluff, let me know if i forgot anything

Word Count: 6.5k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Hope you're enjoying your tour in angst town...we're almost finished. You could say we're nearing the final attraction, so continue to keep your seatbelts buckled. lol why am i like this? anyways... please don't hate me for this chapter, and i will try my best to get the next one out quicker so you guys can get some closure lool :)

Synopsis: You didn't plan for things to turn out this way. But no amount of denial can make reality go away...

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And when Ralak sees it, he almost caves in on himself. His mask of indifference—of intimidation, cracks. Hell, it shatters. Into thousands of pieces, scattered at his feet. Tonowari’s previous right hand. The banished.  His karyu.

Time chips by at a torturous pace. You spend the first hour sitting on the beach, eating some fruit whilst watching what your brothers get up to. Neteyam, of course, is bearing most of the responsibility whilst Lo’ak and Tuk are taking a more easy approach to the day. Mom and dad made sure to leave them with a list of things to get done whilst they’re away—number one being to keep an eye on their sisters. 

Number one, check. 

All that floods your mind is your mate and if he’s okay. You try to process everything he’s said but it’s all too much to wrap your head around. All too new. Your brothers aren’t much help either, as they claim to be ‘out the loop’ as much as you are. You know it's bullshit, and probably just another thing that they’ve been ordered to keep from you so as not to ‘stress you out’. 

Regardless, it’s all you can think about. 

Until you feel your son do a flip in your womb, big enough to make you gasp. Your hands immediately fly to your belly, feeling around to gauge his position. A pressure begins to grow against your bladder. One so intense it presses into your tailbone too. The pads of your fingers sink into the skin, tapping around as you make out a leg, then a knee. A hand to the left. 

Is he…head down? You think to yourself. 

“Everything alright?” Neteyam asks, concern wrinkling his forehead.  

“Hm?” You look up, seeing the outline of his silhouette in front of the sun. 

“You okay? You’re…you look a little—”

“Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. He’s moving a lot today.” You smile, catching Tuk excitedly running over in the corner of your eye. 

“Really? Can I feel? Please?” She squeals excitedly, falling to her knees in the sand next to you. 

“Of course, Tuk.” You smile, and place her hand on top of your stomach, right where his foot is. Only a few seconds pass by until your son gives Tuk a strong kick, making her mouth open with glee. 

“Wow! Tey, you gotta feel this!” Tuk exclaims, tugging your brother by the hand so he’s next to you too. Neteyam looks at you, unsure if you’re okay with it. You nod with a gentle smile, tugging his hand over to the other side of your stomach. His hand hovers as he hesitates for a moment, this is his first time feeling his nephew move. He gives you a final look, and gently rests his hand on your belly

A few moments pass and nothing. 

“Aww, he stopped moving.” Tuk sighs with a pout. 

“Patience, Tuk.” You whisper, feeling him kick on cue. Her face lights up with a beaming smile and Neteyam seems to be in awe with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. 

“Woah, y/n. Your tummy’s getting hard.” Tuk says innocently, looking at her brother to see if he feels it too. 

“Hm?” You hum, feeling a bit spaced out and achy.   

“It is.” Neteyam lets go and keeps his hands to himself, feeling like he’s invading your personal space. A heat floods your back, and you feel your thighs spasm. You begin to groan, holding your breath until the strange feeling subsides. “Hey. You okay?” 

You nod, finally release your breath, and hear Tuk’s excited voice. “It’s all soft now!” 

“All good.” You smile, but Neteyam doesn’t seem convinced at all. “Ronal says they are normal. They aren’t the real thing. Mom had them with Tuk, remember?” 

Neteyams' features soften as he nods, prying his little sister's hands off of you. “Ease up now, Tuk.” 

“Sorry, sis.” She says quietly, ears laying flat to her head. 

“Nothing to be sorry about.” You say as you roll to your side to get up, shamelessly using Neteyam to gain some momentum. “Think it’s time for me to take a walk, though.” 

“Yes, sure. Where are we going?” Neteyam asks, ready to accompany you anywhere.

“I’m going down to the rocks.” You emphasise on the first word, making it clear you need some alone time after being babysat all day. “I think Lo’ak needs some help with the net.”

Neteyam and Tuk look over to see their brother struggling with a tangled fishing net, and turn back to see that you’re already waddling down the beach. 

——

Suddenly, Ralak’s back inside of his family marui pod on his iknimaya night. Trapped. Small. Powerless. Cornered by a person he once looked up to. A person he trusted. Manipulated by her heat— her pheromones. A crime punishable by banishment. Forced to give, forced to receive. A betrayal he’ll never forget. A face he swore to himself that he would never see again. 

No wonder they ‘demanded’ his presence.

Tonowari and Ronal lose their colour when their eyes land on her. It’s been so many years. They quickly look over to Ralak, who is seemingly falling to pieces where he stands. The expression on his face is no short of pure shock and… terror. Truthfully, the last time they’d seen such an expression on his face was the deaths of his parents and spirit brother. Jake and Neytiri aren’t aware of what’s going on, but they know it must be serious for Ralak to be so…expressive. 

They can even see his shoulders heave from how hard he’s breathing, and how his face of terror quickly morphs into something of fury. Tonowari notices the way he tightens his grip on his weapon, and his eyes as they gloss over red with rage. It takes a lot to make this man blind with anger. Tonowari knows if he doesn't step in now that this could turn sour in the blink of an eye. 

——

Two.

Releasing a shaky exhale, you begin your walk back to your siblings. That was the second ‘practice’ contraction you’ve had since starting your walk, and your third since coming here with your brothers. Your waddle is becoming more sluggish with each step and the fire in your back is beginning to burn hotter rather than fade out. 

“Not now, little one.” You whisper as you caress your bump. “…please.” 

Weariness sets in as you make it halfway back, making you perch on your knees to take a break. The fire spreads from your back to your thighs, and up your stomach. You brace yourself for the tight feeling, holding your breath in the base of your chest. You grumble a little, swaying side to side until it passes, which thankfully doesn’t take more than a few seconds. 

Three.

Finally making it back to the beach, you see Neteyam and Lo’ak hauling a few sacks on their backs, with Tuk skipping behind them. You overhear Lo’ak trying to convince Neteyam to let him be with the other warriors, and Neteyam reminding him of your parents orders. They stop mid sentence when they hear your heavy, muffled footsteps, taking one look at you and knowing that something isn’t right. Lo’ak in particular, to your surprise. 

“Damn. You look exhausted.” Lo’ak says, earning a jab in the rib by Neteyams elbow. “What? She looks like she’s about to pass out.” 

“You can’t say that to a pregnant woman, skxawng [idiot].” Neteyam hisses.

“It’s fine. He’s not wrong.” You say, tail dragging low and heavy behind you. Ralak still clouds your mind, and you’re eager to know if he’s back yet. “I want to go home now. I really need to lie down.” 

Neteyam just nods, understanding that something deeper is going on. “I will take you.” 

“I got it, bro.” Lo’ak interjects, plunking the sack off his back and onto the ground.  

“Stay with Tuk.” Neteyam orders, clicking for his skimwing. 

“Why don’t you stay with Tuk?” Lo’ak snaps back. 

“Guys. Please?” You sigh, waddling towards the winged beast, throwing a leg over its tough back. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Come ‘teyam.” Neteyam smirks, making the bond with the beast and mounting it in one swift move. 

As you arrive at your marui, you see Zu’té at the outside fire pit, concentrating on not burning yet another type of meat-on-a-stick. Hearing your arrival, Zu’té turns and acknowledges your presence. He puts down the sizzling meat on a leaf, allowing the fire to continue to burn as he begins to make his way over to collect you. Neteyam and him exchange glances and silent greetings, and suddenly the air is thick. 

“Right…I’m going up. Thank you, tey. See you.” You say out of breath, giving him a quick hug.

“Let me—” Neteyam begins.

“No, I’m okay.” You cut off your brother, hualing yourself off the tsurak. 

“Right. Kìyevame [see you again soon]. If you need me, send your watchdog.” He speaks clearly, holding you by the wrist to steady you as you get off. 

“I will, tey.” You chuckle lightly and make your way to the marui. Neteyam waits patiently, making sure you get in safely. 

Zu’té is only half way there when you reach the bottom step, already offering his arm for the stairs. You sigh and shake your head, hurriedly climbing the stairs as fast as your swollen ankles will allow it. For some reason, his gesture really annoys you. Your mood is off and you feel queasy and achy—like your entire body is throbbing. 

All you want is for everyone around you to stop babying you, and let you be alone for the rest of the day. 

“I got it.” Your voice strains as you wobble ahead, leaving Zu’té and your brother behind. Neteyam remains silent for some time, locking eyes with Zu’té. 

‘Keep a close eye.’ Neteyam signs with disquiet wrinkling his forehead. Zu’té gives him a puzzled look at first, but slowly nods when he successfully deciphers the message. Neteyam nods as well and dives underwater. 

By the time Zu’té gets to the bottom step, you’re already at the top, clutching onto the railing as you lean forward in pain. You couldn’t even make it into the pod without another hitting you so soon. You take a few deep breaths rather than holding it in, waiting until the tight feeling subsides. 

Four.

Zu’té darts up the stairs to your side, offering a hand in support only to be swatted away. “What is it?”

“It is nothing.” You catch your breath and insist that it was nothing—because it was nothing, right?

His brows furrow in disbelief, a look of concern washing over his face. Zu’té allows his eyes to fall to your bulging, veiny belly for the first time, taking in the sight. “You were in pain.”

“I’m fine.” You’re short with him, stony eyes staring into his.

“Someone once told me no good comes from pretending that things don’t hurt.” 

“Well nothing’s happening until my husband is back. Okay?” You try to remain nonchalant, to believe your own words. 

He simply stares down at you for a bit, analysing your facial expression. Despite your stone cold facade, he can easily  see the fear etched into your features. Fear that this baby may come before Ralaks return and that if you allow yourself to accept reality, then it may really come true. He glances down at your hand still stuck to the side of your stomach and swallows, looking back up to you. 

“Understood.” 

“Right. Now...” You huff, contemplating if you should say what you want to say. You feel like telling him to back off—to give you some space. But he’s obviously just making sure you’re okay. “...I need to lie down. Just, keep an eye out for—” 

“My brother? Sure. Rest well.” 

——

“Ay’ana.” 

The Olo’eyktan lets out a lengthy growl, earning a look from the traitor herself. 

“Waari.” She sings with a grin, shifting her leer to his mate behind him. “Ronal.” Her eyes fall to her swollen belly, “You are expecting…again.” 

It wasn’t a, ‘congratulations’ either, no. But rather a ‘I see that you are the most vulnerable.’

Ronal scowls, hissing through her teeth. Tonowari steps in front of his mate, blocking her from Ay’ana’s view. 

It was one thing to commit kawngkem [a crime; evil deed] and be banished for it, but it’s another to seek uturu with the enemy. She is no longer considered to be among the ‘banished’, but is now the ‘enemy’. 

Ay’ana looks behind Tonowari, not at Ronal, but at the two deeper skinned, slender na’vis. She scoffs, the corner of her mouth pulling into an evil smirk, revealing her sharpened teeth. Tonowaris eyes widen when he sees that she’s completely adapted to this vile peoples’ ways by putting a file to her teeth. Her eyes flick past them to the last person, the most important. 

“Ralak.” She slowly moans his name as she peers up at him with sultry eyes, allowing her tongue to glaze over her canines. “Such a pleasure.” Ralak winces, chest heaving violently as it fills with repulsion and loathing. “Ah. I remember you being quiet, but not this quiet. Nothing to say to your karyu?”

——

A couple hours have passed and the pain is enough to disrupt your rest. The sunlight dulls with each passing minute, casting a familiar orange hue into the marui. It comes in waves, rippling through you like a bolt of lightning striking the tallest tree in the forest. Making it hard to tell yourself that things are okay—making it hard to keep things quiet. 

“Agh!” You groan suddenly, feeling another jolt of electricity shoot up your spine. It stops you in your tracks, the tracks you’ve been burning into the floor with your constant, nervous pacing. You quiet down into a whisper, “...please wait for your sempu [daddy], my child.” 

“You—uhm.” You hear Zu’té clear his throat at the door, projecting his voice so that you can hear him through the curtain, “You alright in there?”

“Mmn—yes! Fine.” You grate out, making your way back to the bed to lie down. Your feet are so sore.

“Hungry?” He asks, food in hand in the case you were. 

“‘m not.” You try to speak up, but you’re still in the height of the contraction. 

He grits his teeth, leaning into the frame of the marui door. “I didn’t burn it this time.” 

You wish you could laugh, but you can’t even muster up the strength to raise your voice.

Zu’té lingers at the door quietly, knowing plain as day that you weren’t okay. “...what about water?” 

“No...I’ve got.” You say at a normal volume, finally released from the constraints of your pain. 

You begin closing your eyes in hopes that sleep may find you, even if it's just for a few minutes. Zu’té remains at the door for a moment longer, feeling so helpless and useless. He sinks back to the floor, putting down the meat and picking up a new, special piece to weave. 

Weaving passed the time, distracting him from the tiny sounds that managed to escape your mouth. 

Until night fell, and those tiny sounds morphed into deep, lengthy groans and high pitched wails. 

——

“Let us begin.” Tonowari speaks over Ay’ana, averting all attention back to their leader, another female that goes by the name of ‘Varang’. 

She’s almost grey in colour, embellished with a red headpiece that resembles something of an ikrans wings. Her eyes narrow as she looks straight at Tonowari, standing close to his height. 

“Let us.” She hisses with a smile, leading Tonowari to a smaller, private room sectioned by a leather curtain. She motions to Ay’ana to accompany her, leaving the rest of her men to stay with the others. Tonowari lets out a soft grunt, and grits his teeth. He knows he must choose, but his mate is heavy with child and Jake has no interest in leaving his mate in such a place alone. Therefore, he must choose his right hand—Ralak. He motions with a quick tilt of his head, prompting Ralak to clutch his weapon close to his chest and follow closely behind. 

——

“Y/n.” Zu’té’s at the curtain again, half considering to pull it back and come in on his own terms. But he would never invade your privacy like that. And by the sounds of it, things are picking up. “Do you need the healer?”

“No!” You shout out of breath, wobbling to the door with a hand clutching your stomach. You lean all your weight against the wall, knowing he’s on the other side waiting. “No healer.” 

You’re drenched in sweat, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. He hears your back slide against the surface, and he mirrors your movements, sitting on the floor too. Only a wall sits between your backs, separating you two. 

“You’re in labour.” Zu’té speaks, his poor attempt at urging you to face reality.

You know that. Of course you know that. But you don’t want it to be true—you didn’t expect it to happen this way—you didnt want it to happen this way. You take a few deep breaths, concentrating on breathing through the remainder of this horrible feeling. And when it’s finally over, you rest your head against the wall and close your eyes—leaving silence to fill the air. 

Where are you, Ralak? 

——

The room is much smaller than the one they were in, equipped with some sort of table or workbench with a few spears and bows mounted on the wall. Ralak stands quietly behind Tonowari, as does Ay’ana to Varang. 

As they negotiate the terms of the treaty, Ay’ana keeps her eyes locked onto Ralak with a smug look on her face. Her hungry eyes wander, shamelessly taking in every inch of the man before her, surprised by how much he has changed. He’s much bigger, more filled out in his warrior attire. His muscles—more defined, thicker. His skin—calloused and scarred. Inked, unlike before.

And as her eyes trail down the line between his abs they lay upon the six stripes that peak out over the band of his loincloth. Her eyes widen and glisten with greed before darting back up to his face, meeting his eyes that bore into her fearlessly. 

What’s worse is that she can see that his mind is elsewhere. 

That his mind runs on you. You’re all he’s been thinking about since he stepped off the reef. He feels deep in his heart that something isn’t right back home. That you need him. That perhaps, you’re calling for him right now, swollen and heavy with his child. 

And it bothers her. 

“It is decided, then.” Tonowari speaks in a confident tone.

“Yes, it is.” Varang’s smile is uncanny as she unsheaths a small, double edged knife from her hip. 

She grabs Tonowari by the hand, placing the blade in the middle of his palm, and closes his fingers around it. She rips it from his hand, drawing blood, and then hands Tonowari the knife and gives him her hand. He returns the unsettling act, slitting her palm. She keeps a smile on her face, locking hands with him until their blood combines and drips to their feet. 

Supposedly, it is a method of establishing some level of trust between the two. Where each has the ability to do much greater harm, but makes the deliberate choice not to. Then, when blood has been drawn, it is mixed by bringing the hands together, sealing the treaty. 

“Bound by blood.” Varang whispers, letting go of his hand to bring hers to her mouth for a taste. 

She sighs and smiles, popping a thumb in her mouth before gesturing to him that they leave. Tonowari fights the flinch on his face, disturbed by her behaviour. Ay’ana stays back, watching the two leaders exit the room. But as Ralak is about to leave behind Tonowari, Ay’ana calls for him. 

——

Another couple agonising hours pass, and you’re constantly changing positions in hopes of finding some relief. Desperation sets in, making you beg the great mother herself to guide you through this. To bring your mate back home. But there’s still no sign of his return. The night dew settles on all the surfaces around you. Pacing no longer helps, leaving you to take refuge in your bed, panting and shivering. 

No matter how much you twist and turn, your stomach only tightens more. Deep groans rip past your lips to cope with the feeling—the pain shooting through your core. Beads of sweat roll off your body at an alarming rate, soaking the sheets on your bed. You feel him move further down, his head now sitting plush in your pelvis, creating an immense pressure that’s almost unbearable. His feet press into your ribs, and with each strained breath you begin to yearn for your mate more and more. For his comforting touch. For the bond.  

“Ralak…” 

——

“Ralak.” She sings, making him stop dead in his tracks. “A word.” 

His ears tuck back and he looks at Tonowari, who gives him a begrudged nod. Ralak sighs and turns around, fixing his mask of indifference tightly to his face. He remains silent, his hand practically bonded to his spear. 

“Still tight lipped, hm? Come now, tak. That is no way to treat your karyu.” She speaks in a condescending tone, approaching him warily. 

Ralak nearly takes the bait, a heat growing in his chest so hot it makes his jaw tense. How dare she call herself that? To taint such a word? He swallows, taking a single, deep breath to recenter himself as he looks away from her. 

“I have to admit.” She steps towards him, the crown of her head meeting the bow of his shoulder. “You have grown into a fine man. You are taller than me now.”  

Ralak just looks down at her, still as stone, his mind consumed with the fact that he could be on his way home to you but this…vile creature is keeping him away. But he will do what he needs to keep you safe, even if it means to tolerate this for the time being. 

With no reaction, Ay’ana grows frustrated and begins circling him, a single finger tracing around his body. 

“You know…My body still yearns for you.” She speaks with a sultry voice, stopping at his side and bringing herself to the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear, “...especially when I’m in heat.”

For a second, Ralak succumbs to her tactics, the ones she used to use on him years ago. A memory, forcibly resurfaced, reminding him of the way she whispered in his ear on that night. It makes him feel so small. Impotent. But only for a second. Ralak recoils, stepping back to create distance between them. He towers over her, dwarfing this small, lanky woman, regaining his confidence and power. 

“Is that all?” He growls, looking her dead in the eye—facing his past with no fear. 

Facing the reason why he lived in a bottle before he met you. You. You. He can feel you. He can feel you yearn for him and he’s ready to come home to you. For this to be over. 

He’s too focused on you to even notice Ay’ana’s face of shock. Shock to know that she’s been releasing her pheromones this entire time and he’s been completely oblivious to them. Which only means one thing. 

“You’re mated.” She gasps. 

And he’s back. 

Staring at a mirror now that he is, too, in a state of shock. Ralak’s heart leaps out his chest, beating so hard that Ay’ana can hear it. How could she know that? He watches as a grin spreads across her face, ear to ear. She knows she’s got him now, despite the jealousy bubbling inside her. She could use this to her advantage—it didn’t matter to her that he’s called for, after all. 

“Using tsaheylu for such useless things.” She bellows a wicked laugh, which fades out when she sees an even more serious look on his face. A look that tells her he’s trying to mask something more, something deeper. “Oh? Is there more to it?” The twitch of his brows and quick flare to his nostrils reveals the truth. “I have to know. What is it, hm?” She nears him once more, two fingers walking up his chest. “Come now, you were never this hard to read.” 

Ralak remains silent, focusing on slowing his heart rate. 

“Is she ill?” She asks as she searches his eyes, fingers grazing across his quivering jawbone. “No, no. It’s not that.” She sighs, stepping closer and closer until his back hits the wall. He moves his head away from her touch, still looking her in the eye—refusing to be the first to break eye contact. Her eyes light up and her ears stand tall.

“She carries your child, doesn’t she?” Her eyes gloss over green with envy. “Pregnant.”

Ralak swallows his spit, the lump in the column of his throat quickly undulating. 

“There it is. I knew you would make strong babies.” Her hand slips down his chest, slithering over his abs and down to the twine of his loincloth, causing him to jolt. “Ralak.” She moans his name slowly, “Oh, Ralak. The last I see of you, you were barely covered in this vile ink with no one at your side…and now you are mated and a father to be.” Her fingers tickle the raised skin on his most intimate tattoo. “I have always longed to be bred by you.” Her fingers attempt to burrow themselves under the band of his loincloth.

“Enough.” He lets out a deep growl, shoving her away, dropping his weapon in doing so. She loses and quickly regains her balance in a few seconds, throwing herself on him. He grabs her by the wrists, restraining her with ease so that she can’t come any closer to him. 

“Perhaps we need to renegotiate the terms so that you are a part of them, yes?” Her voice is full of desperation, trembling as she strains against him. “How does that sound numeyu? You know we have a population problem, right? We could all use you.”

“I have no interest in being your stud.” Ralak spits, forcefully shoving her away, causing her to stumble back and for her head to hit the table. 

He moves quickly, picking up his spear off the ground and heading for the door. She lunges at him, dagger unsheathed from her hip and armed in her hand, whilst her other arm snakes around his throat to pull him onto the ground. 

During the struggle, Ralak drags her off his back, resulting in a nasty gash from his collarbone and down his shoulder blade. He hisses from the burn, instantly assuming an offensive stance to plunge his spear through. Ay’ana returns the hiss, crouching with her bloodied dagger ready to strike.  

“I will kill you.” Ralak threatens, nearing the pointed tip closer and closer to her chest. “And I will take great joy in doing so.”  

“Is that right?” Ay’ana hisses, tail wagging in excitement with unsettling smile spread across her face. She looks as if she’s toying with him. As if she’s playing a game and she’s winning. “Let me have a taste of you.” 

“Nìtam! [Enough!]” Tonowari roars as he yanks back the curtain, instantly averting Ay’ana’s attention to him. Perhaps it was her roots calling her to respond to her true leader. Varang appears beside him with a scowl stained on her face, displeased with her subordinate. One more move and the treaty would’ve already been broken. 

“Easy, Tak.” Tonowari murmurs, and Ralak relaxes into position next to him, blood trickling down his chest and back. 

“Come with me.” Varang snarls at Ay’ana, seizing her by the queue.

“Night has fallen. We will take our leave.” Tonowari speaks roughly, trying his hardest to contain his anger as he rests a careful hand resting on Ralak—leading him out the room.

“In another ten years, Olo’eyktan.”

Tonowari grunts as he and the rest push past the swarming ash people. As soon as they’re far enough, he stops Ralak and has Ronal safely look at his wound. It’s weeping and open, prone to a nasty infection if not dressed immediately. She unclasps her medicine pouch from her hip, and retrieves a small bottle of iridescent liquid, a viscous concoction of herbs, and a needle and thread.

“Come, son.” Tonowari speaks softly, ripping the cork from the small bottle with his back teeth and spitting it on the ground. “That vonvä’.”

Ralak sits on the nearest rock, elbows propped on his knees and head hung low to hide his face. Jake and Neytiri observe in silence, cringing as Tonowari douses the gash with the liquid as Ronal prepares the needle and thread. 

Ralak groans, biting down tooth on tooth. 

Tonowari leaves a little left in the bottle, offering it to Ralak who is visibly trying to keep it together. He plucks the bottle from Tonowari’s hand and knocks it back, puffing out a sigh. 

“Keep still.” Ronal orders, driving the wooden needle through his skin. 

Ralak grumbles, letting his head hang between his knees and his hair fall forward. At this point Neytiri looks away, but Jake can’t. His eyes are plastered to the scene unfolding before him as he recognizes his son-in-law’s strength and perseverance. 

“That should hold until we are back.” She declares, gathering her supplies and stuffing them back into her pouch. 

“Irayo [thank you], Ronal.”

“You’re strong, boy.” Jake mumbles, patting Ralaks back as he gets up. “Anyone care to explain what the hell happened back there?” 

Ralak just shakes his head, leaving Tonowari to speak for him. “I will explain on the way back. You all have someone waiting for you.”

Ralak’s ears spring up at the thought of you, giving him a burst of energy to spring to his feet, gather his gear and lead the trek himself. The women walk behind him, concerned about his wound. Tonowari and Jake are left at the back, sharing a look before they begin their journey. 

——

“Fuck. Fuck.” You pant, looking down at your trembling hands that sink into the bed through double vision. You sway from side to side, trying to take steady, deep breaths, but the pressure between your legs is starting to make you panic. The possibility that you may have to do this alone is quickly becoming a reality. 

Zu’té is the one doing the pacing now, unable to sit still in his spot for much longer. He has long abandoned his woven pieces, burning lines into the patio floor as he walks back and forth outside—conflicted on his next move. 

He doesn’t want to go against your wishes and call a healer without you requesting it. But he must keep his word to Ralak—to keep you safe—which means calling for a healer. He chews on the toughened skin on his thumb, listening to your continuous whimpers and whines. By the sounds of it, you’re in active labour now, ready to give birth at any moment. 

——

A few hours have passed since they started the trek back home. Everyone has fallen into new positions that work for them. Ralak, eager to be at his pregnant mate’s side, leads the pack, clearing the path for the others. Jake and Neytiri stay not too far behind him, keeping a vigilant eye on their surroundings. Tonowari and Ronal are far at the back, linked together as she trudges on despite her extreme weariness.

“Let us take another break.” Tonowari speaks quietly to his mate, hand on her stomach. They share a look, speaking to one another with their eyes. She doesn’t want to hold up the group much more than she already has. 

“No. We are almost there—ugh!” Ronal lets out a sudden groan, clutching her stomach as she doubles over. 

Everyone stops dead in their tracks, turning around with wide eyes. Tonowari supports her, and carefully walks her over to a nearby fallen log, lowering her down onto it. She takes a few deep breaths as Neytiri and Jake rush over to her. 

“Is it time?” Neytiri asks, crouching down next to her. Ronal nods once, completely in tune with her body and aware of exactly what’s happening.

Which is why she insisted they continue, or else she won’t make it back in time. Ralak watches at a distance, his face contorting with sheer worry. No, borderline distress. He looks almost mortified, but not for the reasons that one may think. They all know why, it's obvious. If Ronal is in labour,

…that means you probably are too.  

“Go ahead.” Ronal pants, beads beginning to form at her temple. 

But Ralak doesn’t move. He can’t move. He’s at conflict with himself. An internal battle of knowing that he should stay and help, even though he really wants to go—needs to go. 

“We got it, son. Go to her.” Jake huffs as he helps Tonowari lift Ronal to carry her. “Go on!” He shouts, prompting Ralak to look to his father figure for approval, to which he meets him with a quick nod before averting his attention back to his labouring mate. And with Neytiri’s soft smile of reassurance, Ralak takes a few steps back before turning his heel and booking it home. 

——

“Haah…holy fuck—holy fuck.” You moan, feeling another contraction start up and the pressure between your legs intensify. 

This one has you on your hands and knees, clutching the bed head so hard your nails dig into the wood. It’s undeniable now. This baby is coming whether you like it or not. And as the contraction reaches its peak, you scream. 

“Zu’té!” It pains you to cry out for his name and not your mates. Hearing your call—your permission to enter—he finally bursts through the door and rushes to your side. 

“I’m here, I’m here.” He’s out of breath and on edge.

“I think—oh god—I think the baby’s coming!” You cry out, swooping your hand between your legs to try and feel what’s happening. 

“Shit. Like now? Like right now?” Zu’té panics as he watches you, hands hovering around you, unsure of what to do. 

“I d-don’t know! I—I don’t—I want Ralak! Fuck, fuck. I want lak!” You cry out in sheer agony. “I want my mate. I-I need him!” 

“Y/n. Eywa.” Desperation is potent in his voice now. 

The fact that you’re calling out for his brother means the time has come and he feels like a fool to have let this get this far without stepping in. He swallows and takes a breath to calm down, just as your contraction ends and leaves you sobbing on your knees. 

“I’m getting the healer.” He says firmly, turning his heel to leave but you grab his wrist before he can walk away. 

“No! Don’t leave…Please don’t leave me alone.” You beg, fear glossing over your eyes until it spills onto your cheeks once more. He looks at you with furrowed brows, lamenting for you. Now he’s really conflicted, because this means…it’s him or no one. 

“Ah, shit. Shit. Uhm.” He rakes his fingers through his scalp, thinking about his next move. He’s seriously considering going regardless, able to see the situation for what it is.

“Please, Zu’té.” You plead weakly, slowly lowering yourself onto your behind and off your knees, leaning back into the bedhead. 

“Okay, okay.” He nods and you let go of his wrist, immediately using your hand to support your stomach. You let your eyes close, they’re swollen and heavy. “Uh–right, right.” 

For some reason he can’t stop repeating himself twice. Perhaps it’s his way of keeping grounded. He heads straight for the bucket of water and rag to bring it over to you. He dips the rag into the water, and wrings it out. You barely open your eyes at the sound of the bucket making contact with the floor, and see that he’s nearing you with a damp cloth and raised brows. He’s waiting for your go ahead. 

“Yes.” Your voice is hoarse and trembling. 

Zu’té begins to wipe away the sweat that’s dripping in your eyes, your forehead, neck and chest. Dipping the rag back into the water, he wrings it out once more and wipes down your shoulders and arms. You can’t help but sit there and close your eyes, allowing him to do it all, exhausted.

Feeling something press against your lips, you open your eyes in a daze. Zu’té holds a cup of water to your mouth, and you drink ardently, gasping for air and closing your eyes when it’s emptied. Sleep calls to you, taking you as you barely manage to mutter out a weak, “...thank you.” 

Zu’té calculates another five minutes before your next contraction, giving him enough time to fetch a fresh pail of water—something absolutely necessary for the birth. He leaves you sat up against the bedhead, rag on your forehead as you sleep. But not even three minutes go by before he hears your languid moan. 

Abandoning the bucket, he rushes back into the marui, finding you standing and holding onto the marui stilt with one hand as the other tugs at the strap of your top. Seeing you try to undress has him stopping in his tracks and turning his head to look away. 

“Y/n—”

“Ughhaa—” You grunt, untethering the knot of your top. Your body is trying to get comfortable for the birth of your son now, and these pieces of cloth feel suffocating. “Get out!”

With that, Zu’té turns and retreats back to the patio, hands on his head as he begins to make his plan. If he flew on his skimwing, he could make it to the village and back with a healer in about ten minutes. But would that be enough time? What if you didn’t have ten minutes? Your pained groan turns into a howl and it makes his ears twitch. 

By the sound of that, you might not even have five minutes. 

“Come on, baby brother. Don’t make me do this. Please. Don’t make me go back in there. Oh shit—I’m going to have to go back in there, aren’t I? Eywa. Eywa. Okay—It’s okay. I can do this. Childbirth. It’s just childbirth. Right? Right.” 

Zu’té tries to convince himself that he’s capable of this despite this not being what he signed up for. 

“Okay, Toto. Just do it. Go in there.” Zu’té sounds breathless as he speaks to himself, turning around to face the door. He hears your whimper and his jaw tightens. “Shit. Okay. Right.”

Just as he raises his hand to pull back the curtain, he hears a winded voice. 

“Brother.”

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 29 || The Confessions

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, fluff, & angst.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.4k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——THE WORRY YOU EXPERIENCED WAS unnecessary though and the night goes entirely different than you expect it to. Who knew you'd have to be more worried about Gojo rather than the dress you wore...

The two of you were quick to part ways once you were inside, him taking a seat at a table decently far from the bar while you took your place there. Your back was to the man the entire night and he even wore these stupid glasses that made him look like one of the three blind mice.

You teased him about it for a while but he simply ignored you, claiming that he needed the eyewear to look inconspicuous.

So now you sat at the bar alone, glancing around for a specific blonde-haired male who was supposed to be there somewhere.

You waited and waited, ordering a drink or two while you were at it. Time flew by and as you waited, you'd look back to where Gojo was and send him a questioning look, silently asking where the hell Nanami was.

Gojo would shoot you a text saying he has no idea and you'd roll your eyes at him. A few minutes of waiting turned into thirty, then an hour, then two.

By that time, you were annoyed that of all the people you'd been watching the entire time, not one of them was Nanami Kento. Before you could send Gojo your millionth glare of the night, an arm was slung over your shoulder and his voice was in your ear.

"Don't cuss me out but..." Gojo murmured cautiously, "I just found out he actually comes here every other Friday night..."

Your eye twitches, "Tell me you're joking."

"I'm sorry sweets," Gojo says, chuckling a little as he pulls away from your ear.

You turn your head to face him with a glare, "I've been sitting here waiting for two whole hours because of you."

"I'm sorry, truly." He apologizes softly, "Lemme' make it up to you."

A brow is raised, "How?"

Gojo nods his head over to the dance floor, "With my amazing dancing skills," He offers enthusiastically, "That way your night won't be completely wasted!"

"No." You decline flatly.

The man pouts, "Oh c'monnnn, just one dance? I promise you'll feel better after."

With a heavy sigh, you move his arm off your shoulder and turn to slip out of your chair. For a moment, Gojo keeps pouting, assuming that you're rejecting him again before a hand goes to his tie and you drag him toward the dance floor.

He stumbles after you for a moment and then smiles happily when he realizes where you're taking him. The second your foot hits the dancefloor, an arm goes around your waist and you're spun around to meet Gojo's face before you even realize it.

He pulls you in close and he's got this gushing smile on his face even though you're still glaring at him. Gojo slides a hand to one of yours, forcing it up and around his neck and then following suit with your other hand.

"This isn't the kind of dancing I thought you meant," You tell him quietly.

There are a few other people dancing around the two of you, all of which appear to be couples.

"Gotta' fit in with everyone else, love," Gojo says, slowly swaying to the gentle music in the background just like those around you.

You sigh heavily, "This doesn't make up for anything."

"Then what will?" He asks, "I really didn't mean to waste your night like this."

You shrug in response to him.

There's this piano being played in the background and the whole dancing situation feels all too romantic.

You didn't like it at first but as Gojo continued to dance with you, easing your body closer and closer to his own, you slowly started to enjoy it-- even if only a little.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

At some point, both his arms are wrapped around your waist and yours are comfortably up around his neck. You keep trying to avoid his eyes but it was impossible with the way he just stared at you as you slow danced.

When you do look at him, you move a hand to take those ridiculous glasses off his face.

Gojo smiles when his eyes meet your own unobstructed, the sight of his happy expression melting your heart in indescribable ways. You take his glasses and tuck them down into one of his pockets before bringing your hand back up.

"Told' you they looked stupid," You try to explain your actions so you don't seem weird.

He hums, "I thought they looked pretty cool..."

You simply shake your head at him and return to focusing on your dancing, swaying gently as the piano has long since stopped playing, and now a radio of songs is what's guided people to dance. There were a few songs that made you want to stop dancing, especially when Choso popped into your mind at one point.

Gojo notices the distant look in your eyes and tilts his head at you, "What's wrong?"

You shake your head, "Nothing-"

"Don't lie to me, I can tell something's on your mind," He interrupts, moving to give you a slow twirl before pulling you back into his body, "What're you thinking about?"

You avoid looking him in the eyes, "Someone else."

"Oh wow, thinking of another guy while you're dancing with me?" He utters playfully, trying to lighten your mood.

You chuckle but his words hold the truth, "Yes, actually."

"Choso?" Gojo asks.

The way you're still avoiding his eyes tells him everything he needs to know. For a moment, he doesn't say anything and neither do you. You two just keep dancing as the song playing changes.

There's this mellow beat that flows into your ears, a song titled Old Love by yuji & putri dahlia. It's a beautiful song and it makes the moment of you slow dancing with Gojo all the more unnecessarily romantic.

You rest your head against the crook of his neck and Gojo lets out a sigh. There's no reason why you should even be dancing with this man still but you didn't exactly want to stop.

Gojo starts thinking back to the song that played a few minutes before the current, "Y'know, earlier... I was uh, I was thinking about you and him while that one song played," He says suddenly.

You grin, "What song?"

"Slow dancing in the dark," He explains, "I think the artist is named Joji... Ever heard of it before?"

You move away from his neck and meet his eyes, "I mean it just played not that long ago so, yeah."

He chuckles, "I mean before today, sweetheart."

"Uhh... Once before, yeah," You shrug a little. Then, you narrow your eyes at him, "Why'd that song make you think about me and Choso?"

"Well, did you hear the lyrics?" Gojo sighs.

"I did," You hum, "But I don't get how it relates to me and Choso..."

The man you're dancing with sighs heavily and his eyes dart off to the side, "Do you know what the song is about?"

"Uh, a failing relationship, I believe..." You murmur, not one hundred percent sure.

"Yeah," He agrees.

You raise a brow immediately, "Are you saying me and Choso are gonna fail?"

"No," Gojo chuckles, "The overall meaning of the song applies more to me and you, even though we're not in a relationship."

You blink and simply listen to his explanation.

"That one part where the song is all, you should be with him, I can't compete." Gojo quotes, "That uh... That made me think of you and Choso I guess."

"Is that how you feel?" The question that leaves your lips makes him tense up, his eyes carefully falling on yours once more.

Gojo gazes at you in thought for a long moment before saying, "Might' be a little cliche but, yeah."

"So you actually think like that?" You ask softly, "You wholeheartedly think I should be with Choso and not you?"

"Well..." He trails off.

His explanation fails to find his tongue, words floating around in his brain as he tries to come up with a good way to answer your question.

"Do I think you should be with him, yes." Gojo eventually gets out. "Would I rather you be with me, of course."

The look in your eyes softens, "This whole thing is hard for you, isn't it?"

His voice gets caught in his throat for just a second, "Wh-What?"

"I mean, having to know that once the list is over..." Your gaze drops down a little, "You're supposed to help me get with Choso. Doesn't... Doesn't that hurt you?"

Gojo feels his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he processes your question. Of course it hurts him, not that he wants to express that to you though.

"Nah," Gojo lies, chuckling loosely, "I'll be fine-"

"You're lying." You cut off, your voice gentle, "You can't tell me that helping the woman you love get with another man doesn't hurt you."

"So what if it does?" He shrugs, "S'long as you're happy, I'll be fine."

The air goes somber, the looks exchanged between the two of you filled with all different kinds of emotions.

"That's so toxic," You scoff, turning your head away.

"How? I'm putting my feelings aside for your happiness, what's wrong with that?" He questions.

"Everything," You try to emphasize the importance behind what he's doing as best as you can, "You're just gonna put aside your love for me so that I can be happy? That's terrible. You may be an asshole but... to a certain extent, you don't deserve that-"

"So what do I deserve then?" Gojo breathes out, his voice dipping down into something almost hurt, "Tell me my love, what is it you think I, as your blackmailer, deserve?"

You swallow down a heap of emotions, "A better situation," You say.

He tilts his head as he peers down at you. Even without your eyes on his, you can feel how emotional his gaze is, "And what better situation is there for me that doesn't involve you?"

The strings of your heart are once again being tugged on, this one more aggressive than the last. You can't help but shut your eyes for a moment and shake your head in disbelief.

"Maybe one where you're not blackmailing me," You whisper, still avoiding his eyes. "Perhaps then, and only then, would you have experienced the joy that is having your love reciprocated."

Gojo starts chuckling at your claims, almost as if it's untrue. "Sweetheart, there is no greater joy for me than loving you, even if it's not reciprocated."

You finally brought your gaze to his and it was as though time froze. Dislike courses through you at the way the moment became so intimate, so personal. The way your eyes flick back and forth between his left and right as you search for some sense of focus, trying to still the rapid thoughts in your mind, doesn't go unnoticed.

"That isn't joy, Satoru." You murmur to him, "That's misery."

"It's not," He argues.

"Loving someone so deeply and having it constantly ignored can't be joyful." You explain simply.

Gojo laughs, "You don't get it."

"Don't get what?"

"How deep it goes."

"Tell me then," You request, your eyes never leaving his blue ones.

Gojo rests his forehead against yours, "Tell you how deep my love goes? Sweets, we'll be standing here all night-"

"I don't care," You tell him, "I'll never be able to wrap my head around why you love me if you don't explain it to me."

His lashes flutter into a slow blink, surprised to hear that you don't understand the way he feels for a second time that day. Has he not made it clear enough? Do his actions truly not speak louder than his words? He supposes they don't, seeing as his actions merely contradict those intimate claims of his.

"I love you for a lot of reasons," Gojo starts off, his voice completely open and vulnerable to you as he begins to express himself. "It wasn't a love at first sight kinda' thing or anything but I have felt this for a long time."

"Even before the list?" You ask.

"Mhm," Gojo hums, smiling a little as he recalls the moment, "I think I fell in love with your voice first."

"M-My voice?" You gasp, chuckling a little at how he'd fall for such a ridiculous thing.

"Yes, your voice." He continues, "I even remember the first thing you ever said to me."

"Hi?" You say, mocking your past self.

"No," Gojo goes to correct you, "It was actually 'let me know if you need anything'," He quotes.

Your brows furrow, "That was the first thing I ever said to you??"

"Yeah," Gojo chuckles a little, "You didn't say hi when we were introduced to each other, you just waved at me."

"Did I really?" Your eyes widen, "Oh my god that's so embarrassing..."

"It was cute." He snickers.

You visibly cringe, "No it wasn't, why the hell didn't I just say hi...?"

He shrugs, "You were shy."

"Did you say hi?"

"Nope."

For some reason, you feel like you couldn't even remember the day you met him. It was earlier that year, during the summer when you first moved in with Shoko but you don't remember the day exactly.

"Wait really?" You ask in suprise.

"Yep, Shoko just said 'Gojo this is my roomate, roomie, this is Gojo' and called it a day." Gojo recalls flawlessly, shrugging a little, "Then, you spoke to me for the first time later that day when you ran into me in the kitchen."

You raise a brow, "And you mean to tell me that's what you fell in love with?"

"Yes ma'am." Gojo says confidently, "Your voice made me feel all giggly inside."

"You're joking."

"I'm serious," He laughs, "Ask Suguru."

"He'll lie to take up for you."

"Not true..." Gojo pouts.

You shake your head at him, "Anyways, keep explaining why you love me because so far you've just explained how you experienced love at first sound."

Gojo laughs at your words, the sound oddly comforting. "That's exactly what it was too. Wish' I talked to you more back then."

"Think things would be different now?" You ask curiously.

"Mmmh... Maybe," Gojo shrugs. "But who knows."

He then goes to continue his explanation of why he loves you.

"Anyways, I really mean it when I say I love everything about you." Gojo proceeds, "The first time I heard you laugh I think I was on cloud nine."

"So you just love the sounds I make then?" You scoff, raising a brow in question.

"I mean I love your face too, you make the cutest expressions-- especially when you're all pouty about something." He rambles, a beautiful shade of happiness reflected within his features as he expresses his thoughts.

You smirk a bit, "Yeah?"

Gojo chuckles, "Oh and when you do that, god that's so fuckin' sexy."

There's this constant smile on your face for some reason, your brows furrowing at his words, "Me saying yeah?"

"Yes." He sighs, "Or like when you get this tone with me that makes me feel kinda' small? Not in a demeaning or belittling way but it's like you're talking to a lost puppy and I dunno," Gojo shrugs, "I just fall for it."

"When have I ever done that?"

"Literally any time you've asked me if I needed help with something."

"Oh..." You hum, recalling past times, "Well that's because you were acting like you couldn't find anything in my apartment..."

"I couldn't."

"Whatever."

"Your smile," Gojo points out, "I'd kill to see it on you forever."

You giggle, "Murder is a bit excessive, no?"

"Is it?" He questions casually.

"Yes, Satoru."

Gojo moves to twirl you around again in sync with whatever song's playing now, "I meant it when I said I'd do anything for you."

You follow his motions and then end up right back in his arms, "Right..."

"I'd sacrifice the very thing I love just to see you happy." Gojo claims proudly.

You scoff, "Thought' I was the thing you loved?"

"You are."

His words bewilder you, "Then that makes no sense."

"It won't." Gojo shrugs.

"You're so confusing," You point out to him with a sigh, "I'll never understand you."

"I don't seek understanding from you, love." He voices out in a soft tone.

You arch a curious brow, "Then what do you seek?"

"From you?" Gojo smiles, the sight making him appear peaceful, "Simply seeing you happy, that's all."

"Then, logically speaking, wouldn't dropping this stupid list make me happy?"

"You may think it'd make you happy but..." He trails off, losing himseld to his thoughts, "N-Nevermind-"

That was odd. How else are you supposed to view freedom from the list if not blissful? What is he not telling you?

"No, what is it?" You push further.

"Nothing."

A frown takes over your features, "You're lying."

"I can't tell you." Gojo results in saying.

"Why?"

"Because I just can't."

You hate how he doesn't explain himself, wishing that just for one moment he'd let you into the mess that is his brain. "Everyday you only confuse me more, you know that right?" You tell the man.

Gojo's eyes are gentle on yours, "In due time you'll find clarity when you think about me."

"Will I?" Your tone is soft, the moment of tranquility between you two never subsiding.

He glances away for only a second, "I hope so."

You think you can live with that so all you hum is a simple, "Okay..."

After which, you and Gojo continue your slow dance. It's all too romantic but you've still yet to grow the desire to stop. You guess he was right about this making up for the two hours you wasted.

"Can I ask you something now?" Gojo suddenly questions, his eyes now back on you.

"Sure." You reply, your fingers moving to play with the lowest strands of hair on the back of his head.

He finds himself relaxed under your touch but his mind and heart are so anxious, "Is there anything you love about me?"

You scoff obnoxiously, "Love? About you? That's a strong word, Satoru..."

His brain freezes for a moment. Gojo takes his time processing what you've just said before uttering, "You didn't say no."

"I..." You catch yourself stammering, unknowingly glancing down at his lips and losing yourself in thought before finally answering him, "N-No, there's nothing I-"

"What is it?" Gojo cuts off, seeing straight through you.

"There's nothing." A lie, there is one thing and you hate yourself for adoring it the way you do.

He scoffs, "There's something, I know it."

"There's not one thing I love about you, Satoru." Another lie, you can never get over the feeling of his lips on yours, "Like, maybe. But Love? I..." Your words fade for a moment, "I don't feel that emotion for you whatsoever-"

"Liar." Gojo cuts off yet again, he's persistent with getting it out of you.

"What would I possibly love about you?" You ask, playing dumb.

He shrugs, "I dunno, you tell me."

"I hate you," You say, tone void of ill emotion, "Did you forget?"

"I'll never forget that." Gojo responds, voice soft but passionate, "But you can hate me and still love one thing about me. Whether it's something I say or do, you're allowed to love something about me, there's no crime in it."

You get quiet for a long moment, simply staring up into his eyes. After which, you look off to the side. Love is such a strong emotion and you hate to feel such a thing for something that Gojo does.

"There's nothing." You result in saying yet again.

"Not even my looks?" He asks.

"Nope-"

Gojo grows frustrated with you and tips his head into the direction you're looking in, trying to get your eyes back on his, "So what is it?"

You sigh heavily, "It's noth-"

"You stuttered the first time I asked and I saw the way you looked at my lips," He points out, "What is it that you love about me?"

"Nothing, Satoru." You sigh, pleading for him to leave you alone already.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Please?" He begs.

You remain stern, "No."

He's got part of his answer, "So there really is something?"

You don't reply.

"I fucking knew it." That fuels him to a new degree and you feel his arms grow tighter around your waist, "What is it? Tell me please, I won't stop asking until you do."

"Keep asking then." You murmur.

"I will." Gojo says, having no plans on letting it go now, "Tell me. What is it that you love about me? What do I do that makes your heart race?"

That question can be so simply answered. His kisses-- it's the one thing that's always made your heartbeat pound against your chest to a new degree.

"What about me makes you go weak in the knees?" Gojo continues, his voice lowering into something desperate, "Tell me, sweetheart. Please."

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat, "I'm not telling you."

You shouldn't be experiencing such an emotion anyways, it's wrong.

"What is it?" Gojo pleads, his voice so utterly desperate that it makes you feel weird.

You groan, "Nothi-"

"My touch?" He asks.

"What? No-"

Gojo keeps questioning you, "The way I look at you?"

"No."

"My voice?"

"No."

"My confessions?"

"No."

He sighs, "Then just tell me."

"No." You repeat.

"Please? I'll do anything," Gojo's voice almost breaks? It's nearly a whine the way he pleads you, almost like he can't go on without knowing what it is you love about him, "Just tell me what it is and I'll leave you alo-"

"The way you kiss me." You finally blurt out.

Silence.

It envelopes the two of you completely.

Your eyes are everywhere except his and he feels like he can't even breathe properly.

Did he hear you correctly? The way he what? Kisses you? You love that about him? Damn is his heart about to fall out his chest.

"Wh-What?" Gojo breathes out, his eyes are so wide, almost even teary. "T-The way I what?"

Your voice is barely audible, "The way you k-kiss me, Satoru..."

He blinks.

You repeated it and his entire body just felt warm. He's never experienced an emotion to this degree. What is this? Is this what it's like to have his feelings reciprocated? Even if only a little...

He's just staring at you, eyeing your flushed face, seeing how embarrassed you are, and feeling the slight nervous tremble in your body. Gojo was infatuated, taken over with thoughts and emotions of you.

He couldn't even breathe properly. His mind was running rampant, his heart was throbbing so violently in his chest, and he thought he was sweating. Chills ran up his spine as he replayed those words you just uttered.

And the emotions he experienced got no better when you carefully dragged your eyes up to his.

Time had stopped, nothing else in the world mattered except for you and Gojo physically couldn't help himself.

You watch the way his eyes go glossy and he pulls you impossibly closer to him, his face nearing yours. Was he on the verge of tears?

"I'll never do anything else then," Gojo whispers, his voice sounding almost distraught yet whole at the same time.

His head tilts to the side and your brows furrow, "Wha-"

It happens. His lips are on yours before you have another moment to process.

It was so sweet too, his lips impossibly softer than ever. You couldn't think straight anymore as his lips moved over yours, feeling your body melt into his arms.

The man's overwhelming love for you engulfed all of his senses and he nearly lost his mind-- his kissing growing eager as his tongue pushed into your mouth.

You gasp, "S-Satoru-"

He wouldn't even let you speak, beginning to walk you backwards and off the dance floor. You stumbled against his body, your lips slipping over his as he released a sweet little whine into your mouth.

Your hands slid down from around his neck and to his arms, trying to brace yourself for his sudden aggressiveness. You didn't fight with the kiss but you were definitely surprised when you heard a wolf-whistle from someone nearby, followed by your ass lifting onto a table slightly.

When did you get this far off the dancefloor?

Gojo's hands were all over you. They went from your back to your legs, sliding along your thighs and feeling you against his palms. All as you lost your breath within the heated kiss you shared with him.

You heard a chuckle, followed by a 'what a beautiful couple' comment from some older woman-- the sound making you move a hand to Gojo's chest to try and push him away for a second.

Instead of pushing him away, your hand simply flattened on his chest as he sucked on your lower lip and then slid his tongue right back into your mouth. Soft smacks could be heard coming from your lips and you hated how public the sight was.

"Sat-, hah... S-Satoru, please-," You uttered against his mouth, to which he simply groaned against you.

You should've never told him you loved his kisses.

The man moved his hands under your thighs and then he moved to wrap your legs around his waist, then lifted you up.

"I love you," Gojo breathes, just barely, into your mouth. It's almost a groan the way his voice leaves him, his mouth devouring your own eagerly.

Your heart is so heavy as you simply kiss him back, feeling your body being carried off somewhere else. Gojo was so passionate with the way he kissed you, almost as though he feared you'd slip away from his grasp at any given moment.

You don't know where he was carrying you to and you think you stopped caring at some point.

You truly did love kissing Gojo Satoru, despite the conflict that follows feeling such a dangerous emotion toward such a simple action. You loved it regardless.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: ???

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles - Update 29/July/2024

Do you ever have one of those weeks where everything is unexpected?

Well, it was definitely one of those last week, lol!

I haven’t had access to my laptop since mid-week last week, which means all my reference, variable reference, plans and things are all inaccessible, as well as normal things like emails, etc.

But I always back-up Book Four on an SD card, which means luckily I still had that! So I’ve been able to work on the different unit scenes in what is becoming a seriously stonkingly beefy Chapter Three, just with some interesting notes to myself I need to go back and fill in.

Eg. "Oh, so close," Maaka jeers at his brother with a smile.

Tane glares at him [through what coloured eyes does he have?],

So that’s been an interesting way to write, hehe! :D But it at least means I can write even with my laptop out of commission for the moment!

I will have it again on Wednesday, but I won’t be diving in to fill in those moments quite then. Instead, I will be concentrating on polishing up and adding in anything from the readers for Chapter Two so that I can get the demo up on early access on Patreon hopefully for the weekend!

I know I’ve had 2 back I’d been waiting on, even without being able to access my emails, so hopefully the others will be back by Wednesday too! *fingers crossed*

Hope you all have an awesome week! Not long until the next update, so I'll talk to you all then <3

[madamechrissy]

Take Me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Law Professor Satoru Gojo x Student Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is like 29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. In this chap- Fingering, cunnilingus, blow jobs, explicit sex, rough sex, breeding kink, mentions of violence, descriptions of violence (ANGSTY CHAP)

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 11k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name. Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right?

That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right? - Lawyer AU (If you wanna be tagged in updates let me know 💓)

Chapter 8 - Masterlist

Chapter 9

Books are scattered all over Satoru’s dining room table, as you both are nibbling on food together, papers and pictures, documentation and even… weapon photos, evidence photos. How Satoru and you could both eat while looking at these things really made you both a little questionable, but in a way you feel so comfortable, with your years of eating while watching true crime.

Satoru Gojo is your person.

“Okay, look here, see the wound marks?” Satoru asks, sipping on a drink and leaning over you, his one arm around your waist as the other sets down the glass and points to bruising on the victim’s face.

“Oh.. it’s left-handed isn’t it?” He nods, sighing.

“Smart little brat.” He kisses the top of your head briefly, before bending over to snatch up the other document, with another victim. “Now look at her.”

“Oh shit… left-handed. Wait, there's two victims?”

“No. Two different cases.” He sighs, sitting next to you and frowning, so serious then, you gently rub his back then. “So, I haven’t told you my worst fear.”

“What is it, Satoru?” You murmur, and he looks at you with those beautiful blue eyes for a moment.

“Well, now my worst fear is losing you.” He caresses your cheek, and you melt, planting a kiss on his brow gently, sighing.

“It’s one of my new fears as well.”

“But my original fear? Putting someone innocent up, and letting someone awful go. Considering I’m a defense attorney typically, it’s the latter that haunts my dreams.” He rakes a hand through his hair, and you place your head on his shoulder, brushing your fingers down his back.

“I imagine that’s a horrible fear. And unavoidable in some situations.” He nods a bit stiffly.

“It’s the worst, and I’m worried it happened.” You blink a bit, trying to follow what he was talking about, and his fists clench at his side. “I lose myself with you. Which is beautiful, but when I was alone last night I was thinking of this case, and similarities to the first high case I did… and I think it’s fucked up.”

“Do you think you missed something, Satoru?” You gently ask, and you hate how sad he looks, forlorn.

“I do. There was a case where I saw no way to do anything but get this kid life sentence, because the possibility of parole is fifteen years, right? Better than a needle in the arm.”

“Very true. But you think…”

“Yeah, I had a feeling he was innocent, deep down in my heart, but how could I have done anything? It was all stacked against the kid. He had a shit record, he even had assault in the past, but he was young, younger than you. I thought I was being the best to him I could.” He slams his fist down, and you tense a bit, grabbing his drink and bringing it to his lips.

You watch as he gulps down some of it, sighing. “Satoru don’t beat yourself up over this, isn’t this still a hunch?”

“Nah, baby girl, I’m pretty damn sure I’ve seen this before. It’s been driving me insane. And now I have to defend this person who could actually have been killing for who knows how long!? Fuck me.” He’s slamming his hands down again, turning and walking away, sighing.

“Okay so let’s think logically here…” You pull back out the files, taking a sip of the drink yourself as Satoru is pacing. He’s wearing his dress shirt loose, his chest showing, tie askew, belt slung off and trousers hanging low. He’s gorgeous but you need to focus on this. “The man you put up, he was left-handed, yeah?”

“Yeah, he was.”

“But the women look identical, and the attack is damn near the same. So we have to think, what could connect these two men? Could they have been at the same place at the same time, to meet these girls?” Satoru pauses, then snatches up the bottle of vodka on the table, pouring some in both of your glasses.

“Huh. You’re smart as fuck.” You flush under the praise, and look at him just drinking the vodka without anything.

“Thank you. Satoru… I need a mixer.” He smirks finally, rolling his pretty eyes and batting his white lashes.

“What a baby.”

“Says the man who drinks chocolatinis!”

“You started that, brat. Mmkay, I have mixers, come on let's go find ya something.” You hop up from the table, taking in Satoru’s lush home. It was beautiful, spotless and modern, gray walls with white crown moulding, all the fixtures brand new and beautiful. His bar was impressive, black marble counter and high stools, pretty soft fairy lights hanging.

He opens the black cabinets, pulling out a bright green bottle then. “Ooh, that looks yummy!”

“You like sour apple?” You nod, and Satoru is expertly mixing you up a pretty bright drink, you sip it moaning.

“A girl could get used to this treatment.” Satoru comes to you then, hands on your waist, leaning low, and you inhale his clean scent, intoxicating you. Your body instinctively arches to him.

“You trying to move in already, huh?” You giggle, shaking your head.

“No, silly. That would be too fast, yeah?”

“I’d let you. Aw, you’re bright red.” He teases you, and your entire body lights up at his words.

“You’re so crazy, Satoru Gojo.” You say softly, leaning up on your tip toes, and he leans down, kissing you gently, you taste the liquor mixed with his minty breath, feel his firm lips on yours. “Mmm, didn’t say I never would though.”

“When you’re not in my class huh? We’ll get married too.”

“Satoru!”

“What? You wouldn’t?”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“Am I? You probably doodled it already.”

“Did not!” You both laugh then, but the tension is there, the way Satoru casually mentions weddings, babies, moving in. Like it’s nothing. “Satoru, it's hard to know what you really mean. Like the baby thing…”

“What, I meant that. I’d love to get you pregnant.” His words hit something primal, something that makes your tummy clench, his whisper reverberating through every inch of your body.

“The school would love that.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes, hand sliding over your tummy then, making you tremble.

“Fuck them, but you wouldn’t show till after you’re out of my class.” He grins, his white teeth glinting.

“Stop that! Staying on the pill for now.”

“You’re boring.” He’s pouting and you just giggle.

“I have a career you know.”

“Good, have the baby with us all the time. Lawyer by age ten. Our genetics would be killer, yeah?”

“You’re so ridiculous. But yeah.” You both chuckle then again, and you take a sip of your drink, lips puckering just a bit as it hits you. “Something about that vision makes my ovaries ache.”

“You’re ovulating. Perfect time.” He chimes out in a sing-song voice, you bite back a moan, sipping your drink.

“You don’t need to tell me. I think I went insane in the limo.” He’s grinning like the damn mad hatter now, as vivid memories rush through you of earlier.

“You took it all. I think you have sucked dick before mine! And that makes me unreasonably jealous.” You roll your eyes now, snorting and shaking your head.

“Not at all, I just apparently need to be the best at everything.” You take another sip grinning.

“You really are. I don’t think I’ve had someone make me cum so quick, fuck it’s embarrassing.”

“You’re kinda easy, Toru.” He glares and you just grin more deviously, as he picks you up and sits you on the bar, running his hands up and down your thighs, creating a pattern of goosebumps everywhere he touches. You gently run your hands down his shoulders, rubbing the stiff muscles and making him moan. “Turn, I’ll rub your neck, you’re crazy tense.”

“What’d I do to deserve you?” His casual compliments kill you, every minute you spend with Satoru Gojo makes you just fall deeper. Your fingers press into his stiff neck, making him moan, leaning back against you. “Fuck that feels good.”

“I’ll rub your back any time, Toru. As long as you rub mine.”

“I’ll probably just get horny and fuck you.” You laugh at that, breathy and soft, planting kisses on his neck, pressing your fingers deeper in little circles, trying to work on a knot there.

“Fine, you can just eat me out.” He groans, hands on your thighs tightening as he leans back more against you.

“I’ve been doing that since I met you.” His husky voice has you dripping against your panties, and you try to focus on rubbing deeper, loosening his tense body as much as you can. “It’s my favorite thing to do.”

“It’s my favorite thing.” You whisper in his ear, watching him tremble a bit, grip tightening, while your hands press deeper, massaging between his shoulder blades now, where most of his tension is. “You’re really tense here.”

“I will pay you to massage me every day. Oh and to dress slutty.” He sips your drink now. “Ooh yummy.”

“You could hire a professional!”

“Nah. I’ll just pay you. With diamonds.” You peek at your bracelet, shaking your head. “Then I’ll just buy you another bracelet.”

“You can get me a bead. That’s it.”

“I’ll sneak things on you in your sleep. Then it’ll be rude to turn it down.” You can’t stop the smile on your face at his words.

“Maybe.” You say softly, continuing to rub lower now, feeling his spine just pop then, and he groans. “There it is.”

“I’ll marry you now, woman.”

“Stop that, do you know what you do to my mentality? So casually.” His hands slide down your calves now, as he tilts his head side to side.

“What? It’s true.”

“You can’t just say things like that. Already feel like I’m dreaming.” Another pop, as he cracks his neck, becoming putty in your hands.

“Fine, brat, I won’t propose yet if you’re such a baby about it.”

“You so were not gonna!”

“Wanna bet?”

“Satoru!” You press really hard and he groans again.

“Never mind, marry me.” You both laugh and then you continue rubbing down his back, to the mid part of it, feeling every stupidly strong muscle through his dress shirt, watching the soft fabric stretch as you press.

“So, my thoughts on that case…”

“Buzz kill!”

“I know, but it’s bothering me now.” Satoru moans again as your hands knead into his aching back. “Any clubs they could have been at together? Both of those women were… um, escorts yeah?”

“High class too, yeah. I had an informant that worked with them on the first case, but no way she’d remember that far back. It was six years ago.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask, though. Maybe we see if she remembers seeing this guy you’re defending? But in that case, you still have to defend him. Fuck.”

“You’re annoyingly smart.” He glares back at you as he speaks. “You remind me of me in law school.”

“High praise.” Your hands are going lower now, and he’s leaning so close it’s hard to move your arms, so instead your hands slide down his shoulders, wrapping his chest and leaning your chin on his neck. “We should get with her and ask while we’re doing the case.”

“You really wanna meet her? See these things… I don’t know how involved you want to be.”

“I need to see it all, Satoru. I really do. If this is going to be what I do I have to know what I’m in for, good, bad or horrible.”

“This girl was assaulted too, but she couldn’t see him. What if it’s the fucking guy I’m defending!?” You snuggle closer, though his back was less tense his entire body was not.

“How do you act so happy with all this happening?” You ask it softly, and he turns his head to you, nuzzling yours.

“I have to.”

“Not with me you don’t.” He exhales, turning then, hands sliding up your thighs, eyes boring into yours, pain on that beautiful face mixed with clear affection, mirroring your own. You gently brush his hair back, and his eyes flutter shut, lips parting as he sighs.

“That’s the most addicting thing about you, I don’t have to pretend.” Your heart thuds in your chest, and you pull him closer, planting a kiss on his chin, heart brimming with affection.

“You never have to pretend around me. You have a lot of responsibility.”

“Yeah, you do too already. I’m putting a lot on you.”

“No, no I want this, okay? I won’t let studies slack, I’m a nerd.” He smirks, planting a soft kiss on your nose.

“You are my little nerdy student, huh? Ace every test.”

“Sure do.”

“I don’t wanna talk about the case anymore tonight. Let’s revisit it tomorrow, yeah? I’m suddenly realizing my student needs some attention.” His voice gets husky, his eyes dilating as he’s slipping your dress up your thighs, and you manage a little nod, then he’s picking you up, like you’re nothing, carrying you to his room.

You’re in Satoru Gojo’s room, huh?

His room is just a little disorganized, a bit unlike the rest of the house, you see his ties hanging on a lamp, his fancy sunglasses just tossed on the sleek black dresser, his bed is a little wild, rumpled and unmade. You peek around curiously, and he’s kissing down your neck, his room alone is twice the size of your dorm.

“Like the room, brat?” He teases, and you nod, leaning back to kiss him deeply, hands enwrapping in his silky white locks.

“It’s more you than the rest of the house.” You murmur between kisses, he hums, easing you down on the bed now, and it’s so comfy you could die, plush and sinking a bit as you sit.

“You mean because the cleaner doesn’t come in here?” He’s pushing your skirt up, pressing you onto the bed, kissing your thighs, his hands sliding your panties off inch by inch. It’s hard to breathe, as you’re consumed by him, by his presence, taking you over with every touch.

“Yeah, it just seems more… Gojo.” He chuckles, planting sweet kisses on your thighs, hot breath making you tremble. “Mnh…”

“We had a deal, yeah? Massage for pussy eating.”

“I also said massage!”

“I’ll massage her with my tongue.” He’s buried himself then, his mouth hot and wet on your pussy, and you’re gripping the soft blankets under you, your eyes rolling back in your head as he licks and kisses and sucks, his tongue flicking against your clit in a way that has you seeing stars.

“Satoru! Oh my god!” You moan out his name, your hips bucking up to meet his mouth, and he just holds you down, his grip firm as he continues to worship you, his tongue sliding up and down your slit, making you gush all over his perfect face.

“So yummy, you’re such a good girl.” He whispers, leaning back,  his hands sliding up to cup your breasts under your top. You’re shaking, damn near hyperventilating as you stare down at his beautiful eyes, dilated and bright to the point his eyes alone bring you closer.

“Fucking love you.” You whisper, it’s the first time since your confession that you’ve said it, and fuck it feels so good. Satoru groans, planting a sloppy kiss on the hood of your clit, then sucking on the puffy lips, little smacks filling the room as you cry out, back arching in pleasure.

“And I love you. Hmm am I talking to the pussy or you? You’ll never know.” He says with a smirk, and you giggle before he’s back to devouring you, groaning and making a vibrating sensation you can’t fucking take.

“S’good Toru- ngh f-fuck!” You scream out, you’re so close to cumming, and you know he knows it because he’s looking up at you, watching your reactions, and it’s so fucking hot. Your hands grip his hair, bucking your hips up. “Cumming!”

He just moans, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, and you’re falling apart, cumming with a scream, your body arching off the bed, and he doesn’t stop, even then, no he’s drinking you up. You’re whining now, oversensitive as he licks you through your orgasm into another, his hands sliding to your waist, gripping you so tight you feel him pressing on your ribs, hands enwrapping you.

“Toru! Oh my- mmm!” You’re senseless, screaming as your head shoves further in the bed, you can’t fucking take it, thighs threatening to close, but he doesn’t pause, or even breathe no he’s just drinking you up, and you’re shattering again. “Toru, enough, enough! Ah!” 

You cum all over his face so hard you’ve soaked him completely, and he’s just groaning, as he laps you up with little flicks of his talented tongue, smacking kisses as he cleans up your mess. You’re so embarrassed at how much there is too, as your legs are shaking and he’s finally leaning up to breathe, his face is shimmering with how much you’ve came.

“Toru…” You swipe some of your arousal off his chin, and he smacks your hand away, leaning on top of you, licking his lower lip. “That’s embarrassing… too much.”

“What? It’s so fucking hot. Stop that.” He’s on top of you, his hard chest on your soft breasts, weight on you so inviting, and you cling to him, still clothed both of you, and he’s so hot you’re just dripping again. “I love how much you cum for me, it lets me know you like it.”

“But that much!?” He chuckles softly, caressing your face softly and studying you. Your hands slide up to his chest, feeling his heart thudding on your palm, pressure in your tummy as your cunt pulses with aftershocks.

“Yes, that much, or more. You always taste so good. It was what made me lose my shit that night.” He kisses you then, and you lick your honeyed arousal, moaning against his full lips, as he sinks you both deeper into the bed.

“I still can’t believe I did that. Yes, stranger, eat me out in a bathroom.” You murmur, and you both grin at each other. “Fuck it feels a long time ago huh?”

“It’d be much longer if I didn’t see you again. Fuck I kept going back to the same bar.” He’s flushed a bit, but it makes you ache more, hips raising to grind on his hard cock between your thighs over his clothes.

“You did!?” You blink rapidly, taking a shaky breath as his presence consumes you, his long body overtaking yours, his eyes getting hooded in desire, just like yours were, as his words sink in.

“I did. Embarrassing huh.”

“N-no… I did too, Satoru.”

“You did!?”

You blush now, nodding, clinging to his dress shirt with your little hands. “Of course I tried. I’m surprised neither of us ran into each other?”

“Maybe I was just meant to have you torture me in class.” His voice drops down to a whisper now, and he leans up on his arms. “I need my student naked. Now.”

“Yes, Professor.” He’s sliding your top off in seconds, and you eagerly unbutton his dress shirt, then he’s unsnapping your bra, freeing your breasts and groaning as he does, pulling you against his bare chest. “You’re so gorgeous, Toru.”

“I know.” You snort at that, and then he grins, sliding his hands up to cup your breasts, kissing down them, making you cry out in pleasure, cunt just wetter now. “You’re gorgeous, Miss Brat.”

“Your prettiest student, hmm?” You whisper, he nods eagerly, before sucking the sensitive peaks of your breasts into his hot, eager mouth. “Ah, fuck! Mnh!”

“The sounds you make, mmm you kill me, brat.” He’s unzipping the side of your skirt now, eyes devouring your body hungrily. He makes you feel so confident, so sexy and beautiful. You whine out just from his gaze, like he’s touching you with his hands, but soon he does, trailing down as he slides your skirt down, and you are unbuttoning his pants, biting your lower lip.

“Your body, ugh.” He smirks, wiggling his brows.

“I know, I’m perfect hmm?” You roll your eyes but it’s true, as you touch every line on his gorgeous frame, every muscle, abdomen, line… the perfect pale skin that is hot to the touch.

“You’re perfect, Satoru. And you clearly have a praise kink, judging by that.” You look down between you both as his cock is rock hard in his boxers.

“That’s part praise kink, part you’re touching me, part you’re beautiful. Take your pick.” He snatches your hand, shoving it down, and you grip him, watching as his cheeks suck in, his white lashes swooping low as he groans softly.

“Let’s get these off.” Satoru has got them off in a blink of an eye, his cock hard and hot in your hand, you stroke him up and down slowly, swirling your hand as you do, watching his pretty face as he moans, grabbing you by your hair and kissing you then. “So hard, aren’t you?”

“Tease.” You just smile innocently, swiping the bit of pre cum that’s started to leak out of his pretty pink tip, and he’s huffing, so sexy, until he lets out the whimper that drives you insane, and then he’s got your legs up, dragging you by your hips. “I’ll teach you to tease.”

“Oh yeah? Teach me, Professor.”

“You’re such a brat, you know my weaknesses and exploit them! You’ll be such a good lawyer.” He flashes a wolfish grin, but when he’s pressed at your entrance you start whining, getting slippery as he barely presses, arching up for more.

“Please, Toru…” Your words hit him instantly, he’s pressing in, sliding even deeper in your tight entrance.

“How can I say no to anything you ask? With that pretty face. Oh… fuck, you’re tight… shit…” He’s groaning as he slides in fully, and your walls are clutching tight around him, he clings to you tightly, eyes slamming shut momentarily. “Fuck, should’ve fingered you, damn it.”

“Too tight huh?” You’re giggling but he scowls at you, slamming in your cunt then, and you feel so full, so much pressure you can’t take it, as he starts stroking, way faster and harder than he usually would, killing you. “Fuck!”

“Learn your lesson, brat.” He’s slamming his lips down, kissing you hungry and desperate, and he’s got your legs higher than you think they should go, pressing them high until they’re on your breasts, making it hard to breathe. You whine out, hips bucking, and he’s smirking. “Aww you okay baby? Can’t take it?”

Satoru Gojo was a sweet, caring, amazing man… until he got that competitive streak, mainly in fucking. Then? He’s a whole demon.

“F-fuck you, I can take it.” You whisper out the answer, but when Satoru’s big hands are cupping your face, and he’s staring at you like that? Your brows knit together, your teeth clicking shut as you feel such intensity you can’t handle it, you’re cumming all over his cock and he exhales, pausing, thumbs caressing your cheeks as his tip grinds too deep inside you.

“Fuck, I love you.” He moans out the words, as he’s tensing, his movements slowing down, rolling his hips. “You’re gonna make me cum quick, fuck.”

“I love you.” He cries out softly, hands now firm on your thighs, as he gently rocks in his hips so deep you feel like you’re gonna fall apart.

“What do you do to me?” His eyes flutter shut, those long white lashes over his cheeks, casting shadows in the soft light of the room over his perfect features, and he’s barely moving, forehead on yours. You cling to him desperately, nails digging into his strong back, and he’s throwing his head back, moaning. “Cum with me, baby girl, can’t even last. Brat.”

You manage a breathless giggle, nodding, your walls fluttering around his thickness. “Please, please… cum in me, Toru.”

“Fill you up.” He’s just whispering though, as he pumps in and out, and you feel him pulsing inside of you, and your body reacts, and you’re falling apart around him, cumming right with him, everything fading but him.

It’s just him.

“F-fuck… take all of it. Good girl.” Your back arches as everything washes through you, every nerve ending lit up as your cunt is pulsing around him. He slams his lips down on yours, finally easing your thighs down, they’re sore as he rubs them gently, pumping life into them as he pumps all his cum in your pussy.

“S-Satoru… love you. Mnh.” You whisper, and he moans, kissing you again and again, deeply and passionate, tongues entwining, messy as you’re dripping down his length, down your thighs, and he leans back, looking down at you. Your hand slides up to caress his face, feeling the sharp cheekbone with your thumb.

“Stop making my bust quick, little brat.” He says, and you just giggle, shaking your head.

“I came though, a few times.”

“You get off on making me cum like a teenager. Be honest.”

“Mmm… maybe?” He tickles your waist then, as he eases out, and you giggle at it, eventually hopping up, completely naked and smacking him with one of his heavy, fancy pillows. He grins like a psycho.

“Oh, it’s fucking on. War.” He smacks the fuck out of you with the pillow, nearly knocking you over, so you pout, and then he frowns, coming up to you, to check you, only for you to grin and smack him with the pillow even harder.

“Hah, fell for it!”

“You’re gonna pay for it.” He gets you again until he’s got you pinned back under him, and he’s grinning down at you, you puff your breath to get the feathers out of your face. “Fuck you’re pretty.”

“You’re pretty, Satoru.” He’s kissing you till you're breathless, and then he pauses, leaning up a bit and studying you carefully. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh… I’m really worried now. You look like one of those girls, your hair, your eyes even… I don’t know if I can bring you.”

“What!? I’m going!”

“But I can’t fucking risk it, what if this guy-”

“You’ll keep me safe.”

He exhales, but you see the worry on his features. “Of course I will, but I just didn’t put it together until now. You’re the same age, obviously not the same profession… but…”

“Satoru I will be fine. I want to help you. We will figure out the possible motivations, okay?” Satoru sighs, caressing your face gently, anguish in his blue eyes making them darken.

“I just fucked you and now I’m worrying about this case.”

“So what? It’s important to you. Do you wanna do more research?” He sighs, nodding then, and soon you’re sliding on your pajama’s you’ve brought, and you two are back out in the living room, pouring over the papers, but you’re yawning a bit after about an hour or so. Satoru notices, planting a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m sorry baby girl, I wanna cuddle with you and relax but now that I’m thinking of you at risk it’s gonna drive me fucking crazy.” He runs a hand through his white silky locks, missing them up further.

“Satoru, I don't mind at all. I want to help anyway I can.” You stifle another yawn, and he looks at you tenderly, you see he’s sleepy too, his eyes a little red.

“You worked today and had classes. Go get some shut eye, Miss Brat. I promise I’ll come to bed soon.”

“Just a little longer.” You murmur, leaning on his shoulder then, as he’s typing on his little black laptop, pouring over more papers now, the clicking of the keys mixed with Satoru’s breathing is oddly even more comforting.

“Baby you’re drooling.” He teases in a few, and you blink a little, bleary eyed as you shake your head.

“No… Toru, m’good… those girls-”

“Don’t let it overwhelm you, please.” You shake your head again, your eyelids feel so heavy.

"We need to look into the escort agency, Toru. Maybe there's something in their past, something that connects these women to each other and to the victims." He smiles at you, holding you against his side, kissing your cheek again.

“Already on it. You’re so smart, you know that?” You smile at the compliment, and soon he’s grabbed a blanket, and you’re in his arms, half asleep on his lap. “You can just sleep on me, I’ll carry you to bed later.”

You hum happily, snuggling up to his hard, hot body, and he pulls you close, arms around your waist, continuing to click away, and your face buried in his neck, he wraps the blanket tighter. You feel sleep tugging at you, you’re just so comfortable in his arms, you can’t imagine how you slept before.

Satoru pours over the case, hearing you lightly snore, making him smirk just a bit, you say you don’t but you do. And it’s cute. Everything about you, from your soft hair falling against his chest, to your warm little body snug on his lap makes him ache more for you. Your gentle breathing, your scent, the way you cling to him and just fit so perfectly.

How had Satoru gone so long without you here?

He focuses back on the screen, and it starts blurring a bit, a mix of exhaustion, stress and the drinks from earlier. But it’s driving him insane, the thought that he could have put someone up wrongly. It’s been eating at him all week since he’s taken the new case, but now you were here, and fuck you’re so smart, it’s so nice to just have you here.

But he’s worried.

If something happened to you? Satoru doesn’t know how he could go on. Without seeing your pretty smile, the little scrunch of your nose, the way your eyes drink him in, the love is so pure in them. The way you love him makes every pain he has so much more tolerable, and there’s so many things he hasn’t told you yet. He trusts you completely, but he’s scared.

He’s not one to be vulnerable, but you make it so easy to be, though he doesn’t know how much he should put on you, how much of the darkness deep inside him he should show. Satoru has always been fun, goofy and silly outwardly, though when alone he’s anything but, and it’s so nice to be able to show that more with you.

He loves you so much it’s consuming, it gets more and more intense every moment, every second that you breathe in his vicinity, every moment he gets to look at you. You sigh a bit, after a good half hour, and Satoru’s back is getting stiff, fuck you massaging it had felt so good. Things are so good with you it’s terrifying, how easy it is to be with you.

But the world has other ideas.

He doesn’t want to hide you, not hold your hand in public, sneak in your itty bitty apartment, as fun as it may be. He doesn’t want you living there, struggling, he wants to take care of you, fuck if you weren’t so passionate Satoru wouldn’t ever even have you work. He loves your talent too much though for that, the genius mind of yours, so open to him.

He wants to open up more to you, but something still terrifies him, his parents' rejections most of his life did a number, as cocky as he comes off it sometimes is just a show, to make up for it. One thing he’s self assured in though is law, the one thing his parents never wanted, no he needed to take over the family business, exploit people and pay them like shit.

But Satoru went his own way, and now they loved to tell him how disappointing he is, when he literally was the top criminal defense attorney there was. But no, nothing was good enough, but you make him feel good enough, don’t you? With every look and every touch, you make him feel like he’s doing good. How in just a few months have you become so precious?

He caresses your cheek, looking down after finally closing his laptop, you briefly open your eyes, long lashes fluttering, your eyes struggling to focus on him. You’re so cute when you sleep, it’s so different from the feisty thing you are when you’re awake. He smiles at you as you yawn, snuggling him closer.

“Let’s get to bed, yeah baby?” You nod, humming a bit and getting up, just for Satoru to snatch your body up in his arms. You smile sleepily at him, little hand coming up to brush his hair back. Fuck every time you do that you break him more and more.

“Sleepy, Toru.” He chuckles, carrying you to bed, watching you snatch his favorite pillow and wrap in the blankets.

He’ll let you use it.

“You know you’re the first girl to sleep in here?” He asks softly, figuring you’re asleep, but you turn to him curiously, eyes lidded and full lips parted.

“Am I really? How?”

“I never let anyone stay.”

“I’m special, Toru, hmm?” You tease, a little grin on your pretty face, and Satoru will do anything to keep it there. He snuggles with you, pulling your rounded ass against him with a groan, an arm around your waist. Fuck you feel so good in his arms, you do run hot but it’s perfect, he adores this feeling more than he’ll admit.

“You’re especially annoying.” You stick your tongue out, he chuckles, pecking a little kiss on your head, inhaling the sweet scent of you that he can never get out of his mind.

“You love me, shut it.”

“Of course I love you.” Your eyes glisten with tears. “Crybaby.”

“Mmm, shush.” You kiss him sweetly, he watches as the shadows in the room play along your delicate features. God you’re so beautiful. “Not even Suguru slept in here? I don’t believe that.”

Satoru grins then. “I mean the only woman. Of course I’ve cuddled with Sugu!”

“Cuddled, huh?”

“That’s what I call it.” You snort at that, shaking your head. “You are just thinking about us both here with you. Freaky girl.” You giggle a bit, shaking your head.

“I only want you, Toru. Ever.”

Your words stop his heart, slurred a bit as your yawn cuts them off, so genuine it makes him ache. His throat closes up as you do what no one has, making him feel like he’s the only person in the world for you. So special. He blinks back emotion and is glad your eyes are drifting and you don’t see the tears threatening to fall.

“I only want you, ever.” He says softly back, but you’re asleep again, you’re a sleepy little thing aren’t you?

Satoru sighs, pulling you close and laying there for a while, the trial in his mind, the worry there of his past mistakes, of putting you in some danger, but you ease it with his presence, enough that it’s not too long until he follows you into slumber.

*****

Two days later

Satoru and you sit in the courtroom together, and the man next to you both makes you shiver, Satoru’s wearing a perfectly tailored pinstripe suit, fitting his lithe body like a glove. His hair is falling soft and silky, a sleek skinny black tie adorning his starched collar, fuck he looks so good, you muse, as one of his hands squeezes your thigh, and he smiles at you.

“Are you doing okay, Miss Brat?” Satoru murmurs softly, and you nod, hand over his, thumb brushing against his knuckles like he enjoys, earning a sigh from his pretty lips.

“I’m excited to see you in action again, Professor Gojo.” You say softly, and he grins at that, teeth glinting under the fluorescent lights of the courtroom. Satoru’s fan group has gathered, even though you are hours away, they seem very devoted. “They want a wave I think.”

He rolls his eyes, then looks back at the fans, standing for a moment, you hold in a giggle as they gasp, bouncing up and down as he tugs at his pinstripe jacket, winking over to them, shooting two fingers in a salute. It would be corny if it was anyone else, but since it was Satoru Gojo, it was hot. You can’t lie.

You’d be a fan if you weren’t in his bed, surely.

“Oh my god!”

“Gojo!”

“Gojo is she your girlfriend!?”

At that you tense, because if your relationship got out it would fuck your college and career up so badly. You struggle to keep composed, as you know he has to say no, it’s what has to happen, but you know it’ll sting. Satoru laughs a bit at their question, throwing his head back.

“She’d turn me down.” He winks down at you, and you cover your face in embarrassment at the girls.

“No, no one could!”

“Gojo are you single!?”

“Gojo-”

“Ladies, ladies, calm down. The judge will yell at me.” Satoru pouts, looking far too charming, and the girls hush, with the promise of pictures later. Satoru sits back down, looking at you softly, his blue eyes so bright they’re hard to look at. “I hope I handled that right, I’m an idiot you know.”

“No, handled it perfectly.” You whisper, making him exhale. He was worried about your feelings, it touches you so deeply you get emotional.

“I wish…” He trails off, and you just smile a bit sadly.

“One day. Soon ish.” He sighs, and raises his hand as if to brush your hair back, quickly dropping it, but you could feel the caress regardless. Oh how you ache for this man.

“Yeah.” Is his only response, then the judge walks in, this one is different, she’s a little less stern looking, she has pretty flowing black hair.

“All rise, for the honorable Miss Inoue.” The bailiff says, and you feel the lack of Satoru’s hand on your thigh like a deep emptiness. Your hands barely touch, back to back, and you shut your eyes for a moment at it, before taking a breath and focusing. This was gonna be rough.

Satoru had to defend him, but you both were already gathering evidence to the contrary, to possibly charge him with another offense. It put Satoru in a horrible situation, and he’d barely slept, it had even been quiet in the drive here, you all had gotten ready in adjoining rooms, giving him a little silence. He didn’t want to hurt you but he did need some.

Your heart hurts for him, you wish he would share a little more of his feelings, but he tries to keep you in the loop, without actually revealing too much. You would take all of him, however, without hesitation, whether he wanted to be open or not, you would wait forever for him.

Tonight you all are going to the escort agency, to question an old informant of Satoru’s, and you both would learn more. But for now, he has to save face, and do the best job he can. You can’t imagine how hard it is, you can just feel it in his energy, but he turns on that charm like a flip of a switch.

“Court is in session. Let’s commence.” Miss Inoue says, and she lets the prosecution make their opening statement.

“This man here, Naoya Zen’in, is a rich playboy, has gotten everything he’s ever wanted handed to him on a silver spoon.” The lawyer starts, a stern man with a very good history from what you’ve researched. “But for once, a woman didn’t want him, so what does he do? He rapes, assaults, ends her life. This is what men do like him, men of power, to the powerless.”

Naoya was a blond, tall man with cold, sharp brown eyes, and a creepy grin that you suppose some women would fall for. He was handsome, you guess? But there is something about him that makes your fucking skin crawl. As they go on about him, he’s just laughing softly, leaned back against his chair casually, like this is all beneath him, a waste of time.

The handsome playboy in question smirks over at you, and he sends shivers through your spine, especially when his brown eyes look you up and down, winking. You tense, and Satoru looks at him with a glare, earning a bigger smirk, and you watch Satoru’s hands clench the bench so tightly they’re white. You gently touch Satoru’s arm, shaking your head, but he’s shaking damn near.

“Don’t fucking look at her, got me?” Satoru says in a hush, and the handsome (creepy) blonde just grins.

“Oh? Why not? She’s pretty to look at.” Satoru stands but thank goodness they call for the defense to make opening statements then, but you can tell he’s torn. You smile at him softly.

“I’m good, Satoru. Nothing’s gonna happen. Go kill it, yeah?” Satoru looks at you with his thin white brows drawn low, jaw clenched tightly, so tight you see a vein pop from under his fair skin. Then he looks back at his client.

“You won’t have eyes.” Satoru whispers, and your own widen at that, as he then grins, hands in his pockets, slinking over to the middle of the room. He’s smiling at the judge, who can’t help but smile in return. “Hello, lovely. I mean Judgy. Judge?”

The room laughs softly, aside from the prosecution of course, but Naoya seems to have his eyes fixed on you. You ignore him pointedly, focusing instead on taking notes, watching Satoru do what he does best, but there is an unspoken tension, as you feel the gaze still there.

“How long you been fucking each other?” He hisses, and you glare, furious, wanting to deck the mother fucker now.

“Why don’t you focus on the murder trial against you, and not my sex life, huh Mr. Zen’in?” You ask, and he laughs, leaning closer. Thank God Satoru is facing the jury, you feel there’s no way he wouldn’t punch this guy in the face if he saw.

“Your sex life highly interests me, I wonder how good of a whore you can be. Wonder if you’ve been shown.” His words are a bare whisper, but they terrify you, filling you with such nausea you could throw up right here. Your legs are trembling, and you barely keep it together.

“Go fuck yourself, Mr. Zen’in.” He grins, and you turn your attention away, focusing on Satoru now, waves of nausea rolling through you now.

Fuck you hate this dude and you just met him.

Satoru strides across the room, a picture of confidence, and stops in front of the jury now. “This man before you, Mr. Zen’in, is not a monster, but a human being with a heart that beats just like yours and mine. Maybe he is a rich playboy, maybe he does get everything he wants, but he’s not on trial for his lifestyle, but for a crime, that doesn’t have enough proof.”

“Objection!”

Satoru rolls his eyes, head leaning back, and the judge glares at prosecution. “Let Mr. Gojo speak. Mr. Gojo, please continue.”

Satoru smiles, bowing a bit at the waist, and you hear the courtroom swoon. There were more fans now!?

“Thank you, magnificent judge. Your reputation precedes you.” He winks at her, and she’s all pink, before clearing her throat. “Ah, so before I was so rudely interrupted…” Satoru pouts, cutely, earning the hearts of almost anyone. “This guy, yeah he’s kinda a douche…”

Naoya scowls next to you, fists clenched, and you hold in the giggle, but most of the people in the court room fail.

“But just because he’s a pretentious dick, it doesn’t mean he’s a murderer, or a rapist. Surely, he has no issue paying for sex when he needs it.” Satoru looks over to Naoya with his icy blue eyes and snarky grin. You thrill on Satoru in his damn element, in him riling everyone up.

Fuck you love him.

“ I will argue, this playboy has been grossly misunderstood. Let us not be swayed by sensationalism and assumptions, but by the cold, hard facts. And when we do, I believe you will find... lovely members of the jury,” Satoru winks at them, and even the men swoon, “As I have, that there is more to this story than meets the eye.”

Satoru turns then, flashing you a grin that makes your knees knock together, fuck he’s gorgeous, isn’t he? With every eye on the room invested in his every word, every breath, every movement, slinking like the damn cat he is, his dress shoes glinting from the high polish. He tugs at his jacket a bit, loosening a couple of buttons, revealing the starch dress shirt underneath.

“Oh my god-”

“Ladies!” The judge has to calm down the girls, and you do smile then, looking back to see the mess he’s created. Satoru grins.

“So sorry, Judge, I’m afraid my loyal fans can be a little… enthusiastic.”

“No worries, Mr. Gojo. Please continue.” The judge smiles at Satoru, her chin in her hand like she’s in class. You just shake your head a bit at everything, god Satoru really was something else.

“Thank you, Miss Inoue. So… dear jury.” He earns their undivided attention. “Let me show you the truth, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you all.” He winks, and then the prosecution loses it again. “Ah, they’re being so mean! Well, we’ll speak soon, don’t worry. The defense rests its opening statement in the firm belief that we will uncover the truth together.”

Then he’s back next to you, between you and the asshole Naoya, scooching close and leaning to whisper in your ear.

“Did he say anything baby girl?” He asks, and you sigh.

“We’ll talk later, Toru.” He looks at you with concern now, brows knitted, but you just shake your head, as the defense calls their first witness.

“We’d like to call a witness, Mr. Rin to the stand.”

And so the trial begins, and you and Satoru sit, tensely for hours on end, in the gloomy courtroom, as the prosecution questions their witness, and you can feel the gears shifting in Satoru’s head as he pops a piece of candy in his mouth. He hands you on discreetly, and you smile, opening the crinkly wrapper and sucking the little mint into your mouth.

“You’ve got this, yeah?” He nods, smiling a bit, but you could see the toll, as someone possibly guilty sits next to you both.

How does Satoru handle this one?

“We got this, Miss Brat. No worries.” His hand holds yours under the table, and you sigh at how good the little touch feels.

The prosecution finishes with their witness now. “Would you like to Cross examine the witness, Gojo. I mean Mr. Gojo!” Gojo chuckles at the judge, standing as you do, to let him out of the bench, and then he saunters up to the young lady, and you feel his hesitation.

“Hello there, how are you?” He asks gently, to the young lady sitting there nervously at the stand. She sighs.

“I’ve been better?”

“Yeah, courtrooms suck, huh?” Everyone is either laughing or gasping, and the witness smiles a bit.

“They really do.”

“I know, even I get so bored, ugh.” He leans his head back, grimacing then, and you barely hold in your laugh, it’s impossible, he’s so infectious. “But listen, let’s push through it, I’m just gonna ask you a few questions.”

Satoru starts his questioning then, and you notice it’s different, he’s not hitting as hard as he normally would, because he doesn’t even think Naoya is innocent, fuck Naoya could have been doing this. Yet he’s also not going to let this just go, he has to defend him, you have no clue how he’s keeping his cool, not when the man next to you looks so fucking smug.

As Satoru paces, he tosses out questions. "Could it be that the prosecution is more interested in a swift conviction than in the actual facts of the case?" He asks to the jury,  his voice rising just enough to make it sound like a challenge.

“Objection!”

“Sustained, Mr. Gojo, could you please reline the question?” The judge says sweetly, and Satoru smiles.

“Sure, judge, could it be that there are others who stand to gain from my client's downfall?"

The witness sighs. “I don’t know if I can answer that.”

“That’s okay, let me explain to you. My client," he says, turning to gesture at Naoya, "is a young man with a lot of money, and clearly getting eyed by a lot of people who want a piece of it. Would you agree?”

“Um… I guess so, some people like that.”

“Did you like his money?” The courtroom gasps, and the girl is bright red, looking down.

Fuck this disgusts you.

You know Satoru would like to call him disgusting and to fuck off, but here he was, having to do his best.

“The money is fine, but he’s a freak.”

“Oh, freaky huh? What’s wrong with that? Whips and chains-”

“Objection!”

The judge is intrigued though. “No, overruled. Continue.”

“Ah, thank you. Listen, what’s wrong with being freaky, in consesnual acts? Are you saying that equates assault? Some smacks on the ass?” The court room is in a tizzy, and you find yourself flushing.

“Well… no. Not necessarily…”

“Exactly!” Satoru chuckles, throwing his head back, and the prosecutor, visibly rattled, tries to interject again, but Satoru waves him off with a casual flick of his wrist. "Let's not forget, kink shaming is bad.”

“Mr. Gojo!” The prosecution is so angry, and the judge sighs.

“Mr. Gojo… is there a point to this?” She asks, and Gojo nods.

“There sure is, forgive me, I got a little… flustered.” He has the audacity to look innocent and cute!

Fucking Gojo.

He’s brilliant.

They’re putty in his big hands.

“My questions are almost over, love. Can you take one more?” He asks the witness softly, and she nods eagerly. “Perfect. What a good… witness.”

You hear his fans swoon, and people behind you giggle. The witness is entranced, and you’re just amazed at this shitshow, and how well Satoru runs this all so fucking well. He butters the girl up to say anything, it was as if he didn’t even really have to try, but he was trying, you could feel it, to not go too far.

“This may be the first case I lose. On purpose, if we can’t find anything on this fucker.” Satoru had said earlier, as you all drove into court, and you hold his hand that’s on your thigh, sighing.

“I know, Satoru. We’ll figure it out together.” He yanked your hand, kissing it, warm lips pressed on your trembling hand.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“The defense rests on its questioning.” Satoru says then, and soon he’s back next to you, and court eventually ends for the day.

You let out a shaky breath as Satoru walks up to the defense team, conferring with them, then all teams approach the bench to speak with the judge, and Nouya comes up close to you. You cringe internally, but outwardly you steel yourself, putting a blank expression on your face as he grins, eyes lowering to your breasts, downwards, and it feels so disgusting you struggle not to smack him for it.

“I see why he keeps you around, a shame women just aren’t fucking smart, isn’t it? But useful I suppose.” He acts casual, hands in his pockets, your fingers itch to smack him so badly you grip your books tight to you.

“Yeah, you’re real smart, ended up here and all. Me? Just aced every test and in a top law school. Without ‘daddy’s money’ too.” Your lips upturn just a bit, as you watch his stupid grin turn into a glare.

“I’d teach you a fuckin lesson, little slut, right on that pretty face of yours.” You glare, and just then Satoru is back, and he’s pulling you behind him, crossing his arms and leaning forward, his eyes are a storm of icy blue, his face furious like you’ve never seen.

“I’ll lose this case so quick, swear to fucking god. Don’t think for two seconds you’re good enough to breathe her air, got it?” He says it softly, calmly, looming over him, even though he was tall, Satoru is even taller, and you watch him back up just a step, fear in his features.

“You won’t lose, you never lose. It’s why we chose you.”

We?

Your mind runs rampant, you know the Zen’in are some of the richest people there are, and powerful. Satoru’s own family had run businesses with them, you’d found that out on accident. You tried to not pry, as you didn’t need to know what Satoru didn’t want you to, yet, but it was…

Frightening.

Did Satoru’s family…

“Let’s go.” Satoru shakes you out of your thoughts, and you realize you’ve just been standing there, you sigh, nodding and following him out. He doesn’t give his fans attention this time, he’s raging inside and you can see it, you can feel it, when you both are in the car and he’s punching the steering wheel with his fists.

“Toru, it’s okay! Promise.” You whisper, and he covers his face then, shaking his head, making you hurt for him, as you gently touch his shoulder. “Toru…”

“How can I even keep you safe if this fucker wants to-”

“I can handle myself, Toru, I’m tough you know.”

His eyes break your heart, filled with emotion as he gulps. “ Baby girl if anything happens to you… I swear-”

“Toru.” You stop him again, hands cupping his face, and he’s so tense you feel it through the air of the little car. “It’s gonna be okay. We will do this together, I will help you, I swear.”

“I can’t believe I couldn’t just beat the fuck out of him. What did he even say? All I saw was him near you whispering.” You blink then, looking down. “No, no you better tell me, I have to know what we’re dealing with.”

You take a shaky breath, sighing then. “He said I was going to learn a lesson, on my ‘pretty face’. Called me a slut, a whore. Said he’d have fun with me. Satoru!”

He’s out of the car in an instant, and you hop out to chase after him, as he’s stalking his way up the courtroom stairs. Most of the people are gone for the day, but who walks down buy Naoya himself, ankle monitor on his expensive pant leg, staring at his watch, until Satoru is right in front of him. He’s looking batshit insane, and frankly you’re fucking terrified.

“Satoru…” You murmur, coming up to touch him, and Naoya is smirking at the two of you.

“Something wrong, Gojo?”

“Need a word with you.” Satoru shoves him into a concrete pillar, and Naoya is furious, scowling back at him.

“The fuck?”

“Say anything like that again I’ll break your fucking jaw. Got it?” He demands, and Naoya actually just laughs, it’s dark and sinister. “I know who the fuck you are.”

“Oh do you, now? What’s it matter, huh? Worried about your pretty little-” Satoru punches him then, quietly and so quickly surely no one would know but you three, right in the stomach. Naoya hunches over, but he’s grinning.

“Don’t touch her, I swear to god, there’ll be nothing left to find.” Satoru whispers, and then he looks back at you, at your wide eyes, and he takes you by the hand, easing you away from the laughing man.

“See ya tomorrow, Gojo… doll.” He smirks at you and Satoru nearly punches him again, if not for you gently taking his hand.

“It’s fine, Toru, he’s not worth it.” Satoru’s eyes drink you in, and he leans close, your breath mingling.

“I’ll fucking kill him. You gonna get me off death row?” You feel his anger, his rage even under the joke.

“I’ll be the best attorney ever. I’ll show you how good I’ll be when we get back, yeah?” He stiffly walks away, and then you all are silently driving back home, your arm wrapped around his arm, snuggled close to his strong shoulder.

“I’ll wreck this mother fucker.” He mutters, as he’s driving, you feel all of his muscles so tense against you, his veins popping up around his wrists and hands at how tight he’s gripping the steering wheel.

“We’ll wreck him. Together. Yeah?”

“It took everything not to fucking kill him. Everything.”

“I know.”

Once you’re back at the hotel, you expect him to maybe want time alone, but he’s on you then, kissing you passionately, deeply, your teeth click as he’s yanking you up so close. You can barely breathe, so intense you can’t even take it, lost in him, as his hands are shaking, and you feel his body tremble, you eagerly slide his jacket off him, hands running down his body.

“You’re mine.” He says, through his teeth, his voice is hoarse and his eyes are wild, and you cup his face.

“You’re mine.” He’s moaning, then he turns you, roughly, unzipping the black dress you wore, and the cool air of the hotel room hits your skin. Satoru hungrily kisses down your neck, your shoulders, as his hands wrap around your waist, and your head tilts to the side, for him to have more access to you. “Satoru…”

“I love your body. I love how you feel. I love how you taste.” His husky words are accompanied by fervent kisses, and you melt in his arms, goosebumps everywhere he trails his lips upon. “I’ll kill anyone that touches you.”

“Satoru… don’t say that.” You whisper, but then he’s spun you around, and you’re shaking as you look up at him, at his serious face, so gorgeous and intense that you can’t think of anything else.

“I mean it. I’m sorry if it’s fucking intense, but I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t lose me, I’m yours. I love you.” He moans softly, and as he’s kissing you again, you’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, revealing his perfect hard body, running your fingers down his torso, feeling the hot skin, the hard planes of his body, then your’s unbuckling his belt, and watch his eyes dilate, his lips part. “Let me make you feel good, Toru.”

“Fuck…” Is all he bites out, as his sexy moans urge you on, he steps out of his pants and you sink to your knees on the plush carpet beneath you, licking your lips as he frees his cock, slapping against his belly button, and you hungrily take him into your mouth, eyes meeting his.

“You did so good today, Toru.” You murmur, licking the salty precum from his tip, and he huffs, leaning back against the cream hotel wall, hands undoing your bun, letting your hair flow.

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby girl.” He murmurs, before moaning, throwing his head back and enwrapping his hand in your hair, starting to fuck your throat with his thick length, choking you in the most delicious way. Your hands grip his strong, muscled thighs, as he pumps his cock deeper, until there are tears in your eyes. “Oh my god, baby…”

“Mmm…” You just moan, sucking him, your cheeks hollowing out, and he’s looking down at you, pupils blown out, and you feel the tension releasing as you pump your hands up and down his length.

“Play with that perfect pussy, baby, get ready for me.” He whispers, and you dip a hand down, feeling yourself slick and hot, crying out around his length, he grips you tighter, groaning. “That’s it, good girl. Good girl.”

You’re crying out now, clit puffy and twitching under your delicate touch, in little circles, so slippery your hand slides off. Satoru’s got your face cupped in his hands, as he pumps his hips, and you’re shaking with need, grinding against your hand hopelessly, craving more friction.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Fuck.” He pulls back then, and you let him go with a pop sound of your lips, and he’s swiping the saliva and precum off your chin. “Need you, need you now baby.”

You stand on wobbly legs, then Satoru’s sliding two fingers in your eager entry, as you wrap a leg around his, and he’s holding you around your waist, slamming his lips down on yours. You’re both a mess of teeth, tongues and lips, you swallow his groans and he drinks your sighs, as he’s hitting that spot so good you can’t take it.

“Please, please, please.” You whisper out, as you gasp with pleasure, and he’s spun you then, pressing you face down on the bed, so tall he has to lift your hips up, and then he’s over you, one hand guiding his cock between your lips, and you’re arching back for more.

“Perfect pussy. Perfect mouth. Perfect body.” He gruffly says those words, one hand wraps around your throat as he bends over, sliding his cock all the way in one thrust, and you scream out loud at it. “You’re mine.”

“Yours, Toru. Yours.” He’s gripping your throat tight, starting to fuck into you, and you hear how wet you are, squishing and slapping sounds in the suite, mixed with his labored breaths and your whimpers. “Ngh, s’good f-fuck!”

“Taking me so good, baby girl.” Satoru’s cock wrecks you now, fucking you harder and harder, slamming against your cervix until you feel yourself close, head falling back as his hand squeezes gently. “Made for me. Aren’t you?”

“Y-yes. Yes.” You can’t stop the moans, the cries, and then you feel the pressure burst, and pleasure washes over you in waves, as he claims you his, as he’s fucking you senseless. You don’t even remember where you are, all you know is Satoru Gojo’s cock is pounding your little pussy, and you’re shattering around it.

“Yes, cum for me… such a good girl, aren’t you?” You can’t take it, you’re too sensitive, and he’s squeezing your throat, making everything fuzzy, hazy, and you’ve cum so hard you’re soaked, dripping down the blanket, down your inner thighs, and he’s slipping easier and easier. “You’re so wet for me, so easy, huh?”

“Easy for you, Toru. You.” His big hands move you then, scooching you over the bed and laying on top of you, prone position, you feel the sweat dripping off his chest as he takes you, taking your hands and entwining them with his, planting sloppy, hot kisses along your shoulder blades. “Oh my… mnh… Love you, love you.”

“I fucking love you baby. You’re all mine. Aren’t you?” You nod, and he’s kissing up your neck now, as he’s slowing, grinding that leaking tip against your cervix until you’re cumming again, and he has to pause it feels so good, resting his head against the crook of your neck.

“You feel too good, too good. Can’t take it.” You whine out, as he’s rolling his hips, feeling your walls tighten around his cock, soaking him even more as wetness gushes from your little hole. “Toru, kiss me. Please.”

He takes your chin in a hand, as the other stays entwined with yours, and he’s drinking all your cries now, with a desperate, sloppy kiss. “Want me to cum in this pussy, paint your insides?”

“Yes. Please, please. Please, Toru. Ah!” He’s cumming right then, as you beg him, filling you up and pushing you over the brink, breathless, blinded, consumed by him.

“Fuck- perfect- so… ah… fuck…” He’s grunting, no sensible words, and you’re lost, seeing black and glitter, as Satoru consumes your soul. He eases now, kissing your sweaty back, running a hand down your spine, and you mewl weakly. “Baby…”

“Mmm… yeah? What is it, Toru?” You blink a bit, and you meet his eyes, pussy drunk off you but something is intense, even more than usual.

“I’ll never let anyone touch you. Got it?” You nod, planting a kiss on his lips, which soften under your caress. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know, Toru. I know.” He exhales, laying his heavy weight on you, but you love it, you love feeling him, feeling the aftershocks make both of you twitch, a sweaty mess of tangled limbs.

“I want to kill him.” You tense then, peeking back at him.

“Toru we’ll do this. We’ll get justice. I promise. We won’t have to…”

“I want to though. If he looks at you again? I…”

“We’ll get him.” He moans, kissing you again, and then he’s pushing deep inside you, where his cum was pouring out the length, but he’s still rock hard inside you. “Toru, again?”

“Again.”

Chapter 10

ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56895382/chapters/149180743

[chilkookiepal]

Burn With Me

kind of yandere /toxic JJK x Reader (hints at reader being black)

summary : in which what yours is mine to Jungkook and what's his is infact Not yours

genre / angst for this chapter , dark romance, themes of exercised control

MINORS DO NOT INERACT!!!

🤍🤍🤍 🤍🤍🤍 🤍🤍🤍 🤍🤍🤍 🤍🤍🤍 🤍🤍🤍

Jungkook doesn't share

he will do anything you tell him to He would become your servant if you allowed that

He was very curious about  you which meant that he had to be attached to your hip whenever he could that also to him and in his own merits of logic meant that he was allowed to be in your business as much as he wanted You didn't even have to know

he was watching his own unspoken rules getting jeopardized at times especially when you did things like these

What belonged to you belonged to him and the opposite was a dead end

It wasn't just you , jungkook just consisted of too many possessive bones in his body

It's either he was just that good at masking his distaste for sharing or you just couldn't take a hint He didn't even have the time to do s double take in his already livid state

see the thing is he was simply caught off guard

you had gotten into the mood to clean up the house which also meant that the laundry coul not be avoided

You and Jungkook were simply cohabitant new room mates and it has been a little over a month since a friend sent you in the direction of an empty apartment listing Doing all in her might to get you out of her and her boyfriend's freaky way

Upon meeting your landlord you had been skeptical but you didn't have that many choices plus the neighborhood seemed safe and the rent was pretty fair so you moved in

You both got along fine ,quickly falling into a routine,the living situation was practically homey, marriage like sealed with a lot of tension.

his jaw was so tensed if you noticed you would think something was bound to snap,his reaction was simply an erorr detection in his exercised control

you had these instances where you stepped on his toes without even thinking twice

you were not being the most considerate in his eyes and this additional moment as if his day was not bad enough to you, why did you have to have your episodes right when he was livid

he was simply pissed off and you just happened to be the first thing in sight , a winner of his bad moods by default as his eyebrows scrunch at your appearance

"Is that my t-shirt?"

You were a mess to say the least, your braids in a ponytail that fell down from a bun keep getting in your face disrupting the surface of the counter that you are currently wiping down at

in the background you hum to a song blasting on volume 29 , it's nearing 1pm in the day when the door ahead beeps and open revealing a slightly disheveled Jungkook who had knocked off work earlier than normally

Something about his presence is not very friendly in this moment where his tongue pokes at the side of his cheek from the inside

You had never seen him like this before, a nervous light smile gracing your lips When your eyes trail further to examine him his lip seems slightly busted "Jungkook, what happened…are you okay?" You simply ask concern fully evident in your widened shiny orbs

You are not sure what is happening exactly between Jungkook rolling his eyes, a dark chuckle, the quirking if his eyebrow and the impatience evident on his face all together bringing you back to his initial and only words to you as it was your first time seeing him today

"Oh yeah, I was doing laundry and my clothes got drenched " growing antsy under the weight of his gaze you assure him that you have plans to wash it and that it was safe

"So you wear my clothes, who gave you permission?"

if you ever thought your eyes could not get any bigger they could as well have been hanging out of their sockets in this instant

"I didn't think you would mind-' He is stepping closer in slow strides and unwavering predatory gaze solely focused on you and you alone you look like a deer caught in the headlights

"Who gave you the fucking permission to wear my shirt y/n ?"

He seems to be a different person as he stops a little distance from you eyebrows drawn together in an angry frown

you're still trying to be sure that this is Jungkook that standing in front of you, to keep yourself from running the hell out of sight

"I'm sorry, I -" he chuckles in disbelief "you can be such a selfish brat sometimes, I can't believe you would just help yourself to my clothes without my permission  what else do you fucking take from me when I'm not around, huh?"

It's a rhetorical question and His words taking on a patronizing tone that triggers a defensive alarm in your brain

the way he drags his eyes across you makes you question your existence for a hot minute

and somewhere between the pitch of Jungkooks mean words , his gaze and the ringing in your ears turning into a deafening  intolerable sound your eyes start tearing up and when you can no longer take any of it even the t-shirt feels like it's weighing you down and in the defeat of it all your hands reach for the hem of the shirt and you drag the t-shirt over your head shoving it in his chest before turning to hide away behind the protective walls of the one thing you infact had the full rights to in jungkooks shared apartment

You are simply too livid to realize the state you have him in in the span of the moment you throw his shirt at him

Tits standing pretty above your figure He never thought he'd ever see this view

and when you turn away from him your pretty ass swaying makes him want to pull you back in to his arms just to feel the softness of your flesh against his finger tips and another tip making his explosive mood into something more sinister than what he had been initially presented with

"Fuck " he lets out under his shaky breath

The door slamming in a distance ahead

You don't come out of your room in the next four hours

Hopeful that he would leave again

You had fallen asleep somewhere in between your crying waking up around sun down to take down your laundry you tie your robe around your figure and your door creaks at contact You don't even make it far when you spot familiar closet colors that belong to you already folded neatly on the nearest couch to your room

You don't bother to look for him Even when the kitchen smells nice and dishes clank there

You retreat back to your room before exiting again to take a shower

When done you get back into your room not acknowledging his presence even though he's sitting right across the room

You were dressed up when you exited the room again, wearing your work attire with your braids flowing down your back and a satchel bag on your shoulder He could tell you were off to work with your change of clothes in the bag that has some volume today hinting him something he won't even let himself consider

He's there on the kitchen island following your every move with his eyes you know he is there so you ignore more you see him as you look around for your preferred pair of sneakers that you are not sure where they went

The comfortable ones that tolerate your herrendous hours of standing

frustrated you go back into your room to check again settling on a  different pair

"Come and eat " A voice you are ignoring announces from the kitchen You ignore him

you are approaching the door when he stands in front of you

"Please "

"I'm not hungry " you say lowly

Your stomach growls for the nth time like a paid actor

his eyebrows knitted knowing that you had not eaten in hours

You try to push past him but he just stands in your way tall and broad as ever

You glare at him hoping he will get the message

Angel,I'm sorry ," he takes the opportunity to let out the word when your eyes finally meet his

"Yeah me too , could you move"

He won't budge , refusing to let you leave without eating

"I'm really not interested"

At least you were talking

"Please"

he has those sparkling eyes staring into your soul

"I already dished for two "

"Well now you got extra for tomorrow "

"You can't work on an empty stomach"

you ignore the last bit of his opinion continuing to scurry away and you don't even hear him approach you until he's dragging you to the counter opening a chair for you and putting a plate in front of you

You eat with him still avoiding him You were always like this You got scared to look people in the eyes whenever you had arguments

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of the things I said- I was not even upset with you, you were just there"

You clear your throat before muttering a heavy apology that tugs at your heart strings

"I'm sorry-

I'm sorry for wearing your t-shirt, it won't happen again"

You simply got forward and out of lane earlier and that makes your appetite want to desipate

You were probably being unreasonable but what if he resented you for all he did for you as well

You surely despised feeling indebted to people and you feared overstepping boundaries and overstaying your welcomes

"Thanks for the food " You are on your feet to do the dishes when he does it again, he takes the dishes to put them in the dishwasher before you can make it to the sink

"Princess, look at me"

He was now stood in front of you too close for your bond to Jungkook that is under reevaluation

With a sharp inhale you meet his gaze , unreadable, almost unfamiliar

"I- I have to go"

He wants to place his arms on the counter to cage you there and never let you out of his sight

"Let me drive you there"

"thank but my ride is already here"

This was his least favorite category of brattiness from you and if you weren't already icing him out he would have pointed it out

You excuse yourself past him and rush for the exit your sneakers squeaking against the tiles with each hypnotic sway of your hips A part of him thinks you don't even know what you do to him And

Truth is you had no clue what you had gotten yourself into He was trying his hardest to change , learning to leave behind a method of love that burns and destroys him and anything he touches

This was no regular man, he was something far more than obsessive and he was scared that he was already getting too lost in you You were right here under his nose now , you grew on him too quickly

What's yours was his and what's his was his, YOU were his you just didn't know it yet which was why he got pissed earlier when you fit perfectly into HIS t-shirt you disrupt an order of control that goes unspoken to him

wearing his t-shirt was just too hard for him to handle but fuck that image of your body is now engrained in his head and in the camera east corner of the apartment in the living room too small to be noticable Well at least to your pretty eyes he thought to himself Same pretty eyes that were glossy when you looked up at him earlier with just a pair of cotton panties on

another pair that you would be losing to Jungkook without a clue in the world

He had no interest to wash that shirt anytime soon, your bare nipples were pressed right against that fabric, his shirt for fucks sake

He wanted to lift you in the air and just fuck you then and there but !he was a patient man however far that would take him

you were becoming like a deep ocean slowly sinking him to the bottom with an anchor that he tied himself securely to his own ankle

You didn't even have to do anything to have him wrapped around your little finger and that is how he knew he had no plans of letting you go well at least any time soon ...

DON'T BE A SILENT READER , I'M HUNGRY FOR FEEDBACK 😭😭

do not translate ,copy / re-use .

[ddejavvu]

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 2) / Part 1 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Final Part)

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 16.1K / navigation / inbox

A/N: part two!! thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of the sweet, lovely feedback i got on part one, i was so happy you enjoyed the opening chapter!! this part gives some more backstory on reader+bradley, and i hope you like it just as much as you did the first! once more i'd love to hear your thoughts, thank you to everyone who said something wonderful and kind about the first part, it meant a lot to me. <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Instead of your alarm, you wake up to a call from Carole. It’s 7:29, and when you raise the phone to your ear, your voice is gruff and achy with sleep.

“Hello?”

It feels just like yesterday. Yesterday, that comes flooding back to you in a barrage of awful memories. All that’s changed is the bed you’re in; you’re still alone. You almost miss Carole’s response because you’re slowly taking in everything that hits you like an anvil from above, but you catch the last word and can discern her meaning.

“-visit?”

“Yeah,” You rub your eyes, feeling tears already gathered there; a great way to start your morning.

“Yeah, I’ll visit,” You confirm, and your alarm buzzes against your head. You hastily shut it off and yawn, only inducing more tears and sighing as you speak again, “I’m gonna run to the store real quick, get some stuff for cookies. He convinced me to sneak them in.”

“That boy,” Carole huffs, and even half-asleep, you hear her voice laced with fondness for her son, “Alright honey. How y’doin’?”

“Um,” You ponder, truly unsure as your fingers pick at a stray thread on the blanket; you’d been meaning to replace it for months. “Okay. Not okay, but not- not as bad as yesterday. I think-” You swallow, throat convulsing, “I think I love lying to him if it means I have him back.”

She’s silent for a moment, letting your words sink into your own brain. You feel guilty for them, just like you feel guilty for leading Bradley on, pretending nothing is wrong when your entire lives have fallen apart. But she eventually responds with all of the kindness and love she has inside of her, which is a lot.

“I know, baby. And it’s okay, it’ll get better. It’ll turn out right.”

“I hope so,” You breathe shakily, wishing either her or your boyfriend (pretend boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend?) were there to rub soothing circles into your back. 

“I know so.” She promises, and she’s never promised something she couldn’t guarantee. You hope this isn’t her first strike, because her never-ending optimism miraculously lifts your dreary spirits until your chest doesn’t ache with a sob begging to break free. “Alright, baby doll, I’ll let’cha get to baking. I’m gonna see if they’ll let me sneak in early, I- Oh! Nurse,” She calls away from the phone, and you hear her move on the other end, no doubt chasing down a poor nurse that doesn’t want to get fired for letting her in before visiting hours. You hang up the call with a snort, fond of how her fierce love for those around her hasn’t faded in all the time you’ve known her.

Pulling yourself out of bed is hard, but you do it for Bradley. You’re sluggish as you traipse to the bathroom, using deodorant in place of a shower and brushing your hair back into a ponytail. Showers are for people who have the luxury of time, you need to bake fast, and get over there to see if Bradley wakes up remembering anything new- er, old. You hope that he doesn’t, and then you hope that doesn’t make you a bad person.

One of the things you love about the place you’d shared with Bradley is that it’s close to a shopping center with a grocery store. It means that you walk to the supermarket, sandals on your feet and ratty, day-old clothes still on. No one seems to mind when you grab a basket looking like you’ve risen from the dead, and you collect the ingredients for Bradley’s favorite cookies with a skillful, experienced hand. You haven’t paid for anything by card in a while, you’d used emergency cash for the motel, and you wonder if you’ve been locked out of your joint bank account. Probably not; if the state of Bradley’s place had been any indication, he wants you back. But you’re cautious using the card anyways, in case a big red screen comes to life on the monitor in front of you and tells you you’re a terrible girlfriend. Almost a terrible wife.

You’re glad that you don’t run into any of your neighbors on the walk back home, because you don’t want to explain why you look the way you do, nor do you want to burst into tears when they ask where Bradley and his car are. You keep your head down and avoid the trike on the front walkway, ducking back into the house without being spotted. 

Firing up the oven feels heavenly, maybe because you’ve been eating scraps of motel food for two weeks. It reminds you of all the times you’ve baked with Bradley, or, more like the times you’ve baked while Bradley steals pinches of sugar from the bowl or tries to lick the beater when there’s raw egg in the mixture, resulting in more batter in his mustache than in his mouth while you try wrestling the spatula out of his grip.

You go through the oatmeal raisin motions absentmindedly; a master at your craft. It frees up brainpower to reminisce, and you sort through a mental file cabinet to find your favorite memory of baking with Bradley.

--

“I want to try the vanilla,” Bradley reaches for the teaspoon in your hands, and you jerk it away, thankful that it isn’t full of the brown liquid yet.

“Absolutely not,” You laugh, “Brad, it’s gross by itself. It’s like eating straight cocoa powder, it’s meant to be mixed in with something.”

He pouts, he actually pouts, a man of 36. The expression has his mustache hanging over his lower lip and you can’t help but giggle at it, leaning in to kiss the prickly hair on his face.

“You’ll have a cookie to eat soon,” You promise him, dumping a teaspoon of vanilla extract into the mixing bowl. He plays satisfied with your answer, but when you turn your back to fold the mixture in on itself with a spatula, you hear rustling behind you, then the click of a cap, and a muffled gag.

“I told you,” Your voice is sing-song-y, and you turn amusedly to watch Bradley duck under the sink’s faucet, rinsing his mouth out of the bitter taste. He’s scowling when he comes back up for air, water dripping from his mustache as he crosses his arms.

“I thought it would be good.” He mutters, and you nod, humming as a bit of batter smears over your thumb from the spatula.

“That’s because you didn’t listen to me,” You lament, “I know everything, Brad. You should just listen to me, always.”

“Oh yeah? Alright, share some wisdom with me, Almighty One,” He teases, pushing off of the counter to join you at your own, “What should I do?”

He moves with his arms crossed, standing just close enough that you know the only answer you can give.

“Mm,” You pretend to deliberate, really leaning into it with a few contemplative taps at your chin, “Kiss me.”

He gasps dramatically, which is the way that he does most things, “Excellent idea. You really do know everything.”

“Mhm,” You nod, craning your neck up as Bradley leans down to kiss you, “I told you. Listen to me all the time.”

“I will,” He promises, “Quick, tell me we should have sex.”

“Bradley!” You gawp, an incredulous laugh oozing out from your chest, leaving behind a snail trail of joy, “You’re insatiable! We’ve already gone twice today.”

“Mm, can’t help it,” He tsks, backing you into the counter and kissing you once more. His lips press firmly to yours, his hands at your waist caging you into his embrace, “Honey, you taste much sweeter than that vanilla shit.”

--

When you come to, you’re putting the cookies in the oven. You’re alarmed at how zoned out you’d been, but evidently you hadn’t burned the place down, and you shut the oven door, setting a timer on the microwave. You tackle the dishes next, using the time that the cookies bake to tidy up your work station. The dough comes easily off of the mixing bowl and the melted butter drips over your fingers before you scrub it away, still slightly warm from the microwave. There’s only a few plates in the sink that you hadn’t dirtied, and you wonder if Bradley had washed and dried dishes while you were away. Or maybe this was it, four plates of food in two weeks. You’d been treating yourself that way, but it’s heartbreaking to know Bradley had, too.

You try warding off your incoming bout of sniffles by retreating back to your bedroom, choosing a new outfit to wear to the hospital. If you show up in the same thing, Bradley might worry about you, and you don’t want him thinking you were too sluggish to pull yourself together for him. You’re hurt, wounded and scarred with lashes over your heart, but he’s the one with the broken ribs and the lost memories, so you need to play the part of the strong one; the uninjured one.

He can’t know you’re hurting in case he asks why.

Your shower is quick, and you try not to think about Bradley in case you succumb to the urge to cry. Of course, it’s impossible to chase the thoughts from your head, and the feeling of your fingers scratching shampoo through your scalp turns into the feeling of Bradley’s. The hand that slides down your side suddenly isn’t your own anymore, it’s a memory of his. A ghost of him, a whisper against your skin of ‘I promise, baby. You won't lose me’.

You hope more than anything that promise stays true.

You get yourself ready to go with more zeal than you’ve felt in the past two weeks. You’re taking the bus today, to cut down on gas money, and you’re sure you’ll spend the whole time worrying. You’re nervous about seeing Bradley, but it’s a few minutes past eight-thirty and you’re sure if he’d regained his memories, Carole would have notified you. Beyond the nerves you’re almost excited to pretend to be his girlfriend again, excited to live in the fantasy life you’ve created to preserve his peace of mind. You never thought you’d love to lie to him.

You’re much more put together today when you greet the receptionist, and you're not sure you could forget the way to his room if you tried. There’s a bag of the oatmeal raisin cookies hidden in your purse and you slip into the room just as a doctor leans over him to take his temperature.

You adore the way Bradley smiles at you. His eyes meet yours as you stand in the doorway, previously cautious and now elated that he seems to like you still. His face lights up and he calls, ‘Baby,’ alerting the nurse to your presence.

“Miss Mitchell!” The woman greets you, the one who’d brought Bradley’s dinner last night. 

“Hi,” You gush, a laugh bubbling up in your chest that’s made of pure elation. It’s a sickly sweet sound, one that you thought you’d never be able to make again after leaving Bradley. You rush to kiss him when the nurse leans away, scribbling down his temperature on his chart.

He lifts his hand to cup your cheek when you kiss him and the tears that line your eyes are happy ones; there’s still time. There’s still time to soak in his love before he remembers, there’s still time to lose yourself in this fantasy.

You take a moment to breathe after the kiss, doing so against his lips. He does the same, and you bask in each other’s presence, noses brushing and foreheads pressed together. Skin-on-skin, love-on-love.

“His heartbeat really did speed up,” Carole marvels, and you scramble to greet her, guilty that she’d slipped your mind in the rush of emotions you felt.

“Hi! Hi, sorry,” You stammer, wrapping her in a hug while she waves away your apologies.

“No worries, baby!” She squeezes your shoulders, beaming at you. You’re sure she’s thrilled you showed up, and you know Bradley is too from the way he grabs for your hand when you sit by his bed. He’s always been a touchy guy, his hands are never idle, but he’s never been quite this clingy before. It’s good, it helps ground you, and it’s what you need after a two-week bender in a motel.

“Brad,” You coo, unable to resist kissing him again when he turns his head to face you in the bed. He looks more comfortable today than he had yesterday, no more breathing tube or pale skin. There’s dark circles under his eyes, but you’re sure he’s still shaken up from the crash, and you’ll make sure he gets to sleep nice and early tonight.

If you’re able to.

Once you’ve kissed him you dot smaller ones across his face, heart soaring at the gentle laughter that spills from his lips as you do so. You kiss his nose, his cheeks, his chin, the space beside his eyes that’s wrinkled from years of laughter, and when his pretty brown eyes flutter shut, you go for the eyelids, too. You savor each one because you know it could be your last, and when he strokes the back of his hand along your cheek, you lean into the touch.

“Pretty girl,” He hums, and you feel your cheeks get hot. Newly showered, you felt more put-together than you’d been before, but you’d spent the past two weeks in a pigsty of your own creation, so the compliment means more than he knows.

Apparently, he feels your cheeks grow hot, too. His fingers pick up on the warmth and he laughs again, this time only a normal amount of raspiness clinging to the sound., He’s hyper-affectionate, taking his chance to dot kisses over your features for a change. The giddiness in your chest as his lips press to your skin, mustache prickling it, makes it feel like your heart will burst. You feel undeserving as he showers you with the affection you’ve missed so much, but you’re greedy so you take it anyways, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Carole was taking pictures of you in secret.

“I have some good news,” The nurse reports, and you turn at her voice. She’s angled towards Carole, obviously having meant to leave you and Bradley be in your couple’s reverie, but when she notices that she has your attention too, she speaks to the group.

“Nothing abnormal was documented during your stay here,” She reads off of her chart, “It’s just the concussion and the broken ribs, which is remarkable for the accident you were in. You’re very lucky, Mr. Bradshaw. There was some smoke inhalation from the crash site but that’s not a major issue anymore, and if everything remains stable until dinnertime, you can go home tonight.”

“Oh!” Carole squeals, clapping delicately with her hands in her lap, “That’s fantastic!’

Bradley seems equally pleased, smiling wide, and it takes a lot of willpower to mirror his expression. He knocks his nose into your cheek and you feel his grin against your jaw, so you bring a hand up to scrub through the hair at the back of his neck.

“That’s great,” You conclude weakly, blaming the lull in your voice on being so close to Bradley and not wanting to talk too loud. Carole eyes you nervously, though, trying to mask the worry in her eyes with a smile.

“You should still rest,” The nurse advises, “Those ribs won’t be healed for close to a month, maybe more. And you can sleep through most of the concussion, too. What’s good about going home is it’ll be familiar to you, and it might help trigger those memories you’ve lost. They’re still not back?”

“Nope,” Bradley shakes his head, keeping it pressed to yours, “I got nothin’.”

“Alright,” The nurse hums sympathetically, tucking the chart into a cubby by the door, “We’ll bring lunch at around one, Mr. Bradshaw.”

“Thank you!” Carole calls after the nurse as she leaves, then she stands in her flowy skirt, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.

“Miss Y/N,” She beams, “Bradley’s already had his breakfast. Have you eaten?”

“Uh, no,” You shake your head, “Not yet. Are you going to get something?”

“I am,” She nods, shouldering her purse, “Would you like some hospital pancakes, baby doll?”

“Here,” You stand, but Bradley grabs your hand, keeping you close to his bedside, “I can-”

“You can sit down,” Carole narrows her eyes at you, teasingly menacing, “Sit your butt back in that chair and be with your boyfriend, honey! I can manage two to-go boxes.”

“Thank you,” You gush, settling back into your seat and squeezing Bradley’s hand. He doesn’t let up on his heavy grip until you’re planted in your seat, and even when he does loosen his fingers he still holds you. Carole winks at you when you leave, and Bradley’s attention is solely on you the second the door shuts.

“Y/N,” He murmurs, and sometimes you forget your name isn’t baby or honey around him. You turn, now a little more nervous to be there now that your buffer is gone.

His big brown eyes are oozing their signature sweetness, a golden glint in them under the lights of the hospital room. He looks healthier now, even though you know his ribs hurt, and you’re oh-so-happy to have your Bradley back.

“I missed you,” You confess, and his face breaks into a grin. He nods, leaning up to kiss you, and you close the gap so that he doesn’t have to strain his probably sore muscles.

“I missed you, too,” He breathes, and you kiss him over and over and over again until you think you might be stealing the breath from his lungs. You let up, if only to keep him healthy, otherwise you’d never stop.

“I wasn’t sure when you were coming,” His lips close momentarily around your lower one while yours frame his top in a sweet peck.

“The cookies needed time to bake,” You lament, your mouth slightly dewy from his kiss, “Sorry, babe. I would have come faster, I- I should have gotten up earlier, but-”

“You’re here now,” He cuts off your worries, the heated skin of his face pressing against yours like he’s trying to stick to you, “That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah?” You hum dazedly, drunk on his love, “What about the cookies, do those matter?”

His eyes widen in consideration and he tilts his head to the side, mouth scrunching in a thoughtful frown, “Yeah, those matter too. Oatmeal raisin?”

“Oatmeal raisin,” You promise, digging through your purse, “Are you still on the hospital diet?”

“Honey,” He declares, sounding like his father's son as pride prickles his mustache, “I’d eat your cookies even if they killed me. Lay one on me, sugar.”

You snort at his cocky drawl, withdrawing a cookie from the bag in your purse. You break a piece off, hand-feeding him like his arms are still weak.

“Speaking of sugar,” You muse, stealing a bite of the treat for yourself and speaking with it pinched between your teeth, “I was thinking about baking together earlier. It was awful being alone, there was no one to eat the sugar out of the bowl.”

“Or drink the vanilla extract,” He cracks, and you laugh with glee.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking of!” You gush, taking his hand once more and squeezing it, “You gagged.”

“I don’t know! I just thought it’d taste good! I love vanilla,” He laments, only fuelling more laughter from you. 

“Yeah, well you got a lot of it,” You chuckle, “Anyways, it was weird not having you there. I had to do the dishes all by myself.”

“Poor baby,” He croons, half sincere and half teasing. He strokes a hand down your cheek that you yearn to kiss, but it goes by too fast, “How’d you manage?”

“I thought about you,” You confess, and some of that amusement in his eyes dims, giving way to complete and total admiration.

“Yeah?” He breathes, incredulous like he's twelve and he can’t believe his crush actually likes him. He’s always had that sort of puppyish aura about him, like you’re not just his girlfriend, you’re his best friend, and he’s always happy you’re along for the ride. It’s probably why he holds your hand so frequently, like he is now.

“Yeah,” You nod, flipping his palm in yours and tracing over the lines etched into it, “It’s not home there without you, Brad.”

“We go back tonight,” He smiles, keeping his voice low so that it doesn’t shatter the serenity around you, “Together.” You notice a sheen of tears over his eyes and you fall in love with him all over again, unable to hold yourself back from admiring how much he loves you. You really, really don’t know how you fucked this up.

“Yeah,” You croak, smiling weakly down at his hand instead of into his eyes, “Together.”

“Breakfast,” Carole sings, propping the door open with her foot as she steps inside. Your heads turn in sync, and you see her holding two plates, both covered with plastic lids. “Miss Y/N, three pancakes for you, and there’s syrup for days.”

“Thank you,” You rush to help her, and some piece of your heart stays in Bradley’s palm when you drop it. You suspect you won’t get it back unless he forgives you eventually, or maybe he’ll keep it even if he does. You trust him with it, he’ll take care of it.

You wish you'd offered him and his heart the same courtesy.

Carole hands you your breakfast and takes a seat on Bradley’s opposite side, caging him in between his two girls.

“You want some, baby?” Carole croons at Bradley, but he shakes his head.

“No thanks, ma,” He clears his throat, turning to face you with a puppy-eyed look that he’s had mastered since age three, “But I would love another bite of cookie?”

“Oh, take it,” You grumble, handing over the baked good for Bradley to devour, “But if your blood sugar rises, or something, it’s not my fault.”

“Won’t tell a soul,” Bradley promises, a mouthful of oatmeal raisin already impairing his speech, “Thanks, honey.”

“Mm-hm,” You nod, your mouth similarly stuffed with food. The pancakes are good, considering they came from a cafeteria that also serves tuna and jell-o.

“Y/N, baby,” Carole calls just as much sugar in her voice as is in her breakfast, “Pass me that syrup?”

She’s asking for a container you’ve got in your hand, half-empty. She doesn’t want to open a new one and waste the contents, so you pass it over, but a drizzle drips off of the side and lands on Bradley’s chin. 

He rears his head back as it falls, but he can’t burrow far enough into the pillow to dodge it. You squeal through your mouthful, swallowing quickly and painfully to rush out an apology you’re sure he doesn’t care about receiving.

“Sorry, Brad.” You curse your clumsiness, grabbing for a napkin but getting a better idea instead. You stand and lean over him to kiss the syrup off of his chin, feeling his face split into a grin while your lips are still attached to it. You can't keep a smile off of your face either, licking your lips clean of the stickiness.

“Cuties!” Carole giggles, just as giddy of a grin on her face as is on yours and Bradley’s. You’re sure she’s ecstatic to see you getting along so well, glad to know your acting isn’t just that.

“I was telling Bradley earlier,” You speak disjointedly through a mouthful of syrupy pancakes, “When I was baking his cookies, I was thinking about the times we’ve baked together. Wanna tell’er what you did, Brad?”

“Oh,” He groans, “No. Not fair, baby, I’m bed-ridden. I’m dying,” He sticks a protective hand over his ribs, now magically unable to lift his head from the pillow, “You can’t tell embarrassing stories of me to my mom.”

“I didn’t! I offered you the chance to tell it,” You roll your eyes, wary as you hear a nurse pass by the door. Bradley’s cookie is in plain sight, and he stuffs it into his mouth for safekeeping as the footsteps pass. No one comes in, though, and he struggles to finish his mouthful.

“Oh,” Carol gushes, “Somebody tell me! I wanna know, y’know I love teasin’ you, Brad.”

“Mom!’ He gawps through a mouthful of oatmeal, “Rude!”

“What’s rude is talkin’ with your mouth full,” Carole scolds, swatting him on the shoulder, “Swallow first, mister.”

“He ate-” You start, but Bradley lunges for you with impressive agility, twisting his torso to the side to clamp a hand over your mouth. You laugh, long and loud and brash while Bradley tries to muffle it. In his haste to silence you he tries saying ‘No!’ but he’s still got a mouthful of cookie, and the crumbs that don’t get caught in his mustache rain over your legs.

You’re still laughing. It’s messy, it’s gross, there’s half-chewed cookie on your lap, but Bradley’s holding you close, his strong arms around your head while he keeps a tight grip on your mouth. He’s laughing too, chest shaking as he tries powering through the mouthful of food that he’s got. Finally he swallows, but he doesn’t let go, only blows fruitlessly at the crumbs littering your pants.

“I’m sorry,” He pants, short of breath from chuckling, “If you hadn’t been so hellbent on embarrassing me, I wouldn’t have spewed raisins into your pancakes.”

“Gross! Okay!” You laugh uncontrollably into his palm between giggles, kissing at the skin there, “Okay. You win.”

He lets up only when you stop struggling, letting yourself sink into his embrace no matter how uncomfortable. A thought prods at the back of your mind like a lightning rod, sending a jolt of pain down your spine when it reminds you that this isn’t real. But you push it away, you don’t let it paralyze you, and your smile never falls.

“I’m sorry,” You hum to Bradley, while Carole watches you with amusement dancing in her pretty eyes, as well as in her movie star smile, “I just thought your mom would have liked to hear. That’s all.”

“She would,” Bradley nods, leaning back in his bed, finally at ease, “That’s why you can’t tell her.”

“You’re no fun,” She groans, and you finish up the last of your pancakes, gathering all of the trash (and cookie crumbs) to put them in the can. You have to let go of Bradley’s hand to make it across the room but when you’re by the door you stay there, your boyfriend’s eyes trained on you like a hawk.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” You reach for the doorknob, then, while he can't reach you, “Carole, he ate vanilla extract.”

The nurse down the hall gives you a strange look as you rush to shut the door on both Bradley’s indignant shout and Carole’s gleeful giggles.

“Does he need help?” He looks at you skeptically, and you shake your head.

“We’re teasing him,” You brush the nurse’s concerns away, “Where’s the gift shop?”

True to your word, you stop by the bathroom, but your real destination is the gift shop. There’s a stuffed bear inside with fur the exact caramel shade of Bradley’s hair, and you only wish it had a mustache. Otherwise, it’s identical, flight gear on and aviators over its eyes. 

“Hi,” You greet the cashier at the counter, handing over the bear and a book you plan on reading to him in your downtime, “Just these.”

While she rings up your purchase you hear the sliding doors behind you open, and you turn to see your dad and Nick enter. Their faces light up at the sight of you, and when the cashier gives you back the bear, you show it off to them.

“Just gotta get it a mustache,” Nick tugs softly on one of the bear’s ears, “Now that’s a good lookin’ bear!”

“I was gonna get’im a movie to watch,” Your dad beelines for the DVDs, but you pull him back.

“Dad,” You murmur, walking him and Nick towards the door, “He can just use his phone. Everything here is way too expensive.” You throw a kind smile at the cashier like you hadn’t just insulted her trade, “Thank you!”, and lead the way back to Bradley’s room.

The elevator ride almost goes sour when Nick tries pushing all of the buttons at once. You’re not sure how Carole has survived living with him for this long, but you swat his hands away with an incredulous shout.

“Don’t! I wanna get these back to him,” You beg, bear and book in hand, “I’ll bet he’s so bored.”

“You seen him already?” Your dad raises a brow, and you nod.

“Carole’s there, too,” You hum, “We just finished breakfast.”

“Does he ‘member anything new?” Goose asks, and that little lightning rod comes back, tazing your brain, burning one word into the matter there; liar, liar, liar. All of a sudden the elevator is too small, and you’d rather be anywhere but.

“Nope,” You shake your head, turning to face the doors of the elevator that ding, “Nothing.”

“Bradley!” Nick cheers, seeing his son alive and well, “Made it through the night?”

“Barely. Spent more time on my phone than I did asleep,” Bradley scoffs, and your heart skips a beat, not in a good way. Again you wonder if he’s found mystifying evidence of your breakup, an unfollow on instagram or a deletion of date nights from the calendar.

You’re sure he would have brought something up if he was confused, but you’re sneaking around, and it makes you paranoid enough to believe everything will fall apart at a moment’s notice. You have no peace, not when Bradley isn’t holding you.

“Well you’re going home tonight,” Carole reminds him, stroking over his cheek fondly, “You’ll get some good rest there, Brad.”

“Hey, alright!” Your dad whoops, “They’re cuttin’ you loose?”

“After dinner,” Bradley nods, “They said if nothing weird happens I can leave.”

“Congrats, Brad.” Nick claps him on the shoulder, standing in front of the seat you’d abandoned to go get his gifts.

His gifts!

You fumble with the bag in your hands, pulling the bear out first and passing it over.

“Oh, baby,” Bradley laughs, admiring its miniscule flight gear, “Bear’s almost as handsome as me.”

“Nah, a little more.” Pete squints at it, “It doesn't have that ugly mustache.”

“Hey!”, Father and son rage in unison, and Nick slaps your dad’s arm hard enough for Bradley, too.

“Uh, Carole,” You murmur, but the soft sound catches Bradley’s attention anyways. He’s drawn to you like a fly to honey, stuck in every last drop of your sweetness.

“I need to ask your mom a favor,” You smile down at Bradley, brushing hair away from his eyes, “Can we slip out?”

“Okay,” He hums skeptically, “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise,” You drag your voice out dramatically, leaning down to peck at his forehead. His skin is warm to the touch, and feels comforting against your lips.

“We’ll keep’im busy,” Nick declares, taking the book that you hand him, “Want me to read to you, Brad?”

“No.”

“Too bad! Ooh, Little Women. Wanna do voices with me, Mav?”

You and Carole step out before Nick or your dad could pull out any high-pitched giggles, and Bradley’s mom looks at you worriedly.

“What is it, baby doll?”

“I need help,” You confess, “If Bradley’s coming home tonight, he’s gonna notice a hell of a lot of stuff missing from our place. I just took everything I could grab and I ran,” You recall, dry swallowing at the thought of the boxes piled into your motel room, “I can’t put everything back by myself, and I- I don’t want to force you to help, but my dad and NIck can’t know, and-”

“Slow down, sugar,” She hums, reaching out to rub a soothing hand up and down your arm, “I’ll help you. What do we got, clothes and shoes?”

“And books, and toiletries, and... puzzles.” You concede drearily.

“Baby,” Carole arches a brow, looking almost sympathetically at you, “You brought puzzles with you?”

“I thought I’d be bored!” You reason, shoulders stiff to your ears, “But I haven’t had much of an appetite for puzzling.”

“Alright, I’ll help you,” She promises, “How long are we gonna need, honey?”

“A few hours,” You shrug, “We can carpool to base, I’ll pick up his Bronco, and we can head to the motel I’ve been at to get my stuff. We’ll need the extra space in the back of his car.”

“Okay! Okay,” Carole gushes, and you think she’s almost a little exhilarated by this spy operative, “Let’s stay for lunch, then we’ll go. We’ll say- uh, the house needs cleaning!”

‘Perfect,” You rub at your temples, “Thanks, Carole. And- and we’ll buy party decorations,” You snap your fingers, “I told him we were out here talking about a surprise, so we’ll throw a little welcome home thing tomorrow, have cake or something. That’s our alibi.”

“Got it! I’m off to the bathroom,” She heads down the hallway, “Get back in there!”

“-told you, I’m Jo!” Your dad is standing squared to Nick, eyes narrowed and shoulders tight, “It’s not fair that you get to be everyone!”

“Well if you did the voices right, I wouldn’t have to take over everything,” Nick huffs, “Tell’im Brad, that was a shitty Beth impression!”

“Both of you suck,” Bradley drawls, his eyes tracking you intently as you slip back into the room, “Baby, you okay?”

You shake off any residual nerves from your scheming with Carole, nodding as light-heartedly as you can, “Yeah! Yeah, Brad,” You take your seat beside him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tight, “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you. He's always good at reading you, and everything about you right now is a lie. You smile at him, leaning in to kiss his cheek, but he doesn’t react like you want him to, he still doesn’t believe you. He studies you when you pull away, and you laugh in defeat, “I promise, I’m just exhausted from all of this. But that shouldn’t matter, I wasn’t the one whose jet crashed! As soon as we get you home I’ll be fine.”

That seems to work, clearing away the worry swirling in Bradley’s honey-colored eyes. He nods, smiling softly, “Yeah, me too.”

He takes your hand, and you’re starting to wonder how you’d ever survived without holding his. You hadn’t held hands this frequently even when you’d been together, not that Bradley knows there’s a difference. Your heart aches for the man beside you, how shaken up he must be to cling to you like a lost puppy.

While Nick and Pete argue you feel Bradley’s fingers slip from yours, and it’s such an unexpected motion that you turn to watch him. He’s looking intently at your hand, though there's an absent-minded air about him, and your stomach drops when he ghosts his rough thumb gently over your ring finger. 

“Brad?” You murmur, trying to keep from choking up, “‘Love you.”

He smiles, eyes trained back on yours and full of tenderness, “Love you too, sweetheart. Where’s my mom?”

“Bathroom,” You drop your eyes down to his hands, studying his own bare ring finger. You hope you get to see it decorated one day.

“Do you want me to read to you?” You look back up at him, your nose nearly bumping his cheek. Nick has left the book on the side table near the foot of Bradley’s bed in order to gesture with both hands, and you’re sure they wouldn’t notice if you lit it on fire where it sat.

“I’d love for you to read to me,” Bradley laughs breathily, “I haven’t been hearing your voice much lately. Not like I used to.”

“I know,” You lament, hoping your voice doesn’t tremble. You know he means unobscured, private, without beeping in the background and the ever-present threat of a nurse coming in to kick you out, but you hadn’t heard Bradley’s voice in weeks, so you understand the internal yearning.

“Come here,” Bradley suggests when you fetch the book, offering up the right side of his bed. It’s small, nothing you wouldn’t attempt at home but something you don’t want to risk in the hospital.

“No, it’s okay, Brad.” You shake your head, trying to pat the blankets down around him but he doesn’t let you, reaching for your thigh.

“No, I don’t wanna hurt you!” You insist, standing when he tries dragging you into the bed with him, “It’s okay, Brad, let’s just sit. We can be closer when we’re home, but for now I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He looks crushed. Really, truly crushed, his brown eyes holding such a vulnerable look in them that you feel like you’ve just punted a puppy across a football field.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” You repeat, swallowing thickly as tears prick at your eyes. You lean down to kiss his forehead, “I’m scared, Bradley.”

You’re scared about more than just that. You haven’t held him in weeks, nor has he held you. You’re afraid that you might never recover from this, but if he wraps his arms around you, buries his face in your hair and holds you close, you know you never will. You’ll spend the rest of your days living in regret, and your self-preservation instinct is kicking in again.

“Don’t be afraid,” Bradley murmurs, though he doesn’t need to be quiet now that Nick and your dad have stopped bickering. They’re stealing sneaky glances at the two of you, acting like their sunglasses stop them from being noticed even though their heads are turned towards you.

His words strike something within you that he didn’t mean for them to. He’s spoken unknowingly to your outstanding promise with yourself, that you won’t run away because something is scary. And your promise to Carole, as well, that you’ll make her son feel loved before he remembers that love wasn’t enough to make you stay.

“Bradley,” You breathe, book in one hand as you use the other to stroke through his hair. You’re standing at his bedside and he takes advantage of your proximity, sitting up and off of his pillows to lean his head against your stomach. 

You’re glad he can’t see your face, because tears rush from your eyes in seconds. He’s a sweet man whose brain operates on love first, and thought second, so when he hooks his arms around your waist and nestles his face into your tummy, you know it’s his instinct to hold you. 

At the sight of your tears the other men in the room decide to take their leave, smiling sadly at you while you comb your fingers through Bradley’s hair. 

“We’ll give you some time,” Your dad whispers, but Bradley can hear just fine, “Bye, honey.”

You aren’t able to offer them a wave in response, but they know you appreciate it. 

Once more the sterile hospital room is inhabited by only you and Bradley. Souls intertwined, tangled in some places and parallel in others, you hold him, stroking through his hair and praying he never picks his face up out of your stomach. There’s snot threatening to run down your lip but you don’t dare sniffle at the thought of ruining the moment, keeping your chest deathly still where it yearns to shake with sobs.

“I love you,” You whimper, dropping the book to cage his head to your belly, “I love you, Bradley, I- I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” He speaks into your stomach, and the sound vibrates through your body, warming you with a tingly sensation like the one you’d gotten from your very first kiss with Bradley.

You’re sure he knows you’re crying now, now that your voice drips with tears and your hands shake in his scalp. He doesn't break away, though, only tugs you closer, keeping his face nestled to your body as he pulls you into a sitting position on his lap. You’re mindful of his broken ribs, but there’s nothing wrong with his thighs, so when you land on top of them, you let yourself rest there. 

Bradley’s wormed his nose against your cheek, no longer snug in your stomach but flush to your face instead. He holds you like he used to, before you spooked and ran, before he fell out of the sky in a blaze of flames, before anything in your life was complicated. He holds you like he held you when you were just Y/N and Bradley, cradling your face to his chest and tucking his chin over your head.

“You’re hurting, too,” He murmurs, rocking you ever-so-slightly back and forth as you sit sideways on his lap. He keeps you tucked to his chest, smooths your hair with one hand and holds your waist with the other. 

“I’m the one that went down but you’re the one who got that phone call,” He moves his hand from your hair to your back, scratching aimlessly there, “You’re allowed to be upset over that. You don’t have to pretend like nothing is wrong just because I’m in the hospital. I don’t want you to pretend to be strong if it’s only gonna make you weaker. Talk to me, honey, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t!” You wail, clutching his hospital gown and praying you aren’t hurting his ribs, “Bradley, I- I can’t tell you. I can’t do that to you, not here, not now. I’m scared,” You weep, “I’m really scared, Bradley.”

“Don’t be. You’re okay,” He promises, pecking a soft kiss against the crown of your head, “Baby, you’re safe with me. You don’t have to be scared of anything. Of talking, or feeling, or hurting. That’s what I’m here for, angel, to talk with you, to feel with you, to hurt with you. That’s what love is, honey, and I love you, you know I do.”

His voice wobbles slightly on the last fragment of his sentence, and you don’t think you can handle seeing him cry. You’re terrified out of your mind, but determined just the same not to run, and it’s stuck you in this awful paralyzed state. All you can do is hold Bradley, all you can do is let him hold you, and hope that his memories never return.

“I don’t want to stress you out,” You mourn, picking your head up from his chest to press it to his face instead. You want to fuse yourself to him, so that he couldn’t cast you away if he tried.

“I’m stressed about whatever you’re not telling me,” He laughs sadly, a soft huff of air from his chest, “Baby, it makes me stressed knowing you’re shutting yourself in like this. Knowing there’s stuff going on up here that you don’t want to talk to me about.” 

He taps your head, then smooths his hand down the nape of your neck to rub at your back.

“Tell me,” He begs, voice raw with despair, “Please, angel, tell me what you’re feeling.”

You owe him the truth. Concealing the truth was one thing. Sneaking around, covering up behind his back so that he didn’t notice anything peculiar was a preventative measure. But now he’s asked for your honesty, now it’ll be lying if you don’t tell him. Now you’ll be lying to him, really and truly lying to him, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. You choose honor this time, sniffling hard and bracing your hand on his chest so that you can look him in the eyes if you feel brave enough.

“Bradley,” Your words roll off of your tongue with the weight of steel, and you have to force them out of your throat to get them to go at all, “I want to be honest with you. But I’m scared-” Your face crumples, and you fight to right it, “But- but that’s not fair to you. It’s not fair for me to shut you out, You’re right, you-” You falter, the pitch of your voice wobbly as you take a deep breath, “You love me. And I know I can be honest with you.”

“You can,” Bradley promises, stroking his knuckles over your cheek. He stares into your eyes, and you stare into his only to get a last glimpse of their sweet honey-like hue.

“You should know,” You drop your eyes, unable to confess while looking into his, “I love you, Bradley. I always have, and I always will.”

“I love you, too,” He promises, “Now what’s the matter, honey?”

“It’s-”

“Mr. Bradshaw?” A nurse steps into the room, and instantly the moment is shattered. There’s no picking up the pieces, no glue in the world strong enough to repair the bravery you’d mustered up to be honest with Bradley. 

He looks annoyed at her interruption, something you know he wouldn’t normally feel towards anyone doing their job, but he refrains from snapping at her.

“Yes?”

“We need to run some vital tests. Blood sugar, heart rate, breathing, the like. After they’re cleared, we’ll know if you can return home or not.”

From his hold on you, you gather that there’s nothing Bradley would rather do less in the world than let you go, and there’s nothing you’d rather do less than let him, but you peel away from him reluctantly, standing where you’d been tucked into his lap. He settles back against his pillows that you’re sure are cold now, and you tuck the blanket beneath his thigh to keep him warm.

He ducks his gaze and you see tears lining his eyes that you want to wipe away, but he grabs for your hand again, and you hope that’s enough for him.

The nurse pokes and prods at him, reads machines and scribbles their information down, and the door opens once again before she’s done conducting her tests. Carole, Nick, and Pete step back through the doors, smiling sheepishly at you. You have a sneaking suspicion that Nick and your dad had held Carole off from coming back to the room while you spoke, which you’re grateful for. You just wish you'd had a little more time.

“Alright,” The nurse claps, smiling cheerily like she hadn’t just shattered your moment, “You are in good shape, Mr. Bradshaw. Your blood sugar is a little high,” She notes with a furrowed brow, and you shoot a knowing glance at Bradley, “But everything else seems right. Your ribs should heal within a few weeks time, and once you get back home and see familiar surroundings, your memories should return. All you need to do is rest, once I get these processed and signed off by the doctor, you’ll be good to go!”

“Thank you,” Carole gushes, while Bradley just nods with a tight smile on his face, jaw tight in irritation at the four unwanted parties in the room.

“Goin’ home, big guy.” Nick grins at Bradley as the nurse makes her leave. He claps his son on the leg and this time Carole doesn’t intervene, “What’s the first thing you’re gonna do?”

“Shower,” Bradley rasps, “There’s ash in my hair.”

“Not anymore,” You showcase your hands, dust and ash clinging to the spaces between your fingers from when you’d run them through Bradley’s hair. 

He laughs at the sight, “Still. The second thing on my list is sleep, and I don’t want to get anything on the sheets.”

“Good plan,” Carole beams at her son, hooking her arm around yours, “Baby, we should head out. We’ve got lots to do for this surprise of yours,” She gloats at Bradley, then turns back to you, “But you should wash your hands first, honey.”

“Okay,” You nod, eager to get out of a situation you’d been so courageous in only minutes before, “I’ll- um, get my stuff.”

You bend towards your purse, taking the bag of cookies out, “If your blood sugar rises and lands you in here for another night,” You warn, “I’m never making these again.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bradley nods, but your dad is the one to take the bag, not him.

“Don’t steal them,” You narrow your eyes at your dad and Nick, “And don’t get caught feeding him any. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am!” They echo Bradley, standing at attention. You scoff, turning back to Bradley and leaning down to meet him where he lays back on his pillows.

“I love you,” You hum, and he’s already reaching out for you before you can touch him. He sits upright, grabbing for your hands and tilting his face upwards to beg for a kiss.

“I love you, too,” He mumbles, speaking lowly against your lips as you kiss him. When you pull away he wants more, keeping your hands firmly in his grip when you try to leave.

“Bradley,” You let out a soft laugh, but you kiss him again anyways, knowing he’s still reeling from being a second away from finding out the truth, the extent of which he’s not prepared for.

“It’s okay,” You whisper against his lips, pressing your forehead to his, “We’ll talk later.”

”Yeah,” He nods, arching up into your embrace even though he knows he has to let you leave.

He calls out again before you leave, “Love you!” And you repeat it with a sad smile on your face, letting Carole take your hand while Nick and your dad sit at Bradley’s bedside. The last you see of him is his fading grin as you wave goodbye before the door shuts, and you’re in the hallway.

“Something happened in there,” She gushes, misplaced excitement shining from her eyes like a sunbeam, “I just know it! He was all lovey-dovey when you left, even moreso than usual. He really didn’t want you to go, angel.”

“I almost told him,” You mutter as Carole leads you to the elevator, nerves churning your stomach.

“What?” Her smile drops in surprise, and she stomps to a halt on the tiled floor. She presses the button, and when the elevator dings she ushers you inside.

“He asked me to be honest with him,” You recall, sick at the thought of how close you’d been to losing him, “And- and he was holding me, Carole, like he used to. And I couldn’t help it, I just- I wanted to tell him everything, I couldn’t stand lying to him and pretending nothing was wrong. But I- I don’t know if I can do that again. I don’t know if I can tell him the truth. I tried, and we got interrupted, I mean- isn’t that a sigh? Some sort of clue left by the universe to tell me to wait a little longer?”

“Baby I don’t think the universe is sendin’ you clues,” Carole looks sympathetically at you, “I think you’re lookin’ for reasons to run away again. I know I’m the one that told you to pretend, but that boy can read you like a book, and if he’s catchin’ on, maybe you ‘oughta give it up. I saw him in there, honey.” The door dings and slides open, and she takes your hand to lead you outside, “There’s nothin’ he wouldn’t forgive you for. He was clinging onto you like a leech, and I think he’d understand you were scared. Might not like it, but he’d understand.”

“He keeps saying that I’ll never lose him, or- or that he loves me, or that I can tell him what’s bothering me,” You gesture with your free hand as you walk to the parking lot, “And- and it feels so perfect! Like he knows exactly what I need to hear. Like I could tell him and nothing would change. But everything would change, and- and I don’t want that,” You suppress a sob as you reach Nick and Carole’s car, pulling open the door to the passenger’s side. 

She stashes her purse by your feet, stuffing the key into the ignition, “Baby, everything’s already changed. He just doesn’t know that. But he will soon, and once he does, he’s gonna realize why you’ve been acting so weird. If you were pullin’ it off, I’d say keep going. If he wasn’t asking questions, you could keep this up, ‘cause you’d be doing him a favor. That was the whole point, baby, to let him down nice and easy, give him a bit of time to adjust to the crash before confessing about the breakup. But I should’ve known he’d realize you were lyin' to him,” She scoffs, checking her mirrors, “That boy would notice you’d changed your haircut from just your voice on the phone. He knows you too well, honey, and if he’s askin’ all the right questions and you’re giving him all the wrong answers, that’s gonna stress him out. And that’s doing the opposite of what we want. If this is just gonna make things worse, I say tell him. But-” She backs out of the spot, en route to base to fetch his car, “Not yet. Wait until you’re home. Then he’s in a familiar environment, you can kneel by the bedside and grovel if you want,” She waves a hand in the air, “Just be honest with him baby, if it’s what he’s askin’ for.”

She barely lets you mull her words over before she starts again, “I think it’s a good time. You told me that when you left, you wish you hadn’t. And you’ve spent the last two days showing that to him, even if he doesn’t know that’s what you’re doing. He knows you love him, and I think he’ll forgive you if you confess that you were just scared of losing him. ‘Cause you can’t fake love like that, honey.” She eyes you through the mirror, “You can pretend y’all never broke up, but the way you love him, that’s not pretend, and he knows that.”

“I’ll tell him tomorrow,” You sniffle, “If he doesn’t know by then. I- I know I have to, even if it’s scary.”

“Atta girl,” She gushes, nearly flooring it at a green light in her excitement, “I’m proud of you, baby.”

“Don’t be,” You grumble, ‘Not yet. Not until I do it.”

“I know you will,” She decides, “You’ve never lied to me before.”

“Actually,” You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, “I have, once.”

She narrows her eyes, gives you a sideways glance as she makes a turn, “Oh, really? And when was that?”

“Uh, when we were in high school, I told you Bradley and I were staying at my place while my dad was gone,” Your face twists into an involuntary smile at the memory, “We went to Vegas.”

“What?” She shrieks, almost stomping on the breaks, “Vegas?”

“It was just for a night! And we didn’t gamble,” You scoff, “They wouldn’t let us into any casinos.”

“Ooh, you two,” She seethes, but it’s happened so long ago that she can’t be mad, not really, “Surprised y’all didn’t get married down there.”

“Actually,” You laugh, “We tried. But you weren’t there to sign off on it, and we were only 17.”

She shares a laugh with you at the memory, pulling into the security checkpoint outside of the naval base. You have to pass your ID over her, and you explain that you’re just picking up your partner’s car. They let you in, but you don’t think they like your presence very much, so you get the car and go as quickly as you can.

“It’s the motel just off the freeway,” You gesture in the direction of the place you’ve been staying, “We’ll load up the Bronco and meet back at our place.”

“See you there, babydoll,” Carole grins, already headed for the exit.

You roll up your window just as your phone buzzes, and you put the call on speaker while your phone balances on the cupholder.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” Bradley’s voice bleeds through the crackly speakers. Then, like an attached toddler their first night away from mom, “I miss you.”

It’s just what you need to hear after your gut-wrenching conversation with Carole, and you croon while waving to the security officers on the way out, “I miss you too, Brad. I picked up your car. Didn’t want her sitting all alone on base.”

“Thanks, babe,” You can hear the grin in his voice, “Is my mom still with you?”

“No, she’s driving herself,” You merge lanes, brain on autopilot as you head for the motel, “And don’t ask what we’re doing, it’s a surprise.”

He scoffs; you’ve caught him, “Fine. They gave me lunch. It’s the same as yesterday.”

“Poor baby,” You coo, feeling more at home in Bradley’s Bronco than you had in your half-empty house, “I’ll make you something good for breakfast tomorrow, baby. Eggs, pancakes, waffles, sausage, bacon, fruit, whatever you want to eat.”

He takes a pause, then, “I have something inappropriate to say. But your dad’s still here, so I can’t.”

You let out a bark of bewildered laughter, especially when you can hear your dad’s voice in the background as he groans.

“I get the idea,” You promise him, and you hear Bradley huff a soft laugh into the speaker. You almost want to record the call, just to keep the sound forever.

“When are you guys coming back?”

“I don’t know, Brad,” You lament, tailing Carole as she heads for the freeway exit, “Hopefully before dinner. But if not, I’ll definitely be there when you get discharged, and I can drive you home.”

“And we can shower,” Bradley adds on to your sentence, eliciting another disgruntled sound from your dad, “And sleep.”

“And we can shower and sleep,” You promise, chest feeling light at the night’s plan. You’re pulling into the motel parking lot now, the dingy sign colored more in spiderwebs than in neon.

“I’ve gotta go, Brad.” You put the car in park, grabbing your phone and switching speaker off, “I love you. I’ll see you later, okay?”

He’s hesitant to answer, and you wish you didn’t have to hang up. You know he’s still uneasy about the way that your talk ended earlier, but he finally speaks up, “Alright. Love you, too.”

“So much,” You hum, “Love you so much.”

“So much,” He agrees, more of that audible grin in his voice, “See you later, angel.”

“See ‘ya,” You hum, and it doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would to hang up, not after that.

Carole’s standing ready at the strip of doors, and you pull the small, rusty key out of your pocket. There’s nearly ten boxes stacked in your room, and you prop the door open with one as you gather anything that isn’t packed away.

You haven’t changed clothes much since being there, nor have you been keeping up with your hygiene as well as you should be, so the clean-up process feels like a day's worth, not two week’s worth. But you’re thankful for the easy pickup as you load it into a half-empty box, hauling it out the door and to the Bronco.

Packing the boxes goes fast when you work with Carole. It had been much more of a struggle to cart two at a time from your place to the motel room, but with a little maneuvering, all nine boxes fit snugly between her car and yours.

“Alright,” You dust off your hands, picking at the edge of your nail, “You ready?”

“Actually, you go home,” She decides, “And I’ll go to the party supply store. I’ll pick up some ‘Welcome Home’ stuff, and when I get back I’ll help you with the rest of the boxes, and we can set up together.”

“Perfect,” You heave a sigh of relief, “Thanks, Carole.”

“Of course, baby!” She seems to have a never-ending supply of optimism, one that you’re thankful for because you seem to harbor the opposite.

Hauling your boxes back into the house is unexpectedly the easy part. What’s harder is putting everything back, filling in the gaps in the bookshelf with your own volumes, stuffing the dresser with the clothes you’d chosen to take with you.

When Carole gets back you’re dragging your thumb over the shirt you’d taken off of your pillow, ready to fold it and destroy the evidence of its association with your two-week disappearance. She peeks into the bedroom, expecting to find you hard at work organizing your novels, and instead sees you sitting on the bed looking like you’re going to puke.

“Baby,” She hums, “What’s the matter?”

“He put this over my pillow,” You sniffle, staring down forlornly at the object that had offered comfort to Bradley when you hadn’t, “He slept with it.”

“Oh, baby,” Carole whispers, standing behind you and rubbing your shoulders, “He loves you. Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t you think it means everything’ll turn out okay?”

“What if he doesn’t want me back?”

For the first time, you say it out loud. You’ve insinuated it, sure, thought about it, but you’ve never said it yet. Not out loud. You voice the fear that’s been bouncing around like a balloon in your head, popping it and feeling the aftershocks flow through you. 

She’s quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say any more than you do. But she bends down, wraps her arms around your shoulders and hums, “He will, baby. He’s been sleepin’ with your shirt this whole time, he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t miss you.”

“But even if he misses me, I still hurt him,” You sniffle, “I- I left, is missing me enough for him to want me back in his life? What if I went too far? What if we can’t come back from this? What if I lose him forever, Carole?”

“He kept my ring.” She murmurs, her voice the calm to your storm. 

“What?”

“He kept it. Even though it wasn’t on your finger, he didn’t give it back to me. And he wouldn’t dare give that to anyone else, Y/N. It’s your ring, he knows it. That’s why he kept it, ‘cause he still wanted you to have it. He loves you even if you did hurt him, baby,” She sniffles, and you feel bad that you’ve made her cry, “That’s what love is. Sometimes you hurt each other, but if it’s love you find your way back. And what you’ve got is the strongest love I’ve ever seen.”

Your silence is enough of a reply, and you’re glad because it’s all you can muster. You can’t find the words to thank her, to tell her you hope she’s right, to beg to whatever deity exists for mercy. All you can say is, “I don’t wanna take it off,” As you stroke a finger down the shirt over your pillow.

“Wear it,” She suggests, pulling at the sweatshirt you’re wearing, “Put that on underneath it, baby. He won’t notice, and you can have it on you as a reminder that he misses you. Maybe it’ll give you the courage to tell him.”

“Okay,” You sniff, a stray tear drying sticky on your cheek as you stand. She turns you around and pulls you into a real hug, and you let her squeeze you before going to the bathroom to change.

The shirt smells like Bradley now that he’s slept with it for two weeks. You’re sure you’re just immune to your own scent, and that he could still find traces of it to lull him to sleep at night, but wearing it now feels just as comforting as you bet it felt for him to sleep with it.

When you wander out of the bedroom you find Carole in the living room. She’s standing on your coffee table with her right leg, and her left is on the arm of the couch. She’s pinning a banner to the wall, ‘Welcome Home Bradley!’.

“Hey honey!” She beams at the sight of you in your shirt, you’d forgone the jacket to not overheat while moving things around. 

“Do you need help?” You watch her drive a pin into the wall with her thumb, and she shakes her head as she reaches down for another one, “No, I’ve got this. You just take care of your boxes, I can handle the party.”

“Yeah, you get the fun part,” You tease, and she laughs.

“Darlin’, I wasn’t the one to take my puzzles and run. Now go put ‘em back, I’m sure they’re the first things Brad’ll notice are missing when he gets home.”

You head back into the bedroom without any complaints. It’s hard to put everything back. No, it’s nice to put everything back. What’s hard is pretending it was never gone in the first place; what’s hard is lying.

You slide a lone book into its place on the shelf, one last spot left beside a photo album. Your fingers brush over a gemstone on the cover and you tug at the hefty spine, catching the jam-packed book before it can fall.

“Wow,” You breathe, barely aware that you’re speaking out loud. The cover showcases Bradley pressed up against the hospital’s nursery glass, peering in on a very sleepy baby you snoozing in her bassinet with Carole holding him up. You’d been born shortly after Bradley, not even a year, and he’d been very excited to meet his new best friend at the hospital.

A flip to the first page finds you in your dad’s old apartment, sleeping in your crib while Bradley’s hand wraps around the bars he’d pulled himself up on. Then the next page showcases a photo of him in the crib, curled up in the space by your feet while you sleep peacefully in your own spot.

You take the photo out of its sleeve, flipping it over to read the inscription you know by heart on the back: Bradley’s attached to Y/N at the hip. Won’t sleep anywhere else.

The next photos are more of the same. Bradley holding you on the couch, a gummy grin on his face at the baby in his arms. His hands barely bigger than yours, handing you a toy fighter jet. Tummy time on a play mat, where he’s holding a rattle just out of reach to get you to crawl like he’d seen your parents do. A shot of you tugging on his wispy hair, then a shot of Nick dragging a crying Bradley into his lap while your dad holds your previously clenched fist open. They tell their own story.

You’d been fated best friends from the start, but as you age in the photos, your relationship changes. All of a sudden there’s puppy love in your gaze when you reach your tween years, braces in your mouth and hearts in your eyes. There’s a picture of Bradley teaching you how to skateboard, and you're holding his hands for dear life. You distinctly remember a fiery flush to your cheeks in that moment, and you’re glad the camera hadn’t captured it. There’s New Year’s Eve in your matching pajamas, you cradled in Bradley’s arms like they’d make you pose every year since you’d come into the world. It was cute when you were kids, then it was embarrassing when you were teenagers, and now it’s cute again. In the photo you’re looking at you can’t be more than fourteen, and you know the second the shutter clicked on the camera, you’d scrambled out of his arms like they were burning you. 

You flip through more pages, watching your relationship blossom from friends into lovers. All of a sudden you’re holding hands, you’re matching outfits, and you’re kissing when you think no one is looking. Then there’s the famous picture of Bradley on his 18th birthday, glaring at the camera with a box of condoms in his hands, courtesy of his dad. Funnily enough, your dad shares Bradley’s expression in the background. The inscription on the back of that one reads: Just making sure he’s safe! Don’t want any grandkids, not while I’m still in my glory days - Goose.

That New Year’s Eve photo is special. It’s you still cradled in Bradley’s arms like always, but you’ve leaned up to kiss him, and he’s leaned down to kiss you. You distinctly remember it being the first time you’d willingly kissed on camera in front of your parents, and the giddy smiles you’d forced into makeshift puckers are clear as day in the photo. 

The matching pajama sets you’ve outgrown together are all stored in a box marked ‘sentimental’, not one that you’d taken with you when you’d left. You have a current pair, red and black buffalo print bottoms with fuzzy black tops, and you plan on asking Bradley to wear them tonight.

You haven’t noticed, but a smile has grown on your face, etching itself into your features as you relive your love story. You flip through family vacations, holidays, birthdays, sports games, barbecues, a million family events that Bradley joined you at. There’s never any of you apart, even though he’d been moved around for his career, because no one has ever thought to take a picture of one of you without the other. There’s no Y/N in this book, there’s no Bradley, there’s only Y/N and Bradley, and that’s what you want to be for the rest of your life. You want to fill out the rest of this book with aging photos, clearer in quality while the old ones yellow. You want to stuff this book until the bindings rip, you want to look back through it one day in a rocking chair beside one of Bradley’s own, faces wrinkled and hair grayed. Your story can’t end here.

Your phone buzzes on the bed, and you drop the photo album there while you check your message. No surprise, it’s from Bradley.

- The doctor signed off, I can go home after dinner, which shouldn’t be too much longer. How’s it going over there?

That’s great! You type back, biting a smile off of your face as you respond. It’s residual from looking through the photos, but you have to remember, you’re not there yet. It’s going good. Your mom is scary agile.

- What’s she doing?

Can’t tell you ;)

- Damn! Thought I had you there. Your dad’s eating one of my cookies :(

Tell him I said to leave you alone!

- He says you’re not the boss of him.

Tell him your mom said to leave you alone.

- He says she’s not the boss of him.

Tell your dad to tell him to leave you alone. She’s his boss.

- My dad’s eating one too :( 

Those assholes! I’ll make you more, baby ❤

- I love you best. ❤

I love you too baby ❤

The lingering fear of a breakup - a real one this time, one that doesn't rewind itself amidst burning jet fuel - is stuck in the back of your mind, and you suspect it will be until you finally confess. But the photo album and Bradley’s messages have combined to lift your spirits, and filing your shoes back into their places doesn’t weigh you down as much as you suspected it would. You try to make them look haphazard, jumbling them with Bradley’s and turning a few of them upside down. You two are notorious for having out of control shoe collections, Bradley’s sneakers and your own shoes constantly tumbling out of the closet like a cartoon.

 By the time the sun starts setting early on your California dream you’re nearly done, there’s just a few last garments to slip into your closet. You do so while wrestling with the clothes that are already in there, a hefty collection that leaves little room for the dress you’re trying to wedge inside. Nevertheless, a too-full closet is better than a half-empty one.

“Sugar?” Carole calls from down the hallway, hopefully not precariously balanced on any furniture this time, “Nick says they’re just serving Brad his dinner.”

You finally manage to set the clothes right on their hangers, panting slightly as you withdraw from the closet, “Okay! I’m almost done. We have a lot of clothes.”

She laughs, “Yes you do! You should eat somethin’ before we leave.”

“There’s no food here,” You sigh, “The fridge is empty. I’ll have to go shopping later. I’ll just stop for fast food on the way.”

“Party’s all set up,” Carole nods, jerking her head back towards the hallway, “If you keep the lights off in the living room tonight, he won’t see it until tomorrow.”

“Okay. Are you coming over to celebrate?”

“Yeah, I was thinkin’ for breakfast,” Carole nods, “We can bring food?”

You laugh huffily, “I wasn’t kidding about there being nothing in the fridge. Anything’s appreciated, thanks, Carole.”

“Anytime, baby,” She beams, but reconsiders with a slightly furrowed brow, “Although, I hope this is the only time.”

“Me too,” You scoff, “Alright, let’s head back.”

True to your word, you pull through a fast-food drive-thru on the way back to the hospital. Carole knows Nick’s order, and you know your dad’s, hopeful that they’ll be tired of hospital cuisine and yearning for a burger instead.

However, when you get there, they’re waiting in the lobby, Bradley sat between them. You hadn’t realized how early they were letting him out, and Carole takes the bag of food from you so that you can properly hug Bradley. He stands the moment he sees you, eyes pooling with such urgency as he tries to respect the no-running rule of the hospital. You struggle just the same, and the moment you’re within arms reach of each other, tears start flowing. Bradley yanks you into his chest, almost tipping you forwards and himself backwards with the momentum of his hug. His chin nestles straight over your shoulder, as does yours to his, and it’s the kind of hug you get from him after a long deployment, maybe even more desperate now. His breathing is ragged beside your ear, but not from his medical conditions, from the desperation clogging his lungs. His fist is tight in the back of your sweatshirt but the fabric is loose on you, and it’s not a tight enough hold for him. His fingers scrabble for the shirt beneath the hoodie, gripping onto both garments and keeping you closer than you ever thought you could be with Bradley. Your hands immediately encircle his shoulders, and your fingers find purchase against the baby hairs at the back of his neck. You scratch through the ones at his nape, hearing him sniffle sharply where his chin rests on your shoulder. The hand that isn’t fisted in your clothes is tight to your hip, gripping you so hard that you can feel his nails through the jeans you’re wearing. It’s not painful, it’s just firm, and its strength is reassuring. It’s grounding to hug Bradley again, unobscured by breathing tubes, hospital beds, or prying nurses.

You hear someone’s phone camera sound off, but you’re far from discouraging it. In fact, you’re going to ask whoever it was to send you the photo later. The hug turns into an embrace, one where you sway lightly from side to side, anything that isn’t you or Bradley fading into the background. Your eyes are screwed shut but tears still cascade down your cheeks, melancholy waterfalls that drip off of the curve of your chin and stain Bradley’s t-shirt. He’s dressed in what he’d been wearing beneath his flight suit, the material thankfully not ripped or burnt thanks to the coveralls. You take the lead, pulling back, but he keeps the same level of contact with you. When your chin slips from his shoulder he grabs your face instead, using it to keep you pressed tight to his body. His eyes are teary themselves, streaks of the shimmery stuff down his cheeks and probably in his mustache, too.

“Hi,” You croak, smiling giddily through your tears. 

He smiles, though the chubbing of his cheeks nudges a few more tears out of his eyes, “Hi.”

You smear them away with the palm of your hand, and use your thumb to rid him of the ones clinging to his undereyes. His hands are on your cheeks, too, and he tries mirroring your ministrations, but his thumbs are too shaky to do so. For fear of poking your eyes out, he clamps his hands over your cheeks again, content with holding you while your tears run over the hills and valleys of his fingers.

“You’re standing,” You marvel, ‘I thought you’d be in a wheelchair.”

“It hurts a little bit,” Bradley admits with a slight grimace, and you back away like you’ve been struck. He doesn’t let you get far at all, dropping your face to tug you back by your waist, “-but I’d rather break another rib than let you go.”

“Sap,” You accuse, and Bradley laughs.

His lips twist into a sheepish smile, “Maybe. You can be my tree. I’m stuck on you.”

You sniffle, brow furrowing, “Huh? ‘Cause of the sap thing?”

“Yeah,” He laughs, “Isn’t that what it means? Sticky and sweet like tree sap?”

“I don’t know,” You breathe bashfully, your voice rife with part confusion and part sheepishness, “I guess that makes sense. But I’ve never been called a tree before.”

“I’ll work on my flirting,” He promises, stroking his thumbs up and down your sides in soft, soothing motions, “Can we go home now?”

You nod, “You should hug your mom first.” Only then does Bradley remember that you’re not the only other person in the room, turning in your grip to see your mini crowd of adoring onlookers.

He chuckles, “Sorry. Hi, mom.”

“Hi baby,” She gushes, letting him squeeze her in a hug. He’s much more gentle with her, out of longing for you, not disrespect.

Nick reaches over to ruffle his hair and your dad nudges you sideways, “Happy to have him back?”

“Yeah,” You gush, a breathless whisper, “Nervous, though,” You admit, “What if he slips in the shower, or something? Or- or some freak accident happens and he doesn’t wake up?”

“He will,” Your dad slings an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you close by your shoulders, “He’ll be alright, kid. And hopefully by tomorrow he’ll remember everything, maybe look at some pictures tonight to jog his memory. Show him stuff you took of these past few weeks, the places you went or the food you ate.”

You don’t have any pictures of your pitiful motel room, nor the candy bars you’d raided the minifridge for, but you wouldn’t show them to Bradley if you did.

You nod, breaking away when Bradley searches for you after his hug with Carole, “Thanks, dad.”

“You gonna be okay getting settled tonight, Brad?” Nick asks, already bringing a french fry to his mouth from the bag in his hand. Your dad has your food as well as his own, and you take your bag back from him as Bradley nods.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Thanks, guys.”

Everyone says their hasty goodbyes, and your hug with Carole lasts a second longer than you hope anyone notices.

“Tell him.” She whispers against your ear, the words a feather light breath, “He loves you.”

“I’ll feed you in the car,” Bradley grabs the bag of food from your hand when you nudge him towards the exit, “Can I have fries?”

“You’ve been on a diet of chicken and potatoes for two days,” You take the hand that he offers you, curling your fingers around his, “You can have the whole burger if you want, Brad.”

Bradley stops short in front of the bronco when he sees it, “There she is!”

“She’s here,” You laugh, “Perfect condition. The air freshener’s still good.”

“Poor baby,” He heads for the passenger’s seat, swiping a hand over the hood of the car on his way, “She probably thought we forgot about her.”

He settles comfortably in the passenger’s seat, though you’re sure it feels awkward to be there in his own car. He throws his head back against the seat and sighs, long and loud, a noise he would have made fun of his dad for making mere years ago.

“Comfy?” You glance sideways at him, your food in his lap while he rests against the seat. He nods, reaching for the bag as you start up the engine.

“Here baby,” He calls, popping two fries in front of your mouth just before you turn out of the parking lot, “Fries.”

You carefully bite them out of his hand, tipping your head back to get them fully into your mouth. You mumble ‘thanks’ through them, and you’re not sure if he can make out what you’re saying, but you hope it’s obvious.

“I can’t wait to get in bed,” He groans, “I know it’s only been a few days, but I can’t remember being there for three weeks.”

“It’s cold without you,” You hum forlornly, checking your blind spot before merging, your hands stiff on the wheel. Your words leave more of an aftertaste on your tongue than the fries do, and it’s an unpleasant one. They mean more than you let on, and your brain is clouded thick with the worry of sleeping in a cold bed for the rest of your life. 

There’s a moment of silence that Bradley lets follow your words, then he promises, “I’ll be there tonight. And every night after that.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Burger?”

He laughs, leaning in his seat when you turn, “Burger.”

He holds the food up to your mouth, letting you take a bite that smears sauce over your mouth. He takes a napkin, cleaning up after you and dabbing all of the mess away. You’re absolutely certain that if you weren’t on the road, he would have kissed it off. You make a mental note to eat just as messily when you get home, for experimental purposes.

“Can I have a bite?” He asks tentatively, and you turn at a red light to smile and nod.

“‘Course, Brad. I meant it, if you want it you can have the whole thing.”

“I don’t want you to go hungry,” He hums, taking a chunk to the left of your bite mark, “Thanks, babe. Fuck, that's good.”

“Did they finish your cookies?” You exit the freeway, muscle memory guiding you home.

Bradley speaks through a mouthful of burger, unpleasant to hear but somehow endearingly domestic, like he’s not worried about looking handsome for you. “Yeah. I got one more, but they mowed through the rest.”

“Those bitches,” You hiss, and he laughs, “Okay, we’ll bake tomorrow. But I’m keeping the vanilla away from you.”

He scoffs, “Always with the vanilla. I drank it one time!”

“One time is enough for a lifetime ban!” You insist, turning onto your street, “Okay, you shower and I’ll eat, then we can get into bed.”

“Sounds good,” He drawls, stuffing your food back into its bag and swapping it to you for the keys, “I’ll be quick in the shower.”

“No rush,” You croon, holding the hand that he offers you as you take on the front walkway together, “Don’t hurt yourself because you’re too eager to get into bed. It’ll be there even if you take your time.”

You’re bound for the kitchen and Bradley the bedroom, but you remember you have to keep the lights off so that he doesn’t see your decorations. You send him off with a kiss at the hallway, intent on watching him leave before setting up at the table.

“Goodbye,” You hum, standing with your lips puckered in the doorway of the hall, “If you need help, just yell for me.”

“Will do,” He nods, puckering his own lips and pressing them to yours with a cartoonish smack! You watch his ginger walk towards the bedroom, his hips off balance as his ribs ache in his chest.

Once you’re in the clear you flick the kitchen light on, choosing to stand at the counter instead of dirty the table. You busy yourself with your phone, tapping on an impatient text from Carole: ‘Have you told him yet?’

Not yet. You write back, munching on a french fry, Not in the car. He didn’t ask, either.

- Don’t lose your nerve, you can almost hear the critical tone of her voice just by reading her message, The longer you lie, the more he’ll worry about you.

I know. I’ll tell him.

- ❤️

“Babe?” You hear Bradley call over the stream of the shower, “Babe!”

You abandon the last few fries in the container, stuffing your phone into your pocket to rush to his aide. Horror flashes through your mind, visions of Bradley bleeding down the drain or hunched over in pain.

All you see when you burst into the bathroom is him looking like a puppy in the rain, a pitiful pout on his face as water runs down his face and through his mustache.

“I can’t wash my hair,” He laments, “It hurts.”

You can’t help but coo, “Oh, baby. Lemme help you.”

“Thanks,” He mumbles, “I already have the shampoo.”

True to his word, there’s shampoo smeared over his hands. Apparently he’d tried his best, but couldn’t move well enough with his broken ribs. You try not to laugh at his misfortune, especially because he’s in pain, but he’s just too cute to ignore. You try to muscle down the thought that this might be the last time you ever shower with Bradley, even if you’re not really in the water with him. You wet your hands, then wipe the shampoo off of his palms, reaching for his scalp.

“I’m sorry I’m making you stand in front of me naked and we’re not having sex,” Bradley huffs, “Believe me, if I thought I could, I’d be jumping you right about now.”

“It’s okay,” You chuckle, muffling the sound into Bradley’s forehead that you kiss chastely, “We should hold off on sex, at least until your ribs are healed.

Or until you know the truth.

“They don’t hurt too bad now,” Bradley muses, “But when I raised my arms to shampoo, it was really bad.”

“I’ll reach for things for you,” You promise, scrubbing shampoo into his scalp. It knocks loose leftover ash from his accident, and it flows down the drain in a swirl of gray bubbles.

“Oh, fuck,” For not having sex, Bradley’s making some awfully pornographic sounds, “That feels good.”

“I’ll bet,” you hum, “Can’t imagine having ash in my hair for that long.”

“It’s not pleasant. Oh god, babe,” He groans, “Hurry up and rinse it out, I’m gonna fall asleep standing up.”

“Okay! Okay,” You laugh, scrubbing in one last circle at the nape of his neck then reaching for the showerhead, “Have you washed your body already?”

“Yeah,” He murmurs, letting the water flow through his hair and rinse the shampoo out, “Oh my god, this is what heaven feels like.”

“Come on,” You smile, reaching for a towel, “Do you need help drying off?”

“You just wanna feel up my thighs,” Bradley accuses, and you laugh good-naturedly.

“Nope. Ass.” You admit, “But if you can do it yourself, then go ahead.”

“No!” He catches you as you stuff the towel to his chest, pulling you back towards the shower, “Uh, I need help. I think you should wipe down my very toned chest and my tight butt.”

“Oh, really? That’s what you’re having trouble with?” You snicker, and Bradley nods proudly.

“Yep. Can’t get my hands over my shredded back either, such a shame.”

“Alright, you flirt,” You scoff, “Turn around.”

You start on his back, and of course, it’s very fit. It’s nothing you haven’t touched before, in fact, you’re surprised there’s no scars there from your fingernails, but this is more intimate, more romantic, more sweet. This is love, not lust. You scrub the towel over his skin, wiping the water droplets away and rubbing into his tight muscles. You take extra care to dry off the small of his back, smoothing the towel down over his ass, too. Despite his earlier cheekiness, he doesn’t make any comments while you’re working. You wrap the towel around his thighs, pressing a kiss to his hip as you bend down to dry his calves off. He stands still to let you get his ankles dry, and you tap his foot to turn him around.

Now he’s looking down at you as you towel off his calves again, getting any splotches of water you may have missed before. You dry out the soft tuft of hair at his groin and move to his chest before you can tempt yourself, not wanting your first sexual encounter after a life-threatening plane crash to be a blowjob up against the shower wall. Especially not before you tell him the truth.

Now that you’re on your feet you’re face-to-face, though yours is bent slightly to track any water droplets you might have missed on his shoulders. You towel off his underarms carefully, making sure not to aggravate his muscles that are already bleeding pain through his gut. You swipe the towel over his neck, and in doing so, you’ve set your hand just below his chin. It’s as natural as breathing to slide it up his jaw, and he’s already staring at you, breath shaky as you return his gaze.

He moves first, but you take his cue right away. He leans in to kiss you and you’re happy to press your mouth to his own, not caring that there’s a drop of water leftover between his fingers that transfers to your skin when he cups your face.

“Baby,” He whimpers, desperate and longing, “I- I missed you.”

There’s tears beading at the corners of his eyes, and you manage a sad smile when you wipe them away, “Why, silly? I was only gone for a few hours.”

“I know. I just- I’m real shaken up,” He admits, “I- I don’t even remember the crash and that’s the scary part. I almost died and I’ve got no clue what happened. I feel lost, like- like I’m still stalling or something, just waiting to crash.”

“I’m so sorry,” You croon through your own tears, “Brad, that must be so scary, I- I can’t even imagine.”

“I just need you,” He breathes, clutching at your shoulders like they’ll recover his plane, “Just don’t leave, please.”

“Sweetheart,” You coo, equally endeared and saddened by his sudden panic, “We're not at the hospital anymore, there's no visiting hours. Why would I leave? We're home, we’re gonna get changed, and then we’re gonna go to sleep. You’re safe now, okay?”

“Okay,” He nods, voice a mere whisper, “Okay, let’s sleep.”

“Clothes first,” You remind him through a cheeky grin, and the expression scrunches your tear-stained cheeks, cracking the stiffened substance, “We’re sleeping.”

“Alright, alright,” He laughs as you poke at his bare chest, “Will you help me? I managed to bend over and slide my t-shirt off but I don’t think putting something on will be as easy.”

“Mhm. I was hoping,” You reach for the sets of matching pajamas, holding them up enticingly, “You’d match with me?”

He laughs, the sound thick and genuine in his bruised chest, “Of course. I won’t look as good as you, though.”

“Yeah, my mustache is better,” You sigh, scratching a nail over your upper lip that’s morphing into a grin. You whirl on him with his shirt, helping ease his arms into the fabric and stretching the neck hole over his head so that he doesn’t have to bend down. All in all, it works, even if the neckline is a little stretched. He doesn’t need help with his pants, but you feel compelled to do it anyways, sliding his boxers and then the soft material up his legs and tying it tight at the waistband.

“Thanks, honey.” He murmurs, bending at the waist and sitting on his side of the bed, “Fuck, that’s nice.”

“Lay down,” You push against his chest, helping him recline against his pillows, “I’ll be right back, B.”

You change quickly, too eager to crawl into bed beside Bradley to care that you’ve left one bite of burger and a few lone fries on the counter. Ants be damned, you’ll clean up tomorrow. When you emerge from the closet you wriggle happily beneath the covers next to Bradley, flicking the light by the doorway off so that all that’s left is your bedside lamp.

When you settle on your pillow he’s already looking at you, and the tip of his nose bumps your own. You melt into a girlish giggle, something that a teenager would produce after a particularly bad pickup line and a single red rose.

“Hi,” You gush, overjoyed to have him so close again. You kiss his nose in your fervent enthusiasm, and he smiles sleepily against his pillow.

“Hi,” He hums, reaching for your waist and pulling you close, “C’mere.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” You stiffen, but he molds your body to his anyways, “Brad, be careful.”

“I will be! I said it before, you can’t break me. Just let me hold you.”

You croon a sad sound as he wraps you in his arms, a sound of longing, of adoration, of grief. He clocks it as sweetness, though, and holds you close. Your face is buried in his chest and you feel his lips move against your scalp when he speaks.

“Y/N,” He starts, and your heart rate spikes at just your name, “About earlier-”

“Tomorrow.” You blurt, anguish rising in your chest, “Brad, can we- can we talk tomorrow? I’m not trying to hide from you,” You promise, but you’re nestled into his chest and muffling your voice, “I trust you with the way that I'm feeling, I just- I just want to sleep. I want to breathe for a minute. And we can talk tomorrow, is that okay?”

He takes a moment to deliberate, really, truly thinking about it. While he does so, your hands tighten in his shirt, desperately clinging to him. But eventually he nods, disjointedly so into the crown of your head, “Okay.” His hands tighten around your waist as he speaks, and you melt into his embrace, scooting impossibly closer. “Okay, honey, we’ll talk tomorrow. Let’s just sleep.”

Settling into his embrace has never been so easy. Since the moment you'd been in them for the first time only hours old in the hospital, you’d known his arms were made for holding you. They’ve been yours for as long as you can remember, even longer than that according to the photo album you’d skimmed through earlier. Bradley had been the third person to hold you, second only to your parents. Sure, he couldn’t remember it either, and Nick and Carole were probably doing most of the work keeping you balanced in his little lap, but the point is, he was made for holding you, and you were made for being held by him. Your face tucks so naturally under the curve of his chin and your lips press even easier to his throat, kissing at his voice that you love so much. It comes out to thank you for the adoration in a gentle hum, one that thrums against your lips. 

His hands revel in their access to the extent of your back, brushing and roving and stroking over every inch of the space he’s granted. It’s ticklish but you don’t dare squirm, letting his fingers send miniscule bolts of electricity through your skin.

“I love you,” He reminds you as he holds you close, the sleepiness fogging his brain clear as day in his voice, “I really, really do.”

“I love you too, Bradley.” You promise, kissing up his chin to his lips. The pecks you plant there are short, sweet, and chaste, but when you’re done laying them over his face you decide that you want to fall asleep facing him, not hidden away in his chest. Sure, it’s warm and safe there, but you can’t drift off to his sweet face if you can’t see it.

Your solution is to plop your head back onto your pillow, throwing a leg over his waist to keep yourself close. His eyes are droopy, and hold all of the tender sweetness of the puppies he so often resembles. He’s clearly exhausted, and your own eyes slip shut at the sight of his struggling to stay open.

“Night, Brad.” You yawn, settling against your pillow with the tip of your nose brushing his own, “Welcome home.”

“Night, baby. Love you,” He gushes, as if you hadn’t just exchanged the words seconds prior. But it feels good, it feels right, so you say it back.

“Love you, too.” You use the last of your energy to reciprocate, sleep taking hold of you in its comforting embrace. You slip away like sand into unconsciousness, all of your thoughts about love, and life, and Bradley, and none of the horrific possibility of his memories returning. Nothing’s going to ruin this moment for you, not now.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

HANDS ON YOU — lee heeseung

IN WHICH; I-LAND 2 happened and you debuted first place as the leader of LUMIÈRE. Having been told that your group is involved in a lore crossover with ENHYPEN, you navigate work, friendship, and love while trying to make it in an industry filled with animosity and condemnation. When life throws you lemons, you gotta make lemonades chuck it right back!

PAIRING: idol!heeseung x idol!fem!reader

GENRE: smau, strangers to lovers, celebrity x celebrity, forbidden love, fluff, don’t let the first part of the smau fool you i swear it’s full on angst towards the end, slowest of the slow burns…

WARNINGS: contains profanities, horrible humour, kys/kms jokes, sexual innuendos, spelling errors, incorrect timestamps, probably some cringe-worthy moments, cyberbullying, racist and misogynistic comments made about reader, death threats, mentions/depictions of overworking, insomnia, eating disorders, not proofread etc. (i am not in anyway romanticising, encouraging or condoning the usage of these topics. purely for the plot and development of the story.)

STATUS: completed! (04/06/2023 – 08/08/2023)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: please read! literally my first attempt at a smau so please don't flame me 💀 i must warn y’all that the timestamps are really all over the place, so DO NOT pay attention to them until stated. the content and depiction of the characters in this smau do not in anyway represent them in real life. chapters with ‘(hw)’ next to them indicates that they are half-written, in case y’all accidentally skip over it! last but not least, if you do end up enjoying it please like, comment (absolutely love reading comments!), and reblog! without further ado, enjoy!!

p.s this was written way before the actual airing of I-LAND 2 and not meant to be connected with the real show/contestants in anyway.

TAGS: #tfwy handsonyou

prologue - introducing LUMIÈRE part 1 | part 2

profile. one | two

chapter 1 - number 1 hater

chapter 2 - infant

chapter 3 - #prayersformarklee ✊🤞

chapter 4 - dog-eater…? (hw)

chapter 5 - breaking records(?)

chapter 6 - still employed!

chapter 7 - bad publicity is still publicity

chapter 8 - to hee or not to hee

chapter 9 - the heist

chapter 10 - trigger warning

chapter 11 - soompitydimpity

chapter 12 - chronic insomnia

chapter 13 - to hee after all

chapter 14 - wild pokémon heeseungie

chapter 15 - artists

chapter 16 - that should be me

chapter 17 - bills

chapter 18 - the elephant in the room (hw)

chapter 19 - if you let me

chapter 20 - trouble? travel! (hw)

chapter 21 - caught in a lie

chapter 22 - always on your side

chapter 23 - princess syndrome

chapter 24 - you (hw)

chapter 25 - golden thread

chapter 26 - way back home (hw)

chapter 27 - uh oh…

chapter 28 - fight or flight

chapter 29 - close friends

chapter 30 - paradoxx invasion

chapter 31 - ramen

chapter 32 - 080923 (hw)

chapter 33 - driver

chapter 34 - demure and honest

chapter 35 - p-platonic?!?

chapter 36 - friends don’t look at friends that way

chapter 37 - bungeoppang

chapter 38 - back to the way things were..?

chapter 39 - wheel of fortune

chapter 40 - i miss holding your hand (hw)

chapter 41 - sooha (real)

chapter 42 - rizzseung

chapter 43 - project luminescence

chapter 44 - i will go to you like the first snow (hw)

chapter 45 - it’s awfully quiet…

chapter 46 - jake pick me era?

chapter 47 - my life without you is a misery

chapter 48 - your honour, i’m innocent

chapter 49 - breaking my silence

chapter 50 - he’s being exploited!

chapter 51 (finale) - number 1 fan (hw)

epilogue - forever ruined by you

bonus chapter!

the exes talk

Copyright© 2023 thatfeelinwhenyou All Rights Reserved

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 26. together

chapter tags/warnings: a very broken marriage. heavy angst. at least i am not gege. mai and maki and megumi as an iconic trio. infidelity/adultery. family drama. strong language. corruption. 

word count: 4.8k

notes: thank you for the overwhelming reception from the last chapter! work has been consuming my life, sadly, which is why this chapter took longer than i anticipated. gr. in this upcoming piece, though, my main focuses are the character development in y/n as well as explanations from toji himself. enjoy! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

A large, warm hand massaged the delicate stretch between your thumb and forefinger. 

Gently. Leisurely. Daintily. 

Vanilla and cinnamon notes entered your lungs with every inhale, a velvetiness akin to everything you imagined clouds to be like if brushing against your cheek, the comforting sensations bringing back nostalgic memories from the carefree times your heart longed to return to. 

Was this Heaven? you wondered in this dark and dreamy daze.

You would not mind staying in this state eternally if that meant the promise of peace and quiet forever.

A voice, not from yourself, dispersed your thoughts.

“Suguru, what are the chances she won’t ever wake up?” 

Wake up?

Oh, so you were just asleep.

“Shut up, Sukuna,” another person quipped, this tone more leveled and coarser than the last. “Don’t say shit like that.”

The first person, who must be Sukuna then, chuckled lowly to himself. “Oh, who would’ve thought? Choso is having a soft spot?” he marveled with great interest, “Since when did you care so much about—”

But a third voice interrupted the banter. “She’s awake.”

After a long struggle, your eyes fluttered open to see a crowd gathered around you. Immediately beside you was Suguru Geto. He had been the one nestling your hand, but he practically didn’t look like himself with the concern etched into his brow, replacing the cheerfulness in his typical visage. Behind him stood Sukuna and Choso. The former grinned with fierce satisfaction, while the latter…scowled at you?

To be fair, Choso always scowled at you.

“Good evening, gorgeous.” Geto greeted with a melancholic smile, giving you another squeeze, firm and encouraging. Like a true gentleman, he helped you sit upright, his other hand reaching over your head to brush aside some stray strands by your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” 

Exhaustion, meanwhile, rattled you to the bone.

You were weak, your movements fragile, almost like you were a fawn in her first hours of life. You blinked rapidly while taking in the new environment, only to quickly recognize the gray and cream colors in your surroundings. Back at Toji’s apartment was where you found yourself, with the familiar spiced floral scents from the flickering candle nearby confirming that this was the master bedroom. 

Given the dull throb by your temples, you frowned.

“What—?” your voice came out as a hoarse rasp. “What happened?”

The trio traded looks at each other with communicative eyes.

In the end, Choso tucked his hands into his front pocket and took the initiative to speak. 

“You were in the Zenin residence with Mai and Maki, remember?” No, not really.“Got into an argument with your husband. Started having a panic attack. Collapsed. Puked.”

Oh…

Recollections from your last conscious moments flooded your head like a tsunami: the screaming, the crying, and the fighting. Loud, angry, bitter fighting. 

Fighting for your dignity. Fighting for your heart. Fighting for your life. Goodness gracious. As much as the memories sucked all life from you, you instead felt completely…numb. 

After all, you had already been dead on the inside. You were too worn out, both physically and emotionally, to react. Everything that you had to go through since your wedding had brought you to your wit’s end, and this recent altercation with Naoya Zenin was truly the icing on the cake. 

When you caught sight of yourself in a nearby mirror, you could hardly recognize yourself. Your expression, glum. Your lips, chafed, Your face, pallor. Absent of any other color than an ashen hue. 

“How…did I get here?”

“Mai and Maki got worried and called Toji, who told them to bring you here,” Sukuna answered this time. “You’re lucky the girls reacted fast, else we would have sent you to an emergency room. Suguru even stopped his shift at his clinic to watch over you.”

“I—,” you sighed, lost for words and dropping your tired gaze to the floor. Dealing with inner turmoil to this degree was more than what any sane person could handle. All efforts towards your happiness were in vain anyway, as the cosmos conspired to make your existence one neverending nightmare. Everyone else had their ambitions and shit to deal with, but here you were as an absolute nuisance to the people who should not be otherwise pestered, and you were ashamed for the unnecessary trouble that you had caused. “Gosh, this is embarrassing.”

“We are so sorry!” 

Unexpectedly, the apology came from a girl’s voice, and you had to turn around to see three familiar teenagers by the bedroom door. 

Just last week, you would never have imagined ever seeing Mai, Maki, and Megumi together. Yet, here you were, watching the twins and their—technically speaking—nephew (cute) standing side-by-side, twiddling their thumbs in their nervous corner (also cute). 

Flustered and prepared for admonishment, Mai bowed her head at a slight angle as she hurriedly explained, “We don’t…We don’t mean to put you in an awkward position. We just didn’t know what to do. Maki and I were worried when you fell to the floor and started throwing up. We…We should’ve asked for your permission on who to call for help. But we didn’t know who else to phone, so we ended up dialing Toji. Now, we’ve put you in a weird spot and that is all our fault—”

“Do not apologize. That was the right thing to do.” The comment came from yet another person, and when Sukuna and Choso stepped to the side, who you saw at the room’s furthest end was none other than Toji Fushiguro himself. 

He had taken a seat all the way by the wall, with one leg thrust over the other in a relaxed but kingly sort of manner. With his sleeves rolled up, his forearms bled to his wrists with ink, and the emeralds in his sharp gaze gleamed as he stared pointedly in your direction. 

Of everyone in the room, his countenance appeared the most composed, but you could feelhim reading through the emotions present on your face. He inclined forward, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his palm. 

When he noticed the slightest shift in your posture too, the tiny scar by his lips flexed along with a smile.

“So, you’ve figured me out, hm?”

Easily, you could sense all seven pairs of eyes in the room (the four therapists plus the three teens) landing on you. The sudden attention rendered you nervous. Even if you chose silence as your response, the entire room, the entire planet, and perhaps even the entire galaxy could speculate your answer through your expression alone.

After a long while, you breathed out, “You didn’t tell me that you were a Zenin.”

The elephant in the room had to be addressed obviously, and you were not shy to confront the situation head-on.

While you did not intend to sound accusatory, your tone came off as such anyway. How could you not, when you had essentially been misled for weeks? Sure, Toji probably did not want to be badmouthing the Zenins to the very person (you) who had been recently married into the family. But, by withholding the fact that he and your husband were cousins, Toji had created much unnecessary anguish including the current limbo that your marriage was in right now. 

Meanwhile, that same man pressed his nails into his chin in contemplation. 

“I am not a Zenin, though,” he eventually corrected in a domineering voice, all austere in his throne. “At least, not any longer. I took my first wife’s last name years ago. I go by Fushiguro now.” Curt, direct, and pithy. Toji wasted not a syllable. “Everything worked out though, I guess. Naobito cut me off from the Zenin clan earlier this year. Gave me ten billion yen and told me to get lost, so I did.”

Toji always kept his private matters to himself, but with everything that he had gone through, you were struck by his poise, as if being expelled from such an influential household had been a high-school breakup he had gotten over long ago. 

Nonetheless, you wondered if he missed that other life, and you brought your knees toward your chest.

“So,” how should you put this, “you’re not upset?”

Toji scoffed immediately.

“Upset?” A bitter grin spread off his lips. “Why would I be upset? That household is a trash dump. All my life, there were no choices for me to make when my uncles and granduncles decided everything already,” and he began counting with his fingers, “my teachers, my classes, my extracurriculars, my friends. Everything. I was only a puppet to bring honor to the family name, bring in money for the company.”

Listening to his sonorous voice, you rested your cheek onto a knee.

"I see."

His story was depressing, and from conversations with in-laws such as Mai and Maki, you knew that he was not lying, either. Coming from nobility as well, you were also aware of the pressures that came with the people who boasted their 'old-money' statuses, but the Zenin household had always been notorious for being miserable. 

Toji had said so before in a prior discussion, how ‘family isn’t family for something like the Zenins’ because both politics and business took precedence.

Then, he went on.

“Some people would kill to have my problems, but I did not want that life, you know? Around the time I started college, I decided that I wanted to make judgments for myself and be my own distinct entity, but that made people upset. Privileged. Entitled. Ungrateful. Whatever. My family members called me many things as a young adult when they figured I did not want to be their pawn for my whole life, with the only person who understood me for many years being my best friend in university.”

Megumi’s mom.

Toji nearly appeared to be an altogether different person whenever he spoke about his first wife. The chartreuse in his eyes would stir with both sorrow and fond reminiscence as he thought about the Mrs. Fushiguro you would never get to meet, his closest confidant whom he lost to the cruel separation brought by life versus death. She must have been someone whom he valued a lot—a person who completely transformed him—as Toji had discarded his last name (which was Zenin, of all things) for hers.

‘He truly loved my mom,’ Megumi explained before. 'He had given up everything.’

Thus, fate could truly be unfair.

The loss and pain Toji must have endured, a topic Megumi had alluded to in his discussion with you before.

Not to mention, the expectations, frustration, and suffocation that came from the clan's elders, too. Experiencing the intense atmosphere in the Zenin household firsthand allowed you to empathize with him. Given the stark differences between him and your lawful husband, there was no wonder Toji did not wish to deal with his older relatives' high-strung conventions.

But, if he had been suffering so much… 

“Why did you care so much for what your family thought?” you asked, disregarding the look that the three teenagers by the door exchanged with each other. “Toji, you went to university in the United States. You had a wife and son at a young age. You went from a business background to a licensed therapist, so why did you not—”

“Leaving is difficult when you’re the family heir and the corporation’s CEO.” 

The expression that you then returned was blank.

Huh?

His words triggered something in your head, so you repeated after him.

“Leaving is difficult when,” and your voice trailed off, “when…you…are the heir and CEO.”

Heir. CEO.

Zenin.

Toji.

Naoya.

But Toji’s older.

‘Naoya got into a huge dispute with him earlier this year.’

Sheer realization slapped you hard across your face. No way.

“Toji,” you began after letting the revelation sink into you a while later, but your voice barely eeked above a mumble, “so you were once the successor to the Zenin household and company?"

The man in question did not respond, but the silent affirmation from the six other onlookers was an answer in itself.

Yes.

In hindsight, you wanted to say you had always seen the possibility. Still, you never fully registered this until now: the thoughtfulness in his strategy, the sophistication in his speech, the charisma in his leadership. 

Previously, Toji had impressed you with how much he knew about the Zenin Corporation’s market share in the Asia-Pacific or the firm’s outsized influence on the international stage. Yet, most (including yourself) would not guess that someone like Toji Fushiguro—your tattooed and brawny sex therapist (plus single dad)—had once been heralded as the indisputable inheritor to the proud lineage and conglomerate. 

That had been your mistake. 

Toji was more than what people made him out to be, which reminded you to never assume anything superficially about someone—a remark he had once made. For good reason, because he had been referring to himself all along.

You could almost visualize Toji Fushiguro as the seasoned executive he had once been in light of this new information: his black strands slicked into a side part, his charcoal blazer freshly pressed, his leather oxfords newly polished. 

Maybe because he was more mature or maybe because he was simply older, but Toji appeared more fitting for the important roles in the Zenin household compared to the man presently poised for succession. 

Consequently, you must also ask, “Then, how did Naoya end up in your seat?”

Sukuna and Megumi shared a glance.

Choso grimaced, and Suguru kissed his teeth.

Meanwhile, Toji ran a lone finger down his jaw, following the lines from a tattoo. 

“Let me give you some context, sweetheart,” he offered, now brushing his chin as he spoke. “For the last—let’s say—few hundred years, the oldest male in each generation became the leader in the Zenin clan. Is the rule stupid? Yes. Should there be more criteria in evaluating a potential heir aside from birth order? Also yes. But nothing has stopped this before because the Zenins, as you know by now, are a family built on antiquity and tradition. So, when I was born as the oldest male in my generation and Naoya had come in second place...” 

Toji did not have to finish his sentence for you to figure out the rest.

Despite the demands that came along with being the next family head, Toji must have been esteemed as nothing short of a crown price among the Japanese elite, with seniors in the Zenin household utilizing all their resources to prepare the once young and starry-eyed boy for taking over such an influential role. Naturally, his enviable position would spark jealousy, even from those whom Toji deemed related to by birth.

Including his very own younger first cousin.

Toji frowned in exasperation.

“Your husband is one childish and jealous brat, but Naoya Zenin has been like that for as long as I have known him. To claim the heir and CEO titles, he acquired the trust from myself and my colleagues by working with us in sex therapy, only to stab us all in the back. He’s a liar. A total manipulator.” 

And, from personal experiences, you knew that those words could not be more true.

At this point, Toji sank his handsome face into his immense palm. 

“Well, now Naoya Zenin has everything he wants but is still an incompetent asshole. The whole enterprise is hanging by a thread. The entire clan cannot fucking stand him. What’s crazy is that his father Naobito is not doing anything about this, and I cannot tell if that is because the old man is giving his son free passes or because he has finally gotten senile. With Naoya's pettiness, though, the father-son duo have done everything to erase my name from the family, even going as far as to dismiss the executives that I brought onto the management team to undo my legacy.” 

When Toji glanced up to cast his gaze forward, you then suddenly understood that the three other men in the room were more than just his fellow board-licensed colleagues.

You recalled Toji’s words in the Teyvat meeting room.

‘I recruited these guys right when they completed their undergraduate degrees, around the time I just opened my therapy office,’ and the puzzle pieces clicked into place from the realization that sex therapy had not been the only thing that Toji had worked with them on—Sukuna, Choso, and Suguru had been executives at the Zenin Corporation reporting to Toji, too. ‘We’ve been working together since, for the past four years.’

Discerning these revelations from your expressions, Toji added in confirmation.

“I had selected these three to oversee the Zenin Corporation’s operations with me,” he said, and you remembered the same conversation in which the men discussed their University of Tokyo studies while Toji listed their previous roles. Sukuna, Economics. “Sukuna, Director of Investments and Real Estate.” Choso, Mechanical Engineering. “Choso, Chief Engineer and Supply Chain Manager.” Suguru, Biology. “Suguru, Healthcare and Innovation Administrator.”

Arguably the most consequential divisions in a conglomerate that spanned numerous sectors, with each department bringing in yen by the billions every year.

‘These guys have treated me like family more than my blood-related kin have.’

Learning this about the four therapists added to your fascination. 

For you, the discovery was like uncovering a hidden treasure trove. To imagine everything that the four—as one cohesive unit—had gone through together at the top of the corporate ladder: scrutiny from the media and stakeholders, impromptu meetings that demanded make-or-break decisions, and immediate responses to industry trends and regulations. 

Only for them to be cast aside by no one other than your husband.

In the end, this all made sense.

Now, you understood why the therapists were once incredibly demeaning and belligerent toward you. How could they possibly sympathize with the woman married to the man who had taken virtually everything from them? 

Heck, if you were in their shoes and had no further context, you would hate yourself, too.

Only now were you hearing their perspectives, and you were grateful that—compared to several weeks before—they trusted you enough to open up. 

At last, all you could do was sigh and mutter, “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

Sukuna shot back without hesitation, which stunned you given how he had been the one who mocked you the most. Yet, a scintilla of kindness flared in his fiery eyes, so you continued with your tone softer and quieter.

“I feel terrible.” Such vulnerability in front of so many people at once went beyond your comfort zone. “For the unfairness Naoya had brought upon you all, and how I…I can’t change anything. I can’t do anything. All I am is…useless.”

“No, you are powerful,” Suguru interjected this time. “Your husband relies on your public image to keep scrutiny off him. He needs you. He’s been demoralizing you for months because he knows the ball will always be in your court, and never his.”

His words made you stop.

“You truly think so?” you asked.

“Yes.” 

Choso, who replied, seemed honest. 

He was honest. 

He might throw you off from how aloof and stoic his attractive face would appear, but Choso was not a liar.

Bringing your feet off the bed, you slowly swung your feet. 

“I…am surprised you all even want to talk to me.” 

Toji tugged at his dress shirt’s collar and flashed his ink-covered muscles underneath. “What makes you think that?” 

His pointed question made you realize how much Naoya had been fucking with your mind, blaming and villainizing you at every chance, thus devolving you into a spineless worm feeling remorse for every little thing.

Shrugging, you tossed your gaze to the side. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “You could have avenged yourself by now. I am Naoya’s wife and Naobito’s daughter-in-law. There had been a thousand chances for you to do something horrible to me: to hurt me, blackmail me, spread dirty rumors about me, but…you haven’t.”  

“Why would I do that?” Toji replied instantly and candidly. Rather than appearing offended by your judgments, he started giving you that look again whenever he had his therapist hat on—the one where he would tilt his head at a slight angle to gauge the sentiments painted across your face. “I could have chosen to be bitter and vengeful for the rest of my life, but I am grateful for what I have. Why let a toxic bunch impact my life? I already told you how that household is an absolute fucking hell. I'm glad I have found an out. At the very least, my son would not have to deal with the crap from my young adult years because you know who is the oldest male in the generation after mine?”

Megumi. 

All gazes now fell upon the younger Fushiguro, who tried to casually shrug the attention off. 

Who cares if I was second-in-line to leading perhaps the most prestigious family in Japan? his nonchalance wanted to convey, but his ears turned pink anyway.  

Toji continued, “Then, of course, there are some people whom I care about a lot.” Using his head, he gestured to the twins. “These girls are the best aunts to my son that I, as a father, could ever ask for. They’re only one year older than Megumi, but Mai and Maki used to go on playdates with him on the weekends, walk him to school every morning, and cook him breakfasts over the holidays. The twins even helped my son take his first steps. There is this one photo we have in the library—I don’t know if you have gotten a chance before to see it. But there’s Mai and Maki, each holding one of Megumi’s little hands back in his chubby toddler days and—” 

“Dad!” a very flustered and irritated teenage boy finally had to say. “This is not the time to talk about that picture!” 

Next to him, a proud Mai and Maki coo and tease their grouchy nephew, poking at his puffed-up cheeks and ruffling his uncombed hair. 

“Aw, is someone a little embarrassed?”

Smiling at the little banter from the trio, Toji did not let them distract him from his conversation with you. “What I’m trying to get at is…life’s too short not to enjoy the happy sides of it,” but his eyes glazed with rue nevertheless, “Now is the perfect time to focus on your well-being. Take a look around this room. A lot of people want to see you leading a fulfilling life, Y/N. A fulfilling life for yourself, not for anyone else. Not for me, not for anyone in this room, and certainly not for your husband. Nothing—and I mean absolutely nothing—should hold you back from pursuing your health and happiness.” 

While you assumed that your best times were over, Toji reminded you those good days can be brought back with the right attitude. He had a point. Why should you allow your marriage to hinder you from connecting with people whom you care about, working towards the passions that brought you purpose, and feeling the love that you deserve? 

Instead, you should seek every sunrise and sunset as an opportunity to live better and without regrets.

As you ruminated on this different mindset, a sudden knock from the door cut your thoughts short.

Who…

Like you, most others looked around blankly, but Toji ordered from his seat, “Let him in.”

Mai, who stood closest to the entryway, obeyed. 

Once she unlocked the door, the room fell silent save for the footsteps of the man walking in, his soles creating soft echoes on the linoleum floor. Overhead, pale lights revealed the lines etched on his exhausted face, the worry that sat heavily on his chest. 

“Mister Daisuke,” someone eventually acknowledged out of respect.

Your father did not hear the greeting as he searched the room, his sullen gaze darting from face to face until he found you. His shoulders fell from his overwhelming relief. Still in a suit after a long workday, he stumbled forward feebly. 

“You’re alright,” he whispered between steps, scarcely audible. 

He crouched toward the floor once he approached you, and when Suguru transferred your hands into your father’s, you noticed the unstoppable quiver from the latter even as you gripped him tightly in an attempt to stop the tremor. 

His skin was tough, weathered by his additional decades in life. But, in his palms, you found the familiar tenderness that had comforted you since you were a little girl and, in his gaze, you noticed the sadness only found in the despair of a heartbroken parent.

“Thank goodness, you are okay,” and before everyone, tears slipped past his eyes, “I was terrified. I was so scared. When Toji called to tell me you had thrown up and collapsed, do you know how afraid I was?” 

You glanced over at the said therapist, reminding yourself that—if Toji had been the CEO before Naoya—he must have worked very closely with your COO father up until recently. For your father to know exactly where you were and walk in with this expression suggested that the former colleagues had had a lengthy conversation about your circumstances. A part of you wanted to be angry. Why drag your father into this worry? But a larger part of you had always wanted to reveal to him the wretched months that had gone by and longed for his support. 

And now, he was here.

The older man took a shuddering breath and brought his fingers to your cheek, holding and cradling you like he would never get to do this again. 

“I can’t lose you,” he lamented. “I have lost enough in my life already. I cannot lose you, too. I just can’t. Why have you not told me the truth? If you were not happy with Naoya, why have you not told me sooner? Did you think I would place my loyalty to the company over my own child? I feel so guilty and broken to hear about what you have been going through.”

Frankly, you felt just as broken, too. 

In fact, seeing and hearing your father weep like this shattered you. As devoted as your father was, his front never failed to be unwavering and strong. Even when your mother’s death left a significant hole in his heart, he bit back his grief. Scars from your mother’s untimely death scarred his heart, wounds that never healed and would stay with him until his last breath, but he rarely expressed his suppressed sorrow. 

All for your sake. Because you were his one and only daughter, his one and only child. 

So now, for him to see you in such a sorry state was crushing his whole world that had become you.

“Dad.” You helped him wipe his tears away, just like how he had always done for you. “I didn’t want to make you disappointed. I didn’t want to make you sad. I…I just wanted to protect you.”

“No,” he responded firmly. How could a loving father accept the possibility that his daughter would even think about placing him before herself? “Protect yourself first.”

You looked up when you sensed two more approaching individuals and found Mai and Maki with doleful smiles.

“We still have something to return to you, Y/N.”

In your left palm, each girl pressed one ring—the first which promised a future forever and the second which symbolized an infinite unity. 

You stared at the jewelry as your chest remembered the waves of happiness, excitement, hope, confusion, betrayal, and pain. 

So, so much pain.

Your father, who would not miss the solemn undertones in your gaze, squeezed your hands in his. 

“My dear daughter,” he started, and you could tell he could no longer bear to see you suffer any longer, “what are you planning to do?”

Your throat turned dry.

Any possibility seemed like a viable solution, a means for a desperate escape. 

For months, you should have prepared yourself for this very question, but now that you were confronted with this reality for the first time, you did not know what to say. 

You had clutched onto the false hope for your troubled marriage to be sorted out. Escaping your dreary matrimony had once been too far-fetched of an option given an impending cold war between your families, which you would never wish upon the stars to happen. Therefore, even as you found yourself stuck on a stifling dead end, you did not exactly prepare for the next steps for the occasion you found Naoya Zenin’s mistreatment too much to bear.

However, times have changed.

Your allies and enemies have changed.

Most of all, you have changed.

Therefore, with all the universe’s possibilities at your fingertips, one particular option stuck out. 

“I’m going to file for a divorce.”

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: So many things. To see us freak out at the idea of a divorce during the beginning of the fic, up to now, where we suggested the option out of our volution. Also, the much-needed heart-to-heart conversation between Toji and us, and how that really shows a slow maturation in our relationship with him (and everyone else)! Let me know what you think, and see you next chapter!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[milkpup]

｡⋆ʚ♡ like father, like son

›› chapter 2 ›› nsfw 18+ ongoing multi-chapter fic!

previous chapter ♡ next chapter

ʚ ao3 ɞ / ʚ kofi ɞ / ʚ fic masterlist ɞ

›› toji fushiguro x reader ›› megumi fushiguro x reader ›› toji x reader x megumi (mfm) ›› 18+ f!reader ›› started: 12/6/23 : updated: 1/29/24 : status: ongoing

‹𝟹 summary: You and Megumi are best friends. You've known eachother for almost your whole life. His home has become your second home. As time passes and life happens, Megumi slowly develops feelings for you, even though he's unaware of it. To complicate things further, you're now living with him and his father, who has also taken a liking to you.

‹𝟹 fandom: jjk, jujutsu kaisen

‹𝟹 genres / warnings: au - no powers, college au, power imbalance, pseudo-incest (they both want y/n, nothing w/ eachother), dubious consent

‹𝟹 tags: good cop bad cop, fluff, smut, angst, toji has a big dick, dilf toji, toji is his own warning, toji tries to be a good parent, toji is an asshole, toji is trying okay?, daddy dom toji, daddy kink, porn with feelings, porn with plot, friends to lovers, spit / spitting, spit kink, spit as lube, breeding, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, double vaginal pen, double pen, anal, making out, making love, love triangles, praise kink, degradation, light masochism, light sadism, emotional sex, cuckolding, jealousy, jealousy kink, smoking, smoking kink, emotional manipulation, manipulation, polyamory?, father and son share you, protective megumi fushiguro, megumi needs a hug, megumi has a big dick, aged up characters, dead dove: do not eat, finger sucking, large cock, cum swallowing, blow jobs, first time blow jobs, under desk blow jobs, fingerfucking, face sitting, face riding, 69, mutual masturbation, threesome mfm, lots of smut, loss of virginity

‹𝟹 notes: formatting next chapter for tumblr! there are currently 4 posted on ao3. i have the 5th in the works! it gets spicy!

!! - again, PLEASE READ TAGS BEFORE CONTINUING - !!

! - ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ - !

Chapter 2: Intimacy and Exposure

--

By mid afternoon, you and Megumi are both exhausted with your full course load. You both major in biology, no emphasis right now. Megumi loves animals, so he will probably pursue something veterinary later. As for you, you’re undecided. You chose biology because it’s very general and broad, and also so you could be with Megumi more. You would never tell him that, though. You just say “idk maybe some science-y crap” and shrug it off.

You weren’t able to get lunch, so you both decide to visit a coffee shop after your last class of the day. A snack and some caffeine would help get you through for a while until you decide what you want to eat that night.

Megumi orders his usual black cold brew and muffin. The barista asks how to spell his name, and giggles? Is she flirting with him?

“That’s a cute name…” She says as she writes it down on his cup. “And for you…?” She barely glances at you.

You’re not sure how you feel in that moment. Was she flirting with Gumi? Am I jealous? Why is my heart racing?

“Oh I’ll just get an iced black tea and a banana bread please.” You try to not show your emotions while speaking. You’re not sure why you feel this way though.

You hope and pray to whoever is out there, any deity listening, that Megumi would not see you blushing and jealous.

You think you’re in the clear, he didn’t notice. He drives you home and you scroll your phone, acting like everything is normal. In reality, you’re shaking.

--

Sitting around the table, you both have your laptops and books out in front of you. It’s been a couple hours of studying, and you’re ready to take a break.

“Gumi, can we take a break and watch something? If I read the word bacteria one more time I’m going to go insane.” You tell him more than ask, already getting up out of your seat. You’re yawning, walking straight towards your bedroom, not even bothering to wait up for him. You already know he will follow.

Your room is hyperfeminine, plushies everywhere, cute shit everywhere. But you also have a mix of other stuff, like your consoles and gaming setup (that Megumi helped you get), a bass guitar that you’ve barely touched, piles of books you haven’t sorted yet.

You turn the tv on, hopping onto your bed. Megumi follows and lies next to you. You’re already aware of his presence and he isn’t even touching you.

“What do you wanna watch, Gumi?” You ask as you scroll through different apps.

“Whatever you want, you have better taste in movies and shows.” He doesn’t really care, he just savors the opportunity to be close to you. He lies behind you, almost touching but not quite. He’s close enough to feel the tickle of your hair. He feels weird thinking that your hair smells nice.

You choose some random comedy show, not caring to pay any attention. You just wanted a chance to rest and turn your brain off for a while.

Megumi moves a little close, resting his hand on the side of your abdomen. This isn’t the first time you’ve been close to Megumi, you both used to cuddle under the same blanket on cold nights or huddle under one when playing games as kids. But for some reason, now it feels different. Maybe it’s because you’re hyperaware? It has to be that, right?

Your heart beats faster, your skin feeling warm to the touch with every movement he makes. Does he notice? Is he aware of these things too? Am I overthinking things?

An hour passes by, but it feels like an eternity. You’re so hyperaware that every second feels like 20 minutes have passed. He hasn’t done more than gently caress the side of your body. He doesn’t seem to be making any advances. So why is this so painful to endure? Why does a simple touch make your body feel hot, with something pooling in between your legs?

Megumi is aware. You think he isn’t, but he can tell. Your breathing is irregular, your pulse is uneven, your skin is hot. He notices, and it drives him insane. But he’s respectful, he wouldn’t try anything. You are basically siblings with how long you’ve known eachother and lived together.

It’s getting hard to breathe. Even the lightest touch sends jolts through your body. You turn around to meet his gaze, with a look he’s never seen before. Your face is red, you’re struggling to breathe, while looking into his eyes like you know his secret. He’s flushing too, starting to sweat, feeling heat spread through his body. Your eyes are intoxicating to Megumi.

He looks at your eyes, then your panting lips, and back to your eyes again. He’s thinking of everything he wants to do to you, he doesn’t care if it’s wrong.

He touches your cheek, caressing you gently. Your breath hitches as he’s so close to you. He runs his fingers down your neck, before he pushes you to your back. It’s not forceful by any means, but mostly surprising.

He’s on top of you, pinning your arms to your pink bedsheets as he leans down towards you.

“Y/N…” he breathlessly speaks, “tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

You definitely do not want it to stop. You’re staring up at him with your doe eyes, unable to control your breathing. He leans in closer, his face not even an inch away from yours.

His lips crash into yours. You’re surprised, you didn’t think he would be so intense, and this good at kissing. He’s biting your lip, trying to elicit little yelps and mewls from you. He’s kissing you so roughly, forcing his tongue inside your mouth. Megumi is still on top of you, pressing his body against yours.

You can feel his heartbeat, his hot skin, his bulge against your body. You don’t know why, but you lift your hips and legs up a bit to angle yourself better against his body. Feeling him so close, pressing into you was making you feel almost drunk.

He releases one of his hands from pinning yours so he can caress your cheek a bit more. His hand travels down your neck again, moving towards your chest, before eventually resting at the bottom hem of your shirt.

He’s giving you sloppy kisses, before he momentarily stops to ask you a question. “Y/N, can I?” he asks while gentle tugging on your shirt.

You giggle. He’s too damn cute. You nod your head yes and he releases your other hand.

You pull your shirt above your head, leaving your bralette on.

He looks down at your flushed frame, no longer hidden behind some random band t-shirt. The moment you take your shirt off, he’s harder than ever before. You feel him poking into you a bit.

He kisses you with more passion this time, grinding his bulge into your clothed cunt. He’s grunting and making little moans in between kisses.

He lifts his head a bit to look at you and moves his hand over your bralette. He admires the intricate lace detail, thinking it suits you perfectly. He licks his lips. You know he wants to desperately feel what’s under, but you decide to tease him a bit.

You wrap your legs around his waist, forcing your bodies to be even closer. He grunts a bit, looking at you. You smirk and pull his head back down to make out with you.

You’re grinding against him with fervor, unrelenting and unforgiving. The feeling of him rubbing against you is oh so good, and extremely hot.

He moves his hand towards the waistband of your shorts. “May I, Y/N?” You think it’s sweet that he asked. You decide to reward him a bit.

You roll him over and push him against the mattress. You quickly get up and pull your shorts off, leaving your panties on. You take your bralette off. He’s watching you like a starved dog, savoring every second of this.

You pull his sweatpants off, leaving only his boxers on. He’s looking at you, with wide eyes, excited and surprised.

You straddle his waist, sitting on top of him. You grind against him, eliciting sounds of pleasure from his lips. You lean towards him, giving him a quick kiss on the lips, before leaving a trail down his neck. You suck on his skin, giving him small and faint lovebites. He looks so cute.

You have a suddenly devious idea. “Megumi, can I try something?”

He instantly nods yes; he wants you to do anything and everything with him.

“Lay down then, please. I want to try something I saw online once….” You say as you move towards his head. You’re hovering above him now. He’s directly at eyelevel with your clothed pussy, and he feels his boxers get tighter the closer you get.

“Let me know if you need me to stop, please <3.” You hum as you pull your panties aside and lower yourself onto his face.

He can feel your drenched cunt against his mouth and instinctually starts getting at it. Licking and sucking like it was his last supper. Megumi couldn’t really breathe, but he didn’t care. He could die right now and have no regrets. He would die a happy man.

You moan as he’s sucking and flicking between your folds. The noises you make drive him even more insane, he thinks he could cum right then with how much of a turn on it is.

You lift yourself up, giving him a moment to catch his breath as you look down at him. He’s staring up at you with the eyes of an animal.

You sit back down, and he continues once more. Sucking on your clit, savoring the taste of your essence, and basically fucking the air. He’s straining against his boxers now, desperate for any touch or release.

You have another idea. You lift yourself back up and turn around, your cunt still in front of his face. You lean down towards his straining cock. You push your cunt back down on his face, and like a good boy, he continues again.

“Fuck Megumi…” You whimper out as you push against his tongue. You move your hand over his boxers, palming his cock. You notice he’s quite big and you’re a little scared.

You release his cock from his underwear and it springs up. Megumi grunts under your touch. You stroke his cock a bit, slowly. That’s not your objective however.

You lift up once more as you move to spit on top of his cock. Megumi moans again, feeling the sensation of your spit covering the head of his cock.

You sloppily kiss the tip, earning a moan and a few curses from Megumi. “Fuck… Y/N.”

You move forward to suck the tip, before letting it come out with an audible pop sound. “You have hands too, Megumi…”

Your pussy is still in front of him, and he gently moves his hand to brush over your clit, circling it. You moan as you take him back into your mouth again. You’re desperately hoping this feels good, it’s your first time doing any of it.

Megumi pushes his index finger in, noticing how wet and tight your cunt already is. He’s salivating at the thought of when he can fuck your tight hole, but he’s content with just learning your body for now. Everytime he pumps his finger in and out, he hears your sweet, angelic voice.

The way you respond to his touch is music to your ears. Your mewls and whimpers drive him crazy enough already.

You take his cock back in your mouth, trying to push more in as he fucks you with his finger. He adds another of his slender fingers inside, feeling how he’s stretching you already. You moan around his cock, and this turns Megumi on more.

He moves to push you against the bed again, pushing your body down gently. He never breaks contact with your cunt, as he starts to fingerfuck you even harder. He’s watching you squirm and moan under his touch, and he can’t get enough of it.

“Megumi… Aah!!��� His touch is relentless. He wants to hear every sound you can possibly make. He finger fucks you harder, feelings your walls clamp around his fingers. He uses his other hand to rub circles around your clit. You’re nearing your climax, and he’s eager to see all of it.

You’re drunk in the pleasure that is Megumi’s skilled fingers. He brings you to the edge, watching as pleasure washes over your entire body. He pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, wanting to savor your juices all while never breaking eye contact with you.

Your chest is heaving, but you want to make this man feel good too. You roll over and crawl across the bed towards him. He sits atop the bed once more, spreading his legs open and smirking.

The way you’re crawling towards him is incredibly hot. He knows what you’re about to do.

You make your way to his cock, spitting on it once more and stroking it a bit. You know you can’t fit all of this beast, but you want to try your hardest.

You look up at him as you take his cock into your mouth. You make it about halfway before you feel at your limit.

“Y/N, you’re taking me so well. You’re such a good girl,” he praises you as you drool over his cock. He gently grabs your hair, not tugging but mostly just applying pressure.

Your pussy drips again at the praise as you continue to go up and down. You’re finding a rhythm to breathe and still go at a decent pace. Using your hands also helps, and whenever you fondle his balls, Megumi’s eyes roll back into his head a bit.

“Y/N.. I’m close..” He says as he bucks his hips against your mouth. “Please.. don’t stop..”

You suck harder and moan against his cock. You don’t particularly like the idea of cum in your mouth, but for Megumi, you would do it.

He covers the back of your throat with his cum, and groans as you empty his balls like an expert. “Y/N… fuck…”

You pull back up, trying to not show how displeased you are with the taste of cum.

“That was… fuck…” He lets out an exhausted sigh. “Fucking… amazing…”

You’re laying down together again, not even caring to get dressed again. The studying can wait for later, for now you want to relish this moment.

You’re not sure what this means between you two, but you’re still happy that it happened. You yawn as he snuggles around you as the big spoon, surrounding by the same fuzzy blanket and cute plushies.

He thinks it’s so cute how tired you get after that. He lays there as you fall asleep before him, memorizing and tracing every detail of your body.

Toji comes home not long after Megumi finally passes out. He doesn’t see food on the table, and goes to check your room. He sees you and Megumi, asleep under your fuzzy pink comforter.

--

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[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets [29] - Hemlock

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Every artist has a different idea of inspiration.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, angst.

Word Count: 3400

Series Masterlist

Well, this had to be the infamous heartbreak all those artists and writers never shut up about.

And as far as you could tell, you hated it.

It was as if sadness had taken all the energy out of your body for the last couple of days. You hadn’t really seen Benedict since that fight at the breakfast, he had spent all his time either outside or in his studio and you had spent your time in your room or the library, mostly sulking.

“My lady?”

You opened your eyes and sat up in the bed as your maid walked inside. It was afternoon, you had taken your breakfast in your room and had curled up on the bed again with a book in your hand that you had no idea what was about.

“Yeah?” you croaked out and Paula offered you an apologetic smile before showing you the envelope she was holding, making your heart drop to your stomach.

“Who’s that from?” you asked, your voice shaky with fear and she checked the name.

“Lady Margery Sutton?”

The relief that filled your system was so sudden that it made your head spin before it was quickly replaced by confusion.

“For me?”

“Yes ma’am.”

You held out your hand so that she could give you the envelope, and you opened it to scan the lines.

“A dinner party tonight?” you muttered, trying to remember whether you had ever given a promise like that but you couldn’t quite figure it out. You frowned slightly and lowered the invitation, then looked up at her.

“Is Benedict home?”

“Yes ma’am, at his studio.”

You nibbled on your lip and thought for a moment, then pushed yourself off the bed and grabbed your dressing gown. You put it on and threw your shoulders back, then left your room to make your way down the hallway. Your heartbeat was so fast that you had to take a deep breath and scold yourself in your head before you reached the open door of his studio. For a second, you just let yourself take in his handsome form while he worked on the canvas, your heart clenching in your chest and you swallowed thickly, then knocked on the doorframe before you could change your mind.

His head whirled around immediately and a painful light flashed in his blue gaze as soon as his eyes fell on you, but it lasted less than a second before he pulled himself together.

“Yes?”

You blinked a couple of times and forced yourself to snap out of it, then held up the invitation in your hand.

“I didn’t mean to disturb,” you said drily. “But Margery sent a letter about a dinner party tonight and apparently we’re attending?”

He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath, running a hand over his face.

“I told her we would, before…” he trailed off and you raised your brows.

Oh.

The night of the party.

“Right,” you said. “Okay.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“It’d be rude,” you replied with a shrug of your shoulders. “It’s alright. At 8 she says?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

A silence fell upon the room and you licked your lips, then took a deep breath.

“Then should we—”

“We don’t really need to talk to each other,” he said calmly and your head shot up, that bitter taste appearing in your throat again before you nodded your head.

“Sure,” you said, your tone completely stoic. “Agreed. I was just going to ask whether we should still act all…you know. When we’re with other people.”

“Lovesick?” he suggested and you shrugged your shoulders again.

“Whatever it is.”

He scoffed a stiff chuckle.

“I don’t think it’s worth the effort at this point,” he said. “I mean I don’t really care what anyone else thinks, and I already know how you feel, so…The rest doesn’t matter anyway.”

You could feel the burning at the back of your eyes before you blinked fast a couple of times to stop the tears before they could reach your eyes.

“Uh huh,” you ended up saying, folding the paper just so that you could do something with your hands. “Yeah.”

“Did you want to?”

“No,” you said almost too fast. “No, it’s a relief to hear that we won’t do that anymore actually.”

A bitter smile curled his lips.

“I’m sure it is,” he rasped out and you cleared your throat, biting at your tongue to focus on anything other than that pang in your chest.

“Great,” you managed to say. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Alright,” he said, his gaze still on you. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” you muttered more to yourself before you turned around and walked away, your eyes still burning. You entered your room, scrunching up the invitation in your hand and Paula turned to you.

“Shall I pick a dress for tonight then?”

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, then smiled at her.

“That sounds good,” you rasped out. “Thank you.”

                                                *

The carriage ride to Lady Margery’s house was very quiet, but tense. Unlike the other times, this silence between you and Benedict didn’t possess any kind of peace, it just made you feel like you were about to walk on the edge of a sword throughout the night.

When you and Benedict walked in, most of the other guests were already there in the drawing room and Margery quickly made her way to you as soon as she saw you.

“Oh welcome!” she said, kissing you on the cheek before turning to smile at Benedict. “You’ve made it! Hello Benedict.”

“Hello Margery,” Benedict said, making you pull your brows together at the lack of honorifics but Margery didn’t seem to mind it at all, on the contrary it made her smile widen, making your heart skip a beat.

“We were just about to go to the dining room, almost everyone is here except Henry and Gordon,” she said. “But Lucy says they will probably be late. Anyway, Y/N you should’ve been at the party, you missed so much!”

You raised your brows and nodded.

“So I’ve heard,” you said. “Perhaps the next time.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she said airily and turned to Benedict. “And how about you, Mr. Bridgerton? It took me a day to sober up for good, I’m guessing it took you a bit longer than that?”

Dear God, you couldn’t do this, not tonight.

You turned your head and thankfully caught the sight of Felix, so you cleared your throat.

“Excuse me,” you muttered and walked away from them to Felix who gave you a bright smile.

“Y/N!” he said. “It’s been a while.”

“Mm hm, you have been quite busy with my brother-in-law,” you joked half-heartedly and he looked down with a smile, then raised his glances.

“He’s amazing.”

“You only think that because you have never seen him hungry, I suppose,” you deadpanned, taking a look at the other couple in the drawing room and Felix glanced at you, then cleared his throat.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Is everything alright?”

“What?” you asked, turning to him. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Nothing, it’s just—you’re glaring at people again.”

“I always glare at people, it’s a part of my charm.”

“Not lately—” he started but was cut off when you heard Lucy’s voice.

“Did you two have a fight?”

You looked over your shoulder, then turned to see her better. “Hello to you too, and what?”

“You and Benedict?”

“…What makes you say that?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat and she shrugged.

“You’re not near each other for once?”

“We don’t have to be in each other’s orbit all the time,” you said and Lucy and Felix exchanged glances.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Is this why you weren’t at the party?”

“Lucy…”

“What?” she asked, feigning innocence. “I’m curious by nature, you know that.”

“Everyone?” Margery called out. “Time for dinner, please follow me to the dining room.”

You, Felix and Lucy followed the only other couple to the dining room and when you entered the dining room to take your seat, Benedict pulled your chair for you. You offered him a small smile, then took your seat and he sat down next to you while the others took their seats.

As the footmen began to serve the soup, one of the guests –you recognized him as one of Benedict’s friends, Lord Thomas Bousfield– turned to Lucy.

“So when exactly can we expect the next party?”

“When I sober up for good,” Lucy replied with a laugh and Margery tilted her head.

“I know how you feel,” she said. “I might throw the next party Lord Bousfield, but only if you promise you will be a part of the art room.”

Oh, she could remember the honorifics just fine when it was other people then.

Lord Bousfield held up his hands. “No promises.”

“Oh come on!”

“You have your promising artist there,” Lord Bousfield motioned at Benedict. “Tell him instead of me.”

“I will make him, no worries,” Lucy said. “Or I’ll ask Henry to.”

“There is no need to make him, his inspiration sits right beside him,” Felix said and you and Benedict exchanged glances but before either of you could say anything, Henry entered the dining room.

“Our biggest apologies!” he said and went to kiss Margery’s hand as another man entered the room after him.

Ah, this had to be the infamous Lord Gordon Easton, Benedict’s hero in art.

He was older than Henry, judging by the grays in his hair and neatly trimmed beard, and handsome by anyone’s standards. He had an air of calm charisma that seemed to surround him and even you could tell he was aware of it, which made you think it probably came from the endless admiration of everyone around him.

An artist indeed.

His eyes fell on you and he raised his brows as if he was quite impressed, then he smiled at Benedict and made his way to Margery to kiss her hand as well.

“My lady,” he greeted her and Margery narrowed her eyes playfully.

“At last the guests of honor are here,” she said and motioned between them. “Which one of you should I blame then?”

“Me,” Henry said as he took his seat beside Lucy. “As much as I hate to admit, it was on me this time.”

“At least you’re honest,” Margery said with a chuckle and Lord Easton sat down as well.

“What did we miss?”

“Inspiration,” Lucy said and Henry grinned.

“Oh that’s impossible to miss, it’s everywhere.”

“Is it though?”

“It’s a cruel mistress,” Lord Easton said, “A fickle one too.”

“Hear hear,” the lady sitting beside Thomas said and he chuckled.

“As if inspiration is ever cruel to you Jane.”

“It has its moments,” she said with a smile while you sipped your drink. “And Felix?”

“I have no issues with inspiration, it’s my canvas that is cruel to me.”

“You will get there,” Lucy assured him. “It just takes time.”

“And patience,” Henry added. “Which is something you must learn, Felix.”

“I’m trying.”

“How about you Ben?” Lord Easton asked, “What does our promising young artist think?”

Benedict snapped out of his thoughts and cleared his throat.

“About what?” he asked and Margery let out a laugh.

“Are you alright Benedict?”

“Sure,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “Zoned out for a moment. What are we talking about?”

“How hard it can be to capture the inspiration,” Henry said. “Do you think the same?”

Benedict shrugged his shoulders.

“Sort of,” he said. “I mean it is rather difficult to get inspiration when my life is perfect, so I just create issues for myself and make huge life decisions just to capture it, nothing more.”

You raised your brows, an irritated chuckle spilling from your lips as you dragged your tongue over your teeth, swirling the wine in your glass.

“Y/N disagrees,” Margery teased and you shook your head.

“Not at all,” you said before turning to see Benedict better. “A rather interesting idea, how did you come up with it?”

“I’ve had a good teacher,” Benedict stated, his blue gaze locking in yours and you could swear you could hear the crackles of lightning between you, tension almost palpable.

“Sounds like a brutally honest one,” you pointed out and Benedict tilted his head.

“Brutal yes, but honest?” he asked. “Debatable.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t think honesty is up for debate, you are either honest or not.”

“Is everything alright between you two?” Henry asked while Lucy shook her head, and both you and Benedict turned to him.

“Sure.”

“Of course,” you said at the same time and you sipped your drink, ignoring the curiosity etched in Lord Easton’s face.

“Well then,” Margery raised her glass slightly. “To inspiration. May it be gentle with all the artists but especially the ones at this table.”

                                                *

After the dinner, you excused yourself to get some fresh air in the garden while Margery took everyone else to the art gallery at the first floor so that they could see the newest paintings she purchased from all over the world. The cool air on your face did nothing to soothe the slight headache making its way to your temples and you sat down in the gazebo, then leaned your head back, stealing a look at the flowers around you.

Of course Margery’s garden looked perfect.

Of course.

You heaved a sigh and leaned your head back, the moonlight falling on you. You fixed your gaze on the starry sky before you followed the familiar shape with your eyes, a scoff escaping from your lips.

Andromeda.

The footsteps coming closer made you turn your gaze back to the garden and you raised your brows as you saw the figure.

“Lord Easton.”

He offered you a small smile and bowed his head.

“Mrs. Bridgerton,” he greeted you back. “Benedict’s infamous beauty.”  

You arched a brow.

“I’m not anyone’s anything,” you corrected him and he nodded.

“My apologies,” he said. “May I join you, Mrs. Bridgerton?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

“It’s not every day I’m in the presence of a muse.”

“You’re still not.”

“Oh I disagree,” he said. “I’ve met many people who want to be artists and I’ve also met many people who they saw as their muse, but you two? A promising artist with actual talent and a muse with intriguing beauty? That’s rarer than you’d think. Once in a blue moon, as one would say.”

If it were anyone else you would have thought he was just throwing you compliments, but somehow you knew he was not. Perhaps because of his matter-of-fact tone, perhaps because you knew he was widely successful and famous therefore he had no need for compliments to gain someone’s interest, but you just knew he was not interested in you in a traditional manner, in an affair or not.

There was intrigue in his eyes rather than desire.

He took out a cigarette to light it, and offered one to you but you shook your head.

“No thank you.”

“Of course,” he said and huffed out the smoke. “So how did he break your heart?”

Your head snapped up and you blinked a couple of times. “Pardon?”

“One cannot be an artist without observation as their second nature,” he said. “And observation is a part of inspiration as many artists throughout the history agree. So? How did he break your heart?”

Your jaw clenched, yet you kept your gaze on him in complete silence.

“I would ask how you broke his heart,” he said. “But I don’t think I will get an answer to that question.”

“And you think you will get an answer to the other one?” you asked back and he chuckled.

“Perhaps,” he said. “So how did he?”

You watched him in silence for a couple of seconds, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Lord Easton—”

“Gordon, please,” he told you, waving a hand in the air and you clicked your tongue.

“I’m not planning on getting that familiar with you,” you pointed out. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No?”

“Not at all.”

“No heartbreak?”

“Impossible,” you stated. “I don’t have a heart.”

“Ah,” he said, then nodded. “I see.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” you said and he took a drag of his cigarette.

“Call it experience.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a hedonist?” you asked. “I remember Margery saying something along those lines.”

“I am,” he said. “But I’ve had my fair share of wounds of heart.”

You let out a small laugh. “Is that not an occupational hazard in your line of work?”

An amused smile curled his lips and he nodded.

“It is,” he said. “As it happens, it’s also an occupational hazard in Benedict’s line of work.”

That was enough to make any trace of a smile disappear from your face and you crossed your arms.

“Sounds like you should be talking to Benedict, not me,” you said. “You’re both artists after all.”

He paused for a moment.

“You know he will be a big name in the art world right?”

You nodded your head. “I’m heartless, not blind.”

He snorted a laugh. “I doubt you’re heartless, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

“Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Because there’s a fire behind your eyes,” he said. “That you share with him. That one doesn’t come alive unless your heart is involved. Trust me, it takes a special kind of pain to lure it out.”

“And the cure?”

“The poison is the antidote.”

“Love?” you spat. “I’d rather not take the antidote then.”

He heaved a sigh.

“Judging by what I’ve seen just now at dinner?” he said. “I’d say it’s already in your system.”

You licked your lips, then shook your head.

“Nah,” you said. “It’s a trick.”

“Love?”

“Yeah, it’s yet another luxury only artists can afford to dwell on,” you pointed out. “Nothing more. It’s not my—it’s not my issue.”

“No?”

You shrugged your shoulders, your throat getting tighter.

“I never asked Benedict to love me,” you said as if daring him to disagree and he raised his brows.

“I see,” he said. “Did he ask you to love him then?”

You pulled back, swallowing thickly and he offered you a small smile, then stubbed his cigarette.

“Let me give you a secret, Mrs. Bridgerton,” he said. “One that no one around you ever told you. You two would have led much easier lives if you married other people.”

You pulled your brows together.

“What?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Odds are, you and he would have had a normal life, a couple of kids along the way and a tolerable companionship at best with others if you hadn’t met each other. Granted something was always going to be missing, but most people learn to look the other way whenever that realization dawns on them. But… dear God, you two married each other.”

You stared at him and he shook his head slightly.

“It is understandable why you’re fighting tooth and nail,” he said. “This kind of love is something else, and of course it terrifies you. The person who holds the key to your true happiness is the same person who can give you the worst pain you could ever imagine.”

You tried to ignore how badly your eyes were burning.

“And that’s what all artists crave?” you asked. “I thought it was supposed to be soft and pleasant.”

He shot you a knowing smile.

“Show me one artist who claimed love is soft and pleasant.”

You frowned at him in silence, trying to wrap your head around what he said.

“You still think the storm and the shelter are separate things here,” he said and stood up. “They’re not. Benedict knows it, and that’s why it will be much easier for him than it will be for you.”

You blinked back the tears as he bowed his head slightly.

“Good luck, Mrs. Bridgerton,” he said. “Muse or not, I’d say you’re going to need it.”

With that, he walked away from you, leaving you there alone. You clenched your teeth and blinked back the tears, then let out a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” you muttered. “I’m going to need it for sure.”

Chapter 30

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - V

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 7.2k.

Reading Time: 29 min.

Warnings: brief mentions of the past trauma the angel went through, including the harrassment and torture, but other than that this chapter is pretty chill.

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @dolceterzo @whitepawfics

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

The Sister’s voice echoed through the room, laced with anger and accusation as she confronted the Cardinal about his inexplicable actions. “Why would you drain her when you knew we were going to perform the second ritual the next day?” Her words dripped with venom, each syllable heavy with indignation and fury.

You listened intently, your confusion deepening with each passing moment. The revelation only served to deepen the mystery surrounding the Cardinal’s betrayal, leaving you grappling for answers in the midst of the chaos unfolding in the next room, both of them oblivious to your consciousness and your eavesdropping. Why would he sabotage their plans at such a critical juncture? What could possibly drive him to act against his own interests in such a shocking manner?

“The second ritual didn’t fall on the right day, and you know it,” the Cardinal retorted, his voice tinged with frustration and defiance. Despite his anger, he made a planned effort to rein in his emotions, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure in the face of the Sister’s accusations. “Turning her into a demon won’t solve our problems.”

His words hung in the air, a sobering reminder of the gravity of their situation. The Cardinal’s admission hinted at deeper complexities beneath the surface, implying that their plans had encountered unexpected challenges and complications. It was a rare display of vulnerability from the normally stoic and resolute Cardinal, revealing the inner turmoil and conflict that plagued him.

“Oh,” she said with realization, her voice laced with a mixture of understanding and accusation. “I see what this is. You wanted to keep your little blood bank.”

Her remarks sliced through the tension like a knife, exposing the Cardinal’s hidden motives and the real reason of his actions. It was a damning revelation, a stark reminder of the Cardinal’s selfishness and lack of regard for the consequences of his decisions. In her assertion, the Sister captured the core of their unstable relationship, emphasising the power dynamics at work as well as the simmering problems beneath the surface.

The Cardinal’s response was measured yet weighted with underlying stress, his tone betraying a hint of defensiveness mingled with a touch of resignation. “It’s not about that, Sister,” he replied, his words carrying the weight of truth and conviction. “We both know the risks involved in the second ritual. We can’t afford to gamble with her life.”

“We need to control her!” The Sister exclaimed.

“And we will, I just need more time.”

“We’re running out of it, Copia! Our window of opportunity is closing, and if we don’t act soon, we risk losing everything we’ve worked for for the Dark One!” The Sister’s voice crackled with urgency, her words echoing the gravity of their situation.

“He doesn’t need another angel, He’s received plenty over the years.”

“No, but he needs information!” Something smashed in the other room which caused you to jump in surprise. “How many times must I remind you that Lord Lucifer gave us eternal life to do His bidding and give Him an advantage for the centuries to come? We are indebted to Him, and we could lose our lives because of your idiocy!”

The Cardinal protested, “He wouldn’t do that. He’s not Yhwh.”

There was a noticeable tension in the room as the Sister and the Cardinal argued angrily, both standing up for their own fears and motivations. You listened closely, your pulse thumping in your chest as you realised the magnitude of the situation. They were playing a dangerous game that may have serious ramifications for both you and them.

As the dispute progressed, you couldn’t help but feel a sensation of unease sweep over you. You were caught in the centre of their power battle, a pawn in their ultimate plan to serve Satan. But deep down, you knew you were more than just a tool to be used for their benefit. You were an angel with individual thoughts, feelings, and wants. And even though the Cardinal was in there defending what you believed to be your honour, he still seemed to forget that.

“You have until the next full moon, Cardinal!” The Sister shouted, her voice getting quieter. “If you’ve not gained control over her then, we’re doing things my way.”

The Cardinal huffed, and in a high-pitched, mocking tone, he repeated, “If you’ve not gained control of her then, we’re doing things my way.” This sentence was punctuated by a string of expletives in his native tongue, no doubt cussing her out angrily for the outcome of the argument. He continued to mumble to himself as he moved about the living room, no doubt beginning to clean what had broken.

You were unsure whether to move, or to stay where you were. As of now, you were on his bed, lavishing in the comfort and enjoying some freedom - if you were to leave, he might put you back in your cage. And so, you stayed put, your mind swirling with thoughts and emotions. The weight of the Cardinal and the Sister’s ultimatum hung heavy in the air, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a precarious situation. You even went as far to close your eyes as though you were still sleeping when the Cardinal came back into the room, gently closing the door so as not to disturb you. You felt the bed dip where he sat on it beside you, and though you couldn’t see them, you knew his eyes were on you, trained on your face and burning into your mind as if he were trying to read it.

You remained still, feigning sleep as the Cardinal’s presence loomed over you. Every fiber of your being was on high alert, your senses attuned to the slightest movement or sound. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent battle of wills unfolding between you and the Cardinal.

You could feel his gaze boring into you, probing for any sign of wakefulness or vulnerability. Despite your best efforts to maintain the facade of slumber, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that washed over you in his presence.

Minutes passed like hours as you lay there, locked in a silent standoff with the Cardinal. Each passing moment only served to heighten your apprehension, amplifying the sense of confinement and helplessness that enveloped you like a suffocating shroud.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you sensed the Cardinal’s presence recede. The bed shifted as he rose from his seat, his footsteps fading into the distance as he left the room.

Alone once more, you allowed yourself a moment of respite, exhaling a sigh of relief as the tension slowly dissipated. But even as you closed your eyes and attempted to find solace in the darkness, the weight of the Cardinal’s gaze lingered in your mind, and the memory of the Cardinal’s touch lingered like a ghostly imprint on your skin, haunting you even in his absence. Each sensation, from the prick of the needles to the gentle strokes of his hands, replayed in your mind with vivid clarity.

There was something about his gaze when you were at his feet, and the gentility of his touches as of late, that had you deeply questioning both the Cardinal’s intentions, and your own resolve. How this strange attention from him was awakening you in a way you never thought was possible. And though you tried to drive away the sin, you still couldn’t forget how your body responded under his scrutiny. You shuddered involuntarily as the phantom sensations danced across your flesh, a chilling reminder of the violation you had endured at his hands. Despite your best efforts to push the memories aside, they clung to you like a stubborn shadow, refusing to be banished from your thoughts.

You didn’t know how long you were out for this time, but when you woke up you felt almost entirely healed… and you were still on the Cardinal’s bed. You felt a fresh surge of energy entering your veins as you awoke from your sleep. The old aching that had tormented your body appeared to have vanished, replaced by a renewed life that left you feeling almost perky.

With cautious optimism, you forced yourself out of bed, appreciating the lack of agony that had plagued you for so long. As you climbed to your feet, you couldn’t help but wonder at the sense of liberation that swept over you, like a bird freed from its cage after a long imprisonment.

Stepping out of the Cardinal’s bedchamber, you entered the living room with anxiety, unsure of what lay beyond the doorway. The space was bathed in a warm glow of flickering candles, which created dancing shadows against the walls and gave the place a peaceful atmosphere.

Your attention was pulled to the figure sitting on the love seat, bathed in warm amber light that streamed through the room. The Cardinal was dressed in pyjamas and a robe, his usual powerful demeanour minimised by the informal garments and a tousled appearance indicating a recent bout of sleep.

He sat with a book in hand, the pages lit by the warm glow of the candles, his gaze seemingly immersed in the words on the page. His features were relaxed, with a tiny furrow of concentration on his brow as he read deeper into the text.

As you arrived, the Cardinal looked up from his reading, his mismatched eyes meeting yours with a flash of surprise before a faint smile formed on his lips. “Come here,” he ordered, returning his eyes back to the pages of his book. His voice was deep and gravelly, like it was the first time it was used that night.

For some reason, your body responded and did as you were told without the need for the halo, and you found yourself once again at the feet of the Cardinal, on your knees at his request. He moved his book and patted his thigh, inviting you to rest your head there, which you obliged, draping your upper body over him and pushing your cheek into the warmth of his robe. His hand found its way to your hair, and he gently stroked it, like a human would with their dog who was asking for attention.

Despite the internal turmoil that churned within you, there was an undeniable sense of warmth and comfort that enveloped you as you nestled against the Cardinal’s side. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers threading through your hair with a tenderness that belied the darkness that lurked beneath the surface.

As you rested your head upon his thigh, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of security wash over you, like a weary traveller finding refuge in the shelter of a friendly inn after a long and arduous journey. The rhythmic motion of his hand stroking your hair was oddly soothing, lulling you into a state of peaceful resignation despite the turmoil that raged within your heart.

In that moment, as you lay entwined with the Cardinal, you couldn’t deny the conflicting emotions that warred within you. There was a part of you that recoiled at the thought of finding solace in the arms of your captor, a deep-seated instinct that screamed for you to break free from his grasp and reclaim your autonomy.

And yet, there was another part of you that yearned for the comfort and reassurance that his presence offered, a primal longing for companionship and connection in a world that seemed so cold and unforgiving. It was a paradoxical dance of desire and revulsion, a tangled web of conflicting emotions that left you feeling simultaneously adrift and anchored in the Cardinal’s embrace.

But as you lay there, enveloped in the warmth of his robe and the gentle caress of his hand, you couldn’t help but surrender to the moment, if only for a fleeting instant. For in the midst of chaos and uncertainty, there was a fleeting sense of peace to be found in the arms of the one who held you captive, a fragile sanctuary amidst the storm that raged within your soul.

“You’ve been asleep for ten days, Angel,” he commented absentmindedly. Double the time of your last recovery. No wonder you felt rejuvenated.

““I am disheartened to see thou hast not yet choked on my blood, Cardinal.” You told him, your voice more teasing than resentful.

The Cardinal heard this and chuckled, “I held on until you woke up, so you could watch it happen yourself.”

You tittered, “Now that I am alert, there is naught preventing me from enacting it myself.”

“You can try,” the Cardinal challenged.

“I shall indeed. However, it would happen when thou least expect it.” You sat up and looked at him. “I would mend more swiftly if thou did return to me my halo, even if it were but for a brief span.”

“Out of the question,” the Cardinal said moving his hand from your hair to your cheek.

“I shall perish if I do not retrieve it anon.”

“You’ll be grateful you’re not going back in your cage. Keep this up, and you’ll be back in there.”

You hesitated but still decided to ask, “Why didst thou set me free?”

“Don’t ask me questions I don’t want to answer.”

“How shall I discern to refrain from posing such queries if I am unaware of thy reluctance to provide answers?”

The Cardinal chuckled, “By the look on my face.”

“But if thy countenance be ever thus, then I shall never discern the difference.”

“You better not be calling me ugly.”

You giggled, “Not ugly, Cardinal. Yet I envision it proved troublesome for thy mother to tender affection towards thee.”

He slapped your cheek for your impertinence, not hard at all, in fact it was more like a tap. “Do you want to go back in your cage?”

You shook your head and draped yourself back over him as he wanted you to do in the first place. “I am exceeding content in this place, I thank thee.”

The Cardinal laughed. “I thought as much.”

You didn’t go back in your cage that night, or the night after. In fact, the Cardinal didn’t expect you to go in your cage at all except if and when the Sister would come and visit unannounced. But it was made very clear to you that the door would be locked at all times, and there would be at least two ghouls standing guard outside.

The days stretched into weeks, and still, you remained free from the confines of your cage. It was a strange and unsettling shift in dynamics, one that left you feeling both grateful for the newfound freedom and wary of the Cardinal’s intentions.

Without the familiar bars of your cage to contain you, you found yourself wandering the Cardinal’s chambers with a sense of cautious curiosity, exploring every nook and cranny as if searching for hidden answers amidst the shadows that lurked within the room.

In the Cardinal’s apartment, you uncovered a plethora of objects and trinkets that provided insight into his mysterious personality and the depths of his depravity. Ancient tomes and grimoires were scattered across the room, containing occult rites, incantations, and forbidden information. These books, bound in leather and covered with intricate sigils, contained intriguing symbols and metaphysical teachings that alluded to the Cardinal’s fascination with the occult.

You found an assortment of foreboding artifacts filled with dark power and nefarious purpose, hidden away in shadowy nooks and secluded alcoves. From ceremonial daggers and ritualistic equipment to elegant talismans and cursed relics, every piece exuded a malevolent aura that sent shivers down your spine.

Subtle sigils and symbols of unknown provenance were woven into the fabric of draperies and tapestries, and etched into the walls. These mysterious marks pulsed with ghastly energy, their meanings hidden by layers of mysticism and old legends.

Locked chests and coffers littered the room, concealing untold treasures and forbidden secrets. These perplexing containers were ornamented with sophisticated locks and enchantments, their contents shrouded in ambiguity, and protected by powerful wards and incantations.

As you began to examine the Cardinal’s chambers, your keen eyes noticed a little, intricately carved wooden box nestled away on a shelf in the corner of the room. Unlike the other artifacts in the room, this box appeared to exude a sense of hidden charm rather than obvious malevolence.

Intrigued, you approached the shelf and cautiously raised the box’s lid to see its contents. A collection of exquisite treasures and keepsakes were snuggled inside, surrounded by layers of smooth velvet lining.

A little bundle of velvety, mousey-colored hair, comparable to the Cardinal’s sat inside the box, held together with a beautiful, black ribbon. Despite its unassuming appearance, this keepsake exuded solemnity and veneration.

A beautifully drawn miniature portrait of a solemn-faced woman with piercing eyes and a soft, yet forced smile sat underneath the hair. The craftsmanship was exceptional, catching every detail with astonishing precision. After careful examination, you recognised it was a younger image of the Sister.

A little sachet containing fragrant herbs and spices released a delicate yet seductive perfume of lavender and rosemary into the air. Its purpose and significance remained unknown, adding to the collection’s uniqueness.

And an old pocket watch, its numerous gears and mechanisms glimmering softly in the chamber’s faint lighting. Despite its antiquity, the watch appeared to be properly kept, indicating that it held sentimental worth for the Cardinal.

Some of the books around the place, you’d come to learn only hours after being left alone and free for the first time, were novels rather than entirely non-fictional, educational works. Novels from romances, to horrors, to contemporary works and classical, you found them all among his private collection. And that was how he found you when he came home that evening, curled up on his love seat with a book in your hands and your nose buried deep into it.

“Having fun?” He asked, removing his hat and placing it on the dresser in front of the door.

You didn’t hear him at first, too occupied with the world in front of you to realise he had even returned home. When he repeated himself, you finally acknowledged his presence. “It is wondrous what you mortals would engage in during thy leisure hours.” you remarked, closing the book but trapping your finger between the pages. “Truly, this is a marvel. I find myself transported to another realm, yet anchored to this very seat!”

He smiled. “If you like that, then you should watch a movie. Or play a video game.”

“I am content with these works, I thank thee.” You replied. “Though, I must declare, it will not be long until I complete thy collection.”

“Well,” he moved your legs and sat down beside you, removing the book from your hands, “let me know when you do. I’ll get one of the ghouls to bring you up a selection from the library.”

“Hath this place a library?” Your eyes widened.

“Yeah, of course. The Vatican has one, why wouldn’t we?”

Come to think of it, it did make sense that the Satanic Ministry would have its own library filled with untold knowledge, given that was why Lucifer was expelled from Heaven in the first place. “How many of these tomes doth it possess?” You asked, curiously.

“So many questions.” He said, tapping his belly.

“Inquiries thou art disinclined to respond to?”

He nodded.

You sighed, “Then shall I remain forever ignorant.” You sat back to your original position and opened the book again, choosing to read over conversing with him.

That night, he worked at his desk by candlelight, with you at his feet, a book in your hand and head in his lap. Every now and then, he’d reach down to stroke your hair, but in the meantime, your presence was simply enough for him. Sometimes, when you were alone in the apartments, your mind would drift off to the Cardinal and his sudden change in behaviour. How his guilt at violating you was enough to change him almost completely.

As you reflected on the Cardinal’s change, a ray of hope flickered within you. His sudden concern for your well-being and sympathetic gestures, however fleeting, provided a glimmer of redemption amid the darkness of your incarceration. With each stroke of your hair and soft touch, the Cardinal appeared to silently atone for his past wrongdoings finding solace in the calm companionship you offered.

Even while you basked in the warmth of his devotion, a niggling worry lingered in the back of your mind. Could this sudden friendliness be genuine, or was it only a ruse to conceal deeper intentions? Perhaps he’d realised that getting information out of you through torturous means wasn’t getting him anywhere, and so he was trying to trick you with falsities to get what he wanted. Despite your worries, you couldn’t resist the pull of his presence, the way his touch sparked a desire within you for connection and understanding in an uncertain world.

As the light flickered and cast swirling shadows across the room, you found yourself slipping into a state of calm, nestled on the Cardinal’s lap, the weight of the book in your hand a reassuring reminder of the brief moments of tranquility you enjoyed in his presence. And at that moment, surrounded by the lovely glow of candlelight and the quiet whisper of turning pages, you allowed yourself to imagine that escape was possible if you simply bade your time and waited long enough.

As expected, you’d gotten through all of the books in his possession and found yourself craving more. It didn’t take you long to get through the entire library situated on his shelves, and you found yourself igniting with boredom. Now that you’d had the privilege of freedom (or rather, freedom adjacent), you found yourself crawling the walls itching to be released unto the mortal realm like a bird.

The Cardinal was out for a lot of the night, meaning you had nothing to entertain you, until you noticed the box large rectangular box, its glossy surface reflecting the dim light in an almost mesmerizing manner and hanging on the wall opposite the love seat. You’d spent so much time with your nose in a book, you’d hardly noticed anything else.

You took hesitant steps towards the curious object, your fingers running down its smooth exterior. You saw your own reflection in the black mirror, and pulled some faces before your fingers continued their journey across the cold box. You observed a row of buttons organised neatly on one side, each with enigmatic symbols and marks. Intrigued, you tapped one of the buttons, your mind racing with possibilities.

To your surprise, nothing happened at first. Determined, you continued to investigate the thing, prying and poking at its many parts in search of any clues as to its purpose. Your efforts were met with quiet until, finally, your fingers brushed against a small switch buried between the buttons.

With a slight click, the frame sprang to life, its surface flashing to reveal a brilliant display of colours and images. Your eyes widened in amazement, watching as it began presenting sights from faraway countries and odd faces unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

Intrigued by this novel display, you reached out to touch the images dancing across the screen, only to discover that they were just beyond your reach. You were fascinated as the scenes altered and transformed before your eyes, each one providing a glimpse into a world beyond your own.

You reached down and pressed a different button, and the image cut out, replaced by something else. A purple door came into view that was opened by a woman, so angry, her arms were flailing as she stormed into the room. “I cannot believe that you didn’t tell me that we are still married!” She exclaimed.

Following her, a man entered, equally as frustrated and more guilty. “Look I was going to tell you!” He argued back, somehow much calmer than her.

“When?! After the birth of our first secret child?!” Laughter from a crowd of people sounded through the speakers, making you turn around thinking that they were in the room with you. They weren’t. “Ross didn’t get the annulment; we are still married.”

Their friends sounded disgusted and surprised, the blonde one more so than the rest.

The man called Ross sighed, “Okay, maybe it wasn’t my best decision. But I just couldn’t face another failed marriage.”

Another man spoke up, his tone flat. “Okay, let me just jump in and ask, at what point did you think this was a successful marriage?” The people laughed again.

Ross spoke again, awkwardly laughing, “Rach, come on, if you think about it, it’s actually kinda funny.” He laughed alone in the room, but the crowd laughed again. Even though you didn’t understand entirely what was happening, the laughter made you chuckle, too. “Okay, maybe it’s best not to think about it.” More laughter.

A woman spoke this time, long blonde hair and a lilt to her voice, “Okay, this is inexcusable. I am shocked to my very core!” She sounded like she was exaggerating.

“Phoebe, I told her you already knew.”

Everyone looked at Phoebe for a moment, and she processed her next words: “Another lie. You have a sickness!” So many sins, such little time.

The other man from before spoke again, in the same jovial tone as before, “Ross, just for my own piece of mind, you’re not married to anymore of us are ya?”

The clip ended and was replaced with a yellow couch sat in a field in front of a fountain, so large, it couldn’t be hidden behind the seat. A lamp sat beside it, as though it were the one lighting the field despite its dull brightness. No, not a field… a park? There were lights behind it that resembled buildings. Text appeared on the screen, each letter separated by a different coloured dot; red, yellow, blue, red, yellow, blue.

A song began to play from the device, an enthusiastic and engaging song, with energetic guitar riffs and rhythmic percussion. As the tune filled the room, you found yourself tapping your foot to the beat, enthralled by the music’s captivating vitality. Although, when it first sounded, you startled, and screamed out your surprise.

“So no one told you life was gonna be this way,” the song sung, followed by four, sharp claps.

A joyful group of voices sang the upbeat, playful words, which almost appeared to invite you into their world. They spoke of friendship and connection, laughing and love, building a story of shared experiences and memories that struck a chord deep within you.

As the song reached its peak, the visuals on the screen began to alter once more, revealing a group of individuals gathering on the yellow couch you had previously seen. Their features were strange… new - with each one smiling as they laughed and joked together.

You sat transfixed as the image unfolded in front of you, drawn in by the warmth and excitement emanating from the television. And when the final chords of the theme song died away, you couldn’t help but feel a connection to these strangers, as if they were old friends welcoming you into their group.

“Having fun?” The Cardinal’s voice sounded behind you, causing you to jump out of your skin. You turned to face him, eyes wide and fearful, and you noticed a dark glint in his eye as though he enjoyed making you squirm.

You stuttered, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the Cardinal. “I… I was just… I found this… thing… and…”

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that sent shivers down your spine. “It’s called a television,” he explained, walking over to stand beside you. “It’s a device that plays moving pictures and sound.”

You blinked, trying to process this new information. “Moving pictures and sound?” you repeated, your curiosity piqued.

“Yes, exactly,” the Cardinal replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “It’s a form of entertainment. People watch television shows and movies on it.”

You tilted your head, still not entirely understanding. “What is… a television show?” you asked tentatively.

“It’s like a play, but recorded and shown on the screen,” he explained. “It tells a story, with characters and plots, just like the stories you read in books.”

You nodded slowly, beginning to grasp the concept. “And this…” you gestured towards the television, “is one of these… television shows?”

The Cardinal nodded, his smirk widening. “Yeah. And it seems you’ve stumbled upon one of the most popular shows.”

“What’s it called?” you asked, curiosity burning brightly in your eyes.

“It’s called Friends,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. “And trust me, you’re in for a treat.”

He sat on the seat and gestured for you to sit at his feet, and place your head in his lap like you usually did. The show continued with the two of you sitting like that, his hand in your hair and your eyes mesmerised by the show.

As the show progressed, you grew more immersed in the plot, your eyes glued to the screen as the characters moved through numerous comic scenarios. You couldn’t help but be fascinated and amazed by this new type of entertainment, which was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

You took a few glances up at the Cardinal, examining his expression as he watched the show with amusement and focus. It was unusual to see him in this light, relaxed and almost… human. For a minute, you nearly forgot about the evil underlying his facade, the control he wielded over you.

In that moment, you realised you’d become too comfortable there; his pet in his Satanic temple, and you were too happy with it. For far too long, you had allowed yourself to be lulled into a false sense of security, seeking sanctuary in the Cardinal’s rare acts of tenderness and compassion. But now, as you sat at his feet, head in his lap, you couldn’t avoid the fact any longer.

You were nothing but a pawn in his sick game, subject to his whims and ambitions. And, while you may have experienced brief moments of happiness in his presence, they were nothing more than illusions that masked the terrible reality of your situation.

With a heavy heart, you promised to break free from the ties that held you, to restore your independence, and to oppose the Cardinal’s authority over you. But you knew deep down that the journey to freedom would be difficult, and that the Cardinal would not give up his grasp on you without a fight.

As you looked up at him, a fire kindled within you, a desire to break away from his grip and make your own path forward. You may have been his pet for a while, but you refused to remain a prisoner forever.

“I have Saturday night free,” The Cardinal told you, eyes still fixed on the television, “did you want to see the library?”

His nonchalant question caught you off guard, prompting you to lift your head from his lap and stare up at him, surprised and hesitant. The possibility of visiting the library with the Cardinal was both exciting and unnerving, considering the power dynamics at work between you.

“I…I suppose,” you said cautiously, uncertain how to answer to his surprise invitation. The chance to explore the library, with its limitless volumes of knowledge and secrets, was obviously appealing, but you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of unease in the back of your mind.

The Cardinal nodded in answer, his gaze still set on the television screen, as if he were only half-listening to the exchanges. “Good,” he noted simply, before returning his focus to the show.

You couldn’t help but feel nervous about spending Saturday night alone with the Cardinal in the library. But, deep down, you were fascinated about the library’s secrets and the hidden truths it may hold. What a Satanic library would look like, and what precisely they had hidden away on their shelves.

When Saturday night rolled around, the Cardinal woke and begun getting ready for the excursion, before he turned to you. From beneath his bed, he pulled out a hefty chain. It wasn’t forged with hellfire, he told you, it was just a regular metal. But he understood that your strength wasn’t fully back to how it was when he first met you, after being without your halo for so long, so he was confident you wouldn’t break free of those chains.

You sighed and presented your wrists to him, grateful that it wasn’t going to hurt you but annoyed that you were still to be treated as a prisoner, despite that being what you were. But, he shook his head in response. “That’s not what I’m going to restrain, Angel.” He informed you, gesturing you to turn around.

He tied your wings together with that chain, making sure you couldn’t fly away. Your wrists remained unbound.

As you walked down the corridors of the Ministry, the eyes of the Satanic nuns and monks followed your every move, their gazes filled with a mixture of curiosity, suspicion, and perhaps even a hint of envy. You couldn’t fathom why they’d envy you - chained and restrained as you were paraded through the hallways like a prize. You couldn’t help but feel uneasy beneath their attention, knowing of the muttered rumours and speculation that would undoubtedly surround your appearance among them.

The Cardinal led the way, his steps confident and purposeful as he escorted you through the Ministry’s dimly illuminated corridors. You kept your attention fixed straight ahead, attempting to avoid the looks and whispers that seemed to follow you everywhere you went.

Despite the weight of the chains that bound your wings, you moved with dignity and grace, refusing to let your imprisonment shatter your spirit. You were determined to be strong, to face whatever trials lay ahead, in the hopes of one day breaking free from the chains of your imprisonment. Every now and then, you’d turn to find eight ghouls following behind you, and though you couldn’t see them, you were sure their eyes were firmly fixed on you beneath their masks.

As you entered the ancient library, the massive wooden door groaned behind you, trapping you inside the unhallowed halls of knowledge that had stood for generations. The air was dense with the perfume of worn parchment and the faint mustiness of time, a fragrance that enveloped you like a veil as you walked through the maze of high shelves.

Dim, flickering lighting produced lengthy, dancing shadows on the walls, showing the building’s solemn design that dated back millennia. The roof soared high above, covered with exquisite, time-worn frescoes that appeared to guard the numerous tomes below. The air was still, interrupted only by the occasional rustle of pages or distant echo of footfall.

The shelves, built of dark, polished wood, stretched eternally in all directions, each bearing the weight of centuries-old books and forbidden knowledge. Some volumes appeared to sag under the weight of their age, while others stood straight and proud, their leather-bound spines broken and matured.

In the dead centre of the library, atop a reversed pentagram, stood a statue of a snake made from white marble, sat upon and winding around a black, marble pedestal. The snake’s jaw was unhinged enough to comfortably hold an apple between its sharp fangs, the apple itself had been painted the most delectable shade of richly dark red, and polished as though it were a real apple, so shiny you could see yourself in it. It represented the most famous of Lucifer’s triumphs: presenting “God’s children” with the knowledge they’d need to withstand his criminal behaviour. Standing in front of the snake, you very much felt how Eve would have: curious, enraptured and tempted, and you felt your stomach churn at the celebration of such a pivotal point of their ancestral history.

The pentagram the snake lived upon was also a marvel to behold, though you hated to admit it. The pentagram itself was carved into the pentagonal shaped stage, each of the corners of the star lining up perfectly with the points of the pentagon. Each straight side leveled out the different heights of the flooring using two, wooden staircases separated by a thick ramp - the ramps themselves covered in artistic portraits of all animals associated with Him, showing goats, cats, bats, owls and crows - all animals that became associated with Satan. All incredibly intelligent animals, no wonder the Catholics feared them. In a circle surrounding the pentagram were intricately carved atropa belladonna flowers and vines, floral representation of his existence. The petals of the belladonna were subtly stained a purple hue to replicate their natural colours.

The statue made you uncomfortable, especially as the snake’s eyes seemed to follow you around the room. And so, you ducked into one of the shelves and hid from its gaze, though you could still feel its sight burning on your skin. The Cardinal laughed at your discomfort, but followed you wherever you went, his ghouls immediately in tow. You had considered making a run for it, now that you knew the size of the library. And, there was a brief moment where you were about to enact your spontaneous plan. But the chain was still tied around your wings, and you wouldn’t get very far on your feet.

You cautiously reached out, your fingers tracing the spines of the ancient tomes that lined the shelves. Each book seemed to pulsate with a dark energy, whispering secrets and promises of forbidden knowledge. Despite your trepidation, you couldn’t resist the allure of the mysteries that lay within.

Your gaze fell upon a weathered volume bound in cracked leather, its title obscured by time and wear. As you pulled it from the shelf, a shiver ran down your spine, as if the book itself were alive and watching you with malevolent intent.

Next, your eyes were drawn to a tome adorned with intricate sigils and symbols, its pages yellowed with age and filled with cryptic incantations. You could feel the power emanating from the ancient text, calling out to you with a seductive whisper.

You spent what felt like an eternity wandering the shadowy aisles of the ancient library, your senses overwhelmed by the weight of the centuries-old knowledge that surrounded you. Time seemed to warp and distort within the confines of the unhallowed halls, leaving you disoriented and uncertain of how long you had been there.

In reality, it was difficult to say exactly how much time had passed. Minutes stretched into hours as you pored over the dark tomes, each page revealing new secrets and mysteries. The Cardinal’s presence loomed nearby, a constant reminder of your captivity and the precariousness of your situation.

You finally chose a book, despite the weariness of your bones after contemplating the tomes for so long. You were surprised to see such a wide variety of works, anywhere from fantastical fiction, to non-fiction books based on history and language. You had settled in the religions section, morbid curiosity getting the better of you and finding yourself wanting to know what the mortals truly thought of the Almighty and His grace. There were numerous texts debunking the existence of the Almighty, which you cackled at. You couldn’t understand how people wouldn’t choose to believe that at least one creator existed - even if it wasn’t the Creator. And, so, you picked up a Bible, the King James’ Version, to be precise, and made your way back to the Cardinal.

When he saw the book you were holding, he raised his eyebrow, but chose to say nothing. Instead, he watched you walk over to one of the desks and situate yourself there, ignoring the Satanic followers on the chairs nearby gawking at you with open mouths and pale faces.

The Cardinal approached just as you opened the book and cleared his throat, “Angel, what are you doing?”

“I am reading, Cardinal.” You responded, matter-of-factly, as though he were stupid. “I had not deemed your ancient eyes would falter in perception, albeit they bear the weight of eternity. Flaws in sight are unsurprising.”

“You do realise you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to?” He asked, staring at you warily.

You laughed, “To appropriate a tome from a library? Cardinal, ‘tis thievery. ‘Tis a sin.”

“You’ve been in libraries before, right?”

You sighed and closed the book. “Indeed, I have ventured into libraries. I have graced some of the grandest ones. The Library of Ashurbanipal, the Library of Pergamum, the Library of Alexandria… that last one was my cherished abode. Such splendor, such vibrancy. Delving into scrolls within was always a delight to my soul.”

The Cardinal flinched, “Maybe we should get you a history textbook on Ancient Egypt.”

“Thou possess a copy?”

“Several… was that the last time you went into a library, circa 100 AD?”

“Ah, yes. Mortal years tethered to the birth of Christ. Naturally, thou dost adhere to those. It was nearer to 100 BCE. It was my ultimate sojourn to the mortal realm before I ascended eternally to Heaven.”

“Great, so times have changed. Most books within libraries you can take home with you, and you can take home multiple at a time.”

You sat and listened intently to the Cardinal’s explanation on how modern libraries worked, and though you could feel he was holding information back from you, you were sure this wasn’t a malicious act. He was thinking before he spoke, making sure all of his words were simple and easy to understand. And so, with this newfound knowledge, you chose multiple books, most of them historical and linguistic based, allowing you to properly study the Almighty’s creations and what they’d done in your time between visits. Playing catch-up was always your favourite thing to do before your Heavenly missions began, and so it excited you to learn 2,000 years had passed and a lot had changed. Upon the Cardinal’s recommendation, you grabbed a historical textbook on Ancient Egypt, though you couldn’t fathom what new information you would learn, given you’d already spent so much time there.

Approaching the front desk of the library, you were met by a stern-looking Satanic nun who regarded you with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Despite the discomfort of her gaze, you remained composed, knowing that any sign of weakness could be exploited by your captors.

With a sense of trepidation, you placed the stack of books on the desk, each one heavy with the weight of forbidden knowledge. The nun’s eyes flickered over the titles, her expression inscrutable as she scanned each one. After a moment of silence, she reached out with a bony hand and began to process the books, checking them out in silence.

As she worked, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled over you like a shroud. The library, with its ancient tomes and whispered secrets, seemed to hold you in its thrall, trapping you in its shadowy embrace.

Finally, the nun finished checking out the books and handed them back to you with a curt nod. You accepted them with a sense of relief, eager to leave the oppressive atmosphere of the library behind you. With one last glance at the forbidding shelves, you turned and made your way out of the building, the weight of the knowledge you carried heavier than ever before.

Prev. / Next

Find the artwork for this chapter by @piaart here!

[entertext]

HGSN 29-1

Chapter (Japanese)

(Please hit the green thumbs up at the end of the Japanese chapter to show support)

Rough translation by me

P1

Maki: Hey, do you guys

Maki: believe in ghosts?

Hikaru: Ghosts?

Yoshiki: You mean that photo...? The one you posted?

Maki: Ah...well...yeah. Sorry for making a weird post

Maki: It's like...

P2

Maki: Every night, these "legs" show up in my house.

Maki: At first, it seriously spooked me and I fell and hurt myself.

Maki: Day after day the number of legs have increased, too

Maki: Sure, it's really scary, but at this point, to be honest...

Maki: It's way more annoying than scary!

Maki: Shit!

P3

Yoshiki: ...I kinda get it?

Hikaru: Hmmm.

Maki: And on top of that, even though I've already got this broken arm

Maki: This weird rash has shown up on my leg.

Maki: Reason unknown, they said

Maki: I don't have any sixth sense, and I've never "seen" a thing in my life up until now

Maki: So why this all of a sudden?

Hikaru: Hey, Maki

P4

Hikaru: Do you keep any animals? Or maybe you kept one before?

Hikaru: Hmm...No, it's nothing. I see...

Maki: Huh? I've never kept any, why?

??: Yuuta! What time do you think it is!?

Maki: Ah, shit, I need to go.

Maki: If anything else happens I'll let you know, bye!

(sfx: ting)

Hikaru: Hmmm....

Yoshiki: Why an animal?

Hikaru: It had been like...hanging around Maki, but...

P5

Hikaru: Anyway, let's go to Ashidori. Maki's house is there right?

Hikaru: One of the holes should be in Ashidori.

Hikaru: It's hard to think that Maki's issues and the hole are unrelated.

Yoshiki: Yeah, I'm worried about Maki too.

Yoshiki: I get the feeling it'll be bad to leave him as is.

P6

(sfx: tap tap)

Mom: Wait! Yoshiki!

Mom: We need to send something as thanks to your classmate's mother(?) who drove you home yesterday...

Mom: And you're going out without saying anything again?...At least say where you're going...

Yoshiki: I'm staying over at Maki's place

Mom: ...good grief

P7

(sfx: vroom)

Rie: Ghost legs, huh... Come to think of it, I haven't seen many of those in town

Hikaru: Now that the holes are opening up for real, the old impurities of the people who were sacrificed must be coming out

Rie: Well, for now let's go and take a look. We've got to dig around for any clues about the hole, too.

P8

Hikaru: Are you scared?

Yoshiki: I'm not confident that I'm really ready for this...

P9

(sfx: gravel crunch)

(sfx: cicada noise)

(sfx: don...dodon...)

Yoshiki: The sound of taiko drums...?

(sfx: don dodondon...)

P10

(sfx: door opens)

Maki: Oh you're here. Hikaru! and...

Maki: ...

Yoshiki: ...what?

Maki: Yoshiki!

Yoshiki: What's with that pause?!

Maki: Uh it completely slipped my mind for a moment, haha!

Yoshiki: Not funny!

(sfx: creak)

Hikaru: Please excuse us~!

P11

Rie: Um...Is your family around? We should say hello...

Maki: My parents are busy with preparations for the festival today so they aren't around... which reminds me.

Maki: Auntie, who are you?

Rie: Right, ahaha

Rie: Um... I'm just a housewife who happens to be...

Hikaru: The strongest exorcist. She's seriously good

P12

Maki: What!? That's so reassuring!!!! Have you been on TV!?

Rie: I've never been...

(sfx: don don)

Hikaru: There's a festival today?

Maki: You don't know about the "Houko Festival"? It's pretty famous. Though to be honest, I've got other things to worry about right now...

Hikaru: Huh...

(sfx: door open)

==

Next Chapter: 2024/08/06

Twitter Extra (link):

Yoshiki: Your hair's grown out

(sfx: rustle)

Maki: It's 'cause I can't play baseball!

[madamechrissy]

Take Me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Law Professor Satoru Gojo x Student Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is like 29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. In this chap- Fingering, cunnilingus, explicit sex, breeding kink, violence, descriptions of violence (ANGSTY CHAP)

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 8.5k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name. Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right? That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right? - Lawyer AU

Chapter 9 - Masterlist - Playlist

Chapter 10

The escort agency is in a sketchy part of the city, and Satoru keeps looking at you worriedly that evening. “I’m fine, Professor.”

“You sure? I can take you back-”

“I’m good, promise! You should see the foster homes I was in. This isn’t anything to me.” He frowns more now, and you all pause on the sidewalk, you can feel the tension, the worry.

“I hate that you ever went through that, baby.” He whispers now, caressing your face sweetly. You gulp a bit, sighing and holding the hand that’s so gentle on your cheek.

“It’s all gotten me here, next to the best lawyer there is. The most handsome too. The best-” Satoru closes your mouth with his hand, and you smile against his warm palm.

“Don’t get me hard, brat, stop it.” You’re giggling now, making him glare at you, long white lashes covering half of his pretty blue eyes.

“Sorry, you’re so cute.”

“Cute!? I’ll show you ‘cute’ later.” He kisses you firmly, lips overtaking yours, and you sigh at how good it feels for a moment, before he takes your hand. “Let’s go, Miss Brat. Lawyer mode.”

“Did you really say lawyer mode!?”

When you get there, dragged along by the stupidly tall and stupidly handsome Satoru Gojo, who’s wearing a black suit looking way too good, the bouncer at the door nods at Satoru, letting you both in without a word. You look at him curiously, and he peeks back with a smirk.

“Paid informants silly, never partook in the goods here.” You roll your eyes at his wolfish grin. “Jealous already?”

“Shush.” The inside is dimly lit, with red velvet couches and a bar along the back wall, and there is a woman sitting in a little booth. The woman looks up, and you can see the recognition in her eyes when she sees Satoru. She’s very pretty, with long red hair and green eyes.

“Mr. Gojo, wow it's been years. And who might this lovely lady be?” She asks, her voice a purr as she smiles curiously at you.

Satoru’s grip on your hand tightens, and you can feel his possessiveness, and his reassurance. “Hey Aoi.” He introduces you now, pulling you closer and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Favorite student.”

“Oh! Oh… Mr. Gojo.” She’s laughing now a bit, wiggling her brows as Satoru grins, and you’re a blushing mess. “Hey now, doll no worries. Who can blame you with him? And also you’re so pretty.”

“Thank you, so are you Miss Aoi.” You say, flush decorating your cheeks, and she smiles softly.

“And she’s so sweet. All right, I’ll put aside my broken heart for her, Mr. Gojo. How can I help you today?”

“I break all the hearts, don’t I? I’m too pretty.”

“Gojo!” You playfully shove him and he just brushes his snowy white hair back with long fingers, winking down at you so damn charmingly.

“Came to see one of your girls, and Madam.”

“Let me see if she’s available.” She is gesturing to the plush sofa in the waiting area. "Please, have a seat, you two. I'll inform the Madam about your arrival."

Satoru nods then, as he guides you to the couch. “Thanks Aoi.” You sit down, your heart racing at being somewhere so new, so different. The walls are adorned with velvet and the air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume, so cloying it irritates your nose a bit.

As you wait, you feel Satoru's hand squeeze yours reassuringly. You look up at him, and he gives you a smile that's a mix of comfort and challenge, as he pulls you against him, hand on your thigh. You lower your lashes, and feel his chuckle against your collar bone, tickling you now.

“Nervous, Miss Brat?” He asks, in that deep timbre, and you sigh, nodding.

“I am, this isn’t… I’ve just never been anywhere like this.”

“Oh, this is just the waiting room, wait till we walk through. Bet you blush red like a tomato.”

“Hey!”

“Mmhmm, or get horny. It’s a toss up.” You roll your eyes, scooching away, but he yanks you back to him. “You were so jealous just now.”

“No! I just… well, you never…”

“Nah, not my style. Though I don’t blame any of them, making money off rich idiots. And a lot of these women are so smart. They’re great for information.” You brush your fingers up and down his collar as you wait.

 You know he's as eager to get to the bottom of this as you are, you can feel the tenseness of his body against yours. Your knees are knocking together, you keep fidgeting with your hands, then fiddling with the charms on your bracelet. Satoru takes your hand in his, looking at you seriously.

“If you’re uncomfortable-”

“No, no. I’m good. Just nervous about everything.” He sighs, looking at your little charms now.

“You need another, hmm?”

Before you can answer, a curtain at the back of the room parts, and a statuesque woman emerges. She's dressed in a tight, crimson dress that clings to her body like a second skin. Her eyes are sharp and assessing as she looks you both over.

"Madam," Satoru stands, releasing your hand, "Thank you for seeing us."

"Mr. Gojo," she says, her voice like silk, "It's always a pleasure. And who is this lovely young lady?"

"My top student. She's assisting me with the case." He wraps an arm around your waist and her eyes catch it. “She’s also my Shnookums.”

“Shnookums? Huh.” Madam's gaze lingers on you, and you hold her stare, feeling a flicker of something unpleasant. It's not hostility, but something else. Calculation, maybe. "Well, well, this seems interesting, let's talk in private."

You both get up and follow her into a back room, the curtain swishing shut behind you. The room is dimly lit, with a large desk and a few chairs, thick incense heavy and smoking, there are ornate paintings and the walls are red with foiled gold leaf. There's a sense of something seedy but also it’s classy in a way. It’s what you would picture for a Madam, you think at least.

Madam sits down in a big red chair, plush and velvet, crossing long bare legs and smirking at you both. "What brings you to my establishment after so many years, Mr. Gojo?"

“Aww, miss me Madam?” He shoots a wink, and she rolls her eyes.

“Want a drink, you two?” You look at Gojo and he nods. “There’s a decanter of brandy right there, it’s a good year.”

“You’re always so sweet you know.” She scoffs, and his hand brushes your thigh before he stands, adjusting his suit a bit and then pouring from the crystal decanter, allowing the Madam time to study you.

“You’re awfully pretty. You should come work for me.” She cooes, and Satoru comes over and scowls at her, making her smirk. “What, she’d make top dollar.”

“I enjoy law, but thank you for the offer.” You say smoothly, and the madam’s red lips tilt up.

“I like her.”

“I know, she’s the best. Here ya go, Madam.” Gojo hands her a glass, then you, with the clear amber liquid. “Now…” He sits next to you, hand possessively clutching your thigh, he always has to touch you when he can, and you love it, love feeling so connected. “I need to talk to one of your girls. She might have information on our suspect."

Madam's expression doesn't change. "Which one?"

"Kanna."

Her eyes flicker with something, but she remains calm. "Kanna is no longer with us. She's moved on to... other opportunities."

You see Satoru's jaw clench, and you know he's not buying it. "Bullshit," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "I know she's still here, I’ve already had details about her. And I need to talk to her."

Madam sighs, leaning back in her chair. "Very well. But what's in it for me?" She asks, and Satoru smirks now.

“How about… this.” He pulls out a giant wad of hundreds, there was surely thousands of dollars there, and she nods then, standing.

“Always a pleasure, Mr. Gojo. I’ll have her come in. It was a pleasure to meet you, you’ve got quite a man.” She is trailing her long red nails across your cheek, tilting your chin up. “And he’s got quite a girl.”

“I sure do.” She tousles Satoru’s white hair, sauntering out then, leaving you both waiting in anticipation. “She’s kinda a bitch.”

“Mmm, seems like a businesswoman to me.” Satoru chuckles, as you take a sip of the strong liquor, coughing a bit.

“Lightweight.”

“Hey!” Soon though, a young woman with short black hair and a wary look in her eyes enters the room. She's dressed in a short, lacy dress that leaves little to the imagination. You can see the fear in her eyes as she looks at Satoru, and something in your chest tightens.

"Thank you for coming, Kanna. We need your help." Satoru says then, standing up to shake her hand, and her eyes flick to you, and then back to Satoru, curiously.

"Sure, what's going on?"

"We're working on a case," he says, his voice softer now. "And we think you might have some information that could help us."

Kanna looks at the floor, biting her lip. "I don't know anything."

Satoru's gaze turns intense, and you can feel the power in the room shift, it’s like you can see him go into that mode, the serious one. "Look at me," he commands, and she does, her eyes wide with fear. "I need the truth, Kanna. We're trying to put away a dangerous fucking man, and free an innocent one."

For a long moment, she's silent. Then she looks up, her eyes meeting both of you, fidgeting as she sits down finally. "Okay," she whispers, "I'll tell you what I can, that was a long time ago."

“Thank you, Kanna. All right, do you remember a run in with Naoya Zenin?” She tenses, and nods, and you see it right on her face, she’s fucking terrified.

Kanna's voice is shaky as she starts talking, her eyes darting between you and Satoru, and you can see the fear in them. She tells a story of a night with Naoya, a night that ended with bruises and tears. The way she describes his behavior sends a chill down your spine, confirming the suspicions you've had since the moment you laid eyes on him.

Satoru's expression is unreadable, his icy blue eyes never leaving hers, studying her, even as he still holds on to you so close, like you’re tethering him from losing his shit. You hold his hand carefully, he is so tense and you can feel the anger simmering under his calm exterior, his hand balling into a fist at his side that’s not holding you. You know he's holding back, for now, but you’re not sure for how long.

Satoru is furious as he hears what he’s done.

“So why didn’t you say it was him that night with your friend!?” Satoru’s voice is harsh, and you can feel him coming apart at the seams. You struggle to hold his hand, which is clenched so tightly in a fist.

She opens her mouth, then closes it, and tears start pouring from her eyes, so you stand up then, grabbing a box of tissues, and you walk over to her, bending on a knee down on the plush rug. You dab her eyes gently, and she smiles a bit tremulously, Satoru is quiet behind you.

“He’s just really, really worried about someone else getting hurt. You can tell us anything, we’ll protect you, okay?” She nods then, and you come to hold her hands, which are cold and clammy.

“Th-thank you. He told me he’d kill me if I said anything, and I believed him… I was so afraid.” She’s sobbing and you’re holding her thin body, as it wracks with her shaking shoulders.

Satoru comes up then, putting a hand on her shoulder, and one on yours, mouthing a ‘thank you’.

When she finishes her story, you can see the wheels turning in Satoru's head. He's piecing together the puzzle, looking for the one piece that will make it all make sense. "Thank you, Kanna, you've been very helpful. Do you think Madam has any vido cameras back there?”

She frowns, nodding. “She does. I’m not sure how far back they go but I suppose you might find the video of him with me. As for my friend who… is gone… I don't think so. He took her to his place.”

“I’ll pay her to find it. Kanna, could you possibly share this in court?”

“Oh god facing him!?”

“We’ll be right there, Kanna.” You say reassuringly. “He scares me too, he’s already… threatened me.” Your eyes lower, and she gasps, then holds your hands tightly.

“I’ll do it.”

“Oh my god!” You hug her tightly, feeling so much emotion for a girl you barely know. “Kanna you’re so brave.”

“I wouldn’t want you hurt because I was too afraid. But please… I need to make sure I’m safe.”

“You will be, I can get you out of here too if you want. A new life, far away?” She sighs, nodding then, and Gojo stands up and hands her a huge amount of money now, so much it was insane to physically see.

“Oh, you don’t have to.” She hands it back, but Gojo shakes his head.

“You’re doing me the biggest favor. Just keep this between us.”

“Of course, thank you. It will help me so much.” She stands up and hugs Gojo, then comes to hold your hands. “Please be careful. Mr. Gojo take good care of her.”

“I will, of course, I’ll get this mother fucker. Don’t worry.” She exhales, and there is a heavy tension in the room as you both get up to leave, Satoru's hand on the small of your back guiding you out.

Once you're outside, the cool evening air hits you like a slap in the face, and you both take a moment to breathe. "Shit, that was... something."

Satoru turns to you, his eyes a mess of emotions, those swirling cerulean depths drinking you in. He pulls you flush against him, exhaling, warm against the chill of the air, puffing a bit of your hair back. “You were amazing there.”

“What? No, Satoru, I just comforted her.” You look down a bit, but he tilts your chin back up.

“No, you were so caring, where I was harsh. Thank you. I don’t know if she would have opened up without you.” You hug him tightly, and he sinks his lips onto yours, moaning softly in your mouth.

“You’re so welcome, I’m so happy if I helped.”

“You have no clue. I’m learning from you.”

“No way.”

“Mmhmm.” You both keep pecking kisses, as his praise washes over you, making you so damn happy you can’t think. “Let’s get some rest, big day tomorrow.”

“Cuddle?” He smirks, nodding, and leads you back.

That night you end up falling asleep in his lap again, as he can’t tear himself from his research, and your heart aches for him.

****

Satoru Gojo is sipping on a sugary mocha frappe, as you’re sipping on a french roast the next day in a break room. This morning had been more witness testimonies, as Satoru is waiting to ruin it all if he can’t get this witness, Kanna, to be allowed.

“They’ll allow it! Fuck yes.” He says once he’s hung up the cell phone, his eyes lit up, despite the heavy dark circles. You bounce up eagerly, and he pulls you to him, exhaling as he clings so tightly.

“Oh Satoru, this is good news.”

“I’ll play stupid and fuck it all up. I’ll let him get ruined. But fuck, it’s going to be shit to ‘lose’.”

“You’ll be winning, really. Think about it.”

“If he says one word, I’ll fucking kill him.” Satoru says, tersely, then his alarm goes off, it’s time for you all to head back. “Fuck remember when I fingered you in like four minutes?”

You giggle at that, shaking your head at his change of subject. “Yes, I remember, crazy man. You spit on it!”

“Sure did.” He purrs out the words, and you’re a blushing mess now as he pulls you so close. “I’m taking a break after this case, thinking I’ll become a daddy.”

“Satoru stop that!” You smack at his hands as they come over your tummy, and he’s giving you puppy eyes.

“Too flat, I need it filled with me.” He picks you up, as you wriggle around in his hold, but he’s way stronger, and you’re getting turned on with him.

“You’re such an adrenaline whore! You’re getting turned on because we’re gonna get him, aren’t you!?” He grins then, letting you down, you slide down his chest slowly, giggling then.

“Like you’re not too, get turned on by true crime.” You shove at him playfully, before falling easily into his kisses. “I love you, Shnookums.”

“I love you, Toru. We got this.” You pop more reassuring kisses, but there is such a looming presence to your happiness, a heaviness in your chest that you can’t quite describe, gnawing at you.

You shove it down, you need to be here for Toru.

****

Sitting next to Naoya again, you have your shoulders squared, your chin up high as you watch your man, as he decimates the prosecution with ease, like any good defense attorney. Each question is a dance, a mix of Gojo pretending to try, and letting so much slip that will go against Naoya, as if biding his time until he’s going to demolish his own case.

“The prosecution calls Kanna Otigori to the stand.” Says the prosecutor, and Gojo pretends to be surprised along with everyone else. He may or may not have paid off the prosecution to call her.

Yeah Gojo is something alright.

Her eyes widen in fear as she sees Naoya next to you, and you look over to watch him stiffen, his fists clenching the table so hard they’re turning white. You can’t stop the smile the quirks up on the side of your lips, but you instantly erase it when he looks over at you. His eyes are terrifying, they make you tremble as he glares.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Zenin?” You ask softly, and he scoffs, rolling his eyes and sinking down into the seat.

“Didn’t give you permission to talk to me.” It’s your turn to scoff, looking at your notes for a moment, but suddenly he’s gripping your leg so hard you’re crying out, the courtroom is too loud currently with the uproar for it to stand out.

“Get the fuck off me.” You hiss at him, and he slides his hand up then, you grip his wrist, digging your nails in and glaring. “Get off.”

“I’ll expose you both if you ruin this shit for me, fucking got me?” You tremble, looking away as he continues to boldly touch you, in front of the whole room, but no one could see. “Let me catch you when your body guard isn’t around.”

He lets you go, and your heart is shattered, as you realize everything you have with Satoru is going to crumble. You’d ruin your career, his… but you can’t let him get away with this shit. You casually kick the fuck out of him with your heel under the table, and he damn near lunges at you before he realizes what he’s doing.

“Was gonna be sweet with you. Not now. I’ll fucking ruin every inch of you.” He whispers, and finally you can’t take it, you’re hyperventilating. You step out, rushing through the room, and eyes are everywhere on you.

You sink against the wall, holding your chest, it feels as if it were going to just explode, and then Satoru is there, holding you. “Satoru, no, go back in. Go back in! You need to fucking get him! You-”

“What’d he say!? What happened!? Baby tell me.” He’s cupping your face, having left his own damn trial for you.

“I’m ruining your life.” You whisper through tears, and his lips part in a gasp, as he shakes his head furiously, bending low, his beautiful face blurring as you keep feeling more and more faint. Your blood pressure has skyrocketed, you’re shaky, and you can’t catch a breath.

“You’re making my life. There was nothing before you. Stop it. Please, baby, c’mere…” He pulls you against him as you continue to hyperventilate, to the point you’re not sure you can breathe anymore. “Baby breathe with me. Please.”

Satoru holds you close, his hand rubbing circles on your back as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, trying to calm you down. You focus on his steady breaths, trying to match them, but it's hard, really hard. The walls seem to be closing in, and all you can think about is Naoya's threats, about Satoru’s future, and you realize you’re crying all over his dress shirt.

"I've got you, everything will be fine." He whispers, and you want to believe him, you really do. You cling to his suit, breathing him in, trying to ignore the panic attack that's taking over your body.

But it's not fine, is it? It’s never going to be fine if Naoya gets away with this.

You manage to suck in a breath, and he leans back to look at you, his eyes searching your face, so concerned, so loving. "You okay?"

"No." You admit, and his own expression cracks, just a bit. "But I'll be okay. We'll get him."

"We will, I promise you. If not, I’ll fucking murder him, you got me?” He cups your face as he says it, as you lose yourself in his eyes. “What did he say?”

“I can’t tell you, you’ll fuck up the case. I need your head in the game, you need to get him. Please.” Satoru scowls then, opening his mouth to demand you tell him, when a court officer approaches, looking stern.

"Mr. Gojo, you're needed back in the courtroom." Satoru nods, looking torn.

“I need a break, please, I’ll be back in. Don’t worry, I'm okay.” He frowns, and you feel his energy, his love, as he shakes his head, but you gently push him.

"I love you. I promise I’ll do this right." He whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead, before he has to go back in, but his touch lingers, as you hug yourself, trying to control the violent shaking.

If you are going to be a criminal lawyer, you need to try to face this, you need to push past it.

You allow yourself some time before you walk back in, sitting next to this fucking man, and finally watch Satoru work his magic. He gives you a reassuring little smile, and you thank God he doesn’t know what Nouya did just yet, you know he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Your skin crawls as you continue to sit next to this disgusting man, but he’s actually terrified now, his eyes bulging out of his head, as Gojo plays ‘dumb’ and acts so shocked that the witness is ruining his case. He’s waving his hands dramatically, and trying to ‘argue’ his way, half assed of course, and suddenly the prosecution is looking happy.

“Kanna, how are we to believe you!?” Satoru asks, as if he’s really trying to dissuade her, then suddenly, a bailiff is handed evidence, and Satoru once more pretends to look shocked.

It’s a perfect show.

You both had admitted it to evidence by paying the Madam double what Satoru already had, to make it look like the Prosecution had done so. These Prosecution lawyers probably thought they were killing it, beating the Satoru Gojo!? And Satoru let them think so.

The Satoru Gojo, the best lawyer, who never loses, is going to lose on purpose, so he can make sure this fucker disappears.

“What is this!?” Satoru asks, as the judge views it, turning pale.

“This is… please, everyone, allow me a moment.” The judge is so disgusted she walks out for a moment, before convening with the lawyers and the rest of the team. “We will play this, but please be aware, it’s graphic.”

The video so clearly shows Naoya abusing Kanna, and you feel your stomach roll with nausea, tensing, as the jury looks on in horror. Kanna has already been escorted back, and you know she will be going far away, starting hopefully a much better life than she had. You’re ready to vomit, as Naoya is losing his shit, and his family is trying to control him.

Satoru is holding his mouth, as if he’s as sick as the rest of you, at points he couldn’t even look. “Your honor, I have nothing to say, defense rests.”

Everyone in the courtroom is in shock, there’s so much noise that the judge banging her gavel isn’t doing a damn thing, they’re all losing their shit. The famous Gojo rests his case, and he comes up to stand between you and Naoya, who lunges at him, and you see Satoru’s insane blue eyes, his brows up high, grin huge like the joker. He looks fucking crazy.

“Looks like our next talk will be how to keep you off death row.” He says, patting Naoya then on the shoulder, and then he’s just dragging you out, you race in your heels to catch his quick, long strides, until you all are out front.

“Satoru, are you okay? That was-”

“What’d he do? What’d he do fucking tell me.” You blink a bit, as he’s cupping your face so tight, and that insane look is even more insane, his eyes are so bright they hurt you to stare at. You take a shaky breath, looking around, and seeing people filing out of the courtroom.

“Satoru, we can’t right here-”

“I don’t fucking care. Tell me. Now. I have to know what he said to get you that way, what he threatened, he’s clearly a fucking monster!” His voice is breaking, and it breaks your heart to see him this way, as he’s got you in a vice like grip.

“Satoru, you’re hurting me.” You whisper, as he’s squeezing your head so hard it aches, he instantly releases you, pulling you against him and kissing you, shamelessly right there. “Satoru we can’t!”

“You’re fucking mine. I’m so tired of it.” He’s burying his face in your neck, and you know people can see, they’re starting to stop and say things.

“Please calm down.” You ease back a bit, then pull him away further, until you are behind a little alcove in front of the court house, and Satoru is completely on edge, he’s trembling all over. You run your hands gently down his arms. “If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t do something rash.”

“Nope, just tell me.” You sigh again, then hug your own arms, looking down as he studies you. “I need to fucking know baby.”

“Shit. He touched my thigh… and higher. Satoru!” He’s punching the bannister, and you watch it crackling, as he faces you again. “What else?”

“Satoru…”

“What else!?”

You tremble at his tone, you’ve never seen him so unhinged and it’s terrifying you now. “He… said he’d ruin me for you.”

“Fucking what!?”

“It’s fine, we’re going to-”

“I’m done acting so fucking mature. I’m done being the bigger person. He can’t touch you, don't you get it baby? I’ll never let him touch you again.” Satoru slings off his jacked as Naoya is coming right for him, and your heart drops in your stomach.

There’s no reaching Gojo now.

The crowd gathers around the two of you, whispers flying, as Naoya stops right in front of you, his eyes bloodshot with rage. "You think you're so fucking clever, don't you, Gojo?"

Gojo grins, looking terrifying, but Naoya doesn’t back up one bit, as Gojo starts laughing then. "It’s about to get so much worse for you. I wonder which boy will rape you in prison?" Satoru says, his voice deadly calm, his eyes glowing with rage.

Naoya loses his shit then, shoving at him. "You think you can just use me to win your little game? I'll show you what happens when you mess with me."

Satoru steps closer, so close you can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. "You're already going down, Naoya. This is just the cherry on top, beating you to a fucking pulp for touching her."

You watch as Naoya's eyes narrow, his hands curling into fists, and Naoya swings first, but Satoru is already moving, his fist connecting with Naoya's jaw with a sickening crack. The sound echoes through the air, and Naoya stumbles back, his mouth hanging open in shock, and you watch blood already pouring from Satoru’s huge fist connecting.

You watch in horror as Gojo grabs him, slamming him against the banister, each punch thrown with the precision of a master. It's clearly not Satoru’s first time fighting, he seems to know every spot. Naoya struggles to get a single hit in, but Satoru is ducking, then swinging and punching his stomach.

“I said if you touched her you’d fucking die.” He bites out, as people are now recording on their phones.

Shit.

“Satoru…” You try to get his attention, but he’s well past that, and you want to stop him, but your body is frozen, your heart racing as you watch the man you love beat the living daylights out of the monster that is Naoya.

Satoru is like a force of nature, unstoppable, relentless, and you're both terrified and turned on by the power he exudes, and there’s now the threat of everyone seeing this, seeing him fighting Naoya over you. Naoya lands a hit on Satoru’s pretty face now, and you lose your shit, you snatch up your briefcase, coming behind him and whacking the fuck out of him now.

You can hear the murmurs of the crowd, the gasps, the whispers of shock and excitement as you’ve seemingly joined the fight. “Don’t touch him, you piece of shit!” You growl out, and Naoya coughs up blood, as Gojo grins over at you, pulling you to him for a moment.

“Fuck you’re hot.” He says, and you actually giggle, as he’s covered in blood, kissing you in front of a whole audience.

You all are SO fucked.

Naoya comes and shoves you then, knocking you on your ass, and then Satoru is back on him, knocking him to the ground and straddling him. “I’ll fucking kill you, don’t you dare touch her!”

Naoya’s family is trying to break it up, as are others, but the fight is brutal, each hit landed with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. It seems like it goes on forever, but it's really only a matter of minutes before Naoya is on flat the ground, not moving, and Satoru is kneeling over him, chest heaving as he keeps punching. Naoya isn’t even conscious.

“Satoru… he’s out.” You come to him then, touching his shoulder, so tense and shaking, but he looks up at you, then back at him, and punches his swollen, bruised face again, as you hear the sirens approach.

Shit.

The police come rushing over now, trying to pull Gojo away, but he’s not listening, he’s lost in his rage, until you’re grabbing his shoulders. “It’s okay, it’s over, Toru please stop, please." You’re shaking him, and finally, he’s coming back to reality, looking down at you, his eyes still alight with that rage, but now there’s a hint of something else.

Guilt.

He looks at you, and you just nod, and stand then, and he kisses you, so hard, before the cops can drag him away, whispering in your ear. “I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry. I’ll fix it, I’ll get us out of this, I promise. I love you so much, so much.”

“Satoru, I’ll get you out. I’ll head right there okay!?” He nods then, as the cops are putting the love of your life in handcuffs, and the ambulance is taking a completely unrecognizable Naoya away.

You’re left standing there, as Satoru is taken away in the car, and you hop in his, heart racing and hands trembling, as you now have to navigate his car, and you follow the cop car, seeing his bright blue eyes peeking at you from the rear window. You stay right behind them until you get to the jail.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You curse inside of his car, smacking the wheel as your chest is heaving, as you’re fucking terrified.

You end up having to wait over three hours, agonizing as your friends let you know they’ve already watched the video on youtube. As Suguru and Nanami blow up the phone Gojo left, and there’s an insane amount of calls from Dean Yaga to both of your phones, that go unanswered.

You all are so fucked.

After a long, long wait, they let you bail Satoru out, luckily he had a fuck ton of money in his wallet, because it was hefty, and when he steps out, he is laughing and chit chatting with the cops. They’re patting his back, apologizing for this, and he’s grinning when he finally gets to you.

“Satoru!” You’re in tears, and he picks you up in his arms, hugging you tightly, and the cops clear their throats.

“Let’s go, baby.” Now you’re cleaning Satoru’s wounds in the little hotel bathroom, pulling out different things from the first aid kit.

You gently clean Satoru's face, your trembling hands moving with the gentle precision of a sculptor repairing a cherished masterpiece. Satoru’s beautiful face is a masterpiece, and to see it marred seems so cruel. You’re dabbing on his busted lower lip carefully, before applying antiseptic.

“It might sting.” You murmur apologetically, and he smiles a bit, as his hands sit on the nip of your waist, hands encompassing it.

“I am getting taken care of by the hottest nurse, I’ll not be a little bitch and cry about it.” You snort at that, as his hands now press into your hips, making you melt more and more.

“You’re too positive. Fuck you know what happened…” You exhale, as you continue to wipe him clean, dabbing right on his eye which is swelling a bit. “I’ll get some ice for this.”

“Mmm, you spoil me. Nurse and student fantasies.” You giggle at him, returning with some ice and wrapping a washcloth, placing it on his brow bone.

 His eyes are closed, and his breaths are shallow, but he grips your hips firmly, as if afraid you'll slip away. The room's stark lighting casts stark shadows across his skin, highlighting the raw, red marks where Naoya's knuckles had made contact. The adrenaline rush from the fight has begun to recede, leaving behind a cold wave of fear that now crashes over you,

“I’m scared, Satoru.” You whisper, and Satoru's eyes finally open, meeting yours with a fiery intensity that makes you gasp. He pulls you closer, his grip tightening.

“Don’t be baby girl, I’ll deal with this. I promise, I won’t let it touch you.” He says desperately, and you shake your head, blinking back tears.

“Why don’t you ever worry about you!? Why is it only me!” You’re shaking him by the shoulders, and he lets you, just studying you with heartbreakingly gorgeous eyes.

“I’m rich as fuck, I’ll pay them to keep you at the school.”

“Satoru, what about you!? You’ve done everything to nail him, even losing this damn case, you can’t let this ruin you. Not when you help so many.” You whisper, and now you’re straddling him as he sits at the edge of the tub, and he’s blinking back emotion, his long white lashes dripping with little droplets of tears.

“Who do I help?” His broken voice kills you, you shake your head, gently cupping his cheeks, careful not to hurt him, and he’s gripping your hips bruisingly, as if he never wants to let you go.

“So many people! Satoru you’ve saved lives, you’ve put away murderers-”

“An innocent man!”

“And we’ll get him out! Stop it, you need to know how amazing you are.” He’s crying silently now, you gently brush his tears away, taking a shaky breath. “You’ve saved me in so many ways. You’ve given me arms that make me feel like I’m at home, finally.”

He’s sobbing, resting his head on your chest, and you cling to him, holding him so tightly as he does, his big hands gripping your shirt so tightly you think he’ll rip it right off. Every sob and shake break you internally, as the man you love is so broken, he’s got so much fucking pain.

“I fucked us up too.”

“No! We’ll handle it. We will. Satoru nothing will keep me from this, even if… even if I can’t…”

“Don’t say that, you have to be a lawyer, fuck you’re destined for it. You’re so good baby. I swear to god I won’t let that fuck up.” He looks back to you, and you nod, trembling in his hold as emotions flow, as the little bathroom is suffocating in all the emotion and tension.

“I will do anything for you, Satoru Gojo. Anything.” He picks you up then, moaning, and wincing at the same time. “Satoru, are you okay!?”

“ ‘Tis but a scratch.”

“Did you just quote Monty Python?”

“Good girl.” You giggle, even though it’s fucking insane, even though you are both beyond fucked, even though Satoru just beat up a murderer and everyone knows about you.

Even if your life is ruined, Satoru is here.

Flesh and blood.

“I need you, I need you. Please.” You’re begging as he’s carrying you to the bed, and he exhales, undressing you slowly, unzipping the business skirt you were still wearing, as the moonlight is pouring in through the hotel window. You tremble as he unbuttons your blouse, kissing each inch of exposed skin.

“I’ll give you anything, baby girl.” He murmurs, as your hands are enwrapping in his snowy white hair, so soft in your fingers, and then he’s got you bare aside from a bra and panties. “Beautiful.”

“Oh, Toru…” You’re crying now too, needing him so badly you can’t think, breaths coming quicker when he takes off his shirt, revealing that perfect body. You eagerly run your hands down it, kissing down his chest, until he shoves you down on the bed, right on your back, shaking his head.

“Let me take care of you, baby girl. Please?” He whispers, his eyes dilated so that there’s just a thin blue ring, as his hands caress your sensitive skin, leaving a wake of fire. “Be a good girl f’me, baby?”

“Yes, of course. Of course, Toru. Please.” You whisper, sitting up to undo your bra, letting your breasts bounce out, and he’s groaning, gripping them and squishing them in his hands, kissing down each mound. You cry out at how good it feels when he bites you there, when he squeezes so hard.

“Too rough baby?” You shake your head, and he exhales, kissing around an areola before sucking one of your perky nipples in his mouth, nipping it with his teeth, and your hips buck up at how good it feels. It shoots straight through your tummy, where his hand is sliding down. “I fucking love your body.”

“Th-thank, ah! Toru!” You’re soaking your panties, as he’s slipping his finger down the waistband, moaning when he finds you.

“You’re such a good girl, always so wet f’me baby. Aren’t you?” His voice is hoarse, his finger slipping up and down between your lips, and you’re clutching him so tightly, manicured nails digging in his back, making him hiss. “Yes, fucking mark me, please baby.”

“Toru…” You’re not used to him like this, as his eyes flutter shut over you, and he’s so vulnerable then, so needy, as he whines when you’re finding him over his pants, rubbing. “So hard for me Toru? Show me.”

“Yes baby.” He leans back and takes off his clothes finally, you eagerly go to touch him, feeling his length twitch in your grip, but he shoves you back down, shaking his head. “I need to take care of you.”

“You can do that by fucking my throat?” He groans at that, eyes shutting for a moment, allowing you to look just how beautiful he is as that moonlight hits his alabaster skin.

“You drive me insane. The moment I first looked into your goddamn eyes at that club. No, before, when I saw you just standing there.” You’re blinking rapidly, as he’s taking your panties off, kissing down between your breasts, nipping at the tight skin at your ribcage, and you cry out, growing even wetter as your cunt is exposed to the cool air of the room.

“You did?” You whisper, he looks up with those heartbreaking eyes, nodding and kissing further down, nipping your soft tummy, then even lower, shoving your thighs apart and groaning.

“You didn’t belong there. It’s what I thought. I thought, who is this girl? Why does she make my heart stop?” You’re sobbing, even as much as you’re soaking wet between your thighs, your fucking eyes are too, and you’re arching your back for his hot mouth, as your love grows so much it hurts.

“Satoru, I couldn’t- fuck- stand it when I saw you. You changed everything… at that moment I- ah!” He’s licking your inner thigh, right where it’s at that apex, and you’re shivering at the sensation, then he’s breathing on you, looking up in the night up your body. “I knew I was done for.”

“Knew when I tasted this perfect pussy. When I drank you.” He laps you up then, the way this man devours you, the way he worships you, you can’t stand it, you can’t take it, you’re so close already, you’re shattering with a few flicks of that tongue. He groans against you. “When I saw… those eyes… when you cum…”

“Satoru, please, please. Fuck me. Please.” You beg for him, yanking at his hair now, and he desperately slides up you, as you cup his bruised and cut face, still so beautiful it’s unreal, and you feel that weight on you, feel his body heat pouring through your skin. “Please, Toru. Need you in me.”

“I’ll give you anything.” He shoves inside you then, and you’re screaming, literally screaming at the stretch, at the fill, as your greedy cunt is sucking him right in. “F-fuck, you feel so goddamn perfect, sucking me in s’good.”

“Toru! S’big- ngh I- fucking love your cock, fuck.” He presses on your throat now, squeezing and shoving his cock inside you so deep, to the hilt, you lose oxygen, seeing stars glittering behind your damn eyes.

“Feel me baby girl?” He presses on your stomach then, and you look down, as he moves in and out, seeing a bulge that makes you blush furiously. You just nod, as he still has his other hand on your throat. “Feel me everywhere.”

“I do, Satoru fuck… I do. Everywhere.” You whisper, as he’s choking you tightly, you grip his wrist with one hand, the other clutching to his back, nails digging in again, and he hisses, before pulling back a bit.

“Can you take it hard?” You nod, eagerly, then he exhales, as if he’s been holding back, his consideration touches you, but his cock railing you, ruins you.

“T-T-Toru!” You’re choking out his name, as he’s fucking into you brutally now, as his mad blue eyes dreamily drink your face in, and you lose yourself in them, in Satoru Gojo, as he’s pounding you into the mattress, as he’s taking your breath. You cum so hard you feel like you’re floating, like you’re flying so damn high in the air, and only he brings you back.

Satoru eases his grip on your neck, but now he’s leaning down, pressing one of your thighs up high and fucking even deeper, and you’re close again, already so oversensitive you can’t take it. You’re desperately clinging to his neck, to his shoulders, anywhere and everywhere you can cling to.

“I need… you… forever. Baby. Forever.” He huffs, and his words shock you, as you both had said your love, but…

This is crazy.

Could there be a forever?

You’d do anything to have a forever.

“Yes, Toru, yes… forever. Forever yours. Only you.” You whisper back, your brows drawing together as he’s sweating now, his skin slick as yours is now too, and he’s dripping just a bit, his chest down to your breasts. You’re cumming again, clinging to him so tight, he is groaning as he studies you, so carefully, like you’re the only woman or thing in this world.

“Only me. Only me.” He’s huffing as he works over you, then he’s entwined his hands in yours, your fingers together, and you’re sobbing at how good he feels, as his curved cock drags in your walls. He hisses as they flutter around him, resting his forehead on yours. “I fucking love you.”

“I fucking love you. Toru. You.” Hushed whispers continue, as Toru relentlessly pounds your pussy, and he’s fucking you into another orgasm, you’re so wet you’re slippery, so wet you hear the lewd squishing. He’s kissing you now, his firm lips on yours, uncaring of his cut, he’s brutal in his kiss.

“Mine. Mine to keep. Protect. Fucking breed.” He says now, looking at you manically, and you’re falling off that edge with him, chest heaving, as he’s pressing his hard chests on your lush breasts, as he’s grinding his cock deep against your cervix and you’re screaming out, arching your back.

He’s kissing down your neck now, and you’re shaking violently. “Breed me, Toru, breed me please.”

“Mmm, baby, fuck!” He’s moaning, he’s whimpering, just as you’re whining out pathetically, and he’s grabbing your hips up, shoving in so deep it hurts, but you crave it, your sloppy cunt is milking him as he releases. “Take it baby. Take it.”

“T-Toru! Ngh!” You’re cumming again, as his huge load of thick cum pours in you, and he’s exhaling, his eyes never leaving yours, lidded and fucked out just like your own, as you both whine at how sensitive you are. “Love you. Want your babies.”

“Want em? Want em in you?” You nod, and he keeps pumping that cum in you, clinging to your hands as he’s kissing you, desperately, and you’re gone now, there’s only you and Satoru Gojo.

No world.

You’d do anything for him. Anything to feel this.

Satoru exhales, leaning up a bit, and you frown when you notice he’s busted his lip back open, gently touching it with your thumb. “Fuck I love you.”

“And I love you, Satoru Gojo.” You whisper, and he kisses you again, you both don’t care about the bit of blood, you greedily take his kisses, as he turns you then, pulling you so close against him, clinging to you. “Oh, Satoru…”

“I fucked up shit.” He’s shaking, so you hold him close, shaking your head as you struggle to come down from the climaxes, from the dizzying madness that consumes you, from Satoru Gojo.

“We’ll figure something out. I’ll do whatever it takes.” He glares down at you, his jaw tense, so tense you see a vein popping out. You run a finger down it, as your thigh is over his own, as you’re a tangle of limbs in the messy bed. “I’ll never fucking leave you, Satoru.”

“Never!? Promise me please.” He begs now, and you nod eagerly, earning more of his messy kisses.

“How could I? There’s nothing but you.” He’s gripping you so tightly to him you swear you hear your damn ribs creak, like he can’t get you close enough. You snuggle to his big body, as reality sets in on you both. “We are in deep shit though.”

“Deep shit. Quicksand of shit. But guess what?”

“What?” You whisper, looking up at him, your messy hair being brushed back by his sure touch.

“I’ll do anything for you.”

His words hurt you, as you know he literally means anything. “Don’t try to sacrifice yourself for me! We’ll do it together.”

“You’re my everything. There’s nothing without you.” You feel those sticky hot tears returning as he caresses your face, as you feel his erratic heartbeat against your palm. You feel his desperation, his energy, his need, and it matches your own.

“Then keep your fucking self safe too. Okay!?” He doesn’t answer you, he’s just caressing your hair, in gentle strokes, so soothing. “Satoru don’t do anything stupid, please.”

“I already did, didn’t I?”

You glare now, shaking at your worry, at your anger, at your love. “We can fix it, or I’ll go down for it. It’s worth it to be with you.”

“I’ll not let shit get you. Never baby.” He kisses you again, and you’re falling apart and being put back together in this damn hotel room, and you’re just trying to avoid the reality of tomorrow in his strong arms.

Ao3 chap https://archiveofourown.org/works/56895382/chapters/150274354

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update+ 29/Sept/2023

Oh my word, guys! Next week I will be starting writing Book Four! And am I ever unbelievably eager to get this particular story on the go! I don’t think I’ve ever been so hyped to start writing as this one :D

Though saying that, I do have social media days next week, which should be very fun as the results of the Patreon poll for the Autumn/Spooky scenarios are now in!

So Alima, Haley, Sin and Maaka won, and I’ll be writing the AU romantic October Scenario specials for those! And I always love writing me some autumnal moments :D

I also need to actually start the writing of Book Four with some of the tidying up coding I talked about before. But that’ll actually save me a lot of time in the end, as I’ve done some learning on how to smooth out some coding! Then there’s also the immense task of writing and coding the Book Three synopsis and character choices for those who aren’t transferring over characters from previous books!

After that though, Chapter One begins and, honestly, I’m actually shaking with excitement writing that I’m so ready to begin, hehe!

So it’ll be a busy one next week, but so worth it as I finally get to start on what I’ve been planning! Can’t wait to fall back into the romances with Unit Bravo, introduce new characters, put the MC in even more intense situations, and finally bring the baddy to life.

And as our villain for Book Four says, “Meor’dal, you’ve never met anyone like me before.” ;D

Hope you all have the most amazing weekend! We’ll be offline as usual, so I’ll talk you all again next week and try not to make to make excited pterodactyl shrieking noises when Book Four begins, lol!

[fujoshirat]

+Strawberry Magic! ♡ 30 Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!♡+

Chapter 3: A Little Help (Shouto Todoroki, Japan’s Hottest Hero, Is a Virgin)

Summary: When virgin Pro Hero Shouto turns 30, he gains the magical ability to read the minds of people that he touches. After finding out that his personal assistant has a crush on him, everything changes and Shouto finds himself lost in the stressful game called love.

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Reader

Warnings: Aged up characters, cursing (you will see who does so :)), mentions of virginity, entire fic is and will be written in Shouto's POV

"What's got you in a pissy mood, huh?"

"Kacchan! That's not very nice!"

"It's good to see you too, Kacchan."

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Turning to Shouto, Izuku smiles sheepishly and waves.

"Shouto! It's been a while since we've gotten together!" The dual-haired man bows slightly and waves back. He looks at Katsuki, whose face is adorned with a glare. "Hey." The blonde scoffs at the greeting.

The three of them are ushered to a private booth, the makeshift noren keeping their identities private. Their server hands them an ordering tablet and table number before running off to serve other customers.

Once they settle down and place their orders, Katsuki rests his elbow on the table and holds his chin in his hand.

"Oi, what's with the sudden request?"

Izuku looks at Shouto curiously as well, awaiting his response.

"You're both 29, right?"

"Mhm!" "So?"

Biting his lip, Shouto continues speaking.

"Have you ever met a person who developed a quirk at 30?" Both of his friends look at him with puzzled expressions. Eventually, the emerald-eyed man chimes in first.

"Developed as in manifested at age 5? Or did the quirk get passed down?" Shouto shakes his head. "Developed, as in Katsuki developing his quirk at 5." The man in question speaks up.

"That's not possible. Quirks only develop at around a young age. Unless it's passed down..." He looks at his childhood friend, who smiles awkwardly.

"We've never met people like that."

Taking a deep breath, Shouto asks them a favor.

"I need both of you to think of a number from one to thirty, without telling me." Confused, the duo whisper to each other and decide on a number. Shouto leans over and touches both of their shoulders. He hears their familiar voices in his mind.

'22.'

"The number you both are thinking of is 22."

Katsuki's jaw drops and Izuku gasps.

"Huh!?"

"Shouto! How did you guess it?"

Their server brings them their beers and kushikatsu sticks. Thanking him, Shouto makes sure that he leaves before continuing.

"After I turned thirty, I've been able to read the minds of people that I touch."

Katsuki scoffs, "No way! That was probably luck." Shouto touches his shoulder again. "You're thinking about asking the server for extra fried lotus root once Izuku eats all of it."

"What the hell!?"

"Hey! I won't eat all of the lotus root!"

After finishing a stick of fried quail eggs, Shouto responds.

"I don't know why or how this happened, but I have my suspicions."

With a stoic face, (which was probably not the best one for the moment,) he looks at his best friends.

"It's because I'm a virgin."

...

"Icyhot! Are you stupid?! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"S-shouto! That's crazier than the hand-crushing comment!"

"I-I'm not kidding! I saw it on a poster at the bookstore!"

"What kind of crazy shit are you reading!? BAHAHAHA!"

"S-shut it! I'm not kidding!" Covering his pink cheeks with his hands, he starts talking again.

"Today, I apprehended a villain and I was able to read his mind!"

Izuku's eyes light up. "Oh! I saw that on the news!"

Shouto nods. "Yes, reading his mind was how I found the missing women, I'm serious!" "Okay, wait. So you can read minds. But what makes you think that not screwing around is the cause of your ability?" The spiky-haired man shoves fried pork belly into his mouth.

"It was on the poster, remember?"

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "Icyhot, you're thirty. Have you never done stuff with a girl before?" Shouto thinks back on all of his romantic experiences- wait...

Complete silence fills their booth.

And that's when it clicked in all of their heads.

Todoroki Shouto, winner of Japan's Hottest Hero polls for five years in a row straight,

is a virgin.

...

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!"

"Half and half! Don't tell me that you stink so bad at dating that the universe is giving you an extra power boost!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!"

"Shut up!" Shouto crosses his arms and glares at the laughing men.

"Just wait! Katsuki, with your personality, I bet that it's going to happen to you in three months!"

Izuku and Katsuki exchange awkward glances before looking at Shouto, who looks very unimpressed.

"Wow."

After a momentary period of awkward silence, Shouto clears his throat.

"There's also something I wanted to ask you guys about." When his friends stare at him inquisitively, he takes this as a signal to carry on.

"With this mind reading thing, I've found out that my assistant has a crush on me. What should I do?" Izuku reaches over to get a chicken skewer. "Oh! That must have been the nice lady that I gave your present to on your birthday! L/N-san, correct?" Shouto nods. Suddenly, Katsuki puts his beer down and points at him.

"So what if she has a crush on you? What difference does it make and why should it affect you?"

Shouto looks at the blondie with a puzzled expression.

"Kacchan's right, Shouto. You've got thousands of fangirls with obsessive crushes on you across the globe. If L/N-san does have a crush on you, why is she different?"

'Why is she different? Hm...'

"Well, I can't think of anything-"

"Do you like her back?" Katsuki's voice cuts Shouto's off. His red eyes stare at Shouto's heterochromatic ones.

"It's no different from high school. You don't like her, reject her. It's not like you have anything to lose. She's no longer a schoolgirl, she's an adult. She should be able to get over rejection and shit."

Shouto remains silent for a minute, pondering his friend's response.

"Thanks, both of you, for the advice. I really needed it."

The blondie rolls his eyes. "For someone who rejected all of the confessions he received in high school, you're oblivious as fuck."

"Kacchan!"

A smirk creeps onto Shouto's face. "Katsuki, you're quite knowledgeable in dealing with romantic affairs."

"SHUT UP!"

Grabbing a stick of fried fishcake, he smiles.

'I'm glad that Izuku and Katsuki are my friends.'

♡ 1 hour later ♡

After paying for dinner, Shouto joins his friends outside. Izuku greets him with a smile.

"Look, Shouto! It's snowing!"

Little snowflakes fall from the sky and slowly land on the pavement. Katsuki checks the weather app.

"Zero degrees, 'says that it's gonna snow for the next two hours."

As Shouto opens his phone, he is surprised to see an email from the Japan Heroes Association.

"Ah, check your emails."

"Huh? Oh! Another hero gala!"

"Ugh, again?"

----

To you, esteemed hero and guest,

Good evening all! You are cordially invited to the XXXX Winter Hero Gala. The gala will take place in Ballroom 3 of Moonstone Hotel on January 27 from 8pm to 12am. You are allowed a plus-one to this event. Please privately respond to this email if you are opting out of the gala or if you are not bringing a plus one. Attached below is the address of the venue.

The XXXX Winter Gala will be accepting donations to raise money for foster children in foster care homes around the country. 14 representatives from different foster care homes will be representing their care home.

If you have any questions, please contact XXX-XXXX. Thank you and have a wonderful evening!

Best regards,

Japan Heroes Association Board

Address: ____________

A/N: That's the end of chapter 3! I hope you enjoyed reading it <3 I'm not very good at writing for Midoriya and Bakugou, so I hope they didn't sound too OOC >o< This chapter did not feature the reader but don't worry! Chapter 4 will feature the reader PLUS more will happen >:)

As always, thanks to everyone for taking the time to read this little indulgence of mine ^w^ Per usual, chapter 4 is in the works and I'll try to remain consistent with uploading the next parts! School might come and bite me in the butt since it starts soon :( but I'll try my best to upload the series as consistently and eloquently as possible!!

~entire fic and notes written by me: fujoshirat!

Taglist (thank u so much!!): @boogiemansbitch