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decojellyfish · 3 days

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Calico Valley

Thank you all so much for waiting! I really like how this one turned out. I was very much inspired by this playlist while writing. I recommend listening to it while you read!

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Horror AU! TF141 Priest! Soap x Southern Belle! Fem + AFAB! Reader (She/Her) This town he was sent to is kind of… off. This girl is pretty cute, though.

SFW ~ Fic with fluff that rots away into horrific angst

Warnings: Horror themes, religion-related horror themes (specifically Christianity), an unhealthily protective father figure (extremely OOC John Price), brief swearing near the end, suggested murder, and cannibalism

───♡───────────── Beginning

In the little, Christian, Southern town of Calico Valley, John was staying at the local inn, filled with cobwebs, dust, and the possibility of paranormal entities. He did not fear, however. He kept his rosary close to him, and by close, he would sleep with it clutched in his hands every night he stayed in that inn.

He had been called to this town in regards to a supposed possession of a young boy. He was behaving erratically, spewing vile words that were not of the Lord but of Satan himself. The exorcism took about 4 hours before the boy was finally free of the demon’s hand. He even had the help of the town’s priest, John Price. After that, he would make his way to the town’s church.

John would sit in a random row, eyes shut, rosary in hand and pressed near his lips as he silently prayed. A few minutes into his stay at the church, he heard someone sit down next to him. He finished his prayer before looking over at who it was.

A young woman, dressed in a light yellow dress with white ruffles, lace, and ribbons accented all over the garment. You. Your hands were clasped in your lap as you kept her head low, a white bow placed at the back of your hair. You were also praying, though you would softly whisper it to yourself rather than silently think of it. A closed, lacey, white parasol rested against your leg.

Once you were finished, you blinked before looking at John. A small smile appeared on your lips. “I’ve heard rumors about a visitor in town… I wanted to see if they were true, I had a feeling you would be here.” Your voice was soft as if you didn’t want to scare the traveling priest.

John let out a small chuckle, “I take it you don’t get too many visiting priests?” “Oh no, we do. I’ve just never met a Scottish priest before, that’s all.” You giggled, a little embarrassed at the honest confession. “My father is this town’s priest.” You added.

“Oh really? I met him when we were exorcising a poor little boy. He aided me in the process.” He smiled, now interested in the fact that he had met the priest’s daughter. If he was being honest, he felt a small flutter in his heart when he laid his eyes on you. A worried frown had replaced your pleasant smile, a small sigh leaving your mouth as you looked away from him and at the painting of Lord Christ. “It pains me to know there is so much sin in this world. So many sinners, why can’t they listen to the words of the Lord…?”

He felt your worries, your confusion. He would lean ever so slightly closer to you, placing a hand over your clasped ones. “That’s why your father and I, as well as many others like us, exist. To help sinners be forgiven, and be relieved of their sins. But we can only do so much, dear.”

Your cheeks turned a light shade of red at his words and his simple action of holding your hand. It made him smile warmly, and you smile in return. “I never got your name, Father.” She asked, sitting up a bit.

“John MacTavish. Although, my friends just call me Johnny. And you, Ms. Price?” He asked with a small chuckle. You laughed as well, giving him your name as you grabbed your parasol and stood up, he did as well. “Perhaps I can show you around the town? It’s the least I can do for your services…” “I’d love to. Lead the way.” He smiled as he followed you out of the church into the dirt roads that directed the town.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You had finished showing Father Johnny around, your favorite candy parlor, your father’s favorite pub, the barbershop, and many other little spots. Some secret getaways as well, like your favorite spot beside the flowing river that you would visit when you wanted to get away from your father when he was in a mood.

“Wow, there’s so much to this town, eh?” Father Johnny looked over at you, making you giggle and nod. “Yes, it’s got so many things to see and do. Say, would you like to come over for dinner tonight? I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind at all.” You smiled up at him.

“I would love to, Ms. Price.” He smiled in return, reaching out and gingerly grasping your hand. “Why don’t we head to your home now, hm? I can’t help but think your father is worried ill about where you are.” “He always worries too much about me.” You huffed, your fingers twirling away at your parasol as it slightly dug into the ground.

“Ah, he’s just looking out for his pretty little girl.” His words made you blush a bit, your smile evolving from a pleasant smirk to a happy grin. “You think I’m pretty, Johnny…?” He stared at you, into your gem-like eyes. “Of course I do, you rival pearls in matters of beauty.” Father Johnny took a small step closer to you, his face mere inches away from yours.

You couldn’t believe this was happening, the butterflies in your stomach dancing and fluttering about like there was no tomorrow. It seemed like ages as you could see him leaning in a bit more, the both of you knowing where this was going. “Oh, would you hurry up and just smooch me?” You spoke as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep, loving kiss. He was surprised, but would happily melt into it and hold your face with his strong hands.

Price stood behind a thick willow tree, his hands angrily clutching each other behind his back. His eyes filled with rage as he watched the sight take place across the street. A man whom he thought was filled with faith and pureness had corrupted his daughter, luring her into a world of lustful romance. Sooner or later, she would be packing her bags to run off with this devil who called himself a man of God—selling her soul to him for a life of sin, birthing his demon children. Essentially leaving him to rot in this dying town.

He couldn’t have it. Something had to be done. He marched back to his home and began to prepare.

The kiss felt like it lasted forever, and you never wanted it to end. But, unfortunately, you both needed to breathe. So your lips parted from Father Johnny’s, a big smile on his face as he looked at you. “That was amazing…” You were smiling too but would look around as you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. You looked back at Father Johnny, giving him a cautious look. “Just watch out for my father, got it? He can get rather… protective.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You two arrive back at your father’s house, Father Johnny trying to keep it subtle the way his hand is on the small of your back. His fingers caress the fabric of your dress.

Knocking on the door, it only takes a few seconds for your father to answer the door. A few seconds beforehand, Father Johnny had removed his hand from you. Your father had a warm smile on his face when he saw the two of you. “Father John, can I help you with anything?” Your father questioned, welcoming you in but halting the priest at his door. “Ah, your daughter invited me over for dinner. Bonnie told me you wouldn’t mind.” Father Johnny smiled at him, Price’s eye slightly twitching at the pet name.

“Ah, of course. Come in, come in. I’ve only got poultry stew cooking, I hope that’s enough for you.” Greedy pig, he thought to himself.

Father Johnny nodded as a silent thank you before entering the Price household, taking a look around before he smelled the stew your father had spoken of. “Lovely home you’ve got, plenty cozy.” “Only the best for my little girl.” Price mumbled, locking the front door shut.

The three of you were all sat around the table, each with a bowl of stew and a piece of bread. “What’s it like in Scotland, Father Johnny?” You asked, spoon stirring at your bowl of stew. “Father Johnny?” Price looked at you, confused. “Johnny is what his friends call him.” You answered as if it was the simplest question you’ve ever gotten in your life. Father Johnny smiled a bit at your bluntness, trying to hold back a small chuckle.

We have little nicknames for each other now? Price thought to himself, teeth gritting against each other as Johnny answered.

“Nothing too special, though I could be saying that because it’s my home country.” He laughed, causing you to laugh as well as you ate a spoonful of stew. “I hope I get to visit one day.” You hummed, going back to stirring with your spoon. “I think you’d love it, Bonnie.” Your father shut down the affectionate interaction between you two by, somewhat aggressively, reminding Father Johnny what your actual name was.

From then on, dinner was only the sounds of spoons clinking against bowls, the liquidy sounds of stew, and the gentle crunching of bread.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It was the middle of the night, and you were sleeping in bed under your blankets with a nightgown replacing your day dress. A hand gently woke you up, causing groggy whines to leave your throat. Sitting up, rubbing at one of your eyes, you look at the perpetrator. It was Father Johnny. He had taken up your father’s offer to stay the night.

“Johnny… what are you doing here…? In my room…?” You whispered, still waking up. “Just wanted to give you a kiss goodnight… I couldn’t since it was kind of tense between your father and me…” He whispered back, holding your hand. You couldn’t help but smile, he was just so sweet!

You leaned forward and he gave you a gentle peck on your lips, before parting and giving another little peck to your forehead. “Love you, Bonnie.” “Love you too, Johnny.”

“Father John.”

You both nearly screamed when your father’s voice ripped through the loving silence that fell between you two. Father Johnny quickly stood up, dusting himself off as he looked at your father, who was standing in the open crack of your door. “Father Price.” Father Johnny replied. “I apologize, I was- I realized your daughter had left something of hers in the kitchen and I thought she would like to keep it close to her.”

Price held his hand up, signaling for him to stop talking before he smiled. “That’s fine, Father John. I just stopped by to tell you that I’ve received a desperate request for an exorcism.” “This late at night?” “It’s the devil’s hour, I’m not surprised.” Price chuckled a little, opening the door a bit more for Father Johnny to come with him.

Father Johnny nodded, understandingly, before giving you a loving glance and leaving the room with your father.

With that, you rested back into your bed. It seemed your father didn’t have a problem with you and Father Johnny after all. Perhaps it was because Father Johnny was a priest, and that meant he would keep you safe from sin. You smiled as you began to imagine your wedding, your own father being the one to wed you and Father Johnny together. Your wedding dress, what kind of flowers your bouquet would be filled with, what kind of cake you and Johnny would feed each other after the first slice was cut.

It made you giddy and excited to leave this town, instead, you would be living in Scotland with Father Johnny. Mrs. MacTavish. It had such a nice sound to it, wouldn’t you agree?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The loud crack of violent thunder ripped you from your sleep. It was pouring outside. Thankfully, it was only a Wednesday. You wouldn’t have to trek through all the mud to go to the church. You gave a small stretch before getting out of bed and walking down the steps. Your father was already cooking breakfast, but it was oddly enough another stew. Usually, he would be frying an egg or two, maybe even roasting a slice of ham to go along with it.

“Good morning, father.” You smiled at the back of your father’s head before you began to look around for Father Johnny. “Morning, dear.” Your father replied back, not turning to greet you. He was too focused on cooking.

“Do you know where Father Johnny would be? I figured he would be joining us for breakfast.” “Don’t fret about him, he’s just a boy. Go get yourself a bowl.” Your father answered, not wanting to hear any more of this ‘Father Johnny’ shit.

You silently obliged and got a bowl for yourself and one for your father, as well as one for Father Johnny.

Five minutes into breakfast, you were occasionally glancing over at the spot next to you at the table. Where Father Johnny would be, but it was only you and your father who sat across from you. Stirring at your morning stew, lifting up the meatballs with your spoon before gently placing them back down into the broth, you didn’t want to finish breakfast without the love of your life.

“Don’t play with your food, young lady.” Your father commanded, causing you to go back to sipping small spoonfuls of broth. “Make sure you eat the meat too, I don’t want you growing weak.” You followed his second command and scooped up one of the meatballs, taking a small bite out of it.

“This meat tastes weird…” You mumbled. “Well, you need to finish it. It’s not gone off if that’s what you’re wondering.” Your father retorted, eating the meat like he didn’t taste anything wrong with it. But you listened to him, father always knew best.

“I thought you would love the meat. It’s your favorite kind, anyway.” “Father, beef doesn’t usually taste like this-”

“It’s not beef.”

You looked up at him, confused. “I don’t think any other kind of meat tastes like this either, father.” “Didn’t you want to be with him forever?” Price replied blankly. “Father, what does Johnny have anything to do with this?” You were beyond puzzled at this point. “And where even is he? I never took him to be a man who likes to sleep in.”

“Dearest, he’s with us right now.” A small grin began to tug at your father’s lips. “He’s with you, too, my love.” You kept looking at your father with a perplexed expression, looking at him, then where Johnny was supposed to be seated, then your father again, and you briefly glanced down at your stew to think, what the hell is your father talking about?

Then it hit you.

You dropped your spoon, eyes wide open as you stared into the bowl of stew that rested on the table before you. Your body began to tremble as you heard your father holding back a wretched snicker. You stared at the balls of that weird meat, taking in every single bump and wrinkle they had to offer. Until your vision began to blur, tears flooding your eyes and clouding your sight. Your hands reached up to cover your mouth. Whether it was to keep you from vomiting, or from screaming bloody murder, you didn’t know. One thing you did know, however…

Was that you were eating meat that once belonged to Father Johnny’s corpse.

“Isn’t it what you wanted, dear?” Your father was holding back barrels of laughter as he watched your response. “You and that son of a bitch together forever? Honestly, Lovie, you don’t know how terrible it makes me feel, knowing that I’ve raised such a stupid child. Who thinks that she can magically be swept away by some devil-boy.” Your father growled at you, slamming his hands onto the table, causing some of the stew to dribble and spill onto the wooden structure.

The only thing you could do was sob, hiccup, and wipe at your tear-covered face. “Oh, stop your fucking crying. Now that I think about it, you and him would’ve been perfect together. All that boy would do was cry and weep, begging for his life before I swung that axe down. I freed you from a life of sin.”

“I hate you!” You screamed at your father through your tears, standing up and shoving the chair to the ground as you did so. Crack. The sound of thunder striking close to your home as your father swiftly slapped you clean across the face, nearly causing you to topple over. It nearly synced up at the same time. You held your face, looking up at the monster that contributed to your creation.

“Go to your room.” Your father commanded. Even in your heartbroken rage, you still listened to him. You ran up the stairs to your room, slamming the door shut behind you.

You were curled up in your bed, sobbing into your hands, when you heard your doorknob start to slightly jiggle. Your father wasn’t coming in, though.

You got up and tested it, giving it a little turn. But it wouldn’t turn. It was locked.

Your father had locked you in your room from the outside.

“It’s for your own good, dear. I can’t have you constantly getting wrapped up in all these demons who’re trying to control you and your gentle heart.” Your father spoke over your desperate cries to unlock the door, your fists banging against the wood. He left you alone after that. For the rest of the day even. You weren’t fed, you weren’t given anything to drink.

You were in hell. Satan, himself, had locked you into your own, personal ring of hell.

───♡───────────── End

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cheynovak · 2 days

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When we were young

Ben (Soldier Boy) Harrison x F/Reader Y/N

Contains/warnings: 18+, Smut, Childhood/ family trauma, puberty, losing virginity, dead of parent(s), time jumps, angst, fluff, hurt, ...

Side note: English isn’t my first language

Words: 7000

*Does not follow the boys storyline – Set in a time period where Ben was not yet a supe. Since we don’t know his last name, I came up with Harrison for this story.*

Y/N is a young girl who works with her mother as a maid in the household of Mr. Harrison and his son Ben. Since Ben was mostly in boarding school and Y/N till this summer in a normal school, they didn’t know each other very well.

This summer it all changed, Y/N had to help her mother financially and Mr. Harrison was so kind to let her work with her mom in his house. That’s when she met Ben, his son who was only a year older than her.

Soon the kids became best friends... but is that all there is? Friendship?

It was the hottest June I could remember, the kind where the air felt thick and the sun seemed to never set. Mom had worked at the Harrison estate for as long as I could recall, her hands roughened by years of scrubbing and polishing.

She always said it was honest work, and I believed her, but I couldn't help but wish for something more for us. That summer, I started working alongside her. It was the first time I'd be spending most of my days in the grand old house on the hill, a place that seemed to belong in a different world altogether.

The Harrisons were well-off, and their home reflected it, with its sprawling lawns, marble floors, and rooms that echoed with emptiness. Mr. Harrison was a stern man with a permanent scowl who owned half of the steel industry in town, the kind that made you feel like you were always doing something wrong, even when you weren’t.

Ben was home from boarding school for the summer. I’d heard about him from Mom, seen his pictures in the grand hallway, a boy with green eyes and freckles, always looking slightly out of place in his stiff school uniforms.

He looked nice, a clean boy with mystery in his eyes, mom told me that he lost his mother a few years back, since then his father sends his to boarding school. He had the posture of his father but the kindness of his mom. But nothing could prepare me for meeting him in person.

I was dusting the library when I first saw him. The door creaked open, and I looked up, expecting to see Mr. Harrison, but instead, it was a young boy about my age, his green eyes wide with curiosity while he hung against the frame.

“Hi,” he said, a little shyly. “I’m Ben.” “I’m Y/N,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “I work here with my mom.” He nodded, “I know. I’ve seen you around the house this week.”

“How old are you?” He asked “Thirteen,” I said while continue doing my job. “How ‘bout you?” I saw his perfect lips curl into a smile “Fourteen.”

We stood there for a moment, awkwardly, until he stepped inside, his eyes scanning the rows of books. “Do you like to read?” “Sometimes,” I said, following his gaze. “But I don’t have as many as you do.”

Ben nodded, a shadow passing over his face. “Yeah, I get that.” I didn’t know then about the things he carried, the weight of his mother’s death earlier that year or the way his father’s harsh words echoed in his head.

“Here.” He said handing me an old book. “It’s my favourite.”

He was kind but I could see the sadness in his eyes, the kind that doesn’t go away with time. As the weeks passed, we fell into an easy companionship. Ben would help me with my chores, carrying buckets of soapy water or reaching high shelves that I couldn’t. I didn’t think he liked the work, but he just wanted someone to talk to.

We talked about everything and nothing – books, school, the future we both dreamed of but felt so far out of reach. One afternoon, we were sitting under the old oak tree in the backyard for my break, the sun filtering through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the grass.

Ben was unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Are you okay?” I asked softly. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It��s my dad. He… he’s... Everything I do is wrong. I can’t make him happy.” I didn’t know what to say.

I’d seen Mr. Harrison’s temper, the way his face would turn red and his voice would rise until it seemed like the walls themselves were trembling. “I’m sorry,” I said finally. “That sounds really hard.” Ben nodded, his eyes meeting mine.

We sat there for a long time, the silence between us comfortable. As we were getting up from the grass so I could work again, Ben took the heavy bucket out of my hands, just as Mr. Harrison walked out. His eyes zoned in on Ben helping me, his face contorted with anger.

“What do you think you’re doing, Benjamin?” he roared, his voice echoing through the hallway. “I don’t pay you to laze around, girl! I pay you and your mother to do the work. Not him!” I froze. Ben’s grip tightened, his knuckles white against the handle.

He flinched at his father's words, shrinking back as if he’d been struck. I could see the fear in his eyes, a raw and vulnerable look that made my heart ache. “Dad, I was just...” Ben started, his voice small and shaky.

“You were just what?” Mr. Harrison cut him off, stepping closer. “Just wasting time? Just shirking your responsibilities? You think you can just do whatever you please?”

“It’s my fault,” I said quickly, stepping forward. “I asked Ben to help me. It won’t happen again, sir.” Mr. Harrison turned his glare on me, his eyes cold and hard. “See that it doesn’t,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “Get back to work."

He stormed off, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. Ben and I stood there for a moment, the bucket between us, the weight of his father's anger still lingering in the air. “I’m sorry,” Ben said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s not usually this bad, he just has a bad day.”

I shook my head, forcing a small smile. “It’s okay. Let’s just finish this.” I worked in silence for the rest of the day, the easy companionship we’d found overshadowed by the tension Mr. Harrison had left behind.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Ben had flinched, the fear in his eyes. It wasn’t right. No one should have to live like that. That night, as Mom and I walked home, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Mom, why does Mr. Harrison treat Ben like that? It’s not fair.” Mom sighed, her shoulders heavy with the weight of her own experiences in that house. “Life isn’t always fair, Y/N. Mr. Harrison… he’s a hard man. Losing his wife made him even harder. Ben’s caught in the middle of all that anger and grief.” “

But it’s not Ben’s fault,” I insisted, frustration bubbling up inside me. “He’s just a kid, you never treated me like that when dad left.” “I know, sweetheart,” Mom said gently. “But sometimes, people lash out at those closest to them when they’re hurting. It’s not right, but it happens. All we can do is be kind and supportive where we can.”

Sometime later, at the end of the summer, I was dusting the grand staircase when I heard voices coming from Mr. Harrison’s study. The door was slightly open, and I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation inside.

“I don’t want to go back to boarding school, Dad,” Ben was saying, his voice strained. “You don’t get a say in this, Ben,” Mr. Harrison replied harshly. “You’ve been spending too much time with the maid, what will people say. You need to learn your place and some manners. Boarding school is just good for you.”

“But, Dad...”

“No! Pack your things. You’re leaving tomorrow. ”I stepped back, my heart heavy. The thought of Ben leaving filled me with an unexpected sadness. He was the only person in that big, cold house who made it feel warm and alive.

That evening, as the sun began to set right before we were about to leave, I sneaked up to Ben’s room. The door was slightly open, and I could see him inside, his suitcase half-packed on the bed. He looked up as I entered, surprise and relief flashing in his green eyes.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice tinged with sadness. “I heard you’re leaving,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. He nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah. Dad’s sending me back to boarding school.”

I took a step closer, my heart pounding. “I just wanted to say goodbye.” Ben stood up, his eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, neither of us moved, the air between us thick with unspoken words. Then, he stepped forward and pulled me into a hug. It was a quick, desperate motion, as if he was afraid to let go.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight. The feeling of his arms around me was both comforting and electrifying, and I felt a warmth spread through me that I hadn’t expected.

“Thank you,” he whispered into my hair. “For being my friend.”

“Always,” I whispered back, my voice choked with emotion. “You’ll be okay, Ben. You’re stronger than you know.” We stood there for what felt like an eternity, neither of us wanting to break the embrace.

Ben pulled back, “I’ll write to you,” he said, his voice firm. “Every chance I get.” I nodded, blinking back my own tears. With one last, lingering look, I turned and left the room, the weight of our goodbye settling heavily on my shoulders.

The next day, I watched from a distance as the car took Ben away, his face pressed against the window, watching the house grow smaller. I waved, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. And as the car disappeared from my view, I made another silent promise to myself: I would be here, waiting, whenever he came back.

Almost a year had passed since Ben left for boarding school. True to his word, he wrote to me whenever he could. His letters were my lifeline to him, filled with stories about his life there.

At first, they were full of loneliness and homesickness, how he didn’t have many friends and felt out of place. But gradually, the tone of his letters changed. He wrote about sneaking out of the dormitories, getting into trouble, and even about a girl he met while sneaking out, who had kissed him.

I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy when I read that part. It felt like he was slipping away, becoming someone different. Someone who wasn’t just my Ben anymore. His letters became less frequent over the winter, and I was disappointed he didn’t come home for Christmas.

It made me worry about the kind of person he was turning into. But now it was summer, and he was supposed to stay for at least a few weeks. I felt a mix of nervous and happy to see him again.

Nervous because I wasn’t sure what to expect after all this time. Happy because, despite everything, he was still Ben, and I missed him more than I cared to admit. The day he arrived, the sun was blazing, and the air was thick with humidity. I was helping Mom in the garden, pulling weeds and tending to the flowers. We heard the car pull up, and my heart skipped a beat.

I wiped my hands on my apron and stood up, trying to calm the fluttering in my stomach. There he was, stepping out of the car, taller and more confident than I remembered. His green eyes still had that familiar spark, but there was something different about him.

A new hardness around the edges, a maturity that hadn’t been there before. He saw me standing by the garden and smiled, a slow, almost hesitant smile. “Y/N!” he called, waving. “Ben!” I called back, unable to keep the grin off my face.

I ran to him, my heart pounding with a mix of joy and anxiety. He met me halfway, and before I could say anything, he pulled me into a hug. It was different from the last one, more grown-up somehow, but it still felt like coming home.

The butterflies in my stomach were back, more intense than ever. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice soft in my ear. “I missed you too,” I replied, pulling back to look at him. “You’ve changed.”

He shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Boarding school does that to you, I guess. But it’s still me, Y/N.” “I know,” I said, smiling. “Come on, let’s go inside. You must be tired or hungry, I can make you something.”

Mom watched us getting back to the house, Ben smiled polite and nodded to her when I pulled him by his arm. I couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. He was here, and for the next few weeks, we would be together again.

As we reached the door, I glanced at him, hoping that the boy I knew was still there, underneath all the changes. And as he looked back at me with that same old twinkle in his eye, I felt a flicker of hope.

Maybe things hadn’t changed as much as I feared.

That night at dinner, the tension in the dining room was palpable. Mr. Harrison dominated the conversation, droning on about business and politics, while Ben and I sat in uncomfortable silence.

Ben's father hardly acknowledged him, only speaking to tell him what he should or shouldn't be doing. I was helping Mom serve dinner, carrying plates of roast chicken and mashed potatoes from the kitchen to the table.

When I brought a fresh drink to Ben, he looked up at me and winked. It was a small, playful gesture, but it caught me off guard. I blushed, my cheeks heating up, and in my flustered state, I accidentally spilled some of the drink onto the table.

Mr. Harrison's face darkened, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Ben. “What’s the matter with you, Benjamin?” he snapped. “Haven’t you learned not to upset with a young girl like that, is that what they teach you in school? Look at the mess you’re causing.”

Ben's expression tightened, a flicker of the old fear and anger flashing in his eyes. “It was an accident, Dad,” he said quietly. “An accident,” Mr. Harrison scoffed, shaking his head. “You’ve been back for less than a day, and you’re already causing trouble. You’re an embarrassment.”

Ben clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists on the table. I could see the effort it took for him to stay silent, to not lash out. My heart ached for him, wishing I could do something to make it better.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said quickly, trying to defuse the situation. “It was my fault. I wasn’t upset, Ben didn’t upset me, Sir.” Mr. Harrison barely glanced at me, his attention fixed on his son. “Maybe you should learn from Y/N’s example, Benjamin. At least she knows how to take responsibility for her mistakes.”

Ben’s eyes met mine and I could see the hurt and frustration in them. He gave me a small, tight smile, trying to reassure me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. After dinner, I helped Mom clear the table while Ben retreated to the library.

Once the kitchen was cleaned up, I found him there, staring out the window into the darkening yard. His shoulders were slumped, the confident, playful boy I’d seen earlier replaced by someone who looked tired and beaten down.

“Ben,” I said softly, stepping into the room. “Are you okay?” He turned to look at me, his eyes weary. “I’m fine, Y/N. It’s just… him. He always knows how to get under my skin.” I walked over to him, placing a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to let him. You’re stronger than he thinks.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.” I could feel the heat of his skin coming through his shirt “You’re not alone. I’m here.” I said. He looked at me, a small smile tugging at his lips. I smiled back, my heart fluttering, my eyes land on his perfect plump lips.

“Come on. Let’s go outside. The night’s too beautiful to waste in here.” We slipped out into the garden, the cool night air a welcome relief from the oppressive atmosphere of the house. As we walked, the stars twinkling above us, I could see some of the tension easing from Ben’s shoulders.

For a while, we just walked in silence, the only sounds the chirping of crickets and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Finally, Ben spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. “I hate that he makes me feel like this,” he said. “Like I’m never good enough.”

“You are good enough,” I said firmly, stopping to look at him. “Don’t let him make you forget that.” He looked at me, his green eyes bright in the moonlight, his skin had a cool glow. “You’re amazing, Y/N. You know that?” I blushed again, looking down glad the night sky didn’t show it.

“I’m just being honest.” I said.

He reached out, lifting my chin so I had to meet his gaze. “And that’s why you’re amazing.” For a moment, we just stood there, looking at each other. Then, slowly, he leaned down.” My heart raced, I closed my eyes. “He kissed my cheek, a soft, lingering touch that sent a shiver down my spine. “Thank you, for being my only friend.” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin.

I opened my eyes, I don’t know if I had to be glad or disappointed but I knew he meant well.” Same goes for you.” I whispered.

That summer, Ben and I spent as much time together as we could. We explored the woods behind the estate, swam in the cool creek that wound through the property, and lay in the grass watching the clouds drift by.

Every moment felt precious, like I was storing up memories to carry me through the long months when he’d be gone again. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but hope that Ben would start to feel the same way about me as I did about him.

But as the days passed, it became clear that his heart was somewhere else. Or rather, with someone else. Her name was Emily. Ben had met her while he sneaked out on night, and he couldn’t stop talking about her. Emily was funny, Emily was smart, Emily loved to read the same books he did.

Each mention of her name felt like a small, sharp pang in my chest, but I forced myself to smile and listen, pretending it didn’t hurt. One afternoon, we were sitting by the creek, our feet dangling in the cool water.

Ben was skipping stones across the surface, his eyes alight with excitement. “And then Emily said,” he began, launching into another story about her. I nodded, trying to keep the smile on my face. “She sounds great,” I said, forcing the words out. “She is,” he said, grinning. “I wish you could meet her. You’d like her.”

“Yeah,” I replied, looking down at the water. “Maybe one day.” He didn’t notice the strain in my voice, too wrapped up in his own thoughts he just kept rambling on “That’s great, Ben,” I said, my heart sinking. I wanted to be happy for him, I really did. But it was hard when it felt like I was losing him to someone I’d never even met.

As the weeks went by, I tried to push my feelings aside, to focus on the time we had together. We laughed and talked and shared secrets, and I clung to those moments, hoping they would be enough to sustain me. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the sadness that settled in my chest whenever Ben mentioned Emily.

It was a constant reminder that his heart belonged to someone else, and no amount of wishing could change that. One evening, as we sat on the porch steps watching the sun set, I couldn’t hold it any longer.

“Ben,” I said softly, staring at the horizon, “do you ever think about the future?” He glanced at me, a curious look on his face. “Of course. Why?” “I just… I wonder what it’ll be like. For us, I mean.” I kept my eyes fixed on the setting sun, afraid to see his reaction. He was silent for a moment.

He reached out and took my hand, his grip warm and reassuring. "You’re important to me, you know that right?” A flicker of hope washed over me. “You’re my best friend.” at there goes it again, my heart sank. “Thanks, Ben,” I whispered, squeezing his hand. It wasn’t the answer I wanted but I couldn’t tell him.

As the summer drew to a close, I tried to make the most of every moment we had left. I laughed at his jokes, listened to his stories, and pretended my heart wasn’t breaking a little more each day.

When the time came for him to leave, we stood by the gate, the same place where we’d said goodbye the year before. He hugged me tightly, and I held on, trying to memorize the feel of his arms around me.

“I’ll write to you,” he promised, pulling back to look at me. “I know you will,” I said, forcing a smile. He gave me one last, lingering look, then turned and walked away.

Dear Y/N,

I hope you’re doing well and everything’s good back home. How’s your mom? I miss you both. The house must feel so empty without all of us around. Sometimes, I miss the quiet of the estate and the sound of the creek we used to visit. Things here at school are… well, they’re complicated.

Remember Emily? Turns out, things didn’t work out between us. She left for another school, and we kind of lost touch. It was hard at first, but I guess it was for the best. Life moves on, right?

Speaking of moving on, there’s someone new I want to tell you about. Her name is Cathy. She’s got this incredible red hair that shines like copper in the sunlight, and she’s got the most beautiful long legs.

She’s not just pretty; she’s smart and funny, too. We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and she makes this place a little more bearable. Cathy’s different from anyone I’ve ever met. She’s confident and knows what she wants. I feel like I can be myself around her, which is a nice change.

She’s been helping me with my history homework, and I’m helping her with different things. It’s a good balance.

I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll be home for Christmas this year, so we can catch up properly. Maybe we can visit the creek and talk like we used to. I miss those talks.

Take care, Y/N. Write back soon and tell me all about what’s happening there. I want to hear everything.

Yours always,

Ben

Dear Ben,

It was so good to get your letter. I’m glad to hear things are going well for you at school and that you’ve met someone who makes you happy. Cathy sounds wonderful, and I’m really glad you have someone like her in your life.

Things here have been… difficult. My mom is very ill. The doctors don’t know if she’s going to make it till Christmas. It’s been so hard watching her get weaker every day.

Your dad has been kind enough to pay for the medical bills, but I have to work twice as hard now. The house feels so empty without you, and I miss the times we spent together more than ever.

It’s strange how life can change so quickly. One moment, everything feels normal, and the next, it’s like the ground has shifted beneath your feet. I’ve been trying to stay strong, but some days it feels impossible.

Your letters help, though. They remind me of better times and give me something to look forward to. I miss you, Ben. I miss our talks, just having you around, you know? The creek feels lonely without you, and the oak tree doesn’t feel like our spot without you sitting beside me.

I hope you can come home for Christmas. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I really need a friend right now. Take care of yourself, Ben, please write back soon.

Your letters mean the world to me.

Yours always,

Y/N

A few days before Christmas, everything changed.

My mom’s battle with illness came to an end, and the world seemed to stop turning for a moment. The grief was overwhelming, and I felt lost in a sea of sorrow. Mr. Harrison was kind enough to allow me time off to arrange the funeral, but it was a blur of tears and heartache.

On the day of the funeral, Ben came home. I didn’t expect to see him so soon. But when he heard what happened he jumped on the first train home. On the day of the funeral, he stood at the back during the service, a quiet figure under a tree, watching from a distance.

When it was time for one more greeting, he walked up to me last. His presence brought a small comfort, a reminder of the friendship we shared. I couldn’t hold back the tears when he approached me.

He held out a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers I had ever seen. They were a mix of roses and lilies, vibrant and full of life, just like my mom had been. I took them from him with trembling hands, unable to find the words to express my gratitude. “They’re for your mom,” Ben said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought… she deserved something beautiful.”

My tears now flowed freely, a mixture of grief and relief to see him there. Ben didn’t say anything at first; he just pulled me into a gentle hug, his warmth a balm to my broken heart. After a moment, he stepped back and looked at me. I knew he knew what I felt.

After the funeral, Ben stayed with me as I faced the daunting task of packing up my mom’s belongings. His presence made the sorrow a little easier to bear, his quiet strength a steady anchor in the storm of emotions.

As the days passed and Christmas drew nearer, Ben helped me with everything, from organizing, to going to the shop and putting up the tree and lights. His kindness and understanding meant more to me than words could express.

On Christmas Day, they sat in the dining room, the twinkling lights of the tree casting a warm glow over the room. It wasn’t the Christmas I had imagined, but it was good that I had to work, I could at least try to keep my mind off of things.

During dinner, while I was busy working around the table, Mr. Harrison's question caught me off guard. "Y/N, where will you live now?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle. I paused, setting down a plate, unsure how to respond.

With my mom gone and my dad out of the picture for many years, the reality of my situation was stark. I couldn’t afford to keep our room anymore, and I hadn’t yet figured out my next steps.

Mr. Harrison continued, his tone almost compassionate, "You know, Y/N, the house feels empty. I could use some extra help who lives in house. You wouldn’t get paid as much anymore, but you’d have a roof over your head and three meals a day. What do you say?”

His offer took me by surprise. “I… I don’t know what to say,” I stammered, feeling a mix of gratitude and hesitation. “Your mom has been part of this household for so long, Y/N,” Mr. Harrison said, his expression softening. “You’re like family. It’s the least I can do.”

I glanced at Ben, who was watching silently from his seat. His eyes met mine briefly, and I saw a flicker of understanding and support. “Thank you,” I finally managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I gladly accept your offer, sir.” Relief washed over me, knowing I would have a place to stay, at least for now.

It wasn’t what I had imagined for myself, but in that moment, it was the best option I had. I would figure out the rest as I went along.

After dinner, Ben knocked softly on the door of my new room, and I welcomed him in with a smile. The space was bigger than what I was used to, but it felt warm and safe, a stark contrast to the uncertainty I had felt just days ago.

He climbed on my bed, my hearts raced, As we lay side by side on the bed, the room illuminated softly by the lamp on the bedside table, I couldn’t help but remark, “You know, Ben, this is the nicest room I’ve ever slept in.”

He chuckled softly, his eyes meeting mine in the dim light. “I’m glad you like it. You deserve to have a nice place to call home.” He reached out and squeezed my hand. “You’re family, Y/N. We take care of each other.”

We talked late into the night, sharing memories of our summers together and dreams for the future. The weight of my grief felt lighter with Ben by my side, his presence a comfort in the darkness. Then, in a quiet moment, Ben confessed,

“I broke up with Cathy.” Surprised, I turned to look at him. “Oh? What happened?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It just wasn’t working out. She was so jealous all the time, always questioning where I was and who I was writing to. It got exhausting.”

“I’m sorry, Ben,” I murmured, feeling for him. “That must have been tough.” He nodded, his expression somber. “Yeah. But maybe it’s for the best. I want someone who trusts me and who I can be myself around.”

“You’ll find someone like that,” I assured him, squeezing his hand. he smiled and turned to me "maybe" he said, I could have sworn I saw his face move closer to mine. Or maybe it was just my mind playing tricks.

A little later I drifted off to sleep, a sense of peace settled over me, knowing I was safe and cared for in my new home. Ben’s presence beside me brought a comfort I hadn’t felt in a long time.

As I lay there, he settled in beside me, his arm pulling me closer, his hand gently caressing my arm, I couldn’t help but feel a deepening connection between us.

In my dream, I saw him clearly, crawling on the bed hovering over me, like I was looking at an angel. The early morning sunshine streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over his face.

His freckles stood out like constellations against his skin, and his green eyes sparkled with a warmth that reached deep into my soul. His light brown hair, now kissed with hints of blond from the sun, framed his face perfectly. I couldn’t look away.

Mesmerized by his beauty, I felt my heart swell with a mixture of admiration and something more, a longing that I had been afraid to acknowledge until now. His perfect eyes looked at my lips before he closed the space between us.

I took a deep breath and as I woke from my dream, the lingering warmth of Ben’s touch on my skin brought a sense of comfort, but as I fully emerged from sleep, I realized he was no longer beside me.

A pang of disappointment and unease settled in my chest. I glanced around the room, half-expecting to see him there, but it was empty except for me. The covers beside me were cool and I couldn’t shake the feeling of his absence. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, trying to push away the lingering traces of the dream and the sense of loss it had left behind.

Ben had left before morning, and although I knew it wasn’t unusual for him to be up early, a part of me wished he had stayed, just a little longer. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the cool floor beneath my feet.

The emptiness of the room echoed the emptiness in my heart, reminding me of the fragile balance of our new arrangement. With a sigh, I stood up and began to get ready for the day, pushing aside my mixed emotions.

Ben’s POV:

As Ben woke that morning, he felt the soft weight of Y/N’s body nestled against him, her warmth a comforting presence in the early light filtering through the curtains. Opening his eyes, he watched as sunlight gently kissed her face, casting a serene glow over her features.

She looked so peaceful asleep, a stark contrast to the worries and uncertainties that often plagued their lives. Brushing a strand of hair away from her face, Ben couldn’t help but feel a surge of conflicting emotions.

In the quiet of the morning, with Y/N in his arms, he allowed himself to acknowledge the depth of his feelings for her. Her friendship had always been a constant in his life, a source of strength and understanding.

But now, as he looked at her sleeping form, he realized that his feelings had shifted, deepening into something more. He broke with any girl the second he realised they weren’t like her. Why he didn’t confess to her? He was afraid to let her go, afraid of losing the bond they had shared for so long.

The thought of risking their friendship for something uncertain weighed heavily on his mind. Yet, in that moment, with her soft breaths against his chest and the warmth of her body against his, he couldn’t deny the pull he felt towards her.

Quietly, he traced the curve of her cheek with his finger, saving the moment to memory. Ben reluctantly untangled himself from Y/N's embrace. Her soft breathing and the warmth of her body lingered in his mind as he quietly slipped out of the room.

He paused by the doorway, casting one last glance back at her sleeping form, conflicted emotions swirling within him. He knew he had to leave before she woke up. The weight of their evolving relationship and the fear of jeopardizing their friendship weighed heavily on his heart.

Closing the door softly behind him, Ben took a deep breath, trying to steady his thoughts.

Weeks passed and I didn’t receive a single letter from Ben yet. I wondered if I did anything wrong? Mr. Harrison was very nice to me the days Ben wasn’t home. I did do the household as told but he asked me to join him for dinner.

He said eating alone wasn’t fun for the both of us, so he asked me to join him in the dining room. I accepted since I was the only maid who stayed at the house and ate the same meal.

Ben’s POV:

Ben had made a few new friends at boarding school. Since he beat up a fellow student some of the tougher guys at school started to like him. And found himself in a situation he had never anticipated.

His new friends, older and more experienced, had convinced him to sneak out for a night of drinking. As they laughed and joked, the thrill of being accepted by this group masked his growing unease.

In the dimly lit bar, the boys stood amidst the haze of alcohol. It was a quiet night, only them and a woman, who did seem to approach him. She was older, maybe around 25, and her confidence was palpable. Ben felt a mix of excitement and nervousness as she leaned in close, her perfume enveloping him. "

“Hey there, handsome," she purred, her voice husky with allure. "Care to join me for a drink?" Ben's heart raced. He had never been in a situation like this before. His friends egged him on with knowing smirks, whispering encouragement that only fuelled his curiosity and apprehension.

Caught between the desire to fit in and the uncertainty of what was happening, Ben hesitated. He wasn't sure how to respond to this bold advance from a woman who seemed so sure of herself.

Deep down, though, he knew this wasn't what he wanted. He thought of Y/N, the girl who had always been there, understanding and kind. As the woman leaned closer, her perfume enveloping him in a heady haze, Ben felt a surge of conflicting emotions, excitement, fear, and a deep-seated longing for something more meaningful.

As Ben agreed to accompany the woman to a more private booth, backs facing his friends. His mind raced with a mix of exhilaration and nervousness. His older friends continued to joke and laugh at the bar, seemingly unconcerned with what was unfolding.

In the dimly lit booth, the woman wasted no time in making her intentions clear, her hand caressed his thigh, her eyes never leaving him, while her tongue moved ever so slow over her lips. She moved close to Ben, her touch bold and unfamiliar.

Her actions were assertive, almost aggressive, leaving Ben feeling overwhelmed and out of his depth. As she leaned in closer, whispering suggestive words in his ear, Ben struggled to respond. His thoughts raced back to the one girl he truly cared about, the one he wished he could share moments like this with Y/N.

He felt a pang of guilt and regret, knowing that this experience was far from what he truly wanted. He didn't want to appear inexperienced or foolish in front his new friends, especially after they had egged him on and joked about the situation.

With a mix of nervousness and a desire to please, Ben hesitated for a moment. The woman's eyes searched his, a mix of anticipation and assurance. In that fleeting moment, Ben made a split-second decision, he leaned in and kissed her. The kiss was awkward and uncertain, lacking the passion and connection he had imagined in his fantasies.

It felt more like a performance, a scripted response to the situation he found himself in. But his teenage body thought differently. The physical sensations sparked by the kiss and the woman's closeness stirred a primal reaction.

His heartbeat quickened, adrenaline surged through his veins, and a sense of exhilaration momentarily masked the discomfort and uncertainty he felt. In that fleeting moment, the physicality of the kiss overpowered the intellectual and emotional dissonance he experienced.

His teenage body, attuned to new experiences and heightened sensations, responded with a not to ignore erection.

Her hand moved down and Ben did his best to keep his breath steady. The woman looked over her shoulder to his friend, but all of them were too busy to get drunk. She slipped in between his knees, Ben’s eyes widen.

“What are you...” But she hushed him with a finger over his mouth. Within a minute he felt her lips around his erection. The feeling made him react on instinct, throwing his head back and letting out a deep breath.

The second after that he felt a little unsure, looking around, the woman noticed, ordering him to look at her. Unable to think straight he closed his eye, his mind raced back to Y/N. The sight of her working him made it hard not to let go.

When she noticed he had a hard time keeping control he lifted her skirt and straddled him, it was the first time Ben had felt a woman like that, it wasn’t what he expected of it, but it was nice, almost an addicted feeling. A few rough bounced from her and he couldn’t hold back anymore.

While he tried to hold his groans quiet, she pulled him to her chest. The second his release ebb away she stood up and walked away towards the bar. Ben let his head fall back out of breath and watched her. She walked over to his friends, one of them handed her money.

He looked at Ben and smirked, he just shook his head thinking that his friends were crazy. As he rejoined them, they all laughed. Saying how he now was a real man. The one who paid smacked a hand on his shoulder.

“Since you seemed unable to find a girl who was willing to all the way with you, we thought we might lend you a hand.” Ben shook his head smiling. “By paying a fucking hooker?” The guys started laughing. “Yeah, well next time you need to find your own pussy, Benny-boy.”

He smiled like the rest of them, but deep down he felt guilty. How was he supposed to act around Y/N now? How was he going to be able to look her in her eyes and act normal ever again?

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

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#jensen ackles #fanfic #x reader #jensen fucking ackles #soldier boy #the boys #fluff #implied smut #x y/n smut #the boys smut #the boys soldier boy #smut #when we were young

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34saveme34 · 1 day

Text

(this is angst, I'm killing him)

the crew imprisoned Puzzles for a while now, and everyone decided maybe it would be good to kill him for good if he didn't die yet. 3 gets chosen to do it. He thought it'd be an easy job

word count: 1421

It was a dark cabin where he was. Restrained. Only the wind made soft noise outside. His own odd sounds he found out to be his own breathing. He forgot how loud it can be when he doesn’t have a show running in his head. The silence was deafening but so was the fate that was coming for him. As a light source, all he had was his screen, also making humming noises. He would sometimes turn it off as the noise was slowly driving him mad. At least that gave him a sort of variety he wouldn’t have otherwise. At least it gave him a lot of time to think. For better or for worse.

On a fateful day, the door to where he was sealed away opened, the light feeling like the blinding lights of heaven. He even would’ve believed he died if he wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t go there. He missed his chance.

“Hi, freak” 3 came in, not closing the door after himself.

“SMG3…” something felt solemn about his voice. The tone kind of frightened 3 but he tried his best to hide it.

“You don’t have to say my name like that, sheesh”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, preferably”

Puzzles chuckled.

“I’ve been doing that so I’d prefer not to”

“What you do or don’t prefer is irrelevant right now”

“Uhuh… Why are you here anyways?”

“Well, I was the one picked to check on you”

“Check on me? No one ever did that for me” there was such an uncomfortable genuine vibe dripping off of Puzzles’s words, 3 couldn’t reply for a while, making awkward silence between them.

“Nevertheless… Check on me for what?” Puzzles tried to break the silence that felt ever so concerningly familiar to him at this point.

“...To see if you’re dead… and that if you’re not, I have…” as 3 spoke, he slowly raised a gun he brought.

“So you came to kill me?”

“Yes” he pointed the gun at Puzzles.

Puzzles sighed, which was once again a reaction 3 wasn’t used to. He was used to people trembling in fear when he threatened them. Not fucking sighing. It was pretty visible how his hand with the gun lightly lowered.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 3 asked, now his voice giving away just how much Puzzles’s odd behaviour was affecting him.

“Well, for one, I was put in a closed space with no light for several days. Sure wonder who is responsible for that”

“You deserve as much for what you did”

“I… I guess…”

3 once again raised his gun at Puzzles.

“Hey… SMG3?”

Once again that tone that scared 3 so much for some reason. He whipped the gun away from Puzzles’s direction.

“Fucking what?? Can’t I just do what I was asked to and go??”

Puzzles ignored his words.

“I heard something about how you used to be a villain”

“Yes… your point?”

“I just… when I see someone like me, I can feel it.”

3 looked at him confused, his heart felt invaded in a way he thought nobody could. Like intimately pushing in a dagger that doesn’t kill but puts you on the edge regardless.

“I’m nothing like you”

“Really?... You flinched pretty hard when I mentioned being lonely. Were you lonely before as well?”

3 didn’t reply, the gun shaking his hand.

“I mean… I understand. Loneliness can do some scary things to your brain… I do wish sometimes I could just turn back time and do things right. But I do also wonder if there would even have been a right way… I mean, doesn’t it sometimes feel like life can just… force you to be lonely forever?”

Puzzles laughed at himself as 3 raised his gun, tearing up.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” he cried.

“Oh… I hit a nerve? Sorry, SMG3… I didn’t know… we could’ve been so… similar”

“We are NOT the same”

“We aren't”

“THEN STOP SAYING IT AND DIE ALREADY”

“Shoot me then. What is stopping you?”

3 stopped, his head becoming way too loud.

He leaned against the doorway, trying to keep himself together. Why didn’t he kill him already? What was holding him back at this point? This man hurt him and his friends badly. Even his best friend… They all lost so much because of him… So then, why?

“Hey, SMG3” Puzzles’s voice was weirdly comforting “It’s okay if you relate. No one will hate you for it”

“I already said, I’m nothing like you” 3 was full blown crying at this point.

“This is starting to get dumb… relating to me doesn’t make you me”

3 looked at him still angry but his expression softened on Puzzles regardless if he wanted it to or not.

“It just shows we have similar roots… But unlike me, you were given a chance for redemption”

3 didn’t reply, looking away from Puzzles, still staying silent.

“You… don’t need to give it to me” Puzzles said “I don’t want to… manipulate you into letting me go.”

“Then what the hell is your goal??” 3 asked, trying to be menacing but that kind of rage was gone from him at this point. He broke.

“Me? Having a goal at this point? Don’t joke… I’m just talking at this point. Talking as long as I can”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why aren’t you trying to make me trick you into keeping you alive?”

“Like you would keep me alive! Besides… even if I did, I don’t know if I could get into a normal life. Being a villain like me… does have its drawbacks”

“I… I thought that too” 3 fully turned away from Puzzles, looking out the door “I was sent to the Internet Graveyard as my punishment. and I… learned there. It took a while but I… managed to make a life for myself that I could enjoy, even with all its quirks” he chuckled, thinking about it.

“I’m glad you were given a chance, SMG3”

“I… I am too. I’m… kind of happy with where I am right now” 3 never found himself talking so genuinely to someone before as he did then. It felt odd but he relaxed a lot more now, being able to think easier. He still found the situation absurd though.

A weird silence rested between them. 3 didn’t know what to do anymore.

“Sometimes I wish I could’ve been happy too but… I missed out”

“Are you sure you’re not trying to manipulate me?”

“I’m just speaking my mind… You know, I’ve gotta if I’m bound to die soon enough.”

3 teared up. He was starting to wish this wouldn’t end.

“What… What if I… hypothetically… didn’t want to kill you anymore?”

Puzzles looked at him confused.

“What? But I hurt all your friends. It’s only fair. I know… even the fans feel that way”

“I… I hurt 4 too and… I’m still here”

“You don’t have to forgive me”

3 looked at him kind of upset.

“Why don’t you want anything?? Am I not offering you what you wanted all along?? Freedom??”

3 put down the gun and untied Puzzles.

“Fucking THERE! You can run away now and never look back. And then no one will have to know. I’ll just lie that I did it so that they don’t search for you.”

But Puzzles didn’t move.

“You’re too kind, SMG3”

“Fucking MOVE” 3 flipped Puzzles off the chair, but he could only flop down on the ground. “BE FREE FUCKING DAMN IT” he cried.

“Why? I mean… what did I do to deserve… anything”

“I just- I just want to give you a chance, like how I got one myself- I know- I KNOW people can change”

Puzzles sighed as he grabbed the gun but 3 took it away from him.

“No! I said leave! Not life, just this god damn prison! GO!!”

Puzzles grabbed onto 3’s hand with which he held the gun. He turned it back to himself.

3 froze, never did he meet someone so willing to die. He really didn’t know what to do.

“I didn’t think I would die to someone like this but hey!” Puzzles showed a weak smile to 3 “I’m glad it was you”

3 looked away, as soon as he noticed the trigger being pulled. He didn’t want to witness this. He didn’t want to believe anything that just happened. He shut his eyes, running out of the place, never looking back. At least it was done.

#smg4 #nicc's-fics

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moonlightisdancing · 18 hours

Text

Grá Rúnda /j.t.k

Pairing: au!Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Alludes to murder, medieval torture devices mentioned, this chapter is SFW but future ones may contain adult themes. Future chapters may include penetrative unprotected sex, mentions of kidnapping, physical violence, consumption of alcohol, usage of medieval torture devices, and/or cursing.

a/n: thank you to everyone who’s helped me gather a cohesive thought for this piece! let me know if you’d like to be added to a tag list for this short series

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Prologue

Not a day’s gone by since your thirteenth birthday without the boy outside your window. You’d watched his brown hair grow past his shoulders, his skin get tan in summer and lighten with the snow. He was the son of a bard from Dinaria, a kingdom known for music filling the streets. Dinaria’s border hugged yours in Novaria, and by the clothes he would arrive in, you knew he lived right on the border. Being the son of a bard, it was no surprise he’d been traveling with his mandolin, and while thirteen didn’t grant you much privileges, you’d sneak conversations with him. Only having been caught a couple of times added to the thrill, he seemed to enjoy the risk for whatever odd reason.

But you always wondered why he came to you. You hadn’t paid him a coin once and had to hide conversations, yet every morning you awoke to his song. The risk of getting caught seemed not to scare him, but rather keep him coming each day.

On your sixteenth birthday, you finally decided to ask.

“Why do you come here, Jacob?” You inquired, propping yourself up in your elbows in the large window sill.

“I-I’m sorry, your highness.” He stuttered, looking up to you with big doe eyes.

He truly was gorgeous, even if to love him was forbidden.

“Don’t apologize. I like you visiting me, but it’s not safe. If the guards knew you were still sneaking past the gate, they’d have your head on a stick!” You reached down to pluck a wild daisy growing against the worn brick siding, twirling it between your fingers before tucking it into his chocolate locks.

“Then at least I’d die with you as my final view, Princess, that’s a reward of its own.”

You were supposed to get married the winter of your sixteenth year, but the prince in question had passed. Some sort of sabotage, you presumed. Poison in the food, while unsure how they allowed such a thing to happen, you counted it as a blessing. Although you did always feel particularly guilty. You hadn’t meant to slip up and tell Jacob you were to marry Prince Darian, and you feared it was no coincidence shortly thereafter he’d fallen ill. Nonetheless, it was a weight you chose not to carry on your shoulders, and a grudge you’d not hold against one who otherwise saved you. Marrying at such an age wasn’t uncommon, your entire bloodline having done so at much younger ages before. While not uncommon, it felt wrong. To be marrying anyone but the one you truly felt you loved was wrong. You didn’t have a say, especially not if he weren’t a descendant of royalty, but the thought of eternity with anyone but Jacob boiled your blood.

It was a simple fact nobody charmed or made you feel the way he did. That had been decided on your seventeenth birthday. He had visited quite early, throwing a rock at the large window to your bedroom for your attention. For the first time in four years, you’d climb out of the window and be side to side with him. He was warm and soft to the touch, even more so when the two of you shared a kiss. You sat until the sun rose with your head on his shoulder, listening to him hum with the morning birds as your palm found his, fingers dancing across his calloused skin. You’d never held hands with let alone kissed someone like this before, and if anyone found out you’d kissed someone like Jacob… Well it simply wouldn’t pan out nicely for either of you. He had been caught that morning by the guards and it took you begging and pleading for them to let him go.

“He was sent for my birthday! To sing a tune as a simple gift!”

You watched as they roughly handled Jacob, his eyes watering from the pain. You physically intervened when one of the guards picked up his mandolin, knowing it were to be broken had he not put it down. Jacob couldn’t afford a new one, and so you begged once again for them to send Jacob, and his mandolin, on their merry way. Yet still, he hadn’t shied away, returning day after day to see you.

The friendship had grown into something more, a closeness you hadn’t found a word for. There was no dating, there was only marriage, and marriage for you meant whoever the king and queen deemed worthy from the prince pool. It had been decided on your eighteenth birthday you’d be marrying the son from a neighboring kingdom, Prince Caspian of Aldoria. Having met him exactly three times prior to your eighteenth birthday, you’d concluded he simply wouldn’t do. Jacob was well aware, and by the anger in his face you knew he had been the demise of Prince Darian. The two of you discussed why nothing like that could happen again. It’d be all too obvious and a short matter of time before a handsome price was put on his head. Losing him was unfathomable.

The days were closing in for what you felt was the end of all things good in your life. Weeks of dress alterations and finalizing minor details leading you to today. Everything was beautiful, but none of it was you. There was no choice for you. After tonight’s ceremony, tying you and Prince Caspian together in holy matrimony, you’d head straight to his kingdom. Your servants have been instructed to begin bringing your belongings to Aldoria during the celebration.

A swarm of wasps reside in your stomach as you lay in bed, watching the sky grow lighter. Sleep had entirely evaded you last night, the weight of today’s events ensuring that. Just as you thought you’d get some rest, you see bushes rustling outside. You sit up, propping your body weight with your arms, as you watch Jacob carefully push through the brush. His beautiful coffee irises shine even still in the dark, the moonlight washing over his delicate yet manly features. This is your last sunrise together, and ultimately the last time you’ll see him at all. You walk over to the window, cranking the handle until the stained glass panes open outwards. The summer air took over the coolness provided by the bricks.

“Good morning, your highness.” Jacob holds his hand out and waits patiently for you to place your palm in his. He kisses the back of your hand before placing his other hand on top. Still bowing, he looks up at you through his eyelashes. “Happy birthday, my dear.”

“Jacob… You still came?”

“Of course, I couldn’t miss our last sunrise.” Jacob offered his arms to aid you in climbing out of the window. He wraps you in his warm embrace and you try to fight the tears you knew were coming. Five years, nearly two thousand mornings, had been spent with him. You grew to love him, and while neither of you would say as such, it was obvious. The two of you sat against the brick under the window. The grass had been worn from sitting every day, the ivory paint starting to chip on the brick siding.

“The morning birds will not sing and the sun will not rise the same without you, Jacob.” Your hand finds his and you hold him tightly, resting your chin on his shoulder. The sun painted the sky beautiful shades of orange and pink, washing over the scenery in a thin sheen of light.

“Come with me.” Jacob’s voice is stern but gentle. He turns his face to match yours, the space between growing small.

“I wish I could,” You whisper, closing the distance between your mouth and his. The touch of one last kiss burned straight through you, the thought of more lingering on your tongue. “But you know I can’t.” You mumbled against his warm lips, unwilling to pull away.

“I have a place they’d never find us. Just for me and you. Please, Princess?” Jacob begged, his hands finding purchase on your face as his thumbs ran gently over your cheekbones. He placed a series of small pecks to the corners of your lips, eagerly waiting for your decision. A life with him seemed happier than one without, but you know every action has a consequence, some more so than others.

“Jacob, there’s no saying what they would do to you if- well, when- we get caught.”

“Don’t say it like that, Y/n.” He was serious. Jacob had never called you anything other than Princess or my dear, and out of simple respect he’d never call you by your name.

“Jacob, you know we would be caught nearly immediately. They will put you on trial, and surely you will suffer death by guillotine in front of my kingdom, maybe even yours.” If running away didn’t have such consequences, your legs wouldn’t stop going whatever direction they took you. You hated being royal since you’d learned the word. It felt more of a curse than anything, there was no normalcy to your life outside of him. Even then nothing was normal, as you couldn’t love him freely.

“Then let that be a price I pay if we’re caught.”

“I will not watch you die by the hands of my father, and consequently by the hands of my own.”

“Not gonna die. Not gonna get caught.” He shrugged before pushing himself off the ground, offering his hand for you to do the same. The sun was taking its place in the sky as Jacob worked his way behind you, hands placed delicately around your waist. You placed your hands atop his, dragging the pads of your fingers over his knuckles. Savoring his touch is all you can do, knowing how much you’re going to miss him. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Run away with me, Princess Y/n of Novaria. I will build you a kingdom wherever we go.”

#greta van fleet #greta van fic #greta van smut #greta van fluff #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fic #greta van fanfic #gvf smut #gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut #jake x reader #forbidden love

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copiouscouples · 2 days

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A Crap Ton of Thoughts on Part 2

The PR of It All

I asked no one for the press junket. I would have watched Bridgerton regardless. But we got it and I loved parts of it. Luke and Nicola’s hilarious interviews and the gushing over the season with fellow fans online.

I had two problems with it though.

1. The Overhype

We just didn’t get enough scenes and while the steamy was steamy I was expecting more.

2. The Manipulation of It All

I do not care if two costars are dating or not. That is not and never has been a requirement for me to enjoy a show. I was even cool with Luke not wanting to share because he was worried about his gf’s wellbeing when it came to internet crazies. What I do not like is the blatant withholding of information to make things appear one way when they’re really not I.e. that Luke and Nicola could or couldn’t be in a relationship. I don’t blame Luke or Nicola for this choice because it has PR’s fingerprints all over it. The fact that this whole thing was done for PR is annoying and belittling. You really think fans can’t handle hearing one or both of them are in a relationship? I am more than a little perturbed with Bridgerton’s PR.

The Show Itself

The Bad

The Mondrichs. Great people. Still don’t care about their storyline. It was time that should’ve been used for the main couple.

Benedict and Lady Tilley I didn’t find his scenes hot. They were so devoid of emotion. It’s actually making me question if he’ll be a believable romantic lead.

Missed opportunities for sexiness. When Colin saw her in her nightgown. He should’ve got it crackin right then and there. The street make out was also way too short.

A certain song choice. The continued use of this one artist is such a bummer.

The Middling

This was Barbie Bridgerton. This is almost what Barbie should’ve been - a respectful navigation of each other’s wishes and desires. The only things missing were a) more Colin internal thoughts time and b) showing that a real relationship allows for each partner’s strengths. Your partner should be someone you can rely on and can pick up the slack when you’re unable and I wish they would’ve shown that more.

Cressida - This was an enjoyable storyline but it was ultimately pointless. Plus I kind of hoped she’d get with Debling.

Francesca - Mildly entertaining. I feel bad for John though.

Lady Whistledown being revealed - eh, I’m unsure about how I feel. Like on one hand, I’m glad the queen is gonna leave her alone and she doesn’t have to keep up the secrecy. On the other, how is she gonna get good goss if people know who she is now? I’d definitely stop taking when she approached.

The Good

Steamy Scenes - The “lie down” almost took me out. That and the end where she was getting some riding practice. Yeah, I enjoyed that.

The Angst - I’m gonna rewatch in a couple weeks and I’m sure I’m gonna love the angst even more. I loved the longing. I even loved Colin being a bit of a douche when he was all in his feels.

Penelope and Portia working their shiz out. - Portia learning to be the mom that Penelope needs was chef’s kiss.

Eloise and Penelope sitting on the couch like old times. My heart!

Benedict giving Colin a forehead kiss. It was so cute!

Release the bugs. That was just a cool, tension-relieving moment.

To Sum It Up

I’m put off by Bridgerton in more than one way. Some of the decisions made from a storytelling and a PR point of view definitely has me reconsidering if I want to continue watching this show going forward. I’ll always enjoy the first three seasons though.

Also, I now know to skip the PR. The Luke/Nicola chemistry was so strong and the body language really got me hopeful. But I know the way the world works. I’ve seen pictures of what Luke’s friends look like and that Nicola and him would never realistically be together. But those interviews got me believing things for a minute not gonna lie. I think in the future ignorance is best. And I’ll skip all the amp up before a show airs.

Ratings

Polin/Penelope of It All - A-

Overall - C-

#polin #bridgerton #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington

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redgoldsparks · 1 month

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My Experience Buying eSIMs for Gaza by Maia Kobabe

instagram / patreon / portfolio / etsy / my books

Full transcript below the cut:

Cover:

My Experience Buying eSIMs for Gaza

Project organized by @ connectinghumanity_

by Maia Kobabe @redgoldsparks

Page 1

In Fall 2023, I saw instructions on instagram for how to purchase an eSIM card and submit it to be distributed to someone in Gaza.

Download an eSIM app-> Select Middle East as the region-> Purchase-> Screenshot the QR code-> Do not activate-> send to [email protected]

Image of Maia looking at eir phone. “That sounds easy, I’ll buy one.”

I emailed an Airalo eSIM QR code to gazaesims on Nov 17 2023.

Page 2

By January 2024, it hadn’t been activated yet. I bought a second one from Nomad and sent my new QR code and resubmitted my old one.

Image of Maia looking at eir phone. “How long does this usually take, I wonder?”

By February neither had been activated, but Connecting Humanity kept posting about needing more. I bought a second Nomad and resubmitted all of them on February 15, 2024.

Page 3

The Nomad eSIMs are much cheaper than Airalo, but what I didn’t realize is that they expire even if they haven’t been activated. At the end of February I decided to try a third company, Simly. Here’s a price comparison:

AIRALO: $39 USD for 3GB, never expires

SIMLY: $22 USD for 3GB, never expires

NOMAD: $16 USD for 3GB, expires after 8 weeks even if unused, only offers in-app refunds

Page 4

Connecting Humanity asks folks to wait at least 3 weeks before resending a QR code that hasn’t been activated yet. On March 7 Mirna Elhelbawi posted:

We send EVERY esim we receive. Bear in mind that we are dealing with people at a war zone. They might take it and get killed before activating it, they might take it and their phone gets lost or destroyed. They might take it and search for days for stable internet connection to activate it, and some of them activate it unsuccessfully due to lack of knowledge and the horrific situations they are in. ~Connecting Gaza

By early April, my first Nomad eSIM expired unused. I resubmitted my three remaining eSIMs.

Page 5

Suddenly, two of my eSIMs were activated on the same day! The Airalo I’d purchased 4.5 months earlier and my second Nomad.

Image of Maia looking happy and surprised.

Image of Maia looking very intensely at eir phone. “I have to make sure these don’t run out!”

I began buying top-up packages immediately.

Page 6

I felt like I had planted a seed in the fall and waited all winter for it to sprout. Seeing it activated was like watching the first new leaves break the soil.

Image of Maia with a watering can labeled “data”, sprinkling water on two little sprouts. “Watering my eSIMs!”

Sadly, only .07 GB of data was ever used on my Nomad. It was never used again after that first day.

Page 7

But my Airalo has been in constant use for over a month now. I check on it every day.

I will never know the person I am buying data for and they will never know me. But we are connected by the same strings of hope and grief that connect us all.

Image of two hands holding a phone, which is connected to a flying kite.

Page 8

On April 5, 2024 Connecting Humanity reported they had sent more than 250,000 eSIMs to Gaza, equivalent to approximately $6.3 million donated! You can visit gazaesims.com for more info, instructions, and discounts. Here are my referral codes:

MAIA5367 for $3 off Airalo

MB772 for $3 off Simly

MAIA66GF for $3 off Nomad

If you need more incentive, the Cartoonist Coop is doing art rewards. Visit cartoonist.coop/esims4gaza

Page 9

Image of Maia, weighing two options. “Buying an eSIM is easy and can make a very direct impact. It can also take a lot of patience and could get expensive over time if you commit to keeping the eSIM topped up indefinitely.”

If an immediate one time donation is more your speed, I recommend Operation Olive Branch and Gazafunds, two places to find Gofundmes aiding Palestinian families.

gazafunds.com

@ operationolivebranch on insta

linktr.ee/opolivebranch

-Maia Kobabe 2024

#esims for gaza #esims for palestine #gaza esims #palestine esims #connecting humanity

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ko-eko-ev-go-ms · 4 months

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Smth I think about sometimes is how like, I do so much stuff to overcompensate my struggles with various things, but generally I don’t acknowledge that I’m doing outside things to overcompensate or if I do I don’t get into specifics.

And then because of that like even if I tell people I’m struggling with x thing they just won’t believe me sometimes coz they didn’t see/listen to me doing work on my own time.

Even if I’m already underperforming they won’t understand how much effort it was taking JUST TO UNDERPERFORM.

But then if I make any progress or aren’t the literal worst it’s all swept under the rug as if it’s easy for me and I just wasn’t working hard enough the whole time or something?

#thoughts #oni talks #oni vents #It weirds me out how much people will just refuse to take your word for things when it comes to having a hard time sometimes?#especially if they are someone you haven’t seen in a while like why do y’all automatically assume I’m not being serious?#I think the main times it’s frustrating is if it’s something I’ve been struggling with for a while and I have been trying to get help for it #but bc that help hasn’t been received I have been trying to deal with *insert thing* on my own (and failing) hence the asking for help #but ppl will just?? act like I never asked for help even when I do? or act as if I seemed like I didn’t need help even when I complain?#forever thinking about this one comment from a certain family member where she said “you didn’t seem like you needed/were asking for help #meanwhile me growing up struggling constantly & while I tried not to ask for help usually as a kid for obvious reasons #there were 10000% times where I would ask for help & be given absolutely nothing or I’d try to do something to help myself & be shamed #but I still never understood the concept of “you didn’t seem like you needed help” coz like?? I was obviously struggling?? even when I didnt #ask for help I was never doing particularly well? like I was actively failing out of things repeatedly but somehow I seemed fine???#I also hate how much of my effort is internal or unobservable so even I’m trying really hard it’ll look like I’m not doing anything #but idk it just frustrates me sometimes coz I’ll be struggling or complaining & ppl will be like oh it’s easy you’re fine like??#but then if I don’t ask for help and fail I get in trouble but if I do ask for help I also get in trouble it’s so irritating #granted stuff is generally a lot better now (though I still need to do more)#but idk there’s just a couple areas of knowledge where I get genuinely irritated if I’m not listened to #often it’s like that meme of I know more than you like the Ron Swanson one #but other times it’s like… did you even listen at all??#even when I’m trying to relax it’s often calculated (which tends to make it harder lol)#in terms of overcompensating it’s like sometimes it’s rough bc I know if I DO manage a decent job it’ll be even higher expectations #idk sometimes it’s frustrating when people just assume I’m not trying when I am? i definitely could try harder but also willpower is limited #& I don’t wanna burn myself out coz then I’m gonna get further behind #it’s a wonder how much ppl take for granted their perceptions of you when they aren’t even paying close attention to you #or like?? yall could just ask me?? it’s wild like i feel like i gotta pre emptively explain myself sometimes

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yueebby · 9 months

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Dying thinking about gojo literally pinning and hardcore simping for reader, literally showering reader in praise, flattery and gifts because he no longer gives a damn about hiding his feelings, almost proposing to reader whenever he can and reader's just... completely clueless about it💀 and she thinks it's just gojo being friendly. Poor man would be absolutely devastated when he goes one day "[name] i'm in love with you" and she just goes "me too, i love all my friends!" 💀

she loves me, she loves me not! — gojo satoru x fem!reader

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo (what’s new), highschool!gojo, he’s pathetic but in love your honor, oblivious!reader, ooc gojo i got carried away soz

notes. anon, when i first read your ask i literally started giggling and kicking my feet. that. is. so. gojo coded.

“please reject gojo and put him out of his misery,” utahime implored, taking hold of both of your hands. you think she’s asking, no, begging you to. beside her, shoko nods vigorously.

“but why?” you furrow your eyebrows, perplexed by their sudden request. “i can’t reject someone who doesn’t like me.”

shoko giggles at your comment. her laughter only wanes when she notices the dead serious look on your face. “... you seriously have no idea what we’re talking about?”

“not really,” you shrug, criss-crossing your legs to find some comfort on the hard wooden floor in shoko’s small dorm. it was late, past midnight, and the three of you had a shared mission tomorrow, but for some reason your two friends managed to rope you into their drinking circle.

utahime and shoko exchanged a significant glance, their unspoken communication raising your curiosity. utahime takes a long sip of her beer.

“hopeless. they’re both hopeless,” your short haired brunette friend lamented, pinching her nose bridge. it leaves a faint pink mark.

intrigued, you lean in closer towards the two, “care to elaborate?”

“you’ve never once questioned satoru’s borderline inappropriate behavior?” shoko asks you earnestly. you ponder for a moment, trying to recall any moments in the two years you’ve known the snow-haired boy.

“satoru is satoru…” you mumble, shaking your head in denial.

utahime’s eyes bug comically. she slams her can of beer harshly on the ground. you wince at the loud noise of the metallic can hitting the floor.

“you’re kidding. even i can see through that jerk!” utahime’s black pigtails sway wildly.

“[name], how about what happened in shinjuku last week on our day off?” shoko quietly reminds you of last weekend when the two of you along with satoru and suguru decided to empty your pockets in one of tokyo’s largest entertainment wards.

utahime’s head whips back and forth from her best friend to you, “eh? what happened?!”

from behind the dressing room curtain, you voiced your concerns, “shoko, i don't think we can afford designer clothes on our student budget.” the cream-colored silk dress you wore clung to your body, its price tag undoubtedly surpassing a year's worth of your student earnings.

“don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” shoko’s voice carried a knowing smile. “just come out and show me the dress!” you think satoru’s carefree attitude is rubbing off on her.

with a nervous sigh, you emerged from the dressing room. the dress fit like a glove, accentuating your body in just the right places.

bright flashes from shoko's phone startled you, and she chuckled deviously while rapidly typing. she tossed her phone onto a luxurious cushion, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of exposure.

“you look so sexy. even better than the model.” she gives you two thumbs up, eyes roaming your figure. you feel flushed at her praise.

“as flattered as i am, there’s no way i can afford this,” you look down at the dress, lips downturned. “i’d be in debt for life.”

“no need to worry,” shoko winked, leaving you confused. given that her income was similar to yours, it didn't make sense for her to be able to even dream of shopping designer.

a soft thud interrupted your conversation. you turn around to see a blue lollipop rolling on the expensive carpeting of the store.

“suguru, are my eyes deceiving me or is that an angel?” satoru's mouth is wide open as he shamelessly checks you out. he takes one of his hands and places it over his heart, gripping the fabric of his white shirt. the windbreaker he is wearing rustles at his dramatic movement.

“i think… i’m experiencing a heart attack! shoko help!” he kneels in the middle of the store dramatically. shoko shares an unamused look with suguru. the pair nod before simultaneously kicking satoru.

during all of the commotion, you stand awkwardly in the million yen dress.

“satoru, are you okay?” you watch him take the two blows from your friends, concern evident in your voice. he grunts softly before gently taking ahold of your hand.

“no,” he croaks with a playful glint in his eye. “i’m wounded and there’s only one way to fix it.”

you look at him, your gaze heavy with concern.

“i’m afraid you’ll have to kiss me for the pain to go away.” he added, blinking at you expectantly with his blue eyes.

you lightly shove him away from you. “you’re an idiot.” satoru laughs loudly.

“that’s what love does to a man.”

“yeah, yeah. i’m going to change out of this dress, don’t get into any more trouble while i’m gone.”

satoru’s grip on your hand strengthens, halting your actions.

“how much?”

“excuse me?”

“the dress. how much for it?” he stands up to his full height, reminding you of the obvious height difference between the two of you.

you're at loss for words. gojo was crazy, but definitely not crazy enough to spend a million yen on a silly dress.

shoko happily chimes into the conversation. “one million yen. it’ll be two million yen with the rest of my purchases though!”

suguru’s calm demeanor is replaced with shock. the black haired male’s jaw drops, “two million– satoru, you’re seriously not thinking about–”

“hah? who said i’m paying for your stuff?” gojo makes an ugly face at shoko.

she raises her hands innocently, “it’s not my fault the dresses come in a set. if you want to see your beloved [name] in that dress you’ll have to pay for mine as well.”

you watch shoko and satoru engage into a silent argument. the tension in the fitting room section is so thick, you think it’ll take a special grade weapon to slice through it.

trying to alleviate the mood you tell gojo, “satoru, you really don’t have to–”

“i’m buying you that dress.”

“o-okay.”

half an hour later, satoru happily strolls out of the store with an arm around your shoulder like he’d just won the lottery.

perhaps gojo is just naturally flirty, you had tried to reason to shoko and utahime.

it’s been a week since the eye-opening conversation with the two and you’ve found yourself on cleaning duty with said snow-haired boy. it was a miracle that satoru even showed up. he had a tendency to skip his turns, often resulting in a long lecture from yaga.

as the two of you worked silently in the empty classroom, you couldn't help but admire the setting sun. its golden rays painted the sky with hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over everything. unknowingly, while you gazed at the sky, gojo's gaze was firmly fixed on you.

breaking the silence, he asked, "have you ever thought about getting married?"

his question caught you off guard, causing you to momentarily pause from wiping the windows.

“not really,” you replied, biting your lip gently. “unless my family decides to arrange a marriage. you know how unforgiving the world of jujutsu sorcery is.”

gojo's grip on the broom tightened, his eyes locking onto yours with a newfound intensity.

"we should get married y'know," he blurted out.

the piece of cloth you were using slipped from your hand in shock. surely, he couldn't mean what he was saying. after all, the two of you were only second years.

“what?”

“i’m saying i think i’m in love with you.”

“oh.”

silence engulfs the room once more before a soft giggle escapes your lips.

satoru can only watch, entranced.

“that’s good to hear! i love you too– and suguru and shoko! perhaps the four of us should all just get married.” you chuckle into your hand.

satoru can't help but stare at your hand in envy. perhaps if he were the palm of your hand, he’d be able to feel the touch of your lips.

but he couldn’t. he was cursed as a man with an overpowered innate technique, and despite it all he couldn’t even gain the one thing he desired. gojo satoru watched you, eyes filled with a mixture of longing and defeat.

his devastation does not go unnoticed by you.

you were under the impression that he was grumpy because yaga had forced him into cleaning with you.

"cheer up, satoru! if we finish early enough," you continue, your tone highspirited, "we can go to the new crepe shop that opened last week. my treat!" you winked, and that immediately caught his attention.

“like a date?” his eyes sparkled with hope.

you shrug, a smile on your face. “i suppose if you look at it from a certain perspective…”

“great, it’s a date!”

good things come to those who wait, satoru thinks, humming happily as he starts to sweep the room at an inhumane pace.

maybe in ten years time the two of you will be happily married with eight kids, he smiles to himself.

#kt.writes.·:*¨༺#gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #this is me coping bc of the leaks

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emmyrosee · 4 months

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Sukuna hates how petty you can get when you’re fighting.

There is a part of him that loves your stubbornness, sure, like when you huff at him and make him work for your affection, but right now, you’re on day three of the silent treatment, and he’s losing it.

You enter a room and he’s already in it, you leave. You’re talking to yuuji and he comes in, you stop talking immediately. You haven’t been staying the night anymore, and you haven’t given him a kiss goodbye any time you’ve left. Even his ma is questioning what he did wrong, and he can’t give her a concrete answer.

He’s losing it.

Hes spammed texted you, he’s been trapping you in rooms by leaning in the doorframe, he’s been trying to get yuuji to be his messenger, but nothings working. You’re not biting.

“You’re over complicating this,” yuuji shakes his head and thumbing through channels. “Literally just apologize.”

“At this point I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for!”

“Well they’re on their way over, thinking you’re going to apologize, so you’d better figure it out.”

“You’ve been an immense help, thank you, asshole.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door, and when Sukuna takes a deep breath and answers it, you nearly spin on your heel to leave.

“Oh I don’t think so,” he snips, grabbing your hand and pulling you in the house and trying not to focus on how you’re not even fighting against him, and that’s how indifferent you are to him. “We’re talking. Like it.”

“Hey dawg!” Yuuji cheers, clicking off the tv and waving. You wave back, your streak of not talking in front of Sukuna continuing. The younger chuckles, “I’ll let the adults duke it out. See ya!”

The room fills with silence as yuuji leaves, making Sukuna immensely uncomfortable. The way you’re looking at him has him uncomfortable, you’re making him so uncomfortable, and he just wishes you’d toss your pride to the side and talk to him and cuss him out or something.

“You look… good.”

Nothing.

“I’ve missed you.”

Nada.

“I made out with someone else because I got sick of you ignoring me.”

You scowl at him.

“Okay, I was lying. I was hoping you’d cuss me out.”

No dice.

“You’re acting like a fucking child!” He takes a deep breath in to try and ground himself, and you merely watch him with a hurt expression.

Okay. That didn’t help his situation.

“Fucks sake,” he grumbles, making a move to guide you backwards. He’s got you backed into a wall, hands on your shoulders while your arms stay nonchalantly crossed.

“I don’t get why you’re so mad at me; what did I even do?” He snaps, leaning close to your face threateningly.

You blink unamused.

Oh.

You’re gonna speak alright. He’s gonna make sure of it.

“Speak.”

You merely look him up and down and turn your head.

“Talk! Now!”

You let a tired exhale through your nose pass.

“I said i was sorry, and i know you know that was hard for me, why am i still being punished by you?” It’s bait to make you mad and talk, he knows he hasn’t apologized to the most sincere of his ability, but he hasn’t done anything wrong.

“Maybe I’ll tickle ya, how about that?”

That, does, have your eyes widening but you still don’t spare him a breath. He smirks, “I’d bet you’d hate that, huh? Holding in all that laughter and begs for me to stop, knowing I’m not going to until you talk to me… and I’ll do it too. You know that.”

You merely cross your arms over your chest tighter.

He shrugs, “you asked for it.”

And he’s gotta say, he’s impressed with how little you’re fighting back from him scooping you in his arms and tossing you on the couch, straddling you, even taking your two wrists in his massive paw and holding them above your head. Your lips wobble in anticipation, and he’s got you booked now. “Any last words? A quick ‘I hate you,’ maybe?”

You blink, bored, almost calling his bluff, and he comes up to smack his face in frustration. He wasn’t actually bluffing, he did have full intentions of making you scream, but he was so sure you’d crack under his gaze, even a quick kick to him as he was adjusting your body.

No dice.

With a shrug, hands come down quickly to tickle the meat of your ribs, settling in the dips and scratching at the bones maddeningly. He sees your lip become wobblier, and he smirks down at you. “Nothing? Not even a giggle? You must be pissed at me.”

You screw your eyes shut to ignore him and he clicks his tongue, “now you can’t even look at me? That sucks.”

He leans down to nibble at your neck and ear, whispering little words against your skin to make you squeak. But it isn’t until he cheats and uses his mouth to blow a raspberry on your sensitive neck, an area he’s so used to pressing loving kisses to, that you finally crack.

“YOURE SO CHEAP!” You scream, followed by a flurry of laughter and struggling from his tight hold. Your laugh is whiny and desperate, feet digging into the couch while his fingers merely slither up and under your arms.

He smirks against your skin, “gotcha.”

“Fuck off!” You squeal, tugging as hard as you can in his grasp. “Stohop it!”

“Are you gonna keep ignoring me?” He asks. You shake your head back and forth, but he cocks a brow. “Is that a no? Are we going to talk about your issues with me, or am I going to have to tickle you for the next few hours?”

“HOURS?!” You howl.

He shrugs, “you ignored me for three days, least I deserve is to tickle you until you sob.”

“I wasn’t-“ you’re cut off by a flurry of your own giggles. “This isn’t-“ a few more yowls of your laughter when he digs in more. “FUCK OFF!”

“Nah,” he snickers. “This is more fun.” He does, however, stop his torment and pulls back, but he does look down at you impatiently. “Speak,” he echos from earlier.

You let out a few more titters slip past your lips, but you do sober up slightly, “you don’t even care that I was mad at you.”

“Uh, I was about to tickle you until you died, I think I cared too much-“

“No, Sukuna. You just didn’t want me to be mad. You never apologized and you never even bothered to try and make it better…”

This, oddly, has Sukuna’s heart twisting, squeezed with emotions and realization that he did mess up, pride couldn’t save him now and if he wanted to fix this, he’d have to prove it.

He sighs in truce, “I’m sorry, babe.”

“….”

“What?”

“That’s it?”

He rolls his eyes, “what else do you want me to say?”

“I want you to care that I was hurt!” You whine, raising on your elbows. “I want you to understand I was hurt, that you messed up! Not be so prideful and not admit it!”

“Alright, alright, jeez,” he groans. He locks eyes with you, and he knows you’re not going to like it, but he leans down to kiss you, using his two hands to cup your jaw, letting his thumbs stroke your bone lovingly. “I’m sorry. It must’ve sucked having to deal with my shitty ass apologies before. I never should’ve pulled that shit, and I hated not having you by my side.”

This, has you softening.

He presses another kiss to you, “I missed your laughter. I missed you scolding me. I missed you being sarcastic… don’t pull that silent treatment shit again, will ya?”

You hum happily, “don’t piss me off and I won’t have to.”

He blinks unamused, and as the thought of tickling you again crosses his mind, you lean up to kiss his lips giggling softly in the warmth. “I’m kidding. You and I both know you’re not going to stop pissing me off.”

“Love when you answer your own demands,” he chuckles.

The tightness in his soul loosens as you submit to his affections, and he does make a mental note to never piss you off so bad again where you go back to happy to never talk to him again. He hates it more than even he knows, drags him down and he feels like he’s missing a crucial part of himself.

But it is good to know he can get you back out of that funk.

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arachine · 9 months

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yes, i'm ready (to fall in love)

── ˚₊✩‧₊ genre: smut, fluff, mild angst

── ˚₊✩‧₊ synopsis: after reader is persuaded into putting herself back out there by long time friend, shoko, she successfully ends up scoring a date. unbeknownst to her, though, the gods have different plans—and one of them seems especially interested in her relationship with ex-husband, gojo satoru.

or in other words: a failed date results in a night of passion amongst former lovers.

── ˚₊✩‧₊ contents: 13.5k words, ex-husband!gojo + co-parent!gojo, slight dub-con (alcohol use), dumbification, overstimulation, vaginal penetration, unconventional form of contraception (pull-out method - don’t do this), pussy eating + one oc for the sake of plot

── ˚₊✩‧₊ note: i know this is really long and most people don’t have the attention span for it but PLEASE give it a chance! this is literally the longest piece of fiction i’ve ever written and i’m really proud of it :(

songs to listen to for best reading experience: donny hathaway - i love you more than you’ll ever know barbara mason - i’m ready partynextdoor - showing you bryson tiller - been that way

After you divorced your ex-husband, and decided to devote all of your time to being a mother, you never really considered getting back into the dating world. Not that you didn’t eventually want to settle down with someone new, but the dating world now was just so–different.

Different in the sense that meeting people organically was becoming increasingly difficult. It wasn’t like how it used to be in high school or college, and it really didn’t take that much effort then to get a man’s number by the end of your outing.

When you were in your early twenties, a brush of your hand on a man’s arm would’ve worked. An ‘accidental’ bump into someone at a grocery store or cafe might’ve ended in a quick lay. Using these tactics today, though, might earn you some weird looks–have–earned you some weird looks.

You’re on call with a friend from college when you begin recounting something embarrassing that happened to you recently. At first, the conversation started out about all of the professors you would’ve slept with (if given the chance), but then, one thing led to another, and she asked you something that made you wince:

“‘How’s your dating life been since, you know, Satoru?’”

There’s a heavy silence from your end, and she almost thinks you hung up.

“I mean, if you want to share,” she splurts, attempting to approach this gently, “I know that after the divorce, I wasn’t there for you like you needed, but I’d like to make up for that–if you’d let me.”

Shoko’s always been like that. Blunt and charismatic, but gentle and zephyr-light in the way she cares for those closest to her. It’s a trait of hers that you admire, because not so many people would care to treat your heart with such fragility.

“No, it’s okay. You can ask, you know, it’s not this secret thing,” you start, sighing before continuing, “it happened, and it was a mutual decision.”

Shoko hums on the other side, “Well, I’m still sorry. I let us go without talking for far too long…”

“Well, I accept your apology, even if it’s unwarranted. Like I said, it was mutual and…there wasn’t really an intense grieving period for me? The only thing that hurt me is that you distanced yourself. I mean, the girls did miss their aunt Shoko…” you say, trying to make her feel bad but not too bad.

“I know, I know, I’m a bad aunt,” she jests, then the tone shifts to something serious. “I think I was just scared because both of you were my best-friends. I didn’t want to ‘pick sides’, but I see now that it was a mutual decision, so I’m assuming you two are on good-terms?”

Again, you pause, “I mean, yeah. Satoru will always be my best friend. We may not be together romantically but he’s such an integral part of my life, I couldn’t do this–all of this–alone.” After you say it, you feel a weight being lifted off of your chest that you didn’t know was even there.

You think nobody would understand if you told them this. You think they’d question how a person could divorce someone who’s supposed to be their best-friend. And with the way you describe it, they’d probably think you were still in love with him. But Shoko’s different, she gets it. Which is why saying it to her came so easily.

“He is a great father,” she chimes in, “but you two rushed into it so quickly, I don’t think either of you had time to discover yourselves after college.”

Although she can’t see it, you smile. Because she gets it. Even if time did place itself in between the two of you, she was there for most of it, when things were still touch-and-go. When things were fresh, and clumsy.

“Exactly, that was our biggest gripe,” you admit, “We didn’t afford ourselves that time to grow, and I think that hindered our relationship. We weren’t husband and wife first, we were parents–and we were young, way too young.”

“You made it, though,” Shoko tries to brighten the mood, “you’re both amazing parents, and I know those beautiful girls that you created are lucky to have you.”

The intimacy of the conversation sends your emotions into overdrive. You quickly realize how much you missed her, how much you yearned to talk to her. To reconnect on this level.

A single tear cascades down your cheek, and you try not to sound like you’re crying when you say, “Ok, enough about that. You wanted to know about my shitty dating life, right?”

It happened last week, the grocery store incident. You were out picking up a few things for dinner when you spotted a cute guy standing outside of the aisle a few rows from you. He was fit beyond measure, in looks and strength, and was wandering around aimlessly in pursuit of red pepper flakes.

Coincidentally, you just happened to be in the seasoning aisle, and like the good samaritan you were, decided to personally hand-deliver it to him.

You wince as you vividly recall the embarrassing ordeal that ensued immediately after.

“Hey,” you peer from behind the aisle, with a bottle of red pepper flakes in tow. “I heard you mumbling about finding this, and you looked pretty lost, so I thought I’d pick ‘em out for you.”

The man’s brows furrow briefly before his lips up-turn into a grateful smile, “Oh, cool, thank you so much!” As quickly as the conversation started, it ends even quicker. He gives you a final nod of endearment before he’s turning around on his heels to resume his shopping.

“God, could he be any more dense? The men today really make you work for it, huh?” you mumble to yourself, pulling the bosom of your blouse down until a good amount of cleavage is on display. “Okay, alright. You got this, you got this. This always used to work, right? Yeah, men love boobs.”

Walking up to the man again, you try a different approach–a bolder approach. “Not to be a bother but I was wondering if I could-”

“Babe? Oh, there you are,” a new voice interjects. The owner of the voice emerges from around the corner and walks up to the man with a cart and a baby in tow. You’re stunned, to say the least. All you can do is stand there and blink in complete and utter dumbfoundment. As you remain in their presence, you take a moment to analyze the woman. She’s gorgeous, and toned. A real model-type broad, with feline-ish features that make so much sense paired with the man who appears to be her partner.

Oh, you think, and apparently say aloud, too. That’s when the woman turns to you, finally acknowledging your much smaller, and much quieter presence.

“Hi, can we help you?” she smiles, and it’s actually genuine. Toothy and perfect, and totally not jealous. You blink once, twice, before gathering your wits to answer her question.

“Yeah, uh, no. I actually, uhm, was helping your h-husband. He was looking for red pepper flakes,” you mutter embarrassedly, and point to the bottle in his hand. Upon further observation, you notice that she isn’t exactly wearing a ring. You find this odd, especially because his not wearing a ring is what encouraged you to pursue him. Carefully, you prod.

“If I may ask, how come neither of you are wearing rings?” The couple gives each other a look, one that makes you feel like the odd man out. A look that is universally known, and without a doubt, could easily be translated to: ‘did this chick really just ask that?’

Still, you smile as you wait for an answer. The woman takes the initiative. “Yeah, we don’t really believe in rings, isn’t that right, babe?” she says so matter-of-factly. You blink again for what seems like the thousandth time, because of all things, you did not expect that to come out of her mouth. Her husband is quick to validate her statement.

“Yeah, we think rings are unnecessary, you know? You don’t need a piece of metal to confirm your feelings,” he says walking to his partner’s side and wrapping an arm around her.

Disgustingly, the two give each other googly eyes before locking lips briefly. You can tell they’re the type to probably share this information with just about any soul who asks. Today, you just happened to be that unfortunate soul.

“Are you married?” she queries, tilting her head against her husband’s chest.

“I was, now we just…co-parent,” you purse your lips, ready for this entire interaction to be over. The woman frowns at your answer, and this time it’s not as genuine.

“Awe, well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was actually a mutual decision,” you quip.

“Okay,” she smiles, widening her eyes at her husband to signal a departure, “well, it was nice meeting you, and thank you for the red pepper flakes.”

The family turns away and heads to the front where check-out is. You don’t even buy the items you intended to purchase, just leave your cart in the middle of whatever aisle you abandoned it and leave the store.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t?” Shoko asks in horror. You nod your head, still forgetting she can’t see you and the way you’re sliding down against the wall.

“I did, and I shan't ever again,” a laugh erupts from your throat.

“I mean, fuck, are we getting old? ‘Don’t believe in rings,’” she mumbles, “Don’t believe in rings, my ass! Is this what the youth are doing these days? Not proposing with rings?”

Now that you think about it, you wonder how that would even work. “Yeah, right? I mean, how does that even work? ‘Will you marry me? But, actually, you should know I don’t have a ring for you, so people will have to guess that we’re together purely based on vibes and energy,’” you mock, in a not-so-great man voice.

Shoko’s laughing so hard by the end of your bit that she breaks the sound barrier, and the sound that makes on the phone sends you into your own fit of laughter. You laugh so hard it seems like a stream of pee comes out. Curse your developed incontinence after motherhood.

“God, you’re so stupid, I can’t breathe,” she says exasperatedly, and you know that on the other side she’s probably keeling over in her bed.

“Oh, please. I bet you haven’t laughed this hard in a long time, bitch.”

“I haven’t,” she cackles. This back-and-forth continues until the two of you settle down enough to continue discussing your (pee-inducing) love life.

“You tried any dating apps?”

It’s a simple and valid question, but it only makes you laugh even harder. You only stop when the other side of the line goes quiet. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. It’s what everyone’s doing these days! You’re not that old, you know.”

“Shut up,” you kid, “ it’s just that I never considered it. I mean, dating apps feel so impersonal. How serious do people even take it?”

“Sure, there’s people who use it for casual hook-ups and stuff, but a lot of people do come out of it with a relationship. Just don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

“Oh?” you muse, curious. You wish Shoko could see your face, and the weird little dance your brows were doing. “Shoko, have you used a dating app before?”

The brunette kisses her teeth. “Can’t get anything past you.”

“Never.”

There’s a sense of hesitance but you encourage her to elaborate because ‘she became estranged from you for almost a decade and needed to pay her dues’. Sighing defeatedly, she eventually acquiesces.

“Fine, fine, maybe I’ve…been on a few dates,” she starts, “–and had a few one night stands, maybe more than a few, and maybe even dated a guy that turned into my stalker–”

“Ieiri Shoko! You naughty, naughty girl! Wait, stalker?”

“To make a long story short, I got a restraining order on that creep. Anyway,” she segues, attempting to change the subject, “We should make you a profile!”

For the rest of your phone call, Shoko guides you through all of the dating app basics. She offers her expert advice as you scroll through your camera roll for potential photos to use. You go through about a hundred before you finally settle on five that she really likes.

The one that she tells you to put first is a photo of you in a bikini. It’s a few years old but she says you look ‘radiant’ and that your ‘tits were practically spilling out of the cups’. Plus, for further consolation, she says most people on dating apps are liars.

“Everyone’s got at least one old photo on their profile, doesn’t make you a catfish,” she quips, “just means you’re a nostalgic person!”

“Right…”

The next one is a selfie. You’re smiling big in it, showing your gums, and it’s genuine. Shoko says guys like those types of photos because it shows them that you’re approachable. It also won her over because it’s fairly recent, too.

Out of all your photos, there’s only a select few that were taken within the year. You had to admit to her that you never really took photos of yourself anymore. Satoru took most of your candids. Still, she had a mission. And she wasn’t going to be satisfied until she stuck around to see your first match.

“After the selfie you should put the one of you with the girls.”

The picture she’s referring to is one Satoru also took. You remember that day fondly, and even now, the memories feel like a warm embrace.

about 8 years ago . . .

“Dad, mom, look! Hurry!” Hana, your oldest, shouts. Satoru and you are sitting on a blanket up on the sand dunes with Haruki, who’s trying her best to make a sand castle–to no avail.

“What is it, hon?” Satoru and you rush over to her, snatching toddler Haruki in the same breath. When you get to the scene, a flood of warmth washes over you upon discovering the ‘threat’.

“See, it’s baby turtles!” Hana’s squatting in the sand, watching with pure and unfettered fascination as the hatchlings crawl north to the ocean. When she looks up at you, with eyes so bright, and a smile so big that’s missing two of her front teeth, you want to cry.

“Oh, hon, that’s beautiful,” you gasp, lowering to your haunches so that you can join her. Satoru is about to follow suit before deciding at the last minute to go back to the blanket. When he returns, he snaps a picture unbeknownst to you. Eventually, though, you turn your gaze to him and he captures–what he used to think then–the ‘prettiest’ photo of you.

“You sneaking photos of me?” you squint, pointing at him. He trods closer until he’s standing above you. Then he snaps another. Your head’s tilted up, and you’ve got one eye open, and the other closed because of the sun. He always liked when you squinted like that because it made your nose do this cute little scrunch.

“Yup, ‘cause you’re my muse.”

You’re pulled out of your daydream when Shoko says your name on the other line.

“You still there?”

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“Just what?” she queries, waiting for a response.

“I wanna use it, but my ex-husband took it. It feels weird, you know? And do I want to use a photo of me with the girls?”

“Hon, who cares if Satoru took the photo? It’s still a good photo, and to answer your second question, why wouldn’t you include a picture with your girls?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just afraid no one will be interested. Nothing about a picture of a mom with her two daughters exactly screams ‘fuck me’.”

Shoko lets out a small chuckle but you’re being serious. “Oh, sweetie. You’re so cute. Milfs are in these days, I don’t think I’m the one getting old, I think it’s just you!”

“Ha-ha, laugh at the mom,” you feign annoyance, but give her a laugh in return.

“But seriously, please use that photo. Nobody’s going to skip you just because you’re a mom. A lot of men on there have kids of their own, just gotta tweak your settings,” Shoko reassures you.

By the end of your call, the profile is set. You thank your old friend for the previous heart-to-heart conversation, and the time she spent helping you set up your profile.

“Keep me updated, and don’t talk about mom stuff, okay? Now, I’m not saying you can’t talk about them,” she begins, “but show these guys your personality! I know she’s in the closet somewhere hiding next to our old slutty clubbing clothes.”

Then, the both of you say your goodbyes and she wishes you a good-luck on your newly established dating journey. As you lay in your bed, you give your profile a final onceover. Not too bad, you think to yourself.

You ended up using all of the photos she had originally picked out for you. Even the beach photo. To compensate for your old photos, though, Shoko made sure that your prompts were witty and full of personality.

“I’d match me, I think. No, yeah, these are funny. She did a good job.”

The following day, you open your phone to fifty notifications from the dating app. A tingle of excitement shoots through your body from the tip of your toes, to the top of your head. It takes all of your might not to squeal in the office.

“Holy fuck,” you whisper at your desk. The amount of notifications that you initially saw on your homescreen read ‘50’ but when you opened the app, it showed you an overwhelming ‘100’ with a fat plus sign next to it. “Wait, are these all the people who liked me? Shoko’s gonna flip.”

Getting up from your chair, you make a beeline to the nearest bathroom. Not that you have to use it, but so you can scroll through all the potential prospects without your boss seeing you on your phone.

Pulling open the door to the bathroom, you close it shut behind you and lock it. A few minutes pass in the time you’re able to get through about half of the people who liked you. You end up skipping a lot of them. They’re either too young, too self-absorbed, creepy, or just downright not your type.

Some stick out, though. Even trick you into thinking they’re potential matches, but then the other shoe drops–because there’s always another shoe. You’ll scroll through their profiles, and they’ll seemingly have all the perfect traits: intelligent, witty, handsome, tall–and then, boom. You see their ‘don’t want kids’ preference. Every failed match only discourages you more and more.

It’s weird, because your profile preferences are set to ‘have kids’ and you even have a photo pictured with your girls. So why are men liking your profile despite that? After a few more scrolls, you’re just about ready to head back to your desk but then–you have a hit.

Your finger hovers over the ‘x’ at the bottom of the screen, then retracts. The guy’s profile at first impression is miles better than the rest, it’s almost too good to be true. His first photo is what piqued your interest. It’s of him posing for a silly photo with his sons, and he’s got his arms draped around their shoulders.

As you scroll down his profile, you see that there’s even more of him with his children. You take this as a green flag. He wants people to know he has kids, and that he isn’t embarrassed to show them off. You admire him for it.

The last few remaining photos are an amalgamation of selfies and full-body photos. To the average, well-adjusted adult, looks wouldn’t be a deal breaker. But he definitely wasn’t too bad on the eyes, and you were not complaining about that–especially, after the odd men you had to scroll through to get here. In other words, he was gorgeous and still fit despite being older than you (him, respectively being in his early forties).

Checking the time on your phone, you realize that you’re pushing your little ‘bathroom break’. Before heading back to your desk, you decide to respond to his first photo.

You: Cute! Could never get my girls to stand so still for a photo like this now haha :)

Work goes by slower than you’d like, but finishes up just in time when you get a notification from the dating app. You’re a little more excited than you’d care to admit. Tidying up your workspace, you say your goodbyes to your colleagues and head to the elevator. Absent-mindedly, you rush to answer his message but realize it won’t go through because of the elevator’s poor service.

Kazuki: Oh, they’re moody and grown now, don’t be fooled. I can't remember the last time I saw my youngest smile.

You don’t answer his reply until you get home. Actually, you do just about everything but answer his reply: check on the girls, shower, prepare dinner, pour a glass of wine–you’re nervous, and you don’t know why. But you know you should probably answer soon before he becomes disinterested. So you get comfortable in bed with your glass of wine and pull open his chat.

You: Lol, know that all too well. Kids are little assholes, aren’t they?

The speed in which he reads your text is startling, you don’t even have enough time to close out of the chat. Then, he responds.

Kazuki: Hell yeah they are!

Kazuki: Sometimes I want to strangle my youngest. He’s at that age where he’s starting to rebel and question everything. I told him he was supposed to be the ‘easy’ one, but his knucklehead brothers are bad influences on him…Tell me, does it ever get easier?

You: Sounds a lot like my oldest. She used to cling to me like a koala but now she’s the ring leader, and I’m the enemy. My youngest still loves her mama, though (for now lol).

You: And to answer your question, I’d like to think so?

You take a second before continuing your response. Shoko told you to keep the mom talk limited, but this seems to be working for you so far, and he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. So for once, you’re going to ignore her advice.

You: Kids go through phases. It's our job to reassure them that we’re not going anywhere. No matter how much they push us away or try to, that is :)

Kazuki’s chat bubbles pop up, then disappear. You think he’s deciding on what to say.

Kazuki: I can tell we’re gonna get along great. It’s nice opening up like this, you know? Talking to another parent. If I'm being honest, dating apps have always intimidated me…

Kazuki: People see kids as ‘baggage’, and it really bothers me. My kids aren’t baggage. They’re the best parts of me. And if someone doesn’t see that, then we have no business getting to know each other.

Kazuki: Sorry for getting all sappy. Just felt like I needed to say it.

His apology makes you frown. It feels like a breath of fresh air to hear someone talk about their kids so lovingly, because you feel the exact same way. You’re glad you downloaded the app, and you make a mental note to thank Shoko again later (after you debrief her about this).

You: Never apologize for speaking about your kids! And if we’re being absolutely transparent, that was my biggest gripe with downloading this app, too.

You: I’m so glad we matched each other. I’d like to get to know you more. And I’m hoping the feeling’s mutual?

Kazuki: It’s more than mutual.

Kazuki: Don’t want to get ahead of myself but how do you feel about dinner? There’s a cool high-scale restaurant in the city that I haven’t been to yet. Heard it’s got two Michelin stars despite opening up not too long ago.

The prospect of going on a sit-down dinner date has your stomach in knots. It’s been a hot minute since the last time you’ve done so, but you’re eager to know the man behind the screen on a more personal level. Plus, being treated to a high-scale restaurant with two Michelin stars doesn’t seem too bad either. You’re never one to turn down free dinner.

You: I’d love to, but how soon we talkin’? Gotta see if it’ll align with my schedule.

Kazuki: How’s this Friday at 8 sound? :)

The days leading up to Friday breeze by in a blur. For the majority of the week, it feels like you’re walking on cloud nine. Eventually, the conversation transitions from the dating app to exchanging phone numbers, and since then, the two of you have been texting back-and-forth everyday.

You talk about mundane things. Work, shows, movies, books you’ve recently read, what your kids are up to–but the other things? The other messages are flirty, and sexy, and filled with so much tension that it could cut a rope in half.

In between messages, the two of you have also exchanged a few photos. Nothing risqué or anything of that nature, just random photos of you throughout the day. The last one he sent was a few hours ago of him at work, captioned with: ‘Could this meeting be any longer?’.

You reply to the message with the ‘ha ha’ reaction, in consideration of not wanting to get him in trouble at work (even if he was the one who initiated the conversation). As the days go by, though, you make it a habit to update Shoko every step of the way.

Her first reaction to hearing about him was enthusiastic. That is, until you showed her screenshots from his profile. You vaguely remember her saying something that was meant as a compliment, but came out more like an insult.

“‘Oh, he’s a dad!” was her initial response, “oh, he’s a dad…and he really loves his kids. You’re meant for each other.’”

When you tried to ask her what she meant by that, she changed the subject. Every update since then has earned slightly more positive reactions, though.

Today, you ask her for more advice. Only this time, you’re on video call.

“Shokoooo,” you drawl, “our date is tomorrow! You have to help me find something to wear.” The panic in your voice is so palpable, she can almost feel your shaky hands through the screen. Flipping the camera, you hurriedly pan your phone around the closet.

“Breathe, girl, breathe,” she demonstrates first, before telling you to repeat the same motions. “Take me to that section over there–no, not that one–wait, yep, there.” You amble over to the area she’s directing you to through the phone.

“What’s that black little number right there?” She points. You prop the phone up on a shelf and scour through the section, tugging out a dress you haven’t seen in ages (which has you questioning how she even spotted it because it was pretty far back into the closet). Walking back into frame, you hold the fabric up to your body.

Shoko nods in approval, “That’s the one, babe. Try it on!”

It’d been about a decade since the last time you wore this dress. It’d also been about a decade since you were ever this small. Looking in the mirror, you run your hands over every surface inch, every crevice of the dress, in a newfound sense of appreciation for the adult weight you’ve gained since becoming a mother.

The dress was always stunning but it hugged everything perfectly even more so now. When you walk back into frame, your friend gives you a look of pure adoration. She’s so enthralled that she snaps a few screenshots for keepsaking.

“Thank god it’s Satoru’s turn to get the kids tonight,” she says, “‘cause you’re definitely getting some tonight.”

You roll your eyes, reminding her she’s on speaker phone. “Oh, please. It’s just dinner!”

“Not in that dress,” she retorts, wagging her finger in the camera. While the two of you continue to chat about the details of tonight, a knock on your bedroom door draws your attention.

“Mom, can I come in?” the voice sounds. It’s Haruki.

“Come in, hon!”

After you give the ok, you turn to Shoko and mouth to her to behave. Haruki turns the knob and enters, closing the door behind her. She sees you standing in front of the mirror before you see her, and silently utters a ‘wow’. You’re just about done putting your earrings in when you join her in the other room.

“What do you think, bun? Does your mom look hot?” you spin around, smoothing your hands down the length of the dress. You wait in anticipation for her approval, because if anyone could tell it like it is, it was always going to be a kid. Your Haruki was no exception.

“You look really pretty, Mom. I’m glad you’re going out tonight, I mean, you don’t really have friends so I think this will be good for you,” she elaborates, though you wish she would’ve stopped at the compliment.

Still, it puts a smile on your face to hear her verbalize that she’s okay with you doing something for yourself. You never quite discussed the prospect of getting back out there with your kids–and not even intentionally. It just never felt like the right time.

“You could’ve stopped at the compliment, punk!” you grab her, then wrap her in your arms, “but thank you. Love you, bun.”

“Love you more, mama.” Neither of you make the effort to pull away. Instead, you both stand there. Hugging, breathing, embracing each other’s warmth. You don’t always get hugs this good, so when you do, you savor it. Drag it out until your arms and legs get all tingly.

Or until someone interrupts. Another knock on the door. This time it’s Hana.

“Ew, what’s going on?” Hana feigns a look of disgust. You know she’s just jealous; she’ll never admit it, though. Which is why sometimes you have to force her to participate.

“Get over here,” you scrunch your nose, forcefully pulling her into your tight embrace. She tries to protest but eventually accepts defeat. You squeeze them both until they whine that they can’t breathe anymore. Then you squeeze them some more because this one’s for you.

“My special girls,” you breathe in, taking in all of their love. Soaking it all up so that tonight you have the courage to try again. To allow yourself a love of your own. When you let go, there’s a sniffle from the closet. It totally dawned on you that Shoko was still on the phone.

“They’re so big now, they don’t even know their auntie,” she fakes a sob, blowing her nose into a tissue.

“Mom, who’s on the phone?” Haruki queries with a confused expression etched onto her face. It suddenly dawns on you again that although you’ve been communicating with Shoko again, you haven’t exactly told them.

“Hey, you came in here to tell me something right, Han?” Your attempt to change the subject is poorly done, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you considering deflection has never quite been an ability you excelled at. Nonetheless, the look of suspicion they give you after is fleeting before they explain to you in unison that their father is here.

“Your father’s been waiting down there this whole time and nobody cared to tell me?” you whisper-yell, left eye twitching to emphasize your ill-preparedness. The girls only shrug their shoulders in response, like this was something you were just supposed to know.

“Well, you did force us into a hug and make us do all that Kumbaya stuff,” Hana mumbles under her breath.

“Okay, enough about all that. Are you guys all packed? Where are your bags? I don’t want your dad seeing–”

“You don’t want dad to see your date, right?” Hana raises a brow, all knowing. Sometimes she was a little too smart for her own good. You want to blame that on the private schools Satoru had them enrolled in, but really you just know she’s just a menace in her own right. She learned that from him.

“I agree with the kid,” a voice chimes in. You rush to the closet and grab your phone from the shelf. There’s a huge, shit-eating grin on Shoko’s face. Somehow she’s responsible for this. You don’t know how yet, nor do you have proof, but you know it.

“Okay, thank you, love you, bye!” Before you can hang up, Shoko blurts something.

“Tell him I said hi,” she begins, “–andnottogetahardonwhenheseesyou!”

You hang up the call and roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself because of her idiocy. When you enter the corridor, you hear a faint sound of hushed voices from downstairs. It’s only when you round the bannister at the top, when those voices become discernible and louder.

You stop at the top, and when your eyes meet his, it feels like all the air in your lungs have expelled. Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of what you’re wearing, and the fabric, and the way it clings to your body. Neither he, nor you, look away–you should, you want to, but you don’t.

And in the time the two of you gaze upon the other, time stops for a modicum of a second. In this second, you and him are the last two souls in the world. At least, that’s how it feels anyway before he breaks eye contact.

You shift your gaze shortly after, and put on a trained smile. Those eyes of his were always so intense. You guess you forgot over the years how easy it was to lose yourself in the crystalline pools of them. Gathering your wits, you resume your movements and saunter down the imperial staircase.

“Hey, didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Sort of lost track of time, but I think the girls are all packed,” you say, your voice coming to a decrescendo upon noticing the way his eyes trail over your frame. They’re unreadable, though. Indifferent, and honestly, you’re not sure how to feel. So, you begin fidgeting uncomfortably with the rings around your finger.

Then, he smiles. It’s eerie and fake. “Not a problem, I haven’t been here too long. But, uh,” he begins ambling around the place, touching random objects around the living room, “Didn’t know you had plans. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with your colleagues?”

You furrow your brows, confused with his sudden interests in your plans. It wasn’t really like him to prod. “No, actually,” you rock back-and-forth on the balls of your heels, “i’m…i’m going on a date,” you finish with a pursed smile. He only nods his head in response, still walking around the place touching stuff, messing with the picture frames on the mantle. They’re all crooked now.

“How come this is the only picture you have up of me,” he asks suddenly. You know, that he knows, the answer to that. And he knows, that you know, you’ll indulge in his games anyway.

“The girls wanted them in their rooms. Why do you ask? You want me to go grab them and put ‘em all up around the house?” Again, he doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a final once over before heading back to the foyer to ask if the girls are all set to go.

“Yeah, but I can’t find my tablet, dad. Can I go look for it?” Haruki speaks up. “I thought I packed it.”

Satoru looks at the time on his watch, pinches the crease in between his brows. “Sure, kiddo. Can we make it quick, please?” He throws his hand in the air for emphasis, then points to his watch. Haruki nods, then runs up the stairs.

“Actually, you go on up too and help your sister. You guys are holding up dad,” you turn to Hana and gesture for her to head up with your head. She rolls her eyes, yelling up the stairs for her younger sister to ‘freaking hurry up’.

You and Satoru both turn to each other with wide eyes, laughing at the nerve of those children.

“They get that attitude from you, you know,” you point to him, driving your index finger into his bicep.

“You sure? Their mom’s got a pretty bad mouth on her, too. Or, have you forgotten?” He teases, bending his knees slightly to level his eyes with yours, intruding into your space. The smirk he dons is cheeky, too friendly–too inviting. You want to smack it off of him.

“Oh, shut u–” the sound of your phone chiming interrupts your banter. It’s a message from Kazuki, and you open it while Satoru stands over you. Probably close enough to read the message on his own if he wanted.

Kazuki: Hey, I hate to do this but I don’t think I can go through with tonight.

When you read the message, your heart drops into your stomach. There goes the other shoe, you think, fully embracing your pessimism. Who were you kidding, really? To think that tonight you’d go out and have a good time. Do something for yourself. It was stupidity.

Chat bubbles pop up on the screen. He has more to say.

He has more to say, and you’re fighting the urge to cry–to not shake out of sheer frustration while you’re still standing in front of Satoru. Because nothing would be worse than him seeing you can’t even land a date.

Kazuki: I recently just went through a divorce, and I know that I should have informed you about this before continuing our conversations…Especially since you’ve been so transparent with me about your own divorce and strife.

Kazuki: But if I’m being completely honest, I was scared. I genuinely wanted to see this through, at first. I wanted to forget about my ex-wife for just one night. But I realized I’ve been asking the impossible of myself…I’m still in love with her, and it’s because I’m in love with her that I won’t allow myself to lead you on any further.

Kazuki: I think we would’ve had a good time tonight. It's unfortunate we had to meet under such circumstances because you’re a really lovely woman, and I’m sorry an asshole is standing you up right now.

Kazuki: Take care. I know there’s a guy out there just waiting for his shot.

Satoru takes notice of the way your face drops as you read over the messages. Part of him wants to overstep his boundaries and take a peek at the screen. But he doesn’t. He gives you your space and takes a seat on the couch, waits for you to say something first.

In the meantime, he studies your face. Watches intently as your eyes become glossy the more you scan the messages, watches as your bottom lip catches between your teeth to hold back from crying. He thinks he knows what just happened.

Taking a deep breath, you lock your phone and put on another trained smile, “Well, looks like I’m staying in tonight.” Satoru dislikes when you do that. When you put on a fake smile and overcompensate to make others around you feel better, even when it’s so very obvious you aren’t. He wishes that sometimes you would just be selfish–act out.

And then you continue the façade. It makes his skin itch.

“I was too tired anyway, guess I can just catch up o–”

“Will you stop,” he spits, rising from his seat on the couch to stand. It comes out harsher than he intended, but he doesn’t regret it. You look at him like he’s got two heads as he walks over to the mantle and leans against it. His back is turned towards you, and the palms of his hands hold the crest of it. He uses it as leverage to rock on the heels of his feet. You can tell there’s something he wants to say because of the way his jaw ticks.

Satoru is never one to bite his tongue, so you’re not exactly sure why he’s choosing to be so restrained. If he wasn’t going to spit it out, you were going to poke. “What’s your problem?”

He chuckles at this, rubs his chin then pushes off the mantle to stand in front of you, gets all in your space again. The movement almost sends you back but you hold your ground, tilt your chin up at him and repeat the question. Slowly, this time with more venom.

“My problem? What’s your problem?” He breathes through his nose, his eyes flickering back-and-forth between your own. “Why do you always pretend like you’re not lonely? It’s okay if you were looking forward to having fun tonight. It’s okay to be upset and be mad at the asshole who stood you up!”

With every verbal prod at you, the gap between you decreases. His feet inch closer and closer to your own and force you to retreat farther until your back hits the wall. The coldness of it causes your breath to hitch, and you try to stay calm as Satoru encroaches more into your personal space. Being on the receiving end of his passion was always suffocating, you feel exposed under the intensity of his gaze–even more so as he continues to tear into you.

“Why do you even care?!” you cut him off, eyes wide and veins pumping full of adrenaline. “It’s not your place to be so invested in my life anymore! We’re not together, you don’t have to get so hot and bothered about things going shitty for me. I’m a big girl, and I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.”

By the time you finish, you’re a heaving, shaking mess. He takes this as a sign to withdraw from your space, and goes to sit back down on the couch. When you finally settle your nerves, you join him, leaving a foot of space in between you. There’s an awkward silence, one that wouldn’t have even happened if he just respected your boundaries in the first place. Now he feels like the asshole instead of the actual asshole who dumped you. Taking a hesitant breath, he decides to speak up.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t…It wasn’t my intention to come off so strong like that,” he begins, “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t always have to pretend to be fine. It’s not fair, you shouldn’t do that to yourself.” His eyes wander over to you reluctantly, like he’s scared that if he looks too long you’ll disengage from the conversation.

“It’s okay,” your voice is small, just above a whisper. You want to face him, but you know that if you do, you'll break into a million pieces. So you keep your gaze downward, busy yourself with the stray pieces of thread on the bottom of your dress. “You’re right, you know. I think I just…I think I just tell myself to expect disappointment so that when something bad happens, I’ll know it’s not because I got my hopes up.”

Satoru turns to you, and you can see him frown through your peripheral. Still, you don’t face him because you’re not done talking. But you thank him silently for listening without interrupting.

“Even though you’re right, I don’t appreciate the way you came on so strongly. We’re not married anymore, we’re not a couple–we’re co-parents. So if there’s something I want you to know about that’s outside of the scope of our kids, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, leave it alone.”

Satoru’s face softens. For once you’re being selfish, putting your foot down. This is the side of you he likes. “Okay. I respect that,” he says, “But can I ask you something?” The smile on his face is mirthful, like he’s got something else up his sleeves this evening. Skeptical, you finally face him with a raised brow.

“What?”

“Let me take you to dinner.”

You laugh in his face, even go as far as smacking his arm because you want him to know you found the joke really funny. He doesn’t budge, and that’s when you realize he’s being serious.

“Wait, what?”

“Let’s go to dinner,” he stands up, crossing his arms across his chest. You tilt your head in disbelief. You’re just waiting for someone to tell you you’re on that old reality show punk’d.

“Funny, I just poured my heart out to you and now you’re making fun of me,” you roll your eyes, feigning annoyance.

“I’m being serious,” he reassures, “you’re already dressed up. It’d be a shame for it to go to waste.” His eyes are twinkling with hope, and once again, you find yourself falling victim to their persuasiveness.

Being under Gojo Satoru’s gaze was suffocating.

Giving in, you ask, “So what are you gonna do? Drive all the way home to get dressed?”

The question is genuine, but the bastard just grins. “I’m a little hurt,” he throws a hand over his heart, “don’t you know me by now? I’m a businessman. I keep pressed blazers and slacks on me at all times.”

He swings his keys around his index finger, hoping that the promise of a spare change of clothes being in his car is enough to convince you to say yes.

“I don’t know…” you trail.

“C’mon, let me take you out. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Somehow he was able to persuade you into going out. After he changed into his spare clothes, you ended up telling your girls that there was gonna be a change of plans, and that they’d go home with their dad tomorrow.

Of course, before leaving, you made sure to leave some money on the table for pizza, and you also made sure to drill into their heads not to open the door for anyone except the delivery guy. You knew they knew the drill already, but it didn’t feel right to leave without saying it anyway.

“Be good, listen to your sister, she’s in charge,” you pinch Haruki’s cheek. Hana smirks, nodding her head in agreement with you.

“I will mom, I know,” she huffs, crossing her arms.

“And you,” your finger wags at Hana, her smirk drops. “Don’t provoke your sister, be nice. Act like you love each other, please.”

“Fine, whatever. I guess,” she grabs the knob to the door, ready to kick the both of you out already. “So does this mean the two of you are back together, or?”

Satoru and you turn to each other before answering in unison, “No.”

“Okay, cool. Well, have fun,” she practically closes the door on the two of you, locking it after. Satoru is just as dumbfounded as you are, but then you break into a fit of laughter.

“Those kids, man.”

“Your kids!” you correct, pushing him playfully as the both of you walk down the pebbled pathway. He finds his equilibrium in time to unlock the car and open your side of the door. You pause before ducking inside.

“Oh, how gentlemanly of you,” you jest, “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“How could it be when I’m alive?” He says matter-of-factly, closing your side of the door. He taps the top of the car before sliding across the hood to the other side. Nice to see some things never changed.

When he gets inside and turns on the car, he puts his hand on the back of your seat to back out. The proximity sends a shiver down your spine, and you have to physically refrain from letting your eyes linger on his jaw, and his arms, and the face he makes when he’s trying to concentrate.

You try to dispel these less-than-friendly thoughts by looking somewhere, anywhere else but him. But you can’t, and it’s irritating.

This is the second time tonight you’ve been this close, and it’s only this time that you realize something about him is…different. Earlier, he didn’t really smell like anything, but you quickly notice his smell has changed.

There’s a sort of piney scent coming from him. It’s not strong or obnoxious enough to blind your nostrils, but it’s enough for you to just barely pick up on it. You almost think it was premeditated, that he took the liberty of spritzing some on before walking you to the car. Before you separated, he’d made it a habit to wear variations of woody scents for you. If you can recall correctly, a passing comment you made about the cologne he was wearing that day is what sparked the habit.

Surely, this couldn’t be coincidental?

“You smell nice,” you blurt, filling in the silence.

Satoru glances at you, “Thank you.” You hate that from the corner of your eye, you can see his stupid little smirk growing bigger by the minute. He already had a big ego, it didn’t need to be stroked any more.

“Don’t let it go to your head, though. You usually smell pretty rank.”

“Ohhh, is that so? Guess I gotta start wearing this more often then, huh?”

“Sure, do what you want,” you say, trying to remain indifferent even though you’re failing terribly to hide your smile. When the car approaches a red light, you finally decide to ask the big question. “So where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see,” he glances over, “Just know I’m good friends with the owner, so last minute reservations weren't a problem.”

The rest of the car ride is silent, save for the low hum of the music playing on the radio. When you arrive at the location, Satoru makes sure to walk all the way around to your side of the door again and open it. Immediately after, the two of you are greeted by a young male. He’s wearing a white button down, black slacks, and a black vest with a red tie. Judging by his appearance, you assume he’s a valet driver.

Satoru drops his keys in the driver’s hands, and escorts you towards the entrance. The boy bows and goes to park the car. Looking around, you start to wonder where exactly this place is supposed to be. The area is dark and secluded, and from where you stand outside, it doesn’t sound like there’s supposed to be a restaurant here. You don’t hear any voices, you don’t even see any security or other passerbyers.

Still, you follow behind him like a duckling, only coming to a halt when he leads you to a door taller than the both of you. He gestures for you to back up, then raises his knuckles to blow a strong, single knock. You’re taken by surprise when a set of angry eyes appear behind a slot in the door.

The pair of eyes first scan over you, then Satoru. A gruff voice is second to accompany them, “Where can I get a good drink?”

“I heard the bar down the street is nice,” Satoru answers. The hatch to the door closes, then swings open the door, and the man behind it moves aside to welcome you in.

“Follow me, please.” Once he closes the door, he begins guiding you down the dimly lit hallway. After making what seems like your hundredth turn, you eventually reach a staircase. The man gestures for you to go on ahead, and you think this is him implying where the three of you will depart.

“Thank you,” you say softly, disappearing down the stairs. Satoru isn’t too far behind, keeping a pace between you. As you near the end of the long, narrow hallway, a stream of white light brightens up your whole path. It leads you down to another door like a beacon of light, and when you reach it, you can hear voices, live music, and dishes clanking on the other side. It’s bustling with life. A huge, joyous smile plasters across your face. It’s almost child-like in appearance, like you haven’t seen something this cool in a long time.

Satoru stands beside you and winks. “What d’ya think? Any idea yet where we are?”

“I think this is fucking cool, and hm,” you take a second to mull it over, “are we at a speakeasy?”

“Smart girl. Now come on.” Stepping back, you allow him to pull open the door, and when he does, there isn’t a word to describe the atmosphere of the place you step into. All you can do is stand there in astonishment. Before long, a man walks up to you.

“Welcome, what is the name you reserved under?”

“Gojo.”

Nodding, the host instructs you to follow after him. He leads you to a private seating area, somewhere far in the back that’s secluded from the other patrons. The space is much bigger, and much more extravagant. You know you’re only sitting way back here because Satoru is who he is. And in all the years you’ve known him, his connections were just another party trick in his arsenal.

The hostess seats you, then Satoru, and tells you that a waiter will be with you shortly.

“This is nice, really nice, but is it–”

“Legal?” he finishes your sentence, “don’t worry. It’s a modern speakeasy-style restaurant. There’s nothing illegal going on here, promise.”

While you wait for your designated waiter, your focus shifts from the man in front of you to the man singing on the stage. Up until now, his voice was white noise in the background, but then he started singing a tune scarily reminiscent of your past–and your breath catches in your throat.

If I ever leave you, baby

You can say I told you so

And if I ever hurt you

You know, I hurt myself…

Turning your gaze back to Satoru, you squint your eyes mirthfully in disbelief. You wonder if this is just a funny coincidence, if this is the universe playing her tricks, but you know deep down, that coincidences and Gojo Satoru don’t belong in the same sentence.

You open your mouth to speak, but quickly close it when you see the waiter approaching from the corner of your eye. He greets the both of you with a polite smile, then sets down two glasses of water.

“Good evening, I’ll be your waiter for the night,” he says, placing a menu in front of you, “Can I get you fine folks started off with a bottle of wine?”

Satoru nods, tells him to bring the best bottle of red they have and then gestures for him to come closer so that he can whisper something in his ear. All the while, you sit back in your seat observing, clicking your nails on the table until the server pulls back and bows.

When he departs, you immediately lean in over the table, and ask, “Just how much time did you have to plan all of this?”

Satoru feigns aloofness, taking a sip of his water, “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, gesturing at the stage with your eyes. Then, as if suddenly coming to a realization, he goes, “Oh, that? Yeah, I had nothing to do with that. But isn’t it funny they’re playing our old song?”

Now he’s smirking, with his elbow leaning back on the chair, and a gaze so piercing, you’re certain you’ll crumble into nothing unless you look away. So you do, avert your gaze back to the stage and sway calmly.

Is that any way for a man to carry on

Do you think I want my loved one gone

Said I love you

More than you’ll ever know

“So funny,” you counter.

Eventually, the server comes back with a bottle. “1982 Chateau Latife Rothschild,” he holds it out to present, “Is this alright?”

Despite the years spent with Satoru, and the many elitist events you often attended with him, your knowledge on wine had never surpassed anything but surface level. You knew the difference between good wine and cheap wine was the taste, but your taste buds had grown accustomed to store-bought, so if anything, store-bought tasted like heaven to you. Anyway, though, you nod your head and urge him to pour a glass.

“Thank you,” you smile, before gently swirling the glass and bringing it up to your nose to smell (something you only know to do after being the odd man out at so many company banquets). Satoru waits for you to sip your glass before he sips his. The way you melt into your seat is a silent assurance that you’re pleased.

“This is great, you’re amazing,” you tell the server, who seems pleased by your compliment.

“Glad to be of service, miss. Are you ready to order?”

Dinner goes by smoothly. In fact, it goes by so smoothly, you and Satoru finish the entire bottle of wine. Now you sit at the table, bellies full, faces flushed and sore from laughing, and now you find yourself telling him about the grocery store incident. If you had half a mind (a sober one), you’d shut up right this second to save yourself from the embarrassment. But you don’t. And Satoru’s very persuasive when you’re tipsy.

“Keep going,” he leans in, hand nestled under his chin. He’s completely invested in the story. Actually, as soon as he heard the words ‘store’ and ‘cute guy’, he just had to know more. And you begging him to change the subject didn’t help, not when the sadist in him loved to see you so embarrassed.

“Fine,” you hiccup, “It was so - so bad, Toru.” He doesn’t miss the way you slip and call him by the nickname you’d always reserved for him. It makes his heart race, and god, does he miss the way it sounds spilling from your lips. But he ignores the feeling, and refocuses on your story instead. Which, by the way, was proving to be a task in itself because his eyes couldn’t stop drifting back down to your lips. So soft, so–

“And then she said ‘we don’t believe in rings,’” you whisper, fist coming down on the table. The sound it makes nearly sobers you up, and you realize just how loud you’re being despite your table being secluded from others. Giggling like a kid, you continue, “I mean, how fucking insane is that?!”

“Something as bizarre as that could only ever happen to you,” he replies, laughing along with you, “those people were crazy.”

“The craziest,” you agree, throwing your head back in another fit of laughter. Gradually, the two of you begin to settle down, and once again, you find your attention being drawn back to the man on the stage. Only this time, he’s making an announcement.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman. Tonight I’ve got a special request,” he says, looking out into the audience. Looking at you. “This one’s for a very special lady who, from what I’ve been told, is a great mother that needs to start doing things for herself.”

The singer steps out of the spotlight and hands the note to a server. Your server. Then he begins to sing, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It was your wedding song.

[...] I don’t even know how to love you

Just the way you want me to

But I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

Yes, I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

“Now this one? This one was me,” Satoru leans forward, and you swiftly turn your head to face him. He smiles as he watches your face go through ten different emotions before ultimately softening. It warms your heart to see how incredibly planned this evening was, despite the amount of time he was given to work with. Even so, it kind of scares you–because then that meant this was a grand gesture–that this was his way of saying something. And you weren’t too sure if you wanted to hear it. Your gaze drops to your lap, and Satoru frowns.

To fall in love

To fall in love with you…

“Look at me,” he says softly, but you don’t. “Hey, look at me.” He reaches over the table to take your chin in between his fingers. The touch alone feels electric. Sends liquid hot lightning down the column of your spine. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, and like always, it’s suffocating. They’re so wide with hope, and so, so gentle in the way they hold you. The longer you gaze upon them, the more you convince yourself it’ll be okay if you surrender to them.

“It’s been years since we’ve divorced,” his voice is shaky, almost strained, like he’s actively thinking how to choose his words carefully, “and when we sat down that night, I thought it was what I wanted, too, you know? And for a while, it was,” he reaches a hand across the table to rest atop your own, “but you gotta know…you gotta know–you’re it for me. There’s no one else on this Earth that I want to start over with. You’ve always been the beginning and end of my story, and I’ll be damned if I let another man start one with you.”

Your heart is beating faster than you can even process what he’s saying. The only thing you’re focused on is not passing out in the middle of this damn restaurant. But then he’s squeezing your hand, and your focus is drawn back to those piercing, pale blues that even put crystals to shame.

“So what do you say?” he says, so softly, so tender. “Can we try again?”

Waiting for your reply, he squeezes your hand again. It’s like your soul is wandering the line between death and the living, and his touch is the tether that brings you back. In the background, the tune of the song sung at your wedding gives you a push of courage.

I don’t even know how to kiss your lips (kiss your lips)

At a moment like this

But I’m going to learn how to do

All the things you want me to

Yes, I’m ready

(Are you ready?) Yes, I’m ready

To fall in love

To fall in love right now

“Yes.”

The walk back to the car is hurried. Aided by both, years and years of built up tension, and the liquid courage currently bubbling in your systems.

The race back to his apartment is even faster. You thank the gods silently that it’s within close proximity to where you just were.

Once you get there, make your way past the doorman and concierge (who both give the two of you a knowing look), go up the elevator, and finally get into his loft–it’s over. Years of restraint, years of pretending, wanting–yearning, come crashing down.

There’s barely any time to close the door before he’s pushing you against it. His lips trail down the column of your neck, then come up to kiss your jaw, until eventually, they find your lips. And when they do, it’s instantaneous–that familiar feeling, the feeling that feels almost like falling.

Once again, for what felt like centuries, you feel again the rush of helplessness. The push and pull of the tide. It brings you down, down, down to the bottom of the ocean floor, and it’s unmerciful.

Kissing Satoru is like being shocked with ten thousand volts of energy. Like all this time you’ve spent not kissing him, has been costing you your life, and he’s the only one who can deliver you salvation. It’s all teeth and tongue for a minute. Messy, and sticky, and nasty. A true testament to the desperation brewing in the pits of both your stomachs.

The sensation of it all has your knees going slack, and that’s when he says–

“Jump.”

Obeying, you do just that. Jump right into his arms, and wrap your legs around his torso like you’ve done so many times before. The way you feel now is the way you used to feel before then, too. Like you were made to fit like this. To be held in his arms like you were molded from the same clay.

Carefully, he adjusts his grip on your body. Keeps his palms planted on the bottoms of your ass, and begins the trek to his room. He struggles a bit getting there because you haven’t stopped kissing since entering the apartment, but he figures it out after a stumble or two (which resulted in a bitten lip and you apologizing profusely through giggles).

“The turbulence up here is crazy, don’t blame me, blame the pilot,” you jest, kissing down his neck to make up for it.

“I’ll make sure to let him know,” he jokes back. As soon as he gets to the bed, he sets you down at the edge of the bed. You try to bring him down to your height but he stops you, wags his finger in your face playfully before using it to push you back into the bed. His fingers start to play with the fabric of your dress, and then his face takes on an indifferent expression. The same one from earlier that night when he first saw you walking down the stairs.

“Can’t believe you were gonna wear this for him…” he trails, lifting the fabric up slowly, eyeing you while doing so, “as if this dress doesn’t mean something.”

Of course, when Shoko chose it, its significance did make you falter–but in your defense, not once did you ever anticipate for him to see you in it. And you especially didn’t expect for him to remember it, the last time you wore it was almost a decade ago.

“I didn’t…” you start, a smile creeping on your lips, “think you remembered?”

“‘Course I did, how could I not?” He says more sharply than intended, taking offense. He takes offense because he spent the better half of the night showing you he remembered. The little things and everything else in between. Couldn’t you see that?

“It was our 4th anniversary. Bought you this dress and fucked you in it that same night. Funny how the second time I’m seeing you in this dress, the circumstances are the same except only this time we’re divorced,” he says, crawling over your body. “Guess I gotta show you just how much I remember.”

With that, he slips a hand under your dress, pulls your panties to the side and runs a finger down your slit. Oh-so-willingly, do you spread your legs for him. It’s almost subconscious, the way your body responds to him. And he revels in it. Lets his fingers work you, feel you, bring you to ecstasy. Then he heightens your pleasure tenfold when he kisses his way down your body, and takes a seat before you on his knees.

Unceremoniously, he pulls your body to the edge of the bed. Takes his time slipping your panties down the length of your legs, then kisses the insides of your thighs, before finally stopping at your mound.

Slowly, he lowers himself to your cunt, kisses your clit softly. Once, twice, three times. The pace in which he’s moving is killing you, to say the least. But you know he’s savoring the moment, making up for all the years he spent not kneeling like this between your legs. So you let him; let him caress you all over before he comes seeking the honey-sweet salvation dripping from your core.

The second his tongue makes contact with your heat, you find yourself clamping a heavy hand over your mouth. “Fuck, Toruuuu,” you drawl, back arching off the bed. Pleased with his abilities, he smiles smugly, using this as an opportunity to push himself even deeper. Up and down, he licks at your slit, uses his fingers in tandem with his tongue to prod at that spongy spot he knows you love.

“Tastes,” a harsh suck, “so good,” another, “better than I remember.”

You know he’s talking, but his words fall on deaf ears. You’re so caught up in your own high, you don’t even take notice of the obscene sloshing sounds coming from your pussy, or the moans you’re making. All you can do is lay there and take it as he takes, and takes, and takes from you.

Soon, you find your orgasm cutting through you like a knife, and you come with a strangled cry that has you biting back tears. Satoru talks you through the whole thing. He lays his head down on your thigh and continues working you with his fingers until you start to shake from the overstimulation.

For a few, you lay and stare at the ceiling. You think you can see the Milky Way–and all the constellations that make it up. It feels like your soul is floating beyond your physical body, and you don’t come back down to Earth until a sharp, stinging sensation brings you back. Did he just?

“Did you just bite me?” you lift your head, peering down to see the evidence. In all its glory, there it was; a red ring smack-dab in the inside of your thigh with teeth imprints. Looking at Satoru, he grins.

“Had to get you back from earlier,” he says, sitting back on his knees. You attempt to kick him with your foot, but he grabs hold of it. Pretending to be wounded, he gasps, “Is this how you treat the man who just gave you a soul-shattering orgasm?”

You roll your eyes, but to your dismay, it only encourages him to continue.

“Fuck, Toru,” he mimics, “oh my god, Toru. You fuck me so goo–”

“Alright, enough!” you manage to kick him this time, laughing as you bring up your hands to cover your face. “Keep carrying on like that and I won’t let you fuck me…” You’re serious in your bite, but he’s smirking. Like he knows you’re full of bullshit.

“Yeah right. You and I both know I make you feel too good.”

Feeling bested, you scoff, though, there’s no real weight behind it. While he begins to remove his shirt, you sit up and replace his hands. He relinquishes control and allows you to unbutton it until the item falls haphazardly to the floor.

He’s so beautiful, you think. Still so chiseled, so perfect after all these years since you’ve last seen him like this. At his most vulnerable. The only difference now is that there are more freckles littered across his skin. Back then, he’d say they were signs of aging, and he’d hate them.

But he’s older now. More mature. So much so that he even winks at you when you trace your fingertips over them.

“They suit you,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

You nod your head, “mhm.”

Continuing your ministrations, you begin removing his belt. He holds your gaze the entire time it takes for you to unzip his pants and pull them down–and he doesn’t once shy away when you discover the wet spot on the front of his briefs. Slowly, delicately, you remove the soiled item and let it fall down to the floor with the rest of his clothes.

Still looking at him, you take hold of his length and fist him once, twice, experimentally. A dribble of pre oozes from his slit and you bring it to your mouth. All the air in his lungs expel into the air when you lick it off with your tongue, and god, he thinks he could come from that alone.

God, he’s missed you. Missed your touch, your lips–the way you hold him with your eyes like he’s something worth being gentle with. Nothing could ever compare to you, not even his own hand.

As soon as you’re about to take him in your mouth, he stops you. Pushes you back down onto the bed and slots himself between your legs. “No more playing, I’m tired of playing,” he breathes, lowering himself down until half of his weight is on top of you.

Guiding his cock to your entrance, he pushes past your folds with little resistance. The feeling of your cunt squeezing him in has his arms wobbling like jelly, but he musters enough strength somehow to stay up. You, on the other hand, are close to tears.

The more he eases himself in, the more you feel like you’re being stretched open (despite him previously prepping you). If you were being truthful, this wasn’t a complete shock to you. You’ve known that he’s always been big, but something about tonight feels different. Or maybe it’s just been too long since you’ve had something more than just your own fingers.

Even so, you try your best to ignore the burn of the stretch. You throw your arms around his neck and invite him deeper into you, hooking your legs around him so tightly that it renders his limbs useless. For a minute, all you can feel is the weight of him inside of you, and his chest against yours as they rise and fall asynchronously.

“Toru,” your voice is just barely above a whisper, but enough to make the hairs on the nape of his neck stand. “Make love to me.”

Heeding your request, he begins moving. Painfully slow, he unsheathes himself from you until only the head of his cock is inside, then pushes himself all the way back in with force. Again, and again, he repeats this motion. Pulls out, pushes in. Pulls out, pushes in, until he decides to increase his pace and set a steady rhythm.

Every thrust into you is meticulously calculated. Sharp, and forceful, and not once does he disrupt the rhythm. He listens carefully to the sounds you make. Even listens to the way your breath hitches when he hits a spot right. Everything he’s doing is perfect–and it’s to no surprise. Deep down, you know that Satoru knows your body like the back of his hand. He’d know it if you were all old and wrinkly. He’d know it if his soul reincarnated. Hell, he’d know it blind.

“Missed this,” he grunts, burying his head into the interstice of your neck, “missed you,” a kiss to your neck, “missed us.”

The veracity of his words render you speechless. He’s already professed his feelings for you tonight, but it feels even more real now that you’re beneath him. To be loved by Gojo Satoru was a feeling many couldn’t say they had the consolation of knowing. Only a few in his circle could hold that position–but only one person in this world could truly ever know his love to its fullest extent. You.

Satoru continues his mindless rambling, “I love you,” a thrust, “it’s always been you,” another, “was always going to be you.” Leaning back on his heels, he pushes your dress all the way up to reveal your breasts. Now it’s him who sits back and admires this time. As if he were reacquainting himself, he traces the planes and pastures of your chest with an eager hand. He runs it up and over each mound, squeezing and kneading the flesh experimentally.

Then, he dips down and kisses the space between them. Sucks and licks until the skin bruises, and he has evidence to prove tonight actually happened. Eventually, he withdraws from your chest and returns his focus on easing his cock in and out of your cunt.

“So beautiful,” he says, but it’s more to himself than anything. You’re so lost in your own pleasure, he doesn’t even think you can hear him. “Want you to cum on my cock, know you can do it, baby. Know you can,” he grunts, taking your hand and intertwining it with his own. Letting his head fall into your neck, he begins to quicken his pace. Fucks into you with everything he’s got and willing to give.

“Toru,” you finally manage to say, “‘m so close, keep going. Do it - do it inside.”

Do it inside. Do it inside. Do it inside. The thought is tempting, too tempting. It makes his dick twitch inside of you, and he swears if you say it again, he’ll actually do it. But he knows better than to listen to anything you say out of delirium.

“Trust me, sweet girl,” he cradles your face, to which you lean into, “I want to - I want to so fucking badly. But we both know you’d regret it later.”

Whining, your lips form into a pout, and the sight is so cute, he can’t help but to kiss it off of you. Compared to your kiss earlier, this one is much sweeter. Slower. More relaxed. He kisses you with the intent of making you dizzier than you already are, and it’s scary. Even so, you don’t pull away. You allow him to drink you up. Like your lips are the only source of water around, and he’s been quenched for days.

Finally, with a few more thrusts, you reach your climax. The pressure building in the pit of your belly pops like a balloon, and everything goes white. “Toru!” you shriek, arching off the bed and trembling in his grasp.

Using your arch as leverage, he keeps his hands underneath your back and continues to ram into you without abandon. You’re a babbling, wet mess at this point, and your cunt squeezing around him only encourages him more.

“Fuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna - ‘m gonna,” he curses, balls beginning to tighten. Quickly, he unsheathes himself and fists himself the rest of the way. With an impassioned moan, he climaxes–spurting thick, white, ropes of seed all over your abdomen. Then, falls onto your limp body with a grunt, chest heaving rapidly, and slick with perspiration.

By this time, you’ve settled down enough to form a proper sentence. “That was…”

Satoru huffs, catching his breath. “Yeah.”

Still spent, he continues to lay atop you. And you, having nowhere else to go, let him. The two of you lay comfortably in silence like this for a long time. Just you tracing shapes into his back, and him purring into your neck. Both of you know you should be getting up, but neither of you make an effort to do so. In this moment, time is transcendent. There is no rush to move when time stands still for you.

Soon, that silence is broken.

“I love you,” you say, and there’s no elaboration. Not even a recant. In fact, you say it so nonchalantly, he’s not even sure it was real. You say it like you’ve never been more certain in your life, like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever had to do.

“Really?” he queries, almost pathetically like the mere idea of you loving him is something unattainable. You look at him like he’s got two heads.

“Yeah, you’re my best friend. I’ve always loved you,” you admit, pausing your ministrations on his back, “I just had to relearn how to love you.” He smiles at this, hums into your neck to keep from crying.

“I’m glad we found our way back to each other,” he mumbles into your neck, “so where do we go from here?”

“From here we take it slow. We’ll learn together what it means to be individuals, and then from there we’ll see where it goes,” you say matter-of-factly, “no more repeating past mistakes.”

“Agreed,” he nods, “what will we tell the girls?”

That’s when your eyes widen and you sit up, forcefully pushing Satoru off of you.

“What did I say, what’s wrong?” he queries, sitting up on the bed. He watches you rummage around the room maniacally, head on a swivel as you run out of the room and return with a purse. You pull your phone out to see a slew of missed calls and messages.

“We forgot to call the girls!” You yell, showing him your phone screen of missed calls. Gojo jumps up to join you, one leg already sliding into his pants.

“Shit!”

Noticing the state of your appearance, you pinch the skin between your brows. “Satoru, I can’t wear this! You got cum all over it,” you groan, pointing to all the splotches of white. He tells you to wait a second before disappearing into his closet, then he comes back with a fist of clothes and throws it at you.

“I can’t wear this either, they’ll wonder why I’m wearing your clothes!”

Satoru runs to you and pull the dress off of your body, “We’ll wash it!” he screams, disappearing again out of the room, and to where you imagine, the laundry room. When he returns, he’s out of breath and panting. It’s only then do you realize how insane he looks with half his shirt buttoned, and his pants twisted around his hips. A giggle escapes your lips.

“What are you laughing at? Chop chop,” he claps, ushering you into his bathroom.

Yeah, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this idiot.

comments + reblogs very appreciated !!!

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