#and the same man that STILL CARES ENOUGH to look at A GOD in the face and telling him to go fuck off and die and stop manipulating erik)

[johnbrand]

Joining the Flock

Trying something different, please enjoy

With @henrypreppy

JD flipped the meeting invitation back and forth between his hands, the thin paper material an illusion to the actual weight its writing held. He could not believe he had actually agreed to this, let alone thinking about following through with it. It was not like his parents would have ever known. JD could lie about the entire ordeal and get away with it. But now he was officially registered for the first meeting of the year, his name practically carved into stone.

“Hey there, sorry I don’t mean to interrupt.”

JD rotated his head to the door, eyeing down the black-haired freshman standing patiently at the door. Slim, lanky, and could use tweezers, but by his posture JD could already discern that he was a casual fellow.

“I’m assuming you're Michael Freedman?”

“Mike will do,” Mike grinned. “It’s nice to finally meet you, I’m assuming you’re my roommate?”

JD stood up and extended his hand. “You got it, I'm JD.”

The physical exchange allowed for their first day jitters to transmit like a frequency between them.

“JD huh, is that a nickname?”

JD did his best to hold back his embarrassment. “It’s short for Jeremiah Delgado.”

Mike’s eyebrows rose, “A little bit of a mouthful.”

“You should hear it with the middle names,” JD quipped. “It’s what you get when you combine a Hispanic father and Biblically-obsessed mother.”

“Then no wonder you stick to JD,” Mike replied.

Taking a seat back on his bed, JD decided to steer the conversation elsewhere. “When did you move in? I didn’t see you this morning when I’d hauled everything up those four flights of stairs.”

Mike chuckled, “Perks of the top floor right? I assume I moved in right after you left. You’re not a clean freak or anything, are you?”

“God no,” JD answered, the tone shift catching him off guard. “I don’t have time to care about stuff like that.” JD had already picked up on Mike’s disorganization when he had arrived back at the dorm. It was a bit of a shock to see the place had already become a lived-in pigsty, even though they had just moved in. But JD truly did not mind the clutter, he was a bit on the uncleanly side too. Speaking of which, he realized he had forgotten to get a haircut before he left. The dullish chestnut mop was reaching shoulder-length now; JD was a bit curious to see what would happen if he let it grow even longer.

“Sorry if that was a bit blunt,” Mike plopped onto his own bed. “I just saw the invitation and I was curious.”

“The…?” JD paused, before picking up on what Mike was referring to. “Oh this? No sorry, it was pushed onto me at the club fair.”

The event had been just short of organized chaos. Practically a hundred booths had filled the auditorium, each of them advertising different clubs that the freshman could get involved with. Student Council, the Events Commission, even the CIA (which JD learned stood for “Chemists In Action”). He had been casually browsing, the only thing minorly interesting to him being the Pride organization, but somehow had accidentally strolled in front of the wrong stall.

“Looking to join the Campus Ministry?”

The man calling out to JD was rather put-together, probably the only person in the entire event showcasing a three-piece suit. As JD approached cautiously–hoping the man would not grab any more attention then he already had–he was able to inspect the stranger a little further. Late thirties, athletic, a ring on his finger and of average flair. He was not JD’s type, but he could still appreciate that the man held some appealing characteristics.

The man introduced himself as soon as JD drew close enough. “My name’s Peter, I’m the Campus Minister.”

JD replied accordingly, loathing his luck. He had chosen a college as far away from his parents and their strict lifestyle as possible, and yet now here he was, conversing with the very people who abided by their same morals and guidelines.

“Well Jeremiah, are you inclined to learn more about the mission of the Baptist Church?”

Wincing at the use of his full name, JD replied, “I actually grew up Baptist, but I’ve grown away from the faith since.” As soon as the words left his mouth, JD realized his mistake.

“Well you have come to the right place!” Peter exclaimed, a bit too over joyous. “The Campus Ministry is welcome to all, especially those returning to God’s graces.”

Before JD could protest, Peter had already handed him the formal invitation and written his name on the sign-up form. “The meeting is tonight, you won’t miss it!”

“I can’t believe you got sucked into that crap!” Mike was laughing after JD had finished replaying the scene for him. “Are you really planning on going?”

“I mean I have to, right? They’ve got me signed up.”

Mike shrugged, “It’s up to you man, but you don’t have a lot of time to decide.”

JD quickly eyed the invitation and then his phone and realized Mike was right. If he was going to make this meeting, he would have to leave now.

“Crap!”

———

By the time he got to the chapel, he had worked up quite the sweat. JD was not an active person, and as he entered the building, he realized he was also not properly dressed. Everyone else adorned their Sunday bests, some even more formal. The button-ups and slacks were a complete contrast to his own indie band tee and distressed jeans. JD shamefully placed himself in the back pew, hoping no one would notice the black sheep.

“Mind if I sit here, brother?”

JD obliged without acknowledging the stranger, cursing to himself as Peter ascended to the podium at the front of the chapel.

“Brothers and Sisters, I want to welcome you all to our first meeting of the year. As the Campus Minister, it is an honor to be able to guide you in our journey together, and with your trust lead you on the path towards God.”

All the members of the group came together to a round of applause. 

“Let me make one thing clear right away, brothers and sisters,” Peter began assuredly. “At the heart of the Campus Ministry is community. God did not create us to live alone in isolation. He specifically designed us to live together as like-minded beings. To thrive in Biblical communities where people who love Jesus Christ can enjoy fellowship with one another. To help each other grow in the faith, to become more alike. To learn from each other, incorporate a need for each other. God uses others to help us grow individually, and God uses us to grow other people.”

“I am reminded of a verse from Matthew 18:20: ‘For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.’ It is here that Jesus calls us to be sheep, His sheep, flocking under His name in likeness and in aspiration to fulfill His teachings. As a Biblical community, we find ourselves in Jesus. He is our center point, what draws us together, the common bond that we share. And as Baptists, we find ourselves following our shepherd, assimilating as one when we name ourselves a member of His church.”

“So why is community at the heart of the Campus Ministry? Whether you are eighteen-, nineteen-, twenty- or more-years-old, you came here searching for guidance. Guidance to tell you where to go, what to do, who to follow. Guidance found through relationships, through our collective relationship with God and His church. The Campus Ministry offers that guidance and more. Our community of brothers and sisters will help you navigate classes, properly study, and make wise decisions. They will eat with you, spend time with you, bring you into the fold, our flock, no matter what former walk of life. They will help you embody the classic look of a Christian.”

“Now, I would like to invite you to embrace that first step towards community. Take a moment and turn to your neighbor, introduce yourself to your new brother or sister.”

Finding himself slightly absorbed by Peter’s sermon, JD broke out of his haze to finally acknowledge the stranger he had allowed to sit beside him. However, JD found himself rendered speechless by the beautiful man before him. With coppery hair, a diamond-cut jaw, and inviting green eyes, JD gawked a second too long at his traditional counterpart. Pairing pleated trousers with a crimson sweater vest over a simple white button-up, the stranger exuded refinement. From his Ivy League haircut to his natural woodsy smell and even by the way the stranger sat, JD could feel heat rising from his own cheeks.

“Jackson Sanderson,” the stranger offered, and after a uncharacteristic stutter JD replied with his own.

JD was then introduced to other members of the club as they came around to introduce themselves. There was a Colton, a Bryce, a Jared, a Stanley. Eventually the names and faces began to blur together, each of them almost identical to each other. Attractive by traditional standards, reeking of arrogance and privilege. JD found himself almost unable to hide his large erection, loathing his existence. It was times like these he wished not to be “blessed” as his father had once grotesquely put it.

After everyone had returned to their seats, Peter finished his monologue. “Before you realize it, each and every one of you will become bonded through our Campus Ministry. It may not happen right away, but once you begin to know each other, you will begin to shape each other too. Now, let us end in prayer.”

———

JD’s first day of classes flashed by in an instant. Undecided, his schedule was mostly filled with the required objectives. A standard biology course, base level statistics, even a communications class–all of which had no actual assignments for the day besides reading the syllabus. But by the late afternoon after his final seminar, JD found himself ready for a lazy evening. He drafted plans involving picking up fast food, watching an episode or ten of some raunchy sitcom, and then drifting off to bed.

“Jeremiah!” 

The minister’s assertive baritone cut through JD’s headphones, which were slowly lowered to passive-aggressively demonstrate his annoyance.

“I wanted to thank you for coming to the first Campus Ministry meeting last night,” Peter explained as he approached. Today, he was dressed in a brown suit with a pattern meant for a man twice his age. “I was hoping to discuss some other things as well. Have a moment?”

Reluctantly, JD obliged, and soon he was following Peter to his office. Once inside, JD was able to discern a bit more about this man who had strangely taken an interest in him. Basic wooden cross on the wall, pile of materials on theology beside the desk, a picture of a woman around the minister’s age holding three children. JD accepted the seat in front of the desk, hoping this would not take long.

“Seeing the instantaneous bond that we have created over the past 24 hours,” JD restrained his eyebrow from visually questioning this statement. “I took it upon myself to become your academic counselor. As your minister, it’s my role to offer you structure and guidance during these impressionable years.”

JD was a bit startled by this statement, but said nothing.

Peter continued, “I’ve already taken a gander at your schedule and noticed all gen-eds. As you are undecided, I was curious if you had any majors you had in mind.”

“Not particularly,” JD answered, finding himself a little more relaxed. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to think about it until a bit later, honestly.”

Peter’s direct eye contact intensified slightly. “Maybe it would be best to spread out your electives and place you in some courses designed to determine a major. Considering your passion for the faith, you could look into some classes in the Religion Department.”

JD found the minister’s wording a bit odd, almost belittling in a way. His response came out a bit muddled, “I never said that I had a passion for the faith?”

“Well, Jeremiah, I think it could do you a lot of good. As the Campus Minister, I’d be happy to offer you some additional resources as well.”

“‘Resources’?”

“Of course,” Peter’s face broke out into a big grin. “I’ll connect you with one of our students in the department. I have one in mind already, a sophomore: Jackson Sanderson.”

A blush broke out onto JD’s face. He could not perceive if the minister had noticed it or not.

“Jackson is one of our finest men,” Peter resumed. “You will immediately find him as a brother, perhaps one of your closest. After a while, you will feel the desire to emulate him, as he has the classic look of a Christian.”

Again, JD noted the strange diction, and a repeat of a phrase he had heard last night. But JD also noticed that he felt a certain calm when he listened to Peter. His voice just had a quality that kept one at ease. That was probably why he had become a minister.

“I’ll notify Jackson to get in contact with you shortly.” Peter then took a stand, prompting JD to do the same. “Until then, let’s begin thinking about your major and where we’d like to see you next semester. And further along, when you graduate.”

———

Jackson reached out to JD hours later, and after a bit of texting JD found himself roped into a study session the following day. He did not know what to expect, but he decided to put his best foot forward. Sure, he had no desire to engage with the church after his high school graduation, but JD rationalized that he could still be there to make friends.

“Jeremiah!” Jackson called out from one of the pews. He was surrounded by a swarm of men, all wearing outfits appropriate for more conservative times. JD had prepared for this, although his khakis and short-sleeved button-up still did not fit the bill.

“It’s JD,” JD corrected politely. “Thank you for letting me crash your guys’ study group.”

“Of course!” one of the men replied. JD should have known his name, but the person’s features were almost unrecognizable from the next. “Any brother is welcome to join.”

“Especially once Peter told us you were enrolling in the Religion Department,” Jackson added.

“I’m not enrolling in the Religion Department.”

“We get it, you’re ‘just interested’,” a second man insisted, to which everyone else began to chuckle as if he were referring to some inside joke.

“Anyway, don’t worry about it.” Jackson replied. The smooth quality of Jackson’s tenor settled JD’s nerves. “Let’s get to studying, shall we?”

The group agreed and promptly found themselves absorbed in their literature. While JD stuck to his reading and recording notes, the other men held a shallow conversation: one that any person could easily flow in and out of without paying too much attention. It began with simple topics at first; professors, extracurriculars, sports. None of these would typically entice JD, but he found himself occasionally tuning into the group’s monotonous channel. Eventually however, the topics converged into a singular subject: the Bible.

“I just think John’s interpretation is by far superior to the synoptic gospels,” Colton countered. JD could not believe he had remembered his name. “His use of monological writing is what makes Jesus more engaging to the interpreter.”

Jackson shook his head, “That may be true, but the synoptic gospels offer parables, short stories that people can relate too.” Jackson’s presence was different now then when they had first met. Before, frankly, JD had taken eroticism from Jackson’s standardized beauty. But now, he sensed something else. Rather than affection, JD recognized admiration.

“Enlighten us, Jackson, what parables can you relate to,” Bryce teased. “If we looked under your bed, would we find oil? As we already know you are a virgin.”

All of the men, including Jackson and JD, took joy in that remark.

“Perhaps you will, perhaps you won’t,” Jackson finally replied. “But take our group for example, are we not fulfilling a parable right now? I would situate ourselves in the story of the Prodigal Son.” Jackson motioned to his peers, “Are we not the father?” And then to just JD, “And is Jeremiah not the Prodigal Son?”

The group pondered this thought, turning expectantly towards JD for an answer.

“Um…” JD stumbled, not expecting to be put on the spot. “I mean, that’s one way to look at it.”

Once again, the group exploded into laughter, their volume ascending to the roof of the chapel. JD chuckled along too, his nervousness fading as he became more comfortable with the group. By the end of the night, he found himself pleasantly surprised as he accepted the invitation to the next study session.

———

“Hey dude, are you interested in going clubbing?” Mike asked, having just exited the shower.

“When are you thinking of going?” JD was reorganizing his desk. For some reason, its cluttered nature had begun to bother him.

“In a few minutes here, hopefully.” Mike dropped the towel on the floor and grabbed some clothes off his bed. He gave a strong sniff to each item inspected, those too dirty were then tossed onto the floor. JD observed this but said nothing.

“Man, sorry but I can’t. I got a study group tonight.”

“On a Friday night?” Mike questioned. “This is like the fourth Friday in a row.”

“I know, but I already said I was going to be there.”

Mike frowned, scratching at his lower regions a bit. JD swiftly averted his eyes. “But don’t you study with these guys three times a week, and have lunch with them everyday too?”

“Yeah, but they purposely choose Friday nights to not be tempted,” JD finally answered.

The partially-answering statement held in the air for an awkward moment. Eventually, Mike responded. “Right…”

JD turned back to his task at hand, throwing out trash that should have been discarded earlier.

“Well,” Mike grabbed a jacket and his keys. “I guess I’ll see you later then.”

“Uh huh,” JD’s response was dull. Once Mike shut the door, he released the long breath that he had subconsciously been holding. He wondered when Mike’s presence had become so taxing. Perhaps he compared his roommate to the study group’s austere quality. JD found those straight-laced men ironically soothing.

This theory was proven once JD arrived into the chapel, the smiling faces of his peers sending a warm tingle across his body. The study session went similar to the rest, beginning with actual work before simply devolving into lighthearted, yet engaging discussions. If these conversations were not surrounding the Bible, then they focused on a topic JD was even less familiar with. 

“I think I’m going to propose to Hannah,” Jared suddenly said, to which everyone in the group audibly gasped.

“Are you ready, brother?” Jackson inquired, to which JD nodded along. 

“He’s already got the ring,” Stanley answered. Weeks ago, this development would have shocked JD. Two twenty-year-olds marrying in this day and age? But now, the thought was not that unfathomable to him. He was becoming more accustomed to the men's ideology.

“I booked reservations for her favorite restaurant,” Jared announced, his typical stale manner of speaking almost giddy. Almost. “I’ll pop the question before dessert of course, it’s all arranged.”

To that, the men applauded Jared, shaking his hand vigorously and giving brotherly pats on the back. JD high-fived him, embracing the honest excitement for Jared. Once they cooled down, Colton continued the conversation.

“Now you’ve got me inspired, thinking I should finally pop the question to Mary.”

“You’ve been thinking about doing that since you first met her in private school,” Bryce retorted.

“And have you not pondered the same with Julia, brother?” Jackson smirked, to which the other men piggy-backed off of. “Speaking of women, have you set your sights on any yet, Jeremiah?”

JD blinked, unbothered by the use of his full name, “Uh…not exactly. I just haven’t  been looking for anyone I guess.” 

JD was telling the truth. Before college, he had planned on finally finding a male partner to love and hold. And to lose his virginity to. But since the first day of classes, JD had not felt a connection to any male in particular on campus–or in general. JD assumed his sex drive had been lowered, that he was just growing out of some awkward teenage phase.

“Perhaps we’ll have to set you up then,” Jared’s grin held an impish edge. “I believe Jessica is still looking for a potential husband.”

Jackson shot Jared a glare, to which all the other men hollered at. “Jessica is only a freshman.”

“And so is Jeremiah,” Stanley pointed out. JD tried his best to stay quiet, although he had to admit that he was having fun too.

“We’ll see if Jeremiah proves to be everything the minister has promised,” Jackson offered. “After all, Jessica will only take a man who has that classic look of a Christian.”

———

“Jeremiah! Thank you for meeting with me again. Please, take a seat.”

JD followed the instruction, placing himself on the other side of the minister’s desk.

“Already halfway through your first semester, isn’t that unbelievable?” Peter started.

“It certainly is,” JD’s response was friendly. “Can’t believe two months have already flown by.”

“I can’t believe it either, but I can see it,” Peter noted. “I’m assuming you’ve been having meals with your other brothers?”

“They’ve got me going to the gym now too,” JD sighed. “An hour every morning before class since last week.” 

JD had been dining regularly with his study group, at lunch and dinner and even the occasional breakfast. And since this habit had begun, JD found himself eating like his peers too. No more ramen and late night fast food deliveries. Fruits, vegetables, and lean proteins were now the major facets of his diet, leading to his cleaner skin and an overall healthier glow. It was strange at first to recognize how much of a difference this better diet–and as of recently the exercise–had improved his body. JD found himself a bit more muscular, a bit more jovial, and overall more energized.

“That’s not surprising, our men do like to stay in proper form, physically and spiritually,” Peter chuckled. “Speaking of which, last we talked, you had discussed that you were contemplating committing to a major in the Religion Department. Have you thought more on that topic?”

JD considered this for a moment, not remembering if that was what he had actually said or not. But something about the minister’s confident tone assured him that Peter was correct. That was why he had come to this college after all, as his parents had approved of the strong Baptist connection. At least, to appease their wishes.

“A little bit I guess,” JD replied, causing Peter to grin. JD at first thought of it as smug, but then corrected the thought to Peter simply being excited for him. “I mean I’ve attended all four of the Campus Ministry events so far, and being around the guys has certainly been an influence.”

“A positive influence,” Peter amended.

“Yeah…a positive influence,” JD slowly repeated back, before coming back to speed. “As of right now though, I’m still undecided on it all.” Peter carefully leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs out a bit to accommodate. It was almost like the minister was trying to size him up, assert a bit more control.

“You are apprehensive because you still identify yourself as an outsider to our community.” Peter’s response was measured, continuous yet firm with every word laid out. “One thing that can be addressed is your attire. At the material level, you will follow the direction of your peers.”

JD tried to process this, although his brain felt a little hazy. “That might help, yeah.”

“That is something that can be addressed too, your intonation.” There was a particular glint in Peter’s eye, but JD found it easier to focus on the minister’s voice. “Just like your brothers, your inflection will remain in control and moderated. Your pitch will remain even and your vocabulary will become more refined.”

“Certainly.” While just one word, each syllable had required additional effort to come forth from JD’s mouth. The colorless articulation however obscured this exertion.

“It’s good that you’re taking my advice, Jeremiah,” Peter affirmed. “You have placed your trust in me to lead you on the path towards God.”

JD did not know if this was true before, but after Peter had said it, it felt as such.

“You will want nothing more than to become a part of our community,” Peter finalized. “I’ll inform Jackson of such, and he’ll help you along.”

———

JD stepped out of the bathroom, steam pouring out from behind him. He had never taken such a long and luxurious shower but it had felt so right. Jackson had recommended it, saying it was the best way to get rid of any excess hair that may have stuck to his skin after visiting the barber. He could not see it now, but JD already loved the shortened cut on his head. Once it was dried, the sides would naturally fall into a tight bowl-like shape. Then, JD would have the pleasure of applying the product–prescribed by Jackson–to fluff his bangs up into a traditional, conservative quiff. A proper style for a gentleman like himself.

In nothing but a towel, JD peered cautiously around the room. All alone, he allowed himself to freely disdain his roommate’s messy style. He had remained civil around the topic with Mike, but had secretly grown to loathe it. JD knew better than to say anything however, as that would have been pompous. Carefully placing his feet into open spots on the floor, JD tip-toed his way to his dresser, surprised to find a small note taped to the drawer.

A final gift, the classic look of a Christian -JS

Not thinking twice about the phrase, JD was surprised to find his boxers had been replaced with starchy, high-waisted white briefs. But his confusion quickly dissolved into recognition before fading into a simple, charming smile. The cotton fabric went up and over each of his legs in a matter of moments, the traditional cut making JD feel grounded somehow. Controlled.

Turning to face the mirror, it was almost shocking for JD to see the new reflection of himself. Only weeks away from the end of his first semester and the man before him was much different than the boy who had come to campus. Tanner, more muscular, an image of young masculinity. But those were explainable thanks to his improved diet and exercise. Other factors, like his wider jaw, broader shoulders, and inched-back hairline, were not as identifiable. JD questioned if it was incoming maturity, or perhaps something else.

Before he could reflect on the thought further, his body mechanically moved along to his wardrobe. A rack once filled with tees and crewnecks was now stuffed by dress shirts, vests, and blazers of assorted varieties. Tamer colors and patterns, only distinguishable to the distinguished eye. The rest of JD’s dresser now contained a variety of slacks, along with many different types of dress socks and ties. Loafers, oxfords, brogues among others sat in alphabetical order at the bottom. It was practical, and practically perfect.

When his peers had first offered to makeover his closet, JD had been apprehensive. Something in the back of his mind rang an alarm, whispering that he would also be sacrificing a part of his individuality. But JD’s body had decided for him in that moment, his head nodding in approval and with an amiable grin. And now after the swap, which JD later learned was in part financed by the Campus Ministry, he realized there was nothing he should have been afraid of.

After all, all of the brothers were remarkably different. Colton rocked a business cut with his blond hair, a style no one else had. Bryce had the most suits of the five, almost as many as their minister. Jared was the only one officially engaged (although JD predicted that fact would not last much longer. Stanley had his thick, time-honored black horned rims. And Jackson held his affinity for sweater vests, a Bonafede professional at styling them. They were truly all unique.

Quickly assembling his hair and a tasteful outfit–a white button-up, French navy-hued trousers, a currant colored tie and chocolatey derbies for his feet–JD assembled his school bag and made haste for the chapel. When he arrived, it was only Jackson awaiting him in the pews. The others had gone out to grab a quick meal.

“Jeremiah! I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it,” Jackson nudged as JD took a seat beside him in the pew.

“You know I would not miss our study sessions for the world, brother!” JD’s rebuttal was chipper and authentic. Since Mike’s first proposal of clubbing, the offer has never been made again. But JD had received other invitations for outings with his fellow peers. However, none of them were ever accepted. To JD, it always felt more appropriate to stick to his group. Their presence felt familiar, grounded. Right.

“‘They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship’,” Jackson started. “‘to the breaking of bread and to prayer.’” 

“‘And all the believers were together and had everything in common.’” JD finished.

“The Book of Acts, I’m impressed,” Jackson smirked. “I now understand why Peter was so serious about you.”

JD should have questioned what Jackson was referring to, but instead sunk into the warm glow of his brother’s approval.

“But there’s still one thing you have to do,” Jackson noted.

JD’s heartbeat hastened rapidly, something he had not expected.

“You have got to come to church with us!”

JD felt a glimmer of hesitancy. He had not gone to church since he had come to college. He tried to remember why, but a subtle pain clouded his thoughts. Was it because of his parents? No, they just wanted what was best for him. Then was it because JD did not feel accepted by the church? JD tried to follow that thread, but the deeper he ventured, the stronger the ache in his head became.

“Come on, what have you got to lose?” Jackson gave JD a playful shove. “Plus, the minister will be giving a blessing to all students before finals.”

Something was telling JD to reconsider. Something urged him to do otherwise. But JD could not figure out what was so wrong about attending a simple service.

“Alright, I’ll go.”

Jackson’s perfect smile was wider than JD had ever seen it. “That’s it, brother! Then you’ll be just like us.”

That statement triggered something in JD. As if following out a code downloaded into his vital operating systems, he made a note to schedule an appointment with his academic counselor.

———

“What can I help you with today, Jeremiah?” 

Unlike the composed minister sitting before him, JD was irritable, prickly. Words were begging to escape his mouth, although he could not figure out what they were. He tried to express them as best he could.

“I want to become a part of the Campus Ministry, a part of your Biblical community.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I want to be another sheep in the flock.”

A small smile tugged at one corner of Peter’s lip. “In other words, you are saying…”

The words flew out JD’s mouth: “I want to embody the classic look of a Christian. I want to fit in.”

That heavy, revealing truth tumbled before the two men, its release absolving JD of a burden unaware to him had been accumulating for months. Ever since his first meeting with the minister.

“It’s much easier to be just another piece of the puzzle, Jeremiah,” Peter began. “Never having to worry about anything else when you have a place to belong.”

The minister reached into his desk and pulled open a drawer, removing a small folder with JD’s name on it. Opening it, Peter pulled out a single sheet of paper and placed it in front of him. JD’s eyes scanned the page before focusing back on Peter’s own.

“Your schedule that I have already drafted up for the next semester,” Peter replied, grabbing a pen. “You will join the Religion Department as a Theology major with a minor in Baptist Ministries. After graduation, you will continue your studies to receive a Masters of Divinity. By then, my proselytization will no longer be necessary as you will have become a permanent traditionalist.”

JD knew better than to say anything. Instead, he let his actions speak for him, his hand accepting the pen from Peter and with a delicate cursive, signing his name.

“Welcome to the flock, Jeremiah.”

———

“A healthy Christian learns and grows through community. A healthy Christian experiences spiritual and relational growth when surrounded by an affirming group of like-minded believers. Jesus spent a significant amount of time with his small group, the apostles, molding them and teaching them how to love and support one another and how to function as a healthy small group. Today, we do the same for our brothers and our sisters.”

Jeremiah sat in the front row next to Jackson, Colton, Bryce, Jared, and Stanley. The group was expertly dressed. Jeremiah’s baby blue button-up was paired with a matching tie underneath his charcoal suit. The tie, with cornflower polka dots on top of a banana cream yellow, was particularly chosen for its “vibrant and exciting pattern,” as Jeremiah had thought of it. Along with caramel wing tips that coupled nicely with his soft yet stiff quiff, Jeremiah felt dignified by his outfit. 

“It’s great to be part of a healthy, well-functioning group,” the preacher, an older, handsomely well-off man by the name of Dr. Ernest Holloway, continued. “However, our individual wishes can sometimes interfere with the overarching needs of the congregation. For our Christian community to remain intact, we need to come before God with an earnest desire to help others, and therefore maintain the needs of the group to truly experience the richness and glory of His intentions.”

“Being in a group is committing to one another by saying, ‘I want to laugh with you, share with you, study with you, and pray with you’.” Taking a deep breath, the doctor made his closing statement. “Being in a group is saying, 'All I want is to be like you’. Amen.”

“Amen,” Jeremiah and the congregation replied. The rest of the service went by quickly, and before Jeremiah knew it, he had finished singing the final verse of the closing hymn. Soon, the church was bursting with lively energy. Joyful conversations broke out between the Baptist brothers and sisters, nobody in a hurry towards the exit. Jeremiah found himself in a similar manner, following behind his peers as they sauntered their way towards the door.

As Jeremiah followed Jackson outside of the church, a young female voice rang out from behind them. “Well look at these fine, upstanding, proper young men!”

The pair turned around, now outside, to see who had beckoned them. Jeremiah caught the eye of the young lady, her coppery hair and conservative sense of style somehow familiar to him. 

“Both of you are so dandy and traditional,” she remarked. “A classic look for a Christian.”

“Jeremiah,” Jackson sighed. “This is my younger sister, Jessica.”

It took Jeremiah a moment to compose himself, a bit of scarlet peppering his cheeks. His hand nervously shot forward. “J…Jeremiah Joshua Manuel Delgado…nice to make your a...acquaintance.”

Jessica accepted his greeting. “I’ve never had quite this effect on one of your friends before,” she smiled to Jackson. “I think he fancies me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself so, Jessica,” Jackson denied. But all three of them knew Jessica was telling the truth. Jeremiah had gone nonverbal, the blood from his brain redirected to another destination. There was a tingling sensation around Jeremiah's genitals, his member slowly inflating. It was times like these that he was thankful to have “not been blessed” as his father once put it. If his package had been larger, there surely would have been an indecent scene.

Jeremiah knew what he had to do. With all the strength he could muster, he drew the only words he could think of to his mouth. His perfect jaw shifted, heavy brow furrowed, and he forced the sole sentence out of his mouth.

“Jessica Sanderson, will you marry me?”

———

“JD…Jeremiah, is that you?”

Jeremiah had finally grabbed the remainder of his items, the last bags of his belongings ready to go. Mike was standing at the door, blocking his path.

“Where are you going?”

Jeremiah scoffed, disapproving of Mike's irregular radicalism. “Somewhere that is cleaner, fresher, prim and proper. Somewhere where I can remain a dignified man dedicated to preserving tradition and culture in this world. If I am to embody the classic look of a Christian, then I ought to do so with like-minded brothers.”

Confused, not only by the fancified words but by his roommate’s overall preppification during their first semester, Mike asked a simple question. “Why?”

With a pleasant smile, Jeremiah handed over a small sheet of paper. He then exited the dorm, leaving Mike to flip the Campus Ministry’s invitation back and forth between his own hands and consider the harm of attending just one meeting.

[ak319]

Haii!, I really like your Arthur Morgan series and I've also read it several times and it's not boring at all!🫶🏻

Can I make a request? If so, can you make the reader jealous because Arthur is close to Mary Beth?🫶🏻 (Arthur and the reader's relationship is not platonic!)

(AN: Tsym! Remind me why we making Y/n suffer again? PS: I'm terrible at writing jealousy shit ngl and I legit dunno why. AND THATS LIT WHAT YALL KEPT ASKING FOR-😭☠) Hope yall enjoy reading lol)

Warnings/MDNI: None, just angst and then fluff to soothe your asses-

You were by the lake, lazily washing clothes. The day had you feeling sluggish, and the pleasant weather didn’t exactly help motivate you. The water was just the right temperature, cool enough to refresh but warm enough to keep you rooted in place. You should really pick up the pace, finish up, and grab some tea--or coffee--or a well-deserved break.

The faint hum of camp activity behind you was oddly comforting, a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. That is until you heard footsteps crunching on the gravel, quick and impatient, followed by a sharp curse.

“Dammit! I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you, girl.”

You glanced over your shoulder, grinning as Molly stormed up to you, her face a mix of exasperation and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“For God’s sake, Molly, you know my Tuesday routine by now,” you teased, tossing a wet shirt into the basket beside you. “It’s not like this camp is big enough to lose someone. Honestly, I think you’re just bad at looking.”

She didn’t laugh. Not even a crack of a smile. Instead, she stood there, arms crossed, her expression tight with barely-contained frustration. You paused mid-scrub, a curious eyebrow raised.

“What’s gotten into you? You look ready to murder someone.”

“Oh, sure,” she snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Leave it to ever-so-clueless (Y/N) to not notice a damn thing going on around her.” She gestured wildly toward the camp as though you were missing some grand spectacle.

You blinked, thoroughly confused. “What the hell are you on about?”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she hesitated as if debating whether you were even worth the explanation. Then, with a dramatic huff, she took a step closer, glaring down at you like you’d personally wronged her.

“Let me spell it out for you. Do I even bother tellin’ you what’s happening? Or should I just assume it won’t make a difference because your ‘dearest cold heart’ won’t care? Or worse, you’ll just laugh it off like you always do!”

Your hands stilled in the water, the soap slipping through your fingers. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

"Y’know, what I just heard and saw?” Molly huffed, throwing her hands in the air for emphasis. “Mr. Arthur Morgan, having a chat with Mary-Beth. Mary-Beth! That same snake who’s all over Dutch, and now, apparently, your man, (Y/N)!”

Her voice rose with each word, and you blinked, caught completely off guard. She leaned in, her eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge your reaction. “I swear to God, she was asking him to buy her another one of those silly romance books for her lovesick brain. I mean, why Arthur, huh? Why doesn’t she go pester Kieran’s ass instead?”

Hearing her rant, you stood up, gripping the damp shirt in your hands as you processed her words. “Wh--sounds like a friendly chat to me, Molly,” you said, trying to brush it off with a shrug. “I mean, Arthur brings stuff for everyone. He goes out the most, doesn’t he? And, well, Kieran… he’s not exactly allowed far from camp neither he can afford anything right now. They still don’t trust him, y’know. And Arthur, he’s like a brother to Mary-Beth-"

“Don’t even start with that ‘brother’ shit, (Y/N),” Molly snapped, cutting you off. “It's just a facade.”

Your mouth fell open, heat rushing to your face at the implication. Uncertainty clawed at your chest as you tried to stammer a response, but she wasn’t done. Molly’s jealousy toward Mary Beth only seemed to fuel her fire, her words coming quicker now, sharp and biting.

“And don’t act like it couldn’t happen. You think she doesn’t see how kind he is to you? How he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching? Oh, she sees it. And she’d snatch him up the moment she gets the chance.”

You clenched your jaw, her words making you shift uncomfortably. Sure, you trusted Arthur, but the venom in Molly’s tone, the way her words seemed to twist around your insecurities, left you feeling just the slightest bit unsteady.

"Did he even say goodbye to you before he sprang into action?” Molly pressed, her voice softer now, almost pitying. “And the other day, weren’t you telling me you needed some cream for your hands? You even told him, and look, just look at your hands.”

Her gaze dropped to your chapped and reddened fingers, and you instinctively tried to wipe them dry on your skirt, as if that would somehow make them better. Her words were digging deeper now, clawing at something vulnerable in you. Did he forget to bring it? Or worse, did he not care enough to remember? Had your wishes, his woman’s wishes, stopped mattering to him altogether?

“This is bullshit, you should have run away with that pen pal of yours, to be honest when you had the chance,” Molly muttered, crossing her arms. “You didn’t listen to me when I told you she’s after Dutch. And now she’s after both! I swear, those books she reads must be teaching her these tactics. Manipulative little-"

“I--y’know what?” you cut her off, your voice suddenly firm as your gaze drifted to the camp, your eyes narrowing.

“What?” Molly asked, surprised by your sudden shift in tone.

“Let’s just go,” you said, your voice laced with resolve.

“Go where?”

“Town.”

Without waiting for her to argue, you kicked the bucket of soapy water, sending it tumbling into the river, the suds spilling out and disappearing downstream. The laundry lay abandoned on the grass as you turned and marched toward the stables, Molly following close behind.

Damn everyone, then.

❀˖°

Arthur returned to camp, expecting to find you in his tent as usual. But when he stepped inside, the familiar space felt oddly empty. A frown tugged at his lips.

"Hey... um, Sadie?" he called out, spotting her near the campfire. "You seen (Y/N)?"

Sadie glanced up from sharpening her knife. "Oh, yeah. She and Molly went to town."

"What?!" The word escaped him before he could stop it, his voice louder than he intended. Clearing his throat, he muttered a quick, “Thanks,” and walked back to his tent, feeling heat rise to his face. He slumped down onto his cot with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair.

You know how he felt about you going far from camp without him, even if you were with one of the girls. It wasn’t a matter of trust, it was fear.

And still you did.

There were too many dangers out there, too many things that could go wrong, and the thought of you out there without him stirred a storm in his chest.

It was 5 p.m., the time when you two usually sat together to talk about your day over supper. The time he looked forward to most whenever he was at camp. And now? He sat there, staring at the flap of his tent, the minutes ticking by painfully slow.

But what bothered him more was why you’d gone. And with Molly, of all people. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, he didn’t have a problem with her, not really. But something about the way you two were together always set him on edge.

He’d told you how he felt about it once. About how Molly seemed to lean on you a little too much, how her sadness and drama sometimes seemed to pull you down with her. But of course, you’d defended her, saying you couldn’t just turn your back on your best friend. That Molly found her only comfort in your company.

And you were right. He knew you were. But that didn’t make it any easier to sit here, waiting, imagining where you were and what could happen.

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh, his appetite gone. Instead of heading to the campfire for supper, he threw himself onto his cot, pulling his hat over his face in an attempt to block out the growing worry gnawing at his chest.

But even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t shake the unease. Images of you and Molly wandering through town, far from the safety of camp, flickered in his mind. He trusted you, of course, but the world out there? That was another story entirely.

“Damn woman never listens to me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with equal parts frustration and concern.

Sleep didn’t come easily, and even as he tried to rest, he knew one thing for certain, when you came back, this was a conversation he wasn’t going to let slide.

❀˖°

Arthur woke with a start, roused by Bill’s loud guffaw somewhere in the camp. With a groan, he rubbed his face, taking a moment to shake off the haze of sleep and piece together his scattered thoughts. Then it hit him, the memory of you leaving with Molly, and the worry twisted sharply in his chest again.

He pushed himself up with a sigh, his body stiff from the restless nap. Moving through camp, he glanced around, hoping, praying, to catch sight of you. But there was nothing. No sign of you or Molly.

He considered asking Dutch, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. Dutch would likely know even less than he did, and Arthur wasn’t in the mood for meaningless chatter.

Back at his tent, he sat on the edge of his cot, pulling out his journal in an attempt to distract himself. The flap of the tent was open, giving him a clear view of camp, but his eyes kept flickering toward it, waiting for you to appear.

His stomach growled, but he ignored it. He wasn’t going to eat, not until you came back, served the meal, and sat down beside him. That was how it went. That was how it had to go.

He was about to get up and go to find both of you himself when-

"Um, Arthur?" Abigail’s voice broke through his brooding. She appeared by the flap of his tent, holding a coffee pot. "There’s some coffee left, and I’ve got to wash the pot, would you like a cup?"

He shook his head, barely sparing her a glance. "Why’d they go to town?"

"Molly and (Y/N)?" Abigail tilted her head, her tone casual. "Oh, they’ve been back. Got back about half an hour ago. They’re in my tent, just hanging out."

Arthur blinked, first in shock, then confusion, which quickly morphed into anger. Half an hour? You’d been back for that long and hadn’t even bothered to come see him? Not even a word after being gone all day?

He shut his journal with a snap, the sound echoing his rising temper, and stood. The muffled chatter coming from Abigail’s tent grated on his nerves as he stalked toward it, each step heavier than the last.

What the hell was going on with you?

He cleared his throat outside the tent before pushing the flap open, only to find you and Molly sitting cross-legged, enjoying supper.

"Where were you? I was waiting for you."

You swallowed your bite, not bothering to look up at him. "Needed a few important things from town, actually, so I had to go."

Arthur’s jaw tightened. "Can you come with me? I want to talk."

"I’m already talking to Molly," you replied, your tone curt, still avoiding his gaze.

Damn it. Why the hell weren’t you even looking at him? That gnawing frustration in his chest boiled over. He had enough of this.

"I said, Come. With. Me." he demanded, his voice low but firm, the tone sharper than he intended.

Your head snapped up, eyes glaring at him with such intensity that, for a moment, he regretted using that tone. Hell, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him just a little.

"Oh, excuse me, Mister. Don’t you dare order me around like a maid, alright? I sit, talk, and walk when I want to. And right now? I don’t want to. Now go away, we’re busy."

Arthur ignored Molly’s taunting scoff, still fixated on you. Something about this--about you--just didn’t sit right.

"I’m sorry, okay? I’m just hungry. I was waiting for you... Can we eat now?" Arthur’s chest tightened, guilt creeping in. He rubbed the back of his neck, his anger softening. "...I was just worried as hell."

Hell, I still am.

But you didn’t let it go. "I’ve already eaten, and I didn’t ask you to wait for me. There are plenty of people around here you can share your meal with, Arthur. Plenty."

You turned your attention back to Molly, flashing her a rueful grin with your hair covering your face but he definitely caught it.

The Irishwoman gave you a knowing smile, her voice full of mischief. "Oh, girl, there’s always someone around."

This is how it's gonna be huh?

His first instinct was to walk away, but no. Arthur wasn’t the type to run from problems. With one swift movement, he grabbed your arm and dragged you out and behind the tent, just past the tree line. He stared down at you, his expression a mix of annoyance and desperation.

"What the hell is that all about?! And you know I hate it when you go out alone-"

"I don’t care! I don’t care anymore!" you snapped, your voice shaking with anger. "I hate going out for some petty stuff too, which, by the way, I clearly asked you to get, and you forgot! I guess books are more important than me, huh?."

Arthur’s chest tightened. He rarely saw this side of you ever since you both got together, the frustration, the hurt, the coldness. "See, this is the problem," you continued, your voice rising. "When men find someone vulnerable enough to control, to fix, they get bored. Then they move on, find someone else to repeat the same damn cycle. Am I right?"

His mouth went dry. The words cut deep. But what hurt him the most was the thought that maybe... maybe you believed that.

He wasn’t asking for much, was he? Three meals with you, a cup of coffee, that was it. Simple things that made him feel like you cared. That made him feel loved. But you didn’t... or did you?

The silence between you two was deafening as he tried to process what you said.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur started, his frustration mounting. "See, this is why I don’t like when you and Molly-"

"Oh, no, no, no. Shush. Don’t you dare," you interrupted, your voice sharp, but there was a deep hurt behind it. "She’s always been right, Arthur. I was the dumb one. I’ve been working my ass off for you, and you didn’t even bother to say goodbye this morning, huh?"

Arthur froze, guilt beginning to gnaw at him. He wasn’t ready for this. "You know, I had a chance to leave this life, you know exactly who I’m talking about. But I didn’t. I chose you. But if I’m just gonna be sidelined like this? Nuh-uh. My ego doesn’t allow it. Nobody gets to disrespect me like that."

You took a deep breath, eyes blazing. "If you don’t want me anymore, then say it. Don’t play these stupid-ass games with me. I’m not Molly, not when it comes to this."

Arthur’s stomach dropped as the weight of your words settled in. He could feel the hurt radiating off of you, the betrayal that had built up. And now it made sense. Molly had probably warned you, just like she always did. He could almost hear her saying it a dozen times in the morning,

'Don’t let him treat you like that, they are all shit.'

"There is NOTHING like that, woman!" Arthur snapped, his voice rising in frustration. "Is that what this is about? You’re ready to just forget, hell, even think like this over a misunderstanding?"

"Call it whatever you want," you replied coldly, not backing down. "But not gonna lie, the pattern makes sense now, Arthur."

He took a step back, trying to steady his breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Don’t say that... c’mon. You know it’s not true! She’s like a sister to me! For God’s sake, how can you even think--"

Without another word, you grabbed his satchel, the leather creaking in your grip, and flipped it upside down. A book slid out and thudded onto the ground.

Arthur froze, his eyes darting to the book, then to the scattered contents of his bag. He watched, his heart sinking, as you threw the satchel aside in disgust. "Bravo," you muttered, the bitterness in your voice sharper than a knife.

"Don't even bother explaining. I’m tired." You began to walk away, but before you could get far, Arthur grabbed your wrist.

"Don't you dare, no way you’re... sleeping away from me." His voice started strong, then faltered into a desperate plea, but you didn’t turn around. With a sharp jerk, you freed your hand from his grasp and continued walking.

Arthur stood there for a moment, his breath heavy as he watched you leave. With a defeated sigh, he bent down to gather the scattered contents of his satchel. Tilly approached, offering to help, but he shrugged her off with a tired wave and handed the book over to Mary-Beth, who was standing a few feet away, her face filled with guilt and sadness. His hand lingered in his pocket for a moment, pulling out the cream he had meant to bring you, adding it to the pile with a sharp scoff.

His posture was slumped, his movements slow and burdened. He didn’t need to say anything, his body language alone was enough to tell Tilly, Mary-Beth, and anyone else watching that this sulking would last for days, and you... you weren’t someone who accepted apologies easily.

❀˖°

And that’s exactly what happened. Arthur waited every day, hoping you would just come, sit with him, and listen. He longed for you to let him explain, to sort things out, so he could hold you in his arms again. Dammit. He missed you at night like a child misses their favorite doll.

But you weren’t just any doll.

You were his doll.

And when it came to you, he was nothing but a man-child.

Everybody knew his routine, the gang enforcer's routine. Simple, predictable. Come back, chat a little, handle his business, talk and eat with you, then the tent flaps closed, just the two of you, a world away from the chaos of the camp.

But now?

Come back, brood in one corner, pace to another, sleep with the flaps wide open.

Arthur’s mood soured every time he saw you doing something that wasn’t just being with him. Chores, errands, anything that took you away, even for a moment, made him restless, agitated. He needed you with him, in the tent, with the flaps closed, where he could hold you, even if it was just in the silence of the night.

Every night, he asked you to come with him. But you ignored him. Yet, he kept asking, unable to stop the desperate hope that you’d return, that you’d see it the way he did.

"Damnit. Damn stubborn ass woman." He grumbled for what? The millionth time? Sighing he petted his horse as it trotted at a leisurely pace, just a few meters from camp. How the hell had it all gone so bad? What was even the point anymore? Are you happy now?

His horse huffed as if sensing his despair, nudging him gently, but Arthur barely acknowledged it. The familiar sound of the camp in the distance only served to remind him that nothing was the same anymore, not the meals, not the quiet talks, and certainly not the comfort of his cot. That's it. This ends tonight.

He is going to carry you over his shoulder if that takes you to talk to him. To hell with your protests and stubbornness.

You were crouched down, sorting through vegetables with Abigail, your hands busy with the task at hand.

It wasn’t long before you saw Molly moving quietly, eyes darting back and forth, heading toward the girls' area.

You knew Molly. You had spent enough time with her to understand that when her instincts kicked in, she often acted before she thought. There was an impulsive streak in her, a tendency to let her emotions guide her steps, and that could be dangerous. Especially now, when tensions were already high.

Without much thought, you excused yourself from Abigail, your voice quick and unsteady. “I’ll be right back.”

You left her with the vegetables and slipped away from the campfire, your steps light as you tried to stay out of sight. Moving quietly, you found a small, hidden spot behind a tent, where you could just make out the faint sounds of voices, though you couldn’t yet hear clearly what was being said. Your heart pounded in your chest.

"(Y/N) and I were so close, in fact, like sisters, but you ruined that too! I don’t know what you told her-" Mary-Beth’s voice cracked, and for the first time, it wasn’t the usual calm, polite tone she carried. There was raw emotion, maybe even a hint of fear, but more than that, it sounded like heartbreak.

"You did it! Just like you're trying to ruin my relationship with Dutch."

"Are you in your senses, Ms. Molly?!" Mary-Beth gasped, trying to defend herself. "How can you even think that?!"

The past few days, you couldn’t help but notice her glances at you, brief but meaningful. It was as if she was caught between wanting to reach out and not knowing if you’d welcome her presence. Her eyes would meet yours across the camp, filled with a mixture of concern and hesitation, as if she longed to approach, to console you, but the fear of intruding, of making things worse, kept her frozen in place.

You understood her hesitation. She was a kind soul, someone who cared deeply for those she loved, and in these tense moments, you knew she wasn’t sure how to navigate the space between you both. And neither did you try to clear the air.

"You and your pretty face are going to be your downfa-"

"Molly, enough." You stepped in, your voice firm. Molly turned to you, arms crossed over her chest, her face filled with frustration.

"(Y/N), don’t tell me you’re under her spell too, for God’s sake. She needs to get a reality check-"

"Molly," you interjected, stepping forward and gently taking hold of her arms. You guided her a few steps away from Mary-Beth, the tension between them thick. "Let me handle it, alright?"

"Don’t pity her, let me make that clear. Otherwise, you’ll be the one regretting it." Molly threw one last angry glance at Mary-Beth, shaking her head before storming off, muttering under her breath.

You stood there, a heavy sigh escaping you as you rubbed your forehead, watching Molly retreat. Turning back to Mary-Beth, who sat on the ground, you softened your expression. "I apologize on her behalf..." You couldn’t help but feel the weight of the situation. You knew you’d have to work hard to get Molly to let go of her anger, but that's for later.

"It's... alright, (Y/N)." Her voice croaked, and you didn’t miss the tremble in it, nor the quiet tears she tried to hide. Your gaze shifted to the book resting on the makeshift table in the corner. The one she had requested. You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your throat.

"You’re not reading it?" you asked, your voice gentle.

She looked up at you, shaking her head slowly. You could see the weight of her emotions pressing down on her, and it hurt to see her like this.

You walked over, picked up the book, and sat beside her. "Why not?" you asked softly. It caught her off guard, and for a moment, her eyes softened. She hesitated before returning the smile, albeit faintly, her sadness still lingering behind it.

"I am sorry... (Y/N), if you... if you misunderstood my actions, but I swear it’s nothing. There’s nobody else, except Mr. Morgan that we feel comfortable enough to ask for things... but if you mind it, then we won’t--"

"No. No. You can ask without hesitation, and I am sorry. I was quick to jump to... conclusions," you interrupted, your voice soft with regret. You hugged her, and she gladly returned the embrace. The warmth of her arms around you soothed the tension in your chest.

You placed the book gently in her lap and shifted your body closer, not wanting to break the moment. "I just... y'know... when I love someone, I do it fully. And I don’t tolerate when that gets disrespected, y'know? That’s one thing I will never forgive." Your voice trembled slightly, the depth of your feelings evident. "But anyway, do read it, and then we’ll have a chat about it. You know I love hearing you yap about your books more than reading them myself."

She chuckled softly, her eyes lighting up with a glimmer of her old self, and you watched her face brighten as she held the book. You stood up, feeling a sense of relief, but also a lingering desire to stay.

"Definitely. But for now, I must go work too, don’t want Susan to bury me alive."

"You better." As you were making your way back to the kitchen wagon, a figure stepped in your way.

"Am I forgiven too?" His voice was teasing, but his expression was genuine. You deadpanned, folding your arms.

"Ummmm... let me think about it," you replied with a mock thoughtful expression, your gaze narrowing slightly.

He mirrored your posture, folding his arms with a smirk. "Not fair, woman. Not fair."

"I never said I was." You gave him a pointed look before turning to walk past him.

As you continued your walk back to the kitchen wagon, you felt a lightness in the air, a shift that felt... right. Arthur, still a few steps behind you, watched you quietly with an almost childish pout. There was something about the way his gaze lingered on you that told you he was waiting, waiting for you to acknowledge it all, to say what neither of you had dared to say yet.

You stopped for a moment, as you placed the cutting board, and turned to face him. The sunlight caught the edges of his hair, giving him a softer, not to mention the dark circles, giving him a more vulnerable look than you’d seen before. There was no teasing now, no masks, just Arthur, looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time again.

"I’m sorry, too," you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. "For the things I said."

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I don’t like it either. I swear, I’d rather fight a hundred men than have you angry at me. But..." His hand reached out hesitantly, as though unsure whether he had the right to touch you, to pull you close. "I don’t know what I’d do without you. And I apologize too...for making you feel that way. But I swear it wasn't in my intention."

A warmth spread through your chest at his words. It wasn’t the grand gestures or flowery promises that touched you. It was the simplicity of it, the honesty in his voice, the vulnerability he rarely let show. "Well then let me tell you that," you whispered back, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "I’m not going anywhere."

With a relieved exhale, Arthur stepped forward, his arms wrapping around you firmly, pulling you into his chest. It was as though all the tension from before melted away, and in its place, there was just the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. "I love you," he murmured into your hair, the words so familiar now, but somehow more precious each time.

You nestled into his embrace, letting your worries fade for the moment, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. "I love you, too," you replied, your voice barely above a breath, but you meant it with everything you had.

"Y'know darlin'...I was very close to shootin' myself if I had to sleep on the cold bed any longer. It took strength to control myself and not drag you out-" You rolled your eyes and pulled away.

"Right, now go away, I have work to do."

"Absolutely not. To hell with these damn chores. You are coming with me."

You shot him a skeptical glance, hands on your hips as you paused in your tracks. "Really?" you said, raising an eyebrow.

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he stepped closer, his broad frame encroaching on your space. "What do you think, darlin'?" he teased, his hands coming up to cradle your face, nearly squishing it with playful force. He gave your head a gentle shake, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "It’s been too damn long. You’ve had me sleeping like a corpse for days. You cruel woman."

You tried to hold back the laugh that bubbled up in your chest, but his determination was infectious "Fine," you muttered, giving in more to his presence than anything else. He grinned, his hands reaching for you, pulling you effortlessly toward the flap of his tent.

"Atta girl." His voice held a triumphant edge, but it was softened with affection.

And finally, after days, the enforcer's tent flaps were closed at night--and so was the distance between you two.

(AN: Req/asks closed for now, guys :/ do keep in mind ur ideas and send once I'll announce them open. But u can always send me ur thoughts or dm.)

[majesty0h]

#TONGUETIED

gojo x fushiguro x f!reader

Part two of Sharing is Caring

*sum. Your boyfriend Toji is finally making your dreams of a 3way come true with a blast from his past. God, why are his eyes so blue??

*wc. 4.4k

*warnings. Fem! Reader, boyfriend Toji, bull! Gojo, blowjob, fingering, mild hatefuck, degradation, doublé penetration, praise, choking, unprotected, past lover, creampie, implied gay sex, biting, threeway.

[ Toji is green text and Gojo is blue ]

“Fuck, Old Man. She’s got a mouth like a porn star.”

“Yeah. Consider this a thank you for taking care of Megumi all these years.”

“Hah. I mean, I killed you. Shouldn’t I be thanking you?”

Toji and Gojo seem far more relaxed than you expected. Having a casual conversation and witty banter like they’re enjoying a coffee date. Wait, did Gojo say he killed Toji? What the hell?

“Mmph,” you’re snapped back to reality when the sorcerer’s cock pushes a little deeper, triggering your gag reflex. The saltiness of precum coats your tongue, tears prick at your eyes. Your hands grip into his slender hips, forearms braced on the sofa, and you will yourself to not choke. He’s a bit thinner than Toji, but has the length to make up for it.

Satoru’s still on the couch, lanky legs spread comically wide, head tipped back to the ceiling. One hand fists your hair, pulling your closer until your nose is pressed firmly into his well-trimmed pubes. The carpet matches the drapes, funnily enough.

Toji had long since ripped off your underwear as you knelt before Gojo, hiking up your dress just enough to reveal how much you were enjoying this. “Damn, ma. You ain’t been this wet for me in ages. I’m almost jealous,” he pouts as he reaches between your warm folds, ghosting two fingers across. You whimper and instinctively roll your hips back to increase the contact, but Gojo lets out an ‘aht, aht’ and his palm pushes deeper on your neck, ensuring you stay put.

“You really are a lady-killer, y’know that Gojo? Look at this,” Toji grins as he holds up his hand and wiggles the slippery digits. It’s so embarrassing and hot at the same time…how they talk about you like you’re not there, like you’re an object. You can hear the sounds of greedy slurping noises as Toji licks his fingers clean, which elicits a pout from Satoru.

“Wowwwww, you can’t even share? What kind of shitty friend are you? Lemme get some.”

There’s silence for a moment. You feel Toji stiffen behind you. Did Gojo overstep by asking to taste you? Was your fantasy dead in the water before it properly began? You’re still sucking cock like the good slut you are, eyes watery and looking up at Satoru, too nervous to peer back at your boyfriend in fear. This was bad. So fucking bad.

You grunt as the weight on your back increases exponentially; Toji is leaning over you, hands braced on either side of yours. “Then come get it, brat,” is all he utters before roughly smashing his lips against Satoru’s.

Your eyes grow comically large as you watch in disbelief, shock, and unbridled arousal as /your/ boyfriend kisses another man. It’s not that you assumed he was straight, well, you did. That conversation had never truly come up; it didn’t need to. So this…this was intense.

Satoru doesn’t even hesitate to meet Toji’s advances and he opens his mouth against Toji’s scarred lips. Their tongues dance, hungry. You stop sucking for a moment, too entranced by this entire display. Satoru’s cock drips pre-cum even harder as him and Toji explore each other’s oral cavities, and fuck, your boyfriend’s manhood is twitching against your thighs. You had to be dreaming.

“Ah,” Gojo whispers when they finally pull apart, a line of saliva connecting them, before dripping into your hair. “She does taste good.”

“You too,” Toji murmurs, growing more erect by the second. “I forgot. It’s been so long.”

You can’t take it anymore. With a loud pop you free your mouth and clear your throat, trying to gain their attention, to break up this…reunion? “Uh….what are you guys…talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it,” they reply in unison.

You want to press the issue. You need to know. When? Why? How long–

“You ready to take this to the bedroom, Princess?” Toji interrupts your inner monologue as he stands up, clearly done with the foreplay. You know that sound in his voice. He’s going to brutalize you, more so than usual. And the way Gojo chuckles in response, dark and heady, you know he will do the same. You shudder from an equal mix of lust and fear.

“...yeah. S-sure,” you reply softly as you slowly right yourself, knees sore from being pressed into the carpet for so long. You feel like a little lamb, thrown into a cage with two voracious lions. Ready to be devoured. After they’re done toying with you, that is.

Your footsteps echo softly down the hall, followed by heavier, eager thuds. You swallow hard as you push the bedroom door open, only to gasp and cover your mouth in surprise. Your normally messy living quarters (thanks Toji) were spotless. Fragrant candles lined almost every surface, and rose petals were scattered across the floor and silk sheets. In the two years you’ve been with Toji, he barely remembered your birthday, much less perform a romantic gesture like this.

“You see! I told you she’d like it,” Gojo cheesed before cupping your ass firmly, pushing you closer to the bed.

Toji rolled his eyes. “Yeah whatever. Take all the credit. Sorry I don’t need props to make a memorable lay.”

They continue to bicker mildly as you sit at the foot of the bed, watching them undress. You’d seen Toji’s naked form a million times, but this time felt different. His muscles seemed to ripple a little bit more, his cock stands prouder, thicker, his emerald eyes glazed over with a mysterious emotion you couldn’t name. You finally tear your gaze off his form and scan over Gojo’s bare form. His baggy black clothes were misleading. The stringbean was in fact jacked, with a chiseled six-pack, perfect V line. What really took your breath away was when he set his glasses onto the nightstand and winked at you; fuck they were so blue. It was almost ethereal, otherworldly. Enchanting. Your boyfriend notices you’re captivated and scoffs, easily pushing you back into the comforter. You scoot up closer to the headboard to make room for the two large men who are clambering in to join you. The bed creaks from the strain.

Toji and Satoru work in tandem to peel your dress off your nervous frame; the 6 Eyes whistles as he rubs your pink buds, causing you to moan slightly. “You’re beautiful,” he hums before capturing a nipple in his mouth and sucks, pinching the other between graceful fingers.

Toji nods in approval as your fingers tangle into snow white hair, at the little noises of pleasure. He shifts your legs apart, thumb pressing against your glistening nub, working it in time with your breathy gasps. “You just lay there and let us do the work. Just relax baby. Just relax,” Toji coaxes as he buries two fingers deep. Twisting them to find your sweet spot. It’s not long before you start panting his name. He leans up to bite and suck on your collarbone, his hair tickling your neck, his fingers becoming more aggressive, more persistent.

“Mm—fuck Daddy….it feels so good don’t stop please please—“ you beg hiccuping, your mind swimming, barely able to focus on his motions, because at the same time, Satoru has penetrated your cunt with his own two digits. Four fingers total. You feel so full. You’re sandwiched between the duo who assault your senses in perfect synchronicity, taking turns to shove their tongues down your throat and tell you what a dirty little whore you are. It’s delicious.

Two hard cocks nuzzle against your body, insistent, heads leaving slimy trails on your warm skin. You feel drunk. Wanting to prove how eager their slut is, your shaky hands reach for their manhoods and stroke. The sound of them cursing through gritted teeth was music to your ears, and they rut into your hands. Toji’s grunts are low and gruff, like sandpaper. But Satoru’s are softer, more delicate. Your mind wanders to how their earlier dynamic was. It seems clear that Toji was the one on top, and your already swelling clit twinges in delight, imaging Toji’s balls slapping against Satoru’s ass, those strong arms keeping him pinned, making sure he took every thrust, not stopping until his tight hole was dripping with seed.

“Ahn, fuck…oh my god…fuck…I’m gonna cum, I really want to cum please make me cum!” Your daydreaming is too much, and you stop stroking your lovers, wanting to solely focus on your impending orgasm.

“Cum for us then, Sweetheart.”

“God I can’t wait to feel how tight this pussy is on my cock.”

That’s all the encouragement you need, and soon your shrill cry fills the air as Satoru slips his fingers out and frantically play with your throbbing bud. You grip the sheets for dear life as you climax with Toji still punishing your G-Spot in a way that makes you taste static, that has your vision dotted with bright streaks of light. Even as you’re crying out and writhing they don’t stop; if anything it just spurs them on. You feel delirious. Your walls grip onto Toji’s fingers like a vice as a foreign sensation fills you. It’s intense, it’s hot, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

You fucking squirt.

It’s like a flood gushing out of your abused hole, slicking the sheets, your thighs, and your lovers. You’ve never even done that before! You want to die. This is so embarrassing.

The men don’t share your sentiments whatsoever. Satoru has a shit eating grin plastered over his face, and Toji is smirking like he hit the biggest jackpot of his life. You feel so empty when they withdraw their fingers and comment to each other about how this was the hottest thing they’ve ever experienced.

“Wow it’s just like in the porn. I’m literally Johnny Sins.”

“Pft. You fuckin’ wish.”

“Hey don’t be mad I’m just good at everything that I do. It kinda comes with the title. Did you really not think it applies here?”

“Not sayin’ that. I just remember how you laid there and yelled like Riley Reid when I bent you over that pool table in Kyushu.”

“Nuh-uh. You were begging me all night because you couldn’t get over that trick I did with my—“

“Guys,” you interrupt their fond recollections, feeling a bit left out and far too untouched. “I want it, please. Please give to me. Both of you I want…I wanna feel your both inside me at once. Please,” your voice wavers as you sit up slowly, grimacing at the large wet spot underneath you. The boys look down at you, and their cocks which had softened slightly during their heated debate spring back to attention.

“I thought you’d never ask, Princess.”

“Let’s get ready to rumble! Wait. Who gets which hole?”

Satoru’s question has you all pause. Nobody had considered that up until now. You look to your boyfriend for guidance and he responds that “it’s your rodeo, doll. We’re just ridin’ in it.”

That makes you feel a little bit better. Because deep down, you’d already made up your mind. You weren’t the biggest fan of anal, especially with anyone besides Toji. An actual sex god, he knew how to make it feel good, make the pleasure override the pain, never getting carried away past what you can handle. Satoru was nice, but you didn’t want him to lose control and have you limping at your 7am meeting tomorrow. But you had a feeling that would happen regardless.

“I want uh….Gojo in my pussy. And you in my ass, Daddy,” you proclaim, and you can practically feel the sorcerer’s ego puff up.

Thankfully, Toji doesn’t seem upset, too horny to focus on the schematics. As long as he was buried in any tight hole, he would chalk it up as a win. “Dope. You guys can start. I gotta go find the special lube. I think it’s in the bathroom?” He said as he slid off the bed and disappeared.

It only dawns on you that you’re alone with Satoru when he lays flat, one hand gripping his shaft, the other wiping his brow. Those magical blue eyes beam up at you, he looks like an angel with a 9 inch cock. “Hey. You okay with riding? I wanna see your tits bouncing. Are they natural? They’re perfect.”

Self conscious, you look down at your chest, not sure what was so special about it. “Uh, yeah. Natural. The left is bigger than the other honestly. And I’ve always been insecure about it. Like that not that much bigger,” you ramble, flustered. “But just enough that—“

“Hey,” he interrupts gently, squeezing your thigh. “Can you ride it for me, babes?”

The second time he says it, you nod obediently. Toji’s still throwing shit around in the closet. You’re on your own.

You straddle him, watching that pretty cock lay flush against his stomach, uncut and leaking. “Okay,” you whisper, rising up on your haunches, murmuring when the tips ghosts against your moist folds.

“There we go. Take your time,” he coaxed, hands rubbing small circles on your hips. “I’m way more fun to ride than the Old Man. He’s so lazy.”

You can’t help but blush, but figure this is the best time to get answers. “You…rode him?”

He nods, and a soft groan tumbles from those pink lips when you sink yourself down past the head teasingly. “Mmhm. Bunch of times. Awhile ago. Long time ago. Its complicated. But we had our fun.”

You want to press “how” it was complicated, and decide to further the interrogation by shifting deeper an inch, two at most. You both hiss at the pressure, the slick resistance. God he looks so cute underneath you. “Were…were your two dating?” you ask, before lust gets the better of you and you drop fully, bottoming out on Satoru and shivering at how your swollen clit rubs against his pelvis. “I didn’t even…fuck, I didn’t even know he liked guys.”

Satoru doesn’t take long to take control. Fingertips will leave bruises on your ass come tomorrow. You’re in his domain now. “Nah. Not dating. Just fun. He’s not the type to settle down. That’s why I was shocked to hear he has a wifey. But with pussy this good,” he snaps his hips upward, and you yelp his name, hands on his chest for support. “I can see why he’s playing househusband.”

“Hey!” Toji calls, sounding irritated. “Don’t make her cum without me, asshole!”

“I won’t,” Gojo replies , but he’s not making a great attempt at holding back. He sets a slow, but powerful rhythm, not once taking his eyes off you. “Fuck. Take this dick, baby. You’re so beautiful. Like it’s insane. Like a model,” he professes, obviously pussy-drunk. But the way he says it, it makes you feel so warm, so special.

“T-thank you, Satoru…ahn…~” you reply as you lean forward and rest your forearms next to his shoulders, rolling against his thrusts, your breath hot and whining against his neck. Your chests are sticky as they rub together, and he wraps his arm around your waist. You feel small, full. “Yes, yes please. Pleas fuck me, please fuck me, Sir. Please!” You cry as he bites your neck, claiming you as his cockslut.

This seems to fill him with increased vigor, and soon the room is filled with the sound of wet skin slapping on wet skin, the creaking headboard, and your strangled mewls. You’re so wrapped up in the moment you barely notice when Toji manifests behind you. It’s only when he spanks you, hard, that both you and Satoru pause, hearts thrumming rapidly.

“It was stuck under the radiator,” Fushiguro says of the lube as he slathers it on his cock,and carelessly slips a slimy finger into your puckered heat. Probing it, relaxing it, working it over. You wince and pout in response, but the way Toji growls back in response makes you fall silent.

Satoru seems to enjoy the tension as Toji withdraws his finger just as quickly as he entered it, opting to smear his tip between your cheeks, flickering against the hole. He usually takes far more time to prep you, but this is a special night and he didn’t have time to fuck around. “Don’t break her, dude. We’re just getting started,” he says to your defense, but there’s evil glinting in those ocean eyes. “What, you worried I’ll fuck her better?”

Shit.

“Toji, he’s just kidding. I don—fuck! Oh fuck Daddy what the hell!” You exclaim when your boyfriend shoves himself deep, and even with the numbing lube it’s too much to accommodate at once. You can feel their cocks rubbing against each other through that thin wall of skin. And it’s obvious they feel it too, how they say your name like a curse in unison. God it’s so much. Even when Toji would fuck your pussy when you had a fox butt plug in…it wasn’t even comparable. “Be, be careful! It’s so much—ohmygodohmygod. I don’t know if I can do this,“ you’re practically sobbing. Not from pain, but just the overwhelming sensation of it all. The stretching you feel…will you rip? Is that possible? You’re starting to panic and regret this whole thing, blubbering.

The boys do their best to soothe you. They don’t move. They just tell you how pretty you look when you’re stuffed, that you’re doing so good. Toji says you have to make him proud, and Gojo says you do make him proud.

After a few moments of reassurance, you calm down enough and steady your breathing. It does feel amazing once you get past the initial burn, replaced by twitching, glorious pleasure. “That’s my girl. That’s my good girl,” Toji praises, layering kisses against your cheek and neck.”You ready now? We can take it easy.”

The boys await further instructions, and in this moment, you feel like a goddess. These two muscular, dangerous men are going to worship you and defile you. Has there ever been a girl so lucky?

“I want…” you start, cautiously gyrating against Gojo before you press back against your boyfriend. “I want you to fuck me…like you used to fuck each other.”

And like that, with that simple utterance, you would be completely violated.

Toji is the first to fuck you into submission, wrapping your hair around his fist and yanking it roughly, exposing the quivering column of your throat. The things he says to you are downright filthy as his cock pulls almost fully out of your gaping ass, just to slam back in without remorse. The things you respond with are equally revolting.

Satoru catches on quick, pounding you with the same tempo and delirious intensity as Toji. You’re absolutely wanton now with your vocals, a cross between breathless gasps and guttural howls. Your holes tingle, and your body reacts surprisingly well to the onslaught. The rougher they are, the more soaked you become, the more your body relaxes to accommodate. The harder they go, the more you want.

“Fuck! Yes! Fuck me, daddies. Please don’t stop. This is so fucking good I wanna cum again. I wanna squirt again. Fuuuuck,” you manage to squeak out, feeling squished between the two large men, who are using you as a condom between their own unresolved sexual desires.

“Fuckin’, nngh—! Fucking do it then!” Gojo commands as he licks away your tears, before wrapping his hands around your neck and squeezing, hard.

Even Toji doesn’t choke you that hard.

It’s terrifying and exciting.

Your head spins, and you see fireworks. Partly from cumming unfathomably hard, but also from the last of oxygen to your brain. You would scream hysterically as you gush over his balls and get those snow white pubes drenched, if you could breathe.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by Toji.

“Yo, take it easy, brat. If you hurt her I swear to god..” he barks, and Gojo loosens his vice just enough for you to blink and take a hungry gasp of air, still feeling like you’re you’re floating on a cloud, spinning on the world’s fastest carousel.

“Sorry, I ju—“

“Shut the fuck up, Satoru,” your boyfriend interrupts, and you watch as a hand shoots out in slow motion and chokes Gojo. For a moment you swear you can hear a tendon pop.

“Daddy, fuck—“

It’s not you saying it.

They still continue to use you as the perfect fleshlight, but in a weird way it’s like you’re an observer more than participator. It’s like porn, real life porn. Even better than that dumb VR.

“God that’s hot,” you exclaim, as you watch Satoru’s eyes roll to the back of his head, his body still snapping into yours like it’s in autopilot.

“Toji, stop…stop it—-“ he croaks out, but your boyfriend snickers, doubling the pressure he’s exerting on both of you. “You gotta stop.”

“Why?” You can practically feel Toji sneering behind you. “I thought you loved it like this, brat. Don’t switch up now.”

Gojo reaches up past you, palms pressed into Toji’s chest. He’s almost…whining. “I do. But if you don’t stop I can’t …I’m gonna—-“

His words falter as he almost loses consciousness, and for a moment you’re worried. If Toji wound up killing him, that would be really fucking hard to explain to the police. Fuck, what if your job found out?

“You’re gonna what, brat?”

“Toji,” you start, nuzzling Gojo’s cheek, your pleasure overridden by concern. You glance back at your feral boyfriend and shudder at the crazed, sex-intoxicating expression he’s wearing. “You’re going to—“ you freeze, as what Satoru was trying to tell you dawns on you, and you feel it. You FEEL it. Warm, thick ropes of cum fill your throbbing cunt, flooding up to your bruised cervix, gushing out with each of his slowing, weak thrusts. Oh God. He just came in your pussy? Yeah, you’re not in birth control and Toji creampies you frequently , but only on “safe” days. Is today a safe day? You’re too out of it to remember.

“Huh? What the…” Toji feels the milky white substance smear against his bouncing shaft. “Hey. Hey, wake up,” he demands as he stops choking Satoru and slaps his face gently. “Did you cum? Did you just cum in my fucking girl?”

You freeze and bite your lip, the vibe suddenly changed. Satoru finally snaps back to reality, grunting as his softening cock deposits the last few drops of seed into you, glancing at you before peering up at Toji sheepishly. “Uh. I’m sorry. I tried to tell you. My bad,” he swallows hard, and holds onto you like a naughty child seeks safety from their mother when they’ve upset the father.

You wince as Toji bears down past you, his lips meeting your jaw before pressing against Satoru’s softly, tenderly. “I forgot how pretty you are when you shoot your load.” He snakes his hand down between your bodies and rubs your slick and pulsating clit, circling it in time with his rapidly quickening thrusts. “Now princess, I need you to beg me to fill you up. You both had your fun. Now it’s Daddy’s turn.”

You don’t deny him. By the time Toji’s glistening hips snap one final time and he empties his balls inside your pounded-numb asshole, your voice is hoarse, having cum one final time from his fingers.

The room feels unbearably warm, the air thick with the mingling scents of skin and exhaustion. Your body is a trembling, overstated heap, sprawled between them in a tangle of limbs. Toji’s hand rests possessively on your hip, his palm rough but steady, while Gojo’s arm drapes lazily across your stomach, his fingertips brushing your ribs in a way that makes you shiver despite the heat.

No one speaks. The silence is filled only with heavy breathing and the occasional shaky curse. Your muscles ache, your skin buzzes, and your mind flits on the edge of unconsciousness. You feel the weight of their bodies pressed against yours, grounding you even as sleep pulls you under.

“She’s a mess,” Toji mutters somewhere above the fog of your thoughts, his voice a low sigh that vibrates through the bed.

“You’re not exactly clean yourself,” Gojo replies, his tone smug but tired.

There’s a pause, then Toji chuckles darkly. “After we clean her up…Shower?”

“With you?” Gojo sounds amused, the grin in his voice unmistakable. “Fine, but don’t get any ideas.”

You want to respond, maybe make a snide comment or laugh, but your body refuses to cooperate. Their voices fade as you slip fully into the darkness of sleep.

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the sunlight streaming through the curtains. The second is that you’re alone. Panic hits you in a sudden rush, your brain scrambling to calculate how much time has passed. Work. You’re going to be late. You groan, dragging yourself upright, but your anxiety stutters when you spot the outfit laid neatly on the chair by the bed.

Next to it sits a cup of your favorite coffee, still warm, and a doughnut in its wrapper, and a Plan B. A folded note catches your eye. You pick it up, your lips curving into a sleepy smile as you read the words written in two distinct handwritings:

“Good luck with the merger! :D “

Shaking your head, you get dressed quickly, the earlier panic replaced by a soft warmth in your chest. When you step into the living room, you pause at the sight of them; they’re are sprawled together on the couch, limbs tangled, Toji holding Gojo the way he usually holds you.

You snort quietly, grabbing a blanket and draping it over them. Leaning down, you press a gentle kiss to each of their foreheads, Toji murmuring something incoherent in his sleep while Gojo shifts but doesn’t wake.

As you slip out the door, you realize you don’t know if Gojo will still be there when you get home, or if your life with Toji has changed forever. But something feels different. Different, and strangely right.

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

part 9: an uncommon kindness

word count: 1,875

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You knew it was coming—the sensation you half-heartedly referred to as an adrenaline crash. It could have been the whiskey, but that would have been an excuse, a poorly crafted one at that. The vision of scarlet ribbons stayed at the forefront of your thoughts, severed flesh and the whites of that man's eyes just after that. No matter how many times it happened, it never got any easier. Or maybe it did, but those moments did not come often, and that's how you preferred it.

After finishing your last drink, you quietly left the Garrison without announcing your departure. You heard the faint shouts of your name as the door closed behind you, but the acid that quickly traveled up your throat at the first taste of cold air kept you preoccupied. You stood alone in an alley, hands bearing down against brick, and let your body do what it had to. That part never lasted long, and it was only a matter of time before the tremble would follow.

For that, you blamed the oncoming winter, and if anyone asked, you were just foolish enough to keep your coat undone.

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The silence after the pub emptied lingered, a heavy weight hanging in the air. Arthur and John let the laughter die out, the adrenaline from the confrontation still buzzing in their veins.

Arthur glanced at John, noticing that his eyes kept returning to the spot where you stood with whiskey dripping from your fingers, the flicker of cold anger in your eyes still fresh in his memory. He was trying to make sense of it all, the way you moved so effortlessly, how you took charge in a situation that most people would’ve hesitated to act in.

“Fuckin' hell...” John started, shaking his head slightly. “One slip, and she could've taken my head off.”

Arthur snorted, leaning against the bar with a half-smirk. “She saved you, John boy. How'd that feel?” He paused, eyeing the door where you walked out. “I reckon you're not gonna give her a pretty little cut now.”

John's brows furrowed as he walked behind the bar, pouring himself a drink to steady the nerves that were steadily returning. “Should we tell Tommy? Fuck—Arthur, I swear to God—if she'd waited a second too long, you'd be stitching me up right now.”

“I’ve seen Tommy do that,” Arthur muttered, almost to himself. “He doesn’t waste a second. Just... Brought the hammer down on their heads. She's the same.”

John looked up, his expression unreadable. “She could’ve let it go. Let us handle it.”

A small smile tugged at Arthur's lips. “Not used to a woman who's not Esme being able to take a swing, eh?"

“She’s one of us now, isn’t she?”

Arthur nodded slowly, his face thoughtful. “Looks to be that way. You heard what Tommy said—told him it was 'just business.' And today's business was either to leave you with a hole in your back or to waste her whiskey. Guess that makes you more valuable than whiskey.”

John cleared his throat. It was a crude but accurate comparison. “But you reckon she cares, yeah? About us, I mean. Or is this just business to her? Because of what we found?”

Arthur doesn’t immediately respond. He looked towards the door, his mind clearly elsewhere. “She didn’t do it for anyone but herself. Made one hell of a point by doing it. Thought she was all talk.”

John watched Arthur, his eyes narrowing as he processed everything.

Arthur rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his gaze still on the door. “She's smarter than us, John boy. In her eyes, there wasn't ever a debt to be paid to you. Fuck... You probably owe her now.”

John’s expression flickered with a realization.

Arthur’s eyes flash with a sharp, knowing look. “Only thing left to do now is make sure you won't owe her something you can't afford. That's what Tommy's gotta deal with now.”

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After the dust settled the next morning, you returned to the betting house, your breath steady and face as unreadable as ever. Tommy was already speaking with the others, his voice commanding, his attention fully back in control. But it was Polly who lingered near you, studying you in that way only she could.

“You’ve got a habit of making people nervous, you know that?” She stood with her arms crossed, not bothering to spare you the eye contact. “Arthur and John—they’ve been talking. And I’ve been listening.”

You sighed with the same cold demeanor she gave you. “And what exactly have they been saying, Polly?”

She smiled, but it was thin, sharp. “Your little stunt at the Garrison last night is quickly making its rounds. If you were secretly hoping for fame, it looks like you're on your way there.”

Her next question hit you heavy with scrutiny and suspicion. You clenched your jaw, preparing for whatever she might ask you because the last thing you wanted was to be unprepared two days in a row. All this fuss made your actions feel more like a burden than a mindless reflex activated by your awareness, something you usually took pride in. It shouldn't have been a surprise Polly thought otherwise.

“So what exactly are you trying to prove by saving John? Was it for him? Or was it for you?”

You swiftly lit your cigarette, answering into the cupped palm of your hand and the flickering flame. "Does it matter?"

"It's that kind of rash thinking that could get you in trouble," she said, her voice low but firm, "Just ask Tommy. He's had to clean up John and Arthur's messes before, and you adding to that mess was not part of the deal you made."

You didn’t respond immediately, letting her words hang in the air, only shifting slightly as you looked at her. Your voice, cold as always, cut through the silence.

“I didn’t want to wait,” you said simply, your eyes locking with hers.

Polly’s eyes narrow, a flicker of something dangerous crossing her features. “Darling, you’ve got everyone’s attention, and I’m not so sure that’s a good thing. You think just because you step in at the right moment that we’ll forget what’s really going on?”

You don’t move an inch as you reply, your voice colder than before. “Have you ever considered that I just do things, or, to you, there must be a motive behind it? That's exhausting, Polly. If you'd rather I give you a reason every time I leave to do fuck all, then eventually, it's all going to be lies.”

Polly studied you for a moment, then took another step forward, her eyes never leaving yours. “Yes, well, I can see it now. Let's say you 'just do things,' then what will happen when you don't? Hm? The next time you choose not to act, will it be your fault or theirs?”

She paused, the air between you both tense.

“I'll say this. Tommy does stupid things that most see as impulse, but he always has a reason. Do what you will—shoot the next man who's made you cross. But you better have a damn good reason for getting blood on our carpet. Being stupid with a reason, I can forgive. Mindless impulse, I cannot.”

You straightened your back. With a subtle roll of your eyes, you hung your head to the side, humming from the small ache in your neck. “Can't you fucking Shelbys say 'thank you' or is it in your nature to interrogate now and give thanks never?”

With a smirk, Polly shook her head and left you alone with smoke trailing behind her.

You swore under your breath. You should've left it alone, let John deal with his own mess. You didn't even know who the man was or why he tried to do what he did, and you didn't bother asking John anything. Your subtle mistakes were slowly catching up to you, and now it was a matter of keeping yourself in check before Tommy assumed like Polly did.

When you looked up from your cigarette, Tommy was slowly approaching you with two glasses in his hands. He handed one to you with his eyes steady in anticipation.

You took a brief sip cautiously.

He didn't speak. He just stood in front of you with his own glass, the silence steadily making you feel uncomfortable. This was the other part of being on his side that was getting to be exhausting—the way he used silence to convince you to say something first.

It mostly bothered you because you knew you did the same thing.

"His name was Leander," Tommy finally spoke. "Old fling of John's wife."

You didn't nod or even show that you acknowledged what he was saying.

"He's alive. His people patched him up. We made sure they left Birmingham. They won't come back."

You set your glass down, crossing your arms with the cigarette between your fingers. "Get on with it."

Tommy chuckled, "With what?"

"I'm getting tired of explaining myself to you. And to Polly. If you're going to ask me why I did it, then do it now instead of calling me back here later."

Tommy lowered his eyes with a smirk. It was fun, seeing you become undone. The back-and-forth between you two was slowly wearing you down. He was so used to people giving up after the first try. You just kept fighting back, and that made it all the more interesting. That was what made games, fun after all. You wouldn't stop, so neither would he.

Curiosity could be satiated, but you made it a challenge. He'd step forward, you'd step back. You made your move, and he'd match you in equal measure. One of you held the knife, and the other held the blade, daring blood to fall just to see who'd pull back first.

He wasn't a fool. There was purpose behind your actions even if you didn't want to admit it. There was no part of your bargain that insinuated you needed to act in any way that forced you out of hiding, and yet you did.

There was a part of you—though you'd rather die than admit it—that was invested. Invested in Tommy, maybe, but it went beyond that. Perhaps, you couldn't help it. It could have been in your nature to be protective of your things, but because you stayed hidden for so long, the only possessions you'd been protective of until this point were sentimental trinkets, the ones that you used to decorate your office.

Now, you were protective of something else. That just meant there was more to lose.

Tommy wouldn't admit it out loud, but what you did forced the slightest change in his perception of you. You could protect yourself should it be necessary. It also hinted that you were fully aware of everything you did—you just held onto those reasons like you did everything else. Tucked away like a secret no one was worthy of.

When he finally grew tired of the silence, Tommy gave you a short nod, as if acknowledging that there was nothing left to be said. You watched him walk away, unable to see the the satisfaction on his face.

[bertoyana]

charles and erik with each other: oh dear, oh dear. gorgeous 🥺👐 charles and erik with the villain of the week/the x-men: K1LL YOURSELF 🔥🔥🔥

X-Men: First Class (2011) | X-Men Apocalypse (2016)

[stardust-swan]

I'm convinced that the idea that "love is blind" is a pysop meant to brainwash women into settling for less. I always see beautiful women who clearly take care of themselves, dress well, get their lashes done, work out etc with boyfriends who look like they just rolled out of bed and put yesterday's clothes on. And I very rarely see this happening the other way around.

Men shill the idea that it's shallow for women to want someone who looks halfway decent but never hold themselves to this standard. They're so cruel to women they find unfuckable and treat women who they are attracted to but don't fit the societal beauty standard as dirty secrets (how many times have fat women talked about how men are happy to have sex with them but won't claim them in public because they think being seen with a fat woman is embarrassing?) The dadbod thing has been big for a couple of years while there has been no equivalent for mombods that gained traction (you know, the ones whose bodies actually went through physical changes due to pregnancy instead of just gaining weight from stealing their kid's snacks and watching the football instead of playing it).

It's so bad that even women shill this idea to other women. You have to ignore the fact that he never trims his beard and his daily outfit is a lint encrusted hoodie and sweatpants with a hole because if you don't you're shallow and not considering who he is on the inside too. We're told that being haggard shouldn't count as long as they have a good personality, and while I agree personality is important, a huge amount of men don't have good personalities. A lot of men are boring at best and a lot of them are just straight up assholes. Most of them aren't raking it in cash either to make up for their lack of looks and character. It's sad to see so many women doing the most for men who aren't particularly pleasant to be around, don't have money, and aren't physically appealing.

Men also shill this to eachother. I remember when I was a teenager there were huge hate trains almost entirely compromised of grown men against any pretty boy singer who got popular (Justin Bieber had it especially bad). They never did anything wrong (Justin Bieber's hate train was at its worst years before he started acting like a douche), men just hated them because they looked nice and girls liked them. They also act like any guy in real life who's comfortable with being attractive instead of purposefully making themselves unattractive to fit in with the other ugly men is gay and act bitterly when the men who actually make an effort get more female attention than a man who last showered three days ago. They act like women are catty bitches who hate prettier women when their egos are so fragile around men who look decent. There was even a recent study that suggested good looking men are at a disadvantage when applying for certain jobs, because their male colleagues feel threatened by them.

It wasn't always like this either. Not all that long ago it was expected that a man dress up nicely, wear cologne, style his hair etc when he was trying to court a woman.

When my mother was my age, she could just walk into a cinema and at any given time there would be films with leading men who looked like Leo, Depp, Brad Pitt, James Spader, River Phoenix, Will Smith, Denzel Washington, Brendan Fraser, etc. And now those World's Sexiest Men lists are filled with average or below average men and we're told that we're meant to cream our panties over guys who look indistinguishable or even worse than your average guy on the street. Right after this era my mum was young in was when the media started pushing this idea that we have to settle for unattractive men or else we're immature and shallow. There were a ton of movies with men like Adam Sandler pulling gorgeous 20 year old women just because they were funny. That stupid genre of movie where an awkward nerd pines over the cheerleader who is pining over a jock who's always portrayed as a bully that the cheerleader is framed as misguided or a bitch for wanting a handsome boyfriend instead of picking the nerd (even though the dork main character we're meant to root for also only likes the cheerleader for her looks and is just as much of an asshole as the jock) in became really popular around the same time.

Unsure of whether this is because of men complaining about beauty standards or other feminist concepts they only half understand (while female beauty standards never budge and have always and remain a much higher bar to reach than male beauty standards), or if men are just forcing this idea that looking like shit is cancelled out by telling a few dad jokes so that women will feel pressured into dating them no matter how busted they look just to not be alone.

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Of my 2% capacity to be attracted to anyone, my type is like 90% women, 5% pretty men and 5% men you would swear are super fucking manly, and never questioned being straight and cis, but are now suddenly *stressed* that they can't figure out why their attraction to me [fully socially interpreted as a woman and labelled that way up until relatively recently] feels incredibly fucking gay

[stamplerfag]

im gonna answer the other ask later but TRANSFEM SCARY I WAS. ALSO THINKING HBBBGNN

[nezuscribe]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

pairing: gojo x fem!reader

summary: gojo satoru was the most notorious man across the land. he was the strongest soldier the north had ever produced, the most brilliant of minds, and somebody who slept his way through the noble ranks. his parents set him up in a marriage agreement with you, hoping that a tie with a ring would help save his image. you know gojo never wanted this, and you try to act as if that was normal. but soon, without you or even him realizing it, he comes to the conclusion that while he never wanted this marriage - he's beginning to want you.

warnings: 18+ mdni: arranged marriage, angst, slight no comfort, gojo is emotionally constipated for a bit, heavy making out, eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, (naoya)

word count: 19.7k (sorry)

note: inspired by this drabble. i'm so happy this behemoth of a fic is done!! art credit: _3aem

jjk masterlist + series masterlist

Gojo Satoru was the most powerful man alive. 

Not only physically, though some people chalked him up to being half god, but his name held even more control. The Gojo family of the North was as old as the gods themselves, and they’ve been making sure it’s been kept that way. They owned so much land that you would walk to the ends of the earth and circle back around and it would probably still be theirs. They had armies of unfathomable sizes under their command, so much riches that they could probably buy an entire nation and still have plenty to spend. 

His presence was just as large as his name created him to be. Any ball he went to, all eyes would fall on him. On the battlefield, men feared to see the flash of white hair, knowing that his strength was unbridled. 

And his physical beauty? Most people assumed he was blessed by the gods himself. Gojo had a certain look that just made your knees weak, your heart palpitate, and your cheeks heated up. The handful of times you’ve seen him from afar you’ve been able to understand why all the girls (and some of the guys) yearned for his attention. His eyes were a piercing blue as if somebody had held a mirror to the sky when creating them. His hair had grown whiter with the years, as white as the snow that sunk deep into the grounds of the north. Gojo had the build of a soldier, and he towered over most people. His bulky build was intimidating, but you heard some girls whisper behind their hands about how he must look underneath all those ceremonial garments. 

The lord of the North was power itself. 

Which would make you, by martial association, the North's most powerful lady.

And for somebody who grew up with the same respect as a stable boy, it was all too much too soon. 

And yes, while on paper you still had your father's last name and legacy tied to it, you weren’t really a daughter to your parents. Your mother, though you had to call her by her name whenever you weren’t in public, seeing how she wasn’t really your mother, made sure it was kept that way. Your other three half-sisters should have been in your spot, either one of them more true to the family name than you. But seeing how they’re already married, you were the final resort. 

Gojo Satoru, though you’ve seen him countless times (something common because of how close in ranks your families were), had only acknowledged you a couple of times. You didn’t care much, never did, because that's what you were used to. After all, it was a common fact that you were what they nicknamed “the bastard daughter” of the West.

But it didn’t seem to matter much to his parents, as they offered their son up to you in a marriage arrangement. 

And who were you to turn that down? 

They, his parents, assured you that their son was looking forward to this union. He was the one to offer it, they said, which you were skeptical of but weren’t stupid enough to question. You knew how much Gojo Satoru was tarnishing their reputation with his promiscuous ways, but as long as he was okay with this arrangement you couldn’t find any part of you that would disagree with it. 

After all, you knew that this marriage wasn’t out of love, fascination, or even a mutual understanding, but because of the strength your own family (more so your father) held, and how you were the only feasible option for a bride. 

So, after weeks of rocking back and forth on agreements, paperwork, dress rehearsals, and grueling dancing lessons (and still no sight of the man himself), you found yourself standing at the end of the aisle, your arm linked around your fathers as a large smile plasters itself on your face. 

Ever since you were young you had convinced yourself that the only man who would want to taint his name enough to marry you would have to be either a troll or an ogre, so that fact that your future spouse was human was better than anything you could have asked for. 

And you’re not daft. As your heart hammered loudly against the limited space of your chest, waiting for your cue to start walking, you reminded yourself that this was just a mutual agreement. It’s hard for people at your level to marry for love, but even then, you can’t help but hope that you can make a decent friendship out of this. 

You glanced at your father next to you, catching his eyes as he nodded once, staring ahead of him into the small crowd of just your two families, and patted your arm. 

You still remember the music playing, the instruments harmonizing together as you took a tentative step forward, feeling warm under the eyes of people you didn’t know, but you kept reminding yourself that this was the best thing that could’ve happened to you. Either you died as an old maid in the little room you had near the kitchens at your old home or got married to some warlord who wanted an entire village as family. 

The orchids that surrounded the venue still infiltrate your nose as you think about it, the way the silk of your dress felt against your skin that had been scrubbed raw earlier that morning. 

And there you saw him, standing at the end of the aisle. At that moment you realized how much of a mistake this was,

Because the man that stood there, the man who you were about to marry, seemed like he’d rather be dead than be your husband. 

—

You blink out of your trance, sitting up straighter in your seat as you mindlessly stop tearing up pieces of your bread, rubbing your fingers together to get rid of the remnants of flour. 

The dining hall was huge, far bigger than the one back home. Though you rarely ate there, you could still remember it, and it definitely wasn’t as big as this. Yet, despite its size, you felt like you were a little grain of rice in its vastness. 

The Gojo estate itself was humongous. His parents resided in a smaller house near the ocean now that you’ve moved in, but you would bet that the word humble they used to describe it was anything but humbling. You’ve been here for weeks and yet you feel like you’ve only discovered half of what this place has to offer.

There were guards at every corner, but at this point, you’re convinced they're just for decoration. If your husband is as decorated a warrior as they say he is, he could protect this entire estate with no help necessary. 

You stare at your plate, at the array of food prepared just for you, different sorts of cured meats, loaves of bread, cheeses, fruits, and juices from all over, and still, you feel no hunger. 

Months ago you’d be ecstatic to see how much your life has changed. You get new clothes that fit you, food whenever you desire, people at your beck and call. Your room is no longer that cramped space you’d been given to hide you away from the rest of your family, but twice the size of your father's old bedroom. You wake up earlier and sleep later, do whatever you want, but none of it feels deserved.

The only thing you can bring yourself to think about is how the last time you saw your husband was the night of the wedding. The look on his face when you made your empty vows to one another, his faint lingering kiss on your cheek. You can blink your eyes and still see the way he left, his jaw clenched as he ignored the calls from his parents. How, even here, rumors seemed to follow you. 

Safe to say, you spent your meals alone. 

Not only that, but your rooms were entirely separate as well. You were told that you had to consummate the night of your marriage, but from what you’ve heard, your husband sleeps in an entirely different wing of the estate, with walls and corridors between the two of you. 

You tried taking your mind off of things, pretending as if this was normal. 

Most days you’d walk around, trying to familiarize yourself with the layout of the grounds. You’d walk the gardens a couple times each week, try to memorize the way back to different places, and stay in the library the other half of the time. 

A part of you was happy to at least be away from that miserable home, but it felt like swapping one prison for a slightly better one. Your maids were kind, of course, but you didn’t know anybody here. They treat you like a lady of noble ranking, as expected from being the wife of the Lord in the North, but you’d rather be given an apron and start working around instead of this mind-numbing boredom of just sitting around. 

You stare at your plate, chewing on a grape slowly. 

Looking up you see the sun filtering in through the large windows, illuminating the long table that sits like an empty grave. Clicking your tongue you pick up another grape, slumping in your seat as you look up. 

This is just the way things will be.

—

“Alina?”

You call out from your vanity, staring at your maid as she’s picking out different earrings for you to pick from for dinner. 

It’s a couple of days later, and still no word from Gojo. But that doesn’t mean that you haven’t stopped for a single second to not think about your supposed husband. 

You try not to care, pretend that you’re lucky that he’s not bothering you or going out of his way to remind you of this unfortunate situation, but above anything you just feel alone. 

The maid looks up, a curl falling from her tight bun as she smiles at you in the mirror. 

“Yes, my lady?” She stands up straighter, flattening out the wrinkles from her apron tied around her waist as she begins walking towards you with the jewelry. 

“Is this…is this normal?” You crane your neck around to look at the different pairs she’s holding up, nudging your head to the red ones that shine bright, and watch as she sets them down on your desk, resting her hand on your hip as she stares at you quizzically. 

“What do you mean?” She asks as you begin taking your earrings off, putting the new ones on yourself. In the beginning, she protested, saying that a woman of your caliber shouldn’t have to do such measly tasks. But the more you protested, she eventually gave up. 

“Do husbands and wives usually sleep separately?” you say, feeling your chest contract in embarrassment at the stupidness of your question. 

You watch as she swallows thickly, avoiding eye contact as she sets on fixing some parts of your hair. 

Staring patiently through the vanity mirror as you watch her work, Alina wets her lips, her eyes downcast as if not wanting to answer. 

“Was there somebody else he preferred to marry?” You decide to ask, twisting that knife that you knew was lodged in her side, one that was stopping her from talking, and watch as her eyes widen slightly in shock. 

“If you don’t answer I’m just going to keep asking more uncomfortable questions,” you warn and Alina snorts softly, shoving your shoulder a little bit as you crack a smile. 

She moves around, picking up a necklace, and begins clasping it behind your neck. 

“I…I don’t know. He’s always been pretty secretive and,” she looks at you briefly, “Selective. I don’t mean to speak ill of my lord but it would be stupid not to acknowledge his old ways. But we never heard of a specific girl.”

Alina places a gentle hand on your shoulder, a sad smile on her face. 

“You’re lucky my lady,” she says, her voice hushed, “Most wives don’t have the freedom to say their husbands don’t care what they do. Had you married that Zenin, you’d be pregnant by now.”

You shudder out a breath, nodding once more. 

“I’ll see you after dinner, my lady,” she says, moving out of the way as you stare quietly at the floor before leaving silently. 

—-

Tonight for dinner the cooks made you a wide array of different dishes, all from the Northern shore. There are different types of fish, each cooked in various ways. It looks delectable, a feast fit for a king. 

You feel awful, though, seeing that you can’t eat any of it. 

The last time you had fish your face swelled up and couldn’t breathe properly, so that family physician told you to steer away from it. But you’re here now, and it somehow slipped your mind to ever mention this little fact to them, so you’re awkwardly poking around some of the vegetables under the fish, looking for something to eat. 

You pile some potatoes and carrots on your plate, scraping off any bits of fish on them as you hold this wasn’t your last meal. 

The only sound that fills the room is your fork and knife sometimes hitting the porcelain plate, and you look up every now and then as you chew, looking at the paintings on the wall. 

You’re so focused on a portrait of an old man that you don’t even notice the figure standing at the entrance of the dining hall, not until you hear a muted curse. 

You look up instantly, your fork and knife dropping to the plate as you stare at the man in front of you, eyes wide at the sight of your husband. 

He stands there, blinking slowly as you stare back. 

You could swear time has never moved so slowly before. 

You can hear him mutter a quiet shit under his breath, not knowing if he should make this worse by turning around and leaving or if he should join you. 

He’s wearing a simple tunic, his face a little flushed, hairline beaded with sweat. Did he just come out of training? He must often do that, you decide, seeing how he must’ve felt comfortable enough walking in here without any clothing of import. 

His eyes seem to track your little movements; the way your chest rises and falls in a slow movement, the way your fingers have frozen in mid-air, lips slightly parting. Your eyes dart around the room, everybody seeming to have tensed up.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but you’ve never been so moved to silence. It seemed as if years of learned vocabulary slipped your mind within an instant, and no matter how hard you tried, nothing was coming back.

Gojo looks behind his shoulder, at the large double doors he entered through, deep in thought. This would be the first time the two of you had seen each other in weeks, and his tirade of avoiding you has come to an end. It looks like an entire battle is being fought in his mind, and you don’t know what to do.

Suddenly, you watch as he shakes his head, deciding to give in and join you for dinner. 

The seconds go by like hours as he walks up to the seat at the other end of the table, staring at his seat for a brief second before he pushes it out and sits there. 

You don’t know what to do. 

Servants and maids quickly swarm the room, setting up his plate, cutlery, food, and drinks. It was all so hectic and rushed, but you were glad that it offered some sort of noise in the drowning silence.

A part of you wants to say something about the fish but you know this isn’t the right time. 

In the flurry of movements you allow yourself to discretely look at him a little better, seeing how the last time you saw him was so brief and hurried. 

The man radiates a different sort of aura you’ve never experienced before. While your father was one of the most powerful men in the West, Gojo was the strongest throughout the majority of the North and East. His frame took up the entire chair, his muscular shoulders and arms visible even through the loose fabric that was draped over him. You feel a little disappointed, knowing that if you were a different girl you’d probably be able to enjoy all of this. 

You try to make yourself seem indifferent, moving some of the vegetables in your plate around, but secretly just trying to shovel them down as fast as humanly possible to get out of this thick atmosphere. 

One of the men who was setting up some of the plates in front of Gojo takes notice of this, a smile overtaking his face as you briefly look up from your plate, startled to see the man walking closer to you.

“My lady, I’m so happy to see you enjoying our Northern delicacy!” He claps his hands together as you stare at him with wide eyes, your mouth still full of potatoes as you try chewing faster to get it all down before he gets closer to you. 

His eyes wrinkle around the edges, his graying mustache trimmed ever so carefully, and you can tell he’s trying to loosen up the tension, but you stare in abject horror as he stands at your foot of the table. 

“Would you like some more?” He motions to the fish that lay untouched in front of you, and you glance over to Gojo, hoping that maybe he is focused on his meal, only for your heart to sink at the fact that he is staring at you. 

“...y-yes,” you croak out, wiping some of the carrot remnants from the corners of your lips as you give him a wobbly smile, “It’s alright, I can serve myself,” you exclaim, trying to thwart him off as he quickly waves this aside, shaking his head as he grabs the tray, beginning to portion some hefty pieces of fish onto your plate.

You don’t have the heart to tell this jolly man that this amount of fish would kill you within an instant, or even that he was wasting this all on you, so you just sit there, giving him a tight-lipped smile as you try not to breathe it in too much. 

“Is that enough, my lady?” He asks, setting the tray down as you look at your plate now full of different sorts of sea creatures you swallow slowly, looking back up at him as you give a wobbly smile. 

“This is great,” you muster up and watch as an even larger smile takes over his face, and you feel awful for it, “Thank you so much,” you tell him, watching as he bows lowly, excusing himself as he, and the other servants, leave the room,

Leaving you and Gojo alone. 

You’re grateful that he’s already dug into his meal, not looking at a struggling you that’s moving the fish around with your fork as you try to find the last bits of vegetables you had saved up for yourself. 

The smell itself is enough to make your stomach turn, and you wince, reaching for your cup of wine to wash some of the nausea down.

“You have very good wine,” you say suddenly, against your will, and have an out-of-body experience as you realize what you just did. 

Gojo looks up from his plate, a little startled as he looks at you and the goblet in your hand, his white brows furrowed. 

He nods once, not saying anything, and you feel the strange need to continue, somehow enjoying the feeling of stabbing yourself in the foot.

“Our wine back home tasted like cow piss,” your eyes widened at your slip of crass language, “Er - not piss, um, urine…?” You wince even more, feeling as if a ghost with awful intentions had taken control over your body, “Not that I’ve had cow piss - urine!” You correct yourself, “But I imagine that if I had…that, um, it would taste like o-our wine back home...”

He’s staring at you, unblinking, and you smile awkwardly, raising the cup to him as a sort of cheers gesture. 

You count twenty seconds of silence in your head as you set the cup down, playing with your fork as you glance back up at him. Gojo looks as if he is regretting his decision to stay, his fingers tapping on his knife in a hurried sort of way. 

“I don’t really like wine,” you continue, feeling like the only thing that could stop you now was if somebody were to bludgeon you to death, “I like juice more. Oh, well, but I guess…wine is juice…?” you mutter to yourself, contradicting your own words mid-sentence, “Back home we had this mulberry juice and it tasted nice. Kind of like your wine,” he’s not even looking at you and so your words die, quieting down as you sink back into your seat, hoping it could eat you entirely. 

“Do you like wine?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, smiling faintly, awkwardly, “Or juice? Or… mulberries…?” 

He shakes his head, still not staring at you. 

“Did you have a good-”

“I prefer eating in silence.” Gojo finally said, raising his head slightly as he stared directly at you, watching as your mouth clamped shut. 

Your smile grows small, eyes falling to the table to hide the embarrassment in them. You give him a brief nod, mumbling a quiet apology under your breath as you begin moving some pieces of carrot around on your plate. 

You can hear the clinking of his utensils against his plate, wishing you could somehow fit an entire fish down your esophagus to escape this moment. 

You give it a couple of seconds, counting the groves in the wood of the table, and rise, stomach empty, heart churning as you finally excuse yourself. 

It only takes you minutes to find your room, quicker than last night, and allow yourself to sink against your bed, rubbing your skin raw of the rouge Alina had applied an hour earlier. 

—-

You don’t tell anybody of the awful encounter with the man that’s legally your husband, but you’re sure that those there to observe have already begun talking about it. You try to pretend nothing happened, but Alina could pick up on your closed-off demeanor that night, her hands gentler than usual when helping you take off your garments, her eyes filled with concern. 

“How was dinner, my lady?” She asked, staring at you as you waved off her worries, mustering up a lame excuse of a smile as you took off your silk shrug, avoiding any sort of eye contact as you slipped into your nightly garments. 

“It was good,” your words are void of emotion, “I had fish.” 

The following days are empty of any sight of your husband, but you’ve grown to find that normal. It doesn’t help that you can’t stop thinking about how idiotic you acted, your big mouth never knowing when to stop, tossing and turning in your bed at your excuse of an interaction. 

You continue with your old routine of walking around the estate, sometimes trying to track down Alina and your other maids, seeing if maybe they had some free time to spend with you. You know there’s a town nearby, the girls often talk about how they go there sometimes at night, but you’re too afraid of going out alone, not used to that sort of thing. 

Sometimes you sit out near the fields with a book, twisting the ring that’s searing into your finger, mindlessly taking in the words on the page. Other days you walk around the gardens, picking out some flowers for the vase in your room. On the days when you’re feeling really adventurous, you’d go near the east wing, where you’ve heard Gojo’s room is, and look at what sort of things lie there. But most times you chicken out, going back near your side just as quickly as you went.

You never see him at dinner again, knowing he wasn’t about to put himself through that torture again, so you go back to eating in silence, sometimes pretending that the chairs were full of people and that you were in one of those balls you longed to go to as a kid.

They seem to keep bringing fish out for you, and it’s in so many days deep that you’re in this sort of limbo where you can’t tell them you’re deathly allergic to it without feeling awful for all the work they’ve put in just to realize it’s gone to waste, so those nights, tonight, for example, you try finding as many vegetables as you can. 

The roasted asparagus and beets are lovely, but there was only so much of it. And you find yourself getting a little bit sick of it too, your stomach-churning as you try to chug as much water as you can to get rid of the dirt after-taste that the beets have.

You thank the cooks and the servants as you leave for the night, your stomach still relatively empty as you get to your room, telling Alina to leave early for the night as you get ready for bed by yourself, wanting to be with yourself just for a little bit. 

You lay on your bed, staring emptily at the ceiling, one hand on your stomach as if gurgling, still hungry for more. You try to sleep, trying to pretend like you were at your old home, those nights when this would be normal, but it’s no use. You’ve been too spoiled at the Gojo estate, and no matter how much you try to ignore the pang of hunger, it continues to bite you back. 

So you find yourself twisting off of the warm comfort of your bed, sitting in silence as you contemplate what you’re about to do, but give in, lighting a candle as you slide into some slippers, leaving your room as you try to find your way down to the kitchens. 

Thankfully, it’s well into the night when everybody is asleep, so this embarrassing walk of shame is only seen by the guards on duty. You walk down the testing staircase, careful to look around the corners for anybody there, but you’re alone. 

You make your way to the kitchens, not hard to find seeing that they’re near the dining hall, and you peep your head inside, a sigh of relief escaping your lips to find that it’s completely deserted. 

At your old home, your room was behind the kitchens. You grew up in a small room, nearly the size of a broom cupboard, but you made do with what you had. One benefit of this situation was that you were raised by the smell of different sorts of food, by people who specialized in the art of cooking. You knew how to make meals that nobody else in your family could even imagine, which you’re grateful for right now as you fumble around the kitchen, trying to find where they put different ingredients. 

You rummage through the cupboards, finding some eggs, bread, cheeses, and seasonings. You’re able to find the pots and pans a few feet away and start assembling everything for a little omelet.  

In your hurry of trying to be quiet and careful, you somehow manage to miss the large shadow figure that’s standing near the doorway, observing you. 

You crack the eggs into a bowl, beating them together with a fork you found, too tired to look for an actual whisk, turning around to throw the eggshells away when a cry of surprise escapes your lips. 

“Oh!” Your heart nearly falls right out of your ribcage, your hands flying to your chest as you find yourself staring at him, cheeks heating the way they seem to do whenever you’re looking at your husband. 

His blue eyes are tracking you, watching what you do, brows furrowed slightly as the two of you can’t do anything but stare at each other. 

“I…” You can’t find anything to say, looking at him and then behind your shoulder, to the things you have found, and swallow thickly, wetting your lips as you straighten your back up, suddenly aware of just how flimsy and bedroom-worthy your outfit is.

You can only stare at the ways his arms are crossed over his chest, biceps bulging, and lips pressed into a thin line. It seems like he wasn’t planning on seeing you here, yet another moment in which he’s probably going to regret somehow finding you in such a large estate.

“I’m making an omelet,” you finally say, your words falling like a whisper from your lips as you point to the eggshells now discarded in the trash, “I tried to be quiet…” you shake your head, eyes dropping from his heavy gaze for a second as you glance back up at him, lips upturned in an apologetic smile, “...sorry.” 

Gojo doesn’t say much, you’ve noticed that, but now you’re wondering if he has some sort of impediment that stops him from speaking to specific people. 

His chest rises briefly as he inhales, his white hair a little tussled as if he were sleeping. It doesn’t make sense why he’d be awoken, though. The kitchens are a far walk from the east wing…?

“I wasn’t asleep,” he finally says as if reading your mind, his voice deep as you feel it rattle your bones.

You nod once, not knowing what to do with the information. 

“Well…um,” you fidget with your fingers, “good, that’s good.” You nod once, as if that was all you were going to say, and look at the slight wrinkles in his clothes, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling naked with the way you’re not wearing any undergarments under your little nightly dress. 

“I’ll call for a cook,” Gojo murmurs, looking you up and down one final time as he turns to leave, seemingly done with this conversation. 

You sputter, shaking your head as you watch him turn to look at you through a confused stare. 

“No! Sorry…no, no need,” you say quickly, taking one step forward as if to stop him, “Please, it’s alright. I can cook myself,” you motion once more to your eggs and little station, noting the way he’s looking at you strangely, and so you feel the need to continue talking, perhaps one of your worst flaws.

Gojo looks at you finally, his fingers tapping on his arm. 

You notice that he’s not wearing his wedding ring, your chest filling with a strange feeling as you try to hide your ring-clad finger. “Do you not like their cooking?” He asks, and it takes a second for you to blink out of your stupor, a weird sensation in your throat as you shake your head slowly, trying to pull your eyes away from his hand. 

“I do,” you assure him, the words falling thickly from your lips, a lump in your chest, “I just feel bad waking them up right now,” you shrug as if you weren’t feeling any of these strange emotions, “And as I said, I can cook…so…” 

He nods, seemingly not believing you, not picking up on the storm that happening inside your head at the fact that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t an actual marriage, the ring was only for show. 

“Did you not eat dinner?” He continues, pressing, and your eyes widen slightly. 

You’ve always been terrible at lying, never able to do so. Even when your father's wife continued to drill you on who ate the candies from a party when you were younger, showing her your chocolate-stained fingers that you had hidden behind your back, not even a minute into the interrogation. 

“I did,” you say slowly, rubbing up and down your arms to warm them up from the chill breeze that seems to have picked up from the open windows, “The beets and asparagus were very nice,” you agree, not knowing what else to say without blowing this weird secret you’ve been holding onto. 

His brow raised slightly, lips pursing slightly. 

“And the fish?” 

You swallow once again, fidgeting with the fabric of your slip, your hands, your ring, and you don’t notice the way his eyes fall to the gold on your finger, darting back to your face when he notices you staring at him. 

“I…” you feel your face heating up beyond human measures, laughing awkwardly as you tug at your necklace chain, wishing that you hadn’t made that stupid decision to leave your comfortable bed, should’ve listened to your gut instead of your stomach, cursing your past self for being so rash, “I, um, I can’t…eat…fish.” 

Gojo’s stoic face, so sure and confident, seems to falter for a brief second.

His arms tighten over his chest. 

“...what?” He eventually asks after a couple of seconds of mind-bending silence, his head tipping in utter confusion as you sway from side to side on your feet, chewing your lips raw as you wish the ground could open up and never spit you back out. 

“The fish always looks great, don’t get me wrong,” you say quickly as if that’s going to do anything, “But I can’t eat fish. Otherwise I’ll swell right up and um, die…probably,” you wince at how bad you are at talking to people, your husband especially.

He lets out a little puff of air that sounds like a shocked scoff, eyes falling to the floor as he shakes his head, not understanding what you are saying. 

“But they’ve been cooking fish almost…four times a week?” 

You nod, smiling awkwardly, looking at the painting of a fish on the wall as you look back at him. 

“They have,” you affirm, leaning against a counter as he stays frozen in his spot at the door. 

“And you…you can’t have fish?” Gojo questions incredulously. 

“I’ll swell right up,” you repeat with a little smile that he doesn’t mirror, clearly not a man of humor, and you drop your hands to your side, “...kind of like a pufferfish.” You add quietly, looking at the ground as you say it. 

He coughs, his hand covering his mouth as you glance up at him, only to see him trying to hide the shocked laugh that had escaped him.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” He finally continues, and you hate the way all your hard work of just saying quiet isn’t working and is in fact, coming back to bite you in the ass. 

You shrug once more, shoving a grain of rice that was on the floor with the tip of your shoe.

“The first time it happened I figured I’d just tell them next time, but then that man kept on giving me more fish so I felt bad and I just never said anything.” 

Gojo stares at you, his eyes squinting together as if he were figuring out an enigma, a war strategy that even his best generals couldn’t get a grasp of. 

You look away, feeling like a fire was being lit under your skin. 

“Alright,” you say, clapping your hands together as your stomach grumbles once again, reminding you that it is still in desperate need of food, “I’ll be done soon. And I’ll clean up,” you promise, but you doubt he even cares as you begin to inch away from him. 

You watch as a strand of hair falls into his face, watch as he goes to move, never breaking his eye contact with you, until he looks behind you at the eggs and bread, and then to the window behind you, the moon as bright as ever.

He nods a final time, looking over you a final time before he exits. 

You make sure he’s far gone, letting out a heavy breath as you hold yourself up by the table, eyes wide at the fact that you had spoken more than two words to the man who seemed to despise your entire existence. 

You go back to your eggs, whisking them in silence as your mind reels. 

—

Gojo is there, for dinner, the following night. 

You enter the dining room to see him at the end of the table, already eating, and glances up briefly when he sees you walk in. 

Trying to hide the shock on your face you quickly look away, finding the way to your side of the table as you look around to see what they’ve given you tonight. A sigh of fleeting relief escapes your lips at the lack of fish, glad you’ll be going to sleep full of food tonight. 

You serve yourself, piling roasted meats and potatoes onto your plate as you fill your cup with water, not trusting wine after the last time you had it in his presence, and pretend that everything is normal as you pick up your knife and fork. 

His words rang in your mind from the last time, the fact that he ate in silence, so you forced yourself to clam up, knowing that it was probably from the best and save you from any more mortification. 

Your eyes fleet up now and then, grateful that he’s never looking up when you do, and give yourself some time to really take him in. Maybe in another universe where everything was normal, this could’ve just been another regular thing, and you try pretending that it is.

He’s probably only here because of a timing issue, you tell yourself, maybe this was the only time in the middle of training, state affairs, or other things that he was able to have dinner tonight. Yes, yes, that has to be it. 

You look back down at your plate, chewing as quietly as possible, missing the way he lifted his head to look up at you. 

—

Dinner with Gojo becomes a strange weekly occurrence.

The two of you eat in silence a couple of times a week, and every time it happens you’re so sure it’s going to be the last. 

On one of the nights you find yourself accompanied by the man you decide that the silence is more choking than whatever it is you find yourself saying. 

“Have you been notified about this…gathering in a couple of weeks?” 

This gathering was something you were told about that morning by Alina. One of the smaller families allied to the North, the Tokoshi’s, had invited you and your husband to join. 

“Yes,” Gojo says, and you’re a little surprised that he didn’t just give you a faint nod, “It shouldn’t be too big.” 

He cuts off a piece of his lamb, dipping it in some of the gravy as he glances up at you. 

You try to hide your excitement, not only from the fact that he’s spoken to you but also from the fact that this was an actual ball you would be able to go to. You knew that marrying him meant attending more of these sorts of events, but seeing how this was your first one, it was hard to not act a little giddy. 

“You have a lovely library,” you speak after carefully chewing through some of your food, your pointer finger resting on your fork as your legs crossed. 

Gojo glances up at you, those mesmerizing blue eyes finding yours from across the long table. 

“At my old home,” you pause briefly, wondering how he feels when you refer to his estate as your other home, “I wasn’t allowed to go into our library unless my tutors asked to have some of our sessions there. So I just wanted to say thank you for letting me - um, go there,” your words quiet down at the end, looking at the roasted pig in front of you momentarily as you wonder what you were even trying to get. 

He takes a sip of his wine. 

“The grounds are as much mine as they are yours,” he says, but his words sound rehearsed as if he were told to say this. 

“Even the east wing?” 

You regretted it the moment you asked it. 

Shit. 

Gojo opens his mouth and then shuts it. You chew on the inside of your cheek, waiting for him to speak, to say something, anything, but it reverts to that same silence that floods your senses and makes you aware of every other sound in the room.

Your burst of what you attempted at comedy seemed to keep coming back instantly in your face, a form of punishment for somebody who never knew how to make uncomfortable situations better.

Suddenly, all of your appetite is lost. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you can only chide yourself, the food in front of you, no matter how good it looked, felt like it would taste like ash on your tongue. You kept feeding this burning fire that was your marriage, expecting your hay-like words to act like water.

There’s a thick tension in the room, and you look around, blinking slowly as you fidget with your fingers. 

You try to go back to eating. 

You were wrong,

That initial silence was better. 

—-

That night you found yourself back in the kitchens. 

You’re wiping at your cheeks, hoping that the therapeutic motions of baking can help alleviate some of your many turmoils. 

When you were younger, you were used to silence. People normally avoided you, and those who didn’t weren’t ever your age. The cooks at your old estate were kind, but they were usually too busy to entertain a little girl. You would usually help the maids out with their washing and folding, rather doing something than nothing. You would listen in on their gossip and stories, always happy to be included. 

You assumed that it would be the same here. 

But the maids assured you that a lady of such high rank shouldn’t be meddling in such lowly tasks, and the cooks here were cooking for such a larger number of people that you knew you couldn’t bother them the way you used to. 

So you find yourself with a lot to say but nobody to say it to. The jokes and ideas that pop into your head fall flat because the old ladies who helped clean the bedsheets and used to laugh hearing them are no longer here. In those moments you’re with Alina or your other maids are sparse, and so you sometimes imagine that if you speak more when Gojo is around, he might warm up to you. 

You also had to remind yourself that your track record with men wasn’t the best either. Those fleeting crushes on some of the other boys who you’d see at balls always ended with them scurrying away from you as if you were the plague. The only other marriage offer you’d gotten was from a man who had struggled with finding a woman who could keep up with his awful ways. So the fact that Gojo Satoru, the most well-known man in the realm, didn’t want much to do with you wasn’t shocking. 

And Alina was right. A lot of wives aren’t as lucky to say their husbands don’t care, but you wondered how it would’ve been if he did. You exclaimed to her a couple of nights ago that you should’ve just married Naoya, but deep inside you knew that’s not what you wanted. A part of you knew ever since you agreed to this arrangement that you wouldn’t be getting an actual husband out of it. 

You sniffle, your eyes blurry. You don’t like crying in front of people, and so you allow yourself to do so in the pale moonlight of the kitchen, the only sound other than your ragged breathing being the repeated sound of flour falling softly in your mixing bowl. 

Baking was something that nobody ever could judge you about. You were good at it, and you knew you could do it with no error. Your cakes and pastries always turned out well, save for the minor problems you ran into as a kid, but you sometimes act like you’re baking for a group of people, about to take it out to see a sea of smiling faces who are happy to see you and your deserts.

“I thought you only cooked when they served fish for dinner.” 

A voice, one that’s seared into your memory, says from behind you. 

It takes everything in you not to jump from surprise, and it takes even more willpower not to turn around. 

You quickly wipe at your cheeks, breathing in to make sure your voice won’t come out in bits and pieces. You keep your back to your husband, continuing to sift your flour in the bowl, a continual motion like waves hitting against the dock.

“I’m baking,” you specify, cringing at the way you sound like you’re fighting a nasty cold. 

Gojo doesn’t say anything for a beat and does nothing to move. You’re glad he doesn’t, too scared that if he saw your puffy eyes or your tear-stained cheeks he’d begin to think that you have no backbone at all. It felt almost pathetic to have the world's strongest warrior see you recover from crying alone. 

He hums in the back of his throat at your words, and you wonder what he looks like right now. 

“I doubt these walls have seen a lady of such high rank before,” he comments, and you look up briefly from the mountain of white building up in the bowl, “They must whisper to themselves once you leave.” 

You let out a little puff of air, something resembling a soulless laugh. 

“Everyone whispers to themselves after I leave,” you say, reaching for a whisk, “I’ve heard more whispers than my own name.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you quickly try to wipe at the corners of your eyes.

“You come down here a lot,” it’s posed as a question, but Gojo says it like a statement. He must have eyes everywhere, reporting to him what you’re doing. You wouldn’t be shocked, but you just nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you begin to whisk your dry ingredients together. 

“I hope it’s okay,” you throw in a pinch of salt as you mix, “I like the kitchen.” 

He let out a little breath as if he was about to chuckle, but then he got confused. You decide to spare him the endless questions that must be going on in his head, wondering why somebody in your position would prefer the kitchens rather than anywhere else. 

“My bedroom used to be behind a kitchen. I’d have to go through the pantry just to reach it,” you turn briefly to grab your bowl with the wet ingredients, pouring it slowly into your flour and sugar mixture, mixing it in slowly and carefully. 

“My father’s wife wanted me out of sight. That estate had never used one of its actual bedrooms to sleep the daughter of a whore,” you can hear him inhale sharply, “I woke up to the sounds of people shouting for different ingredients, to pots and pans clanging against each other. I learned how to cook and bake when I was young, and I usually helped them cook the food my family would eat for dinner.” 

When your batter is all mixed through you go to find the pan you have buttered and dusted with sugar, pouring it in as you wipe off the side of the bowl that had some remnants of batter dripping from it.

“They never asked me to, but I liked it. I liked feeling useful,” you peek over to your side, seeing him leaning against the wall adjacent to you, silent as a mouse. 

You walk over to the other side of the kitchen with your pan, careful with the lid to the brick oven, heated with the fire you had lit an hour ago, and slide your cake pan into it, closing it shut as you stand up straight. 

Finally, you look over at him. 

His eyes rake over your face, lingering on the circles underneath your eyes, the redness that stained the whites of them. He’s clad in the simple tunic and breeches he had worn to dinner hours ago, his large shoulders leaning on the wall as his arms lay crossed over his chest. 

“I won’t go to the east wing,” you say in a whisper, your voice quiet but heavy as it falls from your lips as a promise, trying to muster up a smile but it comes out wobbly, “I was just trying to make you laugh.” 

His lips looked pinker than usual as if he had been chewing on them, something you often did when you were deep in thought. His white hair had been messily pushed back as if his fingers had been combing through them continuously. 

“These grounds are yours,” Gojo says, his words thick from his throat. His exhale and inhale mirror the way you breathe, your two chests rising as though living with the same lungs.

You shrug, a melancholy look on your face as you shake your head. 

“Maybe if I was your wife,” your words are said without any malice, “But I’m just another person who sleeps here.” 

Gojo tilts his head slightly as if your statement had somehow wrenched itself into his mind, weighing it down. Even in the limited light, you could see the way he looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m sorry about all of this. I know I took away your chance to marry somebody you actually wanted, but my father told me you were okay with the arrangement. I wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise,” you twist your wedding ring around your finger mindlessly, a little habit you’ve grown over the weeks here, “I never wanted to be selfish, and I truthfully never wanted a husband. I just wanted a friend.”

—

Ever since that night, you eat your meals in your room. 

Alina protested, saying it’s not right to eat alone, but you told her not to think about it, saying how you liked the silence. 

You mustered up the courage to ask some of the coachmen to take you to the nearby town, starting by looking around at the little shops, keeping a hood over your head in case somebody saw a new stranger.

Sometimes you’d go inside the shops, finding little trinkets that you thought your maids might like, or ornaments that might help fill up the empty spots around your room. You’ve never been able to decorate before with how small your old room was, so you decided to take advantage of its space.

When you’re walking around you sometimes see Gojo, either in the training yard or walking around with one of his advisors. There have been moments when the two of you catch each other's stares from across the room, but you’re always the first to look away, making sure you’re going in a different direction than him. 

You knew that you’d have to talk to him eventually, especially with the gathering that was coming up at the Tokoshi manor, but each night you pretended it was another day away, instead of one day closer. 

Your maids came bustling in and out of your room more often than usual with preparations for the night that was closing in, shoving you into different dresses, not satisfied until they found the right one.

Alina noticed your shift in demeanor, never picking and prodding at it, but silently observing. You could tell she knew something was wrong, but you didn’t know how to put exactly what you were feeling in words. 

It didn’t help that the closer you got to the night of the event Gojo seemed to be everywhere you were. The gardens, the library, the field, the stables. He probably just had business to attend to, but it didn’t help that whenever he saw you it looked like he wanted to say something. It also didn’t help that you’d scurry away when you saw him open his mouth. 

The weeks turned into days, the days into a day, and that day into hours and you found yourself perched uncomfortably on a chair as three different women attended to your face, hair, and accessories. 

You watch them work silently, taking in all the jewelry and makeup that you’ve been looking forward to wearing. It’s nothing too drastic, but that 

girl who longed to wear pretty things inside of you is gleaming right now. 

“…Lord Gojo requested for her to wear another pair of earrings,” one of your maids says, looking at the earrings Alina had picked out for you. 

Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, watching Alina as she perks an eyebrow up. 

“When did he request that?” 

The older lady looks at you in the mirror and then at Alina. 

“A couple of nights ago,” she shows Alina another pair, a sapphire one that seems to gleam brightly, “he dropped them off when she was…away…” the maid trails off, noticing the fact that you were eavesdropping.

Your eyes dart away as if that would help, but she quickly changes the topic, and you huff in annoyance as Alina sends you a knowing look.  

“Your husband is a strange man,” Alina mutters in your ear as you giggle quietly, rolling your eyes as she playfully shoves your shoulder. 

You don’t say anything in retaliation, and sit back as you put in your new earrings, grateful that they still complimented the color of your dress, and try to pretend you are going down for dinner rather than a gathering with people you didn’t know. 

You’ve been learning this entire week how to properly hold a spoon and fork, and how to cut your food appropriately. You’ve been taking dancing lessons, discovered how to properly greet people, and even learned how to gracefully enter and exit a horse-drawn carriage. All things you should’ve probably learned earlier, but were never able to. 

Alina helps you out of the chair when they are all done, giving you a second to look into the mirror. The dress they had wrangled you into was beautiful, your hair done in the way you liked. You thanked them all, expressing your endless gratitude for their hard work. 

You take a deep breath as you exit the room and go out into the hall, leading yourself down the stairs and through multiple corridors, trying to calm down your palpitating heart. 

It takes a few minutes but you find yourself at the front of the manor, standing alone and looking around, trying to see if you were at the wrong place. But in the distance, you can see the coachmen and the carriage, the door shut, still waiting for you. 

You take a tentative step forward, nearing the entranceway that leads outside, but feel a soft touch hovering above your elbow. 

It’s strange how he usually finds you before you find him, but as somebody who’s trained to know and find things before others do, you suppose it makes sense. You glance to your side, already expecting to see those cerulean eyes as you look up. 

Gojo looks good, somehow better than usual. 

He’s clad in dark blue garments, intricate with Northern design, and your eyes look up and down his entire body. His usual muscular build seems to be outlined by the stretch of his overcoat, the way the fabric is sitting snugly over his chest. 

He seems to be doing the same, though. You can feel his gaze drop to your dress, to the way your lips are a little redder than usual, your hair done in a way that suits your face. His eyes linger on your ears, and there’s a small, barely noticeable tug to the corners of his lips. 

“Ready?” Gojo asks, the first time he’s spoken in a couple of weeks, and you hum. 

He takes his hand away from your elbow as he rests it on the small of your back, and you feel heat travel from his fingertips through the fabric, through your corset, your undergarments, and straight to your skin. 

They bring the carriage out a little closer, a coachman opening the door for you. You brace yourself, heaving your dress upwards as you go to grasp the rail on the side.

But Gojo moves swiftly, offering you his glove-clad hand as you look over at him in surprise, taking it after a moment of hesitation, and haul yourself inside. 

It’s far bigger than the one you usually take to town, and you settle for a corner on the left-hand side near the window. The walls of the carriage are lined with this sort of fabric that feels like it’s lighter than a cloud, colored the traditional blue of the Gojo family. You’d guess it could fit at least an entire family comfortably, so you’re not too worried about the underskirt of your dress taking up too much space.

You watch Gojo follow you in. He looks around, having to duck his head (and a lot of his back) as he sits in front of you, pushing the strands of hair that had fallen into his face.

The two of you sit in awkward silence, your gaze settled on the door that they shut after Gojo entered, and your eyes quickly fall to your hands resting in your lap, neatly folded.

The carriage starts a little bit later, the wheels humming to life as the coachmen yip at the horses to start. The sudden rocking movement that you’ve become familiar with sways you side to side, and suddenly you're totally aware of the fact that you’re alone in a limited space with the man you’ve been avoiding for the better half of two weeks. 

You can feel his stare boring into the side of your head, can hear the way his breathing is coming out strangely as if he wanted to talk, but kept stopping himself off before he could say a word. 

“Did you like the earrings?” Gojo finally asks, and you glance up, eyes narrowing for a second in confusion as realization suddenly comes rushing in. 

“Hm? O-oh, yes!” You quickly stutter out, your hands flying to your ears as if you forgot they were there, “Yes, thank you. They were beautiful. They kind of looked like the inside of a belly button,” you say.

Your husband blinks, brows furrowed slightly as you think about what you had just said, eyes wide in shock.  

“Er…well, gods, no, not bellybuttons,” your head falls to your hands as you shake your head profusely, “Sorry, they don’t look like belly buttons-” 

But you stop when you hear a small laugh from him, quiet as he looks away for a second, a tiny slightly visible grin on his face as he looks back at you. 

“Did you know that sometimes,” his eyes are a little upturned as if he fighting back an actual smile, “I make a bet with myself about what you’re going to say?” 

You smile slightly, your head cocking to the side. 

“Have you ever won?” 

Gojo chuckles, and your eyes suddenly fall to his hand, at the way he’s fidgeting with his ring, his wedding ring, the same way you seem to do whenever you’re thinking about everything and anything all at once. 

“Not once.” 

You grin, and though you still feel this heavy weight of unspoken things resting in the middle of you two, you decide not to acknowledge it at the moment. Things unsaid, unheard, weaved through the air, tying you and him together like a tapestry. 

You fidget with your skirt, looking out the window at the moving scenery. 

Gojo breathes deeply through his nose, his pointed finger tapping on his thigh. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he finally says, and your eyes dart away from the trees and the sky to look over at him. 

His bottom lip is caught underneath his teeth, his blue eyes shining with a different hue. He takes up a lot of room with just his size alone, but it looks like he’s trying to make himself seem less intimidating, less of a warrior, and more of a…person.

You don’t say anything, opting to stay quiet to see what it is that he is trying to formulate into words. 

“That night,” Gojo twists his ring back and forth with his thumb, “I…” It’s weird to see somebody so sure of themself struggle to speak, and your brows crease in the middle, not knowing what it was he was trying to get at. 

“I wanted to tell you that you too had a right to a good husband. Somebody who didn't rush you into a marriage because of his own mistakes…somebody you wanted.”

Where is he going with this?

You suddenly feel your throat dry up, swallowing thickly as Gojo looks out the window momentarily before looking back at you. 

“My parents never told me who I’d be marrying,” Gojo explains, his voice hoarse, “I figured out the day of the wedding,” he twisted his wedding ring, looking at the way it shined, “And I wanted to hate you,” 

His words punch you square in the gut, but you can only bring yourself to keep on looking at him.

“I wanted to hate you so much because it would be easier to act like this wasn’t my fault if I could…but,” he sighs, his chest rising and falling, “I don’t think it’s possible to hate you.” 

Your lip trembles slgihtly, a sheen over your eyes. What is he doing?

“I’ve been raised in a way most people our age aren’t. My parents wanted me to be the strongest so was put into training since I was four, and I think this entire time I’ve been trying to approach you like a…military strategy. You were this map in my head that no matter how I approached it nothing made sense. But that night, in the kitchen, everything finally did.” 

Your eyes flitter downwards so that he couldn’t see the waver in them

“You didn’t deserve how you were treated in your old life, nor this new one,” his hand covers his chest, and you feel lightheaded, “And I promise to you I’ll do everything in my power to make this one better. If you don’t want me as a husband, than as a friend.

“I’d like to be your friend, if you’d allow me,” he whispers thickly, his voice heavy. He fidgets with his fingers, moving them together and back out again, and you notice how he does this a lot whenever you’re near.

Your heart is beating so quickly that you feel like it's going to stop, and your mind is working so hectically that you don’t know what to think. This is the same man who looked at you as if you had torn down the moon and stars when he saw you the first time, the man who never seemed to be that interested in what it is you had to say. The very same person who would’ve rather married a broomstick than you. 

…right? 

And yet he’s here, asking to be your friend. Something that nobody has ever asked before, something that people wouldn’t ever dare to murmur out loud to you. He had no beneficial gain from doing this, no ally that he would please if he offered to be your friend.

Your heart twists because why does he look like he cares about what you say? His eyes are creased slightly around the edges, his lips pressed together as if he were preparing for whatever outcome it was to what you said.

Nobody has ever told you those things, the things that made years of pain and hurt strummed into one beat that your heart never wanted to drum to. This man, your husband, Gojo, was supposed to be another cog in that old machine, one that hummed and spurred like it was about to eat you alive. 

But the more you look at him, the more you let your unspoken words speak in silence for you, you realise that he isn’t lying.

You open your mouth to speak but are cut off when the carriage comes to a sudden halt. 

The two of you look at each other and then to the door, watching as it opens up, greeted to the sight of a large manor with multiple people walking in hand in hand. You swallow your bile, not knowing what to say, deciding to flee instead of face him like you should’ve. 

—

The gathering itself was far more boring than you imagined it to be. 

You and Gojo had the mutual understanding to act more…well, like a couple, than you actually were. You didn’t comment on the way his arm circled around your waist a couple of minutes into making your rounds talking with people or the endearing way he referred to you as my wife. 

You’re glad that he doesn’t do anything to talk about what he had told you in the carriage whenever the two of you were alone, acting like nothing was wrong and everything was normal as he inquired about your day. 

You told him brief things, still trying to shove his words out of your mind, but it was no use. I’d like to be your friend, your mind kept repeating, and you were too scared of brining it up in case he had changed his mind in between those minutes of quiet.

People you had never seen before congratulated you on your new marriage, their brows raised in that excited way as they motioned to your stomach, hinting at a special little someone who might be joining your lives soon. 

“Soon!” You said with a curt laugh, glancing momentarily at Gojo only to see him already looking at you, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

He made sure not to stay with people who were strangers to you for too long, not wanting to bore you to death, and allowed you to take in more of the well-lit and vastly decorated manor. 

Though its size was incomparable to the Gojo estate, it was still massive. The Tokoshi family had been a family with the Gojo one for centuries, so there was no question that the riches they had amassed over the years by being trading partners with them had culminated in this. 

Gojo told you earlier in the carriage, before everything else, how the young Tokoshi couple were good people. They liked to throw parties a couple of times a year, inviting only a select few. He liked them far more than a lot of the other people he had been forced to grow up with over the years. 

You look at the dining hall, at the corridors with openings that allow you to look outside without the glare of glass. His arm never left your body, holding you close to him as he let you walk around, your mouth hanging open slightly as you craned your neck to look at everything. Candles were lit everywhere, the bouquets of different assortments of flowers decorating the stone flower holders carved into the walls. 

You mentioned to him in the privacy of the carriage, that you hadn’t ever been able to experience a party of this sort of caliber before. You could see how he wanted to ask more questions, but you could see the answers already formulating his head as to why.

“We probably look like one of those couples where the wife’s dying and the husband takes her out to see the stars one last time,” you whisper to him, still looking around in a stunned sort of way at the beauty of it all. 

Gojo’s head ducks down a bit, trying to hide the chuckle that had broken out and made its way onto his face. He coughs into his fist as if that was the issue, but you look over at him to see the humor in his eyes. 

“Did you lose your bet again?” You ask, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes as he looks like he’s fighting the grin that’s threatening to take over. 

“I’m always losing that bet,” he tells you.

Though he doesn’t do anything to bring up his conversation, you can see it in the way he looks at you, as if he’s still teetering on an edge, wanting to know what you were thinking in that frazzled mind of yours. 

You decide to push past it.

“Can I get in on it?” You ask, turning slightly so that you face him, very aware of the fact that his hand hasn’t moved from its spot on your waist.

You try not to think about it, reminding yourself that it’s just for show, but you can’t stop the feeling of heat that travels wherever it is he seems to touch you. His hand is larger than an average one, his fingers moving mindlessly up and down on your corseted stomach. 

“Do you need the extra coin?” His voice is carrying a strange tone…is he teasing you? 

But again, you try not to think about it, it’s all for show, (you also try not to think too much of the fact that you’re pretty separated from everybody else).

“No, I just need coin,” you explain, fixing one of the medallions on his chest that had been slightly slanted, “I have nearly nothing left.” 

Gojo moves barely away from you, his eyes searching yours as if to find the joke. 

“Have you run through my family gold already?” His voice is still toying, but now it’s filled with a little confusion. 

“No, of course not,” you snort, rolling your eyes as you tilt your chin up to look at him better, “I haven’t touched any of your gold. I just ran through mine.” 

His brows quirks upward, mouth parting slightly. 

“You’ve emptied the gold your family sent up?” 

It’s your turn to be confused. 

“What gold?” You ask, moving away from him, his hand falling to his side, and you suddenly miss his warmth. 

You remember your father talking about how the Gojo family had rejected your initial dowry, saying something along the lines of outlandish practices, but aside from that, you weren’t told about any other sort of money that was supposed to be sent with you. 

He pinches the bridges of his nose, sighing deeply. 

“The gold that they sent with you? It wasn’t supposed to be a lot but it was supposed to suffice for the journey here.” 

You blink owlishly at him. 

“What gold have you run through?” He specifies, plastering on a fake smile when he catches the eyes of somebody behind you, but then focuses his stare back to you. 

“Well…” you shrug, “My gold.” 

Gojo looks like he’s about to make a new bet, one that’s with every time you’ve almost given him an aneurysm trying to figure out your strange riddles and rhymes that are supposed to be actual words. 

“I used to make some gold at my old home,” you explain, keeping your voice low in case somebody was somewhere that you hadn’t seen, but realizing that Gojo was lost, you continued, “The stable boy gave me some of his salary if I took care of the horses and cleaned the stables. Sometimes he’d give me extra if I could haul in the large bags of hay.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head slightly. 

“Why?” That seems to be a question he’s been asking lately. 

You shrug again, feeling his hand circle back around your waist as some people come near you, 

“I needed new clothes and my shoes had holes in them. My father’s wife didn’t let him give me much, so I tried to fill in the gaps.”

You smile at one of the couples that are coming near you, going back into your other persona as you begin chatting with them. Gojo pulls you in tighter to his side, staying silent. You don’t notice the way he hasn’t stopped staring at you, nor the way his heart seems to have churned so painfully in his chest. 

—

The night progresses and you find yourself inside the dining hall, being shown to your seats by one of the maids, finding your name next to Gojo’s on a name card. 

The two of you sit down, watching the people the file in, the sound of laughter filling the room, the clinking of china against each other filling in the rest of the silence. You take it all in with a smile, looking every and at everyone.

“I hope I’m not embarrassing you,” you whisper as you lean closer to Gojo, an apologetic smile on your face as you sit further into your seat, “This is all just so new to me.” 

You don’t see the ways his eyes soften, his hand inching closer to yours as he shakes his head. 

“You’re not embarrassing me,” he murmurs back, leaning his head closer to yours, wanting his words only to be heard by you, “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” The smile that makes its way onto your face could power the universe, and Gojo feels like the wind had been knocked from his lungs, far worse than in training when somebody's foot slams into his chest. 

“I am!” Your enthusiastic and hurried words are hushed, but he can still hear the way you’re trying to hide your joy. The small talk is horrific,” he laughs a little bit, “but still I love it.” 

He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by the sound of a knife hitting glass. 

“Everyone! Give me your time, just for a moment!” Miyo Tokoshi, whom you spoke to briefly, stands up, his chair behind him.

All eyes in the room fall on him, people still smiling, their teeth glimmering in the light. 

“I cannot express my joy to be in a room with you all tonight,” he says, looking around the room, making sure he saw everyone for a split second. “And my wife and I couldn’t be more ecstatic to host the first gathering of the season!”

You look at the woman sitting next to him, Lana, who you had also met momentarily, is gleaming at him, her face full of genuine adoration. She, along with everybody else, claps, laughing joyfully. 

You wonder if this is what a real husband and wife should look like, and you look briefly over to Gojo, your mind reeling with the charade the two of you have been playing this entire night. 

“And we couldn’t be happier to welcome the first couple of the year,” he exclaims, pointing his glass over to you and Gojo, saying your name and then your husbands as he claps his hand softly against his wrist, “May every moment you spend together be better than the last. We wish the two of nothing but a lifetime of happiness and prosperity. 

Gojo raised his glass to him, his hand grasping yours as he lifted it to his lips, planting a kiss on the back of it. 

You feel like you’ve stopped breathing with the linger of his lips on your skin, the last time that happened on the night of your wedding, and watching him grasp it even tighter when he sets it back down, weaving his fingers through yours. 

Stop, you chide, raising your glass as well, a shaky smile on your face, it’s just an act.

He winks at the two of you, nodding once more as he focuses his stare somewhere down the table, obstructed by where you are sitting.

“And to the future couple! Naoya and Freya!” 

Gojo turned his head immediately to look at you, watching the color drain from your face, and before you knew it, the man, Naoya, was standing up, a hand over his chest in faux gratitude as he thanked the host. 

You could never mistake that hair, the feline look in his eyes as he scanned across the room, a slimy smile on his face. You watch as it grows even wider when he finally catches his prey when he finally sees you, and you feel nauseous, like you’re about to throw up all those little crackers they had given you earlier that evening. 

The hand holding yours squeezes, knowing he can’t say anything right now, and you swallow thickly, eyes darting over to his as you feel your head about to sway. 

Naoya’s here. The man you turned down for Gojo. 

The rest of Tokoshi’s speech is muted to you. It feels like your head is being held underwater, and you feel sweat dotting your forehead, your chest, and your palms. You can feel Gojo’s eyes on the side of your head and can tell he’s trying to tell you something silently. 

The clinking of glass brings you out of your haze, looking up mindlessly as you haphazardly clink yours against Gojo’s, rubbing a hand down your face as if that would help. 

You're grateful for the flurry of movements and noises, everybody talking to somebody, the people beginning to serve themselves the wide array of food places in front of them. 

Gojo squeezes your hand one more time, and you finally look over at him, trying to muster up a smile but with how queasy you feel and the way your head spinning, it probably looks like you’re about to be sick all over him. 

“I’ll be okay,” you say through clenched teeth. 

Gojo nods, his thumb rubbing up and down your hand in a soothing way. It’s just for show. 

“I’m sorry my palms are sweating,” you laugh mirthlessly, and he squeezes it again, you’re sure he’s only doing this because of the extra attention of the two of you ever since they realized you and Naoya were in the same room, “you don’t have to keep holding it.” 

“Do you want me to let go?” He asks, and you stop poking around at the turnips on your plate. 

No. 

“N-no,” you croak out, desperate for his touch that’s grounding you, “No, please.” 

Gojo nods, his thumb not stopping its comforting motion of moving up and down. 

“Don’t worry,” he mutters, leaning closer to you as you duck your head so that your ears are near his lips, “My hands get sweaty too.” 

You laugh quietly and it sounds like wind chimes. You look at Gojo and watch as his lips tug upwards into a soft smile, one you had never seen before, and one you thought you never would. 

—

You tried to hide away the rest of the party, but Gojo didn’t seem to mind. 

When it was time to leave you accepted the gracious hug of the hosting couple, promising them that you’d come back for a more private dinner, and let Gojo lead you out into the courtyard where all the carriages were held. 

You slept the entire ride home, not wanting to mess anything up by taking, and you’re happy that Gojo didn’t bother you. You felt groggy when you returned to the estate, grateful for Gojo’s steady hand as he helped you out of the carriage. The two of you looked like you wanted to say something, but couldn’t, so you bid each other good night and went your separate ways.

Separate except for one brief moment. 

You were walking away and up the stairs when you suddenly stopped, remembering what it was that you wanted to tell him. You call out his name, watching as he turns, white brows slightly furrowed. 

“I…” you start but realize you didn’t exactly have a plan for what you wanted to say. He gives you his patience, not looking annoyed or frustrated when you try to think of the right words to string together. 

“I…I would like to be your friend too,” you finally say, and watch as a smile forms on his face, his pink lips tugging upwards in a way that made his eyes shine, the way your earrings did in the candlelight. 

He rakes his hand through his snow-white locks, pushing them away from his face. 

“I’ll see you at breakfast then,” Gojo says, and you dip your head down in a small smile. 

You give him a small wave, disappearing as you round the corner.

And since then, you found him joining you not only for breakfast or the sparse dinners but for any meal he possibly could. 

Gojo talked more, about anything and everything, and you did the same. 

You realized that he was actually an open person the closer you got to him, seeing that he too was capable of laughing and making jokes, his teasing eyes growing more frequent the closer your chairs got to the dinner table until you eventually just sat side-by-side, growing tired of shouting at each other across its length. 

On the days he wasn’t busy with strategizing or talking to other lords, he’d walk around the estate with you, telling you stories from his childhood, the times he’d run amock around the halls. Other times the two of you would go into town, looking at the different stores together. 

You could tell he was trying, could see it in the way he glanced at you from time to time to make sure that you were doing well. 

He’d accompany you to the library if you asked him to, and you’d go down sometimes to the training yard just to see him. Gojo would never tell you how much he tried to show off when you were there and knew he never had to. You could see the way he tried to appear even stronger when fighting with one of the other men, the poor soldier coming out with bruises and cuts all over his body.

Over many weeks, you find yourself looking forward to spending time with him, and a part of your cracked self begins mending itself again. 

It felt like after years of searching for somebody, somebody found you. 

On one of the nights when his sparring had gone on for far longer than it usually does, you decided to head down to the training yard after your night bath, tugging on a large robe over yourself as you walked the familiar stone steps down to where you knew he was. 

You could hear them before you saw them, a cacophony of fists hitting skin, groans, shouts from one another. There was a little perch from where you could watch what was happening below, and you usually hid yourself in a corner so that they wouldn’t see you. 

You’d rest on a pillar, arms crossed over your shoulder as you looked at the men below. Gojo was always easy to find, the flurry of white hair a tall-tale sign of where he was. You had watched him before, but you never got tired of it. You found it almost inhuman the way his movements seemed to flow like water, the way his hits were precise and direct. 

Gojo truly was the best warrior the North had ever seen, and sometimes you forget that you’re married to a man who brought down entire armies with just his bare fists. 

You watch as he jests with one of his friends, his chest rising a little bit at an irregular pace, slightly out of breath, but happy to be there. He turns to one of the guys behind him to say something, but his eyes immediately track upwards to the figure trying to stay hidden, you and a wide smile break out on his face. 

He waves at you, and it gets the attention of the other men there. They all turn to see where you are, their boyish grins and calls making you roll your eyes at their antics, your face heating up slightly as you wave back at them. 

Gojo says something to the person next to him, and you hear the man shout at the other ones to wrap it up for the night. Some of them wave goodbye to you as they begin exiting, going back to their common rooms. 

You make a move to lean slightly over the railing, your arms crossed over the wood as you peer down at the ground where Gojo remained alone, finding him to already be looking up at you. 

“Care to come down?” He juts his chin at the staircase to your left, the one that leads down to the courtyard, and you nod, disappearing behind the stone pillars as you take the steps leading downwards. 

You’ve been here a couple of times, as per your own request. You wanted to see what they did during training, what the training yard actually looked like from the ground. You lift the ends of your dress up slightly as you near the bottom, rounding the corner to see Gojo standing in the middle. 

He’s waiting for you, his eyes tracking your movements as you come near to him. 

His nose twitches slightly, his eyes squinting as he lifts his head in the air, suddenly picking up the scent of something unusual. 

“What’s that smell?” Gojo asks as you come to him, his eyes looking over your body as if it were emitting from you. 

You scoff, appalled, and then suddenly remember that Alina had applied some lavender oil to you after your bath. 

“If it’s a good smell then me,” you cross your arms over your chest, nose wrinkling in disgust as you take in his smell of sweat and grime, “If bad then you.”

Gojo snorts, coming closer to you as he continues sniffing, exaggerating the sound. You step away from him slightly, the smell of sweat overpowering, and he takes notice of this. 

“What?” He inquires, annoyed that you are moving away from him, and he takes a step closer. 

“What do you mean what?” You tease, moving again as he tries to smell the air, “You smell like an army of unshowered men. I just took a bath.” 

Gojo seems offended at this, trying to move back closer to you but you side-step him, apparently serious about this. 

“You really won’t let me come near you?” He sounds like you’ve kicked him down, his cheeks stained pink from earlier, and you laugh slightly, shaking your head. 

“I really won’t,” you affirm, shoving the back of your wrist to him to show him that what he was smelling was in fact you, “See? Lavender oil.” 

Gojo just seems to be getting more annoyed the more you try to evade him, his blue eyes swirling with an idea as you look at him in worry. 

“No, the smell is coming from somewhere else.” He argues, changing his footing so that he stands right in front of you and you let out a shocked laugh, not expecting this as you take a step back. 

You don’t know where else he can smell the lavender oil. Alina dotted it to your wrists and your neck, but surely can’t differentiate the difference in location…right? 

“Come here,” he almost whines, “I’m not going to rub off my smell onto you.” 

You laugh again out loud, picking up the skirt of your dress as you try to outrun him slightly. 

“You will!” You insist, motioning to the sheen of sweat on his body, “You reek of sweat. I swear it’s just lavender oil!” 

He groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at this inconvenience. 

“You’re killing me right now,” Gojo dramatically grabs his chest, “You won’t let me smell this strange aroma and it’s killing me,” his face breaking into a little pout as you laugh even louder, shocked at how petulant he was being. Your laughing seemed to spur him on even more, running towards you as you ran backward, hoping you didn’t trip on the fabric of your dress. 

“You have a plethora of bottles of lavender oil in your own room,” you argue, “this isn’t something innovative that you’ve never smelled before.” 

Gojo shakes his head, and your heart flutters at the way his smile is so playful and teasing, the way some of his hair falls into his face in that messy way when he’s usually training and not caring about his appearance. 

“It’ll only take a second,” he reasons and you shake your head no, your eyes both shining with playful laughter. 

The courtyards lead out into the large fields of the Gojo estate, and you look behind yourself at the opening. It’s night, there’s nobody around. Nobody would judge you for running away from your sweaty husband. 

You look back at him, see the gleam in his eyes, and know that he’s not going to back down. 

He can see the thoughts forming in your head, can assume them before they’re even created, and so he’s straight on your heels as you sprint away from him, a large smile on your face as you squeal out loud. 

“Please!” You shout over your shoulder, running down the little hill as the moon lights the way for you, “I just took a bath! Leave me alone!” 

You can hear the grass rustling beneath your feet, your screams of laughter contagious as you try to outrun the fastest person ever, and try not to slow yourself down by looking over your shoulder to see where he is. 

But after a couple of seconds of running you realize that the only footsteps you hear are your own, and you pause momentarily to look behind you and are surprised to see that he’s not there. 

Did he not come after you? 

You look around the field, the large blades of grass looking like waves that move with the wind, and whip your head around every time you hear a twig snap. 

You're a little bit further away from the manor itself, and the only thing you can see besides its large stone walls are the torches lit outside. You can make out the guards who are standing outside, but no sign of Gojo. 

You try to catch your breath, confused as to where he could’ve gone when a force stronger than a horse running at full speed slams into your side. 

The scream you let out echoes around the field, and you brace yourself for the harsh impact of hitting the ground. With your eyes squeezed shut you wait for the flash of pain, but peek them open to see Gojo framing your head with one of his hands, his body shielding you from the impact as he lays on top of you. 

“How…?” You scream, your chest moving up and down with your fit of giggles, trying to push him off of you, “You’re a beast!” You cry out, moving your head to the side as he laughs along with you, his chest rumbling with the movement. 

You shove his face away with the palm of your hands, shoving your wrist into his nose as if that would satiate him. 

“I took a bath you behemoth!” You whine, thinking about the dirt and mud that must be staining your skin and dress right now, “Are you so void of any good fragrance in your life that you must hunt me down for it?” 

Gojo tsks, shaking his head as he swats your wrist aside. 

He’s also slightly out of breath, most likely because he ran across and entire field from another entranceway that you weren’t aware of to catch you off guard, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how close to two of you are together. 

His hand is still cradling your head, the other one holding your hips. Truthfully he doesn’t even smell bad, which is frustrating that it’s just another one of his many talents. 

He judges your jaw up with his nose, and you helplessly comply, your heart hammering wildly as he leans in closer to the skin of your neck, taking in a whiff as he looks back up to you, his eyes gleaming. 

Gojo’s hand on your hip moves up slightly to hold your waist, not hard, but to stop you from squirming around. 

“It smells different here,” he nudges your neck with his nose again, and your breathing hitches, “Smells sweeter.” 

You swallow thickly, blinking slowly as you crane your neck slightly upwards to give him more room. It’s like your body is moving on its own, and you’re not to sure how you know what to do, but you just do. 

“That’s not possible,” you try to argue, trying your best to keep your voice from wavering, “You just lack the nose for good oils.” 

Gojo laughs lowly, shaking his head at your antics as he braces his knees on either side of your thighs, caging you in. 

“I have a very keen sense of smell,” he boasts and you snort, looking away as he pinches your hip to which you yelp.

His hand moves away from your head and to your shoulder, to where your nightgown had slightly slipped off and runs a thumb down a patch of your skin where it was slightly raised, a faint scar on your collarbone. 

“Where’d you get this?” His voice is slightly hushed, and you look down from your chin to where he is talking about. 

 “Hm?” You look around, see that he’s pointing to the tiniest little scar, and chuckle slightly, “Oh, that?” Your eyes squint as you try to remember, “I tried to climb up a tree once when I was little and fell.” Gojo huffs out a little laugh, his eyes still focused on your skin as you chew on the inside of your cheek.

“It probably looks far worse compared to anything you have,” you say sarcastically, “The family physician kept saying I wasn’t going to make it through the night.” 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes at your antics as he raises himself, moving away from you as he sits back down on the grass. You miss his warmth, the way his heat radiated onto you like a furnace. 

“I don’t know how you keep surviving between your inability to consume fish and your near-death occurrences,” Gojo’s voice holds a teasing tone and you smile, moving up so that you’re facing him. 

You rest your weight back on your hands, kicking your legs out in front of you as your skirt flows around the grass. A while ago you would’ve felt improper sitting like this in front of anyone, but you don’t seem to care all that much when it’s Gojo. 

“I showed you my battle would,” you say, putting one leg on top of the other, “What’s your worst one?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in questioning. 

Gojo purses his lip, thinking. 

You imagine that he’d tell you or probably motion to where it was, but a second later you watch, shocked, as he tugs his tunic upwards, your face heating as he rises it slightly so that you can see a part of his stomach. 

You hate how utterly built he is. 

His skin is pulled taught over the smooth stomach of his abs, his chest huge with pure muscle, his arms, bulging through the sleeves. It’s something you thought you’d get used to, something you told yourself to stop ogling at, but never could.

But you shift your focus to a large scar that runs across his chest, from the bottom of his hip under his arm. It still looks relatively new, and the scar itself still pink. You could see the way it was jagged, not one smooth line, and gods, fuck, why do you want to touch it?

“Well,” you try to think of something witty to say, seeing the way he’s looking at you as if waiting for it, “Clearly not as bad as mine, but it comes in as a close second.” 

He throws his head back as he laughs, his muscles contracting as he does so. You feel flushed, not able to look away from the scar, knowing that you were merely compensating for not knowing what to say. 

“I know,” he says eventually with a shrug, looking down as he surveys the scar, “It’s not as bad as it could’ve been.” 

You pout slightly, thinking. 

“Does it hurt?” 

He looks up at you, at the way you can’t take your eyes away from it, and shakes his head. 

“Not anymore,” he sits up a little straighter, closer to you as you watch him move, “Sometimes I can feel it sting, but it’s barely noticeable.” 

You beg to differ. 

The two of you don’t say anything and a part of you has decided that silence is bad for you. Because before you can really think about what you’re doing, you push yourself upwards, leaning in closer to him as you try to get a better look at it. 

He doesn’t say anything, but if only you could see the way he could barely use his lungs to breath right now you’d make some sly remark about how the best warrior of the North was growing shy from just a look. 

But suddenly you’re not looking anymore as you shuffle in a little closer, your fingers reaching upwards to touch the skin. 

You can hear the wind move around you, the grass rustiling as your fingers run across the scar. His abs flex at the coldness of your hand, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. You’re studying it intently, wondering what sort of weapon could’ve caused this. 

Gojo’s size dwarfs over yours, but you don’t seem to mind. Your lips as slightly pursed as you take it in. 

“Did you fight a bear?” You finally ask, peeking up to look at him. 

You’re startled by the way the flush on his cheeks has grown even more red, or the way you can’t see the blues in his eyes anymore. Has he always looked like that?

Gojo shakes his head, taking in a shaky breath, looking at the top of your head as you go back to looking at the scar. 

“Nearly,” he tries to joke, but his voice is weak, laced with need, “But I doubt a bear would even want to be compared to the man who gave me the scar.” 

You look up, your brow quirked in curiosity. 

“Who?” You ask, shocked at how quiet your voice came out. 

Gojo smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His tongue clicks against his teeth, his hand rising up to grab yours, pulling it away from his chest. He can’t bear to have you touching him like that anymore, not trusting himself to restrain the pure desire that bubbling inside his veins. 

“Naoya,” he says hushed, watching as your lips part and eyes widen. 

There’s a beat of silence, a moment when you think you can hear your heart beating in the same rhythm his is. 

Your hand curls into itself, shock taking over your features as your eyes drop to his scar and then back up to him. You find yourself wanting to say everything and anything, but can’t somehow find the words that you’re looking for. Gojo beats you to it, thankfully. 

“I’ve been having this recurring dream ever since I fought him of that same moment over and over again when he cut me open. But it’s changed, recently,” He sits up straighter, so close to you that your chests are almost touching, “And I keep seeing him marrying you, what would’ve happened if you had said yes.”

“And gods, fuck,” he ducks his head down, raking an agitated hand through his hair, making it even more messy, “I…” He chokes on his breath, looking back at you, and suddenly you see the glossiness in his eyes, the way that tears brim his waterline. 

And suddenly you see the Gojo Satoru, the Lord in the North, the most powerful man alive, cry. 

“I keep reprimanding Naoya in my head about how awful he is, about how I’d kill nearly every person alive if he ever touched you, b-but I was just as awful. I think about the first time I saw you, about the first weeks you were here. I think about how you must’ve felt, how alone you were. Every day…” he wipes messily at his cheeks, his lips wobbling, “Every day I wake up and think of you. I think about your face, your smile, your eyes, your lips, the way your nose scrunches, that line between your brows when you're confused, and every night I go to sleep hoping that this was all an awful dream and I haven’t ruined your life, but then I wake up, and it starts all over again.” 

“I know I’m a selfish man,” Gojo says with a wet chuckle, his cheeks wet with tears, “I know I shouldn’t, but I want you to myself, I want you forever. I want to be your friend, I want to be the person you sleep next to, the person you go to when you want to talk about your little stories. I want to hear your jokes and I want to see you laugh. I want to hold your hand, I want to put that ring on your finger every morning, and I want to propose to you each night.”

He shakes his head, swallowing his cries down, the moon lighting the tear tracks that start from his eyes and end at his chin. 

“But I know you don’t want that. You told me that you wanted a friend, but…” he shrugged, his smile sad, aching, longing, “I think along the way of being your friend I realized I wanted to be your husband too.” 

“I understand if you want to leave. I’ll tell my parents the truth, they’ll understand. I have a house ready for you near the sea, one away from your family, where you can start over.” 

The wind rustles the hills, and you look at the field, watch the way it moves in tandem with the life around it. 

You can feel the tears forming in your eyes, and know that even if you blink them away it’ll do nothing to actually hide them. There’s a burning feeling in your chest, one that you’ve never felt before, one that rings with Gojo’s words. 

You run your fingers through the grass, looking up at him with a certain fire in your eyes.

“What if I don’t want that?”

He blinks slowly. 

“I,” Gojo sniffs, nodding profusely, hoping you don’t see the way he crumbles, “I understand, I promise I do. The house is a couple days-” 

“No,” you cut him off firmly, wiping your palms furisuly across your cheeks, to rid them of the pesky tears, shaking your head, “What if I don’t want that?” You move up to him, reaching your hand down his tunic, your fingers moving against is chest as you dig out the gold chain that’s wrapped around his neck. 

The one that holds his ring, the one he told you about one night that keeps it safe whenever he’s training. 

“What if I want this?” Your voice is cracking, and you tug the chain tighter.

“What if I want all those things? What if I want you to love me?” The ring shines in the moonlight, mirroring her pair thats wrapped around your finger, “I want to be your friend,” you stress, your brows strewn together as tears overflow from your waterline, “And I want to know what things you like. I want to walk with you all around the earth and walk back home again. I want to sleep next to you. I want to make you laugh, and I want you to make me smile. I want you to be my husband so that I can be your wife,” you cry out, your chest heaving up and down as he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you into his lap as he tries to quickly wipe your tears away. 

“I want you too, Satoru,” you whisper, broken with your wet sniffles, a wet laugh escaping your lips when you see him crack at the way you said his name with so much care, your thumbs gliding across his cheeks. 

You slide closer into him, your legs splitting across his huge thighs as he hugs you tenderly to him, his head resting on your chest so that he can hear your heartbeat, make sure that this wasn’t just another dream.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs against your bosom, looking up at you with glistening eyes. 

“Then fight for me,” you whisper, your hands on either side of his face, “Give me all those things. Give me more,” you smile when his arms wrap around your waist a little tighter, his hands holding you up, “And I’ll do the same.” 

He nods, holding your hand that was still holding onto his ring to his chest, one hand moving to your back, and in the mess of tears and broken laughs the two of you seem to move together, meeting each other in the middle as your lips find each other in the dark shadows of night. 

You gasp when his lips capture yours, and he moves towards the sound, wanting to hold it, keep it forever. 

Gojo moves slowly, knowing that this is your first time, and cups your jaw, helping you move along with him as you lips slot and lock against each other. It’s messy and with no order, your chin staining with sweat as you moan against him, feeling delirious without the touch of him. 

You know this isn’t the easiest position for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He groans against you, his eyes squeezing shut, trying to memorize your taste in case the world ended tomorrow and this was his last meal. 

“Is this-” You cut him off when you swoop in again, his laughter cut short by your needienss, the way you paw at his chest, your hands winding up to his hair as you tug harshly on the soft strands. 

He moans at this, at the way you grind mindlessly on his thigh, your need for each other bleeding out into the open. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against you, kissing down your chin and then back up to you, his tongue swiping against your lips, savroing your whine, “I love you so much,” he says to everybody, hoping even those on mountains oceans away could hear, “I love you, my wife,” and you giggle, eyes bright when you hear those words. 

“Say it again,” you ask, your nails drawing little shapes on his nape, and you see him break into a smile. 

“My wife,” he repeats with a peck to your cheek, “My beautiful wife,” he kisses the tip of your nose, smiling at the way it scrunhed up slightly, just the way he adored, “My wife,” he kisses your jaw, “My wife,” your giggling nonstop and he hopes to bottle up the sound and hear it on his deathbed.

His hands travel back down to your hips, adusjsting you slightly so that you wouldn’t feelt he embarrassing hardening of his dick just from kissing you, and moves his lips down to your neck, hearing the way there’s a hitch in your laughter. 

“Why’d you stop?” he nudges his nose at that spot pf your neck that still smells like lavender, his favroite scent in the world, “Hm?” Gojo hums against that spot, licking a wet stripe up it, sucking at the skin, feeling the way you arch into his chest. 

“Y-your reeking s-scent infiltrated my nose,” you murmur, biting on your lip as he pinches your waist. 

“Yeah?” Gojo continued to tease you, sliding the sleeve of your dress down, giving you more access to the skin of your collarbone, “Want me to stop?” 

“No!” You cry, totally against your better judgement, moaning when he sucks another mark into the skin, biting it, and then presses a soft kiss to it as an apology, “Please, please, don’t stop.” 

He chuckles darkly, shifting you around so that you are lying back down on the ground, his body framing yours as he continues tugging down your dress, going slow in case you ever wanted him to stop. 

His fingers are quick at untying the string that holds you bodice together, unravelingit all until it falls off and he’s greeted to the sight of your heaving chest, the way your naked breasts rise and fall. 

Gojo blinks for a moment, forgetting how to move. 

“W-what?” You ask, a little self-conscience as he continues to stare at your chest, “Do they look wonky?” You move your hands to cover up but a deep gutteral growl escapes his lips, pinning your hands back. 

“Beautiful,” he bites out, moving his head down, pressing a wet kiss in between the valley of your breasts, “You look like a fuckin’ statue,” he says, “You’re s-so beautiful.” Gojo repeats, and you can’t protest with the way he praises you, nor the way his lips hover over a nipple, finally leaning in fully as he sucks on it. 

“F-fuck!” You cry out at the sensation, your fingers lost in his hair as you keep him there, back arching off the ground, “That, that feels…good,” you can’t speak, not with the way his tongue slides across your nipple, pressing little kisses around you areola. 

His other hand goes to your other one, making sure she’s not feeling lonely, his thumb flicking over your sensitive nipples as you whine even louder. 

Gojo switches and you feel your breath shudder in an embarrassing whimper, your eeys squeezing shut when he bites at you, wanting to mark you up for those wretched gods to see and feel humanly jealous over. 

“So soft,” he murmurs against your skin, almost in awe, “feels like silk.” 

You would’ve had a witty joke about this, you know you did, but you can’t fathom to think about anything other than the way his lips feel on your tits, the way he seems like he’d die had he not been here sooner. 

But he then raises his head, and you whine in protest. Gojo almost break at the way you’re looking up at him, the way yor lips tremble from sheer desire. 

“Want more?” He presses, his hands, warmer than the fire that’s burning in your belly, trailing down, down to where your dress was slightly parting, “Here?” 

“Y-yes, fuck,” you moan, parting your legs to make room for him, not knowing what this feeling was but knowing that he was the only one who could soothe it, “Need it so bad Sa-satoru,” 

His eyes roll back, swallowing his primal groan at the way you plead for him, and nods, pressing a kiss against your stomach before his hitches the fabric upwards, sliding down your body so that his face is closer to that heat. 

You know you should feel more shame, but you feel like you’re going to die if your husband doesn’t do something soon. 

Gojo’s hand travels up your calf, trailing up your thigh, and suddenly stops. 

You go to beg, plead, for him, but cut yourself off when his lips find your inner thighs, pressign wet and messy kisses to them, getting dangerously close to where you felt like you were leaking. 

“You’re divine,” he whispers against your skin, hands wrapping around your thighs as he pulls them apart, “Fuckin’ divine.” 

His lips suddenly find there, you glistening cunt, and you mewl out for him. 

“Satoru,” your chest is heaving like you can’t find any air, “T-there, please, there,” and fuck the way you’re begging him is so sweet that he can’t find it in himself to tease you. 

His fingers seperate your wet lips, groaning when he sees just how much you’re dripping, and licks a tentative stripe upwards, your surprised gasp at how good it felt going straight to his cock.

Gojo carefully slides a finger through your tight walls, feeling the way you tighten around that, and lets his lips travel to your clit, pressing small kisses to it before he begins to suck. You clench around him, and your toes curl at the way he begins to pump it in and out, your essence soaking his skin. 

“So wet sweetheart,” he groans swapping his finger for his thumb at your clit, his tongue diving into your walls as he nearly cums from your saccharine taste alone, “S-shit, fuck, you taste like fucking heaven.” 

Your thighs tighten arund his head, but he craves the feeling, his tongue eating you out at such a fast pace that you begin to wonder if you need this more or him. 

“O-oh gods,” your grips his head tightly, can’t find the sympathy in yourself to feel bad, “‘Toru, oh, oh my, don’t stop! 

That coil in your stomach grows more taunt with each second. 

He alternates, adding in another thick finger, feeling the way you try to stretch for him. He glides in and out of you with ease, but he wonders what you’d look like on his thick cock, how you’d preen as he split you open with his girth. 

“Sweet,” he moans against you, his voice vibrating against your pulsing walls, “You’re so fuckin’ sweet.” 

You nod at something, whatever he just said, not fulling understanding anything around you as he continue to stimulate your clit, sucking on it, his teeth gliding across it with a little bite, and you moan out even louder. 

“I…” you can’t think, can’t breathe, “F-fcuk, ‘Toru, something, something’s happening,” you don’t know what this feeling is, this electric, all-consuming feeling that’s zapping through your body, making it numb yet aware of everything at the same time. 

“I know, I know,” Gojo praised you, one of his hands holding your stomach down, the added pressure making you whine, “You’re doing so good for me, you’re there, come on come for me,” his hand travels up your body, finding yours as he weaves your fingers together. 

“Shit, shit,” you mewl, “I’m coming, fuck, c-coming!” You cry out, your back arching off of the ground as your legs grow slack around his shoulders, your walls pulsing around him as that string tightens for the final time and then finally breaks. 

You can see white as your eyes rolls back into your head, squeezing his hand as tightly as you can, your yes dotting with tears. Your climax was all consuming, making you gush around his fingers and tongue, seeming to be never-ending, your body shaking in his hold. 

Gojo presses one final kiss to your cunt, licking off your release from his fingers, groaning at the taste, and lets you catch your breath. 

When you’re finally able to crack your eyes open, you peek them over to Gojo, seeing the way he tilts his head back, your cum still glistening on his chin and cheek, and whine out in embarrassment. 

“What?” He asks, eyes teasing when you go to hide your face in your hands. 

“I can’t,” your words are muffled, “I can’t believe I just…” 

Gojo kisses your forehead, wiping some of the tears from your eyes away as he kisses your brow bone. 

“How do you feel?” He asks, his eyes scanning over your body, glistening with sweat, and you take in a gulp of air. 

“Good,” you say finally with a soft smile, “Really good.” 

You look from his little grin, one that you peck at, your thumb rubbing up and down his jaw, and then look down, to the obvious bulge that’s hiding behind his training trousers. 

You’ve never seen a cock before but fuck he’s massive.

“What…” you trail off, sitting up slightly, and he helps balance you, “What about you?” you paw at his stomach, right before it leads down, and he lets out a shuddered whine. 

“As much as I-” he bites his tongue, feeling like he’s going to cum if you continue to look at him like that, “As much as I want to…not here,” he looks around at the field, shaking his head as a definite no, “Not here.” 

You go to protest, but he stops you, biting your fingers gently as you yelp, shoving his head away with little force as he chuckles. 

You let him wrap your dress around you again, tying some of the knots so that it doesn’t open up when you’re standing, and let the silence wash over the two of you calm your beating down heart down.

He plays with the ring around your finger, and you watch as the ring around his neck moves with his little breaths. 

“I want to sleep in your bed,” you say, and his blue eyes find yours. 

“You’re crazy if you don’t think I’m letting you sleep anywhere else,” he says in a shocked sort of way and you laugh, looking over to the side for a brief moment, and then look back at him. 

“Do you really love me?” 

Your words as whispered, but it feels like the wind picked them up and scattered them all around the field, around the river, the ancient stones, and right into Gojo’s heart. 

“I really love you,” he whispers back, kissing your eyelids, in between your brows, your forehead, the back of your hand, and murmurs the words, “my wife,” to nobody and to everybody at the same time. 

You smile, pulling him down by that necklace of his so that you can plant a soft kiss against his lips.  

[obsessedwrhys]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Seven x Deadpool!Reader

t/w: loooots of dark humour/jokes, reader is insensitive and an asshole since they're also a supe working at vought, your powers are the exact same as Deadpool (even the skin condition), mention about killing, death, gore, r-pe, n@zis?!?!, alcohol, some intimacy (?). Also reader is gn!!

ᯓ★ here's a version with the boys <3

HOMELANDER

This man hates you so fking much

Has tried to kill you multiple times, he tried lasering you, tearing you in half and even throwing you into the sky but you just always manage to come back like the damn plague

Eventually he gives up trying to kill you and just had to deal with the fact you'll be kept alive... just temporarily though... he's still looking for ways to kill you

However, your powers gave you dozens of advantages when around Homelander.

He can be having a meeting about something serious and everyone would be listening to him due to their fear towards him, then there's you who'd be doing your own thing and just shout out unrelated things like "Donald Trump just blocked me on Twitter!! HAH!! SUCK IT CORNFLACKS!!"

Everyone turning to you with startled expressions while Homelander simply rolls his eyes before continuing his presentation.

You are a complete nightmare to the PR team, that's why for interviews or any events, you'll always be paired up with Homelander so he can keep you under control and stop you from saying weird shit that could ruin the company's image.

"So Deadpool, how does it feel being in the Seven working alongside Homelander? You've been working together for almost 3 years now" A reporter would ask as you two are surrounded by screaming fans.

"Like I'm in the twilight series, not because of the fantasy but because I'm still waiting for the part where he impregnates me—"

"O-kay! That's enough, just silly ol' Deadpool with those inside jokes"

"You can tell in this eyes that he wants to fuck me right now. HE'S GONNA FUCK ME!!" You shouted as you're being dragged away by him.

Obviously when you had found out about his relationship with Stormfront, especially her background, you had to say some shit about it. Not giving the slightest care about the fact he could be grieving over her death.

He'll be in his room standing in front of the window and you'd just storm in, being as loud as possible.

"I can't believe you dated a N@zi!! Is it because I'm Jewish?!" Which may or may not be true, nobody knows your origin.

He may hate your guts but if he ever needs someone to help him do some dirty work, you're the person for the job, you never ask why or how, which could be the only thing he likes about you.

"Y'know, maybe if you didn't have such a big mouth, you'd be tolerable"

"All the people I've slept with have said otherwise"

Compatibility? 50%

STARLIGHT

Before she joined the Seven, she had an image of what kind of person you were, she just didn't know it was this worse.

When you found out she used to work at this Sunday School Church, you just haaaaad to say something about it.

"So like, you say that prayer always works, but every night I pray for my hair to grow and it never does. Do you think God has me blocked? How do I get unblock?"

"Uh..."

You two surprisingly get along without one wanting to slice the other's throat, except sometimes the things you say can really piss her off. Which is why when the company assigned her a new costume, she was trying her hardest to avoid you, but you found out anyways.

"Holy shit Starlight! Nice costume, is this your Miley Cyrus breakthrough? Girl power!"

Insert her groaning out of annoyance.

Again, the second you discovered she was dating a guy behind the death of Translucent, you were heartbroken :(

"Of course this happens right when my therapist gives up on me!"

Despite your behaviour, you pitied her when it was revealed that she was taken advantage of by The Deep, so like any good friend, you took revenge by cooking his friend octopus and eating it happily in front of him.

"Revenge does taste sweet" You'd say happily while Starlight just watches by the side, both grateful and horrified at your actions.

In my opinion, you would definitely be the person she goes to once she starts working with the boys, you'll always be providing whatever information that happens in the company for her to use.

It helps her worry less about getting anyone killed 'cause you literally can't die.

Compatibility? 60%

QUEEN MAEVE

You're half the reason why she rethinks about her life choices when she wakes up in the morning

Not because you're a handful (which you are) but because you're always paired together on missions

"Deadpool! The hostages!"

"OKAY! God... you act just like my drunk uncle"

Which is a joke/nickname you like to address her by because of her alcoholism (yikes)

Whenever the company needs you for something, half of the time she's the one assigned to search for you.

There was this one time she caught you trying to have Anika track down Kanye West's location, nobody knows what shenanigans you were up to.

Another thing to mention was that you two were chosen by the company to sing a Christmas song for the year's Christmas ceremony.

Just imagine during the bridge of the song, she's singing normally while you're completely going off, your high note so high you were sure you had Mariah Carey a run for her money.

Even though she finds you a lot to deal with, you're actually her buddy to train with.

Since you're very skilled with Katanas, she likes to practice her swordsmanship with you.

You like to tease or make fun of her everytime she fails to strike you which is good motivation for her to get better. Maybe you guys bring out the best of each other?

Last thing I'd like to add is when she was found out by the public that she was a lesbian (She's bi but you get the running joke), you had gifted her a t-shirt that says, 'Biggest Dick in Town'

Compatibility? 80%

THE DEEP

Your human punching bag

If Vought was a high school instead of a company, you'd be the bully and he'd be the nerd getting stuffed inside the locker room.

For example, Homelander could be confronting Starlight about her relationship with Hughie and everyone would just start raising their voices til you come in yelling "SHUT UP!" to the Deep who had not said a single thing during the entire time.

Just imagine him staring at you like 😐

To be honest you also ate his friend octopus so you guys are actually never getting the chance to make up.

"Look dude, I don't appreciate your tone"

"I don't appreciate your haircut either but we can't all get what we want"

You may be a crazy person but you weren't going to be okay with the fact he violates every woman he sees, so not only did you cook the octopus but you also called in a male stripper disguised as a woman just for him to celebrate on his birthday.

Just imagine him all happy when you tell him the news and later that night he'll run inside your room, completely pissed off at your act after finding out but you just laughed and said.

"Happy April Fools 😚!"

"That's next month dipshit!"

Also, you never understood his weird fantasies. He has a thing for sea animals??You've caught him multiple times either flirting or getting off to one. It was concerning even for you.

"From how many animals you've fucked, you might just turn from the ocean's 'Seaman' to 'Semen'." You joked which he did not find funny.

Maybe you messing with him could just be your way of getting along with him since you're the same with everybody else, it's just he has more flaws to poke fun of and he's sensitive about them.

Compatibility? 5%

A-Train

He thinks you're fucked up in the head.

Half of the shit that comes out of your mouth just has him reacting like in the GIF

Buuuuuut you're the one he always brings to the club because you always know ways to give the party life.

You've somehow even got on the wall of fame, a lovely portrait of you with your hands making out a heart.

Also, you know about his business with Compound V waaaaay before anyone else did. He's still grateful you didn't tell anyone.

Just like everyone else, you also enjoy messing with him except he's fast and constantly avoiding you.

"Hey A-Train, how much do you wanna bet that I can die faster than you?"

"Dude... seriously?"

You guys rarely get sent on missions together because you're always slowing him down, not basing off the fact he's fast but because you get easily sidetracked with other things.

"Alright, we're here now, how much C4 do we use?"

"Fuck math! Let's use all of 'em!"

You ended up detonating all of the C4 on you before he could object the idea, he was able to run out in time, your action nearly getting him killed while you ended up dead.

But it's fine you'll just grow back.

You know that race he has against Shockwave? You'd be at the VIP section standing near where Homelander and Queen Maeve is, waving your huge banner that has a picture of A-Train's face and yours pasted over a figure carrying the other in bridal style.

Compatibility? 55%

TRANSLUCENT

He makes people paranoid but you make him disgusted.

There was this one time he was bored so he snuck in your room to see what you were doing.

At first he was confused why you had so many cute plushies but then the more he explored your room, he realised your room is basically every collector's dream.

You even had a huge teddy bear in the corner of your dressing room.

The reason why he doesn't like to spy on you is because the last time he did, he saw you putting your hand in the blender, then proceeding to put your private part into it.

Never again, he thought, never again.

He doesn't need to witness you carry out your intrusive thoughts.

Surprising enough, you're close with his son, I'd like to think that after his death, you practically became the kid's godparent. Though you can be sort of a bad influence, leading up to how he is in Gen V.

You always tell him you hate kids but he thinks otherwise.

After all, he can read people well.

You guys like to pull pranks on each other since you guys like competing on who's more sneaky

There was this one time, you woke up to find your suit gone so you ended up walking around the building, completely naked and unfazed by people's stares.

It was when you walked around the corner that you found your suit worn by someone else, turns out it was Translucent under it.

"Why is it so fucking tight dude? How do you stay in this shit all day?"

"You get used to it"

Compatibility? 85%

BLACK NOIR

Lovers.

He doesn't mind your attitude because he actually can't say anything about it.

No seriously... he can't talk.

But hey he's got a good shoulder to cry on.

"I just... hffgh... I can't believe my album didn't surpass lady gaga's... She doesn't even know how to use Katanas like I do!" You'd let out a loud sob while he just stares at you for a while before placing a hand on your shoulder, patting you gently.

You know the scene where he's playing the piano for one of the company's party? You'll be laying down on top of it and singing in your usual overdramatic high pitched voice.

He finds your humour amusing so he always does this little head tilt like in the GIF when you say some weird shit while waiting for his response.

Since both of you are the only members of the Seven that wears a full body suit, obviously you had to try on his but since it was impossible to achieve that, you just had the company make a copy for you.

He'll be walking down the hallway doing his normal routine until he notises another person in his suit, the moment you speak and he realises its just you is when he let's his guard down.

"I just got some transplants done to my ass, that's why I look different"

You both are never sent on missions together 'cause you guys don't work well, pretty much nobody works well with him since he's the silent type.

Example, you two were hiding behind some crates ready to jump on the bad guys who were snucking in illegal drugs. He gestured for you to wait as he went to check again, only to turn back to see you gone.

"Marry Christmas motherfuckers!"

He heard your voice shout and he found you standing on top of the stacked crates, machine gun in hand and began shooting aimlessly.

He didn't even do anything but just watch until you ran out of bullets. However, multiple survived and began shooting at you so you ended running towards where he's hiding at.

"Yankee yankee!" You yelped.

You know the video of the two girls taking off their wigs to reveal that they're bald and they start bonding over it? I'd like to imagine that's you and Black Noir with the skin condition under the suits.

One more scenario I wanna add, you guys could be having a meeting but since you were bored and you always hated meetings, you'd draw a big heart on a piece of paper and show it to Black Noir from across the table. Surprisingly he'd draw a heart back to you.

You were overjoyed so you began to draw you and him doing it, doggy style. He stares at your doodle for a while before choosing to just focus on the meeting instead.

Compatibility? 90%

(This took a while cause I was on vacation)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Controversial younger s/o things

Slight mentions of like one nsfw thing, especially for Stanley, it’s not much but still I thought I should say.

Ford worries that he’s far too old for you, but yet is unable to keep his distance from you when you spent every waking moment at the shack with Soos, Wendy, Dipper and Mabel.

He feels like a perv whenever he lets his gaze linger a little too long on you for it to be platonic, yet he could never bring himself to look away as you had him bewitched mind, body and soul for all he knew and he didn’t mind it, even if it did mean he lost sleep dreaming about you being his youthful spouse who often stole his turtlenecks just to get his attention.

He thinks you could be better off with someone your own age, and yet despite believing this, Ford can’t help but harbour this mentality that he could treat you far, far better then anyone your own age. He’d worship the ground you walk on, treat you with respect, dignity and trust.

You’d probably be brought down to the lab quite often per his request. Ford claims he needs your opinion on something but the moment your down there, you’re making out with your back pressed against his workbench as his hands remained above your waist; maybe teasingly trailing to your thighs but still he’s a respective gentleman towards you forever and always.

There the moments you gladly wait all day for moments like these as you got to feel just how badly Ford wanted you in more ways then one ;)

You make out in his bed too but that’s only if you couldn’t make it to the lab, so Ford makes sure to lock the door when you do, for privacy and such.

There’s multiple entries about you and Ford’s conflicted feelings towards you followed with sketches of you looking the most beautiful he’s ever seen you. Seeing you be great and supportive with dipper and Mabel defiantly awakens something in him that he later puts down in the journal.

Will loose it if he ever saw you in his turtleneck, he’s not gods strongest soldier in their regards as he’s more then happy to get on his knees for you right then and there. You in his turtleneck is his secrete fantasy and to see it become reality is enough for this man to believe that there is a heaven.

Stanley feels that you deserve better then him

the girdle stays off! You don’t give a fuck, the girdle stays off and you will fucking hide it from him, much to his dismay but you love his tummy so, so so much!

Heated make outs in el Diablo while on road trips just the two of you at night.

Spoils you rotten however he could in meaningful ways, kinda feels sad that he can’t do more for you like you deserved but you didn’t care as you pepper his face with kisses and reassurance that he’s more then enough for you.

Probs gets jealous of you talking to other older men that has deeper pockets, but is smug as fuck the moment you came back to him with wads of their money in your hands as he pulls you in close by the waist and kisses you firmly on the lips saying, ‘that’s my girl/boy/ spouse.’

You will get love bites from him for making him jealous but also for making him so proud of his gorgeous/handsome/ beautiful spouse. You wear them with pride as you know no one else can elicit the same feeling as Stan did and he’d show off his own love bites with pride as he’s shameless and wants to show that he’s more then taken.

Does get moments of insecurity about your age gap but with a few words of reassurances, kisses and caresses to his body and he’s more than back to being confident of your relationship.

Stan wants you to sit on his lap all of the time, no excuses you’re on his lap and he gets the prettiest view of his unbearably cute spouse as his large hand rubs your thighs, getting progressively closer as to where you needed him most. ;)

[pupkashi]

satoru comeback truthers rise WHERE IS UR RAGE !!!

youre still slightly shaking, even with one hand in your lovers warmer one, you can’t help but feel the same fear you felt when you saw him laying in two.

“sweetheart” his voice is honey like, smoothing your sore throat as you look up at him, face dirty and scarred. “i asked if you wanna get pho?”

it’s odd, coming back home as if nothing happened. as if he hadn’t just had the battle of a lifetime and almost lost. your legs feel wobbly and that sinking pit in your stomach is back. you bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling, playing it off as you thinking.

“yeah pho sounds good” you say weakly, not taking your eyes off of satoru as he leads you to the couch. he tries to untangle your fingers from his, stopping when he feels your squeeze harder to keep his hand in place.

he doesn’t say anything, instead ordering with one hand, drawing a soothing circle with his thumb on your hand. satoru can feel your eyes on him, practically burning a hole into his skull with the intensity of your stare. he doesn’t mind, he can’t imagine how you felt, thinking he was dead for who knows how long. god knows what he would’ve done if the roles were reversed.

“ordered it, should be here in an hour ish” he whispers, pulling you close and laying back on the couch. you’re quick to wrap your arms around him, careful to not squeeze too hard as he was still sore and bruised.

thump, thump, thump.

the rhythmic beating is enough to calm you for a moment, your hands are less shaky and you feel like you can finally breathe. your eyes shut for a second, only to be met with the scene of satoru laying on ground. your eyes are shooting open immediately, making you sit up straight and giving satoru a once over, relieved to see he was really there.

“hey, im right here” he’s as gentle as ever, hands finding yours and squeezing tight. “im not going anywhere” he’s promises, placing one of your hands over his warm chest, the rhythmic beating of his heart calms you once more.

“‘m sorry” you choke out, wiping your eyes quickly before smiling softly, “was just- it was a lot” you mumble, “i thought-” you can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, satoru doesn’t make you, pulling you to his chest and kissing the top of your head.

the two of you stay like that for a while, taking turns holding each other, comforting one another and placing endless kisses on each others faces. it felt like only a moment had passed in comparison to the eternity you felt without satoru.

satoru notices the way your eyes linger on him, the way you’re looking at him every couple minutes as the two of you eat soup in silence. it hurts his heart, seeing you so afraid and traumatized, he wishes he could go back in time and make sure they kept you away from any screens.

the season finale of the show you two had been watching doesn’t matter to you much anymore, barely paying attention to it. your focus is instead on the white haired man laying practically on top of you, mindlessly eating some popcorn you’d made for him.

your fingers are tangled in his hair, somehow still soft despite everything he went through. satoru can feel your eyes on him, of course he can. he wonders if you’re looking at his scarred skin, if you’re too scared to even continue a relationship with him.

“you should shower” your comment is what breaks the silence and interrupts satoru’s spiraling thoughts.

“huh?” there’s genuine confusion in his voice. is that really what you were thinking about? “are you calling me stinky?” he teases, testing the waters.

“grimy, actually” a small smile creeping on your lips. it makes satoru’s heart glow, a wide grin on his lips as he sees your smile.

“your words cut deep” he pouts, quickly smiling again when you roll your eyes at his familiar antics. “even sukuna didn’t hurt me this much” the words make you gasp, smacking him slightly and pushing him off the couch.

“uncalled for!” you laugh, shrieking when satoru stands from the floor and picks you up swiftly. he doesn’t think k twice before peppering kisses over your face and nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

“now you’re stinky too!” he wastes no time in heading to the restroom, with you still in his arms (hardly putting up a fight). he sets you on the counter softly, bending down to be eye level with you. his nose is only centimeters from yours, and you can’t resist the urge to rub yours against his.

satoru giggles at your action; the noise alone puts your heart at ease, the weight on your shoulders lifted and things felt right.

for the time the two of you are in the restroom life is perfect again. even when satoru takes his shirt off, visibly nervous about the new scar across his torso, you’re too happy to have him there to care.

“you don’t think it looks, i don’t know, ugly?” he’s avoiding eye contact and you can’t help but laugh softly. the sound makes his head snap towards you immediately, relaxing when you take his hands in his and pull him closer.

“you could never look ugly, angel boy” you mumble, kissing his lips. “i think it looks good, actually” you grin, wiggling your eyebrows and making his cheeks flush pink. satoru wastes no time kissing you again, giggling against your lips.

the hot water hits his skin and it feels like a godsend, making hums sigh in relief.

“told you you should shower” you tease, making your lover grin at your words. he waves you off gently, relishing in the feeling. “c’mere let me shampoo you.”

satoru doesn’t hesitate, a faint smile on his lips when your fingers scratch his scalp. maybe it’s the steam enshrouding the two of you, or seeing you change into his clothes, or smelling the clean bedsheets again, or being home- regardless of the reason satoru finally feels free.

there’s no stress on his shoulders from the higher ups or his clan, he’s not afraid of his students getting hurt anymore, he’s not afraid of losing you.

“i love you sweetheart” he whispers. you’ve been asleep for a while now, your head on his chest with your arms wrapped tightly around him. maybe it was weird but he didn’t care, he spent the night tracing your features with his eyes, memorizing any noise you made and the way you breathed.

satoru’s eyes watered, grateful to be back home. his eyes wandering to his sock drawer, tomorrow he’ll pull out the small velvet box he bought a year ago.

taglist: @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls @sadmonke

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … SHARPEST TOOL ♡

track five of the short n’sweet series. pairing: babydaddy!rafe x reader. based loosely on the song sharpest tool by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

it’s not like you expected a marriage proposal or anything.

rafe was going to be rafe, you knew that— it was the whole reason he was your babydaddy and not your husband or even boyfriend. the cameron man was bright where it counted but not even nearly emotionally equipped enough to handle the trials and tribulations of an adult relationship paired with a baby. he got the baby on fridays and tuesdays. that was the agreement.

but that didn’t mean you didn’t see him inbetween.

“mmh, fuck— s’mine isn’t it? huh? c’mon—” rafe cups your chin, encouraging you to speak words that were incoherent whines as he drives his cock repeatedly through your gummy walls.

“yours, still yours rafey.”

god, you’d think the two of you were still together. it was sex talk, nothing more nothing less — you assumed anyway. unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances in your love life, and the fact you were somewhat soul tied to the cameron boy, you meant every word. there was no way he felt the same, merely doing you a favour even — due to your raging hormones post pregnancy recovery that were adjacent to a teenage boys. he was helping you out.

“this pussy is — goddamn, still as good as the first time i fucked it.” he groans into your neck because you know he’s close.

you roll your hips, forever trying to please him.

as aforementioned, it’s not like you expected him to suddenly come forward with a proposal after he’d finished into the condom. he drops a kiss to your temple like always, cleans himself off in the bathroom, awkwardly stands in your door making small talk, and occasionally decides that then is the time to drop your wad of allowance money that he gives you for raising his kid. you told him to stop putting money on your dresser after sex because it made you feel like a ‘paid service’. he rolled his eyes.

the problem didn’t lie with how rafe treat you within the four walls of your bedroom. rafe was going to be rafe, and that was that. it was how he’d behave upon seeing you in public. you’d think the two of you were merely strangers. if you were to stroll through the country club where you rightfully belong just as much as him, he’d turn his back, look away. like he’d forgotten everything.

at this point, you couldn’t tell if he was nonchalant or just plain stupid. you couldn’t keep chasing the feeling of the rare little nod of acknowledgement he’d send your way when you’d accidentally lock eyes. he wasn’t ashamed of the situation, no — you’d seen him proudly walk around the club with his little girl in his arms, letting everyone surround them, fawn over them. it was you that got left behind.

you’d decided enough was enough, coming to the conclusion you’d ignore him right back. it was approaching the weekend, and you knew you’d have to see him — so you prepared yourself to be strong. resilient. play him at his own game. you were simply there to drop off the baby and go home.

rafe comes and stands by you at the country club bar on a thursday evening.

“usual time tomorrow?” he nudges you gently with his arm, and you were shocked he was even speaking to you. not allowing the shock to cause you to jump straight into friendly conversation, you stare ahead.

“yep.”

“alright…yeah, yeah…” he nods, itching his cheek, eyes glancing back over to you. “i assume you uh, you’re gonna want something to help get you right huh? nothing some dick can’t fix…” you can hear the smirk on his voice and you exhale shakily, not wanting to react in the usual pavlovian way with your panties practically dropping.

so you say nothing. you stare ahead.

the bartender brings his beer, and yet he stays, staring at your profile. “a’ight… fucks a’matter with you?”

“you clearly don’t care, you can skip the formalities.” you find yourself spitting out before you can help yourself. he stares for another moment before he scoffs.

“the fucks your problem, little miss attitude?” he drawls, blinking in irritation but your order comes and you take it and walk away. he doesn’t chase you, of course not.

you drop the baby off the next day, and he tries his luck again, welcoming you inside wearing grey sweats. “c’mon.” he croons quietly, nodding his head inside after you’d got the sleeping baby situated and you stand up straight, look him in the eye, and smile.

“so you can treat me like i’m not a person afterwards? i think i’ll pass.” you turn your daughter, blowing her a kiss. “bye baby, mommy will see you tomorrow.” rafe stares after you, watching you go.

to answer your previous pondering, it turned out rafe was more stupid than he was nonchalant. truth be told, he hadn’t realised he’d been acting all that much differently. you were co-parenting, not a couple — so he figured his time at the country club was his time and yours was yours. he didn’t wanna bother you a whole bunch and put you off visiting.

but the dots were starting to connect, and rafe remembered that women do infact need more emotional stimulation to live happily beside you — and he’d be damned if he weren’t to look after the mother of his child properly. if that’s what you needed, he’d be happy to play ball.

the two of you don’t say much to eachother when you pick the baby up the next day, yet when monday rolls around, and you step into the country club with three of your friends to discuss an upcoming event — rafe cameron doesn’t waste any time.

he cuts topper off mid conversation, holding up a dismissive hand as soon as his eyes meet you and he begins to swagger over to you in his usual aggressive and demanding manner. you think he’s about to give you an earful infront of your friends so you stop nervously, brow creasing. however, when he reaches you — he grips you and brings his lips to yours, cutting off any potential confused greeting on your tongue with a kiss.

“gonna stop pouting about this whole thing now? huh?” he raises his eyebrows and you blink up at him, turning to your friends and shooing them to their table. turning back, you eye him.

“why did you—”

“you think i don’t care about you, that’s it right? like — like i don’t supply your ass with endless money, threaten any asshole that tries to make a move on you, defend you like my god damn life depends on it, fuck you when you need it? hm? nah, nah you really think—”

“wait, who do you threaten?”

“thats— ahh… thats not important, alright?” he scratches his temple, buzzcut bristling against his blunt fingernails as he quickly wets his lips with his tongue. “i didn’t know i was fucking up. okay?” his drags out his version of an apology and you feel the tiniest smile creeping up on you. it was pathetic, really.

“i just didn’t want you to be ashamed of me.” you sigh, looking down and he’s lightly gripping your chin immediately so you looked up at him when he spoke. old habits die hard.

“i’m not. you think i’d put a baby in someone i was ashamed of? that shits for the pogues.”

“rafe.”

“look,” he pulls his sunglasses on over his eyes and wraps an arm around you, the two of you now looking out over the club. the eyes of his friends and yours are quickly averted, having being watching the entire interaction. “i don’t know what more you want, okay i’m— i haven’t done this before. i don’t know if you’re aware but i haven’t had a kid before. this shit is my first fuckin’ rodeo too.” he turns to look down at you through the dark frames, a serious and promising look on his face. “but whatever i need to do… to keep that little attitude at bay, i’ll make shit happen. yeah? even if i gotta fuck you infront’a the whole club.”

he might not have been the sharpest tool, but he knew what you wanted to hear.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

"i feel kinda ugly" ft. the monster trio!

in which the biggest dumbasses in the whole of sea comfort you when you fall prey to your shitty thoughts ft. luffy, zoro, sanji x fem!reader set-up: you happened to utter out what you thought of yourself and these men are here to prove you wrong. (kind of a serious set of headcanons, but ill try being funny when i can) warnings: nsfw; somnophilia if you squint, oral f!receiving and m!recieving, boobjob, creampie; MDNI (thankyou very much)

luffy:

my fav little gremlin's in town ^^

- "i feel kinda ugly" you had muttered it under your breath, words dissolving into the chilly night air. you were laying on your shared bed, staring up at the uneventful ceiling as he snored lightly next to you. - he was supposed to be asleep, atleast that's what you had thought (how can you expect him to stay up after eating like 500kg of meat??) - but he stirs awake almost instantly, turning his head to look at your face. he stifles a yawn, mumbling through a half-lidded gaze, "why would you say that?" - "why would i say what?" you smile, waving it off as if it had just been a wayward thought - but lord knows the amount of nights you've tossed and turned, thinking about all the ways you were incompetent for this man who lay in front of you. you weren't pretty like nami or robin, you weren't quick-witted like them, god, what did he see in you? - "who said you were ugly?" his face is scrunched up, the crease b/w his eyebrows deepening "luffy let it g-" "no. who said it?" his violent undertone doesn't go unnoticed, as if he's threatening to take care of whoever made you miserable - you don't have the heart to tell him it's yourself. you convinced yourself you weren't pretty enough. - and so, you stay silent - but his arms are pulling you impossibly close. closer and closer till your chest is pressed flushed against his and you're staring at him confused - "luf-" "that's bullshit." there's conviction in his words that make a dull warmth cascade over your face and neck. - he is pressing his forehead against yours, hands gripping onto you tightly as if letting his grip loosen means he loses this argument. "you're beautiful. you're smart and kind and beautiful." - at this point, youre about to cry - but he inhales deeply, then says "not to mention you smell like a fruit. thats tasty." - yeah the tears dried up. they fucked off and went to sahara desert. - youre currently fighting off a smile because what the actual fuck prompted this man to say that??? and more importantly what fruit do you smell like? "what fruit do i smell like?" "mhm" he's deep in thought, "tangerines" "luffy everyone smells like tangerine. it's because of nami's tangerine trees." he shrugged, "still pretty tasty" - and now youre kissing his adorably stupid face. your fingers tug on the hair on his nape lightly and he whines into the kiss, sucking on your bottom lip as he does so - "you're so pretty" and so he's kissing your neck, nibbling and grazing lazily - two seconds later, he fell asleep. - like actually fell asleep. his mouth is on your neck, open mouthed and half-nibbling and he's snoring through it all. (i mean, what did you expect from someone who had eaten 500kg of meat??) - issokay though cause the second he wakes up, his fingers are hiking one of your legs over his hip. the same fingers then slip inside the loose folds of your shorts, playing with your pretty pussy till you stir awake, moaning his name - you're the one being toyed with and he's the one whispering and whining like he's gonna explode "does that feel good, ngh-" a grin, "god... fuck, cum for me, pretty" - he continues till your velvety walls are spasming against his fast-paced fingers and your teeth are sinking into his shoulder, muffling shrieks this early in the morning - "you're gorgeous" he whispers through a grin - you choose to believe him

zoro:

myhusband ^^

- this was the last thing you wanted. truly. - zoro had just stepped out of the shower with nothing but a towel losely tied around his waist (this was after he had succesfully ignored you and trained for like an eternity) - water droplets clung onto his broad figure, slowly trailing downwards as they glided over every ridge and scar - you probably should have pulled him onto the bed with you, straddled his hips and asked him to stop ignoring you to go spend time with his swords - you probably should have. - instead, you lay stomach-down on your bed, your head softly cradled beneath your arms and against the pillow - "what's up with you?" he asks, unfazed to your tactics "nothing" you mumble half-heartedly he gave you a double over, "you sure? you're sulking more than usual" "i-" you sigh, "i just idk... i just feel kinda ugly?" - this motherfucker laughs, "yeah i mean you kinda are" - he didn't know you were serious. he didn't know till you were softly crying against the linen sheets, your body shivering against your own cries and staggered breaths - "yn?" there's panic in his voice, "yn, baby, are you crying?! fUCK IM SORRY!" - he didn't know you were serious. i mean how wAS HE SUPPOSED TO KNOW?! HE THOUGHT YOU WERE BEING DRAMATIC FOR NO REASON LIKE ALWAYS - "hey" you've never heard the swordsman speak so softly as he does now. he's pulling you up softly, placing you in his lap almost mechanically, "yn, baby-" - he lets you sob into his chest for as long as you need to, his fingers are rubbing gentle patterns into your back, arms and waist. - once you've calm down, his hand tips your face lightly towards him. he silently wipes the tears away. - he doesn't say anything and somehow his silence brings more comfort than his words could. - "don't think stupid shit" his palm is resting on your face, pouring warmth across the stretch of your cheek, "you're gorgeous." "but you said im ugly" you lean into his touch "i also said i will return back nami's loans with full interest" a small smile tugs on his lips, "sometimes even i say stupid shit" "so, you don't think i'm ugly?" - his response comes in the way of leaning in and kissing you, one hand on your cheek as the other kneads your waist. - he's laying you down, hovering over you easily and pressing hot kisses to your neck and jawline. sucking, biting till you can feel bruises blossoming across your skin. his knee presses against your core, blinding you with delicious jolts " his agile fingers are hiking up your skirt, letting it pool around your waist, "let me show you how pretty you are, baby" - so, he's pulling your panties with his teeth, he's licking a clean stripe on your inner thigh, kissing and bruising the sensitive skin "and you're dripping wet already? want me to fuck you that bad, eh?" - he's running his tongue over your clit, tracing figures as he alternates between your drooling hole and the bundle of nerves - and so obviously you're now cumming on his face, letting your juices coat his lips, thighs shaking as he gives you kitten licks to help you ride your orgasm - he looks up at you; your hairline damp with sweat, eyes closed in bliss, a warm hue of red sprinkled across your face, your chest rising and falling with each labored breath "i've never seen someone prettier" he declares from between the plush of your thighs, smiling up at you like it was the first time he had truly seen you - you choose to believe him

sanji:

mhm, a fine specimen ^^

- you don't keep secrets from sanji. - or more like you physically cannot. - this man is your greatest cheerleader, there's no way you can hide something from him no matter how squeamish it makes you to say out loud - so after noticing your off behaviour the entire evening and pestering you for twenty minutes after dinner, he had successfully got you to say what you were thinking out loud "sweetheart, darling, the apple of my eye. what is wrong?" you shake your head again, "nothing." "yn, my love, 'fess up" - he said it so sweetly you had to fess up. there was no choice. - "i just feel a bit bad about myself today" "bad? how so?" "i just... just feel kinda ugly" - he looks like he's going into cardiac arrest (he probably is) cause there's no way you, his girlfriend, literally the prettiest girl in all four seas just said that out loud - honestly, i can just see this man tearing up and blaming himself "is it me, mon chéri? did i do something wrong?" tears are clinging on dangerously onto his lasheline "what?! no!" "i am sorry. i love you so much. i must have said something wrong because you're so gorgeous, so earth-shatteringly beautiful-" - honestly you had to calm this bitch down first, explaining to him that he was perfect in every way he can be, it's probably just your own fault - but he refuses to accept it as your fault. - this man, this beautiful, amazing man has to now cling onto you and pepper kisses onto you face like there's no tomorrow. like everytime you try to speak, he wont let you cause he needs to ramble about how absolutely gorgeous you are - he spoke for so long that you are now convinced that to the world you may not be the prettiest woman alive but to this blonde man (with a great ass), you mean everything - his kisses blended into soft whispers and whimpers as you forced him to rest against the headboard and straddled his hips - you can feel his poking erection through his dress slacks as you kiss him senseless with only one goal in mind, to let him know he did nothing wrong - you nudge his slacks downwards till his cock hits you lightly in your face - your lips encircle his tip, sucking on it lightly as your hand moves up and down his length, languid and slow "yn~" his voice is a choked whisper, "you- are killing me. faster, please darling." - now you're catching his dick between your tits, massaging his length with the softness of your breasts as your tongue laps up at his tip, licking any pre-cum that escapes him "fuck fuck fuck fu-" his moans are an incoherent ramble, "i'm gon' cum, fuck you feel- so ngh- good" - he comes on your tits and face and almost releases again when he sees you scoop up the sticky fluid from the corner of your lips and lick it away - looking at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes, "yn, you are the most gorgeous woman i have seen." - you choose to believe him

a/n: honestly cannot thank you guys for how much you'be blown up these posts in the past few days, so here, have a little treat m.list

[ballinandcantgetup452]

I'm really fond of Billy Batson being like the 4th or 5th superhero to debut. Like, he pops up RIGHT after the trinity pops up. I think it's a prime chance to see essentially a newly reborn DCU through a child's eyes. Not in like the New Frontier "Wow! Look at all of these guys!" way (not to knock that, it's still great when moments like that do happen). But in the "everybody is green enough that the idea that this grown man is acting like an 11 year old is extremely suspect" kind of way.

Every member of the trinity has generally the same reaction.

Clark is much more of a "this is the only other person who will TALK to me... BUT he's also probably autistic". Where he's cordial and kind to Billy but also keeps his distance. He's a country bumpkin, and as an autistic person who's ALSO a country bumpkin, I can bet that he'd use the signature "be kind at a distance and let him work it out himself" strategy that I most often see used. Not to say that Clark is going to be a jerk about it. He just knows that he's not qualified to help and since he's an adult he can take care of himself.

Bruce ALSO assumes that Billy is autistic. Especially since the first time he even MEETS Captain Marvel is when he's interrupted on a stakeout. I always envisioned a Year 2 Bruce not being cruel to strangers, but also not being nice either. He just kind of ignores him until eventually he calls Captain Marvel over to whatever he's doing and explains what's going on. Bruce is the kindest to Billy, even if it's not as overt as Clark's.

On theme, Diana ALSO assumes that Billy is autistic after meeting him. Of course, she assumes that after somebody explains the concept of autism to her after explaining how something's just off with "that guy". She's not fond of the fact that some asshole is using the power of old gods, but lets it slide because she doesn't know how to confront that and can tell that the conversation and confrontation with him simply isn't worth it. She's a whole lot more proper and Billy finds her nice and all, but a little bit too grown up for his taste.

Billy isn't a founding member or anything, but once he is indicted, each member of the trinity keeps an eye out on him. Batman doesn't find out that Billy is a LITERAL child until he's a couple of years in with Dick. So he just keeps the lie going. It's easier to tell somebody "he's autistic" instead of "he's a 12 year old swapping bodies with an adult deity"

Any other potential headcanons that can come with Billy Batson becoming the 4th or 5th or just a really early superhero?

[peachesofteal]

Simon with herding instinct on that physio snippet.... God what I'd do to be Reader (I'm not sick but I'm KO by my period, so I think I also deserve herding instincts and a cup of tea made by someone who is not me)

I think you deserve a little treat for your body torturing you Same reader as this (female reader)

"Fuck." You draw a deep breath through your nose and blow it out slowly, trying to push the pain away. You have a busy schedule today, and the 141 was expected to be back which meant you'd have the Lieutenant on your table at some point between now and twenty one hundred.

You do not have time for period pain.

Your appointments waltz in and out through the day, your focus turning from the stabbing, burning ache in your belly, quads and lower back, until the clock finally ticks down to nineteen hundred, and you slump over in your chair. A moment's reprieve, a second to get off your feet, exhaustion sinking into you, your longing for your bed and a heating pad stealing the whole of your attention. You can almost feel it, the hot shower, the comfort of your sheets, a cup of tea. Almost.

For now, you swallow more paracetamol and hope it lasts you through the rest of the day.

The door to the clinic swings open, and you don't need to peek outside the door of your office to know who it is.

No one has footsteps as heavy as his.

The Lieutenant.

The man you do not understand. The one who treated you like a small, fragile animal when you were sick, barging into your house and forcing you onto the couch, doling out medicine and hand feeding you warm broth. He pressed cold cloths to your forehead, held your hair and rubbed your back as you vomited.

The entire time you trembled with nerves, staring at the stitching of his balaclava, looking away each time his face turned towards yours. He hated you, why was he here?

Your fever broke, he disappeared. And the next time you saw him-

He went back to treating you just as he always did.

Coldly. Gruffly. Rudely.

Tonight would be no different.

So when you step outside and see him still in his full kit, arms folded across his chest, you wilt, already defeated, stomach tying itself in knots.

"Need m'back looked at." He barks and you fight the instinct to jump.

"Yeah, o-of course." The words are unsteady, you're unsteady, just like each time before, and he doesn't say anything else, just looks you up and down before brushing by you to get to the table.

He's the width of your workspace. Wingspan larger than should be humanly possible, width of his shoulders and back difficult to comprehend. He could tear you apart, if he wanted, so you've always treated him so carefully, staying focused, making sure you don't slip up and push his muscles too far or cause him pain. It's the same care you apply to all your patients, but with him, it's different. It's like diffusing a bomb.

His head is turned towards you as your fingers walk down the middle of his spine, working pressure points. Every time he twitches, or grunts, or even breathes deeply, you tense, but you keep your focus, kneading down to his sciatic nerve, pushing in deep, deep enough to make him groan, your heartbeat pulsing in your ears.

You don't even realize he's saying your name until he shifts on the table.

"S-sorry?" His eyes are locked the space between your legs, and you follow his sight line, gasping when you see what he sees.

Red.

Your standard issue khaki pants are stained dark red at your thighs.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, I'm sorry, I'm," you stumble backwards, hands flying to cover yourself, scrambling on how to get yourself out of the room and into the bathroom as quickly as possible. Your cheeks burn from humiliation. "I'm sorry, I uh- I'll be right back."

"Do you have another pair of pants?" He cocks his head.

I don't... I don't think so."

"Hmm." He continues to stare, and then, like he was having a conversation with himself, he swings off the table, reaching for the jacket he showed up in, before stalking towards you.

You stumble back, but you're too slow, and he catches you by your wrist, tugging you forward. You close your eyes. "Lieutenant-"

"Hush." The jacket goes around your waist, giant sleeves tied at your navel, the length of the hanging directly over where your pants are stained. You're not petite by any means, so the fact that this garment can even begin to cover you is a miracle in itself. But then again, he is massive. "Stay." He moves around the room, ducking into the other one with your desk, flicking the lights off, before grabbing the keys off the hook and shepherding you through the clinic to the front door.

"What... what're you doing?" There's a murderous look in his eye when he turns to you, and it freezes your blood.

"Takin' you home."

"I can get h-home myself." You hate the way your voice shakes.

"Covered in blood? You really want the entire base to see you like tha'?" The shame burns, and tears build on your waterline. "C'mon." His hand settles between your shoulder blades, essentially turning you into a ship with no sails, only a rudder at your back. Him.

He steers you into your house by your hips. You live directly off base, in civilian housing, luckiest of them all, if you're being honest, though in this moment, you're not sure you are so lucky.

"Leave your clothes in the sink." He orders when he lets you go, moving towards the kitchen.

"My clothes?"

"You know how to get bloodstains out of your clothes?"

"Oh, uh... n-no."

"Then..." he motions with his hands for your pants.

"Right now?" You squeak, and he nods.

"Now, pet." You fumble with the zipper and the button, hands trembling so bad you struggle with them. "Need help?"

"No! No... I got it." you get them down to your knees after a struggle, and then kick them off. Will he ask for your underwear too? He answers like he can ready your mind.

"Leave 'em on the bathroom floor. Shower, and then straight to bed."

"I'm not a child!" The protest is bold, boldest you've ever been with him, insecure, scared feelings coming forth in the outburst.

"Could've fooled me. Children need takin' care of, jus' like you." The words jam in your throat, stolen by the intensity of a cramp, and his eyes soften. "Go on up. I'll bring you somethin' for the pain, and some tea." There's no fight left in you, drained like the blood from your body, and your shoulders slump.

An hour later, in the dark, your door cracks. You're curled up in a ball, heating pad tucked against your pubic bone, buried beneath a mountain of blankets when the bed dips, the mass of the Lieutenant's weight settling next to your hip.

He sits you up, like a doll. Makes you take more paracetamol, finish a glass of water, and then pushes a hot tea in your hand.

By the time he's done, you slump back against the pillows, exhausted. Your eyelids go heavy, and he shifts you back to your side. You're too tired to argue with him, fight him, and when his fingers start applying counter pressure to your lower back, working through the tension, the tightness from your period, you let out a low moan. He chuckles. The man actually laughs.

"Why are you here?" You murmur in the dark, and he doesn't answer right away, sitting in the silence for too long.

And then-

"My mum always taught me to take care of my things."