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fushitoru · 2 months ago

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chapter 5: the fall a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ gojo comes up with a strange yet tempting arrangement, but the accident that follows it may cause epiphanies for the both of you. (11.8k)

a/n thank you to pookies @/sinn-clair and @/yasu-1234 (they are awesome and here are her works) for beta reading my work :3 ahaha pls forgive me for yapping so much in this chapter. i’ll meet you after the chapter is over for EVEN more yap

prev. the game | next. the house party

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest Gentle Readers,

It is well known across town that a certain gentleman, long absent from London’s bustling thoroughfares, has not graced its streets for a year. One cannot help but ponder how Mister Sukuna Itadori’s travels have fared, as he embarked on what we all know to be that of most enlightening of ventures–a Grand Tour of Europe. Those familiar with such journeys will know that for most young men of the ton, a tour of Europe offers more than just art and culture—it is a playground of indulgence and mischief. Will Mr. Itadori reappear as the brash and impetuous young man we once knew, or has Europe’s charms softened and tempered his spirit into one more befitting of a mature gentleman? This Author has her doubts, but one can never say for sure until a man reenters Society.

Yet, Gentle Reader, while Mr. Itadori’s return may provide fodder for speculation, there is another gentleman who has quietly yet decisively captured the attentions of the ton this season: His Grace, the Duke Nanami. Not only does His Grace possess a title and considerable inheritance—both of which set many hearts aflutter—but he is also known to be a most genteel and dignified young man, whose decorum and good sense have only enhanced his reputation. Many an eager mama and her hopeful daughter now look to him as the ideal suitor. His Grace, however, has been nothing if not a model of decorum—distant, polite, and entirely too elusive.

But therein, dear reader, lies the dilemma. The Duke’s refusal to engage in more than the most cursory conversation with any lady has led many to wonder: has he already chosen his future Duchess in secret, or is he simply too discerning for any of the eager young women who have presented themselves thus far? One thing is certain, though: the house party in the countryside promises to be most entertaining, especially if the Duke chooses that moment to make his intentions clear. One can only hope the object of his affections is prepared to be swept off her feet—or at the very least, that her mama is! Only time will tell, but one thing this Author assures—his next move shall be watched with the greatest anticipation.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Dawn breaks out, bathing the land in a rich, golden hue. It seemed as if the very air of the Gojo estate had significantly altered your sense of slumber; before, it would take you fairly long to wake, preferring to stay well rested until Nobara barged in your room, bellowing at you to get ready.

The rhythmic clatter of hooves on the cobblestone path echoed as you guided your mare along the estate’s carefully tended gardens, resplendent in their display of colorful blooms. The thought flashes across your mind—whichever lady of the ton unfortunate enough to inherit the Gojo surname would certainly find herself living an enviable, lavish lifestyle. If nothing else, the manor, with its outstanding grandeur, would offer sufficient distraction from the trials of an insufferable marriage.

Horse-riding had always been of your taste, providing solace when you needed time to ponder upon your thoughts. The fresh morning air was so different from the stifling confines of your room’s walls, soothing your spirit in a way a fitful sleep could not. Inhaling deeply, the cool morning breeze carried with it the scent of flowers and morning dew, offering a reprieve and reminding you of freedom found in quiet moments.

Mornings always feel like new beginnings to you. The sounds of the chirp and the peace of the feeling that you are currently the only person in the world, suspended in time, soothes you. You walk the path laid out in front of you, getting closer and closer to the woods that were next to the Gojo gardens.

The same ones you had the encounter with Gojo in the river.

You tensed slightly, the memory of your embarrassing fall washing over you like a cold splash of water. Gojo had yet to jest at your expense over it was nothing short of miraculous. No doubt, the teasing would come in time, as inevitable as night following day.

The distant sounds of hooves break you out of your thoughts, as you still, turning your head around to see where the sounds originated. When you finally manage to curve your head (almost) fully to the back, in the soft light of the morning, you see a flash of silver hair.

And groan internally.

"I would not have thought the great Lord Gojo so lacking in charm as to resort to covert stalking," you quip, turning in your saddle to face him.

"Stalking?" His familiar, lazy drawl carried across the air as he approached. "Surely you underestimate me, my lady. A mere smile is all it takes to win hearts."

Reluctantly, you wheeled your horse around to face him properly. "Ah, yes. How could I forget? Your captivating smile alone is surely enough to send every lady into a faint, and not at all the rather handsome fortune attached to your name." You eyed him critically—his attire was casual, much like that day in the library: a white shirt carelessly unbuttoned at the collar, black trousers tailored perfectly. There was a hint of weariness in his eyes, though his insufferable smirk remained firmly in place. His hair was fairly polished–in comparison to his clothes–as if he had gotten ready to go somewhere that didn’t require extravagant garments to be worn.

He tilted his head, his gaze moving past you as he urged his horse toward the woods ahead. "Ah, so you find my smile captivating?"

You bristle, realizing his play of making you follow him to continue the conversation and get the last word. “I find your opinion of yourself entirely too high. I never mentioned that I thought you captivating but that of the handsome sum tied to your name.”

“All I heard was handsome.”

You take a deep breath and hold it, your eyes narrowing at the man trotting carefree in front of you. “Are the ladies really so naive that they would fall for just a captivating smile rather than acknowledge your lack of wit?”

Gojo glanced back at you with a raised brow, his grin only widening as he slowed his pace slightly. "Naive, perhaps. Or maybe they’re wise enough to appreciate the finer things in life. Not everyone is so immune to charm.”

You rolled your eyes, clicking your tongue in mild irritation as you spurred your horse forward, coming level with him. “Charm without substance only lasts so long, my lord. I daresay one day you’ll meet someone immune to your tricks.”

He chuckled softly, the sound lazy and unbothered, as though you’d merely entertained him with a light jest. "And yet here you are, still engaging with my so-called ‘lack of substance.’ Could it be, perhaps, that you find me more interesting than you care to admit?”

"I find you no more interesting than a mildly amusing book—one that I can close whenever I please," you shot back, though your eyes flicked over his disheveled appearance. “But you, Lord Gojo, do seem rather underdressed for a morning ride. I hope you’re not planning on inflicting yourself on some unsuspecting lady like this.”

His eyes gleamed with that familiar glint of amusement. "Underdressed? Why, I thought you might prefer me this way—unpretentious and free of the heavy trappings of society." He gave a careless wave toward his shirt. "Besides, I’ve work to do today. I’m making rounds over the dukedom."

You raised an eyebrow. “Work? You?” you echoed, voice laden with playful disbelief.

“Hard to believe, I know. I’m more than just a pretty face, as you’ve so kindly pointed out,” he teased, eyes flicking to you briefly before turning back to the path ahead. “Would you care to join me on my rounds? You might learn something about the ‘substance’ you claim I lack.”

You hesitated, but only briefly. The truth was, the Gojo manor had begun to feel more like a cage with each passing day. The endless routine of polite conversations, tea under the watchful eyes of your mama and Duchess Gojo, and waiting for the upcoming house party with the maids and doormen watching for your every move was beginning to wear on you. The walls of the estate, grand as they were, could only offer so much distraction before they imposed on you. The gardens—beautiful and sprawling—had already been walked, the library somewhat explored. You had gone through the motions of being the perfect guest, yet none of it stirred the thrill of adventure that your heart craved.

Your mind drifted back to London, to a time before all the expectation and decorum had weighed so heavily on your shoulders. A year ago, Sukuna had been your partner in rebellion, the one who shared your disdain for society’s rigid rules. The two of you had stolen mornings together, sneaking out on horseback, galloping through the streets and parks as if the ton’s eyes couldn’t reach you. Sukuna, with his wild streak and brash charm, had always encouraged you to live for the moment, to taste freedom in a way that felt dangerously exhilarating. At night, you and him would enjoy stolen moments on a swing.

There had been no chaperones then, no one to watch your every move or to remind you of what was ‘proper.’ You had been free, in a way you never thought possible—a freedom that felt distant now, almost like a dream.

You studied him for a moment, curiosity beginning to outweigh the slight irritation you felt toward his smug demeanor. What exactly did a duke like Gojo do when he wasn’t parading through society, charming every lady within reach? Despite yourself, you were intrigued by the possibility of seeing him in a different light, away from the polished halls and pretenses.

Here, far from the city’s strict social rules, you felt a flicker of that same wildness returning. There were no watchful eyes in the countryside, no endless stream of whispers and gossip to navigate. The Gojo estate, for all its grandeur, was isolated. Out here, you could indulge in a fleeting taste of freedom once more—especially if it meant escaping the suffocating sense of propriety that came with every room of the mansion.

With Gojo, the stakes were different. He wasn’t Sukuna, who lived on the fringes of the ton with his devil-may-care attitude. No, Gojo occupied the very heart of society’s structure—a duke, a man of immense power and wealth, a figure who could easily sweep up any lady of the ton with a glance. Yet here he was, offering you a glimpse of his world beyond the ballroom, beyond the pretense of polite society.

The thought of accompanying him into the village—unaccompanied, and without the constant pressure of reputation—was thrilling in a way you hadn’t expected. It was as if you were being offered another chance to experience the freedom you once shared with Sukuna. Out here, away from the prying eyes of the ton, you could simply… be. There would be no eyes to judge, no chaperones to pull you away. For a few hours, you could escape the suffocating decorum that bound you so tightly, and just breathe.

And perhaps, just perhaps, there was a part of you curious to see what lay beneath Gojo’s surface. Despite all his teasing and arrogance, there had to be more to the man than his carefully cultivated charm. What did the world of a duke truly entail? What responsibilities lay hidden beneath that confident smirk?

“Well?” Gojo’s voice broke through your thoughts, a hint of amusement dancing on the edge of his words. “You could always go back to the estate. But if you join me, you might learn something. Something real.”

You met his gaze, curiosity stirring. How much freedom could you taste before the world pulled you back into its orbit?

“And what, pray tell, does this so-called ‘work’ of yours truly entail, my lord? Are you certain it isn’t merely an excuse for you to idly saunter about?” you asked, feigning disinterest even as your heart began to quicken at the thought of leaving the mansion’s confines.

Gojo shrugged. “Managing a dukedom is more than just attending parties, my lady. There are land disputes, tenant needs, crops to inspect. All terribly boring, I assure you,” he drawled, though his teasing tone did little to hide his satisfaction.

“And yet, here you are, inviting me to partake in such ‘dreadful’ tasks.” You arched an eyebrow, testing the waters of this strange proposal.

He cast you a sidelong glance, that insufferable smirk playing on his lips again. “You seemed in need of something less tedious than idle conversation. Besides, I can’t let you think I’m all charm and no substance.”

You scoffed lightly, but the temptation was undeniable. A morning spent away from the watchful eyes of society, away from the restrictions that had grown more suffocating with each passing day, sounded like exactly what you needed.

And so, you nudged your horse forward. "Very well, my lord. Lead the way."

As Gojo turned his horse toward the village, you followed, anticipation swirling within you. For just a little while, you would forget the rigid expectations that clung to your every move. And who knew? You might learn something about the man who was far more than just a smile—or at least, you hoped so.

As you and Gojo rode along the countryside road, the gentle thrum of horse hooves against the dirt path filled the early morning air. The village lay just beyond the hill, but the tranquil quiet of the ride had settled between you for now. You looked at the open landscape, enjoying the rare opportunity to simply exist outside the bounds of society's expectations. While Gojo glanced at you, his gaze briefly lingering before he forced his eyes forward again.

To Gojo, you are an enigma.

There was something about you that drew him in—something beyond the usual appeal of a pretty face and a sharp tongue. He had been thinking and rethinking your diary entries ever since he had discovered them, going over every word in his mind like an irritating riddle. Of course, he knew better than to admit that he had read them, let alone how much those words had unsettled him.

Your thoughts, penned in those private moments, had been both surprising and dangerously radical. They spoke of dissatisfaction with the very society that had molded both of you. Critiques of the ton, its shallow expectations, and even its treatment of women—thoughts that, if discovered by the wrong person, could ruin you. Lady Whistledown wouldn’t need much to twist those words into a scandal, to paint you as a rebel, a woman too difficult for any suitor to consider. You would be exiled from the marriage market in an instant, no longer the diamond the people adored.

Realistically, he could do it, in fact. That is, ruin your image for the rest of high society. Gojo knew he had power over you. He could destroy you if he wanted to, could slip a few words into the right ears and watch as your pristine image crumbled like delicate glass. A small, vindictive part of him—perhaps the part that still bristled at your quick wit and frequent jabs—almost considered it. With the way you have been snarkily snapping back, making a fool out of him, and in general being not a very agreeable person, he, in fact, should have incentive to do so, as a payback.

Of course, Gojo could always be the bigger person. He should let you go, keep his distance, and find a more agreeable match—someone easier, someone less troublesome. It would be the rational thing to do. He was Lord Gojo, heir to the Duke of Gojo, after all. He didn’t need to deal with a woman who questioned him at every turn, who might even challenge his reputation just by association.

He knew he should stop courting you, stop this dance before it spiraled into something neither of you could control. And he didn’t know what exactly to choose.

He cleared his throat, finally breaking the silence. “You seem deep in thought, my lady. I do hope I’m not boring you already.” His tone was light, though there was an undercurrent of curiosity.

You quirked an eyebrow, as if debating whether to entertain his question. “No more than usual, my lord.”

He grinned at your response, but then his expression softened, just slightly. “And here I thought you might have enjoyed escaping the estate for a bit. Surely the quiet countryside must be a relief after the pressures of town.”

You gave a small nod, but your guardedness remained. “It is a relief, but one must still be careful, even out here. There are no watchful eyes, but gossip has a way of traveling regardless.”

Gojo smirked, leaning slightly in his saddle. “I doubt anyone could catch up to us before we make it back for breakfast.”

He watched you from the corner of his eye, gauging your reaction. The morning wasn’t extremely windy, but his eyes took in your hair, how the wind shifted it so that your nape—and the slopes of your back and body—was uncovered. Your torso rocked as both your horses moved on, and you were fidgeting with the reins of your horse with gloved hands. You were a puzzle he couldn’t yet solve, but for some reason, that only made him more determined to try.

With a measured tone, he added, “Tell me, do you ever tire of it all? The expectations, the constant scrutiny. It must be exhausting.”

He watched you closely, curious how you might respond, wondering if you would offer something more than your usual sharp wit. Even if you didn’t, Gojo was prepared to nudge you, just enough to see what truly lay beneath the surface.

You turned your head slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your neck as you gave him a searching look. Unconsciously, your horses had drifted closer together, and as you moved your hair, revealing your simple, unadorned hairstyle from the morning ride, Gojo caught the intoxicating scent of your shampoo.

Sandalwood.

The notes lingered in the cool morning air, drawing him in. He found himself momentarily captivated, closing his eyes to take in the fragrance. It wasn’t until he regained his composure that he realized you were watching him expectantly, waiting for him to respond.

“My apologies,” Gojo cleared his throat, flashing you a semi-apologetic smile. “You were saying?”

You arched a brow at his absent-mindedness but chose not to press the matter. “As I was saying,” you continued with a subtle edge of humor, “it is a lady’s duty to endure the endless gossip and scrutiny of society. After all, we are part of it, are we not? I am a part of that society—diamond or not.” Then, you snarkily remarked, “Though I imagine you know as much about gossip as I do, my lord.”

There it is. Gojo felt the familiar flare of irritation rise within him as you brought up, yet again, that night on the terrace. How many times would you throw that back in his face? Instead of showing how it bothered him, he slipped into a mocking stance, clutching his chest in an exaggerated display of faux hurt. "You wound me, my lady. Can a gentleman truly not express his true sentiments in private company?"

His smirk faltered slightly, but he pressed on, unwilling to let you have the upper hand. "However, I do know more than you think. I hear things all the time. Not everyone is as... mysterious as they pretend to be."

There was an edge in his voice that hadn’t been there before, and he knew you noticed. He didn’t like where this conversation was heading, but he couldn’t stop himself. Not now.

You narrowed your eyes, your tone sharp. "Is that so? Or are you simply adept at making people feel small, my lord?"

Gojo shrugged, keeping his expression casual, though his jaw tightened. Why did you always know exactly how to get under his skin? "I do not belittle, my lady, but observe. And if you're concerned with my words, rest assured I never speak ill of a lady unless she has thoroughly earned it. After all, gossip, for all its flaws, often carries a kernel of truth."

"I see," you replied, voice clipped. "So you place your trust in whatever the ton whispers, so long as it serves your purposes?"

Gojo met your gaze, his voice lowering with intent. "It is not a matter of convenience, my lady, but discernment. Knowing who is genuine and who is merely playing a part."

He saw the way his words hit you, the way your expression flickered. Good. Let it sink in. You’d been sniping at him for days now, and it was about time you felt a little of the sting you so effortlessly delivered.

"And you, Lord Gojo, are the arbiter of what's 'real'?" Your voice rose, sharp as a blade. "Tell me, then—what’s real about you, besides your title and your incessant need to make others feel beneath you?"

The smirk that usually danced on his lips vanished. He felt something sharp coil in his chest—defensiveness, maybe, or frustration. He wasn’t sure anymore. His tone turned cold, dangerous. "Tread carefully, my lady. You are not as untouchable as you might believe. Perhaps others coddle you, treat you with delicacy because they think you fragile, but I am not of their number."

He saw the way his words cut, deeper than he’d intended, and a part of him regretted it. But another part—the part that was tired of always being one step behind in this game you played—felt a grim satisfaction.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t finished. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to an almost dangerous softness. “You think you are the only one who carries burdens? I have duties too—my name, my estate, my people. You may despise me for all you like, but at least I do not pretend that none of it matters."

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the weight of the truths neither of you had spoken before. For a moment, you were speechless, and Gojo couldn’t quite read the expression on your face.

There was a vulnerability in your eyes, something real beneath all the snark and bitterness. It was unsettling. He hadn’t expected to feel any sympathy for you, but seeing that flicker of something raw, something that mirrored the exhaustion he himself felt, made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t like.

You finally broke the silence, your voice quieter now. "I never asked for any of this."

Gojo let out a long breath, some of the tension in his body loosening. His voice softened, the sharp edge gone. "Nor did I."

The moment of mutual understanding was fleeting, fragile, and Gojo wasn’t sure if he wanted to dwell on it or forget it entirely. The silence that followed wasn’t quite hostile anymore, but it wasn’t comfortable either.

Straightening in his saddle, Gojo cleared his throat and gestured ahead. "The village lies just ahead. We should proceed before the shops open, unless, of course, you would rather remain here, basking in your righteous discontent."

He smirked, but it felt more like a mask than anything genuine. He needed the banter, the distance it created between you. It was safer than whatever had just passed between you—a moment of weakness he couldn’t afford to dwell on.

You rolled your eyes but gave a small nod, your expression still guarded. "Lead the way, my lord."

Gojo nudged his horse forward, the tension easing just enough for the both of you to fall back into their usual roles. But the memory of that brief, unguarded moment between you lingered in the back of his mind, nagging at him as they rode towards the marketplace.

Soon enough, the dirt road gradually transformed into cobblestones beneath the horses' hooves, the soft clatter of stone replacing the muffled sound of earth. Up ahead, the village began to unfurl itself, a bustling marketplace coming into view, vibrant with the daily hum of activity. Stalls lined the streets, laden with goods—fresh produce, meats, textiles, and trinkets. The air was thick with the mingling scents of fresh bread, roasting chestnuts, and the subtle hint of herbs from the nearby apothecary. Your stomach twisted sharply at the realization that you had yet to break your fast, and the sweet aroma of bread, freshly baked and still warm from the ovens, stirred your hunger even more.

It was a small comfort that you had chosen to appear on Gojo’s rounds in a simple dress. While far from a maid’s garb, it was enough to blend in with the modest attire of the villagers, allowing you to remain somewhat inconspicuous. You imagined what a spectacle it might have been if you had arrived adorned in the usual finery expected of a lady of your status—a diamond strolling through the marketplace like some exotic bird, plumed and out of place. Even if that interpretation wouldn’t be completely wrong.

You stole a glance at Gojo. His attire, though far more refined than that of the villagers, was practical enough for the countryside—a waistcoat and riding cloak that spoke of wealth but not ostentation. He moved with ease through the marketplace, his presence commanding attention without demanding it. Residents and shopkeepers greeted him warmly, others calling out his name with familiarity. It was clear that he was well-known and, more surprisingly, well-liked among the people here.

You, on the other hand, felt like an outsider—acutely aware of every gaze that lingered a moment too long in your direction. Although the villagers were preoccupied with their own business, there was no mistaking the subtle glances thrown your way as you rode alongside Gojo. Perhaps it was the curiosity of seeing a noblewoman in such a humble place, or perhaps it was simply the oddity of your pairing with him.

“Ah, Satoru!” A baker called out from a window in his store, a wide grin on his flour-dusted face. “Come for your usual loaf, I presume?”

Gojo chuckled softly, bringing his horse to a gentle halt. With practiced ease, he dismounted, his movements graceful and assured as he swung his leg over and landed lightly on his heels. The smoothness of the motion caught you off guard—it was almost unsettling how effortlessly he moved, as if every action was calculated yet unforced. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of irritation, knowing full well that you would never manage such a feat with half as much elegance, even with assistance.

He strode toward the baker with the kind of natural ease that spoke of familiarity and comfort, offering the man a warm, familiar smile as they exchanged pleasantries. There was a certain charm in his manner, a fluidity in the way he blended himself into the simple rhythm of village life, so unlike the polished and sometimes disingenuous world of high society. You found yourself watching their conversation, noting how easily he made himself a part of this world—something that unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

You brought your horse to a stop beside his, watching as Gojo clasped the baker’s hand in greeting. “Not today, I’m afraid,” Gojo remarked with a light laugh, his tone amiable, yet restrained, “though the aroma is tempting enough to make one reconsider their resolve.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, though the tempting aroma of freshly baked bread was almost enough to make you forget your irritation. You remained silent, feeling somewhat out of place amid Gojo’s easy banter with the villagers. There was something about the way he interacted with them—so at ease, so familiar—that unsettled you. The way the baker addressed him by his given name, Satoru, only added to your bewilderment, and you couldn’t help but wonder how much of this was genuine and how much was part of the façade he wielded so effortlessly in society.

“And who might this lovely young lady be?” The baker’s voice drew you from your thoughts. Both men were now looking at you, you the center of attention as the baker looked between you and Gojo expectantly.

Gojo had his arm resting casually on the baker’s shoulder, his usual smirk slipping for a brief moment as he scratched at the back of his head—a gesture that seemed oddly boyish for someone of his station. It was so unlike him that you blinked in surprise. “Ah, this is—”

“Satoru!” Before he could finish, a sharp voice rang out. The next moment, Gojo winced as an older woman smacked him on the back of the head, leaving him clutching it in exaggerated pain. “You’ve found yourself a wife and didn’t think to inform me?”

Gojo turned with a dramatic groan. “No, Mrs. Tanaka, she is not my wife. Must you always strike me so?”

The woman—short in stature but brimming with fiery energy—had her arms crossed, looking up at him with a mixture of affection and reprimand. “And what reason would I have not to, given how you leave everyone guessing?”

Her gaze then shifted to you, her stern expression softening instantly as she hurried over. Taking your hands in hers, she smiled brightly. “Ah, so this is the young lady who’s finally tamed our Satoru.”

You looked between Mrs. Tanaka and Gojo, bewildered, searching for any explanation or protest that might spare you from the implication. But Gojo merely shrugged, an amused—though slightly embarrassed—expression on his face.

Before you could respond, Mrs. Tanaka waved off any attempt at explanation, placing a finger to her lips as though she already knew the truth. “Say no more, my dear. A fine match, indeed.” She then turned to her husband, giving him a pointed look. “Dear, didn’t you say you had some business with Lord Satoru today? Why not invite them into the bakery?”

At the mention of business, Gojo’s expression shifted, and it was almost unnerving how quickly his lighthearted, carefree demeanor gave way to a more serious and focused air. He turned to the baker, his brow slightly furrowed. “Mr. Tanaka, is there another issue with the ledgers? I had thought that those troubles had long since ceased.”

The baker scratched his head sheepishly. “Well, my lord, there have been further claims—false ones, no doubt—regarding the ledgers, particularly in reference to the debt I incurred when I purchased the bakery. I did not wish to trouble you, especially as,” he cast a quick glance at you and nudged Gojo with a knowing grin, “you have a fine lady with you today. But your assistance in resolving the matter would be most appreciated, my lord.”

Gojo’s expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening as the gravity of the situation became apparent. “Of course, Mr. Tanaka. We shall address it at once. Let us discuss the matter inside.”

Mrs. Tanaka, turning to you with a motherly smile, cooed, “Why don’t you come inside as well, my dear? You look positively famished! Let me prepare something for you.”

As the men disappeared into the back of the bakery to attend to their business, Gojo offering you a brief glance as he followed (as well as an exchange with the baker to have your horses carried to a stable in the village), you were left to follow Mrs. Tanaka’s lead. She guided you to a chair with a gentle, yet insistent, manner, ushering you to sit as though you were a guest of the highest importance. Though her attentiveness was kind, you couldn’t help but feel slightly out of place.

Sitting down, you couldn’t shake the thought—why were you being treated with such familiarity? Yes, Mrs. Tanaka assumed you to be Gojo’s wife, but was the lord you knew, so self-assured and pretentious within society, truly capable of leaving such an impression on these villagers? The notion seemed almost laughable.

You concluded that Gojo must have performed some extraordinary deed—something grand yet deceptively simple, like saving their child from rolling down a hill. A gesture that, while not heroic by any noble standard, had been enough to secure the couple’s undying gratitude. Of course, you mused with a bitter edge, only Gojo could manipulate such a mundane act into a permanent place in their hearts. The thought soured your mood further. It was just like him to charm even the most unsuspecting, innocent villagers into adoring him, using that devilish smile and unearned charisma to weave them into his—--

You were jolted out of your spiraling thoughts, your internal conspiracy theories evaporating at the first whiff of fresh bread. The warm, buttery aroma wafted throughout the room as Mrs. Tanaka made her way towards you, carrying a tray of fresh loaves that looked as good as they smelled–moist and buttery. The sight of the golden-brown crusts made your stomach clench painfully in hunger, reminding you that you had yet to break your fast because of your rendezvous with Gojo.

Mrs. Tanaka set the basket down before you, settling herself across the table, leaning back in her chair with a look of comfortable familiarity as her eyes studied you with quiet observation. Sensing your hesitation, she waved a hand, smiling warmly. “Go on, my dear, help yourself. You’ve yet to break your fast, and it’s no good going hungry.”

With a silent nod of gratitude, you took the invitation, though some part of you briefly wondered what your mother would say if she were to catch you eating so eagerly. But knowing she was nowhere near to scold you for indulgence, you wasted no time. The moment the warm, fresh bread touched your lips, you had to suppress the urge to devour it outright. Though you tried to remain composed, you could not help the small, contented sigh that escaped as the heavenly taste spread across your tongue.

Mrs. Tanaka watched you with delight, the sparkle in her eye showing how your evident enjoyment amused her. You chewed as gracefully as possible, closing your eyes in brief bliss, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Once you had swallowed and could speak without impropriety, you offered her a sincere, “I am deeply grateful to you for your kindness. This bread is truly unlike any I have tasted before.”

The woman waved off your praise with a hearty laugh. “Oh, my dear, you flatter me too much. Have some more! Your words are as sweet as your disposition.”

A flush crept up your neck at her compliment, and for a moment, you were flustered. Despite being praised endlessly by members of the ton for your beauty and title, there was something undeniably genuine in Mrs. Tanaka’s words—an absence of ulterior motives or expectations. She did not seek anything from you: no favor, no power, no advantageous marriage proposal. Her compliment felt simple, warm, and real.

Mrs. Tanaka continued to smile warmly, her gaze soft as she leaned in a little closer, clearly intrigued by the presence of a lady beside Lord Gojo. She took a sip of tea, her fingers tapping lightly against the table as she asked, “So, my dear, where did you meet our Satoru? He’s never brought a lady to our village before.”

The question caught you off guard. You paused for a moment, careful not to reveal too much or seem overly invested in his affairs. “We met in... social circles,” you answered simply, averting your gaze slightly, trying to keep your tone neutral. There was no need to elaborate or dwell on how precisely your paths had crossed—certainly not to Mrs. Tanaka, no matter how kind she seemed.

But Mrs. Tanaka was undeterred by your hesitance, her eyes lighting up with fondness as she spoke again. “Ah, yes, I suppose that would be the case. Though I’ve known him far longer than most in those circles.” She chuckled, a motherly gleam in her eye. “I’ve been with him since birth, you know. I was his nurse—watched him grow from a babe to the man you see now. Heaven knows it wasn’t easy.”

You glanced up, startled at the intimacy of her revelation. The thought of this woman, now sitting across from you, having been a part of his life since his earliest days struck you in a way you hadn’t expected. Gojo had always seemed like an enigma—a man of privilege and power, impossible to know beyond his title and public persona. But here, in the humble setting of this village, Mrs. Tanaka spoke of him as if he were not some distant lord, but a boy she had raised, a person with a story you had never even considered.

“He was the most energetic child,” Mrs. Tanaka continued, her voice fond and nostalgic. “Always getting into mischief, running circles around everyone. He had so much spirit, but oh, the responsibilities placed on those little shoulders were heavy from the start. Even when he was just a boy, his father had him learning the estate's business, sorting through documents before he could properly read some of them. I remember once—he couldn’t have been more than ten years old—his father handed him a stack of contracts to review. The poor lad spent hours poring over them, brow furrowed like a little man.”

You listened intently, the bread in your hand momentarily forgotten. It was strange, hearing Gojo being spoken of this way—no longer just a lord or rival, but a child burdened by duty far too early.

The woman continued, “I remember thinking how much that experience must’ve aged him. He always carried that burden with such grace, but you could see it—it weighed on him.”

A strange turmoil began to stir in your chest. You had only ever known Gojo as the man he presented to society—arrogant, infuriatingly self-assured, with a grin that could cut like a knife. But now, you were being offered a glimpse of someone else entirely: a boy who had been shaped by forces beyond his control.

Mrs. Tanaka’s voice softened, her gaze faraway as she reminisced. “It was not easy for him, growing up with so much expected of him. He would act out sometimes, just to remind everyone that he was still a boy—still someone who needed room to breathe. But even so, he never shied away from what was asked of him. He understood his duty, perhaps too well.”

“I see.” You swallowed, a strange sensation creeping up your spine.

“He’s a good man, Satoru,” Mrs. Tanaka said softly. “He’s had to grow up faster than most, and he’s been shaped by that weight. But I hope you can see that there’s more to him than what’s on the surface.”

You offered her a polite smile, but inside, your thoughts were a storm of conflicting emotions. Gojo, a man burdened by duty? The notion seemed almost laughable... and yet, there was a part of you that couldn’t dismiss it so easily.

Your gaze then wandered to the man of the topic itself. The baker and him were poring and scanning endlessly over sheets of paper, an uptick in his jaw visible as his eyes remained concentrated, oblivious to your observation from across the bakery. His hand raked over his hair, the muscles in his forearm clenching and unclenching due to the action, as he discussed something with the baker. Whatever matter they were discussing, it was clear it a serious matter, for you could hear the gears whirring through his mind through the calculative look on his face.

The scene felt oddly intimate—watching him in such a serious, unguarded moment. His usual carefree demeanor was replaced by something sharp, calculating, as if the gears of his mind were turning at full speed. He pointed at something on the paper, his brow furrowing, and exchanged a few terse words with the baker. From the look on their faces, the issue seemed grave, but Gojo handled it with a calm decisiveness that surprised you.

Finally, after several moments of quiet but intense discussion, there was a visible shift. The baker nodded, sighing in relief, and Gojo’s posture relaxed, the tension in his frame unwinding. He stood a little taller, rolling his shoulders as though shedding the weight of responsibility that had pressed down on him so heavily just moments before. He glanced at the baker with a reassuring smile, offering a firm pat on the man’s back. It seemed the matter had been resolved.

As Gojo turned his head, his eyes caught yours from across the bakery. Your heart leapt unexpectedly, and you quickly averted your gaze, heat creeping up your neck as you pretended to be fascinated by the contents of the breadbasket in front of you. Despite yourself, a faint flustered feeling bloomed in your chest, and you couldn’t shake the sense of being caught staring.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Gojo making his way toward you, his steps slow but deliberate. You could feel the gentle thud of his boots against the wooden floor, the sound growing louder with each stride. Your back straightened instinctively, your gaze fixed firmly on Mrs. Tanaka, trying to distract yourself from the awareness that Gojo was now directly behind you.

Then, a hand placed on the back of your chair as Gojo effectively leaned over you, peering down to look down at you and Mrs. Tanaka. “Ah, I see you’ve been well entertained,” he drawled, a teasing lilt to it, though quieter and more casual than before.

You manage a polite smile to Mrs. Tanaka despite the teasing intent behind Satoru’s words. "Mrs. Tanaka has been a most gracious host," you replied, avoiding meeting his eyes directly, though you could feel his presence and the heat of his hand behind you, on the back of your chair.

“Well, the business is settled for now,” Gojo turned slightly so that he was addressing Mrs. Tanaka as well. "I’m glad we could clear it up."

Mrs. Tanaka nodded, her expression pleased. "That’s good to hear. I don’t know what we’d do without you, Satoru. You always manage to set things right."

Gojo shrugged modestly, though the smirk playing on his lips told you he was aware of his importance in the village. "I do what I can," he said with an exaggerated sigh, though the humor in his tone softened the boast.

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes at his self-satisfaction, but Mrs. Tanaka was having none of it, laughing and swatting at his arm. "Enough of that, lad. You’ll give yourself a swollen head.”

Gojo laughed heartily at that, the sound easy and infectious. For a moment, it was almost disarming how comfortable he seemed in this setting, a far cry from the lord who prowled through the ton with that arrogant air of superiority. The contrast gnawed at you, but you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on Mrs. Tanaka, who now wore an expression of mild concern.

Curiosity piqued, you glanced over to Gojo, only to find a matching look of confusion on his face, his eyebrows slightly raised as he too turned to the woman.

Mrs. Tanaka’s frown deepened as she folded her arms, the lines of worry clear upon her face. “Satoru,” she began, her tone earnest, “is your wife pregnant yet?”

The question landed between you like a stone dropped in still water.

Gojo sputtered, his usual composure vanishing in an instant, and you—taken aback—choked on nothing but air, coughing violently as the shock of the statement hit you squarely.

"P-Pardon?" Gojo stammered, eyes wide, and for once, his usual glib charm utterly failed him.

You managed to recover just enough to speak, though your voice came out hoarse and incredulous. “I—I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

The tension in the room skyrocketed as Mrs. Tanaka blinked innocently between the two of you, utterly oblivious to the awkwardness spreading like wildfire. "Well, it’s just—he’s always been so strong and healthy. I thought, surely by now…"

You quickly attempted to intervene, “No, I assure you—”

But before you could get a full sentence out, Mrs. Tanaka turned to Satoru, her gaze suddenly serious as she leveled him with an intent stare. “You’re doing your task correctly, I presume? You have to apply a bit of force, or you're not performing the act quite right.”

She then turned her concerned frown toward you. “Is he not doing his job properly? You do feel pleasure, don’t you, my dear?”

You blinked, utterly baffled, and turned to Gojo, seeking some kind of explanation. But to no avail—he was conspicuously avoiding your gaze, a rare flush creeping up his neck. The sight of him, normally so self-assured, now visibly flustered, did nothing to quell your rising confusion. “Pleasure?” you echoed, unsure of what she was referring to.

“Satoru!” Mrs. Tanaka scolded, her tone growing more exasperated. “You must conduct the marital act properly!”

Gojo finally intervened, cutting Mrs. Tanaka off with a polite but decisive, "Thank you, Mrs. Tanaka. We shall consider your counsel. I have many errands to get to, so we must take our leave now." His voice was calm, though firm, signaling that the conversation had reached its conclusion. Offering her a swift bow, he gestured for you to follow, and you did so with a quiet, grateful nod.

Once outside, the air between you both felt lighter, though a strange silence still lingered. Both of you took to the streets again—Gojo didn’t seem to make motions towards the bakery’s stable to grab your horses, so you assumed the medium of travel was to be foot for the rest of his errands.

However, after a few steps, curiosity gnawed at you, and you could no longer hold back your question.

"What, exactly, is the marital act?"

Gojo stopped abruptly, turning to face you with a look of utter bewilderment amidst the bustle of the market traveling around you both. "You cannot be serious."

You met his gaze earnestly. "I am entirely serious. My mama hasn't…enlightened me, simply skirting around the topic. I was wondering if you could, given that it has arisen in our conversation."

He blinked, seemingly at a loss for words, before letting out a startled laugh. "It is... how children are conceived."

"Oh," you responded, thinking on it for a moment. "So... one must marry, then?"

Gojo stared at you, incredulity plain on his face. "What?"

"You sign the contract," you explained, as though clarifying something obvious, "and then you lay in bed and embrace, do you not?"

Gojo’s mouth fell open for a moment before he threw his head back with a short, disbelieving laugh. "Just embrace?"

You nodded, though your cheeks had begun to burn under his astonished gaze and you averted your gaze to look at the shiny, red apples a vendor was presenting. "Yes, merely embrace."

Shaking his head, Gojo let out another incredulous chuckle. "And you believe children are delivered by storks as well, I suppose?"

You crossed your arms, feeling your face grow hotter. "I most certainly do not. I was present when my mother gave birth to Yuji, and I heard every scream, thank you very much."

Gojo ran a hand over his face, stifling his amusement as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Clearly there is more to it than simply embracing. It is... a rather more intimate affair."

"More intimate? You mean like wrestling?"

At this, Gojo choked on his laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, not wrestling. It’s... well, I hardly know how to explain it delicately. But it is how one begets children."

You frowned, now growing frustrated with his vagueness. "You speak in riddles. If I am mistaken, then kindly explain what the act entails!"

Gojo sighed deeply, clearly struggling between frustration and amusement. "The marital act is not simply laying beside one another—it involves a... a physical connection, far beyond mere affection. It is, indeed, how children come to be."

You blinked, still not fully understanding, though you refused to let it show. "You could simply say so, instead of dancing around the matter."

Gojo’s lips twitched into a grin. "Ah, but where would be the fun in that?"

"Fun?" you repeated, exasperated. "This is a matter of knowledge!"

"Indeed, a matter of knowledge I did not expect to be imparting today," Gojo said with a wry shake of his head. "Suffice it to say, it is more than an embrace, and when the time comes, you shall learn well enough."

You glared at him, cheeks still warm with embarrassment. "I shall inquire elsewhere, then."

“I would advise you not to,” Gojo remarked wryly, tilting his head to indicate that both of you move, which you surmise is a wise move given that a heavy and big cart was moving towards the general direction of the both of you, and your feet followed him through the market. Roving his eyes over the general treats and food available, you see–from beside him–that his eyes fixate on some sweet smelling pastries on a cart. Not taking his eyes off of them, he adds, “It’s quite a sensitive topic among the ton. I suspect your mama would faint if she heard you were out and about inquiring the true nature of the marital act.”

“I can…consult texts,” you say, offhandedly, but you are equally as enraptured towards the sweets stall you both are walking towards.

“Mmh,” Gojo hums, “You could, I’m sure. However, you might encounter more…scientific things, rather than the personal.”

You shrugged, eyes locked in on the pasty bursting with apples. “Makes no distinction to me.”

In your…focus on the pastry, you failed to hear the upcoming hooves against the street, steadily getting louder and louder towards you. Just as you were reaching the pastry stall, the thunderous clatter of hooves on cobblestones cut through the air, snapping you from your reverie. A carriage barreled down the narrow lane, far too close for comfort and ready to crush you.

Before you could react, Gojo’s hand shot out, firm and unyielding, pulling you back toward him with a swift motion. He held you against his side, shielding you from the oncoming threat, his grip steady and protective. The world seemed to spin for a moment, your senses heightened by the closeness, the warmth of his touch, and the rapid beat of your own heart.

"Must I be responsible for keeping you from walking into trouble?" he murmured, his voice tinged with both relief and a hint of exasperation. You could feel his grip on your arm and waist as he breathed heavily, the sheer strength he possessed making you shocked, even dizzy. The carriage rumbled past, stirring up a cloud of dust, and you were left standing so near to him that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath.

You opened your mouth to stammer some excuse, your cheeks hot with embarrassment, but his expression had already softened into that infuriatingly familiar smirk, and he let go of the contact he had on you. "I shall have to keep a closer watch over you, lest pastries and carriages both be your undoing," he teased lightly.

You huffed, stepping back from his person with as much dignity as you could muster. "I was merely... distracted by the sweets, as were you," you replied, sounding petulant even to your own ears.

"Ah, yes, distracted to the point of self-endangerment. Truly, the pastries of this market wield extraordinary power over you."

"I am hardly so careless. It was a mere lapse of focus." Your lips twitched, fighting the smile threatening to surface despite your annoyance.

"If you say so," he drawled, his tone full of mock skepticism. Then, with a more serious note, he added, "Perhaps it would be wise to focus on the task at hand, rather than leaving your life in the hands of apple tarts."

You flushed slightly, more from his sheer perceptiveness than the scolding itself, and cast your eyes away, suddenly unsure of what to say. It was so much simpler when he was mocking you, but this unexpected gentleness was a new kind of challenge altogether.

"Come then," he said, his voice returning to its light, teasing timbre. "Let us continue our quest for knowledge—or, at the very least, for pastries that won't lead to your untimely end."

Moving towards the stall, the smell of various fruits baked into sweets with delicious sauces sprinkled on top. The treats were clearly crafted with care, the kind of sincerity and dedication that no gilded manor kitchen could quite capture. The young couple behind the stall radiated a warmth and pride that spoke of a passion for their craft, one that valued love of the work over the cost of the ingredients.

Gojo, ever at ease among the townsfolk, exchanged pleasantries with the couple, his attention split between their conversation and the tempting selection of tarts. He spoke with the man about some local issue, but you found your focus entirely absorbed by the golden-crusted apple pie that seemed to call to you.

“Would you like to try these?” You looked up to see the presumed wife of the man, smiling at you and eyes twinkling with genuine hospitality.

Returning her smile with a polite nod, you said, "There is no need, truly. How much do you ask for one of these?" You thanked God for remembering to carry your small coin purse—a habit drilled into you by Sukuna’s lessons on self-sufficiency, even if Judgement day came in, you always carried money on your person so long as you were not within your family’s vicinity.

The lady named her price, and you promptly began to search for the correct coins in your purse. Just as your fingers brushed against the cool metal, a gloved hand caught your wrist, halting your movement.

"You must be the only lady in all of Christendom who insists on paying for her own tarts whilst her husband stands idly by," came Gojo’s teasing voice. You didn’t need to look up to know that his familiar smirk was firmly in place, brimming with that infuriating mirth that seemed to accompany his every word.

Without relinquishing his gentle hold on your wrist, he smoothly handed over the coins to the stall owner, then deftly picked up a golden apple tart. His eyes gleamed with something unreadable as he offered the pastry to you, the corners of his mouth twitching as if daring you to protest.

But you didn’t give him what he wanted; rather, you took it without protest—not without rolling your eyes—and looked it over appreciatively.

Gojo bent over to lean his face close into yours, ever so playing the part of a husband wanting to spoil his wife. “Happy?”

You gave him a hum, sticking your tongue out and then taking a bite of the pastry in front of you.

Gojo's smirk widened, clearly amused by your reaction, his blue eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and satisfaction. He watched you intently, as though gauging your every move, delighting in this little game of his. You knew he expected some sharp retort or flustered reaction, but you were determined not to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you took a slow, deliberate bite of the tart, savoring its warmth and sweetness. The flaky crust gave way to the soft, spiced apple filling that practically melted on your tongue. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, relishing the taste, and let out a contented sigh. "It is quite satisfactory," you said, allowing a small smile to play on your lips as you met his gaze.

"Well, I should hope so," Gojo said with a chuckle, still playing the role of the devoted husband. "One does go to great lengths to ensure one's wife is suitably indulged."

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, but there was no denying the way the scene had amused you, despite your best efforts to remain unflappable. “You enjoy this, don’t you?” you remarked dryly.

"More than you can imagine," he replied, his tone light and teasing. "Seeing you this flustered and yet so determined not to show it? Absolutely delightful."

You narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn't quite suppress the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "You are insufferable."

"And yet," he said, leaning in ever so slightly, a touch of softness behind the humor in his voice, "you tolerate me still."

You huffed. "Only because you happen to be useful at times, particularly for giving me the opportunity to escape the confines of your godforsaken manor."

He laughed, a genuine sound that echoed above the bustle of the market. "Oh, I'll take that as the highest compliment, coming from you."

"Enjoy it while you can, Gojo. It may be the last time I am so generous."

"Noted," he said with a grin, giving you a playful wink. "I'll savor it as much as you did that tart."

"You know," you began, musing, "our mamas have truly squandered their efforts. We would never have made a compatible match."

Both of you rode side by side on horseback, the forest trail stretching out before you as you made your way back to the manor. The journey was not far now—the stone turrets of the Gojo estate were already visible in the distance. The both of you hadn’t had much time to do much other than two encounters you had, deciding to make your return before your rendezvous got behindhand. You turned your head slightly to study Gojo's reaction, expecting to find that familiar, self-assured smirk he always wore. But instead, his expression was... different. A touch more solemn, perhaps even conflicted.

At last, he spoke, his voice softer than usual. "And what, pray tell, do you consider a suitable match?"

You let his question hang in the air for a moment, taking in the rustling leaves and the steady rhythm of your horses' hooves against the well-trodden path. It was just the two of you here in the quiet of the forest, far from the prying eyes of society. There was a certain unspoken understanding between you—a truce of sorts—yet also a acknowledgement that either of you could easily betray this moment's candor.

So, ultimately, you chose honesty. Partial honesty.

With a quiet sigh, you chose your words carefully. "I think," you hesitated, your gaze caught by Gojo's steady, penetrating eyes, "I should prefer a life of tranquility once I am wed. Someone gentle, who would respect my desire to occupy myself as I please, who would allow me a measure of privacy." You quickly added, as to not seem too radical, "I mean to say, someone who would not object if I wished to practice my piano in solitude or to pursue a quiet hobby. Surely you understand, my lord, the burden of constantly being in the public eye."

Instead of seeming understanding, Gojo’s gaze on you was…pensive. Your heart sped up as the solace you needed from Gojo after being a bit vulnerable didn’t appear, leaving your mind running as to what he was thinking.The sunlight filtered through the trees, catching in his white hair, giving him an almost ethereal appearance as the two of you rode on in silence.

Then, the clouds covered the sun up, giving his figure a glum, ruminative cast.

After a long pause, he finally spoke, and his voice seemed to carry a note of something deeper, something unspoken. As if he was aware of something you weren’t. “What I do understand that is that you are being deceitful. Both your future husband and to yourself.”

His words hung in the air between you, more like a question than a statement, challenging in a way that left you unprepared. The forest around you seemed to hold its breath, the rustling leaves and birdsong fading into the background as his gaze locked onto yours, probing, almost too perceptive. It was the windiness indicative of rainfall, with the thunder of clouds above you to provide testament to the change in weather.

You straightened in your saddle, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. "I fail to see what you mean," you replied, a touch defensive, though you kept your tone level. "What else should one seek from a marriage if not harmony and respect?"

"You speak of privacy and quiet, of being left to your own devices. But tell me," he said, his voice barely above a murmur, "would that truly satisfy you? To be married to a man who treats you as if you were a painting—beautiful, yes, but best admired from a distance, untouched and unengaged?"

You opened your mouth to respond but found no words. There was a part of you, a stubborn part, that wanted to argue—to tell him he was wrong, that a peaceful life was exactly what you desired.

"I... simply wish to avoid the chaos that comes with too much entanglement," you said finally, more quietly. "I’ve seen what happens when people become too wrapped up in one another. It's a vulnerability I do not wish to expose myself to."

"Ah, I see," he said, nodding slowly yet mockingly as if he was piecing together a puzzle, making you bristle involuntarily. "So, you’d rather not risk the mess of it all—the unpredictability, the chance of losing control. You want safety."

You narrowed your eyes at him, both irritated and unnerved by his perceptiveness. "Is that so wrong?" you challenged. "To desire a life where I can control my own happiness, rather than leave it in the hands of another?"

He matched your tone and fervor. “Is that truly what you believe a marriage is for?”

You sneered. “And don’t you want an accountant for a wife, my lord? It is quite laughable for you to be advising me on the beauty of marriage.”

Enraptured in the heat of the moment, you hadn’t realized that you were nearly at the stables where you had to station your horses until Satoru grabbed his reins—-hands idle before, directing his horse in no particular direction—to now steer his into the stall next to the ones you directed yours.

“My stance on marriage and my character bear no relevance to this matter,” he replied, a rueful smile tugging at his lips as he tethered his horse. His tone was controlled, though a trace of irritation bled through. “Whatever my faults, they do not make your notions any more rational.”

“But you forget that it illuminates who you are,” you hissed, walking towards the exit of the barn, tired of the smell of manure and Gojo, unsure which was more repugnant. “A hypocrite. A whited sepulchre, if you will.”

Gojo barks out a laugh from behind you, following closely behind on your heels. “Any supposed sanctimonious nature of mine does not alter the fact that you are steering yourself into a life of misery. Not just you, but any poor fool incapable of seeing through your polished smiles to your true intentions.”

On a given day, had you not been so incensed or had your opponent been anyone other than Lord Gojo, you might have heeded the thunderous roar of the rain on the stable’s roof or the slick ground outside that awaited you. And on a given day, you wouldn’t have stepped so fast, as if daring the friction of the ground and force of gravity to make you fall flat on your face.

But, alas, it was not that said given day and your ankle made a sickening crunch! against the ground as you fell, your head and body hitting the wet grass. You felt the world tilt unnaturally as you hit the ground, the impact jarring through your body, sending a shockwave of pain radiating from your ankle to the back of your skull. A dull throb began to pulse at your temples, and the rain poured down, blurring your vision into a haze of grays and greens.

Through the blend of sensations, you heard a sharp intake of breath, and then there were hurried footsteps approaching. Somewhere above the din of the storm, a voice called your name, its usual calm fraying at the edges with alarm.

“Miss Itadori!” WIth that you jumped, eyes finally registering a Gojo clenching your wrists tight. “Can you understand what I am saying?”

Your gaze drifted over his face, focusing on the small details—his rain-slicked hair, the concern that flickered behind his eyes, the humorless smile that strained at his lips. Slowly, you managed a nod, though even that small movement made your head swim. “Yes,” you whispered.

Then, you became acutely aware of a warm, crimson fluid pooling around you, contrasting sharply with the rain-soaked earth. You began to feel faint, though not from the severity of the injury itself, but rather from the unfamiliar sight of so much blood. It was unnerving, especially for someone who had never experienced a wound of this nature. The lightheadedness must have been responsible for your sudden admission, “I am frightened.”

Lord Gojo’s eyes, which had moments ago glinted with amusement at your pitiful state, softened ever so slightly. His smirk remained in place, yet you noticed the way his fingers twitched restlessly at his side, betraying the composure he desperately clung to. “My lady, it’s merely a gash. You are not in danger of perishing,” he said, his tone light, almost too light, like a mask hiding something unspoken. “However, it seems I’ll have to carry you to a physician, lest you collapse entirely.”

He stood up from where he had been inspecting your ankle, bending slightly before you with his arms extended. But there was a slight hesitation in his movement, a momentary pause before his hands reached for you, as if he were weighing the consequences, considering the impropriety of the action.

Your eyes widened in alarm at the very idea of being carried by him. “Carry me? What--AHHH!” A sharp scream left your lips as Lord Gojo, without warning, scooped you into his arms. In the blink of an eye, you found yourself in a bridal carry, your gown catching the rain as he strode out of the greenhouse. He moved with a purposeful stride, though his grip on you was perhaps a fraction tighter than necessary, his jaw clenched just a bit too firmly.

You pounded your fists ineffectively against his chest, cheeks burning with indignation. “Gojo, let me down!”

He, of course, ignored your demands entirely, his voice annoyingly gentle as he cooed, “Now, now, it’s for your own good. You’re in no condition to walk, and I can hardly risk your injury worsening.” But despite his calm words, his eyes flickered nervously to your face and then away, almost as though he was afraid of what he might see in your expression if he looked too long.

“What if someone sees us?” you hissed, your mind racing at the impropriety of the situation. The two of you, unchaperoned, in such an undignified position—it would provide gossip for Whistledown and the ton for weeks.

Gojo’s smirk returned, though there was a tightness around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “I am wearing gloves, my lady. Fear not, I am not making contact with your bare skin.” His attempt at humor felt forced, his voice lacking its usual ease, and when he added, “Though I daresay, it would not be such an unpleasant thought,” the playfulness seemed almost like a deflection.

You narrowed your eyes, trying to distract yourself from the warmth of his arms. “Why do you always wear those?”

“Writing ledgers and doing a lot of work with pens make my fingers blister. It’s quite unsightly, so I prefer to wear them,” he said, his voice steady, though the hand supporting your back trembled almost imperceptibly.

You hummed, settling a little more comfortably in his hold. "You know, you’re quite strong to be able to carry me like this. What manual labor are your parents making you do to get the title of duke?”

“Well,” Gojo began, but his voice sounded tighter now, the rumble of it vibrating through his chest where your head was so near. The proximity seemed to unsettle him in a way his words could not hide; he cleared his throat as if to steady himself, but his breathing was just a touch uneven. My vindication for such close contact will be the blood loss, you thought, as you nestled your head closer to his chest, until your nose was almost grazing his neck. The scent of tobacco and vanilla filled your senses, lulling you closer to the pulse that beat a bit too fast beneath his skin. “I enjoy doing archery. I’ve been doing it ever since I was a child, which happens to strengthen your shoulders.”

You thought back to the night you were strolling in the garden the day of your debut, musing on the size of his shoulders, and mumbled, “Mmmm, I was right.”

Gojo stiffened almost imperceptibly, his gaze flickering down to you in a way that was almost too quick, too searching. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, but he hesitated. "Right about what?" he asked finally, his tone a bit too casual, as though trying to mask the turmoil behind his nonchalance.

“Nothing,” you murmured, closing your eyes and leaning your head against his shoulder. You felt his gaze linger on you, as though he were trying to decipher a puzzle that was just beyond his reach, before he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. And as he carried you onward, the rhythm of his heartbeat felt almost in sync with the rain, though you both pretended not to notice how fast it was racing.

As you leaned against him, the warmth of his presence enveloped you, a soothing balm against the chaos swirling in your mind. But the world began to tilt, colors blurring at the edges, and the sounds of the forest faded into a distant hum.

“Gojo…” you whispered, your voice barely a breath, a final plea for clarity before darkness crept in.

The last thing you registered was his grip tightening around you, a hint of alarm breaking through his facade. “Stay with me,” you heard, though his voice felt miles away, echoing in the void as consciousness slipped through your fingers like grains of sand.

Then, the world faded entirely, leaving only the warmth of his arms and the distant sound of his voice.

prev. the game | next. the house party

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n AHHH HI BRIDGERTON!GOJO READERS I MISSED U!!! im very sorry for the delay that happened with this chapter but for me it's so hard to write...development and angst and fluff becasue when you write it's so hard to know when any of your writing hits :(

but re-reading ur comments reblogs and asks inspire me a lot to continue so we all good :3 i think what happened was that i kind of went thru a crisis where i thought my writing wasn't good at all because of certain things i saw in other authors', i.e. writing longfics that have 10k+ words that led me to believe i wasn't writing enough, that my plotline was progressing too fast, etc. i might have long chapters going on, i might not because i realize how stupid that belief was lol. anyways moving forward i dont think we will see that type of delay because i have the best readers hehe <3 love you all and im kind of giggling in anticipation to all your funny comments because they make my day

ANYWAYS like always reblogs and comments are appreciated <333

meme time

gojo getting to business w the baker (credits to @/sinn-clair LOL)

TAGLIST:

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

@hyori2 @babyblue0t7 @iwanttoberich420 @rosso-seta @ladytamayolover

@kalulakunundrum @r0ckst4rjk @mo0sin @angelina7890 @jaeminaur

@yamiyas @cherry-blossoms-in-red @r3inae @lagataprrr @sasfransisco

@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx

@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

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shoroa91 · 1 month ago

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I am Shorouq, a mother of three children: Qusai, 7 years old, Eileen, 5 years old, and Hisham, who is nearing his second birthday. I lived with my husband Samer in a beautiful home in northern Gaza, where our lives were filled with hope. Every corner of our home held precious memories, from our children’s laughter to the happy moments we shared as a family. But over a year ago, everything changed. The dream we built turned into an endless nightmare. We lost everything, and our journey of suffering and displacement began.

On the night of October 10, 2023, after I had put my children to bed, the bombing grew closer. At exactly 1:30 AM, the threat came. We had to leave our home immediately. There was no time to think, 🤔 no time to gather anything. We carried our children 🧒 and fled into the dark, not knowing where to go, just trying to survive the relentless bombing. Our home, 🏠 mom 👩 which was once our safe haven, was partially destroyed and became uninhabitable. Along with it, all the beautiful memories we made were gone. We left with no food, no extra clothes, and none of the basic necessities for our children.

We moved around for two weeks inside Gaza City, being displaced twice during that time, until we finally reached Rafah on October 20, 2023. There, a new chapter of our suffering began. We had no choice but to live in a small tent. ⛺️ As a mother, the hardest thing was seeing my children hungry and not being able to provide for them. No clean 🧼 water, no food 🍱 to sustain them, and the cold 🥶 wrapping around their small bodies.

My son Qusai has had a heart ♥️ condition since birth, requiring several surgeries. In these circumstances, we can’t access the medical 🏥 care he needs, not even basic medicine. 💊 Every time I see him in pain, my heart breaks. How can I, as a mother, not provide safety and treatment for my child?👦

My daughter Eileen, only five years old, has been deeply affected by the war. She was once a joyful 😀 and lively child, but now fear 😨 has taken over her small face. She no longer laughs like she used to, and she no longer dreams of the future. The war has stolen her childhood.

On October 5, 2023, we were threatened again and forced to flee from Rafah to Deir al-Balah. This was our fifth displacement. We stayed there for two months, but even Deir al-Balah wasn’t safe. Once again, we packed our few belongings and headed to the town of Zawaida.

My youngest son, Hisham, who hasn’t yet turned two, is suffering from malnutrition. I cannot describe the feeling of looking at my baby, knowing he is hungry and not being able to provide him with the proper food. Prices for basic needs have skyrocketed, with even diapers costing $100. We were also living in constant fear of the polio outbreak, 😷 which was declared by the World Health Organization. 🏥 This added another layer of terror for us as a family, fearing for our children’s health, but thankfully, we managed to get them vaccinated just in time.

For the second year in a row, my children 🧒 have not been able to attend school. 🏫 No education, no clear future. As a mother, I feel helpless, unable to give them the hope they deserve.

We now live in a small tent ⛺️ where everything is cramped into one tiny space. The bathroom, 🚽 kitchen, and sleeping 🛌 area are all in one room. The war rages on, and we live between fear, hunger, and the cold.🥶

Today, I ask for your help. As a mother, 🧑 all I want is to take my children to a safe place, where they can enjoy their childhood without fear or hunger. We need your support, as the cost of travel alone is $5,000💵per person for me and my husband, and $2,500 💵for each of our three children, bringing the total to $17,500, 💵just to cover the expenses required by travel companies to get us to safety.

In addition to this, we need ongoing support to start a new life. We need your help to rent a home, continue my son Qusai’s medical treatment, and enroll my children in school so they can resume their education. My husband and I need the means to stand on our feet again, to rebuild our lives and give our children the future they deserve.

Please support us in this campaign so we can escape this suffering and provide a dignified life for my children, far from the destruction.

Help us give my children a chance at a new life.

Our campaign ✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #240 )✅️

@90-ghost @heritageposts @ot3 @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @aria-ashryver @tamamita @appsa @ibtisams @soon-palestine @shoroa91 @turtletoria @sar-soor @sayruq @neptunerings @gazavetters @mysharona1987 @plomegranate @northgazaupdates2 @palestinegenocide @taviamoth @killy

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acourtofquestions · 2 months ago

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And if he found her, if he freed her …

Rowan did not let himself think beyond that. To the other truth that they would face, the other burden.

Tell Rowan that I'm sorry I lied. But tell him it was all borrowed time anyway. Even before today, I knew it was all just borrowed time, but I still wish we'd had more of it.

He refused to accept that. Would never accept that she would be the ultimate cost to end this, to save their world

Rowan scanned the blanket of stars overhead.

While all other constellations had wheeled past, the Lord of the North remained, the immortal star between his antlers pointing the way home. To Terrasen.

Tell him he has to fight. He must save Terrasen, and remember the vows he made to me.

Time was not on their side, not with Maeve, not with the war unleashing itself back on their own continent. But he had no intention of returning without her, parting request or no, regardless of the oaths he'd sworn upon marrying her to guard and rule Terrasen.

And tell him thank you-for walking that dark path with me back to the light.

It had been his honor. From the very beginning, it had been his honor, the greatest of his immortal life.

An immortal life they would share together somehow. He'd allow no other alternative.

Rowan silently swore it to the stars. He could have sworn the Lord of the North flickered in response.

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scoonsalicious · 9 months ago

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Unwanted Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn't be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust. Completed.

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

Warnings: 18+ Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here.

"*" indicates explicit sexual content (each chapter will feature its own warnings as needed), language, alcohol/drug use, drunk!Bucky, drunk!/high!Reader, pick-me!oc, angst, mentions of CSA, angst, emotional affair, angst, physical infidelity (dependent on your pov), canon-level violence, emotional trauma, did I mention angst?, some fluffy moments, destructive behavior, injury, medical conditions, poorly translated Russian, unprotected anonymous sex, murder, minor oc character death, mentions of SA and torture, underage drug use, mentions of sex trafficking, mention of child injury.

More will be added as the story progresses, and some chapters will have specific warnings that I will keep under wraps to avoid spoilers. When we get to those sections, I will let you know, so if there is a specific trigger that you absolutely cannot handle, let me know and I will tell you if the section is safe. As always, please let me know if I miss any warnings.

Word Count: 155.2k

A/N: And here I present unto you, my beloved, the fruit of my labors these many past moons. Seven months in the making. My magnum opus.

Tumblr says this post has too many links, so for Chapters 27, 28, 29, and 30 (the epilogue), please use the navigation links in the first part of each chapter.

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Part 1 (Posted 3/6/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/6/24) Part 3 (Posted 3/6/24) Part 4 (Posted 3/6/24)

Part 1 (Posted 3/8/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/8/24) Part 3 (Posted 3/9/24) Part 4 (Posted 3/9/24) Part 5 (Posted 3/9/24)

Part 1 (Posted 3/10/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/10/24) Part 3* (Posted 3/10/24)

Part 1* (Posted 3/11/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/12/24) Part 3* (Posted 3/13/24)

Part 1 (Posted 3/15/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/15/24)

Part 1 (Posted 3/16/24)

Part 1 (Posted 3/17/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/17/24)

Part 1 (Posted 3/18/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/19/24) Part 3* (Posted 3/19/24)

Part 1 (Posted 3/21/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/22/24) Part 3 (Posted 3/23/24)

Part 1 (Posted 3/24/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/26/24) Part 3 (Posted 3/26/24)

Part 1 (Posted 3/27/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/28/24)

Part 1 (Posted 3/29/24) Part 2 (Posted 3/30/24) Part 3 (Posted 3/31/24) Part 4 (Posted 4/01/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/02/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/03/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/04/24) Part 4 (Posted 4/04/24) Part 5 (Posted 4/05/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/6/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/7/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/7/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/8/24) Part 4 (Posted 4/8/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/9/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/9/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/10/24) Part 4 (Posted 4/10/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/11/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/11/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/11/24) Part 4 (Posted 4/12/24) Part 5 (Posted 4/12/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/12/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/13/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/13/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/13/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/13/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/14/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/14/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/14/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/15/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/15/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/15/24) Part 4 (Posted 4/15/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/16/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/17/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/17/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/18/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/19/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/19/24) Part 4 (Posted 4/19/24) Part 5* (Posted 4/20/24) Part 6 (Posted 4/20/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/20/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/21/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/21/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/21/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/22/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/22/24) Part 4 (Posted 4/22/24)

Part 1 (Posted 2/23/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/23/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/23/24) Part 4 (Posted 4/23/24) Part 5 (Posted 4/23/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/24/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/24/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/24/24) Part 4 (Posted 4/24/24) Part 5 (Posted 4/24/24) Part 6 (Posted 4/24/24) Part 7 (Posted 4/24/24) Part 8 (Posted 4/24/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/25/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/25/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/25/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/26/24) Part 2 (Posted 4/26/24) Part 3 (Posted 4/26/24) Part 4 (Posted 4/26/24)

Part 1 (Posted 4/27/24) Part 2* (Posted 4/27/24)

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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rispwr · 29 days ago

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Hate you - masterlist - J.JK

Pairings : ex! Jungkook x ex! Reader

Notes : i will start posting the screenshots or messages before i publish the written fic

Genre : Ex2L, angst, slow burn, fake dating, slice of life, fluff, e2l, corporate rivals, smau, smut

Sypnosis : ‘You were always told that hating someone is the only way it doesn’t hurt but what if you can’t hate him? No matter how hard you try your heart will always find it’s way to his’

2 years after breaking up with your boyfriend of 2 years you were finally on your way to become the ceo of your family’s company your rival turns out to be your ex.

Contents/warnings :

Misunderstood break up, insecurities, mentions of self harms or mental health issues, jk is mean at the start, yelling, sensitive language or words, mentions of family trauma, corporate au, smart (both), mentions of yoongi x oc, mentions of cheating, soon to be ceo! Jk, soon to be ceo! Oc, oc is still named Y/n or {__}, corporate rivals?, fake dating, lack of communication, death of a character, mentions of suicide attempt.

NSFW contents : specified in chapter

character visualizer - teaser - notes - navi

Slow updates here in tumblr and regular updates in wattpad

————-

My wattpad - rispwr

————-

Chapter index ⬇️

(Have not started writing it and still planning and will start publishing or posting on december 12 or november 29. Between those dates)

Chapter 1 - the question that lingers in my mind (1)

Word count : 4k

Chapter 2 - i need a break and a change (2)

Word count : 3k

Chapter 3 - this is unbelievable (3)

Word countl - 4k

Chapter 4 - the feeling between happiness, anger and sadness

Word count - 2k

Chapter 5 - again?

World goal - 1k

Chapter 6 - should i?

Word goal -

Chapter 7 - who am i anymore?

Word goal -

Chapter 8 - i missed you

Word goal -

Chapter 9 - the unspoken words

Word goal -

Chapter 10 - trust or lust?

Word goal -

Chapter 11 - we can’t keep doing this

Word goal -

Chapter 12 - vows

word goal -

Chapter 13 - if it’s love there wouldn’t be a choice

Word goal -

Chapter 14 - should i be glad or angry?

Word goal -

Taglist?

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mountainsandmayhem · 2 months ago

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BDSMaid - Chapter 5 Part Two

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You and Joel go to a Shibari class together; an innocent date, or is it?

TW: age gap (Joel 45/reader 22), reader does have some descriptors so more of an OC. Reader has longer hair and Joel can lift her. Mutual pining, kissing. Spoiler triggers below the cut in red.

WC: 8.2k

AN: Ok fiiiiiinnnneeeeee I couldn't wait any longer and I left you all on kind of a cliffhanger. As always, thank you to my lovely @lotusbxtch for reading and encouraging and helping me grow. Thanks @mermaidgirl30 , @littlevenicebitch69 and @joelmillerisapunk for being my lil cheerleaders. @for-a-longlongtime thanks for stoping me from working on that bull rider series LOL. Ok, enjoy this slowly because I haven't even STARTED chapter 6 yet, so I doubt it will be out until late October. Dividers and banners by the oh so talented @saradika-graphics

Masterlist || Series Masterlist

TW: complete sensory deprivation (tied down, blind folded and has hearing blocked), multiple orgasms, denial

Joel

Joel has tried to keep his distance since referring to tonight as a date. He left another large tip for your clean this week and then made sure he was as busy as possible to stop himself from going home to see you. As he coaxed you into drinking the orange juice and the water he kept hearing “it’s a date” over and over again in his mind, and he’d cringe internally. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you had leaped out of that bed and ran home. The thought of you wanting him in that way is ridiculous. Not only because he’s over twice your age, but you came to him for help with building self confidence and for an escape, and then he went and said something so fucking stupid.

He shakes his head and pulls up his emails, trying to distract himself for what feels like the one hundredth time. Of course he wants to date you, he’d be crazy not to, but he can’t blur those lines. Furthermore, even if there was the slightest chance that you felt the same way he can’t risk breaking your heart the way he’s broken so many others.

She’s going to break yours, old man. Not the other way around.

Wednesday has been absolutely crawling. Time almost mocking him with how slow it’s ticking by. As he goes over the list of tonight's guests, Tess knocks on his small office door at the club.

“Hey,” she says, plopping down in the arm chair across from the desk. “You coming tonight?”

“Of course. Looks like a good turn out. Did the instructor make it in ok?”

“Cap picked her up from the airport yesterday and got her all settled at the hotel. Do you think you’re going to need me tonight?”

Joel cocks an eyebrow at her. He’s known Tess since she was ten. Her and Tommy are the same age, Joel being two years their senior. Aside from a few months when Tess and Tommy were sixteen, the three of them have been inseparable ever since. Tess was usually the undeclared leader of the group due to her bossy nature, but she kept the Miller brothers out of trouble most of the time.

“What’s wrong, Tess?”

“Nothin’,” she crosses her arms across her chest. “I am the planner, you and Tommy are the personality. I’m fine to stay behind the scenes for this one.”

“You’ve been acting strange since the poker night.”

She rolls her eyes at him. She’s probably the only person ballsy enough to do that to Joel besides Tommy, but Joel’s almost convinced his little brother is more dumb than ballsy. “I’m fine, Joel. The staff is all in good morale, and that’s my department. Remember?”

Joel just stares as she continues, lowering her voice to mock his. “I need you to be the people person. Hire them, train them. I’m not patient enough because I’m a big scary dom who will just want to spank them for not listening. I also can’t plan anything because I have a man brain.”

“Hilarious,” Joel deadpans as Tess laughs at her own jokes. “I’m being serious though, are you sure you're ok?”

“Yes, you don’t need to be concerned about me. I’m actually a little gutted I’m gonna miss it. Tommy told me there’s been a very pretty young lady hanging around you lately.”

Joel puts his reading glasses on with one hand and pointing to his door with the other. “Out.”

You

Joel referring to tonight as a date has been on loop for the last few days. He has this amazing way of shutting off your brain and then leaving you with so many new questions. Either way, when a few more college letters came over the last few days you convinced yourself that right before leaving for the shibari-demonstration-slash-date was the best time to open them.

Odette and Jamie sit on the couch across from you as you slide open the first letter. The thick eggshell parchment stamped with the Yale logo pops open easily. You close your eyes as you open the paper, the only sound in the room is the thundering of your heart behind your ribs.

You peel your eyes open and read out loud. “We regret to inform you that you have not…” your voice falls off, fingers shaking as you put it back in the envelope.

“Hey, we expected a few no’s,” Jamie says gently, always the optimist.

Odette takes the other approach, “Their fucking loss, bunch of stuffy old cunts! Next!”

You laugh at the juxtaposition of your friends' responses and reach for the Harvard letter. “We regret to inform you…”

“Keep going babe,” Jamie says softly.

You pick up the bright white Columbia letter. “We regret to inform you…fuck.” You feel the defeat start to creep in, like thick morning fog. It’s suffocating, choking all the happiness and excitement you had for tonight.

“What the fuck is wrong with these schools!” Odette says, snatching the letters up so she can check for herself. “Do the Toronto one, Canadians are supposed to be nice.”

“I can’t open anymore,” you say as your head falls back into the sofa. The fog starts to spread through your body, shutting you down inch by inch. You know you have to open the rest. You’ll spend the rest of the night wondering what they say if you don’t finish them. “You do it, Jamie.”

She shuffles in her seat uncomfortably. She’s not the kind of girl who likes to disappoint others; she's bright and happy but at this moment she’s the only person that you can take bad news from. As if she can read your thoughts, she grabs the University of Toronto letter. The sound of the envelope popping open slices through you. She clears her throat as she opens the paper and then reads aloud the same sentence you did. The letters from Duke and Notre Dame follow the same painful routine. With each rejection your stomach swirls, nausea building on top of self doubt and anxiety.

Six out of the eight universities you applied to have turned you down; Berkeley and the University of Austin are your only chances left at reaching your dreams. The silence in the small rental unit has you on edge, so much so that when your phone vibrates beside you you jump. A sunset beach photo from your last trip to California is the background from a text from Cap telling you he’ll be at your doorstep in about twenty minutes.

“I gotta finish getting ready,” you say, dragging yourself to the bathroom to touch up any makeup and brush your teeth.

“Babe?” Jamie says, following you down the hall. “You wanna stay here instead of going to that mixer?”

The reminder of the lie sends a new wave of nausea through you. Tonight you became a law school reject and an even bigger liar. Don’t forget that you’re also falling in love with an unattainable man, says the glittery pink box. You mentally lift a single finger in its direction, it usually doesn’t turn on you like that.

“I need the distraction.” You say, deciding that that’s not really a lie.

Your friends look at you with sadness in their eyes and even though you’re sad too, you wish you could tell them about Mister Miller and the club. You know they’d be excited about whatever this thing is and it would really help to have someone to decipher all the moments that live in your mind.

“It’s a date”.

When you walk through the large door from the lobby and into the club, you’re welcomed by a completely different atmosphere. It’s not all dim lights and sexy music like it normally is; instead the overhead lights are on and all the people are dressed in regular clothing or athletic wear and not the sexy outfits they’d normally pick to come here. Joel is no exception, dressed in dark wash jeans and a fitted black t-shirt. You catch the glint of his gold ring while he’s engrossed in deep conversation with a blue and purple haired woman along the edge of the dance floor. As if you’re his due north or the other side of his magnet, after just seconds of being in the same room as him, his eyes collide with yours. He mouths an ‘excuse me’ at the woman without looking away from and his long legs eat up the distance between the two of you. He meets you just before the bar and immediately wraps his arms around you, one hand coming to the nape of your neck, silently guiding your forehead to his strong chest.

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” You love how easily he can read you, but you hate that this is the second time this week that he’s seeing you like this. You know you have moments of weakness, but you don’t let anyone see that and you DEFINITELY don’t inconvenience others with your weakness.

“Hasn’t been my best day, but I really don’t want to talk about it.” You don’t want to dump all of this on him now, not when he looked so excited when you said you’d attend tonight.

“Ok, I’m here for you if you want to talk about it though. You don’t have to deal with this on your own.” His lips come to the crown of your head and you breathe him in letting his ash and leather scent break down your walls.

“I didn’t get in,” you mumble and he holds you tighter for a brief second before his hand moves to your chin and tilts up to meet your gaze.

“All of them?” he asks gently but something akin to anger flares in eyes for just a second.

“Six of them. I haven’t heard from two.” His thumb feels like heaven as it runs along your jaw.

From across the club the blue and purple haired woman, who is now on the stage, claps her hands. “Good evening, everyone! I’m Starr. If you and your brave partners could start making your way to the floor, we can get started right away!”

“Do you want to leave?” Joel says, his warm coffee and chocolate eyes dancing around yours. No one looks at you like that; no one ever asks what you want. This is one of those looks that you wish you could talk to your friends about.

“No,” you say truthfully. “I want to be here with you.”

“I wasn’t going to let you leave without me. Do you want to go somewhere else together?”

You step back and grab his hand, his fingers thread through yours as if you do this everyday, as if this is normal, and you pull him towards the floor. He stands behind you, an arm wrapped protectively around your middle, similar to how he did the first time you went through the voyeur room. Starr introduces herself and her wife and then begins explaining rope safety and terminology like rigger and rope bunny, before launching into a step by step on tying a beautiful star harness across her wifes clothed chest. The two women hand ropes to the person who will be doing the rigging and as the rope lands in Joel’s hand your pussy flutters at the realization that you’re about to become Mister Miller’s rope bunny. You knew that coming here tonight, even if it did include lying to your friends, would help you feel better. The disappointment of being rejected is slowly replaced with an excited anticipation of learning something new with a man who has done nothing but choose you since laid your eyes on each other.

Starr projects step by step instructions up on the back wall of the stage and Joel clears his throat behind you as he begins. The sound of the rope running through his hands as he folds it in half sends a shiver up your spine. You try to distract yourself by clipping your hair up and out of the way.

“Arms up,” he rasps, and places a light kiss on the soft curve of your neck as he wraps the rope around your ribcage, just below your breasts. You purposely wore a tight t-shirt and leggings tonight. If anyone asks, you’ll say you just assumed it would be easier to be in something form fitting rather than loose, but the truth is that you did some research on Shibari classes and it was recommended to wear clothing that was tight to the body. As he walks around you to make the first diagonal cross of your chest he says, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

You lock your eyes with his as he loops back up, crossing the rope over your other shoulder and walks behind you. “Yes, at least not yet.”

“Alright,” he says softly, pulling the rope back through the first band he made. “What do you want to talk about then?”

Your daughter. Your wife. The guitars and books of lyrics. Where do you see yourself in 5 years? Do you like me or do you like like me? How do you feel about an age gap romance? Your brain races with a million things you could ask, and maybe would ask on a date. However, this is anything but a date, right? A dom and sub don’t date, there are strict rules. He tells you what to do, you do it. You don’t date.

The silence between you two feels like it’s lasted forever, you flinch as you ask the first thing you can think of. “How old are you?”

“Almost forty five. It says that on my profile, sweet girl. For someone who likes research…” His voice trails off. Is he flirting?

“I refuse to look at it in case you try to pawn me off to Tommy again,” you tease. You bite your cheek to hold in all the questions you want to ask as he chuckles behind you. You lift your arms as per the next slide and he brings the rope up towards your armpit as you settle on a neutral topic. “Baseball,” you say flatly.

Joel laughs silently as he walks around your body, the rope coming across to your other armpit and he’s behind you again. “Baseball?”

“Ya, it’s America’s favourite pastime.” Joel's fingers feel warm through the fabric of your shirt as he continues to work the ropes.

“Ok, so what do you want to discuss about baseball?” He wanders in front of you again, following the instructions perfectly.

You shrug a little, lifting your arms again as you follow along with the slides. “Did you ever play?”

Starr circles around the two of you, “Great job, Joel. You ok, honey? Not too tight anywhere?”

You shake your head no and then you and Joel get lost in each other again. “Yes, I played for most of my childhood. I was pretty good too.”

You chuckle, “Why am I not surprised.”

“What?” he says, half laughing.

“Seems like Joel Miller is good at everything,” you say lightly, almost in admiration. He’s behind you again, feeding the ropes through themselves. The back looks beautifully intricate, and you can see other couples getting frustrated before either Starr or her wife comes and helps them. You continue, “Let me guess, you were like a big all-star pitcher or something?”

“No,” he answers.

“What position did you play then?” You glance down at your chest at the star shape across your chest, the rope scrapes gently on the exposed skin of your neck with the movement. It’s stunning, exactly as the demonstration and the picture. Yep, Joel Miller is good at everything.

A new voice joins your conversation, “Best first baseman the school has ever seen.”

You crane your neck over your right shoulder towards the source; Tommy. You clench your molars when you see him with Jade; the beautiful icy blonde woman that Joel had tied to his desk the first time you met him. Joel shifts uncomfortably as she flutters her lashes at him. “As I was saying,” Joel huffs in his brother's direction before turning his attention back to you. “I played first base and Tommy was the back catcher. Our mom pretty much put us in any sport she could afford to keep us out of trouble.”

“That’s kind of fascinating,” you say, looking back towards the stage and trying to get back into the safe little bubble you and Joel have created.

“I dunno about that, sweet girl.”

The combination of him using that nickname and the feeling of his fingers on your body cause another shiver to roll up your spine, and suddenly it’s just the two of you again. It’s so easy to get lost with Joel, every ounce of that fog from earlier has dissipated. He’s like the warm morning sun, chasing away all the thick haze that coated you in the darkness. “I think this is a safe nickname space only, Sweet Cheeks.”

He swats your bum gently eliciting a giggle to pass your lips before getting back to weaving the rope in and out along your spine. “Careful. Now why is it kind of fascinating?”

“I mean, Tommy played at home plate, you played at first base.”

“I don’t know where you’re going here, Freckles.”

You smile over your shoulder at Joel. “Well, don’t you see the connection? You don’t have sex with your subs, Tommy does. He goes to home plate, you stay at first base.”

Joel arches an eyebrow at you as you flash him a cheeky smile and then he lets out a laugh. A real laugh that sounds like it’s coming straight from his stomach. His big beautiful smile draws up his cheeks causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle. The sound is almost enough to make you weak at the knees. “I swear to god, Freckles, I love the way your brain works.”

The rest of the group finishes off their harnesses and Starr begins the next part, explaining now how to tie the arms around the biceps and secure them to the harness. They hand out the ropes again and you reach behind yourself to criss cross your arms and grasp your opposite elbows. Just as Joel begins folding the rope over in his hands, Jade speaks.

“She sort of hit the nail on the head with that one, Mister Miller.” Envy flares in your eyes as she steps towards Joel, leaning into him. “I can’t wait for tomorrow. I’ve missed you.”

You glance towards Joel, expecting to see him looking angry but his soft eyes meet you with guilt written all over his face. You watch his throat as he swallows hard and the happy, sparkly bubble you built bursts and the fog returns. Your heart drops to your feet, it was too good to be true, you knew it was too good to be true and he almost had you fooled. You don’t think, you just act, you need to get away from this space and all these people as bile rises in your throat.

Your feet feel heavy as you walk quickly toward the voyeur room, slipping past the closed sign that's propped up outside the curtain that conceals it. Darkness surrounds you, the rope harness feels like it’s smothering you as you try to take deep calming breaths. A flash of light from the otherside of the curtain fills the room as someone follows.

“Go away, Joel.” You say quietly, trying to force air past the lump growing in your throat.

“It’s Tommy.” He says, flicking on a dim light and noting the way you’re pulling at the rope closest to your throat. “Let me untie you so you don’t hurt yourself.”

You step back, a wall slamming down around you. Tommy raises his hands, “Please, just let me untie you so you can breathe.”

You spin slowly, giving your back to him and he approaches. His fingers pulling and working the ropes and the irony of him removing knots as you start to mentally tie yourself up in them is enough to make you nauseous. You retreat into your mind, looking for that stupid box. I fucking told you! You practically scream at the shadow you know it’s hiding in.

“Try to slow your breathing for me,” Tommy says softly as the rope begins to loosen and fall away from your body. Tonight felt too normal, too comfortable. You started to feel like maybe Joel was feeling the same way you do, but now you feel like you’ve been slapped across the face with yet another reminder that you are not enough. Six out eight universities and the man you completely misread.

“I’m so fucking stupid.” It doesn’t come out self deprecating or angrily. Just as if you’re stating a fact, similar to how you’d say you like the colour green.

“No, this is on me.” The rope falls away from your body and you step away, spinning to face Tommy. “I shouldn’t have said yes when she asked me to bring her here tonight. I assumed Joel had ended it before they were in Europe.”

“What?” You breathe out in disbelief. Even though you can see the rope in Tommy’s hands, it still feels like it’s around your throat.

You wander towards the nearest couch. All those pictures, all those flirty texts and she was there the entire time? You hear your mothers voice again, ‘You might be the smartest one in this town but the real world is going to eat you up and spit you out.’ Nothing has felt more true, especially today. Six schools rejected you, selecting smarter shinier applicants and now the same thing is happening with Joel. You knew you didn’t hold a candle to her, he wanted you to go with Tommy so he could keep her, didn’t he?

‘It’s only you.’ His desperate voice from the day in his office comes out of the shadows of your mind. But it’s not only you. If he didn’t end it with her then it’s her too. You’re constantly in competitions that you have no business being in.

“No, not ‘they’. Not like that. They were there for different things, not together,” Tommy’s voice has a hint of panic. “...I’m really fucking this night up, aren’t I?”

Just then, Joel and Jade come through the curtain. “Sweet girl….”

“No,” you say, cutting him off with a wave of your hand. You want to yell and scream and ask him what was with all that “it’s only you” bullshit.

“Baby, please, just listen to me.” Joel kneels in front of you and you stand up. His hands come to either side of the couch, keeping you there. “Please?”

You can feel his eyes on you but you keep staring straight ahead, the curtains of all the rental rooms are drawn shut. “Please just go, Joel.”

Jade steps into your line of vision and you can feel the jealousy twisting at your stomach. She’s fucking beautiful. Long icy blonde hair that looks silky to touch, slender limbs and a perfectly symmetrical face. Her make up is done to perfection, and to top it all off she was kissed by an angel in the breast department.

“I’m sorry. I left the country a few days after I saw you for your birthday celebration. I went to Germany to get married and I wasn’t coming back.” Her eyes go soft for a second as she looks down at her bare left ring finger and then back to you. “Clearly I didn’t do either of those things. I haven’t spoken to Joel and I just assumed our regular time slots still stood.”

Even without looking down, you know Joel hasn’t looked away. From the moment you met him, you’ve been able to feel his gaze on you. It’s one of the things you like so much about him, the way he looks at you. You feel warm and seen, and most importantly, safe in his gaze.

Tommy clears his throat gently and you glance his way. “Ending things with a sub is tricky. It has to be done in person. I know Joel better than anyone else, he ended things with everyone else. He’s gonna beat the shit out of me for this, but he’s crazy about you and he’s only ever looked at one other person the way he looks at you.”

“Tommy,” Jade's voice cracks as she says his name. “I think you should untie me so I can leave. I really am sorry, to all of you.”

You watch the two of them disappear back into the main area of the club before you finally allow yourself to look down at Joel. His eyes are big and soft, he looks so vulnerable. Is this real though? When you think about how easily he can slide on his dominant mask you aren’t sure what you can and can’t trust, and that’s really fucking horrible considering trust is the most important thing between a sub and dom. He could be lying, he gains blow jobs and doing whatever else he wants to your body by keeping this up.

But what does Tommy gain from telling you what he just did? Tommy has no skin in the game here.

Joel

His heart is flying wildly behind his chest, blood coursing through his ears. He never thought he was going to see Jade again. Neither of them talked about it really, but after that session that you walked in on she canceled the next one and told him she was moving to be with her fiance in Germany and was getting married. He continues to look up at you; the ever growing pinch in his neck be damned, he’s not looking away. Even at this angle you manage to take his breath away. It feels like hours have gone by when you finally speak.

“I thought it was only me,” it comes out as a whisper and immediately shatters the little bits that were left of his composure.

“It is, sweet girl. I promise you it is.”

“I want to believe you,” your voice is so calm. He doesn’t deserve you being calm right now. Or does he? You came into this very methodical. Maybe these are just sub-dom transactions to you.

“What can I do?” He says hopefully. “I’ll do anything you need, sweet girl.”

You let out a shaky breath and he can see the wall building behind your eyes, that fun goofy girl who isn’t afraid to crack a joke is slowly locking herself away. He prepares himself for you to tell him this is over, or that you need time. He reminds himself that this was always going to end in heartbreak for him, so may as well get it over with now instead of when he’s fully in love with you, before he’s learned how those warm walls of your pussy feel against his cock. Because there really will be no coming back from that if that happens.

As he tightens the muscles in his core, physically preparing for the metaphorical blow to the gut he watches your long lashes flutter shut and when you open your eyes again the wall is gone. The shimmering pools of the eyes he’s enamored by are back and relief washes over him.

“Nothing, Mister Miller,” your voice is saccharine sweet. “Trust is the most important thing between a sub and their dom. I can’t let my own anxiety ruin this, but I might just be a bit guarded until I’ve calmed all those thoughts.”

He whispers your name, biting back a groan as your hands meet his hair. “I’m so sorry that happened, baby girl.”

“I know. So am I. I shouldn’t have gotten jealous. It’s just…”

“No, you can be jealous. I told you one thing and -.”

You tug at the strands of his hair and shush him. “I’m not done,” your voice is stern. Joel isn’t used to hearing your tone like that and he suddenly feels his chest swelling with pride. This sweet bubbly person in front of him is morphing into a confident badass. That’s probably the exact tone you’ll use in boardrooms or courtrooms when other lawyers try to talk over you and he can only hope that one day he’ll get to witness that. “I shouldn’t have gotten jealous, but I really like the way I feel around you. It’s selfish of me, but I’d like to keep feeling like this for the few months I have left here before I leave for law school.”

Selfish. He lets that word wash over him. The most selfless person he’s ever known is worried about being selfish? No, he thinks, she deserves this. Hearing you say that you’re leaving makes him feel like his chest is caving in on itself. He’ll deal with the inevitable heartbreak when you leave him. He knows those rejection letters were hard on you, but he helped you to feel better and he’s going to hold on to that and give you that for as long as he possibly can.

Your fingers release his hair and he watches you walk the few steps to where the rope Tommy untied for you lays on the floor. He licks his lips as you bend to pick it up, eyes trailing over the delicious curves of your ass. “It would be my pleasure, sweetheart.”

You turn, walking back towards where he’s kneeling and holding the ropes out to him you say, “Is the workshop over?”

He stands up, his fingers grazing yours as he takes the rope. Electricity tingles up his forearms at the feel of your soft skin. Your body is so close to his that he can feel your soft warmth radiating against him. You being at this proximity immediately put him at ease.

“No, there’s a bodysuit tutorial right now,” he says. You nod, stepping around him. Suddenly, Joel grabs your elbow to stop you, lowering his lips to your ear, and lowering his voice to that gravelly tone he knows you love, he rasps, “I should punish you for letting another dom untie what’s mine.”

You smirk up at him, “I’d like to see you try, Sweet Cheeks.”

You

Joel works silently around you and you lose yourself for a bit in the events that unfolded tonight. Joel has knelt in front of you before, but never like that. The sad, helpless look in his eyes, the slight slump of the shoulders. He was submitting to you, and when your fingers met his scalp, he leaned into your touch. The way his body melted at your touch was intoxicating. He wasn’t Mister Miller in that room tonight, he was Joel, and the dichotomy of this man is astounding.

After about thirty minutes of Joel twisting, turning and pulling he has your upper half tied into a zigzagged bodysuit of rope. Joel steps in front of you and bends slightly to reach between your legs. When he brings the rope between your thighs and as he feeds it through the bottom of the chest piece, the seam of your leggings brushes against your clit. You jolt at the contact, your cheeks flushing crimson as Joel's eyes meet yours in a flash of onyx and honey. He begins shaping the bottom part of the bodysuit, bent in front of you the entire time and locking eyes with yours every time he tugs the ropes into place.

You glance nervously around the room to see if anyone else is having the same reaction. You expected this night to be fun and silly, the way a date should be. And it was for a while, but now it’s taken a very erotic turn. The blush of your cheeks warms down your chest and neck as you hold off on what could be a very vocal orgasm in front of a room of people who you don’t necessarily want to witness it.

Joel finally finishes the body suit and moves to stand behind you, his patchy facial hair brushes the shell of your ear as he whispers, his voice full of gravel, “Hands behind your back, my sweet girl. We aren’t done.”

A shiver races up your spine and your arms fly back. “So eager,” Joel says softly, grazing his teeth along the lobe of your ear, adding gasoline to the small fire that’s been building between your thighs.

You’re sure the arm restraints only take about three minutes to complete, but it feels like hours. The three knots that lay around your wrists, forearms, and biceps keep your posture nice and tall, and your breasts pushed up through the body suit. Once he’s finished, Joel spins you to face him, and that rope works its way in between the lips of your now absolutely soaked pussy. You squeeze your thighs together, the soft expression on his face only intensifying the growing ache. He’s such a fucking tease, you think, and now he’s looking at you as if you put the stars in the sky. Finally, his dark brown eyes settle on yours and he gives you a closed lip smile.

“What?” You ask breathlessly.

“I jus’ thought that I’d go all caveman seein’ you like this,” he steps into you, one hand cupping your cheek, the other tugging on the rope near your waist, which jiggles the rope that has you on edge. Joel’s voice lowers, this next part just for you to hear. “But you just look so beautiful.”

He tugs up on the rope and pleasure courses through you as you gasp quietly. He gives you that sexy smirk that makes that dimple carve into his cheek.

Yep, he’s a fucking tease. The little box says, confirming your thoughts.

“You like that, sweet girl?”

He tugs again and your forehead falls to his chest. “Please, Mister Miller,” you whisper into his expensive cotton t-shirt.

Starr interrupts the two of you, but you can’t peel yourself away from Joel right now. The slightest move of that rope might make you explode. “Well, based on that reaction I’d say you tied it just right, Joel.”

“Thank you for coming, Starr. I’m sure we’ll host one of these again soon. Tommy is by the bar, he can help you kick everyone out.”

“Joel,” she says, a slight hint of amusement in her now hushed voice. “Your rope bunny is on the verge of having an orgasm, go.”

With that he hoists you over his shoulder and walks towards the door that leads to the private rooms. “Fuckfuck, I’m gonna -” you whisper into his broad back and squeeze your thighs tighter as Joel walks.

The second the door shuts, separating you from the others Joel puts you on your feet and jiggles the rope around your waist. “Come, baby.”

You fall into him for support, his other arm wrapping around you to hold you up as stars blur your vision. “That feel good, my little rope bunny?”

“Yes - oh god, yes.” Your arms pull at the ropes restraining them behind your back and you can’t hold it anymore. Your orgasm practically slams through you as you gasp and moan into Joel's broad chest. “Fuck, Mister Miller.”

“You’re so beautiful when you let go for me. I’ll never get sick of watching you like this.” He continues to work the rope as your high crests and your legs start to go weak and boneless below you.

“I can’t…p-please Mis - Fuck.” Joel lifts your lax and quivering body over his shoulder again and makes his way to his room, placing you at the foot of the bed, spinning you and pushing between your shoulder blades until your chest meets the mattress.

“Spread your legs,” he commands and you listen, moving your feet to be shoulder width apart. He wraps two cuffs around your ankles, and attaches them to the bottom of the bed posts before doing the same to the ropes around your arms. You’re trapped, stuck bent over the end of the bed and even though you’re fully clothed under all of these ropes, this is easily the hottest thing you’ve ever done. “Fuck me. How are you so goddamn sexy even when you’re fully clothed.”

You hear Joel’s footsteps around the room, gathering whatever he has decided to use on you tonight before you can feel him behind you. “Sweet girl, I do believe I read that you would be interested in sensory deprivation. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you hum.

“Do I have your consent to blindfold you and then have you listen to music in noise canceling headphones?”

Fire erupts in your stomach, your core pulsing at the thought of him doing whatever he wants to you. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

A silky black blind fold slips over your head, Joel's large body covering your back. “What’s your safeword?” he growls, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Stegosaurus.” Just once you’d like that to not leave your lips in the whiny, desperate tone it does when he asks you that question.

“Good girl,” he praises before the plush headphones cover your ears. All you see is black, all you hear is soft decorative piano music, and all you feel is the warmth of Joel over your buzzing skin. There’s not a single thought in your mind, everything is silent. This is what you need and you start to worry that you’ll become addicted to the way Joel makes you feel everything while thinking nothing.

The warmth of his body disappears from you and you whimper at the loss. Your eyes clench closed as if that will help you be able to find him. A thin, pulsing vibrator hits the back of your thigh and you jump. Joel's large hands rubs your opposite hip and every muscle relaxes under his touch. The vibrator pulses softly as he moves it up your thigh, tickling along your hip, and then down the other leg. You can’t hear the sounds that you’re making but you’re sure they’re desperate, needy gasps.

After teasing your arms Joel slips something small and hard between your body and the rope that’s been torturously teasing at your clit before you feel him pull away. You adjust so your forehead is resting on the mattress before it dips with the weight of him sitting beside your head. His warm fingers wrap around your neck and he kneads the muscles.

“Mmmm, thank you Mister Miller,” you hum.

Whatever Joel slipped against your clit comes to life, a dull vibration that is sure to be your undoing has you attempting to arch your back, but you can’t move. Your breathing quickens, short little puffs of air passing your lips.

“I’m gonna come,” you murmur quietly, or at least you think it’s quiet since you can’t hear yourself or anything else. Joel’s strong fingers continue the delicious swirling patterns up and down the sides of your neck as you begin to shake. “Oh god - I’m so close!”

Just as you’re about to slam head first into another orgasm the vibrating stops and Joel’s fingers disappear from your skin. “No,” and this time you know it wasn’t a whisper or a whimper.

The mattress jostles and then you feel Joel behind you again. A hand comes to one of yours, coaxing it out of the fist you’ve apparently clenched before doing the same to the other. The vibrating starts stronger this time and both his hands come to yours, his thumbs massaging at your palms. It doesn’t take long this time before you’re right on that edge again.

“Fuck, Mister Miller. Puh-please don’t stop!” Your legs start the familiar shake that happens right when you’re about to tip over the edge and he doesn’t follow your wishes. The hand massage stops, quickly followed by the vibrator being switched off. You groan in frustration and he lays a quick, sharp spank over your legging clad right ass cheek. “Hnnng - sorry.”

You can’t be certain, but based on the warm puffs hitting your core you’re pretty sure he’s knelt down behind you. The vibrator comes to life again, stronger than the last two times and his hands work at massaging the muscles along the back of your thighs. This is torture; wonderful euphoric torture and as much as you want it end, you also don’t ever want him to stop making you feel this way.

You let your eyes flutter open behind the blindfold, it’s still just as dark but you see that little pink sparkly box. The one that’s overflowing with emotion for Joel. You should push it back into the shadows or light it on fire, but instead you let it come out of the shadows completely. You see your hands reaching for the lid just as the white hot pleasure in your core gets close to the breaking point.

“Please please…Mister Miller - fuck!” You whimper and whine as it begins to burn hotter and then it’s gone and it feels like the air is being sucked forcefully out of your lungs.

“Nonono, I can’t. Please, I need you..” Joel's large body is across your back in a second. The hard bulge in pants pressing against your ass and the memory of how good he felt and tasted in your mouth the last time has saliva pooling under your tongue. You swallow hard as one of the padded ear pieces is lifted from your ear.

Joel’s voice is deep and gruff as he says, “What do you need, my sweet girl?”

The little box of feelings vibrates at him calling you his and you kick it back into the shadows. “I need to come, Mister Miller.”

“That right? How bad?” He says teasingly before placing a feather light kiss on that sensitive spot right below your ear.

“So bad. Please, it hurts, Mister Miller.” You are pouting into the fluffy sheets, a completely whiny mess, and you realize that you’re always a mess for him. Be it a horny or depraved one, a whiny or a pouty one, he doesn’t care and if anything you think he likes it that way, likes you that way. “I want to hear you. I miss your dirty talk, please, baby!”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “I should spank you until you can’t sit tomorrow for calling me anything but Mister Miller. You know that, right?”

“I can’t think straight. I’m sorry, just please. Please!”

He whips the headphones off of you and the vibrator hits at an intensity you have never felt before. Your pornographic scream fills the room. His large body above yours intensifies everything that was already killing you.

“That what you need, huh?”

You cry out and try to say yes but you’re sure it’s all just an incoherent mix of sounds at this point.

“God damn, baby girl. You should see yourself right now. All tied up in knots that I made. The way your leggings hug the curves of your hips and soft, creamy thighs. You’re going to be the death of me one day.”

Tears start to flow behind your blindfold as the pleasure almost becomes too much, you haven’t come yet, and at this point you aren’t sure if you’ll survive it if you do. You have half a mind to ask Joel if an orgasm can physically split you in two because that is how you feel right now.

“I’m - oh god - I’m…” You try to form the words but you can’t.

One of Joel’s hands slips between his front and your tied up arms, his hand wrapping tightly around yours. His lips come to your ear as whispers. “I got you, sweet girl, just let go for me.”

“Need to see you,” you say between gasps of air and the pleasure begins to burn in your.

Joel peels the blind fold off. You blink him into focus, his warm eyes searching your face. “Let go, you’re ok.”

As per usual, it’s his words that seem to be that final push and you let your orgasm consume you. It starts as a cold spark, a shiver up your spine and then heat flushes through every since cell in your body. You moan and writhe beneath Joel who whispers your praises like a prayer. Talking you through the intensity of the feeling. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you’re sure your panties, leggings and the rope are ruined.

“I can’t!” You gasp and Joel slows the vibration to help you ride out the decresendo of your orgasm. As the jolts of your body slow, he follows suit; the vibrator going to a dull blip and eventually nothing. Joel's thumb traces soothing patterns on the hand he’s still holding between your bodies. You take a deep and shaky breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Are you ok, angel?” he asks quietly and goosebumps somehow spread along your too hot body.

“Better than ok,” you say with a small smile.

Joel’s lips meet yours, soft and pliant and so full of passion. Your eyes shut as you part your lips for him and when your tongue strokes gently against his he lets out a small whimper that causes your pulse to leap. Mentally, you grab a bigger box, stuffing it with the realization that you’re falling for this man. But you will deal with that later, right now you just need to let yourself have something that is for, well… yourself.

Joel

He breaks the kiss, even though he doesn’t want to. Even though he knows that by breaking this kiss it’s only going to mean you going home sooner. “I need to get you out of these ropes and get some sugar into you.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence as his nimble fingers work to undo your restraints, then the intricate knots that bind your arms, and lastly the bodysuit. He really did think you looked stunning all tied up. He didn’t plan for this night to go the way it did, but when he saw the slight flush of your cheeks and the way your eyes glazed over he couldn’t resist giving you what he knew you needed. He stays close, one hand protectively on your hip as you crawl onto the bed. Once he has you seated, he pulls a fuzzy grey blanket out from a basket beside the night stand and then opens the small fridge to grab you an orange juice and water.

He cracks the top of the orange juice. “Drink this for me, please.”

He watches your eyes do a quick half roll but you don’t fight him, fingers just barely grazing his as you take the juice from him. “I had fun tonight,” you say between sips as he walks to grab the coconut oil.

Joel stands beside you. “So did I, sweetheart. Arm, please.”

You take the orange juice in your left hand and give him your right. Both of you watch as he puts oil on the few pink marks the ropes left behind. “Do you think I should change my safeword?”

He lifts one eyebrow at you and as he tends to your other arm says, “Why do you ask that.”

“I don’t know. It’s just…well, originally that little dinosaur on your coffee maker seemed so out of place. It intrigued me. Your home is beautiful, but the parts you let people see don’t give away any hints about you, except for that little dinosaur. But now that I know the whole story, it just seems too special of an item to be tied to what we do.”

“I don’t think we need to change it. You’re right, that little stegosaurus is special to me.” He sits sideways on the bed, grabbing the empty orange juice container and handing you the water. His jaw flexes once before he continues, “But so are you. I love that you felt a connection to that part of me. Ultimately, it’s your safe word, sweet girl, so you can make it anything you want, but I think it’s perfect for us.”

The soft look in your eyes as he speaks is almost enough to kill him, and when your lips twitch up ever so slightly at his words he knows he’s done for. He shouldn’t fall for you, especially since he’s sure there’s no way you’d ever feel the same way, but he can’t not fall for you.

Your name passes his lips with a nervous tremble, because he knows that what he’s about to say next is going to be his undoing. If you say yes to this next thing, if he continues spending actual time with you, he’s done.

“Ya?” you say before sucking your bottom lip through your teeth.

“Friday night is the five year anniversary party for the club. It’s a black tie event for all the VIP guests. Would you like to accompany me?”

He watches as your eyes land on your lap, your lips pressing together as if to suppress a smile. When your gaze floats back up to his, your eyes give you away. Try as you might to hide your expressions with him; he'll always know when you’re happy based on the glitter of your eyes.

“I’d really like that, Mister Miller.”

His forehead meets yours. “This might be a Sweet Cheeks moment.”

Thank you soooo much for reading! Remember to follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for future chapters xo.

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deliciousangelfestival · 3 months ago

Text

The Imperfect Couple - 3

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

A/N: Steve Rogers is older than Bucky here.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You arrived at the new apartment, feeling a small sense of relief for finally being under a different roof than Caroline’s. The thought of enduring the same torture as before made your skin crawl.

As you settled in, you broke the silence. “Your mom offered the attorney to us.” You remembered how you had insisted the divorce attorney make it as quick and painless as possible. “Why didn’t you finalize it?”

Bucky’s gaze remained steady. “Not once did I think you were actually going to leave me.”

“There’s no marriage between us,” you shot back, your voice sharp. “If you’d finalized it, you could’ve easily married a woman your mother approved of.”

Flashback Start

You recalled every time Caroline mentioned another woman’s name as if they were more suited for Bucky. “You know, Rachel just graduated summa cum laude from Harvard in social politics,” she had said at the rehearsal dinner.

Then, on your wedding day, as you and Bucky sat together, trying to enjoy the celebration, Caroline approached, holding hands with a stunning woman. “Bucky, look who’s here? Katherine just arrived from London.”

Caroline’s voice dripped with approval. “Both of them went to the same law school.”

You clenched the fork in your hand so hard you thought it might snap.

Why the hell was she introducing another woman to you on your wedding night?

Did she expect you and Bucky to have a threesome with Katherine?

From that moment, you knew your place—an outsider who didn’t come from the pedigree Caroline so desperately wanted for her son.

When you finally left the house, you remembered her raising her champagne glass with a smirk. “I always knew you weren’t the one.”

Flashback End

“They need someone with a spotless record,” Bucky said, breaking you from your thoughts.

You stood there, your emotions a mix of anger and disbelief.

“I’m not making excuses for you. I know the old me wasn’t good enough, that I couldn’t be the man you could rely on,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret.

He looked at you with a desperation that caught you off guard. “You could poison my drink, stab me in my sleep. I wouldn’t fight it. I’d let you.”

His eyes, usually so confident and composed, were now filled with a deep, pained sincerity. The weight of his guilt seemed to crush him, and the shadows of remorse darkened his features. His hands trembled slightly, betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. How could he say that so casually? What kind of twisted love was this?

“That’s how much I need you,” he confessed, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re using me,” you accused, your voice shaking with a mix of fury and sadness.

Bucky didn’t deny it. “Like I said, it’s a business relationship. But I’ve trusted you from the beginning. Put my faith in you.”

He reached out, taking your hands in his, holding them together like a prayer. “And I hope we can work together. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to work in the White House.””

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The following day, you met Steve, the future Presidential candidate. He greeted you warmly, his genuine smile easing some of the tension you felt. You’d met Steve and his wife, Peggy, a few times before—honest people who never treated you like you didn’t belong. Steve had even defended you whenever Caroline or others looked down on you for not being in the same league as them.

"I’m so glad you’re here," Steve said, clasping your hand. "When did you arrive?"

You chuckled softly. "Well, when three Secret Service agents showed up at my door, who was I to say no?"

Steve chuckled too, though there was a hint of awkwardness in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly. "Let’s talk."

You walked together, the air thick with unspoken words. "I know it’s difficult for you to be here. I owe you big time," Steve began sincerely. He had witnessed your marriage crumble, and despite his and Peggy’s best efforts to support you and Bucky, things had fallen apart.

You sighed. "What confuses me is, why me? He could’ve chosen another woman, someone way more qualified."

Steve leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "To be honest, I think you’re the best option. He probably won’t show it, but Bucky was happy when he heard you were coming."

You scoffed, glancing over at Bucky, who was watching the two of you from a distance. "Impossible."

As you scanned the room, you spotted someone familiar—your brother, Tim. Excusing yourself from Steve, you made your way over to him.

"I’m glad you’re here," Tim said, his voice filled with warmth, though his eyes carried a weight of their own.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "I can’t believe you. You knew what I went through, and yet you’re working with him? You sucked up to him."

"Look at me," Tim said firmly.

You glanced down at him, seeing the determination in his gaze.

"Who’s going to hire a disabled person like me?" Tim who seated on his wheelchair, his voice wavered slightly as he spoke. He had been born with both legs, but when bone cancer struck his left leg, the doctors recommended amputation to stop it from spreading. That surgery had shattered his dreams of becoming a professional tennis player.

"It was James who offered me a job," he emphasized, "with a high salary."

Tim continued, "You can keep your anger, but face it, Y/N—they won’t pay the bills. For people like me, I need more money to survive in this world."

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Bucky appeared beside you.

"Hi, Tim."

"Hey," Tim replied.

"I'm going to steal your sister for a bit." Bucky turned to you. "Our next schedule is couple’s therapy," he said, his voice calm but authoritative, cutting the conversation short.

You hated this part. The thought of attending therapy with Bucky made your stomach twist with unease. You shot Tim one last look, a mixture of concern and frustration in your eyes, before following Bucky out of the room.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

As you and Bucky sat across from Aiden, the therapist, the atmosphere was thick with unresolved tension. The room was simple yet comfortable, with soft, neutral tones that were supposed to be calming but did little to ease the storm of emotions swirling within you. You could feel the weight of Bucky's presence beside you, a familiar heaviness that both comforted and suffocated you.

Aiden leaned forward, his expression neutral but attentive. "So, what are you feeling right now?"

You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice laced with frustration and exhaustion. "I don’t think I have the courage to live another day in his family. His mother is the devil spawn. Even seeing her shadow triggers me." The words spilled out of you, raw and unfiltered, a reflection of the years of pain and resentment you'd kept bottled up.

Aiden nodded, his gaze shifting to Bucky. "And what about you, Mr. Barnes?"

Bucky's eyes remained fixed on a spot on the floor, his voice steady but lacking its usual conviction. "I didn’t think that way. As long as we stick together, we can get through everything." There was a hint of desperation in his tone, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

You turned to look at him, disbelief and anger simmering beneath your calm facade. "From the beginning, we should’ve never gotten married. You only focus on yourself, never bothering to look behind you. Me, trying my best to fit into your circles."

Your voice wavered, the painful truth of your words cutting through the silence like a knife. You had always known you were out of his league—young and innocent, believing that love could conquer all.

But you had been wrong, and the reality of that mistake was too much to bear.

His mother’s voice echoed in your mind, the countless times she’d told you that you weren’t good enough, that you didn’t deserve him.

"Your mother was right. I don’t deserve you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s expression tightened, his guilt etched into every line of his face. "I’m sorry. I really am sorry." His voice cracked, the weight of his regret finally breaking through.

He had never wanted this—to see you hurt, to see you broken because of him and his family. But the damage was done, and the guilt gnawed at him, relentless and unforgiving.

Aiden observed the exchange, his eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke. "I see that you’re the victim here, ma’am. And your former mother-in-law is the main reason why." He glanced at Bucky, his voice firm. "Mr. Barnes, your mother hurt her deeply, and now you must do everything in your power to make amends."

Bucky nodded, his voice thick with emotion. "I will. I'll do anything to erase the hurt you’ve received from her." The sincerity in his voice was palpable, but it was clear that the guilt weighed heavily on him. He had failed to protect you, to shield you from his mother’s venom, and that failure haunted him.

Aiden’s voice softened, but there was a steely resolve in his words. "Use this pain, both of you. Let it fuel you to confront Caroline, to reclaim your strength. Don’t let her win. Turn this pain into power."

As you sat there, the enormity of the situation began to sink in. You had been through so much, and the path ahead was uncertain. You had expected to loathe the couple’s therapy, but surprisingly, it turned out to be a beneficial experience.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

After the couple's therapy, the silence between you and Bucky was palpable, each of you grappling with the raw emotions that had surfaced.

The therapy had stripped away your filters, leaving you both exposed—your anger and frustration flowing freely. Bucky remained stoic, absorbing your harsh words with an almost resigned patience.

Returning to the Barnes household, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The room was filled with Bucky’s family: his parents, Julius and Caroline; his brother, Shawn, who struggled with cocaine and felt diminished by his inability to meet Caroline’s lofty expectations; and Hazel, Bucky’s sister and Nate’s mother.

Hazel, having felt overshadowed as the spare child, had chosen a career in fashion to escape the constant comparison to Bucky, who was seen as the golden child.

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Shawn and Hazel, both of whom shared your misery under Caroline’s disdain. But that sympathy was tempered by their enjoyment of watching you suffer, thanks to their mother’s contempt.

Greg, a family friend, was the bearer of the news that the whole family would attend the upcoming convention event.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you said firmly, your tone clipped.

“Why… why?” Greg asked, confused.

Caroline rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Here we go.”

Bucky tried to interject, “Don’t…”

You cut him off with a steely gaze. “After that consultation, you still want to continue this?”

Caroline's eyes narrowed. “I knew we couldn’t trust her.”

Shawn chuckled, and Hazel remained indifferent.

“Quiet,” Julius commanded, his voice brooking no argument. The room fell silent.

With a sense of finality, you approached Caroline. “You’re so jealous of me,” you said, your voice dripping with disdain.

Caroline’s eyes widened, a mixture of anger and shock. “What are you talking about?”

“Because you know I’m going to get what you can’t have,” you smirked, savoring the moment. “Being the wife of the Vice President.”

“You bitch,” Caroline spat, something snapped inside her. Deep down, you were right—she was jealous of you. You were younger, smarter, and luckier. It was her dream to be in your position, but now it seemed like she had paved the way for you instead. What’s worse, you didn’t fit her criteria at all. She felt you didn’t deserve this.

Without warning, Caroline lunged at you, grabbing your hair. The two of you were soon locked in a fierce struggle, yanking each other’s hair and grappling with a fury that left no room for remorse. The physical confrontation was liberating, an outlet for all the anger you had been holding back.

You felt no fear and no guilt towards the seventy-year-old woman. At last, you could release all the anger you had been holding in.

Waiting for karma takes too long, and you can’t expect God to do all the work. So you took this chance to give her a lesson she won’t forget.

“Stop! STOP!” Bucky and Julius’s voices cut through the chaos as they tried to separate you. Shawn and Hazel, their faces a mix of curiosity and apathy, slowly backed away from the scene.

It was a struggle to pry you apart; Caroline, in her rage, was more unruly and disheveled compared to your own controlled fury.

“Hufft,” you adjusted your disheveled dress and hair, glaring at Caroline with a fierce, triumphant look. “You know what? I hope your son wins, so I can rub my new position right in your face.”

Caroline’s expression was one of shock and fury, her face a portrait of someone who had been dealt a blow she wasn’t prepared for. Her eyes were wild with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“You’re absolutely right,” you looked at Bucky, your voice steady. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to live in the White House.”

Caroline’s gritted her teeth.

“If the world wants to see us as a happily married couple,” you said with a cold smile, “I’ll give them the most blissful marriage they’ve ever seen. It’ll be the kind of marriage everyone talks about when they mention a perfect union.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise at your cold declaration. For a moment, he was stunned, but as he processed your words, admiration and pride flickered across his face. He straightened, a hint of a smile forming, clearly impressed by your bold resolve and newfound strength.

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