i have love and dreams too — gojo satoru.
Yuji looked down at his hands, feeling a strange sense of guilt. “Do you really think… you can never have that life you want?”
Satoru didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed his eyes, letting the wind ruffle his silver hair. For a moment, he was just Satoru—not the strongest, not the invincible sorcerer, but a man burdened by the life he had to lead.
“I don’t know, Yuji……” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But I like to dream that maybe, someday… we could all disappear. And live. Just live. Just me, my wife, Megumi, Tsumiki, Satoshi… away from everything. Living in peace.”
WARNING/S: spoilers for chapter 271 of jjk (spoilers at your behest), domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;
WORDS: 6.8k words.
NOTE: i rush wrote this at uni, at the restaurant i was at and then a car on the way back and forth from uni and home. i just started crying profusely because i hated how jjk ended. and i hated that panel with satoru and yuji because i just kept crying. i cant believe this is the end, but i cant believe even more that this is what satoru had to deal with. this is the most rushed end and the saddest end.
i wish gege had decided to take a break and decided to take his time. but alas this is not my story. still, id like to make more for satoru. ones where he'd be so loved. genmei (you) and satoru will always be happy in whatever life you have, that i write. for bitter or for worse. even in death. smiling is all there will be. even with tears.
anyway, i hope you bear with me, for i am very emotional. thank you for understanding this situation. i love you all, i'll see you soon <3
masterlist
u s and t h e m
if you want to, tip! <3
GOJO SATORU IS EXHAUSTED. But he thinks that there is no use to sleep. He knows he cannot. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp, the light too dim to chase away the shadows that lingered in every corner, just like the uncertainty that hung between you and Satoru.
He sat across from you on the edge of the bed, his usual carefree demeanor gone, replaced by a solemn stillness that felt out of place on him. His eyes, usually so vibrant and mischievous, were tired tonight, the weight of tomorrow pulling down his every breath.
"You don’t have to do this." Your voice came out in a whisper, the words heavy with a desperation you’d been trying to suppress.
Satoru didn’t answer right away. His gaze was locked on the floor, and for a moment, you wondered if he was even listening. But then he looked up, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours, and there was something in them you rarely saw—fear.
"It’s not like I have a choice," he murmured, his voice strained. "You know that."
You did. And that made it worse. He was the strongest, after all. If anyone had to stand against Sukuna, it was him. But the weight of those expectations had never felt heavier than it did now, with the reality of the fight looming closer with every passing second.
"I hate this, Satoru." you confessed, your voice trembling. "I hate that it always comes down to you, that you’re the one who has to bear this."
Satoru smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He stood and crossed the small space between you, kneeling in front of you, his hands gently resting on your knees. His touch was warm, grounding, but it did nothing to quell the storm raging inside you.
"Hey." he said softly, lifting your chin so you’d look at him. "I know it’s not fair. But it’s what I have to do."
You shook your head, biting back the tears that threatened to spill. "But what if—" The words caught in your throat, the question too painful to finish.
Satoru’s thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. "Don’t think about that," he whispered, his voice as soft as the night air outside. "Not tonight."
"But how can I not?" you shot back, your frustration breaking through. "How can I pretend that everything will be fine when I know you’re going to face him? When I know there’s a chance that—"
He silenced you with a kiss, his lips gentle but firm, grounding you in the present, in this moment. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.
"I’ll come back to you," he promised, but even he couldn’t hide the uncertainty in his voice. “To you and Satoshi. And… I’ll bring Megumi and Tsumiki back. We’ll be a family again, like we used to be.”
It was the way he said it—so sure, so certain—that made it all the more unbearable. As if speaking it aloud would somehow make it true, would make the universe bend to his will the same way he bent the forces of space and time. But you knew better now, didn’t you? You’ve always known. Satoru Gojo, the man who was too powerful to fail, too stubborn to admit defeat, could never stop lying—not to you, not to himself. He believed in his own invincibility, as if his strength alone could rewrite the world.
But the world doesn’t work that way.
And you think then, that your husband has always been a liar.
You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve heard those words, promises wrapped in silk and carelessness, the way they tumbled off his tongue so casually. It was as though the act of saying it was enough for him, as though the truth could be commanded with just his voice. And maybe for a long time, it was.
Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, the man who could bend the world to his whims and yet still—he was human. And humans lie. Sometimes because they have to, sometimes because the lie feels better than the truth.
But tonight, in the quiet hours before dawn, the weight of his words pressed down harder than ever. We’ll be a family again, like we used to be. You wanted to scream at him, to shake him, to make him stop speaking as if the world was something he could fix with his bare hands. Megumi was gone, taken by darkness, by fate, and Tsumiki…Tsumiki was as good as lost to you both. Even if Satoru came back, even if he somehow survived this fight with Sukuna, the cracks in your family couldn’t simply be patched over like they had never existed.
You bit your lip, tasting the bitterness of unshed tears.
"You always say that," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the soft hum of the night. "But you don’t know this time, do you?"
His gaze faltered, the usual gleam in his eyes dimming for a fraction of a second. It was a flicker of something too vulnerable, too raw—something he rarely let anyone see. It was the truth that lingered behind his endless bravado, the truth that no amount of strength could hide: he didn’t know if he could win this time.
And you had known it all along.
Satoru had always come back to you. Bruised, battered, bleeding—but alive. He would stumble through the door with that infuriating grin, wipe the blood off his face with the back of his hand, and act like nothing had ever been in doubt. But this time was different. This wasn’t just another battle against curses or enemies who fell beneath his overwhelming strength. This was Sukuna.
"I’ll bring Megumi and Tsumiki back," he had said, as if they were just lost children in the woods, waiting for him to lead them home. But Megumi had slipped beyond reach, swallowed by the very darkness Satoru had spent his life fighting. How could he promise to bring him back when he could barely keep the pieces of himself together?
"You can’t save everyone, Satoru," you whispered, your heart breaking as you said it aloud, the truth as bitter as the lie was sweet. "Not even with all your power."
His hand tightened around yours, his grip almost too strong, as if holding onto you could somehow anchor him to the world, to the promise he so desperately wanted to believe. "I have to try," he murmured, his voice rough, as if the words themselves were painful to speak. "For you. For Satoshi. For them."
Satoshi. Your son. His name hung in the air like a thread between you, a fragile tether that held what little remained of your family together. You could see it in Satoru’s eyes—the fear of leaving his child without a father, the guilt of not being able to protect him from the storm that loomed over your lives. But you also saw the lie there, the same lie he told every time he went to war. The lie that he would come back unscathed, that he could shield all of you from the world’s cruelty just by being who he was.
But he couldn’t. Not this time.
"Satoru," you whispered, your voice breaking. "You don’t have to be everything for us. You don’t have to be invincible."
His eyes softened, and for a moment, just a moment, the mask slipped. He let you see the man beneath the legend, the man who was just as terrified as you were. "I’m not invincible," he admitted, the words barely audible. "But I can’t give up on them. I can’t give up on us."
You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Even in his most vulnerable moments, even when the odds were impossibly stacked against him, Satoru Gojo refused to let go of hope. He clung to it as fiercely as he clung to you, because to do anything less would mean admitting that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t strong enough.
And in that moment, you realized something: it wasn’t that your husband was a liar. It was that he couldn’t afford to tell the truth, because if he did, the weight of it might break him.
So, you let him hold onto his lie, let him believe in a future where you, Satoshi, Megumi, and Tsumiki could all be together again. Maybe it was kinder that way. For both of you.
As the night stretched on and the inevitable dawn crept closer, you pressed your face against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For now, that was all you had—the warmth of him beside you, the sound of his heart still beating, the fragile hope that somehow, against all odds, he would come back to you.
And maybe, just maybe, the lie would come true.
“I always have, don’t I?” he added, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, that signature bravado surfacing in an attempt to reassure you. “I’ve always won the day. I’ll come back.”
Your husband’s bright eyes—those crystalline blue eyes that had seen so much, fought through so much—they betrayed him. Beneath that unwavering confidence, there was something else. Fear? Doubt? It was a crack in the façade of the invincible man you married, a truth too terrifying to speak aloud.
Your throat tightened as you met his gaze, the silence between you heavier than any words could be. He had always come back, hadn’t he? Through every impossible battle, every mission that should have left him broken or worse, he had somehow returned to you, grinning as if the world itself were a game only he knew how to win.
But that wasn’t the whole truth. The nights he returned bruised, bleeding, barely standing, those nights played in your mind like a broken record. He made light of it all, brushing off your worries with a laugh, a kiss, a flippant “I’m fine.” But those were lies too, weren’t they? Lies wrapped in love.
“Satoru,” you breathed, your voice unsteady, “you don’t have to say it.”
His smirk faltered, just for a second, and that brief flicker of vulnerability nearly undid you. He pulled you closer, his hand cradling the back of your neck, his touch tender but laced with desperation. "But I will come back," he insisted, his voice soft but firm. "I always do."
You wanted to believe him. You needed to. Because to imagine a world where he didn’t come back, where that promise wasn’t fulfilled, was a world too cruel to fathom. But tonight, as the shadow of Sukuna loomed larger than ever, the weight of that lie pressed down on you both. What if this time, his strength wasn’t enough?
“What if…” you started, but he silenced you with a finger pressed gently against your lips.
“No ‘what ifs,’” he whispered, though you both knew better than that. Satoru had lived his life defying fate, bending it to his will. But not even the strongest sorcerer could escape death forever.
His hand moved from your neck to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your face as if trying to memorize it, as if this moment might be his last chance. You could see the weight of the world in his eyes, the burden of being the one everyone relied on, the one expected to face the impossible—and win.
But for once, he wasn’t invincible to you. He was just a man, your husband, and for the first time, you saw the lie for what it was: his way of protecting you. Of protecting himself from the truth that this might be the one fight he couldn’t walk away from.
You placed your hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin, and in that moment, you didn’t care about lies or truths, about promises or fears. You just wanted him here, now, with you. "Then stay with me a little longer," you whispered, your voice breaking.
Satoru closed his eyes, exhaling deeply, and nodded. "I’m here," he said, pulling you into his arms, his voice a soft, almost broken promise. "I’m here."
And for tonight, that would have to be enough.
The two of you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, neither speaking, just holding onto each other as if by doing so, you could freeze time, stop the inevitable from coming. You memorized the feel of his hands on your skin, the warmth of his body against yours, the sound of his heartbeat under your palm. You clung to the moment as if it were your last.
As the night wore on, you both lay down, tangled in each other’s arms. Sleep didn’t come easily, and when it did, it was fitful, haunted by the looming specter of tomorrow. You held onto him tightly, afraid that if you let go, he would disappear into the darkness, never to return.
In the early hours before dawn, Satoru stirred, his arms tightening around you one last time. The weight of the night clung to both of you, thick and heavy, the silence between his breaths and your heart beats a fragile barrier against the coming storm.
You felt him shift beside you, his warmth pulling you closer, as if holding you tighter could keep the inevitable at bay for just a moment longer. His fingers traced gentle circles on your back, his touch familiar, grounding, but laced with an unspoken tension.
"I’ll be back, hm?" he whispered again, the words soft and lingering in the stillness. His voice, usually so sure, faltered at the edges, as though he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to comfort you.
He said it like a prayer, like repeating it enough times could bend fate, twist reality to make it true. But you knew better. You both did. Those words, though meant to soothe, carried the weight of all the times you’d heard them before, and the growing fear that this time might be different.
You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The knot in your throat tightened, a lump of unspoken fears and uncried tears. There was too much to say, too much that couldn’t be put into words without breaking whatever fragile hope remained between you. If you spoke now, you might lose whatever composure you had left, and you needed to hold on to it, if only for his sake.
Instead, you pressed your face against his chest, your ear resting just above his heart. The steady, rhythmic beating echoed through your body, its cadence familiar and reassuring, a sound that had become synonymous with home.
It was the same heartbeat you’d fallen asleep to countless nights, the one you’d clung to after long missions, when he’d returned battered but smiling, and you’d held him just like this—like he was your anchor to the world.
But this time, it was different. You weren’t just seeking comfort; you were memorizing it. The sound, the feel of his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, the warmth of his skin against yours. You were committing it all to memory, engraving it deep into your soul because, somewhere in the back of your mind, a quiet voice whispered that this might be the last time.
Each beat of his heart became a marker, a reminder of the moments you had shared, of all the laughter and love and quiet nights like this one. But now, it also carried the weight of what could be lost. The inevitability of tomorrow pressed against your chest, suffocating, as if time itself was slipping through your fingers.
You tighten your grip around him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, unwilling to let go, even as the sky outside began to lighten with the first traces of dawn. The sun was rising, and with it, the time for him to leave drew nearer.
Satoru’s hand moved to your hair, his fingers threading through it gently, soothingly. He kissed the top of your head, and though his touch was as tender as ever, there was a lingering sadness in it. He held you like he was trying to memorize you, too, like this was as much for him as it was for you. He didn’t say anything more, perhaps because he knew that no words would ease the ache that had settled between you, a chasm neither of you could cross.
As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, casting a soft, golden glow over the room, you felt him shift again, his breath hitching slightly as he prepared to rise. You wanted to beg him to stay, to forget about everything else, just for today. But you knew he couldn’t, and you wouldn’t ask that of him. He had a duty, a burden that he had carried for as long as you had known him. And no matter how much you wanted to keep him safe, you couldn’t shield him from what was coming.
When he finally moved to leave, your arms loosened around him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go completely. Not yet. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than he needed to, as if he, too, was trying to hold on to this last fragment of peace before it was shattered.
“I’ll be back.” he whispered once more, his breath warm against your skin.
This time, you didn’t respond because you couldn’t. Instead, you closed your eyes, letting the sound of his heartbeat linger in your memory, holding onto it as tightly as you held onto him. The door would close behind him soon, and with it, he would walk into the fight of his life, a battle that you both knew could be his last. But for now, in this fleeting moment before dawn, you let yourself believe in the lie, because the truth was too painful to bear.
And when he finally left, the door closing softly behind him, you were left alone in the silence, the echo of his promise lingering in the air, fragile and fleeting.
HE DOESN’T KNOW WHY, BUT HE JUST FELT LIKE TALKING. Quite unlike him, if he was being honest with himself. But as Gojo Satoru sat beside Itadori Yuji, all he could think about was peace of mind. And to do that, he thinks he should talk.
Gojo Satoru could feel his usual smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, though today it felt more subdued. They had been talking for a while now, their conversation meandering from one thing to another. But beneath Satoru’s lighthearted tone, Yuji sensed something deeper. Something weighed heavy on his teacher’s mind.
“When something happens, I want you to be there for me, Yuji.” Satoru said suddenly, his eyes staring ahead. His voice was soft, but not weak—it carried the strength of someone who had lived with the knowledge that he had to bear the world on his shoulders. “I have love and dreams too, you know.”
Yuji blinked, surprised by the vulnerability in Satoru’s words. He wasn’t used to hearing his sensei talk like this, with a depth that seemed so different from his usual carefree attitude.
Satoru glanced at Yuji, his smile widening slightly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But you know, one day, everyone will grow up and leave me behind, right?”
Yuji didn’t know how to respond. The idea of leaving Satoru behind felt impossible. But Satoru’s words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his loneliness. It was a rare glimpse into the mind of the man everyone thought was invincible.
“I have high hopes for you.” Satoru continued, his voice becoming more playful, but there was something fragile beneath the surface. “Desire and ambition!”
“I could never forget you.” Yuji said as he smiled nervously, trying to deflect the seriousness with humor, though it didn’t quite land.
Satoru sighed. “I honestly think it’s better to have someone stronger than me who can truly forget my existence.”
“Isn’t that a bit concerning, Sensei?” Yuji asked after a moment, tilting his head. “Are you okay with that?”
Satoru’s smile softened. “Ah, you’re so young and naïve!” he said fondly, his voice carrying an almost paternal tone. “You’re brimming with confidence, aren’t you?”
The conversation lulled, and for a moment, the two sat in silence, the air between them thick with unsaid things. And then, Satoru spoke again, but this time his voice was lower, as if he were confessing something he hadn’t shared with anyone else.
“You know, Yuji…..” Satoru began, his gaze distant. The most emotional Yuji had seen him to be. “Sometimes I wish I could just… run away. With my beloved. My wife. Megumi, Tsumiki, and little Satoshi too. I dream about it sometimes. Hiding us away somewhere no one could find us. No more battles, no more curses… just peace. We’d be a family again.”
Yuji looked at his sensei Gojo, stunned. He had never heard his teacher speak like this before, as though the weight of being the strongest had finally worn him down. Gojo Satoru’s dream of escaping, of living a quiet life with the people he loved—it was so human.
So far removed from the man everyone saw as untouchable, undefeatable. But at this moment, Satoru wasn’t the strongest sorcerer in the world. He was just a man who wanted to protect the people he loved. A man who longed for something simple, something real.
“That’s my dream, my love and dreams.” Satoru whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I know it’s impossible. The world needs me too much.”
Yuji’s heart ached for him. He didn’t know what to say, so instead, he simply sat there, hoping that in his silence, his sensei could feel his support.
Satoru sighed, standing up and stretching as if to shake off the heaviness of their conversation. “Anyway, enough of that.” he said, flashing his usual grin. “Let’s focus on what’s in front of us.”
But even as he spoke, Yuji couldn’t shake the feeling that, deep down, Satoru Gojo longed for something far beyond his reach.
Yuji stared at Satoru, processing the weight of his sensei's words. It was hard to imagine Satoru Gojo, the invincible sorcerer who seemed so carefree, harboring such a vulnerable wish. A man who could crush enemies with ease, someone who always had the answers—yet, here he was, confessing a dream that would never come true.
“I never thought… you’d want something like that, Sensei.” Yuji admitted quietly, his voice breaking the silence. “I guess I never really thought about what you’d want outside of all this.”
Satoru glanced at him, a softer smile playing on his lips. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? When you’re as strong as I am, no one really thinks to ask what you want. They think you don’t need anything… or anyone.”
Yuji frowned, guilt washing over him. He hadn’t meant to think that way about Gojo Satoru, but it was true. He had always seen his teacher as larger than life, almost beyond human in his ability to control any situation, to be everywhere and nowhere at once.
"But... you have them, Sensei." Yuji said slowly, searching for the right words. "Your wife, Megumi, Tsumiki, and Satoshi… They need you, don't they? Maybe you can’t run away, but you still have something, sensei. A family. Isn't that enough?”
Satoru chuckled, but the sound was hollow, lacking its usual energy. He sat back down beside Yuji, his gaze once again distant. “You’d think that, right? But the stronger you are, the more people take from you. It’s like… I’m always on borrowed time. I’m always one fight away from leaving them behind too.”
Yuji swallowed hard. He’d never thought about Satoru’s life in that way. It was a sobering realization, that even someone as powerful as Gojo was constantly battling not just external threats but the fear of losing what little he had.
“I wish I could protect them from everything.” Satoru murmured. “Just take them somewhere far away… no more battles, no more cursed energy. Just… quiet. But no matter how strong I am, I can’t do that. I can’t just… leave the world to burn while we live in peace.”
He turned to Yuji then, his icy blue eyes piercing through the air. “You know, sometimes I think I was selfish for bringing them into my world. Megumi, Tsumiki, Satoshi… my wife. They didn’t ask for this. I chose this life for them.”
“Sensei.” Yuji started, unsure of what to say. His heart ached for Satoru. “They love you. And… they wouldn’t want to live without you, either. Even if it’s dangerous.”
Satoru’s lips twitched upward in a bittersweet smile. “Yeah, I know. But love’s a tricky thing, Yuji. It’s not enough to stop the world from trying to tear us apart. It never has been.”
Yuji nodded, not fully understanding, but feeling the gravity of Satoru’s words. There was a silence between them, but it was heavy with the weight of shared thoughts, of unspoken dreams and impossible futures.
Satoru leaned back, his hands resting behind his head. “But hey, that’s just how it goes, right? No point in dwelling on things we can’t change.”
He looked at Yuji with a bright grin, but it felt like a mask—one Yuji was starting to see through more and more. “So, enough about me. What about you? What are your dreams, Yuji?”
Yuji blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. “My dreams?”
Satoru nodded. “Yeah. You must have some. Or did you think I was the only one allowed to have them?”
Yuji scratched the back of his neck, thinking for a moment. “I guess… I don’t know. I never really thought that far ahead. I’ve been so focused on everything happening now, I never gave myself the chance.”
Satoru chuckled softly. “That’s the thing with us, sorcerers. We get so caught up in fighting for today, we forget to dream about tomorrow.”
Yuji looked down at his hands, feeling a strange sense of guilt. “Do you really think… you can never have that life you want?”
Satoru didn’t answer right away. Instead, he closed his eyes, letting the wind ruffle his silver hair. For a moment, he was just Satoru—not the strongest, not the invincible sorcerer, but a man burdened by the life he had to lead.
“I don’t know, Yuji……” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But I like to dream that maybe, someday… we could all disappear. And live. Just live. Just me, my wife, Megumi, Tsumiki, Satoshi… away from everything. Living in peace.”
His voice trailed off, and Yuji could hear the longing in it. The truth was, Satoru Gojo might be the strongest sorcerer alive, but even he was bound by the same rules as everyone else. He couldn’t run from the world, couldn’t hide from the battles he had to fight.
But it didn’t stop him from dreaming.
Yuji looked at him with a new understanding, realizing that no matter how strong someone was, they still carried their own struggles, their own wishes and dreams. And sometimes, those dreams were just as fragile as anyone else's.
"Maybe one day, sensei." Yuji said softly, with an honest smile. "You won't have to fight anymore."
Satoru chuckled, opening one eye to glance at Yuji. "Maybe. But until then, we keep going."
And with that, the conversation ended, but the weight of it lingered between them—a reminder that even the strongest had dreams they longed to chase, even if those dreams were just out of reach.
YOU THINK YOU WAITED FOR THIS MOMENT FOR A LONG TIME. When you wait for your eyes to close with finality, the weight of the years presses down on you, a quiet fatigue settling into your bones. You’re tired—so tired—and when you open them again, you're met with the familiar sight of Fushiguro Megumi and Gojo Satoshi. Your two sons, waiting for you to go and leave them.
Megumi stands tall, his arms crossed as usual, but his gaze softens when he sees you. Satoshi, ever his opposite, smiles that wide, carefree grin of his. They both look at you, concern etched into their features.
"I'm exhausted." you tell them softly, the words slipping out like a confession you’ve been holding in for far too long.
“You can’t die yet, Mother......" Satoshi pipes up, his voice steady, but the cracks of fear were unmistakable. His usual bright demeanor falters, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he grips the hem of his shirt. His voice may be steady, but his eyes betray him—glossed with unshed tears, reflecting a grief he’s not ready to face. Not now. Not yet.
“You’re still too young!” There’s urgency in his words, a childlike plea echoing in his tone, though he’s long since grown past childhood. The way his shoulders hunch forward, the way his gaze darts between you and Megumi—he’s holding on. Clutching to hope as if his words could anchor you to this world a little longer.
Megumi stands beside him, more composed, but his silence carries a weight just as heavy. He nods, his expression solemn. “He’s right, Gen-san.” Megumi adds quietly.
His voice is low, restrained, as though he’s struggling to hold back everything he truly wants to say. His hands remain tucked in his pockets, his face as unreadable as ever, but his eyes—the eyes you’ve known for so many years—hold a flicker of something deeper. Desperation? Fear? Perhaps both.
"You’re only 48. You still have time left."
His words are careful, deliberate, each one carrying the weight of someone who’s had to shoulder too much responsibility, too much loss. The faint tremor in his voice betrays how much he’s already bracing himself for another wound, another absence he’ll have to carry.
You look at them both—Satoshi, who still clings to hope as though it could somehow rewrite fate, and Megumi, whose quiet strength has always shielded him from the full brunt of the pain—but not this time. They both stand there, torn between urging you to stay and accepting the inevitable.
But you smile at them, a soft, knowing smile that carries the weight of the years, the joy and the sorrow, the love and the loss. It's a smile that’s lived through the ache of life without Satoru, a smile that remembers every laugh, every argument, every stolen glance, and every moment that felt too brief.
“I know, I know......” you say, your voice gentle, steady. There’s a peace in your tone that they don’t yet understand, a quiet acceptance that fills the space between you. “But I’m ready. I’ve missed Satoru... for so long.”
And in that moment, as you say his name, the air feels lighter, as if the years of separation, the longing, the silent ache in your chest begins to unravel. You missed him—not just in fleeting moments or in passing thoughts, but in the depths of your soul. Every day, every night. The space he left behind has been a constant companion, a reminder of what once was and what could never be again.
The tears in Satoshi’s eyes finally spill over, and Megumi’s lips press into a thin line, his jaw tightening, but neither of them say anything. They understand, even if they don’t want to.
Because love—true, enduring love—is something that even death can’t diminish. And they know you loved Satoru with all that you were, and perhaps, even now, they understand that your heart has been waiting for him all along.
The weight in your chest lightens as you speak his name. Megumi frowns but doesn't say anything more, and Satoshi’s smile falters, understanding settling into their eyes.
You close your eyes once again, the world fading into a peaceful darkness. There's a brief moment of silence, a quiet passing, before a familiar voice echoes softly, teasingly:
“Did you miss me?”
Tears well up before you even open your eyes. You don’t need to see him to know it’s him. The voice, that unmistakable voice—playful, laced with all the love and mischief you’d missed for too long.
When your eyes flutter open, there he is—Satoru, standing before you, that brilliant smile lighting up his face. The tears fall freely now, but for the first time in years, they're not from
“Satoru......” you breathe, his name barely a whisper on your lips, as though speaking it aloud might break the fragile moment. Your voice catches in your throat, a mix of disbelief, relief, and the sorrow that’s lived inside you for far too long.
It’s a name you’ve spoken to the silence of empty rooms, whispered into the night when no one was there to hear, a name tied to a thousand memories you’ve held onto so tightly for all these years.
The tears that have welled up in your eyes begin to spill over, blurring the figure before you, but you don’t need to see him to know it’s him. You feel him—his presence, his warmth, the way his energy fills the space around you like it always did.
He steps closer, closing the distance between you in a way that feels like the erasure of all those agonizing years of separation. His familiar warmth envelops you, wrapping around you like an embrace you’ve longed for, like a homecoming after a journey that has lasted far too long.
The brush of his thumb against your cheek is achingly gentle, tender as he wipes away the tears that won’t stop falling. His touch, so familiar, yet so missed, sends a wave of emotions crashing over you—grief for the years you lost, joy for the moment you never thought you’d have again.
"You came back to me, finally." His voice is quieter now, the usual teasing that you had come to know so well is gone, replaced by something deeper—something raw and vulnerable, a depth of emotion he often hid beneath his bravado.
There’s relief in his words, but also a quiet sorrow, as if he too felt the weight of all the time you’d spent apart. As if he too had been waiting, missing you just as much as you had missed him.
His breath is warm against your skin, and you hear the slight tremor in his voice, that hint of fragility in the man who always seemed invincible to you. There’s a vulnerability in him now, standing before you, as though he’s afraid this moment might not be real. Afraid that if he holds you too tightly, you might slip away again.
His thumb continues to trace gentle patterns along your cheek, the rhythm of it soothing and familiar, grounding you in the reality that he’s truly here. And as he looks at you, his bright blue eyes softer now, there’s a depth to them that speaks to all the words left unsaid, to all the years spent in separation, to the weight of the grief he carried alone.
"I waited and waited, stalling some gods....." he continues, his voice just above a whisper now, the teasing facade stripped away, leaving only the rawness of his feelings. "I waited so long, and every day… I missed you."
There’s a moment of silence that stretches between you, heavy with the unspoken sorrow of time lost, of love interrupted by forces beyond your control. His hand, still cradling your face, trembles just slightly, as if even Satoru, with all his strength, couldn’t bear the thought of losing you again.
The weight of it all—of everything you endured, everything you lost—comes crashing down at once, and you let out a soft, broken sob. You feel his arms wrap around you, pulling you against him, holding you close like he’s afraid to ever let go.
“I missed you too. So so much.” you whisper into his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. “I never stopped missing you, Satoru.”
You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep breath, his lips pressing softly against your forehead. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the sorrow that’s been living inside you begins to ease. It doesn’t disappear entirely—grief never really does—but here, in Satoru’s arms, it feels lighter. It feels like, maybe, you can finally rest.
And in that moment, you realize that the exhaustion, the waiting—it was all worth it. You're home.
epilogue
The afterlife wasn’t exactly what you expected. Instead of floating through clouds or endless fields of serenity, you found yourself at what looked like an airport terminal. Before you could process how bizarre this was, you spotted them—Kaiko and Namie, both waving like maniacs from the crowd.
“Finally!” Kaiko shouts, sprinting toward you with the grace of someone who has no concept of personal space. Namie follows, beaming brightly, and within seconds, they’re both squeezing the life out of you.
“Guys, air... I need air!” you gasp, but they only hug you tighter. Kaiko plants a kiss on your cheek, and Namie loops an arm around your waist like they’ve been waiting years for this reunion.
“We missed you so much, you know?” Kaiko pouts, ignoring your protests. “The afterlife just isn’t the same without you.”
“Excuse me.” You look over Kaiko’s shoulder to see Satoru, sunglasses slightly askew, his mouth pulled into a pout that could rival a spoiled child’s. “You’re hogging my wife.”
Kaiko smirks, not even turning to look at Satoru. “Your wife? Funny, because I’m pretty sure I was her first love.” She raises an eyebrow, tilting her head ever so slightly as if daring him to challenge the claim.
Satoru's eyes narrow behind his shades. “That was ages ago, you homewrecker! She married me—” he steps forward, pointing at the both of you— “not you.”
“Oh please,” Kaiko rolls her eyes. “I’ve known her longer. I laid the groundwork. I was and always will be the original concept!”
Satoru steps closer, his height towering over Kaiko but Kaiko isn’t fazed. “She chose me.”
“She settled for you, shitty eyes!” Kaiko quips, her grin widening. “There’s a difference.”
And that’s all it takes. Satoru’s eyebrow twitches, and suddenly they’re in each other’s faces like squabbling children. You can barely get a word in before they start throwing insults—Kaiko jabbing at Satoru’s height, Satoru boasting about his undeniable charm.
“Guys, seriously?” You rub your temples, trying to hold back laughter. “This is ridiculous.”
Geto Suguru, ever the voice of reason (or at least the one who knows when to pick his battles), sidles up beside you with a casual smile. “Looks like some things never change.”
You grin at him, feeling a sense of ease that only Suguru can bring. “Tell me about it. Can’t believe I’m back and they’re already fighting over me.”
“Typical Satoru!” Suguru laughs. “He never could handle competition.” He offers you a knowing look, then gestures to the absurd scene in front of you. “Should we break it up?”
“Nah, let them tire themselves out.” you reply, waving a hand dismissively. “They’ll realize how stupid they’re being soon enough.”
As if on cue, Kaiko flicks Satoru in the forehead. “She loved my kisses first!”
“Oh, for—" Satoru huffs, about to lunge at Kaiko when you step in between them. “She loved mine more!”
“Oh shut up,your kisses are slimy and disgusting!”
“HUH!? You take that back!”
“Ugly frog! Bwah!”
“Alright, enough.” You shake your head, stifling a laugh. “Satoru, Kaiko, stop acting like children. I’m here for everyone, okay?”
“Everyone except Kaiko.” Satoru mutters under his breath.
Suguru chuckles beside you, giving you a side glance. “Welcome back.”
You smile, patting his shoulder. “Good to be back. I see things haven’t changed much.”
As Kaiko and Satoru continue bickering like they’re back in high school, Suguru leans over, smirking. “Should we take bets on who wins this round?”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Nah, I’m putting my money on Namie. She’s going to step in and drag both of them away soon enough.”
And, just like clockwork, Namie swoops in, grabbing Kaiko by the arm and tugging her toward the exit, muttering about “taking this fight outside.”
Satoru watches them go, arms crossed, still pouting. He looks at you, expectant, as if waiting for reassurance.
You chuckle, stepping closer and placing a hand on his chest. “Relax, Satoru. You know you’re the one I chose.”
His pout softens into a grin, and he leans down to kiss your forehead. “Damn right.”
And with that, the chaos of the airport fades into the background, as you bask in the comfort of having your husband by your side—and of course, the endless entertainment of old rivals.
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Stay A While (3)
Summary: Terry get's a lesson in love and shares it with Patrice.
Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC
Word Count: 5,049
Part: 3 of ??
Warnings: Smut (18+)
One. Two.
"Well, James, how you been?"
"Honestly, Pop. I don't know where to start."
Wooden spoons banged and scraped across pots on the stove while Marvin scooped red beans and rice into a small ceramic bowl. He'd long shed his work coveralls for an open flannel shirt and khakis to spend some quality time with his only son.
James was their shared middle name in a long line of Richmond men dating back to their family migration from New Orleans to Fayetteville in the 50s. Marvin was a proud, honorable man. He never said a bad word about anybody, and no one had a bad word to say about him. He taught Terry how to play football, make a pot of dirty rice to perfection, and the importance of ensuring a lady never touched a doorhandle in his presence. He was the reason Terry joined the Marine Corps after a career in the NFL looked unlikely. He was the reason his boy spoke softly and carried a big stick. And he was one of only two people Terry trusted with his heart.
With two bowls and spoons on a serving tray, Marvin made his way to the kitchen table. He stopped short to get a good look at his son with blue green eyes even more captivating than Terry's. He noted the new frown lines developing on his brow and the lone grey hair sprouting in his goatee. His boy was stressed and confused. He didn't need a conversation to tell him that but welcomed it anyway.
After sliding one bowl across the table, he took a seat with his signature grunt. "Start at the top. Plenty of time still left in the day."
Terry quietly thanked his father for his generosity and avoided the question by eating the first bite of his meal. They ate in silence for several seconds until Terry took a deep breath.
"I think I've been okay. More ups than downs lately, but the downs are pretty damn low. I'm having a tough time sleeping. I'm barely working. I feel like a burden for Treece more than I feel like a man who can actually do something for her."
"Being a man is about more than what you can do."
"Yeah, but…" Terry trailed off, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's just - things weren't supposed to be this hard. I gave this country a lot of my time, and I guess I expected to say my goodbyes and roll into my next chapter. Now, my plan b needs a plan b, and I'm out of options."
"You're not out of options. You don't like askin' for help. Proud like your grandaddy."
"And you too."
Marvin chuckled and shook his head as he took another spoonful of food. "This ain't about me."
The two men shared a laugh, their voices sounding nearly identical as they bounced off the walls. He was the spitting image of his father, both in stature and moral compass.
"What do you need, James?" Marvin had grown serious again, making Terry avert his eyes to focus on his food. "I'll save you the stress of asking, but you gotta tell me what I need to offer. Is it money?"
"Not much. Enough to pay some bills until the end of the month, and I can have it back to you. I think I have a shot at this job on base if I can get through the second interview."
"How you getting back and forth? I know y'all do the Lyft and Ubom thing these days. Ridin' around with strangers like we didn't spend a whole decade tell y'all not to."
Terry laughed. "It's Uber, Pop. But, no. Treece is out for the summer, so I'm…using her car when I need it. I don't wanna take advantage of her."
"Those some of the bills you need help paying?" Marvin's question was answered with a silent head nod and eyes filled with shame. He softened his voice as he reached into his wallet for the cash he had on hand. "It's what you're supposed to do. Ain't no shame. That money is for yourself. Give me til tomorrow afternoon to have more. Five grand enough?"
"Ah, Pop, I don-"
"We didn't work as hard as we did for nothing. Plus, it's your college fund money we never withdrew. You're lucky your mother hasn't used it for renovations. She's been eyeing your sister's old room for an indoor she-shed or whatever the hell it's called."
Marvin sounded exasperated by the concept of his wife's latest project, which amused Terry. They hadn't changed since the day he left. They were just two people who had been in love since the day they met and remained committed to supporting each other through the ebbs and flows of life.
Standing from the kitchen table, Marvin shuffled around the corner to the garage entrance and returned with a ring of keys and a pile of mail. He tossed them at Terry and returned to his seat.
"What's this?"
"Keys to GMC outside. Take it. You might need to run it for a little bit and change the oil, but it works fine. The rest is your mail." Terry opened his mouth to protest and received a glare from his father in return. "I gave you my best speech about askin' for help, and here you go ruining things. Take the truck before I tell your mama."
"Alright, alright," Terry laughed as he raised his hands. "I love you, Pop."
"Love you, man. I'm proud of you." Not ones for the warm fuzzies of hugs, the two extended their arms across the table for a quick fist bump before returning to their meals. Marvin let his son eat in peace for a few moments before the corner of his lips curled in a knowing smile. "So…Patrice Ellis, huh? That little love letter you wrote in 10th grade finally coming true?"
"Pop."
"Ah, come on. It's alright to be in love, son. She's a good girl. Got good folks, too. What's the holdup?"
In love? The more Terry attempted to negotiate the gravity of the phrase within himself, the more he had to reckon with the idea that his father may not be that far off base.
Terry slowed his eating and looked at his father for help. "You think I'm in love?"
"Oh, I know you are. You didn't come back to Fayetteville for me, did you?"
"How would I know, though? How did you know?"
Marvin stopped eating to sit back in his chair. A fond smile crossed his face as he thought of his younger years.
"I knew I was in love when I wanted to show up every day and do the work to be with her. It didn't matter if she pissed me off or if we disagreed about decisions. At the end of every day, I can look at her and know I'm where I want to be forever. Plus, I still get a little fired up when she walks through the door all these years later. I ain't much to look at, but your mother is…"
Marvin let his sentence drop to whistle at the mention of his wife. Terry pretended to take exception but eventually laughed at his father's antics. He quickly relaxed into a contemplative state.
"I wanna be the best I can for her," he spoke softly. "I get…sad when she's gone for too long. Sometimes, I find myself forcing conversation just to make her look at me because the light in her eyes is the only thing keeping me grounded most days. What does that mean?"
"You don't need me to answer that, son. Go with what you know."
Before Terry could seek more advice, the mechanical roar of the garage door made Marvin nearly spring out of his seat to greet his one true love.
Outside, Patrice was nearly doubled over from laughter in the front seat.
Diedra "DeeDee" Richmond was the quintessential Southern black woman. Like a prim and proper belle, she wore her color-treated blonde hair big to match an even bigger personality. She wore heels with every outfit and never left the house without earrings, but she could also drink and cuss like a sailor.
When she offered Patrice the chance to tag along for her monthly Sister Circle meeting, there was no chance she'd miss the opportunity to ditch Terry and kick it with the upper crust of Black women.
"And, girl, Rita thinks we can't tell that she took every one of those appetizers out of the damn freezer section. At least go to the Publix bakery. Finger sandwiches ain't that expensive."
Amid their gossip session, the garage door's chime caught Dee Dee's attention, effectively ending her one-woman show in favor of giving her husband the eye. Behind him, Terry stood with a nervous smile and puppy dog eyes that he directed at Patrice.
"Marry a Richmond, child. You'll never lift a finger for the rest of your life. Lord knows I love me some him. Hey, baby!" DeeDee advised as she watched Marvin nearly float to the driver's side to open her door.
Patrice watched Marvin and DeeDee fawn over each other like teenage lovers until the faint pop of her door opening brought her back to life.
Terry stood in the gap with his hand out to offer assistance. She accepted without protest, letting him gently pull her from the passenger side with her bags in tow and close the door behind her.
"I missed you."
Terry's admission came in a sweet voice as he dipped his head to place two chaste kisses on Patrice's lips. Only the knowledge of his parents 10 feet away kept her from turning an innocent display of affection into something vulgar.
Patrice chased his lips once he pulled away, earning a deep chuckle that vibrated her chest.
"We kissing in front of the parents now?"
"Too much," he asked, suddenly embarrassed.
She used her thumb to wipe lip gloss from his bottom lip before rising to her tip toes to kiss his nose. "No. You're perfect."
Dee Dee and Marvin watched the young couple giggle at nothing in particular with broad smiles and full hearts.
"Treece, when's the last time you had some of my red beans and rice?"
Marvin's question made both of them jump like children caught in the act with the realization that they weren't alone.
"Way too long," Patrice answered, her stomach almost growling at the mention.
"Then have dinner with us. We'd love to have you."
Patrice looked toward Terry for confirmation, making Dee Dee cackle as she started up the stairs into her home. "Child, forget him. Terrence don't run nothing 'round here! Come get this food."
Terry's eyes grew wide at his mother's dismissal while Patrice dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at his expense on her way into the house.
"Oh, that's funny," he asked, following her lead. "That's the last time I let y'all hang out unsupervised."
Three extra hours at Terry's parents' house wasn't enough for the tandem to abandon their new night routine.
Patrice stood at her bathroom sink, scrubbing the day from her face while Terry made himself comfortable on her closed toilet lid. Sometimes, he read something from Patrice's bookshelf, both preferring to simply exist in the same room. Other times, he watched baseball on his phone and attempted to provide color commentary despite Patrice not showing interest. This time, though, he sat with relaxed shoulders and low eyes while she moved through her beauty routine.
Something about the sleepytime body wash had him laser-focused on how her legs looked a mile long beneath her nightshirt, oiled to perfection and glistening under the warm vanity lights. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Maybe pull her closer by her thighs and whisper every single nasty thought on his mind below her navel until she promised never to leave his side.
But, he shook his inner man loose and leaned forward to re-engage with her as she called his name.
"You know you should use a gentle exfoliant every once in a while. It'll help your breakouts. Use some of my sunscreen, too. It's dangerous for you to let the sun hit your face with no protection."
Blah, blah, blah. Everything she said sounded like a chorus of 1000 angels to him. She could've revealed the cure to cancer, and he would be too lovestruck to notice.
Knowing his restraint was dwindling, he stood abruptly and stretched his arms above his head with a yawn as she added moisturizer to her face.
Patrice watched him take up space behind her through the mirror, shifting so he could leave something to remember him by on her shoulder and neck.
"Good night," he spoke between kisses, the words muffled against her skin.
"Already? It's not that late, is it?"
"I promised Corey I'd help him with football practice at Francis tomorrow morning."
"He'll run you ragged if you don't speak up."
"I'll speak up. I promise."
Using what little space she had, Patrice turned to rest her backside on the counter and face Terry. She used her index finger to hook his gold herringbone chain and bring him down for a kiss. Or kisses. It'd been so long since they could have each other in this way. Time and experience, both together and separately, had them maneuvering like professionals. Each kiss was teasing and sensual in equal measure. A tangible mastery of retreating and aggression made the pursuit of one another worth the wait.
They'd lost track of their exhibition until Terry's phone buzzing against the toilet seat jolted them back into reality.
Patrice flattened her palms against his chest to create some separation and end what would surely turn into blurred lines if they weren't careful. "Good night, TJ. Grab that exfoliant out of my shower before you leave. It's in the caddie."
Terry took the gentle redirection in stride, smiling at her through the mirror before turning to do as she had asked. Patrice used what little focus she could muster to secure her headscarf to her head, desperate to extend her box braids for one more week.
"What's this?"
"What's what?" She didn't bother to look away from her task until the low hum of her vibrator caught her attention. She whipped her body around, too stunned to reach for the bright pink toy that had Terry smirking as he examined its buttons. "That is my personal property for personal and private use."
"When's the last time you used it?"
"It's been a while. A month or so." Mostly true. She couldn't say she hadn't thought about it more recently.
"Since I've been here?"
She shrugged. "Kinda hard to get comfortable when there's a person on the other side of the wall."
The mere sound of the only thing to touch her in two years made the hair on her arms stand at attention. Her eyes darted between the toy and Terry, who made himself familiar with each speed and pattern, cycling through dirty thoughts and intrigue as he held the device against his arm to get a feel for the intensity,
Setting one? Bearable. A softball. Setting three? Maybe she'd call out his name from the pleasure? Setting seven? Surely, she'd hang on to him like a wet t-shirt on a Playboy model while she rode the crest of her orgasm.
The possibilities excited him to no end. He needed to test each and every theory.
In two clicks, he returned the toy to its original setting and then off completely, holding it in one hand while taking slow steps to close the gap between him and the only person on his mind.
She shifted her weight nervously as he approached, unsure how to respond until he towered over her with a look she knew all too well.
Desire.
Their senses were heightened. Everything felt surreal, almost as if one misstep could send them flying through a portal back to a more disappointing reality.
Terry could smell the faint hint of mint on Patrice's breath before dipping his head to nip at her bottom lip with his teeth. She responded like he knew she would by making him work for his prize. Patrice never let him intimidate her. Not for their first time together all those years ago, certainly not now.
He chuckled before leaning in again, this time leaving a trail of short kisses from her jaw to her clavicle. He inhaled deeply, breathing in vanilla and the subtle spice of his cologne from moments earlier.
Suddenly, Patrice felt weightless. Her feet dangled briefly and without warning as Terry took her from standing to sitting on the cold, hard counter before she could protest.
Patrice fought for stability, using the peaks and valleys across the expanse of his muscled arms as her anchor in the dizzying experience that was his affection. Her lips parted to draw in sharp breaths and release airy sighs of approval in a feeble attempt to remain present. At the same time, he kissed his appreciation wherever his lips saw fit. Her legs acted under their own power to spread wider and make room for whatever came next.
Her hands left a trail of tingles as she dragged them from his arms to the back of his head, down the sides of his face, over his tank top, between his pecs, and, finally, into the waistband of his shorts.
Surprised by her touch, he lurched forward to grab her wrist. "Not this time," he whispered, unsure he meant what he was saying.
Patrice nodded in understanding, earning a sloppy kiss for her obedience.
There was no discerning where his mouth ended, and hers began. They were on one accord, hungrily tasting, exploring, and consuming each other without holding back.
Then, the low hum returned. This time, it was closer than Patrice remembered.
Cold silicone soon caressed her inner thigh. A low whimper escaped past her lips as she made eye contact with Terry. He leaned close enough to speak against her mouth.
"You trust me?"
"Mhmm," she answered, fighting to keep her eyes open as he moved further up her leg.
"Let me take care of you, then. Take these off for me."
Trembling fingers latched onto her boyshorts, pushing them to mid-thigh for Terry to take care of the rest. As quickly as he was gone, he'd returned for another taste of her tongue. Languid and unhurried, he used the time to relax her while slowly inching the vibrator to her center.
Initial contact made her hips buck forward, and her head softly hit the mirror behind her. Terry chased her with sloppy kisses at the base of her neck.
The slow and steady setting was enough to get her wet and sticky. Terry'd be lying if he said the thought alone didn't have him wanting to renege on his early statement and dive in with reckless abandon. But, he remained steadfast in his pursuit of her pleasure.
Once the initial shock had worn off, Patrice ground her hips slowly, making small circles while the vibration worked to settle her nerves. Terry took a break from leaving praises in the form of kisses on her throat to smile at his girl.
"You're beautiful. You know that?"
She gripped his chin and pulled him closer for a fiery kiss that he let her lead. "Yeah. But, I love to hear you say it."
"Good," he answered, grinning at her confidence as he upped the intensity on her vibrator. Her eyes clamped shut as her entire body tensed. "Stay with me."
A deep, steadying breath turned into a silent scream as Patrice gave in to the natural urge to hold her breath. Terry used his free hand to sneak up her tank top and grope one breast while pressing his lips to her ear.
"Breathe, baby. In and out." He modeled the behavior until she found the strength to match his tempo. "There you go. You feel good?"
"Yes, yes," she whisper-chanted to the ceiling, her head thrown back in unimaginable euphoria.
"I want you to feel this good every day. You deserve it, right?"
A twisting, turning feeling at the pit of her stomach forced her to draw in a deep breath to steady herself. Her answer came in a soft moan. "Right."
"Damn right." Pressing his forehead to hers, he zeroed in on each of her features twisted in unthinkable pleasure.
She kept her mouth open to sigh and moan as she saw fit. Her nostrils flared in a rhythm as she tried to force herself to breathe through every peak and valley of the moment. Her brows were knitted, and her eyes closed as if she were too afraid to look at him. He wondered what she was thinking.
Did she want him inside of her as much as he wanted the same for himself? Was she yearning for more pressure? Could she feel how much he loved her?
"Don't get quiet on me. I want everything. Let 'em hear you. You need more?"
A quick glance down helped him reposition the vibrator on her already sensitive bud, earning a guttural curse as appreciation for his good deed.
"Fuck! Don't move. Please don't move."
Terry obliged for the moment, too entranced by his view of her flower on full display for his viewing pleasure. Glistening. Wet. Beautiful. Appetizing like nothing he'd ever seen before. He pulled the toy away and replaced its presence with his thumb. Slow circles and firm pressure made her want to close her legs to escape the overwhelming stimulation, but her attempt was futile. She was at his mercy.
"Damn," he whispered to himself, enamored by the way her body reacted to his touch.
Every revolution around her clit brought with it more wetness at her entrance and indentations in his arms from her nails gripping for dear life.
It wasn't enough to touch her. He needed to taste.
Using his middle and ring fingers, he teased his introduction with gentle brushes against her inner lips. She keened for more against his mouth as she held his face close. He granted her wish and pushed into her slowly, immediately feeling her warmth envelop his long digits.
Their mouths hung open, breaths being traded between the two as he set a slow pace. Not enough to bring forth a release. Just enough for Terry to get what he came for.
Removing his fingers left him with a coating of clear arousal nearly dripping to his knuckles. Patrice watched him as he smirked at the sight, examining it like a jeweler appraising precious diamonds.
When he'd seen enough, he put both fingers into his mouth and closed his eyes to savor the taste. Patrice's mouth hung open as if waiting for her turn to experience the wonders of her juices.
Had she closed her eyes for even a second, she would have missed Terry extending his tongue from his mouth to allow a mixture of his saliva and her essence the chance to slide from his tongue in anticipation of a new host.
Something profound and hungry within her made her lean her head back and hold her tongue out to receive all that he had to give. It excited her, delighted her, and aroused her like never before.
Like a lewd work of art, spit connected their tongues in what would otherwise be seen as an infraction among more proper circles. But fuckin' wasn't proper, and all forms of affection were welcomed in their home.
Almost immediately, Terry rushed to reward her with a wild and frenzied kiss that nearly surprised him.
Primal. Carnal. Intense. Fucking disgusting. He loved every minute of it.
The race was on. Terry kept their lips connected as he returned the vibrator to her clit, dialing up the settings to a level below their max.
Patrice's moans and his couldn't be distinguished from one another. Her hips bucked wildly. Her fingernails left marks in their wake as they scratched at his arms and back. Her body twitched and seized in anticipation of the inevitable.
"Oh my - fuck!" Satisfied tears slid from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks to her man's awaiting lips. "Terrence!"
Terry remained locked in. A man possessed. A one-track mind focused on nothing other than completing the mission.
The first stage of her orgasm came without a warning. Heat washed over her as if she'd stepped outside at high noon, making her skin almost unbearable to live in. Her toes curled, her voice caught in her throat despite the intense desire to release a scream from the depths of her soul into the atmosphere.
She thanked Terry and God in Heaven for blessing her with the opportunity to touch the moon and the stars without ever leaving her home. Terry used his free hand to grip and massage her thighs, knowing that the best was yet to come.
Patrice's voice began to climb as the main event approached. Shallow breaths gave way to loud gasps for air, which came rapidly while she did the same. She was suspended in a beautiful bliss and already sad about the prospect of coming down.
Her lover reveled in the opportunity to see her unraveling at the seams.
"I'll always come back to you, beautiful. No matter what, okay? Look at me." His request earned intense focus from Patrice under hooded eyes. "You're so pretty. Say it back to me. Tell me you're pretty."
"I'm so pretty!" Impending release sent all her words out in one breathless sentence.
He smiled at her compliance. "I know you're close. Hold my hand."
Her fingers scrambled against the counter, filling the spaces between his fingers and gripping with enough force to turn her knuckles a lighter shade of brown.
"That's my girl. I love you," was all he could manage before Patrice let out something akin to a squeal, turning his declaration into background fodder.
Sensitive, overstimulated, and completely spent, the after-effects of her release had her panting to recover. Her ears rang with a heady feeling that could only be compared to a few puffs of homegrown bud.
Terry held her through it all, propping her up while her body sagged against him for stability. He put aside the vibrator to run his palms up and down her legs while he showered her temple with whispered praises and sweet kisses.
He waited until her breathing was even before gingerly pressing his forehead to hers. "You good?"
His smirk was incredibly smug. He was proud of himself, and for good reason. She was open to giving credit where credit was due.
"You can never leave this house without me again. I hope you're happy."
"That's the whole point. My granny taught me some things during them summers down in New Orleans, you know?"
"Oh, so this is some magic shit?"
"Family business, baby. Gotta have the last name to find out." A playful glint in his eyes and a squeeze to her waist made Patrice's stomach feel butterflies that she thought would never return. Terry tapped her nose with his index finger and stepped back. "Stay put. I'll clean you up."
Patrice scoffed. Stay put. As if she could go anywhere. As if she wanted to go anywhere.
Like the perfect gentleman, Terry was tender with his care. A warm towel to soothe sore muscles and ensure a thorough cleanup was mandatory. The extra loving was complimentary for only his favorite lady.
"Stay with me tonight," Patrice requested as he slid her panties back up her legs.
He shook his head and smiled while prompting her to lift her hips. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Treecey."
"I just wanna be next to you. Nothing more."
Terry regarded her doe-eyed plea with a small smile as he helped her off the counter. He pulled her into an embrace, fiending for one more kiss. She obliged happily until he'd had his fill.
His hands slid from her sides to her ass for a generous squeeze before answering.
"Okay. Whatever you want. Let me handle something real quick, and then I'll meet you there."
Patrice accepted her victory with a silly happy dance before turning to make enough room in her bed for an extra person. Terry sent her on her way with a light tap to her ass, amused by how something as simple as sleeping next to each other was exciting for her.
Once she was safely out of the bathroom with the door shut behind her, he finally found time to take a deep breath and compose himself. The actual test of his strength was in the next room, and he couldn't risk the trust he'd worked so hard to build.
After adjusting his shorts, he picked up his phone and sat on the toilet lid, hoping that watching dog videos or Nationals highlights would clear his mind.
He had every intention of opening the web browser on his phone until he noticed a series of messages from an old friend.
From: McBride
You check your mail?
Trial against chief starts in two weeks. Gonna need you to testify to take him down
Know you said you weren’t coming back
Do it for Mike
---
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