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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 3 days

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Badge Bunny Part V

Masterlist Here!

Summary: It all comes to a head with Roy. Will Gator let the sins off his past dictate his future or will he be the better man that he knows you deserve?

18+ Only! Minors DNI!

CW: Reader is referred to as "Bunny" or "Bun". Minimal use of Y/N. Canon type violence. Gun use. Gator is wounded - no graphic detail. Mild angst. Smut! Unprotected P in V. Creampie.

WC: 8.7K

“Something's going down at the ranch. I think Roy's finally lost his goddamn mind. Feds are headed over there.” Andy rushed out, breathless as if he'd run all the way here, face a little bloodied and bruised. He was still in uniform, though it was dirty and disheveled, sans his duty belt.

“Gator?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded, gaze falling to the floor.

“He's been there all morning.”

“What's going on? And don't lie to me Andy.” Pushing your finger roughly into his chest.

“I want the full story. Not some half-truth bullshit.” Tired of sitting in the dark, you needed some answers.

You took him to the back so you could talk in private without the whole bar hearing about the sorted affair. They would all know soon enough. Small town gossip spreads like wildfire, especially if it involves the Tillman family in any way.

Roy had the entire ranch on lockdown. He'd somehow gotten wind of a traitor in his midst that was feeding information to the FBI.

Andy was an immediate suspect. After the entire incident with your kidnapping and sending those blood samples off despite Roy telling him not to, it had earned him a spot at the top of the man's shit list.

“They had me tied up in one of the sheds. If it weren't for Gator, I…” he swallowed thickly, as if he were reliving it all once again. “I don't know what Roy would have done. He showed me some tunnel on the back of the property. Helped me escape. I flagged down a car once I made it to the main road and had them bring me here.”

“Oh my God, Andy! Why didn't he come with you? What the fuck is he doing?” You groaned, swearing then and there if he made it out of this shit alive you were going to kill him.

“He told me to place a call to the feds and made me promise to make sure you stayed put. There's nothing else we can do.”

You stopped pacing back and forth looking at him with a dumbstruck expression.

“What? So, you are working with them?” Trying to wrap your head around everything that he was trying to tell you.

“No, Y/N. Gator is!”

Not even Roy could have seen it coming. Everyone pegged Gator as the Sheriff's idiot son. A fuck up so blinded by getting his father's approval that no one thought for a second he could have been the informant.

If Roy asked him to jump, he'd ask him how high but that all started to change a little over a year prior.

There was only one thing that would make him flip on the old man in a heartbeat.

You.

He'd asked you to trust him. Told you whatever happened it was for the best. Now you truly saw why. He was taking Roy down. It was his way out.

“Andy, how am I supposed to stay put when you know what Roy is capable of? If he even thinks for a second that it's Gator…” You trailed off. Taking a seat at the edge of Henry's desk to let the weight of it all sink in.

“I think he's got this. There's nothing else for Roy to do but surrender.” He tried to reassure you with a half-smile but you saw right through it.

You sighed, standing back up.

“Let me clean that cut up for you. It's the least I can do. You're a good friend to me and Gator.” You grabbed the first aid kit and went to work. It was deeper than you thought, probably needed a stitch or two but he was dead set on keeping the both of you here.

After Gator helped Andy find the underground passage, he made his way back to the main house where he knew Roy would be waiting.

He took a deep breath before entering. Knowing his part, he has to play it cool just until the feds get there. He gave Andy strict instructions to let them know what they were going to be up against.

The kitchen was left in shambles. Roy told Karen and the girls to leave before they finished breakfast. At least he seemed to care enough to spare them from some of what he had planned that day.

From that point on it had been madness. He'd called in what was essentially his calvary. A lot of armed idiots that had no business holding a gun.

Somehow, he'd gotten word the FBI was coming to raid him. Gator was still unsure of where it actually came from, but he knew Roy had friends in high places.

He wandered down the small hall that led to the back of the house where Roy's office was, the door sitting ajar.

He didn't bother knocking, pushing it further open and taking a step forward. Roy's eyes shot up as soon as the door opened.

“Gator, what are you doing here? I told you to watch the goddamn shed with Bowman.” He hissed out.

“Yeah, uh… Andy and Bowman are both gone. Shed's empty.” His gaze fell to the floor briefly before looking back to Roy.

“Gone? Both of them?” His face flashing confusion.

“Yup. Suppose Bowman moved him? Ya’ give him the order to execute or somethin’?” He asked, trying to draw his suspicion.

“Fuck.” He gritted out between clenched teeth getting up and coming around his desk. “I didn't give any kind of order. Get your ass out there. Tell everyone to start looking for them.”

“Yeah, course.” Gator turned, making his way back down the hall and out to the porch telling the rest of the guys to start looking.

He was sure it had given Andy enough time to get to the highway. No one knew about that escape hatch except himself, Roy and the other being Bowman, who was currently unconscious and tied up in said escape tunnel.

He set about pretending to help look for the two missing men hearing the sirens in the distance, breathing a small sigh of relief. It would all be over soon.

As Roy stepped out onto the porch, pulling his hat down tight upon his head the caravan of black SUVs made their way down the highway stopping at the front gate.

He had the entrance blocked by his armed cohorts.

“Well, here we go.” He said, looking over to Gator with a sinister smirk.

“Dad,” he said, sounding more like a frightened boy than the man he was trying to be, as Roy turned back to look at him. “No one has to get hurt. Ya’ could just… just give yourself up.”

“Give myself up? You do realize you're going to prison too, right? It's not just me going down at the end of all this.” He fixed him with a glare before turning and mounting his mare. “Shut the hell up and find those two idiots.”

He nodded, biting his lip as he watched him mosey toward them, taking a leisurely pace as if he was unbothered by the entire scene. Roy seemed to see it as more of a nuisance than any kind of real threat.

He couldn't tell what was being said, so he made himself scarce trying to bide his time.

The feds already had a plan in motion. Gator told them about the hatch and tunnels that would lead them to the back of the property. It would be easy access and they could take everyone from behind while they were still occupied with the front gates. They knew once they had Roy the rest would give up without their so-called fearless leader.

Gator made his way to the back of the property, meeting about 10 men dressed in SWAT gear along with FBI Agent Joaquin.

“He's in his office, but ugh… y’guys mind if I have a word with him before ya’ barge in there?” He asked.

“I think we can spare a few minutes. I can give you head start but if bullets start flying, hit the deck.” He waved Gator off turning back toward his team ready to give their orders.

He made his way back to the house, hitting his vape trying to steel his nerves.

This time the door was shut, so he quickly rapped his knuckles against the smooth wood.

“Yeah?” Roy grunted, as Gator popped into view.

“Son, what the hell is it this time?” He was exasperated dealing with him for the day.

“I need to talk to you. Man to man.” He stated, coming to stand in front of his desk. Roy finally looked from the window to face him.

“Well, spit it out.” He hissed.

“The feds are on their way, already on the ranch. Thought it would be better to hear it from me.” Roy watched him intently but stayed silent letting him continue.

“If you had just left her alone.” He looked him dead in the eye as he spoke. “You tried to take away the one thing that matters most to me.”

Roy had gravely miscalculated just how much you'd meant to his son. He saw you as nothing more than a bump in the road assuming that Gator would eventually get bored of his new, shiny plaything.

He was losing that grip on him little by little thinking his only way to get it back was to get rid of you.

The kidnapping had gone according to plan, just like Roy intended, until it didn't. Those idiots he'd hired had gotten greedy. Threatened to let you go if they didn't get more money but before he could take matters into his own hands Gator had found you.

The FBI had reached out months prior, it was only after that stunt that he finally placed the call that set everything into motion.

“So, that's it then? Turn your own father in over what? Some fuckin' whore. I should have fuckin’ killed you a long time ago. You're nothing but a sniveling worm. I'm ashamed to even call you my son.” He was seeing red, reaching for his gun.

Gator grabbed his own, before Roy had the chance to flinch. His words had no effect on him. He'd all but given up hope of ever winning his father's affections and praise. He didn't care anymore. He had you.

“Don't.” He aimed right at Roy's chest, finger on the trigger. He never wanted it to end this way.

Shouting down the hall pulled Gator's attention for a split second, as his eyes drifted from their target giving Roy enough time to get his hand around his own pistol.

Two shots rang out as the swat team swarmed the house.

“So, what should we do? How much longer do we just sit and wait?” You'd finally asked after thirty more agonizing minutes. You'd both made it back out to the bar, taking a booth in the corner.

Your knee was bouncing, unable to keep from chewing your nails and looking out the window every few seconds.

“He wants you to stay put. So, we'll stay put.” Taking another sip of his soda, watching you over the glass. “Don't even think about it.”

“What? I wasn't thinking about anything.” The way you glanced at your keys sitting next to you told him otherwise.

“Y/N.” He warned, with a glare.

“Fuck, fine.” You crossed your arms, continuing to look out the window with a huff. “I'm going to get a drink. You want a refill?” Asking as you got up.

You had your back toward the door when an SUV peeled into the parking lot. A woman with short, dark hair got out and made her way into the door.

“I'm looking for a Miss Y/L/N.” She announced, looking around the near desolate place as she removed her sunglasses.

You whipped around.

“Um, that's me.” Voice coming out meek. You knew she had to be FBI. You suddenly felt sick, preparing for the worst.

“I'm Agent Meyers. We need you to come with us please.” Her curt tone left no room for arguing as your eyes cut over to Andy. He got up and met you both.

“I'm Deputy Andy Tate. I'm the one that called you guys. You mind if I tag along?” He didn't want to let you out of his sight, even if they were supposed to be the good guys.

She looked him up and down before nodding.

“Sure, follow me.”

Agent Meyers wasn't much for small talk. She had explained you were needed but didn't go into detail. Apparently, it was a need-to-know basis, and you didn't need to know.

Your stomach was in knots as you watched the world pass by outside. Andy tried to soothe you, telling you it would all be okay, but every doubt was swirling within you.

As you pulled up to that familiar gate and picture-perfect farmhouse that was anything but, you saw they had people lined up and handcuffed on their knees against the fence.

They'd managed to round up and arrest everyone. As predicted, when they found out Roy was done, they all gave up without a fight.

There were two ambulances, one pulling off as you all pulled in the other parked directly in front of the house.

“Where is he?” You anxiously asked.

“He'll be over there.” You opened the door and shot out running before they had the chance to come to a stop.

“Hey!” Meyers yelled, but you didn't hesitate. You needed to see him. Needed to make sure he was okay, and your worst thoughts had not come to fruition; make it all tangible.

He finally came into view, sitting on a gurney at the back of the vehicle. His shirt was removed. They were bandaging up his shoulder as you shouted his name.

He turned, standing up as you slammed into his chest wrapping your arms around him as the tears began to flow.

He groaned with the impact, pain shooting through his shoulder and back, but he didn't care, wrapping his arm tight around you pulling you into him.

Roy had managed to shoot him in the left shoulder, while Gator's aim had been much more accurate. A shot straight into the gut. He'd been taken by the other ambulance for emergency surgery and then he'll be swept off straight to a federal prison halfway across the country.

“Gator… I …” You sniffed, looking up at him. “I thought…” Your hands roamed his chest, easing over his bandaged shoulder taking it all in. Cupping his cheeks, your thumb running under a slight bruise that was blooming under his eye.

He pressed your head back to his chest, kissing your temple.

“It's okay baby. I'm okay. We're okay.” His words soothing as they washed over you.

You just held each other for a few more minutes before someone cleared their throat from behind you.

“Sorry to break this little moment up but it's time to go.” Agent Meyers spoke.

Gator nodded, as you looked between the two of them.

“Bunny, look at me.” His eyes pierced yours as he spoke calmly.

“We’re going to be okay. But I have to go with them. There's a lot of shit I did, that I'm not proud of I still need to answer for.”

You knew what he meant. For all the good he did, there were still things he would have to pay for which still meant prison time.

“I'm proud of you.” You looked right into those soft, hazel eyes as you spoke. He looked so downtrodden, but you lifted his chin.

“I'm so proud of you baby!” You stood on the tips of your toes, smashing your lips to his. They were a little chapped but warm as you melted into him.

It suddenly crossed your mind this may be the last time you get to feel him for a while as his tongue grazes your bottom lip. Allowing him entry, you glide against one another so effortlessly it was easy to get lost in the moment.

You broke apart only to catch your breath. Whispered “I love yous” were spoken before he was handcuffed in front of you.

“Okay, Mr. Tillman.” Agent Meyers guided him to an SUV, sitting him in the back.

His eyes were filled with worry as they shut the door, mirroring your own. Andy sidled up beside you as they drove out of sight.

5 Months Later

“You don't have to keep coming every week.” The way it came out let you know he was tired but so were you. Tired of him acting like you were just going to give up and leave him to rot in a prison cell.

Since he'd helped the feds, they had given him a nice plea deal with a reduced sentence of 18 months. With good behavior, he might be out in 12.

It was the best he could have hoped for with all the involvement in Roy's dealings, but Gator had given them enough to send him away for the rest of his life.

It was still going to be agonizing but you wanted to be there for him every step of the way.

“Yes, I do. Who else is going to bring you these nasty cookies you love?” You teased. Packing another overnight bag for your 8-hour trek.

“Y’gonna make me fat, if ya keep bringin’ those.” He chuckles on the other end. “But seriously, if the drives gettin' to be too much, ya’ don't have to.”

“I don't have anything else to do. I know that sounds pathetic but it's true. All I do is work, and then come home. The only thing that's getting to be too much is how quiet the house is. I miss you.” You said it earnestly, sighing into the phone sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I'm sorry Bunny, if there had been another way…” he trailed off, sighing on his end as well.

“No. Don't start that. I am so damn proud of you, Gator Tillman!”

Of course, it was all over the front pages, but they left out the part where he had been an informant. Everyone assumed the very worst about him, just like Roy. But he was your hero.

If only you could see the grin that split his face any time you told him that. The way his eyes lit up. He had sought Roy's approval for so long, it felt refreshing to hear that he'd done something right from the one person who truly loves him for him. All the fuck ups, all the short comings he saw in himself that you never judged him for. You loved him. You were proud of him.

“I love you, be safe. I'll see ya’ tomorrow.” He had his one-minute warning come through the line.

“Ok baby. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you more!”

“Not possible.” He grinned again, as the line clicked dead.

He'd been sent to FCI Sandstone, a low security facility in Minnesota. It was a little over 8 hours from Lehigh. Thankfully Roy was sent halfway across the country to a maximum security facility so neither of you would ever have to cross his path again.

In the few months that he's been away, it's been a struggle. You were left on your own again, but you could breathe a sigh of relief. The entire town felt like a weight had been lifted. No one was looking over their shoulder fearing they might be on the bad side of Roy Tillman.

Andy was appointed interim Sheriff, since half the department went down with the raid. Andy and just a few others were left to pick up the pieces and start from scratch.

He was a good man. Gator made sure that he was never implemented in anything to do with Roy or himself. He was doing a great job, weeding out the few left behind and hiring new, upstanding deputies to help run things. There was no doubt he'd be running and win the upcoming election.

You had your routine down, leaving out every Tuesday afternoon after your shift. Hitting up the same motel halfway there. Waking up before dawn to go the rest of the way. Spending Wednesdays with him at the prison.

They'd give you one-hour allotments of visiting time. You'd been his only visitor.

You drive through the gates, flashing your smile and waving at the guards. They knew you by name at this point.

“Hey Bill!” You greeted the guard at the entrance.

“Hey, Y/N. Must be Wednesday.” He chuckled, waving you through the X-ray. You knew the routine. Tossing everything into the bin to go through, then yourself. Pat down examination and you were off to the designated visiting area.

You'd always sit at the table closest to the window, furthest away from the guards. It was quiet. No one bothered the two of you.

You sat the cookies in front of you. The one thing you had actually taken the time to learn how to make and you'd gotten good at it. He loved them.

You were staring out the window, when the buzzer went off alerting you to the door being opened.

He walked out, hands cuffed in front of him wearing that prison issued bright orange jumpsuit you were now so accustomed to seeing. His hair was never slicked back anymore, but he kept the cut the same. Soft brown locks hung down against his forehead.

He donned that crooked smile that made your heart melt as he made his way over to you.

“Hi baby.” He sat across from you extending his hands as the guard unlatched the cuffs. He rubbed his wrists before placing his hands to the table.

“Brought your favorite.” Shaking the Tupperware in front of you, then sliding it over.

They allowed some touching in the visitor's area but not enough. You longed to push the hair from his face and kiss those lips you've missed.

He took the lid off and immediately dove in, taking a cookie and humming around the sugary taste.

“I think these get better every time, Bun.” Finishing it before looking back at you, a crumb at the edge of his lip. You reached up, and brushed it away with your thumb, lingering just a moment.

“God, I miss you.” You whispered, dropping your hand as he reached across the table intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I'm right here, and hey, if I stay off the naughty list I get conjugal visits next month.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively making you laugh and roll your eyes fondly.

“As much as I would love for you to fuck me senseless, you know that's not what I mean.”

“I know, baby.” The grip on your hand becoming a little tighter.

You fell into an easy conversation. You always told him about what was happening since he left.

“Spoke with Andy. They're expecting and he's absolutely over the moon. They're still planning on getting married, but they're going to wait until after the baby.”

You were still talking but he was hung up on that first part. He felt like a failure all over again. That could be you and him. Happy. Engaged, maybe even married. But no. He was stuck here because of all the stupid choices he had made long before he'd met you. He knew he didn't deserve you.

You stopped talking when you noticed his crestfallen appearance. Eyes glossy, and pouty lips.

“Hey, what's wrong?” You shook his hand lightly. “I know that look. Don't.”

“It's just…” he began but you cut him off. He got like this from time to time.

“I know what you're thinking. Stop, ok. We'll get our happy ending once you get out of this place.” You smiled.

A happy ending. What you truly wouldn't give. You'd both been through too much to not see this through.

“Plus, I'm moving closer. I can get another job, another place to live. We don't have to go back to Lehigh. Nothing ties us to that place.”

“Bunny,” his gaze softened. He truly didn't deserve you.

“Nope. I know what you're going to say. I've already made up my mind.”

“Fine, just make sure to clean out the house good before you do. Attic too.” You looked at him with confusion, knowing you had never stored anything up there.

He simply smirked and winked at you.

“Um… ok weirdo. If you say so.” You eyed him warily. “I…”

“Tillman, times up!” The guard shouted, interrupting you.

“I’ll call you tomorrow to make sure you got in, sweet thing.” He said, winking before his hands were cuffed once more.

You watched as the guard led him away. It was always inevitable, but it didn't hurt any less each time.

It scratched at the back of your mind on the drive home. He was so adamant about checking the attic. It was going to bug you the entire way.

This time you wouldn't stop halfway to rest. Making the drive back to Lehigh in one go, making a few gas station runs but nothing more.

You got in late that night, feeling dead on your feet as you walked into the house throwing your bag on the couch making a beeline for the hall where the access to the attic through the ceiling lay.

You reached up, straining, barely grabbing the thin string but you were able to pull it down as it fell open with a creak.

You took the rickety steps one at a time, grabbing your phone to use as a flashlight. Your head popped up looking around but not immediately seeing anything. To your right, there was a duffle bag you didn't recognize but this must be what he was alluding to.

Your hand gripped the handle, it was fairly heavy, as you brought it back down slowly, placing it on the kitchen table.

Taking a deep breath, you tugged the zipper, gasping when the contents were finally revealed.

The bag was full of cash. More than you'd ever seen at one time in your life.

What you hadn't known is that Gator found that bag when he had rescued you, immediately recognizing it because it was the same one, he had seen at Roy's a few days before it all went down.

That was his turning point. The final nail in the coffin. If Roy could do this to you, there was really nothing he wasn't capable of.

The feds had been whispering in his ear for a few months. After you had broken it off that morning, that was his first call. Even if the future with you was uncertain, he had to keep you safe and taking Roy down was his only choice.

As the initial shock wore off you noticed an envelope sitting to the side.

You tore it open immediately to find a handwritten note.

Bunny,

I figured sooner or later you'd find this before I got out. Knowing you, you're ready to high tail it out of Lehigh and I don't blame you.

Get out of Lehigh, you deserve better than this. Better than me. I never understood why you stuck around, you're too good for me.

On the off chance you still love me, there's enough to get you by until I get out, if you want to wait for me. I understand if you don't. I'm writing this knowing what lays ahead of me.

I know you're going to be pissed, but I did it for us. For our future, if you'll have me. I know I should have done it sooner, and I'm kicking myself for writing it in a letter instead.

There's a velvet box hidden in my sock drawer, if you haven't found it already. I promise I'll ask you proper once I get out. I love you Y/N, more than anything.

Love, Gator

PS- Got your necklace fixed. Missed seeing it around your neck.

Tears began to stream down your face as you clutched the letter reading it over once more before your feet started carrying you toward the bedroom you once shared with him.

You hadn't touched any of his things since he'd been gone. So, you'd never happened upon the small velvet box he was referring to.

You shoved his socks out of he way until your fingertips brushed up against it. You hesitantly pulled it into view, holding it in your hand until you sat on the bed.

You were still crying as you lifted the edges. Your necklace slipped out, catching it before it hit your lap. It had been broken during the kidnapping but with everything that had gone on since you hadn't thought about it but were now grateful to see it again.

Your eyes roved over the ring that was held within. It was simple, modest by most standards, but it was perfect. You'd never expected this from him.

It was a thin, gold band with three diamonds. A center cut with two smaller ones flanking each side. You hesitantly lifted it from the box, sliding it down your ring finger and holding it up to examine it more closely, as it caught the light and sparkled with your movement.

Finally, you clasped the thin gold chain back around your neck, holding the delicate “G” between your fingertips once more.

You knew he'd be calling around noon the next day, expecting you to have stayed at the hotel overnight. You had an idea, not letting on that you'd found everything laid out for you, instead surprising him on your next visit.

It was bittersweet, packing up your things and getting ready to leave Lehigh. The first home you shared with someone you truly loved.

Since you'd let him know you were moving to Minnesota to be closer to him, it had been a whirlwind of emotions and planning. Your next weekly visit was tomorrow.

In a week's time you had already found a small apartment for rent not far from the prison that would be perfect until he was released so you started the packing process.

During your calls, you'd never let on about the duffle bag. He couldn't say anything, so there was no way he'd mention it over the phone which played to your advantage. Keep him waiting and wondering.

Today when you walked through the gates you were positively giddy. Not only were you surprising him, but this would be your first conjugal visit.

Unlike before, they led you to a small room in the back of the prison. It provided privacy with a small bed and seating area, a counter dividing the room in two.

You were instructed to sit. They'd bring him in.

Your knee was bouncing with anticipation at the thought of finally being able to touch him after 6 long months of waiting.

The feel of running your fingers through his hair, his arms wrapped around you in a warm embrace, vibrating at the thought.

You moved the container of cookies to the small table in front of you as the door swung open.

Gator stepped in, a wide grin splitting his face, as he walked further into the room. His eyes never left you, licking his lips as he turned his body toward the guard so they could unshackle him.

“Alright Tillman, you've got an hour. Just be dressed by the time I get back.” He nodded, “ma’am” leaving the two of you alone.

“Hey, sweet thing!” He rubbed his wrists, watching you ease up from your seat crossing the room, quickly advancing toward him, barely giving him enough time to move his hands out of the way before you pummeled into his chest throwing your arms around his waist pulling him into a bone crushing hug.

“Damn Bun! Miss me that bad?” Letting a small chuckle escape, circling his arms around you, kissing the top of your head.

“You know I miss you!” Melting further into his chest. The fabric of his worn, orange jumpsuit scratched at your face, but you just buried it deeper, breathing him.

You held each other for a few moments before finally lifting your head. As your eyes met, he moved his warm, calloused palm to your cheek before he moved in letting his lips crash to yours, nose pressing into your cheek as he tilted his head pulling you further into him.

He immediately deepened it, hungry for more. His tongue darts out, licking at your lower lip as you part your mouth for him. You hummed at the taste of him, almost making you weak in the knees and rushing a spark to your core.

You finally broke apart, panting as your foreheads came to rest together.

“It would have been a yes, you know.” You whispered. “You should have just asked a long time ago.”

His brows knit with confusion as he pulled away to look down at you, his eye catching the glint of gold around your neck immediately cluing him in to what you meant as his gaze softened, and a lopsided grin returned to his face.

“Yeah? That so?” He reached for your left hand, pulling it into view. The ring was situated on your hand perfectly. “So, you still want to be with me?”

“Of course I want to be with you! I love you, you idiot! And you absolutely are asking me properly once you get out of here!” You giggled as he lifted you excitedly, peppering kisses all over your face as you tried to squirm away from the sudden onslaught of affection.

“So, does that mean I'm fuckin' my fiancé today?” Setting your feet back on the ground.

“God, is that all you're worried about?” Rolling your eyes, slapping at his chest.

“No. But Bun, I'm dyin’ here. It's been six fuckin' months.” He suddenly pressed his hips into you, his already hard length pushing into your lower stomach.

“Sure you haven't fallen for your burly bunkmate? I know it can get really lonely in here.” You laughed, as he groaned.

“Real cute, Bunny.” He was walking you back as he spoke, suddenly lifting you up on the small counter stepping between your legs and crashing his lips to yours once more.

The kiss turned more heated as you both tilted your heads, melting into each other as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him further into you by the collar.

He began to trail lower, kisses to your jaw to that little spot below your ear that has you releasing a breathy moan that instantly has his cock twitching between you.

“Oh fuck, I've missed those sounds.” He hissed out, helping you shed your jacket letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor reattaching his lips to you, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down the side of your neck.

Your fingers trailed up his chest finding the zipper on the orange jumpsuit you've come to loath, slipping it down as he let you pull it from his shoulders, letting it fall open to his waist. He wore a plain white shirt underneath, fisting the material in your hands as he pulled your hips closer to the edge of the counter.

His hands drifted under the fabric of your top, sending goosebumps across your flesh, as they roamed higher. Raising your arms to let him discard it alongside your jacket.

He's quick to drift to the clasp of your bra, undoing it with ease, letting the fabric fall away from your chest as his large palms engulf your soft flesh, kneading it a little roughly only spurring that now prominent ache between your legs when his thumbs graze over your nipples causing your back to arch further into his touch.

“Oh fuck, baby!” You moan out, gripping the bottom of his shirt trying to pull it up. You were needy. It felt like a lifetime since you'd been able to give him so much affection. Feel his warmth, skin to skin, lips skimming over your soft flesh. Reacquainting with each other's bodies.

Once his shirt was discarded, his hands traced your curves sending a shiver through you.

Your eyes caught the scar on his shoulder that hadn't been there before. A harsh reminder of what he's had to go through.

He follows your eyes, as your fingertips trace over the bit of gnarled, dark flesh.

“I would take a million more as long as I knew you were safe.” Whispering between you.

“I know you would. I just wish you didn't have to. I love you.” Whispering back, moving forward to place a kiss there before placing another to his lips that quickly turned heated once again.

You pushed at the jumpsuit, he helped you discard it and toe off his shoes as you worked quickly on your jeans.

Once his attention came back to you, he helped you lift your hips and slide them down your legs. His hands were immediately back to you, roaming any of your exposed flesh he could reach.

He took a moment, pressing his lips to your forehead, hand to your jaw.

“I've missed you so fuckin’ much Bunny. I love you.” Leaning his forehead to yours, closing your eyes, feeling the warmth of his palm to your cheek.

“I've missed you too.” Whispering as he captured your lips once more, less rushed. His lips glide across yours, tongue ghosting along your bottom lip begging for entry as you parted them. Tongues moving against one another in a slow, passionate dance.

He closed the small gap, as you wrapped your legs back around him. His clothed length pressing into your core as your hips seemed to move on their own accord grinding down against him, catching your clit on the downward movement eliciting breathy moans from both of you.

His hand slips between you, finding the damp spot on your panties, pressing the pad of his thumb into the soaked fabric.

“Bunny, you're so wet. All this f’me? Fuck, I'm a lucky bastard.” He hissed out, finding the edge of your underwear pulling them to the side and letting his fingertip trace your slit before pushing at your aching entrance only breaching slightly, making your hips chase his hand for friction. He trailed up, finding your swollen clit as the pad of his thumb swiped deftly before pulling away. The band of your panties snapping back into place.

“You wanna move… this over t’the… bed?” He rushed out between pants and feverish kisses.

“Please.” You manage to get out before he's gripping your ass, hauling you up and over across the small room without his mouth ever leaving yours.

His knees find the small bed and tosses you down. The springs are a little hard and unforgiving squeaking under your weight with a small bounce that makes you giggle all the same as you lean back to stare up at him.

He's long and lean, looking a little more toned than you remember. Boxers doing nothing to hide his raging erection. His hard cock straining against the fabric, now eye level with you.

You reach up, tracing a finger down the length of him, leaving him gaping and throwing his head back.

“Fuck, I need you.” He hisses out, as you gingerly reach up pulling his boxers down his toned legs, finally releasing him. His length bobs against his abdomen, standing at full attention. Your cunt clinches at the thought of getting him inside of you. Never satiated properly for the last six months you were aching.

He didn't miss the way your thighs rubbed together as he looked down at you, as you took him in your hand, bringing your lips to his soft, ruddy tip, placing a soft kiss there before shifting your head as you ran your tongue up his entire length.

“Oh fuck, baby.” He pulled your chin up to look at him, as you smirked. “Hey sweet thing, as much as I would love to have your mouth, I need your pussy.” The end came out as almost a growl as he began to ease you back onto the bed, his fingertips grabbing at your panties as he practically ripped them from your legs as you heard an audible rip but you didn't mind as he tossed them somewhere across the room.

Crawling between your thighs, parting to accommodate him eagerly. His thick chest hair rough against your nipples, as he presses himself to you taking his length at the base, suddenly running it up your soaked folds making you moan out and arch further closing any gap between you.

“That's it baby. Need it as much as I do, huh?” He hummed, bumping your clit on the way up that made you whine as he captured your lips once more, lining himself up as his head catches your dripping hole.

Your hands grip at his back, running your fingers through the short locks at the nape of his neck pulling the strands when he pushes himself in an inch more.

The toys at home could never fill you the way he could with his thick, long cock. It began to sting as he pushed further. A moan caught in your throat, as your head hit the back of the bed, mouth going slack at the feeling.

“Goddamn, Bunny. You're so… mmmph…. Fuckin' tight.” He grits out, face turning soft once he looks up to notice your brows pinched tight.

“Hey, Bunny. Relax f'me, baby.” He coos, cradling your jaw, thumb rubbing soothingly under your bottom lip.

“I'm relaxed, you're just a lot, baby.” You finally say, opening your eyes gazing into his lust blown irises, nearly black save for the thin mossy ring around the outer edge.

“Yeah?” Lopsided grin returning. “Too much for that tight little cunt?” Not letting you answer before finally burying himself completely as your nails dig into his back with a near pornographic moan escaping your lips only spurring him on.

He slowly pulls out, feeling your walls stretch and flutter around him before quickly plunging back in, feeling impossibly deeper before rocking his hips into yours at a brutal pace.

The stretch and sting slowly subsides giving way to pleasure as he pushes in and out, a fresh wave of arousal soaking you both. You can't suppress the filthy moans falling past your lips.

“That's it baby, let them know how good I'm fuckin' MY pussy. Ya’ don't have to be quiet in here.” He continues roughly pushing his hips into yours as you gasp and writhe beneath him. The sounds of your slick as he drives into with each thrust would have you blushing, but you were too wrapped up in the feel of him to care.

The way your walls were sucking him in and pulsing around his cock, like you were made just for him, was enough to make him cum right then and there.

“Mmmph, Gator you feel so… g-good.” Managing to squeak out, the head of his cock continually massages that spot on your frontal wall with ease.

“Missed this pussy so fuckin' much. Been dreamin’ about the day I could… fuck… cum in her again.” His thrusts get more urgent, as your pussy flutters around him once more.

“Yeah, Bunny? Want my cum? Stuff you full until you can't take anymore?” You whimper at his words, that coil within you winding tighter with each in and out motion working you both toward your high.

He nips at the soft skin at your bared throat, gaining your attention.

“Huh, bunny?”

Barely able to think or speak at this point, you nod at his question knowing he wants an answer. He moves his mouth higher, taking your bottom lip between his, sucking lightly before letting it go with a slight pop. He loved you like this. Too cock drunk to speak and about to fall apart only for him.

He moves his hand between you, expertly finding your clit, as he begins rubbing circles against you working in tandem with his thrusts bringing you closer to the edge. Your back arched off the bed, crying out.

“Fuck! Don't stop!” You huffed out.

“Wouldn't dream of it, sweet thing. Need you t’cum f’me. Gonna leave you so full I'll be leaking out of ya’ for days.” Another whimper slipped out, just as that coil began to snap.

You didn't have time to warn him before your pussy clamped down around him.

“Oh fuck! There she is.” He hissed out, taking his hand from you so he could pound you into oblivion, chasing his own release while working you through yours.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, sure they were drawing blood at this point from the grip you had on him. Your orgasm hit so hard that your toes curled as sparks flew behind your eyelids.

A few more thrusts and he follows behind you, his dick throbbing and kicking up inside of your tight channel as his balls tightened, painting your walls with his spend. He continued to fuck it into you, cursing and panting before collapsing onto your chest.

“Oh fuck Bunny. Goddamn, I missed you.” It came a little muffled, his lips pressed up against you where his head lay in the crook of your neck.

“I missed you too, baby.” You hummed, as he finally pulled his softening cock from you, laying on his side, so you could be face to face kissing the tip of your nose and pulling you close.

“You're an idiot, if you thought I was going to run. We've come too far to give up now.” You whispered, with warm affection and brushing his hair softly from his forehead before leaning in for a kiss before you were so rudely interrupted with a loud knock.

“10 minutes Tillman!” The guard shouted through the door.

“Fuck.” He hissed, leaning his forehead to yours. “That went by too fast.”

“Yeah, it did.” You giggled, kissing his cheek, sitting up.

“Hey,” grasping your hand, once more looking at the ring on your hand. “I’m sorry ya’ fell in love with such a fuck up.”

“I'm not. You're a good man, Gator Tillman. You just needed a push in the right direction. No one ever thought you were a fuck up except Roy and look where he is.” You placed your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

You finally pulled away to get up and get dressed, as he followed suit knowing your time was dwindling.

“You better grab a cookie, while you still can.” Pulling your shirt back over your head.

“Bun, I got my sugar fix.” Grabbing you from behind, pulling you back into his chest, kissing your cheek as you melted into his touch. “Just needed my sweet thing.”

The door swung open, jarring you both from a few moments of bliss.

“Thank God your dressed.” The guard sighed and laughed as you both rolled your eyes.

You faced him quickly, stealing away one more kiss.

“I'll be back next week.” Smiling softly.

“I know, baby.”

You watched him go, winking at you before he walked out the door.

The next few weeks were a blur, seemingly going by in the blink of an eye.

You had said your goodbyes in Lehigh. Henry throwing you a small going away party for the hell of it. There were a few tears and lots of well wishes. Of course, Maggie made you promise to keep in touch.

You could have easily used the money that Gator had supplied for the next couple of months, but you didn't see a reason to waste it all. Using it more for a nest egg for the both of you.

Finding a job wasn't difficult. Every bar or diner usually had a high turnover, easily securing a waitressing job at a diner not far from your apartment.

Life went on for the next few months. Seeing Gator weekly, phone calls every other day to get you by.

As it drew closer to his incarceration hitting the one-year mark, you became anxious. The parole board would be looking at a possible early release and you had hoped the feds would put a good word in for him, but it wasn't a given.

“So, by this time next week we'll know if you're finally a free man?” Phone pressed to your ear, sitting on a wooden crate by the dumpster out behind the diner.

“Yup. Warden told me yesterday that the parlor board was already reviewing the case.” He sounded hopeful but you weren't convinced.

“That’s great baby.” Voice coming out a little weak, ready for all of this to just be over and done with.

“Cheer up, Bunny. I have a feelin’ it'll all work out.”

You hoped he was right. Never failing to believe what came out of his mouth. He had a way of sounding so sure of everything.

The day of the hearing, you sat by the phone practically chewing your nails down to the quick. Busying yourself with whatever would distract you, but it wasn't working, as you found yourself glancing at the nearby clock every few minutes the closer it drew to noon when the hearing would begin.

You knew it may be a while before you would hear from him, but anticipation and anxiety were getting the better of you.

12:15, 12:30, 12:45

Still no word. It felt like torture, every agonizing second drawn out.

Suddenly that familiar number popped up, quickly pressing that green button with frenzied energy.

“This is a call from Sandstone Correctional Institute. To accept this call from Gator Tillman please press 1.”

You held your breath as it connected him over.

“Bunny?” His almost breathless voice came through the line.

“Hey, baby. I'm here.” You rushed out, heart pounding in your chest.

“I'm coming home.”

Home. Such a funny notion to him now.

He didn't think of the house on the ranch or even Lehigh. He only pictured you. Your kind smile that captivated him the first time he laid eyes on you. That unruly mouth that could knock him down a peg but was heaven all the same. He loved everything about you.

The only person that had ever made him feel truly loved.

He was coming home to you.

Processing was completed and 48 hours later you were sitting outside the prison gate, leaning against your car.

The loud buzz signaling the gate opening grabbed your attention as he strolled out. That cocky demeanor was still intact, dick first, head held high; smirking when he spotted you across the lot already running toward him.

You jumped straight into his open arms, being fully enveloped by him burying your head into his chest. It was like you could finally breathe for the first time in months.

“It's finally over?” You spoke timidly, holding tight as if he might be wrenched from your grasp.

“It's over.” A simple but all-encompassing answer; both free to live the lives you want.

“So, where to handsome?” Starting the car and looking over to him.

“Well, I thought we could make a stopover in Scandia.”

You quirked an eyebrow his way.

“Uh… My sister, Nadine, well Dot reached out to me a couple of days ago. Thought we might swing by.” He smiled and shrugged.

“You have a sister?”

“Yeah. Well, she was also my stepmom. Long story.” He chuckled.

“Gator, what the hell?” Rushing out with a look of abject horror on your face.

“Bunny, it's not what you think. I can tell you all about it on the way. She's expecting us for supper.” He leaned over, kissing your cheek.

“God, your family is more fucked up than I thought.” Pulling out of your spot and getting onto the highway.

He grasped your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Yeah, but you still agreed to marry me.” He grinned.

“I haven't agreed to shit. You still have to ask.” Giving him a smirk in return but admiring the ring proudly situated on your left hand. You wouldn't trade him for the world.

You'd gone through literal hell, and you weren't about to let him go now. It didn't matter where the two of you ended up as long as you were together.

#gator tillman #gator tillman smut #gator tillman fluff #🐊#badge bunny series #gator tillman x female reader #gator tillman x badge bunny #gator tillman x you #gator tillman x y/n #gator tillman fanfiction #gator x bunny #badge bunny au

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kiiboslostahoge · 2 days

Text

A Tech-Demon's Weakness

Summary: Vox is much more angry than usual now that Alastor's back, and it's causing issues with the WiFi. Velvette makes Valentino calm him down, and the man decides to have some fun in the process.

Notes: These guys are supposed to be the most evil mfs even compared to the other overlords, why tf was their scene in the finale so cuteee agghh,😭😭😭, approx 1.5k words

Valentino had a problem. A large problem, in fact. One that he never usually had.

Vox. Vox was too angry to do his fucking job. It made no sense - Vox was supposed to help calm him down, not the other way around!

"That bitch keeps ruining my connection, Val! Some employee lost a day's worth of editing because it couldn't save!" Velvette had said before shooing him off. "Go calm him down so he stops making everything buffer! At this rate, we'll have another blackout."

Couldn't she do that herself? Valentino wasn't meant for these sorts of affairs! If only Vox was here to calm him down - he always did such a good job with that.

Wait. Vox couldn't calm him down, Vox was the one who needed calming! God, why was Vox so angry? The Alastor thing was cute to watch, but not when it ruined their Internet speed.

"Ugh, but I wanted to-"

"Shoo," Velvette said. "Do your job."

Velvette wasn't sympathizing at all, not like Vox did! Valentino was going to get back at that flat-faced man for causing him such a headache.

From Vox's lair, he could faintly hear swear-filled shrieks.

God, this was going to be such a pain. Valentino almost wanted to make Velvette do it but instead, but she'd just yell at him to calm down, and knowing how blindly rageful Vox was right now - that statement would only make him more angry, and the WiFi would only get even worse. Valentino didn't think he could handle the WiFi getting worse than it already was.

No. Calming Vox down would be easy, he knew it. He'd just need to resort to- Unconventional means.

What were the means in question? Valentino would decide that when he got there. He had a small mental list, though.

He sauntered downstairs, where Vox was hissing, furiously eyeing the screen, tracking Alastor like a cat would a laser pointer.

"That old-timey fucker doesn't know shit about this fucking-"

At some point, it had begun to seem like Vox was swearing for the sake of it. The action made sense, though. He had quite some anger to get out, and swear words were an excellent method of expelling anger.

"Vox," he crooned, because he was going to have fun with this. Unlike some demons who happened to have a flat face, a hatred for radio, and hypnosis powers, he wasn't an uptight little bitch.

"What is it?" The reply came instantly. "I'm busy."

And though that was ordinarily true, right now, Vox seemed like a typical chronically-online easily-trolled loser rather than the CEO who had almost all of the Prie Ring under his thumb.

"Relax a little, would you?" Valentino said, pinching at where Vox's cheek would've been were he not a TV screen and earning himself a slap of the wrist. "I hear you're getting a bit worked up over the radio demon."

"Of course I am! He's a-"

Before Vox could introduce anymore colorful swears that even he'd likely never head of, Valentino poked him in the stomach pointedly.

"Ah-ah," he said, unable to be anything other than endlessly amused by this. "You have to calm down, Vox! Can't you see you're acting irrational right now? Why, Alastor could never-"

He was cut off by Vox's static-filled rage.

"Oh, don't even start!" Vox said, but before he could continue his rant, as Valentino's hand accidentally grazed the back of his screen, he let out a static-filled yelp.

Valentino couldn't help but grin. Right. That was one of the best ways to force Vox to calm down.

The thing about the tech demon was that he was ridiculously, mortifyingly ticklish. And with that ticklishness came mortification. Emotional and physical sensitivity? There was nothing more exploitable than that.

"I almost forgot, darling! How could you possibly have let that happen?" He said, and though his statement had little elaboration, Vox knew what he meant.

A gulp was heard.

"V-Val, don't you fucking dare."

Really, though, how could Valentino possibly have forgotten about this? Vox's reactions were much too amusing, and Valentino hadn't even touched him yet! He'd have to do this more often.

"What should I refrain from doing?" He asked, savoring moment of this. A poke to Vox's side, followed by a velp. "This?"

"Prick," Vox said, looking away.

There was really no point to being insulting, was there, now? But this was an opportunity for Valentino.

"I'm hurt!" He said, feigning a pout. "You're so mean to me."

Vox grit his teeth at that, but before he could retort with whatever string of insults he had in mind, Valentino took the chance to dig his fingers into Vox's neck.

Already, Vox was struggling to hold in his laughter."

"I- haah- f-fucking-"

And then, Valentino reached his antenna.

"H-Hahahate you! Gah, fuhuck!" Vox squirmed futilely, namely, it was futile he wasn't actually moving away. Valentino hadn't bothered to hold him down, because for some reason, Vox never did manage to actually pull himself together and actively attempt to leave.

"Aww," he crooned, not bothering to give Vox a break. "Is big bad Vox so ticklish he can't help but lose his mind at the slightest touch? You know, I wonder what Alastor would think if he saw you now!"

Any hope of Alastor taking him remotely seriously would be crushed at that moment. Vox pouted, and at that moment, Valentino couldn't help but wonder.why he found a literal Flat screen television's pouting so adorable.

"Shuhut u-up!" He laughed, more giggled like a child, and it was, in all frankness, quite difficult to take him seriously. "L-Lehet me go, or I swear, I'll-"

Valentino prodded at a small wire end sticking out, and Vox's laughter devolved into pure static.

"There we go," he said.

After a while, Valentino finally had his fill, letting Vox go. Now, it was time to get his work out of the way and-

Wait, what was he here to do again? He'd forgotten.

Nevertheless, he was faced with a huffy, pouty Vox. What could be better?

"Come on, darling!" He said, placing a condescending hand on Vox's back, patting him as if he were a child. Because really, that was exactly what Vox was acting like right now. "Did you really loathe it that much? It isn't my fault, you know how I am. I just had to exploit your complete and utter inability to move away properly."

"Don't bring that up again," Vox said, voice low, almost a growl.

Valentino just tilted his head in amusement.

"What? Your utter inability to escape my clutches? I couldn't possibly do that!" He said. "It was much too amusing. You, completely able to leave at any moment, and yet you couldn't even muster up the brainpower to recognize your obvious escape! Honestly, if I didn't know much better, I'd even believe you were enjoying it!"

Vox slammed a fist on the table, eyes wide with embarrassment.

"S-Stop talking, prick!" He said, and the dots quickly connected in Valentino's head.

Oh. That was what was going on.

"You liked it, then?" He asked, though he already knew the answer. It was just funny watching Vox squirm.

"No I don't," Vox said, attempting to regain his typical demeanor - and succeeding, though Valentino knew him too well not to notice the shakiness of his voice. "I'm not even ticklish. Really-"

His right eye spiraled, and for a second, Valentino felt his thoughts cloud.

"Don't you trust me on that, Val?"

Vox's hypnosis wouldn't work that easily. Valentino quickly put an end to that by reaching for the loose wire, completely breaking Vox's concentration.

"G-Gah! You-"

"I should tell Velvette," Valentino said with a chuckle, because he knew how fearsome the thought of anyone knowing Vox's newfound secret would be, especially someone with as much of a penchant for blackmail as Velvette.

"D-Don't," Vox said. "Please."

Vox used the word 'please'? Miracles, it seemed, were not to miraculous after all.

Nevertheless, the mention of Velvette reminded Valentino that he, sadly, had things to do other than mess with Vox. Like get his WiFi back up to task.

"I won't," Valentino said. "If you stop watching the princess's hotel all the time."

Vox's eyes widened.

"And stop watching for that fucking Radio Demon? I don't really know why you think I'd ever do that."

"Then I suppose I'll just tell Velvette-"

"No, wait! Deal," Vox said, eyes filled with panic. Valentino smirked, drawing up the contract.

"Sign here, darling!" He said, and Vox hastily scrawled his signature onto the contract. Those things were good for more than getting souls.

"Fuck you," Vox said. Feisty once again, it seemed. Though he'd likely calm down shortly after. Hopefully with that, swear words would regain meaning to Valentino. It didn't feel ad gratifying to use them anymore - Vox had been using them so often they'd begin to feel like ordinary words.

Valentino just stayed silent, feeling his face stretch into a grin. He could vaguely make out Vox shooting him a concerned look.

Whatever. He'd discovered a new weakness of his dearest Vox's. And oh God, he was going to have so much fun with it.

#hazbin hotel tickling #lee!vox #ticklish!vox #ler!valentino

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batsplat · 3 days

Note

Chad reed on always the entourages creating the drama. I cannot believe that is what caused rosquez downfall but also given the level of Vale's celebrity and the way he carried himself, I can totally believe that it was the entourage (iPad stand I'm looking at you) that brought the end

(about reed's 2020 quotes in this) yeahhh I mean the downfall was caused by a whole bunch of factors, not just any one thing... like all great tragic narratives, it feels inevitable from a global perspective and yet thoroughly preventable in its specifics, with loads of points where you think, 'oh, if things had just gone a little bit differently'... there's this tension in how, in the end, maybe it would've always gone wrong, but a lot had to come together for it to go wrong in quite such a spectacular fashion

reed's definitely correctly identified one of the factors - the entourages, and valentino's entourage specifically. though fwiw, I did cut off the article before reed predicted the marc/fabio rivalry was headed a similar way (this was from 2020, obviously before the arm injury):

for better or for worse, fabio has skipped the villain arc to head straight to the depressed frenchie arc

regardless of whether this rift would have happened or not, the idea that marc would have gotten a new appreciation for the situation valentino found himself in is at least an interesting one. though if anything, the rivalry with fabio would have more closely paralleled valentino's with the other aliens (new talent coming through, but with the previously dominant rider still a regular winner). now is the time marc's learning what it feels like to come back from a prolonged absence from being competitive at the highest level - and of course with a new superstar simultaneously making his debut

so yeah, anyway, tragedy, you can point to all sorts of strains and pressures and tension inherent to professional sport that were exacerbated by the personalities involved and the influence of the media and the passage of time etc etc. but never mind all that, let's get back to entourages! I know you mention everybody's favourite b-list shakespeare villain, but I'm going to basically mostly ignore him because it's well-trodden ground. yeah, it does help to have one guy who's whispering poison into your ear for a prolonged stretch of time before showing up at your motorhome doorstep with a bunch of telemetry and a dream. and yeah, there were people in valentino's entourage definitely encouraging this path to doom. but what I'm also interested in is the flip side - why nobody stopped him

I would like to submit into evidence this passage detailing the thoughts of vale's mechanic alex briggs. now briggs in this excerpt blames two groups for how things went down in 2015:

the yamaha side (specifically the press group) for not talking him down from the ledge before the presser

the crew chief and other assorted italians on the team for being too "yessy" and not standing up to him

let's briefly (for a given value of the word) focus on the first one. if you're a random yamaha pr person and you see the valentino rossi run to a press conference (given he was late) with a bunch of papers in his hands (well, he's not actually holding the papers in those gifs, but presumably somebody's got them), it's probably a tough ask to expect you to hold up the valentino rossi and ask him what exactly he's intending to do with those papers. also, is he really going to back off because you, random yamaha pr person, have asked him to please not accuse the competition of sabotage? added context is that some at yamaha were aware of what valentino thought about the race at phillip island (which we'll get to in a sec), but god knows if the pr people did. unless he confided in anyone on the yamaha side what the plan was, a lot of them would have been blindsided too - which does come back to the problem of how big a deal valentino is and how maybe you're a little more cautious about questioning what he's about to do with those papers than you would be with somebody else. it does feel like perhaps a bit too much to expect for them to have launched some last-minute intervention, or to even know what kind of intervention they could have gone for beyond low-level comedy hijinks to stop him from even getting to that room. why did nobody from yamaha place a banana skin in his path

but we do know that at least some in yamaha were aware of valentino's great big phillip island sabotage theory, because lin jarvis has very helpfully told us as much (from the post-sepang media scrum):

Q: Do you think it was a mistake for Valentino to [provoke?] Marc so much on Thursday with a very personal and hard attack? Jarvis: There are always many different ways of addressing different problems - Valentino chose to do it in that way. Perhaps that is what provoked Marc into being quite aggressive on the track. I really don't know, you need to ask Marc not me about that. Every action has a consequence. That's life. Q: And did you know before that Valentino was going to be so aggressive with Marc in the press conference? Did you know before? Did you discuss with Valentino about this decision or you didn't know until it happened? Jarvis: Personally, I was not aware of that. I was aware of Valentino's opinion of the race in Australia, but I was not aware... but I was not aware that he would - Q: Don't you think because Valentino at the end of the day is an employee of Yamaha he should discuss before with you about such an important decision, to attack a rider of another factory in such a heavy way [...]? Jarvis: You can't control every incident, everything that happens and you know, generally we have a very good [...] relation, connection with our riders, we talk to them before about things before, but anyway I think this is something Valentino felt strongly about and it was his decision and that's it.

note the use of the word "personally", which does leave the door open to others within yamaha (outside of valentino's inner circle) knowing what was going to happen. jarvis, unsurprisingly, comes down pretty firmly on the side of 'well what were we supposed to do'. given that jarvis admits he knew valentino's theory and is hardly a stranger to valentino's modus operandi - after all, he was already team boss at the time of another tense press conference in sepang eleven years prior that took place in the wake of valentino accusing a competitor of messing with him - you do have to wonder whether yamaha could not have tried a little harder to stop valentino. but again, accounting for the power of valentino's status and the power of his character, I'm personally unconvinced yamaha could've done much to convince valentino to change his mind

so then: the italians. a little bit of context - briggs started working with crew chief jerry burgess in 1994 and both of them were on mick doohan's team for all of his five 500cc titles. when doohan's injuries forced his retirement, valentino inherited his championship-winning team upon moving up to 500cc. jb was vale's very first crew chief in the premier class, and him as well as briggs have been working with vale since december 1999. understandably, this is a very tightly-knit group. it is one that made the jump to yamaha with valentino - here's just a quick excerpt (also from oxley's valentino rossi: all his races) about briggs' thoughts on that move:

When Valentino decided to defect to Yamaha, he was determined to have his crew go with him. Only one stayed at HRC. "We first got to know about the Yamaha deal in Portugal, I think [September 2003]," Briggs continues. "I wanted to stay with JB, because I hadn't finished learning what I wanted to learn. "I remember a clandestine meeting in the car park at Phillip Island, about salaries and how everything was going to work. It was really exciting. When I very first started working with Honda the whole group was very much a team. Towards the end we felt like it started to become a bit us and them: the engineers and management, then the mechanics and the riders. They'd sort of got too big for their boots - they'd designed this wonderful bike, so it was like it had nothing to do with us. That made it easier to leave.

and also about the move to yamaha, from the 2020 barker biography of valentino:

But with his trusted crew chief Jerry Burgess and most of his other team members from the Honda garage agreeing to defect with him, Rossi had the crew he needed, not only to win but also to enjoy his racing. It was a heartening display of loyalty and something of a risk for all involved. ‘When I announced to the mechanics that I was going with Valentino they said, “I’m coming too,”’ Burgess later explained. ‘Some of those guys were leaving very secure jobs and taking a big gamble.’

the group also survived the move to ducati (obviously a deeply frustrating two years not just for the guy riding the bike) and the move back to yamaha. but then, valencia 2013, valentino announced his decision to fire jb in a press conference organised for the pair of them. his 2013 season had been deeply frustrating - yes, he had gotten a podium in his first race beating both marc and dani, but after that generally speaking he couldn't come close to matching the other aliens when healthy. he was comfortably the fourth best rider that year, scrapping and clawing his way through midfield battles and having to rely on misfortunes befalling the three title contenders to achieve his podiums and his sole victory at assen. he was considering retiring at the end of the 2014 season once his current contract expired, but wanted to try everything he could to see whether he could be competitive again against the world's very best. and so, he made the decision to roll the dice and get himself a new crew chief, the italian silvano galbusera

now I have to say, personally I have a lot of time for this decision (even if it was maybe not... uh, enacted in the most graceful of manners, given how sudden it was). I come from a sports background where a certain ruthlessness in personnel decisions is encouraged and generally praised - if something isn't working, you should have the courage to make a change, even if it's deeply uncomfortable (including on an interpersonal level). also, while it was a sudden departure, it's not like burgess was that keen on sticking around much longer (again from the same oxley book):

Valentino ended his collaboration very suddenly at the end of 2013. Burgess was shocked but not too much, because he already knew that he was coming to the end of his own career. "When it ended for me I'd already been doing it 30-odd years and I'd told Valentino a few weeks earlier that I wasn't going to sign any more multi-year contracts. I was 60 by then, so I'd go year by year. I'd already signed a contract for 2014, but I would've thought if we hadn't had any more success by then that there wasn't much point in continuing. I felt we would win more races but I was more doubtful about championships. "I'd read enough sporting biographies to know that sportsmen change their coaches towards the end of their careers. It can give them a spike in results but it doesn't change the overall story. Looking back, Valentino's career went on longer than I expected. He enjoyed some success but no more championships and that's what you race for. Of course he was in the unique position of being able to get a factory bike until he retired. He was very special and deserved everything he got."

which, look. again, personal bias, but to me it's reasonable to part ways with somebody who doesn't think any more titles are plausible, because at that point it's just somebody who has a very different view on your career than you do and may well not stick around for much longer anyway. also, at the end of the day, jb was wrong! valentino came extremely close to winning another title, and just because he didn't, doesn't change the fact he could have. if it had rained on the 8th of november 2015 in valencia, we might be having a very different conversation. (or if they hadn't changed the bloody qualifying format post-2012.) honestly, if the 2016 and to a lesser extent the 2017 season had gone just a little differently - a working bike in mugello here and an unbroken leg there - he could have been a genuine title threat in two more seasons. in any case, what it does show is that valentino even at the end of 2013 was still as determined as ever, was ready to engage in what was a huge gamble (given how almost all his success had come with the highly decorated jb) on the off chance he might find what it took to win again. this will not have been an easy decision for valentino. here's a write-up of the presser at valencia, that stresses how uncomfortable the occasion was, how surprising a decision it was to jb, but how publicly at least there was a lack of recriminations (which, to be fair, wouldn't be much fun to do in a shared presser):

(you'll note that the phrasing in the presser about athletes attempting to extend their carrers by changing things up is echoed in what he says in that book interview where he adds that it doesn't change the overall story, again suggesting he didn't really believe valentino would be competitive. he also uses the same phrasing in ANOTHER interview that confirms as much, but I think you get the point.) valentino said at the time, "it was a very difficult decision for me because I have a great history with jeremy. he is not just my chief mechanic. he is like part of my family. my father in racing". this is somebody he'd been working with since age 21, somebody who is not only revered within the paddock for his work with several of the sport's greats but is also a man who valentino obviously has a close personal connection to. meeting for the first time when vale snuck into the honda pit to check out the bike he might ride next season, hitting it off immediately, countless rowdy dinners together, parties, jb and another older colleague sitting back when food fights started, watching valentino grow up, working with him throughout all his big manufacturer switches, all his successes and all his failures... as much as anything else, it's evidence of how strong vale's desire to win was, how determined he continued to be, to make this choice at this stage of his career. and jb was open to the idea (at least publicly) that it might end up being a smart call:

the 'dirtiest' part of the whole affair is how it was actually carried out - it's not great form to tell your crew chief the day before you end up doing a press conference together to announce your choice. for whatever it's worth, this is how valentino justified the timeline:

and lastly, which I think is the most key part, is valentino's belief. because at the end of the day, the only reason why he's doing any of this, and the only reason why what was to come was possible at all, is that he himself still thought that he could challenge for another title - as much as that belief had come under strain:

now what this piece also goes on to say is that nobody believes this will work. nobody believes that firing jb will lead to better results. people expect that this is going to lead to his retirement, quite possibly at the end of 2014. it's worth just remembering sometimes how extraordinary valentino's return to the top of the game post-2013 really was, how it went against how we expect a rider's competitive lifecycle to work, went far beyond the longevity exhibited by any top rider before or since - all while going up against riders who are widely believed to be some of the best to ever do it. valentino beat jorge in both 2014 and 2016, and remains one of two people to outscore prime marc marquez over the course of a season. not to engage in too much rossi prop here, but sepang 2015 can't really be understood without all the frustration that led up to it, to this one golden chance, this miracle that everybody had believed to be impossible (sometimes even valentino). this wasn't supposed to be happening. it was happening. and then, so so close to the finish line, valentino could feel it slipping, slipping, slipping away

but of course, we still don't know whether changing crew chiefs is the key factor that made him competitive again. maybe he just needed a bit longer to get back into the swing of things post-ducati disaster. maybe the bikes just started to suit him better. hey, maybe it was that nifty exercise regime he'd engaged in a wee spot of espionage for so that he could pinch it off his teammate. what we can say, however, is that valentino's choice both tells us a lot about his mindset, as well as (to finally bring us back to the actual point of this post) representing a massive shift in his 'entourage'. this is what briggs is referring to in his quote - the italians. the new crew chief. the people who couldn't stand up to valentino. now obviously, as mentioned above briggs had worked with jb for the better part of twenty years and can hardly be considered a neutral party. here were briggs' feelings on the matter (yeah it's from the same oxley book again, I got it new for eighteen quid which is a very generous price, would recommend):

When JB was out at the end of 2013 it was like losing my mechanic dad. I remember being in the garage when we found out about it. Then they arranged a kind of farewell, a kind of hodgepodge farewell. It was terrible, I didn't like any of it. I was just hiding behind one of the bikes in the garage, crying, going, what's going on here? It didn't seem right to me. I think maybe Valentino thought he would get faster again sooner, but I think it took at least a year to get the taste of the Ducati out of his mouth. I think if he'd stayed with JB we would've won the championship in 2015.

which. look. we don't have time to unpack all that. but. the point is that obviously briggs wasn't exactly a massive fan of the change within valentino's team, and his comments about the 2015 season do have to be read with that in mind. as to whether vale really would have done better in 2015 with jb at his side, your guess is as good as mine. all that being said, a part of me wonders how much losing that grounding presence enabled valentino's late-2015 spiral. maybe not in terms of talking valentino out of the great big fluctuating lap times treachery theory - to state the obvious, valentino got himself involved in plenty of drama during jb's time as a crew chief. jb himself occasionally helped add fuel to the fire in those feuds, like his infamous comment about how he would be able to fix the ducati's issues in 80 seconds that casey still brings up every three business days (the comments were poorly phrased but also somewhat taken out of context, in that jb was talking about a specific set-up problem). he's generally been pretty happy to be forthright about valentino's rivals, for instance this about casey:

My feeling at the time was that Casey probably only had one game plan, and having watched Casey over the years, he doesn't have a plan B. If it doesn't go his way from the outset, it's probably one of the weaknesses that he had through the youth that he had, through the lack of experience that he had. That's not a criticism of him per se, he was still only 22 at the time.

(this is about laguna seca 2008 and how he helped valentino win that race, including in plotting out vale's rather ruthless tactics - which casey was of course not exactly a fan of.) or these. uh. harsh comments about dani from spring 2010:

Q: Is that atmosphere or track knowledge? Is it like the Spanish finding something extra at the racetracks in Spain? JB: Well, therein we show the weakness, don't we? If you can get up on that weekend, on the technical racetracks of Spain, why can't you get up on the technical racetracks like Australia, where the Italians do? Lorenzo is a guy who will and does. Stoner has been able to get up on tracks all over the world. Unfortunately, Dani Pedrosa's into his 6th year in MotoGP, and he's won 8 races, Jorge Lorenzo's two months into his 3rd and he's won 6. It's night and day between those two, is the way I see it. Dani's an extremely fast rider, but a shockingly poor racer. Q: Were you surprised at Jerez [2010] when Pedrosa fought back when Lorenzo passed him? JB: When did Dani fight back? With two laps to go, and he didn't even get close enough to try to come back. Dani has never been a fighter in races, he's a lovely kid, don't get me wrong, but you can see that Lorenzo, having Pedrosa in front of him, it was never going to be the way he was going to finish that race. He was going to finish on the ground or he was going to finish in front of Pedrosa. That's the sort of race that we want, we had that with Biaggi and Valentino, and from history with Schwantz and Rainey. All the good riders have always had somebody they have had to put the target on the back of. It was Doohan and Gardner, and Doohan won that battle hands down, and I think Jorge Lorenzo's going to win this battle [with Pedrosa] hands down.

kind of a dick! so his attitude to valentino being valentino has generally been a) well having enemies is good, actually, with an added slice of b) good luck to his enemies :) - see also this quote (from the barker biography) in the context of the gibernau rivalry:

And that made Rossi even more dangerous, as Jerry Burgess pointed out: ‘Valentino is the sort of rider I wouldn’t want to get angry. He can take you apart on the track.’

so yes, jb is also perfectly brutal in his own right, as you presumably have to be to work alongside valentino so closely for so long. he is, however, also somebody valentino has a massive amount of respect for, somebody who helped turn him into a legend and is responsible for a lot of vale's success - not least, of course, in the pivotal move to yamaha. he was replaced by a man of a far far lesser stature in the sport, one who presumably would have been grateful to valentino for the biggest job he was ever going to get. if briggs is right and there was a shift in valentino in 2015, surrounded as he was by italians (derogatory) who could not stand up to him, who allowed valentino to insist on war and peace on the pit boards, to focus more and more on things that had nothing to do with riding... it would be going a little too far to say that valentino was missing an adult in the room given he was, in fact, in his thirties and should have been capable of being that adult. and who knows what jb would have said or thought or done about the great big childhood hero deception theory. but sepang 2015 was the culmination of a lot of things, including a pressure cooker of a season that grew more and more tense and put more and more stress on everyone involved - perhaps for none more so than valentino. maybe, just maybe, if he'd had somebody around him with fifteen years of experience in handling him, who could have just occasionally told him to knock it off, to concentrate on the racing, to keep things simple (always jb's defining philosophy), to maybe not get so wrapped up in the great big spanish collusion theory...

or maybe it wouldn't have mattered! maybe we're getting cause and effect all wrong here; maybe valentino was deliberately fashioning his entourage into one that was only going to give him positive feedback. maybe he would have just stopped listening to jb, maybe the very decision to fire jb makes it clear he was no longer interested in what jb had to say. it's a tragedy, after all! maybe it was always going to go like this. maybe it was always going to end like this

speaking of entourages, marc's manager played a bit of a cameo role in fanning the flames just a little further (article from marca, 26/10/2015):

alzamora obviously will be somebody valentino is familiar with, having raced him in 125cc and also having just coexisted in the paddock over the years. valentino could of course be lying, but idk, why would he? he's already made his case by this point, and what if alzamora were to contradict him? if it's true and this conversation did happen, you do have to say it's a spectacularly unhelpful intervention from alzamora. even if marc was mad at valentino, why the hell are you telling valentino this AFTER sepang 2015? what's the plan here buddy

^ 1999 world champions: alzamora in 125cc, vale in 250cc and alex criville in 500cc. people think motogp lore is complicated but if you know like, five guys, you're set for about twenty years of drama

which does get to the heart of the matter - a lot of these people have big egos and their own agendas and they love to run their mouths. they like talking a big game and getting involved in things they really shouldn't be getting involved in. is reed right that these people in the riders' entourages 'created the drama'? well, no, I think the two men at the centre of this particular tragedy were plenty capable of doing that themselves. nevertheless, you can point to how professional sports (and motogp in particular) forces you to rely heavily on a small group of people to keep you sane at the centre of the storm, and the risks that can emerge when that small group collectively unmoors itself from reality. you can point to the perils of fame, both in making your reliance on your inner circle so unnegotiable as well as in providing you with the status and power and ego to ignore anyone who might wish to change your mind. you can point to specific figures in this story who managed to incite the conflict between the two of them, as well as how the pressure cooker competitive environment they were operating within helped set up the ultimate catastrophe. you can point to how valentino lacked anyone with the power to stop him - both in the direct sense of forcing him to reconsider and the indirect sense of commanding his respect enough to make him see sense. maybe, just like in 2004, valentino had simply been "looking for an excuse" and he was always headed down this path. or maybe if somebody had just held him back a little that year, kept him focused on his riding, maybe if the right person had intervened at the right time...

maybe, maybe, maybe. that's why it's a tragedy

#valentino rossi #rosquez #//#4693 #i get the sense he's unpopular on here but EYE will miss lin jarvis. i think he's funny sorry. him and his certifiably insane employees #i loveeee that media scrum love his very dry lil summary of events acting like we're not so so far down the rabbit hole #anon: man fuck that ipad stand #me: lemme tell you a tale about a man called jerry burgess and the daddy issues he inspired in multiple grown men #and yes the fact that valentino unceremoniously dumped his 'paddock father' is. interesting :) i get him ughhh #also on the flip side i am curious what kind of conversations were going on in the marc camp during that sepang weekend #alzamora's two big contributions to the rosquez saga: 1) trying to stop marc from going to the ranch #and 2) telling vale that marc was mad at him for argentina and assen and in doing so helping back up vale's theory #what was he cooking

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werewolfsmile · 2 days

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tysm for answering my qs about werewolf!eliot !! not to keep bugging you lol but i remember you mentioned in the tags of a post one time about a hc/au of parker being some sort of fae or otherworldly being who’s just kinda found herself here in the non-magical world - could you elaborate on that? like how come she’s in the non-fantasy part of the leverage universe, or whether the other characters know, etc? only if you want to of course, no pressure :) i’m really enjoying reading your posts about all these ideas!

You're welcome! And you're definitely not bugging me, I love getting the chance to ramble about my thought lol (werewolf!eliot post here) (link to the post and my tags that started this)

Honestly I don't have as clear ideas for Parker as I did for Eliot, but I imagine her being some kind of changeling or air/wind sprite that was left with humans for whatever reason.

(ooh i'm getting more ideas for this the more i think about it..)

okay, Parker is actually half-fey, half-human

no one really knows who her parents were or how she came to be on her own (me included lol), she was just found on a doorstep as a baby

the people who took her in had their own issues and the state eventually intervened and sent Parker into foster care

she found out at a very early age that she was different to other kids - she could move around without making a sound, she could fit into tiny spaces - all very helpful for a young girl in a foster system that was chewing her up and spitting her out

she also discovered that she could ... not turn invisible exactly, but she could be less visible if she wanted to be; all she has to do is think about not being seen and people's eyes just drift over her

Archie had absolutely no idea what she was when he got his hands on her, but even he knew that she was beyond just a gifted child

he only realised there was something magical about her after she fell off the roof of the warehouse he'd been training her in - then walked it off like it was no biggie

fey creatures love puzzles and riddles, so of course Parker has always had a natural affinity for puzzles (aka locks)

her super artistic talent is a trait that is Entirely Parker and, given that she entered a life of crime early and was surrounded by artistic masterpieces all the time, she never even considered that other people would draw/paint/whatever with any lower skill level

this contributes to her not understanding what the fuss is over art

she gave herself the name Parker when Archie met her and asked her name; it was the first thing that came to mind

she doesn't remember her birth name and isn't bothered by that in the slightest

Eliot was the first of the team to figure out she was fey - being a werewolf, he can smell and/or sense that kind of thing on others

Hardison suspected something was up with her, but then felt bad for thinking that, but then strange things kept happening around her so he started to keep a list ...

pretty much Hardison has a red-string conspiracy theory-style board of Parker Things. He's too terrified of offending her to ask her outright, but he's more convinced every day

(he's also more in love with her and just thinks her fey-ness is another thing to celebrate)

Parker finds Hardison's board of Parker Things and is utterly fascinated. It's like he understands her better than she understands herself. He's super flustered when he finds her poring over the board and tries to make excuses, but Parker's quick to steamroll over that and demands if he knows what she is

Eliot finds them 15 mins later, stuck in an endless loop of confusion over which of them actually knows what Parker is

he just rolls his eyes, says she's half-fey, it's obvious, like, "what? it's a very distinctive smell!"

which leads to how the hell would he know what the fey are and Eliot's like, oh crap, right, they still don't know I'm a werewolf whoops

Hardison and Parker stage a coming-out for her to Nate and Sophie

(Eliot refuses to be involved but still gets roped into carrying the banner. He's still finding glitter in his hair weeks later)

Sophie is thrilled about the reveal and confesses to being a siren (or some other supernatural/magical creature that can manipulate people, idk i have less thoughts about her than i do about parker)

Nate is all like are you kidding me right now what the hell is my life

after a lot of badgering, he confesses he didn't know about Parker, although he has been ... aware of magical beings for some time

no he will not be discussing this any further, can we just get back to the con now??

Parker finds that, now she's aware of her fey-ness, her magical abilities develop further

she doesn't quite gain the ability to fly but ... yeah okay, she can pretty much fly

she wants to test how far this flying ability goes - by, of course, jumping off tall buildings with Hardison in her arms (and no harness for either of them)

Hardison flat out refuses this, so Eliot somehow finds himself the unwilling victim

of course, Parker masters flying while carrying people in no time and proves it to Hardison by just grabbing him and jumping off a building one day

(he's still in therapy for it)

Parker also discovers she can make herself kind of ... misty

this skill is harder to learn but she's already been able to make her hand go misty and whoosh inside a lock

picking the lock is harder in this incorporeal state but Parker's instincts say there's a way to do this, so she keeps practising until she can pretty much disintegrate herself and float through locked doors to rematerialise on the other side

it's a nightmare for the whole team because, sure, it's not like locked doors stopped her in the past. But now she's so excited about it all the time that any concept of privacy completely leaves her brain and she jumps in and out of rooms and safes etc any time of day or night

Wow. This ended up longer than expected! Guess I did have some ideas about fey!Parker after all..

#parker leverage #leverage #fey #fey!parker #i need a tag to keep track of these...#leverage fantasy au #alec hardison #nate ford #sophie devereaux #eliot spencer #as always feel free to add your own ideas to any of this!#@ aardvaark sorry i didn't answer your questions about why parker ended up in the human world #just magic i guess #my posts #asks #sorry i forgot to include a link so i've edited this post ugh my bad

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goorehound · 3 days

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Finally starting to write something for these little bastards. But, I need feedback.

The gist: Human Lucifer (Louis, ew i know) is haunted by Alastor. AU type deal.

This is the unedited, very quickly written up first chapter. Do we fuck with it? Or should I brainstorm some other ideas?

Chapter One – Moving Day

This was totally a worthwhile purchase. Most definitely.

Sure, it was a lot creepier in the dwindling light, and without the bubbly overbearing energy of his realtor. Still, a beautiful property. Really it should’ve been saved as a historical site, but who was he to complain?

Gorgeous property, all while being a hop, skip and a jump away from his daughter’s new business. The perfect fresh start that his therapist had hinted at him desperately needing, a change of pace and environment to compliment his new rekindled relationship with his kids.

Refreshing new scenery. Or at least that’s what he repeated endlessly to himself, a stark contrast to the unease that settled deep in his bones while he maneuvered around half-unpacked boxes.

It hadn’t seemed this empty and dreary when he’d been signing all the paperwork. Good fucking god, this was probably the most silent building he’d ever been in. Concerningly quiet. Shouldn’t there be creaks? Birds outside? Anything?

He was surely overthinking all of this. What could be wrong with a little peace and quiet, really? This house, his new house, was on the edge of town. A little silence was to be expected, and working himself up over finally doing something good for himself was counterproductive.

Charlie calling! What a fantastic fucking distraction, yet another thing to add to the list of things he appreciated about her.

“Char! Hey!” He still needed to work on that greeting.

“Dad! Hi!” Oh man, she was just like him. That pulled on the heart strings. “How’s moving?”

“Oh good, yeah, yeah. Super good. Great.” He rambled on, eyes shifting around the boxes surrounding him. “Well, it’s a work in progress. We’ll get there.”

“Yeah.” She laughed back. “I was thinking – I mean, if its okay with you? Vaggie and I could come help out tomorrow, make you some dinner?”

“Oh, absolutely. Dying to meet this gal I keep hearing about, aha-ha.” Good lord, could that have possibly come out more awkward? This did not get easier, despite what he had been assured. That was fine, Charlie never seemed put off, and that’s what mattered. Right? He just had to win over this girlfriend of hers.

“Sounds good, I’ll --- Shit. Sorry, dad, I’ll text you. Duty calls.”

“Course, kiddo. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Dial tone. Ouch, but fair enough. She was busy, he had things to sort.

Which was precisely what he spent the rest of his evening doing. Throwing his entire focus into carefully and swiftly dissecting piles of boxes. He’d even gotten as far as unpacking and setting up the television. Really not his thing normally, but when it had come up in conversation with Charlie she’d all but insisted upon him buying one.

So, he was giving in. Flicking on something random. Anything to drown out the sudden onslaught of random noises that he was doing everything to avoid thinking about. Old house. Here were the noises he was asking for earlier. That’ll teach him not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Thud. Sliiide. Clack, clack, clack, creak.

Whatever. Just the house settling, nothing some good ol’ TV couldn’t drown out. Certainly it wasn’t somebody going about their business in the study just down the hall, that would be ridiculous. And, at this point in the evening, Lou had pointedly checked that room numerous times. He had confirmed with his very own eyes that it remained, thankfully, uninhabited.

It was completely fucking normal, actually, and Lou wasn’t remotely nervous about it. He felt so normal about it all that he decided to drift off on the couch, background chatter from the screen still buzzing on. Because who could stop him? It was his house and he could doze wherever he pleased, and it did not mean he was scared. He was a grown ass man, after all.

Click, click, sliiiide.

Yep, he was closing his eyes now. Dead to the world, oblivious to strange noises lurking about.

Hard to tell precisely how much time had passed from the time he drifted off until he was eased into a state of just barely conscious, still dazed by the twisting and nonsensical dream he’d been lulled into.

It was still dark. A soft noise easing him further from his dream, but it was nothing soothing.

Hardly even familiar.

Something repetitive. Metallic, almost? Akin to a slicing of meat, the sound echoing out from the kitchen.

There was only a matter of seconds to processes the sudden and nauseating stench of blood and viscera, enough to have his stomach flipping.

Then, there was a deafening, loud, wet slam from the kitchen. Like a corpse being tossed about.

That had his heart in his throat and feet on the ground before he could take another breath.

#fic #radioapple #appleradio #hazbin hotel #alastor #lucifer #writing

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trans-cuchulainn · 3 hours

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are there many shapeshifty guys in medieval irish lit and if so who is your favorite one? (I mean, besides the one your blog is named after, I know about that guy and his funky transformations, I just do not know much about other shapeshifty guys that aren’t french/english/welsh/norse)

the morrígan is probably the most notorious shapeshifter in the texts i look at: she often turns into a crow but also at one point in the táin is an eel, a heifer, and a wolf, just to fuck with cú chulainn. sometimes her transformations are definitely physical and sometimes they seem more illusory. some of them it's not clear if it's actually her or just a bird lol, that always cracks me up

we also have of course our bird men in togail bruidne da derga, where it is deeply unclear whether they are birds who can be people or people who can be birds. one of them is called nemglán, he heads up the "bird troop". (this story is the basis of my stupid bird dad support group yonec crossover fic lol.) birds in general are often connected to the otherworld and we have quite a lot of birds that are transformed people, often recognisable because they will be wearing or linked to another bird with a fine chain. in some later texts like oidheadh chloinne lir you also get people turned into birds by external forces

sometimes birds are also angels, or the souls of the dead, so people die and then their soul shows up as a bird – this is mostly in voyage tales. voyage tales in general get fucky with shape and form

there are some sort-of werewolves in acallam na senorach who transform with the help of cloaks – it's sort of the reverse of bisclavret bc they put the magic cloaks on and become wolves, rather than becoming them when they take clothes off

then you get the ageless immortal shapeshifters like tuan and fintan where it seems to be more of a reincarnation thing that they have been different animals in different lives and can remember the early days of the world as a result. similarly there's a story in which the two bulls in the táin have been lots of different creatures in the past, going all the way back to two swineherds

so yeah quite a lot of shapeshifting going on! this is a deeply non exhaustive list as well, this is just the ones i immediately recall off the top of my head and doesn't include most involuntary transformations (e.g. etaine and others). finn's wife was also a deer part-time, that's why oisín is called that, but i think that was a spell too not an inborn thing

i would say the morrígan is probably my favourite (if "guy" is gender neutral lol) but also i do enjoy the sheer ??? of everything going down in TBDD with the birdmen, nemglán etc because truly they explain nothing

#answered #werewolf-transgenderism

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lilydalexf · 1 day

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Thank you so much for all you do, your fic lists and your Old School X series are some of the best things on the internet. I've been amassing a mental library of fics and have gotten to the point of thinking I need some sort of system to keep track of them all and I was wondering if you have a system that you use. @randomfoggytiger recommended that I ask you and it took me a minute because you are famous to me and I didn't want to bother you!

It's not a bother at all! I'm also not famous, at least I don't feel like it, but it's sweet of you to say.

My X-Files fic organization system is not really one that would be of help to anyone else, unfortunately. Much of it is in my head, with me remembering authors and/or titles, and/or remembering where (AO3, tumblr, Gossamer, etc.) I first read a story when all I can otherwise remember are vague story details. So I start there when trying to recall a fic.

I also have a very large number of stories saved. I started saving XF fics during the show's original run, so I mean it: it is A LOT of stories. I did not start this saving with an organization system meant to last years and years (who knew I'd care?!), and it's too messy for me to recommend. It still gives me an easy place to search for a story I know I've seen (if not read) before. I also often remember enough of what I read to have ideas of what to search for if I'm looking for a specific fic or something that fits a particular theme.

TL, DR: I can't help much in developing a good fic tracking system, I'm sorry! But I'm still happy to have gotten the nice ask.

#xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #asks #calimanc #nice things #and thank you too randomfoggytiger

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camels-pen · 10 months

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got inspired by a fic i read the other day, but didn't quite hit the right spots for me so. time to write out a new wip idea

The concept of that fic really grabbed me - Jason and Tim having a bodyswap the same day Jason wakes up in his coffin, at a point after Tim had already visited Bruce and Alfred with his insistence that Batman needed a Robin - but for what I was thinking, by the time Jason convinces Bruce and Alfred of who he is, Tim's already started to dig himself out of the coffin. And when the three of them show up at the cemetery, the grave's empty.

Tim would be catatonic and go through much of the same stuff canon Jason went through before being found and dunked in the Pit. He'd end up enduring the whole League of Assassins shtick that canon Jason went through while at the same time Jason is dealing with Tim's regular person life. Both of them struggled a bit trying to imitate the other, but they managed- Tim with not much issue considering no one in the LoA was close to Jason, and Jason trying to manage Janet Drake's clearly growing concern every time he slips up.

Like, imagine Tim, desperately trying to imitate what he knows of Jason from watching Robin on the streets and seeing Jay in a few galas here and there. And one day, Talia tries to tell him he'd been quickly replaced to get him to finally listen and Kill Somebody/accept he was staying with the League until they deemed him fit to leave.

And Tim looks at a picture of himself, hanging around the front yard of Wayne Manor with Bruce, Alfred, and Dick. Another picture showing himself in an ill-fitting Robin uniform on a rooftop and seemingly getting lectured by Batman, who looms in front of him.

And he says "I'm not buyin' it."

Somehow convinces Talia that he's not convinced that the Tim in the photo (who is probably Jason and thank god, Tim was really worried about what happened to Jason's mind- or rather, his own body; he didn't actually consider Jason coming back to life until now) and she arranges a short trip for him to Gotham to see for himself.

Tim really struggles the next two days to keep up the Jason act, but he's pretty sure Talia and the others were just chalking it up to nerves at seeing his family again and the "newest addition".

When he finally gets to Gotham, he doesn't bother being stealthy. He doesn't have the skills- no matter how much Ra's and Talia's goons have been trying to beat it into him- and even if he did, he doubted he'd be able to sneak away from his own teachers that were stalking him from the shadows.

So he does his best to be casual. Walks straight towards Wayne Manor, and when he can actually start to hear his assassin stalkers the tiniest bit as he approaches the gate- a sign they're getting really restless- he decides now or never and bolts the rest of the way.

He thinks, if he had come sooner to Gotham, he would've tried fitting through the gaps in the bars- as if he was still 13 and small enough to fit- but as it is, Tim's spent 6 months in this body and he's not going to make that mistake.

Instead he slams a hand on the buzzer and says as fast as he can, "it's Tim! Tim Drake! There's assassins, open the gate!"

He has a heartstopping moment when nothing happens- when there's no answer and the ninjas are getting closer and closer and- And then it opens and Tim doesn't stop with his relief, he runs.

The door is opened not by Mr. Pennyworth, but by Bruce himself, a belt clipped around his waist, but entirely in sleepwear. He has something in his other hand and as he yells, "duck!" Tim can only think it's some kind of bomb and dives for the ground.

He was sort of right. It was a smoke bomb. He heard and smelled it hissing away behind him, and saw the cloud of smoke in his peripheral vision.

Bruce wasted no time running past him and barking, "Follow Alfred to the cave!" Tim took a moment to just breathe, feeling much more safe with Batman fighting to protect him. When Bruce looked back at him through a spot in the smoke, he yelled, "Go!"

Tim scrambled to obey, trying to run and stand and awkwardly doing both to get in the home. Mr. Pennyworth was just inside the foyer, out of sight of the windows, now that Tim noticed, and holding a shotgun.

He was also wearing a fluffy blue bathrobe and fuzzy pink bunny slippers.

Tim blinked. "Uhhh,"

"Come along, Master Tim. We must be quick."

He didn't protest and followed him down to the Cave, where Jason in Tim's body sat waiting at the Batcomputer.

Man, I'm not completely sure on the timing, but imagine Tim finally getting back into his body and it's- he's taller than he used to be, bulkier too. And there are reflexes and muscle memory stuff he doesn't remember at all, but now just has.

He- he was Robin. Or, his body at least, and he felt like it. But he never was Robin. Not really. He never got a proper outing, never even received Bruce's official approval for it.

It was strange. And not totally a good strange.

He thought about the body he had. He didn't have a lot of love for it- puberty would do that to anyone- but it was his. And that saying about not knowing what you have until you lose it? Yeah.

Tim felt like crying.

#dc #bodyswap #tim drake #nemotime #didnt really focus on the jason bits here but if i ever actually write this- jay would probably get more of a comedy/humour role?#like yeah they gotta find tim and tim's parents are genuinely concerned and all #but much of it would be just funny shenanigans of Jason being saddled with two sets(?) of worried parents #and just when he manages to get things sort of under control. Dick shows up #i havent yet decided if he just becomes Very Annoying Older Sibling who has no idea how to process his emotions currently #and tries to fall back on tried and true tactics #OR if he is in Complete Denial and thinking this was just an elaborate ruse by Tim & lists the exact ways Tim would know how to imitate Jay #(he's right and each accusation/point would probably be juxtaposed with a brief switch in scenes to whatever Tim is currently up to #which also happens to prove Dick's point exactly even though no one can except the audience can see that)#Jay would knock sense into Dick eventually but the point is. I could make his life humourous suffering :3 #Either way Dick would show up some time after Bruce remembers to call him & he would Not leave the manor until Tim is back safe and sound #(not for Jason obviously. pfft. Jason's just fine. Dick doesn't need to stay at the manor to make sure of it. He's just staying to find Tim #okay. realistically. this would just be a hella lot of angst. However! Having that shift from Angst with Tim to Laughing at Jason would be.#so fun.#tho i'd probably still sprinkle in some Angst with Jason bc i cant help myself lol

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seethinglikeme · 1 year

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seeing ppl say that dabi’s an emotionless sociopath just bc he says he is is actually annoying af to me 😭 like r u rlly gonna say the guy who thought so hard abt the families of the ppl he’s killed he went crazy, went berserk when twice died, and literally burned himself to death BC he was so emotional that his father didn’t come to see his quirk’s development is unemotional just bc he says he is? cmon babes be for fucking real 😭

#and bc ik there r counterarguments to the examples i listed:#1) he said that out loud to himself while wiping blood away from his eye scar which is used to symbolise his tears since he cant cry #so no it’s not him lying or faking it or acting. it’s dabi thinking out loud and expressing his feelings #in a scene btw that wasn’t necessary to that arc’s plot or anything - horikoshi decided to put it in for a different reason then #(perhaps to show the audience that just bc dabi says he’s emotionless doesn’t actually mean he is. but what do i know)#2) yeah he said he’s upset abt twice’s death bc it affects him negatively. but that doesn’t make sense #why high-five him then? that wasn’t necessary - u can argue it boosts twice’s morale but to do what? escape from hawks & help the plf?#twice has plenty of motivation to do that - he already was! so why else? throwing a dog a bone? dabi’s not the type to do that and even if #he was that implies some sort of pity or fondness which also disproves the emotionless thing #not only that but his reaction when twice died was not a ‘fuck i just lost a useful tool for my plan’#that was someone in the anger stage of grief and going mad w it #also we legit saw dabi’s touya reveal & it was obv not a plan he’d adjusted or created in the time btwn twice’s death and that moment #same 4 the video #and i mean we see dabi fight endeavor & shouto and he does all that alone - none of the plf help #if he doesn’t let the rest of the league help him then why woild twice have been the exception? and actually why would the guy who #told deku to stay out of the todoroki family’s business and didnt tell the league his identity til he revealed it to everyone want someone #else’s help??#it doesn’t make sense - more likely that dabi was mourning a friend/ally and emotional enough and he came up w a shitty excuse bc of it #3) i mean it’s basically canon that he lost control of his flames BC he was so emotional #and there r plenty more examples i just chose those 3 bc they’re bigger ones #but burning down toga’s family home burning down the orphanage returning to the todoroki family home in the first place etc #trying to inflict as painful a death as he could on hawks etc #all displays of emotion and shit #and tbh i could prbly argue that his constant reiteration that he’s a sociopath who doesn’t feel anything is all bluster and bullshit to #make himself be thought of as worse than he is bc itd hurt enji’s rep even more #i have more to say but u get the picture #if i see one more piece of dabi hate calling him emotionless and sociopathic im going to start biting #todoroki touya #dabi #me

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theygender · 2 years

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I'm doing it. I'm gonna get a fucking hysterectomy

#its something ive talked about half jokingly for years bc the idea of ever being pregnant or giving birth makes me INCREDIBLY dysphoric #so it seems completely fucking pointless to have to go through so much pain and sickness every month for absolutely no reason #this past month where i couldnt get my medication already had me seriously thinking about it tho #bc even if im managing my endometriosis okay with BC i dont want to have to worry about going through hell if i cant fill my prescription #i was looking into the side effects and etc bc i was thinking about asking my doctor about it next time i went in #and the only thing that had me concerned was that a full hysterectomy or oophorectomy sends you into menopause which seems like itd suck #(but smaller surgeries like tube ligations dont actually stop you from having periods)#BUT i was complaining about this at work and one of my coworkers told me she had a hysterectomy for endometriosis #and her doctor gave her a partial hysterectomy so it stops periods and prevents pregnancy but doesnt send you into menopause #and that sounds fucking GREAT honestly so i wanted to ask my doctor about it even more #but now that roe v wade has been overturned? the deal is sealed im getting this hell machine out of me one way or another #im hoping that my doctor will be understanding as a woman herself but if not my coworker said she'll give me her doctors info #and if THAT doesnt work. i just checked out r/childfree and theyve got a list of doctors in my area who are willing to help #i dont want to keep suffering through chronic illness symptoms every month for absolutely no reason #i dont want to run the risk of getting pregnant and having to live through my worst nightmare as someone with dysphoria #AND like my gf just pointed out to me. ive got other health issues that im trying to get sorted out #im chronically underweight and i either have pots or some kind of hypertension. plus a low immune system and etc etc etc #being forced to carry a pregnancy could fucking kill me for all i know. AND i would have to go off of a lot of my meds??#all this thing does is cause me chronic pain and put my already precarious physical and mental health at risk #im GETTING it fucking taken out #rambling #ive got an appointment with my therapist on tuesday and i think im gonna ask about getting an official diagnosis of gender dysphoria #and im already in the process of getting tested for pots with my primary care doctor #so hopefully those diagnoses combined with my endometriosis will help speed it along... 🙏

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sun-dari · 2 years

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#they say that doing something over and over again and expect a different result is a sighn of insanity #but im stuck in here with my mom and i try over and over again to connect with her and ask for some sort of emotional support #and every single time she lists a million contradictory things she thinks i must do #giving ''constructive criticism'' to my mental breakdown #i think it just makes her feel good. like she's doing something to help even though she really doesn't #and she gets mad at me when i am not grateful enough for advice like ''send out more CVs''#she says shit like ''get a new degree in a different area and we'll pay for it''#and ''you could move to another country even tomorrow and we will cover all the expenses''#as if we are not dirt poor and as if she doesn't understand how humiliating it would be #i feel terribly guilty every time i as much as buy a chocolate bar for myself these days #i felt guilty every time anyone spent any money on me for whatever reason as long as i can remember #and she knows it #and we had this exact conversation so many times i feel like im going crazy #and it feels surreal that i have to force myself to stop crying and patiently explain to her that no #her totally rational and realistic advice of learning chinese real quick to move to mainland china to teach russian there #is actually neither of those things #i am so tired of it and i ought to just stop trying talking to her about anything important because it's obviously never going to work #but i am so lonely and have no one else who could hear me out in person

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gojonanami · 2 months

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❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FAKE DATE SATORU GOJO WITH REAL FEELINGS? ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is the same age as gojo, set during s1 of jjk, fake dating hijinks, drunk! gojo, jealous! reader + gojo, implied satosugu (sorta, i see it more in a soulmate way, whether its platonic or romantic), switch! gojo, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, naoya makes an appearance, gojo clan elders suck, gojo's made up clan responsibilities,

✧ wc: 16,043

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 6 has been sold to @chuluoyi and an anon!

“C’mon, you don’t know until you try, sweetheart,”

You run at your temples, you didn’t need to feel burgeoning ache of a headache forming to know it was coming — but you knew it would whenever you met with this blue eyed idiot, “Satoru, the last time you said that, you nearly got me killed,” you didn’t care to re-live him sending you on a mission meant for him to take a grade 1 one curse, only to end up fighting two other grade 2 curses along with it.

You were lucky you made it by the skin of your teeth — and lucky that Shoko woke up when you showed up at her door, half dead.

“And this time, there’s no risk of death,” he grins, stirring his sugary drink that counts more as sugar than a drink, “that shows great personal growth, don’t ya think?”

“I think this conversation shows that just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you have an ounce of common sense,” you mutter, as you sip at your drink of choice, “Gojo, I can’t marry you — for one, there would be a risk of death — yours,”

“Eh you wouldn’t be able to kill me — you’re far too—“ and you raise an eyebrow, daring him to finish that sentence, “kind,”

You rolled your eyes, “One of the traits you’re looking for in your future partner?”

“The thing is, you wouldn’t have to marry me at all — it would be a big sham!” He said with a thumbs up, as if that made it any better at all, “just for a couple weeks so I can fool the Gojo Clan into complacency and to stop the search for my future spouse — you’d be sparing the hundreds, no thousands, of possible candidates from facing the burden of my rejection,”

“And I suppose the fact that the clan would get off your back is just a fringe benefit?” You sigh, “Gojo, why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to get married?”

“I’ve tried — but the stubborn old geezers won’t budge — I’m caught between a rock and a hard place — and you know me,” his lips curl, “I’m a lover, not a fighter,”

Yup, you have a headache now.

“What would we have to do to convince them we were together?”

Why were you considering this?

“Dates, a few public outings, meeting the geezers because they would insist, and you would need to show your face around the clan compound,” he lists off, sipping at his drink, “there may be other things, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” You may jump off a bridge by the time this is over and done with, “what do you say?”

“I have two questions,” and he leaned back in his chair, back and forth, impatience personified, “how long would we have to do it?” You didn’t want to be stuck in this arrangement for an undisclosed amount of time, but the second question was far more important, “ And why me?”

“Three months, maybe longer,” you gape at him, “I can pay you?” you raise an eyebrow, “I will pay you,” you sigh, “and choosing you was easy because—“

“If you make some sort of joke about me being single, I don’t care if you have infinity, I’ll find a way to murder you,” you grumble.

“Because you’re a sorcerer, you’re from a minor clan — so you’re an acceptable choice, and I trust you — you’re one of my closest friends,” he adds, for once his words are deprived of any humor.

And that answer was…almost worse than the joke. The word “friend” stuck in your side like a thorn you could never pull out, festering and growing until it had become a part of you — that ached only when you thought of it.

Your feelings for him, they were still there? You thought you had discarded them years ago, thought it was safe for you to move back to Tokyo from Kyoto, thought you had finally left that childhood crush behind — dead and buried — but here it was, still stubbornly clinging to life.

And now it would thrive with new roots, stems, leaves, and buds if you agreed to this.

He said your name, “Well?”

He remains as inscrutable as always, But you could never say no to him, could you? “Okay, fine,” it would also help you out in the form of another problem of Naoya Zenin who had been nothing but persistent since you came back…but you didn’t want to dwell on that. Your eyes find Gojo’s again — as they always did.

It was why you had left for Kyoto in the first place.

“Is this really necessary?” you grumbled, as the servants that served the Gojo clan fussed over your clothes — it was a traditional kimono in the colors of your clan — a deep indigo, embroidered with white koi fish that swam along the fabric, embroidered with waves. You supposed you were only grateful that Gojo didn’t leave you to get dressed yourself.

Gojo watched as they adjusted the obi around your waist, and your eyes remained fixed ahead, but your gaze couldn’t help but wander to him. Satoru Gojo was always unfairly gorgeous — there was a reason people fawned over him even when he had just rolled out of bed without even a once over at his appearance — but those same people probably would have passed out if they saw him as he was now.

His formal wear was a sky blue — the same as his eyes, a coat draped over his shoulders and loose trousers of snow white that was a nod to hair of the same color. His hair remained unkempt as it always was.

“Gonna change into that but not comb your hair?” You remark, and he smirks, running a hand through his hair.

“Well I think if I start being too well behaved, they’ll know it’s fake,” and the word sticks in your chest like a dagger between the ribs, as the servants finally finish with your clothes, and you sigh.

You straighten yourself, looking at yourself in the mirror, “How is it only been a couple hours and I’m already exhausted?”

“The suffocating grip of old geezers and their backwards traditions would do that to you,” but his eyes linger on you, “but lucky for you sweetheart, it seems to suit you,”

“Do you have to call me that?” You murmur, cheeks warming, as you pretend to busy yourself with adjusting your clothes in the mirror.

“You have to get used to it,” his footsteps draw closer, heart battering against your ribcage as he does — surely, it would break free of its bony cage by the end of this, as he slides a shiny pendant around your neck — a sliver infinity with a singular small blue gem glinting in the middle — “after all, you are mine now, aren’t you?”

“Gojo, this is—“

“Satoru,” he reminds you, as his fingers brush against your neck as he clasps the necklace, “how will it look if someone overhears you calling me by my last name in private?” And your fingers brush against the necklace, toying with the pendant as you positioned it properly, “do you like it? I had it made especially,”

Especially — the lack of ‘for you,’ stuck out to you, as you force a smile on your lips, “it’s perfect — it will definitely sell the act,” and your eyes can’t find his as he adjusts his sunglasses, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your blindfold,” you turn to face him, “doesn’t it drain you not to wear it?”

“I can wear sunglasses sometimes — usually I get strange looks if I wear a blindfold in normal society — and here,” he pulls off the glasses as his cerulean irises seem to pierce your very form, “it reminds these old men who holds the cards here,” it was already hard enough for you to meet Gojo’s gaze as it was, it always felt as if he could stare right through you — and now, it felt as it your entire soul was beholden to him, “and as a bonus,” he draws close again, as he holds out his hand for your own. You resist the urge to bite your lip, inside giving your hand as he wished, and he lifts to his lips, before tilting his head to press the back of his hand to your cheek, “now I can look at my beautiful girlfriend unobstructed by these pesky eye coverings,”

You scoff, “You always have something to say, don’t you?” As you try and fail to move your hand away, “Gojo—“

“A good escort should never let their lady walk in without their hand being held, don’t you think?” And you sigh, as he leads you out of the frying pan and into the fire — you only hoped you wouldn’t be burned — your eyes sliding to Gojo again, fingers toying with the fabric over your chest — in more than one way.

“So you’ve gotten yourself a partner, eh, boy?” the elderly man sits with his eyes closed as he sips his tea, steam rolling off the surface in droves, but he seemed unbothered by the heat — perhaps because of the steam coming out of his ears, “I’m shocked,” you kept your gaze down, only had greeting him upon entering — stating your name and clan, before kneeling beside Satoru on a cushion.

“Shocked that someone like me could ever find my match? I know I’m truly one of a kind,” lips curled in that smirk that seemed to annoy almost everyone Satoru Gojo knew — including you — but no one showed the level of irritation that this man showed.

Gojo may be the head of the Gojo clan — but you supposed there were still people he had to answer too, if only due to age and tradition — the two very things Gojo hated the most.

“Why bother respecting those for aging when they haven’t done anything for me to respect?” he had said flippantly to Yaga one day during a lesson, “I rather die young than live to the age of these old coots without accomplishing a damn thing,” and then Yaga firmly smacked Gojo on the head right after, for disrespecting Gakuganji during the sister school exchange event.

And you had a feeling this meeting was about to go as well as that class did.

“Is this serious? Have you proposed?” and you have to keep a straight face, but your cheeks burn.

“Now, don’t embarrass me and my girlfriend,” his fingers intertwined with yours, “but this is serious — she’s the only woman I want to marry — and I’ll do anything to accomplish that,” he leans forward with a smile, squeezing your hand, “because I love her, and I only will ever love her,”

His gaze slides from Gojo to you, eyes boring into your skull, “and do you feel the same?”

You never have been one for lying — lying was an uncomfortable feeling that twisted and turned in your stomach like questionable leftovers that you took a gamble on eating, ones that wanted to come out the same way it went in. But you had learned with time because sometimes it was necessary for a sorcerer to lie, and when it was between telling a lie or dying, you’re forced to become quite adept at things you hate.

And you had learned, as you meet his hardened look, the best lies had some truth ingrained in them.

“I do, Satoru and I went to Jujutsu Tech together, and he’s the only man I ever loved,” perhaps it was too much truth, as you forced your voice to be steady, “he’s frustrating, irritating, full of himself—“

“You don’t have to be that honest—“ Satoru grumbled.

“But he’s also selfless, unendingly kind, a great teacher, and a good person, maybe even the best person I know,” you can’t bear to look at Satoru, “and he’s the only man I want to call my husband,”

The silence lingers in the room for a moment before the old man grunts, “I’ll believe it when I see it,”

“What kind of answer was that?” You asked as Satoru walked you back to the room, his fingers still laced with yours.

“It means we have to make him believe it — but he’ll at least stop arranging these meetings for me with prospectives,”

You raise an eyebrow, “and what will make him believe it?”

He smirks, as he tugs you a little closer, fingers under your chin, “I could kiss you right now, might sell the act,”

“No one can see us,”

“Someone’s always watching,” he murmurs, leaning far too close as your breath catches, eyes widening before they flutter shut and you wait. But instead his lips brush your forehead, followed by a flick, “gotcha,”

Your eyes snap open in a glare, “Gojo!” And he’s cackling.

“Satoru,” he corrects, as his hand leaves yours as he opens the sliding door to the room, “you coming?”

You pout, rubbing your forehead, as you brush past him — this was going to be a long few weeks.

“Why do I even have to go to this?” You were being led through a bustling mall, his arm around your waist, as if to prevent you from escaping (good idea). Your lips twisted in a grimace, you allowed him to drag you along, knowing him, he would carry you over his shoulder without a hint of shame (you don’t think he even contained the word shame in his own vernacular), “can’t you go and wear a ring and go by yourself?”

“A ring is not as good as having you on my arm now is it?” he bumps you with his hip, “plus, we’re not engaged yet, unless this is a proposal,” he raises an eyebrow, and your cheeks burn.

“Shut up, I’d never propose to you,” he laughs, but it’s almost strained.

“Never propose to me like that right? Because I deserve a better proposal than that,” he sighs, leading you into a store, “come on, we have to find you a nice outfit for the wedding,”

You glance at the store, your jaw dropping, “Gojo, this store is so expensive, I can’t afford this—“

He lowers his sunglasses just to show you that he’s rolling his eyes, “Who said you’re paying, Princess?” You stare at him, slack jawed, while a salesperson comes up to the two of you — though she’s clearly only interested in one of you.

“Hi, what can I help you with finding today?” her lips curled in a smile, as she twirled a strand of her around her fingers, “I’d be more than happy to assist you,” her gaze completely fixed on Gojo, without the slightest hint of acknowledgment for you to spare.

You bite back a scowl, plastering on a fake smile, as you lean into Gojo, “My boyfriend is looking to buy me an outfit for a wedding we’re attending — baby, could you tell her what style you want me to wear?”

Gojo glances at you, a flicker of surprise that is quickly covered up by a smirk, his arm tightening around your waist, “Yes, I have to make sure my sweetheart is looking her best — so can you please find these styles of dresses for me?” You can’t help the smile on your lips as the salesperson shuffles away, lips a thin line rather than the grin she once had.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Gojo chuckles, and you roll your eyes, hoping your expression didn’t give your heart away, the feelings you had stuffed into a crevice of your chest that threatened to burst.

So you choose to turn it on him instead, as you meet his gaze with a small smirk, “I don’t like people taking what’s mine,”

But he only takes it in stride, only as Gojo can, “I’m yours, huh?”

You shrug, choosing to hurt yourself rather than let him do it, “at least for the next two to three months,” and your gaze snaps away and looks to the saleswoman as she comes back with a selection, “if you get to choose my dress, I get to choose a suit for you, deal?”

Gojo raises an eyebrow, but smiles, “Anything for you, princess.”

“You just wanted to see me model for you, didn’t you?” Gojo emerges from the changing room in a black button down and white suit coat with a matching white tie — as he tilts his head, “I would say my best suit is my birthday suit,” and you grimace, “oh c’mon, it was a good joke, although—“

“Don’t say it’s true,” you lean back, phone in hand as you snap a picture as you did for the last three, “I love to see that self confidence of yours has grown into full blown arrogance,”

“How can I not be arrogant when I see you snapping pictures of me?” He crosses his arms, the fabric taut and straining over his chest, the top button undone, showing off the adam’s apple that bobs in his throat, “it’s definitely a step up from when you ignored me,”

You snap from your thoughts, “When did I ignore you?”

“When we graduated Jujutsu Tech, you’d spend time with Nanami or spend a weekend with Shoko, but whenever I was around, you wouldn’t even reply to a text,” your eyes fall to the floor, chewing your lip, “it wasn’t always like that — I thought we were close,”

It was true — but it wasn’t because you hated him. It was the opposite. You had tried to be his friend, but the more you were his friend, the more it hurt — hurt to see him smile at you like everyone else, hurt to see him with his eyes on the one he wanted, and with his arm around Suguru.

And you really didn’t hate Suguru — it was the opposite really — you thought they were perfect, a person who grounded him, made him a better person, and with a much tighter grip on reality than Gojo did — perhaps too tight. Too tight that it shattered apart in his hands, the pieces too far gone to pick out — and too far gone to save him.

You tried to be there for him — knock on his door when you knew he was home and force him to shower while you and Shoko cleaned up his room. You stayed even when Shoko had long left, holding his hand as he hid his tears from you with his back turned, and you didn’t admit you could hear his nearly silent tears. But eventually, it turned into movie nights, meals shared, and even grocery runs.

And it became harder and harder to hide how you felt — each minute spent with him was another drop in a bucket that was already overflowing to begin with. At first it had been a crush — an unattainable crush that you were happy to leave at just that. But eventually, it became so much more — you had fallen in love with him, when you really shouldn’t have. Because he didn’t need a partner — he needed a friend.

“Gojo, I didn’t ignore you—“

“I’ve called you sweetheart, did your number change and then magically change back when you came back to Tokyo?”

But once he had pulled himself together, you were graduating and you requested to be put in Kyoto — your excuse being you were tired being in the city — but to Satoru, you gave no excuse, you quietly left without a word. Because you were really tired of having your heart broken — so you needed space, and you were willing to do anything to get it.

“Gojo, I didn’t really talk much to Nanami or Shoko when I left either, I just needed space—“

“Space from what?” You sighed, parting your lips when his phone rings. He checks it before taking it, “another mission? Yeah, I can leave tonight,” you bit your lip, “send Ijichi to take me to the airport. Yeah, ok,” and he hangs up, “we’ll have to cut this short. I have to go overseas,”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Probably just a few days. I’ll be back soon,” you bite your lip, and he tilts his head, “you worried about me, Princess?”

You flush, opening and closing your mouth, “I am,” and he blinks, seemingly surprised, “come back safe. Text me to let me know when you land,”

His lips curl, as he ruffles your hair, “I will — and I’ll be back soon enough. Promise,” and he pauses, “you want a souvenir?”

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and your cheeks warm.

And just then, he gets a text, “Ijichi Is almost here. I’ll have him drop you back first,” and he turns to change out of his clothes.

“Satoru,” you catch him by the sleeve, and he pauses, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you after all of that. It had nothing to do with you, there was just a lot going on—“ he says your name, but you shake your head, “but it won’t happen again, I promise,”

“Good,” he steps back into the changing room, a grin on his lips, “I wouldn’t let you get away this time anyway, sweetheart.”

“Gojo?” You say again, and he tilts his head, “get the indigo suit,”

He grins, “and you have good taste, well, of course you do,” he holds the door open, “I am your boyfriend after all.”

And the door of the fitting room swings shut, and you hope he’s not looking at you, as your cheeks burn, your heart squeezing in spite of every thought of your mind telling not to go there — not to go down that road, but you should have known, the moment you said yes to this plan—

You were already there.

You had never known that the buzz of your phone could make you more happy — or anxious.

But it had been over the course of the last few days. Because you’re probably an idiot, but that wasn’t the point.

how bad of an idea would it be for me to try this Karanga and Chapati place that Yuta recommended?

You snorted, Satoru, the last time you had curry — that wasn’t even that spicy, you couldn’t taste anything for a week.

Another buzz, But Yuta said it’s not so bad

You roll your eyes, imagining the pout he undoubtedly has on his lips — Yuta has never seen you cry over a bowl of curry — stick with your desserts, and you chuckle as you add: you may be the strongest but you have the weakest taste buds

It takes some time for another response to come — and when it does, you realize a grave error on your part was made: never point out any flaw to this idiot because he will take it as a challenge.

This is Yuta — Gojo-sensei tried it and he’s now in the bathroom. He told me to tell you he’d text you later.

This was how the last few days flew by — texts with updates about his mission, his work, and his check-ins with Yuta. And the night before he was flying back, just as you were cooking dinner, he called you—

“Gojo? Isn’t it 2:00 AM there right now?”

“You learned the time difference for me?” you heard his words slur over the other line, “Sweethearttttt,” I went out with Yuta and Miguel, and I may have gotten a littttttle tipsy,”

“Isn’t it like 2:00 AM there?”

He clicks his tongue, “Miguel challenged me to a drinking contest,” and you groan, rubbing a hand down your face, “but they got me back into my hotel room, even though I’m not tired,” he mumbles, as you hear the crinkle of his bedsheets and the rustling of his comforter.

“Have you drank water? How much alcohol did you have?”

“Are you worried about me?” he giggles, before sighing, “I’m glad,”

“Why are you glad?” You hold the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you stir the pan with your dinner currently in it.

“Because it means you care about me,” he murmurs, “everyone who cares about me always leaves,” he gives a small bitter chuckle, “maybe it’s better for you not to care about me. It’s dangerous to care about someone like me — the type to die young or live far too long,”

“Gojo—“

“Satoru,” he mutters, voice growing thick with sleep, “call me Satoru,” and his soft snores fill your ear as he falls into the sandman’s grasp — a small reprieve from his feelings — while you were left to dwell in them.

All this time you had been thinking how you felt, what you were dealing with, what you wanted — and all these years and you hadn’t thought about how your actions made him felt. You thought he was beyond any hurt you could possibly inflict — his infinity meant that he was leagues above anywhere you could possibly reach — but it didn’t.

He wasn’t. He was a person — and when had you stopped treating him as one?

You texted Yuta: make sure your sensei is lying on his side and make him drink some water. And don’t let Miguel goad him into drinking ever again.

Yuta: got it. sorry about that sensei — gojo wouldn’t listen

You scoffed, chuckling at how Yuta called you sensei but did not afford Gojo the same courtesy.

You stayed on the phone with Gojo, hearing Yuta come in and persuading him to drink some water, before he fell back asleep, but even in his drunken state, he wouldn’t give up his phone — Yuta snapping a picture and sending it to you. You laughed when you saw it — loml with a dozen hearts and a picture of you in your obi, clearly taken when you weren’t looking, but it wasn’t those things that made you laugh — it was the way Gojo clung to his phone, fingers wrapped around it desperately, as he slept.

You stayed on the phone with him all night, even when you went to bed — of course just to make sure he’s fine — the call waking you when it disconnected after reaching the max call time. Your eyes flutter open, glancing at the time — 5:00 AM. And almost like clockwork, your phone rings again, Gojo’s number flashing on your screen.

You pick up, “Mm, hello?” you yawn, “finally awake sleeping beauty?”

“Glad you finally decided to acknowledge my beauty,” his voice is gravelly, thick with sleep, and god, you can’t help but imagine waking to this voice every day — “ugh I have a headache,” he murmurs, the crumple you hear must be him burying his face in his pillow because the next question he asks is muffled, “why were we on the phone?”

“You called me last night after drinking, and refused to hang up after Yuta helped you get settled,” you chuckle, as you hear his groan over the phone, “I got a new contact picture for you out of it, love of my life,”

“Glad you’re finally on board,” he mutters, growing quiet, “why didn’t you hang up?”

You pause, “what do you mean?” You ask slowly.

“You could’ve hung up at any time, but you stayed on the phone, even when you fell asleep,” his voice was soft, “why?”

“I just,” you bit your lip, you couldn’t lie to him, at least not completely, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and you didn’t want to hang up — so I didn’t,”

He’s silent for a moment, and you almost wish you could sink into the Earth — but he only says, “okay, now what’s the plan for the day, Princess?”

Your lips curl, “Well my day has not really began yet since it’s 5:00 AM here, so I’m probably going to sleep for several hours and wake up at an hour that is not bereft of god,”

“You really couldn’t just say ‘ungodly?’” He snorts.

“Well, 5:00 AM makes me wax poetic, what can I say?” Another yawn parts your lips, “I’m going to sleep,”

But he doesn’t hang up, “I’ll be here, sweetheart.”

You glanced at the time, he’s late.

Well, he wouldn’t be Gojo if he didn’t make an entrance. You slumped on the couch — even if he was getting home from his mission, there was no guarantee he’d stop by your place to see you. He might want to just go home — or stop by Jujutsu Tech, or be anywhere else. You couldn’t have expectations — expectations were only a way to be disappointed, a drop from soaring that would only be met with the impact of the cold, unforgiving ground.

Especially expectations from a fake relationship. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling — why were being such an idiot about this? The TV drones on in the background, illuminating the dark of the living room, as you sit barely paying attention to a random rom com you had picked.

Maybe it was because Satoru had spent the rest of today on the phone with you, even through a security check (warning the security officers not to hang up his call) and at the gate. And then every day after that, he had called and texted you like clockwork — stupid things— good morning and good night, random memes that made him think of you, pictures of his day (including ones of him messing with his students), questions of what sweet you wanted from the shop he had decided to frequent, calls about your day and his own, and hours long conversations about nothing at all. Maybe because you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you — or maybe it was because you were just down bad.

It was probably the latter.

You take a throw pillow and pull it over your face. What were you thinking? Falling for your old crush and fake boyfriend a night before a wedding was a trope in a bad rom com that you spent your weekend night watching — it shouldn’t be how you feel.

“That’s a nice look,” you jump, pulling the pillow away, to be met with Gojo’s gaze hidden behind another pair of sunglasses, “honey, I’m home,”

You bite back your smile, “one, this isn’t your home, and two, how did you get inside?”

“It’s pretty easy when you can teleport, you should try it sometime,” he sits beside you, more like collapses as he falls into the couch, his head resting against the top, “although if someone moved in with me, it’d be much easier,” and you laugh.

“Shouldn’t you ask a girl out before you ask her to move in?” he shrugs, his arm resting across the top of the couch.

“I’m anything but traditional,” he sighs, glancing at the TV, “what are we watching?”

“A bad rom com,”

He snorts, “watching it to mercilessly pick it apart?” And you raise an eyebrow, “what? I did stay awake for some of those movies— it was some of my favorite memories during that time and some of the only times I could actually sleep,”

“Yeah, it was a nice way for both of us to turn our brains off for a bit,” you glanced at him, “thought it’d be nice for us too,” his gaze slides to you curiously, “I know there’s been a lot on your mind — with itadori and the special grades,”

He sighs, running fingers through his hair, “Yeah, old geezers seem to cause problems in all parts of my life,” you snort, “can’t believe they’d try to do away with Itadori while I was gone,”

“They don’t see anyone as innocent — they see whether you’re an asset or a threat, unfortunately, they see Itadori not as the former,” you shake your head, as your eyes stare at the movie flashing on the screen, but you don’t really watch, “they’re too far gone to see the innocence of children,”

“You sound like Kento,” and your eyes meet his, his cerulean gaze already on you, his sunglasses discarded on your coffee table.

“Funny, thought I sounded like you,” he blinks a moment, “Satoru, you’re all about preserving the youth of children — that’s why you saved Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji — even when you had every reason not to,”

“How could I not? Youth belongs to the young after all,” a wistful smile on his lips, “i don’t want the same to happen to them that happened to us,”

“To us,” you repeat, a sharp pain sticks between your ribs at the flash of Haibara’s smile and the whisper of Suguru’s laugh, “more like to them,”

“Yeah,” a silence falling over the two of you as the white noise of the TV filled the quiet, “but sometimes I think we went down along with them,”

You shake your head, “I think a part of us did — a part of us will stay there—“ frozen in time and seeping like poison in our bones, “but we’re still here,” you risk to toe the line you’d never cross, your fingers brushing his, “and it’s not over for us,”

And his eyes flicker to your fingers threaded with his, as his fingers squeeze yours slowly, the corner of his lips quirk upwards, as you stretch and sit up, fingers falling away from his, a yawn on your lips, “should we get some sleep?”

“Come on, let’s finish the movie,” he murmurs, even though sleep seems to weigh heavily on his body, eyelids fluttering shut as he turns to you, cheek pressed against the couch, “hey,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t the movies that let me relax,” and you can hear the unspoken meaning in those words — but that was the problem.

It was unspoken.

Your fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to brush your fingers against his cheek — but you can’t.

You’d allowed yourself to toe the line you’d long drawn in the sand that you’d built into a wall — you had even allowed yourself to stir a few bricks from its place, but you couldn’t cross it. Not now.

Your eyes are growing heavy. Maybe not ever.

Your neck hurts.

The first thought you have as you rouse into aching consciousness. Why was it so bright? Did you forget to draw your curtains? You draw an arm over your face, already dreading the waking hours, until you realize it’s your day off, and you sigh, relaxing into your bed.

Or what you thought was your bed.

Except your bed couldn’t move, nor could it pull you closer. But now something or someone was, an arm around your waist with movement behind you that made breath warm your ear. And you probably would have screamed, if you hadn’t heard the familiar voice whisper your name in your ear.

Gojo.

Gojo???

Your head slowly turned to be met with the strongest sorcerer very much passed out, half behind you, half on top of you — his blue eyes hidden under his eyelids for once instead of any covering that he used to protect himself. His snowy white locks brushed against your skin, the close proximity doing nothing to alleviate your feelings — you had only hoped you could see one flaw, one ick, and maybe you’d be done. But on Satoru Gojo? The man born to be perfect — the same one who sang karaoke for the first time as a teen only to be so incredible that it moved your server to tears?

You really should have fucking known better.

Your breath caught, and you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment—if no one had, you would surely be the first case. You were always a trail blazer.

And you tried to shift again, if only to maneuver yourself out of this situation, but he moved along with you, seeking out the contact he was losing. And this only ended with him lying on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his legs straddling one of your legs— and then you felt it — a very distinct bulge pressed against your thigh.

Fuck. Your. Life.

He mumbled in his sleep, nose brushing against the hollow of your neck, drawing another shiver from your body. You had a rare opportunity to touch him — didn’t you, no infinity between the two of you — just him and you. You were in a position probably many desired to be in — admirers and enemies alike (neither category being mutually exclusive). You supposed old habits die hard — and so did old crushes.

Could you let yourself enjoy this for a moment? Enjoy the feeling, no matter how real it never would be? Maybe it was wrong, but — your eyes fluttered shut as your arm wrapped loosely around Gojo — you certainly didn’t want to be the one to wake up first.

And you weren’t — your eyes flutter open to movement, and your eyes meet cerulean eyes, lips parted in surprise, “Morning,” he manages, a flush of pink coloring his cheeks, “did we fall asleep?”

“I guess we did,” you bite your lip, “are you going to—”

And he blinks, before scrambling off of you, “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he turns away to fidget with his phone.

“Guess that was one very boring movie,” you murmur.

“Or I was in a very comfortable bed,” he replies with a smirk that turns to a grimace.

“What is it?”

“Naoya Zenin is making an appearance at the wedding we’re attending tomorrow,” and you groan, as he raises an eyebrow, “how many proposals had he made you?”

You scoff, “Proposals? More like propositions,” you shake your head, already aching from the sleep you had barely shaken off and now it had graduated to a shooting pain that made your eye twitch at the thought of that man, “he’s offered to do me the ‘honor’ of being the next heir’s husband half a dozen times. If he ever becomes the head of the Zenin clan, I may help Maki annihilate them myself,”

Naoya Zenin — the most pretentious and egocentric man you had the displeasure of meeting. Even his pretty face could do nothing to fix his hideous personality ridden with misogyny, hatred, and spite. And you’d been offered his hand in marriage half a dozen times due to your lineage in a lesser known clan family with a unique cursed energy. It was a strategic move to try and secure his place — as was every move he made — he had no room for anyone he deemed useless to his plan.

Unfortunately, you did not fall into that special category.

“That won’t happen,” Gojo replies, texting on his phone, “plus, he’s too weak to force that to happen — not to mention he’s a first class prick,”

“You say that, but you basically propositioned me,” you teased, as his eyes flit up from his phone, as you rise from the couch, “quite the proposal you came to me with,”

He pauses a moment, a small smile on his lips, “one, i don’t recall proposing, and trust me that’s something I’d remember,” and you roll your eyes, “and two, aren’t you just as bad, since you said yes, sweetheart?”

“Can you blame a girl wanting a little extra money?” And he locks his phone, drawing close, your breath catching as he lets himself linger for a second too long.

“Can you blame a man for wanting a beautiful and intelligent woman?” And he’s leaning close, but he leans back, only grabbing his coat from the couch, still slung over as it had been. He spares you a smirk at your bewildered expression, “close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, princess, and what a shame that would be,” you scowl, and he laughs as he heads to the door, slipping on his shoes, with a final glance and grin thrown over his shoulder as he opened your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Right. Tomorrow. The wedding.

Fuck. You were so screwed.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Fuck. You scrambled from your vanity as you finished putting the finishing touches on your look for tonight. You didn’t think Satoru Gojo of all people could ever be on time, but you supposed there was a first time for everything.

You slipped the dress over your head, careful not to smear your makeup or mess up your hair. You were starting to regret not having the Gojo family’s attendants get you ready for this event, if only so you could have turned your mind off for this time. But you knew all too well that your mind could never give you a break — with all of that free time came free real estate for your anxiety to set up camp and put down roots for all the things that could possibly go wrong. So it was better this way, as you reach for the ties on the back of your dress — of course, maybe if you had let yourself be helped, you could actually have someone to tie your corset back on this dress.

Another knock.

“Sweetheart?” You hear Gojo’s muffled voice through the door, “you’re not planning on standing me up are you?”

You stumble your way to the door, clutching the back of your dress, as you take a breath and throw it open, “Can you tie the back of my dress?”

Fuck. He looked gorgeous. His hair was parted and combed off to the side, a deep blue suit coat and a crisp white collared shirt tucked into a matching suit pant. A pair of sunglasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket in front of a white pocket square.

“No hello, ‘can you tie my dress?’” Gojo tilts his head, his eyes graze over your appearance, as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, “turn around,” And you do, fingers still clutching at the fabric at the back of your dress, cheeks burning as you do, “gonna have to let go, and let me help you, sweetheart,”

You slowly let go, but his warm fingers brush against the skin of your bare back as he holds the dress up from slipping, carefully lacing the corset, “I was right, blue is your color,” he murmurs, as he tugs lightly at the strings, “let me know when it’s tight enough,”

“It’s good now,” you sigh — though the corset wasn’t as tight as your chest now, you face him now, trying to adjust your hair.

“Let me,” one hand cups your chin gently, your breath catching and you can only hope he can’t feel your pulse through your skin. His fingers run through your soft tresses, your eyes unable to meet his — but you wonder if he can see right through you anyway — “you’ve never been good at asking for help,”

“Look who’s talking,” you glare at him, as he chuckles, “well, I asked you didn’t I?”

“Why did you ask me?” You raise an eyebrow, “I’m sure you could have asked anyone,”

“Well, I didn’t want just anyone,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the blush you had lined your cheeks with, “I wanted you,”

“Why?” And he parts his lips, a soft smile that pulls at his features — was it a hint of pink across his cheeks.

“Because—“ and your phone goes off — a reminder with the time of the wedding. And the moment’s broken, as reality settles over you again, “We’ll be late,”

“I don’t mind being late,” and a heat burns from his touch, from the tips of your fingers to the his fingers leave your cheek, warmth fading as quickly as it came, but he offers his hand, “but if it’s for you, I can be on time,” and your fingers find his, interlacing, before he tugs you close, his arm around your waist, “as long as you stay by my side.”

You never were one for weddings. At least not one like this.

A stuffy event held in an extravagant manner — a large banquet hall for the reception, but now the guests roamed the gardens the hall opened out into — lush greenery serving as a perfect backdrop for this wedding — a distant branch of the Zenin family was marrying, which meant all of the main clans were invited to attend. Including several elders of the Gojo clan.

And now you were being subjected to this as well — several dozen eyes on you — all due to the man whose arm you were on. His arm wrapped almost protectively around your waist, his lips nearly brushed against your ear when he whispered in it, letting you know just exactly who was coming over.

“I didn’t think you were one to care for remembering these things,” you wave at the couple that just left the two of you, his fingers grazing the skin behind your ear as he tucked a stray strand behind it.

“I usually don’t care, but I know it’d make you uncomfortable otherwise, especially among all these people,” he smirks, his fingers finding yours, and squeezing, “plus, we need to make a good impression, don’t we?”

“I think we’re making an impression just by being together,” you murmur, and he raises an eyebrow, “everyone’s staring — didn’t you notice?” and he shrugs, a sly smile on his lips.

“Didn’t notice,” he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on you, “I was too busy looking elsewhere, I guess,”

Your cheeks burn, but as your lips part to respond, you see him walking over to the discreet corner you had parked yourselves in, “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around his.

Naoya Zenin strides over in a black yukata kimono, his silver hair pushed back, his lips twisted in a slimy smile that made your skin crawl, your name leaving his lips, “it’s been far too long, you’re looking lovely,” his eyes raked over you like hot coals, “though the company you keep—”

“Has improved markedly,” Satoru’s lips curl in a grin, “do you have business with my girlfriend?”

Naoya raises an eyebrow, “Girlfriend?”

Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, “I didn’t realize you went hard of hearing — I know your hair had started to go, but your hearing too—” you hid your snort poorly, Naoya’s sharp gaze flickering between the two of you.

“I’m younger than you are, and my hair is bleached,” he snaps, “or are those six eyes not sharp enough to see that as well? They certainly aren’t enough for you to have found Suguru Geto before he caused a war,”

And Satoru’s hurt is imperceptible — a hint of hurt that only shows in the tightness of his jaw for a millisecond, before he’s only giving another laugh.

“At least I am already the head of my clan, because even if I were without my six eyes,” he smirks, but a certain meanness pulls at his features, “I’m still not as weak as you are—”

Naoya’s expression sours, curdled into a foul scowl, “What did you—”

“Alright,” you hold up your hands, “Let’s save the dick measuring contest for later, okay? This is a wedding, let’s not cause a scene, ok?” you glance between the two of them, and Satoru pouts — while Naoya seems all too pleased, a grin broken across his lips.

“This is why you’re the perfect woman — you know how to mediate between men’s egos, and—”

“Naoya, I said let’s not cause a scene, and you’re two steps away from me causing one right now,” you snap, “I wasn’t interested the first dozen times you asked me when I was single, so why would you think I’d be interested now, when I have a boyfriend?”

His face flushes red, and you’re not sure whether it’s in anger or embarrassment, “I doubt you’re even really a couple,” he hisses, “I know all about the proposals that this idiot has been getting and the pressure to marry,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sure you’ll come running to me once he’s done using you—“

Satoru surges forward, but you press a hand against his chest, “We don’t need to justify our relationship to you, so think what you want — but even if Satoru and I break up, I rather die single than ever spend a minute with you,” and you look at Satoru, your gaze softening, “and I rather spend be single for the rest of my life than spend another minute without him,” and you slide your eyes back to Naoya, his fists clenched, as you lean in, “so fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the staff begin to wave everyone into their seats, and the wedding begins. The two of you sit, a silence falling over as others take their seats beside you. A subtle tension as music filled the air and the wedding proceedings began—but you could have cared less— god what the fuck had you said to Naoya? How had Gojo taken it? Does he know how you feel? Does he think it’s an act?

Then his fingers find yours, “Thank you,” he whispers softly, managing only those two words before the wedding begins.

And it dawns on you — it wasn’t what you said, it was the fact you had defended him, your heart aches, it was the fact you had defended him when Naoya insulted Suguru.

Your eyes stay fixed forward as the ceremony begins — it was never about you — as you pulled your fingers away from him.

Like it always never was.

The wedding ceremony goes by — as does the reception, without much to-do. The only silver lining is that there’s far too much small talk for the two of you to have a moment to talk alone, especially when the two of you spot the Gojo clan elders side-eyeing you from the table of old folks, not to mention Naoya hovering around that same table, the same scowl on his face. The only remark that Satoru whispered as the two of you floated by the table pointedly, a smirk on his lips as he waved and held you close to his side — “one quick hollow purple could solve my problems,”

You gave a forced chuckle at that — unfortunately not yours.

And finally, the two of you head home — in relative silence, the drive being short to Gojo’s apartment, where your car was parked. You sigh as he pulls in, “I’ll head out I guess—”

“Why don’t you just stay the night?” and your gaze snaps to his, the first time all night, “it’s really late, and I have a guest room—”

“My apartment isn’t—”

“Your apartment isn’t far, but I thought we could…talk,” and your heart gallops to a start — talking was the last thing you wanted to do.

“What is there to talk about?” And his fingers brush against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Maybe about why you can’t meet my eyes?” You huff, looking away.

“Can you blame me? Your blue eyes are freaky,” you grumble, and you can hear the judgment in the silence, a first for Gojo, “Gojo, what do you want me to say?”

He stays quiet for a moment, “You don’t have to say anything, just come inside,” So you do — following him inside, the silence hanging over you like a guillotine waiting to slice, “Thank you for what you said—“

The door clicks behind him, as you stop, “Gojo—“

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you’re shaking your head.

“You don’t have to thank me, I was just—“

“But what you said—“

“I said what I had to—“

“You didn’t have to say all that, Princess,” his voice grows soft, “you know you didn’t,” and he’s drawing closer across his living room.

“He was upsetting you,” you murmur, eyes unable to find his again, falling instead to his plush carpet laid against his hardwood, “I couldn’t stand by and let him — I know it hurt when he brought up Suguru—“

“Suguru?” he repeats, and your eyes find his, finally, and you find his brow furrowed, “is that what you think I was thanking you for?”

“What else would you—“ and he’s stepping even closer, your breath stuck in your throat as his fingertips graze your cheek again, “Satoru—“

“Did I mention how beautiful you looked tonight?” he murmurs, a soft chuckle in his voice, “you always look beautiful, but tonight in particular, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,”

“You don’t have to—“

“That’s just it, I don’t have to,” his palm slides against your cheek, “I want to — I want to when it’s you,”

“But, i can’t do this, not like this,” tears burn at the corners of your eyes, water threatening to spill out of a too full glass that had been full for far too long, “not when it will give me—“ you cut yourself off before you cut your own heart out, but he’s only forcing the scalpel back into your hand.

“Give you what?”

And you can’t turn back now — you’d turned from this road far too many times, sprinted in the opposite direction only to end up here again — you needed to do this, even if it lead to a dead end cliff, “Give me the wrong idea,” and you’re turning away, but his hand catches you by the wrist, “stop, I—“

“It’s not the wrong idea,” and you stop.

No, it was. It was, right?

“Satoru—“ and his fingers find your own, as he steps closer, “please, don’t—“

“If you want me to really stop and forget about this, I will,” he murmurs, “I’ll turn around and open the door and let you go home right now, sweetheart. I won’t bring this up again,” but you don’t move away, you don’t say anything, so he continues, “but if you don’t want that, and you want the same thing I do—“

“And what is it that you want?” And you hear his soft chuckle, his cheek brushing against you, as his fingers tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I thought that was obvious, but I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you,” he squeezes your hand, as he guides your face to look back at him, his lips curled in a small smile, “I want you,”

Your breath is shaky, no, no — he doesn’t mean that, “No you don’t,”

He tilts his head, “You don’t think I don’t know what I want?”

“Satoru, I don’t want to be a substitute for others—“

And his hands are sliding around your middle, pulling you closer, “You think I could ever think of you as a second choice?”

“But—“ and every doubt from when you were younger wells up, every fear of not being enough — but they are erased away, crumbled into dust, by the way he looks at you — entire multitudes of skies all made to look at you.

“You keep finding reasons not to do this,” and his fingers skim your cheek, before resting under your chin, “but have you tried finding a reason why we should?”

“Satoru—“ you can’t help but lean into his touch — god, he was a temptation personified — everything you ever wanted, even when you tried not to want it. These feelings were never fake — so why not give in? Just this once. Your fingers slide against his cheek, and you can feel his skin burn under your touch, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“No, sweetheart,” he leans in even closer, your breaths becoming one, “but I’d love to find out,”

His lips brush yours — it’s chaste, hesitant, testing the waters — he tastes like sugar, and you almost laugh — he tastes like the frosting from the wedding cake that he had swiped a slice of on the way out that he finished before you two had reached his car. His eyes flutter open for half a second, before your lips are crashing to his this time — a new record for addiction? A second maybe and you were too far gone.

His hands cup your cheeks, one sliding to the back of your neck, as the other slides down to your waist to pull you ever closer.

“Did you find it out?” You murmur between kisses, lips meeting and parting if only to allow you both a breath. And his snowy eyelashes flutter, as his lips quirk upwards.

“Think I need another,” and his lips swallow any coherent thoughts you have, his hands slipping down your sides, lips parting again, “another,” he murmurs, a kiss, “another,”

“How many do you need?” you ask breathlessly, a chuckle caught in your throat, and his lips press desperate kisses along your jaw, a smirk against your skin.

“Is infinity an answer?” And you laugh, “have to take responsibility — I’m addicted to you,”

“And if I’m addicted?” His hands squeeze your hips, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“I’d be more than happy to take responsibility for you, Princess — always have,”

Your heart beats against the bars of its cage, threatening to burst out — but you couldn’t — not without knowing, “And if you break my heart?”

“I won’t ever break your heart,” he leans down to press butterfly kisses to your cheek, “but even if I do, I’ll put it back together,”

“Promise?” You murmur, and his lips meet yours again, and again, as he’s leading you towards his bedroom, his fingers running through your hair.

And the door to his bedroom swings shut, “Promise.”

“How long are you going to tease me?” you’re grumbling, cheeks hot and eyes averted, the back of your hand pressed against your lips, as Satoru presses needy kisses along your neckline of your dress.

He looks up at you through his snowy lashes, and you don’t know if you want to slap the smile off his lips or kiss it off, “You’ve been teasing me for years, you can’t give me this time, sweetheart?” His teeth graze the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “plus, do y’know how fun it is to watch you squirm?”

Slap. It’s definitely a slap.

“You’re insufferable,” and he smirks when your breath catches when his lips ghost over the swell of your chest.

“Yet you’re the one who's under me—“ and you try to get up only for him to pin you back down, a pout on his lips, “alright, alright, can’t blame me for wanting to see you squirm, Princess, how many chances will I get?”

“Only this one if you keep this up,” and he’s finding your lips in a languid kiss, an apology with no words, a smile filled with affection that only made it hard for you to feign annoyance.

“Then I better make this count,” he’s gently helping you up, turning you around to undo your corset strings — but you wonder if he’s undoing it or tangling it, “why did we choose a dress with such a complicated back?” It’s his turn to grumble and it only draws a giggle from you.

“Surprised you haven’t hollow purple’d it by now,”

“Trust me if you weren’t in it, I would have,” he sighs, as the fabric begins to loosen up, slipping off your shoulders.

“And here I thought you were good at everything,” you chuckle as he helps you shimmy out of the dress, the fabric falling away from you in a small pool around your ankles. Pools of blue rake over your exposed body, raising goosebumps in its wake, as your arms reflexively try to cover yourself, but his hands find your own, easing them away.

“I’m good at what counts, Princess,” he kisses your wrist, pulse jumping under his touch, nose brushing against it, he hovers over you, as he undoes his tie, fingers tugging at the knot, as he undoes the top button of his shirt, “and I’ll show you.”

~~~~

Satoru had dreamed of this — of you and him. He knew when he realized it — although it was too late when he did. Maybe it was the night before you left — the night after graduation — before you left — you had fallen asleep watching the movie you had put on. Your lips parted and mouth ajar, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were out. He had leaned over to grab his phone to snap a picture to tease you with later, only for your fingers to grab onto him, your head on his shoulder, a quiet murmur of his name.

“Satoru,” — not Gojo, as you had always called him. And he knew he wanted to hear you say it again and again. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away, his head leaning against yours.

Suguru was everything to him for a time — he had come to Satoru at a time where he thought no one else would ever be able to understand him. No one else would be able to reach him — because how does a person reach for a god? But here you were — and the way your head rested on his shoulder and your lips said his name made him want nothing more than you by his side.

And when you left — you didn’t reply to his messages, you disappeared, just like everyone else did in his life. He was always left alone in the end — maybe it was his fate.

But then you came back — came back almost right after Suguru left for good. And that part of his heart that was meant for you began to thrive again and again — as he spent more time with you.

And god, when his clan started to pressure him to find someone to marry — he wrote them off as he always did. He thought he could ride out the ridiculous proposals and dates they had arranged for him — but as he thought more about who he wanted to spend his time with, who he wanted to see after a tiring mission, and who he couldn’t imagine being without —-

And he realized it was you.

“Satoru, don’t tease me,” you pouted, teeth bearing down on your bottom lip, legs spread for him, his eyes flirting between your all too cute expression and the growing wet patch on your panties, “fuck, please—“

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his arm hooked under your knee, your foot pressed against his back, “where do you want me?”

“You fuck-er—“ the last syllable is a gasp as he kisses your sensitive clit through your soaked underwear, “Toru—“ a whine leaves your throat.

Fuck, you’re so cute, his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties — and all of this was worth it, worth it to see if these feelings were what he thought they were, worth it to make you smile, and worth to end up with you.

“How can I refuse you when you say my name like that?” he’s tugging your underwear away, exposing your sipping cunt to a rush of air and his warm breath, “all this f’me, baby?” You mumble something he can’t quite make out, “what was that?”

Your glassy eyes look up at him, blown wide with lust, “Only f’you, Satoru,” fuck, his dick twitches — he could bust just looking at you.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, “g’nna make me cum just with your words,” but he diverts his attention to your needy cunt, his long fingers graze over your pussy, collecting the precum on his fingertips, before he pinches your clit.

“Toru,” you squirm, as he grins down at you, all too pleased.

“Imagine if the elders could see you like this — spread out for me like a good little wife,” he’s leaning down to kiss your fluttering folds, leaning back for you to see the shiny pre that clings to his lips that his pink tongue darts out to clean off, “sweetest thing I’ve tasted,”

“Please, Toru, fuck—“ and finally his finger is circling your hole, before sinking in knuckle deep — fuck, you were fucking tight — he could melt from your warmth, pulling him in like a siren to a drunken sailor, “oh my god,”

“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ princess,” and he earns a glare from you that fades into an open mouthed moan as he begins to pump his finger in and out, “so good for me,” and he’s adding another finger, the wet squelch of your cunt growing louder, as he reaches a hand down to graze against his erection if only for a little relief.

He wishes he could memorize the way you looked right now — perfect little lips parted for him, his name and soft pants the only sounds you could manage to make, your back arching into his touch, and the way you moaned when his lips found their way around your clit.

His tongue circles your clit at first before his lips suck at the hard pearl, fingers parting your dripping folds, finally finding that spot that had your walls giving that telltale spasm, “Toru, I’m close—g’nna cum—“ you whimper, his fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt as he sucks hard at your clit, and you cum, hard, around his fingers, drenching his face and finger alike, as he fucks you through your orgasm.

You’re beautiful — lips parted and chest heaving, as you moan his name again, “good girl,” he’s murmuring, as your eyes flutter open, to watch him lick his lips and fingers clean, “might get addicted to how you taste, sweetheart,”

And you’re boneless, but still you’re still reaching for him, pulling him into a languid kiss, his cock twitching as he shifts himself over you, hands pressed into the mattress, his clothed cock rubbing against your drenched folds.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you mumble against his lips, and he’s pulling back an inch — but unknowingly, he’s given you a mile, as you flip him onto his back.

You’re a vision — your perked up nipples visible through your bra, halfway slipping off your shoulders as it is, hair a lovely mess, and pretty lips kiss ruined.

“My turn,” and your lips burn a trail down his jaw, along the curve of his neck and the cut of his collarbone. You take your time, if only to pay him back in full for all the teasing he did, “didn’t know you taste so sweet, Toru,” your tongue drags up his chest, “must be all the sugar you eat,”

And your lips smile against his abs at the sharp gasp he fails to stifle, “I’ll have you know I’m very sweet—“ and your fingers graze over his clothed erection — his hips buck up into your touch, “I’m known for it,” he hisses, as a giggle escapes your lips.

“Uh-huh, I’m sure almost everyone would care to disagree,” the tip of his cock strains against the fabric, the dark wet patch growing larger the more your thumb beared down on it, “but I wouldn’t be one of them,” and you’re dragging the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock, your eyes nearly hypnotized by the slight of it, thick beads of precum dripping from the slit, before your gaze finds his again, softening, “because I know how much you do for others — and how much you’ve lost because of it,” you kiss his inner thigh softly, nose brushing against the skin.

“As long I don’t lose you,” he says softly, “I think I’ll be okay,”

And your fingers find their way around the base of his cock, drawing a ragged gasp from his lips, before you lean down and flick your tongue against his leaking tip, “I’m not going anywhere, Toru.”

Your tongue drags a thick stripe up his cock, before beginning to trace along one of his veins, your fingers slipping up to use his pre to rub up and down his length. Your thumb teases his slit, and a hiss leaves his lips, a smirk against his dick.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” his cheeks burn, dusted with pink surely — as he watches you lick the precum that dripped down your fingers onto your wrist, “knew that mouth would be s’fucking good—“

“Turns out you don’t shut up even in bed,” and that earns you a cheeky grin that parts into an ‘o’ as his dick sinks into your mouth. He swears he was closer to death than he was when Toji nearly killed him — not that he’d like to remember that man in this moment — but you’d surely be the death of him, and you would be — if he had to spend another second without you in his life.

Fuck, he looks down at you, eyes half shut, his white knuckled fingers gripping the sheets — you’re gorgeous as you swallow him whole — sucking and licking, nose brushing against his pubes as your eyes water, as you bob along his length from tip to base and back again.

“S’good for me, so pretty, fuck—” he groans, when his tip brushes against your throat, his fingers finding your scalp to try and ease you off, I’m s’close princess, g’nna cum—” But your hands only slide to his ass to hold yourself against him, as his dick twitches in your mouth, and your fingers drift to his sack while your tongue flicks along his slit and he’s done. He’s cumming down your throat, hot release painting your mouth.

He’s watching you with half lidded eyes pull away from him— a string of cum and spit strung between your lips and his dick, before beginning to drip from the corner of your mouth. And fuck, it’s enough to make him hard all over again. You lean over him, wiping the release from your lips, as you kiss up his body.

“Now who’s good at everything?” and he huffs out a chuckle.

“I stand corrected — actually, don’t think I’ll be standing for a while after that but—” and he’s finding your lips in a kiss, tasting himself you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, as your fingers find his erection again, stroking it, before he’s flipped you onto your back. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, a smile on his lips, “don’t think you’ll be doing much standing after this either,”

“So full of yourself,” you roll your eyes.

“That’s what you’re going to be full of in a second—”

“Oh my god—” and your laugh dies on your lips as he starts to tease your entrance with the head of his cock, “Toru,” you whine, as he watches your needy cunt flutter around nothing as he drags his length up and down your dripping hole, watching your releases mix, “please—”

“So polite,” he hums, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, “now how can I refuse that?” and he begins to sink his length into your cunt, warm walls nearly pulling his cock in deeper, as he groans your name, “s’perfect, s’good for me, princess, made for me,” and inch by inch, until he’s finally bottoming out.

“Toru, ngh, s’big—” you gasp, lips parted in a silent moan, as you pull him even closer, face buried in the crook of his neck, but his fingers tugging your hair to show your face.

“Let me see you,” he murmurs, as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss as he continues to thrust into you — his hips meeting yours, the wet squelch and skin slapping echoing in his ears. A gasp parting your lips as you pull apart, your head thrown back in a moan as your walls flutter around him as his tip breaches that one spot inside you.

“Haa, I’m close, Toru,” you groan, and he’s nodding, his fingers reaching between your bodies to find your clit.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” and you do — cumming hard, as he notches himself deep inside you, before spilling inside you, his hot release deep in your pussy. He’s moaning your name, as your bodies slow and his fingers cup your cheek gently, and his lips find yours.

He slowly rolls off of you, your warmth leaving him for a moment, before he’s pulling you close again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Is this a dream?” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut, and a small chuckle leaves his lips, legs entangled.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, “If it is, I hope I never wake up, Princess.”

Your body aches — that’s your first thought as you stir into consciousness. Fuck, why does you feel so sore? Your eyes try to flutter open, but the sunlight blinds you — a soft groan leaves your lips. You shift, as you stretch, your back aching and muscles tight, but then someone moves behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist.

Your eyes shoot open, as your head slowly turns to find looking at Satoru. A gasp is caught in your lips.

Fuck, it was real.

You slowly turn to face him, his soft breaths leaving his pink lips — god he’s so gorgeous. His pretty white eyelashes resting against his skin, lips parted ever so slightly, and his snowy hair askew and mussed. Your fingers ghost over his cheek lightly — how many people have seen him asleep like this? How many had seen him with his guard down? You knew he didn’t sleep nearly enough, you were surprised he was still asleep — but, your cheeks burned, you both did spend half the night awake.

But there were more pressing things to think about — what did this mean? You chew on your bottom lip, he had said he wanted you — but what did he want? Just last night? Or something more.

“I can’t sleep with your thoughts grinding so much,” he mumbles, heat rushing to your cheeks, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, “why are you awake so early?” His nose brushes against your neck, his lips pressing softly against your pulse.

“I just woke up,” you murmur, a small shiver running up your spine, as you relax into his touch, your fingers running through his soft locks, “did all my thinking wake you?”

“Yes, and you’ll have to compensate me,” and you snort.

“You’re rich, like old money rich,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your skin, heat climbing up your body.

“Money isn’t what I want,” he nuzzles you, nose brushing against the skin of your neck, “wonder what other ways you can repay me,”

You chuckle, humming at his touch — god even the simplest of touches has your logic up in ash, “I’m sure you can figure out some other methods of payment,”

And his lips find yours again — it’s a lazy morning kiss, soft and slow, but not bereft of any of the passion from the night before. His fingers slide down your body, as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“My preferred method of payment wouldn’t have us leaving this room until tomorrow morning,” his lips curl in a smirk, “but I’ll collect my charge tonight — how about I make us breakfast?”

“You can make breakfast?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I know how to scramble an egg,” he shrugs, and you snort only for him to pout, and you smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek, before your thumb runs down his lips.

“How about we make breakfast together?”

“Was that really your first time making tamagoyaki?” you raise an eyebrow, as you pick up a piece of the rolled omelet between your chopsticks.

“Promise,” and you bite it — it was perfect — the texture, the taste, the seasoning. And you stare at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Either you’re lying or you really are good at everything,” you mutter, and he grins, as he takes a bite of his food — a sweeter tamagoyaki he had made for himself, far too smug for his own good.

“I think I proved that last night, Princess,” and you nearly choke on your food. And you chew thoughtfully — you two hadn’t even breached what last night meant yet. You had simply been dancing around it, or at least you had. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up — or rather, you picked up another piece of tamagoyaki up, you didn’t know how to, “what’s going on in that head of yours?”

And your eyes snap up, “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head, “You’re not hard to read — you keep thinking about something,” and his lips curl, “last night?” Your hesitation gives you away — and he only smiles wider, “should I refresh your memory?” And your cheeks are burning, and he chuckles, “come on, sweetheart, let’s just talk,”

You bite your lip — you needed to do this, you couldn’t run away from how you felt, not again — your fingers fidgeting with your chopsticks, before you place them down on your bowl, “What did last night mean?”

And his lips curl, but this smile he has is softer, “What do you think sweetheart? Do you think I’m really the—“ And his phone rings, and he picks up his phone, eyes flickering to the caller, and you wave him off, “you can take the call,”

He sighs, “One second,” he gets up to speak, and he hangs up a few minutes later, “text me a location,”

“Who was that?” And he’s shaking his head, a sigh on his lips, his hand on the back of his neck.

“The ever breathing and ever irritating geezers want me to meet them to speak about something involving the clan,” he meets your gaze, a flicker of an emotion in his eyes — a drop of water that disappears into the sea as quickly as it formed, “and it’s a good opportunity for me to discuss something I have been wanting to speak with them about,”

“Something?” and his lips quirk in a small smile.

“I’ll be back soon enough to explain, sweetheart,” he walks over to you, “will you wait here for me? Think I’ll be able to come back faster if I know you’re here waiting for me,”

And you can’t help the small flutter your treacherous heart gives, “The great Satoru Gojo will rush for me?”

“Oh, he would rush day and night if it meant he could come home to you,” and his fingers find your cheek, drawn like a magnet — why was it you could never look away from him? Even in a crowd, your eyes always found his gaze.

And you’d go to him — like a moth to a flame, “I think I’d prefer just Satoru,” you lean into his touch, your hand over his, “I do owe him after all,”

“You do,” he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before he’s pulling away, a smile on his lips, “consider that a deposit.”

You didn’t know what to do with yourself.

Alone in Satoru’s place — you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He had left right after breakfast, and he told you where the TV was, books, and told you could order anything or use anything you needed. But, this place was so him — each place you went, there was just another reminder of him that seemed trail after you, but at the same time, without him, it was like a shell of a place — no soul present.

And you supposed the soul wasn’t present.

You ended up back in the bedroom, crawling back under the covers. Fuck, they even smelled of him — you squeezed your eyes shut.

You really didn’t know what you were doing — did you?

You laid on your back. What were you supposed to make of what happened last night and this morning for that matter? Was this real now? A real relationship with Satoru — you turned over on your stomach, pulling the covers over your head — you could barely imagine it.

And your phone goes off, as you reach for it blindly on the nightstand. But it wasn’t the white haired sorcerer you hoped it was — your eyebrows knit together — at least you didn’t think it was. A text from a number you don’t recognize — and a picture to top it off from the preview.

You nearly deleted it — only to spot a familiar mop of white in the picture.

Your blood runs cold at the sight. Satoru? He was at a restaurant with — a woman? You didn’t recognize her, but his hand held hers, picture taken mid laugh. Your cheeks burn — no, no — there had to be an explanation.

A text now — Want to see what your boyfriend does in his spare time? Is he done using you now?

There’s only one person who’d text like that.

Naoya, how fuck did you even get this picture? You stare at the photo — have you fallen so far in your clan that you have the time to stalk Satoru now?

He replied, it’s not my fault that they are dining in a Zenin owned business.

Another picture — Satoru and her were hugging, his arm around her waist, far too close to be friendly.

You don’t think — you call him. It rings and rings, but no answer — the cut to voicemail makes your heart sink.

Another text — even if you don’t believe me, do you think this will be the last of your problems? When you’re Satoru Gojo, anyone close to you will have a target on their back — if only to use your blood to paint one on his head.

You knew you couldn’t trust this. You knew there was an explanation. You knew Satoru wouldn’t do this to you.

But even still, you wished you could tell your heart that.

“What is this?” Satoru was led to a table at the restaurant the old geezers had chosen — but there were no wrinkly old cranks in sight. Instead, there was a woman.

“Are you Satoru Gojo?” And he raises an eyebrow, hands sliding into his pockets.

“The one and only, now I don’t suppose the old fools of the Gojo clan turned into a woman — so who are you?” She swirls the glass in her hand, before downing the liquid in one go.

“Figures they had to lie to get you here — seems like we’ve been set up,” she gestures to the chair in front of her, “I’m Airi,” and he takes a reluctant seat, “I was told this was a meeting for us to meet for a potential engagement,” and he scoffs, he should have figured it was something like this, “but judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that,”

“I was expecting to meet

I suppose we’re on the same page,”

He tilts his head, “Really?”

“Gojo, you may be a catch, but to me, you’re nothing more than a potential knife to my neck,” she places her glass down, leaning back in her chair, “and plus, I have someone I’m interested in,” and her eyes slide down, “and judging by the bite mark on your neck, you do too,”

He pays it no mind, a laugh leaving his lips at the thought of you waiting for him at his apartment, “I do,” and he sighs, pushing his chair out, before getting to his feet. “and I have to get back to her,”

She follows suit pushing out her own chair, rising, a waiter walking by, and she trips. It’s a reflex, he catches her by the wrist and by the waist, steadying her.

“Sorry,” she pulls away immediately, looking back for the waiter, before biting her tongue, “fucking waiter tripped me,” the two of them glance around, but see no one, “I’ll have to talk to my grandfather’s advisors about this. No one trips the granddaughter of Naobito Zenin,” she mutters, and Satoru’s eyes snap to her.

“You’re a Zenin?” And it clicks, the wedding, “who arranged this meeting?”

She tilts her head, “My father, but he heard about this from my cousin, Naoya—“

He checks his phone — and he sees a missed call from you.

Fuck. It was a set-up — in both ways.

“I have to go,” and he can only hope you wouldn’t do the same to him when he came back.

Satoru calls you, but you don’t pick up. You can’t bring yourself to stare back at the photo he had set as his contact photo — the picture Yuta had taken of him clutching at his phone with your picture on his screen.

You needed to talk to him in person.

And it’s not long before he’s back home — practically teleporting at your feet.

You swear, stumbling and he grabs you, tugging you close, “Got you,” he smiles, tugging off his blindfold for you to see his eyes — the startling blue that you still couldn’t navigate without drowning in its depths, “does that mean I can keep you?” and you want to pull away, you want to run, but you can’t help but melt into his touch, your fingers gently clutching at the front of his shirt.

“That depends on whether I’m the only person you’ve said that to,” and you look up at him, his brow furrowed, “and held like this,”

“The meeting today, it was supposed to be with the elders — I was going to discuss our relationship again but—“ you show him the pictures on your phone, and his brow knit together, “how did you—“ and he doesn’t finish his sentence before he realizes, “it was a set-up,”

“I know,” and relief washes over features for a moment, but your eyes can’t meet his, your lips a thin line.

And he glances at the photo again, seeing the one where he’s holding Airi, “She tripped, sweetheart, trust me—“ his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “I don’t want to hold anyone but you,”

“I know Naoya and the Gojo clan probably set this up,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, “but—” you pull away from him, every step away from him a fissure in the foundation of this bridge built, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,”

And he’s blinking, “Why?”

“I’m not good enough,” you’re shaking your head, stepping back as he steps forward, “I hurt you by leaving, and I was this close to doing it again—”

“But you didn’t—”

“And your clan doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know, I feel even if we’re together,” the words that leave your lips break your heart and his, we’ll only hurt each other in the end,”

“Why do you always push me away when we get close?”

“No I don’t—”

“You don’t think the sorcerer that’s an expert at pushing others away — wouldn’t know if he’s getting pushed away?”

“This isn’t working out,” you cut him off, as the slice cuts through thin air — but it’s not your head that goes rolling — it’s his heart, “we should stop — I think your clan has been convinced,”

He’s silent for a moment, before he replies, “well, I haven’t been convinced,”

You scoff, his hands by his side, as his quiet footsteps approach you, “convinced of what?”

“Convinced that,” he stops in front of you, “you don’t feel the same way I do,” Your breath catches, as his fingers find your cheek, “all these years, sweetheart, and you didn’t know?”

“But,” you can’t process this, it doesn’t make sense, “but Suguru—“

“Was important to me yes,” he murmurs, “but it’s been years, and it doesn’t mean I can’t have deep feelings for someone else — especially when I’ve had them for over a decade,”

“You—“ was this real? As he stood before you, in his living room low lights, sunlight streaming in from his windows, “what?”

He laughs, “Didn’t know it was possible to render you speechless, sweetheart — guess there’s a first time for everything,” he steps over your missteps with the same ease he does everything, “I really do have to spell everything out for you, don’t I?” The back of his fingers ghost over your cheek, “I’m in love with you—“

“No,” you’re shaking your head, and his face falls, “Satoru, we can’t—“

“But—“

“Your clan doesn’t approve of me, they won’t stop trying to break us up, and I could put you in danger,” you murmur, “they could use me against you — just like Suguru did,” you couldn’t bear the thought of that, “and is that worth it? Worth it for something that may not be real?” You ask the question you’re afraid of asking him — of asking yourself — “was it ever real?”

And he’s still trying to reach for you, despite it all — he knows it’s dangerous to be around him, he knows anyone close to him is in danger — and that’s why he was okay when you left. If only you’d be safe — but he knew that if he always played it safe, he would never be happy, “It’s real to me,”

“It’s not to me,” you turn towards the door, “I’m sorry.”

And this time he doesn’t stop you.

It’s for the best.

That’s what you tell yourself. The same thing you say when you’re leaving his place. The same thing you say the next morning you wake up with only a pain in your chest and a dull ache in your head. The same thing when you accept a long mission overseas.

It was for the best.

Then why — then why did you think of him? Each and every day, every minute, every second. But it was for the best. He was safer without you, it was easier without you, it was better — better and yet each day seemed to drag when you couldn’t talk to him. And your notes were filled with unsent texts to him — and your mind was filled with nothing but memories.

And you couldn’t touch memories nor could you talk to them.

Several months later, you’re sitting in a plane, watching the animation of the plane fly back towards Tokyo. You had been checking in with Yaga several times a month, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Satoru.

Or rather, Gojo. Not that you expected to — not after what you did.

And soon enough, you’re arriving home — heading inside your home to find a bunch of your mail had fallen out of your mailbox, knocked out of the rickety box from the storm the night before. You pick up the drenched mail between two fingers that was stuck to the sides of your walls, as you fumble with your keys to open the door. Your suitcase and mail fall to the fall as you close the door behind you, sighing.

Fuck. You were home.

You dragged your suitcase inside, picking up the mail off the floor. You collapsed on your couch, tossing the wet envelopes onto the table — when a name catches your eye.

Gojo?

You pick up an envelope — the frilly envelope doing nothing to protect the contents inside — you barely can make out any of the text, except the faint inked kanji of his name.

You gingerly open the envelope, peeling out the insides — and your heart drops.

Is this an invitation? The faint text was blurred and smudged from the rain — the contents all but faded and you could only make out three things — ““marriage,” today’s date, and bits and pieces of what you thought was an address.

Satoru was…getting married?

It felt like logic had fled your mind and panic took its place — as you looked up the parts of the address that you were able to decipher. And you found it — it was a popular venue not far from here.

You didn’t think — you grabbed your keys and drove.

You couldn’t let him get married, no, no — you had made a mistake when you left. You thought he was better off, you thought it was for the best — but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be when your chest hurt like this — felt as if your heart was splitting in two with a sword stuck between your ribs. It couldn’t be because you pushed him away because you were scared — scared of getting hurt again, scared of hurting him, scared of being with the only person you ever had loved.

Basically, you pulled up to the venue, you were an idiot.

You hadn’t changed, you hadn’t showered off your who knows how long of a flight, and now you were on the steps of a wedding venue that Satoru was getting married at. You froze before the doors.

You couldn’t do this. He didn’t deserve to have his day ruined by you — not when you had ruined enough. If he had found someone else to spend his life with — whether it was arranged or not, he deserved to be happy.

Even if it wasn’t with you.

So you step down — walking off a distance to watch when the couple emerged — which judging by how dark it was and how staff were already almost done setting up — would be any minute now.

So you wait.

And finally when the doors swing open, you steel yourself — knowing it would do nothing, nothing to shield you from the pain of seeing—and your eyes find the groom.

That wasn’t Satoru.

He certainly had the white hair, but he did not have his blue eyes — he had a lovely bride regardless, who looked at him the way you had always looked at Satoru. Was that the look you had hidden away for so many years? And why were you still hiding?

And your eyes find Satoru almost instantly — as fast as his eyes find you seemingly, as your name escapes his lips — as he parts through the crowd to your side. He’s wearing the other suit he had tried on — the white suit that had been your second favorite — his white locks parted and combed to the side, but still impossibly unkempt as they always were.

“You got my invitation?” you blink, tilting your head.

“But you—what?” and his brow furrows.

“Don’t tell me you lost your ability to read and speak while overseas, princess,” and a small chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head, wringing your hands.

“Satoru, the invitation was wet because of the rain, I thought—” your voice wavers, glancing away as your cheeks burn, “I thought you were getting married.”

He raises an eyebrow, lips curling, “And you were about to burst in and object?”

You roll your eyes, but even so you can’t meet his gaze, “Satoru—”

His smile only grows wider, “What were you going to say? A passionate speech about how you’re still—” And you’re tugging him close by the collar, and his breath catches, your name leaving his lips.

“I’m in love with you, Satoru,” your voice is steady as you speak, your hand sliding to his cheek, “I always have been — I was just afraid to admit it, I didn’t want to hurt you — whether it was by my own hand or not,” and his brow furrows, but you continue, “but I’m not scared anymore — because it hurts more to be nothing than something with you—”

And his lips find yours. It’s everything you want — because it's him, he’s everything you’d ever wanted, and everything you’d ever want. You want the way his arm slides around your waist to pull you closer, you want the way his hand cups your cheek, you want the way his lips smile against yours, and you’d want his past, present, and future. And you’d do anything to keep it.

“Promise you’ll never leave like that again?” he murmurs, his arm tightening around your waist as he says the words, his forehead pressed against yours, “I already have abandonment issues,” and you chuckle, your fingers finding his cheek.

“I promise,” you murmur, “I’m sorry I left — both times I left, and there won’t ever be a third,”

And he smiles, “You proposing to me, sweetheart? I’m not one to rush into things, gotta take me out on a proper date first,”

“How about tonight?” you find his lips again, the taste of sugar on his lips — undoubtedly from indulging in a slice or several of wedding cake.

“So soon?” he hums,and his gaze softens, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “someone’s eager,” and your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his, as you would a million times more,

“Well, you don’t know until you try.”

✧ a/n: ahhh another celebration fic done!! this one was lowkey a struggle towards the end so i hope this turned out okay. it's beyond me understanding if it did or not lmao. i hope you guys enjoy ahhh -- gotta probably put up a poll to decide the next celebration fic this weekend :) (it's only because i'm horribly indecisive).

✧ taglist: @yunjinabla, @weluvsza, @yamaguccitadashi, @gojobbg, @soulofoz, @hfdkhjghjkghfj, @forest-fruits-jam, @cerene-dipity, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @reaperxdeath, @octopishisahybridanimal, @hanlay, @whereflowerswenttodie, @tsukimefuku, @numbing3scapism, @arcswonderland, @kirashuu, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @jayathelostdragon, @sunflowmaryam, @satorusmochis, @catsgomurp, @simply-a-s1mp, @kentocalls, @weluvsza, @lucy-xv0202, @mazzd4, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz

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