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beautifullytrvgic · 20 days

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Welcome To The Neighborhood

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: "Playing Dangerous - Lana Del Rey" 0:50 ━━━━●───── 04:57 ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ♡

ღpairing: Toji Fushiguro x AFAB! reader | modern AU

ღwarnings: NSFW!! (minors DNI) , encouragement, praise, pet names, age gap, d!lf Toji, v!rgin Y/N

''Looking at me, then suddenly.. I'm in love, I'm in love, lovin' hurricane''

ღword count: 4.3k

ღ a/n: I DID IT YALL !! First-ever fic and smut DONE! I hate degradation so I made him kinda sweet? hope that's still ok! FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED!! | divider by menschenopfer

𓆸 summary: You decide to visit your new neighbor with a welcome gift and it seems like he caught your eye.. and you his.

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the kitchen countertops as you sighted to yourself, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. You didn't know how many hours you'd spent baking the cheesecake brownies that were in front of you, each square placed perfectly inside a basket with a white handmade bow on it- a nice welcome gift for the new neighbor next door, you mused. It was the morning when you started baking.. which only meant you'd spent pretty much all of your day. Great. Quickly, you walked over to the sink and turned the faucet lever up to wash your hands, which like your apron, had a little bit of flour. As you did so, you checked the clock on the pale yellow wall in front of you. It was exactly 5 PM, the perfect time. You glanced at the window which was near the clock, slightly balancing your body to the side. You could see the house in front of yours with the lights on, meaning the neighbor was home- probably finishing unpacking. Soon after his car, a black Ford, was seen parked on the outside of his home's garage a few days prior, a bunch of whispers started to arise about his arrival- that he was divorced with a kid whom he lost custody to, that he looked scary, that he wasn't the friendliest guy and that no one knew anything about him- he wasn't on the internet, social media, nothing (again, from what you've heard. Not like you've done any research yourself). Well, the only thing that was for certain known about him was his name- Toji. You repeated the name mentally, a note so that you'd remember it and not embarrass yourself.

Despite it all, you were determined to extend a warm welcome nonetheless since at the end of the day, rumors were just rumors and it isn't like he's secretly a serial killer, right? Forcing an enthusiastic smile, you placed your hair up in a messy bun and walked to your bedroom, grabbing the first shoes you could see on the floor before sitting down on the edge of your bed and putting them on. Once you finished, you walked to the kitchen counter and grabbed your keys, placed them inside one of the pockets of your apron, and gently grabbed the basket of brownies. Soon enough, you walked outside and locked the front door.

You made your way to the neighbor's doorstep, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. He'd accept the gift, right? I mean, who wouldn't? As you approached his front door under the archway, you swiped your apron in a swift motion, trying to remove the remains of the flour so that you'd look at least presentable. With a soft knock on the wooden door, your heart raced with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty, waiting for someone to come out. However, there was nothing. Not a single sound. Your eyes, which now carried a confused expression, searched for a doorbell but you rapidly realized there was none. In response, you gently placed your head against the door as you tried to listen for any sign of movement before knocking again, except louder this time. Maybe he wasn't home and forgot to turn the lights off? After a few moments later, however, you heard some heavy footsteps coming closer and closer, making you step back onto the small rug on the stone tiled floor. Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing a man with striking features and piercing eyes. He seemed to be in his mid 30's and was tall- really tall, so you raised your head and glanced at him up and down. He was brawny and had straight black hair, wore a black tank top and some black jeans, seemed a bit sweaty. You realized how long you've been staring in silence when he moved, placing his hands on his hip and giving you a curious look with his dark blue eyes. Oops. You blinked, recalling why you were there in the first place before your eyes trailed downwards, realizing you were still holding the basket of brownies. Right, the brownies!

"Toji?" you asked, offering a tentative smile and your friendliest tone of voice.

The man raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "That's me." He responded in a nonchalant manner before crossing his arms and slightly leaning no the side of the door. "You need somethin’?” Toji stared into your eyes. His voice sounded slightly lyrical yet had a bit of roughness to it. Wasn't really what you expected him to sound like, which caught you a bit off guard.

The truth is, he really didn't expect anyone to visit him or to see a sight like you when he opened the door. A little lady wearing an apron over her dress, a bit covered with flour, wearing a bun, holding a basket? Unexpected, yes. But, I mean, it's not like he was bothered by it. In fact, you could say it was quite the opposite.

You cleared your throat, holding out the basket that was open so that he could see the inside. He peeked inside for some moments before looking at you again, the same stare as before. "I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood," you said, sounding more awkward than confident. At that moment, His gaze slowly softened as he took the basket from your hands, rough and soft fingers meeting with each other only for seconds before they parted, a hint of a smile starting to grow in the corners of his lips where a small scar lay. You had the urge to ask him how he got it, but of course, you refrained from it as you didn't want to sound disrespectful. Despite this though, you really couldn't help but look fixedly at it. Toji wasn't stupid, so he may have noticed. Probably.

''Ah, ain't that thoughtful of you.'' He said, sniffing the inside of the basket before stepping inside his home, extending his arm to motion you to follow him with his fingers. "Come on in," He chimed. And so, that's what you did- followed him into the living room, taking in the ambiance of his home as your eyes looked around. It seemed recently unpacked like you guessed before, and it was spacious; had a modern style to it, low lighting, simple but fancy. All the furniture had a black-and-white color palette, but the lamps placed on the floor and in the open kitchen emitted a warm glow, giving the place a more homey feeling. It was the home you'd expect a rich CEO or a bigshot lawyer to live in. You turned slowly to see the basket placed on his dinner table and Toji staring at you in a way you couldn't quite describe. He was leaning against the kitchen's isle, one of his hands lightly rubbing his hair while the other rested on the edge of the black-marbled surface. As he let out a small chuckle, what was a hint of a smile turned into a full one. "I finished unpacking a few minutes before you came. Looks good, doesn't it?" he asked, though it sounded more like a spoken fact than an actual question. He walked further into the kitchen, turning his back on you as you answered.

"Yeah, it does" you replied honestly, walking to the isle and gently taking one of the 3 white stools and sitting on it. You stared at him as he opened a kitchen cupboard and took some items out, placing them on the counter in front of him. Watching him from behind made you realise how brawny he truly was. The man seemed to take care of his body like a vessel, which was kinda admirable. Before you could continue your trail of thought, he spoke again. "Tea or Coffee? I don't expect to eat all the brownies by myself, y'know." he said in a teasing tone as his head and body turned to look at you. Now you could see the items in front of him- two dark blue cups with a tiny spoon inside on each, a box with white sugar packages and another with sweetner, a container with coffee, and an opened wooden box which had tea packages inside. In response, you smiled at him and leaned to take a better look. "[your choice] is fine" You answered before he walked over to the table, grabbed the basket of brownies and went back to the spot he was standing on to open another cupboard and grab two tiny white plates. A few moments later he turned around fully for you to see that he intended for both of you to sit on his couch- walking over to it with the two plates with brownies. "You can sit wherever you want, I don't mind." he told you as ge walked back to bring the cups. "Oh- yeah, thanks" You stood up and walked to the couch before sitting comfortably on it before he joined you, sitting next to you and placing the cups on the white table in front of you, steam coming from the cups as the drinks were just prepared. He let out a small sigh, his arms resting on the back of the couch. "So, you haven't told me your name yet." He said, the last words sounding more like a tiny chuckle. Your eyes widened, a small awkward "ah" escaping from your mouth. Oops. "Right- sorry! I forgot." you said, gently brushing some hair strands out of your face. "I'm Y/N."

"Y/N.." he repeated in almost a mere murmur, eyes shrinking a little bit and smirk of his disappearing. You weren't sure why, but he seemed to stop for a second, thinking for some moments as if your name was some sort of surreal and magical thing or unreal beauty. His gaze met yours as he spoke again. "You have a pretty name." he said. You felt butterflies rising in your stomach, a smile forming on your lips as you quickly looked to the other side, unable to meet his eyes for some moments. You didn't know if it was because of the way he said it, how he looked like while saying it, or because you never got complimented about it in the first place. But those simple words coming out of his mouth were enough to make you feel like this. "Thank you." you said almost breathlessly. You wondered if he noticed the effect he had on you at that moment, but to your surprise, it seemed like he didn't.

Both of you started to talk about each other, and you told him a little bit about you- how you recently moved away from your parent's constant grip on you, how you were attending university and finally free. You talked and talked about your special interests, hobbies, favorite movies, and tv shows, and whenever you would start wondering if you were annoying him, he let you know that he was in the moment, he was listening and he cared- all with his gaze and subtle movement of his head as if telling you to "keep going, don't stop, I'm invested. I care." He also told you about himself- turned out the rumors were right on the divorce and kid situation. He separated from his ex-wife a few months before and had lost custody of his only son, Megumi, after she tried so hard to make Toji look bad and won. All he could do was see his son every once in a while with supervised visits. He didn't have any other family apart from him, but he was coping- moved to the town you lived in and decided to start again. You told him how bad you felt for him, that you'd be there if he ever needed anyone to talk to, and he appreciated it.

You quickly switched the topic, trying to lighten the mood in the room. As both of you kept talking, you started to notice some things- the way he had this.. interesting demeanor around him, the way he paid complete attention and focus when you spoke and maintained eye contact, the way he spoke so smoothly yet carried this rasp with it. You didn't want to look like a creep, but he was just.. different. He seemed different. Of course, you didn't want him to notice the way you were starting to look at him, the way your eyes sometimes trailed off to his lips, how you sometimes found yourself playing with your nails nervously. Every time you liked someone, it always ended up in you having a broken heart. You never dated anybody, never kissed, never held hands. All of that was just a dream- something you'd read in a romance book or watched on the TV. Every single guy didn't seem to like something about you, there was always something that prevented them from seeing you in another light. "You're too chubby" "You're not my type" "I'm not interested in dating right now".. always alone, always the ugly friend or the comedic relief but never the pretty one. Besides, throwing yourself to a recently divorced man, an older man who had a kid, wasn't the most morally correct thing to do. You weren't that desperate, that low, that- "Hi, what."

A voice suddenly interrupted you. Toji's voice. He was staring at you, arms crossed. He was trying to figure you out, trying to understand the expression you had on your face, what were you thinking about for so long that you didn't realize you'd been staring directly into his eyes with an almost dreamy look for the past 15 minutes. "Hm?" you asked, blinking as if you'd just woken up from a long dream, staring confused. Shit shit shit. "Stop looking at me like that." He said with a tone that was so monotone it was hard to read. Was he angry? Puzzled? Happy? You didn't know. Your eyes widened, fingers fidgeting with each other as you attempted to act natural, to make him think it was all in his imagination. Yeah, that would work. "Like wwhat?" You asked with a kind smile, maintaining eye contact to show confidence, though you stammered in the middle. He sighed and looked at you up and down so quickly you didn't even notice he did. "Like that, like you're waitin' for something." He continued, making a motion with his head towards you as if stating the obvious- which pretty much was with the way you were acting. "Keep looking at me like that and see where that gets you."

You didn't move, you didn't stop looking at him. You probably looked so pathetic right now, so strange- but you didn't know how to respond, lips parting as if wanting to say something, to tell him he was being delusional, but that would be a lie. Instead, only a short breath came out, no words. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, shaking his head a little as he stared to the side, placing a hand over his eyes. Fuck, you angered him, didn't you? He probably wouldn't speak to you ever again. He was probably thinking about you immature you were, how desperate, how much of a creep you were. "C'mere." Those were the last words you heard before his lips crashed into yours, bodies coming together and becoming one on that couch, one of his strong hands cradling the back of your head while the other brought you closer to him by pulling on your cute little apron, sitting you on his lap as if you weighted like a feather. You didn't squirm away, nor did you want to as you felt his lips travel to your neck and give it soft pecks. You almost felt hypnotized, in a lucid dream except for the sole fact that this was real, this was happening. Both of you forgot about the brownies. "Shit- you really want this?" He asked, lips leaving your neck as he stared at you. He was serious, asking you for permission before going any further as he held you. You nodded, bringing your lips to his and giving him a kiss. "Yes." And so, that was all he needed to hear.

You didn't exactly remember how you ended up sitting on the edge of the marbled kitchen isle, back arched and eyes shut close while you felt his lips and tongue explore your body and what felt like your soul, giving your neck, collarbone, arms, hands and then legs tiny little kisses and then bites and licks that made you part your lips and sigh as he moved lower and lower in a way that was so, oh, so painfully slow. In a swift motion, he lifted your dress and removed your white panties as he stood in front of you. You heard him say something, but he spoke in a whisper so you couldn't quite catch what he said. He placed the panties next to you and stared at you, breath hitching as if he'd just seen the most beautiful thing on earth. His arms held you on your hips, giving them a small squeeze. "Spread those legs for me." He ordered in a tone that was gentle yet firm. And of course, that's exactly what you did, spread them a little as your legs started to shake with a mix of nervousness and excitement, not knowing what would happen next. He seemed to notice because his eyes trailed down before meeting your eyes again. "Relax, let me take care of you." You felt like a cat got your tongue, so all you could do was nod before he kissed your legs, then your inner thighs, and then your cunt, giving it all his attention as he kissed and then You suddenly tensed in response to the unusual feeling, a soft gasp escaping your mouth. It felt so strange yet so good, an uncontrollable feeling of warmth and pleasure you couldn't quite put a name to. However, that stopped as he moved away to look at you. "You're so tense.." He said, voice trailing off and eyes looking to the side before they widened with a hint of realization. "You've done this before, right?" He asked, tone dead serious as he waited for an answer, mouth getting farther from your body yet his hands still holding you.

You quickly opened your eyes widely and you cursed yourself out in your mind. You should have told him you're a virgin the moment he started kissing you, but you didn't. You opened your mouth to speak, but you couldn't. He seemed to understand your point because he took a step behind and brushed his hair back "Fuck, I should have asked before I.." he sighed, shaking his head as he turned around. You sat up, closing your legs. "But I want to, I told you" you started, but he raised a hand before making a 'no' motion with one of his fingers, turning to stare at you. "Look, girls your age should be with boys their age. And besides, haven't your parents or friends told you your first time should be special and all of tha-" you suddenly cut him off, voice as firm as his. "boys my age don't look at me. And this is special to me." You said, crossing your arms. You didn't flinch when saying this, you truly meant every single word. He made a 'tch' sound and just stared at you for some moments, thinking. "Please?" You asked, naturally making a tiny little pout as you waited for his response. That seemed to convince him because as soon as you said that, he moved closer to you and used his hands to spread your legs before gently pushing you so that your back lay against the surface, him now standing between your legs. You gave him a silent thank you, and he kissed your inner thigh as a 'your welcome'. "Still, if you really want to do this, we're gonna have to do this a little differently." He whispered, taking a deep breath against your cunt, making your breath hitch. You gave him a small nod, and he started to slowly lick you again. Your hands found his hair, which you grabbed as you felt the unusual feeling of pleasure start to rise, eyes closing and lips parting with nothing but a breathless moan coming out of you. It felt so good, his tongue parting your folds and finding your sensitive clit as you wanted to close your legs but couldn't as he had a firm grip on them. ''ah- Toji..'' you moaned as he sucked and kissed, sucked and kissed and repeated while you squirmed beneath him, because of him. To say the view wasn't pretty would be the biggest lie he could ever tell- he was falling for you, he thought you were beautiful and the fact he was the one that was taking away your innocence.. he didn't want to admit how much that turned him on. He wanted you to feel pretty, to see yourself the way he was seeing you, to understand how fucking adorable you were. And so, with each lick, he gave you silent praises- that you were gorgeous, that you were doing so good for him. And he meant every word. He really did. ''I'm gonna put a finger inside, yeah?'' he whispered, almost out of breath as his hand moved to your clit, softly tapping on it before it moved to your pretty little hole. You gave him a quick yes, and slowly and carefully, his finger entered you. You made a small gasp both out of the sudden pain and pleasure, a reaction that was expected considering this was your first time. ''You alright?'' he asked you. He wanted you to be comfortable, he wanted to limit your pain as much he could. ''Yeah..yeah i'm okay.'' you replied. You wanted him to continue, and that's exactly what he did.

As his finger slid in and out of you slowly but starting to pick up a pace, you started to feel a burning heat inside, a rising pleasure so sharp your squirming grew and your moans became louder. You opened your mouth to speak, but only moans came out. Of course, he knew what that meant. And so, he started going faster, becoming more aggressive. Your legs were shaking, trying to close themselves when they couldn't, Toji's free hand caressing them as he kept going and going. And then- it happened. You felt free, released- as if the weight you had in your belly, the pressure, was leaving you. It felt so otherworldly, nothing compared to the feeling. Your breath quickened, toes curling and mouth opened as breathless moans escaped your lips. You simply weren't in control of your body anymore, or at least it felt like it. Toji watched your reactions as he grabbed one of your hands and kissed your knuckles softly, content with the fact he was the one making you react this way, making you feel pleasure like this for the first time ever. ''There you go, dove.'' he whispered as you calmed down, caressing your hand as a smirk started to form on his lips. ''That's a good girl.'' A smile immediately appeared on your lips, the heat on your body increasing even more as you heard his words. He had a way of speaking that he for sure knew what he was doing, and he wasn't shy about it. You liked that. You liked him, and in this moment, you could even say you loved him- though..that would probably be a bit too soon. He looked at you for some moments, simply admiring you. You looked beautiful- legs spread out, skin a bit red with the blush that had appeared, your cute dress up to your stomach. Truly divine.

A few moments later, you heard the noise of hands unbuckling a belt, his belt, dropping it to the floor and opening a plastic wrapper before taking off his boxers. He gently grabbed your legs, placed them comfortably over his shoulder as he gave them kisses. You knew what was about to happen, or at least thought you did, and you were ready. You were ready for him, willing to give your own soul for him at this point. He moved close to you until his lips were next to your ear so you could listen to him warn what he was about to do. Last chance, he said, before it was too late. You didn't move. You wanted him. And so, as careful and slow as he could, he slid his cock inside of you. He grunted as you tightened around him, and you moaned out his name, trying not to shout at that exact moment. He was big- huge even compared to you, but it felt fucking amazing, for both of you. Toji had to control every inch of his being not to fuck you restlessly right there, not to mark you so much that no man would ever dare to touch you, just him. You could say that, in that moment, he loved you. He started moving, sliding in an out of you as he took your virginity and claimed your body and soul. You were his, and he was yours. He groaned, moaning your name and like before, praising you. ''Look at me'' he ordered as he started to pick up his pace, gently using his thumb to lift your chin up. He wanted to see every reaction you made. ''There you go, you're taking me so well, hm?'' he praised between movement. As you started to feel the now familiar heat inside your tummy, you closed your eyes shut. ''Toji.. I..'' he started fucking you faster, kissing your cheek in response ''I know, m'too.'' he grunted. You almost clawed on his hand as you grabbed it tightly- you were so, so close. He kept going, in and out, in and out, in and out and repeat until both of you saw stars, until both of you collapsed together as one, as if you were no longer you- but Toji was you and you were Toji. And so, both of you had become one.

#toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji x you #fushiguro toji #jujutsu kaisen #toji fushigro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #jjk smut

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waddlewaddlewaddlewaddle · 3 months

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ᵤₙfₒᵣₜᵤₙₐₜₑₗy ₛₘᵢₜₜₑₙ ₍ₘₐfᵢₐ bₒₛₛ! Gₒⱼₒ ₓ ᵣₑₐdₑᵣ₎

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Summary: Life leads you to treacherous roads after deciding to enter the dangerous life you knew well not to follow.Having gojo by your side inviting you deeper and deeper into all that’s wrong in the world, inciting you to be selfish and carefree wasn’t supposed to be to your liking, so why do you shiver with adrenaline every time he decides to be the devil on your shoulder?

Contents: Mafia boss gojo x secretary reader.(civilian au ig)

-Secret crush Gojo!

-Yandere Gojo

-Physical altercation I guess.

-angst.

Gojo being an egocentric bitch! Wealthy gojo! X no nonsense reader.

Warnings: trigger warning if you’re not interested in anything mafia like drugs or violence related. The narration of this story is inspired by Latin and Asian mafia.

Wc:3k

🏷:@busyreader17 @starlight5cat @xavlyzn (I love y’all for tuning in I appreciate your comments🫶🏻🫶🏻)

Chapter 3

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Some dew drops are seen sliding down the windows of a custom Gulf Stream jet ;due to the rain as it lands on a clandestine pathway in the city of Shanghai, China.

As the wheels below the jet deploy you feel a soft warm hand tap you on shoulder waking you up out of your slumber, as you feel the jet tremble due to the landing;you gasp yourself awake due to the strange circumstances of your awakening.

-“Good morning Miss, I hope your flight with us has been lovely. I’ll leave you a cup of coffee ,a bottle of water and some ibuprofen in the case that you require them. Mr Gojo and Mr Geto are waiting for you outside the jet so you can all head to Báisè de huā villa. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll be taking my leave.-“ Said the flight attendant before taking a bow then leaving.

You wink your eyes in hopes that I’ll help you understand what the fuck she just said,since you slept too little, you were still a bit drunk from all the whiskey from a few hours ago. You popped an ibuprofen then exited the master bedroom which you don’t remember getting into. You notice that your top is now lingering a scent of a mens cologne, but you shrug the thought off and conclude that the alcohol is just messing up your senses.

As you strut through cabin corridor,you quickly spot the jet door.Which leads you to an unknown country full of posibilites or new found problems. You tip tap down the jet stairs in hopes of finding warmth in one of the 5 Ford Everest parked by the path way, but you soon notice that in front of you is your boss and his god mother standing proudly before 2 lines of 20 men , 10 on each side forming a hallway to the vehicles while respectfully bowing down to them. Out of instinct you decide to take a step back to process the power demonstration being held before your boss, you knew he was a shady man but you’ve also never thought of him like anything else but a coworker; as you take a step back you also realize you’ve stepped out barefoot and now you have an un pleasantly wet foot.

-“Fuck.”- You comment making heads turn your way as you practically announce your arrival, as their workers noticed you ;one of them ran over to you to place and umbrella over your head.

As your presence is known; Gojo swiftly turns around and looks at you with slight amusement sparking his blue orbs.

-“How shameful,I should fire you.”-He recites while walking over to you, while making some weird hand gestures tu one of his men.

-“Be my guest.”- you reply as you gather your hair up in a pony tail to look more presentable.-”Lovely weather isn’t it?”-You comment as you rub your feet together trying to fend off the cold.

He scoffs strolling over to you ,knowing he wouldn’t fire you in his wildest dreams, a few seconds after ;the assistant whom he was signing to handed him a box. He then proceeded to crouch his tall figure to the ground , it looked as if he was bowing down to you, then he took some slippers out of the box to then grab an ankle delicately to slip then on. As of you weren’t already nervous due to this unexpected action,the look of his men piercing you made you anxious.

-“I can put them on myself you know. Stand up you’ll get your suit dirty.”-You mumbled squatting down to take the slippers from his hands.

-“Don’t tell me what to do.”-He expressed looking you dead in the eyes as he snatched back the fluffy slipper from your hand putting them back on your other foot.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

3 figures could be seen sitting down in the main dining room of the Báisè de huā villa, it is currently 2 pm and all of you just woke up from a few hours of sleep after you guys arrived from the landing site.

You were now in an impromptu business meeting as your boss explained to you your obligations as his secretary while on this very important work trip.You timidly smiled as you see how the passion for his work ( truthfully power hunger) sparked a passion in his eyes ,as he explained to you how he wanted to add Chinese territories to his reign; starting with Shanghai.

Todays meeting was very important ,here he would be meeting with a very noteworthy drug supplier that worked with very few clients due to the quality of its goods and mainly to avoid getting dragged in between gang wars, the goal for today is to be accepted to the client list and negotiate prices.

You were perfect for the job

He knew that from the moment that Geto and he started stalking you, after seeing how you built wonderful companies from zero, that you were the only one capable of fulfilling their expectations. Yes, you were young, and many people may associate that with immaturity, but your age only highlighted your strategic thinking and endless energy.

You started to supervise some work your underclass men sent you to Japan when you noticed a clothed reflection on your computer screen.

-“Do I bore you?”-The deep familiar voice questioned.

-“Sometimes.”-You snapped back in annoyance due to his stupid questions.

He frowned from your unexpected reply , your tone making him a little sad. He knew you were a woman of firm character,a quality he admired about you ,so he started to worry of what would happen if you found out about what him and geto did.

-“Are you being sincere?”-Gojo asked in a more serious tone.

-“Dead serious.”-You reply as you smile from ear to ear at his “playful” questioning.

As soon as he realized you were playing ,the stress left his shoulders , he sighed and cackled at himself due to his behavior. He barely recognized himself, the guilt is eating him alive, he needed to makeup for it fast.

-“Want to go shopping?”

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The busy Nanjing road if full of locals and tourist.The infrastructure of the shopping districts is breathtaking , the afternoon sunset is reflecting beautifully on the buildings decorated by big led screens and beautiful compositions of glass.

In the big sum of people, Gojo and you found peace due to the fact that, to the naked eye, you were no different from any tourist. Your boss stayed close to you as he scanned the environment with his icy blue eyes; he hid his hands in his cashmere pockets as he looked down on you.

-“I have a surprise, c’mon, follow me, princess.” - Your heart skipped a beat as you heard those sweet words come out of his pink lips. For some reason unknown to you, your boss only let out those teasing words in front of you. You decided not to think much of it since you knew he had his fair share of good-looking girls behind him. You knew your place, his secretary, nothing more.

His calloused, cold hand grabbed yours as he calmly walked through the crowd; he looked ahead so calmly. You felt embarrassed for thinking anything of his nonchalant attitude. But to him, oh man. His heart was running a thousand miles per hour; the only thing he could do to hide his blushing cheeks is to look ahead. Your hand felt so warm, so soft, so small against his; that only led him to wonder what the rest of you feels like. For a woman with such a small frame, you surely had too much attitude. He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t fantasize about all the ways he could tame that cheeky attitude of yours. In the end, that white-haired man decided it was better for him to stop such wild thoughts before he started having issues controlling his breathing.

When both of you arrived at the store, the sales assistant immediately recognized the tall man beside you and promptly led you to a private room. It seemed to be a private dressing room; it was composed of a luxurious cream sofa, a extravagant white wood table, and what seemed to be another small room to dress in. On top of the table was a black suede box with a red bow that screamed open me!

You look over to the grinning figure beside you for permission, and as soon as he gives you the green light, you scramble to open the mystery box, which reveals a beautiful turquoise Qi pao with tiny white flowers detailing the side of your hip. The cloth ended at mid-knee and seemed like silk; it glided beautifully under your fingertips, and the stitching was impeccable. Once the sales assistant noticed you were satisfied with the dress, she took her leave.

-“You shouldn’t have.”-You gasped.

-“Oh, but I did.”-He sweet-talked as he started getting closer to your face.-”How about you model that piece for me as a thank you.”

-“Model for you?”-you giggled.-“I’d rather pay credit.”- You say as you searched your purse.

-“Fuck.”- He mumbles under his breath as he drags one hand on his face.-“I’m starting to think you get a high from contradicting me, when will you stop playing dumb, my dear.”-he taps your forehead with his index finger as he mutters this sentence.

You grab his hand, catching him off guard.

-“I don’t know if fooling around with me is your source of entertainment for today, but please consider that it’s not normal for a man such as yourself to grab my hand and plan surprises for me and take me to foreign countries. I’m aware it’s all for business reasons, so I beg you to keep this as strictly professional as possible.”

With a swift movement; your hand still in his, he turns you around to face the mirror as he positions himself behind you, towering over you as he hugs you with the arm you're both holding hands with. You gulp at the sight of his broad shoulders contrasting your own back, at the way you're engulfing yourself with his aroma, sweating at the way he dared to rest his head on your other shoulder just to whisper…

-“What if it wasn’t for business, what if the absolute truth was that you drive me crazy.”-He groaned as he looked intently at your cute expressions through the mirror.-“The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you make me want to have some damn morals just so I can have the right to talk to someone like you.”

You shake your head as you refuse to accept the reality of the situation you're in.

-“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Gojo.”

He bit his tongue in anger and frustration; all he could do is tighten his jaw in hopes he wouldn’t say anything stupid.

-“Good, cause all that’s not the fucking case.”-He left the room after spitting that out in resentment at the way you turned down his feelings as he was a beggar. He knew it; he’s a fucking idiot for ever having hope; all he’s done on this trip is embarrass himself in front of you. Having to swallow his feelings these 2 years drove him to insanity; all he wanted was to include you in his life’s plans, why couldn’t you accept that?

Oh, he clearly knew why.

It’s because you deserve better.

You deserve a Prince Charming who will offer you peace and warmth, someone who works a 9-5, someone who has a family life to offer you, probably someone who doesn’t have to carry a gun in his waistband to protect himself from all the bad things he’s done in the past, someone not crazy enough to kill for you or even better someone who’s not masochistic enough to live with the burden of his unrequited sentiments towards you.

But in the end, he knew he was selfish; that’s how he got to where he is today. He knew damn well you deserved better, so why did he still have the irresistible urge to steal you away, to drown you in his feelings to the point where you couldn’t deny them.

He laughed, no cackled at himself outside of your dressing room; you had no idea what you had coming.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Three champagne glasses clicked in celebration of a newfound business project. Tonight’s meeting has been a success, even though you’ve been burning your brain cells trying to decipher what the hell happened at the boutique this afternoon. You were clearly distracted but not to the point you forgot why you were here in the first place.

You sat back into your seat, participating in idle chit-chat with the supplier. Meanwhile, your tight turquoise Qi pao emphasized your waist, the slit by your thigh earning some stolen glances from your boss as he still acted indifferent towards you after today's spectacle.

Geto could already smell what was happening between you two, but in reality, he didn’t care one bit to even ask about it. So all he could do was stand by the door, keeping watch for any potential danger.

The meeting concluded wonderfully, so you said your goodbyes to the supplier to excuse yourself to the bathroom, allowing yourself to think straight for a few minutes before returning to your chaotic reality.

As you finished washing your hands, you touched your nape with your cold hands with the hopes of cooling down your body heat. After fanning yourself a few times, you exited the bathroom.

But to your surprise, you found a familiar face in the hallway.

-“Miss! You’re Gojo’s secretary right?”-The supplier asked, waving his hands at you to come over.

-“Yes, sir, can I help you with anything?”-You answered with a grin.

-“If you’re so very kind, I’d like to know what kind of jet you both traveled here in, because I’d also like one that can hold as much cocaine as yours do.”

You chuckled at the poor guy in front of you, too drunk out of his mind to comprehend what he’s saying.

-“Sir, we didn’t bring any cocaine; the only thing the plane carried were the three people that were in the room with you.”-You smiled as you explained the situation to him.

-“Don’t try to act sly with me, young woman! Your boss just told me that he secretly brought over 400 kilos in that jet of his; he brought them to sell over here while I released some of my product to him.”

As he uttered that sentence, your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach. This morning you were used as a drug mule, and you didn’t even notice it.

You truly thought he would respect your boundaries.

How foolish.

You start to tremble as you start to imagine what could have been if the navy or the immigration officers wanted to inspect the plane and found the three of you with all those drugs in it.

You run back to the bathroom feeling sick, thinking that by slim chance your hard-worked career was almost over. No, your precious life was over if they decided to try you for drug possession in a country as strict as China, all because of his stupid greed.

You dried your sweat as you quickly mapped out an exit back to Japan without your two business partners finding out about you knowing their dirty little secret. Now you knew you couldn’t trust them; it was idiotic of you in the first place to do so.

You quickly ran to the entrance unbeknownst to the fact that Geto was trailing after you since the moment you left the dining room. Sure, he could have prevented the supplier from telling the truth, but that would’ve been even more suspicious in your eyes, so he finally had to let the truth break free.

You signaled over one of the cars that Gojo put at your service; all you hoped for was to get your passport back from the villa and take the first flight back to your home country and maybe even treat yourself to a little crying session in the taxi.

But the moment your hand met the car door handle, a cold force pulled you back by your free hand.

-“Please, baby, let me explain.”-Gojo stated out as he felt his heart rip to shreds due to the liquid pearls forming in your eyes.-“You weren’t supposed to know; I knew we weren’t gonna get caught, so I didn’t want you to know since I knew you’d get nerv-“

A smack was heard echoing the Shanghai streets as Gojo held his red cheek after his sentenced was slapped into the air since you decided to give him a taste of what a liar like him deserved.

-“I fucking hate you!”-you yelled out while pointing a finger at him while wiping your tears with the back of your other hand.-“ I wish I never met any of you motherfuckers!”-You said as you pointed to Geto and his crew.

What surprises all of them next was your ability to get lost in the busy Shanghai streets after crossing a simple street.

Gojo didn’t hesitate to chase after you into unknown territory wishing he could turn time back, unbeknownst to himself that some threatening enemies were watching close by.

*　　　　✦　　　. *　　　　✦　　　. *　　　　✦

A/n: Holy fucking shit man , i hope you all enjoyed the chapter and I hope sacrificing my spine for the time I edited this in one sitting is worth it. Any suggestions or comments let me know!! Have a good day 🥸🫶🏻💋

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kiwi-rebel-57-06 · 6 months

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Kiwi Rebel. '32 Ford 5 Window Coupe.

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myosotisa · 10 months

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Like Real People Do - e.m.

Part 1/2 - Why were you digging?

ǁ summary: 30 days into your stay at the Betty Ford Center for Rehabilitation, Eddie Munson gets brought in against his will. While in the middle of trying to figure out your own issues, you find yourself being followed around by a detoxing rockstar who won't take a hint and get lost.

ǁ tags: angst, hurt/comfort, heavy themes. depictions of inpatient rehab in the 90s. implied fem!Reader, no pronouns used, no y/n. strangers to reluctant acquaintances to lovers.

ǁ content warning: both parts will contain mentions of drug use, struggling with addiction, self worth, society's view on drug users, grief, and death by drug overdose. brief mention of domestic violence and drug assisted disordered eating. please consume thoughtfully and if you have any questions before reading, feel free to message me.

ǁ word count: 7k

ǁ Part 2 ǁ Read on AO3 ǁ

The lock on your door clunks open at exactly 8am every morning. A glaring alarm that your new day is about to start whether you want it to or not.

At 8:15, one of the workers on staff is barely knocking before pushing in to make sure you and your roommate will be ready for breakfast at 8:30 sharp.

At 8:30, you’re standing in line with everyone else to get your morning meds. Amoxaphine for depression. Atenolol for high blood pressure. Methadone for opioid withdrawal. Acamprosate for alcohol withdrawal.

A little paper cup of water to wash them all down, your mouth presented to prove you did actually swallow them, and then a verbal pat on the back before sending you over to the breakfast line.

A styrofoam plate of scrambled eggs and toast with jam on a plastic tray, balanced carefully with a cup of whatever juice they decided to buy this week. Carefully set down on one of the small tables by the window where you’ll sit and eat alone – appreciating the quiet and serenity for the few moments a day you get it before you’re shoved off to the next task.

The same thing for the past 28 days since you were deposited in the Betty Ford Center. You’d gone from euphoric, cold, and totally out of it to anxious, shaky, unable to sleep, and just fucking miserable. And while some days were getting easier and others seemed more difficult than ever, at least you had gotten into the routine of inpatient rehab. At least you knew to expect the same thing everyday. At least you were prepared to deal with what the external world threw at you.

Until you weren’t.

The moment the doors to the main hall are thrown open – impacting the opposing walls with a slam – you get an overwhelming feeling that something is about to change. Something big.

“Hey fucker! Hey! Get your meat hands off me, lughead.”

Most of the heads in the room turn toward the source of the yelling, a parade of 5 coming through the double doors. Two you know, the medical director Mr. Ford and one of the doctors Dr. Lincoln. They both look annoyed and uncomfortable as they walk ahead of a set of 3 men.

Flanked on either side by a buff orderly, getting borderline dragged across the floor, is a man you’ve never seen. His long, messy waves whip wildly around his head as he lets out expletives and pulls against the sharp hold on his biceps. His voice is ragged and slurred as he makes nonsensical arguments towards the two men leading him away. He’s in regular clothes – outside clothes – with torn jeans and metal chains hanging off his hips, ripped sleeves showing off his tattooed arms, and large rings on every finger.

Someone new?

Having gotten their eyeful, half the room goes back to pushing around their breakfasts with plastic cutlery while the other half continues to watch with amusement. A new person only comes through every 15 days or so, and this was only the second since you’d arrived. The first one, a meek boy named Thomas, had been admitted so quietly that he all of the sudden appeared one day in group, already through the worst of the detox, before you had ever even heard of him.

It makes you wonder if more inpatient admissions are like that or like this.

You wish you could remember yours.

In a whirl of movement, the man rips his arms free and flies backwards with a stumble. Had he been more coordinated, and probably more sober, than he is, he might have made a decent break for it. As he is, he’s barely able to turn toward the doors they came through before the men are grabbing him again from behind, hooking their arms around his to now actually drag him down the hallway toward the hospital wing.

The heels of his black boots drag against the beige tile floor as he slumps in their grip, eyelids fluttering slightly before he manages to bring back enough energy to yell another, “Fuck you!” at his captors.

Just before they disappear behind another set of locked down double doors, the two of you make eye contact. From this distance, you can still see how bloodshot his eyes are – deep brown ringed by red toned white. They are steadily falling closed with each blink as he most likely loses the fight against some kind of sedative. But somehow, with what must be the last moments of consciousness he has left, he sees you watching him. The corner of his mouth tilts up in a lazy smirk. And he winks.

The motherfucker winks at you right as his head lulls to the side before falling forward and the group of 5 disappears.

Something new indeed.

You don’t see the stranger again until 6 days later.

New admissions normally spend anywhere from 3 days to a week and a half in the hospital wing after arriving. IV fluids, heavy meds, and a more prepared medical staff to deal with the worst of the detox period. Depending on what you were on, how recently you took it compared to when you arrived, and the length of your addiction makes a huge difference in how much time you spend there before being sent back to the rest of the floor.

4 days is average, which is the amount of time you spent in the hospital wing before being put into room 102 with Melissa Redding. Teen beauty queen of the Betty Ford Center who got hooked on meth after a consultant for the pageant used it to help her lose weight.

The center had a neat little tradition of having your roommate show you around on the first day. For you, that had meant busy bee Melissa whispering in your ear in and outs of who was who and all of the drama entailed even though you didn’t care in the slightest. That continued through the rest of the day as she showed you around the main hall, gave you a tour of the garden during your mandated 1 hour of outside time, and into the Therapy House.

While she had initially been excited to have a roommate, she very quickly learned you would not be the entertainment she wanted. So she went back to gossiping with Kathy the housewife, who was in for a bad habit of using too much Adderall to get through the day with her kids. Leaving you to your own devices.

It was better that way.

You’re already in your seat by the window with breakfast by the time the stranger stumbles in after Howard, the gruff old man whose family sent him here for drinking too much (drinks the same amount as any other man his age, but who are you to judge?). He gets right into the med line, now half diminished due to their late arrival, and doesn’t seem to pay any attention to the stranger as he wanders away.

Guess he decided that wasn’t his job.

Tall, dark, and lanky looks like he’s been through the ringer. Skin pallor and clammy, hair pulled into a bird’s nest of a bun on the back of his head with the top and bangs matted flat with what you assume is sweat, hands fussing in front of him like if he doesn’t move as many muscles as possible at once he’ll explode. There are deep purple bags under his wide eyes as he approaches one of the other windows in the space, 30 feet away from where you’re sitting.

He looks over the frame like he’s trying to find a way out, coming back with nothing before heading to the next window, closer to you. His appearance and behavior make you think of a wet rat trying to claw its way up the side of a bathtub – unable to grip onto anything and getting sent back down into the water again every time he tries to climb.

Hoping not to catch his attention, you direct your gaze down, focusing back on your under salted eggs and grape jam. Between the lack of seasoning and the juice of the week being some kind of weird pineapple mix, you’re left wanting even more so than usual over your bare bones breakfast.

Despite your half assed attempt to be invisible, the single chair across from you at your table is pulled out, flipped around, and then settled into by the stranger. In your shock, you look up at him before you can second guess the reaction.

“I saw you, I remember,” his voice is deeper than you thought, raspy at the edges with exhaustion and hardship. His gaze flicks rapidly from the table, your food, your face, the rest of the room, his hands. Everywhere at once it seems. “The day they brought me in.”

“Yup,” you confirm with an awkward nod of acknowledgement before looking back at your food.

Please leave, please leave, please leave.

“I’m Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

Looking back up at him, he has a bit more life in his face. Something that looks a little bit like hope.

“Okay.”

His face falls.

“You… Doesn’t ring any bells? Eddie Munson, guitarist, Corroded Coffin, biggest rock-metal band of the 90s?” The longer he goes, his wet eyes widen, making him look like a pleading animal looking for food scraps. When you show absolutely no recognition for anything he’s saying, he brings his hands together, fingers moving to twist at rings that no longer sit there. When he doesn’t find them, his leg starts to bounce under the table and his palms start tapping on the top of the chair at his chest.

“If you’re looking for celebrity worship, I’m sure Melissa or Kathy would be happy to provide.” You inform him, hoping he will lose interest and go searching for them to give him the attention he seems to be looking for. You go back to spreading jam on your slightly burnt toast.

He doesn’t take the bait. “How, uh, how long have you been here?”

Taking a long inhale through your nose and out through your mouth, you set your plastic knife back down. “A month.”

His hisses out air through his teeth, eyes searching over the rest of the room, like he’s waiting for something bad to happen. “How long do people normally stay locked up in here?”

Ah.

“I dunno. A couple months? I’m not exactly some kind of authority here. You should go ask–”

“Has anyone ever broken out?”

Though you’re not sure why you’re surprised, you still struggle with the question. He makes eye contact with you again and the look in his eye is different now. Smaller.

He’s scared.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

He scoffs, using his hand at his chin to crack his neck in either direction, looking unsatisfied with your answer. “Come on, like nobody has ever tried to get out? You’ve never tried?”

A weight presses down on your chest. “No, I haven’t.”

“Yeah right, I’m sure that there’s some–”

“Mr. Munson!”

An orderly stalks toward the table, looking crabby and annoyed this early in the day. Eddie looks about ready to bolt after their bark but somehow remains seated until they arrive. “I’m sure Howard didn’t inform you, but first thing in the morning you’re supposed to come up to the nurse window to receive your medication.” They present their arm back to where the now empty med line stands, everyone else settled into seats with their breakfasts. “After you’ve taken your medication, you can grab some breakfast and…” They make eye contact with you that you’re quick to avoid. “Converse with whoever you want.”

“See, your mistake was that I don’t need any medication, so I don’t need to wait in line.” His voice is slowly raising in volume, drawing more and more attention as he goes. “In fact, I’m not even supposed to be here!”

“Mr. Munson, please lower your voice, you’ll disturb the other residents.”

“Fuck the other residents,” he slams his palms down on your table, almost knocking off your plastic cup of juice when it rocks and you jolt back from the show of aggression. All eyes in the room are on him now, and by extension, you. Other residents, other orderlies, nurses, the kitchen staff.

Too many eyes.

While the attention makes you want to crawl into a hole and die, it seems to please Eddie. He pushes up off of his chair and makes a show of arguing with the annoyed orderly all the way over to the nurse’s station. All eyes in the room follow him and his suddenly animated features, looking like he has gained 10x more energy than when he walked in. You use the distraction to your advantage.

By the time Eddie has had medication forced down his throat, a plate of shitty eggs deposited in his hands, and he turns around to look at your table again, you’re nowhere to be found.

He finds you again in the garden before group therapy.

You’re tucked away in a painted white, wrought iron chair that’s bolted to the ground next to a tall shrub. It’s still in the gated off outdoor area, but mostly hidden from view. The orderlies know to find you there if they need you because that’s where you always are – sitting on that single chair in the sunshine with a paperback book on your lap. Today it’s Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch.

When a body blocks the sun over your book, your first assumption is that it’s an orderly coming to tell you it’s time to head to Therapy House. But it seems too early for that, and you’re normally a pretty good judge of time (at least, in here), so when an unfamiliar voice clears its throat in front of you, you huff a breath before you raise your head to acknowledge him.

“Is that seat taken?” He asks with a grin, motioning to the empty table bolted to the ground beside your chair. It’s obviously a rhetorical question – maybe to get you to smile or laugh. You do neither and give him a flat look.

“Actually, I’m saving it for someone.”

This seems to delight him even more, eyebrows raising and eyes getting some more life in them as he takes a seat on the table anyway. “Well I’ll keep it nice and warm for them until they show up.” He pulls his facility-issued navy sweatpants covered legs up to cross under him, effectively draping his knee over your arm.

Accepting your fate to not get rid of him, you open your book again to where you left off.

“Best not to speculate, really,” said Aziraphale. “You can’t second-guess ineffability, I always say. There’s Right, and there’s Wrong. If you do Wrong when you’re told to do Right, you deserve to be punished.”

“I checked the perimeter of the garden,” his voice is lowered, as if someone would overhear him, “looking for weak spots.”

You hum an acknowledgement, keeping your eyes on your book as you reply in a sarcastic monotone, “Because that’s definitely not suspicious.”

He waves you off out of the corner of your eye, beginning a light tap of his hands against his knees. Even with the medication. He either needs a higher dose or he’s hyperactive at baseline. “They probably just thought I was giving myself a little tour or something, I don’t know. I don’t really care if it’s suspicious, actually. All I know is there’s like… Nothing. At all.”

“Shocker.”

Continuing to ignore your lackluster responses, a bopping of his head joins the beat of his palms. You attempt to reread the same paragraph over and over to try and comprehend it through his talking and fidgeting, failing time after time. “Not even like a locked gate or anything. And the fence itself is too high to get over with no footholds, unless you got something to stand on to grab the top and pull yourself over. Yeah…”

“Oh!” The sudden volume of his voice makes you jerk away from him again, not expecting the sharp change. “What about your chair, is it loose?” One long fingered hand grips the backrest between your shoulder blades and the other the chair arm closest to him, attempting to give it a shake. “Maybe we could get the bolts out and use it to climb the fence.” He only succeeds in making an annoying rattling sound and jostling you back and forth.

“Fuck, Eddie, will you –” Using the paper cover of your book, you smack at his forearm a few times, causing him to quickly withdraw and hold his hands up in front of his chest like he’s worried your attack will continue. “Fucking, stop it.”

“Geez, sorry,” he mutters, looking slightly sheepish but still not exactly apologetic. “What’s your name, by the way? I forgot to ask.”

“Seems a little too late to ask now, don’t you think?” You turn the page of your book to make it look like you’re making progress despite the fact that you haven’t been able to finish a sentence since Eddie sat down beside you. Anything to help you look less interested in his attempted escape and, therefore, him.

An amused snort leaves his nose, tapping hands turning to a hold on his knees to let him lean back without falling off the table. “Well you are just a ray of sunshine,” he snarks back, looking more amused than annoyed. “Anyone ever told you that before?”

Finally lifting your head to give him a placating and overly artificial smile, you meet his eyes to make sure he can see your insincerity when you say, “Only every day.”

And while he opens his mouth to probably throw back another sarcastic retort, he’s interrupted by the “relaxing” (read: fucking annoying) gong by the Therapy House going off, signaling it’s time to head inside. You snap your book shut and push off your chair without a word to join the rest of the group outside in the unenthusiastic shuffle toward the birch wood doors. Another set of slip-on shoes, a matching pair to yours, sidles up beside where your own drag through the dirt path.

“So what happens now?” He asks, leaning a little bit closer to you as he speaks again, like the two of you are conspiring together on something. Based on your interactions so far, maybe he thinks you are.

“Therapy,” is your sharp reply. And, as if finally understanding he probably isn’t going to get much more information, he shuts up and just walks beside you toward the two story building off of the main facility.

All 12 of you wander through the doors in your similar outfits – sweatpants, t-shirts, and hoodies in shades of blue, grey, and black. Crossing from dirt and stone pathways onto the pristine wood floors of the Therapy House that’s awash with sunlight. As many windows as possible in all directions and a huge circular skylight above leaves the whole room bright and airy.

There are 13 metal folding chairs set up in a circle beneath the skylight, 1 more than yesterday, and the one directly across from the door is already occupied.

Mrs. Penelope Windsor is the head of therapy at the Betty Ford Center for Rehabilitation and wears that title with the utmost pride. She’s put together, ambitious, intelligent, and damn good at her job. Not to mention attractive, with her long legs crossed under her black pencil skirt, her crimson red button up blouse showing just enough collarbone to still be ‘professional’, and the long brunette braid draped over her shoulder. Her black heels are patent leather and perfectly shiny along with the matching briefcase sitting beside her chair. She stands out sharply from the white walls and birch wood floors of the Therapy House – but she commands your attention that way. A focal point in a room of white and tan and beige nothingness.

And the moment you walk through the doors with Eddie beside you, you feel her hazel eyes on you like a fucking hawk.

You avoid making eye contact, as per usual, and settle into the seat you’ve been using since the first day you came here. To your displeasure, Eddie immediately grabs the seat to your right, flipping it around to sit backwards in it, folding his arms over the back with a certain lazy confidence.

Tony, who normally sits there, hovers uncomfortably for a moment behind before scuttling over to the only remaining chair between Mrs. Windsor and Melissa.

As soon as he’s seated, heavy and tense silence settles over the room while the rest of you wait for Penelope to greet the group. You could hear a pin drop in the room in these moments, everyone shifting uncomfortably in the quiet as she takes a few moments to look over the group before her.

Almost like she enjoys making us all squirm under her authority.

Her sharp eyes settle on Eddie, her face as passive as always. He does very little to react to her stare but takes it as a sort of challenge – staring right back where most would shy away. The corner of her mouth lifts almost imperceptibly, like she appreciates the challenge.

The silent standoff is broken as Thomas’ wooden cane clatters to the floor beside his chair from where it had been leaning. He immediately turns bright red from the collar of his black t-shirt all the way to the tips of his ears. “Shit – Wait, oh, shoot, sorry!” Scooping it up in shaky hands, he is quick to tuck it between his knees, white knuckle fisting the handle in his embarrassment.

“That’s quite alright, Thomas,” is Penelope’s serene reply, a gentle smile directed his way before she addresses the group. “Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome back to our group session for today.”

No one says a word as she takes another uncomfortable moment to scan the group before doubling back to land on Eddie. “I see we have a new member of our group today. My name is Mrs. Windsor and I’m the head therapist here at the Betty Ford Center, but you’re more than welcome to call me Penelope. Could you introduce yourself for us, please?”

“Eddie Munson, guitarist, Corroded Coffin.” He answers cooly, and you watch his eyes do a quick scan to see if anyone shows any recognition. When there are a few reactions, his smile grows into one of satisfaction before he returns his gaze to Penelope. “Am I supposed to say what they locked me up for now or somethin’?” It comes out in a teasing lit, like he is trying to make a joke of it all.

No one laughs.

She takes it in stride. “You’re more than welcome to share what you’re struggling with, if you’d like.”

His shoulders rise slightly, like a cat going on the defensive. “Okay, first of all, I’m not struggling with anything. I’m not even supposed to be here. I keep telling them if they just let me call my manager we could get this whole thing cleared up so I can get the fuck out of here and back to my life.”

“Your manager…” She leans over, plucking a file from her briefcase and unfolding it on her lap. “Mr. Scott?” She looks up through her eyelashes for confirmation.

He settles again, looking slightly relieved. “Yeah, Jonathan Scott, Razor & Tie.”

“Mhmm…” She looks back at the file, flipping a page up in what looks to be a show. Like she already knows what she’s supposedly ‘looking’ for. “It says here Mr. Scott is the person who applied for your stay in our center and is the sign off as your legal guardian while you’re completing your treatment.” She lightly closes the file, sitting up straight again to look at him. “Did you know that Eddie?”

“No,” he answers, voice suddenly unsure, eyebrows drawing together on his forehead and shoulders falling. “No, I didn’t.”

“Well then,” her smile is nothing but satisfied when she slips the papers back into her briefcase. “It seems there’s nothing to be cleared up here after all. And I’m sure we’re all very excited to get to know you over the next few weeks, Eddie.”

Challenge won.

When he doesn’t respond, she moves on. “Now, Kathy, it looks like your nails are doing better…”

You tune out the rest of her interaction, focusing on the man beside you. He has his head slightly hung down, eyes on his hands as he holds one wide and uses the opposite thumb to rub along his palm. There’s an air about him – closer to one you saw this morning. Confused. Lost. Scared.

You almost feel sorry for the guy.

Two hours later, you’re in one of the ‘office lofts’ of Therapy House, a 5x5 closed room with a loveseat for you and an armchair for your therapist. After group is over, there are rotations of 1 on 1 therapy with one of the various counselors on staff, herding each of you into tiny rooms for an hour at a time. At the beginning of your stay, you had somehow lucked out to being assigned to Queen Penelope herself.

She sits across from you with her holier-than-thou attitude and a spiral notebook clutched in her well-manicured hands – filled with notes about you that you’re not supposed to see. In the sunken down cushions of the loveseat, you end up sitting below her eyeline even if you tried to sit up straight. So you don’t try – tucking your legs under you and crossing your arms under your chest.

As per usual, she starts the session with a few moments of horrifying silence. Almost as a dare to get you to talk first just to break it.

You never have.

“So, how are you feeling today?”

“Fine. Same as always.”

She clicks her pen, like she’s already prepared to start taking notes off that one sentence. “Indeed. Everyday is always ‘fine’, isn’t it?”

Eddie must have made you more snippy than usual, because you’re already ready to turn on her. “What point are you trying to make, exactly?”

“Everyday, every time anyone asks, the answer is always ‘fine.’ Fine is a noncommittal answer that means nothing.” She leans back in her chair, cool and collected as always. “Fine is the answer you give when you’re avoiding the answer.”

It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes at her. “Okay, what is my answer supposed to be then?”

“The truth, preferably.”

Wow, thanks, that’s helpful.

When you don’t respond with a new answer, she moves on. “Are you still having nightmares? Flashbacks?”

A shiver crawls up your spine, creeping toward the cold sweat that starts to build at the nape of your neck on instinct. “Sometimes.”

Liar.

“How often, would you say? For the nightmares?”

Clammy hands press into the fabric of your grey sweatpants. “Maybe once a week.”

Liar.

She scribbles something down in her notepad. “And the flashbacks?”

A vision of cold, blue tipped fingers reaching out toward you from the dark comes to the forefront of your mind before you blink it away. “Less than that, I think.”

Liar!

“And are they all still about her?”

The cold from those blue tipped fingers permeates through your body, settling into your bones in a chill that never seems to leave you anymore. “Not all of them.”

LIAR. LIAR. LIAR. LI–

“Actually, can we talk about something else?” Your request comes out quicker than you’d like, giving a show of desperation as you adjust in your seat. “Please,” you add as an afterthought.

Her gaze is sharp as ever and calculated in her perusal of you for another few moments, but she concedes. “Alright. What would you like to talk about then?”

When you flounder for an answer, mouth opening and shutting uselessly, she offers an alternative of her own. “I saw you walk in with the new guy today. Eddie, right? Did you talk to him at all?”

You let out a huff, eyes directing down to where your wandering fingers have landed on a piece of loose thread on your pants. “More like sat there while he talked at me.”

“He didn’t give you a chance to talk or you never took it?”

“I don’t exactly have anything I want to talk to him about,” is your cold response, once again looking up to make eye contact with her.

“You know, it wouldn’t actually hurt to try to connect with someone again. Maybe open up to a new friend?”

This time you’re not able to withhold your eye roll. “Junkie rockstar is not exactly the kind of friend I’m looking to make.”

“That’s a bit of a hurtful representation, don’t you think?” She is writing another note as she speaks, eyes looking between you and her page. “How would you feel if someone didn’t want to interact with you because you’re a ‘junkie’?”

Your gaze flicks back down to the thread between your fingers as you mumble, “They wouldn’t exactly be wrong.”

“Do you think you’re a bad person because of your drug use?”

I think I’m a bad person for a lot of reasons.

“It doesn’t exactly give you a glowing perception in the eyes of the public,” you answer defensively.

“That may be true. So you did something that was frowned upon by the general public, making it ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’.” She adds in the air quotes, even though her tone was enough to warrant the assumption that she was being facetious. “What about all of the good things you’ve done? Is there some kind of threshold for the amount of ‘bad’ things a person needs to have done in comparison to the good ones to brand them as a ‘bad’ person?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

Her eyes flit over to the book beside you, resting on the cushion with the cover Good Omens facing up, before returning to you. “I think, personally, that it’s possible to have done bad things without it making you a bad person. It doesn’t make you a good person either, mind you. Because there’s also no such thing as a person who is wholly good either.” She folds her hands over her lap like she always does when she thinks she’s about to say something really profound.

“Good and bad are just malleable descriptions we give to things. People are not simply good or simply bad. People are just… People. Where good, bad, and everything in between coexist.”

Then why do I feel like this?

Eddie plops down in front of you at breakfast looking slightly less like a wet rat than he has so far.

"Good morning, sunshine." And he grins, way too fucking chipper for being 2 weeks into detoxing.

"Don't call me that."

"Whatever you say, sunshine," he repeats with the same grin, like he's glad you don't like it. "I have a plan for us to get out of here."

Get out? A plan? Us? You don't even know where to start with that. "Ah. No wonder you look like it's Christmas morning."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment." With a noncommittal 'mmfh', you go back to pushing around your over salted scrambled eggs. "Aren't you going to ask what my plan is?"

"No."

"Well, since you asked," he ignores you and leans over the table, once again lowering his voice to a soft murmur. "One of the night nurses is a fan of my band."

He pauses there, like he's looking for some kind of response. You offer up a completely lackluster, "Congrats."

"Sooo, maybe I can butter her up. Promise her VIP tickets or backstage passes or something. Bribe her to get us out."

Stabbing into a chunk of egg hard enough to almost pierce through the styrofoam beneath, you mumble, "Good luck with that."

He points his fork at you, eyes narrowing in a glare. "You don't think it will work."

"I don't care if it works," you sigh as you bring a hand up to rub at the sudden tension in your temple. "What do you think is gonna happen when you get out, huh? They're just gonna say 'Well, he got out of rehab, guess that's it then!' Your manager is just gonna have you delivered right back here."

"Then I get a new manager." Another flat look is leveled in his direction. "Seriously, I can figure it out once I get out of here. And if you're gonna be this negative about it, then maybe I won't take you with me," he says it like a threat, looking smug as he sips at his not-quite-pineapple juice.

"Good."

His plastic cup hits the table fast enough that a bit sloshes out and onto the vinyl cover. "What do you mean 'good'? You're telling me you don't want to get out of here?"

It's like he's finally hearing you for the first time. "Yes, that is what I'm telling you."

"As if." He scoffs, shoving a chunk of scramble egg in his mouth before continuing to talk through chewing it. "Nobody wants to be in here getting pumped full of happy meds and talking about our feelings with the Ice Queen."

A part of you actually wants to be amused at the term Ice Queen, but you're quick to beat it down. "Yeah, well, maybe I do."

He takes a big bite out of his stiff toast next, crumbs flying with the force of it. "I think," he pauses to swallow the bite before pointing the toast at you this time. "That you have Stockholm Syndrome. And have accepted defeat in your captivity."

"Whatever you say, Munson."

You should've known better than to assume it would end there.

After breakfast, all of you scatter throughout the main hall to do various things to fill your time. As usual, you sit down on a chair by the window so you can continue your book. You're quickly approaching the climax of the narrative, when the four horsemen begin their ride toward the end of the world.

Eddie has set up shop at a table nearby, bent over the top that's scattered with papers that are all covered in drawings of various mythical creatures. He's currently scratching away at a sketch of a three headed Hydra, mouths roaring fire toward the sky.

You'd never tell him this of course, but you have to admit that they are pretty good.

It's 30 minutes of blissful silence with plenty of progress made in your book until he starts talking again.

"Do you actually not want to get out of here?"

You exhale through your nose sharply, annoyed that you're being forced to continue this conversation. Closing your book with your thumb tucked in to save your page, you turn your upper body toward him. "Is that really so hard to believe?"

"Yeah, actually, it is. What are you even in here for anyway? Like what 'problem' do they think you have?"

"None of your fucking business," is your extremely grumpy reply, settling back into your chair and opening your book again in hopes he'll drop it.

"Well, whatever it is, it's not worth sitting in this glorified prison for months on end, I can tell you that much."

Something about the way he's talking really starts to grate on your nerves, making you want to fight more than you want to ignore him. "I'm sorry, would you rather be in actual prison?"

This makes his face drop, a muscle in his jaw rolling with tension. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that coke and meth are illegal, in case you forgot. And can actually get you arrested." Your tone is condescending, tinged with venom. "So maybe you should be grateful to be in this 'glorified prison' instead of a real one."

"Grateful?" He lets out a fake laugh, looking at you in disbelief. "Yeah, let me just try to be grateful to have my every move watched and my entire day planned for me like I'm in a fucking daycare."

An orderly walks in through the double doors to the garden, propping them open in an invitation to move outside for the hour. You're quick to rise, tucking your bookmark into your spot and muttering a dismissive, "Whatever," as you pass.

You're barely off the stone path and into the grass towards your seat when he comes barrelling out after you.

"Hey, I'm not done."

"Listen," you continue forward, talking over your shoulder at him as he marches after you, "I get you're still in denial and everything. But it's not my job to make you accept that you're here for a reason. So why don't you just leave me alone."

A hand grips your shoulder, forcing you to turn toward him. The sun is behind his head from this angle, leaving him silhouetted in light and you standing in his shadow in the grass.

"And what exactly do you think the reason I'm here is?"

"I don't know," you push his hand off your shoulder, tucking your book in against your stomach. "Why don't you ask yourself that question?"

"I'm here against my will because a fucking corporate prick thinks I need 'fixing'," his voice comes out as a hiss through his clenched teeth. His hands tighten into fists at his sides. "Everybody thinks we need to be 'fixed'."

"Maybe we fucking do, Eddie! Did you ever consider that?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your argument getting some attention from other patients and an orderly standing watch, but you're too caught up in your anger to care.

You jolt in surprise when Eddie's hands grip your shoulders, forcing your attention on him. "Are you even fucking listening to yourself?!"

"Eddie, let go of me."

His hands only tighten, his wide eyes going wild. "They fucking infected you with their bullshit doctrine of what society thinks is right and wrong, but it's not true."

You try to pull away from him but his grip just turns bruising in response, fingertips digging into your skin painfully. Fear takes hold, tears starting to push at the back of your eyes as you plead, "Please, Eddie, you're hurting me–"

"They're hurting you!" He's borderline yelling in your face now, emphasizing his next point by shaking you where you stand. "Don't you fucking get it? They're the ones hurting you by making you think there's something wrong with you!"

An orderly appears beside him and grips his shoulder, ordering a tense, "Let her go."

This seems to shock him as his hands release you mid-shake, sending you backwards onto your ass. You make impact with a yelp, the tailbone pain enough to force the tears that were threats before to start to spill down your cheeks. You're sure that if your hands weren't pressed to the ground behind you, they'd be trembling.

Heels click along stones on the approach, heated and quick. "What the hell is going on here?" Penelope Windsor asks sharply, barely faltering as her heels meet grass and dirt.

You look up at Eddie with tears in your eyes, shocked and terrified.

He looks down, as pale as a ghost, the orderly's hand still on his shoulder as he stares at his own like they don't belong to him.

"Are you alright?" Penelope asks when she kneels to the ground beside you, fancy slacks of her pantsuit in the dirt. A gentle hand hovers over your shoulders, concern evident in the way she looks you over.

Swallowing hard around the lump in your throat, you break away from your stare at Eddie to glance at her and then the ground. "I'm fine."

"I…" Eddie's voice sounds small, scared. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened. I didn't mean to–"

"Come on." Penelope is calm as she interrupts him, more caring and gentle than you've ever heard her. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

You manage a nod before you allow her to help you to your feet and put a protective arm around your back as she leads you over toward the Therapy House.

Eddie stands there with the orderly, hands shaking and tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he watches you go. Hoping you'll look back. That you'll tell him it's okay, that you'll forgive him. Tell him that you will be okay.

You don't look back.

Once you've disappeared behind those birch doors, the orderly finally lets him go. Walks back over to the main hall without another word – leaving Eddie alone to his panic and shame while he stares at your copy of Good Omens from where it sits half open and abandoned in the grass.

Your chair is empty in group that day.

thanks for reading!! please reblog if you liked it and let me know what you think, feedback means everything!! read part 2 here

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