is he bothering you, diva? (click here for hot milfs in your area)
☆ summary : hold on, hot stuff! you're trying to rush out for a rare night out, but you have failed to realize your dearest leon has absolutely no interest in hearing about the kids’ routine once he sees you in that dress—and he’s suddenly very concerned about who else will.
☆ caution : fem reader, motherhood, kids, marriage, body talk? slightly naughty. leon is definitely trying to get in those panties later.
☆ note : series? maybe? maybe not. work was kind of crazy today—the snow caused a lot of cancellations so I didn't have much time to finish family protection act but I wanted to post something! forgive me! (╥﹏╥)
you’re already running late.
the zipper of the dress finally settles into place after a short fight with the fabric, the material hugging close in a way that makes you pause for half a second in the mirror. hm. three kids have softened your body in ways it never used to be—your hips fuller, your chest heavier, the curve of your stomach gentler than it once was—but whatever! the dress still fits! that’s a win in your book. gosh, does it feel like it’s been ages since you’ve gone out for a girl’s night.. you’re! nervous! but a good kind!
you reach for your earrings on the counter, studying your reflection as you do so. “honey!” you call toward the bedroom. “listen to me for a second, because i need you to remember this!” you're already worrying your head off, will you even have fun tonight? jesus. that chardonnay was calling your name and yes, you checked the menu beforehand because you were overthinking this morning. its just the anticipation of it all!
leon’s leaning in the doorway. and he’s been standing there longer than you realize, watching the way the fabric of this little number pulls tight over your ass as you lean over the sink. his eyes move slowly over you, starting at the heels and working their way up. “..yeah,” he says.
you take that as confirmation that he's listening and keep talking while fastening the first earring. “the kids already ate, but they’re probably gonna ask for another snack anyway so just—” you stop when something warm settles against your waist. leon’s hand.
he’s stepped up behind you, palm spreading over your hip. “—leon.”
his thumb presses into the soft curve there and he hums absently. you narrow your eyes at his reflection in the mirror. “did you hear what i just said?”
his other hand slides to your stomach, resting there comfortably while he leans down beside your shoulder, studying you so hard that you almost want to ask if there's something on your face.
“..not a word, miss.” he admits.
you turn your head sharply. “babe!”
man.. he doesn’t even look guilty. his brows are slightly drawn together now, gaze drifting over you again—and the longer he looks, the worse the situation becomes in his jeans. yeah, he was a little hard. can you blame him?
“when were you planning on warning me you owned this dress?” he asks.
you blink. “never.”
his hand squeezes your hip slowly. “feels like an important detail..”
you twist slightly to face him, one eyebrow raised. “what’s wrong with you, mister handsy?” you turn back to the mirror, trying to finish your second earring while his fingers keep tracing distracted lines over your waist.
leon doesn’t answer, his attention drops instead, eyes catching on the movement of your hand as you reach to adjust the second earring. the light from the bathroom catches the stone sitting on your ring finger, the diamond throwing a brief sharp glint across the mirror.
he takes your hand before you can pull it away, his fingers curling around yours slowly and a rough thumb turns your hand just enough to look at it properly. the five carat stone flashes again under the light, big and pretty against your skin. it was a pretty penny but you’re worth it and more—he wanted to go bigger but you told him no because then it would look like costume jewelry. leon exhales quietly through his nose and his thumb brushes once over the ring. then again as if? he’s checking that it’s still there. committing it to memory.
“keep this on tonight,” he mutters under his breath.
you blink at him. “i wasn’t planning on taking it off.”
his mouth twitches slightly, but he doesn’t let go of your hand right away. instead, he presses a quick kiss to your knuckles before dropping them back toward you.
“…good,” he says as he studies the dress again, his mouth pulling slightly to one side. “and where exactly are you going again..?”
“dinner.”
“with who.”
you stare at him. “my friends.”
his eyes narrow a fraction. “..which ones.” oh my god! so needy!
you look at him incredulously. “you’re being insane.” a giggle.
he exhales through his nose, running a hand back through his hair—he already knows he’s being ridiculous but he can’t quite stop himself from being so. he has the same expression he used to make decades ago, back when he was twenty one and pretending he wasn’t jealous of anything that breathed near you. because admittedly, you were his first baddie.
“just seems,” he mutters, tugging down at the fabric at your thighs, “like a pretty serious dress for dinner.”
you cross your arms. “is thee leon scott kennedy pouting right now?”
his eyes flick up to yours. “..no.”
you squint and he sighs, touching you again. “you’re not letting anyone buy you drinks.”
you giggle at him. “honey.”
“i’m dead serious— the kids can’t know i’m a.. what do they say on tiktok? a simp? beta? omega—whatever the hell.” ohhhh, he’s all huffy now.
“i’ve been married to you for fifteen years.” she says.
“…yeah,” he mutters. his thumb presses into your waist again. “score.”
Summary: Leon takes you to his place after you get an extreme fever at work and over the weekend, he nurses you back to full health. However, there's a consistent underlying problem that takes the form of a golden liquid.
part 5 of this
The nurses said you would be fine if you went home and rested over the weekend, but if it got any worse, immediately to go to the hospital due to the possible risk of it being an infection.
“C’mon, just one foot in front of the other, you’ve got this,” Leon reassured you as he had your arm slung over his shoulder, and his hand firmly steady on your waist. If someone looked from afar without context, it would look like you were a total drunk.
“I’m trying,” you mumbled, your voice whining. Every step you took made the world crash and blur, a sickening pulse in your head.
“You know what,” Leon sighed and bent his knees, one arm scooped the back of your knees and the other scooping up your back, “this is easier.”
You leaned your head against his chest, unable to find the energy to protest to this. His chest was warm and firm, his shirt smelling of laundry detergent. It was hard to imagine him slaughtering infected in his usual violent, apathetic way when he was holding you so gently.
He struggled to open the car door with you in his arms, but he managed to do it anyway. He slid you into the passenger seat and as your head lolled to the side, he clipped you into the seatbelt.
Something made him pause just to look at you for a second, not really to admire but to reflect on his life choices.
You pressed your head against the cold of the window for just some sort of relief, squeezing your eyes shut. In your dizzied state, you watched him walk around to the other side of the car and place himself in the driver’s seat with a huff. He secured himself in and placed his hand on the steering wheel before turning his head in your direction.
“Are you still sure that you don’t want me to take you home?” he asked, looking at your slumped posture, his hair messily out of place. You despised how stressed you were making him.
“Don’t take me home-” your phone rang. Your head hurt too badly to even want to look at the bright screen, but the words ‘Mom’ pierced through your eyes, and you saw the 7 missed calls and the other 10 threatening messages that she sent you.
It was enough to snap you out of your delirium.
Eyes widening, your phone slipped from your hands, and you shook Leon’s arm.
“I forgot about- fuck I forgot about dinner. Leon, you have to take me to my parents’ house,” you pleaded, hoping that you could just miraculously bottle the fever up.
“Are you insane?”
“Leon,” you stared at him with all the determination in the world despite your eyelids slowly sliding downwards and your head swaying a little, “Leon.”
“Yes?”
Your eyes eventually closed and your head fell back onto the headrest.
He tutted, turning the engine on, “You are certainly not going to dinner.”
And that’s how you ended up in your boss’s guest room bed.
You woke up in a sweat, nausea now clambering in your stomach and uncontrollable shivers shooting through your body. A little lost to where you were, your eyes scanned around the room, because the ceiling definitely wasn’t yours.
It smelt familiar, like coffee and leather. A scent that belonged in the office. In Leon’s office.
“Leon?” you mumbled out, pushing yourself upwards with your elbows. You were still in your office clothes from yesterday, but your heels had been slipped off, and a cold cloth was pressed on your forehead. At the end of the bed was clean, fresh clothes.
Slumped in a chair next to your bed was Leon. His face was softer when he slept, holding a youthful look to it as the usual tense knot in his face had loosened. You always wondered what his resting face looked like after seeing the pure adrenaline, predator scowl he had etched into his face.
The room held plain, cream-coloured walls with long windows from the ceiling to the floor that looked over a forest. The curtains cast ripples on the carpet as a window was left open to keep fresh air channelling through the room.
However, as soon as his name slipped from your mouth, he stirred immediately. His eyes shot open and his posture snapped into shape. He was still wearing the same navy suit from yesterday, just a few buttons undone at the top and his hair was dishevelled like he had run his hand through it a hundred times.
“Hey,” he said softly, “take it easy.”
He carefully removed the cloth from your forehead and pressed the back of his hand against your forehead.
“Better than yesterday.”
You weren’t sure if he was talking to himself or you.
“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” you croaked, pushing his hand away and slipping your feet out of the duvet to stand up.
“What are you doing?” he questioned sternly, the crease in his eyebrow deepening.
“Am I not allowed to get up…?” you stared at him, your eyes cringing at the bright light that slipped through the curtains and shone blindingly around Leon’s figure. From your point of view, he looked like an angel.
Sweat still clung to your face, a heat itching at your cheeks.
“You need rest,” his deep voice smoothed the throbbing bumps of your mind.
“I’ve rested.”
“You passed out. There’s a difference. You’re still hot and sick,” he said as he patted the damp cloth on your face, gently moving aside the hair that was stuck to your face.
You flopped back onto the bed, “you suck as a doctor.”
He let out a hum as he pushed a glass of water into your hands, and then two pills in the other.
“Drink,” he demanded, his eyes flicking to his watch and then back at you.
“Still bossy.”
“Funny that, because I’m your boss,” he said it with a small laugh, but then his expression flickered into something with regret.
The words floated awkwardly in the room like they didn’t belong there.
Because they were true, but also weirdly false at the same time.
He is your boss, but the typical boundaries of an employee and their boss had been totally blurred by the two of you.
Bosses didn’t sleep in a ridiculously uncomfortable chair all night and keep their employee in their guest room to look after them.
“What’s the time?” you asked, wiping the water on your lips with your sleeve.
“Four pm.”
“Four?! The presentation- oh my god my parents-,” you shot up out of the bed, feeling your chest twist in that unpleasant way all over again, pain coming in waves of sharp volts.
“Hey-“ he grabbed you before you toppled over.
“No- I forgot about dinner with my parents; I needed to be there- where is my phone?! And head office! I don’t have the presentation I won’t be able to present it-,” your head frantically turned left and right, your wrists still being held by Leon’s hand.
“You were unconscious,” he said monotonously.
“Where’s my phone?”
“You passed out mid-sentence in my car,” he continued in the same, slightly frustrated tone.
“I need to call them.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he declared.
“Leon,” you head snapped to him, tilting your head a little to give him puppy-eyes.
He sighed, letting go of your wrists, “your phone is right here. On the bedside.”
You picked it up and stared at the phone screen. 10 missed calls. 13 messages. Your eye twitched, a dread taking root in your body.
“I’m done for. She’s going to skin me alive and serve me as a meal for her next dinner!”
“I think that’s slightly excessive.”
“You clearly haven’t met my mother.”
Your phone began to buzz. Your fingers were shaking. For the first time, you felt like you couldn’t deal with anything, which was strange, because you always dealt with everything no matter the condition you were in. Stopping was never allowed.
“I- I can’t do it.”
“Then you don’t. Focus on resting,” he said, holding up the duvet so you could slide back under it. He said it so effortlessly, like resting was just second nature to him. You hesitantly laid your back onto the mattress, letting him fuss over you. “Sherry stopped by and dropped some clean clothes off for you,”
You hummed something unintelligible deliriously as exhaustion crashed over you, the softness of the pillows catalysing this.
He sat in his chair and paused on your face before standing up.
“I’m gonna get some coffee.”
“Leon,” you reached out and grabbed his hand, and his head snapped back to you, your pleading eyes staring back into his icy ones, “don’t leave.”
He stilled, but placed himself back on the seat, watching your face instantly relax as you succumbed to exhaustion, as if it was his presence that let you fall asleep.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbled to himself, rubbing his mouth. But his thumb was absently rubbing gentle circles into your palm.
He tried to imagine the DSO without you, and suddenly all the color was drained from it. Your withdrawal from him, the resignation letter, the collapse in the elevator – it all scared him in ways he didn’t think was possible. This wasn’t him. He was used to dealing with fear on the field but losing you would be a type of fear that wouldn’t let him get out of bed without a struggle.
You looked smaller when you slept. Less guarded, like you were no longer waiting for someone’s criticism. The usual determination that sat in your expression was softened by exhaustion.
You trusted him enough to fall asleep like this. In his house, holding his hand.
He couldn’t mess this up.
When you woke up, the soft glistening glow of the moon swept through the curtains. Leon was sat at the bed, his reading glasses reflecting the glow of the laptop that was on his lap. His suit jacket was draping over the chair; he was only in his button up shirt. His collar hung lazily around his neck and his sleeves were rolled up. Veins on his forearms were dimly lit by the lamp on the desk, and they tensed every few seconds when his eyebrows furrowed deeply.
Your fingers were loosely clinging around his hand, while his other hand was scrolling through emails. He clearly hadn’t moved it since you fell asleep.
“Hi,” you said awkwardly as you pushed yourself up, your hand letting go of his, embarrassed.
“Hi,” he said back, just as awkwardly. “Not to suck but I got an email from Head Office.”
“W-What did it say?” you stuttered, every possible scenario rushing through your head, studying his face for any hint of disappointment.
“That you and I need to come in on Monday to discuss your position at the DSO,” he replied, predicting what you were going to say next, “you’re not getting fired.”
“How do you know?” you said instantly, ready to shoot him with another million questions.
“Because you’re my assistant. I’m not letting it happen,” he shook his head, then shut his laptop and stood up, quickly shutting down any possible idea of you not being in his office. “Would you like me to run you a bath?”
A subtle blush crept onto your cheeks. Was he crazy? Or were you crazy? You had to both be crazy.
You nodded, feeling like the shy assistant that walked into his office for the first time.
He petted your head, then he quickly retracted his hand, regretting what he just did, and disappeared into the ensuite, the sound of water splashing into the tub echoing around the room.
A small exhale left your nose as the corners of your mouth curved upwards, finding his awkwardness slightly endearing.
You began to explore his apartment as he fussed around your bath.
It seemed that his leather jacket collection extended into his home, because they were all neatly hanging up in a dark oak closet by the entrance. There was a brown battered one with a cream-colored fur snugly attached to the collar, a black one with two grey stripes circling the sleeves and another black one with an exaggerated collar that had an even fluffier fur.
It was strange that none of his usual weapons were visible, even though he typically showed them off to you before missions with a toothy grin. But this thought was quickly shut down after you opened a door to a room that had guns displayed on walls from ceiling to floor like paintings. Axes and knives and many other weapons that you couldn’t even name were all hanging there, polished and sparkling. There was gym equipment set up- too many weights on that pole, you thought. You decided it was best to keep that door closed.
He had a very clean alcohol cabinet with fancy bottles, some in languages you couldn’t even begin to read. Most of them were almost empty.
You came across picture frames, photos of him with Sherry and a woman in a red leather jacket. Another photo of him with a different blond woman, he was different here. Blonder, not a hint of a wrinkle or a grey hair. None of the frames matched with the rest of the decorum in his house- these must’ve been gifts.
The silver clock ticked away in the background.
A record player was neatly tucked in the corner, with shelves stacked full of vinyls. Your fingers flicked through all the different albums, ranging from 70s to 90s. There was The Police, Alice In Chains, Nirvana, Violent Femmes, Rage Against The Machine, Screaming Trees and many, many more. You snickered when you found Duran Duran. Rolled your eyes when you found Radiohead.
There was a lace of coldness that draped over the apartment. The pillows weren’t worn, the kitchen looked far too clean, there was no dents in the furniture or stains – nothing that signalled the presence of someone. Everything was in perfect (expensive) condition, apart from the dead plants in the corner.
He was haunting his own apartment.
“Baths ready.” He was dressed out of his office wear, and in grey sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt. Your eyes widened like you had seen him naked. You had never seen anyone wear casual things. When you lived with your parents, they expected nothing less of you. It was either on your best form or don’t be here at all.
“Uh- thanks- thank you,” you stammered, walking past him rapidly so you didn’t have with bear with your awkwardness any longer.
You clicked the door behind you and leant your back against it, pressing a hand to your face.
Your face was warm and you couldn’t tell if it was the fever or something else.
Steam swirled from the bath; he had almost filled it to the brim.
You peeled your office clothes from your body and lowered yourself into the bath and a quiet sigh escaped from your throat.
There was an assortment of soaps that had been placed on the side. Again, they were all in different languages, seemingly different soaps from all the hotels he stayed at on his international missions. It felt weird to look at these, it was all a life he had before he met you, you felt like a stranger despite spending so much time with him.
A heat crawled up your neck as you thought about the way he never let go of your hand and imagining him carrying you into your apartment. You sank lower into the bath. He had seen you at your most disgusting, raw and worst yet he was running you a bath and making you dinner in the kitchen.
You tried your hardest to remember what happened in the elevator.
The rough sensation of his stubble, his hands holding you and his panicked face quickly flooded back, and it was enough to send you into a flustered coma.
You were sat at his kitchen island, on those long stools, with your hair twisted in a towel and wearing the pyjamas that Sherry left, a very nice baby-blue matching set.
“Food.” He placed a plate of pasta in front of you.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to… do all of this for me,” you thanked him, grabbing your fork and refusing eye contact with him.
“Well, I didn’t really have a choice when you passed out in my car. I couldn’t leave you alone like that. You need to stop running yourself into the ground, it doesn’t help anyone.”
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, staring at the pasta in front of you.
“Hey, don’t apologise,” he said softer, his voice deepening, “Your only job right now is to get better.”
Both of you went quiet; the ticking of the clock and your fork clunking against the plate were heard. He then poured himself a drink, whiskey. There was something restrained in the way he poured it though, like this was less than he usually drank.
“So, did I ruin any of your weekend plans?” you broke the silence, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Didn’t have any, luckily for you,” he said, a small laugh laced in his words, leaning against the counter.
“Leon S. Kennedy doesn’t have any weekend plans?”
“You sound surprised,” he crossed his arms.
“Yeah, you know, I’d be thinking you would be saving the world by breakfast or something.”
He huffed, “how did you know?”
“Just had a hunch,” you winked, very badly, at him. Cringing at yourself, your gaze fell down back to your plate.
You felt his burning gaze pierce right through you.
“You’re staring,” you called him out, pushing your pasta around like it personally offended you.
“Just making sure you’re eating,” he muttered, putting his arms up in surrender.
“I am eating.”
“You’re prodding at it as if I fed you worms,” he sighed, pushing your drink towards you. “Drink too.”
The two of you ended up on his couch; Leon demanded you have a blanket spread over your legs.
You sat on one end. He sat on the other.
You were watching this stupid movie; you had hardly even kept up with plot because you kept drifting off to sleep and you didn’t know why but you felt like every time you opened your eyes, Leon had shifted himself closer to you.
You noticed his sleepy state, his half-open eyes reflecting the blare of the television. His hair looked so soft you just wanted to run your fingers along it over and over again until they were numb from the feeling. His fingers held loosely around his glass containing a little amount of that golden liquid.
It wasn’t fair that you collapsed in the elevator. You wanted to take care of him too. Just because he was better at keeping himself together didn’t mean he wasn’t as equally exhausted as you were.
He had been lapping up his whiskey all summer like a dehydrated plant, and it was often he stayed longer hours than you did. Once you caught sight of a long scar across his abdomen when he was getting patched up after a mission that involved many losses. It was hard to fathom how he coped with it all, but the answer was clearly staring right back at you from his glass.
Now you were worried that you added even more stress onto his conscience. He already had to deal with so much and now collapsing on him in the elevator felt selfish and stupid.
“Leon,” you whispered.
“Yes,” he whispered back, his eyes still glued to the screen, but he tilted his body towards you subtly.
“Did I scare you?”
His fingers stopped rubbing his glass.
“A little,” he admitted, not telling you that he would’ve literally torn the whole DSO building down to make sure you were okay.
Your stomach twisted with guilt.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t have to stay with me all day.”
“Yes I did,” he said firmly, his face finally turning towards you with a small smile. The same reassuring look he gave you when you told him you were nervous on your first day as his assistant.
Silence settled between you again.
Your eyelids felt heavier with every passing second and so did your head as it tipped to the side and then rested against something solid and warm. You stilled. He froze.
Your head was resting against his shoulder.
Heat shot through your face, and you pulled your head away immediately, “Sorry-”
“It’s fine.” He said quickly, extremely quick in fact. You paused. Everything in you craved to rest your head back on him, to feel safe next to him and to know that this actually means something to him.
You always held yourself back from getting the things you wanted because your mind restricted everything you did. You were a coward. The fear of being rejected had pulled you around on strings for so long, you felt childish.
So, you slowly leaned back again with more care. He didn’t move or shift away. His body relaxed slightly under the weight. Neither of you said anything. He only pulled over the blanket for it to cover his legs too.
Eventually, your breathing slowed as your body subconsciously shifted itself closer to him. He glanced down, muttered “Unbelievable.” and turned down the volume of the television before stretching his arm around you.
Sunday morning came quickly, and you were pleasantly woken by the sound of something sizzling. There was a dip in the sofa where Leon was resting, and now you could hear his humming from the kitchen. It felt odd to not immediately open your laptop or start reading through files, but just this once you allowed and embraced the absence of it.
“Morning,” you croaked, rubbing your eyes and placing yourself on one of the stools.
“Morning. Feeling better?” he asked, pushing a glass of water to you and then returning to the eggs that were frying and bubbling in the pan. It annoyed you how the morning seemingly didn’t affect Leon in the same way it affected you.
“Yeah… I do,” you realised that the pounding, stuffy feeling in your mind had disappeared, but wrecked your body in the meantime, because everything ached. He leaned over the island and pressed the back of his hand against your forehead.
“I swear if you do that one more time-” you swatted his hand away.
“You look better.”
“Wow. Thank you, Doctor Kennedy,” you rolled your eyes, “Seems like you’re chef Kennedy too. What’s for breakfast?”
He wanted to say that you had a lot of sass for someone who could hardly form a sentence when they first interacted with him. But he decided to keep his mouth shut. Minus the teasing, he felt strangely proud, and happy even that he made you comfortable enough to laugh and tease him in his own home.
“Eggs on toast,” he then felt the presence of your stare. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
A huge smile was stretching across your face, your eyes reflecting the morning light. His cheeks felt warm.
“It’s funny.”
“How?” he questioned, genuinely confused, shaking his head as if he could shake the blush off his cheeks.
“Well, when I first joined the DSO everyone said you were scary. And now you’re cooking breakfast for me,” you explained, gesturing at him as he held a spatula.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” he muttered, turning back to the eggs with a smirk tugging on his lips.
“You were even humming!”
“Drop it,” he grumbled, buttering your toast.
“Kennedy is cooking and humming for me!”
“Quit it or I’m revoking breakfast privileges,” he threatened as he placed the eggs on top of your toast and sliding the plate over to you. “There’s salt and pepper on the side if you want it.”
You grinned and took a bite.
It was a quiet ride home, you were still in your pyjamas embarrassingly, but Leon lent you his hoodie to ‘help’. The radio blurred into the background as long, towering trees passed you by.
“Tomorrow’s gonna be fun,” you sighed, your hands fiddling on your lap, his sleeves so big only your fingers points through them. Dread felt heavy on your chest already.
He hummed in agreement, “it’ll be fine though.”
Leon always had a great habit of reassuring people even when he wasn’t even sure of the outcome himself.
“What about the possibility of me being fired?”
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
“You’re not getting fired, how many times do I need to say this?”
“But how do you even know that?” you turned to him, your eyes desperately searching for reassurance in his.
“You’re my assistant.”
You huffed, sinking further into your seat.
“Like that’s a good argument.”
“It is to me,” he said, seemingly calm. He smiled a little, proud of his answer.
He stopped outside your house, your sprinklers showering the colorful tulips that sat sweetly in pots.
“Thank you, Leon. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you thanked him, and then paused, your hand hovering over the handle.
You had far too many impulsive thoughts that weekend.
He was looking at you patiently, like if you wanted to stay in his car and do absolutely nothing, he would let you.
You had paused too long to not say something now. But what do you even say? Thank you again?
His head tilted, “You okay?”
“Yeah- I, uhm.”
Maybe you should wave. but people don’t wave inside of cars.
He took care of you all weekend, cooking, running you a bath, just making sure you were okay. And you were just going to thank him and leave?
But you didn’t owe him anything. Not like that. Don’t be a disgusting perv.
Your brain settled on leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before your consistent anxiety could stop it.
And by the time his brain had caught up, you were already scrambling and running into your house before either of you could confront the feelings that had intensified over the weekend.
Note: That was probably the longest chapter so far, and I deleted a whole scene so it took me way longer than expected. This was definitely a struggle to write but I hope you guys enjoyed it... I'm kind of worried about my writing becoming sloppier and repetitive so the next chapter might take longer to ensure only the highest quality!!, we will see. Thank you so much for reading this series has totally changed my blog, I'm having so much fun interacting with you all!! Also I did make myself laugh when I made a salt and pepper reference.
You’re hiding from Satoru Gojo because you got hit with a truth curse that forces you to say every thought out loud for four days.
“It’s just a minor curse,” shoko said, examining you with a cigarette between her fingers. “Truth serum type shit. You’ll say everything you think for about four days. Hope you weren’t planning on keeping any secrets.”
Truth Curse.
It forces you to say every thought out loud. The effects last for 4 days.
“This is gonna suck so bad,” you say, and then immediately, “I wonder if Shoko’s cigarette breath is why she’s single. Oh my god, why did I…”
“Out,” Shoko says, pointing to the door.
And that’s how you ended up in your own personal nightmare.
Day one, hour three, you’re already fucked.
You’re in a meeting with yaga when Nanami walks by the window “God his ass looks good in those pants” You said that out loud in front of your boss.
Nanami stops walking.
Yaga’s eye twitches.
“I haave to go,” you announce, standing up. “right now.”
You don’t go back to campus for the rest of the day.
The real problem is Gojo Satoru.
Your colleague. Your friend. The bane of your fucking existence and also the star of every inappropriate thought you’ve had for the past six months.
You’re in love with him. Disgustingly, embarrassingly in love with him.
And you’d rather die than let him know.
Normally you can hide it under layers of sarcasm and annoyed eye rolls. You’ve perfected the art of looking at him like he’s a mild inconvenience instead of someone you want to climb like a tree.
But now…. with this curse? You’ll take one look at his stupid face and probably confess everything.
absolutely the fuck not.
So you’re avoiding him. Hiding like a coward.
You told him you’ve been “sick” for two days. Haven’t answered his texts and turned off your location. You’re pretty sure he’s tried to come by your apartment but you pretended you weren’t home, hiding behind your couch like a fugitive.
“This is pathetic,” you tell yourself on day three, eating cereal for dinner in the dark. “I’m an adult. A fkn sorcerer who fight curses and I’m hiding from a man.”
“I should just tell him to fuck off,” you say out loud to your empty apartment.
Then, because of the curse… “except i don’t want him to fuck off, i want him to fuck me, ideally against a wall, maybe that window in his office….”
You drop your spoon.
One more day. You just have to make it one more day.
***
Day four
You’re so close. The curse should break by tonight. You’ve successfully avoided Gojo for ninety hours.
A feat of willpower that should qualify you for sainthood.
You’re getting coffee at the campus cafe… it’s risky, but you’re losing your mind cooped up and you need caffeine….. when you hear it.
“There you are.”
Fuck. fuck fuck fuck.
You turn. Gojo’s standing there in all his annoying glory. Sunglasses on, that stupid smile on his face.
“Been looking for you,” he says, casual as anything. Like he hasn’t been blowing up your phone.. “You sick? you look fine to me.”
“i’m….” you clamp your mouth shut so hard your teeth click.
Because what you’re thinking is…. you looks so good i’ve missed you and please rail me on this table…. you CANNOT say any of that.
“You okay?” he steps closer. “you’re being weird.”
“FINE” it comes out too loud, several people look over. “Totally fine! Actually i have to go….”
You try to leave but he catches your wrist and the touch sends electricity up your arm like you’re a fucking cartoon character.
“Okay, seriously, what’s going on?” his voice is softer now, concerned, and that’s somehow worse. “You’ve been avoiding me for four days. Did i do something?”
“no,” you manage through gritted teeth.
“then why….”
“i’m cursed,” you blurt out, your mouth is moving without permission. “Truth curse. I say everything i think for 4 days. It’s been hell but it breaks tonight.”
His eyebrows go up above his sunglasses. “Everything you think?”
“yes.”
“for four days?”
“yes.” You sigh
“and you’ve been avoiding me because…?”
Your mouth opens. You can feel the words forming.
No. No. No. No
“Because i have a crush on you and didn’t want to accidentally confess” it comes out in a rush.
Silence.
Gojo just stares at you. His mouth is slightly open. He looks like you just told him santa isn’t real.
You want the earth to open up and swallow you whole.
“I’m leaving,” you announce. “leaving the country, actually. Changing my name. You’ll never see me again….”
“wait wait wait.” he’s grinning now. full megawatt smile. “You have a crush on me?”
“I will kill you.” you’re backing away “i will actually murder you and make it look like an accident”
“How long?” he’s following you, that stupid grin getting wider.
“I’m not answering that…. six months…. FUCK.”
He’s laughing now, hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
“This isn’t funny” you’re mortified. Dying. Deceased. “This is the worst day of my life”
“It’s pretty funny.”
He steps closer, backing you against the counter. His hand comes up to rest on the surface next to your hip, caging you in “You have a crush on me?”
“Had. It just died of embarrassment.”
“liar.” his other hand comes up to cup your face and your brain completely stops working. Blue screen of death “What are you thinking right now?”
Oh he’s evil. He’s genuinely evil. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“That you’re an asshole,” you say. Then, because curse: “and that i want you to kiss me. I’ve thought about this moment for months except in my head i was smoother and you were less smug and…..mmph….”
He kisses you.
Gojo Satoru is kissing you.
His hand is in your hair and he tastes like sugar. His other hand is on your waist pulling you closer and closer and…
“Oh my god,” you breathe when he pulls back. “oh my god…. ”
“What are you thinking now?” he’s smirking like an anime villain.
“That i want you to do that again. Your mouth is even better than i imagined. I…. Why are you smiling like that?”
“Because i’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you that i’m in love with you.” His smile has gone soft.
Your brain stops working. Windows shutdown noise.
“What?”
“Yeah.” he says it casual. “Was gonna take you to dinner first. Even had a speech planned.” he smirks. “But this works too.”
“You…. You love me?” You blink
“yep.”
“With me.” you point at yourself like there might be another you standing nearby.
“That’s what i said.”
“i’m gonna say something stupid any second…” you warn him, but your voice is shaky.
“Good. Wanna hear all of it.” his thumb brushes your cheek. “What are you thinking right now?”
“That i love you,” it spills out like water. “REALLY want you to take me home and…”
He kisses you again. Harder this time, deeper. His hand tightens in your hair and you forget what you were saying. Forget your own name. forget everything that isn’t him.
“Been waiting months to hear you say that.” He murmurs against your mouth.
“I would’ve told you eventually. Probably…. Maybe….. in like five years when i was drunk enough.” Your say, blushing slightly.
“Good thing you got cursed then.”
“I hate this curse.” You huff, trying to hide your smile.
“i love this curse.”
He kisses you again, and again, and you’re both laughing between kisses like idiots. His hands are everywhere and you’re pretty sure you’re both making a scene in public but you don’t care.
“We’re leaving” he says, smirking like he already won.
“Where are we going?”
“My place. Gonna make you say every single thought in your head.” he’s already pulling you toward the exit.
“The curse breaks in like six hour…”
“Then we better hurry.”
He grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together, pulling you toward the exit, and you’re laughing, stumbling after him.
And for once, you don’t mind the curse at all.
Turns out some truths are worth saying out loud.
Even the embarrassing ones.
Especially those.
A/n : Your Reblogs and comments are appreciated 🫶🏻✨
Thanks to @allaboutnalu for hosting the event! This gift is for a long-time mutual of mine (I somehow got them by chance) @hollie-artz! Hope you like it! Thanks for being my mutual ever since I was sorta awful at art, you were a true trooper 😔
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