#(( sweats nervously here it is... i present to you this... thing...ha..h..a..ha..h

you blink, tilting your head. then smile, "it's hard, huh?"

his throat bobs in a hard swallow. because to you, that statement is sweet and harmless.

but to him, a man with an ego much larger than he'd ever like to admit, it's a detrimental, world-ending question which attacks the very essence of his being.

satoru scoffs, intending on coming off light-hearted, but the hinge in his jaw and the vein popping in his temple tells you otherwise. he waves you off dismissively, and tries again, "nah baby." he says nonchalantly, twisting while his wrist pops and cracks and begs for mercy, "i... could... ugh... open this in my sleep! hah!"

you give him a cruel onceover, eyes drifting from the insistent, painful-looking flexing in his arms, his shaking hands as he gives everything he has in his soul into the thing, the choked-out grunts and whines and pleas that definitely don't sound like they belong anywhere outside of the bedroom, the way even his toes are curled in his socks, gripping the floorboards like it'll help him at all, and you hum, entirely unimpressed, "...right."

he sets the jar down on the counter with a loud clink, panting with his entire chest, a droplet of sweat forming in his hairline and rolling down his forehead. he glances at you sidelong and catches the disturbed look on your face, and straightens up quickly, giving you a jagged grin, "h...hah! i'm just playing! just... joking around..." he laughs nervously.

"is it really that serious?" you ask, lip curled and brows furrowed in a look of pure disgust.

it's as if you were remembering at that very moment that you were in fact dating a man, and wanted to hurl at the very reminder.

was this the ick you've heard horror stories about from other women?

up until this point, you'd been convinced that every man had an ick factor to them. with the sole exception of satoru gojo, of course.

you'd believed that you were safe from it.

clearly not.

he's winded from a pickle jar.

"i told you, i'm playing!" he exclaims, shooting up, catching the look on your face immediately, picking up the jar again, "look! i'll do it this time."

"okay..." you nod. maybe he really is just playing around.

five minutes of struggle pass. you're now stood against the counter, shaking your head in bewilderment.

satoru is battling with the pickle jar. he's fully doubled over, using his thigh as leverage, his hands are completely marred in red indents, evidence of the jar's crimes against him, and he's broken into a full-body sweat.

"...we don't have to have pickles." you mumble, eyes wide in terror at the sight before you. you love pickles. but you're sure if you have to watch another minute of this, you'll actually start gagging.

his head snaps up immediately, and it's then when you notice he's gone completely red in the face. "YES WE DO!" he erupts through a sharp pant, "WHAT WILL WE DO WITHOUT PICKLES?!"

satoru has never been this passionate about anything in his life.

he doesn't even like pickles all that much. he usually lets you pick them off his food and eat them because he knows you like them more.

but if he doesn't get this damn jar open within the next thirty seconds, he might as well give up his right to call himself a man, let alone a boyfriend.

"okay..." you mutter, watching him put the jar down again. this time, full of sorrow and surrender.

his knees buckle as he sits down in the middle of the kitchen floor, asphyxiated, dehydrated, drenched in sweat despite having just showered, and exhausted, head falling back against the cabinet with a dull thud, scrubbing a hand over his face. his expression is the picture of anguish, self-pity and suffering.

"what am i?" he cries out to no one, "what am i if i can't open a stupid jar? i'm a failure of a man. you should leave me."

as if the earlier performance wasn't bad enough. watching him sit there, completely worn out and wallowing in despair as the task remains unfinished actually has bile rising in your throat.

you swallow it down, reaching for the jar, "i'm... gonna put this away." you speak, failing to mask the repulsion in your tone, turning around and heading for the fridge.

satoru nods solemnly, "good idea." he sulks, "better yet, give it to another man. a stronger man..."

you pause, before looking at the jar, a curious lilt coming to your eyes.

satoru's still mumbling to himself, sad and defeated, "i bet sukuna could open it..."

how tight really is the jar if the strongest himself can't open it?

you shrug, then close your fingers around the lid, purely experimentally, and twist.

pop!

the strong scent of dill and brine hits your nose.

a shaky, incoherent, devastated sound escapes satoru behind you. you slowly turn your head and face him over your shoulder. and gulp.

he looks damn near tears.

"you... loosened it for me..?" you try reassuring him.

"that's it." he says, laying back on the floor, staring at the ceiling, "i'm the woman in this relationship."

[ a/n ] just so yk... this was originally going to be sukuna... and then i changed it to toji... and then i decided itd be funnier if it was my stupid enemy gojo bc i hate him and he sucks and he should die ok so if u see any other names pls tell me or ill die.

reader is nawt me btw if i got to hear five minutes of satoru grunting and groaning and whining while trying to open a jar i'd superglue it so he keeps going what who said that disgusting disgusting disgusting i hate gojo i hate him i hate him i hate him die die die die die die

“And why would I do that?”

You had a feeling he’d say that. Buddha was too carefree to ever answer to anyone’s whims. He did what he wanted— plain and simple. But you were prepared, taking a step forward to stand over his relaxed form.

“Because I have a special treat for you if you do.” That’s what gets him to finally look at you, blue eyes flicker over your form lazily.

“Oh I bet you do.”

It’s suggestive. Crass. Ridiculously brazen exactly like he is.

Unfortunately, it has its intended effect. The warmth creeping up your neck settles in your face as your eyes widen, sputtering while you scowl in indignation.

“T-that is not-! No I m- meant…here!” Shoving your fist out, you open it. Staring back at him is a familiar wrapper he hasn’t seen or been able to find since he first tried it centuries ago. It’s small but the sweet scent begins to permeate the air, prompting him to sit up as a thick arm reaches forward instinctively to take it when you snatch it back— small fist closed tight.

Your heart races at the look he gives you.

“Woman.” The word is cooed but you hear the warning. Buddha didn’t care much for tricks or being played with and you never did whenever he’d visit but you didn’t have any other option currently.

He was too stubborn. Almost unmotivated; and did you need to? No. But you were bored and horribly curious— you just needed him to let you. Clearing your throat, you repeat your demands as confidently as you can.

“Let me examine you and I’ll let you have it.”

He makes a face like he’s considering it. Thinking silently until he’s suddenly standing and you jump. Buddha was big from afar but up close like this he’s downright towering. Broad shoulders, bulky chest, thick arms— the whole nine. His teeth are another topic entirely as you swallow nervously. His eyes follow the moment and you pinch your lips in awkwardly.

“Are you bribing me, Miṭhāī?” He smirks down at you.

“No- I’m motivating you. There’s a slight difference.”

Nodding, he hums. Rubbing his chin for extra effect until he flicks his eyes back to yours— suddenly grinning.

“Then consider me motivated- why of course you can check me out!”

“Exami-“, you go to correct him until he cuts you off.

“Whatever!”

“Leave the glasses too!”

•

•

•

Since he’d agreed with your examination, you let him pick where he wanted it to take place.

Your greenhouse.

So here you both are in your semi reading lounge modified greenhouse, sweating for real because damn it was humid but Buddha didn’t seem to mind in the slightest— standing patiently while waiting for you to begin.

Moving to his side, you take in the size and length of his arm with wide eyes.

Holy fuck— he was huge.

You’re not even surprised that when you wrap a hand around his forearm, that your fingers don’t meet. As firm as his muscles are, he’s soft and the contrast makes your head spin; lifting his arm out and instructing him to keep it there.

Buddha is uncharacteristically quiet. Watching you with an amused grin. You do the same with his other arm, moving up on your tiptoes to see above the curve of his bicep when he turns his arm and flexes it for you. The muscles in his arm hardening against your shaking hands—contracting, filling out and jumping beneath the skin. Your eyes widen as a surge of high-strung arousal rushes to pool in your core making you shift your weight from one foot to the other when your panties begin to dampen.

The gasp you let out melts in his ears sweeter than any treat that’s had the pleasure of melting under his tongue.

It’s also a ridiculous boost to his already sky sized ego. And when you come to stand back in front of him, all he does is raise an eyebrow, pointedly waiting for your next instructions.

“Take off your shirt.”

You’re a little breathless when you give them though. Now what could’ve caused that? He wonders with an infuriating tilt of his lips.

He listens anyway, everything flexing as he lifts the loose fabric over his head— tossing it on a small stool nearby and when he turns to face you again the look on your face is best described as…

Gone.

Slack jawed and frozen. Buddha can’t help the huff of amusement from his nose and that snaps you out of it as you move to stand behind him.

His hair is in its usual bun so you’re able to see his back completely; and it’s beautiful. The contours of his sunkissed skin with the sheer warmth coming off him has you gravitating closer— reaching out as you trace light fingertips down his traps, lats and spine. His insane physique is proof enough of how overwhelmingly strong he was of both body and mind.

Buddha hums.

“Feels nice…”

Your already racing heart skips a violent beat and you squeeze your eyes shut— physically unable to look at him longer lest you forget yourself as a friend and researcher. Still, you can’t keep the question from tumbling from your lips.

“How tall are you?”

Now that he has to think about. It’s been a while since he’s payed any thought to any most recent trip to the hospital. But he knew he was taller than most.

“Ehhhh— 6’4? That’s what I remember at least.”

Air leaves your lungs along with your self control as your reach up with grabby hands to touch the hair that didn’t fit in his bun. Whining when your fingers just barely brush the strands. Letting out a frustrated huff, you resist the urge to bite him.

“Are you left handed or right handed?”

“Ambidextrous, baby.” Well fuck you.

“Take your hair down, Bu.” You rush out, eyeing the base of his spine before running to stand in front of him again— eyes pleading.

It was cute.

The desperate way your lip almost jut out while you stared at him with your pupils enlarged to quite a telling degree. He was going to do it simply because it was you who told him to but watching you practically vibrate in impatience was just as fun and twice as cute.

Buddha hums, as if contemplating your request.

“Gimme some motivation. This is an awful lot of work for one candy, no?” He knows you’re truly gone because you don’t have anything snippy to say back to the way he blatantly taunted you. Hands fly to your pockets and rummage around until you find a small box of tiny but hard fruit smelling sweets and present it to him.

“Please?” You whine softly and the smile he gives you crinkles the bridge of his nose. It’s attractive to the point of insanity.

You’re still high-eyed when he moves his hands to his hair, shoulder and biceps flexing as he works to undo the hairstyle when he flicks his chin at you— opening his mouth to tap his canine with his tongue.

“C’mon, tiny thing. Feed ‘em to me while I do this.”

For a second, you blank out. Was it really okay for a single being to be so attractive? Didn’t it throw off the balance or something?

Numbly, you walk up to him and open the small box, holding it up to his mouth; acutely aware of how he has to bend down a bit to meet you in the middle. A few candies fall out into his mouth when you shake the container. Making a pleased sound leave the blonde as he chews, Adam’s apple bobbing in his thick neck when he swallows and you can’t deny it anymore.

You are miserably wet.

Eyeing his sharp set of incisors as he opens his mouth for more, you mindlessly reach out and touch one of the bottom ones resembling small tusks to you. Buddha moves to grab your hand, keeping it in place as he closes his jaw lightly. The pressure is soft but present and neither of you move until you look back up at him.

You wished you hadn’t.

Long hair spills down his silhouette making him look even bigger as he stands to his full height again and the way it’s naturally parted— framing his face perfectly. You jolt, gasping when you feel his teeth clamp down harder on the tip of your finger before soothing the sting with a brush of his tongue.

“Careful, little one. I could eat you next.”

You swallow so hard you almost gag. The heat inside you that merely simmered starts to boil and it takes your breath away with its intensity.

You and Buddha were friends and this was supposed to be in the name of research…the lines blurring? Not exactly part of your plan. Not that you were complaining.

Eat you? Oh, one could only but dream.

“Oh? It’s like that?” What? Did you-

“Yeah but it’s okay.” You don’t even have the capacity to be embarrassed right now. Instead, what he gets is—

“Your tits are enormous.” He snorts, smiling down indulgently at your dazed face.

“Thanks. They match my..,” he pauses. “Sword.” You groan his name.

“Whaaat? True story.”

Sweet mercy. All this testosterone is making you woozy. Heat still radiates from his body in waves, the way the sun glints off his bindi is heart stopping. Even as friends, you were always aware of how gorgeous he was—you weren’t blind—but you ignored it because you liked being companion to one so strange and flitting yet reassuring when he was near.

He gave fantastic advice and listened well— you never felt ashamed to be yourself in front of him as he never reproached you.

He let you experience each and every one of your emotions with him without flinch and it was as dizzying as he himself was maddening. You feel a weight on your head, tilting it back until you stare into blue pools of nirvana.

“What’s wrong, Miṭhāī?”

A lot was wrong currently— it came with your seconds new identity crisis but as you shift on your feet again with a big, long blonde-haired man smoothing your hair back; you realize you have much more pressing issues.

One, you were wet and two, you know for a fact that Buddhists don’t have companionable sex. So, you settle for a simple answer.

“Nothing.”

He hums and you almost melt in relief until you see the lines in his iris start to glow and your heart falls clean through your ass. You even stop breathing.

“Liar. Your energy is all mixed up”, he stares at different points of your body as he reads you off, paying no attention to how you start to sweat. You needed to distract him fast.

“What are those lines in your eyes? They resemble some sort of flower?” You ask, hoping he doesn’t hear the trepidation in your voice. Buddha answers without breaking his focus on you even a little.

“Yes, the Lily. They represent when I took my first steps.” You feel your heart clench and wonder when you set up your own demise when—

“Hmm?” Oh, that can’t be good.

“The chakra in your lower belly is practically molten-“ In a complete panic, you slap one hand over his eyes and the other one holding the candy over his mouth, eyes watering in pure mortification as you try to explain.

“It’s not what you think-“,

“Mhmm.” He mumbles through your hand and you almost stomp your foot. He was attractive, you weren’t blind— it was a natural, completely unemotionally driven reaction. Why couldn’t he just go with that? You feel his mouth move beneath your hand as he chews, swallows then licks a hot stripe across your palm.

You snatch your hand back like it’s been shot through with an arrow, electricity ricocheting from your hand through your body. The feeling of his soft lips and hot tongue burning in your mind.

Before you can get yourself under control, two large hands fit around your waist and lift you. The way Buddhas muscles barely give with you in his hold, walking blind as he carries you effortlessly, just makes you wetter and it’s so, so miserable.

There’s a small wooden table and that’s what he sits you on, standing huge and tempting right between your legs and this time you give into the impulsive urge to hurt him— reaching up to gather a fistful of his long pretty hair and giving it a sharp yank.

The noise that it gets you is sinful. Deep and mellow, practically melodic as it settles in your blood. Crowding you on the little table, your chest heaving, he gives you a look so knowing it’s almost pitying.

“So that’s what this is about…”, he breathes out, leaning down to nose at your flushed cheek and neck before whispering in your ear.

“The little mortal woman is aroused, huh?”

You open your mouth to deny it but find yourself gaping because the signs are all there. Elevated heart-rate, enlarged pupils, flushed skin, even your nipples were hard.

Buddhas eyes trail down your body again but unlike on the couch, this look is thick with intent. Broad palms move up your sides as his thumbs caress just underneath your breasts and you moan— arching your back up to him like an offering. He takes it, leaning down again to kiss wetly at the corner of your mouth and down your neck, sending flames licking through your body.

A sharp pain in your neck just barely cuts through the haze of bliss. He bit you.

“That’s for pulling my hair earlier. Play nice with me and I’ll play nice with you, okay Miṭhāī?” You nod dumbly but it’s enough to please him.

“Good girl.”

Those two words alone are enough to completely rewire and reboot your ass. All thoughts about if what you were feeling was okay, you two and your supposed platonic relationship as friends, how technically a greenhouse wasn’t the most sanitary place to get down, if Buddhists really did have companionable sex— flew right out the window. Staring down his tan, deliciously muscled everywhere; plump lips, long hair— you realized you didn’t care.

He was sexy down to his teeth.

The want in your eyes— how delightful you are— that’s what moves him. Pouting his lips dramatically as a flurry of kisses rain down onto your soft lips. Again and again, until you reciprocate and more. Buddha tilts his head to fit his lips with the corners of your mouth—filling it with his big tongue, licking into it the way he wants to, the way he needs to, making you gasp.

Your midriff is warm in the firm grasp of his hands, and so damn silky, just like all of you. A needy moan bubbles along the seam of his lips. He lets himself catch it with his tongue, tasting like candy on your pretty mouth. Deeper still; you press even closer— sliding your hand from his broad shoulder up into his endless strands. Your bodies and lips move in sync, seeking closeness and contact and that delicious friction.

And when he pulls away, it’s only because he remembers you need to breathe. Panting, you try to confirm that this won’t mess him or his journey up in any way.

“A-are.. is it okay for Buddhists to-“, he knows exactly how you mean, not even letting you finish before his mouth seals over yours in another kiss. You were so sweet worrying about him. Licking hotly along the inside of your cheek then pulling away with a harsh, wet suck to your bottom lip—hissing in pleasure against your gasping mouth then giving you a devastating smile.

“It’s okay. S’just energy..,” he breathes against your throat, moving your shirt up as he kisses down the valley between your breasts.

“let it flow.”

That’s confirmation enough for you, hands moving to touch everything you could, gripping his beefy arms, caressing down the column of his neck, large shoulders— you’re on your way to heaven.

“You know,” there’s another hard, wet suck down your stomach followed by a swift nip, “some Buddhist traditions use sex as a path to enlightenment…”

And the trip there is definitely going to be the best part.

Title from The Crane Wives Tongues & Teeth

Relationships: Daisy Buchanan/Jay Gatsby, Daisy Buchanan/Tom Buchanan, Nick Carraway & Jay Gatsby, Daisy Buchanan & Jordan Baker

Characters: Daisy Buchanan, Jay Gatsby, Tom Buchanan, Nick Carraway, Jordan Baker, Pamela Buchanan

Tags: Angst, POV First Person, Daisy has a fucking backbone, Writing Fitzgerald’s Women Better, the hotel scene, jay gatsby knows about cars, Unrequited Love, Mixed Jay Gatsby, it’s vaguely alluded to, barely applicable here but it does come up later, Gay Nick Carraway, POV Daisy Buchanan, vaguely aro daisy?, i don’t really like daisy but she needs to be heard, tongues and teeth is about her & jay’s relationship actually, Hurt No Comfort, (yet), Jay Gatsby is a Car Guy, yes i finally have a use for my knowledge

It was the hottest day I could remember, and we were having a party. A party, in heat like this! But Jay and Nick both agreed to come even in the immense heat.

Tom’s woman had called, and I watched Jay with cautious eyes. His hair, already a dark copper, had turned darker with perspiration, eyes drawing up in anger as he heard the increasingly loud conversation. Nick only swiped at his neck, the skin damp with sweat, his eyes flicking nervously between us.

“Very well, then. I won’t sell you the car at all…. I’m under no obligations at to you at all… and as for your bothering me about it at lunch time, I won’t stand that at all!” Tom spoke.

“Holding down the receiver,” I said, shaking my head.

“No, he’s not,” Nick said, trying to reassure me. “It’s a bona-fide deal. I happen to know about it.”

Tom flung open the door, offering his hand out for Jay to shake. “Mr. Gatsby! I’m glad to see you, sir… Nick.” The dislike was well-hidden, but I could notice it.

Wanting to end the growing tension, I urged him to make us a cold drink. As he left the room, I flew to him, pulling his face down to mine. “You know I love you,” I murmured, kissing him.

“You forget there’s a lady present,” Jordan interjected. I stared balefully at her.

“You kiss Nick too,” I said. At this, Nick blushed slightly.

“What a low, vulgar girl!” she said.

“I don’t care!” I cried, instinctively moving to clog the fireplace. Jordan grabbed my arm.

“It’s too hot for that, Daisy,” she said, leading me back to the couch. My daughter entered the room.

“Hello Pammy,” I said kindly. I always felt guilty for leaving her with a nurse, but it was demanded of high society ladies. The nurse let her go, and she ran to clutch at my dress.

“Pammy,” I murmured to her.

“Where’s Daddy?” she asked.

“He’s getting drinks for cousin Nick and Mr. Gatsby. Say how-de-do, Pammy.”

“Hello,” Pammy said, soft.

She peaked out from behind my skirts, and Jay looked surprised. Had he not known I had a daughter?

Jay and Nick both knelt slightly, reaching to take her hand in turn. “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Buchanan,” his voice hiding the shock on his face.

“I have business to get to with Nick and Mr. Gatsby, Pammy, alright? I’ll see you tonight. I love you, sweet thing,” I say, and she reluctantly turns back to her nurse. Tom enters after she leaves, carrying four gin rickeys chock-full of ice.

“They certainly look cool,” Jay says, his fingers wiping away the condensate from his glass. We grab our drinks then, taking long swallows of the cool liquid.

“I read somewhere that the sun’s getting hotter every year,” said Tom, trying to make conversation. “It seems that the earth’s going to fall into the sun—or wait a minute—it’s the opposite—the sun’s getting colder every year.” He paused for a minute, then continued, “Come outside,” he said, gesturing towards Jay. “I’d like you to have a look at this place.”

Nick and Jay followed him out to the veranda, and Jordan and I joined them. Jay pointed to his house. “I’m right across from you.”

“So you are,” he agreed.

We had luncheon in the dining room, curtains closed against the heat, though it only served to make the room hotter, I thought. The room was tense, and we drank and ate in nervous gaiety.

I had a horrid thought. “What’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon?” I cried, “and the day after that, and the next thirty years?”

“Don’t be morbid,” Jordan chastised me. “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”

“It’s so hot,” I groaned, close to crying, “and everything is getting confused. Let’s all go to town!” They didn’t pay attention then, Jay wrapped up in a conversation with Tom about his conversion of our garage into a horse stable.

“Who wants to go to town?” I asked. Jay’s eyes flicked towards me, and even in his perspired state, he looked like a cool breath of air. “You look so cool,” I spoke, meeting his eyes for a single second, the thought once more flashing through my brain.

Jay was going to ruin himself in pursuit of me, and I didn’t care. He had never been meant to be forever for me, even after Tom and I’s unhappy marriage.

“Alright,” Tom broke in. “We can go to town.” I could tell he had seen something in the flick of my eyes to Jay, but didn’t know what.

“Are we just going to go?” I asked. “Just like that? Aren’t we going to let anyone smoke a cigarette?”

“Everybody smoked all through lunch,” Tom objected.

“Oh, have it your own way,” I said. “Come on, Jordan,” I said, leading her upstairs.

“What’s going on, Daisy?” she asked.

“He’s ruining himself in pursuit of me, and I don’t even love him!” I cried. “He’ll break if I leave him, and yet it’s the only way to keep him alive.”

“Tom,” she said. One short syllable that expressed everything I had missed. “He saw that you appeared to love him. That’s why he gave in so quickly.”

“I have to give him up, Jordan. I’m ruining him, and he chose that. He doesn’t realize it, but he won’t be anything without me. He’s based his entire life around me—I’m what makes him Jay Gatsby. He built his personality around me.” If only she knew how true that statement was.

She turned away. “You’d better see if Tom wants to take something to drink,” not acknowledging anything I just said. I nod, promising myself I’ll think over it on the way to town.

Calling out the window, I shout, “Shall we take anything to drink?”

Tom’s mouth moves, and he heads inside, Nick and Jay standing close together. We head downstairs, following Tom out.

“Shall we all go in my car?” Jay suggested, feeling the seat. “I should have left the car in the shade.”

“Is it standard shift?” Tom demanded.

“Yes.”

“Well, you take my coupé and let me drive your car to town,” he said. Jay’s face flashed with distaste.

“I don’t think there’s much gas,” he said.

“Plenty of gas. And if it runs out, we can stop at a drug store. You can buy anything a drugstore nowadays,” he said, and my heart sank. He knew. Or well, he thought he knew. My revelation had hit me in the face, and the shock showed on my countenance.

“Come on, Daisy,” said Tom, pressing his hand into the small of my back, his hand presenting Jay’s car. “I’ll take you in the circus wagon.”

I moved from where his hand laid. “Take Nick and Jordan. We’ll follow you in the coupé,” I said. Tom growled but consented, and Nick and Jordan followed him into the yellow car.

We clambered into the blue coupé, the familiar car seeming almost foreign with Jay in the driver’s seat. I watched Tom, Nick, and Jordan do the same, and Tom sped off, testing out each gear, Jay muttering over the waste of gas.

“He’s going to buy gas for you, you know,” I said.

“I guess,” he said, leaning over and kissing me once on the lips. I forced myself not to recoil, thoughts of his ruin via his pursuit of me still playing in my mind.

“We should go,” I said, and he laughed as he turned the car on. The car rumbled quietly as oil began pumping through the engine, and then quieted again.

“I wait until the engine quiets down after I start it,” he said, “and that’s because it helps the car last longer, if you can get the car to lubricate itself instead just taking off dry.” His words had no meaning to me, but I nodded.

“I don’t think Tom knew that,” I said. He had never waited the thirty seconds after starting the car, he just threw the car into drive and went.

“That would explain why he wants to sell this car, it’s a pile of crap now. How long have you had it?” he asked, pressing his foot to the gas and throwing the car towards the city.

“I think it was a wedding present from Tom’s parents,” I said, and he squirmed uncomfortably in the driver’s seat.

“I wish—well, you know what I wish, Daisy. You’ll tell Tom you don’t love him soon, right?”

“I—I don’t know, Jay.” The I’m going to ruin your life if we continue this pressed at my lips, but I held it back. I expected him to protest, but he apparently realized it was the best he would get.

We rode in tense silence for a few minutes before entering the ash heaps, seeing Tom making harsh gestures at the small man, who I guessed was Wilson. It was, after all, Wilson’s Garage.

“What’s he all mad about?” Jay asked.

“I’ve no clue,” I said. “Perhaps his mistress.”

His face hardened as we slowed to wait for them. “I don’t like how he treats you, Daisy. Like a play toy, abandoning you when he gets bored.”

As the coupé advanced towards Tom and the man I assumed to be Wilson, we heard the maybe-Wilson man say, “I need the money. We’re moving West soon. My wife has wanted to go west for 10 years, you know.”

“Mr. Buchanan!” Jay called.

“Gatsby,” he said. “Go on, you two. We’ll follow.”

We sped off to the highway, Jay testing each gear and the speed of the car. Tom soon followed, accelerating faster than Jay could go. Jay tried keeping up, but the engine started making angry noises, so he slowed down. Thankfully, by then Tom had glanced behind him, slowing. He glanced back every few seconds, as if afraid that he would lose me forever is he didn’t check where I was every few seconds.

When we arrived, Nick looked almost ready to fall asleep. The heat had tired us all, especially in the cars that were 20 degrees warmer than the actual temperature. I suggested we hire five bathrooms to take cold baths, but it was shot down in favor of ‘a place to have a mint julep.’ I almost felt bad for the clerk at the front desk with all of us talking over each other.

The room was stifling hot, and all five of us being there likely did not help. We opened the windows, which only blew slightly cooler air into the room. It was breathtakingly humid, and I went to fix my hair. Jordan whispered it was a swell suite, and we laughed.

“Open another window,” I said.

“There aren’t anymore,” Nick said.

“Well, we’d better telephone for an axe.”

“The thing to do is to forget about the heat,” Tom said, showing that he too was affected by the heat. “You make it ten times worse by crabbing about it.” He unrolled the bottle of whiskey and put it on the table.

“Let her alone, old sport,” Jay said. “You’re the one who wanted to come to town.” In a sentence, Jay had caused Nick to stutter, likely not wanting to point out that I had first suggested it. But in the end, no one mentioned it, because the telephone book slipped from its nail and crashed to the floor.

“I’ll pick it up,” Nick offered.

“I’ve got it,” Jay said, examining the string that held it to the nail. He tossed it on a chair. “String’s broken.”

“That’s a great expression of yours, isn’t it?” Tom remarked, and we all looked at him strangely.

“What is?” Jay asked.

“All this ‘old sport’ business. Where’d you pick that up?”

“Now see here, Tom,” I said, turning from the mirror. “If you’re going to make personal remarks I won’t stay here a minute. Call up and order some ice for the mint julep.”

As Tom picked up the receiver, we heard the first pompous chords of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March from the ballroom below us.

“Imagine marrying anyone in this heat!” Jordan cried.

“Still—I was married in the middle of June. Louisville, in June! Somebody fainted. Who was it who fainted, Tom?” I asked.

“Biloxi,” he answered.

“A man named Biloxi. ‘Blocks’ Biloxi, and he made boxes—that’s a fact—and he was from Biloxi, Tennessee,” I said.

“They carried him into my house,” added Jordan, “because we lived just two doors from the church. And he stayed three weeks, until Daddy told him he had to leave. The day after he left Daddy died.” She paused. “There wasn’t any connection.”

“I used to know a Bill Biloxi from Memphis,” Nick stated.

“That was his cousin. I knew his whole family history before he left. He gave me an aluminum putter I still use today.”

The march had ended, and cheers floated through the open window. The dancing began in a burst of jazz. “We’re getting old,” I said. “If we were young we’d rise and dance.”

“Remember Biloxi,” Jordan warned. “Where’d you know him, Tom?”

“Biloxi?” he asked, thinking. “I didn’t know him. He was a friend of Daisy’s.”

“He was not. I’d never seen him before. He came down in the private car, remember?”

“Well, he said he knew you. He said he was raised in Louisville. Asa Bird brought him around at the last minute and asked if we had room for him,” Jordan said, smiling. “He was probably bumming his way home. He told me he was president of your class at Yale.

Tom and Nick looked at each other. “Biloxi?” Nick asked.

“First place, we didn’t have any president—“ Tom said, eying Jay’s foot, which was tapping restlessly.

“By the way, Mr. Gatsby, I understand you’re an Oxford man.”

“Not exactly,” Jay replied.

“Oh, yes, I understand you went to Oxford.”

“Yes—I went there,” Jay paused. Jordan, Nick, and I start awkwardly, looking between the two men.

Tom spoke again, his voice disbelieving. “You must have gone there about the time Biloxi went to New Haven.”

A waiter knocked on the door, and we all jumped. “Come in!” I called. The waiter did so, leaving the block of ice and mint leaves on the table.

“Thank you,” the man muttered, closing the door.

“I told you I went there—to Oxford,” said Jay.

“I heard you, but I’d like to know when,” demanded Tom.

“It was in nineteen-nineteen. I only stayed five months. That’s why I can’t really call myself an Oxford man.” He paused, and Tom glanced at us to see if we mirrored his disbelief. We didn’t, and Jay continued, “It was an opportunity they gave some to some of the officers after the armistice. We could go to any of the universities in England or France.”

Nick’s hand jerked, as though he wanted to reassure Jay with a hand on his shoulder. Hoping to diffuse the tensions, I spoke, “Open the whiskey, Tom. I’ll make you a mint julep. Then you won’t seem so stupid to yourself… Look at the mint!”

“Wait a minute,” demanded Tom. “I want to ask Mr. Gatsby one more question.”

“Go ahead,” said Jay, smiling.

“What kind of a row are you trying to cause in my house anyhow?”

“He isn’t causing a row,” I interjected. “You’re causing a row, Tom, please have a little self-control.”

“Self-control!” Tom roared. “I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife! Well, if that’s the idea you can count me out… Nowadays people begin by sneering at family life and family institutions, and next they’ll throw everything overboard and have intermarriage between black and white.”

“We’re all white here,” muttered Jordan, and I saw Jay’s cheeks flush.

“I know I’m not very popular,” Tom said. I don’t give give big parties. I suppose you’ve got to make your house into a pigsty in order to have any friends—in the modern world.”

Nick looked annoyed at Tom’s words, and I think everyone felt the same. It was too hot to not be annoyed.

“I’ve got something to tell you, old sport—“ Jay began. I guessed at his intentions, and raised my hand to silence him.

“Not now, Jay,” I said. “Let’s all go home anyways, it’s hotter than it was back home.”

“That’s a good idea,” Nick said. “Come on, Tom. Nobody wants a drink.”

“I want to know what Mr. Gatsby has to tell me,” Tom said, and my heart sank. I would have to tell Jay that I didn’t love him, that he would come to ruin if this continued, that his pursuit of me was stripping him of all it meant to be Jay Gatsby.

“Your wife doesn’t love you,” said Jay. “She’s never loved you. She loves me,” he said. I stood up, meaning to object to his claim, but Jay waved me back down.

“Listen to me, Jay!” I said, the exact same time that Tom said something.

“You must be crazy!” Tom cried.

Jay sprang to his feet then. “She never loved you, do you hear?” and well, that was true. I had married Tom out of obligation to my parents, not out of love.

Continuing, Jay said, “She only married you because I was poor and she was tired of waiting for me. It was a terrible mistake, but in her heart she never loved anyone except me!” His voice was desperate, waiting for me to confirm his words.

Nick and Jordan stood, pleading their excuses, but Tom and Jay both insisted they stay. The two of them wanted all of us to see who would win the fight over me.

At that point, I stood up. Tom blinked at me.

“Daisy, what are you doing?” Jay asked.

“Telling the truth of the matter, as I see it,” I said. They waited for me to go on.

I took a deep breath, suddenly nervous. Jordan and Nick watched me curiously. I addressed Tom first.

“Jay is right. Not about all of it, but parts of it. I don’t love you, but I don’t love him. I married you because my parents—because I felt I owed that much to my parents—they deserved to see me married. I’m sorry, Tom.” Jordan nodded at me. She had found me after I had gotten drunk the night before our wedding. I watched Tom’s face for a reaction. His face hardened, but he nodded stiffly.

“And Jay,” I said, pausing to keep my sobs in my throat. I didn’t want to break him, but he needed to hear this.

“Jay, if you keep pursuing me, you will ruin yourself. You’re already stripping yourself of everything that makes you Jay Gatsby.” Or James Gatz, I thought. “You are ruining yourself in pursuit of a woman who does not love you. I know this hurts you to hear, but I can’t let you choose to ruin yourself. Your whole personality is modeled after what you think I am. I’m not the same girl you knew in Louisville, Jay.” His head jerked up at his name, though his face was shiny with sweat and tears. He had curled into himself upon the couch.

“Daisy—“ he gasped out. I stood up.

“I’m leaving,” Tom said. “Daisy, Jordan, Nick?” he asked. Though his face was stricken, he was much more composed than Jay.

“I’m staying. Leave Gatsby’s car, please,” Nick said. “I’ll get him home.”

“Of course, Nick.”

“I’ll go home,” I said. “I really am sorry, Tom.”

“It’s alright, Daisy. We’ll talk when we’re back at home. Jordan?” he asked.

“I’ll come with you two,” she agreed.

“Goodbye,” Nick said politely, though his voice was cold in a strong contrast to the heat.