#Angsty plot bunny

[naehja]

Ok I'm for the Angst today.

For a little (very) angsty idea.

One day Airplane is very tired and frustrated. His work didn't become like he wanted. He had a lot of lore ideas, of relationships ideas…but people wanter porn. People wanted SQQ to suffer (looks to a certain cumcumber). He ended killing or not using characters he loved (without being able to use his ideas about them). People enjoyed Luo Binghe becoming violent, sadistic, pervert (becoming a r*pist). It's not what he wanted. He wanted to write something else with his characters. He wanted another story. Not THAT. But he needed money and people wanted THAT. But he's so frustrated. His story became something he hates….he hates what it became.

At a point, he listen a potcast about Conan Doyle and how he killed his main character to (try to) end the stories about him. Even if he failed since people wanted so much the character's return that he forced himself to find a way to make him survive and return.

And this famous day, he's so frustrated and disillusioned that he wrote about Luo Binghe's death. Like his demon blood, at a point, start to poison the human parts of his body because he's too powerful with his demon powers and he damage his body without realizing it. He writes how Luo Binghe becomes more and more tired, starts to cough blood, etc. How nothing can help him (no plants, meats, or even s*x).

He even writes lore about half demons to justify what happened. So it would no look like if he just invented it recently but had planned it. And so his book…his story, who became something he hated and was frustrated with, ended with Luo Binghe's death.

Half demons doesn't live long. Being 50/50 is dangerous.

Half Demon Body can't bear the fight between the two egal parts of his being: It's like if his own body was destroying half of his adn.

It's only happen with the Heavenly Demons. So the most powerful ones. Airplane even writes that Binghe's father never thought of the possibilty to have a child with a human so never spoke about those problems with his lover (Binghe's bio mum)

To avoid any reincarnation plot, he evens say that Binghe can't reincarne because demon reincarnation and human reincarnation are differents. And since he's 50/50, he can't use any of them.

Airplane, maybe a little drunk: Ha! fuck you! That's for have forced me to do stupid harem plot rather that all the serious and lore things that i wanted to write! You forced me torture and kill SQQ!! Well i kill Luo Binghe!

Airplane: I wish i could see Cumcumber's face when i'll publish that! In your face Hater =)

He has never the possibility to publish it (like for Shen Jiu's backstory) because he dies and is reincarnated as SQH.

He feels bad about a lot of things. Because SQQ's horrible backstory for exemple.

Everything Airplane wrote about this universe happens, right? The backstory of the characters, the deaths of certains characters…except after Shen Yuan being sent there, things seems to change: SQQ's change of behaviour, LQG is saved, etc…

But the change are not because the story is different but because Shen Yuan takes over SQQ's body. So yeah, some things become more and more differents. But others things stay the same.

And SQH realizes that nothing can change Luo Binghe's fate because he 100% wrote that NOTHING could save him and even wrote LORE to justify that nothing could save him. And that seen how everything happens sooner in this universe....

SQH: Well Fuuuuuck

SQH: …Should i tell Cumcumber bro?

*later*

SQQ: What do you mean, the inevitable death of Luo Binghe is coming in the future? OoO

System: Ask the author :/

[part-time-zombie]

Got an idea I wanna do something with:

Since Remus represents "forbidden" creativity and Roman is "acceptable" creativity, it stands to reason that if an idea is from Remus it cannot be accepted, purely because it comes from him.

In fact, Remus himself as a side exists because Thomas rejects what he stands for. So what if he didn't anymore? What do you think would/could happen to Remus when he's no longer kept at a distance? Would he change, would he disappear, would he no longer be himself because he's finally fully accepted?

Probably not. If you ask me, I'd say c!thomas has already subconsciously cemented their existences into two separate sides because that's how he sees them and that likely won't change, but consider this for a moment...

What if Remus still has that fear?

What if he's secretly terrified that now that he's finally being welcomed into the group, he might disappear? (or worse, rejoin with Roman and destroy them both)

So he keeps his distance from everyone but especially from Roman, not even giving his brother the chance to accidentally brush past him in the hallway much less willingly touch him.

He keeps up the edge and the off putting nature he projects to keep him at the fringes of the group because he simply can't risk the harm that could come to himself if he were fully embraced.

And then one day it happens.

Maybe it's one of the twins birthdays, or c!thomas just received some amazing news, and Roman cant help but just pull his brother into a tight hug before Remus has a chance to avoid it.

Remus feels like he's burning and freezing all at once and he's convinced that it's finally happening. He and Roman are rejoining, they'll no longer be themselves anymore. He'll be gone now, Roman too, all because Thomas was too forgiving of him.

Then he opens his eyes and realizes that he's still here. Roman's still hugging him, and nothing has changed. He's just... being hugged, and nothing bad is happening because of it.

It's not long after that it's realized that Remus is touch-starved, and the others all understand why he's been distancing himself from them. Thomas then sits him down for a proper conversation where he promises that he doesn't want Remus to change or go away, and that just because he's no longer being kept in the dark it doesn't mean Thomas is going to get rid of him.

"You're just as much as part of my creativity as Roman is, you're just in charge of a different part of it. I need both of you to help keep me complete, and I don't think I'd be the same if I lost one or both of you, okay?"

It takes a long time for Remus to stop crying after that, and even longer for him to stop cuddling up to the other sides every chance he gets. Not like anyone minds of course, especially not Roman.

He's just glad he gets to be around his brother again.

[eatsbooks]

If his mate is from CoN then this is inevitable. This also makes it impossible for him to protect her from several types of threats including paternal abuse unless he is willing to ask his brother to take her to Velaris after which he will stop visiting Velaris for years to come.

i'm literally like on the edge of my seat unblinking shoveling popcorn into my mouth rn. azriel taking this extended absence from velaris, and he won't tell anyone why, or what he's even doing. they know this has to do with this girl, obviously. he can't quite hide that after asking rhysand to intervene. but they have no other context, and i'm sure they aren't quite able to make that connection. maybe their running theory becomes that this is like a secret child azriel sired and didn't know about. oof.

alternatively azriel who has to go to some hewn city function with rhysand — tries to get out of it, can't, rhysand haltingly goes, if you would just tell me what it is you're— but azriel (deeply ashamed, always) cuts him off with, it's fine. send for me when it's time to leave. — and her and her family are in attendance. father is being heavy-handed because that's par for the course in the hewn city, but azriel goes into a hyper-protective rage after experiencing this second-hand down the bond for a while with no way to stop it, and when he comes to — the father is broken and bleeding a la keir's hand except it's uhhh his whole body. she's staring up at him in abject terror. there is no other word for the way she looks at him, this imposing male, encased in armor and with wings she knows from the scary carvings in the tunnels, who only ever comes to reign further havoc alongside the high lord and has, for no reason she can understand, chosen her father to make an example of tonight. drops to her father's side — that's still her father, and she still loves him, even if the way he shows his love hurts sometimes — and shields his body with hers. azriel becomes a thing to fear, a thing to hate.

[teecupangel]

What if Desmond was a bunny? And he met his ancestors when they were just kids, what do you think would happen?

Bunnies for reference

Me: Look at all the cute bunnies aaawwww. Look how cute they are and so precious.

Also me: Let’s add angst into this. 𓁹‿𓁹

Altaïr:

This would be quite similar to Pigeon!Desmond set up where Altaïr finds a dirty and maybe limping bunny as an eleven year old who just lost his father.

Al Mualim lets him keep the bunny because he’s not heartless but tells Altaïr that the bunny would be his responsibility.

Desmond grows up being spoiled rotten by Altaïr and Al Mualim thinks Altaïr is trying to ignore his grief by focusing on caring for something that is wholly dependent on him. Desmond also thinks that but he’s okay with it because it makes Altaïr happy.

Desmond never liked Abbas even when he and Altaïr were friends so after their falling out, Abbas usually threatens to skin and cook Desmond.

Desmond knows he’s weak and couldn’t really be all that helpful but he still makes a fuss until Altaïr takes him to wherever his mission takes him. He usually just makes Desmond stay in the bureau though and Desmond is fine with that compromise.

Malik hides it but he gives Desmond too much food whenever he’s left in the bureau as well.

Ezio:

Ezio finds him and helps him when he was about to drown and he takes him back to the Palazzo where Maria fusses over how dirty and wet he was.

Desmond wanted to stay with Ezio but Ezio actually gave him to Petruccio as a gift. Desmond never tried to run away from Petruccio because Ezio told his little brother “This way you’ll always have a friend with you”

Because Desmond is just a bunny, he couldn’t do anything to protect Petruccio when the guards came. He tried to get in the way but he was simply kicked and he hit his back against the wall. Ezio was the one who finds him when he returned home.

When Ezio returned after failing to save his father and brothers, Desmond was waiting by the doorway for Ezio. Ezio sees him and assumes he was waiting for Petruccio, making him fall to his knees and finally cry as he begged Desmond to forgive him for being weak. Desmond knows that Ezio isn’t really talking to him, that he’s trying to beg forgiveness from his father and brothers so he just rubs his head against Ezio’s hand to try and comfort him.

Ratonhnhaké:ton:

Ratonhnhaké:ton finds Desmond the bunny while he’s stuck in a trap. For a few brief seconds, he was afraid that Ratonhnhaké:ton would take him and cook him because he was a hunter but Ratonhnhaké:ton just helped him out of the trap and let him go.

Afterward, Desmond follows Ratonhnhaké:ton but always tries to hide whenever Ratonhnhaké:ton looks in his direction. It doesn’t really do anything and Ratonhnhaké:ton ends up grabbing him and bringing him to the village.

He asked his mother if they could keep Desmond as a pet and Kaniehtí:io is amused but agrees.

The day the village is burned down, Desmond tries to stay behind to find a way to help Kaniehtí:io. In the end, he failed and all he could do was watch as Ratonhnhaké:ton hold him tightly as they both watch the village burn.

Desmond is usually left in the homestead and Achilles always looked at him with a frown but Desmond knew that the old man was a softie because he always gives Desmond the freshest vegetables for him to eat.

[alpineangel]

plots based on the album ‘something to give each other’ by troye sivan. i will probably add more songs in the future but these three songs have been on my mind for days!

‘One of Your Girls’

muse a and muse b knew there was something between them from the moment they first met. muse a is openly straight— the intimate relationship he forms with muse b something he could never share with anyone. muse b falls for muse a quickly, however muse a is trapped in a cycle of meaningless hookups and loveless relationships to avoid confronting his true feelings for muse b. willing to sacrifice everything for muse a, muse b sits back and watches as muse a openly sees other people while keeping muse b as his little secret knowing he won’t leave. plenty of room for angst— daydreaming together of a universe where it’s them at the end of the day and everyone in their lives supports them, muse b wondering if he’s wasting his time or if muse a really will be with him one day, etc.

‘still got it’

muse a and muse b were in a serious relationship for (x) amount of years. for the entirety of their relationship they were fiercely loyal to each other, passionately in love, predicted to marry. something goes wrong; muse a changes everything muse b loved about them, moves into a new place that holds no memory of muse b, they do their best to leave behind every part of the person muse b loved. now they’re acting like two strangers in the same crowded room, two strangers who inevitably find themselves tipsy in the back of an uber together. hesitant touching and second guesses fill the silence between them for this never-ending ride, neither muse knowing where the night will end.

‘can’t go back’

muse a is a famous musician, muse b is their partner of (x) years who travels on and off the road with them. muse a is having the biggest performance of their career with muse b supporting them as always— however at some point during the weekend muse b cheats while they are supposed to be standing there in the audience (maybe getting too tipsy at the hotel bar pre-show, maybe he’s just a dick, tbd!) cheering their partner on. muse a finds out about the fair after a period of time and ends the relationship ignoring muse b’s pleading apologies, only to spend all of his time processing all of the hard feelings they hold on to. it doesn’t matter how hard they try, muse b is always back in their orbit at the end of the day as they find themselves tangled in a never-ending cycle of ‘this is the the last time’ and ‘i need you, i’m sorry.’

[cryptidindrid]

For the first time in 5 years I have plot bunnies 🐰

[lemonandpie]

Armand letting himself be the guinea pig for Daniel learning the mind gift, and Daniel using it to get revenge for all of the memories Armand erased

[eddys-plot-shop]

Fandom: Call The Midwife

Faceclaim: Jacob Elordi (as Elvis in Priscilla)

Love Interest: Timothy Turner

Name: Nicholas Morrison

Myers Briggs Type: ISTJ

Occupation: Junior Doctor

Quote: "Every life is a story waiting to be told, and I'm honored to be a part of that narrative."

Fic Title: Heartbeats in Poplar

Plot Summary: Nicholas Morrison, a dedicated junior doctor, arrives in Poplar to assist the midwives. His steadfast demeanor and compassionate care catch the attention of fellow junior doctor, Timothy Turner, who finds himself drawn to Nicholas, a young man so similar to himself. As they navigate the challenges of childbirth and health in London's east end, as well as the growing complexities of their own feelings, their bond deepens. However, their burgeoning romance faces obstacles as they confront societal norms and personal insecurities. Amidst the joys and sorrows of their work, Nicholas and Timothy must discover if their love can withstand the trials of life in 1960s London.

If you are interested in writing Nicholas's story, please comment, message or inbox me.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch.2 you may now kiss the bride!!

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, mild love triangle(s), gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 10)

ᰔ words. 16.8k (i be yappin)

a/n. AHHH thanks very much for 2k followers!! yippeee :”) i had a lot of fun writing this chapter of ihm i feel like there’s a lot of silly but a lot of angsty too and i got to set up a lot of secondary plot lines in this chapter which was fun. i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!

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“Can you chop down that stupid avocado tree of yours already? It keeps dropping its devilish spawn all over my herb garden.”

“Wow. Good afternoon to you too.”

Gojo scratches the back of his head from where he’s opened the front door of his house, standing in his pajamas and you briefly glance down at his bunny slippers before looking back up at him with a ridiculing face before pushing past him into his house.

Gojo’s house is almost the exact mirror of yours, as are most houses in the neighborhood, but it’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it and so you take an indulgent look. A cozy family room to the side, which you see he’s decorated with a coffee table and a loveseat, and the staircase is visible from the entrance. A modest dining table sits where the carpet turns into wood, and you’ve noticed he’s made the effort to place real hardwood on his floors contrary to the laminate in yours. Ok, show off. Your eyes take in the paintings on the wall, and you remember how his house almost looks fake, like in the way he sets up props in open houses he’s showing for clients, as if someone lives here and yet somehow there’s no real living proof of it.

And because it’s pretty much the exact same layout as your house, you know exactly where the pantry room is, and you grab a bunch of Doritos and Pocky from his secret snack drawer.

“Oh yes, go right ahead. Please,” he says sarcastically as he leans against a support pillar near the dining room and watches you stuff your face with his snacks.

“So,” you say, muffled, “did you grab the paperwork?”

“No, I didn’t.” He glances at his watch. “My friend’s a family law lawyer, and he’s gonna be here soon to help us out with the prenup.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re being serious about the prenup? You really think I’m trying to gold dig at the cobwebs of your bank account? How little self respect do you think I have?”

“...do you really want me to answer that questi–”

The doorbell ringing startles you, and you quickly wipe at your face to clear any crumbs before setting the wrappers in your hands onto a bookshelf as you watch Gojo head to the door and open it.

You hear another distinct masculine voice ring in the air as Gojo exchanges pleasantries with him in the form of a handshake and a familiar hug with a few pats on the back, and then the angle Gojo twists his body reveals the man standing outside the door. He’s a bit shorter than Gojo with a lean build, clad in a fiercely formal black suit and tie with polished shoes. His hair is well-kept, short and raven black, and his eyes are sunken with what you can only imagine is fatigue. And it’s kinda hot to you, unfortunately, after years of working the night shift, you’re starting to find dark circles under people’s eyes to be extremely attractive.

“Uh, y/n, this is my friend, Higurama. Hiromi Higurama,” Gojo says, gesturing between the two of you,  “and Hiromi, this is y/n. My obnoxious neighbor. Careful though, if you get too close she’ll bite off your fingers.”

“I’ll bite off a different appendage of yours if you don’t shut the fuck up,” you snarl at him, and Higurama takes a step inside the house to greet you with an outstretched hand. 

“Hi, it’s lovely to meet you,” he says, and you’re a little startled by the politeness, but aptly shake his hand and nod before squawking out a likewise!!

You look past Higurama at Gojo who’s got an eyebrow raised at you, and then your eyes are on Higurama again as you watch him set his briefcase down on the dining table. “Are we ready to discuss?” he asks, brown eyes darting between the two of you. You nod and take a seat across from him, and Gojo first grabs everyone some glasses of water before he takes a seat at the head.

“So,” Higurama starts, “I take it you two are madly in love and would like to enter a marital agreement to declare your affections for one another in the court of law under just circumstances?”

You blink at him. “Y-Yes. Very just circumstances. Nothing shady going on here, we are indeed very madly in love and would like to get married.”

“Why the fuck would you say it like that?” Gojo chirps in but not before sighing. 

“T-The way he asked was really nerve wracking!!” you counter. And then your eyes widen when you look at Higurama again, who has a slightly amused tug to his lips. “...oh, you already know this marriage is a fraud.”

“I was just testing you,” he casually says, “in case they mention any suspicions in court. Seems you should just let Satoru do the talking.”

You pout a little and sink further into your seat, then bring the glass of water up to your lips. 

“Well, in any case,” Higurama says, and then he goes on into the details of what to expect in the courtroom. He pulls out paperwork for the marriage license application and starts to walk the two of you through the prenuptial agreement. 

“It’s my understanding you’re both desiring a prenup for this marriage?” Hugurama asks, brow furrowed slightly as he rustles through the endless papers in front of him that he was drowning in.

You briefly glance at Gojo, who’s also looking through all the papers with a concentrated look on his face, his features tense and he’s slightly worrying his bottom lip through his teeth. He’s thinking way harder about this whole prenup thing than you would, and you realize he’s genuinely taking this very seriously. 

“Um, yes,” you acquiesce, suddenly feeling a little guilty. And you remember who’s the one in need of the favor here. “I’m okay with the prenup.”

Higurama tells you two about the implications of the prenup, what can and cannot be included under state laws, and stresses the importance of full financial disclosure and fairness in the agreement to ensure its enforceability in the event of a divorce. Basically, don’t fucking lie about anything or else you two could sue each other to hell for it should divorce occur. You both agree, and you’re feeling sick to your stomach with anticipation. 

“Alright,” Higurama interjects your thoughts, “I will begin to draft the document then. Let’s start with assets.”

Gojo drones on about his tangibles, intangibles, cash equivalents, stocks, yada yada and you open up with yours too, but you can barely hear anything you’re saying and you can hardly hear what anyone else is saying either because you’re just dreadfully awaiting for Higurama to finally bring up—

“How about debts?” he asks, mindlessly as he types away on his laptop, as if the question doesn’t make you want to throw up. 

Your breathing picks up in speed, and you’re nervously fidgeting your hands over the surface of the table. You glance over at Gojo again, this time startled to find his eyes are on you too. His gaze briefly flickers to the shuffling of your fingers, then it meets yours again as he tilts his head slightly in a silent ask of you good?

“Uh–” you start, when you feel Higurama’s eyes on you too now that the silence has stretched on for too long, “I’m…well, I’m in a bit of…debt. From nursing school, a little bit from undergrad still, actually…”

“Okay,” Higurama says, “how much would you approximate? I’ll need the official loan statements soon, though.”

“Well, I’m paying off slowly…but last month I have around seventy-thousand still to pay off.”

“Alright,” Higurama accepts, “and you, Satoru? Student loans?”

“Oh, I don’t have any,” he says, “I paid them off a while ago.”

You feel like you’re being opened apart at the seams, and suddenly feel ashamed.

“Alright, what about other debts? Credit card debts? Any loans to know about?”

You figured you just needed to rip the bandaid off.

“Um,” you say, “I’m about three hundred thousand dollars in medical debt from my mother’s treatment loans.”

The room goes quiet, there’s no more rustling of papers or the mechanical jumping of keys on a keyboard, hell, even the birds outside stopped chirping to display their disbelief. 

“Wha–” Gojo starts, like he can’t help it, before he catches himself out of politeness, but he’s still looking at you with concern and shock. “y/n…what happened?”

You look over at Higurama too, and he’s completely turned away from the document he was drafting on his laptop, full attention on you, and his brow is creased with the same amount of concern. And you feel like you’re in therapy. You also feel like you’re about to cry.

“Well…it’s just,” you start, throat feeling raw, “my mom couldn’t qualify for medical loans because of years of poor credit, and insufficient income, and her cancer treatments became really costly, and so–” you suck a breath in, because your voice cracks slightly at the end. You were not about to cry in front of them right now. “And so I decided to cosign on her loans so she could receive treatment, and stuff kept coming up, and I had to work reduced hours for a couple of years when she was first diagnosed, and…some payments got away from me, and so then…there was interest, and…it’s…I guess over five years, things just…accumulated.”

They both sit there in stunned silence, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, like they understand your situation is so fucked in its entirety that they can barely even bear to put themselves through the trouble of even imagining themselves in your shoes, let alone fathom that you’re living in them.

Higurama clears his throat and redirects his attention to the computer. “That’s… no problem for the prenup. Thank you for being honest.”

“Hey,” Gojo interjects, and his hand reaches out to lay over your fidgeting hands over the table. His eyes are serious. “Why didn’t you–” he starts, and his face softens slightly when you can’t help the small sheen of tears that reaches your eyes, “...why didn’t you say anything about this? I mean, anytime we’ve talked.”

It’s your turn to look at him with a tense expression, and you slowly withdraw your hands from the hold of his palm to place them in your lap under the table. “Uh, why would I share about my financial woes to my neighbor? Don’t most people just act like shit’s normal with their neighbors?”

“I guess, but I didn’t know it was that ba–”

Higurama’s phone starts to ring, and he glances at the Caller ID before sighing slightly. “Sorry, I have another client I need to see soon. We’ll have to wrap this up, but I’ll continue drafting this document. Please send me your relevant statements for any loans and–” he glances at you, “...associated debts.” He starts to gather his things at the table, then neatly tucks his papers into his briefcase before placing his laptop in there too. He reaches to shake Gojo’s hand first, then shakes yours, and holds onto your hand a second longer to gather your attention. His eyes are almost solemn.

“I truly hope your mother gets better soon,” he says to you, tone contrite. 

You slowly nod and thank him, and then Gojo goes to see him out the door.

The house feels quiet when Gojo closes the front entrance, and he stays facing the door for a few seconds before slowly turning around to face you, back leaning against it as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off.

“I really–” you say, “...I really don’t want to talk about it.”

His face contorts into confusion, and it looks like he’s about to protest, but you allow yourself to show the slightest amount of the hurt and the worry on your face, and he realizes that means he shouldn’t try to push it.

“Okay,” he says, and quietly. 

Things are awkward in the air for a second, so you waltz over to the window and watch through it as Higurama gets into his car, some type of sleek old black Mercedes Benz but it’s polished to perfection, and you let out a content sigh.

“What?” Gojo asks you, tone a little short. 

“Ohhh, nothing,” you say, bringing your hands up to cup your cheeks to feel their warmth as you take in the image of Higurama’s slender legs in his business attire, “I just…” you sigh again, “I just loooove men in suits. I wish I knew more men that wore them often.”

A beat of silence. “Um. I wear them often?”

You turn on your heel to face him. “Yeah, but you wear them in, like, a slutty way. Higurama,” you say, pointing with your thumb facing the window, “wears them in the actually respectable workplace way. Hence why it’s hotter on him.”

He scoffs. “And yet you’re always staring at my ass from afar when I’m wearing my tailored trousers.” 

“I seriously wonder what it’s like to be so fucking delusional all the time,” you shake your head at him and he looks like he’s got a comeback on his tongue but you sshhhhhhhh him and walk back into the heart of the house. You look over your shoulder briefly, and see Gojo’s standing where you were standing at the window a few seconds ago, looking out onto the street, and he’s grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite hear. And then you hear the sound of Higurama’s car driving away. 

You circle around the dining table, and take a seat to look through the marriage paperwork Higurama left behind for the two of you to fill out.

“Bring the paperwork over to the kitchen island,” you hear Gojo say as he makes his way to the kitchen, “I’ll fix us some coffee.”

The island has a seated side to it with bar stools that raise high and turn in fully 360 degree fashion, so you swirl around in your seat to make yourself dizzy while Gojo brews some coffee with his espresso machine. 

“Mm…smells nice,” you comment, still swirling.

“Milk? Sugar?” he asks you, and you stop swirling to answer him.

It’s not the first time you’ve been to Gojo’s house. When he first moved in next door, you brought him a plate of cookies as a welcome to the neighborhood! gift and he had invited you inside and fixed you a cup of coffee then too. The house was mostly empty back then, he’s made a lot of good work in filling it with furniture in that sort of IKEA catalog fashion, and you can clown on him for it all you want, but it still looks nicer than most homes you’ve been in. Anyways, you only visited him in his house a couple times after that before you realized you hated him. Because he blasts loud music at the most random times, which you’re convinced he’s just trying to show off the sound system he probably spent an unnecessary amount of money on, not to mention an unnecessary amount of time installing. He also always forgets to mow his fucking lawn, and it drives you nuts because then the weeds spread over into your lawn, but it’s not like it matters because you hardly mow yours either, but still. And that fucking boat. That fucking boat he keeps right at the edge of your driveway that taunts you and your ability to pull into garages after every single one of your dreadful night shifts. One of these days, you might just steal it and drive it into the ocean so it drowns. Wait, boats don’t drown. That’s the point of boats. They’re buoyant. It’s okay, you’ll find another way to get rid of it. The boat, you mean. 

“Here you go,” he says, sliding a cup of coffee to you across the island. You peer inside at the brown liquid, and the scent alone awakens your senses.

“So, logistics,” you say.

“Logistics,” he repeats after you as he stirs a spoon in his mug. 

“We need to make this believable,” you say to him, “otherwise the marriage could be invalidated, and we could face criminal charges, and I could lose the insurance benefits for my mom, and potentially get sued by said insurance companies, and get thrown into jail for life, and—”

“And how much sleep have you lost thinking about this?” he asks you with a sigh as he brings his mug up to take a sip. 

“I’m being serious, Satoru,” you say to him, “I…would just rather err on the side of caution. It’s a small town, people talk. And sometimes those people know the law.” You shudder.

“Who the fuck is out there that would be so pissed about us getting married just so you can help out your sick mom?” he asks.

Your eyes flicker downwards slightly in consideration. You can think of one person, at least. And when you look up at him, you’re surprised to see there’s a similar look on his face, as if he could think of a particular one person too. But before you can dwell more on the expression on his face, he grabs the paperwork in front of you and looks through some of it. “You should get started on your paperwork. Higurama filled most of mine out for me already, so you’re the one he’s waiting on.”

You groan and stretch your arm out across the island counter, then lay your head on your upper arm. “Sigh, why couldn’t he have done that for meee tooooo.”

“Probably because he doesn’t know you?” Gojo snorts. He’s silent for a moment as he takes another sip. You can’t see his face. “So,” he starts, “I mean. If we’re going to make this believable, which, to be honest, I don’t think a single person in this neighborhood would find us getting married believable, but still, if we were to try making it believable, wouldn’t it make sense for us to, uh, I don’t know, live together? Like what regular married couples do.”

“I am appalled you would even suggest that.”

“It’s going to look like we’re just faking it if we don’t at least cohabitate together,” he tells you.

“We can’t do that,” you sigh, “I bet you’d try to touch me inappropriately.”

“What???” 

“Yeahhh, I don’t know, you just—...you just seem like a guy with very little self control.”

“...y’know what? This is over. I’m calling off this engagement,” he says, and he walks over to the dining table with his coffee cup in hand and you lift your head up off your arm in a panic.

“Wha–...no!! Wait!!” you say, grabbing all the paperwork off the island and bringing it to the dining table where he’s taken a seat. “Please marry me. I need it so bad.”

“Woah,” he says, looking up at you, and there’s a darker glint to his eyes. “You need it so bad? Can you say that again?”

You curl up the papers in your hands into a makeshift hollow pole and whack him across the head with it. “This is exactly why I think you would touch me inappropriately.”

He grumbles slightly as he nurses the spot you whacked him with two of his fingers rubbing the area, and then he fixes his hair with a comb of his hand through it. The sleeve of his shirt drops a little from the movement, and you can see the muscles of his arm flex, then your eyes are quickly darting away so he doesn’t catch the line of your gaze on him. What the fuck. That was weird. You blame ovulation. 

“Alright, fine,” he says, and he grabs the papers out of your hand, “also don’t bend these. It bothers me.” 

You circle back to the kitchen to grab your abandoned coffee cup, and then bring it to the dining table to sit down with him at it. He places your half of the papers in front of you. You glance down at the first few boxes to fill out, and you already feel like giving up.

You glance up at him for a distraction. “Aren’t you going to ask me how long I want you to be married to me for?” you ask him.

“Uh, how long do you want me to be married to you for?”

“Forever,” you say. To scare him.

“Yeah, right.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively. 

You sulk because it didn’t scare him. “Six months.”

“More plausible.”

“Really,” you say earnestly, “six months.”

He looks up at you now, a curious expression on his face. “Why specifically six months?”

Your eyes find the color of your coffee fascinating once again. “I don’t want to put my mother in hospice for too long. I’ll miss her,” you say, “it’s just…something I’m trying out for now. And to just get a bit of a caretaking break, and also so I can pick up more shifts at the hospital to work on paying off my debt. It’s just…temporary.”

His shoulders roll back once and he sits up a little straighter, holding up one of the pieces of paper to study it better while he clicks his pen. “Alright. Whatever works for you.”

You twiddle with your hands again, blinking a little in consideration as a few moments pass by. “Uh…about living together. That’s fine. I suppose.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah. But no touching,” you point at him with a strict finger.

He tilts his head back up to the ceiling in annoyance. There’s a roll in the muscles of his throat as his jaw goes slack. You squirm in your chair a little. Ovulation, you think. 

“I’m not going to touch you, y/n,” he assures you when his chin tips back down. You just stare at him for a few seconds as he seems to be in thought about something, and then his eyes meet yours. “Whose house are we going to live in?”

“Mine,” you say, “yours looks like a shitty catalog. It’s lame.”

“True,” he says, “yours feels homey. I like that.”

You’re a little taken aback by his words, and then purse your lips together. Your sort of go-to thanks expression reserved for him. “So, are you gonna sell your house then?”

“Huh? No way,” he shakes his head, “I’ll just see if I can rent it out for now.” He shakes his head even more. “I mean, god no, I wouldn’t be caught dead selling a house. Not with these market conditions. You know how much it’s already risen in equity within just the past few months alone? In five years from now—”

While Gojo continues to drone on about the lunacy of not holding onto property in this housing market, your eyes widen slightly at his words, like your body realizes a truth to what he’s saying before your mind does.

And then that’s when it hits you.

How you can help pull yourself out of debt.

You slam your coffee mug down on the table with a little more fierceness than you probably should’ve.

“Hey,” he scolds you, “can you be careful with that?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you say, ignoring him, “we’re gonna live in yours.”

“Huh?” he responds, “...but I thought you said mine looks like a catalog.”

“A shitty catalog.”

“Did you need to specify?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you tell him, with resolve, “because I’m gonna sell my house.”

He sits up a little straighter at your words. “Like, the house next door?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

He sighs. “Were you even listening to me? It’s so much more worth it to–”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, “I need the money now. Not five years from now.” Your eyes glance down at your hands, and your tone becomes quiet. “I…I don’t even know if my mom has five years left to live.”

A silence settles in the room, and you see in your periphery that Gojo’s stiff and still, like he’s barely allowing himself to breathe as if you’d find it abrasive, and when you look over at him, his expression is soft.

“I know,” he says. “It sounds like a plan.”

“Will you help me sell it?” you ask him. “I’d…need a realtor.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees.

“Okay…” you say, and take a sip of lukewarm coffee, as if you haven’t just decided on an extremely major life decision. “Um. I’ll go get the paperwork then. From my house.”

“Oh. Right now?” he asks you, and he leans forward in his seat a little to get a closer look at your face. “I mean, don’t you want some time to think about it before putting it on the market? We can wait for a little bit.”

“No. That’s okay,” you say, standing up from your chair, “I’ll…go get the paperwork.”

He nods at you slowly, but his eyes are observant, and you ignore it to keep up the momentum of this decision that was definitely the right decision by all means and one that you should not be hesitating on at all as it is such an epiphany that can help clear your debilitating financial burdens. 

“Drive safe,” he says to you when you grab your purse off the coffee table in the family room.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

The outside air is breezy, it’s a nice day with the sun shining down and sparkling off of sprinkler dew drops on overgrown grass, and you hop across with a pep in your step as you make it to your house next door. You’re always quiet when opening the door, because you never know when your mom is sleeping or not, and since her bedroom is downstairs, she’s privy to noises. Once you’re inside, you check to make sure she’s sleeping with a small creak open of her door, only to find that she’s sitting on her rocking chair and looking through a box of paintings.

Your heart twists at the sight, and you gently knock the door with your knuckles.

She glances up at you, and you can always tell from just the look in her eyes if she recognizes you or not. Because they’re warm and gentle when she does, but they see right past you to the wall when she doesn’t.

“Hello,” she says, “can I help you?”

You come up to her and kneel down beside her, placing a hand up on the rocking chair arm rest while she looks down at you.

“Hi, mom. It’s me. Your daughter,” you gentle reintroduce yourself. It’s what her neurologist suggested you do anytime she can’t remember you, but it rips away a piece of your soul each time.

Her eyes still see past you, abstract, empty with no feeling as she wraps her head around your words. “I am no one’s mother,” she tells you, tone sounding sharp and like she’s a moment away from terror.

“That’s okay,” you quickly remediate, feeling hollow inside from her words but you always had to be the sane one, so you direct her attention to the box in her lap. “What are you looking at?”

“Oh, I just found these paintings!” she exclaims. “I thought they were wonderful. Do you know who drew them?”

You smile up at her. “You did.”

“Me?” she blinks at you. The wrinkles in her forehead crumple with surprise, “oh, no, dear, I could not paint such things with detail. Look at me!” She holds her hand up. “My hand is trembling!”

She’s getting weaker. You make a mental note to bring it up to her doctor.

“You used to hold a paint brush like it was just an extension of your hand,” you tell her, picking up one of the paintings out of the box, “you were an art teacher, mom.”

“Don’t call me mom,” she says to you, that sharp tone from earlier cutting through to your soul. “I am no one’s mother.” Her eyes shimmer with a light sheen of tears.

You stare at her, brow pinching together with hurt, but you bite back the part of you that wants to beg her to remember you, to take one close look at you, and see you with warmth and not emptiness. But she sees past you all the same.

“Can you do something for me?” you whisper to her.

“Yes?” she asks.

“Could you please lay down? You need some rest.”

“Are you my nurse?” she asks.

You breathe in deep. “Yes.”

“Am I…” she glances briefly at her reflection in the vanity mirror, her eyes flitting up to the head scarf on her head that covers the absence of hair, “am I sick?”

You exhale. “Yes. You need rest.”

“Oh…” she acknowledges, “why, yes. I do feel…a little frail.”

“I know,” you comment, and you put the box down on the floor then help her up onto her feet slowly by holding onto her arm, and you guide her to sit on the bed and take her medications. She then lays down, and you nod at her reassuringly before you head out the door and close it behind you.

Your lip trembles with the threat of a sob as you stare straight forward at the wall in the dimness of the hallway. But a harsh bite to the plush of it ceases the quiver.

You make your way up the stairs to go grab that binder you had with the mortgage and house information, plus some of your recent utility bills. Except the binder is hard to locate, and you’re rummaging through the cabinets in your closet, the drawer of your nightstand, you’re even looking underneath the bed. But when you lift your head up from under it, still kneeling on the carpet, and glance at the wall, you notice something.

48’’ eight yrs. what a big girl! 

46’’ seven yrs. big jump

41’’ six yrs.

37’’ five yrs. my little princess

…

..

–all written in graphite pencil, scribbled up the wall where you would stand tall against as a kid, your mom marking your height at every birthday. And your eyes start to well with tears. 

This was your childhood home. With magical corners tucked away where you used to play hide and seek with your dad, with your old bedroom you used to play in with dolls and have tea parties with all your stuffed animals. There’s still a stain of fruit juice on the carpet underneath the rug that you never told your mom about because you knew she would be mad at you and would scrub it out, but it was in the shape of a heart and when you were a kid, you thought that meant you would find your prince charming some day. This house holds so many memories, like birthday parties and Christmas Eve and the sunflower patch in the backyard where you laid Sniffles to rest.

And it holds the familiarity of you that seems to be slipping through your mother’s fingers with each passing day, all those memories you created with her now solely yours to keep and no longer to share. But you realize at this moment that you’re not alone. This house still holds those memories with you.

Your eyes flicker to the graphite pencil marks on the wall again, and the tears flow freely.

In the moments where she cannot remember that you are her baby, this house remembers for her.

Your sleeve wipes at the dampness on your cheeks.

But it’s never enough, is it? And it’s never that easy, either. Life was never that easy, and you don’t always have the choices you might think you do.

You find the binder, and grab all the utility bills too, and head downstairs. You pass by your mother’s room with softness and sleuth, and guilt in your heart when you realize what you’ve chosen to do. There’s no pep to your step when you make it back to Gojo’s.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sooo,” Gojo says, after about twenty minutes of looking through all the house paperwork in the binder at the dining table, “your mom transferred ownership of the house to you as a gift deed when she was diagnosed?”

“Mhm,” you say.

“She paid off quite a bit of it,” he comments as he looks through banking statements, “but still not enough to pay off your medical debt, unfortunately.”

You sigh. “I know. It was never really a house she could afford anyways. She just received it from the divorce, and I remember we were supposed to downsize, but…she didn’t want to.”

“I see,” Gojo comments, “well, it’s alright, it would still help you a lot for sure. How many years are left for your solar panel lease?” He has a pen in hand and a custom realtor notepad in front of him with his messy handwriting all over it. 

“It’s new,” you say, “still got thirty years left.”

“Jeez, okay. How much per month?”

You scavenge through the bills on your table. “Ummm um um ummm…….”

“You should really…get more organized.”

“You should really mind your fucking business.” You find the bill. “$285 per month.”

“Okay,” he scribbles it down, “does it offset your electricity bill?”

Your shoulders sulk. “A little bit.”

“Yeah, it might scare some buyers away.”

You sigh. “Oh and then the HOA too.”

“HOA?” he looks up at you with a puzzled expression on his face. “We don’t have an HOA in this neighborhood.”

“We don’t?” you blink at him. “Then who have I been sending $195 dollars to every month?”

“…….....you’ve seriously gotta be some special kind of stupid.”

After panicking for five minutes while checking your credit cards for fraudulent activity, Gojo gets done cutting up an apple for you. 

“Here,” he says, sliding the plate to you, “since you look like you’re about to faint. Knowing you, it’s probably just low blood sugar.”

You dramatically sigh and sink in your chair. “I can’t believe I spent the last three years paying an HOA that doesn’t even exist…”

“Hey, on the bright side, there’s some dude out there on an exotic vacation that’s very thrilled by your idiocracy right now.”

You shoot him a look. And then you hang your head low to drink your extremely cold coffee that you were still nursing, before downing it all in one go. Your eyes catch the marriage paperwork that Gojo was reviewing earlier, and you see Higurama’s pre-filled in information that he typed onto the papers before printing them for him. 

“Hm,” you hum, “it says here that you’ve been married before. You might want to get that fixed before we submit these.”

He stands up from the table, two of his fingers hooking onto the handle of his coffee cup, and he glances into yours to make sure it’s empty, briefly flicking his eyes to you and you shake your head for no, no more coffee, thanks before he wraps his other two fingers around the handle of your mug as well. The clink of the two porcelain mugs in his hand startles you a little as he walks past you to the kitchen sink. “There’s nothing to fix about that,” he says, his tone level and easy, “it’s true. I’ve been married before.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, and you quickly twist your torso in your chair to stare at him. Or at least, the back of him as he turns the faucet on and begins to rinse out coffee mugs. 

Married? Before? There are so many questions swimming through your head right now, ones that you desperately want answers to, biggest of all perhaps being now who the fuck would actually want to marry him??? for real??? you’re telling me this self obsessed dork proposed to a real life woman with a pulse and she actually said ‘yes’ to him??? who was this woman, and which psych ward did he find her from??? 

But he’s so quiet from where he stands, broad shoulders less pushed back like they usually are, and something tells you he wouldn’t entertain any of those questions from you right now. A glance at the paperwork, though, tells you the divorce was recent. Less than a year ago. Around the time he moved in next door. 

He still has his back facing you, and you try to sneakily catch a glimpse at more info under the Wife section on the prior marriages form. You can see the paper says maiden name: Inoue and you’re just about to sneak a peak at the first name when—

“You want to stay for dinner?” he asks when he turns around, leaning back against the sink counter. “I’m ordering pizza tonight.”

You’re surprised by the sudden invitation, and shuffle the papers over one another again. “Oh–that’s…that’s okay.” You glance at the clock he has hanging on the wall. “I’ve got work in a couple of hours, so…I should really get going. Have a few errands to run before then.”

“Okay, so, we’ll…talk later?”

“Yeah, later,” you stand up from your chair, and for some reason, the air feels a little heavier to you now. “Uh…” you start, awkwardly scoffing a little, “wow. Bachelor life again, then, huh? Probably just–...probably just beer and pizza every night?”

He purses his lips together, humoring you with a small laugh that comes out as a scoff through his nostrils. “No. Not really. I only order pizza when I close a sale on a house. My way of celebrating.”

“Oh,” you respond, “I see.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.

“I live next door,” you remind him.

His eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Right.”

“H-Hope the traffic’s not too bad!” you joke.

His laugh comes more genuine now. “You’re stupid.”

You head towards the door, and when he opens it for you, there’s a chill of air outside and it’s darker now, hues of dark gray, purple and a slight orange still present on the horizon paint the sky and you step outside then turn on your heel to face him.

“Um. Congrats, by the way. On the sale,” you tell him, “enjoy your night. And I’ll see you this weekend?”

“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What’s happening this weekend?”

“We–” you scoff, “we’re getting married this weekend?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, tense, “right, yes, see you this weekend. For marriage. Of us.”

You roll your eyes and make your way down the concrete pavement that leads its way to his house, and leads its way away from it too. And when you walk back to your house, it’s not with a sulk, but it’s not with a pep in your step either. You just feel…neutral.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“So, tell me about this fake husband of yours,” Hana says, leaning against your work-on-wheels as you attempt to catch up on charting notes with 4 hours and 15 minutes and 53 seconds left on your shift (it’s not like you were counting though).

“Yeah, in a sec,” you mumble as you punch in keys.

6/2/2024 0344: patient placed on 5150 hold on 5/31 at 1745, continually monitored by ED tech. all objects have been removed from pt’s room to prevent any danger to self or others. however patient accessed hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall at roughly 0320 and ingested all the hand sanitizer. notified MD of toxic ingestion, follow up plan is to coordinate care with poison control. no further orders at this time

“Okay, what were you saying?” you look up at Hana again and rub the tired out of your eye with a balled up hand, along with all the mascara. 

“Your fake husband!! Tell me about him!!” she chirps, shaking your work-on-wheels in excitement and the blur of your computer screen makes you feel dizzy.

“Shhhhh,” you hiss at her, “keep your voice down when we discuss illegal activities.”

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you always so paranoid? I’m already sick and tired of you charting incessantly every five seconds to save yourself from medical lawsuits that you haven’t even been accused of.”

“In a medical lawsuit, the chart is the law, Hana,” you say eerily with a shiver, and her words remind you to continue your detailed charting. “Never forget that.”

She sighs. Her gaze travels across to the other end of the emergency department, and you assume she’s staring at the asses of the EMT boys again, so you glance over your shoulder too. 

Except instead, you see the worst person on the planet.

Well, second worst as of right now.

The worst person title was reserved for someone else.

Approaching from down the hall is Yuna, your ex-best friend, a bounce in her step as she walks with a sort of allure as her hips rock side to side, her mile-high ponytail swaying in beat with the rhythm as well, and the ashy blond highlights in her hair hypnotize anyone she waltzes by. 

She was the kind of nurse that all the other nurses are jealous of. Always has cute little accessories and stickers on their badge, is wearing the fancy FIGS scrub sets that hug her sporty curves in all the right places, paired with those little shoes with the ankle socks, and she most definitely gets her water goal in for the day because she’s always sucking on the straw of her periwinkle Stanley cup around the ED all night just like she sucked the cum out of your boyfriend of seven years just twenty-four hours after the two of you had broken up–

“y/n,” she casually calls your name, leaning her elbow up on the cubicle divider of the nursing station. “It’s time for you to take your break. I’ll watch your patients.”

“I’m not taking my break,” you say, trying to relax the grit to your teeth which makes your eye twitch out of frustration instead. “Now get the fuck away from me before I call a Code Black.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes and smacking loudly on her gum. “Yaga said you have to take your thirty tonight. Something about how you haven’t clocked out for a break in more than two months and the hospital could get sued for that.”

“The hospital has way bigger cases they should be biting their nails about getting sued over,” Hana snorts just to butt in on conversation.

“C’mon,” Yuna says, her fingers reaching out to touch the handle of your work-on-wheels, purposefully stretched so that you can eye the perfect sparkly manicure to her nails. You curl your fingers into the skin of your palms to hide your gel polish that’s long started to scrape off. “Go clock out.”

“I’d rather die than listen to a single fucking thing you tell me to do,” you tell her, plain and simple.

“y/n!” a loud masculine voice calls from the other end of the Emergency Department, and all three of you visibly shrink a little in your stances out of fear. Head nurse Yaga. “Take your break, or I’ll be damned to let you set another foot in this hospital!!” he’s yelling at you all the way from the entrance to the CT scanner.

“But–”

“Now!!!!!”

Your eyes flicker to Yuna, who has an amused look on her face and a tilt to her head, and then you’re grumbling before logging out of your computer then stepping away from it. “Draw a CBC & chem on Beds 24 and 28 at 4 AM sharp,” you grumble to her, and she just gives you one of those tight-skinned smiles. 

The break room is empty, with shades of beige on the walls and even more depressing shades of gray on the lockers. There are all sorts of things pasted on the walls, like photos from staff Halloween and Christmas parties, drawings that pediatric patients have made in appreciation of their nurses, and employee information that Yaga’s constantly shoving in everyone’s faces. 

Okay, the backstory with Yuna. Pretty simple. You two had been best friends since high school, like inseparable best friends. Y’know, sneaking out late at night to use fake IDs at the bar, cover for the other when you’re busy losing your virginity to your high school boyfriend in the most dishonorable way possible, rooming together in college, sobbing and crying through all of nursing school together, ride or die type of friendship that you think you’d only find once in a lifetime. Except turns out your best friend, who you’d considered a sister, had eyes for your boyfriend since you started dating him in college, and the second that dickwad dumped you, you catch her sucking him off in the back of his Toyota Camry when you go to pick your stuff up from his place. Yeah, ouch. You lost the two closest people in your life, all in the matter of twenty-four hours, so pardon yourself for being a bit bitter about it. 

But being bitter is the coping mechanism. The real way you feel comes in the form of tears prickling in your eyes and the pain in your throat as you try to swallow away the knot that’s suffocating you from the inside out. A type of loneliness that leaves you stranded even in a room full of people. But at the very least, this room is empty, so no one has to see the crack in your resolve.

There’s no time on a thirty-minute lunch break to have a full mental breakdown, so you sparsely wipe at your tears and head back to your shift.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

If you want to know who actually holds the worst person on the planet title right now, well, you run into him on a Tuesday afternoon while on a grocery run after you just woke up from barely sufficient post night shift sleep. Bitter and drugged by Melatonin was not a state of being you needed to be in right now, but you’re out of orange juice and you’re having Vitamin C withdrawals which warrants a trip to the store. Unfortunately, the town only has one grocery store, which means you were bound to run into pestering ex-boyfriends at least once every full moon. 

“Get the fuck out of my way, Choso,” you snarl at the man who’s walking backwards ahead of your grocery cart, trying to stop you in your tracks so you’d just chill out and listen to him for a second.

“Can you just chill out and listen to me for a second?” he asks you, irritation evident in his voice like you’re being the difficult one here.

“I already told you that I quite literally never want to see your stupid ugly face ever again for as long as I live,” you say, and you ram your grocery cart forward with so much force the metal hits his knees and he doubles over the basket indignantly with a groan.

He seems like he’s had enough of you evading him, so he jams his foot under the wheel to keep you from moving forward, and you’re scowling at him and struggling against his foot-stop but to no avail. 

You briefly consider abandoning your cart all together and just bee-lining for the exit, but he’s a cop, so he’d easily be able to tackle you to the ground if you tried.

“What do you want?” you snarl, impatiently tapping your foot with every miserable passing second spent in his presence. 

“I just–” He sighs, “I just want to talk. And to know how you’re doing. You won’t pick up any of my calls.”

“Huh?” You blink at him. “I’ve had you blocked for the past two weeks. You shouldn’t even be able to call me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Really?...who have I been dialing then?” 

“Fuck if I know,” you shrug, and you use his moment of confusion to swerve your cart off to the side and make your way down the refrigerator aisle. Ohhh, dulce de leche gelato sounds nice, and it’s on sale. You grab a jar. 

Choso’s trailing behind you as you eye price tags and sale signs in the open chill of the yogurt section. “Babe–”

“Don’t–” you immediately cut him off, spinning fast on your heel and he stops himself just in time from crashing right into you. You hold your index finger up in the air between the two of you with a clench to your jaw so tight it feels sore, and through gritted teeth you say, “don’t call me babe.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s habit.”

Indeed, habit. Seven years of him calling you babe, or baby, or boobie (idk don’t ask). Your favorite though? Babydoll. He’d always call you that when he’d make sweet, sweet love to you while you were wearing his favorite flimsy little piece of lingerie–babydolls. Even now, the memories have your cheeks feeling hot. But he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore, and he doesn’t get to fuck you anymore, or talk to you anymore, or breathe in your general direction anymore, because he betrayed you. He wasted your time, and then he betrayed you.

Seven years of your sexual prime, where you could’ve been fucking hunky firefighters and bisexual Europeans, wasted on a man you weren’t even going to marry in the end anyways. Now you’re pushing thirty, and the idea of having to date again makes your skin crawl with anxiety that turns into fury because your doom is all caused by the man in front of you.

Whatever, forget about the sex and the impending loss of a woman’s novelty within society for a second. You loved him. A part of you still loves him. You wanted to marry this man. You thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with this man. Little sheriff deputy’s wife, Mrs. Kamo, the perfect number of letters to get on a bejeweled license plate. You had envisioned all the cute little quotes of adoration that would be imprinted on your wedding reception’s custom-made doily napkins with everyone that’s ever meant anything to you sitting at the table, ready to celebrate the love that you thought was real and true and brave and strong and one that would last forever.

But he abandoned you when you were at your lowest. And he fell into the arms of the one person you thought you could turn to crying when the relationship crashed and burned in the first place. And the problem with living in a small town is that everyone knows everybody’s business, so now you’re just the woman that wasted her youth on a man that played her like a broken fiddle. Utterly heartbroken, and humiliated. 

So, yeah, he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore.

“Listen here, asshole,” you say, stabbing him in the chest with your finger, so he can feel even a fraction of the pain you’ve felt in the past three weeks, “I couldn't care less if you live today, or die tomorrow. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me alone. Or I’ll file for a restraining order.”

“Really?” he says, brows pulled tight together in disbelief, like he just can’t understand what he’s done to make you act this way, and quite frankly, that only makes it sting even worse, “after everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to throw away the past seven years?”

“What the fuck are you saying?!” you all but snap at him, and an elderly couple that’s passing by flinches a little from the noise and you wince in apology before glaring at Choso again. Your voice is hushed this time. “You’re the one that broke up with me, but I’m the one that’s throwing it all away??”

He purses his lips together, and you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are. He shuts them tightly and leans back away from you, which makes you realize how much he was leaning into your space just a second ago. “I know that we…aren’t dating anymore. But, I mean, c’mon, y/n, it’s me. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean that I don’t still…care. I want to know how your mom’s doing, and how treatment has been for her, and–” he glances up at the ceiling briefly, as if to mislead you into thinking that the next thing he says is just as nonchalantly desired as the other things he listed, “and I want to know how you’re doing, too.”

“You don’t deserve to know how I’m doing. Continue to wallow in your pathetic self righteousness, or go run with your tail between your legs to that two-faced rat I used to call a best friend. Either way, I don’t give a damn,” you say, in a way that very much sounds like you give a damn unfortunately, and spin on your heel to continue pushing your cart down to the juice section.

“Yuna and I–” you hear him say behind you, and just the mention of her name on his tongue makes your heart ache in your chest, to the point you need to place a flat palm over it just to alleviate the pain, “I–...I broke things off with her yesterday.”

Fuck. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info.

“Okay? Whatever,” you barely manage to say.

He’s silent for a moment behind you. The wheels of your cart squeak as they roll. 

“I mean, we’re not together anymore. I’m not seeing her anymore,” he clarifies, as if he didn’t believe you heard him right the first time.

“Cool,” you comment, tone colder this time, since you had the practice round. 

“You don’t–” Choso starts, a rattle of hurt and confusion in his voice, “you don’t care about that?”

“Nope.” 

He reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact burns through your skin, like something so familiar yet so foreign. You turn your head to look at him. 

“I…” he starts, and you can see his chest rising and falling with more intensity. Oh god. Please. Please don’t say it. You’re not sure you can handle hearing it. “I really miss you.”

Damn it, he said it.

Your posture relaxes slightly when you take a long look at him. You finally notice his hair has gotten longer in just the three weeks you’ve been apart, layered locks curling at the end of his neck, and it’s the first time you’ve noticed such a small detail because you were so used to spending everyday with him. He spent most of the week at your house, since the two of you could never formally move in with one another after your mother was diagnosed and it was easier for him to come by to yours so you could continue to keep an eye on her. There’s no option to live on your own and start your own life when you’re taking care of someone sick. They become your priority, not yourself, but you’d still make every single sacrifice you’ve made for your mother over and over again in a heartbeat if you had to relive the past five years. 

But that meant that you never had a real and true chance to live the life that you wanted with Choso. A place just for the two of you, lived in intimate solitude and not with the cries of your mother down the hall when she feels too sick to get up out of bed or when she cannot remember her own name. But you had never been this far apart from him to where you notice his hair is an inch longer than it was the last time you saw him. He was never that far away, as he is now. And you’ve just now realized it.  

“I don’t,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat and your voice quivers ever so slightly when you speak, “I don’t care that you miss me.” You take a deep breath. “I’m getting married this weekend.”

His face entirely relaxes, like a calm before the storm, before it twists with so much confusion and incredulity and shock and–was that horror on his face?

“What?” he practically spats out, “it’s only been three weeks since we broke up!”

“Uhh,” you glance up at the ceiling of the store, just in time for an employee to make an announcement on the overhead for a manager at checkout lane 2 please, and then you glance back down at him, “I was having an affair while we were dating.” An easy lie. 

He scowls. “Yeah fucking right. There’s no way you’d cheat on me.”

His words burn bitter. The fact that he couldn’t even fathom you hurting him the same way he hurt you makes you clench your teeth. Because he knew you were better than he was, and that you were too good for him, and yet he still wasted your honor.

His friends, who used to be yours too, have probably fed him lies since the breakup. Like it’s okay, man. You broke up with her before you got involved with someone else. You didn’t do anything wrong.

But you say bullshit to all of that. Because after seven years of being together, you can’t just cold turkey a relationship like that to sleep with someone else, and then claim it’s not cheating. Technicalities like that were no vindication if the betrayal hurt all the same in the end. Because it still felt like you got cheated on regardless.

“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself to you,” you tell him, “I’m getting married this weekend, so I really don’t give a damn about anything between us anymore. It’s over.”

“Who are you marrying?” he asks, suddenly breaking a sweat over the news like he’s starting to suspect you’re actually being serious.

“My neighbor.”

His face twists with disgust. “Old man Jenkins? He’s eighty-four years old.”

You roll your eyes. “Not the one on my left, you idiot. My neighbor to my right.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up in a ridiculing smirk, and the sight of it makes your skin crawl. He scoffs. “There’s no way. You hate that guy.”

“It’s true. I’m marrying him.”

“Seriously??” He guffaws at you, leaning in closer to you and you lean away until your back is resting on the handle of your shopping cart. “The obnoxious realtor I once heard you talking in your sleep about how much you want to murder him and then dump him in a lake?”

“What?! I talk in my sleep?!” you gasp.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. You have for years.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?!”

He looks annoyed. “Because you’re such a hypochondriac. You would’ve thought you had a brain tumor or something, and I’d have to deal with the paranoia that follows suit.”

“Choso,” you say to him with a strict tone, jutting your hip out to the side in preparation to scold, “my mother has Alzheimer’s, which is genetic, and I was having an abnormal neurological symptom for years which has studies to show is an early indication of dementia and you just chose not to tell me because you didn’t want to be annoyed?!”

“See?” he gestures to you, “you’re doing it right now. How did we go from just sleep talking to ‘I might have dementia’?” 

“We,” you point between you and him, “are never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever getting back together. If there’s one thing you can pull through that stupid skull of yours, make it that.”

“Excuse me,” you hear a tiny voice squeak out, and you turn to your right to see a little kid trying to push past the two of you to grab a box of GoGurt in the Yogurt section. You move your cart forward by bumping it with your butt to get out of the kid’s way, and Choso circles around to the front of your cart before you start moving forward again. Like he’s literally stopping you from moving on from him. 

“You’re lying about marrying this guy,” Choso says like it’s a fact. In typical cop gaslighting fashion. “You’re just saying that to make me jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m just that hot and gorgeous that I made a man fall in love with me in three weeks.”

“He’s in love with you?” he asks.

“Duh, he wants to marry me. When you dumped me, I found comforting solace in my next-door-neighbor, and we fell into bed with one another, and now he feels the obligation to provide for me for the rest of my life. What’s so hard to believe about that? You didn’t find abrupt matrimony odd when we binged all three seasons of Bridgerton two months ago.”

“That show is set in the fuckin’ regency era,” he hisses at you, “look around. There’s plastic bags of Hot Cheetos with Red 40 in them everywhere. Does this look like the 1800s to you?”

You have to be careful with him. He’s a cop, who could arrest you for medical insurance fraud, and would also have a personal vendetta against your marriage because boo hoo he misses you. But yes, he was right, you did want to make him jealous, and you just can’t help it.

“Well, me and him have a love that no one else can understand, so suck it. I’m marrying him, and he’s super into me, and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me, and he desperately wants to put babies in me, and–”

“And where’s the ring he gave you, then?”

Fuck. You briefly flick your gaze down to your left hand and note the daunting absence of a shiny diamond on your ring finger. Note to self, Gojo needs to buy you a ring.

“I left it at home,” you mumble.

“Uh-huh, as all newly engaged women who have been waiting for a ring all their life would do.”

That pisses you off. Because you were waiting your whole life for him to put a ring on your finger, and he never did. 

“Go fuck a fleshlight,” you snarl at him, unfortunately in earshot of the GoGurt kid and his mom shoots you a nasty look, but you’re a jaded woman after everything you’ve been through and you ram your cart into Choso so hard you swear you could’ve cracked his knee caps, and he doubles over in enough pain for you to have the time to leave him stranded there as you push your cart all the way to the end of the store. 

You finally make it to the orange juice section, the one thing you needed, although your cart is filled with things you didn’t need, because that’s always how these grocery runs go. You try to take a few breaths to calm down the fast beating in your heart after that confrontation with Choso. You’re not good with confrontation, even though it might seem like you are, but you’re just putting on a face. Acting strong, when really all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. But there are bills to pay, and images to upkeep, and orange juice to replenish. 

Your hand reaches out for the handle on the refrigerator door, but just before you curl your fingers around it, another hand beats you to it. It’s a large and masculine hand, with veins disappearing into the cuffed felted fabric of a suit jacket, and the knuckles turn a shade lighter than the olive skin around them when the fingers flex around the handle. 

You glance up at the person standing next to you, who you register towers over you in height. He has long, sleek black hair that shimmers under fluorescent lighting, some of which is tied up and out of his face, while the rest cascades over his back. But there’s tendrils of hair falling over the left side of his face, barely distracting you through the intensity of purple in his eyes when he glances at you.

“Ah, apologies,” he says, and the way he speaks is so calm and gentle, different from the intimidating aura he holds himself with. He retreats his hand from the handle.

“Oh, that’s–” you find yourself stuttering, “...that’s okay.” You grab the handle and open it, the chill rush of the fridge hitting you as your eyes peruse the selection of orange juice cartons while his eyes remain on you. You awkwardly glance at him again. “Sorry, d-did you also need to get orange juice?”

He nods. “Yes, I did.”

Not a man of many words, you think to yourself. Or maybe just around people he’s just met.

Your eyes catch the familiar labeling of your go-to orange juice, the one with no pulp and has added Vitamins D and E (basically the one for children), but you realize there’s only one left. You grab it anyway and put it in your cart. When you glance up at the handsome stranger beside you, there’s a slight look of amusement on his face.

“Seems we both have the same taste in orange juice,” he comments. 

“Oh no,” you say with a small laugh, “I’m sorry. It’s the last one.” Your eyes widen. “You–…you can have it, if you want–”

“Oh, no, no,” he shakes his head, long hair swaying with the motion as he holds his hands up in front of himself, “please. I will just find a nearby store.”

You tilt your head. “Oh there’s no other stores nearby…unless you get on the highway for at least twenty minutes. It’s a…small town.”

His lax expression finally cracks into one of subtle surprise. “That’s interesting.”

“Are you…new to town?” you ask.

He nods with a small smile on his face. “Indeed. Well, just visiting. I’m from New York.”

“Oh! Wow, that’s a long way from here.” You briefly register that he does look like a city man. Upscale restaurants, skyline views, premium outlets. The subtle fragrance of his cologne smells expensive too. “What are you up to while visiting?” You mentally facepalm yourself for asking personal questions, but he seems mysterious and you like peeling the layers back on people like him.

His expression drops, turning almost solemn and his eye contact that was previously very direct is suddenly averted elsewhere, “Just…visiting some old friends.” There is no elaboration.

“Ahh…I see,” you say, picking up on the hint that he has no more words to give you. “Well…I’ll be taking the orange juice…maybe try one with pulp?” you suggest a little cheekily. 

His lips tug upwards in a lopsided smile, one you’d call a smirk if you weren’t so mesmerized to define it as one, “I’ll think about it.”

You hum slightly in polite acknowledgement of him, then push your cart back towards the heart of the store without a word of goodbye.

Odd stranger, who’s good at giving misleading answers. You wonder what life he’s come here to escape. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

It’s a bright, picturesque Sunday morning, with children laughing and squealing out on the streets in front of your house as they ride their scooters up hot pavement while their parents catch up on PTA drama on the lawns. You’re standing in front of your full length mirror, trying on dress #3 for your little meeting with the courthouse today. And by little meeting, you mean your wedding. You’re getting married today.

The dress you have on falls to below your knees and has buttons all the way from the hem right up to the base of your neck, where the collared neckline wraps around you like a noose. Suffocating, way too prim and proper, although it’d make your grandma very happy and adored to see you should you show up to church service in it. 

Your bed is cluttered with clothes you’ve thrown across it as you try to find a good dress. Your hands move with impatience as you skim through the rack of your closet for another dress to try on, since you’re starting to push the time a little too much. You’ve only got ten minutes before you need to leave. 

A dress tucked in the corner of your closet catches your eye and you pull it out. It’s a cream-colored milk maid dress with an underskirt to puff out the A-line silhouette, length down to your shins that would be oh-so-flattering with a cute pair of heels. There are small red flowers adorning the pattern, with tiny green leaf details as well. It was cute and sweet and feminine, something you haven’t worn in a long time unlike your usual monotonous hospital scrubs, stained sweatpants and adult onesies.

It was the dress your friend Sana convinced you to buy when you thought you were going to get engaged. In the first two years of your relationship with Choso, you two talked about marriage non-stop. You both had just graduated college when you first started dating, and it felt like your lives were finally starting. At the end of the second year you two had been together for, after Christmas dinner with your family, he pulled you into his arms and you squealed with glee as he spinned you around in your childhood bedroom upstairs and told you how much he wanted to marry you, and that he was going to propose in the new year.

Your mother was diagnosed with cancer in January, and he never brought up marriage ever again. 

He still stayed with you for five years after that though, and swiftly dodged every single question you ever asked him about his impending proposal. For five years, you were fed every excuse in the book. And in hindsight, you feel like an idiot for staying, and for still holding out hope, when what you were really holding onto was heartbreak. The feeling of not being enough, like someone was just tolerating you, and not loving you. It was easy to ignore at times, given how occupied you were with driving your mother to chemotherapy appointments and reading up on books about which diet works best to slow down the development of Alzheimer’s because your mother started showing signs of dementia just two months after the cancer diagnosis. But in those moments of freedom, where you had a moment to breathe, all you could breathe was a suffocating smoke. Because you stopped feeling wanted or loved in between all of it.

But there was a trip he planned for the two of you to Greece. It was after your mother had first successfully gotten into remission. A gasp of fresh air amongst all the pain and suffering, and you could only assume that he wanted to celebrate by taking you on a trip. Sana was convinced he was going to propose to you on this trip, and you wondered if maybe he was just waiting until your mother felt better before he proposed so that the two of you could enjoy being newly engaged without the pressure or worry. Sana took you shopping, and you bought this dress, one that clings to your form in a way that made you feel beautiful. Made you feel wanted. Made you feel worthy of being loved. Because all other parts of yourself had been overlooked and paid no attention, but you thought a dress could save you. 

He never proposed. You left Greece with an extra suitcase of souvenirs, but without a ring on your finger or even a compliment on how beautiful you should’ve looked to him standing there on that beach with this cream-colored dress on, arm wrapped around his. And it was at that point you became numb, and you existed in limbo for the remaining four years of your relationship. Until he finally did what you silently begged him to do, with every sullen look in your eyes when you glanced at him. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, what he did to you. Something you willed him into because you didn’t have the strength to leave, and so he had to.

You hold the dress up to your form in the mirror. It’d still fit you, and it’s far too pretty to have only worn once. But you’ve been numb for so long now, you don’t even remember what it’s like to feel pretty in a dress. You unbutton yourself out of dress #3 and step into failed proposal dress #4, and as you slowly zip up the back of the dress, you’re met with resistance. 

Fuck.

The last thing you need right now is a weight-related meltdown.

You tug up on the zipper even more, harshly, to the point you hear a stitch rip and you gasp and try to do it slowly so as not to completely tear the dress apart. But it’s not fitting. It should fit. You just assume the zip is stuck, or it’s too rigid after years of no wear.

You’re about to do another colossal yank upwards that could potentially dislocate your shoulder when you jump at the sound of your phone chiming with a notification. And then multiple.

“What...the hell…do you want…” you sigh to nobody, swiping your hands across the pile of dress fabric on your bed to find your phone, and when you do, you quickly tap on the screen to see the messages.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Hey, are we still getting married today?

First of all, wild fucking thing to nonchalantly ask.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Your car’s still parked out front, so I wasn’t sure if you’ve left yet. I was just about to leave, and then the thought occurred to me that we should probably carpool?

|| 11:35AM neighbor (avocado tree): But just wanted to verify, are you sure you want to go through with this? You’re not having cold feet? Won’t be a runaway bride? I’m not gonna be left at the altar, wondering where I went wrong?

You roll your eyes, breathing heavily still from the struggle of zipping up your dress.

|| 11:36AM You: yes, we are still getting married. I just can’t zip up my dress for the life of me 

It takes him a whole minute to respond.

|| 11:38AM neighbor (avocado tree): Do you need help?

You blink at your phone screen. Help? What kind of help? Helping you zip up your dress?

You look over your shoulder to the full length mirror, eyeing your back. The dress was zipped up to just above the small of your back, with the rest of it flayed open to reveal the expanse of your skin. Setting your phone down, you roll your shoulders back once and flex your fingers to try again in securing this dress, but to no avail. You curse yourself for not having the flexibility, and to be honest, you’re not even sure if you can take the dress off anymore to get into something else with the way the zipper won’t budge neither up nor down. Well. You’re just going to have to wear this dress for the rest of your life now. A scary predicament.

You pick your phone up again.

|| 11:41AM You: yes

It only takes about two minutes for him to text you that he’s at your front door, a surprisingly considerate gesture considering your mother is sleeping downstairs so it’s good he didn’t ring the doorbell, and you tiptoe your way down and over the creaky floorboards of the stairs to the front entrance. 

You slowly crack the door open only a couple inches, hiding yourself from him behind it as you peek at him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, and he glances at his watch. “We’ve got to hurry.”

You nod, and take note of his appearance. He’s wearing a dark fitted navy suit over a white dress shirt, which to your surprise, doesn’t have the top two buttons sluttily undone for once. His suit pants are perfectly tailored to his ankles and you can barely see the exposed fabric of black socks before they disappear into his polished Oxfords. He looks like he’s going to a wedding. Oh wait, he is. 

He raises an eyebrow at you when you refuse to reveal yourself by stepping away from behind the door. Even his hair is particularly kept and proper, swept off to the side slightly in a way that makes him look younger and you feel nervous from the intensity of those eyes, which are usually somewhat hidden by the fringe of his snowy hair, now look at you unwaveringly with no obstruction. You feel like you’re seeing him in a completely new light, and for some reason, it makes you cower behind the door even more. 

“Uh, are you going to let me in?” he asks you, his foot tapping lightly on the welcome! mat. 

“Yes,” you say, but you make no movement to prove your word. 

“y/n,” he says, “we need to get going.”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against the stained glass window of your front door to release some nerves before hesitantly stepping to the side and pulling the door open all the way, then you’re standing in front of him in full view. You catch a glimpse of the black tie hanging from his neck that’s secured all the way up to the collar of his shirt, before you finally look at his face.

Those striking eyes of his round slowly until he’s looking at you wide-eyed, blinking in some sort of dazed surprise as his gaze eventually sweeps down your entire form to take in the sight of you standing barefoot on wooden floor in your cream-colored dress, and you swear you see the muscles in his jaw jump. His brow furrows like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You–” he starts, that shocked blinking still taking place on his face, and you grasp the fabric of your dress in front of you from the anticipation of what he’ll say, “...you look beautiful.”

A silence settles between the two of you as he continues to roam his eyes all down you like there’s nothing that could stop him from doing it, and you feel heat in your cheeks from his compliment. It’s just a silly little cream-colored dress. One that didn’t look pretty on a beach in Greece, so why would it look beautiful on you  here right now? While you’re standing at the dusty front entrance of a decades old house? He’s bullshitting you.

“You know you don’t have to compliment me, you know that, right?” you squeak out, trying to keep your tone level and easy to fight back the raw feeling in your throat, “this isn’t a first look. There are no photographers around to capture your reaction. We’re not actually getting married.”

“But–” 

“Can you just help me with the dress?” you cut him off so he doesn’t say anything else that makes you feel pretty right now.

“...sure,” he agrees, and he steps inside your house. You start to walk upstairs, and he follows suit, and you suddenly feel his eyes on your back so you turn around and walk up the stairs backwards while facing him.

“I don’t understand the concept of first looks anyway,” he says out of nowhere to cut the silence, “isn’t it a bad omen to see your partner before getting married?”

“That’s such an outdated superstition,” you tell him as your feet finally press firmly flat at the top of the stairs. 

One of his feet is placed next to where you’re standing up straight at the top, while the other is still on the third step down. And it’s like he’s kneeling on one knee in front of you as he looks up at you. After a moment of deep breathing on your part, you finally step away from the top of the stairs so he can finish walking up them too.

“I don’t know what happened,” you say to him as you make it to the front of your full length mirror, “I was just trying to zip it up but it got stuck. And it’s not unzipping either.”

He comes up behind you, and you can see in the mirror that he’s put a decent amount of space between the two of you from the way his arms are reached out in front of him just to access the zipper. He tugs up on it.

“Hm. It…” he struggles with it, “it seems…” he yanks again, “jammed?”

“Fudge,” you mutter under your breath (more ladylike perhaps, as opposed to fuck) and you sulk your shoulders. “But will it close at all, do you think?”

He takes a step closer to you, and his cologne has the fragrance of woody oak with undertones of citrus, like something expensive and sophisticated. His hand sweeps your hair off to the side and over your shoulder to the front so he has a better view, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck from the motion and you try to fight the shiver. A glance to the mirror, and you see his eyes are set on the exposed skin. He tugs to pull your dress together, and is able to cross the fabrics. “Yeah, it should. I think just hold your breath for a second? I’m going to try to see if zipping it down helps unjam it.” 

“Okay,” you say softly, and he eyes you in the mirror at the sudden subservience. 

You try to hold your breath as he tugs down on the zipper, and you hear the metallic click when he succeeds in unjamming it before he zips it down just an inch. You can feel the small of your back exposed to cool air from the motion. 

He’s suddenly frozen entirely behind you, the knuckle of his index finger brushing against your skin as he continues to pinch the zipper between it and his thumb. You feel his slow exhale on the back of your neck. You’re too scared to look at his expression in the mirror.

“Sa–” you stutter through a gasp, “Satoru.”

“Sorry,” he says quietly, and then he’s shifting on his feet once before slowly attempting to zip the dress up. 

He’s met with a slight resistance just underneath your shoulder blades. “Hey. Just hold your breath.”

“I’m trying to,” you tell him, almost whining, because it’s hard to stop breathing when your heart is beating fast and it needs the oxygen supply.

“Do you want to try on a different dress?” he asks you.

“No,” you immediately answer him. You’re not sure why, but the idea of wearing this dress for the rest of your life doesn’t scare you anymore. In fact, you never want to take it off.

Your hands twiddle with the flimsy string at your collarbone that you tied to connect the fabric across your chest, and then you realize. “Oh…maybe I need to–” you tug at the end of the string, “undo this? That might make it looser?” You finally glance at the mirror to seek his approval of your suggestion.

His eyes meet yours, and when he sees what you’re referring to, his eyes widen. “But that would–”

“Just don’t look,” you say simply.

You two remain looking at one another in the mirror, and you see his chest heaving slightly through the tightening of his dress shirt against the expansion of his breathing. Like you’re asking the impossible of him.

“Or I’ll kill you,” you say.

He sighs, and his eyes flit down to your zipper again. You swear you feel his hand tremble slightly. “Alright.”

You pull on the end of the string, watching him in the mirror to make sure his eyes don’t wander, and the fabric covering your breasts falls open, but you use a hand to still sparsely cover your skin with the cloth where you can. In the reflection, you see his jaw clench but his eyes remain on the zipper, and only briefly flicker to the bed once. Then he’s zipping up your dress with ease. 

You quickly tie the string above your chest once more to cover yourself up, and then spin to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress and throwing your hair back over your shoulder. It was a snug fit, but at least it still fit. 

He’s a step behind you with his hands shoved in his suit pockets, looking at your face with a slight tilt to his head like he’s studying you in the mirror just as much as you’re studying yourself. And then he pulls his hand out of his pocket to glance at his watch again. “It’s almost noon,” he says. 

“What?!” you bark at him. “We’re fucking late!!! Why didn’t you say anything?!?!”

“Huh??” he baffles. “I’ve been trying to tell you we need to rush this entire time.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you say, pacing your room to find your things in a scurry, picking your purse up and then grabbing your Manila folder of paperwork from your desk, and you try to walk past him to the door when you trip over the five pairs of shoes that you had been trying on earlier, almost twisting your ankle, and you gasp then grab onto his suit jacket for purchase before his arm attempts to reach out to hold you upright but to no avail since you tug on him as you fall straight backwards onto your bed and bring him down with you. 

His hands sink into the soft mattress on both sides of your head, wrists tickled by your hair, as he hovers over you, and your fingers quickly curl into little balls at your chest as you shrink underneath him, looking up at his surprised expression, likely from having to suddenly brace himself from falling right on top of you.

You both look at each other, blinking as you come down from the sudden chaos, and his tie that’s hanging from his neck brushes against your knuckle and falls over your hand to graze the skin above your breasts. His eyes briefly flicker to the sight, and he catches himself only to stare at your lips instead.

Even through thick layers of fabric, you can see the thick curves of the muscles in his arms, pulled taut from how he’s holding himself up over you. And for once, you wish the buttons of his shirt were undone, so you can see what he’s hiding underneath. The hair he had swept up above his eyes now falls freely with gravity, soft tufts that dangle above you and shadow over the blue of his eyes as he looks at you with a furrowed brow that–...that makes him look handsome. 

You must be ovulating.

No, wait, you finished ovulating a couple days ago.

Oh god.

Was your next door neighbor hot this entire time?

There was simply no way. 

You refuse to believe it.

You’re laying still like a deer in highlights, motionless underneath him, before he curls his arm around your waist to bring you up with him as he stands up straight, and you only spend a moment pressed up against him before you get yourself out of his grasp by pushing flat palms against his chest, and then the two of you are in proper distance from one another once again.

“D-Don’t ever do something like that ever again,” you stutter, shimmying your hips slightly to pull the snug fabric down your waist from where it had risen up.

“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbles, and he runs a hand through his hair. Now it looks like it always does, no longer prim in style.

“Whatever, let’s just go.” You slip your feet into one of the pairs of heels sprawled across on the floor, and then you head straight for the door. “You drive.”

You hear him sigh behind you. “Yes ma’am.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

The courthouse is bustling with people when you two arrive but Gojo’s pleasantly able to pull into an open curbside parking spot right in front of the entrance. You’re surprised when he comes around to the passenger side to open the door for you, and you swat his hand away when he offers it to you too, but you probably should’ve taken it, since you almost twist your ankle for the second time today as you step out onto the curb and get used to walking in heels again like a newborn fawn.

“Should’ve taken my hand,” he says to you, smile turned upwards into a smirk as he watches you struggle while he’s a few steps ahead of you.

“Give it to me then,” you grit through your teeth as you wobble, giving up your pride to avoid adding yet another medical bill to the list of debts in your name.

“Nah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “too late. Lost your chance.” You curse his entire lineage in your head.

You two make it inside the courtroom, and the first person you look for is Hana, whose head you catch at the front row much to your pleasant surprise since she is your sole witness to sign on the marriage certificate today. But in your study of the room to find her, you notice that there are a lot of other people in here as well.

“Don’t tell me…Did you invite people??” you ask Gojo, grabbing onto his sleeve to get his attention and also for balance, but he doesn’t need to know that latter part.

He glances down at you. “No? Why would I invite people to my fake wedding?”

Your eyes peruse the room once again, and you realize that most of them are just old retired people with nothing better to do on a Sunday than visit the courtroom. Some are elderly couples, eyeing you and Gojo as you two make your way down the aisle with sweetness in their eyes like awwwwwww to be a young couple in love once more <3 while they wait for the judge to call on their hundreds of unpaid parking tickets because they don’t know how to access an internet portal.

“D-Do you have the marriage license?” you squeak out to Gojo, who has now adjusted his walking speed to match yours.

“No, I left it at home,” he tells you in a flat tone. “Of course I brought the marriage license.”

“I was just checking, jeez…” you grumble.

Gojo hands the clerk the folder he was holding in his hand, and you hand in yours too.

Oh god. Your peripheral vision already recognizes him before your brain can, but you see an extremely familiar silhouette standing guard off to the side of the Judge’s bench, and your gaze immediately snaps in that direction.

Choso stands there, in his Sheriff Deputy’s uniform, his thumbs tucked into his vest as he puffs his chest out in assertion of his oh so important duty securing the courthouse on a Summer Sunday from any devastating danger, such as an elderly man not wanting to pay a parking ticket and then proceeding to charge towards the judge at 2 MPH, and you can’t help but roll your eyes from his attitude and scowl at him. Of course he pulled some strings and saw when you were getting allegedly married and decided to show up on that exact day. Whatever. You’ll pay him no mind. As long as he doesn’t speak now.

You and Gojo walk back to the lower desk in front of the Judge’s Bench.

“Ah! y/n, hello my dear, how are you?” the judge calls out to you.

“Hi Judge Jin,” you say meekly with a small wave, your voice echoing in the room, “good, and yourself?”

6/4/2024 1232: Judge Jin is a 72 y/o man with a past medical history of hypertension, hypercholesterolemia, hyperglycemia, GERD, liver cirrhosis and COPD, who endorses a social history of frequent tobacco usage and occasional alcohol consumption. Patient presents to the ED with chief complaint of chest pain, onset two hours ago after he drank three bottles of beer, and—

“Much better since you took care of me last week!” he humphs, patting his stomach.

You snap out of your automatic charting that was droning on in your head on reflex from how many times Judge Jin has shown up to the ED for acute chest pain which almost always ends up just being beer-induced GERD.

“At the hospital!” you clarify, “for taking care of you at the hospital!”

The man laughs heartily from where he sits up at the raised platform bench. “Yes! And Mr. Gojo! Nice to see you as well.”

You flit your eyes to Gojo, like you know him too? He only briefly spares you a sidewards glance before looking back at Judge Jin. “Likewise, sir.”

You postulate he scammed the fuck out of the man into signing a forty-year lease on a condo in the shady part of town, and you’ll leave it at that.

“I have to say, I am a little shocked by this matrimonial partnership!” Judge Jin chimes in. “But do you both swear to enter this marriage under just circumstances? I will need verbal affirmation from you both.”

Gojo raises his hand up in the air to swear on it, and you remember that he’s possibly done this before. Y’know how people have a courtroom wedding before a real wedding, something like that. And maybe that’s why he knows to raise his hand, because you didn’t even know you were supposed to raise your hand until now.

A real wedding. Something you’ve pictured a lot in your head, and so much more different than the arrangement you find yourself in right now. And because the pain of imagining yourself tying the knot with someone is too much right now, especially when the man you thought you were going to marry stands in uniform five feet away from you and probably doesn’t even recognize the dress you’re wearing right now, you glance over to Gojo and you try to imagine what a real wedding would’ve been like for him. Since he’s done it before.

He probably had a tacky wedding, like in a barn with barrels of beer used as tables with barely flickering string lights hung across wooden planks high on a triangular ceiling. The reception and the ceremony likely happened under the same roof, because he seems like the minimalist type, more focused on the feelings behind it and all, and not the grandeur.

Or maybe he was into the grandeur. Maybe he had a wedding on a skyline penthouse in the city, wearing expensive cologne like the one he’s wearing now, and a Dior suit he got custom made because it was a once in a lifetime occasion so why not? The image becomes a little too vivid in your head now, where you can picture this woman he’s marrying too. Pretty, tall just like him, wearing a ball gown white dress. He would’ve told her she looked beautiful, too. He would’ve told her he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. Vows uttered shakingly into the microphone at an altar while the sun is setting far into the sky, shimmering off of high building windows until the air is golden and it reflects off of his and his soon-to-be wife’s face. And when they’ve professed their love for one another, he grabs her by the waist and dips her in a kiss, for the perfect picture against the perfect backdrop in front of all the perfect little people because there probably was a photographer at that event, wanting to capture the moment.

You snap out of the dazed moment when a loud voice calls out your name, and in a shock, you glance back up at Judge Jin who’s looking at you with slight irritation.

“Huh?” you squeak out, and then turn to look at Gojo, who’s got a look of mild concern on his face as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Please swear that this marriage is under just circumstances,” Judge Jin states with a cadence that indicates he’s commanded this of you multiple times already.

“Oh!” you stand up straight, “I—…I’m sorry.” You hold your hand up. “Yes, I swear this marriage is under just circumstances.” Just like Higurama had you practice. He’d be proud. Phew, the hard part was over.

The rest of the ceremony goes by in a rather fast blur, and it’s a little awkward when you both have to tell Judge Jin that you don’t have any vows to exchange at the moment when he offers the time for them, but Gojo comes up with some lie about how the real vows will be at our formal ceremony, and Judge Jun seems entirely satisfied and a little too ecstatic by the answer before allowing you two and Hana to sign the marriage certificate.

“And rings?” Judge Jin asks as he peers down through his glasses to the paper he was holding at his desk. “We can now make time for the exchange of rings.”

You’re prepared for Gojo to come up with another lie about how the real rings will be at our formal ceremony, but you see him shuffling with something in his pocket in your periphery. Hm? You glance down at his hip, and you see him pull something shiny out.

He turns to face you, and he holds his hand out to you with an up-facing palm. You blink at him and then glance down at his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then glance down his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then gl—

“Give me your hand,” he says to you, a little hushed and rushed.

“Why???” you ask, baffled.

“So I can put a ring on your finger?” he says, like it’s the most casual thing. Like getting a ring slipped onto your fourth finger is the most casual Sunday for you, when it’s something you’ve dreamt of your whole entire life.

You finally take a long hard look at the ring he’s holding in his right hand. It shimmers with every glint of light in the courtroom off of every angle, no doubtedly precisely cut diamond from a jeweler who really cares about their craft, and you swear you’ve saved a similar looking ring to one of your Pinterest wedding boards before.

You hesitantly bring your hand up and hover it over his.

“Your left hand, silly,” he tells you.

“Oh, right,” you say, and hand him your left one instead.

He holds it in his hand that is much warmer than yours, and it’s so tender, the way he gently slips the ring onto your finger. It fits with ease, perfection actually, and you can’t help raising your hand up in the air, spreading your fingers weakly as you admire the stone now sitting above your knuckle. It’s pretty.

You feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as he’s halted in frame, and you glance past your hand to look at his face. You dislike him. You do. You should. He’s your annoying as fuck next-door-neighbor. So then why does your heart feel like it could burst right now?

A glimmer of silver catches your eye, and you look down at his hands as he slips a silver ring onto his left hand while facing you before he turns to face the front again, signaling the end of the ring exchange, except you didn’t get to put it on his hand. He didn’t give you the chance.

“Alright! Wonderful!” Judge Jin exclaims, whose eyesight is probably too poor to have seen that it wasn’t even a proper ring exchange. “With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

There is scattered applause across the courtroom, a few cheers as well, as you two stand in front of the court of law in holy matrimony.

Judge Jin glances at Gojo. “Well, young man, you may now kiss the bride!”

“Oh—…that—” you stutter, “that’s not necessa—”

“Okay,” Gojo says, more to affirm Judge Jin than in acknowledgement of your protest, and in a series of what feels like just one motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you two him and then he—

He kisses you.

He kisses you like it’s real, like there’s history, like it’s a pure thing meant to last and not something you quite literally put a time stamp on. The kiss muffles the small sound that comes from your throat, your hands held up in the air in some slight surrender before they slowly settle on his shoulders as he bends you backwards over his forearm to deepen the kiss and the cheers surrounding you grow with a fervor that has your cheeks burning red but for some reason you don’t want it to end—

And then he pulls away from you, eyes darting across the features of your face in close proximity as he exhales slowly, like a release, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in this room before he glances at your lips one last time and then he releases his hold on you. You stand shocked, and briefly glance at Choso, who looks like he’s about to burst a fuse off the top of his head.

What.

What.

What?

And just like that, you were married to your insufferable next-door neighbor.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 2]

a/n. thank youuu soooo so much for reading this chapter of ihm!! i’m kinda liking the writing style i’ve adopted for this series, it’s kinda lax n lenient sort of like a stream of consciousness and i hope it doesn’t come of too crass of informal lol i’m just playing around w some writing styles rn. ANYWHO i hope you enjoyed!! btw i picture choso as long-hair choso in any modern au (and not pigtails choso) so if you see me describing his hair in the way that i do, that’s why lol. love you all so much, hope to see you in the next one <3

➸ take me to chapter three!

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meme of the chapter:

[libraryofgage]

Librarian Steve :)

Was talking to a friend about people (specifically this one kid that gives such Dustin energy hfjdks) I meet at work (I'm a librarian) and that evolved into this plot bunny so:

Librarian Steve, rock star Eddie, and the 5 times Steve pretends he doesn't know who Eddie is while they flirt + 1 time Steve reveals he knew about Eddie's rock star status the whole time

There is also, definitely, at some point, going to be a second part where the kids keep just barely missing Eddie and refuse to believe Steve is actually dating anyone but especially not Eddie Munson of all people

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't

One

Steve stares at the man on the other side of the circulation desk. He's wearing a Metallica shirt, ripped jeans, a guitar pick necklace, clunky rings on each finger, and an expression that says he's bracing himself for something painful.

Here's the thing: Steve knows who Eddie Munson is. It's hard to listen to alternative rock or punk or any other genre like that and not know Eddie Munson. It's hard to be a librarian who works primarily with kids in middle school and high school, all going through that painful, angsty phase that they express through music, and not know Eddie Munson.

So, yeah, Steve takes one look at the admittedly (incredibly) attractive guy and immediately knows he's Eddie Munson. Like, of Corroded Coffin fame. Of Rock n Roll Hall of Fame fame. Of platinum-level album sales fame. Of--okay, his point has probably been made.

Anyway, yeah, Steve knows this is Eddie Munson, and while he'd love to say he's a fan and smile at Eddie and maybe ask for an autograph, Steve also grew up as a Small Town Rich Kid. So he knows that look on Eddie's face, the one that says he's bracing himself for someone to start fawning over him and potentially ask for uncomfortable favors or his number or any other request that's definitely crossing the line into invasive.

Steve easily makes the decision to pretend he doesn't recognize Eddie. So, he puts on his customer service smile and says, "Hello, how can I help you?"

The sheer relief in Eddie's eyes is more than enough to tell Steve he made the right choice. "Right, uh, this is my first time here," Eddie says, shifting slightly before placing his hands on the counter and drumming his fingers.

"Oh, congratulations," Steve says, his tone and smile becoming more genuine. "Did you come here to print something?"

Eddie shakes his head, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a library card. "My friend has, like, a...hold? Yeah, a hold on something and asked me to pick it up," he explains.

Steve nods once and takes the card when Eddie offers it. He scans it and watches the computer load for a few seconds before opening an account window for someone named Asher Katz. "Since you aren't the cardholder," Steve says, navigating to the "Additional Information" tab in the account, "I'll need you to tell me the four-digit pin or code word connected to the account."

He clearly wasn't expecting that requirement, and Eddie flounders for a moment. "Is that a requirement?" he asks.

With an apologetic smile, Steve nods. "Yeah," he says, stretching out the word as he tries to think. "Oh, you could also call him and have him tell me the pin. Then I could confirm that it's okay for you to check out materials on his behalf."

"This is a lot of hoops for a book," Eddie says, frowning slightly as he takes out his phone.

"We have to make sure people's materials are secure. Also, we have to keep track of what people check out for the library's stats report at the end of each quarter."

Eddie looks like he understands about half of that, and Steve once again flashes an apologetic smile. After a few taps on the screen, Eddie glances around the library, ensuring it's empty, before putting the phone on speaker. The moment it picks up, and before Asher can speak, Eddie says, "Hey, man, I'm at the library. Can you tell, uh--" Eddie looks up to check Steve's nametag "--Steve what your pin is so I can check that book out."

A few seconds pass before Steve hears a sigh on the other end of the phone. "1234," Asher says.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks.

Steve glances at the account page, confirms the pin, and nods. "Could you also provide me with your code word?"

"Password."

"Dude!" Eddie says, staring at the phone like he's once again being reminded that his friend is a dumbass.

Steve checks the account again and nods once more. "Great, thank you. Could you confirm that...," Steve trails off, looking at Eddie expectantly.

Eddie blinks like he forgot Steve didn't know who he was and hesitates before clearing his throat and quietly saying, "Eddie."

"Thanks," Steve says, flashing another smile before looking at the phone and continuing, "Can you confirm that Eddie here is allowed to check out holds on your behalf?"

"Uh, yeah, that's fine, man."

"Great, thank you," Steve says, checking the card number once more before heading to the hold shelf behind the desk. He crouches and starts scanning stickers on the spines for Asher's last name and the last four digits of his number. Behind him, he hears Eddie say goodbye, his voice sounding a little strained for reasons Steve can't really figure out at the moment.

He finds the right book after a few moments and pulls it off the shelf. "Here it is," he says, walking over to the desk and pulling up the check-out window on his computer. He scans the library card once more, carefully pulls the sticker off the spine, and scans the book.

"It's due in two weeks, but if your friend needs more time, he can just give the library a call," Steve explains, passing the book and card back to Eddie with a smile. "Was there anything else I could do for you?"

Eddie just stares at him for a few seconds, his cheeks looking a little pinker than before, and Steve wonders if the building's A/C somehow gave up on life. Again. But he can hear it running so that definitely isn't it. "Uh, nope, that's it," Eddie says, gripping the book tightly in his hands, his rings pressing into the cover. "Thanks, Steve, appreciate it."

"Of course, man. Have a good day," Steve says with a genuine smile and wave as Eddie heads toward the door.

With a slightly awkward wave back, Eddie walks out the door, glancing back over his shoulder once before the door completely shuts. Once the library is empty again, Steve hears the door to the backroom open, and Robin practically slides up to the counter, leaning onto it next to him.

"Was that?" she asks. Steve instantly translates the question in his head: Was that Eddie fucking Munson?

"Yep."

"And did you?"

And did you just pretend you didn't know him?

"Yep."

"Did he?"

Did he catch on?

"Nope."

"Do you think?"

Do you think he'll be back?

Steve shrugs, glancing over at her. "Don't know," he says, pausing for a moment before adding, "He's hotter in person."

Robin barks out a laugh. "Maybe you'll actually get to flirt next time," she says, and Steve grins at her, kind of hoping she's right.

Two

Eddie returns exactly two weeks later, and Steve is lucky enough to once again be working a desk shift when he walks through the door. He's wearing a Nine Inch Nails shirt this time, and his hair is pulled back into a messy bun with strands escaping to frame his face. He goes up to the counter, focused on Steve and completely ignoring Robin sitting at another computer, and sets the book down. "I wanna return this. And get a library card for myself," he says.

Steve can't help a clearly amused smile as he takes the book and scans it in. "Do you have an ID with you?" he asks, sliding the book along the desk to rest next to Robin.

He ignores the glare she shoots at him before grabbing the book to place it on a reshelving cart for later.

"Yeah, do I need anything else?" Eddie asks.

As Steve shakes his head, he leans over to grab a library card application from a small organizer. He places it in front of Eddie and passes him a pen as well. "Just fill that out," he says, leaning forward on the counter as Eddie picks up the pen.

"So, uh, what can I do with a library card?" Eddie asks, glancing up at Steve briefly before focusing on carefully writing. His letters are blocky but awkward like he's consciously thinking about how he's writing each one.

Maybe he just doesn't want to risk his writing being recognized, too? From what Steve remembers of the signatures he's seen, Eddie's handwriting is fairly distinctive.

"You can borrow up to 75 materials at one time, place items on hold, use the computers, and you get one dollar of printing credit that renews each day," Steve lists, tilting his head slightly as he watches Eddie write.

"That's it?"

Steve snorts, raising an eyebrow at Eddie when he looks up. "Oh, that's not enough for you?" he asks, unable to help a slight grin, "You can use it at any library within our system, too. So you'll still have options if you get banned from this one."

"Oh? And what would I be banned for?" Eddie asks, his writing pausing long enough to meet Steve's gaze once more and smirk at him.

"I wonder," Steve says, not missing the way Eddie's gaze drops to his lips for less than a second before moving back up.

Holy shit, he's flirting with Eddie Munson.

"I can also help you find books to read based on what you've liked previously," Steve adds, somewhat clumsily pulling back from the flirting. It's only Eddie's second time here, and he doesn't want to let himself get too caught up in...well, Eddie when there's no guarantee he'll be back.

Eddie hums softly as he looks back at the application. "Oh? What would you recommend for me?" he asks.

"What's your favorite book?"

"The Hobbit."

"What did you like about it?"

"The adventure and the characters."

"Do you prefer fantasy? What about sci-fi?"

"Yeah, those are fine."

Steve hums softly, thinking as Eddie sets the pen down and slides the application to him. "Thanks. I also need to see your ID," Steve says, opening a drawer in the desk and pulling out a library card. He scans it, a new account window popping up and waiting to be filled out.

"What's the ID for?" Eddie asks.

"To confirm that you live in our service area," Steve explains, taking the ID when Eddie offers it. He glances at the photo briefly, confirming that it is, in fact, Eddie Munson, and then double-checks the address. It matches what Eddie wrote on the application, so he nods and slides the ID back to him.

"That's it?"

Steve nods, beginning to type Eddie's information into the account page. "Yeah, that's it," he says, glancing up and smiling at Eddie, "Anyway, I think you'll enjoy the Murderbot Diaries. It's about a cyborg that hacks its control module, thinks about maybe going on a killing spree, and then discovers TV instead. It then just goes on adventures through space while fighting, like, capitalism and corporations."

"Sounds pretty badass," Eddie says, leaning forward on the counter like he wants to get a peek at the computer. "How long is it?"

"It's mostly novellas, so they're quick reads."

"Got any copies here?"

Steve hums, entering the last of Eddie's information. "I can check," he says, "but first, I need a code word for your account. Like, if you forget your pin or have someone else come pick up a hold, this word will confirm it's you."

Eddie thinks for a few seconds, his gaze dropping to Steve's nametag once more. "Stevie," he says.

Steve's fingers falter, accidentally typing an incomprehensible key smash into the information field. He glances up at Eddie. "...as in Stevie Nix? Don't forget, this has to be something you'll remember," he says, raising an eyebrow.

With a playful grin and a wink, Eddie says, "Well, I think you're pretty unforgettable, Stevie."

A beat passes as Steve stares at Eddie, feeling a rush of heat to his cheeks. He clears his throat and looks back at the computer, hesitating for a second more before typing "Stevie" into the field and saving the account. When he's done, he slides the card to Eddie along with a Sharpie. "That's your card, please sign on the back."

He notices Eddie stiffen at the request, but Steve doesn't comment. As he instead searches the library's catalog, he tries to ignore the sheer panic coming from Eddie as he tries to figure out how to sign the card. Eventually, Eddie picks up the Sharpie and writes his name in the same awkward, blocky writing he used for the application.

"So," Steve says, getting Eddie's attention once more, "we don't have any copies of the first book here, but I can put it on hold for you. It should be here in around four days, and you'll get an email when it's available. Does that work?"

Eddie nods as he places the Sharpie down. "Sure, I'm happy to swing by and pick it up," he says, his tone and smile and the playful look in his eyes telling Steve there are more reasons than that for him to come by the library.

And as Steve places the book on hold for Eddie, he can't help a tiny, eager smile.

Three

The D8 sits innocently on the counter in front of Steve, marbled colors of blue and red with streaks of gold to complement the gold-painted numbers. Steve had immediately recognized it as Will's when he was cleaning the meeting room, and he knew the kid was probably losing his mind right now searching for it. He feels kind of bad knowing Will is going to lose all hope of finding it before his next visit to the library.

At the same time, though, he's looking forward to the expression of sheer joy on Will's face when he next comes in and Steve gives it back. Maybe it'll even score him a bonus point with Mike, and he'll be a little less of an asshole. Though, knowing Mike like he does, Steve is sure he'll just get jealous that Steve made Will smile like that instead of himself.

That kid is incredibly skilled at finding new grudges to hold.

"Whatcha got there, Stevie?"

Steve blinks, looking away from the D8 to find Eddie leaning on the counter, a familiar grin tugging at his lips. His hair is loose today, falling over his shoulders, and he's boldly wearing a Hellfire Club shirt, like he's confident that Steve won't recognize any of Corroded Coffin's merch.

Which, sure, Steve is great at pretending by now. Especially after he and Robin made a bet on whether Steve could keep the secret until Eddie asked him out. Steve has incredible faith in himself; Robin says he's too dumb and gay to last that long. So far, after around two months and multiple visits from Eddie, Steve is still going strong.

"A D8," Steve says, holding it between his thumb and forefinger so Eddie can see it clearly. "One of the kids left it behind yesterday."

"They were playing D&D here?" Eddie asks, tilting his head slightly as he holds his hand out.

Steve drops the dice into his hand, watching as Eddie inspects the gold numbers and hums softly with appreciation. "I host a weekly D&D program," Steve explains. "A group of regular kids plays, and they were getting a little disruptive when they played in the common area--" Steve gestures to the cluster of tables where the kids used to set up "--and the program gives them the meeting room for a whole afternoon."

Eddie looks up at him like he's just said he's a volunteer firefighter on the weekends. It's not an awe and appreciation that Steve really deserves, but he also can't help the slight puff of his chest when it's coming from Eddie. "Do you play, too?" Eddie asks.

"Sort of?" Steve frowns slightly, trying to remember how Dustin and Will explained his role during the campaign to him. "I'm, like, extras. Their DM, Will, wanted his, uh, NPCs? Yeah, NPCs. He wanted the NPCs to feel more real, so he'll give me, like, a little script before each session and then have me voice the NPCs and give me signals to guide my interactions."

"Signals?"

"Yeah, like, if I'm a shop owner and the characters bargain for stuff. He'll give me a signal of when their, like, rolls are effective or when they suck. And if I'm a villain NPC, he'll give me a signal of when to die and give dramatic monologues," Steve explains.

And Eddie grins again, his eyes practically sparkling with amusement and curiosity. "I kinda wanna hear a dramatic monologue," he says, propping his chin in his palm and looking at Steve expectantly.

He's clearly settled in to watch a show, and Steve isn't one to disappoint. Steve does a quick sweep of the library and confirms that it's just as empty as he remembers. Then, he sits up a little straighter in his chair, clears his throat, and tries to remember his whole dying monologue from the most recent session.

When he speaks, it's with a raspy voice, laced with pain and anger at being defeated, "Curse you, adventurers! You may have won the battle, but the war! The war yet rages, and you will be caught in its carnage! Savor this victory now, for it will be your last, and you will fa-"

Steve cuts off, grinning when Eddie blinks and pouts. "Why'd you stop?" he asks.

"Mike's character killed me before I could finish. Said my monologue was boring."

Eddie snorts, raising an eyebrow at that. "It sounds like your monologue was going to reveal info about the BBG."

"Yep. It was, but Will refused to tell them what the rest would've been, and Dustin threw his dice at Mike for killing me."

"He's lucky it was only that," Eddie says, completely serious, "I might've just killed him."

Steve can't help laughing, imagining Max leaping over the table to tackle Mike to the floor. She's done it before, actually, and the only thing that keeps her from attacking again is the knowledge that Steve will ban her from the library for at least a month if she gets violent again.

"He's lucky none of them want to be temporarily banned," Steve says.

"Oh? That's all it takes to get banned?" Eddie asks.

Steve smirks at the teasing lift to Eddie's question. "Yep, so you'd better watch yourself, Munson. I expect you to be on your best behavior," he says.

"I've never been very good at behaving."

"Great, you'll fit right in with the kids."

He looks up to see Eddie's smile growing wider, and Steve suddenly finds himself wondering how it would feel to kiss that smile away.

Four

Something library school never prepared Steve for is how overwhelmed certain days would make him. That's the thing about working with the public: some days are just never-ending, a line of patrons needing something practically wrapping through the stacks, meaning Steve can't turn off his customer service voice and smile.

Usually, he'll just escape to the back, lock himself in the employee bathroom, and take five minutes to cool down. Robin has gotten great at knocking on the door when the five minutes is up, pretending she needs to use the bathroom so the other staff members don't suspect Steve of breathing away a breakdown.

Today, though, Steve can't hide in the bathroom because of the music Robin is playing in the back. It's grating on his ears, scratching against his brain and down his spine like nails on a chalkboard, made all the worse by his interactions with an older patron with a voice that was rough and somehow rounded with sharp edges at the same time.

If Steve asked, Robin would definitely turn off the music, but he also saw her tense shoulders, how on edge she was, and how the music was the only thing helping her calm down. So Steve couldn't. Instead, he just said he was going to shelf-read the non-fiction section.

Because nobody goes into the non-fiction section. At least, nobody goes to the part of the section filled with encyclopedias. It's a safe corner, tucked into the back of the library where few people wander unless they're desperate for an outdated book of information that has no real bearing on their life.

So here Steve is, sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest and his eyes closed. This part of the library is quieter, but he can still hear the general ambiance of the building: people talking in hushed voices, the keyboards clicking as people type, chairs scraping against the floor as people pull them out.

And quiet footsteps coming closer. They're accompanied by the gentle sound of metal bouncing against itself. Steve doesn't open his eyes, but he does know that it's Eddie, and he's not at all surprised that Eddie managed to find him deep in the stacks.

It makes him feel a little warm, actually.

When Eddie reaches him, he doesn't speak. He just sits next to Steve, close enough for Steve to feel his presence without their shoulders touching. And he seems content to stay in silence for as long as needed, but Steve doesn't want silence. He wants to hear Eddie's voice; maybe it will override the discomfort of the music and the patron from earlier.

"Could you talk?" Steve asks, his voice soft and barely audible.

But Eddie hears him and scoots a tiny bit closer, letting their shoulders brush.

"I have opinions about library shelving because of you now. Like, why are science fiction and fantasy shelved together as one category? They're two different genres; they represent different things. One is a reflection of our society and all that it could be, an escape into something new, and the other is a reflection of what our society was through the eyes of a new world. And, like, it's not even the ones you think. They both embody different lessons and values and pairing them together is, like, demeaning to the hallmarks of the genres and what they can do for readers."

Yeah, that definitely sounds like an opinion about library shelving and cataloging. Steve can't help a soft laugh escaping him as he finally opens his eyes and looks at Eddie. "What started this?" he asks.

"There are Star Trek novels right next to, like, Seven Blades in Black on the shelves, Stevie. It's horrendous. What the fuck?"

Steve smiles a little, gently knocking their elbows together. "Unfortunately, I can't control how our cataloging department works," he says.

"Sounds like a skill issue to me," Eddie says, "Maybe you should just get good."

Steve barks out a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand at how loud it sounds. He glares at Eddie, his eyes holding no real heat.

Eddie grins right back and leans in a little closer. "Feeling better, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice soft and gentle and brushing against Steve's brain like a cool stream of water on a hot day.

It makes his shoulders relax, something in his stomach uncurling and draining all the tension from his muscles. "Yeah," he replies, "thanks."

"Anytime, Stevie," Eddie says, smiling at Steve like he's capable of hanging stars in the sky, like he'd do a backflip with a broken spine if Steve asked.

And Steve...Steve finds himself getting lost in Eddie's eyes, and he has no plans to find his way out anytime soon.

Five

Most of the library staff hates reshelving books, but Steve loves it. He doesn't have to use his brain beyond remembering the alphabet, and he can listen to music while he works, easily zoning out so the time passes quickly.

Which is what's happening now. He's probably been shelving for a while, but he's been listening to a Corroded Coffin playlist the entire time, humming along to Hellfire and Chains. His head is bobbing along to the music as he works, and he turns to grab another book off the reshelving cart only to find Eddie standing right behind him.

Steve jumps, his heart leaping into his throat as he chokes on air and Corroded Coffin notes. Eddie is staring at him with wide eyes, somewhere between afraid and infatuated, and Steve can't help asking, "What the fuck, man?" in a whispered voice.

"Whatcha listening to, Stevie?" Eddie asks, ignoring Steve's question.

Oh. If he admits to knowing Corroded Coffin's music, then he'll probably be giving up the whole "I know you're famous" thing, and based on Eddie's somewhat terrified look, that's not a great idea right now. But he also can't lie about the music because Eddie's going to recognize his own songs.

"Uh, Corroded Coffin, I think? I heard Lucas playing one of their songs. It sounded catchy and he sent me a playlist he'd made on Spotify," Steve explains.

It's not a lie, technically. That is how he discovered Corroded Coffin, but that was almost two years ago now.

"And, uh, what do you think?" Eddie asks, glancing at the earbuds still playing in Steve's ear.

Steve studies him for a moment before smiling. "They're really good," he says, turning around to continue shelving books. "I like stuff from their second album best so far."

"Do you usually listen to metal and rock?" Eddie asks, glancing at the shelving cart before passing Steve another book.

Steve almost tells Eddie to let him do the shelving, but then he sees that Eddie passed him the correct book for this section, so he bites back the words. Instead, he nods and crouches to slide the book into a bottom shelf. "Yeah. More older stuff, I guess. Guns N' Roses, Metallica, Nine Inch Nails, Queen. That kind of stuff," he says.

"Holy fuck, you're perfect," Eddie says, his voice soft and full of awe and Steve is about to laugh when Eddie adds, "Marry me."

Steve blinks, nearly losing his balance and falling on his ass. He saves himself at the last minute, quickly standing up again so he can look at Eddie. "Seriously?" he asks, wondering if maybe he had just misheard.

He did not. And this is proven by Eddie moving around the shelving cart, grabbing Steve's hand, and getting down on one knee. "Incredibly. Your music taste is fucking immaculate, sweetheart. Also, you're funny, hot, and sweet, and I've recently developed a librarian kink, I think. So. Marry me," Eddie says before using his teeth to pull off one of the chunky rings on his left hand so his right hand doesn't have to let go of Steve.

He then holds the ring up, and Steve really shouldn't find that as hot as he does. Like. Really hot. And he almost considers saying yes. But then he fully processes Eddie's words and almost laughs. "You've developed a librarian kink? So, what, you'll drop me the moment another librarian starts ranting about the Dewey Decimal system?" he asks.

"Okay, fair," Eddie says, nodding once. "Let me rephrase that. I've developed a Librarian Steve Harrington kink. Only you, big boy. Nobody curses out the Dewey Decimal system like you, sweetheart."

That might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to Steve, actually. "It's a shitty cataloging system," he says without thinking.

Eddie nods in agreement, still on one knee, still holding up the ring (it's shaped like a coffin, now that Steve spares it more than a quick glance) and still looking up at Steve with an infatuated smile. "It is," he agrees, voice a little softer than before like he's ready to just kneel through Steve's passionate rant about it.

And Steve thinks that might be the final straw for him. "I'd prefer at least one date before marriage," he says, grinning down at Eddie and pulling him back to his feet.

Eddie follows his lead, standing a little too close considering Steve is, technically, still at work. He turns Steve's hand over so it's palm up and drops the ring into it. "Of course, Stevie. How about lunch tomorrow? My treat," he offers.

Of course, Steve says yes.

+ One

"I still think there are funnier ways to tell him," Robin says, crossing her arms and pouting as Steve leans against the counter, his back to the door.

Steve sticks his tongue out at her. "You're just mad you lost the bet," he says. Telling her she lost had made Steve's entire week, especially since it means Robin is finally (finally!) going to dress up with Steve the next time they go to a basketball game together. He's got a jersey and shorts ready for her; he's had them ready since the first game he invited her to. They have her name across the back, are the ugliest shade of mustard yellow he could find, and match his perfectly.

"That jersey is the work of the devil," she says, her nose scrunching in disgust at the thought of it.

Steve just grins. "You never know, maybe a nice girl will be enraptured by your awkward lesbian swag," he says.

Robin is about to answer when she looks over Steve's shoulder and grins, her eyes lighting up. Steve looks over his shoulder to see Eddie smiling at him. "Hey, Stevie," he says.

And here it is. The moment of truth. Steve grins right back at Eddie and turns around, letting him see the graphic on his shirt. It's one he bought at a Corroded Coffin concert a year ago. It has the band's first album cover emblazoned across it with Eddie front-and-center, playing his guitar with the other band members around him as bats swirl in a red haze above their heads.

Eddie stares at the shirt, his smile freezing on his face and his body tensing. Panic starts to fill his eyes, and he glances up, looking ready to explain himself only to stop when he sees Steve's soft, endeared smile. He pauses, studying Steve's expression for a moment before laughing a little awkwardly and tugging on a lock of his hair, using it to cover his mouth. "So, uh, you knew the whole time," he says.

"Yep," Steve replies, leaning forward on the counter so it's harder for Eddie to avoid looking at him. "I did."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Eddie asks.

"You didn't want me to," Steve says. Then he considers his words and corrects, "Or, you didn't want to be recognized. When you first came in, you were bracing yourself for it, and I figured you'd feel more comfortable if I pretended not to know you."

"What about all the other times?"

Steve shrugs, his smile becoming reassuring. "I figured you'd either tell me when you were ready, or I'd tell you when we went on a date because you'd probably get all in your head about having a secret like that while we were dating."

And Steve is right. Eddie would have freaked out over the secret, and he would have struggled with telling Steve at just the right moment, and time would have stretched on and on until it had been too long to tell him anything. It would have been agony for Eddie and left Steve concerned and just not a good time for anyone.

"So, uh, how long have you been a fan?" Eddie asks.

"Well, I wasn't lying about hearing your music from Lucas, but I did lie about the time. It was two years ago," Steve explains.

Eddie slowly nods and then starts to grin. "So, how's it feel dating a celebrity?" he asks playfully, leaning closer and wiggling his eyebrows at Steve.

"Like a Wattpad fantasy come true," Steve deadpans, nearly cracking when he hears Robin lose her shit behind him, her laughter turning into wheezes within seconds.

Eddie laughs, too. It's loud and bright and makes Steve feel warm and happy, like every problem could be solved simply by making Eddie laugh just like this.

Steve is eager to find out if that's true.

[1117-yungi]

SONG BIRD. jung wooyoung x fem!reader [4.8k]

in the infamous lounge, a singer performs for the one man who always breaks her heart — the untouchable owner. their reunions crackles with passion and pain. in his world of glittering façades, love is never enough, and you're left singing to ghosts of what could have been.

genre. rich!wooyoung, club owner!wooyoung, singer!reader, smut, angsty, toxic situationship, he is kinda insufferable but its hot, little porn with a lot of plot

warnings. toxic woo, swearing, manipulation, gaslighting, smut, pull-out method (don't do this guys), choking, switch!wooyoung, switch!reader, oral: m receiving, fingering, orgasm denial, pet names: songbird, angel, darling, baby, and bunny, hair pulling, praise and degradation, bittersweet ending, they're not good for each other guys!!!, size kink if u squint, implied dub-con tbh, power play dynamics, let me know if theres anymore!

note. hide the scissors from wooyoung rn

the dim haze of the lounge cast long shadows on the plush, velvet booths and the lacquered piano. smoke curled lazily in the air, mingling with the faint clink of glasses and the low hum of idle chatter. you stood beneath the spotlight, a figure draped in silver, your dress catching the low light like a thousand tiny stars. your voice pouring over the room like honey over jagged glass. the microphone in your hand felt heavy, but nothing was heavier than the weight in your chest as you sang.

each word slipped from your lips, the kind of voice that made people stop in their tracks, made them feel things they'd been too afraid to feel. your voice was sweet, but raspy in the best way possible — the crowd watched with newfound fascination, the other acts providing background music for the illegal activities. but you, you were the main act. though tonight, your eyes weren’t scanning the crowd. you weren't looking for applause. you were looking for him.

and there he sat in the corner, a million-dollar smile on his face, surrounded by men in sharp suits and women with sharp laughs and seductive stares. his watch gleamed under the dim light, a beacon of everything he was — untouchable, unattainable, a mirage with no end. but when your voice reached him, his head turned ever so slightly, like the string you had tied between them had just been tugged. his eyes had found yours.

you didn't falter, didn't let your emotions bleed into the lyrics. not yet.

you'd met him before, on nights much like this one, when the world seemed coated in gold and the air hummed with possibility. he was the kind of man you never really forgot; the man who walked into a room and owned it without hesitation. a man made of money, of charm, of tragedy.

tonight, though, there was something different in his gaze. as you sang the final note, he rose, leaving behind the world that adored him, the entourage, the whispers. he walked backstage towards where you were.

"you always knew how to break my heart," wooyoung murmured, his voice like bourbon, smooth but burning. it made you freeze in your tracks, turning your head towards the voice.

"and you always knew how to make me let you," you replied, your lips curving into a bittersweet, forced smile.

it was always the same between them. he was a million-dollar man, but his worth was his undoing. you were the girl who saw through it all and loved him anyway, knowing he could never stay.

"play me a song, darling," he said, his voice low, as if he knew this moment might be their last.

you didn’t ask why. you never did.

fingers trembling as the two of you sat down on the bench of the piano you had practiced at for ages. with a deep sigh, you played the melody that lived in your heart, the one you'd written for him long ago. the room around them disappeared, the crowd, the smoke, the lights. it was just them, a girl in silver and a man who carried the weight of the world in his eyes. even backstage, away from the crowd, it felt suffocating.

when the final note faded, he pressed his lips together in a firm, his tongue playing with the ring in his lip. he let his fingers ghost over the keys, not playing, just feeling. "you deserve better than this," he murmured, his gaze distant, his hands now stilling against one of the keys, his pinky grazing yours. "you deserve more than me, angel."

"and yet, here you are." you replied.

he laughed softly, the sound bittersweet yet intoxicating. "yeah. here i am."

for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you, a singer and a man who could never be yours. he leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead, his warmth lingering even as he pulled away.

"you deserve better," wooyoung said again, softer this time. then, just like always, he was gone.

you stayed at the piano, staring at the spot where he'd sat, your heart aching but your resolve steady. your eyes moved up to the piano, staring at the empty glass he left behind. you hadn't even realized that he brought it with him. a tear slipped down your cheek, but you wiped it away, knowing you'd sing the song again tomorrow night.

for the million-dollar man who never really belonged to you, but who’d stolen your soul all the same.

the lounge felt heavier tonight, like the air itself was steeped in tension. the usual haze of smoke clung tighter, the shadows darker, the applause quieter. they all felt like ghosts, lingering echoes of the night before. and you, you were here again, draped in the same silver as always. you noticed your fingers trembling as you adjusted the microphone stand, your heart heavy with a burden only he could bring. you didn't bother scanning the crowd this time — you already knew he was here.

he always was, especially when you swore you wouldn't let him get to you again.

you hadn't seen him since last night, but you could still taste the remnants of his touch on your skin, still hear the soft murmur of his voice, still feel the weight of his words pressing on your chest. you deserve better than this. you deserve more than me, angel.

it was the same old routine. the promises of distance, the whisper of something more, followed by his sudden disappearance. but this time, there was something different in the air — a thick tension that gnawed at your insides, something you couldn't shake.

when the crowd settled into their usual spot, half-distracted by their own secrets, the music began. you took the stage like clockwork, the spotlight cutting through the gloom. the microphone felt colder tonight, like it was in on the game. as you sang, your voice wavered, only for a moment, when you caught his silhouette at the corner table.

but he wasn't alone this time.

she was draped across his arm, some attractive woman with a laugh like crystal shards, glittering and sharp. she leaned into him, whispering something that made him smirk — that signature smirk as he played with his lip ring. but those fox like eyes? oh, they were on you. they always were.

the song ended, and the crowd clapped, but you barely heard it. he was already standing, already moving toward you as his hands clapped for you; it seemed taunting. the woman that had previously accompanied at his table barely seemed to notice when he had left.

"you're something else tonight, angel," he murmured when he reached you, his voice low and familiar. the way he said angel made your stomach twist, equal parts longing and fury.

"don't start," you said, stepping down from the stage. you tried to walk past him, but his hand caught your wrist, firm but careful, like he knew exactly how far he could push.

"start what?" his lips curved into a crooked grin, but his grip didn't loosen. his gaze flicked to the other patrons around him, then back to you, something unreadable behind that cool, confident exterior. "just giving you a compliment. you look beautiful, as always."

you glared at him, yanking your arm free. "you should be telling her that."

his grin faltered for half a second, but it was enough to make you feel the smallest spark of satisfaction. still, he recovered quickly, his tone dropping into something softer, almost apologetic. almost.

"don’t tell me you're jealous."

you laughed bitterly, stepping back, needing space. "of her? no. of whatever hold you have on me? yeah, maybe."

wooyoung's expression shifted, the smirk giving way to something darker, sharper. he stepped closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "you're the one who keeps singing for me. what does that say, angel?"

you stiffened, trying to keep your gaze steady, but something inside you recoiled. that voice. that look. the way he made everything feel like it was slipping through your fingers, made you doubt your own choices. you wanted to hit him, to scream, to walk out and never come back. but the worst part? he wasn't wrong.

"you don’t own me," you said, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with anger — at him, at yourself, at everything.

he tilted his head, his smile softening, dangerous. "don't i?"

"i told you," he continued, his lips curling slightly as he drew away, taking a slow, deliberate sip from his glass. "i'm not here for anything long-term. you're not the kind of girl who gets a happy ending, not with me. but i do like the way you play along."

"play along?" you repeated, voice thick with disbelief. "is that what you think this is?"

his gaze darkened, though his smile never wavered. "you're a smart girl. you know exactly what this is. you always have." his eyes softened for a moment, almost like a mask slipping. like even he didn't believe the facade. "but don't get too attached. i'm not the one you should be putting your heart into."

a sharp, bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. you crossed your arms over your chest, feeling exposed, vulnerable in front of him. "i know who you are," you said, voice steady but laced with a cold edge. "i'm not an idiot."

"good," wooyoung said, still leaning in, but this time there was something colder in his touch when his fingers brushed yours. his eyes held that cruel, knowing gleam. "but don't act like you don't want to be a little bit more than this."

you didn't say anything. you couldn’t. because, despite everything you told yourself, part of you did want more. you were tired of the games, the lies, the promises that never meant anything. but another part of you… the part that still clung to that impossible hope, the part that still wanted him to be something better than what he showed the world… that part wouldn't let you walk away.

and he knew it.

you watched him turn on his heel, his expensive shoes clicking against the polished floor as he started to walk away. you felt the pull, the magnetism of him drawing you in even as you knew you should turn and leave.

but then, just before he disappeared into the crowd, he glanced back over his shoulder with that same smirk, the one that never quite reached his eyes. "i'’m not done with you yet, songbird," he called out, his voice dripping with that familiar, dangerous promise.

the next few hours dragged on like a blur of muted lights and endless faces. the lounge seemed to buzz louder, more insistent, as if the world were trying to drown out the weight of the space between you and him. but you couldn't escape it. not when you could still feel the pressure of his fingers on your skin, the weight of his words on your chest.

when you finally left the stage, the air around you felt too thin, too oppressive. you hadn't seen him leave, but you knew he was gone. you always knew. he didn't need to announce his exit. it was his absence that left you hollow.

you went to the dressing room to get out of your stage outfit and into your normal clothes. it was routine and becoming old, but you hadn't made an effort to leave. you pushed through the crowd of people, smiling at their empty compliments before freezing as you tried to excuse yourself by pushing past a patron.

but wooyoung was standing there, looking as if he'd never left. his dark eyes locked onto yours instantly, the room falling away as if it were just the two of you, frozen in time. the crowd moved around you, oblivious, but you couldn't stop looking at him. couldn't stop feeling the electric pull between you.

"you always do this," you murmured, half to yourself, though your words carried across the silence.

"do what?" he asked, his voice cool but laced with something dangerous. the smirk was back, that crooked grin that never seemed to falter, like he enjoyed the power he had over you. like he knew the exact moment to strike.

"you know what i mean," you said, trying to steady yourself. but your heart was racing, your pulse quickening as he stepped closer, narrowing the gap between you.

he reached out, fingertips brushing against the back of your hand — light, gentle, but the touch sent a shiver through you.

the heat between you, the tension that had built up all night, was palpable. it was always like this, when he came close. the air turned thick, suffocating, and you couldn't tell if you wanted to push him away or pull him closer. but you didn't have to decide. not yet.

he didn't wait for an invitation. without breaking eye contact, he reached out, a single finger brushing your arm — just enough to send a wave of electricity surging through your skin.

"come with me," he said simply. "i don't like waiting."

his eyes scanned your face, his gaze sharp, like he could see past every defense, every wall you'd tried to build around your heart. for a moment, he said nothing, just watching you. watching the battle in your eyes.

there was no hesitation. you knew what it meant when he said that. he wasn't asking. he was demanding — as always. you had learned long ago that when he made these kinds of demands, you couldn't say no, not really. but he always gave you an opportunity to for it.

"your friends won't like that," you said, a small attempt at playing it cool, but the words felt weak as they left your mouth. you knew it was pointless.

he raised an eyebrow. "the only person i'm interested in right now is you."

he didn't wait for you to respond. instead, he turned, almost arrogantly, like he owned the space around him, and without a word, you followed him. his presence was commanding, and you could feel the weight of it behind you. you kept your distance at first, though every step you took felt like it pulled you deeper into his orbit.

you clenched your fists, trying to fight the tremor in your hands, trying to ignore how badly your body was betraying you as you trailed behind him. you wanted to say something sharp, something cold, something that would break the connection between you. but he was already too close. his presence was too much, suffocating in the best way. and you followed him without question. god, you were weak.

"i'm not playing your games anymore, wooyoung," you said, your mouth moving faster than your thoughts could comprehend your voice wavered, and you cursed yourself for it.

he stopped in his tracks, about to reach the exit of the lounge. his lips quirked up at the corner, an almost fond smile creeping into his expression as if your defiance only made him more interested. "you say that, but you know you like it. you like the chase. the danger."

the words hit harder than they should have. you looked away, your chest tightening as he stepped even closer, until there was nowhere for you to go.

"then let me end it," he said, his voice quieter, and this time, there was no smirk, no cruel amusement. only an intensity that left your breath caught in your throat. "come with me." wooyoung looked like he would have gotten on his knees for you right then, pleading for you.

you opened your mouth to protest, to tell him to leave you alone for good, but the words wouldn’t come. so instead, you found yourself nodding, against your better judgment, against the part of you that knew this would only make things worse.

the crowd was still swirling around you, but it felt like you were in a different world. the moment he stepped closer, his hand grazing your arm as he guided you toward the exit, everything else faded. you were lost in him again.

no turning back.

the drive to his apartment was short but felt like hours. the silence between you was thick, suffocating, each passing second dragging you deeper into the inevitable. he hum of the engine only adding to the tension. you sat next to him, your hands gripping your bag tighter than necessary, the familiar burn in your chest threatening to crack you open. he didn't speak, didn’t ask you any questions. he just drove, as if this moment was already scripted. you were a part of the plan, whether you wanted to be or not. you couldn't stop your mind from racing, from thinking of everything you’d tried to ignore — the past you’d buried, the future you were too afraid to face.

when you reached the building, he didn't wait for you to say anything. his hand was on the small of your back, guiding you up the elevator without a word.

inside, his apartment was exactly what you remembered: sterile, cold, all glass and steel, but still holding that dangerous allure. the kind of space that made you feel insignificant, like a blip in a world too big for you to understand. the moment the door closed behind you, the outside world seemed to vanish. all that remained was the quiet atmosphere of his space and the man standing in front of you, looking at you as if you were the only thing that mattered, and the only thing he could destroy.

there was no pretense this time. no smiles. just that intensity that always left you breathless. he stepped toward you slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, until you were backed against the edge of the sleek, black sofa.

his hands reached for you, but this time, there was no game in his touch. it wasn't the same as it had been before, when he made you feel like a toy he could play with and discard. this was different. this was raw.

"you keep pretending you don't want this," he murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, his thumb lightly brushing your lips. "but you do."

you wanted to argue, wanted to push him away, but your body betrayed you again. the warmth of his touch, the deep pull of his presence, was too much to fight. you wanted to say no. you wanted to walk away.

but you didn't.

his lips were on yours before you could say anything else. a kiss that was all heat and demand, a kiss that made you forget everything but him. his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

and maybe, just maybe, you couldn’t get enough of him either.

you should have known better. you should have walked away when you had the chance. but instead, you stayed. you always did. his touch overwhelmed you completely, you couldn't bring yourself to fight it. because deep down, you knew you were already lost.

you grasp onto his expensive shirt, pulling him even closer until the two of you fall down onto his lavish couch. his lip ring felt cool against your soft lips, making your mind become foggy with pleasure. he chuckled into your mouth, as if he could tell you enjoyed his piercing. he adjusted the position, resting between your legs. your legs naturally wrap around his hips, making him rut into your clothed core. you gasped at the feeling, whining against his lips.

wooyoung pulled away from your lips, much to your dismay, before he started to kiss along your neck, biting down and sucking on the flesh to create a dark mark. you mewled at the feeling, your back arching off the couch as you grabbed onto him with a newfound aggression. he whimpered from how tight your hold was on his long hair, providing him with pain mixed with pleasure.

at this revelation, you tugged his head back by hair and returned the favor. you decorated his neck with dark marks, sucking harshly on his sweet spot, which was easy enough to find. his slutty hips rubbed against your core desperately, clearly enjoying the feeling as he moaned shamelessly while you felt his cock hardening.

he tried to take control of the situation again, but you didn't let him. you flipped the both of you around, now straddling him before ripping his shirt off by the buttons. he frowned, letting out a whine, "that was expensive, baby."

"you can afford it." you whispered with a grin on your face before taking one of his nipples into your mouth. he gasped at the sensitivity as your tongue swirled around his perky, hard nipple. wooyoung had never experienced anything like this, always being the dominant. and he certainly didn't expect you to be like this. what else are you hiding from him? after a few more moments of teasing him, you crawled down to where he needed you the most.

you tugged down his pants, leaving them pooling at his ankles. oh, he was big. somehow you knew that. you gave his tip a swift kitty lick, his body visibly shaking. his eyes stayed on yours as you shoot him an innocent bat of your eyelashes. "fuckin' brat," he whispered, reaching down to your hair while he whimpered while your tongue swirled around his tip, gathering the pre-cum that leaked out.

he brushed a few stray hairs away from your face as your mouth worked him up and down in perfect rhythm, bobbing up and down. one of your hands kneaded his thighs while the other played with his balls. wooyoung let out a desperate moan at the sudden touch, he hadn't even noticed how sensitive he really was. all for your touch. you were both drunk on each other — without any alcohol in your systems. besides his very few sips of whiskey.

your jaw was hurting, pleasurably stretched by his cock, but the sensation of his tip hitting the back of your throat was too addictive to care about the pain. you hollowed your cheeks, trying to fit every vein that popped out as wooyoung breathed heavily, holding back with all his might not to mouth-fuck you. he felt dumb from the pleasure, growing more and more needy and desperate.

"you're gonna make me cum if you keep doing this, angel," wooyoung laughed with a whine as your tongue glided against the underside of his length, sending goosebumps all over his body. unable to hold back any longer, he harshly yanked you down, forcing his entire length into your mouth, his tip deliciously hitting the back of your throat, making you gag.

you moaned at the sudden rough treatment as he rolled his hips into your mouth. despite the intensity, your tongue continued to lick and satisfy him, while he used your mouth like his personal toy, sending vibrations through your entire being.

you could feel him twitch inside you — he was almost there, ready to release. your hands pulled and kneaded his balls, giving them one cheeky little squeeze, pushing against them before pulling off of him, denying his orgasm.

wooyoung whined at the loss of your touch, pouting before raising up. he grabbed your throat and pulled you against his lips with an unmistakable hunger and desperation. he stripped off your clothes while kicking off his pants that you left. he picked you up with ease, carrying you into his room and onto the bed.

and then you ended up on his lap, with his long fingers stuffed deep inside you, curling and making a mess of you. you couldn't even remember how you had gotten into this position, too drunk and intoxicated on the feeling of his fingers hitting all the right spots. you rolled your hips eagerly, making him grin as he watched you with a smile on his face, clearly getting off on how he was making you feel.

"you're such an eager bunny, baby," he murmured over the pretty moans ringing in his ears as you leaned back against his chest, head resting on his shoulder, while he whispered the filthiest things in your ear. his hot breath tickled your skin. god, he was like a drug. "humping my fingers like you're in heat."

his thumb was rubbing your clit, making your toes curl. his words made you embarassed and your face hot, but you didn't dare correct him. "no matter where you go, you always come back to me. won't you, pretty girl?" he teased, your moans answering him.

he slid another finger inside you easily, stretching you even more. your eyes widened from the sensation; it was a mix of pleasure and pain that made tears brim in your eyes. a whimper left your throat, going straight to wooyoung's hard cock that rested against your thigh.

your tiny hand went straight to his cock, trying to stimulate him as his fingers worked your dripping cunt, moving in and out, curling, hitting all the right spots. he groaned quietly before kissing you, his tongue exploring your mouth. you tried your best to kiss him back, saliva pooling at the corner of your lips as your vision was slowly going blank, stars starting to appear. your body trembled under his relentless pace, lips parted, gasping. but he started pulling his fingers out of you.

"woo," you whined which made him scoff, watching you looking like a doll. his perfect, little doll. he slid his fingers covered with your slick into his mouth, a hum vibrating through him while swirling his tongue around them while your mouth watered at the sight. you took a heavy breath, and without speaking, reached out, pulling his fingers from his mouth, looking at him expectantly.

he swallowed hard, the look you gave him was flipping a switch in his brain. "go on, take them into your mouth."

you obliged, sliding three of his long digits into your mouth. wooyoung groaned, his eyes closing as he could fell the back of your throat at his fingertips. he couldn't take it anymore, and clearly you couldn't either.

you aligned him at your entrance, your pussy practically begging for him to fill you. that signature smug smile remained as his eyes held yours, and you gripped his shoulders as his tip pushed through your walls, stretching you deliciously as he finally bottomed out. he paused, letting you adjust to his length, and you gasped before nodding him to continue.

he began to move, each thrust slow but steady, reaching deep, hitting that perfect spot inside you. your vision blurred with pleasure as he drove into you, his pace intensifying, while his lips found yours again. he could tell you were trying to hold your moans back, and that wasn't sliding by him. he gripped your throat tightly, pulling away from the messy kiss. "sing for me, baby," he moaned.

and you did. you moaned for him, your back arching off his mattress and into his chest as his pace quickened, thrusts growing deeper. they started out calculated but soon turned sloppy and messy. his lips pressed against neck. each movement, each kiss, each moan that escaped his lips only pushed you closer to the edge until you couldn't hold back anymore.

your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, fingers digging into him as the building tension finally snapped, sending you spiraling into release. your nails had dug crescents into his shoulders, drawing blood slightly. and then building tension finally snapped, sending you spiraling into release. you clenched so hard around his cock, pleasure consuming you completely with your body trembling in his arms as you released your orgasm. his hips never faltered as he rode you through the high.

wooyoung's thrusts slowed as he guided you through the last waves of pleasure, his own breaths turning ragged. "come on, baby," you whispered to him, trying to catch your breath slightly. he shivered at your tone, trying to chase his own high. "cum for me." you commanded, making him whine while pulling out of you quickly. his hand jerked his cock once then twice, and warmth spilled onto your thighs as he held you close, his load shooting out onto your plush skin. he fell down beside of you after every drop left him.

after leaving for a moment to retrieve a towel, he dragged the fabric to clean you and him up. he tossed it aside and held you close to him, his fingers grazing against your skin.

when he finally pulled back, his breathing heavy, he looked at you with that same inscrutable expression. "i'm not going to let you go," he said, his voice thick, almost possessive. "not this time."

you didn't say anything. there was nothing to say. you knew you were already lost. your breath was shallow, as you tried to forget the words, tried to remember that he didn’t matter. that he couldn’t hurt you anymore. his words were just empty promises, as always.

he had already left his mark. the damage was done. and you, despite everything, knew you'd sing for him again and again.

even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

[dwaekkicidal]

Worship.

˚ʚChangbin x Gn!Readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Making love with and worshiping Seo Changbin. No real plot, just reader spoiling Binnie (like he deserves 🔫).

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 2.1k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: want to say gender neutral but 1 very slight mention of pregnancy so fem!reader just incase, reader is referred to as “Bunny,” a teeny bit angsty; mentions of binnie feeling nervous about his ‘ab’ reveal, oral (m receiving), binnie cries like 1(½) times (im sorry), love making and slow sex (tho the sex itself is super short), creampie (try to pee after sex pls), tiny breeding mention

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: I cant even lie i actually cried multiple times while writing this LMFAOO. 😐 I’m sleep deprived and I get suuuper moody when I am so here we are. anyways.. this was largely inspired by the tummy part i wrote in this, but i got super sappy and was listening to mind numbing, slow love songs while I wrote this so i made it worshiping him in general (i'm not sorry. he deserves all of this and more)

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

Your knees were so sore, the soft carpet under you was no longer doing its job in cushioning them from your spot on the floor. But, you’re not sure you would complain even if you were able to. The sight above you was one that you would happily fight every god and goddess for just the chance of seeing again. Changbin was leaned against your bedroom door, shirt bunched up tightly in his hand as he held it to his chest. His jaw is slacked and his eyebrows were knitted together harshly. Your jaw ached at this point, but you were here to prove a point.

You had overheard your boyfriend talking to his members about the recent “Ab reveal” comment he made in a recent SKZCode episode. The members had told him many times that he didn’t actually have to go through with it, that nobody would be mad at him if he decided to not do it. You took it upon yourself to talk to him about this, and when you realized that he was very shy about his tummy compared to his confidence about his biceps, you realized you had some work to do.

So, being the good lover that you are, you dropped to your knees and promised to prove to him just how sexy all of him was. And that’s how you got here. Now, focusing back on your goal you simply sunk farther onto his dick, humming against his sensitive tip as it hit the back of your throat.

“H-Holy shit… Bunnyy-”

His eyes rolled to the back of his head and the hand in your hair tightened. His hand held you there for a few seconds until you gagged against him, then he finally pulled you off slightly. You could feel his legs start to shake under your palms as you returned to your previous pace, the pleasure was getting too much and you could easily tell how close he was when he whined so prettily. You hastily get back to work and use your hands on his thighs as leverage, bobbing your head forward and backwards with a strong desire to please him.

“Fuck! God, you’re so good to me, Bunny. What did I do to deserve you.” Your eyebrows furrow in a glare up at him before you lightly graze your teeth against his length as punishment, not enough to actually hurt him badly but just enough to remind him what this was all about in the first place. “A-AH! S-Sorry!”

You felt his hips stutter and you take that as the only warning besides his pitching moans, so you pull off so only his tip rests against your tongue and suck. Your hands move to quickly pump the rest of his length, paying extra attention to the sensitive underside, as he rides out his high. The hand in your hair moves to hold a deafening grip on his hip, he’s trying his hardest to not let out a pornographic moan as his hips buck uncontrollably into your mouth. His eyes stayed on the scene in front of him for as long as they could before they slammed shut from how overwhelming it all was.

Once his hips cease their movements, and are instead replaced with little convulses from sensitivity, you pull away and leave a soft kiss to his tip. A shaky laugh is pulled from him in pure disbelief of the intensity of the orgasm you just gave him. He goes to pull you up but you smack his hand away, opting to stay on the floor and litter kisses along his thighs. They trail unbearably slowly; up his thighs to his pelvis before trailing up to his stomach. You stay there for a while, appreciating the area with soft pecks of adoration and nibbles just to tease a little.

It was uncomfortable to crouch at this angle, but you needed your point to be proven. You needed this man to understand just how sexy he was to you. Just how fucking insane he drove you by merely breathing the same air as you. You were obsessed with your Seo Changbin, and honestly who could blame you? He was the hottest man in the universe. Very silly but serious when needed, he treated you like royalty even in front of his friends and family, and he communicated his feelings like you’d never seen before. He was everything a woman could ask of a man, and you felt it was your only goal in life to make sure he knew it.

After getting lost in your thoughts, you return to your endeavor and rise up to his chest. It was still rising up and down from his frantic breaths, but you ignored the chance to tease him over it and instead placed soft kisses to his pecs. You’re moving up again and linger at his neck, nibbling it softly and leaving hickies that you know would unfortunately fade by morning. When you finally reach his face, you hover mere millimeters away and take in his expression. He’s an absolute mess.

His breath still hasn’t returned to him, but this time it was prevented by the overwhelming tenderness being physically given to him. Something he’s never experienced on this level before. You almost feel guilty that you didn’t show him sooner, but before you can think too much into it you pull yourself together. He lets out strangled noises as you place kisses on his cheeks, then forehead, and finally his nose. You can only assume the noises are from the lack of your lips on his, but when you pull away to do so you realize you were wrong. You’re met with a heart-rending scene.

His pretty dark eyes are watery, and some tears have already fallen along the cheeks you just pressed your lips to. Your expression must show obvious surprise cause he frowns and more tears fall. His lips part as if he was going to speak up but you hush him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you finally place your lips to his. His hands plant themselves on your hips, he squeezes them a little roughly but you know it's to mentally ground himself so complaining doesn’t even cross your mind.

You two stay like this for some time, lips locked in a slow and passionate make out session, hands holding each other as close as physically possible. You finally pull away after some minutes, resting your forehead against his as you both stare lovingly into each other's eyes. The tears finally stopped falling but his eyes are still very glossy.

Your soft voice finally breaks the silence, as much as you want to continue your efforts, his well being is a million times more important. “You ok Binnie?” He takes a deep breath and chooses to nod instead of speaking up. You giggle and place kisses along his cheek again, giving him time to collect himself and finish catching his breath.

When he finally returns to his normal self he nuzzles himself into your neck and places his own kisses there. “Doing that to me during post nut clarity was so mean, Bunny. I’m gonna get you back for that tomorrow.” You laugh and pull away, bombarding his lips with soft kisses as a silent apology.

When you pull away, he speedingly kicks his pants away and tugs desperately at your shirt, “Why am I the only one naked, Bunny..” You smile and mumble an apology, tearing your clothes off before letting him lead you to the bed. You straddle him the second he lays down and his hands grab at the bottom of your ass cheeks, wanting to lift you so he can swap positions, but before he can do it you push his hands away. He gives you a confused pout as you push him down to lay on the bed, hovering yourself over his dick and leaning forward to press more kisses to his collarbone.

“Mmm.. ‘already told you I wanna spoil you tonight, Binnie. If you let me, I just wanna worship you for a bit..” He bites his lip and nods. “I promise if we do a round two I’ll let you take control. But, for now, let me spoil my God-like boyfriend to make up for all the other chances I missed.” He groans and throws his arms over his head, freeing his hold on you to let you take the reins.

He feels you smile into his skin and it manages to give him butterflies. He quickly gets lost in thought when you bury him in another pile of kisses. At this moment in time he’s finally realizing just how tightly he’s wrapped around your finger. The boys have teased him over it for months but he never fully saw it until now. He fears that if you would ask him to set the world on fire, he wouldn’t hesitate. It’s normally scary to love somebody that much. But as your kisses move between his neck, his pecs, his biceps, and his tummy… All he feels is pride. The man before you realizes in this very moment that he is in so much deeper than he thought he was.

It’s when you’re finally sinking down on him that he distances from these thoughts surrounding his newfound awareness. He lets out a quiet moan at the feeling of you wrapped around him, and another at the sight of his beautiful Bunny sitting so prettily on his dick, biting their lip and looking down at him with such warmth in their eyes.

And you? You’re met with the sight of your beautiful boyfriend, the man you would drop everything in the world to marry and run away with, if he so asked. The man who does everything in his power to make you happy. The man who would, and has, done everything physically possible to keep you safe from the dangers outside of your shared apartment. As you grind down on him, you start to slip into your own thoughts. But the shine of his eyes starting to water again has you immediately stop your movements in worry.

But when the moans from him were replaced with whines and a distressed pout, you couldn’t dare to bring yourself to deny him of what he wants. Your hips start to lift and drop you onto him slowly. The two of you would normally be fucking like rabbits, but after everything that just happened there’s a silent agreement to take it slower tonight.

His hands grip tightly to your hips, helping you in the up and down movements as you lean down to be chest to chest with him. Your eyes lock and stare into one another’s for a few seconds before you fold first, leaning further into him for a kiss. Your movements would have stopped completely if it wasn’t for his hands doing the work now, grinding you against him slowly. The tears in his eyes finally go away just in time for him to watch you pull away, leaning back up to continue towards your goal. Then, just like earlier, you lose yourself in efforts to please him and love on him. Your hips slap against each other in a slow rhythm that still gets the job done.

When he feels you clenching harder and notices your hips moving more messily, he moves his hands to grab your wrists and starts to thrust his hips up to meet yours. The fingers on both of your hands interlace with both of his, and this is how the two of you finish. Eyes, hands, and bodies locked together. When you don’t move to pull off him, he feels his chest swell with even more pride. However, this time caused by the split second idea of starting a family with you. The thought of settling down has crossed his mind before, but when you’re cumming like that above him after worshiping every inch of his skin you could get your hands on, the idea very quickly imprints itself into his brain.

You ride him for a little longer to make the highs last as long as possible, and when it's finally over, the two of you sit there in silence to catch your breaths. His hands grab your forearms to hold you in place as he sits up, then pulls you into another desperate but passionate kiss.

The two of you lay together; bodies tangled and lips locking together.

When he doesn’t lean back in for another kiss, and instead just stares at you with a smile on his face, you can tell he’s lost in thought. But based on the smile, you leave it be and just smile back. On his side of things, he decided to poke at you tomorrow to ask where this all came from all of the sudden. In the meantime though, he just lies and enjoys your warmth, reveling in the new objective he has for his life. The once comforting silence is broken when he mindlessly speaks about this new goal in his mind.

“Bunny?”

“Yes baby?”

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

Nobody perceive me. I'm in shambles.

Taglist:

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz

[usetheeauthor]

COMING SOON WIP⚠️

Planning to write for Cooper Howard because he’s my current hyperfixation whom I cannot for the life of me get out of my head and need to write for him or I won’t ever be able to write for any other characters I love or have WIPs for. So this came to me inspired by the 2009 movie Chloe starring Amanda Seyfried, Julianne Moore, and Liam Neeson and the Manhwa “The Emporer Is Hard To Please” By Jeongha but of course it’s my own spin on these tales. This is going to be filled with angsty drama, tension, lots of pearl-clutching smut, and twists. P*rn with heavy plot. Barb is just as much a character in this because she’s a fucking babe.

This is only a draft but here’s what I have in store so far!! Lemme know what yall think 😬

…..

Mr. Howard’s So Damn Hard To Tease (MDNI+18)

Pre-War!Cooper Howard x Virgin!Fem!Reader, One-Sided Barb Howard x Fem!Reader

Summary: Barb Howard hires you to seduce her estranged husband, Cooper Howard, because —despite their separation—she wants him to have that fire in him that he’s losing throughout the ugly divorce process. In exchange for any success with bringing him out of his funk, Barb promises you an acting gig; something you’ve fought tooth and nail to obtain. Unfortunately…Cooper proves to be a lot harder to tempt than you could have ever imagined.

Warnings below the cut ⚠️

Tags/TW: Age Gap (Older Man, Younger Woman), Acting Teacher x Student, Sugar Daddy!Cooper, Sugar Mama!Barb, HEAVY SMUT, HEAVY ANGST, Dark!Yandere!Reader, Bondage/Toys, Daddy Kink, Innocence/Corruption Kink, Sub!Reader/SoftDom!Cooper, Loss Of Virginity (Bloody), Spit Kink, Degradation Kink, Mentions of Erectile Dysfunction due to declining mental health, mental Dacryphilia, Scratching, Biting, Hair-Pulling, Stockings/Socks Kink, Choking, Wrist Watch Kink, Big Dick!Cooper, Unprotected sex (p in v), Anal play, Nipple Play, BDSM (Master Kink), Pet names (Bunny), Teasing!Mean!Reader, SoftCore-PS!Reader, Oral sex (m and f receiving), Creampie, Breeding Kink, Reader has tragic backstory, Mommy/Daddy Issues, One-sided feelings (Barb x Reader), kissing including (girl on girl), Public Sex, Spanking, Fingering, doggystyle, mating press, full nelson, missionary, cooper is a freaakk, voyuerism/cucking (Barb sees a vid of a steamy sesh with you and Coop), masturbation (m and f), no good people in here except for maybe Cooper, Some Violent Situations, Fallout Lore-Divergent but with some elements of Lore and much more!

[dollfacefantasy]

Can you recommend one shot that is the best you ever read for Leon kennedy? I kinda lost passion for reading 😔

yes i can :)

so i don't have a single one shot that i would point to as the best, but here are some of my favorites that i think of often or go back to reread occasionally <3 they are all smut cause that is what i typically read lol but some do have plot along with it.

addicted by @explorevenus this one is great, kinda angsty but with smut too. it's so well written and sweet. she gets leon's character down perfectly. it lives in my mind. she's such a talented writer, i would recommend any of her work.

out of my head tonight by @nexysworld this is another really good one. fair warning, it is darker and angsty, but it also has great smut. it's a cool take on a version of leon's character. nexy is another really talented writer that i would recommend checking out in general.

c'mon bunny by @elfven-blog one of the first leon one shots i read :) this is smut, but it's really good. honey writes great stuff for leon, so again, any of her works are a safe bet.

tick tock by @gigabyte-flare tw for dark content, but this is a banger. this one really sticks out in my mind to this day. the smut is fire, so i would recommend this along with pixel's other work.

license and registration by @viaoverthemoon this one is so cute! it's smutty and the dynamic between reader and leon is really well done :)

restless by @ovaryacted listen... me and somno are no secret, and this one is super well done. i typically don't read fics where reader is the dom either, so i think that is a testament to its quality. definitely check out nic's work in general, they're a great writer :)

sweet creature by @d10nyx absolute banger. 10/10. it's wolf and bunny, and the dynamic is just done so well. nyx cooked here for sure. i just couldn't get enough of this one!

rose print by @iwantyouinacage tw for stepcest. however. the writing in this one is beautiful and it sticks with me cause i am a sucker for pining and guilt which ami did perfectly here. so good. <3

also this list isn't exhaustive or anything, these were just the handful that popped into my mind :)

[alevicke]

Okay, the same request with the reader running away while being pregnant and then telling them but this time, they told the crew right away and is just fluff and comfort for you to write such an angst-driven plot!

Ahh! I don’t mind doing angst every now and then tbh! It was cool to write it, it was my first time so I hope it wasn’t too bad! 

Also I have another request in line I’ll be working on it soon <3 I’m just slow bc there is so much going on in my life and I’m busy every single day. Good for depression, bad for anxiety lol

If anyone is interested in these same ideas but with other characters please let me know ^^ I just feel too lazy to do them all in this same one, it would be too much so I’m just doing three as max per request <3 I’m also hella slow writing, I’m so sorry!

TADC x READER TELLING THEM THEY ARE PREGNANT

Characters: Jax, Ragatha and Caine

TW: Mention of throwing up. That's pretty much it I believe?? Anything else please let me know <3 All fluff <3

MY MASTERLIST 

JAX

Well, good news! Not so angsty anymore!

Jax was happy to see you approach him. His cocky smile, as always, there. Especially being around you, you could always see how his grin widened whenever you just went to his side. He wouldn’t admit it though, so don’t tell him unless you want an upset bunny saying you’re imagining things. 

But Jax quickly realized you seemed nervous

He raised an eyebrow looking at you while you fidgeted with your own fingers trying to find the words. Boy it sure wasn’t easy and less with Jax looking so intensively at you. But to be fair, he was getting nervous as well seeing you like that and not saying it

“Spit it dollface, what’s the deal?!” he finally said. He wasn’t angry, just, nervous and impatient. He knew something was going on and you were reminding him to Gangle. Thank god he loved you so he had more patience with you than with her “Look Jax.. I- I don’t know how to say this. I wasn’t even sure if it was even possible! But uh- Oh *Bleep*” you said nervously while he raised an eyebrow. Something was off on you so he tried to keep calm while you found the words. You loudly sigh trying to relax yourself and find the words “I’m… I’m pregnant Jax…”

… Jax looked at you, eyes wide opened and started laughing “Good one dollface! You almost made me worried something bad happened seeing you so nervous” He put his hand on his own hip but you were still nervous. Off, you said the joke, why weren’t you knocking it off already? Joking about that insistently wasn’t appropriate, not even for him. It was something serious “Dollface…? You’re joking, right…?”

Your head moving to the right and left was like a stab to his chest. Not like in a pretty bad way, but like, the news… Were just so sudden. You could see heavy sweat run down his face. How, if it was the digital world and you couldn’t even be hot? Who knows, probably something Caine created to express feelings better, but oh boy, you could see his mental chaos from outside already. 

As soon as you grabbed his hand, he softly shook his head looking at you. His heart was running at 1000 miles per second, but the sweet look in your eyes was enough to keep his thoughts in order. You weren’t joking, you were pregnant and most likely, you both would be parents… But you were so sweet with him. You could notice he was panicking of course and every single fiber of his was saying to run away, But there was no way he wanted to leave your side…

It takes you quite some time to calm him enough. He seems nervous, trying to laugh but he even miserably fails at that because he is panicking thinking about having a baby. Last time he could remember something so small was Pomni and upside down from her foot shaking her like a food bell and Ragatha almost killed him. But you do it. He breathes slowly and grabs your hand between his

“Ok toots… I think we can do this…”

Next days Jax is more careful with his jokes on you. It doesn’t mean you won’t receive any, but not so physical. He also makes sure no one hurts you in any way and Caine’s adventures better be softer or he’ll make a big deal until Caine changes them. That’s it without him saying he’s worried for you. He’ll just come up with weird ideas and complains to make everything safer for you

First times with you throwing up, two things happen. One, he laughs at you, second, he throws up as well later on when he sees it. 

It takes him a few days to adjust and help you better. He’s trying but he’s sometimes a drama queen despite you being the pregnant one in the relationship. 

How he continues through the pregnancy and childbirth is a whole other story/request

RAGATHA

When Ragatha sees you in the hall, she smiles and gets closer to you immediately hugging you in her warm embrace. She’s similar to a rag doll, soft and warm, probably the best hugs you could ever imagine. And she’s always up to keep you between her arms

That was the best way to start because you could relax in her arms for some moments before catching your breath and try to tell her

You get increasingly nervous under her eye, which makes her worry for you. You are never usually nervous around her. You both have been dating for so long already you trust each other, yet you were in front of her struggling to find the words

It seems like you couldn’t even create the sentence in your mind to say it out loud. Even your imaginary tongue was being troubled! “Hey… Is everything ok…?” Ragatha asked, softly putting her hand in your shoulder giving a gentle squeeze “You seem… Troubled? Is everything alright?” 

“It’s just…” you try to nod to her question but at the same time you didn’t know if it was ok or not. It was something so unexpected… Something you couldn’t ever imagine… But it did happen… “Ragatha… I have something to tell you…”

Ragatha looked at you with her full attention, still worried about you and almost scared. For some reason her first thought was you could want to break up because you seemed so troubled and scared and like something serious was happening “Ragatha…” you continued “I’m… I’m pregnant… And- I just? I don’t know how it happened? I thought it was impossible… But I’m pregnant and is yours… Ours… We… Are going to be parents…”

Ragatha’s mind almost exploded there for a second. What? How was that even possible? You both- She? And you? HOW? But then again, she remembered you both were in the digital world… She was a rag doll after all which made even less sense for the whole situation. Just the fact a rag doll was talking was impossible so, perhaps, a pregnancy between you both wasn’t impossible either. 

You got worried seeing you got no response for a few seconds, but Ragatha suddenly screamed in joy and hugged you tightly, taking you off the ground in the embrace while snuggling her face against yours. You probably never saw her smile so widely and vibely! You never saw her so happy, jolly! 

She peppered your whole face with kisses while still hugging you “We are going to be parents!!! I can’t believe I’m going to be a mother! We are just going to be the best pàrents and do our best. I’ll be by your side, forever” She smiled, looking at your eyes while she softly and lovingly caressed your cheek. You never saw so much love in her eye before…

Next few days Ragatha was almost your shadow.

Still, if you wanted some privacy of course she respected it, same if you wanted space! She had no problem leaving you some space! But she still wanted to be by your side all times. She wanted to be there for the pregnancy every single second!

Jax couldn’t even get close to you. Ragatha kinda became a bit overprotective of you from Jax. No jokes nor anything on you. You were going to be well protected for quite some time. 

Best caretaker of you. If you throw up she’s pulling your hair so softly you can’t even feel it. She’s there with you every single morning, hugging you and comforting you, caressing your back to help you calm down

And expect A LOT of kisses everyday. She’s so happy to have this adventure with you <3

Pregnancy and childbirth is a lot to write here though so it could be another request or story someday <3

CAINE

Caine always looks at you with puppy eyes whenever he sees you.

He feels SO LUCKY to have you with him! You wanted to be with him there in the circus and be by his side despite how everyone else were always complaining or wanted to escape

You were the only one who enjoyed his work, his circus and his creations! So he would usually create cute and soft adventures just for the two of them to enjoy

This one wasn’t different, except that you seemed different, nervous…

Caine always struggled a bit to understand human emotions and to catch when something is off, but even he quickly realized something was troubling you during your date-adventure

“Now now, what’s in that sweet head, dear? You’ve seemed a bit lost through the whole adventure! Was it too boring?” He looked at you worried. He really tried his best to always amuse you but sometimes, with such stress, it was impossible to fully enjoy the experience. The weight of the secret was too much. Although it wasn’t a secret, you just didn’t find time through the day to tell him until now

“Caine… I just- It’s not the adventure really… I love it and I love being with you here. But there is something important I have to tell you and I didn’t know when to do it because it’s… Delicate”

“Delicate?” Caine repeated “Well don’t worry honey I’ll be gentle. I just want you to be comfortable with me and enjoy the day” He smiled grabbing your hand against his, softly squeezing them and caressing them with his thumb

“Caine… I’m pregnant…”

Caine’s eyes opened wide, still focused on you. For a second, he thought it could be a joke, that perhaps Jax influenced you to say such a horrible joke. But no, you wouldn’t joke about something so serious and important, and you were worried… You were saying the truth, you were pregnant. And HE was the father?

“P-Pregnant?! But- OH I- I’m so silly! When I touched the codes for the humans I- But, I didn’t think it was possible? At least not with me! But my code is practically as developed as yours here so- OH GOD. I’m going to be a dad!” He jumped into you carefully but hugging you tightly against him “I promise I’ll be the best dad ever and give our kid all the adventures and games they could ever imagine!!!!”

You can’t help but softly laugh from his energetic response. It was a relief to see Caine was so excited to be a dad! You were worried but Caine was living a dream practically! Like in a cloud! Almost, because when he separated from the hug he got so immersed rumbling about all the gifts he could create that he almost levitated away. You softly chuckled grabbing his foot to keep him close to you

That took him out of his thoughts and hugged you again “You just make me the happiest AI of all the worlds!”

Next days Caine is always by your side. He takes his job on the circus a bit more relaxed just to be able to spend more time with you. He still cared for the circus and created adventures for the rest of course, but now he dedicated more time for you

The adventures were a bit more chilled as well. Calmed. Nothing that could ever get you hurt. And he was always close to you

Much like Ragatha, he was like a shadow. But he had some more troubles to leave you space because he really wanted to be by your side no matter what. Still, would respect you and give you space whenever you asked

He would often babble about things he could do for your kids to give them a good life there. He wanted your opinion and wanted to create something wonderful.

In fact, he started to create a room for the baby pretty soon! It was like free Ikea, no matter what furniture you wanted he would create it

More about the pregnancy and childbirth could be written but that would make the post too long so that’s perhaps for a different ask/request <3

[aalinaaaaaa]

2024 In a Gift Box

Hey, everyone, greetings after another year that has flown by all too quickly! Featuring new friends, a few awards and 400% more holidays (rip my wallet lol), this has been a wild year for me. And that's only half of it.

For some strange reason, my desire to write increases with the hecticness of my life. Much of Obsidian Sapphires' revival/troubleshooting phase occured during the latter part of the year, from October onwards (though I had been tinkering with its plot for some time now). All because I woke up one morning with the solution to a plot hole appearing in my head.

Anyway, preambles aside, here's a few major highlights from my year (in writing terms):

First up, thanks to @druidx for the Year in Review Tag! The premise of the tag is to post one's favourite five or so pieces that they've written throughout the year.

To be truthful, some of Obsidian Sapphires' scenes would make this list only the respective chapters for them aren't completed yet 😅

A Pawn for a Greater Cause — I had a ball writing the starting dialogue, and the prompt gave me a few revelations regarding Petrius' character.

Regrets — This made me cry at 1am, the catharsis was unreal.

To Perpetuate Life — Amazing how almost falling asleep gives me ideas. This piece helped me answer a few questions about Orlaith's backstory, and also gave me extra questions surrounding the lore.

Blue Moon — This feels like a nice deviation from my usual style, it's more dreamy and whimsical. Also, this reminds me to go and work on its second part, lol (because the scope was too big for one piece)

That angsty pining scene — This is not posted as one scene, but rather in splinters because parts of it are dripping in spoilers for Obsidian Sapphires. However, I enjoyed writing this scene too much not to post some snippets.

WIP Roundup

First things first, an ode to the WIPs that I've put on ice to focus on Obsidian Sapphires.

The Lady's Lament, a brief idea born out of a plot bunny inspired by a plot on Wattpad. The idea sprouted in April 2023, but it lives on in the form of worldbuilding ideas for South Arobyre.

And then also, Flamebearer, one of my oldest wips but also arguably my most complex one. It's a story of grief, religious dilemmas and romantic/familial drama, all under the backdrop of sociopolitical turmoil. It's going to take a lot of research and planning, that much I know. Hence why I want it to be as perfect as I can make it, when I have the knowledge and writing practice to do it justice.

In April this year, one of my Flash Friday pieces (Duel to the Debt) sowed the seeds for another piece (An Endless Round) in May, and later on Soulswapped derived from it. I intended it to be a short enough story, a novella of sorts that would be woven into a larger compilation, but it's become its own thing. Already, I think it may get a sequel. But I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

Obsidian Sapphires

So its progress this year has been skewed. Like, 'a lot of its progress spawned in October or thereafter' sort of skewed. I woke up one morning and the cogs for the rigmarole surrounding what is currently Chapter 2 all clicked, to the point I yanked out my laptop and starting writing notes until I had to run for class.

Since then, I've had a bunch of ideas, but currently I'm deliberating on the story I wish to tell. It seems more cohesive and easier to plan for when I cut Eshani's perspective out, but at the same time, cutting her perspective would cut or at least hide much of her character development. That and I love her to bits, and she may/may not be a readers' favourite also.

In terms of actual tangible content, bits of the angsty pining scene got posted, as did sections of the first and second chapters. It even came with a few memes, lolololol. (And there's more memes sitting in my gallery/Scrivener notes, this story's quite memeable honestly).

The antagonists got their time of day, however brief so far. And not just the lead meshai, but also the septet of folks angry at the meshai and his fellows.

And this gets onto something that has existed as tags and headings and brief little mentions. A collection of pieces, leading up to answers surrounding some major events in the history of the country Obsidian Sapphires is set in.

That would be This Blood-Stained Charcuterie. It is going to be the anthology of short stories and one-off pieces surrounding Morilast's High Councillors (and indeed, the Court's other denizens and its namesake himself!). A lot of juicy details surrounding certain characters' backstories are going to feature here, I can't wait to get into it. (It's also my excuse to figure out all the bits of lore and convoluted ancestries [who murdered who], lol).

When I finish with Obsidian Sapphires, that is about when I'll start releasing this one. The title could change upon me getting to the end, but we'll see.

Flash Fiction Friday

I started doing these pieces in late 2023, so it's been about a year since my first one (Contemplations). In all, I've completed a total of 28 pieces so far :D

The masterlist came about in early January, because I was inspired by other people who had masterlists for their pieces. It's very satisfying to see it develop from a few pieces to what it is today, a decent few pieces.

Whatsmore, it reflects the trends in my writing, such as the wips that the prompts inspired me for, and what periods I was consistently doing it week-by-week and when the major gaps were.

For whatever reason, I have a tendency of getting inspiration for these at about midnight or so. Even if I get a handful of basic notes written down, it may not still be until late in the night that I can get a piece together, lol.

To commemorate the end of the year, I've started a series known as Flash Friday Flashbacks to celebrate what I've made and show off behind-the-scenes when it comes to notes, context, deleted scenes, etc.

There are a few pieces left in this year's version, which will be reblogged close to the end of the month (to celebrate the New Year).

Next year's edition is going to feature the December 2024 pieces in addition to all the 2025 stuff (which hopefully is a lot). There will also be a 2025-specific masterlist too.

Writeblr Community Events

What is writeblr without its community? It's beyond a pleasure to be part of a group so lovely and talented, everyone has something amazing going for them.

As part of this, there are some people here who create events, discords and/or other initiatives that bring people together. Shoutout to everyone who has done/is doing something along these lines ❤️

Special mentions in my case go to:

@flashfictionfridayofficial for taking the prompt submissions, making the posts, and reblogging everyone's stories (with fantastic comments) every week

@writeblrsummerfest for making a lovely event spanning the entirety of August, encompassed by a well-organised theme and all

@bardic-tales for establishing the @creators-club and doing all the various types of ask/tag games to foster interaction and support

@agirlandherquill for her first ever Writemas! These prompts are impeccable and it was really fun looking forward to the next day's prompts! I wish I could've participated more, but alas, that's how the cookie crumbles. (Also, high five, we're in the same timezone, woo!)

Plans for 2025

Continue with Obsidian Sapphires — I'd love to get the draft finished

Doing as many of the Flash Friday prompts as well

Reblogging people's posts more and hopefully improving at reaching out to people

Learning to draw is something that I've always wanted to do, but I want to get focused with it this year. It would be cool to put my characters in visual form

Getting a handle on the lore and background information needed to compile This Blood-Stained Charcuterie

The Tags

That brings this post to its natural course, the end. Merry Christmas everyone ❤️🎄

Giving a Year in Review Tag to everyone who is on at least one of my taglists (ask, comment, etc to be added/subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @original-writing @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @theglitchywriterboi @seastarblue @gioiaalbanoart @rae-butter @corinneglass @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @outpost51 @mundanemoongirl @scarletteflamerald @ceph-the-ghost-writer @flock-from-the-void @mattresses-and-macaroni @limitlesswritingvoid

...As well as all these people I'm tagging here: @winterandwords @finickyfelix @wintherlywords @anyablackwood @cherrybombfangirlwrites @kaylinalexanderbooks @angelfevr @thatndginger @thepeculiarbird @ominous-feychild @oh-no-another-idea @space-writes @veneritia @the-golden-comet @jev-urisk @cljordan-imperium @an-indecisive-nerd @mauannacreates @laureleavess @theeccentricraven @paintedbutton (@/bardic-tales, @/agirlandherquill, both of you are tagged for this too)

...And most importantly, here's a tag for everyone in the audience!

Here's to a hopeful 2025! 🎉