#these are all very stupid but i had a lot of fun

[celestie0]

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

in holy matriphony ch2. 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, n have been taking care of your sick mom 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 more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance 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 early 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!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 (pending)

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

6/4/2024 1232: Judge Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun. “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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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

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meme of the chapter:

[deedeeznoots]

Can we please get some hcs of Sukuna and reader in the fairytale AU 🥹🥹

Absolutely amazing writing I loved every single thing of it!💖💖

Cottage Life

Characters: Ryomen Sukuna, Fem!Reader  

Word Count: 2.5k

Genre: Fluff, Mentions of Smut  

Content: MDNI, Established Relationship, True Form!Sukuna, Princess!Reader, Swearing, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Smut

A/N: Hi Anon! Thank you for the kind words and the request, I’d love to do this. I’m so glad that people enjoyed my Sukuna Fairy Tale AU so I’m 100% going to explore the idea more. On another note, this is also my first ever request🥹 I’m giggling and kicking my feet at the thought of people enjoying my writing enough to want to request specific things for me to create so I just want to take the time to say if you have an idea for me to write anything specific please do not hesitate to ask! Thank you all very very much. :)

Synopsis: Small glimpses into your daily life with Sukuna in the deep woods. While not fully necessary to understand these little snippets, reading the beginning of your story with Sukuna would certainly enhance the experience. <3 

ꨄ Pre-Relationship: Secret Meetings ꨄ

➼ When you first began meeting with him regularly he was pretty mean to you and ignored you most of the time when you tried to talk to him. Despite this, he always kept you by his side anyways and didn’t deter you from meeting him.

➼ One time you straight up asked him why and he said it was because you brought food to him. While you accepted that answer, you knew inside that wasn’t really the case because he would still keep you around even after you both ate. 

➼ After warming up to you one of the things that you two bonded over was the nature in the forest. Sukuna would explain the wildlife to you since you were unfamiliar for a long time and he was to your surprise, a really good teacher. 

➼ He was able to answer any questions you had and went over every detail that he knew about the woods and was able to keep things interesting.

➼ When you both spent that night under the stars he was serious when he tried flirting with you but quickly realized what he did so he tried to play it off as a joke (he couldn’t be caught being too soft, after all). 

➼ Since he’s so much stronger and bigger than you (and literally everyone lol) he makes sure to be extra cautious and gentle around you because despite what he seems like, he doesn’t want to genuinely scare people, especially you.

➼ Speaking of, he has no idea why you aren’t scared of him and doesn’t understand why you act like the way he looks is no big deal. He doesn’t complain though and never mentions it to you. 

➼ One of the reasons you’re not scared of him is because he has saved your life more times than you could count, and why would you be scared of someone who continually keeps you alive, most of the time at his own expense? 

➼ “No, don't eat those berries, they’re poisonous…wha-what do you mean you already had five?!”

➼ He had to do some poison control that day… and it wasn’t very fun. 

➼ Every time he saves your life he always tells you that he’ll just leave you next time but you know that’s not true at all.

➼ You would also always get injured for stupid reasons so he’d take care of your wounds like he did when you both first officially met (he’d laugh first though)

➼ One of the days you visited you realized you had a talent for making flower crowns so you would spend a lot of time with him doing it while you both talked and walked around the woods.

➼ You mostly gave yours to him as a gift 

➼ He would grumble and act like he hated it but he would keep them on anyway and he kept all of them. After a while it grew into a small collection that he secretly cherishes. 

➼ Sukuna secretly (though, it wasn’t a secret to you) loved these meetings, and your visits were the highlight of his day every time.

ꨄ Early Relationship: Locked Away ꨄ

➼ Sukuna was confused at first when you stopped visiting him after sleeping with him. 

➼ He thought he did something wrong and you didn’t have a good time, or that he hurt you in some way. 

➼ He tried to put on the tough guy act at first and tried to convince himself that he didn’t like you all that much anyways. 

➼ Obviously, it wasn’t true and he’s a big softy on the inside so he gave into his temptations to see you. 

➼ When he saw the guards by your bedroom window, he realized what happened, and remembered that you always had to sneak out to see him. 

➼ Once he realized what actually happened he chastised himself for being so pouty and feeling sorry for himself instead of going to see you sooner. 

➼ To make up for this he goes to look at you every day as you stand by your window.

➼ Eventually, you noticed him and you both would spend the whole day just sitting with each other from afar. 

➼ Sometimes he would see you cry when he visited and his heart would break because he couldn’t wipe your tears away. 

➼ He has resisted the urge to attempt to fight the guards by your window more than he can count.

➼ Only reason he didn’t was his fear of making things worse for you if he did.

➼ On the day of your wedding, he noticed that you weren’t by your window like usual. 

➼ He learned his lesson about giving up on you too soon, so he decided instead of leaving you be, that he would go around the castle and look for you to see if you were okay. 

➼ Too invested in finding you, he didn’t realize that he stood a tad too close to some of the guards of your castle, leading to him getting caught by them. 

➼ That turned out to be a happy accident however, as they led him directly to you and gave you both the chance to run away together. 

➼ He was secretly proud of you stabbing someone so easily, but he’ll never tell you that directly.

ꨄ Long-Term Relationship: Cottage Life ꨄ

➼ When you both first found the cottage in the woods, it was in very rough shape. 

➼ It was dirty, barely had a roof, and there were broken windows everywhere. It was obvious that no one had lived there for some time. 

➼ Well… one man’s trash is another one’s treasure, and you both worked day and night to fix the cottage after first finding it. 

➼ You weren’t used to any physical discomfort at all, so it took a while for you to get used to these types of conditions. However, Sukuna always made sure to help you feel better.

➼ For example, one time it rained and you two got super wet inside your home due to the roof not being 100% secure. 

➼ It was tough for you. Not only were the two of you wet, but the inside of the home you both spent tons of time fixing up was flooded now as well. 

➼ Thankfully, Sukuna always found a way to turn unfortunate situations upside down. 

➼ “Come on, let’s go play in the mud, you didn’t eat enough dirt as a kid”

➼ You both immediately felt better once you played in the rain together… especially when Sukuna would be ever the romantic and lift you up to kiss you as water droplets fell on both of you.

➼ After months of sweat and tears, the cottage was finally fixed and cleaned. 

➼ It quickly became the love of your life, second only to Sukuna, and you both quickly settled into your humble abode.  

➼ You would always wake up first which would give you a few moments where you could stare at Sukuna’s sleeping face

➼ This was your favorite thing to do every morning, because you loved his calm expression more than anything.

➼ Sometimes he catches you and as he opens his eyes he would sarcastically go “Don’t stare. It’s weird” and laugh at your blushing face. 

➼ When this happens you would just lightly hit his chest and jokingly tell him to fuck off. 

➼ You would always give him a nice long kiss first thing every morning though.

➼ Despite you no longer being a Princess, he always makes sure to pamper you like one anyways.

➼ For example, whenever you have a craving for something that can’t be found in the wild he would make sure to get it at any costs. 

➼ This includes traveling hours to the closest villages and sneaking in to take their stuff. 

➼ You always get mad at him for doing this because it could put him in serious danger, but he laughs and tells you it’s fine and that in all his time living near humans he was only caught once and it was because of you. 

➼ To this, you roll your eyes but you thank him anyways for caring so much about you that he’d work so hard to satisfy such a small craving. 

➼ Whenever you’re busy doing something, he makes it a point to catch you off guard and hug you from behind with his four arms. 

➼ You’re never actually caught off guard and can sense him from miles away (he has very loud footsteps), but you pretend anyway to get him to keep doing it. 

➼ Most days you both spend your time walking around and exploring the nature around you both. However, on particularly lazy days, you two spend most of the day just cuddling together.

➼ One thing that stays the same is that every night both of you look at the stars like the first night you two spent together. 

➼ Unlike that first night though, Sukuna would always make it a point to go down on you while outside. 

➼ Also unlike that first night, there was no pressure to rush home so you two would fall asleep outside under the stars.

➼ One time though, you woke up screaming when you found a giant bug crawling on you. Sukuna took the bug away but would always make fun of you for it whenever you both decided to sleep outside. 

➼ Sukuna would tell you he loved you in the most random of times: Walking around, eating dinner, anywhere really. He would just look you in the eyes and quietly say “I love you”.

➼ This is always paired with small kisses all over your face that make you giggle because of how ticklish they are. 

➼ Sometimes when you two are cuddling in bed he would randomly lick your back with his stomach mouth to make you jump. 

➼ “What the hell Ryomen!?” 

➼ “Hehe, sorry” 

➼ You both discovered your hidden talents while living together, and Sukuna realized his talent happened to be dress making. He realized this after he made a little makeshift dress out of your wedding attire when he carelessly ripped it away. 

➼ He was able to make you some pretty good dresses with the most random of cloth that he found around the woods. They weren’t the most formal, but they were certainly the best dresses you’ve ever had, being handmade by someone you loved.

➼ You once again tell him he doesn’t have to do all this but he makes you stuff anyway. 

➼ “Who said it was about you? This shit is fun as hell!” which made you laugh.

➼ He now has to pay extra mind to not completely rip your clothes off during bed because you two no longer had an infinite void of clothing choices. 

➼ In fact, he actually swung a little too far in the opposite direction…

➼ “Wait. Take it off carefully, I worked hard on this one. I SAID BE CAREFUL IDIOT–”

➼ Despite this, accidents still happen and sometimes he would rip them off in the heat of the moment anyways.

➼ Living together, you had to learn to do a lot of things related to maintaining a home like cleaning since you weren’t used to doing this stuff yourself.

➼ Sukuna told you that it’s fine and that he’d do it but you insisted that you should learn how to do things on your own now that you’re independent. 

➼ Being the good teacher that he is,  Sukuna would go on to teach you basic chores. 

➼ He would still tease you sometimes while teaching you though. Such as one time when you accidentally burned yourself by the fire trying to make dinner and he laughed when you kept flailing your hand everywhere. 

➼ He didn’t bully you for too long though, he was still worried of course. So, he made sure to heal the burns and help kiss them better. 

➼ You’re still able to make those flower crowns like before, so you guys would make flower crowns for each other all the time, and this time Sukuna didn’t hide how proud he was of them. 

➼ Everytime he gave you yours he’d give you a small kiss on the forehead before placing the crown on your head.

➼ You would try to do the same and would go on your tippy toes trying to reach him, but he’s hella tall so it doesn’t work. 

➼ “Jesus, you are 9 ft tall” 

➼ “Is that what they tell people? That’s not true at all” He would smile, crossing his arms as you attempted to jump up to place the crown on him. 

➼ “Well whatever you are I can’t fucking reach you”

➼ He eventually lifts you up by your hips and lets you place the crown on him and give him his little forehead kiss. 

➼ Whenever you two are together, he always has his hands on you (he has four of course, and he needs to put them to good use). Whether it’s placing your hand on his, or having an arm around your waist, one hand always had to be on you. 

➼ You both have every meal together, from breakfast to dinner. They’re mostly quiet and you both just take the time to bask in each other’s presence. 

➼ From this, you learned just how much Sukuna LOVES to eat.

➼ You noticed this already before of course, since your relationship started with you bringing him food, but you really notice it once you begin eating together 

➼ Sometimes when he’s eating his food too quickly you tell him to take it easy in order to not upset his stomach 

➼ In response, he’d point to his smiling stomach mouth and go “Does he look upset to you?” 

➼ You’d just laugh at this point lol and leave him be with one last comment about how he seriously shouldn’t eat so fast 

➼ He listens for a bit and takes smaller bites, but he goes right back into it after a few minutes.

➼ You weren’t great at cooking at first, but Sukuna didn’t really care and ate your food anyways

➼ “Don’t worry I eat anything, this is trash though” he’d say with food in his mouth, only half joking.

➼ Once you got better at the skill, he always insisted for you to cook or for the two of you to cook together since it tasted better when you did it (when you knew what you were doing, of course). 

➼ Speaking of together… At first, you two tried to take baths together at the nearby river.

➼ Emphasis on tried, because Sukuna always got too excited seeing your naked body and you two weren’t able to get clean at all. 

➼ Due to this, you decided it was best to bathe separately, to Sukuna’s dismay. 

➼ Occasionally you still allowed him to join you, of course. 

➼ Sukuna made love with you every time like it would be the last time. 

➼ In the back of his head, he always remembers the time you were taken away from him right after you both spent a night together.

➼ With this in mind, he always makes sure to make each session one you’d never forget, and he always delivered on this promise, of course. 

➼ He would always take care of you after of course, and always made sure you were okay. 

➼ You were fine, but you passed out 99% of the time so he would wipe you down and make sure to cuddle you. 

➼ He’s always worried about you being in danger again, but whenever he sees you asleep next to him he can’t help but think of anything but what he ever did to deserve you 

➼ Of course, from the moment you wake up to see his sleeping face, you can’t help but think the same thing about him.  

➼ Your life is a lot different now. Not only do you no longer have the title of Princess, but you’ve traded in your castle for a tiny cottage, and a crown for dirt-covered feet. Yet, you wouldn’t change it for the world… because for every painful burn and disgusting bug on you, is his smile, and that smile is worth more than any title.

-

A/N: Enjoyed seeing Fairy Tale!Sukuna? Just a reminder that if you haven’t read it yet, please feel free to read the story that these headcanons are based on!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for calling out my friend for writing RPF?

I'm in a friend group of about 5. We've known eachother for 5+ years but I'm closest with Sam because I've known them the longest. What Sam doesn't know is that when we first met I was browsing through their Twitter profile when I found a link to their AO3, it was full of RPF of two celebrities they were a fan of. At the time I thought it was kinda weird but said nothing because the fics were quite old at this point and we were both stupid teens, I didn't see it as a big deal. The AO3 stayed up (I am embarrassed to say I checked up on it occasionally out of morbid curiosity or what I don't know) but Sam never mentioned these fics around me and a few months later I saw that the account had either been deleted or renamed and all of the fics had been deleted too.

This was about seven years ago. Although Sam would still talk about these celebs they liked in our group chats (and still does) they never brought up shipping them seriously and only talked about RPF as a joke. I never brought it up all this time because I thought that they'd moved on from writing and the jokes were part of that.

However recently Sam started posting about a new thing involving IRL people. As we usually do in our friend group we were being supportive, asking them questions and letting them infodump ETC. But then one of our friends made an offhand joke about there being fic of this thing out there and Sam totally clammed up. It wasn't super noticeable but they suddenly started trying to change the subject away from it. We let it go but something didn't sit right with me, maybe because I knew about their history with this stuff, later that day I decide to check out the AO3 tag for this thing and lo and behold, there is an account that started posting roughly when Sam started talking about it. Not only that but I skimmed through some of the fics and they had very specific quirks of Sam's writing style and grammar, one of the fic titles even referenced a song by their favourite artist! This was 100% Sam's alt account.

Here's where I might be the asshole. TBQH I don't care about the RPF, I think it's weird and I would never write it myself but it's harmless. But recently Sam has been... kind of an asshole to our other friends about their own interests. We poke fun at each other all the time but recently Sam has been upsetting our friend Kai by 'jokingly' calling his current hyperfixation cringy a lot to the point Kai has privately told me he feels embarrassed infodumping about it any more. Kai is the youngest in the group and I feel really protective of him, this got me really angry. I told him I'd talk to Sam and I will but I feel like what I want to say to them is too petty and over the line.

So, WIBTA if I pointed out to Sam that they have no right calling other people's interests cringe considering what they write? They don't know I know about their AO3, it would definitely be embarrassing for them but that's the point if they think it's okay to embarrass their other friends like this.

[pokegalla]

I’ll be honest i haven’t done this in awhile but i hope you enjoy!

Requested by @neko-rose888

Skellies with an S/o kinda like Rapunzel!

Ink:

* At first he actually joked about you reminding him of Rapunzel. With the aloof personality, long hair, that glows when you…sing- wait a damn minute-

* Watch out for ink spewing out his mouth. He’d be so excited seeing such an incredible power. Can he touch your hair? Would it affect skeletons? Are you ACTUALLY Rapunzel-?! Aaand there he goes hurling again- And you being awkward but still kind self, you help him clean up, chuckling at his excitement. Kinda hard to ignore how adorable this little artist is.

* Soon you two end up hanging out a lot just to do a LOT of painting. And stars Ink LOVES your work. If this guy isn’t the reason you leave your tower, I call bullshit right now because he is FILLED with adventures of his own!

* Wouldn’t be surprised if he takes you with him to start your own adventure….with him by your side.

Dream:

* He wasn’t surprised that you had powers. He could…just sense it. He just didn’t know how it worked. He simply thought it was a beautiful power of yours.

* Though despite your abilities, he wants to make sure you will never be forced or ever feel obligated to use your abilities. Especially considering your past. It’s your ability and it’s your choice to use it. But he WOULD feel proud if you use it for healing others. And even feel more special if you heal him too. You fretting over him is so sweet.

* He loves to show you around new places just to see you smile, your positivity shining both in and out. Like a literal sun…it’s so warm and nice to be around. He ends up teaching you how to make flower crowns on a walk in the forest. It was worth seeing your smile beam.

* Literally just two beans with a dash of trauma- you both find peace within each other✨

Blue:

* He probably bumped into you by accident and didn’t realize you were the princess….and when he did, he apologized PROFUSELY- he’s a KNIGHT in training for damn sake and he’s already being a klutz? TO THE PRINCESS OF ALL PEOPLE-

* Luckily for him you don’t find it to be a big deal and quickly tell him it’s fine. You both excitedly introduce yourselves and soon you two become a fun energetic duo.

* Taking you on horse rides, treating you like a lady, you teaching him how to cake (so he doesn’t explode the kitchen again-), and teaching you how to defend yourself. Frying pan wasn’t a weapon he expected but respectfully cool as you show off its power✨

* He vows to be your loyal knight and will always protect you no matter what!

Nightmare:

* He’s definitely heard about you because of your ability and studied about the wither and decay spell? Now THAT can be a very useful weapon! So he sends his team to get you! ….which was easier said than done.

* He knew his idiots were…well stupid but it’s just ONE girl. It can’t be THAT hard. So he goes himself….and finds himself tangled up in your hair, almost getting whacked by a frying pan. He turned into a puddle to escape both your trap and frying pan skills before picking you up with a tendril and taking you away, complaining about the hair you left on him (even though he left goop ALL over your hair- 😑)

* After that you pretty much became swift friends with his team as you hang out with them, heal them, bake cookies, and your bright smile makes them happy. That positivity annoyed Nightmare so much. But…whenever you bring him a black coffee and give him that same bright smile….he can’t help the feeling of warmth deep inside his own soul.

* He may be cold at times but you’re definitely safe around him. Would give you princess treatment….even if he’ll never admit it.

Outer:

* Might be a bit of a unique meeting but I bet you two met under a starry night sky, looking up at the stars together before he starts up a chat with you. Probably a little space pun that goes right over your head making him laugh instead-

* He was pretty chill about your hair although a little surprised at first. He liked showing you his abilities too. It was funny seeing your ecstatic reaction. But he was interested when you one day mentioned the lanterns from your home. He’s never tried something like that before….

* So hell YES you take him to the lantern thing! You even got lanterns for just the two of you to float together. He was in awe seeing your lanterns twirling together to join the VAST other lanterns mixing in with the starry sky. It was…like the city had come to life….and you being here with him made it all the more special.

* That day you gave him a painting you made of the moment just for him to take home. He still has it in his room, on the wall presented proudly✨

Reaper:

* He only visited because there was some odd decay in the area….and he witnessed your wither and decay ability. Definitely….surprising. Hell it was like his death touch. He was the one to snap you out of the trance thankfully. You go to hug him to thank him much to his scare- but….you didn’t die? Huh? But you ARE human so how-? He chuckled though once you realized you’ve literally hugged death-💦

* He took you with him to study up together about how this came to be and it seems the flower you’ve consumed is more powerful then you expected. Even saved you from his own death touch. Fancy that. He ended up sticking around out of pure curiosity. Plus….its rare to have someone he’s able to be around without needing to be cautious…

* Buuut wow you were accident AND trouble prone- seriously how have you SURVIVED this long in life?! Got the poor guy stressed with how much you got him watching over you- but you make it worth it….you always give him headpats and promise him cuddles and cookies. Can he really stay this upset seeing that cute face?✨

* He went from god of death to a sweet loving guardian angel. You simply just had that effect on him!

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

Daddy’s little fuckslut (Vox x Pet!reader)

CW: explicit smut, creampie, noncon/dubcon, overstimulation, degradation, bondage, hypnosis, mind control, I’m tired and it’s 1:29 AM because I decided to edit this fic (which was meant to be self indulgent and stay private) so if I missed anything let me know, I’ll get back to yall tmr. Love you <333

I walked in front of him and sat on his desk, blocking his view of the screen. "You called me in here for a specific reason. What is it?"

"Oh, don't be like that, babe," he said, pouting. He reached out to try and pull me closer, but I moved out of reach. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Fine, fine. I wanted to discuss some business matters with you. But first...”

"But first what?" | asked, crossing my arms. I raised a brow and eyed him warily.

"Well, I was hoping we could have a little fun first. You know, to take the edge off," he said, gesturing to his crotch. His flatscreen face flickered and showed a mesmerizing spiral pattern. "Just a little something to help you relax.”

"Relax..." I repeated, the tension leaving my shoulders. I stared at the spiral, utterly entranced, my eyes glazing over.

"Good girl," Vox smiled, standing up from his chair and walking over to me. "Let's get you out of those clothes...and onto this desk," he said, his hands moving deftly on my shirt buttons.

I didn't react, I just let him do what he wanted. I was like a little doll right now, staring at the hypnotic red and black spirals on his screen. "So pretty..." I mumbled mindlessly.

"Yes, very pretty," he agreed, his lips brushing against my ear. "But you're prettier," he said, his hands sliding down my sides as he peeled off my clothes. He lifted me onto the desk and pushed my legs apart, his lips trailing down my neck.

"Mm..." I giggled lightly and managed to tear my gaze away from the spiral for a moment. I looked at him with a small little carefree smile. "I'm pretty?" I asked, slightly disoriented and dazed.

"Mmhmm," he hummed, his eyes dark with desire as he looked at me. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen," he said, his hand moving between my legs. "Do you like that? Do you like when I touch you here?"

"Yeah," I said with a sigh. "I like the spirals, too. They make my head go all..." I made an odd sort of gesture, to convey the fogginess in my mind. "... You know? Makes me feel nice." I hummed lightly and giggled again. I had forgotten how nice it felt to be all dumbed-down like this. I wished it'd last longer, but it was a side effect of the spirals and wearing off quickly. "I wanna.. mnn... I wanna be like this forever."

"You can be," he said, his fingers moving faster between my legs. "I can make you like this forever. Just let me hypnotize you again and again, and you'll always be in this happy, carefree state."

"Hypnotize?" | asked, with a stupid smile. I had no idea what was happening, but I nodded along anyway. "Mm.. I'd like that. Anything to make me feel this nice. Are you happy? You've been nice to me. I wanna make you happy, too."

"You already make me happy," Vox said with a smile, leaning in to kiss me. "But I would be even happier if you let me make you mine. Let me protect you, take care of you, and make you feel good all the time.”

"Mmhm... okay," I said, giving him a quick kiss. "I want that. Do the... the hypno-thingie so I feel good and... and make me yours. Yeah! Yeah. I like that."

"Good girl," Vox said with a grin, before leaning in to kiss me again. When he pulled away he had me focus on the spirals in his left eye. He whispered the hypnotic suggestions into my ear as he did, telling me to crave his touch, to want nothing more than to please him and make him happy.

"Hm," | giggled lightly, leaning closer. My mind felt clouded, it was hard to think. "Mm... I love you. Mwah!" I leaned in and gave him a kiss, interrupting his words. "Your voice is so nice. I love it. I like the spirals. You have a lot of screens here," I noted, for the first time. The room was indeed filled with an assortment of screens, along all the walls. "I want the spirals on all of them! So I can see them and listen to your voice at the same time. I like your voice. Have I mentioned that? It's really nice." | laughed again, getting a little rambly.

Vox chuckled at my comments, how zoned out and absentminded I was for him. "I'm glad you love it. And don't worry, I'll make sure to have the spiral on every screen from now on," he said as he leaned in to give me another kiss.

I pressed my lips against his eagerly, tugging him closer by the collar of his shirt-completely forgetting he'd already taken off all my clothes.

“Fuck.” Vox let out a low growl as I tugged at his shirt, wishing he’d been undressed too. He deepened the kiss and trailed his hands down my body, cupping my breasts and rolling his thumbs over the nipples. "You're so beautiful.”

"I love you," | mumbled against his lips. my breath hitched and I pressed myself against him more as l desperately tried to undo the buttons to his suit.

"I love you too," Vox whispered back, his hands continuing to explore my body. He chuckled slightly as he reached the buttons and effortlessly undid them himself, revealing the crisp white shirt underneath. His hands moved to the buckle of his belt, undoing it with a swift motion.

I squirmed, impatient, but my gaze caught on the spirals on screen. He'd put the wonderful red and black spirals everywhere, just like l'd asked. I grinned as I felt the familiar calming sensation overcome me. I was completely distracted now.

Vox smirked as he noticed where my gaze had landed, the spirals that were now covering every inch of the room. He knew how much seeing them constantly could benefit him, having that constant reminder and repetition to get it through my head that I was his… to keep me all happy and carefree. So had gone out of his way to fulfill my request and displayed them everywhere. "Like what you see?" he asked, his voice low and full of desire.

"Mmhm," | mumbled, unable to look away. It was like my mind was being massaged into place, molded to his will. it felt so nice, so relaxing, I didn't even notice. My pussy was leaking precum onto his desk, where I sat, and I reached down to touch myself, rubbing my clit absently.

Vox hummed in approval as he noticed the wet spot on his desk. He knew I couldn't resist the hypnotic spiral pattern and it was always a turn-on for him to see me so unable to resist his control. "Look at you, already so eager for me,"

"So eager," I repeated mindlessly. I smiled slightly, completely dumbed out. "Mm. Use me however you want."

Vox chuckled darkly at my words, knowing that I was completely under his spell. He walked over to his desk, sitting in the chair in front of me as he admired my willingness to submit to him. "Oh, I plan to use you every way I want, my little sex slave,"

I smiled wider, warmth filling my core at his words. "Your little sex slave," I said softly, fondly, as I dripped more onto the desk.

Vox couldn't help but groan at the sound of my voice, so content and happy to be his. He reached out, running his fingers through my leaking pussy, spreading the juices over my lips. "That's right, my pet.”

I moaned lightly and closed my eyes, pressing myself up against him. Since I wasn't looking at the spirals anymore, I finally remembered what l'd been doing with him earlier. It was slowly coming back to me. "You were gonna fuck me," I murmured, not minding it in the slightest. "However you want, right?"

"That's right, my pet," Vox purred, his fingers still playing with my pussy. "However I want, whenever I want it." He leaned in closer to me, whispering in my ear. "And I want it now, so be a good girl and spread your legs properly."

"Mm.. love you," | mumbled, doing as I was told. The room was cold, considering | was completely naked on his desk, but I didn't really notice. I just wanted to please him. I hummed lightly, my voice shaky as he touched me.

Vox smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. "I love you too, my pet." He ran his hands over my thighs, making his way to my dripping wet pussy. He played with me for a moment, making sure I was nice and ready for him.

"Mmngh..." I groaned, my hips jerking slightly. "You're teasing me," I grumbled.

"That's right, pet," Vox chuckled. "Teasing is half the fun." He finally entered me with a slow thrust, making me gasp at the feeling of him filling me up. He started to move within me, slowly at first but gradually building up speed.

"Mmm." I moaned for him, trying to keep up as pleasure shot through me. "F-fuck... Harder...”

Vox's thrusting became deeper and faster, just as I’d asked. He reached up to grab my breasts, kneading them roughly as he continued to drive himself into me. "Like that?" He growled. "Like it when I fuck you hard and deep, my pet?"

My breath hitched and I came undone, cumming. "Mgh... yeah- yes, daddy! please... please keep going..."

"Did my good girl just cum?" Vox purred, smirking at my messy and satisfied expression. He leaned back down to kiss me roughly as he kept his thrusts going, pushing me towards another orgasm as his hands roamed over my body possessively.

"Y-yes.." I whimpered, trembling as he fucked me, then cumming again. "Daaadddyyy," I moaned, taking in every feeling.

Vox groaned as he felt my walls clench around him. He leaned down to nip at my neck, leaving a mark as he pushed himself into me one last time before reaching his release inside of me. "Good girl,"

"Good girl," I repeated with a sigh. I let my eyes fall shut and smiled lightly, happy to keep going if he wanted. His cum felt so nice inside me. "Your good girl."

"That's right." Vox purred, pulling out before collapsing next to me. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "My good girl." He repeated, already feeling his energy returning as he held you close.

I felt something... odd in me, and frowned. "Restrain me," I said, deadpan. I squeezing his wrist lightly. "Please. or I'll try to make a break for it."

Vox's eyebrow twitched at my sudden change in demeanor. He narrowed his eyes at me before sitting up and grabbing the cuffs from his deskside table. He held my hands above my head and cuffed them to the- well, I wasn’t sure what, but it was upwards and behind me- before sitting back down next to me.

"No! that's not enough," I sighed and easily undid the cuffs- my happy dumbed out demeanor was quickly fading. That's because the effects of the spirals and hypnosis were wearing off. "Use your magic cable things- the ones you can summon out of nowhere and control? Please. I don't wanna go."

Vox frowned deeply, but he summoned his magic cables and wrapped them around my ankles, binding you in place. "Is this what you want?" He asked softly, his voice dripping with disappointment.

"More. More." I paused and looked at him with wide eyes, pleading. I was afraid that when the effects wore off, l'd try to escape- I knew I wouldn't be happy about him making me into his sex slave when I was back to normal, either way. "Please daddy."

Vox sighed and summoned more cables, wrapping them around my wrists and securing them with the rest, tying around my torso, keeping me completely pinned. "Is this enough for you, pet?" He asked, trying to keep his voice gentle as he looked down at me.

"Hopefully," | said with a sigh. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again I looked upset. They weren't glazed over, I wasn't under his control, and I was angry at what he'd just done to me. "Fucking asshole…”

Vox's eyes narrowed, but he seemed almost amused by my comment. He reached down and gently cupped my cheek with his hand, his touch making the anger in my voice seem almost comically out of place. "Language, my pet," he chided, his tone low and warning.

"No! fuck you!" I quickly moved my head in an attempt to bite him. I missed. "You can't just hypnotize me and fuck me and expect me to be okay with it! let me go! Let me go!!"

"Mmm, I can do whatever I damn well please with you, pet" Vox replied, a hand on his hips as he loomed over me. He kept his touch light and gentle on my cheek, trying to soothe me even as his words and tone seemed to say otherwise.

"Stop calling me that!" Tears pricked my eyes as I thrashed around. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! I'm not some pet! I'm not yours! I'm my own damn person, let me go!"

"You are what I say you are," Vox said, and it was impossible to miss the possessiveness in his voice. He leaned in closer to me, letting his breath wash over my face as he looked me in the eye. "In my world-"

"This isn't your world! I don't give a damn about- about..." I caught sight of the pretty spirals on screen and relaxed, trailing off and losing my train of thought. I stared at the mesmerizing pattern, red and black and red... and black... and red... and... black "Mmmngh...”

Vox kept the hypnotic spirals on the screen just long enough to relax me before flicking them off again. He let out a breath, trying to calm himself, his eyes still locked on mine as he reached out to cup my cheek again.

"What..?" | looked up at him, my eyes glazed over again. "Mm... who are you? I want... I want the pretty colours back..."

"You don't need the colors, you have me," Vox told you, his thumb gently caressing my cheek as he spoke. He took in my expression again, his arousal growing at the sight of my eyes so unfocused and willing towards him. "Good girl,"

"Mm.. good girl," I repeated drowsily. I giggled lightly. "I think I like you... aww you're so nice... pretty.."

The praise made his lips curve into an affectionate, yet smug, smile as he listened to me giggle and repeat his words. "Do you want to be my good girl, hm?" He suggested, leaning in slightly closer, his lips dangerously near mine.

"Y-yeah!" | said, a small smile on my face. I pressed my lips to his without thinking. It was hard to think. My mind was all foggy, it felt so much better to be all dumbed down like this. "Mm..." I laughed again. "I like you."

He chuckled, his hand coming to rest on the back of my neck as he deepened the kiss. It was soft, warm and comforting. When he pulled away, he left me with a small peck on my lips before pulling back to look at me. "I like you too,"

"Hmhmmhm." I hummed absentmindedly, my focus slipping. I felt so tired. I watched the spirals move, so nice and relaxing. so soothing. getting rid of every thought I had before I could realize it was there. "Hypnotize me, daddy," I mumbled, not realizing what I was saying and completely unable to stop myself. "I want... you to own me.... own me forever.. hmhmmm..." I went back to humming, utterly out of it.

He smiled, reaching out to gently stroke my cheek. "Alright, my good girl," he murmured softly, his eyes filled with warmth. He took a deep breath and began the hypnotic induction once more. This time, it was much easier for me to fall into a trance like state.

"Good girl..." I repeated, with a small smile. "Wanna be a good girl... for you... mmm..."

"That's right, my good girl. You want to be a good girl for me," he said softly, his tone almost crooning. "You want to give yourself completely to me, without hesitation. You want to be mine, my little fucktoy."

"Yours, yours, yours," I mumbled dreamily, leaning into his touch. he still had me tied up with the cables, but I couldn't support myself anyway. "Good girl, yours... your little fucktoy... I wanna be yours, yours yours... I wanna be your little fucktoy..."

He nodded, satisfied with my response. He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in a soft, lingering kiss. "Yes, my little fucktoy," he murmured against my lips. "You are mine. Only mine. You will do whatever I say, whenever I say it."

"Daddy.." | whined, wanting more. "Yours, I'm yours! I'll do whatever you say.... whenever you say it..."

"Good girl," he praised, smiling at my eagerness. He ran his fingers through my hair before trailing them down my body, teasing my skin. "You want more, hmm?" he asked, his voice low and full of lust. "You want me to take you now?"

"Yours, yours, yours..." I mumbled, not really processing the question. I couldn't really think at all. "Whatever you want, please..."

"Mmm, such a good little fucktoy," he purred, pleased by my mindless response. He untied the cables from my wrists and ankles, but before I could move he pushed me down onto the desk, pinning my arms above my head with one hand.

"Mmm.." I groaned, my pussy leaking precum already. I whimpered as I looked up at him, not understanding a single thing. The world was too hard for my dumb little brain to comprehend, I was just a mindless thing. His mindless good girl.

"That's right, you're mine," he said, his eyes dark with desire. He leaned down to press a kiss against my lips before trailing a hand down my body to my wet pussy. He teased my clit for a moment before pushing two fingers inside of me.

"Oh... mnngh... daddy..." I whined, my hips jerking forward instinctively. I couldn't do much else, anyway. I didn't have a single thought in my head, my eyes were glazed over, mouth hanging open dumbly.

"You like that, don't you?" he growled, pleased by my response. He pumped his fingers in and out of me with an expert hand, his thumb rubbing circles over my clit. "I could do this all day, enjoying your tight little cunt."

"Yes daddy... please daddy..." | moaned, drool leaking out of my mouth. I could hardly move, shaking with pleasure as he used me. "All day... all day..."

"You're such a good girl," he purred, increasing his pace as he pleasured me. He could tell I was close to cumming and he wanted to push me over the edge. "You belong to me, and only me. Only daddy is allowed to make you cum."

"Good girl... yours.." the praise was enough to make me climax. I moaned and cummed on his hand. "Daddy..."

"That's right," he said, smug as he felt my cum on his fingers. He pulled his hand away and brought his glistening fingers to my lips. "Clean daddy's fingers," he said, pressing his fingers against my lips.

I opened my mouth and sucked on them obediently. "Dadddyyy..." I tried to say, too dumb to realize he wouldn't understand me with his fingers in my mouth.

"Good girl," he said, watching me suck his fingers clean. He could tell I was completely under his spell. He pulled his fingers out of my mouth and grinned. "What was it you were trying to say? I couldn't hear you when you were sucking so good for me."

"Mmm... daddy..." I moaned, pressing myself against him. I was like a dog in heat, desperate for more as I tried to grind against him. "Daddy... daddy.... daddy please..."

"You want more?" he asked, his hand already roaming down my body to my pussy. He slipped two fingers inside of me and curled them just enough, hitting that spot that made me moan even louder. "Is this what you want? You want daddy to make you cum again?"

"Mmnngh... Mmn..." I just moaned, unable to come up with a proper response. My tongue hung out of my mouth and my eyes rolled back with pleasure as I moved, begging for more. "Daaadddyyy... please... mmmnn.. daddy... mnnng... mmmn..."

"You're such a good little slut for daddy," he said, grinning as he added a third finger to me, feeling me squeeze around him. "You need daddy to fuck you, huh? Use you? Make you his little fucktoy?"

"Mmmn..." I bit my lip and nodded, panting hard as drool spilled down my chin. Pleasure and warmth filled me up and-"Mmhgghh..." | moaned and orgasmed again.

"That's it, orgasm for daddy..." he said, almost cooing. He pulled his fingers out of me and sucked them clean, his eyes locked on mine the whole time. "See how good you taste? How good daddy makes you feel?"

"Daddy, daddy, daddy..." I mumbled, blissed out. I moved over and started humping him without thought. I couldn't think at all- I was literally his mindless fucktoy, his good girl. God, I was his good girl. "Daddy please.... mmmn."

"There we go..." he said, letting out a low groan as I started grinding on him. He reached down and spread my lips, exposing my clit and rubbing it hard, a dominant grin on his face. "You're daddy's little fucktoy now...”

"Daddy's little fucktoy," | repeated with a gasp. I moaned, warmth spreading through me. Heat rose to my cheeks, as I realized I should be embarrassed- about what, I didn't know. I didn't care enough to think about it. "Fucktoy... fucktoy... please, please, please..."

"What do you want, fucktoy?" he said, grabbing my hips and thrusting his own up, grinding his cock against my needy, dripping pussy. "Do you want daddy's cock inside you?"

"Mmmngh..." I groaned, uselessly. Pleasure washed over me and just like that, I was back to drooling, unable to formulate an actual sentence. "Daddy... daddy... mmghh."

"Mmm, you're such a good little fucktoy for daddy," he said, slapping my ass and making me whimper and mewl. He spread my cheeks apart, teasing my tight hole before pushing inside slowly. "Such a good little slut...”

"Good little fucktoy," I repeated in a weak mumble as I sighed and cummed again. it didn't even take much anymore. "good little slut.... daddy...l- Mmn... daddy's good slut..."

"That's right, fucktoy," he said, growling low in his throat as he started to thrust harder. "Daddy's good slut...cum for daddy again...cum all over daddy's cock.."

"Mmmnn..." I moaned and orgasmed again, and then again. I was completely blissed out, beginning to get overwhelmed by the stimulation. "Mmm... cum... cum for daddy...."

"Yeah, just like that," he said, growling and slamming into me, causing the desk to creak and groan. I could feel his hot cum spurting deep inside me, filling me up to the brim. "Daddy's gonna breed you, fuckslut..."

"Breed," I repeated, warmth filling me up. New word! New word! New word! my dumb little brain jumped on this one, full of excitement. "Breed, breed, breed! Daddy... daddy!" I moaned and cummed again, beginning to slump against him, getting drool on his shirt. "Mmmn... breed... fuckslut..."

"Yeah, you like that?" he asked, grinning as he continued to plow into me. "Daddy's gonna breed his little fuckslut...gonna fill her up with his seed. Gonna make her cum again and again until she can't take it anymore..."

"Breed... breed... breed," | moaned, leaning against him. I was getting exhausted.

"Daddy... daddy... mmnnn... you make me feel so nice... Mmngh... fuckslut... cum... daddy..." I mumbled incoherently, trying to think. It was too hard, so I gave up and tugged on his sleeve as he thrusted into me instead. "Daddy, daddy!"

"That's right, little fuckslut," Vox growled, his thrusts becoming harder and more erratic. "Cum for me, fill my dick with that sweet, tight little cunt. You're mine, remember that. Mine to fuck, mine to use, mine to breed."

"Yours, yours, yours," I said, with a little enthusiasm. I smiled and moaned, cumming again. I closed my eyes and giggled. "Daddy's good girl... breed me, daddy! mmmmnn.... yours, yours.... mghj."

"Fuck, you're so tight," Vox groaned, his fingers digging into my hips as he felt me clench around him. "You like that, little whore? You like it when daddy fills you up?"

"Daddy...." | moaned as he made me cum again. I whimpered this time- it was all getting to be too much. "Daddy.... daddy, please... please... please daddy."

"Please what?" Vox purred, leaning down to bite and suck at my neck. He could feel my body trembling and quivering beneath his, could hear the begging and desperation in my voice. And he fucking loved it. "What do you want, little fuckslut?

"Daddy.... mmmgh..." I orgasmed again, tears pricking my eyes. "Mmmn... mnngh"

"That's it, babygirl," Vox praised, feeling himself reach his own peak. "You're such a good little whore for daddy." he grunted, slamming into me one last time before burying himself deep and emptying his load inside of me.

"Daddy," | whined, my voice small and pathetic. I squeezed my eyes shut, the stimulation overwhelming. I cummed again and whined louder. "Mmmnn... please..."

"Look at you, cumming all over daddy's cock like the needy little slut you are." He huffed, picking up his pace again. "Do you think you can cum one more time for me, my pet?"

"Please... please daddy..." I cried as he used me, but didn't move- I didn't realize that was a thing I could do. I was mindlessly begging him to stop, too dumb to use my words or move away from him.

"Do you think you deserve to cum again, sweetheart?" He asked, chuckling as he leaned down and sucked on my nipples while continuing to fuck me mercilessly. "Do you even remember what your life was like before me, before all of this?" He sounded genuinely curious.

“Mmnn…”

"Oh, you want daddy to stop?" He asked, his voice dripping with amusement. "You're such a good little slut for daddy." He grunted, continuing to thrust into me harder and faster. "Beg me again, babygirl."

"Please daddy... Mmn... pl- mmgghh..." I moaned and orgasmed again, whimpering and whining all the while.

"That's a good girl. Begging for daddy like a good little slut." He said, as he continued to thrust into me at an increasingly rapid pace. With each movement, he could feel my body shaking with pleasure. "Do you want daddy to fill you up again?

"N-no, daddy please!" | groaned, slumping over completely unable to keep myself up. I was against his chest now, his dick still in me. He was the only thing keeping me from falling over, even as I cummed again, whining and begging him to stop. "Mmn... daddy, daddy... please daddy..."

"Beg me some more, babygirl. You love it when daddy takes control." He said, as his thrusts became faster and harder, causing me to moan louder. "Say it! Say you want daddy to fill you up again!"

"No! no, no, no, daddy! d-" I cut myself off with another moan, my eyes rolling back. I was losing track of how many times l'd cummed at this point.

"Yes! Good girl. Keep cumming for daddy. Beg me to stop... but you don't really want me to, do you?" He whispered in my ear, as he continued to fuck me mercilessly.

"mmmghh..." | groaned, fucked out. I let my eyes fall shut as I leaned against him, only making small movements with my hips now, unable to manage anything more.

"That's a good girl. Just let daddy take care of you." He said, as he wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me close as he continued to thrust in and out of me. "Do you want me to cum inside you again?"

"Mmmnn... mmm..." I mumbled and moaned incoherently. The answer was no, but he wasn't going to stop either way. I leaned into his touch, seeking comfort from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Mmm, I know you like it when I fill you up. Don't worry, daddy will always take care of you." He whispered in my ear, as he continued to fuck me relentlessly. He could feel my body tensing up again, as another orgasm washed over me.

"Mmngh... daddy..." my mouth hung open and I was actively drooling on him again. I giggled lightly, looking up at him with a blissed out smile. I groaned and closed my eyes again, letting my drool soak his shirt.

Vox laughed lightly at my giggle, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead despite the slight mess I was making of his shirt. He loved seeing me so blissed out like this, completely at his mercy.

"Mmm..." I nuzzled against him weakly, overwhelming joy crashing into me as he kissed me. he was being so nice and gentle... I moaned, cumming again. I wasn't sure what was more wet- my pussy, the floor, or his shirt.

Vox groaned as I came yet again, his own pleasure continuing to rise as he felt my slickness coating both my thighs and his. He kept his movements slow and steady, giving me exactly what I needed to ride out every wave of pleasure crashing through me.

"mmngh." I groaned a little, pawed at his shirt weakly with a small little whine, then passed out completely.

He chuckled as he gently and slowly pulled out of me. "You think that will save you?" he asked softly, cleaning himself off with tissues, then doing the same with me. "Don't worry baby, daddy will have your punishment all nice and ready for when you wake up. You don't get to decide when I'm done with you by passing out like this."

"Daddy..." | mumbled and squirmed a little at his touch, instinctively, even in my sleep. My breath hitched, then evened out as I continued dreaming.

"Good girl." Vox purred softly, kissing my forehead before arranging me on his lap comfortably, wrapping an arm around my waist to keep me propped up. He took a moment to look at me- his little pet.

[wrongdodo]

Whenever I start a new SDV save, befrending Shane is TOP priority. WHY? I'll tell ya why.

TW Shane Appreciation

I first started playing in winter 2019. I remember it was winter because it was dark all the time. I was having a real rough time at work - big stress, angry people. Some things happened that torpedoed my confidence, and I was real sad. So I bought SDV to cheer me up. It was fun, a nice little distraction from life.

Not long after I bought it, another BAD THING happened at work. I had a debrief with my supervisor, who was chill and supportive. I cried a lot. They asked what I would do that evening to help myself relax. I managed a smile and said I was looking forward to playing my new game.

"I'm too small and stupid to take control of my life."

Well, that evening, I got Shane's 6 heart event. I'd missed his 4 heart event at the ranch, and knew very little about the game or what to expect. It really blindsided me. I thought I was just gonna grow some veggies and kill some slimes, I didn't know I'd be feeling things.

And I paused the game sat and cried because I'd been feeling so low, too. I hadn't really realised how shitty I'd been feeling until then. I just sat and sobbed in an empty house, but I didn't feel alone.

At that moment, I emotionally imprinted on Shane like a baby bird. In that first playthrough, I married that sucker. And I'd do it again.

[igglemouse]

Simón had spent most of his time in Oasis Springs agonizing over Frida, after all, he was only here for her and although his mental had improved now that he was more away from the world of his past there was still the issue of her and what an issue it was.

He wanted to go to her, profess his love of her, make her understand that in the end, he couldn't be without her and show her that despite it all she, more than anyone else, had made him vulnerable.

But part of him knew it would be best to let her go. To stay away from her. After all, his life was misery and ill fortune, tying himself to her was sure to bring her down and after seeing how well she was doing for herself perhaps the only step forward was one without her.

So, Tuesday morning he talked with her father and asked what he should do. It was no surprise that the old man wanted him nowhere near his daughter. "You know how this ends for you, Simón, it ends tragically," her dad said. "And both of us have bought enough of that into her life."

Simón begrudgingly agreed but where did that leave him?

I think I've pretty much settled into Pascal's place I mean here I am once again making him breakfast but it really isn't official official, you know? I believe both of us wonder if this is all going too fast but who decides that really? Maybe, it's going at just the right pace?

Either way, I'm here cooking Oatmeal buttermilk pancakes, hoping this fits into his very strict diet.

I don't get too far into the preparation before he joins in and offers encouragement.

"You must be the perfect woman," he tells me and I can't help but to wink and smile his way. There's always a risk with him that it can turn into more. Eh, not a risk, a hope...but he does say he has a game today and so he needs to be very very focused for that.

That leaves me with plenty to do and before I could make a plan on what to do with my free time it is Irene who calls me and asks to come over. I met her at the food stand a day or so ago if you recall and I'm more than happy to get to know her better. I feel like out of all the people I've met I have the most in common with her and so I hope this is the start to a beautiful friendship.

Before she comes over I have time to make some ice cream and also mix some lemonade. Summer is coming up hard and fast here in Oasis Springs and you'd have to be stupid to find yourself outside without a cool drink or a handful of ice cream or something!

She strolls right up to the house after she hears me outside humming and making lemonade. I invite her to sit, thankful for the shade, and she's eager to jump right into a conversation about our shared hobby. Being chefs!

"I work at the Selva place, you know the one?"

I nod my head, once again thinking of Simón and the date we shared there and ummm, what happened after. Best not to think about that. "The food was really good! I plan on going back some day-"

"The boss is an ass but a loveable one," she says, joking. "Won't even hire anyone unless they have 'heritage' or whatever, which is silly but-"

"Oh? Is he hiring?" I say, pushing right past the red flag she had put before me and focusing on the opportunity. "Maybe he might be easier to deal with if you have a friend there to help you out?"

"Well, yes? Maybe? I think he might be. I could ask him for you but...like I mentioned, he's a bit of an ass! Be careful with him!"

I tell her I will and to go ahead and give him a good word for me. Who knows if I'll take the offer, who knows if I'll be offered, but I always consider an opportunity.

After that she talks a bit about my stand and how she is just a little jealous of it. "It's pretty bold," she says. "You're all on your own so if anything goes wrong, you are to blame. Takes a lot of courage."

"I guess...I felt like I had nothing to lose," I say, thinking about how she was right but when I started my stand I never thought of failure because I've lived through failure and tragedy and I've come out stronger. "You know it is fun, thinking about the recipes and all that and-"

"That's my dream you know? Having my own place..."

That is definitely a noble and respectable dream, one I think I share...

Irene has to go which of course leaves me home alone or...well, that's not technically my home but you know what I mean!

I could have sat there and watched television or something but instead decided to head to the gym. If Pascal is out playing a game with the team or whatever he's doing then I need to stay fit myself and what better way than yoga?

It was the perfect time for it too since there was no one else around.

And being at the gym meant it is likely that I run into Sara who I think was coming from her own light work out herself. She was super excited to see me and asked why I wasn't at home earlier. "Came to ask if you wanted to work out but you just arrived? What have you been up to?"

"I've been at Pascal's place," I come right out with it, watching her eyes grow big with excitement and demand.

"Oh! Wow! You HAVE to tell me about it!"

She drags me to one of the seats, sits across from me, and gives me a signal to go on. Looks like I have little option here but to indulge her need to know just a little bit although there isn't much for me to tell her. So, I just focus on the general feeling I have when it comes to him.

"He's simple, in a good way I mean. Keeps to himself, works out a lot, very focused on his career."

"See, see!" She says, referencing my conversation with her and Marjorie days ago. "Is it true? Is he trying to get transferred to Real Del Sol!?"

"Huh?" I have no idea what she's talking about.

"O-oh, just a rumor, Oasis FC you know, small team, respectable, but he's bound to outgrow them at this rate," she says nonchalantly. "Off to a bigger club to hopefully win championships and stuff. I just wondered if you'd have like the inside scoop-"

"Nooo," I'm shaking my head, regretting that I really know nothing at all about his career but I do know what that might mean for me, for us. "We don't talk much about fútbol honestly, it's not something he's mentioned."

"Hmm, I hope he doesn't go. As an OFC fan it'd suck to lose him."

"Yeah..." well, as his girlfriend it would suck too. I hope he doesn't go either but maybe it's just a rumor with nothing behind it? I'm just now getting to know him and if he were to go to another city would he ask me to come with?

Either way, right now I'll think nothing of it and enjoy the rest of my time at the gym.

Tomorrow is Summer Solstice and hopefully that means a pretty fun and eventful day. Let's hope at least!

Episode List - Next

[frankenjoly]

skk + 17

sskk + 21

skk + “is it fun? is it fun for you to see me hurt?”

“Is it fun?” Dazai was saying, in a tone that even the most gullible person over the face of the Earth could recognize as dramatic for the shits and giggles. “Is it fun for you to see me hurt?” He even brought a hand to his chest leaning backwards in a way that almost made them lose balance.

“Cut the crap or I’m gonna drop you.” Chûya instantly answered.

Since Dazai’s leg was pretty much busted, the simplest option had been carrying him, bridal style as some sort of joke related to his stupid speech about them being destined to… something. Chûya didn’t even want to know what he would have said if finishing the sentence, hence timing the fake shot exactly then. And maybe that indulgence was a mistake, given how it had given him even more dumbassery fuel.

“So it is fun, huh? You won’t even go easy on a poor wounded man? You’re heartless, damn.”

“Those are very big words for someone who didn’t even leave a text and blew up my fuckin’ car, but ‘kay.” Two could play that game. “And I’m so gonna drop you.” Not really, since placing him back on the ground was done with way more care than Dazai would deserve after getting so annoying on purpose.

“People may have thought we were in cahoots, so you’re welcome.” Despite not commenting on how Chûya hadn’t really dropped him, it didn’t take a genius to decipher what he was thinking based on the smug grin all over his face.

“Whatever.” There came a brief sigh. “I’m gonna look for something we can use to kinda cast that leg, behave.”

sskk + “i’m not giving up on you, ever”

“Honestly, dropping the matter and hitting me like you meant it would have gotten you way further.” Akutagawa said, shrugging, and Atsushi scoffed.

“C’mon. For real?”

“Were you not able to regenerate, especially with such a speed, and if it wasn’t for the courage of that little girl… you wouldn’t even be here right now, jinko. Because you were holding back and trying to appeal to my consciousness while not even being sure that might actually work.” And then, he shrugged again.

“Am I a fool for believing in you?” Was Atsushi’s counter move. “Plus, it kinda worked for a sec, so…”

Akutagawa first stared at him dead in the eye, then quickly looked away.

“Yes. Knowing when to give up so you could actually reach your goal is important, I thought that was clear already.” Or none of them would be there right then, Atsushi guessed he might be thinking. Or not even one of them would have left that ship.

It made sense, sure, but he wasn’t going to yield. Even if he couldn’t convince Akutagawa either.

“Well, I’m not giving up on you, ever. ‘Kay?” Atsushi lifted a hand, trying to reach out in a similar way he had done back then when being pulled into the makeshift escape route. And, after taking a deep breath, he linked it with Akutagawa’s; if the price to pay was having it sliced with Rashômon, so be it.

Except nothing happened. Akutagawa didn’t say anything, and his gaze was now fixed on the sky, but he allowed the gesture… which already meant a lot.

(Also on ao3.)

[metamercury]

Playing cult of the lamb for the first time, and my bishops sure have some interesting traits.

Also they're fun to draw and I'd like to do that more

[liquidstar]

sleepovers save money on hotel rooms while on missions 👍

[bathroomtomb]

teeny tiny animation i made in a day for paul's birthday : )

[wizards-and-t]

fuck it. yozora angel with a shotgun amv.

[heartshattering]

5 AM

Just me and my overactive mind facing the nighttime again 🙃

[beatcroc]

listen. i love pizza tower with my whole heart & mind. you know this. you Know. but first and foremost i am a character design bitch, and the pizzas are, frankly, very bland. this is not a critique or a complaint, because obviously That's Not The Point and more importantly i would be horrified if anyone tried doing that much animation with anything more complex than what's there. but also it means when i get a taste of some truly whack ass insane design work again it is like fuuuucking catnip

[alchemiclee]

been looking in tags for a few days now to see if anyone else found the whole high cloud quintet and related story to be a bit.....poorly written, nonsensical, contradictory, full of plot holes and loose ends, etc. apparently i'm not the only one. (and i'm not even talking about shipping stuff, because any time I saw someone mad about bad writing, someone always replies to be homophobic and laugh about failed ships. weirdos.) it could have been so good but was thrown into the garbage for the most part (IF you noticed all the plot holes and contradiction. if not, then it's a fine enough story tbh. I expect most people to see it on surface level and not read all the little hidden lore bits and try to piece it together like my autistic brain did. which is ok! enjoy it if you liked it and ignore me 😆)

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: December 6

"Your Body Is A Weapon" by the Wombats