#this fic is like. i know exactly where i want it to go

[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:

[thir10th]

hey lovely! can I request a fic where r is feeling insecure with her body lately and emily shows how beautiful she is? fluff w some smut if you feel comfortable :)

Hi anon! your timing couldn't be better. This has been sitting on my drafts for weeks, i kinda hated it, but you just gave me an excuse to get back to it, so thank you for that and for requesting! Hope you like it <3

will you? - Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

summary: see the ask. I changed it a bit but the main idea is still there tw: insecure reader, face-sitting, oral sex, body image, tiny bit of angst (blink and you miss it) a/n: this one might be a bit messy but i still enjoyed writing it! like & reblog <3

You throw your bag far away when you enter the hotel room. This case was getting hard, nothing was making sense, and you had been working for the past 14 hours none stop.

You need to ether sleep, eat something, a shower, or an orgasm. Or maybe all of them

but that isn't an option right now, because you're mad at her.

You aren't even sure why you had gotten so upset about it, its not like she had actually done anything, but you were still annoyed.

You were actually mad at yourself, more than at your girlfriend, but her words still resonating on your head wouldn't go away.

Emily's arms wrapping around your waist make you jump, getting you out of your thoughts.

Hugging you from behind, she rests her face on your shoulder, you feel her warm breath on your neck, she kisses your cheek lovingly.

Her arms leave your waist to reach your shoulders, her hands massage your arms which makes you close your eyes in pleasure, relying on her touch. Maybe staying mad wasn't that worth it.

"You know what i think you need?" she moves a strand of hair to kiss the curve of your neck "mh- what?" you say, a smile of pleasure starting to form on your lips

"I think you know what" she answers, you can feel her smile against your skin, her teeth brushing against your shoulder, and then you realize what she has in mind

"No, no, Em, absolutely not" You refuse, pulling away from her touch, turning around to look at her, crossing your arms.

"ugh i can't believe you're still thinking about it, after this morning" there it is, you are pushing her away again.

Why is she so insistent though, why can't she just read your mind and understand?

"Ok, ok I'm sorry, I just don't understand. You're always so open to trying new stuff, and that, just... i don't know, baby, i just want to know why you don't want it, that's all" She says, her hand reaching to rest on your arm to comfort you.

You just can't tell her, you're too ashamed. That same morning your girlfriend had suggested you tried something new in bed. She had asked you, boldly, (like she always did) to sit on her face.

She had insisted so much, you had denied every time.

Really, what was there to hate? your beautiful girlfriend was literally asking you to fuck her face, to eat you out, to give you full control. But you just couldn't do it.

"c'mon, baby, i just want to understand" she is being gentle, using her persuasion skills on you, calling you by the special pet name that would only come out in moments of special intimacy or vulnerability

She knows how to get to you, and that only makes you angrier.

You take her hand off your arm, getting yourself away from her, you need to be alone.

"I'm gonna go take a shower, try to keep it in your pants while i'm gone, all right?" you spit at her, and seeing her mouth-opened expression, you regret it inmidiately.

Standing under the warm stream of water helps you get your mind off of things for a while, while you wander what's exactly got you all worked up like this.

Emily doesn't deserve any of this, she had been nothing but sweet. Yes, she has been insistent about it, but that doesn't mean she had to be hit in the face with your own insecurities.

Getting out of the shower you stare at your reflection on the bathroom mirror. God, you hate how it makes you feel, but what you hate the most is how you're paying your own frustrations with your girlfriend.

Wrapped in a bathrobe, you get out, ready to face an angry Emily, instead she lays on the bed, already on her sleep clothes, reading with her book resting on her knees

"Em?" you try, she looks at you from over her book, then gets back to reading

"You're not gonna talk to me?" you ask

"whenever you're ready to actually talk to me, then I will. I'll try to keep it in my pants in the meantime, though" she shoots back in a sarcastic tone.

She's right, you shouldn't have said that, it had been a low blow.

You sit beside her, taking the book from her hands and placing it on the nightstand. She looks at you with mixed anger and sadness.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, you know i didn't, this is just hard for me" you try to explain. "Look, I just don't think it's a good idea, alright?"

"I don't ever want to make you uncomfortable, but i want you to talk to me, i've been trying to get to you, and you just shut me out" she says, sitting upright on her spot on the bed, taking your hands on hers, looking you in the eyes

"it's just... i don't want to... hurt you" her mouth falls open once again "hurt me? that's what this is all about? baby c'mon, you won't hurt me, why do you say that?" her tone switches to full concern now, the previous argument already forgotten

"yes, i will, I will choke you with this big stupid things and you won't ever want to go down on me again" you finally let out

"well... I'll die a happy woman then" she chuckles, trying to downplay it

"Ok, baby, listen to me" she holds your face with both her hands, forcing you to look at her, the tenderness of her gaze deepening into you

"i love every part of you, even the ones you don't like, thighs included" she waits for an answer but you don't say anything.

Emily lifts your your chin with her finger, and leaves a soft peck on your lips, the contact makes you relax instantly

"you are smart" she says, leaving another soft kiss on your cheek

"and beautiful" now getting your other cheek

"and sexy" she kisses your nose this time

"and so, so hot" she moves back to kiss your lips again, and you chuckle nervously at her words

"what can i do to help you believe me?" you shake your head "let me bury myself into you, please" her pleading is getting too much, her thumb caresses your face so softly, so tenderly.

How could you deny her anything when she asks so sweetly? you finally nod, the huge smile spreading along her face

"Em, are you sure?” you ask, biting at your lip as you watch your girlfriend sit on the edge of the bed and recline back, laying face-up atop the covers with an eager grin spread across her face. “I might weigh too much…”

Emily raises her head up and shoots you a look. “Honey, I’m positive,” she says, trying to keep the whine out of her voice.

She wants you on her so badly she can barely stand it, eyes flickering between your face and the bathrobe that covers your thick, delectable thighs from view. 

A moment of deliberation passes, then, without another word, you reach down and untie the soft white hotel bathrobe, letting it slide down your arms to fall to the floor at your feet, leaving you completely naked in a matter of seconds

"fuck" you hear her mutter "you're so beautiful" Emily breathes

“Not as beautiful as you” you murmur as she clambers onto the bed.

You crawl up it until you are kneeling beside Emily's head, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your combined weight.

“Is it okay if I…?”

“Yes.” her decisiveness tells you she wasn't joking, she does want this more than you had thought

You take a deep breath in and then lift a leg, swinging it over Emily and settling it on the other side of her head so that you are straddling her, your cunt hovering mere inches over Emily's mouth.

"Promise me you will tell me if i'm too heavy, or if you can't breath" too excited to resist, Emily reaches up to thumb at your clit. 

“I will” she says, sliding her free hand along your thigh, rubbing comforting circles into the soft skin.

“I promise you i will tap you twice, but i won't need it" she reassures. "You’re gorgeous—fuck, I wanna taste you so bad.”

Cautiously, you lowered yourself down enough that your near-dripping pussy was just barely pressing against Emily’s face.

You were planning to keep as still as possible in order to resist the urge to squeeze your thighs around Emily or put too much weight on her, but that idea flew out the window almost immediately after her tongue darted out, flattening itself against the lips of your pussy before dragging upward and settling at the soft nub of your clit. 

“Oh,” you gasp, giving a shuddery little jerk of your hips before you can stop yourself.

Emily moans in reply, the sound vibrating against your walls and causes you to whimper again. 

Her tongue flicks out, circling your clit and applying occasional pressure, whilst two fingers push inside you, crook and rubbing at your sennsitive inner walls.

You shudder and gasp, quickly losing yourself to the feeling.

“Oh, fuck, Emily,” you gasp out, finally giving in to the temptation to reach down and fist her hand into her silky hair.

Your girlfriend lets out another appreciative moan when you give it a rough tug, the vibrations making every feeling intensify.

Losing yourself to the pleasure, you rock your hips against Emily, knees pressing hard into the mattress. She has always been an expert on driving you wild like this.

Her nose rubbing right at your clit and you couldn’t help but moan, gripping tighter on the headboard. God, she has the perfect nose for this.

Emily’s mouth wrap around you, tongue sinking into your pussy as far as she can while she sucks at you, eagerly lapping your juices into her mouth.

Her hands groped at your ass, encouraging you to roll your hips, effectively riding her face.

She keeps up the pace, mouthing desperately at your clit until you can feel yourself letting go.

Hips stuttering and then stalling. Your thighs shook up, inner walls spasming around Emily’s fingers as you fall over the edge and into bliss.

“Oh fuck! Fuck, Em...” You breath out, your chest heaving as you very slowly open your eyes, coming down to earth as Emily leaves little kitten licks on your cunt, sucking up as much of your juices as she could.

Your body shudders when her nose brushes against you again, this time an accident and she chuckles softly, helping you swing your leg over her and drop onto the bed beside her.

Emily stays put, lying face-up as she catches her breath. Then, once she feels able to, she rolls onto her side and grins at you.

"good?" she asks, her fingers softly playing with your hair

"absolutely perfect" You reply with a dreamy smile, pulling her to you for a kiss. You can't help but moan into her mouth at the taste of yourself on her tongue.

"I'm really sorry of what i said, Em" you said, keeping you face close to hers, holding her

"It's ok, I know you were upset. I just want you to know that i love every single part of your body, no exceptions" you kiss her sweetly, her words causing a warm feeling to spread on your stomach

"you're perfect" you say, pulling her in for another kiss

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you like it! reqs are still open!

[ozarkthedog]

𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

summary: joel fucks you over the kitchen sink.

warnings: 18+ smut. best friends dad!joel x afab!reader. alt universe. unspecified age gap. secret relationship. soft dom!joel. cream pie. w.c. 529

author's note: writing has been difficult lately so i'm trying to write little pieces like this randomly to help get the creativity flowing again. so i apologize if this isn't my best. *runs off into the night*

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

"You better keep those hands on the counter if you want to come," Joel's lips brush your ear with the soft threat. Large, worn hands smother your own against the cool marble, keeping you still yet pliable.

You anxiously peer through the kitchen window.

It's been 10 minutes or so since you left. You made up a white lie about a headache to your friends, excusing yourself from the splashing chaos in the pool, only to find yourself in the arms of your friend's dad, Joel.

It started off innocently with wandering eyes and cheeky comments, which turned into brazen touches and stolen kisses over the last few months. Eventually, you ended up in Joel's bed one lonely night after a rough breakup. You sought solace from your friend, but Joel was the one who answered the door when she wasn't home.

Worry tugs at your nerves, bottom lip pinched hard between your teeth. You silently pray your friends won't realize you're missing and come searching. You wouldn't be able to face them if they saw you bent over the counter taking their friend's dad's cock.

"Where'd you go, sweet girl?" his thumb brushes your lip, pulling it softly from between your teeth. You kiss the warm pad before he pushes it into your mouth, letting you suckle on the digit.

"Stay righ' with me." He murmurs, pressing his broad front against your spine and trapping your body to the counter's edge. "Don' need to be thinkin' 'bout anythin' else 'cept takin' my cock."

Your breath hitches as he grinds his length deeper, nudging his weeping crown at the end of you, forming you around him like a leather glove.

"What if someone sees." You blurt, frantically clutching his wrist when one of your friends looks toward the kitchen window. Thankfully, the sun blinds her view just as Joel flips the two of you out of sight.

A steady arm locks around your waist, keeping you pinned on his thick cock while you're left at his mercy. He uses the support of the counter against his lower back to keep you propped and open for him.

"What'd I say 'bout thinkin', huh?" he snaps his hips, driving his girth between your drenched folds, ruthlessly accentuating his words with each thrust. "Nothin'. But. My. Cock."

A brute hand curls under your jaw and tips your head against his shoulder. His grey whiskers scratch your cheek. "Can feel her creamin' on me, ya know." He grits, tightening his hold on your jaw as your cunt swirls around his girth. "Why you fightin' it? We both know you're exactly where ya want to be, sweet girl."

Your eyes press tight as a wave of untamed arousal shoots from your cunt straight into your brain. Joel smacks his hand over your mouth, barely muting your sounds of carnal bliss as you tumble over the edge, body quivering and writhing in his hold.

"Tha's my good girl." Joel huskily praises. Your fingers dig into his forearm as he picks up speed. He grunts like a wild animal, uncaged and dirty, feverishly fucking into your soaked heat until his cum is dripping down your thighs.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[justporo]

What would Astarion be like if he noticed his love was feeling down? Would he be able to comfort Tav, or would it be all horridly awkward for him?

Ah hello anon! What a wonderful question. And I do have thought about that before.

I do have some headcanon posts and I guess even a fic about that? But let me talk about this for a second.

I guess both would be true actually: he would be able to but it would be awkward, at least in the beginning. This man probably didn't comfort anyonre for the last two hundred years. The only thing to go off is probably what he himself would have wished for in comfort. So especially if he's at a point with his partner where they are already sorta established I guess he would absolutely try his best to comfort a partner.

Does he know how tho? Absolutely not. So the first time probably looks like Sheldon Cooper handing someone a cup of tea and going "naw, naw" while patting your shoulder awkwardly. He tried though.

And because I figure Astarion is good at reading people - because he had to be as a survival mechanism - he puts his brain juice all into figuring out how to comfort his love. Because he definitely doesn't want them to feel down. So he learns and observes, and with time I can see him get quite good with these sorts of things. Figuring out exactly what his partner needs.

So, that's my five cents on the matter. And here are what I've written thus far about it as well if you wanna take a look!

Astarion pulling his partner out of a bad mood (headcanons)

Astarion battling his partner's insecurities (headcanons)

Astarion comforting his partner (headcanons)

It's where my demons hide (fic where Astarion comforts his partner after they had a nightmare, spoiler: he sucks ass about it)

Brewing Storms (fic where Astarion comforts Tav because of their fear of thunderstorms)

Also know I've come to realise that this is a trope I've written and thought about a lot, lmao.

[aziraphales-library]

Do you have any marriage proposals fics? :)

We have a #proposal tag, so make sure to check that! Here are more to add to the collection...

Lost and Found by belovedhypnos (T)

Aziraphale is certain that Crowley will propose soon. There must be a reason why it's taking the demon longer than expected? * Takes place after the show, in a world where another Apocalypse was avoided and Aziraphale and Crowley are in an established relationship.

There's Always Us by FandomStar (T)

This story begins as it shall end, in a garden. Not in the Garden of Eden, but the Garden of Aziraphale and Crowley.

As You Wish by PirateFanatic (T)

Aziraphale adores public marriage proposals. Crowley – not as such. But whatever the angel wants…

to the world by rainbowumbrella (T)

Crowley’s problem is quite simple - he’s already proposed. Aziraphale, in an act of what Crowley can only assume is meant to be kind, painful as it might be, has simply failed to answer and ignored the question entirely. Which he has to assume means that the answer is no, that it was no then - and of course it was no then, they were barely into the acknowledging-their-friendship phase at the time and Crowley had just really stuck his foot in his mouth - and continues to be no now. *** Every human in Crowley’s life thinks he should propose. Crowley would agree if it weren’t for the fact that he already has.

crazy little thing called love by sleepy_angel (G)

"You were very good at that," he says, before taking a sip of his tea. "Temptation. You are good at it, I rather meant," he corrected himself. He sipped his tea as he sat on the chair by his desk, sinking into the softness. Crowley blinks up at him and straightens his back. He laughs, a strained, breathy noise, and Aziraphale can't tell if it's from discomfort or something else. "Like you'd know." Aziraphale sips his tea, urging him with a raised eyebrow to go on. "I mean... angels can't exactly be tempted." "You'd be surprised," says Aziraphale, and elaborates no further. Or, Aziraphale plans to propose at the ritz. Decidedly, he's not the only one.

Headlights by RoswellSmokingWoman (M)

Aziraphale made Crowley want to believe in the ineffability of a God that brought them together. Crowley made Aziraphale want to sacrifice his religion and worship their love instead. But that was then when love was enough to bring together two fools desperate to make it work. Three years after their divorce, Aziraphale and Crowley aren't talking. They've tried to move on, but neither can. It should be their anniversary, on New Year's Eve, but they're not together. They should be together. Aziraphale calls. He's not even sure whether Crowley will pick up, but he does. They see each other again for the first time in years, and it's a whirlwind. It's time to heal old wounds, put aside their differences, and make their relationship work again. They already know the alternative, and know they can't live like that anymore.

- Mod D

[foreverisntenough]

‘OURS’

Summary: You were his and he was yours but what would it be like adding one more? Thrust into a whirlwind romance you never could’ve imagined that became your forever love. You continue building a new life across the pond with a very beautiful Scouser. A sequel to the ‘You’re Mine’ fic.

INDEX

Warnings: This series will contain fluff, suggestion, smut (unprotected sex,) pregnancy, parenting, self doubt, body image, mention of the word ‘daddy,’ kind of angsty, alcohol consumption - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! Try not to nitpick with any real pregnant/ baby logistics it’s better if you just read along happily :)

Chapter 17 - In Love With Her | ‘Ours’

“I know this isn’t true but I feel like I haven’t been out to a club in time” You giggled when you got shoved by a group of girls shuffling by. Trents face pulled into immediate annoyance almost anger swiftly pulling you tight to him protecting you from the crowds but his emotions shifted when his focus came back to you.  

“That’s not true, we went out in Vegas last month, baby. You don’t remember? I met you in the bathroom and I…” Trent began to remind you of your escapade on your trip for George’s birthday. You definitely remembered.  You definitely were still thinking about it too.

“Yes, Yes, I remember. Thank you, cheeky boy.” You rolled your eyes at him. Trent moved his arm next to your head, hand planted behind you on the wall. He caged you in. Just being this close in proximity to him was intoxicating. You felt drunk but you really didn’t think you were, maybe it was just him. He dragged his thumb over your glossy lips and your breath hitched before he leaned in to kiss you. Your back was plastered against the cool pillar behind you. You honestly couldn’t even remember the name of the club you were in. Everything had gone fuzzy. Seeing Trent illuminated in the colored lights of the club had your mind melting remembering all the times you’d been in one before with him. His effect on you was permanent. It would never fade. It was just the same now as it was the first night at the club you went to the first day you met in New York. 

“Do you ever think you want that?” Jude asked Lauren as they tucked into a velvety couch in the roped off area with two drinks. 

“What? Trent licking my neck? No.” Lauren joked with a serious face eyeing you and Trent still making out where they left you last. 

“Laur…” Jude cooed trying to be serious. She turned to actually look at him. Lauren wasn’t going to assume anything right now but she felt it all night. Tonight was rubbing what she assumed to be a non relationship in her face. She didn’t know what to say other than a joke. Lauren and Jude were together a lot. Lauren was at his house more often than she was at her own. Jet setting around, her holidays conveniently booked by Jude in the same locations as Real Madrid's away games. They were dating and tonight was a double date. They just needed to say it. “Like the dating thing…” Jude clarified for her but Lauren knew exactly what he was talking about.

“I mean they’re getting married, Jude it’s a little more than a date, don’t you think?” She teased him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He kissed her temple and she closed her eyes. Even the way they acted so instinctively and naturally made it so glaringly obvious they were more than what they were pretending they were. 

“Yeah, well, you know what I mean.” Jude wanted Lauren to say it. Lauren wanted Jude to say it. It was a big silent mess but the only thing Lauren could hear at the moment was her heart beating out of her chest. Jude pushed her hair behind her ear to get a better look at her face. She opened her eyes and attempted to keep them fixated on you across the club but he was like a magnet and her gaze shifted.  

“Dating? Erm… I don’t know…we date right?” Lauren sheepish asked. Jude could barely hear her in the loud club. She didn’t want to look into his deep dark eyes but she didn’t really have any other choice making her more nervous than ever.

“Do we date?” Jude said smugly with a coy smile. He was probably a bit more open about feelings and in general with life so he was pushing Lauren to realize what he had realized a month ago. He was trying to not to smile too outwardly though to not make her feel bad but he was gassed she was even this far into the conversation. 

“I mean you fuck me every week…” Lauren began her explanation only in a way Lauren would with a hot take that Jude didn’t love. He gave her a face like ‘really?’ She rolled her eyes. “Fine, we have sex…” She took a deep breath realizing her list of why they were dating continued on much longer than her one point. “You take me out, I sleep at your house even if we aren’t having sex, we buy each other gifts…” Jude laced his fingers with hers, holding her hand. She tried not to smile but he made her heart flutter. She dropped the shy smile forming on her face though. Jude sighed so Lauren continued. “You hold my hand.” Jude picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I know your phone password, I know your family, we talk all the time…I miss you when I’m not with you…I like you… a lot, like I feel like a complete idiot around you,  is that dating to you?” Lauren took another deep breath starting to deep what she had just said.  Once Lauren had spelled it all for Jude, but frankly for herself, she began to realize just how serious things might’ve been. He smiled pretty content with what she had shared. 

“Yeah, I think it is, Laur.” He cooed softly but calmly. His voice didn’t shake, he was ever cool and composed like he always is. She glanced at him inspecting his contrasting features, his unbelievably sharp bone structure yet incredibly soft lips and eyes. He smiled again catching her so Lauren’s eyes darted away fast. He laughed a little. This was incredibly uncharacteristic for her. Lauren was confident, sure of herself, right now she couldn’t be further from that. She was vulnerable around Jude when they were alone. He made her soft and she felt comfortable letting her guard down around him. Jude was light hearted and fun. He was sweet and thoughtful, everything Lauren would love to say she could care less about except Jude really was her dream man. She had fallen into the habit of being mushy with him at home but out at a club where she historically was eager and phlegmatic she found herself reeling with emotions, one of which was a real fear of him.

“Are we having this conversation in a club?” Lauren tried to stop the train from leaving the station. It’s not that she didn’t want this. She just had been avoiding the thoughts that had been clouding in head for months so much so that she hadn’t even confessed to you. She thought if no one knew, they’d dissipate but they only seemed to develop more. She was really overwhelmed by the fact that Jude seemed to know all the things she listed off and she didn’t somehow. He grabbed her chin and cupped her face bringing it close to his. “You don’t have to do this.” She whispered out hesitantly, getting distracted mildly by his close proximity now. He brushed his nose against hers.

“I want to do this.” Jude spoke low in a whisper just for her to hear. His lips ghosted over hers as he talked. He dropped one of his hands to her waist. She wasn’t planning on leaving, having the man she was falling for so close to her but Jude wanted to make sure. He kept a tight grip on her.

“Okay.” She muttered out. He hummed before he finally leaned a centimeter closer and kissed her. Their lips collided in the most electrifying way. Lauren’s eyes closed but she could feel the water build behind her lids. She squeezed them tighter, blinking away the emotion she felt crashing over her as she agreed with him.

“Okay?” He purred, pulling his lips off hers but not going too far. He stayed fearlessly right in front of her. Shamelessly staring deeply into her eyes. He could see the slight gloss. He ran his thumb over her cheek. 

“Okay.” Lauren confirmed once more with an uncontrollable slight smirk pulling at her lips not sure what she had just got herself into.  

Eventually you and Trent pried yourself off each other and decided it was time to join the two people you had come out with. When you returned to the private table you slid onto a seat next to Lauren. You wrapped your arms around her waist and rested your chin on her. You hung out for a long while but it was more dancing, kissing, and drinking then it was talking until there were no drinks left except a few shots no one wanted so Jude and Trent offered to go get more of something else. You could sense there was a weird vibe though. Not weird in a negative way just as if something had changed, like there was a secret but you didn’t know who was keeping one. You nodded dismissing them to go. Lauren moved away from you and you were confused momentarily until she looked at you biting her lip. 

“What? You’re making me nervous.” You laughed pulling one of your legs up onto the seat cushion. Lauren reached out and placed her two hands on each of your knees, steading herself. 

“I think I’m dating Jude?”  Lauren whispered to you so quietly you thought she might've just mouthed the words to you.  

“What?!?” You just about screamed! You tried to jump up for dramatic effect but Lauren’s hands acted as anchor weights on your body. You slapped your hands over the back of hers in shock. 

“Y/N shh! I don’t know, I don’t know, it was all very vague.” She explained a little louder but nevertheless quietly in a panicked tone. She looked at you as if she had just told you she did something horribly wrong.

“Vague?? Lauren!?!” You pressed her for more details but your back was facing the bar so you didn’t see that Trent and Jude were approaching with drinks. Lauren did though so she just shook her head silently at you. You wanted to grill her for more. What had happened during your delay in coming to the table an hour and a half ago.

“For you baby.” Trent cooed, handing you a tequila drink. You smiled, reaching up to kiss his lips. He plopped down onto the seat next to you and pulled you onto his lap. You sat in between his legs on the seat with yours draped over his thigh. You almost spilled your very full drink with his harsh drag of your body. Lauren ripped one of the shots that was still remaining in front of her on the table. You snapped your head from Trent to her, shocked by her sudden movement and brash decision. 

“We’re going to dance.” Lauren told Jude as her hand grabbed his face. It wasn’t as sudden or at the pace at which she took the shot but it was relatively harsh. You blinked your eyes trying not to react so you puffed the air out of your mouth. Trent squeezed your side for comfort, not sure what you were responding to. 

“I’m going to dance.” Jude responded looking back at you and Trent being pulled in the direction away from you by Lauren. Jude had a cheesy smile on his face. He looked like a little kid, thrilled to be in the position he was in and now you maybe were understanding why he was smiling just a little bit more now.  Trent quipped a sarcastic ‘have fun’ comment before you whipped around back to him once they were out of view. 

“I think they’re datingggg!!!!” You quietly screamed, grabbing his face. He winced not expecting your outburst but his shocked face fell into a smile seeing you so excited. He placed his much larger hands over yours before he dragged your hands off his face and guiding his onto your waist.

“Wow..” Trent responded slowly processing what you were saying. You went back and forth for a little while discussing things about the potential of Lauren and Jude dating but you got side tracked when Trent’s hands began to wander.

“Do you want to date me?” You giggled childishly aksing him a very silly question. You didn’t think you were drunk but as the question came out.. Maybe you were.

“No…” He was quick to say no. So quick that you were almost offended but Trent put your worrying mind at ease when he spoke again. “I wanna marry you, pretty girl.” He laughed a little letting out such a cheesy line. He ran his hands under the back of your sweater guiding them over your bare back.

“Oh, I like that better” You sheepishly responded with a little smile, tucking your face into the nape of his neck embarrassed by the cheese. Trent’s hands continued up your back and teasingly played with the clasp of your bra again and again. 

“C’mon baby, don’t be shy. You know I want to marry you.” He spoke right up against your ear closest to him.You could feel his hot minty breath hitting your skin. His fingers caressed down your back. One hand dropping to hold your waist the other pulling your face for him to see. He looked at you completely smitten. He pinched your cheeks together, pursing your lips for you and pulled your body closer to his simultaneously. He gave you nothing but teasing looks waiting for you to initiate the kiss. You leaned in towards his lips with his hand still holding your face. Your own hands dropping to his waist sliding slyly under his t-shirt but you hovered millimeters away from his perfect pout.

“I’m not shy.” You whispered in a voice you didn’t know you did when you were turned on but Trent knew it very well.  

“No? I think you are a little shy. Hiding from me at dinner, won’t kiss me right now..” You cut off Trent’s ramble. You closed the gap between you two, kissing him. It was pure heaven kissing him. He smiled into the kiss. Again and again, Trent pressed kisses to your lips. In the dim lighting of the club he thought you never looked better as he pulled away to inspect your beauty for a moment. 

”I can’t wait to marry you, T.” You cooed hushly, before your hands tugged at his hair to bring him back into a steamy kiss. Your tongues dancing in perfect rhythm. He kissed down your neck finding the spot he knows you love. You felt his plump lips pull into a cheeky smirk against your skin as you stifled a moan. 

“No one else in the fucking world can will ever be able to have you.” He spoke to you murmuring against your neck but you could still hear him clearly.  

“No one else could have me now.” You assured him that whether you were married or not, you weren’t going anywhere.

“I want the government to know that.” He looked up at you with a serious face. You sat back a little to get him off your neck and too really look at him. You giggled seeing the sincerity on his face. He really meant that. “You going to let me take you back to our room now?” He whispered coming in closer to your lips not letting you go too far. You nodded with a juvenile smile and excitement. 

“What are we gonna do there?” You asked him teasingly. He just leaned forward and told you to shut up silently with a kiss.

“You wanted to dance with me?” Jude asked Lauren in a smug tone sliding his hands around her hips from behind as she walked further into the club. His lips ghosting behind the shell of her ear. 

“I wanted to be alone with you. Just wanted to be with you right now. I don’t want to be with them.” Lauren turned around and gazed up at him with a look Jude didn’t see on her face often. Lauren was scared. She looked like a little girl in a way. Her eyes wide and almost bordering on tearful. She was bitting on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering. 

“Lauren” Jude said her name as calmly as he could readjusting his hold of her. He held her waist securely close to him but still a good distance apart so he could really see her. “If you’re not ready for this right now, I’ll wait for...” Jude’s sweet words attempting to tell Lauren that he really liked her and enough that he wouldn’t mind holding off on dating if she wasn’t there yet, he’d wait but Lauren cut him off with a kiss. The kiss was hot and charged. Now this was a Lauren Jude did see often. She pulled away out of breath and turned around too embarrassed by her emotions to look at him. He grabbed her hips and pulled her ass back into him. She grinded up against him leaning back and resting her head onto his shoulder. Jude dragged his massive hand down the front of her throat. His lips slowly kissed behind her ear. His other hand beginning to slide over her bare stomach flirting with the waistband of her trousers. 

“I’m ready.” Lauren cooed, confirming she wanted this. She wanted him but even knowing that her voice was still shaky. She rolled her head to the side more to give him room to keep his lips on her. 

“Let me take you home, Laur.” He whispered against her skin. A shiver ran down her spine. They came back and Lauren trotted up the steps to were you and Trent were. You stood up and met her halfway. 

“Hey, I think we’re gonna go home…”  You cooed to Lauren cheekily excited for your night. Lauren had the same look on her face.

“Oh… same.” She smiled at you and then began to laugh. She reached around you and grabbed her bag. 

“Practice abstinence or you could end up with a friend for Teddy!” You joked with her. She rolled her eyes and pinched at your side. She ran over to Trent and gave him a quick hug. Jude stood down below the section so Trent stood up and dapped him up through the railing. I guess they had some sort of mind reading capability that you and Lauren didn’t. They knew exactly what was going on before Lauren had told you she was leaving. You came behind Trent and wrapped one arm around him. You squeezed Jude’s shoulder saying goodbye and you watched them walk out. 

When you got back to the hotel you had no idea what time it was. You flopped onto the bed utterly exhausted though. Trent crawled over top of you. He peeled your sweater off over your head leaving you in just the skimpy bra he had played with early. He was so gentle, peeling off your clothes and then undoing your heels. You pouted at how sweet he was with you. Since having your little girl you felt like Trent treated you fairly delicately. He wasn’t as unrestrained anymore. It was almost like he was scared to hurt the mother of his child. He turned around in the room and pulled his shirt off over his head. His back muscles flexed and danced and your mouth watered. He took off his trousers and your mouth was definitely watering. He turned around to see a hungry lust painted on your face. 

“See anything you like?” he asked with a cheeky smile that made your heart race. He was so fucking pretty. You scooted forward on the bed in just your bra and panties and stuck your arms out beckoning him over to come be with you. In no time he was overtop of you, both you now sans clothes, his hard cock teasing your dripping pussy. He caressed his hand over your cheek. The softest touch you ever felt but you felt your mind shift noticing you weren’t focusing on that sweet touch but more on his hard cock rubbing against you. 

“T… I want you to be rough with me.” You whispered to him with a sweetly juxtaposed smile.

“You want me to be rough?” He asked you stopping his movements looking down at you making sure he heard you correctly.

“Think about it, we're in a hotel, there’s no Teddy, we’re in Spain… it could be fun.” You giggled. Trying to convince not giving great reasons but you were hoping he wouldn’t need any.

“A lot of that doesn’t exactly merit me being rough with you but yeah if you want me to be, baby.” He hovered over top of you a little confused but returning your smile still interested in what you were asking for.

“Like… I want to be a whore for you.” You sounded more shy than you wanted but nevertheless you said it. His eyes widened in shock. I mean you guys definitely got pretty dirty and he had a very clear dominance in the bedroom but… it was rare that any sort of degradation was involved. Calling you anything other than perfect wasn’t really your vibe.

“Baby... I don't.” Trent gritted his teeth not loving the idea. He understood it. It’s not that he didn’t view you in a way where he couldn’t imagine it but he just really preferred taking care of you, praising you, loving you so it took him a moment to wrap his head around this.

“Just a little. Like do whatever you want to me.” You looked at him painfully and confusingly innocent. “When we're at home I’m a mum and right now… I don’t want to be.” You giggled grabbing onto his biceps.

“I get it… “ he blew some air out accepting the idea. “Alright. You think that’ll be fun?” He laughed a little. You nodded “We’re gonna do this my way though.” He told you sternly.

“Okay.” You moaned as he quickly had his lips kissing on your neck, nibbling on your most sensitive spots. Like you weighed nothing Trent rolled you two over. You almost gasped, it caught you so off guard. He moved himself backwards and sat leaned against the hotel bed. He harshly pulled your legs up and over to straddle his thigh. Your heart was racing with excitement. You were trying your best not to smile. 

“You know how much I love you, yeah? How much I respect you?” He asked you a question as his hard wrapped around your throat gently but with pressure. You nodded incredibly turned on. You didn’t realize but you were grinding on his leg already. Rubbing your throbbing clit against his muscular thigh. You were desperately wishing that you were riding him. Trent dropped his serious look when you nodded your understanding. His face fell into pure amusement seeing you now. He pushed his tongue in his cheek with a smile. You frowned at him when he gripped onto your hips holding you down. This was not what you thought you were signing up for. You pawed at his perfectly sculpted thighs begging for more movement, more friction, more of him. He smiled watching you desperately rub on on top of him, making yourself whimper. His hands on you felt like fire. “You like getting off on my thigh, baby.” He laughed, planting a kiss behind your ear teasingly. “Nah, what’s wrong? You said you wanted me, you got me… What’s wrong then?” He looked at you with a devious smile. You whined looking at him with puppy dogs hoping it would sway him but it did nothing. You looked at his hard cock laying up against his abs beginning to leak pre cum onto his tanned skin. It looked so good. You wanted him inside of you so bad you thought you might cry. “I can’t just spoil you all the time, pretty girl.” He cooed in a pompous way that made you want to scream. You had no idea you would get this desperate, you never realized how much he gave to you upfront. He could tell too but he was holding his ground. You asked for this. This was self inflicted. 

“T… please, baby.” You whimpered. You made a poor attempt to grind against him. He loosened his hold on your waist letting your grind down more on him slipping on his thigh making a mess you were so wet. You were dripping all over him. He shook his head, not giving in to your complaints. You let go of his thigh in front of you and greedily wrapped your hands around his length. “I want to ride you, T… please. I need it, I need you, I need your cum.” You greedily begged. Trent swallowed trying his best to withstand this but he was struggling. His hands loosened on you. You quickly took advantage of this and moved off his thigh. You aligned his cock underneath you. You looked him in the eye for approval but he was so taken aback by your sudden movement that he couldn’t process what you were doing. Trent was aching to be buried inside you. You were the same, you couldn’t wait any longer, you had had enough of the teasing. You began to sink down onto his length. Trent threw his head back against the headboard letting out a rough groan. He opened his eyes to watch you take all of him. You looked so fucking hot when you were this needy for him, when you were so desperate that you took what you wanted and what you wanted was him. Your shoulders rolled forward and your jaw slacked, finally feeling him. Trent could’ve cum just from hearing you talking, no begging him like that. 

“Fuck! That what you wanted, baby? You wanted my cock?” He sat up and dropped his hands to your hips helping you move up and down on him. You nodded pathetically. He smacked your ass. Not once, but again and then, when you moaned, again. “Such a good girl for me. Keep riding me just like this, baby. So good for me.” He praised you like he preferred and honestly you fucking loved it. Your pussy clenched every time he told you you were a good girl. He harshly thrusted up into you, pushing so deep it almost knocked the wind out of you. Your body collapsed onto his unable to stay up any longer. He held you tight to him, fucking up into you but not without a sweet kiss to your hair. He rolled you two over to be on top. You started to cry that's how good he was fucking you. He was so deep. You had cried in bed during sex before but Trent needed to make sure you were okay. “Baby… tell me we’re okay, yeah? You want to keep going?” He asked you with the most sincere loving look.

“Yeah, please T. It’s okay, I’m okay, please, T. Keep fucking me. It's so good.” You spoke with a tremor in your voice. He hovered over you propped up by his arms. His strokes were strong and deep. Your foot dragged down his back sensually pulling him closer to you. He moved his face closer to you. You kissed him softly. “I can handle it, promise.”  You cooed. Trent buried his face into your neck with a groan. You loved the way he smelt all the time but there was something about the way he did when he was in bed with you, his cologne had faded, mixed with a bit of sweat and he was so close to you it wafted all around you. 

“Good.” He replied a little relieved you were okay and a lot relieved because he was loving every second of this. “Want me to be rough with you? You want to be a whore just for me?” He whispered in your ear and your pussy clenched exponentially tighter around him. He couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Yeah? You like that baby? You only get to do this with me. No one else can ever touch you.” Trent told you sternly continuing to fuck you. He pulled back and picked up one of your legs switching positions. You looked so perfect underneath him. He didn’t really think of you like his whore, you were a fucking angel for him and only him but he’d play along if it got you like this. 

“I love you. Oh my god, T! Just for you, Only with you.” You whimpered trying to stop yourself from drooling. He smiled hearing you tell him that. His dimples appeared in his gorgeous smile. “Fuck!” You whine, balling the sheets under you into your fists. Trent groaned, feeling and hearing how wet you were. He loved that he got you this way. He leaned over again to whisper in your ear but before he spoke you grabbed onto his wrist squeezing it tightly as he railed into you.  

“Wanna hold my hand baby?” He cooed before he nipped a kiss on your neck. That’s exactly what you wanted. You whined and pouted almost on the verge of tears again. He pulled away from your neck and sat back a little but still remained inside you. 

“T… You moaned desperate for him to continue. He gave you a cheeky smile seeing your pout but then flicked his gaze down to your glistening pussy stuffed full of him. His lips curled into another smile but this one was different. This was a sinister smile. He guided his thumb to your clit and pressed hard shapes down over it. You were squirming beneath him. 

“Baby.” He snapped at you in a cold tone. Your jaw slacked and you tried to still. He pushed his thighs wider to move your legs further apart and upward. The air of the cold hotel room sent a chill up your spine as it reached your sensitive wet core. Then to your surprise Trent slapped his hand against your folds. Not gently mind you, but definitely not overtly mean either just enough to have you whining and fidgeting.

“T, I’m gonna cum. Please!” You cried. He tapped at your sensitive throbbing clit with wet slaps.

“Go ahead, baby. Cum f’me. That’s okay.” Trent didn’t often deny you of an orgasm. He felt like he was winning if that was happening so it was always a bit of an ego boost but you didn’t care what it was you wouldn’t have been able to hold this one. Your high crashed over you and you gushed.Your arousal dripping from your pussy. “Such a messy girl f’me. Such a messy pussy.”  Trent cooed smiling proudly watching you squirt onto him, your release running down your thighs. He ran his thumb back over your clit and you couldn’t handle it. It was way too much. 

“Trent, itt’s too much, ah please, T.” The first name either meant you were really happy or really serious. The desperation in your voice had Trent leaning towards the ladder so he stopped. 

“Good girl. You okay?” He asked sweetly and you nodded. “I love you, baby.  Doing so good f’me.” He cooed, bringing his drenched fingers covered in your sweet arousal up to your mouth. “Taste, beautiful.” He whispered, dragging them over your lips. You opened your mouth and let him push them in. You moaned, swirling your tongue over his fingers. “My good girl.” He cooed once more, pulling them out of your mouth now. He kissed your lips and you whined. “Still want me to hold your hand?” He asked but you couldn’t focus as he began to fuck you again. “Keep being a good girl for me and cum on my cock again. Can you do that f’me?” He asked, beginning to start drilling into you again. You tried to nod but your eyes rolled back before you could in the cutest way. It was very lewd but somehow managed to be cute. After a long while of sheer bliss the knot in your stomach tightened again.

“I’m gonna cum, T… Oh my fucking god!.” You choked out a whine feeling him hit deeper inside. Your pussy was throbbing. “I wanna cum, baby!” You cried out desperately sweet.

 “Tell me how deep you feel me, baby? Tell me first. Show me.” He instructed you sternly but incredibly smooth and loving. It was almost confusing but your head was gone anyways. This was ethereal. Just the way Trent was speaking to you made you feel like you were going to orgasm. You could feel the vein running down the length of his cock slide inside your walls. You moaned pathetically. You threw your head back onto the pillow as your legs began to shake utterly fraught. “Baby” He cooed trying to get you to come back to him and the moment to answer him. 

“Can feel you right here, T. You’re so deep, fuck, baby.” You mewled, taking one of his big hands and guiding it towards the place on your stomach where you could see the impression of him. Trent’s cock twitched and he let out a groan before a small greedy breathless laugh. He leaned forward over you more and nipped at your neck. 

“You take me so well, baby. Shit. You’re fucking perfect.” He purred into your ear. You shut your eyes but opened them wide when you felt him drag his hand back down towards your clit. You were of two minds. Part of you wanted to scream and tell him enough and part of you wanted to scream and tell him you wanted more. He began to rub your clit in precise movements. “Always so wet f’me. Wanna cum with me, baby? I need to cum inside this pussy.”

“T… baby.” you cried. You could only manage his name. You fell apart curse words falling from your lips repeatedly. You were at your limit. The drag of his cock had you almost delirious. His fingers dug into your skin. Trent rolled his head back in pleasure as he thrusted into you one more time before he spilled into your tight heat. You gently tried to roll your hips up into him more to help him ride out his high. “So good f’me, baby. Did so good.” He laid over top of you nuzzling his face into the nape of your neck. He pressed a sweet kiss to your warm skin. After your breathing began to calm slightly he rolled off you collapsing against his side of the bed. You inched back over to him not wanting to be apart for long. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you tight.  Your head laid on his chest. You could hear his heart racing. “Good girl.” He murmured out completely exhausted before he kissed your hair. You giggled. A smile stretching across your face. You almost liked this part better. That’s a lie but it was a close second. “You just wanted to be a little dirty for me, huh?” Trent spoke to you with his eyes closed and a blissful smirk. You had him whipped. He was down bad for your pussy but also completely in another way. Trent didn’t think he could describe it. There was nothing to describe because it was simply indescribable. He couldn’t even tell his friends because as much as they would talk about their sex lives they wouldn’t understand the amount of love he had for you and why it made sex so great. 

“I just don’t want you to forget that I’m still like me, like pre baby me, pre mum. I still want you to want me. To have fun with me.” You giggled shyly stroking your hand over his bicep. 

“Baby, come on… I want you all the time. We can have more fun but I didn’t want to pressure you. We can do this whenever you want. You know I just want to take care of you. I love you so much.” he pouted looking at you. Every time he looked at you, that's what you were. You were the mother of his child. His whole world revolved around you. That didn’t mean he didn’t find you sexy and definitely didn’t mean he didn’t want to have sex all the time but he just was such a melt for you.

“You're such a mushy lover boy.” You teased pitching at his cheek before dragging your thumb over his flushed plump lips.

“Only for you.. embarrassing for you.” He laughed and shook his head. He knew he was down bad. He felt a little pathetic but he didn’t want to be any other way for you. When he woke up in the morning you were tucked in his arms wearing his t-shirt. He smiled looking at your sleeping figure. You looked so beautiful wrapped up like that. He wanted to stare at you all day and the funny thing was he knew he wouldn’t get bored of it either. 

“Hi” you giggled, fluttering your eyes open, feeling his gaze on you. 

“Mmm good morning to the most beautiful girl in the world.” He cooed. 

“Gimme a kiss please.” You whispered greedily and reached up for him. You pecked his lips and tried to return back to your place.

“Nah, gimme a proper kiss please” he spoke softly in the quiet morning. A soft smile took over your face, your hands gliding to cup his cheek. You kissed him softly, your lips moving perfectly sleepily, your bodies heating up again.

“I want you, T…” You moaned into his mouth dragging your body to lay on top of his finding yourself waking up incredibly horny still thinking about last night. 

“Hold on Jude’s calling me…” Trent suddenly stopped your very heated moment. You looked at him like he was crazy. He was stopping you to talk to Jude? He laughed seeing your response. He picked up his phone off the night stand and kissed your temple. “I want to hear about last night!” he explained, gesturing towards you like ‘don’t you?’ You nodded as he answered. 

“Yo, bro you alright?” Jude spoke calmly but something felt… off. 

“Yeah, mate all good.” Trent tried to emulate the same emotion back but clearly they were both beating around the bush about what they wanted to know. 

“Just wanted ask you about something quick, you got a second? Lauren is out with my mum so I only have a little bit of time.” Jude explained. You could hear him say Lauren was out with Denise but not very clearly. You looked at Trent and mouthed excitedly ‘This is my point!’ emphasizing the fact that Lauren and Denise together so often should’ve been a clear indicator that they weren’t nothing. Lauren liked to tell herself she did want a relationship but it was hard to ignore when it was perfectly laid for her. It was so obvious though. She’s was here in Madrid all the time. She was here in Madrid all the time… at his house. Although, she struggled wrapping her head around it. It was almost like Jude was too good for her. Lauren really believed she deserved the best. She deserved a man that looked like Jude, that had the status Jude did but how nice he was to her? Unprecedented. Uncharted territory for her. She was in a group chat with his family. She’d never been a family group chat with a boy’s family before. She was apart of their conversations, their daily life. She knew when his dad’s birthday was. She was rattled Jude and her had even continued talking after they met in Greece let alone know his families birthdays. Oh boy did they talk after Greece. Maybe ‘talking’ isn’t the right word… it did start out more like a sexing escapade but falling asleep on the phone with someone with all her clothes on in another country became more common than the nude photos she was sending. She couldn’t believe she’d wake up in his bed now months later and  she’d want to stay there with him. She didn’t stop him when he held her hand or he kissed her temple. She had become a melt and it terrified her. 

“I think I am dating Lauren.” Jude told Trent with an unsure tone. ‘Act surprised!!’ you mouthed to Trent. You shoved at him excitedly. He nodded understanding you. 

“Shit, really?” He responded as excited as Trent would normally to not freak Jude out. Trent wasn’t exactly someone who was screaming too often. “So, you asked her to be your girlfriend?” Trent asked curiously, wondering how serious their conversation last night was. Your eyes widened hearing Trent say the word. 

“Nah, nah, no. I didn’t. I don’t think it’s like that.” Jude explained. Trent sat up in bed and you followed. You moved to sit beside him crossed legged, laying your head on his shoulder eager to hear what was being said. ‘Move it to speaker’ you whispered, gesturing to Trent. Trent laid his phone on the bed for you to listen as well. He shook his head though turning to face you. ‘This is fucked up’ he mouthed to you ‘He’s talking to me not you.’ You waved your hand dismissing him. 

“I’m not sure she wants to date me. I feel like a fucking idiot, bro. I don’t mean this to sound obnoxious but I’ve been actively choosing to not talk to other girls for her. My messages are stacked.” You rolled your eyes listening to Jude talk about his ‘big sacrifice and full inboxes.'  “but I want her and I am not sure she’s interested in that.” Then Jude continued and you felt bad. You knew Lauren was terrified but you were almost angry at her for making Jude sound so sad. It seemed silly because they both wanted the same thing. 

“Why would you say that? She’s there all the time, mate. She’s with your mum right now. It’s not like Denise would be with her just because. She has to like her.” Trent explained going off his own experience. Mums of all boys and professional athletes on top of that, no matter how kind they were, they were not messing about. They were not putting up with any riff raff Jude or Trent would try to bring home. It maybe would be unexpected to most, although not surprising to you because you’d seen it first hand before but Denise loved Lauren. Despite her outgoing nature and unfiltered mouth around you, Lauren was incredibly polite. She had great people skills. If you put her at a dinner table in any country she’d have the best manners by a mile. She spoke a few languages, she was well traveled, unbelievably smart. Lauren was every parent’s dream until she was sneaking out, and going out. When it came to the hours of the night, things took a different direction. But unless it was Lauren’s own parents, no one knew what was going on. She was incredibly sly. She’d go out till 5 in the morning and arrived to a charity event at 7 am looking like she just walked out of a salon. You admired her craftsmanship and boys were obsessed with it. She embodied ‘lady in the streets but a freak in the bed.’

“Of course my mum likes her. She knows I’m in love with her.” Jude said matter of fact quickly explaining one of the reasons Denise liked Lauren. You slapped your hand over your mouth to suppress the scream you wanted to let out. You flopped back onto the bed kicking your feet . You sat up to listen more though and squeezed Trent bicep. Your long nails dug into his soft skin. “Fuck….” Jude sighed “Don’t… don’t tell Y/N I said that. I gotta figure this out somehow. What do I do?” He sounded so defeated. 

“Ow” Trent swatted at your hand for you to release his arm from your grip. Once you did he turned his attention back to the phone. “You could talk to her, ya know.” Trent said to Jude like it was obvious. “When do you usually talk?” He asked. Jude went silent trying to think of a better answer than the truth. “Okay, well fine. When you’re in bed then.” You smiled loving Trent’s ability to read people. He was so intuitive. It was amazing, sometimes annoying when it was directed at you, but amazing nonetheless. “Ask her then.”

“Bro, I told her last night if she needed time,I’d wait for her but she cut me off and told me she was ready.” Jude explained a brief excerpt of their conversation last night.  

“I don’t see the problem then, what are we talking about here?” Trent asked slightly confused that if Lauren said she was ready what was Jude freaking out about. 

“Bro! I don’t know what I’m talking about! I don’t know what we’re doing.” Jude ranted about him and Lauren very confused. Trent paused thinking for a minute. The line going silent which bothered Jude. “Oh fuck off, mate. I gotta go, they just got back home. Go enjoy your perfect family.” He snipped. 

“I was just thinking! Relax!” Trent laughed at his dramatics. “I’ll talk to you online tomorrow, mate.” Trent said goodbye but Jude was long gone. They’d always be online playing FIFA but you were curious if they’d continue this conversation or skip over it. You guessed you’d find out. 

“I need to talk to Lauren!” You reached for your phone plugged in still on the bedside table. Trent stopped you and grabbed your arm pulling you back to him. 

“You need to not do that. That’s not fair to him. Let them work it out.” Trent explained. You understood his rational it was the more adult thing to do but it was hard not to meddle when there was a potential relationship happening between your friends. You followed Trent’s guidance though. You took a much needed shower after last night but climbed back into bed immediately after. You fell back asleep not long after. Around 8 am Dianne let herself into your hotel room. You had told her to do so. The suite had a few rooms so it wasn’t like she was walking directly into where your bed would be. 

“Good morning” She sang bouncing Teddy in her arms. “I have a very special delivery.” She laughed, kissing Teddy’s cheek. Teddy giggled. You were passed out still but Trent could identify that cute sound from a mile away. 

“My teddy bear, C’mere!” Trent cooed, seeing them enter the other room. Dianne set Teddy on her own two feet. Trent sat upright so she was able to see where he was in the bed. 

“Dada!!” She squealed with a giggle, waking the best and fastest she could to him. Trent shuffled to the side of the bed and scooped her up off the ground under her arms and plopped her to sit on top of his abs. She had the biggest smile on her face. Completely transfixed on him. 

“I like your pretty bows. Did nana do your hair?” Trent asked, pulling one of her tiny ringlet curls straight letting it bounce back. Dianne had put Teddy's hair into two high ponytails with little bows on each one. It was really fucking cute. Teddy nodded and turned back to point to where Dianne was but Dianne had gone into another room already letting you all have your morning after she had waved to Trent. 

“Mama!” In the midst of Teddy’s search to find Dianne she clocked that you were next to her and Trent. She pressed her tiny palm to your face. Leaning her weight down squishing your cheek.

“Oh gentle, Ted. Mummy is sleepy.” Trent cooed with a laugh pulling her chubby arm away from you. Teddy giggled looking in between you two. You woke up with a smile on your face.

“Is that my baby? My beautiful girl!” You pulled her off Trent and into your arms. You squished her to your chest and rolled side to side giving her the tightest hug. “Helllooo. How are you, Teddy girl?” You sang giving her a big kiss.

“Hugwy mama” she cooed. Her little hands grabbing at you. Her face lit up in excitement. You pouted a little bit that she was starting to be able to communicate so effectively. It was a few words here and there but food was important so this was really good. “Should we get breakfast?” You asked and her eyes drew wider. Teddy loved breakfast. You think it was because it was a meal that the three of you got to share a lot together. Before training Trent could spend time with you so the word definitely sparked excitement. You pulled her extra close to you and she giggled more. “Should we invite dada?” You whispered in her ear cheekily looking back over to Trent. You pulled her away from you a little. She squealed for Trent. A loud ‘dada’ echoing through the room. She wiggled out of your hold and crawled back over to him not without practically stepping all over you. Using your face to push off of with her hands for leverage. You couldn’t help but laugh at her eagerness.

“I’ll take you, mama, and nana to breakfast if you gimme a big kiss, Ted.” Trent told Teddy helping her over you. 

“Kiss?” She questioned him and tilted her head. Trent reached up and tapped his finger against his lips. She smiled and leaned forward. 

“Mwah! Good girl. Thank you so so much. You make daddy so happy., baby bear” He cooed with a slight laugh. You got up eventually and told Dianne the plan. Trent showered while you got Teddy dressed and ready then you began to do your makeup. While you were in the ensuite Teddy waddled in carrying your purse to bring it to you. 

“Thank you!” You giggled seeing the bag that wasn’t that big next to you look massive against her small frame. You weren’t dressed yet so you didn’t need it any time soon but you appreciated her effort. It was sweet. “You’re so stylish, Ted. Want to hold onto it for me?” Her face pulled into a greedy smile excited to get to keep hold of it. She just carried it around the room, taking it everywhere she went until you left and even after that.  

“C’mere, baby.” Trent took your hand in his as you walked down a sunny Spanish street while you pushed Teddy’s pram. You had eaten breakfast and decided to take a longer route back to the hotel before your flight home this evening.  Teddy held your bag for you in her seat. She hugged it like it was a stuffed animal, suddenly that was the toy of the day. You didn’t mind, whatever made her happy. “You like mummy’s bag? Should we get you one?” Trent asked her with a childish smile crouching to be level with her as you waited for the crosswalk to change. 

“T… no, that's insane” You smiled at the offer and as funny as it was you knew he was serious. He wanted to buy her a bag. Not one for little girls,  a real designer bag.  

“C’mon it’ll be cute!” He pleaded with you. Dianne shook her head and shrugged when you looked at her for back up. She knew just what you did, if he wanted to do something he was going to do it. 

“Baby, she's 15 months old, I don’t want you to buy her stuff like that. I don’t want her to be like that where she expects you to get her gifts unannounced.” You tried to explain to him the reality of why buying someone under the age of two a bag like this was ridiculous. Yes, they’re investment pieces, you believed that, but what was she going to do with it? You felt the same way when your mom gifted her Judith Leiber.

“What? Like you…” He raised his eyebrows teasing you. He kissed you and slid his hands around you to hold your waist. You relaxed feeling his lips on yours. Forgetting what he was saying momentarily. 

“Funny.” You smiled in your kiss and rolled your eyes. 

“C’mon imagine how cute she’d look matching with her beautiful…” He kissed you again. “Sexy…” Then another kiss. “mummy.” You shook your head as you hid your face in the nape of his neck. “What you being shy for? What? Want me to stop flirting with you?” He laughed a little, cupping your cheeks. 

“You’re flirting with me?” You asked, playing innocent biting back the sly grin forming on your face. 

“Yeah… I’m flirting with you, baby.” He smiled back at you devastatingly beautiful, like always. You felt your heart flutter and your knees go a little weak. That face, that face would get you every single time. 

“I like when you flirt with me.” You admitted running your hands over his shoulders. 

“I'm always going to flirt with you." He cheekily squeezed you ass.

“You’re dumb.” You whispered back to him before pulling away. 

“And you’re beautiful.” He said before he turned back to Dianne and Teddy in her pram. “And you're absolutely perfect. What do you think? Dior? Should we go look, Ted?” He cooed picking her up. 

“I wasn’t ever going to win, was I.” You shut your eyes softly before turning to Dianne again. 

“No hun.” She left wrapping her arm around you as you trailed Trent following his beeline path to the shop. You browsed for quite awhile with a nice sales associate discussing what you wanted now embarrassingly on board with the purchase.

“Wait, this is really cute.” You said aloud.  

“Oh? I’m sorry I thought you didn’t want anything.” Trent teased you pitching your waist while he held Teddy. 

“Hush!” You told him to be quiet before you turned your attention back to the sales associate.” I feel like I don’t want to get her something too niche. Does that make sense? It should still be cute and girlie for her but I don't know.” You babbled on trying to make a decision you couldn’t decide. Trent gave you a smug teasing look. You swatted your hand at him then focused on the two different sizes of a bag the women had pulled out for you.  You landed on getting Teddy a micro Lady Dior and yourself a medium both in the same blue color you thought was good. It was good for all seasons which was always a good thing. You initially thought you wanted a pink shade but you were nervous it would maybe not be her vibe. You were still trying to sus out more and more of her personality. You did ask her though, holding two of the same bag in front of her, one blue, one pink and she pointed to the blue so that was also a driving factor. You checked out and left the store, shopping bags carried by Trent. “Can we say thank you, daddy?” you cooed with a cheesy smile and a soft giggle bouncing Teddy on your hip. Trent just kissed both your foreheads. 

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🤍

Next part - Chapter 18 xx

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

Ya’ll have been thirsty in my inbox so here’s some lines I took out of one of the fanfics I’m working on.

(Yes there is a scene where you’re under the desk 👀)

It’s mostly pet play smut. Yeah okay, that was your one and only warning, here we go! The finished piece will be so much more concerning pls send help

"Yes, training," Vox affirmed, smirking as he stood up and walked over to his closet. He rummaged around for a moment, pulling out a strap-on and harness. Voxtek brand- in association with one of Tino and Vels fashion brand. That was never a good sign. "You see, I want to be able to fuck you anytime, anywhere.”

"You'll find out soon enough, pet. But for now, just focus on me." With that, Vox guided me over to his desk and sat down. He pulled me close and spread my legs wide open, exposing my glistening pussy to him.

"Yes, exactly," Vox said, pleased that I seemed to understand. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close and enjoying the feeling of my body against his. "I know it might be difficult at first, but I promise it will be worth it in the end."

Vox chuckled, pleased with my obedience. "That's it, my dear. Good girl." He then reached out and gently stroked my hair, his touch sending shivers down my spine. "You know, I've been thinking of giving you a little task," he said, his voice low and smooth.

Vox chuckled at my eagerness and felt himself growing harder as he looked down at me. He reached down and tucked a stray hair behind my ear before pressing another button on the remote. I let out a surprised gasp as a wave of pleasure shot through my body.

Vox couldn't help but give a dark chuckle at my reaction to the electric shock, knowing now that he could truly control me. "Use your tongue," he said, almost sadistically.

He chuckled, knowing exactly what he was doing to me. "You're so sensitive here." He murmured, continuing to rub the sensitive spot on my clit as he added one more thing. "Be a good little pet. Don't cum yet."

This is all for a fic I’ll be calling ‘A Pets Collar’ because I’m uncreative and don’t care. At this point everyone should know that if I’m posting smut it’s going to be the worst shit you’ve ever seen.

In this particular fanfic, it’s just a Vox x Pet!reader, where he calls you in and gives you a collar to wear. It has a little charm on it, a ‘mood enhancer’ as he calls it. He can use a remote to control you through the collar- sending waves of pleasure through you when you’re good, or an electric shock when you’re bad. You can also make yourself feel either of these things by messing with the collar yourself. He uses it to make you more suggestible to him, then says he needs to train you. By the end you’re a drooling blissed out mess- but at least you’re a good pet.

I would not blame you for using the eye bleach.

Anyway.

@fizzybin because I’m pretty sure this is the kind of thing you like.

[the-lincyclopedia]

This post is part plug, part nostalgic celebration. See, back in 2014, I was a senior in high school, and I was completely unaware of web series adaptations of classic literature (like the Lizzie Bennet Diaries, Emma Approved, the March Family Letters, etc.). My first year of college, my roommates introduced me to the Lizzie Bennet Diaries, which I fell in love with (if you're logged into AO3, you can see my LBD fics), and I deeply enjoyed multiple other Pemberley Digital productions and loved the 2022-2023 experience of watching the Look Back Diaries as the star of LBD reminisced and spilled a LOT of tea.

But I didn't really look for classic lit web series outside of Pemberley Digital, which meant I didn't watch Nothing Much to Do. Until now.

See, @thecandlewasters (the folks who made Nothing Much to Do, the web series adaptation of Much Ado about Nothing) are serializing all of the videos and transmedia content from Nothing Much to Do via email this year for the ten-year anniversary. It's like Dracula Daily meets the Look Back Diaries (no commentary from the actors, crew, or creators, but an email with a link to each part of the Nothing Much to Do experience on the ten-year anniversary of each video, tweet, Instagram/Tumblr post dropping).

And y'all. Okay, Much Ado about Nothing is my favorite Shakespeare play and I love it a possibly unreasonable amount, so I'm biased, but this adaptation is so good. I was worried it would be, like, loosely "inspired" by the Shakespeare original, but it is SPOT ON, both in terms of the plot and even in terms of a surprising amount of the smaller stuff. Like, when Ben is explaining that Claudio thinks Pedro was trying to get with Hero himself instead of wingmanning like he'd promised, Ben uses that clumsy little bird nest analogy that Benedick uses in the play. It's such a faithful adaptation! I'm so interested to see where they're going to go with this, particularly the Claudio/Hero of it all (please no spoilers; I want to be surprised!).

And also, you know how I said I was a senior in high school in 2014? Well, Nothing Much to Do is about high schoolers (made by teenagers and very young adults), and it's set in 2014. It is EXACTLY my era. Beatrice watches Sherlock. Hero reads John Green. A lot of the boys listen to Mumford and Sons. Like, these are my people. I would have fit right into this frenemy group. And it's just so incredibly nostalgic to see teenagers dressing in 2014 teen fashion and listening to 2014 music and reading 2014 YA books and watching 2014 shows and having 2014 discussions about social issues and using social media in 2014 kinds of ways. Stuff has changed in the intervening years--some for better, some for worse--but I hadn't realized how much love was stored in 2014 nerdy teenage pop culture, for me in particular.

If you want to join me in following Nothing Much to Daily, you can subscribe here: https://thecandlewasters.substack.com/about. (This is not a paid plug or anything; I'm just a really excited fan!)

[monbons]

WIP Wednesday

Posting actual WIPS on a Wednesday? Imagine that.

As long as we are all baring our hearts on tumblr, I have to admit that I have been struggling to write anything since I wrapped up Eternal Life (back in the first week of April). At first I figured I was simply burnt out since I wrote all 42k words of that fic in just about a month, but given that I've started three separate WIPS since then and made zero progress on any of them, I'm wondering if I am just out of stories. I hate all my words--even though I really love some of these concepts. So, as you may have noticed, I've been distracting myself with sewing projects because good progress is so clearly visible there...

Anywho, to motivate myself, I decided to post a snip of each today and hope that having bits out in the world will motivate me to finish at least ONE of them! All untitled. Set up and snips below the cut.

Very creatively titled "Party Robot," this WIP is a silly/fluffy one-shot inspired by an article I read a while ago about a growing trend in American weddings. This one is the furthest along and will likely see the light of day eventually...

A nervous bounce.  From a robot. I recognize that bounce. “I thought you said Shepard was working tonight.” My voice is tight. “He is.” Bunce replies, similarly strained. “What did you say he does again?” Panic rises in my chest.  “He’s in entertain–”  Whether Bunce trails off or I simply don’t hear the rest is irrelevant because the music has changed from easy dinner instrumentals to much-too-loud techno and the show is clearly starting. As the synths build, driving towards a crescendo, my brain reels with the growing realisation that Simon would never just abandon me at the last minute, would never send me anywhere alone, certainly not my cousin’s gay wedding, which is every kind of milestone given his Old Families lineage and Pitch blood specifically and– “PARTY PEOPLE!” The DJ booms into the mic. “Have the grooms got a treat for you!”

A multi-chapter AU I have lovingly nicknamed "Baz in a Bubble." It is sad and angsty and is proving significantly more difficult to execute (despite having a complete outline) than I once thought it would be. Who could have guessed having one home-bound character would make me too sad to write? Thanks to @thewholelemon and @hushed-chorus who've listened to more than their fair share of my griping about this one. Anyway, here's the first bit of BAZ POV:

There are exactly 297 stars in the sky above me. I count them while lying in my bed every night. They do not twinkle or flicker hello like real stars. Instead, they glow a constant yellowish-green that reminds me of the colour artists always make toxic sludge in the cartoons I grew up watching. It's the colour of superhuman villains and their evil plots. Of poison. Of danger. It's the colour of the plastic star stickers Fiona put up on my ceiling when I was 10 and spent the whole year crying and begging her to go outside. Just once. Just for a minute. Because I was starting to forget what fresh air smelled like or how it felt to have grass prickle against your bare feet or how the stars lit up the night sky in Hampshire. There are no stars in the middle of London. Not outside my window. Not in this room.

And then the WIP I have the least progress on (literally almost nothing) but I so desperately want to write and could really use a thought partner to help me brainstorm/plot/figure out what the hell I'm doing--- a canon divergence where Simon successfully exposes Baz as a vamp and Malcolm steps the fuck up as a father. Here's a bit of Simon POV:

It didn't matter anyway. Pitch Manor was empty. While [the Mage] ranted and raved, I wandered into Baz’s living room. The TV was still on. Peppa the Pig was playing. A half-dressed Barbie was splayed on the couch next to a small bowl of grapes, all cut in half. I picked up the doll and brushed her tangled hair out of her face.  Why didn’t I know Baz had a sister? A family that ate snacks together in front of the TV? Parents who loved him so dearly they fled their whole lives under cover of night? In the days that followed, I sat in meeting after meeting with the Coven, listening to The Mage. He demanded the casting of tracking spells, pushed through more dark creature reforms, and rambled about the miscarriage of justice and the dangers of harbouring monsters.  But Baz wasn’t a monster.  He was just a boy.  A scared boy.  A boy who ran because he wanted to live. 

Anyway...here's to accountability via tumblr. Maybe once I've slept for several weeks and feel more refreshed I won't be so frustrated by every word I know, or more precisely, all the beautiful ones I can’t seem to find…

Thanks for the tag @bookish-bogwitch. Cannot wait to devour the new chapter of BPD!

Hellos and high-fives to all. May your words (and art) be faring better than mine: @raenestee, @cutestkilla, @roomwithanopenfire, @facewithoutheart

@emeryhall, @artsyunderstudy, @aristocratic-otter, @larkral, @rimeswithpurple

@drowninginships, @valeffelees, @shrekgogurt, @blackberrysummerblog, @iamamythologicalcreature

@run-for-chamo-miles, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @arthurkko, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold

@beastmonstertitan, @supercutedinosaurs, @rbkzz, @fiend-for-culture, @theearlgreymage

@brilla-brilla-estrellita, @skeedelvee, @ic3-que3n, @talentpiper11, @ivelovedhimthroughworse

[medusapelagia]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by the lovely @katyawriteswhump! Thank you!

This is a snippet from my Stranger Things Big Bang fic!

Tw: omegaverse, violence

“He gave me no fucking money!” The Captain tries to deny it again, but a kick in his knees and a punch in his stomach makes him fall to his knees.

“Let’s try it one more time, ok? You know, I could easily kill you and find the money on my own, but it would take more time and you would be dead. So what’s your choice? Are you going to give me your money willingly or will I have to search for it and set your ship on fire with all your crew?” Billy asks.

“Don’t kill us! Please don’t kill us!” One of the sailors begs, falling onto his knees, “There is a little box in the Captain’s cabin with all his gold. He didn’t pay with money, he paid with jewels.” he yells and Billy and Eddie share a look.

“Thank you, I’m sure you won’t mind showing my friend Eddie exactly where the jewels are, right?”

The sailor shakes his head and Eddie releases Steve and grabs the other sailor, “Don’t try to fuck with me, sweetheart, or my face will be the last thing you’ll ever see.” Eddie threatens him while they get inside the Captain's cabin to search for the Captain's secret stash.

“So, jewels. That’s unusual. Did you steal them?” Billy asks, pinning with his blue eyes the boy with the fancy clothes.

“Why do you care? Are you going to call the authorities?” He mocks him and Billy sucks air between his teeth, amused.

“Well, if you robbed someone and gave all your jewels to the Captain to pay for your journey you’re either really stupid or you were thinking about killing him and getting your jewels back. And I must admit that I can’t really see you defeat a ship full of experienced seamen.” Billy smiles like a cat who is toying with a mouse “Or… you have more jewels on you. Jewels that you didn’t give to the Captain because you’re a smart boy, but that you’ll give to me for the very same reason.”

“No one said anything about me being smart.” Steve bickers back and Billy guffaws.

“I like your attitude. Someone waiting for you in London? A family? A lover?”

The boy scoffs, brushing his hair with his fingers “God, no. No fucking family or lover or anything at all.”

Billy lifts an eyebrow, staring at the boy, “Then why did you leave? You are in good health, you seem to have money and you didn’t get in trouble with some pretty omega, or so you say, so please, explain it to me: why are you on a ship trying to leave the continent?”

“Maybe I just wanted to live new adventures. Have you ever had the desire to leave your life? Or you were born a pirate? Huh?”

No pressure tags: @lingeringmirth, @lorifragolina, @kallisto-k, @mothellie

[justallihere]

Not so much an ask so much as I just want to thank you for writing storm in the quiet. I've been re-reading it and seeing them slowly fall in love has just made me so happy. They really amd truly just got to know each other through whispers in the dark, and each moment made them stronger together.

With romance stories I tend to ask myself "why do they love each other?" So many stories tend to have an "they just do, trust me" vibe from the author, but storm in the quiet doesn't have that. I could see Xaden starting to fall for her as she was able to shoulder everything being queen and their marriage did, and she came out stronger.

And Violet fell for Xaden because he saw her and never thought her weak. How when she thought she was being weak herself, he still found her powerful and capable.

I'm not sure if I'm making much sense, I just wanted to say that you've made Xaden and Violet falling in love feel real to me. And I thank you for this story :)

Thank you! You are making perfect sense 🫶🏻🥹🥹

I love you guys endlessly for reading this fic a chapter at a time as I post it, but there’s something really special about reading it all together and actually seeing the progression of their relationship in one go instead of having those breaks in between. My biggest fear writing it has been that I wouldn’t be deliberate enough in how they fall in love and that exactly what you said would happen—it would feel like they only loved each other because I said so. But I’m really proud of the way I crafted those quieter, softer moments with them where they get under each other’s skin and support each other and make each other better, so thank you for this ask. I’m so glad you love it 🩷🩷

[saesitoshi]

try to forget her.

sypnosis. rin knows you’re far from reach. he didnt mean what he said, he knows he never will. hes slowly spiraling into madness. fully aware you may never come back. What will happen after he comes back from Blue Lock?

pairings. itoshi rin x fem! reader

content. angst, swearing, casual sae hating, au! before blue lock project but he later on goes into it, intrusive thoughts, mentions of self harm, depression, mentally ill rin, starvation, coping mechanisms, basically really mentally ill rin. unstable relationship, mentions of underage sex. dunno what else

wc. 2.7k

a/n. sadly very ooc.. not proof read. heavily inspired by tyler the creators snippet *try to forget her* i saw an edit and immediately thought i should do some type of angst fic with it. PART 2 IS CONFIRMED!!!

itoshi rin, a man full of disgust towards anything and everybody. many thought of him as self absorbed, selfish, a man with a distinctively huge ego. many admired him only his looks, some because of his brother, some not at all.

but if there was one thing everyone know about itoshi rin, it was that he was a hell of a striker. many acknowledged his skill at the sport, he led his team to victory, but was it really for the team, or for him?

it was no secret that rin had a brother, more successful and skilled. nobody had ever known why there was such tension between them, no one bothered to ask why.

rin hated being compared to the man he hated the most, he wondered if it was hate, admiration, jealousy maybe? he never really mentioned it. not that he had anyone to mention it to.

Rin did not set differences aside, he wanted to do everything his brother accomplished, but better.

Rin wanted to be completely better than Itoshi Sae. he wanted to have his own title in the soccer world. he wanted to be admired for being Itoshi Rin, not Sae.

He thought, “whatever i have that he doesn’t, will be one step closer to getting to my goal.” he desperately tried to obtain every skill he could to stand out.

Rin wasn’t exactly worse than Sae.. but he wasn’t any better. one could say there was just a tiny 10% that separated them, only in skill.

Rin was attractive. he had a good body, good voice, good grades. he was every girls dream man. his personality didn’t stop any woman from being head over heels for him, but it would always change once they saw his brother, only being blinded by the richness and success, rather than looks.

one could argue they were equal in everything but soccer.

it had come to the point where Rin couldn’t figure out what he was missing. until you showed up one day.

there was an exchange student, not only exchange, but foreign. you were from (country) and it just so happened to be the one Rin had always dreamed of going to.

when he set his glowing teal eyes on you, he was mesmerized. you didn’t look like the average japanese girl, or obviously an average tourist.

your beauty was something he couldn’t comprehend.

your hair looked so silky. your skin so smooth yet had the faintest texture. your outfit was carefully picked out, obviously not having a school uniform yet. your makeup so beautifully done, not being too packed with it, just enough to make him acknowledge it.

your lips were plump and glossy, your cheeks were flushed and shiny, all red from the embarrassment.

your lashes so long, not as long as his he thought, but long enough. your eye color wasn’t anything special but he just felt like it was. your eyebrows so perfectly shaped, but natural.

he looked further down, to your body. he could care less but he had to take in the amount of beauty you carried..

your legs looked so perfectly long and smooth, you were obviously shorter than him, just right. your arms rested by your sides so perfectly as well. your cutely done nails, how your hands had no scars, obviously belonging to a woman who’s taken care of herself.

he listened as you spoke, your voice had no roughness, no cracks no nervous vibrations. it was smooth and quiet. calm.

you were sat next to him, what a coincidence. the teacher put you there temporarily next to rin because he was the top student, we could help you catch up.

Rin introduced himself to you, catching you looking at his lips as he spoke, he remained nonchalant and just did as he was told.

you had told him you weren’t very fluent in japanese, but knew the basics, you could understand japanese, just not speak. your father was japanese, from the kanto region, and had gone to america for work, meeting your mother.

he taught you many things and helped you improve your japanese.

a couple months passed, you had asked him to meet you on the stairs before the top floor.

thats where you had confessed to him, he could never forget what you said.

“itoshi-kun..i am very sorry if i butcher this but.. ive been meaning to tell you for a very long time, about how i feel. so if you will let me, may i share this with you?”

rin chuckled at the hesitation and nervousness in your voice, knowing you didnt have to be so fancy with honorifics or anything, or call him by his last name.

“Yeah sure, go ahead.” he smiled at you slightly.

“Ever since you and I got closer, Ive felt a weird feeling inside my chest. everytime i heard a girl talk about you my heart would sink. i started caring more about your whereabouts and opinions. i found myself being worried about you, and caring about what you thought. i would get up in the morning excited to see you, trying my best to look pretty for you. i tried to go to all your games and support you even if you wouldnt see me, even if i would blend in with other girls. i was glad i got to sit next to you, i am grateful for it now. because it led me to become closer to you, and not anyone else. Itoshi Rin, i like like you. i love you. and i want to be together, as a couple. i understand if you dont feel the same way bu-”

“y/n.. i love you too.”

you two went on to have the best memories together, you had told rin a 9 months into your relationship that you were a virgin. you two ended up having sex. you went out together, he met your parents, he didnt feel comfortable about his family so he left it at that. you understood.

you two were in love.

you guys went on to date for 2 years, but whenever rin turned 16 things started to get weird.

you and him were always fighting. he would ignore you at times, sometimes hours, sometimes days.

you were understanding of his soccer career, not that it was much of a career, yet you never told him.

you just wanted him to be there for you, with you.

the start of november, you decided to confront rin about it.

“Why do you always fucking ignore me for that shitty ass sport?! all you do is make fake promises and go on and say how youre sorry and youll do better but do the same thing but just worse. im not asking for alot itoshi but for the love of god please act like you fucking love me again.”

rin was on his last straw, he didnt know why he was so mad, maybe it was because by the day his brother was getting better and more popular, he was determined to be better than him, even if it meant ignoring you, and setting you aside.

“Look y/n, i dont fucking know why you care so goddamn much. mind your own fuckin’ business and find something to do. all you do is complain, i need space okay?! Im not sorry to say this, and im gonna dumb it down for ya, your annoying, wasting my time, and i just need you to leave me the fuck alone alright? stop fuckin’ running yer mouth and be good at somethin’ for once. fuckin’ bitch. all you use your damn mouth for is to complain, go get a job or sumthin’ i dunno. wish you never fucking came to japan.”

you never said anything and walked out of his house.

2 days later you had sent him a message sending him farewell and you loved and hoped he would grow on his journey as a soccer player.

ever since that day, no matter how much rin tried to find your whereabouts, he always failed.

he felt miserable. he wanted you back.

how could he? he said so many things to you, he meant them at the time, but it wasnt his fault. he didn’t mean to bottle everything up. he wouldve talked to you about it, maturely.

he blamed it on his brother, like he always did.

he thought it was some kind of bad luck spell Sae had given him.

Rin suffered in silence.

he missed you he missed your touch, the way you would look at him and hold him, how you would whisper cute things in his ear while you cuddled.

he missed how he would open every door for you, he made you bento boxes, he missed your home made chocolate. he missed how he would spot you in the bleachers at his soccer game, he would pretend to not see you out of embarrassment.

he dreaded sitting in the same seat he sat in whenever you met, seeing you sit next to some other random dude.

how could he just forget about you? when you’re there everyday at school. he hated seeing you look miserable, alone.

he knew you still werent that good with the language, so you were unable to make friends, let alone girl ones. they all hated you for your relationship with rin.

he was worried. he wish he could have you in his arms and tell you everything was going to be okay.

he felt extreme guilt as the days went by, remembering how you have your own family problems, your own health problems.

how did he just leave without a fight? how did he accept you two were done and went on with his day.

he remembered about all the memories. how you two had sexual relations, despite being dumb teenagers. you didnt do it more than 3 times, but he still thought of it as special.

he missed how you cradled him in your arms, rubbed his cheeks, gave him massages after practice or games.

he missed you playing with his hair. your kisses. your soft warmth of your body. everything.

he wish he chased you, fought hard to keep you, beg for you.

but he didn’t.

thats when the thoughts started happening.

rin would find himself on the edge of his bed thinking about how your life would be with another man.

he sat on the floor of his bathroom and sobbed, knowing there was a zero chance in hell you would forgive him for anything.

he hated himself. he hated what he was, who he was.

it got so bad rin started praying night. he prayed for you, about you, for both of you. he begged and sobbed to the man he believed was up in heaven somewhere judging him for his actions. the man he believed put him in this situation to suffer.

he would never harm himself, he knew that. but he fought his intrusive thoughts. he didn’t want to make any cuts on his arms, he always thought they were unnecessary.

instead, he unconsciously starved himself.

rin couldnt eat, he couldnt sleep.

he couldn’t take care of himself or his room, he was a mess.

he wanted to disappear, he wanted to just pretend he never came into this world. he hated his mother for birthing him, he hated his brother even more.

he couldn’t think anymore, he layed on his bed. staring at the inanimate objects around his room.

he missed you, he thought about you.

about your mother, and father whom he met.

about your siblings and pets.

he missed who he was.

he tried to forget those things

“try to forget her.” he said to himself as he woke up for yet another day of school.

rin liked to think he could telepathically, someway, talk to you when he really tried.

“i just hope you saved my number,” he thought, “Call me when you can.”

he knew you had blocked him, but had you really? what if you missed him too. what if you couldn’t forgive him, but you could miss him.

he thought surely you missed your long talks at night on the phone, cuddling with him, having lunch together.

was it all a blur to you? did your people not care for relationships?

Rin went out on walks sometimes, to help cope, to help him forget, to ease his mind. he stared at the ponds, the fish, the trees. the sky, the clouds. he wondered what the plants felt like, being all alone, unable to move or speak. how they felt whenever a dog would urinate on them, or how a tree felt when a couple carved their initials on it.

did they need to scream? cry? laugh?

he went into a state of derealization at one point, for about 2 days, he thought he wasn’t here.

he was just a ghost, you were a dream, his brother wasnt his brother, he was just a sad dead person with free time. alot of it.

he hated being here.

Rin repeated the same cycle everyday.

wake up, shower, eat breakfast, brush teeth get ready for school.

see you in class, sitting alone, sometimes with a random person you had assigned seats with.

go up to the rooftop for lunch, seeing you at the stairs as he went up, trying his best to not acknowledge you.

go to soccer practice

walk the path to your house, then to his.

check the mail. go inside his house.

take off his clothes, take a shower, lay in bed, and eventually, after some tears, fall asleep.

Rin felt lost, he lost his will to try.

he continued exceeded at sports and school.

that he never worsened in, he was always top 1 and remained that way.

that was until his teacher asked him to help you again, since you were failing.

“I understand if you two have broken up, it is none of my business really. But if you could set your arguments aside and focus on her academic work, that would be amazing. She’s really struggling again, Itoshi-kun. If you are unable to please let me know.”

Rin had a selfish feeling, he was glad to know that you were also struggling like him over the breakup.

he let his ego get to him, sometimes the thought that it might just be your family crossed his mind. but he always settled on that it was the fact that you two broke up.

rin planned to talk to you about class, of course it being just an excuse.

he decided he was gonna do it the following day, november 20th, 2018.

unfortunately, you weren’t at school that day.

he thought nothing of it, he was just gonna ask you tomorrow. same plan same everything.

he was gonna confess his feelings of regret, and guilt. he was going to own up to missing you.

rin went home that day, devastated, but a slight excitement for tomorrow.

he was happy, that tomorrow might be the day that everything goes back to normal.

he checked the mail.

he had received a letter, something claiming that he had been chosen to go into some stupid Blue lock project. saying the meeting is in september 4th.

he ignored it.. but it interested him. he was gonna go, he thought why not?

you hadnt gone to school all week.

rin asked his teacher if he knew why you hadn’t attended school, claiming he just needed to talk to you about tutoring you.

“Oh, y/n-san? she’s gone to america, to visit her grandmother, she should be back september 4th.”

september 4th? thats the day he had to go to that meeting. that tuesday he would be gone and you would be back.

he began to worry, what was he gonna do?

the day of came. he decided to go to the soccer program, figuring he would just see you the next day.

“is this the right place? it looks all weird. i wonder what bullshit they’ll say.” he scoffed, looking at the letters address slightly looking up, matching it to the building number.

they had told him they wouldn’t be allowed to go back home, they would stare at this Blue Lock, until they fought to find the best striker in japan.

Rin was angry. Angry at himself, angry at this strangers.

part of him lured him to do it. he wanted to become better. he wanted to be the best.

but what about you?

ive never written angst before i hope i did good for my first time..😭

[thefallenangelsgang]

As always, only half finished and kinda edited (as most of my bg3 writing is)

This is the Weave Lesson scene. I'm playing with using game dialogue and my own for kinda the first time for this maybe fic. I can't tell how it's going quite yet.

the only context you need for this scene is Gale spends his evenings practicing his spellbook in early levels and he gets frustrated at the pace he's crawling at. I have a fragment of this earlier in this scene where he slams his book onto his alchemy table (cause my game Gale was our potion brewer extraordinaire) and Wynleth hears glass breaking. its a passing mention in this.

(EDIT: there is something else. Wynleth describes being percieved directly by Lathander. This is a reference to her encounter with the god during her Paladin vows. I haven't ironed it out but the gist is she has spoken directly with the god once before)

I'm gonna also try a new way of formatting these posts.

------------------------------

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Gale huffs and runs his hands through his hair. I can see the mental battle he’s losing behind his eyes. Eventually he gives in.

“I’ve been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember. It’s like music, poetry, physical beauty all rolled into one and given expression through the senses. Mastering it felt as natural as breathing air. So losing it now feels like another kick in a series of blows to my ego. I suppose that was half of it.” He brings up that projection again. “She meant to bring low again, to humble me.” 

Absent-mindedly, he begins to play with his earring and exactly who is hovering above his palm dawns on me like a crashing wave. 

“Mystra?” 

He nods an affirmative while gazing wistfully up at the goddess that spurned him. 

I don’t know what to say. 

“Her idols don’t do her justice.” The words leave my lips before I really think about them. It’s true though, they don’t. The ones I’ve seen depict a sensual woman, clothing and hair animated by the very Weave she commands. Sharp features and languid poses that reek of the male gaze and look nothing like how Gale presents her now. It’s almost shocking how simply he paints her. She could be just another beauty walking the streets of Baldur’s Gate. “They truly don’t,” Gale whispers back.

“I’m ashamed to admit, the way you speak of the Weave makes me almost jealous. It seems so infinite.” Poetry and music and beauty. He truly has a way with words if he can make me crave something when my magic feels like the kiss of sunlight after a dark winter. 

The light comes back in his eyes as I shift the conversation. “Divine power must feel almost… limiting in comparison. Being only allowed as much as your deity sees fit.” Mystra’s visage is gone again, momentarily forgotten for the time being. The “More than you know,” dies swiftly on my tongue. He does know and that is the problem.

He gets an idea. I can tell by the look in his eye and the mischievous smile on his face as he pushes up to rest on his elbow. “Would you like to learn?”

What?

“You could teach me?”

He’s actually grinning now which makes me feel better. He’s not hung up on all this bullshit that’s going on. “Oh yes. Here-” He shifts into a seated position and takes my hands. Together we stand and move to the open space in front of his tent. I can't help but laugh softly at how serious he looks as he positions me and motions for me to stay put.

He turns away and makes for the table he has set up for his alchemical pursuits to retrieve his spellbook, snapping away the beaker I heard fall earlier. Prestidigitation. Perhaps that’s what he’ll teach me. I’ve heard it's a very useful spell with many applications, quick clean up being one of them.

He thumbs through the tome until he finds what he’s looking for based on the way his face settles in a self-satisfied expression. “This is a simple spell for channeling the Weave. See here-” He says as he positions himself just behind me and runs his finger over the sigil drawn on the page.

It’s brain-bendingly complex for a “simple spell.” Even the most complex healing sigils or anointments I had to learn were markedly less intricate. But it’s beautiful the way the lines curl and intersect. 

“It is, isn't it?” 

I must have said it out loud. Gale’s eyes are shining, they're so bright. He truly loves this. “Could you explain this to me, what all of this means?” I say, running my finger across the same path he did. There seems to be a start and end to the figure that the movement traces.

He launches into an explanation I only half understand but follow with rapt attention. What I do glean is I was right about the beginning and end and the segments of the glyph refer to different parts of the spell. Somatic, Verbal, and Material. This one only has Somatic and Verbal.

“I hope that wasn’t too hard to follow. I’ll admit, some of this stuff requires prior knowledge of spell composition.” 

He looks sheepish as he pulls the book away and goes to set it down gently off to the side so he can continue to consult it from afar. It’s endearing, his concern.

“Some of it certainly went over my head but I’ve read political treatise and legalese so dense they make your head spin. I’m no stranger to asking questions and learning more.” 

That seems to assuage him. He shakes out his arms and gives a winning smile. “Are you ready?”

“After you master wizard,” I say with a playful bow.

He makes a gesture that is almost like theatrically flipping something over in his hands. I watch astutely as something seems to glow from between them. Then he gestures for me to mimic him. I try my best. It’s a lot less confident than his, but from the wideness of his grin I’ve done it satisfactorily enough. Then a shiver goes up my spine as a feeling begins to overtake me. Warmth and… something I cannot place. It’s different from the sunlight of Lathander, or Shadowheart’s healing, or the electric crackle when Gale casts something. I must rock back at the sensation because Gale’s hand is there to meet me at the small of my back. “That’s the Weave. Don’t be afraid. You get used to it.”

It does feel like poetry. It feels like looking up from prose that touches your soul and letting the words sink into your skin and bury themselves in the very marrow of your being. I close my eyes at the feeling and let it wash over me. “More things on Heaven and Earth…” I say as I open my eyes.

“Indeed,” Gale matches my conspiratorial whisper. “That was the Somatic component. Are you ready for the Verbal?” I nod. “Repeat after me. Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao.”

The words are strange on my tongue but then the feeling somehow compounds, doubling, tripling in intensity. Gale’s voice is hushed in my ear as he leans in and whispers, “Now I want you to picture in your mind the concept of Harmony. As true as you can.”

My mind wheels through various options. Things I’ve been taught are harmony. People living in peace together. Unwavering Devotion to the Morninglord. People singing different words and notes but bringing together something transcendent and beautiful. 

None of it seems to fit. 

Harmony is this. It’s sitting in a Druid’s Grove full of people who just want to survive, surrounded by nature and beauty and finding a moment of peace despite the hell of our reality. It’s taking precious minutes of our lives for an impromptu magic lesson in a discipline I am wholly unfamiliar with. It's Gale's patience and my eagerness and this feeling rolling over me in waves. 

My hand finds Gale’s as a pulse of energy issues forth. 

An energy field envelops us. It plays with our clothes like a breeze in the absence of any detectable current. Weave. Purple and blue and as fine as spun sugar. It tastes sweet and floral and electric in a good way. 

Poetry and music and beauty all rolled into one. Gale has never been more right.

“It’s beautiful Gale.”

“That doesn’t even begin to describe it.” He muses, his eyes reflecting the beautiful light surrounding us.

“No. No it doesn’t, I choke out around an incredulous laugh. I feel the urge to weep and laugh and dance all at once. This is incredible.

Instead, we stand like this- Gale’s hand pressed against my back and his other clasped in mine- breathing in what feels to me like the cosmos for some time. 

“Do you feel her? Watching over us?” A reverent tone has taken over his voice as Gale breaks our reverie. Calling attention to it suddenly helps me put the feeling into words. We are being perceived by Mystra of all things. It’s a strange feeling, different than it was being perceived by Lathander. This is less direct, more idle than anything. It’s the comfort of knowing she is there. She is watching over us and keeping us safe. Tangible reassurance that your faith is not misplaced. This is a prayer answered.

“Thank you,” I say with a squeeze of my hand. We are making the most direct eye contact we have this entire encounter. No more passing glances that happen to meet or gazing at the other as they experience the majesty unfolding around us. Connection, true connection this time. 

“For what?” Gale breaths, like he truly doesn’t know what a gift this is. 

“For teaching me. For giving me a taste of what you experience everyday. For opening my eyes to this.” My free hand gestures around us and I mean to follow with my eyes but find I cannot tear them away. Gale looks so alive when surrounded by magic, in a way he isn’t when he is pursuing other things. It suits him handsomely. 

It sinks in exactly how intimate this moment is, the two of us connected not only by touch but by the very Weave itself. I could take a thousand nights just like this one and never tire. And what I would do for a lifetime of conversations about subjects like this one! Strolling arm in arm learning from each other. I am half-convinced even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.

As if in the same breath,  I am filled by an almost innate sense of how beautiful I look lit by the Weave. The way my green eyes compliment the hues of purple and blue and the copper of my hair stands out against the ethereal backdrop. It’s a strange and discordant thought. Not mine.

I think we both realize at the same time that they aren’t our thoughts, that perhaps the tadpoles have pulled a fast one on us or even the Weave has something to do with it. We both blush in unison and impressively. 

And then we laugh. 

Gale’s laugh is always loud and rapturous. Barking would be a good way to describe it. But it’s pleasant and jovial. It feels right every time I hear it. I get the sense mine is musical in the way horn instruments are. Not like peeling bells, but brassy and boisterous and unladylike. That makes sense, my grandmother hated my laugh. It was too masculine and unbecoming of a daughter of a noble house, my culturally masculine social position be damned. Which is a damn shame, it is a nice laugh. 

“I- Um- Well.” Gale clears his throat, still blushing. “Unexpected consequences. Not unwelcome ones! But unexpected all the same.” I’m still laughing, gently now. “There is no harm. I’m glad someone likes my laugh.” Gale blushes impossibly harder.

In a swift movement, like a breeze blowing smoke away, the spell dissipates. It’s almost frigid in it’s absence, or maybe it’s the act of Gale stepping away that brings the chill. I refuse to let him release my hand though.

“There it goes. As fleeting as the dawn, wouldn’t you agree?” He smiles at me, pleased at his metaphor. 

------------------------------

[sighonaraa]

Trick or treat!🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

november 26 is the new october 31st! you heard it here first folks!

for you, my lovely lovely friend, a wippet from the dear phoebe gift fic:

She chose a pale green Crayon, for the friend-dragon’s scales, and a bright yellow Crayon, for the friend-dragon’s belly. She placed the point of the green Crayon to the paper and was about to start sketching when her Uncle Roy said, in an odd, funny sort of way, “Would it be all right if I invited Jamie over for dinner tonight?” “Ooh!” Phoebe’s head snapped up. “Yes please!” She adored Jamie. He had soft hair he let her put butterfly clips in, and jokes that only he and Phoebe really understood, and he always had stories to tell. Last time he’d come over for dinner, he’d told her and her Uncle Roy about how he’d once ended up half-naked in the Thames as a result of some extremely fucking poor monetary decisions (her Uncle Roy’s words, not hers or Jamie’s). “And could you please remind him he still owes me seven pence?” “I’ll let him know,” said her Uncle Roy. He ruffled her hair and then left the room, presumably—a word that Keeley had taught Phoebe last week during book club—to text Jamie. Why he couldn’t text Jamie while sitting on the couch was a mystery to Phoebe, but adult men did strange things like that on occasion. That was another lesson that Keeley had taught her last week during book club.

[frog-with-no-therapy]

I want a spider X dcu but have Peter working at the league's base in space as a mechanic or a scientist, cause of course they will have the best material and information to help him make a way home. Except that Peter is weird.

Like, weird weird. Like, spider bite kind of weird with a hint of different culture from a different world kind of weird.

Listen most of his interactions with humans in their world is with them cause he's at the watchtower all the time, so his understanding of what is normal is a bit skew, and he probably also got used to acting more spidery, especially when in a lab or sm (courtesy of his time at the avenger tower where he doesn't really have to hide his spidery side)

Then you take into account him having a different kind of humour and a different set of memes and you have the whole justice league thinking he's secretly an alien

[secretlythatsme]

i really love dc x dp tbh but i hate how so many fics end up making the batfam dumb as shit. and i don't mean in a "loveable goof" kind of way but in a genuine "these people don't have the skills or intelligence to be heroes" kind of way. which is just antithetical to their entire thing

sometimes it's because the writer just genuinely doesn't know anything about the batfam or what they've been through so they come across as idiots. and other times it's because the writer is writing op ghost king danny or just generally op danny and they genuinely think he could outsmart or beat them. more often than not, it's a combination of the two.

it's just so sad. like not only is it disrespectul to the batfam, essentially getting rid of all the skills and experience they have just to prop up danny, but it also makes things a lot more boring imo. don't get me wrong, i don't mind the occasional "main character is super op" kind of story, but it's boring when like 70% of fics are like that and there's no real challenge or obstacle for him. part of why the show danny phantom was so fun was that it was exciting and chair gripping to see danny have to deal with his new ghost powers, figuring out how to deal with ghost attacks or vlad, and dealing with school and his parents on top of that.

but often, dc x dp fics just,, get rid of any challenge for him. sure batman is a skilled detective but danny will always be able to trick him! sure cass has been trained since birth to read people's body language but this random ghost teen knows how to conceal and control everything!! yeah damian has also been trained since birth to fight and kill but this random guy from the midwest who just started fighting in his teens is so much better!!! like, alright. it's fun every now and then but it sucks when so much of the dc x dp content is just people acting like the batfam are the worst vigilantes/detectives in the world.

and honestly i still feel this way even with the ghost king danny fics because how? he's never had to deal with people obsessively reading his body language or reading between the lines. he's had to deal with hiding stuff sure but his parents aren't the most observant people - their whole deal was being neglectful. even as a ghost king, why would he know how to outsmart, take advantage of, or beat the batfam in any capacity when he would still mostly deal with ghosts. it's a completely different skill set here - one that he likely wouldn't be prepared for. it'd be fine if they at least attempted to explain why danny would have those skills (like league danny aus) but most of them don't.

and i'm not saying danny couldn't do it at all, especially if it's a ghost king au, but i'm just tired of seeing the batfam constantly downplayed in these fics Just to make danny look better, smarter, stronger, etc. ik most people in the fandom are just danny fans but it really shows with how they treat, characterize, and shit on the dc characters just to prop danny up. it also serves to occasionally make danny look like an asshole when he intentionally messes with them and basically commits psychological torture for a goof.