#dealership au

[spiteless-xo]

Eren Jaeger is charming.

You rationalize to yourself that it’s because he works in sales—when he smiles at you, when he flirts, when he touches your arm—you’re supposed to fall in love with him. He wouldn’t be good at his job if you didn’t.

And of course, Eren’s girlfriend is stunning.

Dark-cropped hair to highlight her sharp jawline, a body crafted from hours at the gym and careful attention to diet, and tits bigger than your head. She’s beautiful, she’s perfect, and the two of them look flawless together in all of Eren’s photos hung in his office. The two of them seem like the ideal couple. They're madly in love and aren’t afraid to broadcast it to the world.

The only problem is, she’s not you.

But when you start to see the cracks in their flawless public facade, you find an opportunity to tilt things in your favour.

Your boss asks you to stay late a few nights each week to help do some filing while the bookkeeper is on maternity leave. It’s not rocket science and you’re able to figure it out without direction, but it takes a few hours and you’re usually the last person to leave each night.

Usually.

Recently, you’ve noticed that Eren has been staying at work late. He’s typically the type to clock out the second the clock hits 4 pm, so his change in behaviour leaves you curious.

His office is nowhere near the filing cabinets, but if you take the long way back to your desk at reception, you get to walk past his office. His door is always closed but he keeps the blinds on the window open, so when you make your way past you catch glimpses of him staring angrily at his computer screen, or his phone, or resting his chin on his hand as he scribbles on some papers.

What could he possibly be working on so late at night? Sales were down this year due to supply-chain issues, so he should be leaving work earlier, not staying late.

Your curiosity grows like a weed and you find yourself staying late on nights that you don’t need to. Keeping yourself occupied with busy work and walking past Eren’s office as many times as you can. You know that your persistence will eventually yield more information.

One night, your patience pays off.

When you walk down the hall toward Eren’s office, you notice that his door is sitting half-open. It's unusual—he always closes it when he works late.

You slow your steps, approaching his door carefully and cautiously and praying that your shoes don’t make noise on the tile until you’re close enough to his doorway to hear his deep voice mumbling into the phone.

He’s arguing with someone, that much you can tell, even when you can’t make out exact words. His tone is harsh—angry—and you quickly realize that he’s talking to his precious girlfriend. The one he posted a picture of on Instagram yesterday—her sitting at a cafe, wrapped in a dark red scarf with just a simple hashtagged caption.

Eren spits out each syllable of her name like he can’t tolerate how it feels on his tongue. His voice gets louder but you still can’t quite make out what he’s saying over the rushing of blood in your ears. You bite your tongue and hold your breath, desperate to know more, and accidentally find yourself pushing the door open further as you lean against it.

Dark green eyes meet yours instantly, but his tone doesn’t waver as he speaks on the phone. He wraps up the conversation quickly, throwing his phone down onto his desk when he hangs up.

He doesn’t look at you after that and you make slow, cautious movements toward him as you apologize profusely for eavesdropping. You explain that you’ve never heard him speak like that to someone before and you were just worried it was something serious.

Eren grunts in response and covers his face with his hands, resting his elbows on his desk as he breathes out with a huff.

You move closer—soft, slow steps like you're afraid he might run off—until you’re making your way around to the back of his desk. You seat yourself on the wood, crossing your legs until your knee brushes against his arm and he finally looks up at you.

He looks defeated and you feel a sick sense of victory brewing in your gut.

You offer him some words of comfort and a soft smile as you reach out to rest your hand on his shoulder. You’re surprised when he melts into your touch, gaze wavering slightly as he looks up at you.

Feeling bold, you gently stroke down his arm, running your hand up and down along his bicep, feeling the firm muscle underneath the thin fabric of his dress shirt. You swear you can see his breath catch in his throat when you bring your hand back up to his shoulder, fingering softly at the collar of his shirt.

He thanks you for being kind and asks that you keep this to yourself. He doesn’t need Karen from accounting to know the details of his relationship problems.

Of course, Eren. Your secret is safe with me. Always.

He smiles up at you and rests his hand on yours. It’s warm and heavy against your skin and when you intertwine your fingers with his, he doesn’t pull away.

You can be charming, too.

[melmedarda]

Modern au car salesman Jayce is great at selling cars because he's a car fanatic. He juggles between the same three suits everyday. When selling cars, he explains to customers the inside mechanics of the vehicle, the specs of the engine, and how they work together as well as how to upkeep. For some he can recite the entire user manual. The women buy what he sells because he sounds like he knows what he's talking about and also, he's very pretty. The men buy the car because they want him to shut up. No one really cares about listening to his spiel on cars and their intricacies. He doesn't have a driver's license. His strange obsession with cars stems from when his father died in a car accident, which isn't healthy but he makes it work (hence a job as a car salesman). He doesn't drive a car himself, but takes the train to work. He lives with his mother. He tries dating, and is really good at getting laid, but the relationships don't stick. No one wants to listen to him talk about cars on every single date. His last date told him that if he liked cars so much, maybe he should date one. And then Jayce deadpanned and said that's not possible. His date told him to go to therapy and then blocked him. Jayce has exactly two friends. One is Caitlyn, a TSA agent who has a singular love of planes and an obsession with the Alaska triangle. Her parents bought her a tubroprop for her birthday, because she wanted to become a pilot, but she's afraid of heights so she hasn't learned to fly. His second friend is Viktor, a CNA who moonlights as theoretical physicist and talks in uber scientific terms no one can really understand. He drives an electric car Jayce sold him. They all get along like a house on fire. To hear the three of them have a conversation would confound even the most socially adept individuals.

[zappedbyzabka]

Never forgetting how real this was

[byberbunk2069]

I'm gonna have to study the new metro system because I have a scenario for 2078 that is *kind of* like the Warriors where most of the gangs of NC get together to chase down Veil and her friends after Veil failed to make good with her payment to a second hand car dealer when she bought a used Militech Hellhound from him

[queenevac]

WELCOME TO THE MOST MUNDANE AU

That's right we're making an AU out of a (used) CARDEALER SHIp LETS GO

[fexalted]

everywhere i go... i'm reminded of him.........

[celestie0]

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

in holy matriphony ch3. domestic encounters

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 mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

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

ᰔ chapter. 3/x (probably 10)

ᰔ word count. 14.1k (i like this number)

a/n. hello hellooo my ihm bb's :'') so good to see you all again. so this is actually the first half of an original 26k word chapter 3 that i had written lmfaooo i genuinely entertained the idea of posting a 26k word chapter but like gat damn. idk i thought it would be too much. so there is this first part which is 14k and then the next chapter will be 12k! anywho, this chapter was fun to write, there's still a lot of set-up tho hahah. ihm has been really fun to write for me cuz it's kinda chaotic but chill at the same time lol :0 i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 (pending)

“Soooo…..ready to consummate the marriage?”

You turn fast on your heel, so fast that Gojo almost trips over his own Welcome mat at his doorstep in an attempt to not accidentally topple over you, which you’re sure by the sheer size he has on you would’ve killed you or at the very least paralyzed you from the neck down, so it’s a good thing his hands fly out of his pockets then brace himself on the wood paneling above the door. 

“Wha–” you stutter, “what?!”

He stands up straight before leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms, the sleeve fabric of his suit stretching across thick muscle but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking. “The marriage technically isn’t valid unless we consummate it.”

You roll your eyes and dig your finger into your heel to take it off and then do the same with your other, relishing in the freedom of your feet from the shackles of constrictive feminine clothing articles, although you’re a solid two and a half inches shorter again. “I would rather make love to one of those inflatable balloon salesmen at car dealerships that flail and flap around in the wind than let you touch me for the purpose of sex.”

“Fuck that’s harsh,” he laughs, like he’s genuinely impressed by the comeback this time, “so a dead bedroom then, huh?”

“Can’t be dead if it was never alive in the first place,” you mumble as you tread into his house and toss the documents envelope you had been holding onto the coffee table. You hear Gojo make his way across the hardwood floor behind you paired with the metal clanking of keys as he throws them into the paper mache bowl on the foyer table. 

“By the way,” you hear him say, and you turn your torso slightly to side eye him only to see that he’s casually taking his suit jacket off with a flip of it backwards, “who was that guy in the courtroom that was glaring daggers into my soul?”

Your eyes widen briefly. And then you sigh. “My ex.”

He pulls the jacket off behind him by the sleeves and tosses it onto the loveseat. “Huhhh. You used to date a cop? You don’t seem like the type.”

“What?” you say as you face him fully. He’s loosening his tie now with a tug. “Why not?”

“You’re kinda…delinquent. Figured a cop would like a more ‘docile’ woman,” he says.

“You sound creepy as fuck,” you say, grimacing a little as you narrow your eyes at him.

He sighs before tossing his tie off to the side as well. “I don’t agree with it. I’m just getting into their headspace. Everyone knows how cops are. Y’know, controlling.”

“Choso is different,” you immediately spat back at him, before your head can even run the words through a filter, and you realize it came off as defensive. Your cheeks warm, because now it looks like you’re not over your ex. And you want to be. Why were you still protecting Choso’s dignity?

Gojo blinks at you, a little surprised before he swallows slowly and he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender. “Alright. I believe you.”

You turn away from him and worry your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling awkward before you scratch your elbow and then turn back to face him again. “Well. If you run into him around town,” you say, “can you try to make him feel emasculated and jealous? He did me dirty.”

Gojo runs a hand through his hair. “Uhhh. How?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, “brag about how great our sex life is or something.”

“But we have a sexless marriage.”

“Oh, yes, speaking of this sexless marriage,” you start, jutting your hip out to the side as you cross your arms sternly, “there are some ground rules that need to be set between you and I.” You point between the two of you.

“Ground rules?” he mimics after you as he undoes the top couple buttons of his white dress shirt, “like what?”

You hold a finger up. “Like no touching.” You hold another finger up. “Obviously, no sex.” You hold another finger up. “No sneaking into my room in the middle of the night.” You hold another finger up. “No peeping in on me while I’m showering.” You hold another finger up. “No ogling me around the hou–”

“These rules sound incredibly one-sided,” he snorts. 

“Yeah, well, don’t break them, you creep.”

“And if I catch you ogling me around the house?” he asks. 

You roll your eyes. “Such a thing will not happen.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he sarcastically affirms, and he approaches you which makes you flinch a little but you realize he’s just walking past you towards the living room.

“Y–” you stutter, “you heard me, right? Once I start living here, you have to adhere to these rules.”

He waves his hand in the air dismissively with his back facing you. “Yes ma’am.”

Your eye twitches slightly, and you storm towards him only to watch him slump down onto his couch, knees spread wide as he leans forward with a small grunt to grab the remote off the coffee table before settling back again. He lays an arm up and stretched across the backrest of the couch before he turns the TV on and scrolls through news channels. 

You make your way in front of him, obstructing the view of the TV, and he leans off to the side to try to catch a glimpse at the screen but you reposition your body so that he still can’t see it. His eyes slowly move to you and he has an irritated look on his face. 

“I’m tryna watch CNN,” he says. 

“Punishment,” you say, “for breaking any of these rules will be severe.”

He raises an eyebrow, interested all of a sudden as he tosses the remote back onto the coffee table and leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Oh? What’s the punishment?”

Honestly, you don’t know. You just want to threaten him to keep him in line. Forget the fact that he’s the one doing you the favor here with this marital arrangement, and yet you’re threatening him. But it has to be done. “You don’t want to find out,” you say, trying to sound as eerie as possible.

“Not knowing what it is makes me want to find out,” he tells you, his knee swaying side to side like a dog wagging its tail. 

You briefly glance down, and for fucks sake why is all of his clothing so perfectly fit and stretched taut whenever he does anything? You try not to eye the shape of his thighs as the black fabric stretches while he’s seated.

You clench your fists at your side, worry your bottom lip under your front teeth, furrow your brow and blink rapidly from not being able to come up with something to say, and Gojo seems to read this as worry before he laughs a little.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m not gonna break any of your silly rules, despite how tempting it might sound to me.”

“I don’t believe you,” you mutter as you walk around the couch towards the kitchen, feeling thirsty all of a sudden. 

“Seriously. I won’t. You’re not my type,” he says from behind you on the couch, with a tone that tells you he’s trying to sound reassuring but it really just pisses you off even more, “I don’t really go after women with daddy issues.”

“Wha–” you gasp, offended, and you spin on your heel to glare at the back of his head. “Who the fuck said I have daddy issues?!?!”

“No one has to say it, I can feel it,” he says as he continues to clicks through channels.

You pick an avocado up out of the pile of fruits from the bowl at the center of the island, holding it over your shoulder to charge up as much kinetic energy as possible so you can chuck it at him hard enough to knock him unconscious, and it’s like he senses the malice radiating off of your body because he looks over his shoulder at you.

“What’s that in your hand?” he asks.

“A grenade,” you say, “that I’m gonna launch at you.”

“Oh, thank god,” he exhales in relief, “I almost thought it was an avocado for a second.”

You deadpan stare at him. “I don't find you funny.”

“I think I’m pretty funny,” he says mindlessly, like he’s just arguing with you for the sake of arguing.

“No. I have never once laughed at a single thing you’ve ever said. Only grimaced with disgust,” you say.

He sighs. “Look at us. We’ve barely been married for an hour and we’re already fighting.”

You abandon your empty glass on the counter, shuffling around the corner towards the front entrance of the house because you can feel the headache from your pure annoyance starting to creep up on you. You sense Gojo’s eyes on you from the couch as you shove your feet back into the uncomfortableness of your heels. 

“Where are you going?” he asks. 

“Back to my house,” you grumble, wobbling a little when you take a step towards the door and place your hand on the handle.

“When are you gonna move in?” he asks suddenly.

You freeze in your tracks at his question. You’ve never heard the question before, because you’ve never had the chance to live anywhere that wasn’t your childhood home next door. So the question is jarring at best, and threatens to make you cry a little at worst. 

“Once I get my mom into hospice,” you say, quiet enough to where it’s possible he might not have even been able to hear it over the sound of presidential election updates. And then you make your way out of his house. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

It’s a beautiful sunny spring morning, clouds trailing by across the sky offering momentary relief from the heat reaching the pavement, and you’ve got a good marching band walk going on as you stroll down the sidewalk of your neighborhood for your morning walk. Well, that phrase implies that you go on morning walks often. You really don’t, you very rarely have the time or energy. But today you decided it was time to turn your life around (your running shoes will see you same time next month). 

You hear some commotion off at the right side of the street, and when you lift your head up a little to clear the obstructed view of your sun visor, you see a couple of cops standing on a lawn, chatting up your elderly women neighbors with their laughter bolstering in the air. One of the cops turns around, making eye contact with you, and—  of fucking course, it’s Choso.

“Oh, fuck me,” you mutter under your breath and try to walk faster down the sidewalk in Korean ahjumma style. 

“Hey! y/n! Wait!” you hear him call out and he jogs across the street to catch up with you.

You continue to military march down pavement. “What do you want, Choso? Why are you stalking me?”

He runs up in front of you to stop you in your tracks. You frown at him and cross your arms across your chest. “I’m not stalking you,” he says, “I got a call about a stray dog out here.”

“Oh. Wonderful. So glad to know our officers are keeping us safe from cute street dogs,” you say, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“The dog had rabies. It bit an old man. Had to put it down,” he deadpans.

“O-Oh,” you stutter, cheeks flushing, “well, then, leave? Your job here is done.”

“I just—” he starts, “I want to—” He sighs, looking flustered like he’s trying to gain some sort of courage. And you’re almost entirely certain he didn’t need to garner this much courage to face a rabid dog than he seems to be needing for you. “I, uh, I want to meet your husband.”

“W-What??” you exasperate.

“To say congrats,” he says, but through gritted teeth.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah fucking right. You just wanna abuse your po-po powers to arrest him then throw him into jail then kill him to leave me widowed so that I’ll get back together with you and make a fool out of myself all over again.”

“Your capacity for catastrophization never fails to amaze me,” he says.

You’re pretty sure your therapist said something similar to you last week, too. 

“Ahhh!! y/n!!” you hear a familiar feminine voice call from down the street, and both you and Choso turn your heads toward the source of the sound.

Amaya, your neighbor, who is roughly thirty-weeks pregnant at the moment and therefore waddling down the street to get to you, is waving her arms in the air as her husband as well as another one of your neighbors follows after her. She finally reaches you and takes your hands into hers. “I haven’t seen you in forever!! How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s doing well…just getting by,” you say awkwardly, as Choso’s cop partner also approaches this little group that’s forming here, along with the elderly neighbors that he had been talking to. 

“Doctors taking good care of her?” Amaya’s husband, Ren, asks you with a twisted expression on his face and arms tightly crossed over his chest like he was gonna beat the doctors up if they weren’t. 

“Yes…” you say, “although, I think I’ll be transferring her care to Kaiser.” Oh. Fuck. You should’ve kept that to yourself. Big mouth.

You can feel Choso’s eyes on you as he watches this interaction between you and your neighbors. 

“Oh! That’s interesting,” Amaya says, and as her hands soothe over yours, she feels the bump of the ring on your left hand. She glances down. “H-Huh??? Is this a wedding ring?!”

Choso crosses his arms and tucks his hands under his armpits in your periphery.

“Y…yeeeeesss…” you say awkwardly.

“You’ve finally married?” your elderly neighbors chirp out at the same time.

You shoot them a dirty look over the word finally. “Yes.” Please drop the subject, please drop the subject.

But Amaya has always been the gossipy nosy neighbor. “To who??”

Choso snaps his face to you, intently studying your body language. You take a deep breath.

“I-I didn’t tell you?? I married Satoru!!” you chirp, as if it was a normal thing.

“Ehhh?!” you hear multiple of your neighbors’ voices call out. 

“You married Satoru??? But you hate him!!” Amaya blurts out, her voice loud and echoing down the street of the neighborhood.

“I—” you stammer, ducking your head a little to hide behind your visor, “um, oh, y’know…those feelings just…snuck up on me!”

“Awwww good for youuu,” Amaya coos, and one of your elderly neighbors comes up to you with a cheeky smile to then rubs your arm approvingly, “he’s sooooo handsome, you’re so lucky!!”

Ren lets out a hmph over his wife’s flattery of another man, and you roll your eyes, wanting to put Gojo in his place even in the face of just your neighbors, but then you remember that a loving wife wouldn’t say something like his personality makes him an ugly rat. 

“But when did this happen?” Choso’s partner speaks up, his voice accusatory. Choso hits his partner’s chest vest with the back of his hand, as if to say cut it out.

You feel pissed off at that.

“Oh yeahhh, you and Choso only recently broke up!” Amaya says, pointing between the two of you.

You purse your lips together from the anxiety of this entire conversation. “Three weeks ago. Choso and I broke up three weeks ago,” you say, not even sure why you’re disclosing your personal matters to this group of congregated people, but the peer pressure was damning, and you’re pretty sure silence on this subject in front of your neighbors would only make Choso more suspicious, “and—” you had to get your story straight, “well…within those three weeks, Satoru and I just…got to know each other.”

“Eh?” Ren speaks up. “But he was out of town for two weeks. He only came back a week and a half ago.”

You blink at him.

“Ohhh yes, yes, that’s right, honey,” Amaya agrees with a slow nod in remembrance as she pats her husband's chest, “those chocolates he brought us were from London, right?”

Choso tilts his head at you, giving you a glare with the intent of having you crack under this pressure, because you’ve just been caught in a cold hard lie. More importantly, how the fuck did you not notice that Satoru had been gone for TWO WEEKS??? He was your next door neighbor. You’ve seriously been so damn out of it these days. Also, why the fuck didn’t he get you chocolates from London?!?!?! The fucking snake. 

“A marriage within three weeks is a little odd, no?” Choso’s partner speaks up, but with less of a casual conversation tone and more of a I sense something illegal going on here tone.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Choso sighs, taking a step to stand in front of you. “Let’s all get on with our days. She doesn’t have to share any information she doesn’t want to.”

You blink in surprise at Choso’s words, of which all your neighbors acknowledge albeit slightly reluctantly as they wave goodbye to you and start dispersing back to their homes. Choso’s partner gets some notice through his radio, and he pulls it from the velcro of his chest to speak into it before heading back to their cop car with a slight jog. Once everyone is gone and it’s just you and Choso again, he turns around to face you. His arms are still crossed at his chest while he wears a very skeptical and almost reprimanding look on his face.

“What are you up to, y/n?” he immediately asks you, and you feel goosebumps tickle your skin even in the heat. “I really hope it’s not something fishy. Or illegal.”

You swallow hard. You know the U.S. federal codes in the law for marital & insurance fraud like the back of your hand, since you read through them hundreds of times before deciding if your arrangement with Gojo would be worth it. 8 U.S.C. 1033 and 18 U.S.C. 371 provide for a penalty of up to ten years in prison for insurance fraud. And under that statute, you can also be fined up to $250,000. The best case scenario is that you just have to divorce Gojo, and forfeit your chances of ever recovering from your crippling debt. And while it’s hard to prove marital fraud, Choso had reason for a personal vendetta against you, and he has the resources to launch an investigation. 

“Why would I do something illegal??” you ask, as if to convince him that the possibility was absurd. 

He takes a step closer to you, and your breathing picks up. “People do illegal things all the time,” he says, “for the thrill, out of curiosity,” another step closer, “the most common reason that I’ve seen?” He’s so close to you now that you catch the familiar scent of his skin. “Desperation.”

You catch a small gasp of air from his imposition in your personal space, and finally, your weak legs manage to take you a step back. 

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about here,” you say with a shaky voice.

He raises an eyebrow at you. And then he sighs. “Stay out of trouble.”

Your eye twitches at him, annoyance resurging but you have to bite your tongue for self preservation. Gojo’s words about cops liking more docile women ring in your ears for a brief moment, and you have to physically shake your head to get his voice out of it. 

His partner yells for him from his car, something about a call they got for a robbery downtown, and Choso spares you a warning look before he turns on his heel and jogs back to the car. The sound of police sirens mimic the panic in your beating heart as you watch them speed off down the street and out of sight.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

You pull into your neighborhood at the early hours of the morning, skin feeling dry and eyes feeling heavy with exhaustion as you yank your hospital badge clip off your scrub top to toss onto the passenger seat along with your stethoscope, releasing it from your neck like pulling a noose loose. 

Before your shift last night, you had to take your mom to the hospital because she was have shortness of breath, and her oxygen saturation was low on her pulse oximeter. She’s stable now, it was just yet another flare up of her COPD, but given her other risk factors, the hospitalist admitted her to monitor her overnight and through to the evening today if all goes well. Which meant that you could have the house to yourself for once. It might sound selfish to say, because shouldn’t the more dominant feeling be I hope my mom will be okay, but the reality was that there’s only so much of that worry you can have at a time. It doesn’t mean you’re not thinking of her literally every second of the day. It just means you’re human. 

The weirdest thing about working the night shift is seeing everyone else’s days start while yours is just ending. There’s a bit of satisfaction with it. Like imagining laughing at their faces ha ha! You have to go to work now at seven in the morning, meanwhile I get to sleep! as if working the night shift doesn’t lead to substantially higher rates of cardiovascular disease and other chronic illness, as well as an early death. So who really got the last laugh? Day shift workers. Literally.

It wasn’t something you did because you liked working the night shift. You do it because you get paid a 20% differential for it. And you need all the money you can get right now.

Your brain seems to be working more than usual if you’re able to think about all these things after a shift. Swiftly pulling into the driveway of your home, around the hull of Gojo’s obnoxious boat in the driveway, you get out of your car with your purse hanging from your shoulder and just before you shut the door, you see one of your elderly neighbors waving at you from across the street. You’re pretty sure her name is Margaret, but you’re awful with names. You do remember that she was in the posse of neighbors that were flocking you yesterday and asking you pushy questions about your marriage in the presence of Choso. And your body stiffens a little. 

She tilts her head at you as you stand in your driveway, and you awkwardly glance over at Gojo’s house.

“Oops!” you chirp from across the street, “always forget to pull into the Hubby’s driveway instead! Silly me!!”

You grab your emergency overnight stay bag from the back of your car and hurry over to Gojo’s house, knocking on the door incessantly and ringing the bell so as to not arouse any more suspicion from your neighbors about why two married people aren’t living together. “Forgot my keys!! Hahahhahaha,” you exclaim while your pounding on the door intensifies. You’re sure you're just being paranoid, because why would sweet old lady Margaret (Janice? Patricia?) snitch on you? But you’ve been paranoid all your life. It’s one of your fatal flaws. 

The door opens suddenly, right as you were about to pound harshly once again, and you stop the motion in time to not sock Gojo in the abdomen with your fist. He blinks down at you, his face a little puffy from sleep, his hair shooting out in all different directions, and he scratches at his chest through the thin cotton of his shirt, one he clearly threw on last minute before opening the door considering the fact that he put it on backwards. And inside-out. 

“Huh? y/n?” he mumbles, his voice deep and kind of raspy with sleep, “what are you doing here?”

“Just let me in,” you hiss at him, glancing over your shoulder to your elderly neighbor's lawn for a second, and then duck under his arm that was holding the door open to get inside the house.

You turn around to see him shrug his shoulders and slowly close the door, clearly too tired to deal with the bullshit this early in the AM, and he turns around to face you before leaning back onto the surface. His eyes close, like he’s trying to preserve the sleepy feeling for when he gets back into bed.

“Can I help you?” he says. His head falls back with a small thump to rest on the door.

“I’m going to sleep here for the night. Er, for the day,” you say. “I will move in starting today.”

“Okay,” he easily agrees.

You blink at him. “Um. Show me to my room.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, scratching the back of his neck as he heads for the stairs with the shuffle of his slippers across the hardwood floor. You note that he is very easily malleable and overall smooth brained when he’s sleepy. You try to ignore the fact that you find it kinda cute. 

You follow him up the stairs and he leads you across the loft into a hallway studded with a couple of doors. He opens one of them for you, his head drifting a little like he’s about to fall back asleep. “Here you go,” he says while gesturing inside the bedroom and rubbing his eye with a weakly closed fist, “guest bedroom. Uh, there’s another one near the master too that’s a bit bigger, but this one has a lock on the door. So that I don’t sneak into your room in the middle of the night.”

“Thanks,” you accept and head inside. You set your emergency overnight stay bag on the bed and then turn around to face the door to find Gojo still standing in the frame. He has his hands pushed into the pockets of his pajama pants as he squints at you. 

You feel…a little…nervous? Shy? Who the fuck were you to be shy in front of Gojo? You really don’t give a damn what he thinks about you, since a lion does not concern itself with the opinions of a sheep (you’ve been doing reruns of Game of Thrones this past week), but starting today, you’ll be in his territory, and this whole situation is so domestic that you feel vulnerable in front of him. Like the sheep somehow managed to splay the lion open this time, and now the real you is on display for him. You’re suddenly self conscious of the unruly state of your hair and the stains of IV fluid on your black scrubs and the fact that the allegedly flake-proof mascara you put on at the beginning of your shift has long since flaked all over your cheeks.

“Um. Can you leave?” you say in a small voice.

“Huh?” he responds, like he himself forgot that he was still standing there. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” He lets out a very long exhale. “Make yourself at home.” And then, still facing you, he walks off to the side veeeeeeery slowly until he’s out of sight.

You walk up to the doorframe and peak your head around to the left to see him still standing there.

“Satoru. Stop treating me like I’m some animal at the zoo. Leave.” 

“It’s just so weird seeing you in my house like thi—”

You slam the door on him, your breathing finally slowing down again as your palms lay flat on painted white wood. You move your hand down to the handle, thumb and forefinger lingering on the lock as you look at it for a moment, but ultimately decide against locking it.

The room has a bathroom attached to it which is nice. The bed is a queen size, fitted with light blue and eggshell white sheets, tucked neatly spare for one corner of the bed where the duvet is flipped over. To the left of the bed is a nightstand and to the right is a dresser that looks very new. You take a glance at your reflection in the mirror sitting above it, and let out a small gasp at your less than flattering appearance. 

A five minute shower does you wonders, and you pat yourself dry with a towel that matches the shower curtain. You find one of your floor-length vintage nightgowns, with the long frilly sleeves, after rustling through your overnight stay bag, along with a toothbrush and some moisturizer. 

As you brush your teeth, you pace around the room. There’s a little staggered rack near the window that is lined with plants and the blinds are angled perfectly for sunlight to get through to them. You poke your finger to one of the plant’s soil and notice that it’s damp. Been watered recently. Gojo is a plant guy? He really doesn’t seem the type. Well, actually, he’s pretty vain about his avocado tree. But houseplants were a different story. A whole different trope of person.

After getting ready for bed, you slip into the sheets and lay stiff despite the comfortable mattress as you stare up at the ceiling with the duvet tucked under your arms. It’s bright in the room. Back home, you have blackout curtains, which help you sleep because it blocks out the morning light. Here, you don’t have that. You don’t have your melatonin either. But you do have the exhaustion in your veins, making you blink slowly and slowly until the water in your eyes feels as thick as oil. You’re so tired to the point that you can’t even sleep.

You force your eyes to close anyway. You’ll pretend you’re a queen in a palace, here in a foreign land she has recently conquered under her empire. A daydream that you find doesn’t really help you drift off to sleep. But counting sheep never fails you. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

You awake in the afternoon with a headache that pounds at your head like the FBI is trying to infiltrate your own mind. And all you can hear now is the FBI OPEN UP!!! meme as you groan and rub at your temples with one hand while leaning over the bed to pet at the nightstand for your go-to bottle of Tylenol just to–

Pet around at nothing.

“Mm?” you mumble, opening your eyes cautiously before harsh light makes you close them again. But even behind the protection of your eyelids, you’re still very keen on the brightness that finds you in this room. Finally, you’re able to blink the sleepiness away and adjust to the light, and when the blur of your vision subsides, you realize that you’re in a bed that is most definitely not your own. And then you remember.

You spent your first night (well, technically morning and early afternoon), at Gojo’s house.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, balled up fist rubbing at your eyes ferociously as you sit groggy from the sleep that enveloped you so performatively after your shift last night. You can’t even remember coming to his house, which is concerning, since that could mean you forgot to do a lot of other things when coming home. Like changing your clothes, and scrubbing your make-up off. But it seems like habit and routine has saved you, since you glance down and see yourself in one of your nightgowns and your skin doesn’t feel dry.

A loud thud! noise from directly beneath you startles you, jolting some of the sleepiness out of you, and you finally feel inclined to head out the door.

You make it across the loft and to the top of the staircase so you can peer over the railing to the downstairs floor. But from the top, you can’t see anything except for the entry area and the family room, but you assume the sounds you hear are coming from the kitchen, because it sounds like the closing of a fridge and ceramic on marble paired with footsteps on hardwood. Lifting the hem of your nightgown up so you don’t trip over it, you creep down the stairs, diligent in avoiding the 2nd and 7th step (you’ve since learned that they creak a little), and make steady progress in getting to the bottom of the stairwell to then stealthily peak your head around the rail and peer into the kitchen. You only have a view of one side, the long counter strip with the stove and the fridge, but you freeze when you’re met with the sight of a man standing there shirtless pouring orange juice into a coffee mug.

You’re temporarily shocked, your fight of flight immediately kicking in as you clutch the imaginary pearls around your neck in fear…but then…you slowly…find yourself starting to stare. This man’s back is huge, massive really…with tense and defined muscles, expansive smooth lines with ridges that meet bone. His shoulders are broad, rounding down into strong arms that are split with veins. And your eyes trail the way his waist narrows down to his hips, of which gray sweatpants very loosely hang from. Honestly, if the door in the movie Titanic was as large as this man’s back, then maybe Rose AND Jack could have fit on it and survived. (a/n. basically picture this)

And in the middle of your drooling, you realize. That this man. Is. Gojo.

Which should be a relief to you, because if it wasn’t Gojo, and there was just some random man in the house, then you’d have to start looking for a weapon of sorts. But instead you just continue to watch him silently without coming out of your hiding. Shirtless in his own kitchen (a crime, really) as he pours OJ into a black mug (who the fuck drinks juice from a coffee mug). He suddenly turns around to face the island and a small gasp leaves your lips before you duck your head behind the rail to hide yourself from his line of sight, and when you realize you’re in the clear, you slowly peak your head back out.

The sight of his chest and torso nearly knocks you breathless, because why is his skin so smooth…and taut across the defined muscles of his abs, glistening with a sheen you can only guess is a salty layer of sweat. His fringe is damp, sticking to his forehead and the sides of his face, a droplet of sweat rolling down from his temple towards his chin but he uses his bare shoulder to wipe the sweat off before it can get that far. He brings the mug of OJ to his lips and tips it back with a swallow, the thick muscles of his neck rippling and rolling with the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, a singular droplet of orange juice escaping from the corner of his lips, trailing down the vein on his neck and into the territory of his chest. Okay. You were being creepy as fuck right now. He can’t find out that you’re staring at him like this, you’d literally move to a different country if he ever caught you. And yet, for some reason, you just can’t stop either. 

He pulls the mug from his mouth, letting out a large exhale since he literally just gulped it all down in one go. He places his palms flat on the table, slightly distant from one another, as he takes in the sight of his counter, while you take in the sight of the way his biceps bulge and the veins on his thick forearms tense. He looks like he’s contemplating something. And then he shrugs his shoulders slightly before grabbing the carton next to him and chugging straight from it, like whatever he poured himself wasn’t enough to quench the thirst for citrus juice he seems to have after–you can only assume–the workout he just had. 

There’s a deep noise that’s muffled in his throat in the second before he pulls the carton away from his mouth and his eyes glance at something on the floor. You can’t see what it is, but you can see the marvelous shape of his ass through his sweatpants– I mean, you can see him furrow his brow a little and then he’s suddenly crouched down on the floor, ducked behind the island and out of sight, before he mutters something that you think sounds like damn fridge…

You stand on your tiptoes on the last step, trying to peer over the obstructing view of the counter, but you trip over the hem of your nightgown, losing balance and–

–fall straight onto the hardwood in front of you, on all fours. 

“Ah,” you exclaim blandly, and in your periphery, see Gojo suddenly stand up straight from his crouched position.

“y/n?” he calls out from the kitchen, his tone surprised.

“Sorry!” you chirp as you feel embarrassment creeping up on your cheeks, “just, uh, fell down the stairs!”

“What?!?” he exclaims in a panic, and you forgot that most people would panic if someone said that to them. He rushes over to you and gets down on one of his knees to peer at your face, his hand shooting out to grab your upper arm with little delicacy out of concern, and his eyes roam all across you to assess for injuries. “Are you okay??”

“Just!” you chirp as you yank your arm out of his hold, “Peachy!” You’re not able to make eye contact with him as he remains kneeled next to you, but you can’t find yourself able to move either. So you just relish in the ridiculous feeling of being on all fours in your vintage grandma nightgown in front of your shirtless and, breaking news: very hot, fake husband. God you can smell the musk and sweat from him when he’s this close, and it’s sexy. You have to be careful to not just straight up mount him on the floor right now. Much to your aroused dismay. 

“Um,” you squeak out, “can you put a shirt on.”

“Huh?” he looks down at himself, like he forgot he’s half naked. “Oh. Yeah.” He stands up. “Sorry, I’m not really used to having someone in the house anymore,” he says, and his use of the word anymore isn’t lost on you. 

He heads over to the coat closet, pulling a gray sweatshirt that’s a shade darker than his sweatpants off of a coat hanger and then pulling it on over his head. He pulls the hood off, and now his hair looks damp with sweat and sexily ruffled up. And he’s also in a comfy-looking sweatshirt. That was way hotter than being shirtless, for fucks sake. You wonder if he’d reconsider being shirtless again. He’s kneeling down beside you once more, and yes you are still on all fours just staring down at the hardwood floor like an animal paralyzed with fear. 

“Have some decency, please. Especially since I am to start living here from today onwards. I would appreciate modesty around the house,” you say as a tactic of self preservation. “Take note of my attire–appropriately covering all skin.”

“Are you gonna stand up?” he asks you.

“No. I shan't.”

“What? Why not? And why are you talking like that?” 

“It appears I am frozen.”

“Are your knees okay?”

“I believe so.”

He sighs and gets up from his knelt position, then suddenly comes up behind you, bending over to wrap his arms around your waist tightly before picking you up with the same ease in which someone would pick up a plastic lawn chair. You gasp, still retaining your four-legged creature formation, until he shakes it out of you and then sets you back down onto your feet. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he says with a sigh as he heads back towards the kitchen, and he’s back to crouching down somewhere behind the counter.

You shuffle your feet over to the kitchen and peer over the kitchen island to see that he’s examining the floor in front of the fridge.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He scratches at his eyebrow. “The fridge is leaking again.”

“Oh.”

He clicks something on both sides of the fridge's feet and then grips the corners of its body, pulling it out from the wall with a small grunt leaving his lips. Even with the baggy sweatshirt, you can see the curves of the muscles in his arms as he works. 

You place your elbows on the island and hold your face in your hands as you watch him. “How are you gonna fix it?”

He’s dabbing at the wet hardwood with a very worn out rag to get it dry. “I just have to shut the water valve off for a bit.”

“How do you do that?”

He points over his shoulder with his thumb, and you trace the line of it to the cabinet under the sink. 

“Really? You’re gonna get under the sink?”

He dusts his hands off and tosses the rug off to the side. “Uh-huh.”

“Are you sure you can fix it?”

“Yeah. No problem.”

“How long has this been an issue?”

His gaze flicks to yours briefly before he stands up. “About a week.”

“Don’t you think you should just call someone?”

“What?” He turns to face you and crosses his arms across his chest while raising an eyebrow at you, like you’ve just deeply offended him. “Why the fuck would I call someone for a job I could do myself?”

You tilt your head at him, trying to hide the smirk that threatens to tug at your lips. “Well you said it’s been a whole week.”

“Yeah, I’ve–...I’ve just been busy. So I haven’t had a chance to really take a look at it.”

“Ohhhh okay okay,” you say in a teasingly skeptic tone, poking your tongue to your cheek as it’s getting progressively harder to hide your grin.

“What?” he says to you, impatiently.

“Nothinggg,” you purr, and you watch him with a cheeky look on your face as he glares at you before he disappears off towards the garage.

He comes back with a tool box and you spend some time poking around in it curiously as he grabs a couple of tools before crouching down in front of the sink.

For some reason, you feel shy watching him. Maybe it’s because when he’s laying on his back, the top twenty-percent of him ducked underneath the sink, and he’s working his hands on some pipes that you can’t see, his sweatshirt rides up a little and you can see the very lower part of his torso. And then when he yanks particularly hard on something, it rides up more and you can see his abs tensing and relaxing with almost every breath he takes and every move he makes. You’re just grateful he can’t see you, and the urge to clench your thighs together is almost stronger than your brain’s disposition to convince yourself that he’s not attractive just because you think he’s annoying most of the time. 

“y/n,” he calls out to you from under the sink, and you jump a little. He tilts his head a little so he can make eye contact with you from under. “Can you hand me those slip-joint pliers?”

“I have no idea what that is or where to even begin to know what that is.”

“The pliers that have the serrated edges,” he tries.

“Huh?”

“.........shark with sharp teeth.” 

“Oh! Yes. Yes, of course,” you grab them and then shuffle over to him before crouching down, balancing on your toes, “here you go.”

“Thanks,” he says in a flat tone, slowly taking them from you. 

“You’re welcome!” you chirp. You feel very useful. 

His head disappears back to deep underneath the sink again to work on stuff again. Even though this whole thing is probably just his masculine ego wanting to fix things around the house by himself rather than just call a person that is literally paid to fix these sorts of things, you have to admit that you’re not complaining for getting to watch him do something handy. 

“I’ve just– gotta–” he grunts a little and you hear the creaking of pipes, “tighten this up a bit–” he lets out another gruff noise, his voice strained with effort, and you’re ashamed to say it sounds hot. “Alright!” He pulls himself out from under the sink and stands up back onto his feet with a bounce in his step as he dusts his hands off. “Fixed. For now.”

The fridge starts making a strange whirring noise. You raise an eyebrow at him. He quickly reaches behind it and clicks some button before the eerie whirring stops.

“Okay. Now it’s fixed.”

You give him a very skeptic look. “Sure, Jan.”

“Don’t sure jan me. Trust. It won’t leak anymore.”

“Whatever you say,” you respond before heading back up the stairs to freshen up. 

By the time you go back downstairs, Gojo is nowhere to be found, and you take the opportunity to sit on his couch in the living room to then peruse which streaming services he has on his TV. It isn’t until about ten minutes later that you hear someone coming down the stairs, because he makes no effort to avoid the creaky steps.

You put your elbow up on the couch backrest and twist your torso to look at him. He’s wearing pajama pants and an unmatching black short sleeve cotton T-shirt that’s loose around his torso but tight at the arms. He’s ruffling his hair up with a hand towel, attempting to get it dry from the shower he clearly just took. As he makes his way towards the living room, you catch a waft of the clean soapy aqua fragrance of shampoo lingering in his hair. He stops about four feet behind the couch.

You glance down at his feet. “Why the fuck are you, as a grown ass man, wearing bunny slippers inside the house?”

He opens one eye to glance down at his slippers as he continues to tousle his hair dry, “oh, Juno got them for me for Christmas last year. She wanted me to wear them ‘all the time or else uncle toru’s feet will burn off from the floor lava.”

A small smile makes its way onto your face. 

Juno is Gojo’s five-year-old niece, and from the interactions you’ve seen between them, and from the way My Little Pony was the first thing that popped up when you turned the TV on, you know that Gojo absolutely adores her and vice versa. You’ve met her a couple times, even babysat her once in an emergency, and she’s a cute and bright little kid that you certainly have way more fondness for than her obnoxiously annoying uncle who is also now your fake husband. Wait, does that mean that Juno is your niece now, too?

Gojo lets out a sigh before hanging the towel over his shoulder, his hair apparently adequately dry enough for him now. He looks younger when his hair is messy and a little damp, falling over his forehead flatter than usual. It’s kinda boyish and dare-you-say charming.

He looks down at his slippers again with a pleasant reminiscent look on his face before placing his hands on his hips like he’s a baseball dad of three. “Y’know, when I was growing up–”

“Ah yes. During the Great Depression.”

He gives you an annoyed look. “Quit it. When I was a kid–”

“Back in the 1800s.”

“Aren’t you pushing thirty?” he asks you.

“Aren’t you in need of some new dentures?” you ask him.

“Fuckin’ rude,” he mumbles as he walks towards the foyer table to rip open some of the mail that was scattered across it.

“What happened when you were a kid?” you ask.

“Forget it,” he says, tucking some of his bills back into envelopes.

“What!! I wanna know,” you say.

“Yeah well I don’t want to tell you anymore,” he responds.

As you two fully grown adults continue bickering like toddlers for the better part of two minutes, your phone is ringing upstairs unbeknownst to you. 

“Wait. Shut up,” Gojo cuts off your next insult as he snaps his head up-right suddenly. 

“What?! Did you just tell me to shut u–”

“Shhhhhh,” he hushes you, turning his ear towards the stairs with a concentrated expression on his face.

You silence yourself, and then you hear the ringing coming from upstairs.

“Fuck,” you mumble as you scramble off the couch and jog to the bottom of the staircase, Gojo’s eyes on you the entire time as you run up the steps back to your room.

You hear your phone ringing on the bed somewhere but you can’t find it so you rummage through the sheets before finally spotting it, swiping on the call and bringing it to your ear without even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” you say.

“Oh! y/n, hi there. It’s Dr. Johnson calling. I was prepared to leave you a voicemail,” he says.

“I’m here,” you say hastily, holding your phone to your ear with both hands as you feel your entire body tense up. 

You never knew what to expect with any sort of phone calls these days, especially when you’re at work or when your mom isn’t home, because a phone call could be something as simple as approving a refill on some of her medication, to something much worse than that. Something much more final than that. 

“It’s not an emergency,” Dr. Johnson says on the other line, like he can sense your fear and anxiety through the phone, “just wanted to reach out to let you know that I spoke with the hospitalist who admitted your mother to the hospital and she’s doing better now. They’ll likely discharge her by the end of the day.”

You slowly let out the breath you were holding. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I know she needs to come in for chemo tomorrow, so it’s perfect timing.”

“Yes, we’ll see her tomorrow.”

“Uh, Dr. Johnson, I do want to let you know…I’ll be admitting my mom for hospice in a couple of days,” you tell him. You wince a little, because you know it’s probably something that you should’ve discussed with him prior to all of this. “It’s…likely that you won’t have to continue her care anymore, since she’s been approved for Kaiser insurance, I’ll be transferring her care to Kaiser physicians.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other line, the briefest moment of hesitation from a self-assured doctor who always had something to say right away. “Really? That’s–...wow. I can’t say I won’t be extremely sad to not see her anymore.”

“I know…” you say, worrying your bottom lip through your teeth, feeling a sudden wave of guilt overtake your senses, “you’ve been following her progress ever since her diagnosis, even got her into remission…it’s just a little complicated with some insurance stuff and some bills as well. If I could have things my way, I would continue care with you and your team.”

Even though you can’t see it, you can tell he’s nodding on the other line. “I understand, y/n. I know that there’s more to healthcare in this country than just…receiving care. But I don’t have to explain those things to you, since you’re a nurse. Do what’s best for you and your family. Give me the details for the hospice, and I’ll have my MAs send over your mother’s chart.”

“Thank you, Dr. Johnson,” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. “Really. For everything.”

“You’re most welcome.”

“Oh–” you stutter, in fear he might hang up right as you remembered to ask him something.

“Yes?”

“I know I’ll see you tomorrow so we can discuss it then too, but I was just wondering if the scans were back from my mom’s brain MRI she had done? I know they usually take three weeks to come back but just wanted to check.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “I had a feeling you’d follow up about that. No, there are no scans that have come back. I’ll let you know right away when they do.”

“Okay…” you say.

“I know you’re worried about a possible glioma,” he speaks up, “but let’s just try to stay positive until we see the scans, okay?”

“Yes. Sounds good. Thank you, doctor.”

“Alright. I will see you and your mom tomorrow.”

“Yes. Bye,” you say and hear his word of farewell too before hanging up. 

You stare down at the screen of your phone, taking in slow deep breaths to calm down your nerves. You just wanted these scans to come back already so that you could feel at peace knowing that your mom’s worsening neurological condition is due to her Alzheimer’s and not a tumor in her brain. The average survival length of a person with a brain tumor is low, and even worse if it’s a glioblastoma, ranging at around 12-18 months. You can buy her a few years at least with the stage of cancer progression she’s at right now, even with the possibility of remission, but if it becomes severely advanced disease then–

You gasp softly and cover your mouth with your hand, unable to even fathom the thought without feeling a feverish chill run down your entire body. Now's not the time to spiral. Deep breaths. One, two, three. Now is the time to stay positive. Just like Dr. Johnson said. 

Putting one step ahead of the other, you leave the room, cross the loft and slowly make your way down the stairs and stop at the very last step when you see Gojo rushing across the foyer with his dress shoes on, wearing a dark blue suit, save for the tie, and he looks like he’s pressed for time.

“Are you going somewhere?” you ask from the last step, your hand curled around the rail still.

“Hey, uh, yeah,” he scrambles, grabbing his keys from the paper mache bowl on the foyer table and then pats at his pockets for his wallet only to notice it’s absent. “Fuck.” He disappears somewhere into the house in a hurry and then returns with his wallet in his hand before shoving it in his pocket with the jingle of his keys too. “I had to push a couple house viewings from this afternoon up, so I need to leave.” He finally turns to face you and exhales slowly to regain his breath. “Small favor?”

“What’s up,” you say.

He rubs the back of his neck a little guiltily. “Well, Sana called a few minutes ago asking if I could watch Juno since she had to pick her up early from school, and I said sure, but I have to leave now, so–”

“I can watch her,” you say.

He claps his hands together in prayer form and holds them up to his face, “I owe you one.”

“Mhmmmmm,” you hum, watching as he resumes his haste to leave the house. And just before he heads out the door, you say— “Collar.”

“Huh?” He turns around to face you. “Oh.” He takes a second to flatten the collar of his shirt. “Thanks.” And then he’s out the door.

You sigh, relishing in the emptiness of the house. Maybe you should raid his pantry, or play porn on the TV super loud so all the neighbors think he’s a creep. But perhaps that is not appropriate, given that his sister will be bringing his niece over very soon.

You quickly head over to your house to change into something more appropriate than your nightgown, just some blue jeans that honestly make you look like a soccer mom, and then a T-shirt. You walk back to Gojo’s house and only get about five minutes to peruse his pantry when the doorbell rings.

When you open the door, you’re met face-to-face with Gojo’s sister, Sana. How would you describe Sana? Well, first of all, she’s beautiful, with all the same features as Gojo except in female form. Striking round blue eyes, silky white hair that shimmers silver underneath sunlight (you would describe Gojo less poetically than this, though). Her hair is pin straight, falling down just past her shoulders. She’s sweet, or at least has been the couple of times that you’ve met her, but she can also be a little serious and strict. The type to not really laugh at the dinner table if you make a pointed joke about the current political state of the country, but maybe it’s because she didn’t even understand the joke to begin with. Either way, she’s very different from the annoying and irritating temperament of her older brother, and how their mother managed to give birth to such two different kids is beyond you.

“Hey,” you greet her at the door with a small smile.

“Hi, y/n,” she returns with a polite smile of her own. She’s holding onto Juno’s scrawny shoulders as the kid stands in front of her, barely to the height of her mother’s hips. Juno was toying with the light pink baseball cap on her head, her hair pulled through the opening in the back and tied up into a ponytail. “I’m so sorry to bother you with her.”

“Oh! No, not a bother at all, I love getting to see her,” you say as you crouch down to get at eye level with her. “Hi Juno!”

Juno has curly white hair rather than the pin straight that her mother possessed, a feature that more closely resembles her father’s hair, along with her hazel eyes. You’ve only met Sana’s husband, Jun, once before. From what you know, he’s some type of businessman, and the first thing you noticed about him was that he was the same height as Sana. But his wife was blessed with supermodel height and was probably taller than most men, so it wasn’t surprising. Jun was hearty, almost suspiciously kind, laughed boisterously loud, and in the small amount of time you met him, it was easy to see that Sana very rarely humored his ill-mannered and awkwardly-placed jokes, but they seemed very in love with each other regardless. Apparently he and Gojo go golfing every other weekend. Information that you seem to know despite any desire to know it. 

Juno hugs her water bottle to her chest, shy as she makes eye contact with you. “Hi, auntie y/n.”

“I loooooove your baseball cap! It’s so cute, where did you get it?” you ask her.

She blinks off to the side timidly, her fluffy white lashes fluttering over her bright eyes. “Um. Uncle Toru.”

“Ohhh I see, I see! It suits you.”

Sana nudges her a little with her knee. “What do we say, Juno?”

“Thank you, auntie y/n,” she immediately squeaks out in reflex.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of the white bandage wrapped over her tiny arm and your brow furrows before reaching out to gently hold it. Juno winces a little from the sensation. You stand up straight.

“What happened to her arm?” you ask Sana.

Sana sighs as she tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “She fell on the playground at school today. It’s a pretty large scrape and it’s been hurting her a lot.”

“Did you disinfect it?”

“Oh…I just–...washed it with some water. The school nurse wasn’t there today so I just had to pick her up early.” 

“Mm, I see,” you say, “I can take a look at it. I have some neosporin in my purse.”

She lets out a relieved sigh, like she was secretly hoping you would make the offer. “Thank you. Really.” She gently pushes on her daughter’s shoulder. “C’mon Juno. Go inside and set your homework up on the table.”

Juno cranes her neck up to look at her mom. “Mommy, can I have a snack first? Pop-tart!”

“If your uncle has them in the pantry, then sure,” Sana says, and immediately upon hearing those words, Juno rushes inside the house with giggles filling the air. “But only one!!” Sana yells out to her in a strict tone, and you watch with amusement as Juno skips off before returning your attention back to Sana.

“Sooo…” she starts, a small hint of hesitation playing on her usually prim face, “I suppose we’re sisters now. Sisters-in-law.”

Your eyes widen and your shoulders stiffen. It was at least a good thing that Gojo told his family already that you two are married, because it seems that most of his extended family live here in this town. At least, you know that his sister’s family and his parents live here. Better to be heard from him directly than to run into you randomly living at his house all of a sudden when they drop by. You’re sure his family has questions about this extremely sudden marriage to say the least. You’re not sure how much they’ll try to pry, but you hope it’s not much, because you’ve never really been a great actress. “Yes. Yes, we are.”

“Mm,” she hums pleasantly at you, nodding slowly and peering off into the house beyond your shoulder, “say…I’m, um, just a little…surprised by how sudden this all is.”

“Hmm?”

“With you and my brother,” she says straightforwardly. “Obviously, you must know he’s been married before, but it’s…a little odd, it feels like just yesterday when he told us he was…getting a divorce. And now he’s married again.” She trails off when she has some sobering thought that flashes through her head. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m blabbering about this. I’m just–...I’m just thinking out loud. It must be a sore topic.”

“Oh, no, no, not at all. No worries,” you say with an awkward laugh, “I’ve, um, come to terms with it?” You try your best to come up with a believable response.

“That’s good,” she says while she runs soothing circles with her thumb over the skin at her elbow, “well, some love moves faster than others.” She displays a well-meaning smile on her face. “I’m really happy for you two.”

For some reason, your heart warms. Like when the lines of reality and imagination blur, and so you’re left here with a truly comforting feeling. Only it’s fleeting and temporary, like escapism. “Thank you,” you say softly. And after a moment, “by the way, I’m really sorry for…Satoru and I not having a proper wedding. We just wanted something simple.”

She lets out a small scoff. “Oh, gosh, don’t apologize for that. I’m sick of weddings. I was so glad I didn’t have to peruse yet another wedding registry this year. There are only so many toaster ovens I can buy.”

You’re a little surprised by the humor from her, but the two of you let out small laughs in unison at the doorstep.

Sana glances at her watch. “I have to get going. Call me if you need anything, okay?” 

You nod. “Sure. Thanks.”

You close the door slowly, watching her briefly through the stained glass window as she heads towards her car and gets inside before promptly driving off. 

There’s the sound of ruffling heard and then the sound of things falling off a shelf towards the kitchen. You turn on your heel and head in the direction. “Junooo,” you call out, “where are youuuu?”

“In here!” she chirps from the pantry room. You turn the light on to see her standing in the center with a couple boxes of cereal fallen around her. She’s holding an empty box in her hand. “The pop-tart box is empty,” she says with a pout and sulk of her shoulders as she makes the most :(( face you’ve ever seen a child make.

“Oh no,” you say, grabbing the box from her and inspecting the inside, “your devious uncle must’ve eaten them all in a manic episode.”

“What is a manic mean?” she asks you as she looks up, rubbing her ankle with her other foot.

“Oh, it’s like…crazy? He went crazy?”

She giggles at the thought.

“If you’re hungry, I can make you something,” you offer.

She shyly nods her head but her grin fully rounds her cheeks before she darts off towards the kitchen. 

You find her standing near the kitchen island, trying to get up onto one of the bar stools but to no avail. You come up behind her to pick her up then set her down on the seat, adjusting it so it’s a little higher. 

“What do you want me to make?” you ask her as you come around to the other side of the island and set your elbows up on the cold marble, leaning over to place your chin in your palm. 

“Um…” she brings her index finger up to her bottom lip in thought, “pancakes? Can I have blubbery pancakes?”

“Huh?” 

“Um…” she starts again, “last time, when I eated them at your house. Um, when I ated them at your house,” she tries to correct herself, “I really liked them.”

“Oh!” you perch up from your bent over position, “I remember! The blueberry pancakes. Aww, Juno, you remember that? How sweet.”

She becomes a little bashful and glances down at the her lap.

“Okayyy,” you say, placing your hands on your waist as you look around at the kitchen, “well I’ll have to see what ingredients I’m working with here, but hopefully I can make them for you.” You tilt your head at her before pointing a finger. “Have you ever seen the show Chopped?” 

She sits up straight with excitement. “Yes yes! Me and mommy love it.”

“Good. Let’s pretend I’m working with a mystery basket here,” you say, and then you turn around to open Gojo’s fridge. 

You can learn a lot about a person based on what the inside of their fridge looks like. You’re surprised to find the inside of his looks…sparkly? That was the only way you knew how to describe it. With clean shelves that reflect the bright lighting off the plastic, plastic that looks as mirror sheen as glass. As your eyes take in the contents inside, you notice he has some leftover thai food at the front, most likely leftovers from as recent as last night. One of the produce drawers is filled to the brim while the other is mostly empty, and you notice he separates them by leafy stuff vs. veggies. The leafy stuff is the drawer that’s filled to the brim, and you just know he’s stressed out over how to use all of it up before it starts wilting. Must’ve been on sale, you think to yourself. To the right of the fridge, there are an insane amount of orange juice cartons, and you notice he drinks the same one as you–pulp free with the added vitamins and calcium that’s made for kids. Although maybe he has an excuse for it, since he has a five-year-old niece. There’s a few containers of meal prep stacked up at the back of the fridge that look like some sort of arrangement of quinoa, chicken and Mediterranean vegetables. And then there’s just a bunch of assorted cans of beer throughout the fridge, which you assume are to appease the diverse preferences of his friends whenever he has them over. 

You grab a couple of eggs from the egg carton, placing them on the counter along with a stick of butter plus a half-full carton of milk, and peer deep into the fridge past the wall of condiments to eye for any fresh fruit such as berries, but you don’t see any. You try the freezer and are relieved when you see he has some frozen blueberries in there.

“Okay!” you shut the fridge. “Just need to grab a few more things from the pantry room and then I’ll make you your pancakes, okay?” 

Juno nods enthusiastically. “Um. Can I get my backpack?”

“Sure.” You pick her up off the bar stool to set her down on the ground and she runs to the coffee table in front of the TV to grab her things as you head to the pantry room. 

Flour, sugar, baking powder, all tucked in your elbows as you carry the ingredients back to the kitchen before dropping them onto the counter and picking Juno up to place her on the barstool again. She starts to lay out her glittery pens and pristinely sharpened pencils in front of her as well as a packet of papers. 

“I can’t believe they’re giving Kindergarteners homework these days…” you mutter under your breath as you grab a bowl. “Juno, wanna help me crack the eggs?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s go wash our hands then.”

As you mix all your ingredients together and Juno continues to stare at her papers with her face awfully close to them (does she need glasses?), you think to yourself what a nice little life this is. Although you haven’t been able to spend the day at your house like you were hoping you would, since you could finally have it for yourself, it was nice to spend it at Gojo’s. It was something different, something refreshing, something grounding. An escape that you needed. 

“Um. Auntie y/n?” Juno calls from behind you as you flip a pancake at the stove.

“Yes sweetheart.”

“How is mommy?”

“Hmm?” you hum. “My mommy?”

“Yes!”

“Oh you are just the sweetest thing. She’s doing okay. She’s just a little sick still.”

“When I’m sick,” Juno speaks up with a childlike enthusiasm in her voice, “my mommy gives me grape soor–...stir–” she struggles with the word, “shrup, ah, syrup! Grape syrup. It makes me better.”

“Ohhh honey, I know,” you coo as you try to match her enthusiasm, placing two little pancakes onto a plate for her. “When you get the sniffles, right?”

“Yes! Maybe your mommy will be better too if I give her some of my grape syoorup?”

You stop in your tracks, staring down at the food you were just plating.

The innocence of a child. It was hard to stay strong in the face of it. When you were younger, you probably would’ve thought that a magical potion would make your mom all better, too.

You turn around to face her. “Well,” you say, clearing your throat a little to fight the knot that you find is twisting it, “I think,” and now you’re blinking away the faint sheer of tears as you press your lips into a thin smile, your soft soft above a whisper, “that that is a wonderful idea.”

Juno gobbles up her blubbery pancakes with the extra maple syrup on them and you watch her take every bite. There was something satisfying about seeing a little kid eat so well. The sight made you feel well-fed on their behalf.

“Alright,” you say with a small grunt as you pick Juno up and set her down onto the ground, then take her hand to lead her over to the carpeted family room. “Let me take a look at this scrape of yours.”

Juno’s hand tugs slightly when you try to pull on it, so you turn around to see that she has stopped in her tracks halfway through the trek to the other room.

“What’s wrong?” you ask her.

“I don’t want you to see it…”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s ugly.”

“Juno,” you tug on her hand a little, “I have to see it so that I can clean it. Otherwise you might get sick. A type of sick that even grape syrup can’t fix.”

She looks up at you with curious eyes, not fearful ones. 

“There is sick like that?” she asks you.

“Yes. Now give me your arm.”

Juno follows you to the family room and stands still, the front of her jutting out slightly as she pouts, a display of her remaining disapproval for you taking a look at her scrape. You get down onto your knees and slowly undo the bandages, unwrapping the layers one-by-one before the end falls off and you’re staring at a 4x2cm superficial abrasion on her arm, and when your thumb lightly swipes at the skin underneath it, Juno winces from the pain.

You also notice she has a bruise on her left upper thigh, right below where the hem of her shorts end.

“You…only fell onto your right side, right?” you ask her.

“Mhm,” she nods.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“How come you have a bruise on your left thigh then?”

Her eyes widen slightly with shock and her head quickly snaps down to look at her thigh. “Um. Um. I don’t know. Um. Um.”

“Juno,” you say, trying to muster up a strict tone, but she refuses to make eye contact with you anymore as she stares at the carpet beneath her. You gently grab a hold of both of her wrists. “Sweetheart. Look at me.” Her eyes slowly lift up to meet yours. “I want to help you, but I can't help you unless you’re honest with me.”

Her big eyes blink at you slowly and her bottom lip quivers slightly.

“How did you really hurt yourself?”

She immediately starts bawling. Full on sobs that echo throughout the room and startle you slightly as the tears freely fall down her cheeks and she struggles to wipe them off with her left arm, but they only drip down her elbow.

“Oh–” you stutter, holding her by her shoulders, “Juno–”

She sniffles. “They–” she hiccups, “they pushed me…they always push me.”

“Who pushed you?? Who always pushes you??”

She sucks in a deep breath as she continues to cry and you struggle to wipe at her tears for her with the pad of your thumb. “The–hic–girls at school. They’re so–hic–...wahhh…they’re so mean.”

“They pushed you on the playground and that’s how you got this scrape and bruise?” you ask her.

She nods as she slowly begins to come down from her outburst, her remnant sniffles and short sharp inhales showing that she was struggling to breath. You run to grab some tissues and then come back, holding them to her nose before she blows into them.

“Oh sweetheart…I’m so sorry,” you say to her.

She suddenly runs into you, hugging you tightly, and you’re momentarily surprised before wrapping an arm around her too and then gently patting at her back.

“How long has this been going on?” you ask her.

“Mm…ever since I–hic–ever since I got on T-ball team…but they couldn’t get on.”

“Oh…” you coo, gently rubbing her back now. You’re not a mom, you’ve got no fucking clue how to navigate this sort of situation. But you can try your best to give some advice. “Juno, you have every right to feel happy and safe at school.” You gently pull her away from the hug so that you can look at her face. “And it’s okay to stand up for yourself and against anyone that is being mean to you. Don’t let them take that power away from you.”

She nods slowly, her lip quivering slightly again.

You sigh slowly before giving her another hug. “And we’ll work out something with your mom too, okay? She can talk to the teachers.”

“No!” Juno shrieks, pulling away from you suddenly. You blink at her. “No. Please don’t tell my mommy.”

“W-Why not??”

“Because–” she stutters, “um…I want to tell her myself. Because I lied, and mommy always says to me to not tell lies. So I have to fix it myself.”

You tilt your head at her, frowning slightly. You’re not exactly sure how much autonomy over such things you should be granting a five-year-old, but you decide to give her the choice. You hold your pinky finger out to her, “you have to promise me you’ll tell her though, okay?”

She nods and wraps her pinky around yours. 

After getting her scrape cleaned up and tended to, Juno spends the next hour or so watching My Little Pony on the TV as you clean up the mess you made in the kitchen. And as you’re staring out into the backyard while wiping down the cutting board, the sound of the doorbell ringing makes you jump with a startle and breaks you out of your trance.

You were prepared to open the door to find Sana standing at the entrance, but instead you’re met with the sight of a different woman.

Much older, and with all the same features, it doesn’t really take you long to figure out who she is.

“Ah! There she is!” the woman chirps out. “I’m—”

“Juno’s grandmother,” you finish the statement for her.

“—Satoru’s mother,” she instead says.

You both blink at one another.

“Well,” she chirps, “I’m both!”

Gojo’s mother appears to be a kind woman, and it’s evident that being gorgeous must run in the family. Although she has aged features, they’re still beautiful in a graceful way, where people would take a look at her and think of aging as a privilege and not a curse. Her eyes are somewhat feline, different from the roundness of those you’ve seen in her family, and her hair is a shimmering silver all around with a pretty silk press layered hair style that flatters her frail jaw. She was wearing a French-style button up dress with a rather gaudy belt around her waist, and you catch the scent of her lilac perfume even while she’s standing three feet away.

She puts her hands on her hips and has a forced smile on her face. “My son gets married and he doesn’t even tell me a peep about it, or introduce me to his new wife! I have to come all the way over here myself!” she exclaims, and her tone is like she’s trying to play it off with nonchalance but the stiffness of her features makes it look like she’s losing her mind. “Well,” she clicks her tongue, “he’s always had the penchant for never sharing anything he ever does with me.”

“Ah…I’m so sorry, Mrs. Gojo,” you say to her, unsure why you’re apologizing, but there was this energy to her that made you realize she had a skill for making people feel apologetic in her presence.

“No worries! Not your fault. I’ll deal with him later,” she says, her smile growing to where it almost fully crescents her eyes in a frightening way that almost sends a shiver down your spine, “anywhoooo,” she takes both of your hands into hers, “you’re very beautiful, and you have a very lucky-looking nose!”

“Lucky?”

“Yes, yes. You will bring luck to our family.”

“Thanks?” you say, trying to manage a smile.

She takes a step closer to you. “Tell me, what do your parents do for a living?”

“Oh! Um, well, my mom is retired, but she used to be an art teacher. My dad is in the food business, but uh, I haven’t spoken to him in years ever since my parents got divorced.”

“Ah,” she says curtly, her face blank as if she couldn’t think of a single thing to follow up with after that. She peers past your shoulder. “Where’s the little princess?”

“She’s just inside grabbing her things.” You gently slip your hands out of her hold and turn around to face the inside of the house. “Juno!! Do you need help?”

“No!!” she calls from the kitchen.

“Say, my dear,” Gojo’s mother speaks up, “why don’t you and Satoru come by for dinner this weekend? Jun and Sana apparently have some important news they’d like to share with the family, and I offered that we all hear it together over a meal. This way you can meet your father-in-law too!”

You take a deep breath in, realizing that this fake marriage agreement involves a lot more deceit than you ever thought it would. “Sure. Yes. I’d love that. Let me know if I can bring anything.”

“Wonderful!” she exclaims, just in time for when you feel Juno brush past you towards her grandma, hunching over slightly with her backpack’s weight. Gojo’s mother pulls you in for a hug which entirely startles you and you slowly wrap your arms around her as well. “It’s so lovely to have a daughter-in-law. Oh, I am just so happy to have you in our family.”

She lets go of you but still keeps you close by a delicate hold of your elbows, a gleeful smile on her face as she looks you up and down slowly.

“Bye, auntie y/n!!” Juno squeaks out, hugging your leg, and you pat at the top of her head. Her grandmother finally lets go of you and takes Juno’s tiny hand in her frail one, and you see them off to the car.

By the time you make it back inside the house, you let out a deep slow breath, one that you didn’t know you were holding in, as you lay your weight back on the front door. You feel a pressure in your head from your dwindling social battery and all these tricky encounters.

So, you’re part of a whole other family, now?

That. Is. Frightening.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 3]

a/n. ah!! hope you enjoyed this ihm chapter :’’) sorry if it seemed like a bunch of random scenes lolol i swear it’s all set up for stuff that will happen down the lineee. i just be yappin so the word count ends up kinda high. hope to see you in the next one!! <3 love u all. also it’s my frank ocean anons bday today so i dedicate this chapter to themm 🫶🏼💕 manifesting dilf gojo for u bb for anyone curious about why reader is a bit paranoid w potentially being busted for her fake marriage, i had another reader that was curious about this too so i answered them here if you'd like to check it out :)

➸ take me to chapter four!

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[parallelpie]

First off this absolutely cursed AU was inspired by Lemonomelette and a post they made -X Secondly I imagine it all being about bots and cons trying to one up each others factions and not actually helping in any serious way because their too busy with their own faction bs.

Think of two rival car dealerships across the street one upping each other to get business and instead of business with cars its interstellar robot fairys trying to woo sm children to let them grant their inconsequential wishes (which may or may not be worth it) instead of the other guy next door.

[picabrush]

?

holy shit Killswap Bill owns a fucking car dealership. He owns a used car dealership and he overprices vehicals and has a shitty rabbit mascot costume. The stars have aligned.

[spiteless-xo]

part two of this snippet

After that night, you spend more time in Eren Jaeger’s office after hours.

Eren is tired all the time. You notice it more clearly when you’re looking down at him from your perch on his desk. He has dark bags under his eyes and his hair isn’t quite as shiny as it usually is, now haphazardly thrown into a bun in the back of his head.

He doesn’t talk about his girlfriend when the two of you are together. He asks about you and your life, taking an interest in your hobbies, and listening to the music you share with him. Eren is a gentleman, and despite how low you tug your shirt before walking into his office, he keeps his eyes fixed on your face.

You’re frustrated.

On Friday, you bring a bottle of wine with you to the office. You stick it in a gift bag and write out a little card, licking the envelope shut in the morning before tearing it open again later that day. You bring it with you to Eren’s office after everyone else has left and you ask if he wants to have some with you.

It’s a gift, but I can’t finish it myself.

He smiles, rolling back in his chair, allowing space for you to sit on the desk with your legs dangling off the edge between his thighs. You take turns drinking from the bottle and not talking about his girlfriend.

He rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows and you admire the veins that dance across his tanned forearm. His hands are big—bigger than yours—with thick fingers adorned with silver rings. You imagine what the cool metal of the rings would feel like on your body.

When you see the pink flush on the tops of Eren’s cheeks, you start to feel a little bold. When you grab the bottle from his hands you brush your fingers against his. When you laugh at his jokes, you rest your palm on his shoulder. You’re three-quarters finished with the bottle when your hand cups his face and you’re still not talking about his girlfriend.

He looks up at you with hazy emerald eyes, narrowed in a silent warning but he slides his chair closer until your toes are resting on the tops of his thighs, your heels kicked off on the ground after the first few sips. His hands run up and down your thighs, fingertips brushing the bottom hem of your skirt as your breath catches in your throat.

Eren tells you that he should probably get going, but his eyes don’t leave yours. You ask him to stay by wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him close until he’s looking up at you with his chin resting between your breasts. He says that he can’t but when you ask why, he doesn’t mention his girlfriend.

You bring a palm to your chest and slowly undo the buttons of your blouse. Eren’s breath visibly hitches and you watch his eyes dart down—finally—as he watches you reveal your breasts.

His hands lift from your thighs, sliding up your hips and your waist until they’re pressed against your ribs. He brushes his thumbs across the lace of your bra and you shiver when he passes over your nipples. You swallow thickly and arch forward into his touch, urging him to grab you harder—to ravage you.

But he flinches and rolls away, pulling out of your grasp and spinning in his chair until he’s faced away from you. You feel the burn of embarrassment in your gut as you pull your shirt tightly over yourself. You try to apologize but he cuts you off. Eren asks if you need him to call you a taxi, but you decline.

He doesn’t look at you when he goes to grab his jacket. He keeps his head low as he grabs his things, but he has to reach across your body on the desk for his phone. You grab his wrist, stilling him as he crosses over you. He finally looks at you—annoyed—but you ignore it.

When you kiss him, he tastes like wine. 

You move your mouth softly against him, brushing your tongue along his lips in hopes that they will part for you, but they don’t. He keeps his head still and doesn’t reciprocate the kiss. You worry that if you open your eyes, you’ll see him staring at you.

He pulls away when his phone buzzes on the desk and the two of you look down at it.

It’s her.

[flowerfreya]

Moving

The Office AU part 5

Pairing : poly!141 x reader

Content: reader breaks up with boyfriend ! Yayyyyy

Lmk if there are any major typos I did this on my phone lol

Masterlist

You know that calling him would be a waste of time but you're a glutton for punishment, “Where are you?”, you ask him, trying to sound normal but your body hit stages of grief in one fell swoop but seemed to get stuck at anger.

“You know that you're not out there by 4 p.m, I’m leaving your ass, I told you that”, he sounds so carefree, like what he did was fine and makes sense.

“I came down by 4:05 , you couldn’t wait five minutes?”

“No, I had to teach you a lesson”.

You look up at the sky like that will give you an answer, but you know the answer, you've known the answer and this has cemented it. You let out a sad chuckle and shake your head , this can’t be your life. You look over to your right and see John just staring at you, actually they are all staring at you. You give them a tight lipped smile and then a thumbs up, even though you know that they must have heard you on the phone with your now ex.

“You know what, fuck you”, and then you hang up.

“Do you need a ride”, Soap speaks up first. You look over and you know you have tears in your eyes, you don’t want to give him any of your tears but your so frustrated and angry and , sad. And you honestly cannot stand being in the presence of another man right now , “No, thanks”, you answer back.

“You sure”, Gaz speaks up.

“I’m sure”, you order an uber and your going to get your life together. Today. First, thing is that you do is go to the car dealership. You already researched the car , test drove it, and just needed to save for the down payment and since your worked at the office to get at least three paychecks you had enough.

~

You're outside your apartment in your new car, well it used but it's new to you and you need your stuff but you don’t want to go in alone. You're tapping your hands on the steering wheel thinking who you can call to help you out.You’re thinking about the scariest person you know and it’s Simon. The phone rings twice before he picks up,

“Hello”, his voice sounds deeper over the phone.

You introduce yourself again to him like he hasn’t worked with you for a month in half, “Hi, are you busy”, you try to sound cheary but you know you are trying too hard.

“Alright?”, he ask.

“Are you busy right now”

“Depends”

You then have to go through the whole spiel of how you need your stuff from your apartment but you kind of scared that your boyfriend will get rowdy when you try to get your things.

“Send me your address”.

~

A black SUV rounds the corner and pulls up right beside your car. Not only does the driver door open but so does the passenger and the back doors open with Price, Soap , and Gaz getting out as well. 

“New car, Hen?”Johnny asks. 

“Yeah got it today” , you know you could be nicer but you really don’t feel like making small talk right now, you just want to get your shit and go. Simon doesn’t look at you as he asks about what they are getting. 

“You all really didn’t need to come, I just needed some back up” 

“Yes, we did”, says John, his fist are clenched and he’s working his jaw so hard it looks like he's chewing a lemon drop. 

“Not really , but okay”, you sas back. He cuts his eyes at you, tilts his head to the side and stares like he can see through the anger that you are using a shield and the anxiety of not knowing where you are going to sleep tonight. 

“You okay?”, he ask. No your not , but fuck it. 

“Fine, let’s go”, you croak out.

As you head up to your apartment, you don’t know where to put your hands and your hair starts to feel itchy. You just need to get in and get out , grabs some clothes, some pictures , and your makeup and go. Of course things are never that easy. 

Inside the apartment things are just as you left it this morning, which of course it is because your boyfriend is a lazy fuck. 

“Finally made it home?”, he says like everything’s fine and dandy and does he think your going to laugh at that. You opt to say nothing and just start getting your stuff ready. 

“Need any help getting stuff together?” , ask Soap

“Who is that ?”, that gets your ex to come out and find you. 

“They are helping me move”, you don’t look at him just continue getting your stuff and putting it in duffels. 

“What do you mean, move”, now he sounds confused like he can’t believe this.

You look at him then , eyes squinted , getting pissed off all over again, “did you really think that I was going to stay after that ?” 

“You're making a big deal out of nothing” , he argues back.

“No, I am not, we are done” 

Then he starts to do this weird whine thing , like he’s trying to make himself cry. He comes over to you and grabs you by the knees and begs , “please don’t leave me, please”. 

You shove him away from you but he tries to come back to you but they all three step in front of you like a wall. 

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you”, Simon says darkly. 

He keeps begging, and honestly it’s embarrassing, and it starts to make you feel better. He’s getting what he deserves. He continues to beg until you leave with your stuff. 

Once you get down the parking lot and your stuff in your car you turn back to the men that helped you, “Thank you, next beer on me” , you say with a smile. 

“We’ll take you up on the offer now” ,Soap laughs. 

“Oh”, you really didn’t think they would. You were being polite, to be honest. 

“Can we reschedule, I was hoping to go to sleep early today” , you say with a sad smile. 

“Where are staying”, Simon ask 

“Oh a hotel”, hopefully for your car or the office but they don’t need to know that. 

“Oh yeah, which one?, ask Gaz. 

“You know, down the street.”, is there one down the street? You hope so. 

“Did you make a reservation?”,  asked Soap. You turn towards him feeling a little bit overwhelmed with all the questions. 

“Ummmmm, yes” , no but you're going to make one when you ask for a room , right. It should be fine. 

~

They don’t believe you, not for one second. They want to take care of you, feed you , house you but they don’t want to scare you. It’s hard for them , they want to fully send it, that's what they usually do and it works for them but you're different, they can tell. For now, they need to start slow, at least as slow as they can. They get you in the car and have Price drive yours to the hotel that they deem the safest and nicest. They make sure that Price is the first to arrive, that he pays for the nicest room and when they move past the front desk without having to check in , they tell you to not worry about it. They take care of you, make sure you're safe and when you fall asleep without getting anything done, they unpack for you and the only payment they need is so they each get a pair of panties.

[zappedbyzabka]

[catsaysmlem]

@icemankazansky​​ ALL OF THIS. it IS wonderful in a lot of ways that we are given very little onscreen. I myself have about 10 different origin stories for him spilling out of my trenchcoat at any given time. all I’m saying is if you’re trying to analyse the character in the movie as is, you have to learn to keep your hcs out of it. 

also cannot imagine using top gun wiki as a canon authority for anything when it gets his physical description itself wrong like...if anyone’s using that as reference I legally get to tie them up and tape their eyelids to their forehead and make them watch the movie on repeat till they can correctly tell me what colour his eyes and hair are. 

it's actually pretty astounding to me that ice's completely fan-made high ranking military dad and well respected military family are now being treated as established points of reference in canon from which to analyse his character and dynamic with mav. like I hate to remind but we literally have zero information on this man's backstory, he just is THAT iconic on his own with not even a hint of background details.

maybe it's so surprising to me that this particular hc is now being treated as canon because I've never really been too fond of it to begin with. I don't dislike it but I do mostly see fans using it not as a way to explore ice's character but rather to make him the opposite of mav in every way to emphasize a more underdog status for mav.

[scrompsautobotsrchives]

Amica Endura

Part 2 of the rewrites, Hopefully I can remake the magic. Word count:1.4K

Amica endura is a cybertronian word for one's only best friend. The person you stick with for years, and intend to stick by for years to come, and for bumblebee's case, It's y/n.

It's been nearly a year since that faithful day when you got him out of the dealership and you have proven yourself otherwise, he liked you a lot, and you were a perfect friend to him... But only a tiny problem... More than likely he needed permission from a prime, the prime being Optimus, but where was he ??

So late at night when you were asleep, he drove out and took the roads to hopefully find him, just a hint... anything... Soon after almost an hour of driving...

"Ca... ll... Au...ts" A signal was picked up, Bee froze in his place and began to adjust his signal to hopefully hear the message better.

"Calling all Autobots, If you can hear this, meet me at these coordinates" The prime's familiar voice flooded his ears !! Yippie !!!

And soon he sped his way to the location of the signal, oh god it's been ages !!

Optimus transformed at a nearby hill and tried to boost the signal range, Please hope his crew is alright... He looked down sadly before hearing the familiar rev of his faithful companion.

Bee whirred in excitement as he transformed and stumbled in front of him happily as he found him. "Oh captain, My captain !!" His radio scratched. "Glad... to... see you again"

Optimus looked down and gave a gentle nod, he was so goddamn happy. "Bee... good to see you too"

After a bit, Bee started to shift from side to side a little nervously "I can... say something ??" He finally said.

Optimus raised an optic brow. "Go on then" Fully turning to his comrade, giving him his full attention.

Bee stood there for a little bit before opening up his chest cavity to reveal his spark, Optimus looked down at him, and a moment passed before he seemed to understand. "Who is it ??"

He started to grow more nervous, oh god this was it. "Human..."

Optimus blinked again. "A human... You've been mingling with humans" He said firmly, he was only worried.

Bee nodded

"Impossible, It won't be happening" Optimus looked out into the open. Immediately abrasive of the idea.

"They are my friends..." Bee whirred angrily, kicking the ground before going on a rant. "They didn't... See me... as... junk... they helped... me find... my voice !!"

"No... we cannot trust them, the humans will protect what is there's, we can only trust our own kind"

Bee gave him the softest eyes. Now come on, who can't say no to them !! "They... mean a lot"

Optimus looked back out into the open after a while. "If they mean so much, bring them here"

He beeped softly, but you were at work tomorrow, he can't just say before you leave.

But before he could say, Optimus picked up another signal from a familiar rev head. Bee beeped again, he has an idea. "Let's go to the mall..."

The next night, you were leaving work and making your way to the bus station, But you didn't make it until a car started to rev in front of you. But the fear slowly dissipated once you realized what car it was

"Porsche 911 Carrera" You looked around it, holy flipping cow... you then noticed on the steering wheel a familiar logo that Bee also had on his steering wheel, was it... one of them ??

The car revved again, clicking open the door. You frowned, So hesitantly you hopped in, knowing that is what it's likely asking... the car feels nice... And before you knew it, the door slammed shut, the engine roared and sped off down the road.

"Woah Woah WOAH !!" You held on for dear life.

The car revved again and went faster just to tease you a little bit, it wasn't long before the police got involved from all the stunt's its been performing.

"Pull over !!" One officer managed to get next to you.

"I'M NOT DRIVING !!" You screamed out.

They flicked the lights on and tried to speed up, but not on this autobot's watch, he has a few tricks up his sleeve.

He swirled around and started to drive in reverse, first blinding the cop and soon rearranging with you safely in back to front. The cherry on top was then he started to make clones of himself and you, You looked to your left to see a clone of you flipping off the cop, and on the right, the clone of you gave a thumbs up.

The car swerved onto an offramp while the cop was distracted, making him crash into a guard division, You were getting to your final destination, speeding off into an abandoned warehouse.

"Yo yo yo slow down !!"

The car skidded along the ground, flinging you out as gently as it could, and soon beginning to transform.

"Woohoo !! That felt good !! Get some oil pumping you know ?? Damn. I've been cooped up forever dude, I can't tell you how old it gets. 'Mirage, stay hidden. Mirage, don't draw any attention to yourself. Mirage, Big is just a movie, you'll never be a real boy.' But that was fun man, your fun dude"

You were just rushing off from the adrenaline, looking up at him with slight fear.

"Oh right, this is probably a lot for you huh ??" He smiled softly as he kneeled to your height.

You scrambled up and grabbed a nearby pole, ready to defend yourself. "Back up !!'

"Hey woah woah, what's with the aggression. I thought after the car chase we were cool ??"

"What are you, some kind of possessed car ??"

"Nah, that's not real man, I'm an alien"

"Like... Like ET ??" Now where did that come from.

"ET !! The little ugly guy in the basket ?? Look at this face !!" He pointed to his adorable face before then holding out a fist for you. "The name mirage !!

You were a little hesitant.

"Come on, give me a little... give me a little... give me a little tap... give me a little tap..."

You then hesitantly fist bumped him.

"There ya go now were friends !!"

Soon you heard more revving, one light and one super heavy.

"Oh great the gang's here"

You looked behind and saw Bee driving in and transforming, Then soon back at the front, you saw a truck driving in and transforming, this one was super tall than Mirage and Bee !!

Bee quickly jumped in between you and Optimus, He knew Optimus meant well, but go easy on them ok !! Optimus stopped to look at both of you before then picking you up and getting a closer look.

"Who... Who are you ??" You frowned.

"I am Optimus prime" He looked at you firmly.

"Bee... what's going on ??"

Bee whirred softly as Optimus continued. "Who are you... Y/n"

'I... I'm just a normal kid... I found Bee in the car shop alright... I ain't even seen nothing I don't even know nothing" You closed your eyes and looked away.

Optimus looked at you firmly before you noticed his optics softened, Out of a sort of apology, before he then gently placed you back down. He still felt like he couldn't trust humans... But he is open to seeing where this will go, if this is what bee wants, he won't stop him.

"Bee ??" You looked over at him.

He whirred softly, putting his focus on you and kneeling down, Unlatching his chest cavity. "Y/n- my best... friend. Most... Important friend"

Your eyes softened when you looked at his spark, It was so bright.

Bee gave you the softest look. "I want... to be your friend- forever" Soon closing his chest cavity, you looked over at the other two.

"What happened ??"

"Dude... He just offered you ultimate friendship" Mirage chimed in, still amazed by the sight.

Optimus nodded to him and you. "Amica endura, The strongest form of friendship that a cybertronian can ever offer. An eternal oath" He explained to you.

"It's never been done with a human before, so consider yourself the first" Mirage chimed again.

Bee looked at you softly, whirring in hope.

You smiled up at him. "Your my best friend bee"

He beeped happily before scooping you up and holding you close.

Optimus didn't say anything, He didn't feel it was his place, just watching... But he couldn't help but twitch a small small.

Be nuzzled your cheek as you held him close as well. His spark pulsing warmth against his chest, His radio scratched... "I'll love you till the day that I die"

Taglist: @callofdudes

[bvidzsoo]

I know you want me

⨳ Mafia!Hongjoong ⨳ 

∞ Author: bvidzsoo

∞ Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x female reader

∞ Warning: mentions of drugs, murder and illegal activities ∞ Word count: 3.5k ∞ Genre: non-idol!au, mafia!au, police officer!au, enemies!au ∞ Rating: nc-17 ∞ Summary: Working in the police was no easy feat, especially when you had been chasing after a mafia lord for the past six years. No matter how hard you worked and tried to find evidence, Kim Hongjoong always somehow came clean. But one day you finally get a lead that will help you succeed in your mission...or perhaps you've trusted Kim Hongjoong a little bit too much with your wine.

∞ A/N: Hongjoong's part is here, I hope you enjoy it! I think the tags for Wooyoung's part weren't working and that makes me a bit angry? Anyways, check out the other parts if you're interested! ^^ Next I will be posting Yeosang's part. Let me know what you thought of Hongjoong's part ^^ I'm not starting a taglist for this one, sorry<3 (you'll have to lurk around) Feedback is much appreciated and I hope you enjoy!

⨳ Listen to this before or while reading! ^^

∥ Hongjoong ∥ Seonghwa ∥  Yunho ∥ Yeosang ∥ San ∥ Mingi ∥ Wooyoung ∥ Jongho ∥ 

            In my field of work nothing was handed to you on a silver plate. The fact that I went to work daily was already a risk factor of losing my life—and unfortunately, with the passing of years and the many enemies I have made, I didn’t have to go into the office or out on the field to get killed. It was enough to sip my coffee on the balcony, or to go grocery shopping, or even just lay in my bed while watching a movie to unwind after the long day I’ve had. The city was a chaos, per usual, and the crime lords were on a rampant, wreaking more havoc than usual. There was a big influx of drugs sneaked into clubs and other entertainment areas these past two months that had officers, detectives, and even higher ups working their asses off in order to find the one behind it all, but almost each time we came up empty handed. It seemed like whoever was leading this illegal operation was a mastermind and made sure their steps were untraceable. Except that I wasn’t dense like my colleagues, I had my eyes set on one person since we’ve come across the illegal substances.

Kim Hongjoong.

Biggest mafia lord in the city and possibly wanting to expand his business overseas, it didn’t take long for me to connect the dots. It was Hongjoong’s doing, no doubt, but because he was too good at what he was doing, I couldn’t prove it. Not yet, at least. There were few things that could stop me—death being one of them—and I had been breathing down his neck for the past three months. The Kim Enterprise led by him, on the outside, seemed like an inoffensive car dealership that had multiple deals with overseas companies and collaborations with the biggest existing brands. However, once you looked through the cracks and investigated the Enterprise with a critical eye, you realized everything was hidden in plain sight. The cars they imported and exported often times were filled with either illegal substances or weapons that Mr. Kim should have never gotten his hands on—he also wasn’t shy to admit all the money laundering he’s been doing for the past six years.

But somehow, he always came up clean, without the possibility of directly blaming him for all the mayhem and crime he’s committed. He had great men backing him up, unfortunately, and I had been forced to dig deep and into ugly places in order to finally find something of value, something that would finally put him behind bars and destroy the empire he’s built for himself. He was no stranger to me or my colleagues, but perhaps the most infuriating part of our strictly professional relationship was the fact that he was always eager and happy to let us raid his warehouses and headquarters—perhaps because he knew we’d find nothing of actual value that would finally put an end to this fiasco.

Not tonight though, finally I found a little piece of evidence that fit our puzzle the right way. He wouldn’t be able to argue its authenticity, perhaps because it came from one of his insiders that had grown sick of all of the mistreatment and threats he’d been forced to take. The world of a mafia lord was sick and twisted, dark and unforgiving. The man who had given us a small piece of information had been placed under surveillance for his own safety as we know Mr. Kim too well, he’d definitely kill our informant the second he lays hands on him, and we couldn’t have that right now. We still need this person for further information and insight about Mr. Kim’s thorough plans. We finally had a real lead and we couldn’t let it go to waste.

That is why, in true fashion to myself, I had sent a formal invite to Mr. Kim for a quick dinner to discuss business. He loved being over the top, but he also loved declining our formal requests to meet up, and so, proposing to have dinner together is something I know he never turns down. Perhaps he liked the thrill of sitting at a table with an officer that’s been after his ass for the past six years, perhaps he enjoys the power play and the rush he gets every time one of our evidences get debunked by him. Not tonight, though, tonight will be different. My colleagues have been against me going alone to the fancy restaurant—which definitely wanted to refuse our request as they were fully booked, but upon pulling a few strings, I got us a table. After all, it was Mr. Kim’s favorite restaurant, they couldn’t refuse him if I used his name for our reservation.

“You’ve been just promoted, Y/N,” My colleague and also closest friend, Irene, said with a worried expression on her face, “you’re not supposed to head out onto the field so heedlessly.”

“But it’s not headless, Irene,” I grinned at her as I tidied my desk, feeling triumphant that I managed to book the table for tonight, “It’s necessary.”

“You’re trying to show off to him, and that’s dangerous and headless—”

“It’s an intimidation tactic, and to be honest, I do deserve to show off after everything I had to go through because of him.” I muttered as Irene sighed defeated, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“And if he refuses?” I chuckled as I gave Irene a knowing look.

“Kim Hongjoong refusing a meeting when he thinks he’s still got the upper hand and can humiliate me once again?” I shook my head as I pushed my chair back, “Impossible.”

“Fine,” Irene’s jaw clenched as she shook her head, “But wear a tracker and a camera, and alert me if things get out of hand. I refuse to have a repeat of last time—”

“It was an accident.” I sighed, frowning at the memory, “He didn’t mean to hurt me, the attack was aimed at him and I was there at the wrong time—”

“Whatever narrative you’ve told yourself of him protecting you is pure bullshit, Y/N.” Irene’s tone was harsh and I knew I couldn’t argue with her anymore, “He kills people for a living, he gets innocent people hooked on drugs, and he terrorizes those who refuse to work for him. He did not save you, he wanted you dead. You saved yourself, end of discussion.”

And perhaps Irene was right, but she wasn’t there when it happened. When the fire was opened and aimed at me, had Mr. Kim been a second too slow, I would be lying six feet under now. But Kim Hongjoong sprung up from his hiding place and yanked me behind a wall that kept the bullets from piercing both of our bodies, his eyebrows furrowed and a pissed look on his face as I tried to catch my breath from the sudden adrenaline rush. And Irene wasn’t there when Hongjoong killed every single one man that aimed their weapon towards me. She wasn’t there when he drove me back to the station and waited almost four hours until I was done with reports and a medical check-up and a visit to the higherups to drive me back home. Irene definitely wasn’t there when I noticed two of Hongjoong’s most trusted bodyguards stand the whole night in front of my gates just to keep watch and make sure I wasn’t targeted again. Kim Hongjoong was a criminal and a bad man, but he had an ounce of goodness in his heart somewhere deep down.

            The lights in the restaurant were dim and gave the place an intimidating aura, I can see why Hongjoong likes it here. The tables were separated and placed at bigger distance, offering privacy for those who wanted it. The table I had been sat at was a separate booth, more towards the kitchens as I was told it was Mr. Kim’s usual table, and I was surprised to find three red candles placed in the middle of the table and rose petals strewn across the white silky tablecloth. It felt prestige and definitely expensive. The whole setting made me feel a little bit uneasy despite the low murmur of conversations surrounding me, and I tried not to fiddle with my fingers anxiously. I had to appear confident and like I was here for serious business, ready to take down the mafia lord that still hadn’t shown up. He was fifteen minutes late now, and I have started doubting whether he was coming. It also didn’t help that the black spaghetti strap dress was tight as fuck as if it was moulded against my body, forcing me to hide my handgun as it was strapped against my inner thigh where its outline wasn’t visible. It was a little uncomfortable sitting down with it as it dug into my skin, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I’ve had to go through things far worse than this before.

The waiter had served me red wine when I had sat down, but I haven’t touched it yet, keen on waiting for Mr. Kim before consuming anything I was given. I had just started getting disheartened and ready to phone Irene that maybe we should hit a bar since I’m all dressed up, when Mr. Kim finally showed up, looking a little dishevelled. His dyed ginger hair was messy on top of his head and his cheeks rather flushed as he approached the table, sharp cat-like eyes settling on my form with a smirk stretching onto his lips. I gulped and straightened my back, raising my eyebrows questioningly at him once he plopped down in his seat rather unceremoniously.

“Miss Yang, I’m sorry for making you wait.” His voice was velvety as he spoke up, grabbing the white napkin off the table, “Something urgent came up and I had to take immediate care of it, I’m sure you understand with your field of work.”

“Completely, Mr. Kim.” I grinned slyly and Hongjoong hummed as I watched him rub his hands and knuckles against the white napkin, which wasn’t pure white anymore but covered in red spots. My eyes lingered on them knowing that it was most likely blood, and I could feel Hongjoong’s eyes watching me carefully. When I looked up, he had a challenging look in his eyes as he waved his hand lazily towards the waiter who disappeared behind the bar.

“It isn’t a daily occurrence I get asked on a date by a woman like you, Miss Yang.” I huffed in amusement as Hongjoong smirked once again, leaning back in his chair as he spread his legs wide, “May I know how I got so lucky?”

“We should wait for your drink first, Mr. Kim, I feel like making a toast.” I answered with a smug tone as my long red nails tapped against my glass filled with wine, making Hongjoong chuckle as he nodded.

“Very well, I have others things I can chat about either way.” He clicked his tongue, eyes slowly traveling from my eyes down my body, no doubt stopping at my chest as the dress did a shit job at covering my boobs as it should, but for once I didn’t mind, “You look ravishing tonight, Y/N, I wish we met in a setting like this more often.”

“With my field of work I rarely get the chance to dress up all pretty,” I mused, pushing my long hair behind my shoulders, “but tonight’s a special occasion, I had to dress accordingly. And it seems it was a smart choice given that you look handsome yourself, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong chuckled, eyes creasing as he scrunched his nose. For someone who was a dangerous mafia lord, he certainly could look rather cute in a way that seemed almost uncharacteristic, “What a compliment from you, thank you. It’s not often I hear you call me by my name.”

“Casualties need to be put aside when we’re talking about your business.”

“But isn’t that why we’re here?”

I grinned, hand resting on the white envelope placed on the table, “Exactly, but until we get to the business talk, I’ll indulge and play along with you, Hongjoong.”

“I’m afraid I got you wrapped around my finger, Y/N.” I snorted as Hongjoong bit his bottom lip with his eyes boring into mine, one eyebrow raised almost mockingly. But before I could retort anything, the waiter approached us with Hongjoong’s expensive whiskey and bowed upon his departure. Hongjoong hummed and grabbed his glass, raising it as he waited for me to do the same with my glass of wine. As I have said, I intended on making a toast. I couldn’t help but smirk as I raised my glass and titled it towards Hongjoong.

“To the downfall of your enterprise and empire, Mr. Kim.” I couldn’t help but feel elated as Hongjoong’s face fell, eyes hardening as I chuckled and took a long sip of the sweet wine, humming in delict at the expensive taste of the alcohol. Hongjoong almost hesitated for a second, but he took a sip of his whiskey and shook his head as his eyes fell on the envelope. I placed my glass down and traced its surface almost mockingly as I stalled handing the envelope over to him, “You see, Mr. Kim, it’s usually those closest to us that can ruin us the easiest and fastest way.”

“I suppose whatever you have in that envelope won’t be to my liking, Miss Yang.” I chuckled and nodded as I grabbed it and looked at it before handing it over to Hongjoong. I settled back in my seat and grabbed my glass of wine to sip on it as I watched the fearless mafia lord’s jaw clench as he emptied the envelope’s contents and paused as he scattered all the evidence out in front of him. I grinned behind my glass as I took a large gulp of the wine, enjoying the rich taste of it as it bloomed around my taste buds, making me sigh in content as Hongjoong’s neutral mask slipped into one of anger. I chuckled under my breath as I took him in, eyes straying to the exposed skin of his chest as he was leaned forward and wore nothing underneath his jacket. Silver chains hung around his neck and his ears had more than one earring piercing them, his pinkie nails painted black on both hands as a few chunky rings clung to his thick fingers.

He scoffed loudly and I quirked an eyebrow at him as he threw me a glare before looking back down at the papers, his jaw set tight as I swiftly finished my wine. It’s been long I had something as fancy as this one as I usually opted for the cheap beer from the convenience store after a strenuous and challenging day while I sat on my couch in the living room and watched whatever reality show was on at the moment.

“Miss Yang,” I perked up as Hongjoong sighed, tone tight and displeased, “I thought our respect was mutual after all these years of knowing each other and collaborating, yet here you are, meddling with my personal life.”

“Oh, but Mr. Kim,” I interlaced my fingers and placed my elbows on the table as I leaned forward with a fake concerned look on my face, “I thought there were no secrets between the two of us, yet here we are, with proof on our hands of all of your wrongdoings and missteps, Mr. Kim.”

He chuckled as he threw the papers onto the table and tsked, eyeing my empty glass of wine, “I heard you’ve been promoted to Deputy Chief, shouldn’t one of your baboons be sitting here with me instead of you?”

“I couldn’t miss seeing your reaction, Mr. Kim.” I chuckled and he nodded, eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, mirroring my position.

“You should thank me for getting as far as this, Miss Yang, without me you would’ve been useless to the police—”

“If that is what you wish to believe, Mr. Kim, go ahead.” My jaw clenched at his blatant disrespect as I cut him off, “But at least I wasn’t outed by my own brother.”

Hongjoong’s eye twitched as he scoffed and hastily grabbed his glass to throw his whiskey back. I smiled as I enjoyed seeing him in real distress for the first time, seeing him uncapable of stopping me this time. But I also became aware of the subtle thumping of my head, of the immediate effect of the alcohol I had consumed. Could it be so strong that it already got to my head? I thought I had a rather high tolerance for alcoholic drinks.

“I am sure my brother has his own reasons—”

“Like many people I’ve come across, Mr. Kim, your brother grew sick of your schemes and deals, and chose to right his wrongdoings.” I cut him off once again, the headache growing a lot more persistent and disturbing. My body suddenly felt like it was moving a lot slower than it actually was, making me shake out my hands as I leaned back in my seat. Once again, Hongjoong’s eyes fell on the empty glass and my eyes narrowed as he grinned before shaking his head.

“My brother is a fool,” Hongjoong muttered and then gathered the papers and slowly slipped them back in the envelope, “when will you raid my warehouses?”

“Probably tomorrow.” I hummed as I had to blink my eyes a few times to clear the haze that threatened to settle upon my vision, “Can’t let you have too much time at your hands to dispose of all the evidence, can’t I?”

“I appreciate your effort of warning me,” Hongjoong hummed and licked his lips as he paused for a second, watching me closely as my legs started feeling like lead and my arms tingled, “you’ve always been a great asset to my organization, Miss Yang, so aware of everything yet never close enough to prove anything.”

“I’ll do anything it takes to finally take you down,” I hissed, venom coating my voice as I had to force my eyes shut upon the violent headache that seemed to leave me immobile, “I’ve had enough of watching people suffer because of you, Hongjoong.”

“Perhaps you’ll hate me a little more after tonight, Y/N,” Hongjoong chuckled as I tried to gulp but my throat felt parched. I tried to move, but I couldn’t, and I panicked as I realized this wasn’t normal. Whatever this was, it had to be Hongjoong’s doing and as my eyes fell onto my empty wine glass, Hongjoong chuckled and leaned over the table to grab it, “because I have tricked you once again. My brother is my most trusted asset to my organization, I knew we could lure you out if I sent him running to you with forged evidence.”

I tried to sit up and grab for my gun, but even my tongue felt heavy to move as I frowned at Hongjoong, heartrate picking up as I realized I had foolishly fallen into his well-thought-out plan, “Some of my business partners are fed up with you always lurking around our asses, so I had to do something about it if I didn’t want to lose them.”

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a weak sound in the back of my throat making Hongjoong chuckle. My head was pounding and even the dim lights bothered my eyes as I felt dizzy, struggling to stay awake as everything in me was growing soft and calm, “I respect you greatly, Y/N, and quite frankly I like you a lot. It’s hard to find a confident, ambitious, and strong woman that doesn’t abide to my wishes straight away these days. It’s truly a pity that we’re on opposing teams, darling.”

There was a beep coming from his pocket and he grabbed his phone and chuckled as he picked it up, sounding too cheery as I struggled to fight the sleep that was threatening to knock me out for God knows how long, “I told you it would be easy, bring the van to the back.”

I tried to protest as my eyes fluttered open and Hongjoong pushed his seat back and stood with a mischievous smirk on his lips as he slowly approach me, his wide legged pants making him look taller than he was, “You’ve been working hard, Y/N, it’s time for a little vacation, don’t you think? Have you ever been to the Bahamas? I have a really important gig to pull off and I really can’t have you sniffing around my ass like a wild dog.”

I managed to gasp as suddenly Hongjoong’s hands were around and underneath my body, lifting me off the chair as I hung limply in his arms as he stared down at me with pursed lips, “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And with the promise rolling off his tongue in a whisper, the drug that had been infused with my wine kicked in completely and I couldn’t help but surrender to the serene darkness that lulled me to a deep sleep in Hongjoong’s strong arms.

I need to call Irene once I am conscious again. I didn’t wear a tracker.

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[annabelle--cane]

does the tma tumblr fandom know about the madness that seized the tma tiktok fandom (specifically the cosplay side) in the ~month after the finale released? I can't remember the exact order of events, but it went something like

week leading up to the finale: lots of oliver banks cosplays. makes sense, with The End and all that.

the day of the finale: people must have been sitting there already in costume with their cameras and lighting set up to listen to mag 200 when it dropped cause there were some really quite spectacular videos set to dialogue from it within about fifteen minutes.

the next week: cursed cosplays. I think it started with another resurgence of catboy elias (always a favorite), then something Happened to everyone because it immediately moved on to things like the calliope, ex altiora, the daedalus space station, jon's rib, the billboard from mag 74, the metal pipe, jane prentiss's ashes, the blanket (of "never did anything" fame), the homophobic vase, the bag of teeth, the beetle wife, and, my personal favorite, the man upon the stair who wasn't there. most of these were extremely detailed and high quality.

for maybe 18 hours: in-universe in-character avatar discourse. arguments about whether people should reveal that they were avatars in the apocalypse on the first date. it immediately got out of hand, people started satirizing certain kinds of prejudices that it was Not their place to, and almost everyone deleted their videos about it by the following morning so it vanished like a collective fever dream.

three weeks post-finale: the magnus carchives au. they work at a car dealership now.