#fake dating/marriage

[generalsdiary]

Interwoven

Mydei x Phainon

word count: 2.9k

description: Phainon and Mydei, through a powerful Oronyx's artifact, end up in the bodies of their future selves who have managed to end the war, revive Castrum Kremnos, and get married. They are left to deal with their suppressed feelings while trying to keep appearances about being married, learning how to lead the major city of Castrum Kremnos, and making notes of how they achieved all of this. While trying to figure out a way back home.

a/n: inspired by @starcurtain 's post on Mydei/Phainon fics they want to read (prompt 5)

ty to my beta readers; citrus, rice cake and v.ertias_ (on discord) <2

Chapter 1: In the shadow of the Sun

„What are you doing?“ A rough voice interrupts Phainon’s peace. 

Phainon is standing in his personal quarters, holding up a pair of scissors and cutting into what used to be an ochre dress. Shapeless, flowy, plum-colored pants that are too long for him cover his feet. And due to them not originally being pants, they leave little to the imagination. The cotton dress in his hands is being massacred by the dull scissors in his hand and soon put over his head as a shirt, covering his chiseled body upon the intrusion of his…fellow Chrysos Heir.

“I am—uh… Well, is it not obvious? I am making clothes for myself.” Phainon stumbles around his words, Mydei’s presence wasn’t unwelcome despite the surprise.

“You.” Mydei pinches the bridge of his nose,“ Aglaea can make any clothing for you— or just buy new ones if you dislike the ones you own.” He spoke through strained teeth.

“Aglaea only makes specific clothing she likes, not the ones I wish to wear— moreover! I am off the clock right now and I want to rest in what I find comfortable.” Phainon passionately counteracts.

“You look like a broke villager, and your capabilities are a far cry from a craftsman.” Mydei judged the homemade clothes. Phainon either looks homeless, or like a little kid who got ahold of their parents’ clothes and went to town with them.

“What does it matter? I’m in my room, and I—“ Phainon stops himself, his gaze dropping to the floor. Regret and nostalgia for his home fill him once more. He aches to be comfortable, to wear the colors he used to wear, terrible taste aside; he wishes to feel the way he used to before he was draped in the snowy whites, brilliant golds, and ocean blues adorned on his cape. He wishes to go back to a time before he was dressed up like a doll and praised like a hero. It all felt like a false charade he couldn’t bear to keep up every hour of every day. And if it meant cutting up clothes to create something old, something new, familiar; then that’s what he would do.

Mydeimos, the heir to the throne, the Crown Prince with noble upbringing and golden blood in his veins, son of Gorgo, and king of Castrum Kremnos with royal etiquette ingrained in him, silently cringed. The distant look in Phainon's eyes did not escape him.

“Er, Aglaea needs us. Tribios and her have stumbled upon something that appears to be groundbreaking. The meeting is in half an hour. Try not to be late, Deliverer.” Mydei lingers, if only for a moment. 

To speak, to share, to indulge. 

Phainon looks at him, perhaps a hope glimmers in his eyes, a wish to be heard and to speak of the things that weigh on his mind and heart, to connect with the only one he feels would understand.

He cannot explain it. He cannot fully fathom the connection he feels to Mydei, despite the two lacking a history of any deeper personal conversations.

A need, a desire of a thirsty man as his eyes fall upon a river. The painful burn in his muscles as he is running up to the body of water, falling on his knees with a heavy thud which hurts his knees, leaning towards it until he freezes. His hands hover above the icy water. Sprinkles of it burn his hands, and he can almost feel how it would taste to quench his thirst.

It makes him nauseous. 

His fingers tremble with fear, and he leans back on the cold, dark earth, once more digging his hands into the dirt.

Regrettably, neither of them are that close, nor that honest with each other. Phainon feels choked out by the need to cling to the warrior in his room, to scream after him, to keep him near. As if a part of him doesn’t stay inside him when Mydei leaves, it runs off and escapes with the Crown Prince. It is a feeling he cannot grasp or explain. A deep rooted desire to stay close, to talk, to exchange stories, share secrets, and entangle his life with Mydei’s in a way that would keep them connected forever.

Mydei exhales and turns around. The door gently closes to signify that Phainon is alone once more.

Phainon strips out of the messy excuse for clothes and puts on the usual work outfit. The clothes of a hero.

“Perfect as ever, Phainon.” The mask of the hero of Amphoreus gets heavier each time he puts it on.  Consequently, it also gets harder to take it off after each day too. He sighs at his reflection in the bath water.

“This is dependent on who is going. Castorice would not be ideal in this situation – Snowy!” Tribbie beams at Phainon’s appearance, turning to face the man with a big smile. “You made it!” 

Phainon returns the smile and adjusts his sleeves, “Yes, Mydei informed me, what is this about?” 

Castorice lingers further away from the group, standing beside the elevator. Her lilac fingers flip a dried flower petal in her hand. Perhaps it, too, shared the purple hue before the death touch of the Chrysos Heir. Mydei stood in one of the shallow baths, picking at a grapefruit, easily ignoring the Aglaea’s sharp glare at his active appetite.

“I do agree, despite our end goal, Castorice would be safe, but alas, it is a wrong option.” Aglaea agrees with Tribbie, gesturing with her hand. The clear polish on her nails reflects in the artificial light as she feels out the gold strings.

Feeling somewhat left out, Phainon attempts to get a recap of the situation at hand, he butts in, “Might I ask for context?” 

“We discovered an artifact with an immense amount of Oronyx’s power left inside it. Upon closer inspection, we came to a conclusion that it could be used to travel to the future. And, possibly, figure out the location of the Death Titan for Castorice, and any other information that can be gathered. It would be best to travel far ahead, hopefully past the point of the war.” Trinnon nods as she speaks, opening up her palms to reveal a floating item resembling a brown leather pouch.

“Why would Castorice be a bad option?” Phainon narrows his eyes at the floating pouch and glances back to Aglaea.

“Castorice’s future might clash with the goal. Although it would be safer for her, since any one of us could awaken in a shallow grave, I am one to hope that we are all fine in the future,” Aglaea muses, she purses her lips and closes her eyes for a few moments.

“Which is why, we believe, it would be best for De to go and for someone to join him.” Tribbie excitedly adds but not before, very obviously, looking at Phainon.

Mydei clenches his jaw, not particularly happy with the choices made in his place; however having arrived late, Phainon missed out on the part where he disagreed and argued his case.

“Who will go with him?” Castorice softly poses a question, pulling her gaze away from the dead life in her hands.

“Given Anaxagoras’ status as a Sage, he is unavailable for such an experimental mission. Tribbie, Trinnon, and Trianne are vital to stay here with me. Okhema will not be defenseless for the sake of this.”  Aglaea’s glance moves to her nails, adding an air of casualness and leaving no room for complaints. “Which only leaves you, Phainon. We do not know how the artifact works, but I am confident in your capabilities.” Aglaea feels satisfied with her recap, so she gracefully sits down and crosses her legs. 

Phainon exhales, he gestures with his hand, “I am merely evaluating the possibilities—“ 

Phainon shuffles a bit, shifting the weight from one leg to the other. Could this prove fatal? Dangerous to execute? Meant to fail?

His thoughts get interrupted by Mydei’s rough voice, “Will you continue overthinking or can we get this over with, Deliverer?”

Trianne interrupts the bickering, “The artifact is wavering. We can feel Oronyx’s power fading, you have to go! Now!”

Phainon couldn’t feel Mydei’s hand in his anymore.

In a flash Mydei runs up to Phainon, grabbing the artifact from Tribios. Mydei grabs Phainon’s unusually cold hand. The chill of his skin makes his hidden nervousness apparent. Tribios surround the boys and whisper chants of an old era.

Phainon looked at Mydei with panic in his eyes, “What if we won’t be near each other— what if there is nothing—“ Mydei’s gaze looked unruly as ever, but despite that, Phainon could tell the worry concealed behind it was mutual. Phainon’s questions are left unfinished, cut off by a loud thunder strike and a white flash that blinds his vision.

The first thing he felt was the burn in his eyes. He instinctively closed them, stumbling forward and bending over slightly. A loud ringing in his ears blurred out any noise he might’ve heard in the moment.

However, there were good things. His body feels fine in this future, or rather, this version of the future. And there is firm ground under his feet. The pain overwhelmed him, and he groaned, falling to one knee.

“…—nce!” Echoes of something that sounded like it was miles away tickled his ears. Gentle hands gripped his arms to help him up, but he shrugged them off. With the immense disorientation and a fear of the unknown, he instinctively refused any help.

Phainon feels a gentle breeze brush his cheek and a bird sing. He opens his eyes to be faced with the warm light of a new day and a cliff right in front of him. Still somewhat disoriented, his attempts at figuring out where he was were interrupted by the three people beside him, gripping his arms and helping him up.

“…ince-! … elp… you— pleas—“ The ringing got louder and the echoes closer. Phainon’s chest tightened, forcing himself to sharply inhale and exhale air that slashed his lungs and cut at his throat. Phainon’s mind collapsed in on itself; memories he couldn’t see, couldn’t grasp, running away from him because they weren’t his own. Not now, not here, not yet.

The darkness beyond his mind choked him, flooding his senses with everything and nothing all at once, driving him to the brink of death and— it stopped.

“Prince, please, let us help you!” The shorter one urges as they guide the man to his feet.

“Someone go fetch the King. Aulus, go.” The taller one speaks in a hushed voice to the woman beside him.

“A ridiculous matter such as this wouldn’t be the bother of the King, Hyles—“ The woman answered in a harsh whisper, only to be interrupted by the tall man.

“Do you wish to deal with the wrath of the king if we don’t tell him that the Prince is unwell?” Hyles, supposedly, quipped back and left quickly thereafter.

The commotion between the… servants, Phainon assumes, ended there. The taller one, Hyles, slipped away and Phainon finally turned to face them properly. Before he could ask who they were, the breath was stolen out of his lungs by the sight of Castrum Kremnos. Which stood before him in its full glory.

Mydei was right, seeing it fallen apart doesn’t do it true justice. When was it all rebuilt? Or is this truly just the past instead of the future?

Wait… did they travel to the past by accident? No… No matter if it’s the past or the future he should be careful to behave as this version of him usually would.

“My apologies, I got… dizzy. That’s all. Probably my blood pressure acting up. I get like this when I eat too many sweets.” Phainon chuckles and glances at the two servants.

“Prince Phainon, we should get you back inside, perhaps even call upon a doctor—“ Aulus urges with shaky pupils, worry, and almost fear…?

“No. Please, there’s no need, Aulus.” He glances at the two, hoping and praying he is making himself sound natural while using the name he just heard.

The shorter one speaks up, gently shaking their head, “Prince, please, let us escort you to your chambers, rest is necessary.”

With the persistence of the two, he slowly walked towards the magnificent structure, trying his best to hide his awe and admiration. The enormous columns that supported the building looked refreshed, however he lacked the knowledge to conclude whether this was a scene from the past or the future. And most importantly, how he fits in all of this. Blood red flags decorate the beige stone, signifying the major city of which Phainon only remembers the destroyed version of.

Trying his best to keep himself distracted from the worry of the true identity of the King. The constant stream of thoughts and anxiety about the timelines threaten to overwhelm him.

…And why is he a prince?

“My King, the Prince has experienced the same condition that you had a few days ago in your chambers, he couldn’t hear us at first and fell to his knees—“ Hyles calmly reports to the King.

“Where is he?” The King growls at the servant, the court echoing from the volume of his voice.

“T-the others are walking him to his chambers as we speak, I am certain of this—“

“That’s not good enough! Where is he?!” The marble walls shook in fear of the anger, the Strife from the defeated Titan resembling within their King. Pride and unease resonated within the stone.

“My King, he is alright now, he is stable, I’m sure—“ Hyles fought for his life and luckily the heavy doors opened with a creek, offering a glimpse of hope to the shivering servant, “Ah, there, this must be the Prince coming.” Hyles mumbles prayers as turns to face the doors. 

Phainon walks in slowly and relief washes over his body the moment his eyes fall on Mydei.

“Mydei! A sight for sore eyes! We need to talk. Can we go somewhere private?” Phainon approaches him, hoping this is his Mydei, from his time. He is unable to control the pleading look in his eyes.

Mydei moves towards him with a heavy step. Thud, thud. He slips off the bronze glove and cups his cheek. “Are you alright, my Prince?”

A shiver travels down Phainon’s spine and he freezes in place. Every dream, hidden fantasy, secret thought, all of them resurfaced in a burst of desperation. Phainon turns into a puddle under his touch. It felt grounding, comforting, everything he needed from Mydei.

Mydei brushes his thumb against Phainon’s cheek and utters, “Leave us.”

The people left the premise with rushed steps and whispers of ‘My King, my Prince’.

Finding his voice again, Phainon breathlessly speaks up, “Mydei?”

“What is the last thing you said to me?” Mydei lets go of his cheek and takes a step back, he turns away and looks at the statue of a lion in the middle of the court.

Phainon chuckled, uncertain of this whole situation. “Last thing? Uh. You can’t possibly expect me to remember every sentence I speak to you?” Why is he a prince, and is Mydei the king? It made sense but; are they married? 

“Do not avoid my question. Just answer.” Mydei groans, folding his arms across his chiseled chest.

Mydei raises his head and heavily exhales. The drawn-out pause makes the hair on the back of Phainon’s neck rise.

“I.” Phainon cannot find it in him to lie, so he weighs out his options. If this is his Mydei, then he is safe to tell the truth. If this is… King Mydei, the future version, it could screw things up on a whole other level. He hopes he can fix the situation even if his tongue slips.

Phainon opts out for the truth.

“…what if there is nothing.” He whispers, eyes trained on the well-defined back muscles of his fellow Chrysos Heir. 

Mydei faces Phainon once more. “Finally. I have been here… for days.”

“Mydei?!” Recognition flashes in his eyes and he rushes closer, “You— it is you— my Mydei— I mean— Mydei from my time, our time?”

“Yes, yes, it’s me, Deliverer. Like I said, I arrived days before you. Thankfully, I have managed to gather the situation. Took you long enough.” Mydei obviously holds back an eye roll.

Phainon scoffs, “Took me long enough? I’m lucky I didn’t die!”

“You’re a demigod, I doubt you would have died.” Mydei snorts and provides a piece of information. If Phainon is a demigod, then this must be the future.

Phainon rubs his chin, analyzing the facts he has gathered so far. “Care to explain what is going on?”

“Do I really have to paint the picture for you? Has the trip to the future affected your intelligence in any way?” Mydei narrows his eyes, and Phainon feels right at home. The usual back and forth he has gotten used to over the years secures him in the present, or rather the future, making him feel like he can solve anything with his fellow Chrysos Heir by his side.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it from you, since you’ve been here for some time.” Phainon is already well aware of how untalkative his fellow Chrysos Heir can be. Whilst he thinks of prospective follow-up questions, he tilts his head, lips naturally curving downwards. As he ponders, his brows furrow slightly. Something doesn’t add up. Mydei arrived… days earlier than him.

“… Wait. If I came after you… who was here before me?” Phainon raises his chin, posing the burning question regarding the titles he has heard thus far.

Mydei swallows, exhales, and answers factually.

“The future version of you, the Prince of Castrum Kremnos. My husband.”

divider cr: @saradika-graphics

[reyalvr]

SHE'S MINE | 01

I'M ALL IN, I CAN'T REVERSE IT-

synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers. 

genre ┊ fake dating, fake marriage, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, slight angst, chaotic fluff, mild smut

pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan

word count ┊  3.2k

author’s note ┊ WOOHOO part one finally out! thank you so much for all the love on the prologue, it made me so motivated to make this as good as possible hehe >.< each chapter title is based off of a lyric in my writing playlist for this series, lmk if you guys would like me to drop it  ˶�� ᵕ ᵔ˶. happy reading!

prev. | next

KEN KNEW HE WAS IN DEEP SHIT. Knee deep, even. If you asked him what was going through his head thirty seconds ago, he wouldn’t be able to tell you even if he wanted to. Everything that happened next was a blur- from shaking hands with the host to walking back to his dressing room, it felt like he was operating on autopilot. Who wouldn’t be, though? He had just announced to the world that he was officially taken; that he was off the market- hooked. Of course, it wouldn’t have been a problem if it were true…

But it wasn’t. 

He had just lied to an audience of a hundred people- not to mention the millions throughout the various streaming platforms the show was being aired on. His nails dug into his palm as he neared his dressing room, the bold, black letters of his name growing larger and larger each step he took. His heart was pounding, and he swore he felt chill down his spine the moment he opened the door. No one could blame him though, not if they knew the inevitable wrath they were about to face. 

You were stood there, eyes narrowed and resting all your weight on your hip. Your arms were crossed, your lips were pursed. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, staring at each other as you waited for the other to speak up. Ken swallowed nervously, tapping his foot as he tried formulating an explanation. He wasn’t entirely sure as to why he was so overstrung, it was just you. Why should he be terrified of your scolding on his recent screw up? 

“Special someone, huh?” You said through your teeth, finally breaking the tense silence in the room. “So special that nobody on your team knew of her prior to your public love confession?” 

Ah. That was why. The way you were able to see right through him scared him sometimes. He never outwardly showed his reactions, though- at least he tried not to. He cleared his throat before finally moving to plop down on the couch, doing his damndest not to show his jitters. 

“Yeah, yeah whatever. I lied, so what?” He replied, his cocky tone masking the unsureness in his words. “It’s not the first time I’ve done it.” 

Strike one. As if you couldn’t have been any more pissed off, that seemed to be the tipping point. You paused before letting out a deep breath, circling around him. He closed his eyes when he knew you were behind him, and he waited for you to berate him; to remind him of the consequences of his actions. He waited, but it never came. He opened one eye, and he relaxed when you moved to sit on the opposite couch. He was spared… for now.

“What, no scolding?” He decided to test, tilting his head to the side as he watched you. 

You only let out a small laugh, and somehow that was worse than any scolding he’d ever received from you. You were oddly calm, like all your anger had just melted away. Leaning forward, you slid an enclosed piece of paper across the table towards him. 

“Can you guess what this is, Ken?” You ask, your eyes finally looking back up to meet his. 

Ken knew not to answer. He was ready to spit out some witty reply, but the look in your eyes told him that this was going to go down another route; one that he definitely didn’t want to aggravate. 

“It’s my resignation letter.” You say nonchalantly, causing him to straighten up once more. “I keep it handy.”

Resignation letter? Was this real? Were you actually going to quit over this? He opened his mouth to speak up but quickly shut it when you maintained your soul-searching gaze. He tried to relax, yet the furrow in his eyebrows seemed to stay as you continued on. 

“I’m going to be very clear on what’s going to happen next, Ken.” You say, resting your arms on your knees. “This will be the last time I help you clear up a mishap. After everything is settled, I’m gone.” 

Gone. His eyes widened slightly, the palms of his hands starting to get clammy. He let out a light, nervous laugh, looking at you as if you had just said something absurd. Which, in his defense, you sort of did. Again, he had no idea why this news was so shocking to him, seeing as you’d only worked under him for a year and a half. Surely he couldn’t have been that terrible, right? He stared at the folded paper in front of him before speaking up.

“What, uh, what do you mean gone?” He asked through a breathy laugh. “Gone like a break or something? I’m happy to give you one-”

“Gone as in I quit.” You cut him off, standing up as you adjusted the sleeves of your shirt. “Like I said, this is the last time I clean up your mess, Ken Sato.” 

You moved to walk away, but he quickly caught your arm. “Woah, hold on a sec,” He stood up, looking down at you with stunned eyes. “Quit? C’mon, [Y/N] I know I screwed up but you can’t just leave me hanging like this-” 

You scoffed at him then, yanking your arm out of his grasp. “Oh I can’t leave you hanging, huh? Tell me, Ken, how many times have I saved your ass in the last eighteen months I’ve been working for you, hm?”

He swallowed dryly as he tried to recall. He was used to having his name on headlines, most especially after his move last year. He couldn’t go five seconds without seeing his ads pop up on his platforms, hell he couldn’t even go five blocks without seeing a billboard with his face on it. Which all brought him back to one thing: not one negative scandal under his name. With you, he was perfect; jack of all trades in the MLB and the internet’s favorite spokesperson. 

Shit. Strike two. 

You only hummed in response once you read over his expression. “Exactly. So the next time you even think about downplaying my job, remember how I was the reason for your recent success.”

Ken was at a loss for words. Rarely was he ever left speechless, he always seemed to have a response ready for anything. But now was definitely not one of those times. He watched as you bent down to retrieve that dreaded letter, and you shoved it into his chest before moving to finally walk past him. 

“Our flight leaves tomorrow at five a.m, I'll see you in the lobby at three.” You say, not so much as sparing him a glance as you fixed your bag. 

He managed to let out a quiet ‘okay’, gripping onto your letter tightly as he watched you pack up. Damn Ken, you really did it this time, didn’t you? He thought to himself, wondering how- or rather, if he would be able to make things right with you. For the first time in his career, he was thinking about someone else other than himself. 

“Oh and Ken,” You say, breaking him out of his dazed stance. 

“Hm?” He hummed out, averting his gaze to be level with yours. 

“You had better pray that the next assistant you get is half as good as I am.” You said before closing the door, leaving him alone in his dressing room. All of a sudden it felt… quiet. Too quiet. He sighed, dropping down on the couch once more before closing his eyes and masking his face with his hands.

Strike three. 

THE TENSION IN THE CAR WAS PAINSTAKINGLY PALPABLE. Ken’s leg bounced as the two of you were stuck in airport traffic, the car unmoving for nearly half an hour now. Your occasional sighs and the hum of the car’s engine were the only sounds filling the air. He felt like he was going crazy. He hadn’t been able to sleep properly the night before thanks to your bombshell of an announcement. In comparison, though, he probably shouldn’t be complaining about bombshells when he himself dropped one twice the size of yours. 

Still, he was restless. You hadn’t uttered a single word to him since landing back in Tokyo, and the unwanted solitude was driving him nuts. He glanced over at you through his shades, noting the way you were impatiently tapping your fingers against the wheel. Obviously you were still pissed at his little stunt, and the articles following the incident didn’t aid in calming your anger. 

He knew it wasn’t smart, but he needed to talk to you. The sea of red lights in front of him remained stagnant, and he didn’t want to spend another minute in this deafening quietude. He gnawed at his bottom lip before finally breaking the silence. 

“Can we talk?” He said, looking over at you. 

“No.” You replied bluntly.

“[Y/N]-” He started, but one glance from you was enough to shut him up. 

“I am doing you a huge favor by helping you solve the mess you created.” You said as you looked back at the road ahead of you, lifting your fingers and circling your thumbs around the wheel. “I could’ve left right then and there, leaving you to deal with this on your own. But I didn’t, I don’t know why, but I didn’t.”

You looked back up at him, and only now did he notice the circles under your eyes and the paleness of your complexion. Something inside him twisted; he couldn’t tell if it was guilt or regret. Guilt, probably, for having to rely on you to correct his mistakes, and regret for even causing this whole debacle in the first place. 

“The least I’m asking from you is your compliance.” You say tiredly, the glint in your eyes doing most of the talking. 

“Yeah, okay. Sorry.” He managed to get out, leaning back into the passenger seat. 

And just like that, the dreaded silence was back. By some miracle the traffic started to gain some speed, the taillights of the cars ahead of him dispersing onto the road. His head hit the back of the headrest, and he sat through the entire ride back to the Tokyo Dome contemplating his recent choices. 

It was only when you knocked on the window of the passenger side when he realized he had finally reached his destination. He got out, stretching his limbs after being cramped inside the car for so long. He threw on his jacket lazily, not even bothering to zip it up. He went to put on his cap, but then he noticed something odd. 

It was quiet outside the building, the bristle of the trees and the nearby roads the only sound filling his ears. There was something lacking; the neverending shuttering sounds of cameras and eager voices yelling at him to look or to say something. He realized then the lack of paparazzi and reporters outside to greet him, just like they usually did whenever he came back from a trip. His head turned, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked around. Not a single one in sight.

“‘Something wrong?” You asked as you walked past him to swipe your ID into the security system. 

“It’s just,” He said, still looking around in confusion. He let out an airy laugh as he followed you inside, the expression on his face remaining the same. “There’s no paps or anything.”

At that you laugh, albeit sarcastically, waiting for him to get into the elevator. “You know that might be the first time I’ve ever heard a famous person complain about not being bombarded by ill-intent people.” 

“I’m not complaining, trust me.” He says, putting his hands up halfway in defense. “It’s weird. That’s all.” 

“Well that’s what happens when people think you’re spending time with your special someone after being away for so long.” You say, pulling up a press announcement on your phone. 

For a split second, Kenji had completely forgotten that he had to keep up the fact that he supposedly had a significant other waiting for him at home. He let out an ‘ah’, sliding his hands into his pockets as the elevator went up. Again his heart panged, finally realizing why your eyebags were deeper than they usually were. While he may have had discomfort in his slumber, it didn’t compare to the hours you were up trying to get everything settled here.

You held the door open to your office, letting him in first. Once the lights were on, he was greeted with your infamous whiteboard, different scribbles of colorful ink filling up the space corner to corner. He cringed at the bolded date of the talk show he was on. 

“Your bags will be sent here in the next hour, and valet has your bike ready.” You say, doing the usual routine you did whenever the both of you came back from work trips. He sat down on the sofa, nodding each time you reminded him of something. 

“Now, about the issue,” You walk over to the whiteboard, erasing its contents. “We need to find you a fake girlfriend.” 

He choked on nothing, not surprised by the news but surprised by the continued bluntness of your tone. “I beg your pardon?”

“We need to find you a fake girlfriend.” You repeated, emphasizing the words obnoxiously. 

“Yeah I get that,” He finally replied, a look of uncertainty splashing his features. “But you’re making it sound like all we need to do is shop around.”

“Well unless you can give me a face, let alone a name to your special someone, this is the plan we have.” You retort, resting a hand at your hip as the other points at the board. 

“Why can’t I just be one of those celebrities who keep their relationship private?” He questions genuinely. 

“Oh I’m sorry, who was the one who announced that they were in love on live television?” You remind him, annoyance laced in your words. 

He bites back any sort of sarcastic remark that conjures up in the back of his head. You were right, obviously you were right. But some part of him felt it was… unfair to not have a say in this. Stupid, yes, but it’s how he felt.

“Can I continue or is there anything else you want to unnecessarily add?” You ask, looking at him with an eyebrow raised. 

He only lifted a hand, signaling for you to carry on. You go on to explain that whoever ends up “dating” him will need to have to go through a contract signing, NDA included. You draw up charts on your board, showing him the possible stats of his ratings if he’ll be able to pull this off. 

“Your next playoff season is about to start, I suggest we get all this settled by then.” You scroll on your smartwatch, looking at the calendar. “It gives me two weeks to plan everything out. I need you here tomorrow bright and early so that we can go through a list of potential candidates.”

“Candidates? What is this, speed-dating?” He says, making a face at all the analytical parts of your plan. 

“No, it’s a game called ‘save-my-reputation.’” You answer snarkily, narrowing your eyes slightly at him. 

He takes in a deep breath, starting to get annoyed with your remarks. He knew he had no right to, but to think that you were just dictating away at his choices made him feel like some sort of plaything. 

“I just don’t understand why we even need to find a ‘girlfriend’ in the first place.” He massages the back of his head before crossing his arms. “I mean everyone thinks I’ve successfully hidden my love life up until now, what’s the point of going all out?”

He could see you clench your fingers around the marker, and he knew he was close to reaching your tipping once more. All in the span of twenty-four hours. You pinched the bridge of your nose before you spoke up.

“Ken. You told the world that you were in love.” You say in an eerily calm tone. “You got yourself into this mess, now you have to get yourself out of it. And unless you want to say goodbye to your stardom, this is what you need to do.” 

He opened his mouth to speak up but was cut off by your phone’s ringing. You answered, spewing out a quick and formal ‘thank you’ to whoever was on the other line. You sighed, placing your marker back down on your desk before you walked past him towards the glass door. 

“Your bags are here.” You say, opening the door. “Your bike’s parked outside and everything should be good to go.” 

Your demeanor had changed in a split second, going from PR manager to assistant in the blink of an eye. At times Ken wondered how you were able to juggle everything. It wasn’t the main thing that was on his mind, he had… other, more serious things to worry about. Like the other secret he had kept from you all this time; Ultraman. He shook his head, trying not to focus on his double life on top of the situation he was in. 

Ken knew that your words were a sign to get up and get out, and he did just that. You followed him all the way back down to the lobby of the stadium, handing him his duffel bag and walking him to his bike. Despite your earlier mood, you did your checks on his motorbike that he had grown accustomed to after a while. 

“Tomorrow, bright and early.” You remind him, crossing your arms as he got on his bike. “Please.”

“Tomorrow, bright and early.” He repeats through a huff, slinging his bag into the compartment attached to the back of his motorbike. “Got it.” 

You only hummed in response, turning away to walk back into the stadium. He didn’t know what it was that came over him, but before he knew it he was grabbing your arm softly once more. Your head spun around to look at him, more of your stray hairs spilling out of your updo. At this angle the sunset brought out the shininess of your eyes, the early evening shadows accentuating your features. 

He swallowed before he continued. “You know for what it’s worth, I really am sorry.” 

Instead of another curt response, though, you sighed as you pressed your lips together. He lets go of your arm then, not wanting to invade anymore of your personal space than he already has. He can see you poke your tongue into your cheek, a habit you did when you were in contemplation. 

“Well,” You finally breathe out, your expression relaxing. “If you’re actually as sorry as you say you are, you’ll do as I say.” 

“‘Course.” He says before his face gets obscured by his helmet. He nods towards your direction once more before finally revving the engine. 

Only time will tell what the outcome is, but whatever it is, he hopes he ends up in the one where you don’t loathe his very being. 

reyalvr © 2024 … do not repost, alter, or steal my work.

tags┊@mochminnie, @rreasonablydumbb, @sincerest-one, @fruticake, @lunaryasha, @lovingyeet, @sugacor3, @arrozyfrijoles23, @fennecspage, @mmeerraa, @azryaa, @akiradailylifes, @montybooks, @mmv-ymvm, @hore4ken, @greeniegreengreen, @meikoo, @random-3455, @todaywasafairytale07, @mythicalmoa, @imafangirlofeverything, @astylos, @vynwan-cbq, @rosegiyanabing, @icedberrytea, @ken-zah, @letharue, @chi222, @flooftoof, @c4ttheart, @ymrai, @stxrrielle, @alpha-mommy69, @ewitscat, @lightsinmycity, @furblrwurblr, @ayamago, @sugururawr, @secretlyapartofthisfandom @shellspider, @oh-kurva, @noraimp

[celestie0]

in holy matriphony | series masterlist.

gojo satoru x reader [18+] | angst, fluff, smut

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - next door neighbor!gojo 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 department, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance 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 warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, 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, 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, some choso x reader, some suguru x reader, some crippling debt x reader; 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 status. ongoing

ᰔ word count. 76.4k

ᰔ taglist. closed

☾·̩͙꙳ ao3 link :: header art by @/3aem

chapter index.

ch1. he said yes! congrats!

ch2. you may now kiss the bride

ch3. domestic encounters

ch4. in a mother's eyes

ch5. child's play

ch6. the in-laws

ch7. if u wanna get groceries

ch8. pending...

drabbles.

no1. pending...

headcanons.

official headcanons pt1. fluff & crack | link

a note from the author. hello! my name is ellie, and this is my second long fic series called 'in holy matriphony' which i began posting earlier this year in april! this started off as such a small lil concept idea trashing on the american healthcare system, and now it's a fullblown fic. i have sooo much planned for this series, so admittedly it will be a long one, but i am so grateful to anyone that tags along for the ride :””) please let me know if i missed any tags or warnings! and for those who may want to know before reading, this series will have a happy ending <3

series tags. #in holy matriphony

[jaxon-exe]

Dp x dc prompt

So this starts with Danny becoming the ghost king on his 18th birthday and almost immediately every power-hungry ghost in existence starts proposing to him. At first he just ignores it but after the 10th time someone tries to kidnap him to marry him Greek god style, he’s fucking sick of it and goes to Clockwork for help.

He’s not much help. The only way for other people to stop trying to marry him is if he’s already married. What’s more, because he’s the king of the infinite realms, it has to be someone that’s considered a citizen of the Infinite Realms. (Like he can marry someone that’s still alive but they wouldn’t count and people will just keep trying to marry him) CW also warns him that people will try and kill anyone he marries if they can so a living person isn’t really ideal. The only bit of real helpfulness he does provide is a list of non-evil non-power-hungry citizens so he can have an easier time finding someone.

So Danny takes the list and starts crossing of names (like Johnny, even tho the guy won’t abuse the power of being the ghost princess, kitty would kill Danny for good this time) when he comes across the perfect candidate.

Jason Todd (Robin/Red Hood)

He’s been to Gotham before, knows the Robins all do good work and knows the Red Hood is already a good and fair ruler of his criminal underground. Plus the guy could definitely fight off any ghost trying to kill him even without the power boost and some helpful weapons Danny would give him if he agrees. Plus he has the perfect bargaining chip to get the guy to help by offering to fix the corrupted ectoplasm in him (not that he wasn’t gonna do that anyway when he had the time to but Hood didn’t need to know that)

So Danny hops over to Gotham and after quickly getting permission from Lady Gotham (she’s very protective of her Knights) heads over to crime ally and pitches the idea to Red Hood.

Which basically goes like-

Danny: so I give u, the title of prince, access to the Infinite Realms whenever u wish, a sweet private wing in my castle, any of the op ghost weapons in the castles armoury and a fix for ur rage problems and u marry me so I stop getting people trying to propose to me in increasingly more annoying ways :)

Jason, a literature geek with a secret desire to be the protagonist in a shitty YA romance: u had me at Prince

So the two of then jump over to the Infinite Realms to get married thinking it’ll take 30 minutes top only to learn that CW left out that a Royal wedding has to take at minimum a week otherwise no one will consider the Marriage valid. So the two, not backing out at this point, join in on the week of parties and celebrations without putting much more thought into it.

Meanwhile back in Gotham, after not having Red Hood check in after his patrol���, Oracle searches CCTV and finds Jason having a conversation with a figure that is glitching out the camera to much to identify them, then the figure seemingly grabs Jason and drags him into a portal and the two of them disappear.

So obviously the Batfam comes to the conclusion that Jason was kidnapped by some sort of magical being and calls in John. He identify the magic as that of the ghost king’s and has been hearing that the king had been looking for a bride so comes to the conclusion that Jason has been kidnapped Persephone style to be be married and is under the (wrong) conclusion that it will mean Jason can’t leave the realm of the death after.

And so the Batfam + Constantine start planing to crash a wedding.

[justaz]

fake dating!arthur panicking after being cornered by a princess/noblewomen and saying that merlin is his husband bc he was the first person he thought of bc he doesn’t want to court or marry this woman, he wants to marry merlin. so now the two of them have to keep up this charade while visiting/being visited. arthur dressing merlin in fine clothing and crowning him for feasts just as merlin has always crowned him but now they sit side by side at the table instead of him sitting and merlin standing a few feet away. arthur and merlin holding hands and linking arms and trying not to seem to eager to finally have an excuse to hang off the other. everyone getting tipsy enough on wine and relaxing from Queens and Kings to people that happen to be royalty and speaking freely, them asking merlin and arthur how they fell in love bc wtf the king of camelot married a fucking servant??? a peasant??? and merlin (lightweight, finally had access to alcohol all evening instead of standing sober for an hour) engages easily enough and tells the story of how they met and then when he first started to catch feelings which is entirely truthful but arthur is convinced he’s making it up for their ruse so he decides to match his energy and tell his side of things of when he first caught feelings which is again entirely truthful but merlin is convinced its for their ruse.

anyways arthur watches as merlin loosens up and lights up the room with his smile and eyes and his joyful energy and he’s captivating everyone in the room as they hang onto every letter his lips spell out and he starts to imagine it’s all genuine, that he truly is married to merlin and this was a feast to celebrate them and their union. merlin speaks of how their courtship, engagement, and marriage was rather sudden (his eyes glitter mischievously when he looks over at arthur as he says this and arthur can’t help but share a conspiratorial grin at his sly comment) and how he feels like a fish on land or like everyone else knows the dance, when to step, where to step, how to step yet he didn’t even know there’d be music playing, he talks of how he feels out of place and one of the royals is like “do you regret your marriage then?” and merlin is slow to answer but not because he’s unsure but just bc he’s thinking over a reality in which he does marry arthur and how he would feel in that position.

he finally answers and is like “i mean to say, everything is different and challenging, yes, but he’s been with me every step of the way. he’s been my rock and,” he turns his head to stare at his king, “he makes it all worth it.” and arthur looses his breath. he reminds himself its an act over and over again but his heart can’t help from pounding against his ribcage in an attempt to escape into merlin’s soft hands. merlin’s lips aren’t moving but he can hear his voice say something softly but his brain is too foggy to comprehend what he’s saying. arthur just about manages a shaky smile and nod and then merlin is reaching up toward his face and crowding in and then he’s kissing (kissing) arthur in front of everyone and arthur can’t pay any attention to that when merlin’s lips are pressed against his. just as he presses back, merlin pulls away and turns to smile at the other royals and the feast continues but arthur is barely aware of that bc he can’t pull his eyes away from merlin’s glowing profile as he continues his conversation with the rest of the royals

anyways merlins knowledge of royal duties is from watching arthur work through it and helping where he can so when they ask him what it was like jumping from a servant to a royal he has a great answer of it not being easier or harder but just that he faces a different set of challenges and that there are pros and cons to both lives and it just gives all these royals another perspective on how they rule and arthur is just sitting there giving him heart eyes bc merlin is literally acting like a royal and its just fueling his fantasy of being married to merlin and having him as his king. before their ruse, he considered the possibility often as a late night fantasy, but now that he’s seen a glimpse of what merlin would be like at his side, he can’t help but need it like he needs air

[ao3-shenanigans]

Not fake dating or fake married but a secret other thing: otp has been married for years but no one can find out because if HR hears about it….

(Or whatever other reason they don’t think anyone should know)

[jobean12-blog]

Forever After All

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader (fake dating/marriage)

Word Count: 3.2K

Summary: You and Javi have been working together for a few months and you can't deny that you like him...everything about him. And you know you're not imaginging the subtle flirting and lingering glances but when you have an assignment that puts you two closer than you've ever been before you find out what it all really means.

Author's Note: Pedro and his little Holiday getaway photos have been a gift and when I was talking to my lovely friend @lizette50 (thank you bunches for sharing your brain with me❤️🥰) she made an amazing note that he is giving Javi on vacation vibes. And while Javi isn't exactly on a vacation in this story...he's pretending to be- at least at first. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 🥰

PS I did leave the ending a bit open...maybe I'll do more. Maybe not lol Either way, fear not- you and Javi make out just fine (hehe get it)

Warnings: There's some tension and flirting and Steve is fun sidekick/meddler, feelings get involved, Javi can act a bit possessive and he's a great fucking kisser

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

“Why are you two looking at me like that?” Steve asks, his head on a swivel. “Do you not understand the assignment?”

His finger swings back and forth. “You two…just got married. Now you’re going on your honeymoon. Make it look believable, or we’re fucked.”

Javi swallows and the sound is audible in the silence that stretches between you. Finally, as you cross your arms over your chest and lift your chin, you say, “fine. I can manage that.”

Steve smiles and then shifts his eyes to Javi. “What about you? Because if you’re not up for it I sure as hell don’t mind switching places with you. You can do my job, and I’ll prance around the beach with this beauty.”

Steve throws you a wink and you smile sweetly but your stomach is in knots and you’re sweating under your shirt as you wait for Javi to say something.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says gruffly. “When do we leave.”

“Tonight,” Steve answers with a grin. “Packed and ready at 7pm.”

Javi nods and gives you one last glance, his eyes lingering just long enough to have your skin heat before he stalks off and shuts the door to his office.

You take a deep breath and square your shoulders.

“I’ll see you at the airport,” you tell Steve.

After the flight attendant checks the luggage above your head you settle into your seat, leaning closer to Steve since Javi has his legs spread like he’s the only person in the aisle.

“You could leave some room for the rest of us,” you grumble, letting your eyes run down Javi’s long legs.

He turns toward you, lifting a brow. “We should be all snuggled up anyway,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes and give Steve a pleading look.

“He’s right though,” Steve adds. “You two are going to have to look convincing if we’re going to pull this off. Might as well start getting cozy now.”

The flight isn’t too long but toward the last hour you start to feel your eyes droop and Javi’s warm body is so close. Before you realize what’s happening your head falls against his shoulder and your arm slips under his.

You feel him shift and maybe feel the slightest squeeze at your knee but you’re too sleepy to know if it’s real or a dream. He smells so good and feels even better and in minutes you’re fast asleep.

“Hey…pst. Come on angel, you gotta get up.”

You sit up with a start and rub at your eyes.

“Angel?” you ask. “Who’s that?”

Your eyes focus on Javi, and he smiles.

“That’s what I’m calling you. Get used to it.”

Your mouth opens to form an O shape.

“Let’s go. We just landed,” he says.

“How long was I out?”

Steve cuts in before Javi can answer.

“Long enough to fall asleep on your husband!” Steve says with vigor. “You two look cute.”

You push past Steve and miss the thumbs up he gives Javi, who ignores him completely.

The hotel is right on the beach, and you can smell the salty air before you even get to the double doors.

Once you’re checked in and settled in your room you’re ready to crash again. After a quick shower you wrap yourself up in the hotel bathrobe and crawl into bed, falling asleep to thoughts of Javi and how comfortable he was to sleep against.

Steve meets you at the outdoor bar on the beach the next day.

“How are my favorite liars doing?” he asks with a chuckle.

“I’m kinda nervous,” you whisper.

“You’re going to do great,” Steve assures you.

Javi remains characteristically quiet, his dark eyes assessing everything around him.

Steve hands Javi a drink. “She looks fucking gorgeous. You should really marry her.”

Javi’s eyes slide to you then down along your body slowly before stopping at your face.

He licks his lips and takes a long sip of his drink but doesn’t respond.

You spend some time at the bar, taking note of the surroundings and zeroing in on your target. Once the man in question notices you as the newcomers he saunters over with a saccharine smile.

You all know about Rafael Caro Quintero. He’s one of Galldaro’s best men but plays his role out in the public eye. He has a lot of money and flaunts it with his businesses and assets. You have intel that he’s going to pull off a big move this weekend and are using the honeymoon as a cover as to why you’re here in Mexico.

Javi’s arm circles around your waist and he pulls you against his side, tightening his grip when Rafael approaches and looks you over appreciatively.

“Well, well, well,” Rafael says smoothly. “What do we have here? I always make sure to say hi to any new faces that come to enjoy my…amenities. Especially one so stunning.”

“My wife,” Javi says, his voice too rough and you give him a light pinch. He looks down at you then let’s his shoulders relax.

“Ah, of course,” Rafael says. “And you’re the lucky bastard who married her.”

“Mexico is one of my favorite places to visit,” you interrupt as you hold out your hand to introduce yourself. “So, Javi and I decided it would be perfect for our honeymoon.”

Rafael’s face lights up and he throws up his hands, making a loud noise of celebration.

“Isn’t that just beautiful,” he says, his voice still booming. “Everyone! Join me in congratulating the lovely couple!”

He starts to clap and all the patrons in the bar area join in, hoisting their drinks and smiling.

Rafael reaches for a spoon from the bar and starts to tap the side of his glass. “Isn’t this what the American’s do for a kiss?”

Steve lifts his glass and turns to you and Javi. “It sure is!”

Javi looks down at you, and through a tight grin whispers, “I’m going to kiss you angel.”

He waits a beat, needing to see the consent in your eyes.

You nod ever so slightly and lean into him. A big hand comes up, cupping your jaw and his eyes drop to your mouth. The first contact is just a brush of his lips over yours, the briefest sweep.

You’re going to be devasted if that’s all you get, but then you hear the quietest moan escape his throat and he leans in again, pressing his soft, strong mouth to yours and taking your top lip between his, sucking gently before he turns his attention to your bottom one.

With a smile forming against the kiss, he tilts his head and takes you with a heat you couldn’t have predicted but makes you feel like you’re falling backward into the clouds.

Or maybe it’s the way he’s cupping the back of your head in one hand, holding you around the waist int other, and dipping you so low you’re nearly on the floor.

Everything is quiet before cheers erupt as Javi smoothly brings you back up in some sexy move you can’t even believe he pulled off.

“Javier Peña,” you whisper as you bury your face in his neck. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, we’re just getting started Mrs. Peña,” he answers back against your ear.

Rafael’s eyes are lit up with glee and he slaps Javi on the back.

“To the newlyweds!” he cheers.

After things settle back down and Rafael’s attention is elsewhere Steve gives both you and Javi a beaming smile. “Wow. For a minute there you even had me believing it,” he teases.

Javi meets your gaze, his eyes falling to your lips again, and he fights the urge to go back for more.

Blinking away, he focuses on your shoulder, and on the strap of your dress that has slipped an inch to the side. He reaches up, stroking the newly exposed skin with his thumb.

Your hand lifts to your lips, still tingling with the warmth of his kiss.

“You’re good at that,” you say quietly.

“At what?” he asks, clearly distracted by your mouth.

“Fake-kissing.”

He hums, his head spinning with the thought that nothing about that felt fake.

“I wonder how you kiss when it’s real,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else.

He’s about to drag you away from the crowd to show you when the bartender shows up with more drinks, on the house of course, to celebrate the newlyweds.

You spend some more time at the bar, talking and enjoying the view, always close to Javi, his hand on your lower back, your arm, or his thumb brushing across your cheek. It’s been so easy to fall into the role you almost forget you’re faking it.

Steve leaves the two of you alone, not wanting to hang around too much and seem suspicious.

You watch Javi as he stares out over the water and take a step closer, moving into his space, realizing the moment he registers that he’d been touching you…a soft sweep of his fingers along the curve of your waist.

His eyes go a little wide behind his sunglasses, and he gently moves his hand away.

“Are you nervous?” you ask him.

He shakes his head no. “Not for the reason I should be,” he says but doesn’t elaborate.

You’re about to ask him to explain but you spot Rafael across the bar, he’s talking quietly to someone you don’t recognize and his eyes keeping darting in your direction.

Without letting it show on your face that you’ve noticed him, you press yourself against Javi, your hand sliding up his chest to the open buttons of his shirt.

“Hi,” Javi murmurs.

“Don’t look, but Rafael is just across the bar. He’s sort of watching us.”

Javi drags his attention away from your hand to your face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So don’t mind me. I’m just trying to look wifey and horny for you.”

“We could just go for a walk on the beach,” he says.

“We could, but…”

Your fingers dip into his shirt to feel his warm skin and you move lower, undoing one more of the buttons.

“Pretending you’re horny too might be better.”

He stares at you, unmoving.

“Or not,” you say, smiling but inside you’re dissolving, piece by piece, in mortification.

When you try to move away he grabs your waist. “Where are you going?”

“To live with my shame alone somewhere.”

Javi laughs, low and dangerous. “No. You misunderstand me angel. My only hesitation is…” and he leans in, running his thumb along your lower lip, “acting was never my strong suit.”

His mouth brushes over yours, giving you one of those feather-soft kisses again.

“That’s a start,” you say as you share a breath.

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Anything that can make it more convincing?”

“Another. Maybe longer this time?”

He lifts both hands now, cupping your face and leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth before he parts his lips and gently nips at your bottom one.

“Longer, huh?”

Your hands slide around his neck, and you stretch for more, for longer and deeper, his surprised huffed breath coming out warm against your mouth as he lets you suck his beautiful lower lip, dragging your teeth along it in a way that makes him let go of a tight, helpless sound.

His mouth is unreal, commanding and firm, but with full, soft lips that beg to be bitten. And he likes it when you do it too, releasing rough, rumbling sounds to confirm it.

Your hands have a mind of their own, rising up and tangling in his hair as the kiss deepens and he sends one hand down your back to your ass, pulling you closer until you can feel the hard press of him against your stomach.

With a gasp of air, he rests his forehead to yours but keeps a tight hold on you.

“Are you sure you’re not good at this acting thing?” you ask with a teasing smile. “The erection is a great touch. Very convincing.”

His laugh turns into a groan when you suck on his neck, baring your teeth and pressing down.

“Fuck,” he moans.

Your nails scrape along his scalp and with his own grip on the back of your neck he pulls your head away, eyes wild, and comes for your mouth again, setting a languid pace, dragging his tongue over your lower lip with kisses that can only be described as claiming.

“Fuck angel, your mouth is amazing,” he says, sliding his lips along your jaw and down to your pulse point.

Despite the heat of the sun and the heat of him, you shiver in his arms, pressing yourself along every inch of him to keep yourself upright.

Your gaze flicks over his shoulder and you notice Rafael is gone.

“Our friend left,” you whisper, still clinging to him.

Javi exhales a shaky breath near your ear and rests his cheek to yours.

“Well…I guess we can stop then.”

“I guess we can,” you reply, leaning back and taking him in- mussed hair, swollen lips, a small budding bruise on his neck.

“Oops,” you giggle.

He frowns at you. “Did you leave a mark on me?”

“Mayyyybeee,” you sing.

You don’t miss the way his pupils dilate, inky black in the dark chocolate brown of his irises.

“Well, good news is now everyone will know for sure that you’re taken,” you say with a bright smile.

Your eyes drop down to his shorts, and you let out a little whimper at the sight of him hard and pressed against the tight fabric.

“I’m going to take a cold shower,” he says through gritted teeth. “I want you back in the hotel room where you’re safe.”

Your eyebrows meet your hairline. “Oh, so you’re that kind of husband?”

“Just protecting what’s mine,” he whispers as he presses his palm to your lower back and leads you away from the beach.

Javi secures you in your room before walking across the hallway to his. He’s sure to check for anyone who might see before disappearing behind the door.

You’ve agreed to meet for a romantic dinner on the beach at one of Rafael’s best restaurants, the very place you’re hoping to catch him in the act.

Javi knocks on your door right on time and you smooth your hands along your dress before opening it.

He steps back from the doorframe and stares. A shadow appears behind him, and he startles.

“Steve,” he says dryly, putting a hand on his shoulder and moving him away.

Javi gazes at you, and more gently, says, “hi angel.”

“Hi,” you breathe out.

“You look…” he just stares, letting his eyes rake over you. “Gorgeous.”

“That she does,” Steve chimes in from beside you again. “Now…off you go.”

Javi reaches for you, but you can’t stop yourself, pressing your hand to his stomach and wrapping your fist around the soft fabric of his shirt.

You briefly glance at Steve, a silent but friendly, “fuck off,” written all over your expression.

With a smirk, Steve wanders off, but Javi touches a finger to your chin, redirecting your attention to his face. And before you can say anything, he bends, setting his lip softly on yours.

One soft kiss, and then another. Your blood turns to molten heat, and you lean in, chasing his lips when he slowly straightens.

After you enjoy your dinner, the slow and soft tunes of music drift from the stage set up to the side and Javi holds out his hand.

“Would you dance with me?” he asks.

You take his hand and let him draw you out of your seat and lead you \ to the open expanse of sand. His big palm feels like fire on your lower back, and he tucks your hand against his chest, pressing his cheek to yours as he moves you around slowly.

After a few quiet moments you pulls back, looking at your mouth.

“My instinct is to kiss you now.”

“That’s certainly what a married couple would do,” you whisper.

He sends one hand along the curve of your spine, tracing every inch until it’s over your shoulder and higher, where he cups the side of your neck with his big, warm hand. His eyes fall closed, and he leans in, pressing his mouth to yours.

Slow, deliberate kisses, Chaste, because you’re out in the middle of the dance floor but still so intentional, so claiming, so thorough you feel the sweet exploration in your fingertips and spine, in your chest and your stomach and between your legs.

The song comes to an end, and he pulls away, searching your expression before softly taking your hand and leading you back to your table but instead walks past it toward the darkened water.

The moon reflects a million overlapping crescents across the rippling surface of the ocean and the sky is blanketed with stars. You stop, hand in hand, and take it all in.

“This place really is beautiful. It’s so easy to believe we’re just here to enjoy it all.”

He nods, his eyes trained on you instead of the scene in front of him. Wrapping his arms around our waist he pulls you close then slides one hand down your stomach, hooking a finger under the hem of your dress and coaxing it higher up your thighs.

He reaches your hip, his eyes still trained on you and his voice pained when he says, “you’re not wearing any underwear.”

“Everything showed. I hate lines and didn’t have a thong with me.”

“You drive me crazy,” he says, kissing along your shoulder. “I’m distracted and I shouldn’t be. This was all supposed to be a ruse, but I can’t pretend anymore.”

His fingers trail back up your spine, reaching the strap of your dress and drawing it off one shoulder, kissing the skin there.

“I was never pretending,” he murmurs.

“Javi.”

Your sharp inhale is swallowed by his kiss. It doesn’t last long enough, and he rests his forehead to yours, his lips teasing, his nose brushing yours.

“I can’t stop,” he groans. “I need to feel you.”

You chase his lips, and he kisses you again but pulls away.

“But we can’t. Not now angel.”  

You nod but pull his mouth to yours again, kissing him hungrily, whispering the truth.

“I want you Javi.”

“You can have me angel,” he says. “I’m all yours. But we have a job to finish first. I can’t risk putting you in anymore danger.”  

With a breathless “ok,” you tug free of his grasp and straighten your dress. As you start to head back toward the restaurant he grabs your hand and drags you into his chest.

“Promise me,” he says between kisses, “you’ll be safe…you’ll follow orders.”

“Orders?” you ask with a raised brow. “I probably shouldn’t like that you said that but fine. And what about you Javi? I need you to be careful too.”

“I promise,” he whispers. “I’m going to finish this so I can take you home and make you mine. The right way.”

[ayyy-pee]

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟣 - 𝒲𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒽 𝒾𝓉?

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Series Masterlist - Next Chapter

Pairing: Hotel Heir Satoru Gojo x Club Heiress Female Reader

Genre: Fake Dating/Arranged Marriage AU/Rivals to Lovers

WC: 4.4k

Summary: One unforgettable night out leads to a lifetime tethered to the one man you absolutely can't fucking stand. The feeling's mutual, but now you both have to find a way to make it work in your favor.

or

You and Satoru's parents give you an ultimate that you both quite literally cannot afford to refuse.

Story Warning: Fake Dating, Arranged Marriage, Profantity DUH, Gojo and Reader being fucking bratty and annoying, Slow Burn, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior. Smut Maybe? (probably), No Y/N usage here

Art by: nameissiyo on X

A/N: I don't even know how this happened because yall know I don't write Gojo LMAO. But here it is! Not sure how long this will be so bear with me because it's just gonna be a fun lil ride!

“It’s easy,” the man across from you hums from his end of the table, lips curled in a mischievous grin that has your skin crawling. “Then, after a year, we’ll announce that it just…didn’t work out between us.” He motions between the two of you with his finger. “You and I both get off without a scratch on us.” He shrugs, leaning back in his seat, confident as ever as he picks at his fingernails.

Disgusting. 

He adds, “Everything works out for us both in the end. My parents are off my back. Your dad is off yours, and they both get what they want. It’s a win-win to me! What do you think?”

You can’t trust this guy as far as you can throw him, and you know that’s not far. The man’s like ten feet taller than you even with your highest heels on! But what choice do you have in the matter? You have to do this. 

”No funny business,” you demand, eyes narrowed at the man. You mean it to come out more as a question, but the rise of your partner’s brows lets you know he’s aware that you’re not fucking around with this. 

And then his head falls back, a loud laugh bursting from his chest and you are tempted to sink into your seat when other patrons in the restaurant turn to glare at you both. He’s enjoying this far too much for someone who has everything on the line here, just like you.

“None at all, princess.” You ignore the pet name, rolling your eyes. It’s a promise that you’re not sure he’ll be able to keep. But again, you just have to trust him.

“You have a deal,” you finally agree.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, and you can’t help but to sneer in disgust at his clear lack of manners. How could someone raised in high society, the same as you, act in such a way? You wish you could wipe that cheshire cat-like smirk off of his face, but you keep it cordial. You can’t enter into this with bad blood already on your hands. This arrangement will benefit you both at the end of the day. You just have to remember that.

‘One year,’ you tell yourself. ‘One year, and you never have to see this man again. This will be easy.’

He reaches into his shirt pocket, pulling out an obnoxiously expensive pen, the signature Gojo Hospitality name written in a fancy gold font along the body. He sets it down in front of you, on top of the stack of papers you’ve spent the last two hours tearing apart meticulously, marking out anything you don’t agree with. He’d nagged endlessly about how long this was taking, like he had anywhere more important to get to. 

You’re sure he took you for some bimbo ready to jump at the chance to marry the only son and heir to the Gojo fortune. But you’re not an idiot. You’re an heiress yourself, so he doesn’t impress you. And your father raised you to know that when entering a contract, it’s important to read the fine print. It’s important to find any loopholes, anything that can screw you in the end, anything that can make your life hell on the off chance things don’t work out. Make sure you’ve crossed all your t’s and dotted all your i’s.

But you don’t see any here, you don’t think. So you reach forward, taking his pen in hand.

“On the dotted line, then,” he instructs. “Sign away…future Mrs. Gojo.”

𝓣𝔀𝓸 𝓦𝓮𝓮𝓴𝓼 𝓔𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓻…

Daylight peeks through the curtains of your room, the midmorning sun beckoning you awake. The birds chirp loudly outside your window. And you are hiding the best you can beneath your blankets to try and drown it all out. It’s far too bright. So damn bright that the sun is somehow managing to penetrate the fabric of your linens, and your head pounds each time a sliver of light touches your skin. To top it all off, your mouth feels dry, yet sticky somehow at the same time, like it’s packed with cotton balls. 

Water. You need water, badly. 

You attempt to shift beneath your blankets, only to find that your body feels like it weighs a ton. Even wiggling your toes feels like it takes more effort than you’d like to exert. Your brain frantically sends panicked signals to the rest of your body that if you don’t hydrate soon, you may die, so you manage to find the strength to crawl out of your bed.

Your eyes are barely open enough to navigate around your enormous room, enough to see that you’re in a hotel suite. You don’t actually remember coming here, but you’re not all that surprised. You had quite a night of partying and drinking with your friends. The occasion? Well, you don’t really need one do you? For you and your friends, it’s a regular Wednesday night. Either way, you must have gathered your wits enough to book a suite instead of trying to get back home to your apartment in Tokyo.

And honestly? You’re proud of yourself! Better than stumbling your way home, or trying to figure out how to call your driver to pick you up.

Clumsily – and through squinted eyes – your hands feel along the walls until they reach the refrigerator, where you hurriedly yank the doors open and practically rip the lid off of a bottle of water. The cool beverage breathes life back into your dehydrated body. You feel like what you’d imagine a raisin would feel if it could be turned back into a grape. The drink is so refreshing, your eyes are practically rolling into the back of your head as you guzzle down the icy cold liquid.

When the bottle is empty, you carelessly toss it aside, crossing the threshold to the sofa in the common area. But just as you’re about to flop down, the muffled sound of your phone ringing pierces through the air. It’s usually set to silent or vibrate, because you don’t particularly care to be surprised by the loud noise. However, there’s only one person in this world who is allowed to bypass those settings, their tone always set to blare loudly should they ever call. You follow the sound back to the bedroom as quickly as you can manage. Tossing your clothes from last night around and shaking out your garments, digging through your clutch until you finally hear the tone get louder as you approach your bed. You lift your blankets, shaking them around until the device falls to the floor, still screaming that damn ringtone. You press the answer button, putting the phone to your ear.

”Hi, Daddy,” you sing into the receiver, hoping technology hasn’t advanced enough that he can smell the vodka on your breath, hear the way you’re struggling to catch your breath.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Your dad’s deep voice hums from the other side, and you breathe a sigh of relief when his voice sounds at ease. “Where are you?”

You frown, pursing your lips together. “What do you mean?”

You can hear that your dad is out from the commotion on the other side. If you had to bet, you’d say he was at a restaurant given the way he’s quietly muttering something to someone. 

“You were supposed to—“

It clicks for you then.

”Meet you for breakfast,” You finish his sentence. “Oh my god, Daddy. I’m so sorry. I’m late! I can be there in like…” you check your phone for the time. “about an hour if you give me time to get home and change!”

Your dad sighs, long and hard, exhausted. That safety you felt only a moment ago has now dissipated. And you know you are in deep shit, for whatever reason. You close your eyes, trying to calm the pounding against your skull.

“Perhaps transportation has advanced overnight,” he hums. “Can you make it from Seoul to Tokyo in an hour?” He questions bitterly.

”Seoul?!”

You scurry over to your hotel window, wincing when you pull the curtains wide open and the sun smacks you painfully in the face. When your vision clears and the urge to vomit isn’t as strong, you’re finally able to make out the foreign symbols along the skyscrapers and businesses of Seoul, South Korea.

The events of last night flood back to your memory.

You and your friends at your usual booth at one of your family’s many Tokyo nightclubs, Club Echo - Roppongi. Bottles on bottles of alcohol being brought to your table. Flashing lights. Sweaty bodies on the dance floor. Free food and drinks for everyone, the perk of being the daughter of the man who owns this very club.

“We should go somewhere!” Your best friend Shoko slurs into your ear as she leans across your booth. You hook a finger into the loose strap of her dress and pull the neckline up. Her breasts are one wrong move away from being on the front page of the Jujutsu Social tomorrow morning.

Beside her, your other friend Utahime nods excitedly, downing her drink. “Yeah! We should go somewhere else!”

You nod too, your brain sloshing around in your head, right along with the liquor. “Okay! But where, though?” 

Shoko and Utahime huddle together, whispering and giggling drunkenly and you wait, eyes roaming the club. It’s packed to capacity and for some reason the sight fills you with a sense of pride. Not that you had literally anything to do with it. No, that was all dad. You show up with your friends, get some pictures snapped of you, eat and drink to your heart’s content and then check to make sure any photos of you that ended up on whatever gossip blog look good.

And any that don’t, well, they’d be speaking to your attorney very soon.

The life of an heiress is so hard sometimes.

Shoko and Utahime spin around in tandem, large smiles beaming on their faces. “Seoul!” They cry in unison.

“Like…Korea, Seoul?”

“Yes! We can finally check out the new Club Echo there! We haven’t been yet,” Utahime whines. Her pink cheeks practically glow in the dark as she sticks her bottom lip out in a pleading face. It makes you want to laugh because it’s just so cute. But still! You’re not going to give in that easily.

“It’s like one in the morning!” You argue, your mind trying to fight the liquor that’s trying its damndest to make you give in. “By the time we get there, it’ll be closed.”

Shoko sighs your name, the disappointment clear in her voice. “You own the place, ___. All it takes is one call from you and you’re good! You know management is new and will be practically begging to score points with your dad! The staff will wait for you!”

“Also!” Utahime practically screams. Then she lowers her voice, leaning closer to you and Shoko as she whispers. “What if you run into Jungkook there?”

Shoko gasps, like it’s a scandal waiting to happen. “I heard he has the biggest crush on youuuuu,” she sings.

Your lips purse together, doing your best to let what Shoko says sink in. The sober part of you in the very deepest and darkest depths of your mind is fighting for its fucking life to get to the surface, screaming “Don’t do it! Dad is going to kill you!”

But the drunk part of you is fighting back just as hard, and it came ready to beat your ass. “But Jungkook! Also…chartering a private plane would be so fun!” Your brain argues. “That’s the point of having all this money, right? To do what you want! And to see Jungkook!”

The bumping of the music is making you feel dizzy, and the giggles and chants to “do it, do it, do it” coming from your two friends aren’t helping. If anything, it’s just making the alcohol set in even worse.

It’s just one night. Your pilot wouldn’t mind getting up and flying you and your friends out. You already know he’d be happy to get a call from you this late at night. In fact, you’re pretty sure he’d be thrilled because despite him being married with two kids and one on the way, you’re positive he’s got the hots for you.

“Call me any time, Ms. ___. I’d happily pick up the phone for you,” he’d told you with a wink after you’d made him fly you last minute to Coachella. You’d apologized profusely because you had no idea his daughter’s dance recital was happening at that time. To be fair, he didn’t tell you until you’d landed in California either!

So you pull out your phone, grinning wide as you tell your girls, “Looks like we’re going to Seoul!” They cheer happily, chanting “Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook!” before ordering another round of shots as you make a call to your pilot and driver.

It’s just one night. You’ll be back tomorrow. How much trouble could you possibly get into anyway?

- - - - - -

Turns out you could get into a whole lot of fucking trouble. 

You stand in your father’s office, squirming in your designer heels that cost a fortune, squeezing onto the handle of your designer bag that cost even more of a fortune as your father stares you down. You don’t dare meet his hard gaze, eyes glued to the chevron patterned hardwood floors in shame.

This tension couldn’t even be cut with a chainsaw, you think. The silence is absolutely deafening, and you think that if someone focused hard enough, they would hear your heart hammering in your chest, and the vein in your father’s neck throbbing.

The flight from Seoul back to Tokyo was long and terrifying. The closer you came to approaching the city, the more sick you felt. And by no fault of the liquor. Shoko and Utahime’s drivers picked them up from the hangar space, both of them about ready to keel over and having to be practically carried to their cars.

You on the other hand, your chauffeur was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Nanami?” You ask the flight attendant waiting at the end of the plane’s steps. Your brows pull together in confusion as you scan the area. Your driver is never late. It’s one of your pet peeves about each other, really. He’s meticulous, always on time, while you’re always running behind because why not? Sometimes you get caught up in things! It’s literally his job to wait for you, anyway.

But still, this is strange. The young blonde man is usually standing beside your car, with the door held open for you while he mumbles about how you need to work on being more punctual and considerate of others, that he doesn’t get paid enough to be waiting on you.

It’s a lie. You and Nanami are around the same age, and you know damn well he keeps this job because it’s easy and you pay him more than well enough. You even grab drinks together some nights. He’s more than your driver, he’s your friend (sometimes).

And your friend is nowhere to be seen. It’s just you, the flight attendant and the pilot who is on his way to park the plane. You could really use the support of Nanami at the moment, because you have a terrible feeling settling into the pit of your stomach. Which is justified when a car pulls into the hangar space, a car that you know is not yours, and the flight attendant gives you a smile that offers a silent “I’m so sorry,”  before she speaks and tells you, “Mr. Yaga has come to retrieve you Ms. ___. Your father would like to see you.”

Your father’s chauffeur and a longtime family friend. He’s loyal to your father and your father only. 

That’s when you knew you were screwed.

The sharp intake of breath from behind your father’s desk makes you flinch, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip to keep yourself from trembling when he finally breaks the silence.

“Do you enjoy your trip?” He questions, voice flat.

You’re too afraid to answer, because you know he doesn’t actually give a single shit if you had fun or not. He’s irate. There’s no other reason he’d call you here. You do not come to the office to see your father unless you’ve severely angered him. Which is almost never, because your father just sort of lets you…do you.

“Well?” He asks again after a few seconds go by with no response from you.

“Yes, Daddy,” you answer quietly, fingers tightening around your bag strap.

“Did you enjoy the food at the club?”

“Yes, Daddy. It was very good.”

Your father hums, leaning back in his chair, and the creaking sound makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“Good, good. And the staff? Did they treat you and your friends well?”

Every answer you give feels like you’re inching closer to your demise. You wish he’d get to the point. What is the meaning of dragging you here?

You nod anyway. “They were wonderful, Daddy. Your management did an excellent job selecting employees.”

You try to tug at his heartstrings, the ones that aren’t attached to you, but to the other love of his life – his business. Your father is a hard man who loves very few things. You, your mother, and his company. But not in that order. You’re fairly certain that at this particular moment in time, he definitely loves his company more than both you and your mother.

“I know they did,” he affirms. “The Seoul team is so great, they remained open for you and your friends to stay until the early hours of the morning –” Your father’s voice rises, echoing off the walls of his office, and you squeeze your eyes shut. “Until you finally stumbled your drunk asses to bed! Imagine my surprise when I woke up alerted to the fact that your plane was taking off in the middle of the night, jet setting to wherever the hell you deem appropriate or fun at the time. But no…no, ___,” your father spits your name like it’s bitter. “That’s not the best part here.”

You hear his menacing tone, can practically see the anger raging behind his eyes in your head.

“Imagine my surprise when I get a call from management of the Seoul location letting me know how much they enjoyed having you and your friends. You all were splendid guests, and they were grateful for the opportunity to serve you, the heiress to the Club Echo business…”

You finally gather the courage to look up at your father, a bit of hope in your eyes that quickly gets crushed when you see the tick in his jaw.

“Until seven in the fucking morning!” Your father is full on yelling now, and you see the vein in his neck protruding, hard and pulsing. He’s about to blow a gasket, do something irrational. Now’s your chance to speak up for yourself!

“Daddy, I can explain–”

“Quiet!” He barks, and you zip your fucking lip.

Your father stands, taking his time coming around to stand in front of his desk where he leans against the edge. He folds his arms across his chest, not a hint of forgiveness in his eyes.

You’re so fucked and you know it.

What’s your punishment going to be? Is he taking away your black card? It would be a struggle, but you could survive. Banning you from the club for a month? Sure, that would suck, but you’d survive! Firing your pilot? Honestly, that would be a plus. Make you return that really expensive painting you just had delivered last weekend? Okay, no big deal! All of these punishments are reasonable, you think. As long as you got them back – minus the pilot, you’d be fine!

Your father stares you down with more anger and frustration than you’ve ever seen him aim towards you. Your knees threaten to buckle beneath the weight of his glare and you wish you had worn more sensible shoes. Not that it would make much difference. WIth the way your father doesn’t seem to be giving into your pout and watery eyes, you think you’d be shaking even if you were barefoot.

Your father pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing harshly as he closes his eyes. “You know you’re on the Jujutsu Social?”

Jujutsu Social?

That shitty blog that posts about nothing but gossip, drama and socialite’s lives? You’ve never paid it much mind. You’ve been on there plenty of times.

‘Club Echo Heiress’ Walk of Shame! Cast Your Votes on Who the Lucky Man Was!’

‘Spotted! Club Echo Heiress seen getting very cozy with up and coming rock star, Suguru Geto. Could they be the new it couple?’

‘Does She Ever Get Tired? Heiress of Club Echo Seen Partying in Bangkok!’

Blog posts about you are nothing new. You read them like the morning newspaper, then go on about your day. But it must have been something particularly awful for your father to be so upset about it.

“That blog is a piece of shit,” you tell him, trying to calm his temper even a little. “I’ll send those posts over to the lawyer and I’ll own the blog by this afternoon, if you want.”

Your father scoffs, his anger rising again. “Why? So you can drag its name through the mud like you’re doing mine?”

Okay, so maybe that was the wrong move. “That’s not what I meant, Daddy. I just meant–”

“You know what they’re saying about you now?” Your father chuckles dryly. “I don’t typically pay any mind to these blogs, you know? But I think they hit the mark on this one. Want to hear what they said?” 

Tears form along your waterline, the fake amusement in your father’s tone, making you want to crawl into a hole. 

“You are a spoiled brat,” he tells you anyway when you don’t reply, emphasizing the insult. “Keeping your pilot on standby so you can fly from one country to another overnight just because you feel like it,” he lists. “Going to the new restaurant your daddy opened, because of course you can. And this one’s my favorite,” he whispers angrily. “Taking advantage of the employees that have their own lives and families to go home to, overworking them so that you and your friends can drink and dance to your heart's content. Just the three of you.”

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” you whimper, biting down on your trembling lip as you step closer.

Your father tilts his head, seemingly confused at where these tears are coming from and it stops you in your tracks. “Oh no…No, sweetheart. Don’t cry...” His soothing tone…you almost want to fall for it, but you know your father. He’s not done. “Don’t cry now, just because you’re in trouble.”

He stands from his desk, closing the distance between you two. He takes your hand in his, hard and calloused, his hard work over decades evident as he holds your soft and smooth one that has never seen a hard day's work in its life. “I’ve been waiting, hoping that my only daughter finally gets her shit together. Hoping that maybe you’ll want to learn the ropes of the business. But that doesn’t seem so. Doesn’t seem like you want to do anything but spend the money that I’ve worked so hard for.” He sighs, just so tired of you and your antics. 

He gazes into your eyes, almost in pity and you see your dad there. Not your father, who is the strict businessman that was just standing before you. But your dad, who held you and kissed your cuts and scrapes, who helped you learn to read and tie your shoes, who gave you all that you could ever ask for. Then he’s gone, replaced by your father who drops your hand and leaves you standing in the middle of his office as he wanders over to the floor to ceiling windows of his office. He holds his hands behind his back as he takes in the Tokyo skyline. “The blogs are right. I’ve been far too easy on you. Given you everything so that you’d want for nothing, and you consistently take advantage of me and your privilege. It’s time for you to grow up.”

You can’t bring yourself to speak up this time, afraid that just like all the other times, you’ll be putting your designer heels in your mouth. 

“I didn’t want it to come to this, sweetheart,” and it’s your dad once more, peering over his shoulder like it’s paining him to get these next words out. “I’ve been in talks with Gojo Hospitality…”

You narrow your eyes, moving closer to your father, because you’re praying this isn’t what you think it is.

“I’ve proposed a merger of Club Echo to CEO Gojo.”

“...Okay? What does that have to do with me growing up?”

Your dad looks you over once more, and you can see the love he holds for you in his eyes once more before the switch happens again, and he’s back in business mode. “He’s interested,” he states simply, but you know that’s not all.

“Again…What does that have to do with me growing up?”

Your father stares out the window again, not daring to glance in your direction. “You and his son are to be married in order for this merger to go through. Club Echo will be built into Gojo Hotels across the world.”

You think you may jump straight through that window and let your father watch you freefall all the way into the Tokyo streets if you truly heard him correctly.

“Married?”

He nods.

“To…Gojo?”

If it’s who you think it is – and you’re pretty sure it is – it’s that asshole that you despise from the very bottom of your heart. Insufferable, flaky, annoying, the list could go on and on for how you feel about Gojo, but there’s just not enough time for that.

“Satoru,” your father corrects you, confirming your fears. “Get used to calling him by his name. It would be strange to refer to your husband by your shared last name, don’t you think?”

Yeah, you’re gonna jump.

[enhaflixer]

Enhypen as the Bridgerton siblings!!!

wc: 1K

A/N: HI! this idea just literally came to me outtttaa nowhere! as always requests are open would love to do a proper bridgerton themed fic as well!

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 - Benedict Bridgerton

Why He’s Benedict:

Creative & rebellious. Prefers freedom over societal expectations.

Dislikes being compared to his siblings and wants to live life on his own terms.

Secretly poetic but pretends he’s not.

Wants a deep, passionate love—not a convenient one.

The sibling everyone confides in because he actually listens.

Casually roasts everyone at family dinners.

Often disappears to mysterious places just to avoid responsibilities.

Falls for someone completely unsuitable (aka a scandal waiting to happen).

Is the first to laugh at family arguments but never gets involved.

Would 100% elope just to avoid a high-society wedding.

Sibling Chaos Moment: Jay: Where were you all night? Heeseung: Finding inspiration. Sunoo: …Is that paint or a love bite? Heeseung: Wouldn’t you like to know. Jungwon: I actually wouldn’t, thanks. Jake: Wait, are you in love? Heeseung: I do not believe in such trivial emotions. Sunghoon: So why are you smiling at your phone like that? Ni-Ki: HE’S IN LOVE! THIS IS A SCANDAL!

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 - Anthony Bridgerton

Why He’s Anthony:

Overprotective of his siblings. No one is ever good enough.

Acts like love is a weakness but lowkey burns for someone in secret.

Carries the family’s reputation like it’s his personal burden.

Would personally duel someone if they break his sister’s heart.

Thinks he’s emotionally unavailable but is actually terrified of losing someone he loves.

Fakes being in control but his emotions are a mess.

The ultimate eldest sibling complex.

Thinks his word is law but is constantly ignored.

Would rather die than admit he’s jealous.

Sibling Chaos Moment : Jay: I forbid you from seeing her. Jungwon: Oh my god, Jay, you’re not my father. Sunoo: You just don’t like that she’s smarter than you. Jay: That is NOT the point! Jake: Are we sure about that? Sunghoon: She did look really elegant at the last ball. Jay: ENOUGH. She is unworthy. Jungwon: You don’t even know her! Jay: I know enough. Ni-Ki: That means she rejected his dancing offer once and now he holds a grudge. Jay: I DO NOT HOLD GRUDGES. Jungwon: Then I shall simply court her anyway. Jay: You wouldn’t dare. Jungwon: Watch me.

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧 - Colin Bridgerton

Why He’s Colin:

Falls in love with every girl he meets.

Loyal to a fault but too trusting.

Adventurous, spontaneous, and easily distracted by romance.

Would 100% get scammed while traveling.

Doesn’t realize when someone actually likes him.

Has written at least 10 love letters but hasn’t sent any of them.

Accidentally leads people on because he’s too friendly.

Absolutely convinced love is waiting for him somewhere.

Would elope with a girl after knowing her for two days.

Sibling Chaos Moment: Jake: I think I’m in love. Sunoo: Jake, no. Jungwon: How long have you known her? Jake: Three days. Sunghoon: That’s a new record. Jay: Absolutely not. You are not running away to marry someone again. Jake: …So, that means I can consider it? Jay: I will throw you into the Thames.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧 - Francesca Bridgerton

Why He’s Francesca:

Rarely speaks but always knows what’s going on.

Hates social events but somehow always becomes the center of attention.

Prefers solitude but secretly craves deep connection.

Would disappear for months and come back married.

Deeply romantic but keeps it hidden.

Has an air of mystery that drives everyone insane.

Secretly a massive romantic but refuses to admit it.

The best at keeping secrets—but also the best at finding them.

Once shocked his siblings by actually participating in gossip.

Sibling Chaos Moment: Jay: Have you ever been in love? Sunghoon: No. Jake: You hesitated. Jungwon: You hesitated. Heeseung: You literally just blinked five times in a row. That’s a lie. Sunoo: Tell us who she is. Sunghoon: There is no one. Ni-Ki: Then why do you keep sneaking off to the gardens? Sunghoon: For fresh air. Jay: And why did I overhear you reciting poetry to someone? Sunghoon: I was practicing. Jake: Practicing for what? Sunghoon: …This conversation is over.

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨 - Eloise Bridgerton

Why He’s Eloise:

Knows everyone’s secrets before they do.

Speaks fluent sarcasm.

Pretends to hate romance but actually wants a dramatic love story.

Would rather be reading than dealing with society’s nonsense.

Enjoys watching the drama but acts like he’s above it.

Has accidentally started several scandals just because he was bored.

Absolutely runs the secret gossip column.

Refuses to dance at balls but somehow still gets the most attention.

Once called out a suitor so badly that they left town.

Sibling Chaos Moment: Jake: But what if she’s my true love? Sunoo: You met her yesterday. Jake: Love doesn’t have a timeline! Sunoo: What does she even do? Jake: She’s an artist! Jay: What does she paint? Jake: …Horses. Sunghoon: At least she has a passion. Sunoo: This is worse than the baker’s daughter.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧 - Daphne Bridgerton

Why He’s Daphne:

Charming, intelligent, and effortlessly respected.

Appears sweet and perfect but is secretly stubborn as hell.

Understands high society games but isn’t afraid to bend the rules.

Wants to marry for love but also wants the upper hand in the relationship.

Secretly the most intimidating sibling despite his charm.

Controls situations without anyone realizing.

Everyone thinks he’s innocent until they cross him.

Knows exactly how to get his way without being obvious.

Can make Jay lose his mind within seconds.

Would charm his way out of any scandal.

Sibling Chaos Moment: Jay: I swear if I catch you sneaking off with her again— Jungwon: Jay, please. It’s hardly sneaking if I let you see me. Heeseung: That’s actually a fair point. Jay: HE IS DECEIVING YOU ALL! Sunoo: And yet, you can’t stop him. Jake: That’s Jungwon’s superpower, really. Jay: I HATE THIS FAMILY.

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢 - Gregory Bridgerton

Why He’s Gregory:

Too smart for his own good.

Plays innocent but is actually the most cunning.

Would fake a scandal just for fun.

Loves watching the chaos unfold but never gets blamed for it.

Has dirt on everyone.

Started a fake engagement rumor about Jay just to see what would happen.

Knows all the gossip before it even reaches Sunoo.

Somehow gets away with everything.

Acts like he hates romance but will absolutely be the most dramatic when he falls in love.

Sibling Chaos Moment: Jungwon: Niki, what did you do? Niki: Me? Nothing. Sunoo: Then why is there a marriage announcement in the paper for Sunghoon and some random duchess? Sunghoon: NIKI. Niki: Oops? Jay: Why do you look proud of yourself? Niki: Because I am. Jake: What did you gain from this? Niki: Pure entertainment.

[lizzy06]

Naruto Fic Recs!! (AO3)

Fandom Masterlist

Hey guys these are my favorite Naruto fics!! Hope u enjoy them too <3!!

No Paring

becoming the memory✨💖 by iinsomniatic(Time travel fix it, Jiraiya raises naruto) Out of options and about to die, Jiraiya writes a seal he’s sure isn’t going to work anyway. Then he wakes up, and damn it all, it’s October 10th. [ONGOING] From me to you: Unsent letters ✨✨by Lady_Ye(oneshot, suicide note)This made me cry so hard!! [COMPLETED]

Naruto Uzumaki x Sakura Haruno

Artistic purpose ✨by StormyInk (one shot, fluff) sai gets his new inspiration of drawing from his friends with which he also sets something off!! [COMPLETED] Just like me by bendingwing (oneshot, fluff)The beginnings of narusaku [COMPLETED] The Children of Omelas byFangirlJo (oneshot, Utopia, Dystopia, inspired by the one who walks away from omelas)She was 8 when she noticed the blonde boy in ragged clothing with bruises, sores and cuts all over him. She doesn't think the adults ever noticed him despite his bizarre looks, but she did.[COMPLETED] Date Night by TwinEnigma(oneshot Wingman sasuke, funny)In which Sasuke tries to do something nice for Naruto and Sakura's first anniversary. Hilarity ensues. [COMPLETED] Of pink and orange by FairyLetters (oneshot, reader is a spectator, fluff and angst)You watch as Sakura Haruno and Naruto Uzumaki come to an understanding that Sasuke Uchiha has left again.[COMPLETED] What now? by Kameodash(oneshot, after war)Naruto and Sakura try to cope with the trauma of the war together.[COMPLETED] Leaving You by THE_MAN42(oneshot, Love confession ,Sad ending)Naruto dies in her arms.[COMPLETED] Shinachiku and the Multiverse of...Wait There's a Multiverse?! by DuchessofChaos (time travel,falling in love) shinachiku travels to a world where his parents don't exist[ONGOING] Open Hearts by gabriella0807(post war,fluff)After the war there is a lot of work left to be done and many problems to be solved in the Shinobi world, while our heroes need to heal and move forward with their lives. [COMPLETED] Baby its you ✨by Behla(fake dating, friends to lovers, crush's wedding, single bed) Haruno Sakura finds herself in desperate need of a date for the wedding of a man she's been pining after for over eight years, in order to convince him and his bride that she's getting over him.[ONGOING]

Nara shikamaru x Ino Yamanaka

Red Ribbon by amuk(one shot,humour, friendship)They made a promise and Ino spent three years searching for Shikamaru to keep that promise. Time changes everyone, though, and Shikamaru looks cozy with his coworker, Temari. Some promises can't be kept. [COMPLETED]

In the forest 💖💖💖✨by SenkaHitomi(LadyTegan) - (post war, mission gone wrong, slow burn) shikamaru returns in catatonic state from a mission and ino must go into the labyrinth of his mind to bring shikamru back! [COMPLETED]

Its her again... ✨✨by atmymercy (Highschool au, pinning) Ino gets jealous of the girl who sits beside shika on his train and this leads to a whirlwind confrontation of her feelings..[COMPLETED]

Uchiha sasuke x sakura Haruno

Before the storm ✨by crissy_writes_garbage(Time travel to past, pregnant sakura)Sakura is pregnant and lost, a combination that leads to more trouble than necessary. Specially when you're lost in the past. [COMPLETED]

Gaara x Sakura Haruno

words that tie, ties that bind by Binxxx(soulmates, angst,SHUKAKU THE THERAPIST)During the chaos of the Chunin Exams, Sakura discovers who her soulmate is. [ONGOING] The four heavenly treasures by IRinna(arranged marriage, politics, friends-to-lovers)Princess Sakura of the Land of Fire is offered in a political alliance to the Land of Wind to help survive the incoming war. There she meets Gaara, leader of Wind and one of the champions of the Four Heavenly Treasures. [COMPLETED]

Uchiha Madara x Sakura Haruno

The Black bull by Vesperchan (oneshot, beauty and the beast elements)Based on the classic Scottish fairytale The Black Bull of Norroway.[COMPLETED]

Itachi Uchia(xf!reader)

Ikigai ✨by MissWriter97(arranged marriage, senju reader, alternate au) Uchiha Itachi gets married to the women he does not love to prevent the massacre! This is a lovely fic...[ONGOING]

Senju Tobirama(xf!reader)

A Step in Time by MizzGinger (senju tobirama x Princess! reader ,arrange marriage, time travel, second chances) This is and alternate au story with a lot of war time drama going on!! It has a brilliant set up!![ONGOING]

The Home I crave✨✨ by cafeinthemoon93( arranged marriage, angst, slowburn, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers )I really loved this fics, the detailing and pacing were chef's kiss!![HIATUS]

Some other pairing stories

Iruka x reader

Growing along the line✨✨💖 by FreakyPseudWriter(fake dating, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, fluff)After a really bad day at your workplace you meet Umino Iruka, who quickly makes you open up to him. But you certainly didn't expect him to suddenly claim you two were romantically involved! [COMPLETED]

Sasori x Sakura Haruno

Bait and Hitch✨✨ by Aelynthi (fake dating, coworkers, crush's wedding)When Haruno Sakura finds out Sasuke is engaged, she does the only thing she knows to do in order to save her pride—she lies.[ONGOING]

[buckrecs]

Hi!! Was wondering if you had recs for Bucky and reader fake dating??

Fake Dating / Marriage

masterlist | req masterlist

ONESHOT

Keeping Score by @all1e23

After hearing you begging Steve to pretend to be your fake boyfriend to keep your family off your back, Bucky quickly jumps at the chance to play your boyfriend even though you’re a hundred percent sure he hates you. What could possibly go wrong?

the right partner by @bucky-bucket-barnes

You and Bucky have always possessed a complicated history, and even more strained relationship with one another. Begrudgingly, you're sent out on a mission with Barnes where you two are posing as a newly wed couple. In an effort to investigate the consistent disappearance of young women in a certain neighborhood, you find yourselves forced to confront a whirlwind of emotions.

Suburbia by @wkemeup

Posing as husband and wife, you and Bucky infiltrate a quaint suburban neighborhood in search of a Hydra hacker. Perhaps if you weren’t so in love with him and he hadn’t broken your heart, the act of pretending wouldn’t hurt so much.

where do we go from here by @barnesafterglow

when you agree to be bucky's date for his sister's wedding - and his fake girlfriend for the weekend - you're expecting a good time with your best friend. but things may never go back to normal

Fake It Till You Make It by @buckyalpine

Fake dating solves everything… right?

A Little Longer by @buckyalpine

It’s just a little lie.

Crossing The Line by @jadedvibes

After your friends set you up on a blind date with your sworn enemy, you both drunkenly decide to mess with them by making a bet to see who can pretend to be a happy couple the longest.

annoying neighbors and fake boyfriends | 2 by @lovelybarnes

“You stayed over at my place one night but my nosy, annoying neighbour saw you leave. They always get on my case about being single so I told them that we’re dating to show them”

Undercover by @buckysknifecollection

You and Bucky go on an undercover mission, where you need to pretend to be married. You are close to solving the case when Bucky decides he’s done pretending.

Make Believe on Christmas Eve by @green-eyeddragonfanfiction

When your family insists you bring your [nonexistent] long-term boyfriend over for Christmas, you panic. You hadn’t expected to be put in this situation; you never thought you’d actually have to bring “him” over.

Stop flirting with the staff by @writingsoftheloser

You and Bucky go undercover to stop the sale of a very important device.

The Karen’s of the World by @espinosaurusrexex

Aunt Karen is possibly the worst person you know. So when her annual Independence Day party arrives, you try to give her as little reason to pick on you as possible. Not being single for once should cover most of the topics she complains about. So you ask your friend Bucky to play pretend.

Tis the damn season by @starrysebastians

On the first post-blip Thanksgiving, you find yourself having to reunite with your parents and your heart is not in it — Sam persuades you to take Bucky with you, and this might be an opportunity for you two to get to know each other.

SERIES

The Holiday Hack by @gogolucky13

You ask Bucky to be your stand-in boyfriend for your family’s Christmas party.

Breaking The Rules by @redgillan

You hate James Barnes with a burning passion and the feeling is entirely mutual. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, you are tricked into attending his sister’s wedding as his girlfriend. Stuck with a bunch of strangers, you come up with a set of rules that are not going to last long.

Best Boyfriend You’ve Ever Had by @language-rxgers

When you find out your sister is getting married and expects you to bring a date to her wedding in two months, you panic, having not gone on so much as a coffee date with a guy in far too long. After all, being an Avenger doesn’t leave too much time for a life outside of work. So, when your best friend, none other than the James Buchanan Barnes himself, offers to pretend to be your boyfriend and plus one, how can you refuse? It seems like something that would come out of a movie. However, real life is never like the movies, and stories like this never go as planned.

Stepping Up by @i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend

When Steve can’t go with you to your cousin’s wedding, he sends Bucky in his place. What happens when more than one person assume you’re dating? 

Picture Perfect by @writingsoftheloser

When Steve asks his collegue to be his fake girlfriend, she accepts, thinking nothing could really go wrong. Then, she meets Steve’s best friend.

-> this is not bucky and reader fake dating but it’s one of my favorite fics so I included it!

Worst Idea Ever by @firefly-in-darkness

Wedding Season is brutal as it is but throw in two friends that decide to be each other’s plus ones and a mixed bag of feelings, what's the worst that could happen?

Heart to a Gunfight by @lailannajacobs

You didn’t want to help Bucky Barnes make it through the party by pretending to be his fake girlfriend, after all, you had just met him. You also didn’t plan on the charade lasting as long as it did. 

am i more than you bargained for? by @morsmordre-writes

Bucky has an unwanted secret admirer, so naturally you pretend to be his girlfriend until it blows over. Will someone catch feelings? Will they be absolute idiots about it all? Will they live happily ever after? We may never know.

Almost Had Me Believing It by @tuiccim

An undercover operation playing Bucky Barnes' wife is a dream come true. Playing house in the suburbs while trying to take down a drug ring brings you and Bucky closer but a nosy neighbor causes trouble in paradise.

A Certain Romance by @wienerbarnes

With the threat of yet another bad date at the result of Sam Wilson’s meddling, Bucky’s desperate to find a solution. As are you, another victim to Sam’s failed matchmaking. The two of you come up with a genius plan: pretend to date each other in order to escape the poking and prying nose of the Falcon.

The Proposal by @toomanyrobins2

Y/N Arnaud is the liaison to the Avengers, but she’s also a French citizen. After a couple mistakes, her visa application is denied. Even though they can’t stand each other, Bucky offers to marry her in order to keep her visa status in the U.S. and avoid deportation.

Follow My Lead by @ciarawritesmarvel

You and your new friend Wanda are enjoying a day together at the Avengers Tower, her giving you a tour around the place when you both run into the infamous Bucky Barnes. Moments later, he’s introducing you to Sam as his girlfriend and placing a kiss on your temple and you’re not sure you’ve ever been so confused in your life.

Where Dreams Go To Die by @insomniumstella

[generalsdiary]

Interwoven

Mydei x Phainon

word count: 6k

description: our favorite couple is finally in the future at the same time and it is time to talk about what Mydei did during his time (Chapter 2)

a/n: welcome to another chapter- took a bit more time than the previous chapters, but this one is over 6k words so I guess yall stay winning lol we are sticking heavily to the canon with this one (no plot spoilers for 3.1), all the canon stuff was revealed in 3.0 via in-world books and stuff - so don't worry if you haven't played the newest main story. the only thing from 3.1 would be Mydei's pov on things ig which was spoken about in 3.0 but not in heavy detail. have a fun read!

ty to my beta readers; citrus, rice cake and Sav <2

Chapter 3: Is it written in our stars?

Silence filled the air. “Husband? Married … as in we exchanged vows, signed a parchment, and kissed?” Phainon tilts his head, bewildered by the fact.

“Yes, Deliverer, married . Do keep your voice down, we have appearances to keep.” Mydei adds in a hushed tone. This is the first time Phainon has ever heard the loud man speak so quietly, he takes a few moments to quietly process. They’re both fine, Phainon quietly thanks Kephale , both alive in the future. Moreover, that they both made it in one piece. Phainon’s eyes widen, his breathing grows shallow as panic floods him, “Is the artifact with you? If you already collected the information on Thanatos’ location, then we should head back.” Phainon gestures with his hand.

Mydei shakes his head, “The artifact isn’t with me. I only woke up in this body, nothing I had in my arms traveled with me… Much like how you only arrived days later.” Mydei’s words make sense. After all, they were separated, despite holding hands. He was holding Phainon’s hand in the last moment of the present.

Blood rushes to Phainon’s cheeks as his mind fills with various thoughts. The adrenaline of their last moment together combined with the sudden warm hand that held his reminds him that Mydei has been here for several days longer with his married counterpart. What did Mydeimos do with his future husband? Did he kiss him, hold his hand, share his bed, how far did he go—

“…and as for the Death Titan, I have gathered the only intelligence that was written here. The artifact takes priority. Deliverer, we should get this done and get back.” Mydei groaned, pinching the skin on the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t slide past this, you lived with the version of me that is… married to you. We are screwed, we should try asking Tribbie or the others—“ Phainon’s eyebrows furrowed and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, balancing two lines of conversation at once.

Mydei sighed, “Absolutely not. That would simply uncover us. Furthermore, it seems the timeline doesn’t work that way. We need to figure out how we won the war and find a way back to our time. Regarding Lady Tribios, it would only raise even more suspicion—“ 

The doors open abruptly and a clearly nervous guard barges in, interrupting their conversation, “My King, the council has started,” he looks cautiously between them,  “D-do you wish to join?” Mydei sighs and glances at Phainon with irritation in his eyes. The conversation cannot be continued; the usual obligations must be upheld. 

“We will talk later, Deli—“ he clears his throat, luckily he managed to catch himself, “my Prince.”

Phainon is somewhat shaken by the turmoil of his new reality. On top of it all, being called my prince by the man he feels so strongly for doesn’t make any of it easier to process. Without an idea of what to do next, or even the simple of how to behave, he calls out the name of one of the servants, “Aulus!”

The woman with short brown hair rushes in, “Yes, my Prince?”

“Escort me to my chambers, I’m feeling… dizzy and I’d hate to bump into a column and make the King worry.” Phainon flashes a weak smile. All he can hope is that his lie was believable enough. Aulus gave him a quick nod and slowly guided him to the large room. Stealth check successful. Or was it charisma? Phainon can’t remember, he will have to ask Caelus once he returns to the present. … If he returns to the present.

Two guards posted nearby their quarters open the large, heavy door for him and Phainon finally gets a moment to let his guard down.

His eyes scan the large room, admiring the sight. The white marble tiles are covered up by a dark brown carpet, akin to a bear’s fur. Transparent white curtains hang above the windows and the archway to a balcony. Two large tables are placed in the leftmost part of the room, opposite of each other, both messy and filled with various documents. The right side of the room is set apart with a single step and an enormous canopy bed with cream white sheets. It's fixed, pristine and crisp as if no one slept in it this morning. The bed curtains are tied up out of sight, matching in the same cream shade, with Kremnos’ signature red lining drawn through them. Phainon has been to Mydei’s room before – that man isn’t neat per se, hence he is certain the servants made the bed after his future self and his Mydei left in the morning. They’re both messy and he is certain that didn’t change, even with the years between this present and theirs.

The room feels comfortable. Safe, even. Despite that, worry fills Phainon’s mind. What if Mydei is in trouble? What if he can’t keep the act up? Nonsense, he spent days here… Still, what if something comes up? Something worse than what he had to deal with? …Like living with… his husband. Separation anxiety at its finest.

Drawn by the mess on the tables, he snoops over the parchments. Both tables offer nothing particularly interesting, various affairs, nothing personal, nothing this snooper wished to read. Not to mention some writing on both tables is in Kremnoan, making them inaccessible to him. Sitting down on the floor, he opens the drawers of what he concluded is his table, based on the handwriting, despite half of it being in Mydei’s mother tongue. Phainon’s eyes sparkled when he finally struck gold.

A small pile of letters, tied in a bunch with yellow string, catches his eye. Why would he keep government letters in colorful string in the last drawer? There's no reason for these to be personal letters when regular communication is done over teleslates. It piques his curiosity...

The fragile parchment unfolds to reveal a letter written in surprisingly neat handwriting. The loops and curves make the writer look as if they put a lot of effort into making it readable and inviting. Readable in the way Phainon finds the easiest, his mind running over the words before he can even fully comprehend them.

Beloved,

Days without you are utterly painful. No person here can even come close to presenting a challenge in a spar, nor do they dare to attempt. They would've never been a match for me even before I reached godhood.

Your side of the bed is cold. I find myself holding your pillow. As I've said, you should have taken me on your special expedition. The city can run without its King for a few days, right?

Return safely. Or else.

your husband

Phainon's jaw might as well be on the ground. He has to restrain the urge to go through Mydei's drawers in pursuit of the return letter, knowing he’s far too eager to see what his future self had written back. His mind has gone fully blank, completely and utterly unable to register the yearning and sheer neediness of his future husband.

Seeking the next letter like an eager reader flipping to the next page, screaming for the next chapter, it only bares its fangs back at him when his eyes skim over the second letter far too quickly. 

I dreamt of you last night. My fingers glided over your neck and the plush skin of your thighs. I woke up before I could lay a single kiss down. Do return sooner, the real thing is better than anything my imagination and subconscious may offer—

Phainon peeled his eyes away and closed both letters using muscle memory. “No~ nope.. nope... eh- heh. I mean yeah, yes, of course, but! not... no.. uh... whoa... maybe one more peek...”

Clumsily he opens the second letter, scanning it quickly like he will get caught reading a lewd book in the Grove by Professor Anaxagoras. 

“No— I shouldn't. It is not meant for my eyes. I should put it away~” Phainon narrates his actions, convincing himself of what he deems to be right. Devoid of any pure thoughts and completely distracted, he tries to redirect his train of thought. He’s madly clutching at straws in an attempt to find something, anything, that may distract his brain, until it lands on the way Mydeimos called him his prince . If he wasn't sitting down, his knees would have buckled at the sheer memory. Would he whisper it at night... blowing air against his ear—

“No, Phainon. Stay focused!” The Chrysos Heir shakes his head, platinum locks ruffling in turn. Coming to a decision to leave the letter behind, he heads to the wardrobe.

Phainon’s heart beats proudly at the sight of simple cotton clothing of various colors. He is quick to strip out of the armor on his body and put on comfortable clothing that reminds him of his home. He had barely put on the pants when someone barged in. He held back a squeak, arms flinging up in front of his chest, wielding an invisible sword— it could have been anyone, he doesn't know this city or its people, consumed by uncertainty and insecurity unfamiliar to him.

The familiar heavy step and clanking of armor, along with a peach gradient wavy hair puts him at ease. 

“Mydei…” Phainon smiles, shifting the warm-toned shirt in his hands before he puts it on.

Mydei waits until the doors close with a thud before he heavily exhales, “Deliverer.” He is quick to discard his forearm and hand armor, flexing his phalanges and rubbing his elbows. 

“Did something happen?” Phainon rushes to him, feeling quite light in the unexplainably cozy clothing.

“Nothing of our concern. Leading the city, laws... I see you made yourself at home. Already in pajamas.” Mydeimos quirks an eyebrow in his direction and slumps onto the bed, practically jumping onto his back with a guttural groan. His eyes closed for a few moments before he opened them to stare into the space of the canopy bed’s ceiling.

“Pajamas? I thought these were daily clothing...?” Phainon quickly examines his shirt, pulling at the seamless lining. 

“Your assumption isn't wrong, however, your future self wore them to bed. Well, except the shirt.” Mydeimos closed his eyes, rubbing his temple in circular motions. “I am still in disbelief of how my body, a few decades in the future, gets migraines post council meet-ups.”

Phainon sits down on the sofa at the foot of the canopy bed. Mydei indeed shared the bed with his future self... who only sleeps in pants. Noted... noted . Don't panic... don't get flustered~ No, no, no...

“What was your... body... doing when you... got here?” Phainon fidgets with his fingers, eyes focused on his own lap. Unlike their every conversation where they both stand tall and exchange quips and blows, having only one room, only one space where they can be themselves in this future, does make both of them let their guard down. One space where they can share their thoughts and not worry about the act they have to put on. Less space… and more wherever the other one is, is the place where they can let their guard down, the separation anxiety they both obviously have rising tremendously in turn.

“Does it matter, Deliverer?” Mydei asks softly while stretching his legs, the strong muscles flexing, shadows highlighting the curves of his quadriceps, the calves forming the letter V as he turns his hips to the side and rubs his lower back with a small groan. Phainon’s eyes did shift shamelessly to… admire the sight.

Phainon looks back to his lap, recalling the immense pain he had felt when he got here. Unlike Mydeimos, for Phainon only an hour or so had passed. “I got here through pain and deafening noises. I think I was taking a walk? I'm unsure.”

“He was out to pick pomegranates.” A simple answer to a rather complicated question. Something goes off in Phainon's head when Mydei refers to his future husband as he rather than you . Food for thought when he isn't in the middle of trying to find out information from the most unwilling man.

“And you?” Phainon’s hands still and he looks over to the heading of the bed.

“I think I was asleep. It was the middle of the night. I presume I stumbled out of bed, fell to my knees, and nearly attacked... the prince.” Mydei avoided eye contact and softly yawned. He gently rubbed his abdomen in a soothing manner and brought his free arm under his head.

Phainon’s mind took it upon itself to imagine the scene; Mydei stumbling out of bed, being comforted by his husband, confronted as to what was going on. Did Mydei just go back to bed and sleep with him ? Anxiously, he nibbled on his bottom lip and the moment he raised his head to question the older man, the paced breathing of the tired warrior made him keep his thoughts for later. A slow rise and fall of his chest revealed the sleeping state of the man who Phainon could spend hours admiring.

His fingers itched for him to reach out, feel his hair, and caress his cheek—an urge he could barely control when he was lying right there. Peaceful, undisturbed, safe… and trusting Phainon completely. He yearned for more. Yearned for Mydeimos and his attention. Phainon exhaled, which sounded more like a needy whine, and quietly left the room. Before the guards could even greet him, he whispered harshly, “The King is asleep, do not bother him at any cost. Should you need him, come to me.” The guards nodded with a slight tremble of their chins; he had played the role of his future self to the T. Phainon did assume that he would hold himself a bit taller and would respond a bit harsher from the protectiveness he already feels for Mydei. Or rather, the worry which he assumes grew into protectiveness.

The best thing to do next is revise his knowledge of Castrum Kremnos, Mydei’s history and perhaps try to sniff out any clue regarding the artifact’s possible location. 

With Castrum Kremnos revived, every hallway, room, and courtyard is safe, unlike the first time Phainon saw it; covered in vines and shrouded in shadows. Dust-filled rooms that stuck to one’s clothing and thick spider webs that would tangle in one’s hair. The heavy mist carried stories he wished he could learn, and life has presented him this chance. Although, he is approaching this studious expedition as a means to shield himself with the knowledge he would have in this position in the future.

The majestic city stood once more in its old glory. Phainon’s shoes echoed in their step along the hallway. Every entrance had a guard standing post and greeting the Prince of Castrum Kremnos. Phainon barely managed to beg his servants not to follow him on his walk. It’s just a walk is what he said, concealing his, rather exciting, tourist trip through his future self’s Kingdom. 

Along the sturdy columns, floors lined with gold, and various leafy greens decorating every possible surface, something else caught Phainon’s attention. Amethyst-like gemstones floated throughout the city. He faintly recalls Caelus mentioning seeing them everywhere, especially in Okhema, despite them not being visible to anyone else. They supposedly show scenes from the long-lost past. Being met with them himself, he believes the quirky fellow now. Fragments of Recollection, memoria residues of bygone days. Surprisingly, they were recent events, well, not recent to his lifetime, but recent enough to be relevant.

Phainon’s jaw hung open when he touched the first fragment he saw. It portrayed a mirror-like group of people and a strange setting. One of the previous Kings of Castrum Kremnos, however, that is not what caught his attention; rather, it was the fierce and ferocious woman that gave him goosebumps.

Gorgo. She stood proudly, like a tree refusing to bend in the north wind, standing relentlessly against all judgments thrown at her. Mydei’s mother, Queen of Kremnos: Queen Gorgo.

Defending her name and her right to be there, claiming she killed a lion with her bare hands and therefore named herself after the founder of Castrum Kremnos. An awe-inspiring accomplishment. Phainon knows of the story she mentioned, however, founder Gorgo had a group of people with him and they hunted the lion down. From the future queen’s words, she didn’t ambush the lion nor did she have help.

The following scene portrays Eurypon holding a sword against Gorgo’s neck and Gorgo piercing her spear through his thigh. They fought for days and nights without a victor and ended up calling for a draw. Phainon narrowed his eyes, a memory coming to the surface as he heard the next line; “Gorgo, would you wear the crown as Queen of Kremnos…” Much like Mydei’s parents fought, so too did he and Mydei; they fought for ten days and nights on end only to end up calling a draw.

Phainon gulped, the parallels were too obvious. His hand trembled as he reached up to deactivate the fragment whilst looking around to see if anyone was watching him. Alas, no one could even see the Fragments of Recollection—Caelus wasn’t here after all.

Continuing his walk, he stumbled upon more fragments. Phainon was shocked to find out Eurypon thought the world of Mydeimos—even promising to end the long line of patricide, well… before he heard of the prophecy. The traitorous excuse for a king didn’t take long to decide that he will kill his son and, through hidden schemes, poison and kill his wife.

Phainon walked around the scene that the fragment showed with tightened fists and a clenched jaw. Utter betrayal, dishonesty, and cowardice. Mydei deserved better.

As the night embraced the bustling city and a blanket of stars covered the sky, Phainon was sitting down in the library of Kremnos. Most of his armor lay shed to the side, surprisingly nicely organized. At the same time, he was surrounded by various open parchments; old, burnt, and torn. He took the ones he could read, the ones not written in Kremnoan. Alongside the yellowed paper, dark grey tablets covered in dust were tucked neatly next to his thigh.

In his left hand, he held one of those stone tablets, and in his right, a transcript which translated it into common tongue.

It was a letter Queen Gorgo wrote to Mydei. She was warning him, reassuring him, trying to tell him the truth, and still telling him that he is great and would be even greater, despite what others claimed. Her words showed her pain, her worry, and her pride.

Surrounded by the history of Kremnoans… or truthfully, by Mydei’s past, his parents and what happened, has put Phainon in a zone of pure focus. The terrific warrior became unaware of the tremor in his hands, the soft candle flame that lit up the room, making his eyes strain as he tried to read, and the tears that fell down his cheeks, landing between his crossed legs on the floor.

Thrown in the sea, left to drown. Survived and reemerged from the Sea of Souls after nine years of drifting and growing up. Phainon’s eyes kept looking over the same sentence Queen Gorgo had written to Mydei, stuck in the whirlpool of emotion and unable to swim out. Stunned into place in the mess of various reports of the past around him.

He failed to notice the sharp golden gaze from the shadows. Mydeimos was observing him rather curiously. He quietly told the archivists to leave, with a gesture of his hand as soon as he came. His brows furrowed in confusion, wondering what could Phainon be reading that would make him cry that much and be unable to move on. Mydeimos stepped closer, the heaviness of his armor echoing in the large room as he approached his comrade. He felt uncertain about what he should say, how to comfort him, or even what to ask. “Deliverer, I see you’re burning the midnight oil. I didn’t know you had such an interest in the history of Castrum Kremnos.”

Phainon looks up, surprised by the sudden intrusion, he quickly smiled brightly and wiped his tears away. “I was refreshing some facts, plus being in the future and a prince~ Well, I should know things to avoid being caught as an imposter.” His smile stayed perfect and it icked Mydeimos. The words to call him out and confront him were dancing on the tip of his tongue.

“It is getting late, you should be going to sleep, Deliverer.” Mydeimos, the unlikely coward he was, decided not to speak up on it. He leaned towards Phainon and offered him his hand. “Leave it. The archivists will organize it in the morning.” Phainon accepted his hand, and Mydei pulled him up to his feet and out of the pile of documents. Their sudden proximity left little room for Mydeimos’s usual overthinking, and he blurted out the words on his mind before he could stop them…maybe he didn’t even want to stop them, “What facts about Kremnos have made you cry and look like someone killed your significant other?”

Phainon’s smile fell, they were standing too close, the privacy of the room and the silent curtain of the night which made men more honest kept him away from empty lies. “Your past. Your parents, and everything that had happened, I never knew the details and—“ Phainon’s voice breaks and he looks away.

Mydeimos cursed at his choice of words when it ended up being about him. Then as he heard the rest, he slowly inhaled. He looked up at the ceiling and nodded. “It is… rather grotesque. Why would you want to read about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It is about you .” Phainon looked at him with a determined gaze, which sent a shiver down Mydeimos’ spine.

“I could have told you— you should have asked me.” Mydeimos shook his head gently.

“You already have. Everything about you and who you are screams it. Remember what you say to me when you lose our spars? There’s no shame in losing to those who conspire and plot in secret. A blunt man like you doesn’t say such things easily or jokingly, you’re never thoughtless. I have read… how your mother lost that duel for you. It all makes sense.” Phainon looks down and shakes his head, “You wear it all on your sleeve. Your pride, your traditions, your culture, your past , and everything you have been through. It is all there with you, and to an observing eye it is obvious.” He turns his head towards Mydeimos, “The way you carry yourself, the way you talk and how you judge things, you carry everything with you. Yes, your past has made you who you are, just as it does everyone else. However, I can see it, every single detail, it is written along every line of your body and face, every flaw and every virtue. You’re an open book, and I… have learned how to read the language you’re written in.”

Mydeimos is left speechless. For once he is seen, observed with a non-judgmental eye, from the one he… cares about the most. The tears he hates—for they remind him of the waves he drifted in—prick at his eyes, but he blinks them away. He stands firmly in front of Phainon, not budging or showing any weakness, glaring at him as if he is his prey. A lion watching an antelope.

Phainon turns completely towards Mydeimos now and steps closer, unwavering in his gaze, unapologetically observing the Kremnoan, standing his ground and not turning back. Mydeimos realizes this man was never his prey but rather what he always saw him to be, his equal.

A lion was being glared at by another lion. Phainon dares to stand tall and puff his chest out, all-knowing and undefeated, roaring at Mydeimos, unafraid of the consequences. And Mydeimos… falters . He opens his mouth to speak and yet his voice is far from how he looks like, only a broken murmur spoken like the most treasured secret in the comfort of the night; “Phainon.”

Phainon’s eyes fill with tears for a moment and he swallows them away, the very first time Mydei called him by his name and it tugs at his heart. 

Like an orange cut open in half and left on the table, both of them stand vulnerable and raw. The flesh uncovered, left exposed to the elements of the world, filling the space with a crisp orange scent. The cards; though not all of them, are laid out on the table and both men struggle to say more. Minutes pass in silence, looking into each other’s eyes like lovers, unrushed and seeking comfort neither of them dares to give yet.

“It is late. Let us go to our chambers.” Mydei is the first one to whisper, to which Phainon nods and they leave the Archive.

The walk back is slow, with each step they both walk even slower, prolonging the heavy silence and personal time for as long as they can.

Entering their shared chambers, Mydeimos glances at the bed and walks past it. He slips off the bronze gloves of his hands and sets them aside. Stopping under the arch leading to the open balcony, his eyes lazily look over the red moon and the golden moon, basking in their glow, seeking their guidance. Sleep isn’t calling him and too many worries weigh on his mind.

Phainon follows suit, taking off some of his armor, and steps a few paces behind Mydei. The silence stretches out, seemingly something they both need.

“… this isn’t what I wanted for Kremnos,” Mydeimos utters breathlessly, Phainon barely hears the whispered words against the crown.

“It’s not?” Phainon answers in the same hushed tone and steps closer. Despite it being a private conversation, it is regarding the very city they’re residing in the current future. Blasphemous words like that should not be heard by any eavesdropper.

“No.” The Kremnoan shakes his head gently. “The glorious traditions that went on for two millennia, the blood, the needless sacrifice—“ Phainon listens attentively, as he always does. He knows how proudly and defensively Mydei speaks of his culture and people, yet he tilts his head curiously at the word needless . “—living just to die on the battlefield, valuing life less than bread and disrespecting death itself. I refuse to let such a bloody tradition continue.” Mydeimos sighs, his hands come to rest on his hips and his head dips down. Crickets fill the silence of the warm night.

“Don’t the Kremnoan people deserve better? A chance to live – they might be alive, but they aren’t living. How much more innocent blood must be spilled for the sake of glory, how many unnecessary sacrifices were made in the name of honor, how many people rushed to die in battle so they might not need to experience the shame of a happy or sorrowful return?” Mydeimos’ voice is filled with pain and defeat. He is far from defeated, but upon seeing this future he hopes he can still somewhat change it. Kremnoans deserve better.

“What would you change? How would you change the future? I am sorry, I do not know what advice I could offer…” Phainon looks into the distance, beyond the lookout onto the balcony. “It isn’t my place to butt in my opinion.”

Mydeimos keeps one thought hidden. Perhaps this is the only version of the future where they end up happily together. Maybe changing the future for something better for his people means no Phainon by his side. A reality too painful to bear, he buries those thoughts deep inside. Sadly… his people take priority.

“And about the Titan Nikador, I know who I am, I know how people perceive me and I am well aware of…what I present. Moreover, I bear no affections for the kingdom.” The words slip off his lips heavily, hushed, undaring to be spoken loudly. Only existing to flow through the air to the ears of the man standing behind him.

The undying immortal, undefeated warrior, everything every Kremnoan wishes they could be is Mydeimos, here in the flesh. Yet he goes above and beyond, wise and collected, intelligent and thought-out, seeing further than what he was presented with. Asking questions that no one dares to ask, even when he is met with the human equivalent of a wall for an answer. 

“I don’t want to be what I am perfect for. I don’t want to sit in the mold fate has prepared for me. I fit in it more than I fit anywhere else. I was shaped and molded for it.” Mydeimos speaks almost every thought that weighs on his heart and mind, and Phainon… listens.

“This is why you refused to take the Coreflame? I will take the trial for the Coreflame of Strife, do not worry, Mydei.” Phainon attempts to reassure him. Mydeimos does not feel reassured. Despite the trust he places in Phainon, he is painfully aware of the bigger picture.

“I hope you can succeed in the trial.” He raises his head and looks back at Phainon—the last hope he has to change his fate, the last straw. If Phainon fails, he doesn’t know how he may help his people and change where fate seems to obviously be pushing him into.

“The perfect warrior, the perfect soldier wants nothing with any of it. I don’t want to be nobody’s soldier.” Mydeimos exhales heavily.

Phainon smiles, “Well, you’re not that perfect if you see beyond the commands and seek to disobey them.” He nudges Mydei with his shoulder.

Mydei smiles, chuckling dryly at the tease, “Deliverer, you truly hold different perspectives.”

A cough beyond their room interrupts the intimate conversation. Both men stiffen, and Phainon fixes his posture. “Best to go to sleep, roomie.” Mydeimos glances at Phainon, wary of the noise from the guards. “I know a spot outside the city where we will have enough privacy to talk about this. We can leave in the morning.”

On the fifth night, he sleeps beside his Phainon, yet not in his arms. Maybe one day he will, or perhaps the only chance to do so was with the future Phainon. Will he one day regret dodging the kiss and avoiding affection? It keeps him awake for another hour, the worry and regret. Until he hears Phainon softly snore, he smiles. But he doesn't dare to turn around and look at his peaceful form next to him. The snoring provides a safe cocoon and white noise for him to be lulled into sleep.

Salt fills Phainon’s nostrils, and the rustle of dried leaves on the tree branches, along with the crushing of the waves against the sharp rocks, provide a pleasant cacophony to his ears. “We are far enough, wouldn’t you say?”

“Almost there. Don’t complain, Deliverer, we barely lost the guards. They are truly persistent.” Mydeimos huffs and continues on down the cliff and towards the rocky beach. It has been years since he emerged from these waters. Years of drifting among them made him detest the same waves that kept him afloat.

“Ah, I understand now, the sea will snuff out any noise if someone had managed to follow us, and not get caught by us.” Phainon triumphantly shares his discovery as Mydeimos comes to a stop.

“This is the place where I swam out, and the place where I first died. When my father threw me off that cliff.” Mydei simply adds, gesturing with his chin towards the cliff, as if he said the sky is blue.

“I see. We could’ve gone anywhere else, Mydeimos.” Phainon looks at him with a pleading look, swallowing hard to ignore the churning feeling in his gut. 

“No need, this will do fine.” The water sprinkles Mydei’s body with each wave and he sharply inhales, a bitter nostalgia fills him when faced with the hell he grew up in. Living in it for so long makes one unable to recognize the awful living conditions; even hell gets comfortable when one gets used to it. Yes, there was pain and death, but he got used to it. Used to the routine and suffering, so comfortable that change was terrifying.

“You will succeed in the trial, and regarding my people… they still want a king. I am the successor to the throne. The last crown prince.” Mydeimos speaks loudly against the waves, matching the turmoil inside him that he can finally tell someone. Someone, who feels much like him in comparison to his own people—an outsider.

“You are the King, Mydeimos—“ Phainon smiles, proud of the title Mydei has. However, it only rouses the man.

“I am… but the King who has never claimed his throne.” He counteracts with gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t more change occur if you sat on the throne? Or do you claim changing their ways isn’t something you would be able to achieve? Perhaps, it is truly more complicated than it seems.” Phainon falls into deep thought and is quickly snapped out of it by the sharp words Mydeimos shouts against the sea.

“I never wanted the throne!” He brings his hands up to rub his face and shakes his head more, “I only sought revenge for my mother, my friends in arms— I never wanted the crown.” 

Phainon’s heart drops and his breath gets stuck in his throat. Fate has written out the road for him and forced him to walk down it. Death won’t take him, and there is no means of escape. “Mydeimos…” Phainon stills his hands, smoothing out the fabric on his thighs as he steps closer.

Mydei gestures with his hands, firm and stable. Shaking his head, “I’ve lost so many. I have buried too many people with my own hands. This war should be enough, even without this bloodied tradition.” He looks at Phainon. Pain is written out on his face from the years of suffering and fighting. “Something needs to change.” His gaze hardens, the glint of the tears passed by, and the air of a warrior's back.

The sweat on his brow coupled with the lion-like piercing gaze shake Phainon to the bone. He looks just like his mother. The calm but cut-to-the-throat tone of voice, the choice of words, the way he holds himself, and the things he has pride over—it all screams Queen Gorgo. And specifically, the words she said;

“If there is no Kremnos without the crown… then I shall seize the crown and smash it to pieces to bring the people to their senses.”

Phainon has seen many Fragments of Recollection, and read far too many parchments throughout Kremnos; the man before him is truly the son of Gorgo. Yet, he is probably unaware of how much he is like his mother. Phainon feels proud in his stead, to be like the one he never met, yet respects the most—truly an achievement only Mydeimos could accomplish.

Phainon’s hands shake, so he curls them into fists, “I will pass the trial for the Coreflame of Strife. I will bear the duty of the God of Strife, and you will have an easier time figuring out how to help your people in the present, past… our present.”

“If anyone is fit for that, it is you, Deliverer.” Mydei nods and steps away from the growing waves.

“Aww, is it going to rain? I have received praise from the last Crown Prince himself~” Phainon is quick to smirk and jab at the taller man, attempting to ease the air.

“Hmph. Do not get blinded by glory.” Mydei snorts.

Phainon smiles, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and swaying his shoulders, “I sense a need for a spar~ shall we see whose future body has gotten stronger? Perhaps we are no longer equals~”

“In your dreams, Deliverer. We can go to the sparring room—“ Mydeimos turns on his heel, ready to head back and eager to get some of this frustration out in a physical manner as well.

“Sparring room? When has the location ever stopped you from sparring?” Phainon stands in place, the cocky smirk on his face making Mydeimos narrow his eyes and his chest fills with excitement. Phainon truly knows his partner well.

“You asked for it.” The undying warrior doesn’t even try to hide his smile before he lunges at Phainon.

divider cr: @saradika-graphics

[reyalvr]

SHE’S MINE | 00

CATCH ME, I’VE FALLEN IN LOVE FOR THE FIRST TIME.

synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers.

genre ┊ fake dating, fake marriage, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, mild angst, chaotic fluff, smut

pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan, RUMORS isn’t related to anything that happens in this series

word count ┊ 798

author’s note ┊ YAY i finally wrote it! i really love the fake dating/marriage convenience trope and i’ve been itching to write it with kenji. this is highly inspired by one my favorite books of all time, terms & conditions by lauren asher! if you enjoy fake dating i highly recommend reading it. as mentioned at the top, this is only the prologue! i'll be putting out part one and the series masterlist asap hehe... as always, happy reading!

prev. | next

SOMETIMES YOU WONDERED IF ANYTHING YOU SAID EVER STUCK WITH KEN. For the past year and a half, you had the supposed “dream life” that every assistant yearned for. It confused you, really, as you tried to ponder on what part of your job was envious. Were the late nights drafting NDA breaches so desirable? What about the press statements after altercations, were those résumé worthy? You let out a deep sigh as you watched Ken from the TV in his dressing room, crossing your arms as you sunk deeper into the couch.

He was on a press tour for his latest collaboration, his overconfident persona charming everyone left and right. You had to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes when he used his signature flair to charm the show’s host. At least he was sticking to the script… for the most part. He wore the product, threw in a few adlibs, and of course, flirted. Be it a talk show host or a random photographer on the street, Ken always found a way to leave people smitten with him- save except you. 

It’s not like you were actively trying to hate him, he just made it so easy. At first you thought it was just some awkward phase, like he was just trying to adjust to working with a new team. But then he just kept doing the same things over and over again. A brawl with an opposing team member? Just another Sunday night. A rumor about having a fling with yet another supermodel? Sounds just about right. 

“I mean of course I have to thank my team,” Ken’s voice cut through your train of thought. “It was a dream of mine to play for the Giants as a kid, now I actually get to do it.”

Tone it down, asshole. You thought to yourself, noting the sarcasm laced in his words. Of course the general public wouldn’t have caught on, but you had no doubt his coach and the other players would. Then again, he’d been relatively untouchable because of his rank in the sports world. You poked your tongue into your cheek, shaking your head as you sat through the rest of his interview. The clock on the wall counted down the remaining time, the bright red numbers casting a reflection on the screen. Two minutes left, and all he had to do was to keep the act up…

…Until he didn’t. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what was about to happen next. 

“Now I don’t want to hold here any longer, but you know I have to ask it,” The host teased, almost like an overexcited child ready to tattle. “Any special someone back home?” 

Ken chuckled, just like he usually did when asked the question. “Cheeky question,” He paused and grinned, his eyebrow raised slightly as he shrugged his shoulders. “What if there was?” 

“Well, is there?” The host pushed, his tone eager to have the Ken Sato answer such a juicy question. He gestured toward the crowd before he continued. “I mean there are a lot of fans here today who would love to know more…” 

“Yeah? And if I said yes, then what?” He replied, his smile growing brighter and his eyes shining. 

The crowd cheered even harder, itching to find out the truth. You shared the same sentiments, trying to figure out what the hell Ken was up to now. Did he have a girlfriend? If he did, why didn’t anyone know about it? You stood up straight now, your right hand deathly gripping the remote. What the hell do you have up your sleeve, Kenji Sato? Your inner voice seemed to yell as you waited for him to speak up. 

“I mean only time will tell, yeah?” The host replied, leaning back in his seat. “C’mon Ken, it’s not nice to keep secrets.”

Ken mimicked the host’s moves, leaning back into his sofa chair as well. He shrugged his shoulders, licking his lips as he fiddled with his fingers. He bit the inside of his cheek, and though it was brief you caught it. You knew that look; his look of contemplation. Your grip on the remote was still taut as your breathing seemed to quicken the longer he waited. Granted it was only a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours. 

He tilted his head slightly then, his eyes staring directly at the camera. It slowly zoomed closer to focus entirely on him, and he let out a small laugh before he finally replied. His gaze was strong, and it almost felt like he was actually looking at you.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He finally said, throwing in a lovesick smile for good measure. “And she’s the best damn thing in my life right now.”

reyalvr © 2024 … do not repost, alter, or steal my work.

[celestie0]

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

in holy matriphony ch4. in a mother’s eyes

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

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

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, 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, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; 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. 4/x

ᰔ words. 10k (omg a whole number...very sexy)

a/n. hellooo my ihm friends! hope you're all doing well. ahh i'm glad to finally be posting this chapter lolol. it's a littleee off tangent from what happens in ch3, but still has some important plot developments. it does dive into feelings of depression & anxiety, so just wanted to give a warning on that! but yea other than that i hope you enjoy and see you at the bottom!! :) also so sorry if there are errors i only had time to skim through it once :((

nav. masterlist

“Just go ahead and sign right here for me.”

You take the pen from the hospice nurse’s hand. It’s cheap black plastic with a pink fuzzy pom pom attached to the end of it with peeling glue. 

Your eyes briefly flit across the paragraphs detailed in printed ink until your gaze lands on the highlighted lines at the bottom of the page. Your signature. Spouse’s signature.

“We’ll need to have your husband come here to sign the paperwork as well, since he’ll have to add your mother on his list of dependents, but we can certainly get started on expediting this process for you since the insurance has already been pre-approved,” the nurse tells you as she accepts your signed paperwork and then neatly tucks it into one of the compartment holders. 

The afternoon goes by smoothly, with your mother surprisingly patient as she sits in the waiting room while you wait for the nurses to formally show you to her new room.

You thought that you could put off putting her in hospice for a little longer, because in all honesty, you weren’t prepared to let her go just yet. You weren’t prepared to not have her in the house anymore. But lately, she’s been putting herself in lots of danger, like attempting to take her own medications when she does not know the correct dosing, and forgetting things on the stove when she attempts to cook.

But the last straw was when you came home from a very brief run to the grocery store at night a couple days ago to see a handful of your neighbors out on the front lawn with your mother at their side. She had apparently gotten out of the house and walked down the neighborhood, then fallen on the sidewalk but was unable to get up. When your neighbors had found her, a miracle as they were just coming home from dinner and caught sight of her in the illumination of their headlights, they tried to help her get up but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even tell the firefighters that came by to help her what her name was, or what year it was, or where she lived.

It was when you realized you couldn’t even keep her safe anymore that you had to let go.

“Is that a wedding ring?” your mother asks, pointing a trembling finger to it as she lays tucked inside her new hospice bed, “are you married?”

You glance down at the ring Gojo gave you in the courthouse, almost surprised to find that you were still wearing it in good faith. “Yes, mom. I am.”

“Why am I here?” she asks you, “I don’t want to be here.”

You stiffen a little. Although you were mentally preparing yourself to answer these questions, the preparation didn’t make it any easier. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just for a little short while, okay? The doctors want to run some tests on you.”

“Who are you married to?” she asks.

“To Satoru,” you tell her, “our neighbor.”

She lets out a small gasp. “The sweet boy who fixed our A/C?”

You roll your eyes. not sure why your mother has hyper fixated on that memory with Gojo when most days she’ll look at you like you’re a stranger. “Yes mom.”

“Oh, I like him,” she tells you with an affectionate nod. She hesitates slightly, wearisome of some other thought that flashes through her mind. “How long have you been married?”

You let out a small sigh. This is already a conversation you had with her a couple days ago, and it doesn’t feel good to lie to her. It was hard enough to do once, but to have to constantly lie to her over and over again over all the smallest things just so that she stays calm and safe and happy seems to drain you of all your energy and happiness you had left in your bones.

Little white lies, that’s what they are. Harmless ones. That’s what you tell yourself to absolve yourself of the guilt.

“I’ll come back soon, okay? I’ll tell you more about him some other day,” you say to her, speaking gently in the way an adult would speak to a child. The way she used to speak to you. You could never exactly pinpoint when those roles became reversed.

You finish discussing some more insurance matters with the front-desk nurse as she puts together a small folder of documents for you. While she works, you glance at the little counter shelf that includes a plethora of pamphlets on how to deal with the complicated feelings that arise from putting a loved one in hospice care, and dealing with the emotions of having a relative with advanced stage dementia. They are pretty brochures, lovingly creased at the folds as if looked through multiple times by people who walk in and out of this facility, but seemingly only few take them home. You slip one of each into your folder when the nurse hands it to you, manage the best smile possible, and then turn on your heel to head out the hospice doors.

The sun is setting outside as you take the walk back to your car, which was purposefully parked a half mile away to afford you the luxury of a melancholic stroll. Somehow, you feel like you’ve left a piece of yourself back at the hospice. A feeling you can’t quite shake from your bones.

Your feet stop walking somewhere along the sidewalk on their own, the street lights above you flickering brighter into life as the sky is now a dusty gray with only streaks of purple. There’s a liquor store you spot across a small parking lot to your right, and you’re guided towards it, but not without a sickening feeling in your chest.

When you open the door, the bell at the top jingles, and you glance to the right where you see a lanky young man playing some sort of shooter game on his phone by the cash register. You grab a bottle of vodka, a bottle of white wine, some packs of skittles, one of the mini pizza boxes at the hot food station, and then dump it all onto the counter.

The young man scans all your items without even so much as sparing you a glance, but does take a look at your ID, then says, “Total’s $68.65, cash or card?”

“Card.”

Just before you tap your card, something displayed behind the cashier counter catches your eye. Something familiar, something tempting, something you weigh in your head about twenty times within one millisecond all due to the cortisol coursing through your veins and you eventually say, “Uh, and could I get one of those, too?”

The cashier looks behind himself to what you’re pointing at before turning around. “Sure.”

The same jingle is heard on top of your head as you leave the store, now with a burning hot mini pizza box in your hand as well as a plastic bag that carries your candy and the two clinking bottles of alcohol.

“Oh!! omg, y/n,” you hear a feminine voice call out and you’re instantly wincing. The last thing you wanted was to be bothered right now. You just wanted to go home and get drunk and then pass out on the floor of your living room. But alas, the world is small.

You turn around to see Hana come running across the sidewalk lot towards you, and when she’s about a few feet away, she glances down at your hands and all the things you were carrying. You quickly shove your last-minute purchase into your jacket pocket with a shameful conscience, and try to hide the plastic bag of liquor behind your calves. There was no hiding the pizza box, but at least that was the least incriminating.

“Oh, Hana, wow! What a coincidence seeing you here,” you say to her, pressing your lips into a small smile.

“Yeah, I um,” she points over her shoulder towards the hospice that’s standing tall in the darkness of night, cells with windows illuminated with light. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it was a prison. “Remember I told you my friend’s mom is sick and she’s at this hospice?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“I was just visiting her mom with her,” she tells you.

“Aw,” you comment, “I see, I see.”

You adore Hana, you really do. She was there for you when the whole Yuna and Choso thing went down, picking your shifts up for a good week when you couldn’t stomach going into work when your ex-best friend’s stupid face was gloating in the halls over how she stole your boyfriend. Hana was there for you when you were a new hire and all the doctors were being bitchy about a “newbie in the ED”, but she stood up for you, even cussed the fuck out of one of attendings for the whole hall to hear when you were being disrespected by one of them. She’s someone you can beam about how hot the EMT and Firefighter men that stroll into the ED are, too. A priceless companion.

And even though you two have hung out after hours sometimes, it was still always a little awkward to see a coworker outside of work.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I actually, um, was going to tell you at our shift tomorrow, but I just admitted my mom to the hospice too,” you say, “and…thanks a lot for telling me about it. I really appreciate it. It seems like a wonderful facility.”

Her eyes briefly widen with surprise before they soften once again. “Oh, that’s wonderful, love. I hope all goes well. And your little insurance scam worked! Good for you!”

“Shhh,” you hiss at her, looking around yourself with paranoia, “the feds are everywhere.”

She laughs, sweet in the air, before the sound settles and she looks at you with something reminiscent of well-intentioned concern. Her eyes flit to the plastic bag you were still holding behind your legs. “Hey…um, if…if you ever want some company when you come to visit your mom, just let me know. I hope you know you don’t have to do everything alone.”

You blink at her, sucking in a short breath to respond, but it only leaves you as a slight puff of air. There’s a silent gratitude that you give her, because it’s hard for you to express any feelings with words, but you’ve found that the people in your life who know you best can always read you without them. 

“Thank you, Hana,” you manage to say with a slight croak to your voice because you were fighting back tears.

She smiles at you. “Take care, okay? And see ya tomorroooowwwwww,” she coos at you, coming up to you to give you a small hug, a squeeze of your upper arm, and then she heads back towards the direction of the hospice.

You watch her walk away until you can’t see her anymore. And then you head towards your car.

When you arrive at your neighborhood, you park in front of Gojo’s house. You have a feeling that you won’t be able to bear the vast emptiness of your home now that your mother is elsewhere, and so you drag your feet up the stone stairs of his house with a heavy heart instead.

The spare key that he gave you weakly pushes into the keyhole with about as much force as your fingers can manage, and you realize they almost feel atrophied. 

The house is dark when you step inside, spare for the ambient street lights shining through cracked open blinds on the windows, and the curtains rustle gently from the draft of the AC, a chill that reaches you too by the time you make it to the staircase.

It doesn’t seem like Gojo’s home. A glance at the clock tells you it’s close to 8pm. You briefly consider texting him to ask where he’s at, why he’s out so late, when he’ll be home, and what’s for dinner, but you can’t even bring yourself to pull your phone out of your coat pocket.

Weak legs manage to take you upstairs and you’re about to pass through to your room when the slightly open door to the master bedroom taunts you, like a peephole into some other wordly dimension. Like the wardrobe in the chronicles of Narnia. A portal into your fake husband’s life.

With a palm pushing on the door, you slowly crack it open, and you know the anxious voices in your head are getting worse by the day when the creaking of the door hinges sounds like a lullaby to you. 

Was this an invasion of privacy? And did you really care if it was?

The room is big, with a king sized bed off to the left, sheets neatly made and duvet primly tucked under, like the way hotel beds are set up. You feel a slight flush of embarrassment when you remember you haven’t been making your bed in the mornings for the past couple days you’ve been living here so far, and you wonder if Gojo would judge you for something like that. If he’d think you were a messy or undisciplined person. If he would think less of you.

Truthfully, in a lot of ways, you still felt like a child. You barely weathered a lot of your formative adolescent years when dealing with your parents’ divorce, and you’ve had to put so much of your life on pause to take care of your mom ever since she got diagnosed. So here you were, in the body of a 29-year-old woman, yet still feeling so painfully juvenile. One that forgets to make her bed in the mornings, and on most nights can’t seem to stomach anything other than cereal for dinner. It was like you were still at a party that everyone else had left, except all it ever was is hell. Your life was such a stark contrast to the lives of other adults you’ve come across. The ones that wake up at six to go on runs, the ones that have paid off mortgages with five figures in their retirement accounts, oh god, the ones that meal prep, and the ones that, all things considered, have their lives together. The ones that don’t spend at least an hour of every day, in fetal position on their bed, sobbing until tears soak through the sheets of the pillow down to the feathers like bone, because you’re so overwhelmed with stress and preparing yourself for the grief of losing your mother which you know that, no matter how hard you try to save her from, will inevitably one day come. 

You used to cook dinner every night, make your bed every morning, and go to pilates on the weekends. Back when you were a little younger and healed and excited to live life. But now, you barely get by. Your priorities are with your mother. You can’t remember the last time you did anything nice for yourself, including something as simple as the luxury of getting to come home to a clean house because you hardly ever had time to clean it, not with all the doctor’s appointments you were driving your mother to, not with all the extra shifts you were picking up at the hospital to pay off your debt, not with all the times you felt too depressed to even get out of bed. 

But your mother is in hospice now, so you’ve made time, right? You’ve made the decision that everyone in your life has been begging you to finally do. So why do you still feel so empty inside?

By a quick survey of the room, you notice Gojo doesn’t really have many framed photos hung up on the walls or perched up on surfaces. None, actually. Only a contemporary painting above his bed frame and then a faded vintage horror movie poster plastered up near his desk. Not terribly odd, since in your experience most men don’t really do the whole “cluttering the house with millions of photos of their family” thing until they at least have a couple of kids and some purebred dog. The thought of Gojo someday setting up a little portrait photo at his desk with his wife’s—his eventual real forever wife’s, pretty face in it, posing with their two beautiful kids, makes an oddly melancholic feeling waft through you. You wonder if he would keep a two-by-two in his wallet, too.

Your feet move one in front of the other as your finger traces the surface wood of a dresser cabinet, something that looks a little vintage and oaky, in stark contrast to the modern minimalist vibe Gojo has set up in the rest of the room. A family heirloom, maybe? There’s no dust that coats your finger, which surprises you. If you were to run your finger across your dresser at home you’d have collected enough dust to snort down your windpipes like a recreational drug. But Gojo’s a real estate agent, making a living off of dressing houses up in perfect cosplay so that monetarily stable middle class families feel inclined to buy them. So you’re not exactly surprised he’s invested in keeping his own house in pristine condition too. 

There is a little bit of chaos, though. Like the shirt he has haphazardly hung over his chair at his office space over to the right. There’s a coffee mug sitting there too, porcelain and reflecting the moon light off, but upon peering inside you see that it’s half empty with stale coffee. He’s got pens sprawled across the desk, in a fashion that suggests he accidentally knocked them over in a rush, and slowly, like some grounding exercise, you place them one by one back into the paper mache pencil holder. It briefly occurs to you that he has a lot of paper mache containers of sorts around the house. You lift up the pencil cup, turning it in your hand until your eyes catch something written on it with glittery pink gel pen.

i luv u unkle toru! -yur BEST FREND 4EVUR juno!!! :D

A small smile makes it onto your face. The handwriting was messy, more like scratches than smooth lines, and nothing less than what you would expect of a child. You remember making paper mache and clay trinkets at preschool for your mom and dad when you were younger. And you’re sure if you were brave enough to open the box of memorabilia that sits in your attic some day, you’d see your own scratchy scribbled handwriting on them. An innocence that is long gone and buried, never again to be delicately placed on desks or counters for all the living.

The draft from the AC reaches you once again, brushing over your skin and causing a chill to shiver down your spine. It kicks at the curtains as well, causing them to ruffle up towards you, baring the dark outside world into the streets. And you notice in that momentary glance that there’s a roof just outside the window that overlooks the backyard. A roof? Spotted by a depressed woman going through a quarter life crisis? There was nothing more tempting than that. 

The window was easy to open, which only caused unease over the revelation of how easy it would be for someone to rob this house. You make a mental note to tell Gojo to get a ring camera or security system of some sort since he doesn’t seem to have one, but you can already picture him telling you something about how statistically low the crime rates are in this neighborhood compared to all the other neighborhoods, and then you’d tell him that it’s just for your peace of mind. But whether he’d compromise or not after that, you’re really not sure.

You take a seat on the roof, a little scared as you sit because of the slight slope, but it’s comfortable once you’re settled. You sit criss-cross-apple-sauce, staring out into the neighborhood of perfectly lined up suburban houses. You’ve got a better view into some neighbors' backyards, noticing that a couple of them had pools while some of them have big gardens. There's a cat resting up on a fence in the distance. A car drives by with headlights illuminating everything in its proximity briefly before zooming off. You glance up at the sky, and notice the full moon, but it’s too cloudy to see any stars. Or perhaps it was just the light pollution from the lamps making it difficult to see.

On instinct, your hand reaches inside your coat pocket for your phone, but your knuckles hit something else instead. A moment of brief confusion flickers through your head, but then you immediately recall the last-minute purchase you made at the gas station.

Your hand pulls out the object, and then you stare down at it. Squinting your eyes a little, because it’s a sight that feels familiar but also one you haven’t seen in so long: a pack of twenty Marlboro red cigarettes. 

You’ve tried a lot of things to manage your stress over the years. Excessively working out, eating a lot of sugar, going on six hour hikes to touch grass, flirting with random men at bars, fucking Choso until he was rendered speechless, multiple types of antidepressants, you almost tried smoking weed once with your roommate in college but you wimped out last second. But the habit that had gotten you through the years of 21 to 24 is held loosely in your hand right now. It’s been five years since you quit, but resolve was often a fickle thing. As the saying goes, once an addict, always an addict. 

There’s a brief moment of hesitation as you slowly peel the plastic off of the back, but then it all comes back to you like a reflex you’ll never forget up to where you slide a cigar up out and then pinch it between your two fingers. Forgetting to buy a lighter with the cigarettes is definitely something you would do, but because you remembered it was something that you would do, you remembered not to do it. The flick of the flame coming to life is ASMR you didn’t know you were painfully nostalgic for, and you balance the cigarette between your lips in that sort of movie-star way people used to obsess over back in the day. But just as you bring the lighter up to the end of the cigarette, and just before you can light it—

A hand shoots out in your periphery, grabbing your wrist and entirely stalling the movement.

You gasp, lips parting enough for the cigarette to fall from them and into your lap. The hand wrapped around your wrist is large and masculine, and you briefly consider screaming, but when you snap your neck to look at the perpetrator, you see Gojo crouched down next to you on this roof. You notice he’s wearing a black suit, a tie that was loosely secure hanging from his neck into the space between his spread thighs as he’s crouched, and whatever gel he had in his hair from earlier only barely remains as strands fall over his forehead haphazardly. He looks like he’s on the other end of a long work day. 

You blink at him, expression plastered with surprise, but his is only earnest. With breathtaking blue eyes that you realize he could easily use to surrender a person just by looking at them, like the way he’s looking at you right now. His lips are pressed together into a firm line, as if to suppress some emotion, but the slight crease to his brow makes you feel like you’re in trouble somehow. Like he was silently scolding you for something.

“I—” you stutter.

He lets go of your wrist and discreetly pulls the lighter out of your hand. And then his hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes you were balancing on your knee, but on some reflex that you don’t even think about, you try to snatch them away from him, and now you’re both tugging at the same pack of cigarettes.

“y/n,” he says, “let go.”

“No,” you say stubbornly.

He sighs and tugs a little harder. “Give them to me.”

“But—” you stammer, voice becoming softer to see if that’d work on him, “I’m…” Your grip on them tightens. “I’m stressed.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, then finally loses his patience and snatches them right out of your hand. He stands up from his crouched down position to toss the pack off to the side onto the roof somewhere. You’re surprised when he lets out a sigh and sits down next to you on the roof, as if he felt the obligation to. His legs stretch out in front of him, but still bent slightly at the knees, and he leans backwards with his body weight braced on his palms laid flat on wood paneling behind him. “There are better ways to relieve stress,” he tells you candidly. 

“Like what?” you ask, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you clarify, “and don’t say sex.”

He shuts his mouth and his eyes flit up to the sky for a brief second. “Damn. I didn’t have a back-up answer.” 

You roll your eyes, releasing a deep breath, then draw your knees to your chest before resting your chin on top of them. 

“I didn’t know you smoke,” he says after a century-long minute. 

You wince a little, because you were half hoping he was going to just drop the subject all together. 

You bite your lip nervously and hug your knees to your chest tighter as if to hide yourself from him. “I don’t. Well, I haven’t. Um, not for a while.”

“Huh. I see,” he says.

Another silence passes, and as he shuffles next to you, the fabric of his suit brushes against the fabric of your coat, and you’ve become entirely too aware of the feeling.

“So,” he says, breaking the awkward silence, “your mom’s in hospice now?”

You nod, enthusiastic enough to where you won’t look like you’re entirely depressed about it.

“That’s good,” he says, “no issues with the insurance?”

You shake your head. “They need you to sign some papers by the end of the week though,” you tell him. “We’ll have to go in person.”

He nods slowly to affirm he’ll make time for it. “I really hope things get better for your mom,” he says, voice soft as he stares off into neighbors homes like you had been doing ten minutes ago. You see the cat that was resting on the fence get up, do a big stretch, and start walking along the length of the fence. Your eyes briefly glance at Gojo, and you notice his gaze is tracing the cat’s path. 

“My—” you start, hesitant all of a sudden by the vulnerability you already feel swelling within you, most definitely due to sitting with someone on a rooftop late at night, but you decide that you’ll be nice to him for once, “…my mom seems to remember you a lot. More than she remembers me.” You let out a small humoring laugh, as if that fact doesn’t completely destroy you. “She was blabbering to me again for the seventh time about how you apparently fixed our AC.” You try to bite your tongue, but can’t help it when you say, “although I’m pretty sure you just pressed a bunch of buttons until it started working again.”

“Yup. That’s exactly what I did.”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

Another awkward silence.

“Can I ask you a question?” you say.

“Sure.” His voice sounds deeper, like he’s sleepy. 

“Why did you agree to marry me? That’s not something people just do out of nowhere.”

He glances over at you, and you flicker your eyes to him. “Why? Having regrets?” he teases, with a slight nudge of his elbow to your side. 

“Just answer me.”

He lifts his palms up from behind him and leans forward, placing his hands on his knees instead. “I don’t know. If something I could do would help someone out that much, I wasn’t going to say no.”

You hum quietly, still confused by his intentions. But you’re too jaded to question them.

“It costs nothing to be nice,” he adds. 

You run soothing circles over your thigh through the fabric of your jeans. For some reason, your mind wanders to Choso. Thinking of all the years you wasted staying with him even though you knew his affections were long gone, just because you didn’t want to break his heart. Only to realize that you never had that privilege in the first place. 

“I think,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you draw your knees closer to your chest, “that sometimes it does.”

A gust of autumn wind breezes by, ruffling the trees that the two of you are at eye-level with at the moment. You're pretty sure you’ve completely lost Gojo’s interest at this point, where he’s finally too tired to deal with your oddly cryptic attitudes and overall generally displeasing vibe, assuming this based solely on his prolonged silence beside you. You’re ready for him to get up and abandon you here on this roof, left to ponder every single thing you’ve done wrong in your life. It was any second now.

“Sometimes,” he instead speaks up, and it’s so surprising to you that you jolt a little bit, “you can do everything right, and people will still find a way to fuck you over. But I don’t think that’s any reason to stop being nice to others.”

You glance over at him, your eyes widening slightly, but he just continues to peer off straight into the night. His blinks are slow, lingering on being closed for a moment before he opens them again, and you’re mesmerized by the sight. The skin under his eyes is slightly dark from exhaustion, heavy with character that makes you aware that he’s just a person too. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, you realize that he’s—…handsome. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, your heart flutters in your chest.

He scoffs suddenly and dusts his hands off. “I sound like a fucking youth pastor.” He lets out an exhale before suddenly standing up onto his feet before you can think more on it. He looks off into the night again and lets out another exhale that sounds more like a sigh this time. “God, it’s getting a lot colder these days. Might have to start running the heater.”

You blink up at him with no commentary to add. 

He looks down at you. His face is relaxed, but you can tell those eyes are distracted. A shimmering blue ocean in its own world while he attempts to stay present in this one. 

He holds his hand out to you, and you stare at it blankly like you’ve got no clue what he intends for you to do with it. But you finally take the hint and curl your hand around his palm so that he can pull you up onto your feet too.

You stumble a little, falling forward from the sudden blood flow to your brain, but he holds you steady by the strong grip of his hands on your elbows. He’s close to you, close enough to where you can smell the faint lingering scent of his cologne. Something different than that expensive one he wore to the courthouse, but it’s comforting somehow. A fragrance that’s more him. And you feel nervous as you look up at him underneath pale moonlight. 

He lets go of your elbows. You feel cold from the loss of his touch. But his right hand moves to gently hold your left hand in his palm, holding it curled as his thumb barely grazes the stone you wear on your ring finger; the one he gave you.

The way his thumb prods at the silver band is like he’s inspecting its quality, as if it has to pass some test to be worthy of sitting on your finger. Or maybe just any finger, if you were to quell the delusion. You’re not sure if he’s satisfied with his inspection.

“Where did you get it—” you blurt out.

His gaze flickers up to your face briefly before he’s back to examining the ring. “It was my mom’s.”

Your mouth gapes slightly in shock, heart dropping a little in your chest, and all of a sudden you feel guilty. Guilty that he put his mother’s ring on your finger for something that was fake, something that was essentially a business deal, something exchanged to you out of fraud when it was a precious family heirloom that should be exchanged with love. And maybe he didn’t care about it much, some people don’t care about the sentiments of objects. But your mind thinks of the oaky vintage dresser in his room, so out of place in the aesthetic of its surroundings, a decision you can only imagine him of all people, mr. “everything in this house has to look like an IKEA catalog”, would do if the dresser held some importance to him that was more than meets the eye. And so you’re compelled to think that maybe this ring did, too. 

“Why would you give me this?! You could’ve just gotten a cheap fake diamond ring from a pawn shop and called it a day,” you ask him, suddenly feeling burdened by it.

“Well I wasn’t exactly given much time to think of other options.”

“But—” you start, only to realize you have no counter arguments for that.

He lets out a huh noise, like the sound someone makes when they’re pleasantly surprised by something, as he looks down at your hand that he still held in his. “It’s kinda crazy that it fits you perfectly. I wasn’t sure.”

Your mind wanders to when he slipped the ring onto your finger in the courtroom, followed by the kiss. Soft, sweet, the lingering warm sensation of his palm on your cheek as he cupped your face, the same way those heartthrob actors do in all those romance movies and kdramas that you watch on Friday nights while snuggled up in a blanket, wondering when anyone will ever kiss you like that. You remember the ghost sensation of his hand hovering over the small of your back, fingers lightly grazing the nape of your neck, his frame blocking out everything around you as he kissed you, just to pull away and for the two of you to then pretend like it never happened, as if it wasn’t one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever known.

You slowly pull your hand out of his, the moment feeling too tender for your liking, and you clear your throat before flitting your eyes up to his. 

“Rule #1,” you remind him with a soft whisper, “no touching.”

You purse your lips, watching his round eyes blink once, then twice, before he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. He rocks back and forth on his heels for a few seconds, nodding slowly in submission, and then he turns on them to head back to the house. You’re standing a little stunned from the abrupt ending to this trance of a moment on the roof, and you’re also a little surprised with how your chest is heaving a little bit with fast breaths, but you eventually snap out of it to follow him inside too. 

You two make it back inside the house, with little words exchanged. You pretend to not notice the way Gojo tilts his head at his desk, like he’s confused about why it looks tidier than when he left it. You’re prepared to feign innocence or ignorance, but he doesn’t press you about it. 

“Y’know,” he says from behind you, his chest briefly brushing against the back of your head as he pushes the bedroom door in front of you open so that you can head out into the loft, “those oversized 1800s-esque nightgowns you’ve been wearing around the house kinda make you look like a less-hot version of Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sign right here for me, sir.”

You watch as the nurse slides the papers across the high-raised counter of the hospice nursing desk towards Gojo, his eyebrows narrowing as his eyes skim the words on the paper and land at the highlighted lines where he’s been intended to sign. You feel nervous for some reason, as if he’d suddenly find something disagreeable and refuse to sign, then take you to the courthouse first thing to finalize a divorce and send you off to prison while claiming he was blackmailed into the whole marriage in the first place.

Instead, he pulls a pen from the chest pocket of his suit jacket, clicking the end of it and scribbling his signature onto the paper with some jet black ink that looks like it takes a second to dry. How pretentious of him. The pink pom-pom pen was right there.

The nurse behind the counter continues to chat with him about something, blah blah dependents, blah blah tax claims, blah blah you’ll receive an itemized bill in the mail. You’re trying your best to eavesdrop in on the conversation, but most of your senses are being occupied by examining all your surroundings. When you dropped your mother off at the hospice, your feelings were at the forefront of conscience, but now that you’ve had a couple days to come down from that overwhelming emotional high, you’re here to scope out the quality of this place you’ve just dumped your mom at.

The facility is clean and sleek, with a color theme of red and an ocean blue across the signs, the furniture, even with the paperwork they hand out. All the workers had color-coded scrubs based on their occupation or specialty, and none of them had stains on the fabric. You take a glance down at the modest leather pumps you were wearing past the creases of the long skirt, and notice that the floor was shimmering off their reflection in a perfect polish. It wasn’t bad, this place.

“Thanks, you too,” you hear Gojo say to the nurse behind the counter. He has a professional smile on his face, but still kind and genuine, which makes the woman at the computer something bashful and unable to make eye contact. He folds something that looks like a receipt into his chest pocket before tucking his pen back in there too and then turns to face you. You make a mental note to pay him back for whatever he just paid for, at least once you move some money around. 

Your eyebrows lift, feeling a little dazed as you blink at him blankly.

“Alright,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, the sound of his shoes on the polished hospital floors satisfactorily tapping in your ears as he took a couple steps towards you, “where’s your mom’s room?”

“Huh?”

“What’s her room number?” he asks you.

“Y-You wanna go see her??”

“Of course I want to,” he says, “she’s my mother-in-law.”

You roll your eyes and pet the fabric of your skirt to smooth the wrinkles out. “You’re getting a little too invested in this role of fake husband.”

“I get to annoy you all day and ride the adrenaline rush of committing a federal crime,” he says, “of fucking course I’d get invested.”

You sigh, tossing some of your hair to behind your shoulder before glancing up at the signs, squinting slightly to locate the ward where your mother’s room is, before you hear an extremely high-pitched and somewhat catty feminine voice call out from behind you. You glance at Gojo’s face as he peers off to whoever’s behind you, and you see him visibly stiffen a little.

“Is that Dayton county’s sexiest realtooorrr???” the voice purrs, and you turn on your heel to see a blonde bombshell of a woman clacking her kitten heels down the glistening floors of the hospice, with another brunette bombshell just a few paces behind her. Bombshell #2 sighs something like “it issss” before they walk right up to your fake husband and take turns at giving him a playful squeeze of his bicep. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping at the sight. 

“Wow! Ladies, so–...so great to see you two,” he says out of polite obligation, and you immediately clock the fact that he doesn’t address them by name.

Bombshell #1 turns to look at you, all of her hair moving as one solid entity with the motion from all the hair spray that’s probably holding it up, and she points at you with a long slender finger that narrows into a french-tip. “Oh who’s this?? Another one of your clients??”

“Oh, no, she’s my–”

“I’m his wife,” you interrupt him, irritated for some reason. 

Both the women chirp something out like oh! before their faces twist with confusion. 

“I didn’t know you were married,” Bombshell #2 says in a thick New Jersey accent.

Gojo lifts his left hand up, the silver band on his hand glimmering under fluorescent hospice lighting. “Very happily,” he says, as if someone was holding a gun to his head.

Bombshell #1 crosses her arms, and you try not to stare at how nice her boobs look in the low scoop-neck jaguar print top she was wearing. You were no better than a man. And now you’re pissed off at the idea of Gojo glancing down too, but a flick of your gaze up to his face tells you he’s safe. For now. 

“You weren’t married when I asked you if you were a month ago,” Bombshell #1 sneers at him. It’s true, the math wouldn’t make sense, but in his defense, this marriage was a fraud.

“Or when you took me out for dinner last week after I bought my house,” Bombshell #2 snarls with an undertone of hurt. 

Gojo clears his throat beside you before pointing at Bombshell #2. “How is that, by the way?” he asks in an attempt to change the subject, “the half acre down on Maple Ave, right? You, uh, enjoying the pool?”

The woman let out an offended scoff and–were her eyes sheening with tears?? She puts her hands on her hips. “No. Mine is the three bedroom house with the cedar gazebo on 14th street.”

Her friend next to her rolls her eyes and smacks her gum between her cheek. “I’m the one that bought the half acre down on Maple Ave, jerk. Ugh!” She grabs her friend’s arm with a high-pitched hmph noise leaving her throat, and you can hear the other one sniffling subtly as she wobbles on her heels with her friend’s pull of her arm. 

Right before leaving the two of you alone, Bombshell #1 turns to you and says, “I hope you find someone who treats you better,” and then they storm off together down the hallway, their perfectly blow-dried hair bouncing in sync with each stomp.

You blink at the sight, a little flabbergasted from the interaction, and then flit your faze up to Gojo. You see him awkwardly scratching at the back of his head with a grimace on his stupidly handsome face. 

“That’s what you get for being a manwhore,” you tell him.

“I’m not a manwhor–”

“You went on a date with another woman while you were maaaaarrrieeeddd?!” you coo as you let out a fake gasp and slap your cheeks with your hands, “despicable, really.”

He lets out some disgruntled noise, the source coming from deep within his throat. “No. We weren’t fake-married yet,” he vindicates himself, “and it wasn’t a date. I just bought her dinner as a congrats for buying a house. Not a big deal. I do it for all my clients.”

“Satoru. You do realize you’re leading these women on, right? I mean, I’ve seen the way you talk to them. Even if you think you’re just being friendly, please know that your definition of friendly is most people’s definition of flirting.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s true.”

He raises an eyebrow as he glances down at you. “Alright, how come this flirting in disguise of friendliness hasn’t worked on you then?”

You scoff in disbelief before crossing your arms. Maybe you did deserve a better fake husband. “You’re never friendly with me. You’re always rude to me.”

“What? I’m not always rude to you.”

“Well, you’re certainly much more rude to me than you are to other women,” you say, tapping the tip of your shoe with irritation.

“Can we not do this right now? We’re in the middle of a hospice.” 

“God, you’re such a cop-out,” you mumble as you forcefully push past him towards the hallway that’ll lead you to your mother. You can hear that Gojo’s on your tail, following you down one of the more dimly lit hallways, and you can tell he needs to stall the strides of his Daddy Longlegs to not overtake your pace.

“What the fuck is a cop-out?” he asks you from behind.

“Look it up on urban dictionary, Grandpa. Unless you don’t know what the Internet is, either,” you spat. 

You waltz right up to your mother’s room just in time to see a nurse making her way out with a clipboard in her hands. She glances over to you when she sees you approaching in her periphery.

“Hi! How can I help you?” she asks.

“Is it alright if we visit my mother?” you ask her.

“Oh! Sure, let me just clean her bed pan really quick.”

Your brow furrows. “B-Bedpan?? Why is she using a bedpan??”

The nurse stops in her movements. “Well, yesterday and today, that’s just what she has decided to use.”

You immediately become hostile. “That’s not right. She never needed to use one at home. Why is she suddenly using one here? Is that not a clear sign of deterioration? The restrooms must not be kept well enough here if she doesn’t want to use them.”

The nurse becomes something meek, her eyes widening as her mouth gapes slightly. “Ma’am,” she squeaks out, “we see this commonly with patients as they begin to adjust to hospice life. We’ll urge her to use the restroom, but as of right now, we need to prioritize what she finds most comfortable.”

Your expression softens, your shoulders relaxing from their tense position, and you duck your head a little with guilt. “Right…I’m sorry.”

The nurse presses her lips together with a well-meaning smile before shuffling into the room and closing the door behind her. You sigh and lean your back against the wall next to the number plate, cheeks flushing slightly from the confrontation. You have no idea how loud your voice was or who heard you. But you try to convince yourself that you’re just stressed and trying to look out for your mother, although the guilt still sits.

You glance up to see Gojo staring at you with slightly wide eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets, and he tilts his head to study your expression.

“What?” you snap at him.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Satoru,” you cut his questioning off by raising a palm into the air, “just—…just stop.”

His brow furrows together slightly, but before he can show any further concern, the nurse exits the room and holds the door open for the two of you. 

“All set!” she chirps, and Gojo moves to hold the door open in her stead, and then the nurse bolts down to disappear somewhere down the hallway.

You hear Gojo let out a small huff of a scoff as he stares down in the direction the nurse ran off in. “Glad to know I’m not the only one that’s scared of you.”

You roll your eyes and walk into the room through the open door.

Your mother lays in her bed, looking out the window with her hands resting on top of layers of white linen sheets, her skin looking slightly paler than usual. You approach her bedside slowly and she finally turns her head to look at you.

“Hi mom,” you gently greet her, sitting down on the stool beside her bed, “how are you doing?”

Her eyes dart across the features of your face, and you briefly glance towards the wall to the right where you see Gojo standing from a slight distance.

“Oh, hi dear,” she says with a smile, and relief washes over you.

You match her smile with your own. “Mom, I brought someone here to see you.” You glance over at Gojo, who starts to close distance now as he approaches the foot of the bed, “this is Satoru, my husband.”

Your mother’s eyes widen, “Oh! I know him,” she scoldingly swats a hand at you, like you’ve embarrassed her somehow by assuming that she doesn’t know who he is, “he’s my neighbor!”

You sigh, “yes mom, the one that fixed the A/C?” You attempt to finish her sentence for her.

She looks confused for a moment, but slightly nods as if to avoid any further confusion for herself. “But—…but, why…” she trails off and then looks at you, “I’m sorry, are you my nurse?”

Your shoulders drop slightly. “No, mom, it’s me. Your daughter. Do you remember?”

Her face scrunches before it entirely relaxes to keep some image of composure despite the haze you know she feels in her head. “Oh…yes, yes…my little girl. I remember you, of course!”

Your eyes become layered with a slight sheen of tears, “I’m glad.”

“Where’s your father?” she asks, “he said he’d bring me some…oh dear, what—…he said he’d bring me tea. I’ve been waiting.”

“Mom, dad is—” you pause for a moment to think on your feet. You could either tell the truth, or a little white lie. You never know what to do. And either one comes with either guilt or sorrow. “Well, he’ll be here soon, I just wanted to come see you.”

“Oh okay…” she trails off, her eyes squinting at you once more with that same look of confusion on it, but then they drift towards Gojo. “Oh you’re a very handsome young man! You look just like my neighbor.”

Your eyes flicker up to Gojo, and he walks up to your side by your mom’s bed. “Yes, Mrs. l/n, I am your neighbor.”

“With the lemon tree!”

“The avocado tree,” you correct her with a small sigh. “And he’s my husband mom. And also our neighbor.”

“Oh I see I see…” she says, looking up at him, and in a moment that shocks you, she holds her hand up for him to take.

There’s a slight moment of surprise on his face too, but he accepts her frail hand in his, and you glance over to your mom to see her look at him with some look of peace on her face.

“Oh, sit down here, won’t you?” she tells him, and you both blink at her in a moment of hesitation.

He pulls a stool up to the side of the bed right next to you and takes a seat down onto it. Your mother holds his hand with both of hers now, soothing her palm over the back of it before she taps on it lightly.

“Oh, my little girl is very sweet. She would bring me flowers from the garden when she was,” she glances at you, confused once more, “well I remember her when she was so little but she looks…a little older now. Ah, but she would bring me such pretty flowers.”

Your heart aches in your chest. You never knew what version of you your mother would remember. Some days, you’re still supposed to be an angsty teenager that shuts doors in her face, some days you were just as you are right now, and other days, you were just her little girl. And it confused her, the image of not seeing you in the way that she remembers. In the only way she knew how.

“You’ll take good care of my sweet girl, won’t you?” she asks him.

And it knocks the wind out of you.

It drops your heart to the center of the earth.

The thought that, after so many moments where she doesn’t remember you, she still knows that you’re someone she wants to keep safe.

Your mouth gapes slightly, tears welling in your eyes and you try your best to blink them away, but you see Gojo’s hand slip out from being held by your mother’s hands, to instead use both of his to hold hers. Your eyes snap to his face, and you see that same earnest expression you’ve been growing used to seeing these days. 

“Yes,” he responds, eye contact level with hers, “I will.”

A small puff of air leaves your lips, a single tear streaming down your cheek and you quickly swipe your trembling fingers to remove any evidence of it before you huff out a shaky, “excuse me.” And then you’re standing up off the stool, and in a few hurried steps across the room as more tears continue to stream down your face, you make it to the door to push out into the suffocating air of the hallway.

It’s hard to breathe, huffs and puffs barely leaving your lips as you struggle to pull air into your lungs while you storm down the hallway at a fast pace, your heels clicking underneath you in a way that only sets you off further. Suddenly, all the sounds around you make you sick to your stomach, a wave of nausea washing over you, and your nose burns with the intensity of the tears that continue to stream down your face. A few hospice staff look at you with concerned expressions, and you eventually reach a heavy-duty door that leads you out into a secluded staircase hallway where the dim lighting serves to relax at least some of your senses, but you still feel like you’re about to pass out.

Even in the haze of your emotions, there’s this glimmer of a memory that comes to mind. One from when you were younger and you were pushed on the playground at school. You cried and cried and cried in your mother’s arms, but even then, you didn’t want her to baby you. You would say to her, I’m a big girl now! in that same way a child knows nothing of what it truly means to brave the world. 

That little girl had no idea that one day, there would be moments where she wouldn’t be remembered as her mother’s little girl anymore. 

No matter how old you grow, you will always be my little girl, your mother’s voice echoes to you, the feeling of her squeezing you in her arms as she holds your sobbing little form in hers casting a ghost sensation across your skin.

In a mother’s eyes, you’ll always be her baby.

And that’s why it hurts.

Because it’s all fake.

It’s phony.

It’s not real.

This arrangement you have with Gojo.

And if your mother were to die tomorrow, there would be no one to take care of her little girl anymore.

Not in the way she believes there will be.

Of all the white lies, this one pierces you straight through your heart in a way that leaves you gasping for air.

Amidst your whirlwind of thoughts, you hear the door push open harshly, and when you glance over, you see Gojo standing in this dimly lit hallway as he turns his head quickly to the left and sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, catching his breath as he lightly jogs up to you, “hey, hey, hey,” he repeats with more concern now when he sees the state you’re in, and he seamlessly pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing against his chest that feels warm even through the fabric of his suit jacket and shirt, and that familiar scent of him completely engulfs you.

You sob quietly, wiping your snot on his tie and your tears on the felt fabric beside it, your hands balled into tiny fists at your chest, squeezed between the two of you. You feel him tuck your head under his chin and his arms wrap around you tighter. You don’t even realize it at first, but suddenly, it has become easier to breathe.

Then, you wail, and you cry, and you sob, because you don’t have the words to even explain how you feel, about not just this, but with everything, a buildup of everything that has been suffocating you in your life that just comes crashing down on you all at once.

“I know,” he says, his palm resting on the back of your head as he holds your face to his chest, his voice soothing in your ears while you sob until there’s nothing left to cry. “I know.”

You two stay like this for another minute or so as you come down from the cries, your remnant sniffling echoing in the hallway while you wipe more of your snot on his jacket. You make the first move to pull your face away from his chest, but he still keeps his arms wrapped around you when you look up at him.

With your gaze darting across his face, you take in the blue in his eyes. Eyes that are looking at you so softly it’s suddenly hard to breathe once more. And when those eyes flit to your lips, your mouth parts slightly as you two breathe in unison.

It’s possible that you could have dreamed the moment you saw him lean down slightly towards you, his eyes still set on your lips, but it didn’t matter because you’re pushing him away with strong fists before you can even register the thought in your head.

He lets go of you entirely, his eyes wide once more, and you glance down at your feet. 

A tender moment, just like on the roof, broken just because you can’t handle that—…that way, that intense way that he looks at you. New rule, no looking at me longingly like you want to kiss me. I won’t allow it.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, still examining your shoes. And you suddenly feel embarrassed that he had to see you this way. He’s supposed to be scared and intimidated by you, not holding you in his arms while you cry. 

He’s silent for a moment, but you can tell he’s searching for things to say. “You don’t want to say bye to your mom before we go?”

You swipe your palm against the wetness on your cheek. “No. I just want to go home.”

“y/n,” he tried to convince you.

You finally look up at him. “Please.”

He breathes in a few breaths as he studies the features of your face in a way that makes you feel so seen that it’s frightening. But he slowly nods, then says,

“Okay.”

.

.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 4]

a/n. hi friendsss i hope you enjoyed :'') yea like i said at the a/n in the beginning, this chapter is a slight off-tangent from last chapter, but ch5 will continue with a lot of the stuffs that were brought up in ch3. but yea i wanted to explore the whole process of emotions reader would go through putting her mom in hospice, since it kinda felt like a big thing, hence why it got its own chapter. aaa i hope to see you in the next one!! much love from me :''0

➸ take me to chapter five!

note: please do not ask me for updates or when i will next update (read rules)

🏷️ @tremendousbouquetflower @semra4 @noctuaism @gojonegs @reinam00n

@bloopsstuff @bbyxxm @yungbloode @elloredef @spriteshawtyy

@joemama-2 @luniunia @4y3sh4 @ironhottubstranger @lushafterglow

@hermizery @manyno @idiot-juice-enthusiast @fairyflorasworld @teramisuyhin

@mmeerraa @bnha-free-writing @xenop0p @spaghettinewt @pngjpn

@anniegojo @rirk-ke @chiyokoemilia @higurumapet @pickuptruck01

@electrckchild @vi-ola666 @arishaxml @lavender-hvze @starmapz

@sxnkuna @billiondollarworth @fallintothechasm @mavvsmm @satorubluu

@ricaliscious @satxoru @oyaoya-bungeegum @satowooo @samistars

@ifartmangos @andeverden @13-09-01 @lindyloomoo @tvdumarvelhpsimp

note: i’m starting to transition towards tagging interacts to make sure i’m tagging active readers! but as always let me know if/when your taglist preferences change :)

taglist is closed

[mare--noctis]

never leave Grace alone with her art supplies

Coming soon to an AO3 account near you:

SEAL The Deal

a fake-marriage plot that surely will end with the amicable divorce like they've planned... right?

This one's for you @kinda-ok (at least it will be when I've finished it)

If you would like to be added to the McDanno tag list comment below or send me a message

[becasbelt]

help so is your fav trope fake dating/marriage?? what are your fic recs w that trope for bechloe and caitvi **holds microphone to you**

this is an ABSURD accusation why would you assume my favorite trope is fake dating what evidence do you have-

alright so bechloe fics:

- Fade Into You by @aliciameade

beca and chloe scheme to get wedding gifts and fly too close to the sun. one of my all-time favorite fics

- Stained Glass by @kailoraurelius

THE pitch perfect fake dating fic, folks. it's got gay yearning, it's got bella shenanigans, it's got kidnappings, it's got the full "save the cat" plot progression. The Fake Dating Fic Of All Time, truly

- You Still Make Sense to Me (Your Mess is Mine) by wherehopelies

ANOTHER CLASSIC. beca and chloe fuck around and find out that they actually really like being engaged. domestic fluff in abundance

- and i never. saw you coming by @pulledpurplecurtains

beca pretends to be chloe's girlfriend to solidify chloe's gayness. feelings ensue <3

arcane fics:

- Rumours (Terrible and True) by @sunsetsharkblog

they're actors pretending to date to promote their show. vi is a fuckboy and caitlyn thinks she's sexy annoying. if you haven't read this fic what are you doing with your life

- For Legal Reasons, we are in love ALSO by @sunsetsharkblog

vi needs citizenship in piltover and caitlyn agrees to marry her so she can get it. currently in-progress, very excellent (as all of sunsetsharkbite's works are)

- Butterflies (Don't Belong in Zoos) by AmberZ10

popstar vi, she and caitlyn get photographed by paparazzi and decide to appear wildly in love. idk if this really classifies as fake dating, and it's DEFINITELY not the main focus of this fic, but there are aspects of it in here that i enjoy immensely

there are probably more incredible fics that i'm missing but i'm bad at bookmarking fics whoops. anyway. here are my humble offerings