#fluff and marriage

[capricornlevi]

nanami x reader - w.c 3k, marraige of convenience, mentions of societal pressure but everything is consensual!, nsfw, mdni!

without even meeting him, you agreed to marry nanami kento without any expectations of future love, romantic or otherwise.

the pairing is advantageous for the both of you; you get access to the impressive nanami family fortune that has grown substantially now that kento is managing it, while he gets to enjoy a close association with your prestigious family and the subsequent educational opportunities that your children will benefit from. it's sensible and by far the best option you'd been presented with.

you've exchanged letters with him, polite and concise. you can read between the lines and see that he shares a disillusioned view of jujutsu society, but is more than willing to step up for the good of his family.

you weren't coerced by anyone. far from it -- your mother and father had sat you down and asked if you were sure, that they would understand if you wanted to take more time or to choose a different path for yourself altogether.

but you know the rest of society would not be so kind or understanding. marriage between two sorcerers, as antiquated as it seems, is how you survive amongst all of these competitive, power-hungry families.

from what you've read and heard about him, nanami will provide stability. he's progressive in his thinking, and so wont expect anything from you that he wouldn't be willing to do as well. you've learned that he's a teacher at tokyo tech, and has received glowing reviews; he'll be a good father.

and so on this misty thursday morning, you lay eyes on your fiancé for the first time as he slips a ring on your finger and promises to stay by your side forever.

the ceremony is as bare-bones as your reputation will allow. the guest list doesn't hit the triple digits, a huge departure from society norms, but representatives from the major houses sit in floral-clad wooden chairs to watch you repeat the words that the officiant speaks in your direction.

nanami takes your hands in his. they're warm, which is nice. this dress isn't designed for November weather, but it's an heirloom -- and truthfully, you're glad to be wearing it. you'd never given much thought to a wedding, but it makes your mother and grandmother very happy.

you'd be lying if you said you weren't relieved to discover how handsome nanami is. you were previously shown a few polaroids of him -- staff pictures, mostly, but some with the rest of his family -- and had known he wasn't bad-looking, but the pictures weren't clear enough to give you a proper understanding of his looks.

his blond hair is styled neatly, not a hair out of place. he has nice features, strong jawline and cheekbones, and soft eyes, a good combination. you know his gaze can be piercing when he wants it to be, but now, he looks at you gently.

you know you made the right decision.

more vows, a kiss, and you're married.

___

the reception goes mercifully smoothly. the mix of guests -- powerful sorcerer family heads, rich businesspeople, and just a few of your personal friends -- didn't appear to gel too well on paper, but they mostly stick to their own factions. you greet them all until your vocal cords grow tired.

a meal is served on plates so ornate it makes you feel awkward eating off them. you nurse a glass of wine for most of the evening and nanami does the same, politely waving off the servers who approach to refill his glass.

a promising sign that he doesn't feel the need to drown his sorrows. this is a marriage of convenience, yes, but you'd like to be able to get along reasonably well with your spouse.

and, to his credit, he's been making light conversation with you all evening. he doesn't dip into deep or uncomfortable topics like your marriage or future plans, figuring that's best saved for later, but he asks you questions about yourself. by the end of the evening, you feel safe enough to allude to your desire for a future somewhat outside society's norms -- "I've always wanted to travel, honestly. maybe ... spend a few years abroad" -- and, to your pleasant surprise, he doesn't rebuff them. if anything, he seems somewhat pleased.

you have another glass of wine and before you know it, it's the early hours of the morning. you're nowhere near tipsy but feel ready for bed, ready to wipe off this makeup and slip into something more comfortable; thankfully, guests have started to slip out one by one, with only immediate family remaining.

your unpleasant and friendless older cousin makes a joke about you needing to say your goodbyes to 'go please your husband', and nanami's face sours for the first time all evening. your cousin notices and sheepishly takes a drink, mumbling something about it being his time to leave too.

with some final hugs to your respective families, it's time to leave with ...

... with your husband.

in his last letter before the wedding, nanami agreed that your city-centre apartment would be the best place to live in the first few weeks of your marriage, until you find somewhere more permanent that suits you both, and so that's where you go.

you show him around each room, including some storage space where his luggage had been delivered this morning. interspersed with some more small talk, you explain that although it's small, it's well placed for both of you to get to work. he smiles and nods, thanking you with a warmth that doesn't feel forced.

you offer him some tea or whiskey; he says he's fine.

you yawn. he loosens his tie, clearly exhausted himself.

the last room you show him is your bedroom, and it becomes harder and harder not to address the elephant in the room. there's very clearly no second bed, no room for him to stay that wouldn't necessitate a lot of closeness between the two of you.

the silence hangs heavy and loaded, both of you waiting for the other to speak.

well. this is one issue you hadn't covered before the ceremony.

you have no issue with a sexual relationship -- in fact, you're somewhat looking forward to it, having spent the evening admiring the way nanami's shirt hugs his strong arms and chest. but you're not sure if tonight, the first night you've ever met, is the best night to start.

sure, the concept of the wedding night speaks for itself, but it's not as black-and-white in your situation. he might want to spend some time settling in, first. he might not even be that interested in you.

"want me to take the couch?" he asks quietly, with no hint of resentment or offence in his voice. he makes the offer with a sincerity you haven't heard from a man in a long time.

you don't break your silence, but not because you're uncomfortable or anything of the sort -- you're just assessing your options.

"there's nothing i expect from you, just so you know," he continues, and you turn your head to face him, seeing his eyes scan your face for any sign of unease. "the last thing i want is for you to do ... this ... out of obligation or pressure. we have a lifetime to get to know each other, to reach that point -- i want you to be comfortable around me."

your upbringing has made you a sceptic, a pessimist at times, but for some reason, you believe him. maybe it's the look in his eyes, or the fact that he's taken your hand in his own, interlocking your fingers, but there's something about him that sets him aside from normal sorcerers.

he seems real. he seems as though, powers and fortunes and family names aside, he has some substance about him.

"do you want to?" you ask then, voice almost inaudible quiet from a day spent conversing with guests at your wedding.

he doesn't hear you, so he dips his head in your direction; you repeat yourself and wait, hoping you hadn't pressed the issue.

his composure doesn't crack, but something flashes in his eyes as he processes your question. he has such control over the movements of his features, over every expression in his body, except for his eyes, you think.

maybe you just happen to be good at reading him.

he mulls it over for a second, his grip on your hand never slacking.

"i want to," he finally admits. "i've wanted to for a while, truthfully. I've spent a lot of late nights picturing how it would feel to be inside you, to hear what my name sounds like when you say it. but i only want that if you want it too."

you smile without meaning to. "you imagined that from just reading a few letters?"

"yes, and it's a testament to my trust in my new wife that I'm telling you that," he replies, still polite but tinged with amusement.

it feels strange standing at your bedroom doorway, hand in hand with this almost-stranger, imagining what it would be like to indulge in these thoughts you've both been having, spending your first night together tangled up in the sheets and allowing some of the indulgence you've long denied yourself.

duty gets tiring. for a long time, you've been unsure what it feels like to genuinely want something.

now, you're pretty sure it feels something like this. it's organic and unforced, a natural desire that sends heat curling in the pit of your stomach.

wordlessly, you guide nanami into your room, closing the door behind you. there's a hint of a smile on his lips as you ask him for help to untie your wedding dress, the intricate pattern of buttons trailing up your spine proving too technical for your own hands. he's methodical in his work, careful to not damage the delicate clasps.

soon your dress is loose around your hips, your chest covered by the thin slip you wore underneath. you set the garment carefully aside before returning the favour and starting to undo nanami's shirt, avoiding eye contact as your hands expose more and more of his bare chest.

you want to do this, you know that for sure, but that doesn't mean you won't feel a bit of awkwardness at the start. you're not well practiced, having had too busy a life for romantic relationships until now. you hope that instinct will kick in sooner than later, but you've no doubt nanami will help you along the way.

when you finally build up the nerve to glance up at him as he shrugs off the shirt, he's looking at you as though you're the only person he ever wants touching him.

you hear the soft clink of metal and realise he's undoing his belt.

"are you sure?" he asks one more time.

that one question, and the earnestness with which he speaks, erases the last shred of doubt you had. you place your trust in him for the second time today.

you nod and reach across to his belt in the same breath, helping him pull it free from the loops to be tossed by the armchair near your desk.

you move as though controlled by something other than yourself, the decisions coming so naturally it feels as though you've been imagining it for weeks as well.

and maybe you have, you think to yourself, as you confidently guide him back slowly until he's sitting down on the plush armchair, his suit pants still on as you crawl onto his lap, pressing your chest against his. the thin fabric of your slip means you can feel the heat of his body against your skin, nipples hardening as they graze against his muscles.

you've just about balanced yourself, carefully perched on his lap when you feel his hand on the nape of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that has you grinding against his thighs before you can even catch your breath.

you've never been kissed like this. the few kisses you've had before have been with partners who see you as a means to an end, be it for your family name, your reputation, or just for sex. you've never been kissed by someone who seems to get more from your pleasure than from his own.

you now know he meant it when he said he's been picturing this.

you kiss him for as long as you can, and you're not sure if it's for seconds, minutes, hours. you kiss him until there's a heat burning between your thighs you can no longer stand, that you need to have satiated by the visible, prominent bulge in the front of his suit pants.

when you finally break away, lips numb and kiss-slick, nanami's hair is touselled - you don't remember running your hands through them, but you must have at some point - and he reaches up to run his fingers under the straps of your slip, asking with his eyes if he can guide them off your shoulders.

you nod, and your chest is exposed to the cool night air for a split second before nanami's mouth is on one of your nipples, tongue circling the sensitive skin and making you cry out.

one of the words you moan must be his name, because you feel him smile as he turns his attention towards the other nipple, hands now at the small of your back to keep you close to him.

you can't take it much longer. you need to be touched so badly, you didn't even think you were capable of wanting it this much -- and you only want him to do it, now and maybe forever.

maybe he can read your mind or maybe you babbled out the request, but nanami finally takes pity on you, giving your nipple one final lick before resting his shoulders back against the cushion of the armrest and sliding his hands up your thighs, hooking your underwear with his fingers -- you lift your hips up to let him slip them off.

his composure slips further when he finally touches you between your legs, feeling how wet you've gotten for him, seeing how you react when he slips his index finger inside.

your head falls back and you hold a breath, focusing all of your attention on the sensation of him inside you, on the way he curls the digit ever-so-slightly before pulling it out and fucking you with two this time, almost -- almost -- tipping you over the edge.

"such a pretty wife," he mumbles almost under his breath, voice and gaze reverent as he watches you rock yourself against his hand. "my beautiful, perfect wife, aren't you?"

you want to answer him but can't, lungs feeling near-empty as you fumble with the buttons of his pants.

"i will never be able to think of anything else but you, i think," he muses, half-smiling. "you in my lap ... you making those pretty little noises ... i might be a ruined man, you know. and I'm glad of it."

he only stops speaking when you finally get your hand on his clothed cock, his breath catching in his throat as you trace it with your fingers.

you want tonight, the first of many times together, to start with you cumming on your husband's cock.

nanami just watches as you finally pull him out of his underwear, his length thick and hard in your hand as you give it a few messy strokes. it's all the both of you can manage before you need to have it inside you -- you shift your hips to sit on it, nanami's eyes fixed on the site of the head slipping inside.

it's a stretch, as you expected, but one you've been craving since you closed the bedroom door. you take him inch by inch, lowering yourself down as his breath quickens, clearly battling the urge to thrust up inside you.

but he's careful with you, and doesn't want to hurt you. his wife.

you lift yourself up too much and his cock slips out, slapping aginst his stomach and you nearly cry at the sudden emptiness, eager and clumsy as you guide him back inside you.

he kisses you when you sink down next, tongue massaging your own until the feeling of almost-too-full turns to a perfect, satisfying heat in your core.

eventually you're ready to quicken the pace, bouncing on his cock before long, your mind working too fast for you to keep up as you see nanami's cheekbones flush pink, his pupils dark as you ride him until your thighs ache.

you power through the sensation, nanami helping you along by meeting your hips with his, his thumb tracing uneven circles on your puffy clit. he calls you perfect and other beautiful words; you don't say anything besides more, more and, soon after, nearly there, nearly there, please, please, I'm so close --

your entire body lights up with the most wonderful sensation, hitting you like a wave and sweeping you away in its warm glow, with nanami's hands now on your hips, guiding your movements in exactly the way you need it -- not too hard, not too slow, not too fast.

you're still pulsing around him when you feel his body stiffen, his strong thighs tensing as he groans through gritted teeth. he pulls you in for a crushing kiss as he finishes, filling you up and thrusting as deep as he can until oversensitivity takes over.

the afterglow has you a contented and exhausted mess, muscles aching but satisfied in a way you'll spend forever seeking.

reluctantly, you slip off his cock to retake your place on his lap, marvelling at how undone you both have become, a far cry from your perfect wedding appearance.

you look perfect to him, though, you know as much from the kiss he presses to your sweaty forehead and the way his arm wraps around your shoulders.

"we didn't even make it to the bed," you observe, eyebrows raising as you finally return to your own body. "i ... wasn't expecting that."

"we have a lifetime to spend in bed," he replies, a smile in his voice.

and once again, for reasons you still don't understand, you believe him.

[retiredteabag]

Wishful thinking

Arranged marriage with Nanami… next part

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Nanami Kento was not in a sorcerer clan. In fact, he was the only sorcerer in his family. You had met him only once before you had been informed of the engagement, and in that brief interaction you had decided you knew exactly what type of man he was.

"It's a pain." had been his harsh words. Vitriol clear as day in his tone.

When asked what he felt about being a sorcerer his response had been that it was…a pain? Being the reserved individual he was, he didn't take the time to elaborate despite the questions of the sorcerers surrounding him.

You had rolled your eyes in that moment. Clearly, he had no sense of responsibility. No duty. I suppose that's what it means to not be in a clan. You had thought. He’s got no idea how good he has it.

And even though you chalked his image up in your mind as an irresponsible and pretentious git. The memory of his brutal gaze stuck in your mind. You knew deep down that it was simply jealousy.

Sorcery was a pain, there had been many instances where you wished you could put it aside and leave this world, but that was simply not what you were born for.

All those months ago, you had left the meeting with the Jujutsu higher-ups resentful. How lucky that man in the suit was, to not have an obligation to fulfill exactly what the clan heads asked of him. How free he must feel.

But, oh, how wrong you had been.

--

You had known your marriage was impending, having had meetings with your father and his subordinates on several occasions to discuss the offers from other clans.

Offers for your hand.

Offers for the rest of your miserable life, for your body, for your fertility, offers to impregnate you, and nothing much else.

You had been picky, of course, having known all your life this was forthcoming you were expecting to not have to rely on Zenin blood to uphold the family name.

Your father was no kind man but if there was one thing he was, it was prideful. If even his measly daughter could brush aside an important clan born man, he too could wait for a finer offer to come.

Back then, you had no idea that would lead to this.

You stood before a full-length mirror. Your dress came below your ankle, the neckline nothing short of chic modesty.

By all accounts and by the people serving you, you were expected to be prepared.

Your wedding was nothing special, a formality, nothing more. Clans from across Japan were here to see the ceremony. Still, your heart pounded as you gulped at your reflection. A shakily deep breath brought you little comfort as you squeezed your hand into a fist.

You knew little of the man you were to marry.

Here was what you had:

He was NOT a Zenin. Hallelujah.

He was not from any clan. (This had come as a shock to you, your father having only explored offers from fellow clan heads, you had no idea how this arrangement was to be made until Gakuganji, the principal of your school, Kyoto Jujutsu High, and one of the more powerfully cruel higher-ups, had arrived at your families estate, enlisting a "fine candidate" for your immanent marriage. He had seemed certain. Immovable.)

And last of the information you had, he was seemingly strong enough for your father to deem his ability to produce "quality children" acceptable. He was a grade 1 sorcerer, nothing to scoff at.

You knew your father would not have accepted the offer of a man without heritage if the higher-up’s had not endorsed it. Even now you wondered why they were so keen on this matrimony.

And that was all you had.

"You look beautiful." A maid from the estate was arranging your hair, she moved quickly, with a soft hand. You hardly noticed her. "I've heard he is a very gentle man," She starts up again after your eyes narrowed in the reflection of the mirror, "if that's any consolation." The women ends in a whisper.

You huff out a breath, "Thank you."

That's what they all say.

You wonder if she was lying to you. This morning you had heard your mother crying in your bedroom after you had made up your sheets for the last time. It made you sad, knowing she was afraid for you.

Afraid you would turn out like her.

You swallow with some effort and look up to the maid at your side, she smiled at you.

"It looks lovely." You say, assuming she wanted praise.

She lays a hand on your shoulder and her smile crinkles in a funny way, "He is very handsome." Her eyebrows tilt in a telling fashion, she almost giggles.

Great.

What were you to say to that?

"I... see." You look at the floor and turn away from your reflection. All that was left was for your father to arrive. To take your hand in an uncomfortably tight grip and lead you down the aisle to the man that was decided to be the father of your children.

"Is there anything you would like, before I leave you? It won't be long now..." The maid tries to meet your gaze so you look up to her face once more.

"No, there's nothing, thank you for helping me." You try to smile at her but your throat hurts from the brief amount of talking you have already done.

The women nods her head, she turns to go but hesitates at the door, for a moment you think she is going to turn and speak to you, to say something as a comfort perhaps, but just as her body holts to grip the door, the hinges swing away and your father steps in.

"Move out of my way. Move! Out!” Your father shoves at the women who had been by the threshold and she escapes out the door with a hushed apology and not a glance at yourself.

You stand before him. Resolved to not shutter in these moments. Neither of you speak until he swings his arms and says,

"Well, are you coming?"

You almost want to laugh. How you wish you could look up at the domineering man and say, no I don't think I am, but you knew better, and although he extends no arm to you, you take the few steps to his presence and heave a sign.

"Stand up straight. Serve us well."

You knew those would be all the words you heard from him tonight, as unhappy as you were to be married to a strange man, you felt pleased to know you would no longer be living in your clans estate, just as you knew your father would be glad to be rid of you.

Your fathers movements seemed all too fast. His steps, his reaching for your arm, his pulling you out the door and into the hall.

You felt as if time was slowing but those around you weren't effected. Your father huffed angrily, tugging you along. This was happening too fast. You didn't want this. You weren't ready.

You wiped the sweat from your palms over the satin dress hanging on your waist. The collar that once seemed elegant was starting to choke you. The door to the ceremony was drawing closer, you could hear music but it was almost as if the closer you came, the foggier it sounded.

Echos of your mother’s cries this morning permeated your brain. You knew you were asking for too much. But in those last moments before your autonomy would be taken from you, you had only one wish.

That the maid was right. That the man at the alter would truly be a gentle creature...would be tender....would be mild?

The doors were swinging open. The light was bright, but you did not dare to raise a hand to block its assault. You walked slowly, arm tightly locked in your fathers grasp. You noticed the clan leaders in the audience, but as your eyes tried to take in the man at the front of the room, you stuttered in your steps.

Hoping your father would take no notice, you tried to recall how you knew the man who was meeting your eye.

You began to put together who this man was, having met him before, though you hadn't been introduced. That one interaction had showed you he would not have been a man you would want to live the rest of your days with. He had seemed unhappy in those moment.

Fear shot through you.

An unhappy husband was more dangerous than any curse you had faced.

Having stared long enough, you drop your gaze from his own piercing one. You almost want to smile, but you're unable to.

Maybe he isn't as free as you thought he was. Poor him.

You wonder how he even managed to get in this predicament as the music began to come to its end. You're stepping up onto the platform that your future husband stood upon, your ankle wobbles in the heels that were chosen for you.

In a flash you see his arm reach out for you but you’re only confused, shrinking back a bit father from him.

You look to meet his gaze once more. He's barely a few breaths from you. His eyes seem focused on your face.

The officiant is talking but you cannot hear him.

You realize one of two things in this particular moment, one, the maid was right about something, this man was remarkably handsome. And second, you realize you're feeling quite faint.

The dress had not been so hot before you were standing before this man in front of all these people under the shine of all these lights. You swallow, dig your nails into your palms, the officiant seems to be speaking to the man before you and it isn't long before your husband speaks out a low, "I do."

You feel as though you must pay attention, your bit is coming up now and you would hate to embarrass your family, but you can hardly hear the man over the pounding in your ears. A prick of sweat starts to form on the back of your neck.

There is a pause in the mans speech, he looks at you intently, after a moment he raises a brow.

Oh, right. "I do." You say.

You look anywhere but your husband. Knowing you weren't expected to kiss, you try to take in some more air. This was it.

The officiant hands something to the man before you.

He's so tall. The suit he is wearing seems to fit him perfectly, and you can’t help wondering who helped him here today if he had no clan members.

His arm is suddenly in front of you, palm up. It takes you but a moment to know what he is asking for. You brace yourself and set your hand within his own.

He places his other hand onto yours for a moment, engulfing your hand in his grasp. You are shaking, you know you are, but with everything going on in this very moment, you are hoping he won't notice.

A ring is being slipped onto your finger. Good, now your turn.

He hands you his own, a plain ring of gold.

Don't drop it. Do not drop it. Don't-

You miss his ring finger once before finally sliding it on. You hope no one noticed. You pull your hand free of his first and look to your father in the crowd.

This was it, right?

There was an echo of the efficient, "I now pronounce you husband and wife", and the group before you claps in respect.

The man who you had just married is bending down to your ear, but he doesn't say anything. You look him from your peripheral vision, and he is tilting his head down the aisle a bit.

Ah, yes. Your hand is in his own as you go back down where you just came. Your life is forever changed now.

So much lay before you, so much for you to worry about, but the one thing on your mind in this moment is how the grip of your husbands hand is infinitely more pleasant than the aggressive clasp your father had on you.

You hope against hope, that maybe, you would never feel the harsh grip of a man again.

But that was too wishful, was it not?

[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  ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶. happy reading!

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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.

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[risuola]

ENTRY #11 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I starve for your touch yet fear to savor it.

contents: arranged marriage!au, nudity, reader discretion is advised — wc. 1690

a/n: there was no way i wouldn't write a fic based on this picture. just no way.

series masterlist

Satoru loves to sleep naked.

The beauty of his innate technique, the blessing that he mastered to no end, has stripped him off one of the most basic human needs — touch. He wasn’t missing it that much, he thought, but there was something in letting go of everything and allowing himself to be wrapped in the silky layers of bedsheets that made his body crave the feeling.

He has always picked expensive garments, the ones with soft fabrics and luxurious feel, despite everyone telling him it’s unreasonable to spend so much on a shirt or a pair of trousers, but to him, it did matter. To him, that was the only thing touching his body when a thin layer of infinity effectively forced everything else back. To Satoru, touch was forbidden, threatening. It was a vulnerability that he, the strongest, couldn’t afford.

But that until he’s met you. Until he’s married you.

You were one of not many people he’s made an exception for. You were able to touch him whenever you wanted because the protective surface of endless matter let you in. Because he himself altered his technique to make you capable of laying your hands on his body.

He longed for your touch. So soft, and delicate, and warm. He craved more of it and yet, despite being shameless and confident, he has not allowed himself to sleep bare even once since the day you and him were bound by the knot of matrimony. It would cross boundaries he wasn’t sure you’d wish to cross; it would make you uncomfortable, awkward maybe — and he liked the way your relationship looked like now. He liked the late evenings you talked quietly, alone and intimate in the warm embrace of sheets and your own house.

For you, he let go of the way he used to sleep before because you were worth the sacrifice, but now, you were gone for few days. You were sent on a mission away from Tokyo and the hours Satoru spent alone in bed, thinking of nothing more but your fingertips on top of his skin, made him desperate — and so, he allowed himself the comfort of soft cotton and silk.

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

You were tired. Exhausted even, by the intense fight you had to pull through, by the uncomfortable nights spent in the dingy hotel room, by the humid weather and rains. In moments like this, there was nothing you envied more in the world than your husband’s ability to warp from one place to another, but you got lucky. Incredibly so, because Ijichi offered you a ride home two days earlier than you were supposed to head back and you thanked all gods and devils for that man’s kindness. He was willing to put on some more road just to get you home.

“Thank you so, so much, Ijichi,” you kissed his cheek — a ghost of a peck that made him all red and steamy and you felt giddy for a moment, seeing the tips of his ears turn crimson. Adorable. You liked him, he was dutiful, polite, trustworthy and constantly terrorized by your husband, so you were determined to at least be the Gojo he likes.

“You’re very welcome,” he mumbled and fixed the frames on the bridge of his nose, pushing them up with the tip of his pointer finger. “Have a good rest.”

“You too, Ijichi.”

Then, he was gone and you were stepping into the house with a deep sense of relief washing over you. Home sweet home. If you were to guess, it was most likely somewhere around 4 am, way too early for anyone to be up — especially your husband — so you gave it your all to stay as quiet as possible. The sun was just showing its first rays from way below the horizon line, crawling up with golden hues and breaking the nightly, navy darkness.

On your toes you moved across the house. It seemed as if Gojo was spending his time alone quite ordinarily — you saw a modest stack of empty takeout boxes, much less humble pile of candy wrappers and his uniform jacket thrown over the couch backrest, along with few other little items that you struggled to differentiate in the nocturnal haze.

You put down your bag, hung up your coat and pushed off the shoes. Ghosting your way towards the bathroom, you were desperate to wash away the combat residuals. You lathered up the shower gel in a rush, desperate to rest and sleep in the comfort of your own bed and then, wrapped in the towel, you tippy-toed to the bedroom, but—

“Came back earlier?”

—you truly didn’t expect to be met with a sight like this. Your husband was awake, just barely, most likely awaken by the water running in the bathroom. His eyes were closed, hidden underneath his forearm and shielded from the lights that were slowly creeping inside, between the dark curtains and onto his face. His body seemed relaxed between the sheets. The softest, gentlest lines of golden glimmer that painted its patterns over his uncovered chest and leg, his hip and one of the muscular arms. The duvet was covering less than half of him, hiding a part of his stomach, the other leg and—

“You’re staring.”

Satoru didn’t even have to look at you to know that your gaze was lingering on his frame. On his very, very naked frame, just barely concealed by the comforter.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks and reaching the tips of your ears and you thanked the darkness for hiding it away. You walked around the bed, hoping to find your pajama where you left it and trying to force your head out of the gutter. You heard your husband letting out a deep exhale and then, a soft hum. His voice was as melodic as always, though you could tell how much sleepiness was laced into it.

Satoru should’ve notice you when you entered the area of your house, but he didn’t. Tired by his own job, by the classes and all of the meetings, he allowed himself to lower his guard and when he realized you’re home, he contemplated for a moment getting up and dressed, but he just didn’t want to.

“You’re exhausted, screw pajamas, just come here,” he said before he managed to think twice about it. It was a daring offer, inappropriate even and he opened his mouth to apologize for it, but then, you rendered him speechless.

Your weight felt good on top of him. You lay your body over his own with feathery gentleness and carefully maneuvered your way to rest on his chest completely. The touch of your skin flush to his own made his brain to short circuit, it felt divine, too good to be true and just so very right, he couldn’t say a word.

“Is that alright?” You asked quietly, pressing your ear right above his heart and letting out a breath that you held for a little too long. Your face felt hot, you were flushed and flustered but also oddly at ease with the current position and you wondered for a moment if it was the tiredness that made you so bold.

“More than that,” he replied, pulling the covers to hide you beneath them. He allowed one of his arms to snake around your waist and his lips to kiss the top of your head. “Rest. Sleep well, wifey.”

“Good night.”

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

10:19 AM

Satoru thought he was dreaming, but the weight on top of him felt too real. The soft scent of citrusy shower gel that lingered on your skin filled in his lungs each time he took a breath in and there was a tickle, he realized — every time his chest raised, a strand of your hair seemed to be moving against his jawline. You were not a dream.

He opened his eyes, blinking few times, adjusting them to the bright light that forced its way into the bedroom and then, he looked at you. You were still very deep asleep, he could tell based off the long inhales you were taking, slow and relaxed, fanning against his peck rhythmically. Your body was mostly on top of him, you were on his chest, your leg was between his and only your hips were resting on the bed. He still had his arm around you, as if making sure you were as close as possible.

It felt incredible. Intimate. It was everything he could have wished for. A touch, skin to skin, so intense it almost took his breath away. He felt nauseous at the thought, realizing that it’s the first time in his life, he’s that close to someone. So impossibly close that just a little bit more and you’d become a part of him. His heartbeat quickened.

It was so right. So awfully correct and at the same time, so very threatening. He felt helpless. Vulnerable. He was at your mercy, he was robbed of everything what made him the strongest, because at this very moment, he was bare. Uncovered before you, wrapped in an embrace that felt loving, that felt soothing, addicting, but if you only wished to hurt him, you’d—

You moved, shifting your weight a little bit, adjusting the position and the way your hand run down his side made him shiver. A soft sound escaped your throat when you let out a deeper exhale. He felt your fingers squeezing the flesh above his hip and then, you relaxed again.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” you whispered, not bothering to open your eyes, and Satoru held his breath. “Relax…”

And he chuckled. His chest vibrated below your ear and the adorable sound of displeasure you let out made him lose all of the tension. He turned, twisting his body inside your embrace to face you fully and he squeezed you with both of his arms, pulling you close. So impossibly close, and you whimpered, suddenly enclosed in a tight hold of your husband’s limbs. That was it for your sleep.

You could get used to it.

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[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage [pt.2]

[<- part 1 | part 3 ->]

Tim doesn't remember what happened. What he does remember is that he was in the middle of an apocalypse with no idea how to survive it, a few of his friends and family dead, and clinging to the last possible resort with no hope it would actually make a difference.

He remembers thinking whatever happened next could not be worse than what he's already been through.

And then, he remembers an unfamiliar voice, a cheeky grin, and a light so bright he had to squint his eyes shut not to be blinded.

When he opened them again, he was back in the Cave, and, as he found out a few moments later, when a panicking Dick ran up to him and attempted to squeeze the dear life out of his body with a crushing hug, back in time by three weeks. With the whole recollection of what happened before- Well, after that.

And, it was not only him who got to keep all the important memories. The rest of the Bats remembered everything as well, and the League, and even a few others, all of whom were somehow connected to said apocalypse, which had not yet happened.

Tim looked down to the Ring.

He did not tell anyone why or how they got a second chance.

A month later, with the crisis safely averted and his anxiety buzzing under his skin, Tim locked himself up in the Nest, pressed his lips to the cold metal on his finger once again, and whispered a quiet, "Thank you."

He did not know what he expected in response, but certainly not a snort right by his ear and an incorporeal voice that seemed to come from every direction at once.

"You're welcome." It was not ominous, not solemn or anything of sorts. If anything, the voice sounded like Duke whenever Tim thanked him for a fresh cup of coffee the boy brought to the Cave for him. Entirely unbothered and offhanded, and a little bit fond, like somehow saving Tim's whole world was not a big deal.

Well, maybe it wasn't, for whoever the voice belonged to.

Tim looked at the Ring again. Then, he looked around, not sure how to proceed. As far as his analysis went, the King - because who else it might have been? - did not want anything in return, nor did they intend on keeping in contact. And, technically, that was probably a good thing. Because, yeah, right, any normal and sane person would prefer to stay away from getting unnecessarily involved with beings of immeasurable power.

However, Tim did not think of himself as either normal or sane.

So, he clicked his tongue, annoyed and on the verge of pouting, "Really? That's it? 'You're welcome'?"

For a second, nothing happened.

Then, there was a startled, surprised snort of laughter, and, a moment later, a boy floating in the air a few feet away from Tim.

Tim blinked. The supposed almighty monarch of Infinite Realms, Keeper or Worlds and whatever, did not look particularly kingly. If anything, he looked very much unkingly.

Not much older than Tim - so, twenty or somewhat around it - wearing something that he'd expect Jason to wear on a daily basis. Cargo pants, an unzipped jacket with its sleeves rolled up, a t-shirt with some rock band logo, none of which exactly screamed 'royalty' to Tim. There was a matter of floating, of course, and the boy's hair was so white that it actually hurt to look at it directly, but other than that, the King looked...

Almost absurdly normal.

He was also holding a big, although already half-empty cup of bobba milk tea, and lazily reclining in the air without a care in the world.

"You want some?" The boy asked when he caught Tim staring at his drink.

Tim blinked. The vision of a floating boy in his living room did not disappear.

"I, um," he stammered over words, searching for any kind of answer, and then shook his head, "No, thanks?" The words came out more like a question than a statement. The boy pursed his lips and shrugged.

"Your loss. It's from the best place ever," he paused, looking up to the ceiling and frowning, "I don't think it exists in this timeline."

Tim shakes his head again, like trying to kickstart his thought process. It doesn't work.

"So, you're..." he trails off, and the boy startles before moving in the air and shifting so his feet actually touch the ground. His hair and jacket still both act like gravity doesn't exist.

"Oh, right. I forgot I never introduced myself," he gives Tim a sheepish grin, "It's kind of strange, seeing that I did spend about three years around you. I'm Danny, or Phantom," he offers Tim a hand and then tilts his head slightly, "But never Daniel, for the record."

That is honestly too much information in just three sentences. Tim shakes the offered hand - which is way too cold to be actual human hand - mostly on reflex.

"I'm Tim," he adds dumbly, and Danny grins.

"Yeah, I know."

Which brings Tim back to what the boy said before, and he frowns.

"Wait, you said you've spent three years around me?" That means, since around the time Tim first put the Ring on, if he is not mistaken. The boy rubs the back of his neck.

"Yeah, well, I wanted to see who you were before I made myself known, but your family is a really nosy bunch, and you're quite literally never alone, and I kind of didn't want to scare you, so..."

"So you stalked me for three years," Tim finishes the sentence when Danny trails off. The boy grimaces and makes a so-so expression.

"I mean, you all did think I was some kind of an eldritch monster that's going to spirit you away or something. Showing up unannounced would be awkward at the least," he reasons. Tim can't argue with it when he puts it that way.

So, instead, he reaches for the cup in Danny’s hand and snatches it away, taking a sip before the boy is able to protest. It does taste like the best bobba he tried, so there's that.

"Are you?" He asks, tapping the straw on his chin as Danny floats up again, seemingly unbothered about the stolen drink. Looks like keeping his feet on the floor is either uncomfortable or rather unnatural for him.

"Am I what?" Danny raises one eyebrow.

"An eldritch monster?" Tim clarifies, and, between one moment and another, the sight of the semi-normal, albeit floating, guy in front of him distorts like a glitching video. Glimpses of bright, neon green eyes, sharp, inhuman teeth, and shadows crawling around the room fill Tim's vision, making him gasp sharply, but all of that is gone as soon as he blinks. Danny shrugs.

"I can be," he admits easily, "But most of the times, I'm not."

Tim looks at him thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes and taking another long sip of the drink. The bobba pearls taste vaguely like mango when he chews them.

On one hand, this is a very much unknown, possibly dangerous magic creature. On the other, the creature's name is Danny, and he does have a good taste for food, so how bad can it really be?

"Cool," he shrugs finally, offering the cup back, "Wanna go out some time?"

Danny smiles so bright that Tim can't help but return it and takes the almost empty drink, his fingers brushing over Tim's.

"I thought you'd never ask," he snorts.

[kkukverse]

Put Your Head on My Shoulder

Pair : husband!jk x wife!reader

Genre: marriage au

Warnings: sex scenes nothing too wild

w/c: 10.3 k

“Passports?”

“Check.”

“Your backpack?”

“Check.”

“My wallet? Your wallet?”

“Also check.”

“Oh! Toothbrushes?”

The man didn’t reply as he stares at you in disbelief. “Babe,” he sigh softly. But you’re too busy checking your luggage and your backpack. Not wanting to leave anything important behind.

“Our toothbrushes Kook, do we have them? Oh god don’t tell me you forgot. Remember Krabi? The one where we forgot our toothbrushes?” With frantic hands you unzip the front part of the luggage to check for the said items.

“Mr. Jeon Jungkook?” 

You let out a sigh as you look up to see why your husband didn’t reply to you. Instead of catching him getting as busy as you are, he is actually looking at you with an amused smile on his face. “There we go, finally you’re looking at me.”

With a grunt you stood facing him, eyes rolling and the little lips pout started to form on your face with wrinkles on your forehead. Jungkook leans forward as he puts his hands on your shoulders, “Babe, calm down. We’re not going to the other side of the world for months. It’s your hometown. I have packed our toothbrushes, and so what, if we left them behind? We can buy them.” Jungkook squeezed your shoulders in hopes to loosen up the knotted muscles as you’re too tensed.

You are always on the edge every time the two of you went on a long trip together. But today it seems to get worse. 

You’re used to be the reckless traveler, someone who is hungry with spontaneous adventures and unplanned vacations. But all of that were before marriage, before you had to take care of another human being.

Ever since with Jungkook, you always feel the need to have everything perfectly arranged. You never admitted it but you somehow feel inadequate at attending the need for your husband.

Well, compared to your peers, you, as a wife, is on an 'okay' level. 

Most of your friends who got married earlier than you certainly are on the master level. You love them, really. But there’s a time when you think that they’re being too good to be true.

They’re the perfect housewives, the spot on clean home all year round, birthed beautiful babies, cooking up home cooked meals that would make top chefs cried. They’re the trophy wives.  

You and Jungkook are a working couple. You work on the typical working hours, from 9 to 5. The house? You think the house look perfect because you have such a wonderful husband who loves cleaning and doing the laundry.

Unlike you, Jungkook works around his own schedule hence his working time is more flexible than yours. Plus, he’s working from home most of the time. If it’s up to you, the house would be a mess. For the food part, on weekdays, it’s take outs. 

You are matured enough to understand that people will show things they wanna show. But somehow, somewhere in your heart, it stings when you thought you are not good enough as a wife.

You have no idea how you managed to catch Jungkook as your husband because that man is amazing. He never complains. Not once. Never degrading you for not being the typical wife.

As if the role is reversed in your household. He has been the one that begs you to rest so he could help with the house chores. He sometimes prepared dinner, although claiming he’s not a good cook but if there’s one warm hearty meal on the table after a long day at work waiting for you, you are in no place to complain.

"Well, I'm pretty independent too, you know. Mom and dad were busy and hyung was always studying somewhere. I know how to take care of myself, and now I can take care of you," This is Jungkook's favourite statement.

He really is an endearing human being. You’re still learning to take care of him as well. Which is why you get fidgety because you’re so afraid of screwing everything up.

“I know but we don't have to buy it. Why are we wasting money? Once we're back home, we gonna have extra set of toothbrushes, which we don't even need in the first place.” You yaps under your breath as you double check the snacks in your backpack.

Rummaging the backpack for the nth time. Ointment, mint breath strips, lip balm, protein and choco bars. Jungkook must munch on something, and he needs sugar. That’s the least you can do. Providing him snacks.

“Will you please look at me?” Jungkook hunched down to be on your eye level. He puts his hands on yours as your knuckles grip the luggage trolley. A little smile adorning his face at how his big hands envelope your tiny hands, looking perfectly fit together. He rarely tells you but he absolutely loves it when he gets to wrap your fingers with his palms. Feeling the warmth emitted from you.

But right now your hands are cold, and Jungkook knew that you’re not just anxious. He’s not sure yet, so he’s trying to ease you to tell him. Silently pleading with his cooing and his bambi eyes for you to look at him back. 

He winced a little when your eyes locked on his. Jungkook knows very well from the look of his wife just gave him. Immediately, he cups your face and lean closer.

“Hey, hey what is it? Can you tell me?” he whispered as if you're both are sharing a secret that only the two of you know. In the hectic airport with so many people come and go, Jungkook grounded you by just being close to you.

“It’s just, you don’t have to come with me, you know. I hate dragging you into my family matters. I know you’re busy and the fact that you have to leave everything for a week is just,” you heave a sigh as you put your hands on his chest. “Just not sitting well with me. I can go there all by myself,” you rambles.

“Don’t say it like that,” Jungkook is not gonna lie but your words hurt him.

It hurts when you’re trying to not include him into your personal matter. He is your husband, he admits it was hard to break through the wall you built. It took him enough time to get a glimpse of the side that you always hide.

He wants to be your tree, he wants you lean on him and trust him. Your problem is his problem too. It pains him to see you stress over something and he just wanted you to share it with him. 

You have never been the one who wears their emotions on their sleeves, so Jungkook have to observe you carefully. He learns with the frown on your face, the wavering voice, the way you avoid eye contact. He is still learning because you are like an enigma in an endless maze, he used to be the one who wanted to decode your thoughts, and the one that can walk into the layers of your maze without feeling lost.

But now he just wants to understand you, wants you to know that he accepts all of your quirks and wandering thoughts. 

God, he loves you so much and how could you unconsciously treating him like he is a stranger. 

“Don’t you dare say it like I’m not supposed to be there. Don’t exclude me from your family affairs. They’re my family too,” he emphasis on every word and it softens you.

“Also, I will not allow you to go so far away all by yourself, not when I’m still capable to go everywhere with you. I know, you’re the most amazing and independent woman but I want to be there,” Jungkook gently butts his head on yours, an act of comfort he always do when you’re not listening to him or whenever you feel a little insecure, it’s like saying I’m here and don’t shut me away, his stern yet soft statement makes your view a bit glassy.

He kissed your cheeks before leaving a fluttering peck on your lips. To soothe your nerves.  

It’s true that Jungkook had insisted on coming with you to your hometown, despite his busy work. Piles of unfinished videos and songs in his studio at home were left behind immediately the moment you said you have to go back to your hometown for a family business.

Jungkook knew what family business you’re talking about because it has been your constant topic during dinner. It’s a series of events. It’s started from your aunt is getting a divorce - not that it has anything to do with you but somehow all of your family members had agreed on an urgent meeting.

You figured out from your cousin that they also wanted to gather in remembering your late Grandpapa. 

It was a long overdue event. It kept getting pushed back because somebody got married, someone just gave birth, your cousin is still studying overseas and much more excuses.

Perhaps they realized now is a good time, or perhaps because everyone is coming to support your aunt. You decided that you must come, you missed everyone so dearly.

The other solid reason why you have to be there is because you’re the closest grandchild to your Grandpapa and it has been years since you visited your Grandmama. Even Jungkook hasn’t met her yet.

She couldn’t make it to your wedding since she had fallen ill at that time. The wedding was a small ceremony with only close relatives and friends. And you didn’t stay longer because you and Jungkook have to fly back immediately. 

You missed your Grandmama terribly. Your grandparents practically raised you when your mom and your dad were economically and psychologically struggling in being a parent. Not that you blame them, because now, you're at their age when they become parents for the first time and you started to understand them.

Grandpapa passed away before you met Jungkook, way back when you were in high school, and sometimes it always hits you at how he would love to know the amazing man you called your husband.

Since he loves teasing you when you were little, and you can’t help but think Jungkook and Grandpapa would be close buddies with their teasing antics. 

You told Jungkook some of the memories you had with your grandparents, you also shared with him the moment when you have to move out from their house to live back with your parents. You still remember the sadness looks in your Grandpapa’s wrinkled face like it all happened yesterday. You did visited them occasionally. During the holiday season or when you have a long school break. But, it was not enough.

Honestly, Jungkook is as excited and definitely nervous in meeting your Grandmama. He heard a lot about that amazing lady from you and he’s afraid of her acceptance. What if she didn’t like him? What if she decided that Jungkook is not enough for her granddaughter? From your stories your grandma sounds like a warm person but what if she’s cold to him?

“Thank you Jungkook, for coming with me,” it came out like a whisper in his ear. Squeezing your hand, he pulls you to walk beside him as he push the trolley to the boarding gate.

Although you were reluctant on dragging him along, his presence still brings you peace, and you need him.

“Oh babe, I forgot to show you. Remember yesterday, Taehyung came over with Yuna?” Jungkook is pulling out his phone from his back pocket. Wanting to show you the video of your friend’s baby.

“Of course I remember. They left before I reached home.” Sighing, recalling how you rushed to get home yesterday just to meet Yuna, the little bundle of joy.

She is just at the perfect age when curiosity takes over her and babies are the best at this age. It’s not like you can meet and play with her everyday. First of all Taehyung loves hoarding his daughter all to himself - selfish - and secondly because of your work.

Yuna is going to forget her godmother since she only spent her baby days with Jungkook, her godfather. 

“I’m very sure Yuna misses you just as much as you miss her. Look at this! She’s sleeping so comfortably on our desk.” Jungkook squealed as he keeps playing the video of Yuna in her pink fluffy onesie, (the one that you bought for her) drooling on your desk next to the files. She was sleeping on her stomach and as Taehyung is about to pick her up, she whined.

Making both of you giggle at her cuteness.

“God, how does she sleeps soundly on that hard desk? You know my ass is still sore from that night you pushed me onto it?” Jungkook smirks like a little tease he is, while you’re trying to act like you have no idea what it is that he’s trying to tell.

“No, honey, I don’t know,” of course you know but you’re trying to focus on anything, not the memories of your tangled sweaty bodies, falling files and your stationary box topple over on the floor. 

Sensing that you're getting shy, Jungkook keeps on teasing you. He is relentless.

He leans over the armrest, whispering in your ears, “awe come on. How can you already forgot how hard you pulled my hair, the scratches on my back, babe? Still stings. God, the way you ride me on your desk, ugh you're so hot,” he sighs heavily and you feel the warmth of his breath on your neck, you're sensitive spot.

You snapped your head so fast at your husband’s bold action. You are in an airplane for heaven’s sake! You can feel the warmth blush creeps on your face. You pinched his arm.

“There are hundreds of people on board, and we’re gonna be here for hours! No one wants to hear our bedroom story!” You hissed and Jungkook is silently yelping in pain. He hates the fact that he loves pain especially from you. 

“Okay, okay, okay!! Sorry, baby, I’m sorry. I’ll behave!” He grips on your wrist to stop you from keep abusing his arm.

The grin on Jungkook’s face is as wide as yours but suddenly your face feel in horror as you remembered you rode Jungkook on your desk!

You had sex on the desk of where Yuna fell asleep on! Slept on her stomach! Face down on the spot of Jungkook’s ass! Baby Yuna! Taehyung’s sunshine! On your desk! Did you cleaned it up?!

A loud gasp coming out from you as these thoughts bombarded your mind. You covered your mouth with your hand while the other one is grabbing Jungkook.

“What, baby, why? You wanna vomit?” Jungkook quickly leans forward to grab the paper bag from the pocket seat. You stopped him, half laughing and half crying, you’re trying to explain to him the sin you two had done but it all came out as broken sentences.

Not wanting to disturb other passengers but wanting to scream at the same time is probably the hardest choice you have to make at this moment. With wide eyes, Jungkook look at you in bewilderment.

“What is it? Should I be worried? Want me to get help?” Jungkook is in between laughing along with you or be scared that his wife is losing it. Honestly he has no idea. 

“Shit, babe. We had sex at the desk! Yuna slept on it! What are we gonna tell Taehyung? Should we tell him?” Wiping your tears while you’re mouth is still widely laughing is a confusing sight for Jungkook but once he gets the gist of what you’re trying to tell him, he, too let out a loud laugh.

The seat next to you gave the both of you a weird look and and grunts can be heard. Your husband straighten his back on the chair and clears his throat as he apologize loud enough for the row in front of you to catch it. 

Leaning back to you he grabs your hand and trying to muffle the noise as you both keep on giggling like little kids. You’re still terrified on the inside, thinking of Yuna and how are you supposed to tell her father? Kim Taehyung is going to cut your husband’s dick once he knew.

“Jeon Jungkook, stop laughing! This is not funny,” your attempt to be serious was blown away by your own wheezing.

“In my defense, you’re the impatient one,” he scrunched his nose with his lips jutted towards you. 

“You could’ve carried me to our bed!” you hissed.

Jungkook gives you a betrayed expression as he puts his hand on his chest. As if you’re accusing him of the crime both of you committed.

“Excuse me ma’am, I clearly remember you’re the one who chanted more baby, please I want you in me, now,” he mocked your moaning. Your face is in your palms as you keep shaking your head.

“I did not sound like that. Please, Jungkook at least tell me we did clean the desk.” Banging your head on his shoulder while he snorted. 

“Well, your welcome, because your amazing house-husband did cleaned the desk. You blacked out the moment we got into our bedroom. Meanwhile, your dutiful husband, wiped our crime scene clean with a hand sanitizer. I told you that sanitizer will come in handy.” This is one of the moments you’re so happy to have such a clean freak as your husband.

“Oh god, thank goodness!” You showered his cheek with kisses.

“But do we have to tell Taehyung though?” Biting your lower lip, you secretly wished he is as evil as you. Because you don’t want to freak Taehyung out.

Just as you thought, called it soulmate behavior, because Jungkook just shrug it off and said to not tell him and even if he did, Taehyung would understand anyway.

He had done a lot worse back in his college days and Jungkook have all the receipts as his roommates. 

Laughing softly you shakes your head. “Can’t believe we tainted Yuna like this. What kind of godparents are we? Unbelievable,” your eyes are getting droopy as the airplane breaking the clouds.

Jungkook is taking off his grey hoodie for you because you always catch cold easily, especially when travelling in an airplane. Thankfully he’s wearing a long sleeve shirt inside. 

He did reminded you to wear an extra layer but it seems like you forgot. Snuggling as close as you can, you sleep almost immediately with your head on his shoulder. Jungkook chuckled at the sight. You sleep so easily. Be it on the bed or in a moving car, you are unfazed.

The first time you went on a road trip together, you fell asleep even before Jungkook gets to drive out of the city. The road trip was a lonely one for him because you slept all the way. 

He is relieved, relieved that you laughed. You were fidgety and anxious with going back to your hometown before the flight and he is just really, really, really grateful that you had a good laugh just now.

He managed to take the stress off of your mind. Always.

“Where is she, do you think she forgot, Kook? Do we have to get an Uber? Ugh, why is she not picking up her phone?” Punching your phone with your thumb, you texted your cousin, asking on her whereabouts.

Not that you’re ungrateful for having her coming down to pick you and Jungkook from the airport, but it would be much easier if she told you beforehand if somehow she couldn’t make it. You would’ve requested an Uber and you’re probably would be home by now. 

“Babe, sit down, please. Maybe there’s a heavy traffic or maybe she left her phone or something. It’s not like we’re waiting for hours anyway. It’s not even an hour yet. So, will you please, don’t stressed out over this, hum?” Grabbing your hand, he patted on his lap, telling you to sit on him.

Engulfing his arm on your waist, he took a breath of your natural smell on your neck and leaving a kiss on the skin. For a married guy, Jungkook is still shameless with showing off his affection on you. Grabbing you, leaving kisses on your face, smelling you. To him it’s an announcement that this girl is mine. 

He sneak a peek on your unanswered texts to your cousin. Seeing you used a lot of emojis and silly meme stickers in your previous conversation with her as you’re scrolling down. 

Adorable ice queen. You rarely replied cute emojis with him. He pouts as he placed his chin on your shoulder. Feeling a little jealous with your cousin.

“No reply yet?” The vibrating sound from Jungkook tickles you but since you’re still stressing over the unanswered text, you ignored it.

He’s now feeling the jet lag starting to kick in. Resting his head on your shoulder, shutting his eyes. When he said you don’t even need a comfortable bed to sleep on, well, it is the complete opposite for him. He just needs you. 

A ping was heard indicating a new message on your phone, and you quickly checked it as a soft laugh coming out from your mouth. Laughing at the meme your cousin sent you. She apologized for not getting out of work earlier because now, she has to face the traffic.

As a truce for her mistake she bought you a dozen of your favorite donuts. 

Jungkook flinched and scrunching his eyes as he felt a movement from you.

“Hey. Sorry, baby.” You noticed the flinched and instantly place a kiss on his cheek. As a token of apology for waking him up. By the groggy grunts, you know he’s awake now. Guilt rushed in you because you know he hates jet lag as it always gets the best of him. You’re scratching his scalp as your other hand is still holding your phone.

“She’ll be here in ten. You’re right, she’s caught in a traffic jam.”

Jungkook just hummed at that because all he wanted right now is to lay down next to you and have a good sleep. Smiling at your husband, you keep scratching the back of his head.

A habit you gained from living with Jungkook. He purrs like a kitten full with milk every time you do that. With one hand you replied to your cousin to just step on the gas like a daredevil she is. 

Your cousin, Suri, is only one year older than you. She’s the mature cousin in many senses but it is always you who she runs to when life is being the big bad wolf.

Like the one when she had to tell her mom - your aunt, that she lost her earrings. They weren’t just any earrings, it was inherited by your grandmama. Being the curious rebel, Suri took them from her mom jewelry box and showing them off at school.

What a way to go when she lost them during recess. In panic, she dragged you and both of you spent hours searching for them in the school yard, at the field (she doesn’t even went to the field), at the cafeteria, basically every nook and cranny of your high school. 

Living just a few houses away, you and Suri were practically attached at the hip, always hanging out together after school, so nobody really questioned why you and Suri was late on that day.

The search was fruitless. Finally she decided to come clean at her mom, which was your earliest idea before the both you dipped your heads into the bushes.

Staying by her side, you comforted her by holding her hand. She was scared shitless and as expected she got a ‘good’ earful nagging from your lovely aunt. But you still stayed by her side, only leaving when she fell asleep, with wet pillow because of the tears and snot. 

Just like highschool, right now you feel the need to be by her side in facing the divorce of her parents. She acted like she was fine when you called last week, from her defeated voice, you know. You know her probably better than she knows herself. 

She was the one who found out that her dad is cheating on her mom. She kept it to herself for months. Months!

Not telling a soul because she’s giving her dad a time or a chance to make things right. Her dad, doesn’t even know his daughter knew. Perhaps she was in denial but not until she broke the news to you. You advised her that she should tell her mom.

Well, clearly she did took your advice because now everyone is here to support your aunt and your cousin. 

From far you can hear a screeching sound which you don’t have to listen carefully to know that it belongs to Suri. She’s loud. Even Jungkook is wide awake now. Blinking like Bambi with his big eyes, his hands are still on your hips. He looks so adorable you can’t help but planting kisses on his nose and his cheeks.

“I’m sorry you have to wake up now. I promise you will have the most wonderful rest at grandma’s. But for now we have to settle with Suri’s car, yeah?” Whispering softly as if you could break him if you speak too loud.

Jungkook just looks so fragile when woken up from a nap. You’re not sure if he managed to catch all the words you just said because he keeps blinking with a slightly parted mouth. You’re so tempted to kiss him silly when suddenly somebody tap your head from the back. It’s Suri. 

“Damn, did I just cockblocked you from kissing him?” She said with a smirk on her face. Her short hair really does look better in person, she was so unsure during your facetime, feeling it would make her head look big.

Getting up from Jungkook, you give her a tight bear hug.

Feeling ignored, Jungkook grabs the end of his hoodie that you’re still wearing.

“Oh Jungkook, my brother! How are you? Man, look at this healthy long black hair. What did you feed him? He looks more buff now” She patted his shoulder like he is her little brother, looking amused at his hair.

“Keep it longer boy, your wife has a long hair kink.” She sends you a wink as if whatever that she just spilled is normal. 

Jungkook tilt his head to you with a wide grin on his face.

“I know, she just doesn’t want to let go of them, her hair pulling game is getting stronger,” he chuckles. He noticed that you have become a lot more touchy especially on his hair ever since he let it grow, long enough to cover his eyes.

And not to mention how you keep on pulling them like your life is hanging on it during your heated sessions. Suri just clapped in amaze at Jungkook’s reply.

The ride was a peaceful one, perhaps Suri is as tired as you are. It's relatively far from the airport to your grandma’s.

You keep glancing out the window to stare at the view. The street is still so familiar with nothing much has changed. Sitting on the passenger seat, you’re devouring the donut from your favorite bakery like a madman because they’re still taste the same. You save some for Jungkook since he already passed out at the back seat. 

The picture of you sitting next to Suri surely brings back your young adulthood memories. Only now with an additional passenger at the back. 

You turn to check on him from time to time. He looks so adorable, you covered him with his hoodie after you took it off from you and his head leans on the window. Suri noticing you keep glancing back, smiles fondly.

“You can sleep with him at the back.” Suri breaks the serenity that lingered in the car.

“No, it’s fine. He’s fine.” Pulling your left leg closer until your knee reaches your chest. A habit of yours every time you’re in a car.

“Seriously, you keep glancing at him like a mom watching her baby sleeps. Does he really can only sleep with you being near to him though?” 

“Yeah, he told me he was completely fine with sleeping alone before he met me. But he couldn’t anymore now.” Smiling so wide you remembered the night Jungkook confessed that.

Suri cooed and dramatically clenched her fist on her chest. “He’s romantic. You used to despise these hopeless romantics” 

“Keyword, used to.” 

Both of you and Suri let out a small laugh, and the smile on her face faded before she let out a sigh. “I missed you. You have no idea how bad it was for me to deal with this shit all by myself.”

You put your hand on her shoulder to comfort her. You know it won’t bring much difference but what else can you do?

“My dad is so stupid, I’m telling you. He asked me to check for his PayPal account when his mistress is still texting him at that time. Imagine how fucked up it was for me? I had to pretend I saw none of her filthy texts.” Suri speaks in a low voice, sounded defeated. 

“I almost broke up with my boyfriend. I keep thinking his ‘I love you’s is as fake as my dad’s when he used it to my mom.” She rubs the bridge of her nose and you listen to her, letting her venting out all of the frustration that she couldn’t do through a video call.

“My mom acted like she’s fine and all. She told me she saw it coming. But she didn’t say shit because of me. How stupid. It’s not like I am a teenager. Hell, they should’ve part ways when we were in high school. At least I get to hang out with the kids from the ‘divorced parents’ club.” 

“No, you were banned from joining clubs because you made a bad joke to one of them kids." You’re trying to lighten up the mood. But it was an exaggerated statement.

“Fuck, yeah I forgot about that one. Well, ain’t I was a troubled child, the sign of a messed up parenting was already there,”

You laugh at that and as the laughter died down, Suri looks at Jungkook through the rear-view mirror for a few seconds before her soft gaze falls on you.

“I pray he treats you right, I pray that your love will never fade. I don’t think I want to get married, not now at least. Love sucks but seeing you two, Lilo, looking this happy, makes me wanna believe in it again.” 

“Lilo? I haven’t heard that nickname in a long time. You either sappy or drunk to call me that,” you giggles at your cousin. Intentionally ignoring the heavy mood because you hate it when your cousin is sad and brooding. Like she’s giving up.

“See, this is what I meant. You, was never serious about love, you hated it more than I do. I thought you’re pranking me when you told me about him. It was me who was in a long relationship but look who’s wearing the ring now,” she slightly punch your shoulder as the car stopped at the red light. 

Unbeknownst to you, the passenger in the back seat is listening to your conversations. 

Jungkook was half awake after he heard laughters and giggles coming from you and Suri. He wants to fall back to sleep but he decided to listen more when you told Suri he couldn’t sleep without you.

Jungkook blushed under his hoodie that he had to pulled to cover his face. He knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop on your conversations with your cousin. Since it sounded intimate when Suri talked to you in a low tone. 

But then again, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep after Suri called you Lilo. He never heard of that name before, and he made a mental note to ask you about it later.

He’s eager to listen more as you and Suri are talking about him right now. When Suri said she prays he treats you right, he wanted to profusely said yes, yes he always hope he’s treating you right. Always trying to be the right man for you, that’s all he wanna be. 

He couldn’t calm his wild heart when he heard his name coming from you, speaking softly.

“Jungkook, is so endearing. I’m sure he had it rough when he first met me. I was mean to him. I shut him out. But he keeps coming back, keep asking me to let him love me properly. Truthfully, at first I was annoyed. I told him he likes the idea of me, not the real me. I keep telling him that he would hate me at the end of the day,” you sigh, thinking back to the day you left him with a hurtful looks on his face. 

Jungkook is screaming internally. No I would never hate you, I can’t hate you. 

He wants to hold you so bad right now. Scrunching his eyes with a heavy exhale coming out of his nose. Jungkook knows his love story wasn’t the greatest love story ever told but it was the most beautiful journey he ever walked into.

From meeting you, getting to know you, rejected by you, multiple times, to the day you finally let him in. And he is still learning new things with you. His heart breaks a little when you think of it that way, because he never thought he had it rough, he never thought of you being mean to him. 

“But he accepts me, all of me. I have no idea how to love so he asked me to learn it together with him. Saying yes to marrying him probably seems reckless and rushing to some but out of so many unsure things in my life, being with him isn’t one of that. Now he has become my home, my wings, my lover” 

Jungkook teared up at your confession. You rarely are the first one to show affection but he knows. He always does. 

After almost an hour drive, Suri slowed the car on the familiar residency. Pulling up her car in front of the beige house, you straighten up your back as you can see a few cars already parked neatly, along the street to your grandma’s house.

The beige coloured wall looks new yet you still recognize it as the house you used to reside when you were a little girl. You noticed familiar figures. Looks like everyone’s here already.

You glanced back and saw Jungkook stretching his arm as his mouth widely opened with a yawn. Suri is already out of the car hugging your other cousins. You help Jungkook fixing his hair and coming out of the car together, before they practically swarms you and engulf you in a big hug. 

Jungkook can feel the warmth from the interactions he got. He really feels bad for not staying longer after the wedding. Otherwise he will get to know your family a bit better. He was awkward at first, but your uncles and aunts didn’t treat him like a stranger and everything that you’re stressed about for weeks disappeared into thin air.

The unnecessary thoughts you and Jungkook had about meeting your Grandmama also gone too. 

Grandmama loves him, she may be slightly senile as she couldn’t quite remember people but she is so comfortable with Jungkook. Oh your grandma, the wrinkles on her skin, her hearing and eyesight are starting to deteriorate.

The moment you walked into the door, you saw her on her favorite couch, kneeling next to her legs, you put your hands on her knees. Informing her that you have arrived safely. She couldn’t hear you properly so Suri told you to speak a little louder.

She hardly recognize you which breaks your heart but it’s partly your fault. You should’ve visited her often. 

Jungkook who was sitting next to you just looks at you and your grandma. Fondness filled in his eyes when he saw your thumb rubs circle on your Grandmama’s knee. 

An act Jungkook always does to you. You introduced Jungkook to her and ever as polite your husband his, he stretched out his both of his hands to your grandma. She held his hand as Jungkook told her that he is your husband.

“Lilo? Lilo’s husband?” Grandmama asking for a confirmation at Jungkook. Jungkook kneels closer to her because she hasn’t let go of his hand. With as much energy her frail body can give, she squeezes his hand. “Lilo, you happy?” Grandmama turns to you as her other hand patted your head.

“Yes, grandma. Very happy.”

Fighting the tears from rolling down your face. This whole situation is very emotional because it’s like she’s giving your marriage a blessing. You regretted for not coming earlier. Jungkook notices how emotional you’ve become and he gives you a reassuring smile.

“Lilo makes me happy, grandma. I’m sorry for not visiting you sooner,” Jungkook squeezed back your grandma’s hand and your heart swelled at him using your childhood nickname. 

The night went so well after the emotional reunion. 

The thing about your big family is nobody is left out. It’s loud because everyone get to talk. Even the shy Jungkook is included. Jungkook have no idea kids love him. The only little kids interaction he managed to survive is Yuna, Taehyung’s baby.

Watching from the kitchen window, you can see your cousin’s children are following him like ducklings, the sight is very endearing.

He is good with kids, he just didn’t know that. He has a lot of stamina to match up with the kids’ energetic nature. He had his rest on the way, and now he is walking around while holding an infant.

You instantly think that he would be an amazing dad. 

“Thinking of having one of those?” Suri speaks up from behind you. Her eyes glued on the kids chasing Jungkook at the yard.

Grandmama once told that Grandpapa wants a big yard for kids to run freely. Now it serves its purpose.

“We haven’t fully discuss about it yet, but we did talked ‘bout it” Your feel your stomach doing a back flip because the idea of mini you and Jungkook running around in the house, tiny hands and feet, giggles and gurgles are so, so, so tempting but you’re not sure if Jungkook wants that as much as you do.

Your marriage is still on the early stage. 

As if Suri can read your mind she turns to you to help you stacked up the clean plates. “What’s there to discuss? If you both want kids, then let it happen. I’m pretty sure Jungkook wants them as much as you do.” 

Biting your lower lip, thinking how should you break your desire to Jungkook. “Yea, I guess.” Turning off the faucet, you and Suri walks to the living room.

You and Jungkook decided to stay a night at your grandma’s before spending the rest of the week at your parents’ house. Jungkook feels like he has a lot to catch up with Grandmama. But since it’s already late into the night and Grandmama needs her rest, Jungkook would have to settle down with you and spend the day with her tomorrow. 

Jungkook was given a mini tour of the house before you stopped at your used to be bedroom. It wasn’t big now but it felt huge when you were a little kid. 

You took a shower first before Jungkook because that man takes forever when he’s in the bathroom. Seriously, he could spend an hour doing whatever it is inside it. 

After showering, you sprawl on the cozy bed. Looks like someone been tidying the room, you might have to ask Suri later. You turn around to face Jungkook who is sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Babe, c’mere please, I need you,” you groggily calling him. Jungkook chuckles softly as he crawls hastily to you. Like a dog being offered the bone. This sight could be mistaken as lust but right now, with his bunny grin and and bouncy long hair? He is just so adorable. 

“Okay Lilo, tell me, why am I just found out about Lilo now? Lilo?” Raising his brows as he hovers above you. You let out a soft giggles as you place your hands on his chest, creating a space between you and he pouted at that.

“Truthfully I forgot about that name. Because, only my closest family call me that.” Jungkook hums at that and you can feel the vibration from his chest.

“Back off Kook, you’re suffocating me.”

He whines when you pushed him but he clings back to you like a koala on your side. His legs trapping your legs as his hand sprawled on your stomach. 

“Why Lilo?” He speaks softly.

Confused at your husband sudden ministrations, your turns to face him. “Why are you suddenly so clingy?” You raise one brow to him before he tightens his hold on your stomach. Leaving wet smooches on your neck, your jaw and your cheek.

“Let me love my wife. Come on, you didn’t answer me. Why Lilo? Is it related to Lilo and Stitch?”

You place your hand on his cheek. 

"Yes, it is indeed related to Lilo and Stitch. They call me Lilo because I… Okay promise you won’t laugh first.” You giggle thinking about the silly reason behind your nickname.

“What, babe. Don’t keep me hanging. I won’t laugh.” 

Propping his hand, he grabs you closer. “Stop giggling, tell me.” Jungkook pinches your cheek with his other hand.

“It’s because I used to make voodoos with spoons. Just like Lilo.” You cover your face with your hands. Jungkook lets out the loudest laugh and after realizing that maybe you’re embarrassed by that, he toned it down a little.

“You promised you won’t laugh! Asshole." You smack his arm.

“I said I won’t laugh, I didn't promise anything,” he talks back at you while sticking his tongue out.

“Trying to be a smartass now? Get away from me, I’m sleeping with grandma” You wiggle your body so you could get out from his leg. He laughs even harder as he tightens his hold, not wanting to let you go.

“Awe but why? Tell me more? How did you do it, voodoo queen” 

Jungkook pulls your hands that covered your face, and he kisses the fingers and your palms.

“Kids were mean to me, telling me that my parents doesn’t love me, because I’m living with grandma and grandpa. So, coming home after school, I would grab a spoon and draw a face on it with crayons. Stop snickering Jungkook, it was so hard for me back then.” You pouted at him. 

“Awe I’m sorry, I’m sorry you had a rough childhood. My poor baby,” he patted your hair like he’s coaxing a child. “Who are they? Want me to beat them? I have black belt in taekwondo, let me use my strength.” He said with a serious face. He wouldn’t.

“Jungkook it was a long time ago, and we were kids,” you smile fondly at him, feeling protected though you know he has the softest heart of them all. 

“I forgot their names let alone their faces. Never choose violence, Kook, what if some kids bullied our babies, you're gonna beat them?” You trace your finger on his tensed brows, and they’re soften at your touch.

Actually his whole face softened and lit up simultaneously at your remarks.

“Our babies?" he utter. The words rolling on his tongue so smoothly.

"Say it again, love.” He nuzzles his nose on your neck. Oh, the idea of having a baby with you, drives him wild. 

You on the other hand is giggling at his actions, you’re a bit ticklish on your neck. And when he bites and sucks the sensitive skin, you let out a breathy moan “Our-babies”. Damn Jeon Jungkook.

“Kook,” you speak as softly as you can.

“Hmm,” he lapped on the abused area, purple and dark pink are subtly forming and surely they will be darker marks by tomorrow morning.

Still latching on your neck he pulls himself with one hand holding him up, the other hand is roaming your body. From your arms, to your belly, before settling by the hip. His thumb is caressing your soft skin.

His dark wavy locks is tickling your chin and you had enough, grabbing his face with both hands as you bring him closer. Noses touching and his lips are wet from biting, with hooded eyes but still carrying the fondness in them, his breathing is becoming more labored and so do you.

“We shouldn’t, Grandmama is sleeping next door,” you either telling that to him or to yourself because from the way you’re licking your lower lip, you don’t want him to stop.

Jungkook knows you, you wanted him to convince you that whatever you’re about to do is okay, he will be the bad guy for you.

“Grandmama’s hearing is a bit-” before he can finish you smacked his chest.

“Don’t say it, it’s the age factor. Don’t be so mean!” You whisper harshly.

“Ouch, okay I’m sorry, I shouldn’t put it that way, but she won’t wake up. We’re not gonna bother her." He assumed.

"So, you my darling, have to be quiet,” he smirks as he winks at you. 

“Yeah? Kiss me already,” you pulls him down so his lips crash on yours. It is lustful, it is messy, but Jungkook always takes it slow. He’s a bit sentimental when it comes to making love with you.

You’re so different, you want it hard. Biting his lower lip as you tug it, a silent pleading for him to move faster. He chuckles at your impatience.

“Always rushing, princess. I’m not going anywhere.” His tongue skillfully breaking into your mouth, dominating the kiss. You let him. Your hand which was on his neck now grabbing his hair.

Feeling his soft hair through your fingers before you pulled them. He moaned into your mouth and he pulls away, bearing his neck to you as he lets his head thrown back gravitating to your pull. Eyes closed and he looks like he’s high on ecstasy named you. “Ahhh princess-”

“Shh! Keep it down.” You immediately leaving marks on his neck and noticing the position is making you uncomfortable, you pushed him until he lays on his back. Straddling his lap, you dive back to his neck, continuing the abuse.

Jungkook can’t keep his hands to himself as he quickly pulling up your shirt with struggle as you’re both are chest to chest. He rested his palm on your belly before grabbing your breast. He kneads the soft flesh and it illicit another moan from you. What a sight for Jungkook. You arched your back and gasped at the feeling of his dick poking your ass. Hard. Shakily putting your hands on his chest, you grind on his dick. 

Jungkook almost cum in his pajama pants at this feeling. The view of you getting off on his clothed member, is making him insane. Your hips moving forward and backward making a tasty fraction, it feels good but it is not enough.

You keep biting your lips until it becomes swollen, and he swears he can feel you soaking your panties already with the wet feeling he felt. “Come on baby, cum like this,” He commands with a deep voice.

“Nnggh- Kook, I can’t- need you” You scrunch your eyes and your movements is getting slower. You’re exhausted.

“Yes, you can. Come on baby, come on.” Jungkook gritted his teeth as he can feel your ass snug his dick perfectly. Noticing that your movement is getting faltered, he grips on your hips, and helps you picking up the pace. Surely will leave another bruising marks there. You whimper because the sensation is overwhelming.

Feeling the knot under your stomach is getting tighter and your pussy keeps on clenching on nothing. Only letting out more gush of slick.

"Ahh Kook, close! I’m cumin-” the knot snapped and all you can see is white. Your breathing is getting more erratic before you completely fell down to his chest. He rubs you back lovingly but his hard dick is still poking you.

Jungkook prioritize your desire first before his and he kisses your head softly. With limping hands you got up pressing his chest once again.

“Take it off, take it all off,” your fingers grabbing the hem of his shirt and pull the material off while he frantically pushing down his pants and his boxer. He helps you taking off your bra as well before he starts swirling his lips on your perk nipple.

A tug and you moan deliciously, he moves on to you other nipple, paying as much attention as he did with the first one. He throw off your pants and panties and god knows where they lands in this room. 

Pulling you up, he leans on the headboard. He instantly plunged two fingers into your hole and you’re clenching so hard, making he whines. It’s starting to get hot and steamy as you two letting out breathy moan. Still straddling him, you blindly grab his dick with your hand, pumping it up and down.

“Enough, just wanna be inside you, now!” Jungkook aligned his member to your hole. Putting your hands on his shoulders, you slowly sinking down on him.

Choking and moan in unison as you both adjust to the position. With head thrown back, you sob because Jungkook is big and no matter how many times you fuck, it still feels like your first time. 

Sensing your discomfort he stays still.

“Kook, why are you so big?” You’re mumbling incoherent words.

“Yeah? I’m big? Taking my cock so well. Fuck, baby, you’re so tight. Come on baby, bounce on my cock” he grunts as your walls keeps on fluttering. His rolling hips and his dirty talks are making you seeing stars. A whining mess and your cunt is clenching him like a vice.

“Stop clenching so hard baby, I might cum soon, we don’t want that, right?” he warns with a bite on your shoulders and he switches the position with you now laying on your back, dick still hard inside you.

He keeps up the pace and moaned so loud as he can see the way his dick pistons in and out of your pussy.

“Creamed so hard on my cock, baby, you’re so wonderful.” His hands on your waist with your heels digging his ass.

“Faster, faster. Please, please, please,” you’re chanting, ignoring that somebody might hear you because Jungkook is hitting it right. 

The squeaking bed and the loud skin slap are echoing in the room.

So much of keeping quiet.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. Baby, let’s have kids, huh. Let’s have them,” he spreads his palm on your lower belly. Already thinking you carrying a child, his child, how you would look like with a swollen belly.

Fuck, motherhood would look good you. With that thought he trusts harder and faster. You whine and scratch his back as the pace was intensified. Jungkook hiss on both sensation, the sting on his back and how your walls grip his dick tighter at the mention of having a kid.

“Yes, yes, yes. Let’s have a baby- nnnghh Kook, shit shit” Your body jolted when Jungkook suddenly flicks his thumb at your clit. Pushing you to the edge. And you trashed so wild under him as you feel your bliss is approaching.

“Cumming- Baby I’m cumming nghhh Kook, don’t stop” letting him know before you finally let go. Feeling buzzed as Jungkook keep on trusting in and out of you, dragging your high.

“Gonna cum in so deep, gonna make make you swole with a baby. Mine, mine, all mine” Jungkook chanted as his pace is getting sloppy, chasing his own high. Warm ribbons of cum spurted inside your pussy as you milk him dry. 

The only sounds that you’re hearing right now is a buzzing, and how you two are breathing so heavily. He falls down next to you with his arm snaking around your waist. His breathing is fanning your neck before he left a kiss on your cheek. You're pushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead while he also helps you with your untangled hair.

“I’m serious,” Jungkook grabs your chin to make you look at him. Gone already the lust and the dark in his eyes, now replaced with pools of galaxies.

“About having a baby?" You asked.

"Yeah, me too,” you smile sweetly at him and he grins so wide, if you could list the most beautiful look on Jeon Jungkook’s face, one of it was when you said yes after he proposed. When you walked down the aisle, your first sex with him, and right now.

“Thank you, baby. You have no idea how happy I am right now,” he kisses your whole face.

“I thought you don’t want kids yet, since, well, since we never really discuss about it seriously.” You said softly, putting your head on his chest with finger tracing the skin. In contrast to your heated session, after sex is always soft and calm.

“You silly, of course I want them. I thought you’re the one who is not ready yet, because yea, I never wear condom whenever we made love, but you’re always on the pills, so I assumed you don’t want one, yet, and I also don’t wanna push you,” he whispers softly. You sigh, the way he uses the words “made love” and not sex. Instead of ‘let’s fuck’ it’s ‘let me love you’, and how can you not keep falling for this man. He is disgustingly nerdy and sweet and lovely.

“I will consult my doctor for the pills and we start from there okay?” You glance up, making a promise to him and he nods excitedly like a child.

“Come on up, pee-pee first. Always pee after love making.” Jungkook patted on your bare ass before he got up to carry you to the bathroom. 

Usually you’re woken up everyday to a big pair of warm hands rubbing circles either on your back or on your belly. Some mornings, the same hands just played with your head, the long fingers ran through the hair with a little pressure. Massaging the scalp. Some mornings, the hands get extra playful when they tickled your nose, your neck, your waist, poking the inside of your ears or pinched your cheeks.

These assaults always resulted in the owner of the hands winning. How can you beat the strength of a man with doe eyes, silly bunny grins and his boyish laugh?

His laugh booming in the room like a heavenly sound. But today, you woke up on your own. No hands. No head massage. No tickles.

Where is your husband? Is he showering? There’s no sound of water hitting the tiles. His phone is still charging by the bedside, he never let go of his phone. Strange. 

You freshened up before you leave the room to check on grandmama. But she’s not in her room too, well, considering the time and she’s an early riser, she’s probably somewhere around the house anyway.

Just as you thought you were left alone, you heard a very familiar giggles. They come from the outside of the house, and your feet are following the sounds.

A smile adorns on your face as you can see the backs of the most important people in your life sitting side by side. Both of them are facing the backyard garden.

You come closer and you can clearly see her wrinkled hands on top of his. He pulled his head back and laughing like a little kid, while she held onto his hands lovingly. Her laugh, though soft, can be heard along with his. 

You wanted to soak this moment in your brain so you could remember this for years and years. How the morning sunshine makes everything more picturesque, how his broad shoulders shakes when he laughs, how she leans on a chair, as old as she is.

Her brown chair, bought along with his husband’s big chair. The spot which was left empty ever since he passed away, and you wonder how lonely it is for her to be sitting there alone every morning and every evening.

You stood silently by the sliding door, not wanting to break the moment as so many sentimental memories flooding your mind. 

“Hey, babe? Good morning,” said the man as he turns around to face you. Wide smile on his face, post-laughing puffy cheeks.

“Good morning, Lilo” said another voice as she struggles to turn around. You don’t want her to strain her back so you immediately move to sit next to her legs. Kneeling closer like you always did, like a little girl listening to her favorite stories, you place your palm on her knees.

“Good morning, Grandmama. You had a good sleep?” Still not used to speaking louder to her. Brushing your hair she smiles fondly, “yes, yes”

“Where’s my good morning?” Pouted the man next to her. 

“Yes, Jungkook. Good morning to you too,” you roll your eyes playfully. 

If it’s not Grandmama’s hands holding him, Jungkook would have touched you, peppering you with kisses because it is his morning routine. 

But he woke up early today, because he guessed Grandmama is already up and he wanted to spend time with her. He was right, the moment he stepped out of the room, Grandmama was walking slowly to the chair outside of the house.

The lady who Jungkook assumed as the maid which Suri told you about last night, is plating a tray of toast and tea for her. 

Jungkook moves to help Grandmama settles on her chair before she insisted him to sit next to her. 

“That’s Grandpapa’s chair.” You jutting your chin at him, whispering but he can still hear you.

“Really?” Jungkook flustered because Grandmama really insisted him to sit on it and now knowing that this seat belongs to Grandpapa, he feels even more honored. 

“What are you two laughing about just now?” You glanced up to face your grandma with big eyes. Grandmama just chuckles and you can see your husband is biting his lips trying to hold back his laughter.

“Just, reminiscing old memories, sweetheart,” Grandmama replied. 

“Apparently, someone really hates wearing pants since she was a little girl. Humm, Grandmama did you know she still refuses to wear pants sometimes?” Jungkook leans closer to Grandmama’s ears as if they both are sharing some secrets. Pretending that you’re not even there.

With shocking wide eyes and gaping mouth, you knew exactly who is that little girl. It’s you. Grandmama just told Jungkook about your unhealthy habit, great, now Jeon Jungkook can collect another material into his teasing box.

“Did not!”  You gasp and giving your Grandmama a betrayal look. 

“What was she’s like back then? Running around naked? She’s a wild one isn’t she?” Both of them are ignoring you and Jungkook keep on firing questions to Grandmama.

You’re pretty sure the blush on your cheeks are from controlling the anger you have towards your husband right now. Definitely not because of embarrassing. Nope.

Seeing Grandmama laughing at both of you is making your heart swell. Your eyes land on her hands that has been holding Jungkook’s ever since you saw them. You were worried for nothing, and guilt is starting to creep on you as you were initially do not plan on bringing Jungkook along. 

Because first, you’re worried for him. Jungkook is not used to your family which is again, your fault. You didn’t properly introduce him to your family, not traditionally-proper. It’s not like you’re breaking the norms or rebelling or anything. It’s just you don’t feel that is necessary.

As long as you love each other, that’s all that matters. But you worried nevertheless. Worried they might not include him, what if Jungkook is uncomfortable because, dear god, Jungkook will never let you know if he’s feeling bothered. Very much like you, now taste your own medicine.

Secondly, it’s Grandmama, she has never met Jungkook, and yes, she is lovely but what if she suddenly doesn’t approve of him? That would break his heart. 

Now you realize that you’re worried for nothing, everyone loves him. How can they not? 

“I wanna take a short nap, you two can stay here.” Your Grandmama reaches for her cane as her wobbly legs trying to stand up. The maid rushed out to help her before Jungkook was about to carry her himself.

“You don’t have to carry and old lady like me, just carry your wife,” your Grandmama chuckles as she slowly walks back to her room. 

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck and sigh, he doesn’t mind carrying Grandmama. He once saw his dad carried his grandma on his back and he wanted to do that too. Shifting his gaze back on you who is still staring at him.

“Hey, the girl who hates pants,” Jungkook smirks cheekily. Here comes your Jungkook. “Wow I have no idea you hate pants. No wonder you don’t wanna wear one all the time. Oh wow,” he faked gasp at the fact. Mocking you.

“I will burn all of your pants the moment we got back, Kook,” words are seething through your teeth as you faked threatening him. 

“I don’t mind that, we can be pant-less together,” Jungkook leans back to the chair as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of the morning air. 

You're sitting next to him, only managed to stare at his beauty.

“Stop staring and come closer, please. I’m yours, you can touch me.” He said. Of course he caught you staring at him.

“I didn’t stare!” You blush.

“Put your head on my shoulder. Let me bask in this glory morning with my wife,” Jungkook speaks softly as he pulls your head closer to his shoulder. And you let him.

Feeling his steady breathing, cold cups of tea, half eaten toast, his humming of an unknown song, his hands on top of yours, a kiss on your head, and you really deeply seriously madly in love with this man. 

“By the way, Grandmama heard us last night, she said good job and she wants to see great-grandchildren real soon,” Jungkook said in a monotonous voice as if it’s nothing. 

Well, shit.

[backinmyphase]

Not your chosen one

"I do." No, you really didn't. And as he spatted the same words you knew that he was lying too.

Synopsis: Two Clans, only one goal. Have a Gojo heir and keep them in power. Satoru and you couldn't be more different. You two were raised completely different. While he is reaching for freedom, you can only hope to have a good prison.

Could your marriage ever be a success?

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Contains: strangers to lovers, slow burn, arranged marriage, angst to comfort

Status: ongoing

Author's note: I really don't know when this will be finished, I can be very inconsistent with my writing, so be warned! I try to keep my writing without any grammar mistakes but please have in mind, English isn't my first language!

Not your husband

Contains: arrangement between the clans about your marriage, origin of your marriage, Gojo is a bit of an asshole, traditional trauma

Not fulfilling meals

Contains: Gojo sucks at communicating, first meeting with the higher ups, talking about pregnancy and 'heir', first step towards each other

Not my honeymoon

Contains: the discussion of your honeymoon (who would have guessed?), little argument with Gojo, Gojo tries to be more approaching

Not alone

Contains: a nightmare, Satoru trying to be charismatic, fluff,

Not your letter

Contains: daily nightmares, Satoru being a sweetheart, pressure from your mother

Not the whole truth

Contains: much Angst, questioning trust, trowing up, self hate, mention of curses

Not your wife

Contains: much Angst, fighting, screaming, higher-ups, talking about loveless marriage, meeting with the higher-ups, hurt to comfort

Not my mother

Contains: arranged marriage, generational trauma, jujutsu Clans suck, reader's mom is a warning alone, talking about drugging a person, dark implications

Not my friends

Contains: Geto and Shoko (who would have thought), Angst to comfort, NOT OUT YET

More to come...

Not my kids

Finally my husband

Ongoing Taglist (I will try to add everyone here, as the series progresses, but I will still tag everyone on every part):

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@n1vi @enouche @shutuppeter @just-pure-trash

@buttermilktea11 @manicpixiedreamwhr

[rafecameronssl4t]

One Big Misunderstanding || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Tensions rise when an innocent comment about a missing bracelet sows doubt between you and Rafe, sparking suspicions of infidelity.

Warnings: ANGST GALORE

Word count: 2,711

A/n: inspired by the perfect couple on Netflix 😛

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

The sunlight streamed through the grand floor-to-ceiling windows of the drawing room, casting a warm glow on the pristine marble floors. You sat perched on one of the luxurious cream sofas, a curated array of diamond necklaces sprawled elegantly across the glass coffee table before you.

Across from you, Eloise, your private jewellery consultant, adjusted her notepad, a professional yet friendly smile playing on her lips. “Madeline, sweetie, no touching, please,” you gently reminded, catching your daughter’s small hands as they reached out eagerly for the sparkling treasures.

Her curious blue eyes, so much like Rafe’s, widened in innocent protest before she giggled, retreating to your lap with a playful pout. Eloise chuckled softly, waving at Madeline. “Someone has quite the eye for jewels already,” she teased, her gaze fond as Madeline shyly buried her face into the folds of your dress.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing Madeline’s hair back as your fingers glided over the dazzling collection. “I don’t think it’ll be too long before she’ll be in my position,” You softly say. The newest designs shimmered under the light, each more stunning than the last. “They’re all exquisite,” you sighed, lifting a delicate piece encrusted with diamonds.

“But I think I’ll take this one, and…” Your eyes roamed over the display again, settling on another necklace with an intricate design. “This.” “Excellent choices, Mrs. Cameron,” Eloise praised, jotting down notes in her leather-bound book. Her tone brimmed with approval, and her smile didn’t waver as she looked up.

Madeline squirmed in your lap, reaching up to tug at the simple necklace you were already wearing. You adjusted her gently, holding her small hands to keep them still. Eloise glanced up from her notes. “Did you like the bracelet Mr. Cameron gave you?” Her tone was casual, but her words made you pause. “Bracelet?” you echoed, your brow furrowing.

Your voice held a slight edge of confusion as you looked at her. “The gold bangle with the pavé diamonds,” she elaborated, glancing up with a look of delight. “Rafe spent so much time picking it out for you.” Her enthusiasm was almost contagious as she beamed. Your lips parted slightly in surprise, your mind racing.

You had no idea what she was talking about. A heavy silence lingered for a moment, and you felt the weight of Eloise’s expectant gaze. “Oh! The bracelet!” you quickly feigned recognition, a forced smile stretching across your face. “Yes, of course. It’s lovely—he knows me so well.” Your voice sounded light, but your heart sank as the lie left your lips.

Eloise didn’t seem to notice. She rose gracefully, tucking her notebook under her arm. “Well, I’ll be on my way. I’ll see you next month, Mrs. Cameron,” she said cheerfully, giving you a polite nod before heading toward the door. You stayed seated, your posture still and tense as Madeline babbled happily on your lap.

The silence of the room closed in around you once Eloise left, leaving you to wrestle with your thoughts. Rafe had bought you a bracelet? Why hadn’t he given it to you himself? Had he left it somewhere, expecting you to find it? Or had it been an afterthought, something he had no time—or desire—to present personally?

The questions swirled in your mind as you absentmindedly stroked Madeline’s hair, your gaze fixed on the glittering necklaces on the table. As much as you tried to push it aside, the confusion, and a small pang of hurt, lingered.

~

Later that night, you sat before your vanity, the familiar routine of your skincare ritual grounding you in a semblance of normalcy. The soft hum of the bathroom light and the gentle swish of creams and serums felt like a small act of defiance against the questions that kept circling in your mind. The bracelet. Rafe’s strange omission of it.

The way Eloise had mentioned it so casually, as though it was something you should’ve known. You brushed the thoughts aside, telling yourself you were overreacting, but they lingered, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. The bedroom door creaked open behind you, and without turning, you saw Rafe in the reflection of your mirror.

Still in his suit, looking as polished and untouchable as ever. You didn’t acknowledge him, continuing with your skincare, your movements slow and deliberate. “Busy day?” you asked, your voice flat, more out of routine than affection. His response was distant, lost on you as you remained absorbed in your own thoughts, the quiet hum of your routine enveloping you.

The bracelet. “How was the jewelry showing?” he asked, his voice still detached, but something in his tone caught your attention. You glanced up at him briefly through the mirror. His eyes were on you, studying you with a faint trace of curiosity. “It was good,” you mumbled, your focus wavering again.

Rafe’s brow furrowed as he watched you, sensing the lack of the usual excitement you carried after these showings. His fingers paused at the buttons of his shirt as he tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. “Did you… pick anything you liked?” he asked, his tone slower now, as if he was gauging your mood, sensing something was off.

“Yeah, I did,” you replied, your voice empty, devoid of any real emotion. Before he could continue, you stood up abruptly, tightening the robe around your body more than necessary. The familiar movement felt like a barrier, an armour you could slip into. “I’ll just make myself some tea,” you said, the words sounding rehearsed, like you were already running from the questions.

You didn’t spare him another glance as you walked past him, leaving the room without another word. You descended the stairs mechanically, but instead of following the usual route to the kitchen, your feet took you in the opposite direction, towards Rafe’s office. Your heart pounded as you approached the oak door, glancing over your shoulder to ensure no one was watching.

Slowly, you pushed the door open, the room still and quiet in its untouched state. The room was a sharp contrast to the chaos in your mind. Your eyes darted to his desk, and instinctively, you moved toward it. You knew Rafe kept everything meticulously in order, and his drawers were always locked. But tonight, your curiosity outweighed your caution.

You pulled open the first drawer, then the second. It was the third one that caught your attention. As your fingers sifted through papers, your eyes landed on a familiar logo��the jewelry shop. Your pulse quickened as you pulled it free, finding a receipt tucked between papers. The words on the page seemed to mock you as you read, Rafe Cameron, the date, and the item listed: Nature Bangle, Pavé, priced at $18,000.

A photo of the bracelet accompanied the receipt. The image burned itself into your mind—elegant, delicate, and undeniably expensive. Your breath caught in your throat, and your mind spun. You quickly shoved the receipt back into the drawer, snapping it closed. The weight of what you’d seen was suffocating, the overwhelming question taking shape in your mind.

Was Rafe cheating on you? The thought gnawed at you, its edge cutting deep. You had been with him long enough to believe that something like this wouldn’t happen. But the pieces didn’t fit. Rafe had always been… Rafe. He wasn’t the type to hide things, or at least, you never thought he was.

The doubts began to creep in, unsettling your thoughts, but before they could settle into a clear conclusion, you stood up from the desk and made your way out of the office.

~

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the living room. You sat on the plush sofa, coffee in hand, its warmth grounding you as you watched Leo and Madeline play on the rug before you. Their laughter filled the room, a soothing balm to the unease still simmering from the night before.

The sound of Rafe’s footsteps descending the staircase pulled your focus, and soon enough, he rounded the corner into the living room, his presence unmistakable in the tailored suit that hugged his frame. Despite the domestic setting, he still exuded the same composed, businesslike energy he carried everywhere.

“Jordan told me your schedule was clear for today,” you remarked, your voice calm but inquisitive as you tracked his movements. “Hm?” Rafe hummed in response, crouching slightly to press a kiss to the top of both Leo’s and Madeline’s heads. The gesture was effortless, automatic, and yet it made your chest tighten—a cruel contradiction to the doubts swirling in your mind.

“I said, Jordan told me your schedule is clear today,” you repeated, watching him carefully as he straightened, his gaze finally meeting yours. A small, almost nonchalant smile tugged at his lips. “Last-minute meeting, that’s all,” he replied smoothly, brushing off the question as if it were of little consequence. His tone was casual, but it didn’t sit right with you.

You cocked an eyebrow, your expression neutral but sharp enough to suggest you weren’t entirely convinced. “I’ll be back before three,” he added quickly, as though the reassurance might settle you. Without waiting for a response, he stepped closer, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek. The gesture was familiar, practiced, and yet it felt hollow.

You remained still, your eyes fixed straight ahead, your coffee cooling in your hand as his cologne lingered in the air. “Drive safe,” you murmured, your voice even but distant. You didn’t look at him as he pulled away and adjusted his cufflinks. The sound of his footsteps retreated, leaving a subtle void in the room once he was gone.

~

The door to your bedroom creaked open, and Rafe stepped in, his movements deliberate but calm. Your eyes lifted from your phone, following him briefly before drifting back to the glowing screen in your hand. “They’re asleep,” he murmured, his voice soft but tinged with exhaustion. You hummed in acknowledgment, barely lifting your gaze as he moved toward his side of the bed, shrugging off his jacket and placing it neatly on the chair by the window.

Rafe climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He leaned back against the headboard, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt and letting out a quiet sigh. The silence between you felt heavy, the kind of quiet that wasn’t comfortable but wasn’t quite confrontational either. You placed your phone down on the nightstand, your fingers brushing its edge before folding neatly in your lap.

The glow of the bedside lamp softened the room, but it did little to ease the tension you felt knotting in your chest. “Are you cheating on me?” The words left your lips before you could stop them, your voice sharp yet trembling, slicing through the quiet. “What?” Rafe’s hand froze, his body stiffening as he turned to look at you, his tone laced with shock and disbelief. His brows furrowed deeply, searching your face for an explanation.

“Are you cheating on me?” you repeated, softer this time, the vulnerability in your voice stark against the tension building in the room. His lips parted, words stuttering for a moment before he finally asked, “What are you talking about?” You sat up straighter, folding your arms as you exhaled shakily. “The bracelet, Rafe.” The words were laced with hurt as your eyes locked onto his, watching the colour drain from his face.

His expression shifted—confusion, then understanding, and finally a look that you couldn’t quite place. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes began to water, the emotional floodgates breaking against your will. “Eloise mentioned it. She said you spent so much time picking it out, but I never got it, Rafe,” your voice cracked slightly. “So, where is it? Who is it for?”

Rafe ran a hand down his face, the exhaustion in his eyes now replaced with something akin to guilt—but not the kind you feared. He pushed himself up against the headboard, facing you fully. “It’s not what you think,” he said firmly, his voice low, almost pleading, but it did little to ease the storm brewing inside you. “Then explain,” you demanded, your voice trembling with a potent mix of anger and sorrow.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, hot and relentless, and you swiped at them quickly, unwilling to appear completely undone. But your composure was already fractured, and Rafe could see it in your glistening eyes and the slight quiver of your lip. His silence was unbearable. The hesitation hanging between you wasn’t just a pause—it was an admission, a crack that threatened to shatter everything you’d built together.

It cut deeper than words ever could, leaving a hollow ache in your chest. “Explain,” you repeated, your voice firmer now, laced with urgency. “For the sake of our children, for our marriage, Rafe. Tell me what I’m supposed to believe right now.” He ran a hand over his face, his usual confidence, his composed exterior, seemed to falter under your gaze. For once, Rafe Cameron looked unsteady.

“It wasn’t meant to be like this,” he muttered, his voice low. You blinked, your breath catching. “What wasn’t meant to be like this? Stop talking in circles and just tell me.” Your voice cracked on the last word, and you felt your chest tighten with the weight of your fears. Rafe exhaled sharply, finally looking up at you. His eyes locked onto yours, their usual sharpness softened by something unfamiliar—regret, perhaps.

“The bracelet,” he began, his words slow and deliberate, “was supposed to be a surprise. For you.” Your brows furrowed as you tried to process his words, your heart racing. “What?” He leaned back on the headboard, his hands clasped together. "It’s… for our anniversary. I wanted to give it to you then. I even had it engraved.” His voice wavered, and he shook his head.

“I thought I was doing something thoughtful, but I should’ve just given it to you right away. I didn’t think it would—” He stopped, the weight of your reaction sinking in. You stared at him, your mind reeling. His explanation had knocked the wind out of you, leaving you unsure whether to feel relief or frustration. “You… were planning to give it to me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.” He looked at you earnestly, his expression softening. “I didn’t realise it would make you question everything. That’s on me. I’m sorry.” Your tears slowed, but the tension in your chest lingered. “Why didn’t you just tell me that when I asked? Why make me feel like I was losing my mind?” Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because I thought you’d laugh at me, or brush it off as something meaningless.

You don’t exactly make it easy to do… sentimental gestures.” His voice wasn’t accusatory, but it held a hint of frustration. You exhaled slowly, processing his words. The weight of your accusation settled heavily on your shoulders, mixing shame with residual doubt. “You should’ve told me,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. “And you should’ve trusted me,” he countered gently, his tone not harsh but pointed.

“We can’t keep doing this—assuming the worst about each other.” You looked away, your throat tight as his words sank in. Perhaps he was right, but the wounds of mistrust weren’t so easily healed. “I just… I don’t want to be a fool,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. “Not for you, not for anyone.” Rafe turned his head, his hand reaching over before settling on your knee. “You’re not a fool,” he said quietly, his voice steady.

“You’re my wife. And I know I don’t always get it right, but I need you to believe that I’m trying.” You met his gaze, searching for any flicker of insincerity but finding none. His blue eyes held yours, unwavering, and for the first time that night, you felt the tension in your chest begin to ease. “I’ll believe it,” you whispered, the words tentative but genuine.

"But you have to meet me halfway, Rafe. No more secrets. No more hesitation.” He nodded, his grip on your knees tightening briefly in silent agreement. “Deal.”

[lilacgaby]

katsuki didn't expect to be here today.

with you, a gorgeous woman at that, laid in his arms. found passed out in the meadows, a flower bed beneath the two of you. time still, wind blowing through your bodies as you rested.

he had been out hunting, blowing off smoke. annoyed at his current situation of being forced to marry a woman he didn't know, one who'd likely never love him. one he knew he'd never love.

a life of loveless marriage, one he was raised under, scared him more than he'd pray tell.

he'd rushed out quickly, barging through the servants, the large doors, and his grand estate. only his bow and sword on him as he trekked through. familiar lands enveloped him, but the sight of you didn't. more importantly, the sight of you, who had started falling.

he was moving before he realized, catching you in muscled arms, the sad crunches of ruined flowers beneath him. though none compared to the sight of the one he held now.

his bow and sword discarded, hands moving out of instinct to wipe the tears off of your face. it was clear you weren't supposed to be out here, your dress one of a high noble, silks too expensive for a common folk to afford. a satchel.. one that bore an emblem that seemed all too familiar. thoug it didn't take his full attention. his body seemed all to keen to focus on you, his chest sought to match your breaths, hearts beating in tandem.

you awoke just a few moments later, eyes wide at the sight of him. he settled you next to him, as you spoke to him. "thank you, i don't know what came over me." you spoke gently, a tone of unconfidence as you looked down at your hands. a ring on your finger.

though it looked unfit on you.

"i understand." he replied gruffly, picking up his weapons behind him, hands feeling antsy to be occupied at the sight of the gorgeous stranger in front of him. "bad feelings 've been in the air lately, it seems."

you looked up at him finally, allowing him to get a clear view of your face. with eyes puffy, lips swollen and bitten, and cheeks red. he fought off a smile, this wasn't the time to be thinking of how cute you looked.

you let out a sigh of sorrow. "it's been getting to all of the heirs of age, it seems."

he held you for a minute longer, hands grasped together tightly, wordless comfort based of mutual understanding given. neither of you said anything, but you both felt like you needed it. he knew it in the way you didn't want to let him go. and you knew it in the way he didn't. it was hard for him to pull away, but he knew he had to.

after a beat, he stood up. lowering a hand to you. "no sense in worrying about the inevitable," you smiled slightly and took his hand. "right."

he looked at the sun, it was slowly falling, prime hunting time. "you should head back to wherever you came, it'll be night soon." you nodded, and brought a bag up from the floor, you opened it, and a bracelet was in your palms.

you handed it to him, the red ruby of the beads matching his eyes as they shinned in the sun. "take this, please."

he was taken aback, seemingly unaware of why you would do this for him. he tried pushing your hand away, but it was unrelenting. a stubborn look in your eyes and he rolled his, sliding it onto his wrist.

he moved to leave, when you grabbed your wrist. it was out of impulse, he felt the internal panic in your stance, your mouth hung open slightly, though no words escaping. finally though, you manage a weak, "your name?"

for the first time since his arrangement, he laughed. laughed at the simplicity of the gesture, at your expression, at his situation.

with a boyish smile, he rested your hand at your side, touch lingering for a second too long. "call me katsuki."

he turned to leave, feet feeling a little more heavy now, knowing he was walking away from you. someone he seemed to get along with so easily.

you yelled your name after him, the crunches of the grass underneath your shoes fading away too. you were gone now.

he looked back at you, feeling the beads of the bracelet under nimble fingers, before squeezing it in his palm.

the hunting went poorly, he was too distracted to aim. the night went painstakingly fast, the arrival of the family, his wife, the agenda for the day.

uncomfortable traditional clothes felt even heavier now, the chains of being binded to someone he didn't know being heavier than any chain he could break physically.

his head that was slumped on the table was now forced up, his mother kicking him in the foot to remind him to at least try and be polite. he sighed, a feeling of dread hanging over him as the footsteps neared.

each one was sealing his fate, the door click the nail in the coffin.

but all his negativity vanished, all poor thoughts ceasing at the sight of you. your eyes were just as wide as his, your hand over your face in shock. the entourage beside you confused at your expression.

"madam?"

"katsuki?" you whispered under your breath.

though he managed to hear you. how could he not when you demanded his attention so seamlessly?

but now it was his turn to be speechless. speechless at the prospect of your rank, of your arrival,

and at the realization that he'd be married to you.

tags: @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @exoticrasin @lavendarstarz @hisonlyobsession @i-the-fluffo @cookielovesbook-akie @frosted-flakes @irenne-stans @lulumi1u @bakunis @twirlyphim @drawingforshitsandgiggles

[runariya]

Masterlist • Off The Market

coming soon…

summary: Due to a bizarre clerical error, you and Jungkook find yourselves legally married after what was supposed to be a routine business deal signing. Instead of fixing it right away, Jungkook convinces you to "sEe WhErE tHiS gOeS" especially since the press already got hold of the story. pairing: CEO!Jungkook x rival CEO!female reader genre: rom-com, rivals 2 lovers, "forced" marriage, forced proximity, slow-burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: strong language, slow burn, angst, alcohol consumption, fluff, jealousy, possessiveness, a bit of obsession, explicit sexual content, dom!JK, sub!reader, pls check each part for specific warnings! total word count: tba

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

1 • „This is just business.“

2 • „People are eating this up.“

3 •  „I’m not putting a shirt on.“

4 • „At least pretend.“

5 • „They’ve been waiting for this moment for years, so don’t fuck up.“

6 • „I’ll touch you how the fuck I want.“

7 • „This could be us, darling.“

8 • „Of course I care.“

9 • „Kneel.“

10 • „Don’t embarrass me.“

11 • „Starting something you can’t finish?“

12 • „Surprise.“

13 • „Why are you always pushing me away?“

14 • „Knight in shining armour, no?“ 

15 • „Is it so hard to trust me?!“

16 • „Of course you do.“

17 • „Perfect lil hubby.“

18 • „You’ve never been the cold one.“

19 • „You could’ve fooled me.“

20 • „Keep crossing the line.“

21 • „You’re mine.“

22 • „You think I don’t notice?“

23 • „Look closely, wifey.“

24 • „What if this was real?“

25 • „You can’t keep running from me.“

26 • „Tell me you don’t care.“

27 • „Are you jealous?“

28 • „What if I’m missing you?“

29 • „Take him, I don’t care.“

30 • „Clock’s ticking.“

31 • „The most beautiful woman in my life.“

32 • „Are you gonna leave?“

33 • „This wasn’t supposed to happen?“

34 • „I can’t lose you.“

35 • „You don’t get to decide how I feel.“

36 • „I do.“

37 • „It’s us.“

Bonus

All Rights Reserved © @runariya 2024

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony - mlist ᰔ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎status. ongoing

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (it is emotional but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, note this is from naoya not satoru)

ꨄ︎ words: currently 88k

ꨄ︎ a/n. hello ya'll, my name is aly and if you read my fic thank you so much from the bottom of my heart! this story really hit the ground running, originally it was a request from a lovely anon ♡ and apparently i cannot write short fics for the life of me because it turned into something big lol, halp.. i'm unsure how many chapters it will have because i am just seeing where the inspiration takes me :') i will update tags/warnings as the story progresses. thanks for reading <3 (also this will have a happy ending)

ꨄ︎ taglist: closed (ao3)

ꨄ series tags #mhm #motherhood and matrimony

♬︎ playlist

ꨄ︎ chapters

ch 1 // circumstances and commitments

ch 2 // under the spotlight

ch 3 // fractured realities

ch 4 // shadows of doubt

ch 5 // a leap of faith

ch 6 // drenched in truth

ch 7 // the road ahead

ch 8 // pending..

ch 9 // pending..

ch 10 // pending..

ꨄ︎ extra chapters

autumn special // harvesting happiness (read after ch 6)

christmas special // wrapped in love (read after ch 7)

[lalunanymph]

MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

"as much as i would like to end your suffering, princess, i won't give you the satisfaction... you are going to suffer for a long, long time, just like i have."

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

⟡ fem!reader, royal au!, arranged marriage, reader is a florist in our world, mentions of terminal illnesses, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mentions of death, unrequited love, slow burn, enemies to lovers, mean!gojo, yandere!gojo, reader is called 'princess cerena', princess cerena is described as having pink hair and feminine features, reader is reincarnated as princess cerena, body swapping, isekai, isekai-d reader, talks of classism, misogyny, ideations of suicide, talks about self-harm, attempts of suicide, mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, suggestive mentions, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of conceiving, language, tension, more tba...

⟡ crowned prince!gojo satoru x princess!reader

ACT 1, SCENE 1: MIRI'S REPRIEVE

ACT 1, SCENE 2 — THE TUNNELS

ACT 1, SCENE 3 — THE VILLAGE

ACT 1, SCENE 4 — THE THRONE ROOM

ACT 2, SCENE 1 — THE INFIRMARY

ACT 2, SCENE 2 — THE SICK BED

ACT 2, SCENE 3 — THE WINDOW LEDGE

ACT 2, SCENE 4 — THE GALA

ACT 3, SCENE 1 — THE HEDGES

ACT 3, SCENE 2 — THE BREAKFAST ROOM

ACT 3, SCENE 3 — THE GLASSHOUSE

ACT 4, SCENE 1 — THE LIBRARY

ACT 4, SCENE 2 — THE CHURCH

ACT 4, SCENE 4 — THE HIDDEN COTTAGE IN THE FOREST

ACT 5, SCENE 1 — THE WEDDING

ACT 5, SCENE 2 — THE MARKET SQUARE

ACT 5, SCENE 3 — HOME

ACT 5, SCENE 4 — SPRING RETURNS

©️ all rights reserve to lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, repost or claim as your own.

[retiredteabag]

Wishful Thinking

arranged marriage with Nanami… a continuation

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - next part

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

You would have never imagined, but as it turns out, you’ve only known your spouse 48 hours and you’ve already begun to love married life.

In this time, lots has occurred, for one, you had to explain to your husband repeatedly that you really, truly, genuinely, had absolutely no opinion on where to spend the honeymoon.

He didn’t take too fondly to that…

--

"Please-" You had insisted, "Wherever you'd like! Whatever you choose, I'll be very happy with."

He had sighed, running a hand down his face, "I would much prefer to hear where you enjoy traveling."

You had confessed that you never really had the chance to leave the estate or school. Only on rare occasions were you presented the opportunity to venture outside, even when working as a sorcerer. You hadn’t even been on a school trips.

"Mountains or beaches?" He asked, the two of you were seated on the shared couch, his morning coffee in hand.

"I don't mind. I would love to see either."

He seemed to blink for a second too long, breathing in, he offered, "Do you have an interest in cities? Or do you prefer the countryside?"

You just smiled, "I promise you, I don't have an opinion either way, whatever you like."

"Alright... Do you care to fly, or would you like a cruise?"

The idea stressed you out a bit. Shrugging, before you answer, he grumbles your name, "What do you enjoy? Shopping? Hiking? Sightseeing?" He doesn't give you time to respond, "Eating? What cuisine do you like, by the way? That might help you decide."

You hold up a wobbly hand, "Woah...um can I be honest?"

Your husband sits up straight. Just a day before, you would have never even considered speaking so casually, but, just as you anticipated, he reasures you quickly, "Please do."

"Well... the things is, I would really just prefer you to choose..."

Nothing would feel worse than if said anything he didn’t like. You can tell your husband is a cooperative guy, he would likely just go with whatever you offered. The problem is that you want him to be happy. And frankly, you're not really sure what you like. Making a decision would be too much right now. You hardly know the things you enjoy yourself.

--

That same day, Nanami had requested you view him as a friend, any mention of your "wifely duties" and he would grimace. Eventually, through your easy back and forth, you were able to persuade him into telling you what part he played in this union the two of you shared.

"I... well, I'll speak freely as you have done... I took very little pleasure in Jujutsu society for some time." He huffed.

You had known this much, but as he continued, your dread mounted even more.

"The higher ups were not so fond of this idea-"

"But-" You interrupted, "Oh, I'm sorry, but, you're not from a clan, how could they have any sway in your decision?"

He just grinned, "You must not know, in your position, but the higher-ups have lots of sway in any sorcerers life, despite my...birth status."

"I had no idea..."

This, at least, was news to you. "They believed that an arranged marriage would keep you in the world of sorcery?"

He looked at you strangely then, "Yes, they were sure of that much. That is, marriage to a fellow sorcerer, and," He paused momentarily and cleared his throat, tugging at his collar, "The prospect of a child." He finished.

Oh.

There was an awkward silence between you two. Neither making eye contact.

Too uncomfortable…

Mmm, we have a nice coffee table...

Should you say something...?

You grin slowly, "We’re more similar than I thought."

He looks up at you and suddenly you are cold in the heat of his gaze. He hums low in his throat, "I'm very glad you think so."

--

After much prattling, and assurance on your end that you REALLY did not want to pick the location of your honeymoon, Nanami made a slight offering of an opinion. That being an “adventure train”.

"Oh! That sounds lovely!" You immediately respond. Just grateful he finally said something he could look forward to.

You had no idea what an “adventure train” entailed.

He squinted accusatorily, "Oh, please, I know you're just saying that."

"No, I'm not" you pout, "I love trains...on summer and winter breaks I would ride the train from Tokyo home..."

Chuckling he smirks, "Yes, well, this would be a little different from those trains” he calls your name, “honestly, I would like to hear about you." He settles comfortably into the sofa.

Suddenly confused by this, you start, “Oh... what would you like to know?"

"About you." Hes so matter of fact, "I want to know about the real you. Not....this person you are right now."

You straighten your spine, "What-" you scoff, "What are you talking about?"

He just laughs, it's deep and his chest shutters a bit, "I'm talking about how you just live by what other people want. You haven't told me a single thing that you enjoy since we've been together, which I must admit hasn't been very long-"

"Exactly!” You point at him. Almost stick your tongue out, then think better of it.

"Which hasn't been very long-" he restates, "But really, just last night you couldn't even tell me the kind of food you wanted-"

"Because I really didn't mind! I would have loved anything!"

"Precisely. I want to know-" He leans in close and you almost gasp at the suddenness of it, "What you like." He twists a hair out of your face and grins, "If I asked, I doubt you could answer me your favorite color."

"Well...I-"

He tilts his head and suddenly you feel accused. "You like them all, don't you?"

"There's nothing wrong with that." You smirk.

"No." He finally gives you room, leaning back and examining you now. “No, not at all. But I doubt you have anything you could name me that you would like right now, like for me to do, or say, like to be given, like to-" "I'd like-" You start, "For you to stop with all this nonsense."

"Very good...that's a start, I'm sure you would like that- you little people pleaser."

"I don't think there is anything...wrong with trying to make people happy." You stare firmly. You mean it.

It's strange, just a moment ago, you felt uncomfortable making eye contact, but now, your gazes rival one another.

"Just so long as you're not... making yourself into whatever you think someone wants to see. Just so long as you are being yourself." He hums.

Okay, this wasn't fun anymore.

You lose the fight, looking at your hands instead of those striking eyes. If you were being honest with yourself, you don't even know those things that he spoke of. What you like, what you think, who you really are. Is it so wrong to just try to be... what everyone else wants?

"I'm not lying though..." You look up once more, "I really would rather you just pick what we eat and where we go..."

"I believe you." He's not smiling now, "Really, I do. But what I would like is to learn of what you want."

There's a small flare inside of you that burns iron hot with his pushing this point, you extinguish it, finally saying, "I don't know what I want. I think I just…want what you want." You roll your eyes, shrugging our more. You know he must find you ridiculous.

Nanami purses his lips, the hand that was previously on your hair, is now on your chin. He looks so serious, yet somehow, kind.

"I'll teach you."

Your heart thumps.

It won't work, you think.

What you don't know, is that Nanami Kento is the most persistent and dedicated man to walk the earth and he, unlike you, does not so easily give up.

--

The next morning, while you riffle through the luggage you have packed for your multi-destinational luxury excursion, you recall that moment on the couch when he brushed his hand across your jaw.

He had been so soft. How could a sorcerer, one of his caliber even, have such a gentle hand?

You shudder.

Shaking your head, you zip up your suitcase, run a hand across your goose-bumped arm, and try to focus your energy on things other than your husbands hands, or his laugh, or his voice-

You shut your door to your room a little too harshly.

A form in the kitchen startles at the noise and quickly shuffles to the hallway,

The energy you had so determinedly focused on less appealing thoughts fades to nothing as Nanami makes his way toward you, a mug in hand.

His hair looks tousled in an annoyingly handsome way, he’s dressed casually, but it looks undeniably attractive, his shirt is loose everywhere and when he moves, it outlines his waist.

His waist? God. Get yourself together.

"Are you alright?" Nanami calls your name. His brows are taught and he’s bend towards you slightly.

"What? Yes, yes I'm quite well. I-I've just finished packing, see?" You pull your over-large suitcase in front of you.

"Oh..." He smiles, "Well done. Well, would you?

Huh? “…Would I what?"

"...Like honey…” he lifts the cup he hold in a large hand, “in your tea?"

My tea?

Oh god, you hope he hadn't already asked you that. (He definitely had.)

"Oh! Uhh is there already some in there?" You point to the steaming cup in his hand.

He grins, and it looks unbelievably feline in nature. "No, first you tell me if you like honey in your tea."

You scoff. He was still on about this. "I drink it both ways.” You raise your nose up at him.

He comes in close, suddenly appearing much taller than you remember, "Yes. I know you do. But how do you like it."

You reach for the mug but he doesn't let go, allowing you to grip his hand. "This is just perfect." You grunt, trying to pull the mug from his grasp. It doesn’t budge.

"So you don't mind that I sweetened it?" He looks at you, blond locks flopping into his face.

You grin, "Perfect." Your shoulders roll back, recalling how much you adored when a maid would add sugar to the tea pots back home. "I adore honey."

"Oh, good." He only then tugs his hand from yours, waltzing into the kitchen.

You follow behind in a very “lost pet” sort of fashion. It's only when he pulls a jar of honey from the cabinet and begins to spoon some of the golden nectar out that you realize he has played you.

You gasp. "Auh! You lied!"

He just grins. But you continue, "I like it both ways, really.” You cover your face, “really, a-and you don't have to make this for me, you know, I can do it myself."

He finishes stirring it and holds the mug out, handle facing you. He's leaned on the kitchen counters. He must feel very accomplished now, with that smug look covering his face.

"Don't worry, I'm well aware. Can't I do even this for you?" He gives you a funny smile. "I figured you liked sweets. You seemed to enjoy dessert the other night."

"You are a strangely observant creature Mr. Nanami Kento." You huff, taking the tea outstretched to you and sip.

It's delicious.

He hums, grinning, but you don’t see, "Is that right?"

You look up again and realize he's been watching you drink.

"Yes, you are."

He just chuckles, leaning further back on the counters.

"I was asking about the tea, honey."

He just laughs, leaving the kitchen. You take a deep breath, eyes closed and try to compose yourself. Somewhat peeved because, yes, the tea really was just right.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

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[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.

[xo100]

Where only we exist - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando Norris and his new wife, on their honeymoon, share a quiet dinner under the stars. In awe of her, he realizes that in this moment, nothing else matters but their love.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 664

*:･ﾟ A/N: it’s a little shorter then usual next ones will be normal again!

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The golden hues of the setting sun draped themselves over the intimate rooftop restaurant where Lando Norris sat, entirely captivated. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, his wife, across the candlelit table, her face glowing under the delicate lights that hung from above. She was laughing at something he’d said, though truthfully, he hadn’t been paying attention to the words tumbling out of his mouth; he’d been watching her all night, marveling at how someone so breathtakingly beautiful was now his.

They’d agreed to keep things private when they started dating. A few shared glances in the paddock, maybe a quick smile or two for those who noticed, but most of their relationship was a secret, a hidden joy shared between the two of them. They loved it that way—their little world, untouched by cameras and prying eyes. And even now, on their honeymoon, they were cautious. They’d avoided the busy streets and larger restaurants, choosing this hidden gem above the city’s twinkling lights, hoping for a moment of peace.

But tonight, as she looked back at him with a little smile that had his heart flipping in his chest, Lando found himself caring less and less about keeping their secret.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling, her voice soft with that teasing lilt he loved so much.

“Like what?” he replied, feigning innocence, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him with a small grin. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands, watching her, still in awe.

“Like… I don’t know.” She lowered her gaze for a moment, looking almost shy, though she knew exactly what she was doing, her lips curling into a smile. “Like you’re completely in love or something.”

“Maybe I am,” he said without missing a beat, reaching across the table to lace his fingers with hers. There was a tenderness in his gaze, something deep and unspoken that had always been there but had only grown stronger since the moment he’d said, I do.

Her cheeks flushed under his stare, and she shook her head slightly, the tiniest laugh escaping her lips. “You’re making me blush, baby.”

“And you look stunning when you blush,” he replied, his voice a low murmur, almost as if it were a secret just between them.

They hadn’t been together long before they realized that what they shared was different. Genuine. Effortless. And despite the constant hustle and pressure of his world, she grounded him. With her, he felt safe. He felt home. So tonight, he let himself forget about the paparazzi who might be lurking down on the streets or the speculation that always seemed to follow them.

“Lan, they’re going to catch us if we’re not careful,” she reminded him gently, glancing over her shoulder, ever aware of the possibility of cameras.

“Let them,” he replied softly, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Let them see how lucky I am. How I’m never letting you go.”

For a moment, the world melted away—the clinking of dishes, the distant hum of city traffic, even the thought of prying eyes. There was only the two of them, hand in hand, with Lando looking at her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you,” she whispered, barely audible over the soft jazz playing in the background. But he heard her, and that was enough.

He smiled, squeezing her hand as he leaned across the table, his eyes twinkling with that boyish charm that had first captured her heart. “I love you more. And no camera, no headline, and no crowd will ever change that.”

And as they sat there, sharing soft words and quiet glances, he was reminded of just how deeply he cherished every moment with her. The world outside could wait. Right now, all he cared about was her, and he was content to stay that way forever.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

[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!

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