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celestie0 · 4 months ago

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

in holy matriphony ch6. the in-laws

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. 6/x

ᰔ words. 12.6k

a/n. hiii my ihm lovelies!! hope you all had a great holiday season. i wanted to get this chapter out as a christmas gift but i failed and then i wanted to get it out as a new years post but failed and then i got food poisoning yesterday and while i was rotting in bed i ended up finishing the chapter LOL. it seems i can only write when i'm under duress? but anywho. hope you enjoy haha and see you at the bottom!

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“Alright, let’s head out,” you hear Gojo say from the bottom of the staircase, followed by the sound of dress shoes on the hardwood floor, and you glance over to see him clad in a navy suit with a white button up shirt that had one singular button undone. He’s messing with the cuffs of his suit jacket as he makes his way over to you. You catch the scent of his cologne, and it’s alarming how familiar it’s become to you.

Days go by shorter lately, mainly because it’s winter, and so the sun has almost fully set by 6pm. The sky outside is a dark hue of purple, seen past the windows of Gojo’s house, and the warm, dim lighting inside makes you feel strangely nostalgic. Like in a way that feels like home.

You tirelessly tousle with your hair at the mirror hanging above the foyer table that was snug up against the wall at the front entrance. Your hair wasn’t cooperating. You attempted to curl it, for the first time in forever given you can’t remember the last time you had enough time to do your hair, so you were out of practice. It was obvious, given the way some strands were curled outwards from your face, some inwards, some straighter than others, some curlier than others, and you were about to have a full blown mental breakdown before you remember your grounding exercises– 1, 2, 3, 4.

You turn to face Gojo, who you saw in the mirror was standing behind you and watching you with amusement, and you breathe in deep. “How do I look?” you ask, petting down the fabric of your dress as you face him. The thought occurs to you–why do you give so much of a fuck how you look right now? It’s just Gojo’s family. It’s not like they’re actually your in-laws. And from what Gojo’s mother had told you, it was just an intimate little get-together with Sana’s family. It’s really not a big deal. Yet the necessity to impress still consumes you.

Gojo threads his hands into the pockets of his pants and tilts his head to assess your appearance, and you watch his gaze trace the frame of you. “Nice,” he says, “you look nice.”

“That’s it? Just nice?”

“Well, I tried to call you hot earlier, but it got me yelled at.”

You roll your eyes and grab your purse off the foyer table, “okay, whatever, I’ll take it.” And then you head towards the front door. You hear the jingle of car keys from behind you as they’re shoved into a pocket.

The outside air is chilly in a way that’s almost sobering. Gojo opens the door for you to get inside his car and the warmth of your peach cobbler in your lap comforts some of the nerves you felt. By the time Gojo clicks his seatbelt into place in the driver seat, you realize you’ve never been in his car before, or driven anywhere by him before.

The interior smells of pine and something more familiar too, with sleek leather seats that are so comfortable they make you feel like you’re floating. You know it’s a Benz, you’re just not sure what year or model, and you’d usually ask most people out of a friendly curiosity, but for some reason your pride always got the best of you when it came to him.

“I seriously can’t wait to eat that thing you made,” Gojo comments after he’s backed out of the driveway, “it looks really nice.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” you ask him, glancing over at him, and you try not to stare at the strong one-handed grip he has on the steering wheel as he corrects it.

“Oh yeah,” he answers, “big time.”

“You don’t seem like it,” you mindlessly say, turning your head to glance out into the dim street, passing by houses that idly sit in this neighborhood.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“You seem to maintain a steady weight,” you politely comment.

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Is that the closest I’ll ever get to a compliment from you?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just science. Hard to maintain a build if you eat a lot of sugar.”

He turns onto the mainroad, and you keep your gaze plastered to the outside. “I seem to manage.”

“It’s because you're tall. Tall people get to eat whatever they want.”

You see him nod his head once in your periphery, and you take it as some form of dismissal. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take terribly long to get to Gojo’s parents’ house, just a thirty-five minute drive without traffic. He kept surprisingly silent throughout most of it, and the few moments you did glance at his face, you could even say he looked like he was deep in thought. With a creased brow, a grip on the steering wheel that sometimes faltered, sometimes strengthened, but rarely fully eased. It was all so different from his usual impulse to talk. You know that you often wish for Gojo to shut the fuck up sometimes, but the silence seemed unsettling today.

His parents’ house is large, maybe twice the size of the homes in your neighborhood, but it’s tucked away in a slightly remote area, where the next closest house is about a quarter of a mile down the road. The driveway is long and runs downhill, so you stumble a little on the high heel of your shoe when you step down onto the pebbled pavement, but Gojo holds your elbow so you don’t fall onto your face. And also so you don’t drop the peach cobbler he so desperately wants to try. You’re not sure which of the two was the bigger priority for him.

As you two walk up the driveway towards the front entrance, you hear him sigh behind you. “Just so you know, my mom doesn’t really have any sense of boundaries.”

“Ah,” you comment, “nice to know where you get it from.”

He gives you an irritated look, seen in the corner of your eye, and it’s hard to fight the small amused smile that makes its way onto your face.

He sighs again as you two make it to the top of the steps. “Seriously, though. Chances of you wanting to leave me after this dinner are high.”

“Why? You’ve got a hot older brother I don’t know about or something?”

“I am the hot older brother,” he tells you.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, and then face him fully. “You’re not the first guy that’s warned me about his parents, okay? I’ll handle my own. What good is life if your in-laws–er, fake in-laws–aren’t at least a little strange?”

He lifts his finger to the doorbell, and just before pressing it, he says, “alright, then.”

It only takes twelve seconds for the door to swing open, the aroma of fresh herbs and something more sultry like vetiver arouse your senses, along with a warmth beckoning you from the inside of the home.

Gojo’s mother stands at the doorway, surrounded by a halo of warm lighting, and her face instantly morphs into one of delightful glee.

“Oh! My dear, you’ve made it!” she exclaims happily, and just when you think she’s about to pull Gojo in for a hug, she pulls you in for one first instead, which startles you. “How lovely!”

“Oh—” you stutter, stumbling slightly as your nose becomes buried in the fluff of her silk pressed hair, but the delicate fragrance of lilac is somehow comforting.

She pulls you away to hold you by your shoulders. “You poor thing, you’re shivering! Come inside.” She hastily ushers you inside and you can feel the heat from Gojo’s body as he follows closely on your tail.

When his mother closes the door behind you, you find yourself surrounded by the kind of warmth only a house could provide.

You take a small look around the foyer, noticing that it’s large with tones of deep wood and a bright white and golden chandelier that hangs daintily above in the cavity of the high ceilings. Leather, wood, velvet, silk, these are the textures that you see as you look around. It’s an old-fashioned taste, with a polished grand piano off to the right in the hall and display cases of vintage dolls and porcelain plates. So very different from modern, but it’s comforting. Like a wave of nostalgia, but from something you’ve never experienced before.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Gojo asks with curiosity lilting her voice as she walks up to you and points at the casserole dish you were holding.

“Oh, it’s peach cobbler,” you say, holding it up slightly with a small smile adorning your face, “for dessert.”

“How sweet! You’re an angel,” she coos, then twists her torso towards the kitchen, “honey! Come here, will you?”

Shuffling down the hallway from the heart of the house is, who you presume to be, Mr. Gojo. He’s tall, with his shoulders slightly curved forward as he approaches you all, and you note that he looks more aged than his missus.

“Ah, this must be my new daughter-in-law,” he says, his voice gruff and crackly from years of use. You smell the faintest hint of smoke from his clothing.

You glance at Gojo, who is watching you interact with his parents, an unreadable expression on his face as his hands remain shoved into the pocket of his suit pants.

Mr. Gojo takes the peach cobbler from you and gives you a curt smile before taking it back towards the kitchen.

“Darling, I must say, you have a lovely figure—” Gojo’s mother begins to say, reaching her hand out to hover it over the curve of your waist, but just at that moment, Gojo comes up to stand in between the two of you.

“Alright, what time’s dinner?” he asks.

Mrs. Gojo glances up at him, her face immediately twisting into a frown. “Nevermind that. I want to take y/n with me back to the kitchen to help braise the chicken,” she says, grabbing a hold of your wrist and tugging you towards her.

“Oh—” you stumble slightly.

“Nope,” you hear Gojo say from beside you, and suddenly there’s a strong arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you back to his side, “she stays with me for the night.” You’d remember to blush at the feeling of being pressed flush up against him, but the shock overshadowed.

“Satoru!” Mrs. Gojo exclaims, rather loudly, and she lets out a hmph noise before placing her hands on her hips. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m not gonna let you indoctrinate her into whatever multi-level marketing scheme you’ve fallen victim to this month,” he says, his hold on your waist tightening.

“How petulant!” she says, trying to manage a stern look but Gojo doesn’t seem fazed by it, “quit acting like I’m going to corrupt her! I’m not some witch.”

“Your track record would prove otherwise,” he comments.

“Oh please, the only other time was when you brought—”

She suddenly stops speaking, her eyes going wide, and she glances at you. You cluelessly tilt your head at her.

Ah. The other woman. This mysterious ex-wife. Would you be the other woman in this case? Seeing as to how his entire family seems to walk on eggshells about the subject around you. And they all seem to think that any mention of her would devastate you, when really, you and Gojo aren’t even actually lovers.

But there’s a small part of you,

A teeny tiny part,

Revealed from the way your heart sank at the realization of who his mother was referring to,

That actually does feel some type of way about it.

You want to know who this woman was to him. Does he still think of her? Does he still love her? What happened between them? Was she the one that got away? And how does he feel about the fact that he’s now here with you?

You shake your head vigorously to get those thoughts out of your head.

It was like method acting. You stepped into the role of wife this evening, and now you feel the way that they expect you to feel at the mention of your husband’s ex-lover.

That must be the reason, right?

You slowly push yourself out of Gojo’s hold, and you try not to become hyper aware of his eyes on you as you smooth out the fabric of your dress, then you glance at his mother.

“I’d love to help you braise the chicken,” you say.

There’s a brief silence as you find your voice in this house, and then Mrs. Gojo flashes you a grin.

“Come with me, honey,” she says before wrapping a delicate hand around your wrist and pulling you towards the heart of the house.

There are pictures hung up on the walls as you brush past every hallway, along with peeling wallpaper that is peppered with florals and striped prints, sanded off from years of shoulders brushing against their surfaces in a way that creates an old, dated charm. You learn quickly that Gojo has always been pretty tall, judging from the photo of him standing with, whom you assume are his middle school friends, out on a boat, holding a bass the size of a small child.

There’s photos of the four of them together, like one professionally taken photo where Gojo and Sana are knelt in front of their parents, and your gaze fixates on the strong grip Mr. Gojo has on his son’s shoulder, digging deep in the bone, creasing the fabric, almost desperately. Gojo looks young in the photo, maybe a recent high school graduate, and his smile is bright but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And, God, the trophies. The trophies that adorned the surfaces of aged cedar wood dressers, seemingly random in the order they are sprawled across the display yet you know there was intention behind it too. Ballet, soccer, tennis, spelling bee, FRC, even dragon boat racing.

“Feel free to take any of those home,” Mrs. Gojo says with a teasing tone, “you eventually get tired of staring at them.”

You wouldn’t know. Your mother never had much extra cash hanging around to take you to tennis lessons, or ballet lessons, or SAT prep, or whatever. You were lucky enough that you got into college with the cards you were dealt, but you sometimes wonder what your potential could’ve been if you had parents like Gojo did. Maybe the house you live in would be your own, and not something that your mother has spent the past forty years of her life trying to pay off. Maybe you’d have a freshly renovated kitchen and a pretty boat out on the street. But throwing a pity party for yourself right now wasn’t exactly going to get you through the evening.

Mrs. Gojo finally leads you into the kitchen, and the aroma of fresh herbs overwhelms your senses.

“Smells wonderful,” you comment.

“I know,” she cheekily comments, “will you turn the meat please?”

You grab a pair of tongs and attempt to sear the cuts that were sizzling on the stove.

“Sooooo,” she coos, wasting no time to playfully bump her hip to yours, “how is married life?”

“Nice,” you respond, your cheeks warming slightly, “it’s nice.”

“It won’t always be that way, you know,” she muses with some underlying sense of sincerity that isn’t lost on you.

When you remain quiet, concentrating on the searing sizzling noises coming from the pan, she decides to keep speaking.

“Eventually, you two will settle in a little too much…start to care less about your bodies…and then, oh gosh, when kids come into the picture, forget about having any time for yourselves,” she continues, “some days you’ll resent him, others you’ll feel like it’s the first time all over again.” She sighs. “Marriage is a funny thing—”

“Mrs. Gojo,” you interrupt her, turning to face her, “I—…I really appreciate you, I do, but, um, I’ve already learned a lot already about marriage from my own parents. Things are fine between Satoru and me.” You look into her widened eyes. “And…if something does happen down the line, and we choose not to be together anymore, then that’s okay too.”

After all, you had to prepare her.

“But that’s the thing!” she chirps, “your generation is too—…too impatient. Unwilling to work anything out! A marriage is supposed to be hard, but also it’s something you aren’t supposed to give up on so easily.”

It’s your turn to meet her with widened eyes in response to her preaching, and her posture immediately deflates before she holds you gently by your arm.

“I’m sorry, honey…I know it’s too early to be saying all these things to you,” she says, managing a small smile, “I always forget that I’m too old to be doting on my children like this anymore.”

Your expression softens and you wrap your palm over her bony knuckles, feeling the thinness of the skin that stretches over them. In a brief glimpse, you see your own mother in Mrs. Gojo’s eyes, something familiar, a universal expression of the love a parent has for their child.

“Well…” you say after clearing your throat, “for what it’s worth, you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Gojo.” You try to manage a small smile. “I’m—…I’m really happy with your son.”

It was hard to lie to someone like this, especially from the way there’s relief that floods her irises, a genuine feeling that is so hard to come by in these days of false niceties. You often wonder how far a single white lie can stretch before it shatters against its own resistance.

“That’s a relief,” she says, managing her own prim smile, “I’m so glad.”

The two of you finish up in the kitchen, and when you circle around back into the hall, you see Sana standing in the warmly lit family room with Gojo and their dad.

Sana catches your eye, and you purse your lips together hesitantly before walking up to her.

“Hey,” you say softly and she returns the small smile you give her.

“Hi,” she says back to you.

“Um, where’s Juno?” you ask, looking around.

“Oh, she has a sleepover at her friend’s house tonight,” Sana says, “Jun’s dropping her off, and then he’ll come by here later.”

“Ah, I see,” you comment, itching at your elbow from the awkwardness.

“Well,” Mr. Gojo says, gesturing towards the dining room, “let’s eat, shall we?”

The three of you nod at him.

It’s fascinating to watch how the family falls naturally into their chairs, an assigned seating pattern that stays consistent among all dining halls and rooms and tables in the world, one that every family has. Mr. Gojo sits at the head of the table, his wife to his left, his son to his right. Sana sits quaintly to her mother’s left, and you sit across from her to Gojo’s left. The one empty seat is left for the presence of Jun.

“Food looks wonderful, darling,” Mr. Gojo says before leaning over to place a kiss on her bashful cheek.

Your heart does something weird at the sight. A simultaneous twinge paired with a warmer feeling that follows. You hardly witnessed any affection within your household growing up, not between your parents at least, probably because you were young when they got divorced and so the turmoils and tribulations started long before you had any higher order of cognitive discernment beyond the childish interest in Disney princesses and The Backyardigans. For you, the only memories that last of your parents’ marriage are those that feel like nothing more than the frigidity of a business arrangement. Ironically similar to the one you were currently in with Gojo. Except at least yours hadn’t been initially built on a foundation of love and a promise to be there for one another until death did you two apart.

Death was knocking on your mother’s doorstep now. But your father was nowhere to be found. So much for a vow.

Mr. Gojo pours his son a glass of whiskey, single malt as read on the label. Mrs. Gojo pours you and Sana a glass of red wine, and you try to hide the grimace, because you would’ve much rather had the whiskey.

“To y/n,” Mr. Gojo says, raising his glass up into the air, “for being our newest addition to the family.”

You all clink your glasses together, then in a variety of pairings, the last one being the tap of Gojo’s glass against yours, before you all take a drink.

“So…” Mrs. Gojo speaks up, “exactly how long have the two of you been married?”

You glance at Gojo for help, which isn’t exactly an unsuspecting thing to do.

“Four weeks,” he says.

You watch Mrs. Gojo’s eyes twitch. You can understand. Her own son gets married and doesn’t tell her anything about it for four weeks after the wedding. Well, in your case, a courthouse arrangement.

“Where did you two go for your honeymoon?” she asks, and Mr. Gojo clears his throat.

You look at Gojo for help again, and mentally pinch yourself for not being more discreet about how fake this whole thing is.

But Gojo surprisingly looks at ease. “Greece,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Mrs. Gojo’s body language turns to you, clearly irritated by her son’s short and curt answers. “Did you have a fun time, dear?”

“Oh! Yes, it was a very fun time. Definitely did all the newly wed stuff. Just as normal newlyweds do, you know. Because we are newlyweds,” you say through an awkward cough.

“Like…?” Mrs. Gojo pushes, and you can tell that she’s asking out of a genuine curiosity over the itinerary you two had allegedly carried out, but you crack under the pressure.

“W—…We made love,” you say, “we made lots and lots of love.”

The sound of silverware clanking onto ceramic plates startles you out of the blissful ignorance you had to the words that you had just said. Like you were so caught up in your mind about wanting to seem like an actual real life couple to his parents that you almost forgot about the number one social rule when meeting your (fake) significant other’s parents: no references to copulation.

You glance up to find Mrs. Gojo’s eyes are wide, a slight tinge of pink to her cheeks. The width of Mr. Gojo’s eyes match his wife’s except his expression is also duly accompanied by a furrowed, perplexed brow. Sana looks visibly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat and trying hard to put on a poker face as she pretends like she didn’t just hear what you said.

You finally glance at Gojo, who’s looking at you with the most what the fuck? face you’ve ever seen someone make, and there’s concern on there somewhere too, like he’s not even fully convinced that you’re mentally sane at the moment because why on God’s green Earth would you say something like that at a family dinner table.

Trying your best to laugh it off, you say, “ah…ahaha, d-did I say make love? I meant–I meant that we–”

“Just–” Gojo interrupts you. “Just stop.”

Everyone are still stunned silent and the flush to your cheeks grows warmer. While clearing your throat, you set your lap napkin up on the table and clumsily scootch yourself out of your chair.

“Ex…cuse…me...” you mumble under your breath, knocking the table with your knee on accident, your wine glass almost toppling all over the pretty linen tablecloth but your reflexes catch the stem to steady it. “I need to…use the restroom.” And then you head straight down the hallway without sparing them another glance.

“Use the upstairs one!” Mrs. Gojo calls out to you, “the guest bathroom is under renovation.”

“Of fucking course it is,” you mutter under your breath, but flash them a polite smile before rounding the staircase pillar and then briskly walking up the stairs.

You quickly realize there’s more personality to the house upstairs, with some clutter in the theater loft and mismatching decorations that don’t reveal the careful deliberation of an indoor designer. The master bedroom is directly to the right of the top of the staircase and you glance across the loft at a narrow hallway that leads into the three bedrooms tucked away into the heart of the house.

One foot after the other, you float in that direction as if some force were compelling you towards it. Some trance of curiosity that no human being could ever resist. It’s fine. You didn’t actually need to piss anyways.

The first bedroom you walk past is rather boring, with beige tones all around. Beige bed sheets, beige wall paint, beige lamp shade, beige curtains. But the air smells crisp, and you notice there’s a shelf that has about half a dozen plants lined up in a variety of artistic pots. Similar to the set-up Gojo has in his house at home. You walk inside and brush your fingers across the dresser surface, rubbing fine dust over the pads of your fingers, and with your next inhale, you sneeze.

A guest bedroom, you think to yourself.

The next bedroom you walk past is sweeter, kinder, warmer. There’s pink hues scattered across, the most obvious one being the pillow covers, and there are some shades of a baby blue as well. But the furniture looks modern, sleek, and new. There were two identities at war in the room, like that of a little girl and a grown woman. Neither able to find its voice among the chaos of friendship bracelets sprawled across the desk and the Louis Vuitton purse resting at the foot of the bed.

Sana’s room, you think to yourself.

Childhood bedrooms are like time capsules if left untouched for very long. You’ve lived in your room at home for as long as you can remember, only recently having shifted to the master bedroom. The room grew up with you. It had no chance to become some entity of its own.

The next bedroom you walk by feels familiar, even before you walk inside. There’s a comforting feeling that envelopes just from the lighting alone. You push the door open with a gentle palm.

The culprit of any young man’s room–navy blue sheets. Stretched taut against a made-up bed that has some sort of feminine flair to it, like it wasn’t set by Gojo, but rather his mother passing by his room one day to sit in his absence, only to needlessly mess with the sheets because it gave her a sense of purpose. You go eighteen years pouring blood, sweat, and tears into raising a child, protecting them, nurturing them, being the one they lean on for all of life’s woes, only for them to pack up and leave one day. You suppose that if you were a parent, you would find melancholy in that loss of responsibility too.

His desk is a large expanse of cedar wood with a desktop monitor and some bookshelf speakers set up on it. The PC itself has collected dust over the years but there’s a small mechanical whirring noise you hear somewhere within. The rest of the desk is mostly empty except for some unopened mail tucked away with some books, the spines creased at the last few hundred pages, but never to the end.

You pick one of the books up, flipping the pages open, and see sticky notes on some of them. Like English literature notes one would take in class, with studious words that over exaggerate the significance of the prose just to make a teacher happy. Who cares if the curtains were blue? Maybe the author just wanted them to be blue. Why does everything in life have to have meaning?

Setting the book back down with a sigh, you walk over to the bookshelf. There are some more trophies, some sets of comic books, some strange robotic-looking figurines. Small picture frames of foreign scenery are set up in different corners wherever there is empty space, like an afterthought.

“Hmm…” you hum to yourself, tilting your head to the side to read the vertical spine of a thick black book that was tucked flush up against the shelf's side.

West Valley High School. Class of 2007.

With your index finger hooking the spine, you slowly pull the book out from its comfy corner. It’s heavy in your hands and you notice that there are ink smudges across the tips of your fingers.

When you open the cover, you’re met with a page filled with a variety of colors and handwriting, and you realize they’re signatures. And to no one’s surprise, most of them are feminine. With hearts, some merely outlines, some shaded in with ink, scattered across the page. Bubbly handwriting, neat handwriting, cursive handwriting, a lot of it in pinks and purples and reds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was like those Valentine’s Day cards all the girls would sign in grade school to pass onto their crush, except imagine if all of them were intended for just one guy.

You roll your eyes as you flip the pages, seeing no end in sight to the signed ink. I mean, come on, how many signature pages does a yearbook even need? This was excessive. And, no, you aren’t bitter simply because your high school yearbook has maybe a max of fifteen signatures (four of which were from your teachers). It’s just frustrating. And confusing. Why does everyone on this planet adore Gojo except you? Is there something wrong with you? Are you the problem?

There are some signatures from boys too, most likely his friends. Otherwise, you’re not sure what random fleeting classmate you’ve only spoken to a couple times would be brazen enough to draw pictures of penises squirting in whatever empty space they could find in your yearbook, if not for his high school friends. These boys are probably in their mid thirties now, just as Gojo is, maybe with wives and kids they’re now responsible for. You wonder if they’d still find the drawings funny all the same today.

You flip the pages more, taking in image after image after image of smiling portraits. ABC…DE…F…ah, G. Hmm, there. There it was.

Gojo Satoru.

Seems like his high school didn’t allow yearbook quotes, but you try to imagine what his would be. Probably something corny and lame, like See kids? I told you I was sexy in high school.

He looks cute though. With his hair fluffy, boyishly ruffled to pair with a charming smile that’s at ease. He just looks a little younger, that’s all. Not that much different. Perhaps a bit more scrawny, a bit more mischievous-looking. As opposed to his adult self, who appears sturdy. More serious. But you realize that cheeky part of him that comes out every now and then when he’s teasing you or pissing you off is that boy within him that looks exactly like the portrait in this yearbook that you trace with the pad of your finger.

You close the book, suddenly a little out of breath, and then slip it back into place. Your eyes catch the shimmer of the trophy at the top of the shelf. It was shaped like a baseball glove mitt, and in the palm cup, there is an actual baseball in there with a black ink signature. You gently pick it up and turn it in your palm to try and read the ink.

Ichiro.

Your dad used to watch baseball. You’re familiar. Seattle Mariners, Ichiro Suzuki. The first Japanese player to ever make it to the Major Leagues. Ten time all-star, and tenth member of the Mariners hall of fame. He retired when you were just a little girl, but you still remember the look of awe in your father’s eyes as he stared at the box TV in the living room of your house when Ichiro took his last stand at the plate.

Gojo was also a boy at that time. Living in this house. Maybe his old man was watching that game at the same time. And maybe Gojo was watching the look on his father’s face, too. It’s the romance of life–you look up at the moon in the sky, and you know that there is someone else out there, someone that you’ll meet some day, maybe even someone that will mean the world to you someday, who’s looking at it too. But you just don’t know it yet.

Lost in endless, rather fruitless thought, you continue to turn the baseball in your hand to pointlessly assess the seams, but it slips out of your hand and onto the carpeted floor with a loud hollow thud that startles you, and when you attempt to bend down and pick it up, you accidentally push it with your toe and it rolls underneath the bed.

“Shit,” you mumble, getting down onto your hands and knees to look underneath the bed.

You see the ball rolled a few feet away, and when you reach for it, it becomes clear that you don’t have the arm span to grab it. You struggle and you struggle, the tips of your fingers barely tickling its seam, and the frustration makes you sweat a little.

“Come…here…you…stupid…thing,” you mutter. You’re sure your hair is a static mess now, too.

You finally manage to roll it towards you a couple inches and then your palm wraps around it before pulling it to your shoulder, but not without something collateral that’s dragged along with it.

A photograph. Printed out, vintage. You pinch the corner between your two fingers and stand back up onto your two feet in order to better assess the image under the light of the floor lamp.

The first person you notice in the photo is Gojo. He looks younger than in the yearbook, but he’s wearing a suit and a tie. It’s a little big on him, ill-fitting as most teenage boys should look in a suit, like a rite of passage. His smile is less warm than the one in the yearbook too, more prim and stretched into a thin line that’s only slightly curved upwards. It’s only then when you notice the slender fingers sprawled across his chest near the collar of his undershirt, black nail polish blending in with the fabric of the suit. Your eyes trail the dainty hand, and your heart skips a beat when you see a girl standing next to him, pressed up against him, her smile much brighter than his. Pink braces line her teeth and her hair is that classic mid-2000s side-swept bang mess, but she’s pretty. Dressed in a pink-ish purple gown that almost looks like a bridesmaids dress, and you finally see the banner stretched across behind the both of them in the picture that reads Homecoming 2005.

It’s hard to explain it, but you can just feel it somehow. That this person is important to him. Not just some last-minute date to Homecoming, or an old high school girlfriend he’s long since lost touch with. It seems larger than that, somehow. Unlike penises drawn on yearbook paper, this feels like something a person never outgrows.

Of course, people have lived fully-fledged lives before you’ve met them. Just as you have as well. But you’re overtaken by the insane curiosity to want to learn every single detail about this past life that Gojo has lived. Where did he and his friends hang out after school? When did he learn how to drive? When was the first time he got shit-faced drunk? When was the first time he snuck out of the house? And who was this girl in the picture?

“Find what you’re lookin’ for yet?” a voice calls out, entirely startling you to where you almost jolt out of your skin, and you swiftly turn on your heel towards the entrance of the room.

You see Gojo standing in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed as he levels his gaze at you. He has a blank expression on his face, although you would say it’s more serious than playful.

“What–...I–” you stutter, shuffling the picture you were holding behind your back so he doesn’t see.

His eyes don’t flit to the movement. “You don’t have to tear the room apart to find my illicit drugs. You could’ve just asked.”

You roll your eyes. “As if you would do drugs.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It is.”

“So, then, if you’re not looking for drugs, what are you looking for?”

Your cheeks are warm. “I don’t know. Petty cash? Human body parts? Playboy?”

He snorts. “Playboy? Who still has a subscription to Playboy?”

“Maybe your teenage self did.”

“I’m not that old,” he says, “I was watching porn like the rest of my peers.”

“Ew, you freak,” you say, and you grab one of his pillows and throw it at him.

He lets out a laugh before catching the pillow with ease, and then walks up to you, placing the pillow on top of your head. You half-glare, half-pout at him.

“C’mon,” he probes, “tell me why you’re hiding away up here.”

“I embarrassed myself,” you confide in him with a sulk of your shoulders. “I mean. Seriously. What the fuck was that? What a humiliating thing to say in front of your parents. I just feel so weird pretending like this.”

His expression softens. “Sorry,” he says, “for dragging you into this dinner.”

“No,” you sigh, “I’m the one that did. I forgot you can’t necessarily fake a marriage without…doing the typical couple things.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he hums as his gaze flits towards the bed, “doing the typical couple things, you say?”

You roll your eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Oh, in my dreams alright,” he says with a grin.

“And if I strangled you? What then?”

“I like that. It’s kinky.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t have magazines lying around?”

“Brown box underneath the bed. You didn’t look hard enough.”

You give him a disgusted look. He laughs.

“I’m joking,” he says, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not convinced,” you say, turning your body away from him slightly to keep the photo hidden behind your back.

He tilts his head at you, gaze flickering down to your other hand. Your heart skips a beat. “I could’ve guessed that.”

His hand reaches out and you flinch ever so slightly, something he thankfully doesn’t notice, and then he’s grabbing the baseball out of your palm.

“I always thought I could sell this thing for major money,” he muses, throwing the ball up into the air to catch it. And then doing so again a couple times.

“It’s authentic?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

“Oh yeah. I caught it. First ball game my old man ever took me to, and it happened to be Ichiro’s last.”

Your eyes widen. Gojo was at that game. He wasn’t just watching it from home on some TV like you did with your dad. He was living in it.

“Wow,” you say, “must’ve been quite the game.”

“Don’t really remember too much about it to be honest, other than how stoked I was to just be there with my dad.”

“Mm,” you hum, “I’ll have to ask Mr. Gojo more about it when we get downstairs.”

His expression falters slightly, his smile dropping in the most subtle way that you wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t been intently staring at his face.

“Yeah,” he says, “maybe.”

Gojo continues to stare at the ball in his palm as he rotates it in inspection. There’s an awkward silence that settles between the two of you, and you feel the burden of conversation has suddenly fallen on you.

“My, um. My dad was a fan too,” you say.

His eyes glance up to meet yours. “How come I’ve never met him?”

The question catches you off guard. “Wh–...I’m sorry, what?”

“Your dad,” he says, as if it was something so casual.

“That–...well, he’s–...I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in years,” you admit, “not since…not since my mother was diagnosed with cancer.”

He stares at you earnestly, studying your expression, before he decides on saying nothing else except, “I’m sorry about that.”

You sigh. “Satoru, I–” you start, keen on the way his body stiffens slightly when you say his name, “I really don’t have the capacity for much else tonight. I mean, the questions. And the lies. And walking on eggshells around your mom.”

“Well. I was sent up here to get you,” he says, “and I can’t exactly go downstairs empty handed.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this dinner over with as fast as possible.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees, “I’m with you on that one.”

You take a step forward to head towards the door, but then suck in a sharp gasp when you remember what was being held behind your back.

“Wait,” you say, “look away.”

“...huh?” he huffs, a puzzled look on his face.

“Just look away for a second.”

His eyebrows furrow before he lifts one in a questioning manner. But he acquiesces and turns on his heel to face away from you. “Have I ever told you how strange you are?”

“No,” you say while discretely crouching down, playing along in an attempt to distract him, “you haven’t.” You flinch a little from the sound of your hip popping, but he doesn’t seem to notice and so you bend your wrist in preparation of flinging the photo back to the abyss underneath his bed.

But you stop.

And you take one more glance at the photo.

And your stomach flips the same way it did the first time you saw it.

If you asked, would he tell you?

But the more pressing question is,

Why are you so scared to find out?

You shake your head vigorously to get rid of all your pestering intrusive thoughts. It was the stress, you played it off. A hyperactive mind leads to hyperactive ruminations. And besides, it’s just silly. Sure, there’s your gut feeling that suggests otherwise. But this girl in the photo could really just be an old friend or girlfriend that had no significant impact on the trajectory of his life. Why be the crazy one and lose sleep over this? You’ve lost sleep over plenty of other things in your life, but not stuff like this. It’s just not like you.

You fling the photo across underneath the bed and then stand up just in time for when Gojo turns around to look at you out of curiosity.

“Alright,” you say, dusting your hands off, “let’s go.”

You walk over to where he stands by the doorframe, a slight warmth to your cheeks when he doesn’t move out of your way like he usually does, but instead he leans towards you slightly as you brush past him, and your heart jumps a beat in your chest when you feel his hand gently fall to the small of your back, softly urging you forward ahead of him. A feather of a touch, yet intentional, almost naturally so, like a curious test of the boundary between you two that he’s been dying to understand a bit better. And the fact you don’t turn on your heel to face him with that same undeserved and petty rage that you always do, and instead slightly shudder at the feel of his touch, means that somewhere along the way, you’ve moved the line a little closer.

He’s hot on your trail as you walk down the stairs slowly and when you turn around the post at the bottom then make your way back to the dining room, you see his family staring at you with wide eyes.

His mother stands up. “y/n! Come sit back down, dear.”

You nod meekly, and Gojo pulls your chair out for you to take a seat before he resumes his seat next to you.

The food is slightly cold by the time you finally get to pick at it. It’s not very seasoned, either. Not enough salt for your taste. But somehow Mrs. Gojo having a phobia of sodium is a study of character that makes perfect sense in your head.

Eventually, the awkward silence is too much for you to bear, and you set your fork and knife down on your napkin with a slight bit more force than you probably should’ve.

Everyone looks at you.

You sigh. “I’m sorry for earlier,” you say, “I’m…uh, I’m just not really used to these sorts of dinners…I don’t have much family here in this town, and it’s always just sort of been my mom and me. And I—…I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

Wide eyes blink at you. Mr. Gojo shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat while Mrs. Gojo blinks her long lashes at you. Sana tilts her head, and you have no interest in seeing what Gojo’s expression looks like. You fear it’s the one you’d remember the most.

You were just being honest with how you felt. And it doesn’t take you long to realize something you probably should’ve realized earlier walking into a home like this where everything was perfect and on display with no evidence of the way a true family can crumble on the inside—a house like this does not value honesty. Your mother couldn’t afford you many luxuries in life, but you never felt like you couldn’t be honest in front of her.

You glimpse up at Sana, and there is some knowing expression on her face. It’s almost sympathetic. As if you two were on the same page about something right now. When you glance at Gojo, you see him staring down at his plate with his brow slightly furrowed.

“It…it’s quite alright, dear,” his mother says through a prim voice, and in an attempt to change the subject, she says, “I do hope you are enjoying the chicken.”

“Ah,” you exhale, “yes. I am.”

“So!” Mrs. Gojo chimes in again as she dabs her mouth to a linen napkin. “Tell me about what you do for fun.”

You blink at her. “Oh, umm…binge watch TV? Occasionally I’ll go for a walk.”

“Ahh interesting! What about reading? Do you enjoy reading?”

“Well, the last book I purchased was a picture book about North Korean missiles…so.”

She lets out a laugh. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”

You hear Gojo sigh beside you before he reluctantly sets down his silverware and then he turns to Mrs. Gojo. “Mom. C’mon. This isn’t a job interview. Just let her eat.”

There’s a slight tinge of pink to the tips of her ears from the interrogation interruption as she glances between the two of you. She looks over at Sana for help but finds nothing other than a gaze tipped down towards a plate full of picked-at food. Mr. Gojo folds a hand over her frail knuckles as if to silently communicate, but Mrs. Gojo retreats her hands to fold in her lap underneath the table.

Feeling somewhat bad for the two of them, you turn the face Gojo’s dad. “Um…Mr. Gojo, Satoru was telling me about how you were a big baseball fan and a big Ichiro fan…do you still keep up with the Mariners?”

The man’s eyes grow wide with a visible confusion and you swear you hear Gojo clear his throat beside you.

“Ah…that’s–” he starts before the sound of the doorbell ringing startles you.

Sana immediately stands up without a word of excusal or a glance in anyone’s direction and she heads straight for the door.

You all look around at one another before Mrs. Gojo says, “must be Jun.”

You were at least glad to find you would not be the only “in-law” at the table full of a tension-laced family dinner, especially given the fact that in most of the cases where you’ve met Jun, his penchant to talk overshadows any other energy.

“What’s up, y/n!” Jun shouts when he waltzes into the dining hall, a few steps ahead of Sana. He throws his jacket over the first surface he finds, body language matching that of someone twenty years younger than he actually is. You can’t tell if it’s overcompensation for something, or if he just genuinely believes he’s still in his twenties.

To your surprise, he opens his arms out for you to greet him with a hug, and you hesitate before standing up slightly to give him a well-meaning wrap of your arms around him, but it lacks any warmth of familiarity.

“Welcome to the fam!” he jovially exclaims before patting your arm. He then hugs Mr. Gojo, then Mrs. Gojo (paired with those cheek kisses that the French do in greeting), then daps up Gojo (to which you notice Gojo is less than enthusiastic about) before he finally kisses Sana on the cheek and then takes his seat at the other end of the table. Your eyes are keen on Sana now, watching her intently, but she remains staring at the food on her plate. You had a feeling there was someone in this room that didn’t want to be at this dinner even more than you did.

“How was traffic, Jun?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“Oh it was nothing. Took a shortcut. Backroute off of Lake City Way. Full of pot holes though.”

Sana turns to him and scowls. “While you were taking Juno to her sleepover?!”

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “Yeah? We were running late.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to take that route to get into the city! Those pot holes are so dangerous.”

“Honey. Chill. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Just last week I saw news of three plot holes on the Mercer Street intersection opened up. Three people were injured, including a young boy.”

“Okay well if I also believed everything I saw on the news was going to personally happen to me too then we’d have never gotten this far in life.”

“Jun,” Sana deadpans.

“W-Why don’t I fix you a plate, Jun? You must be tired.” Mrs. Gojo chimes in.

Sana breathes in deep and exhales slowly before slumping down into her chair.

“Thanks,” Jun says, easing his brow as he sits back in his chair nonchalantly, before he turns to Gojo and starts to talk about mundane things like the stock market, the recent election, something about a new bowling record, and this one Thai restaurant he really wants to try on the other end of town, all within the span of time it takes Mrs. Gojo to set a plate down in front of him.

Mr. Gojo jumps in on conversation from time to time. Mrs. Gojo listens idly, sometimes placing a laugh where she feels appropriate. Jun gets particularly animated about this incident he ran into earlier last week when he was dropping Juno off at school, a story that you notice everyone at the table is for some reason entirely intrigued by, but you suppose it’s the most interesting topic of conversation you’ve all had tonight thus far. At certain critical points of the story, Sana jumps in with a that’s not what happened, Jun and you find yourself finally settling in somewhat to the evening.

Just as Jun’s story is ending, you glance up to Mrs. Gojo and find that she’s staring at you with a smile on her face. It makes you jump in your seat a little, luckily unnoticed by the rest of the table because of Jun’s engaging theatrical hand gestures as he attempts to keep his wife, his brother-in-law and his father-in-law engaged. You would’ve expected Mrs. Gojo to avert her gaze the second yours locked with hers, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look at you with a soft smile on her face and a slight tilt to her head, like she’s getting used to the sight of seeing you at this table.

Her gaze flits downwards slightly and you follow her line of gaze, tracing it to the ring that was adorning your left hand.

Your eyes widen slightly.

“Oh–” you stutter, the words already getting caught in your throat, “I–...I forgot to say, it’s an honor to wear your ring, Mrs. Gojo.” The table suddenly goes quiet, and you can’t tell if it’s because of you, or if it’s because there was no more story left to tell. “It’s beautiful.”

It truly felt like for every two steps you took forward, it was ten steps backwards. Because you watch the way that soft smile of hers entirely drops, her expression replaced with one of confusion, brows knitted together as she looks at you like you’ve just spoken in a language no one on Earth can speak.

She glances at Gojo, and you don’t have to look at him to tell that he’s stiff in his seat. You could’ve felt the tension from a mile away.

Mrs. Gojo looks at you again. “Oh honey, that–” She glances between you and Gojo. “That’s not my ring…”

Your eyes widen, cheeks already flush from whatever’s to come.

But suddenly, and to your surprise, Sana speaks up. “It was our mother’s ring.”

You look at her with confusion. And then you glance at Gojo. And then you glance back at Sana. And then at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo.

“But…” you trail off.

“Sumiko and Daichi are our aunt and uncle,” Sana says with a strained voice, “our real parents died in a house fire when we were younger.”

You blink at her in shock.

“He didn’t tell you?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“I–” You glance at Gojo and see that he’s poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the glass of scotch he was twirling around in his hand.

“Of course he didn’t,” Sana interrupts, the bitterness in her voice matching the attitude she’s since displayed this entire evening. Her gaze is locked onto her brother’s face, and when his gaze flickers up to meet her eye contact, his expression is set with a tense jaw. “He never wants to mention them. He never wants to acknowledge their life. He never wants to honor them. He just wants to pretend like they never existed.”

“Sana,” he cuts her off, and a chill gets sent down your spine from the seriousness and rigidity in his voice. “Now’s not the time for this.”

“When is the fucking time?!” she spats at him, the simmering tension brewing over. Ah. Yes. The moment you had been expecting. After all, what family does not have its baggage? Sana abruptly stands up from the table, startling everyone with the clanking of silverware and ceramic from the motion. “When is the fucking time for you to admit that you never gave a shit about mom and dad dying? When is the fucking time for you to admit that we moved on to live with these people so fast? When is the fucking time for you to admit how wrong it was for you to force me to call the people here my mom and dad my whole life when they aren’t?” Her voice cracks near the end.

You glance at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo, who both look shocked, hurt, even embarrassed as they gaze down at their food. Your heart stalls in your chest for them.

When you glance back at Gojo, you see that his gaze is hardened even further now. “You’re being rude,” he says, in as steady of a voice as he can manage from the way his brow is creased with disappointment.

“Yeah, whatever,” Sana says as she wipes at the tears with her sleeves, and you notice that she looks young like this. Younger than the usual prim and proper self that she portrays. Too young to be a mom, too young to be a wife, too young to be an adult. Like someone propelled into a life that she never wanted. “That’s always what you say, isn’t it? No answers, you just claim that I’m being childish and rude.” Jun tries to reach out to hold her hand but she snatches it away from him. Under her breath she says, “I didn’t want to come here. I should’ve just stayed home.” And with a rough swipe of her sleeve across both of her cheeks, she suddenly storms off somewhere deep into the house. Jun immediately stands up to follow her, leaving the four of you here with stale, cold food.

The timer in the oven goes off, the sound heard in the distance like a lifeline, and Mrs. Gojo immediately stands up. “Ah, must be…the roasted potatoes. I’ll be right back,” she fusses, and you avert your gaze from her face so she doesn’t feel embarrassed over the streak of a tear you saw streaming down her face.

“Let me help you,” Mr. Gojo says in a small sheepish mumble before following his wife into the kitchen.

And then there were two.

You only have a moment to process the dramatic outburst and subsequent fall-through before you turn in your chair to face Gojo, your face narrowing in contempt. You see him running a hand through his hair, entirely ruffling out any sort of neatness he had combed it into earlier, and he undoes the top button of his shirt with an impatient thumb like he was letting go of whatever image he had been trying to keep up for tonight, because after what just happened, there was no use.

“So when were you going to tell me that they aren’t actually your real parents???” you hiss at him.

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “They’ve raised us since Sana was just three years old. I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Okay well if I had known then I wouldn’t have mentioned the ring??? Now everyone’s left the table because of me.”

“It’s not because of you,” he quickly corrects you, “it’s because of years of unnecessary drama of which I’ve still got no fucking clue why it still gets brough up at every. family. dinner. If you didn’t bring it up, then they would’ve figured out a way to bring it up somehow anyways.”

You blink at him, a little taken aback by how dejected he was by this entire conversation.

“Are you going to go check on Sana?” you ask him.

“No,” he says without hesitation, “she’ll calm down soon enough.”

You press your lips into a thin line, contemplating his dismissal, before you let out a huff of disappointment and disapproval. You pull your napkin off of your lap, setting it up on the table, and slip out of your chair to head into the house in the direction you saw Sana storm off into, leaving Gojo to himself at the table.

As you walk down the hallway, all those pictures you saw hung up on the walls, those photos of illusion that painted this pretty picture of a nuclear family fall apart in the narrow space, those firm smiles and hesitant postures making much more sense to you now. They aren’t even his real parents. Baseball and wedding rings. Those details belonged to a life he never intended on sharing with you.

You walk past the kitchen, stopping briefly just beyond the entrance before backtracking and you find Sana standing near the sink with her arm across her chest as her other hand wipes at her cheeks. The soft sound of a sniffle echoes in the room and you’re surprised to see that Jun left her alone.

Tentatively, you shuffle your feet across the wooden floor. She seems to make note of you in her periphery but refuses to glance up.

“Hey…” you start when you finally make it to the space in front of her, your hip leaning against the edge of the sink counter in parallel with hers as you face her.

“I—” she starts, shuffling her palms across her cheeks again. “I am so severely embarrassed.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the honesty. “Don’t be. It’s just family.”

“No but that’s the point,” she says through a crack in her voice, “I’m thirty-one, I’m married, I’m a mom, but they’ll always just see me as some immature little brat because I always behave like this.”

You don’t know what to say. You suppose if you were a therapist, or a priest, or a mentor, or a mom yourself, or any other person with an emotional IQ higher than yourself, you would know the right thing to say to her right now. But you don’t. So silence is all that you can offer her, and you hope that it’s enough.

It seems to work in it’s own magical way, as she slowly opens herself up to you within the next passing sixty seconds. A fleeting glance up to your face. The halt of pointless fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve. The way she stands up straighter, her hip no longer leaning against the kitchen counter, and you find that you mirror the same movement.

She clears her throat, rubbing her nose with the knuckle of her index finger, her eyes no longer glistening with tears but the corners of them look puffy.

You glance down at your feet for a moment before inhaling deep and making eye contact with her. “Hey, listen…” you say, “I’m—…I’m really sorry…about earlier today. For overstepping about the bullying. Juno’s your daughter, and I really shouldn’t have given her advice before at least running it by you beforehand. Especially for something so sensitive.”

The delicate muscles of her brow lift in surprise at your words, lids fluttering slowly as she processes your words, and the wave of melancholy is contagious as it washes through you as well.

“I’m sorry too,” she says, “for how angry I got with you. It’s just—” she hesitates, and you see that semblance of her that you’re more familiar with. Strict, stern, rough around the edges but for a noble reason. “Y’know, with kids…we tend to get overprotective over them.” Her gaze drops to somewhere beneath yourselves as if she suddenly lost confidence in her train of thought. “I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.”

A silence settles between the two of you before you realize you ought to respond to her.

“I get it,” you finally say. “I mean—…I don’t. Because I’m not a mom. But…I’m sure that when I am one some day, I’d understand.”

She finally offers you a smile in return to your words, polite but genuine nonetheless. And a soft remnant sniffle makes her ruffle her nose.

Her expression softens, and she stares straight ahead to your collarbone rather than your eyes. “She really likes you, you know?” Sana glances up at you now. “Hasn’t stopped talking about your ‘blubbery’ pancakes since last week.”

“Aww.”

There’s a sad glint in her eyes when she turns her torso away from you slightly in resignation before some hint of optimism flashes by in her face and she turns to you again.

“Do you…think you could give me the recipe?”

You want to ask her if everything is okay. But instead, you say, “sure.”

The sound of footsteps approaching is heard near the kitchen entrance and the two of you glance in that direction to see Jun walking in. He offers you a fleeting glance before taking his place beside Sana, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling him towards her before placing a kiss on her temple and saying, “hey honey.”

You watch as she averts her gaze down to the tips of her toes.

“Feeling better?” he asks her but there’s this lack of warmth you cannot quite discern.

“Yes,” she responds, scratching at her cheek as a discreet way of getting rid of the last remaining wetness that had streamed down her face earlier.

He rubs her arm soothingly and then looks at you with a smile pressed into a firm line. “Doing alright?”

You blink at him. “Wh—…yes.”

“Say, y/n, how’s your mom doing by the way?” he asks.

“She’s…better. She’s in hospice now.”

“Palliative?”

“Well—” you say, “I guess. It’s just temporary.”

He shuffles inside the pocket of his coat and takes out something. A small card with finely printed black ink on it. He hands it to you.

“I can’t imagine how expensive that all must be,” he says, and you glance down at the card.

Carevest Capital est. 2024

Invest in a healthier you!

You glance up at Jun. Sana’s gaze has now shifted to the inside of the sink.

“I started this business,” he says, “where we’re revolutionizing the way healthcare costs are managed. In our platform, we basically invest our clients’ money into the stock market, leveraging our high-reward algorithm to maximize returns. But here’s the unique part: we partner with leading healthcare CEOs who match a portion of the profits as an incentive for stock purchases. Together, these funds go directly toward paying off hospital bills and easing related financial burdens.”

Your eyes widen at his words. The speech was practiced, one you can only assume he has pitched to many potential clientele. But there’s a hint of personable grace to it as well.

“I’m telling you, y/n, we’ve had clients who have overcome six figures of medical debt in just six months,” he says, “and you’ll only need a couple thousand dollars to start yourself up.”

You purse your lips together, your finger pinching the corner of the card. “That’s amazing, Jun.”

He smiles at you, releasing Sana’s waist. “Sorry if this kinda came out of nowhere, but I heard through the grapevine that things have been rough.”

Oh, like how your card has declined publicly at the grocery store multiple times, or how you haven’t been able to afford your insurance deductible to get that chipped off part of your bumper fixed, or the fact you haven’t paid your landscapers in over three months so your lawn now looks like a swamp? It was a small town. And people’s finances were always a topic of interest for most.

“I just wanted to offer any help I can,” Jun says.

“Thanks,” you say, returning his smile, “I’ll, um, I’ll look into it.” You push the card into your pocket.

He offers you that same firm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he pulls Sana to him again, placing another kiss along her hairline and the PDA seems like overcompensation on some front from the way Sana is entirely frigid to his touch.

Maybe it was a woman’s intuition,

But you felt like something was wrong.

“Kids,” you hear Mr. Gojo’s crackly voice say as he stands leaning against the doorframe near the kitchen entrance, “let’s finish dinner?”

The three of you exchange glances before nodding and heading back towards the hall.

Your peach cobbler was apparently very good, the only thing that seemed to cut through the tension of the night. But that was the thing with family, right? You can yell and scream and cry and lecture and mope and roll your eyes at each other all you want but at the end of the day, they’re still family. Sana still seems slightly dejected though, and you can see Gojo in the corner of your eye at the table glancing up at her every other minute or so. His own way of making sure she’s doing okay, you think to yourself. Sana refuses to meet anyone’s line of sight except yours, however, which makes you feel some slight burdensome responsibility of sisterhood you had never signed up for. Nonetheless, you try to offer her a soothing smile whenever she looks up at you, and it seems to put her at ease.

The news of Sana and Jun moving seemed slightly anticlimactic, as Mrs. Gojo mentioned that they had already had an inkling that Jun and Sana would be moving closer to the city. You briefly wonder if Mrs. Gojo knew all along, but decided to make the announcement into some big affair just so that she could see her niece and nephew over a meal.

You make no more embarrassing comments. Conversation dulls into anything and everything unpersonal to you all, such as the news and weather and gossip of other people. And somewhere along the night, you relax your knee, the ball of it pressing into Gojo’s thigh underneath the table. It was wordless, innocent contact that occurs when two people become more comfortable with one another. Only excusable due to the slight buzz you felt in your veins from the wine. He’s kissed you before, yet somehow the press of his thigh against yours feels even more searing. There’s a point along the night where you tip your head to the right slightly, daringly close to resting your head on his shoulder due to the tipsy dizziness weighing in your head, and it would certainly put on a convincing show of newlywed affection for his aunt and uncle, but you manage to catch yourself. And subsequently refuse any more glasses of wine.

“Thanks for having me,” you say to Mrs. Gojo at the front entrance before she pulls you in for a hug.

“Oh, anytime dear,” she says as she gently pats your back, “please.”

When she pulls away from the hug, she holds you by your shoulders before her eyes glance down towards your left hand and the shimmering diamond that sat on the ring finger. She holds your hand in hers and lifts it to examine the twinkle underneath the lights of the chandelier.

“It really is a pretty ring,” she says, her eyes glossing over. “It looked beautiful on my sister, and it looks beautiful on you too.”

Your breath hitches slightly in your throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Gojo.”

“Please,” she says in response to the title, “Sumiko is fine.” But in less of a way in which she’s relaxing formalities, but rather in a way that acknowledges she never had the sovereignty to be called that in the first place.

You hear masculine voices approaching down the hallway as the three men make their way towards the front entrance as well. Gojo glances at you in the midst of their conversation, and he leaves the two of them to make his way over to you.

“Alright,” Gojo says, turning to face the rest of them as he stands beside you. “We’ll head out now.”

Sumiko pulls him in for a hug, then his uncle, and then obnoxiously by Jun as well. Sana fidgets with her fingers as she remains at the end of the line, and you catch a glimpse of surprise on her face when Gojo pulls her in for a hug too. You see him whisper something to her, and it’s only after she hears what he said that she returns the hug and wraps her arms around him as well.

You’re jolted out of your people-watching trance when Gojo walks up to you and takes your hand in his, shoving his other in his pocket. You glance down at the sight, the way his large hand engulfs your own. It’s warm in a firm hold, delicately squeezing your hand once right before you feel the cold air behind you when his uncle opens the door.

Well, you survived. That’s what you think to yourself as you sit in the passenger seat of Gojo’s car, watching the city lights twinkle as you two drive by. You don’t know what you were expecting. Drama? Ease? Tension? For a piece of the sky to fall and land on the roof? There was a part of you that wanted to impress. You want to be one of those daughter-in-laws that the in-laws just adore. You know, where they’re like, god am I so happy that she’s a part of the family now! The one that the mother-in-law is just so ecstatic to know that her son managed to hold down such a catch.

But any expectations and pressure dissolve with the reminder that this is all fake. Fake, fake, fake. And you’d do really well to remind yourself of that reality whenever you spent time with Gojo. Whenever you find yourself acclimating into his life for even a moment, just remember that it’s fake. Can you have a little fun here and there? Sure. Will you probably find yourself in even stranger situations going forward? Yes, because, well, that’s how life is. But it’s just fake. No obligations, no responsibility, nothing. Nada. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

But as you walk through the front door, staring straight ahead into the dark house at Gojo’s back as he sets down the keys by the foyer table, and even as you follow him further into the house towards the kitchen, that feeling inside you surges.

A woman's intuition.

That something between Jun and Sana was wrong.

Not just routine marital issues,

Or the occasional argument,

Something worse. Something dangerous.

And it’s not something you would ever expect a man to pick up on, even Gojo.

Because it was from the way Sana’s eyes silently communicated with you from across the table,

Something so subtle, a silent plea across a shared dimension,

That she needed help.

“Hey…” you speak up softly, standing in front of the fridge.

Gojo glances over his shoulder at you from the other side of the kitchen island, barely illuminated by the moonlight through the windows. He turns to face you. “What’s up?”

You blink at him.

“Um, I really don’t want to overstep again, but—”

There’s a sobering thought that flashes through your mind when you recall that you have never seen yourself as the hero in anyone’s story.

Simply because you could never, ever, ever trust yourself.

You could never trust your feelings or your decisions.

Because you cosigned on hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical loans. Because you stuck around for five years with a man that didn’t love you anymore. Because you still feel naive enough to believe that your best friend who betrayed you still misses you somehow. Because you still foolishly believe your mother will be around to hold her grandchildren someday.

Because you thought that your best bet in order to pull yourself out of hell was to fake marry a man,

And then act as if it’s all real when his aunt looks you in the eye with bittersweet tears as you now wear her bereaved sister’s ring in honor, entirely unaware it was actually being worn in vain.

How could you ever trust your judgement when you behave this way?

Never the hero. If anything, the villain.

“What is it?” Gojo repeats when he sees that you’ve been silent for too long. He tilts his head at you, his hair falling over his forehead haphazardly and he runs a hand through it to try to get it out of his face. Even in the dim light, his eyes shine a breathtaking blue.

You swallow hard.

“Um,” you say, and then glance down at the wetness you find at your heel. “The, um, the fridge is leaking again.”

He blinks at you for a solid ten seconds, and then the tension in his shoulders drops when he sulks and closes his eyes with exhaustion and defeat.

“Fuck. Okay.”

[end of chapter 6]

a/n. looool i really keep thinking i can post shorter chapters and them bam they be 10k+ words. but i swearrr it's just cuz i be yapping :(( anywho hope you enjoyed this chapter!! a lot of characters were kinda introduced and mm given a bit more depth in this chapter. sorry there wasn't as much romance or anything in this one though haha there will be more in the next one :0 big big thank you to my lovely ihm beta readers ayelin, jules, leni & mirl for helping me out w this chapter!! i believe i may have mentioned this before but i STRUGGLLEEEE with multi-character scenes (i'm much more comfy writing scenes that just have back n forth between two characters) so this chapter was challenginggg esp the whole dinner sequences and there were also a lot of complicated feelings at play, descriptions, stuff i wasn't sure if it was coming off the right way (and tbh am still not sure haha) but they really helped me work my thoughts out n gave wonderful suggestions too so tysm :'') much loveee!! hope to see you all in the next one <3 - ellie

➸ take me to chapter seven!

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runningincircl3s · 2 months ago

Text

Untitled Bestfriend!Noah x Reader Series

Part 1 (title coming soon btw! i'm still thinking!)

okay i've finally decided i will be posting this, so it's time to release this from my drafts... remember when i asked about a bestfriend!noah x reader series... well here's the first part!! i don't know exactly when i'll be writing and posting for this story, so there'll be new parts when i feel like it i guess haha

also i added this series onto my taglist if you want to be tagged in future posts :)

warnings: NSFW!! loss of virginity, READER IS 18+, experienced noah x unexperienced reader, p in v sex, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (don't do that!), is that it??

You and Noah. Noah and You. Inseparable since you met, where there was one the other wouldn’t be far. You did everything together, there was no one in the world you cared about and trusted more than your best friend Noah. You loved him in a way that was more than just friendship, even more than just romantic, you had the kind of bond with him that people could only dream about. You were his soulmate, and he was yours, but to keep it simple, you just called yourselves best friends.

You had your own friend groups though, you had your group- Sophia, Beth, Miley and Emily. Noah had his- Nick (Ruffilo), Nick (Folio), Matt and Jolly. Your friends had very little to do with Noah and the guys, but the guys all saw you as their little sister, always looking out for you, always protective over you- besides Folio who saw you as his twin, and sharing a birthday may have had something to do with that.

Noah was experienced in every way you weren’t, he had to be. Coming from a complicated background, he knew he had only himself from a young age, until you came along. Your family loved him, he was invited to every family event, every wedding, birthday, every party. Your family would always joke, asking if they would be expecting your boyfriend to come with you, and you would always hit them with the “he’s just my friend!” because he was… right? He got his first job young, saving money for road trips with you once he learned to drive and buying you gifts whenever he would see something that reminded him of you. He moved in with his friends, Ruffilo and Matt, as soon as he could, and you were always welcome at his place whenever you wanted, whether you needed to get away from home for a while or whether you just wanted to see him, you were always welcome to hang out.

However, there were also other ways he was more experienced than you, more than just life in general. He had a reputation for being a little bit of a man whore, for lack of a better word. Despite never having had a long-term girlfriend, you’d always heard whispers and rumours about him. The girls at school would talk about him, about his hookups, about how good he was in bed. You never asked, and he never brought it up, but you’d caught the knowing smirks, the way girls would giggle when he walked by. Yet those girls would never know you were his first kiss, when the two of you were younger and watched a movie, cringing at how a husband and wife kissed. You had asked if he had ever kissed someone before, and to your surprise he said no. You hadn’t either, so you were both curious, and ended up kissing each other, before groaning at how disgusting it was. You had no idea how your best friend Noah Sebastian, who once said he’d never kiss again, had built this kind of reputation.

However, it never bothered you that you were lacking that kind of experience, not until your friends began talking about sex. Sophia was the first to lose her virginity to her long term boyfriend, Miley next with her vacation fling, then Emily with a drunken hookup at a party. This left you and Beth, or at least until Beth sent a random message to your group chat one night, starting with “you’ll never guess what just happened", but she never said who she lost it to.

This left you feeling a little left out. You wanted to do it, and not just because they had. You wanted to know how it felt, if it was really as good as people say. The only issue was that you’ve never had a boyfriend, or any partner, not really. You’d get involved with guys, and you’d really like them until they said how they didn’t like how close you were with Noah.

But you didn’t blame them.

Because right now, you and Noah were sprawled out on his couch, your legs resting in his lap. He had noticed there’s been something on your mind all day, all week even, because he can always tell. You were quieter, not laughing when he made a funny comment. And right now, you were chewing on your lip, staring at the TV screen but not quite watching the movie.

Noah shifted beneath you, letting out a dramatic sigh before tapping his fingers against your shin.

“Alright, spit it out,” he said, not even looking at you. “You’ve been chewing on your lip so hard I’m surprised it's still there.”

You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Whatever’s been on your mind all night. You suck at hiding things from me, you know that.” He finally turned to look at you, brows raised. “So, what’s up? You flunk a test? Accidentally shoplifted again? New crush?… Had your first wet dream or something?”

Your face immediately burned, and you kicked at his thigh.

“No, you freak!”

Noah just grinned, clearly pleased with himself for getting a reaction out of you.

“Then what? You’re acting all… I don’t know… Weird?”

You hesitated. Your eyes flickered back to the TV, even though you weren’t watching it. The words were sitting right there on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t push them out.

Noah nudged you again.

“C’mon, just tell me... It’s me.” He said, his voice softer.

That was the thing. It was him. Your best friend. The one person who never judged you for anything, ever. The one person you trusted with your life. If you couldn’t tell him, then who could you tell?

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous.

“Everyone has done it except me.” You muttered, your voice small as you picked at a loose thread on your sweater.

Noah blinked.

“Huh?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

“God, don’t make me say it, Noah.”

A beat of silence. Then, his voice dropped lower, amused but curious.

“…Ohh...”

You peeked at him between your fingers, and you watched a slow smirk spread across his face.

“You’re talking about sex.” He nodded.

You groaned again, your face burning up.

“Shut up.”

Noah laughed, leaning his head back against the couch.

“Y'know I was only joking about the wet dream thing, but wow, okay. So, let me guess… Your friends won’t shut up about it, and now you’re all stressed because you’re still a virgin?”

You sighed, letting your hands fall into your lap.

“Kind of. I don’t know. I mean, yeah, they talk about it a lot now... And it’s not like I wanna do it just because they have.” You hesitated, then shrugged. “But I have been thinking about it for a while, and I do wanna do it, I want to know what it's like...”

Noah hummed, tilting his head. He wasn’t teasing anymore. He was watching you carefully, taking in the way you were fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. Then, after a pause…

“You got someone in mind?”

You froze, feeling your stomach flip.

This was the part where you were supposed to laugh it off. This was the part where you should’ve said something like “yeah, Oli Sykes”, or simply “no, not really.”

But you didn’t.

Because you did have someone in mind, and he was sitting right next to you.

You hesitated for a second too long, and Noah caught it. His smirk deepened, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Ohh, so there is someone?”

You huffed, shifting against the couch.

“Maybe.”

Noah grinned, slinging an arm over the back of the couch.

“Lemme guess…” He pretended to think, then snapped his fingers. “Folio?”

Your head snapped toward him.

“What?!”

“I mean, it makes sense,” he said with a shrug, like it was obvious. “You guys always have this kinda tension-”

“We do not!” You gawked at him.

Noah just laughed, shoving your legs off of him.

“Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

You scowled.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” he shot back, grinning. Then, as if it was an afterthought, he added, “Folio knows what he's doing though, he already popped someone’s cherry.”

“What?! Who?!”

Noah gave you a look.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

He blinked. Then, like he’d just realised,

“Oh... Fuck.”

Your stomach twisted.

“Noah.”

He winced, running a hand through his hair.

“Shit. Well. Uh…”

“Noah. Who?”

He groaned.

“Look, I wasn’t supposed to say anything, so just… don’t be weird about it, okay?” He sighed, then muttered, “Beth.”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor.

“Beth?!”

“Shhh!” Noah reached over and clamped a hand over your mouth as if she would hear you, glaring at you. “Jesus, this stays between us, unless you want her to murder me?”

You shoved his hand away, still reeling.

“Beth… and Folio?”

Noah rolled his eyes.

“Yes. Apparently. I found out a few days ago, and he made me swear not to tell anyone because they need to talk about it first or something...” He gave you a pointed look. “So if you tell your little girl gang, I’m dead. You hear me? Dead!"

You barely heard him. You were still processing the fact that Beth, the same Beth who used to pretend to gag at the mention of Folio’s name, had slept with him? No wonder she’d been weird about it all.

Noah watched your face closely, then smirked.

“So, I guess that means Folio’s off the table for you anyway, huh?”

You rolled your eyes.

“He was never on the table, Noah.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, unconvinced. “So, who is it then?”

Your breath hitched.

This was it.

The moment of truth.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you forced yourself to meet his gaze.

His teasing expression softened slightly, like he could tell you were about to say something important.

You swallowed hard.

“I was wondering, what if it was… You?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Noah blinked.

Then, after a beat,

“Huh?”

Your face burned. You looked away, gripping the hem of your sweater.

“I mean, there's nobody I trust more, nobody I'd feel safer with…I want you to be my first.”

Silence.

Your heart nearly pounded out of your chest.

Then all he said to that was,

“…Oh.”

You’d fucked it. Your entire life. You had ruined the one friendship you never wanted to throw away. He was going to hate you forever. This was it.

However, Noah just blinked, still processing your words. Then, his lips curled into a smirk.

“Me?” he repeated, his voice dripping with amusement.

Your face burned hotter.

“Forget it,” you muttered, moving to sit up. “It was stupid.”

But before you could escape, his hand shot out, catching your wrist.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” His grip was firm but gentle, like he didn’t want you running away just yet. “You want me to take your virginity? You want me to… have sex with you?”

You swallowed hard, refusing to meet his eyes.

“…Maybe.”

Noah let out a low chuckle.

“Damn. Never thought I’d hear that one.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “What, you finally realised I am the hottest guy you know?”

You groaned, even though you were glad he wasn’t being weird about it like you feared he would be.

“Noah-“

“Or…” He cut you off, eyes glinting with mischief. “Have you just been thinking about how good I’d be at it? You heard the stories, huh?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

That smug look deepened.

“Ohhh, that’s it, isn’t it?”

“Shut up.” You shoved his shoulder.

He laughed, easily taking the hit.

“Hey, I get it. You don’t wanna waste it on some idiot who doesn’t know what he’s doing, someone who won’t treat you right.” He leaned back, stretching his arms over the couch. “Smart girl, you gotta raise your standards somehow.”

You frowned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, if I do this, you’re never gonna be able to settle for some mediocre guy after me.” Noah grinned.

“You tell all your hookups that?”

Noah snorted, before looking at you a little more seriously.

“If this is really what you want, I’ll do it. I just don’t want you to… I dunno…”

“Feel weird about it?”

“Yeah,” he swallowed, “It doesn’t have to change anything between us, okay? If you don’t want it to.”

“I don’t.” You shook your head, “I trust you, Noah, I know you’ll take care of me, I know I’ll feel safe, and if I want to stop I know you will.”

Noah felt his heart flutter at your words, his hand resting on your thigh.

“You don’t know what that means to me, sweetheart.”

That damn pet name, the one he would randomly throw out, the one that would make your heart skip a beat.

“So… When do you want to do it?” He asked, a playful glint in his eye before he continued, “Cause y’know, I’m quite a busy guy-”

“Oh, yes, because I’m just going to book an appointment to have sex with my best friend.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. You were so glad he wasn’t making this feel too serious or too daunting, “I’m not doing anything now? Or later tonight?”

“I was gonna go to Jesse’s party,” Noah said, “But this sounds much better.”

You felt yourself blush.

“You gonna tell Jesse you’re busy?”

“Nah, he’ll forget about me by the time he’s had a couple beers.” He smirked, standing up and reaching a hand out to you, “We don’t have to do it right now, but-”

“I want to.” You swallowed, worried you sound too eager, “If you do too?"

He smiled.

“Of course, c’mon.”

Your fingers slid into his, warm and solid, and he tugged you up effortlessly. Your heart was pounding as he led you toward his bedroom, every step making the reality of the situation sink in.

You were really doing this.

With Noah.

Your best friend.

You weren’t sure what you expected to feel when you walked into his room, but it was so normal. The bed was unmade, his hoodie was draped over the chair, and there was an empty water bottle on the nightstand. It was the same place you’d hung out a million times before, except this time, you weren’t just here for a movie night, or to listen to his demos for his new band, Bad Omens.

Noah turned to face you, his expression soft.

"You okay?"

You nodded, but he didn’t seem convinced.

"You can back out," he said gently. "Doesn’t have to happen tonight."

You swallowed hard.

"I know."

Noah studied you for a moment longer before stepping closer, reaching up to brush his fingers over your cheek. His touch was soft, much softer than you expected.

"You still want this?"

"Yeah… I do."

His smirk returned, but there was something different about it now. Something almost possessive as he looked in your eyes.

"Good," he murmured. "Because I want it too."

He shut the door, making sure to lock it just in case, and his eyes softened as he looked at you standing in the middle of his room, looking a little anxious.

"Nervous?" He asked

You swallowed, shifting from foot to foot.

"A little."

"That’s normal, you don’t know what to expect." He smiled, before gesturing to the bed. "Come here."

You obeyed, sitting on the edge, hands placed in your lap. Noah crouched in front of you, hands braced on your thighs, not to push, not to rush, just grounding you.

"You will tell me if you wanna stop at all, yeah? If anything doesn't feel good?"

You nodded, but he raised an eyebrow.

"Say it."

"I’ll tell you if I wanna stop."

Noah gave a satisfied nod.

"Good girl."

A shiver ran through you, but before you could dwell on it, he squeezed your knees.

"Alright, sweetheart, let’s get you comfy."

He stood, peeling his hoodie off over his head, leaving him in just a t-shirt and sweats. It wasn’t a show, just something casual, but your mouth still went dry.

"Your turn.” He prompted, nodding toward you.

Your fingers fumbled at the hem of your sweater. It felt different like this, being undressed for someone. You hesitated, and Noah caught on immediately.

"Here," he murmured, nudging your hands away. "Let me."

His fingers were steady as he pushed your sweater up, slow and careful.

"Arms up, baby."

Your heart skipped a beat at the name, but you obeyed, letting him tug it off and toss it aside. The cool air prickled against your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat in his gaze as he looked you over, watching as you slowly took off your bra, tossing it down with your sweater and his hoodie.

"Damn.” He muttered under his breath.

Your stomach twisted.

"What?"

His lips quirked up slihgtly.

"Nothing. Just… you’re pretty."

Your face burned, and you looked away, but Noah wasn’t having it. His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up.

"Don’t get shy on me now, we both know this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you naked."

You swallowed hard, but you nodded. He was right. You and Noah had no shame, you could and would get changed in front of each other and it was never weird, sometimes you’d even go into the bathroom and sit with each other when you were in the bath or shower, just to talk about day. You knew he’d never look at you in a way that would make you feel uncomfortable, and he knew the same about you. The bond you had was truly unbreakable, so you were hoping you weren’t making a mistake here tonight.

"Okay. Lay back for me, sweetheart." Noah said softly.

You did as he asked, heart hammering against your ribs as you stretched out on, laying back his bed. The sheets smelled like him, clean, familiar and safe. There was nowhere else you could ever imagine this happening.

Noah climbed in next to you, leaning on one arm while his other hand trailed lightly over your stomach.

"We’ll go slow, alright? Let’s start easy."

And then, his fingers traced lower.

“No one else has ever touched you like this before?” He asked, although he was certain he knew the answer.

“No.” You shook your head.

“What about… You?” His voice was lower this time, and his fingers moved slowly down, like he had all the time in the world, before they brushed the waistband of your shorts. "Have you ever touched yourself?"

“I’ve tried.” You swallowed, “But I’ve never…”

“Never came?”

You shook your head, feeling your cheeks heat up again.

“Oh, angel,” he pouted, “Should’ve told me sooner.”

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, giving you a look to ask for permission, and once you nodded he slowly slid them down your legs, leaving you in just your panties.

“You still sure about this?”

“Yes, you idiot.” You smirked, fighting back the nerves swirling in your tummy.

“Okay, good.” He smiled, searching your face for a moment before slowly leaning down, capturing your lips with his.

You expected it to feel weird, kissing him, but it didn’t. Nothing had ever felt so right.

His kisses began at your lips as he pawed at your chest, his thumb rolling over your nipple, but then they trailed down, past your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, between your breasts, your stomach…

Until he reached where you were now aching for release, for him.

He kissed over your hip, your upper thighs, but then he stopped, his fingers tracing the edge of your panties as he kneeled between your thighs.

“You’ve seriously never came before?”

“No.” You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing as his thumb brushed down against the damp fabric.

“Mmm, we’ll change that, sweetheart. I promise.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb pressed down a little harder, rubbing up and down over your clothed clit. His head rested on your thigh, looking up at you with a lazy smile, as if he could spend the rest of his life like this.

“Already so wet for me…”

“Noah…” You whined, your hands covering your face after a small whimper escaped your lips.

“Hey, don’t get shy now,” he reached for your arms, moving your hands away from your face, “You wanted this, right… Unless you want me to stop-”

“No.” You said, leaving no room for hesitation.

He smirked, his thumb still rubbing over your clit, in slow, lazy circles. A soft gasp left your lips, your thighs tensing.

"There we go," he murmured, watching you closely. "Feels good, doesn’t it?"

You nodded quickly, biting your lip.

Noah hummed in approval.

"Why don't we make it even better."

With that, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and tugged them down, leaving you completely bare beneath him. He had seen you before, but never up this close. His gaze flickered over you, dark and unreadable, before he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your hip.

"Relax for me," he murmured against your skin. "Just let me take care of you, okay?"

His fingers found you again, and this time, there was nothing in the way. For a moment he just looked at you, parting your folds with his fingers, feeling his heart race as he let his thumb ghost over your clit, watching you shiver. He'd be lying if he said he had never thought about this before.

"You’re so soft, baby," he murmured, his voice thick. "And so wet. I barely have to do anything, and you’re already falling apart for me."

Your breath came in short, uneven gasps as he moved, one finger sliding through your slick folds, testing and teasing. Your hips jerked involuntarily, seeking more, and he chuckled softly.

"Easy, sweetheart." His thumb found your clit again, rubbing in slow, lazy circles. "See? That feels good, huh?"

"Y-yeah…"

"You ever touch yourself like this?"

You shook your head, unable to form words. Every time you had touched yourself, it had never felt this good. Nothing has ever felt this good.

His smirk deepened.

"No wonder you never finished. You weren’t doing it right."

You wanted to argue, but the way his fingers were moving, so sure and precise, like he knew exactly what to do, made it impossible to do anything except moan softly.

"Listen to you," he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction. "So needy. Never heard you make those pretty sounds before."

Your face burned.

"Noah-"

"Shh, just let me hear you, sweetheart."

And then, before you could process it, he slowly slipped a long finger inside you.

Your breath caught, thighs attempting to squeeze shut around his hand.

"Oh-"

"There you go,"* he soothed, pressing a kiss to your lower stomach. "Nice and slow, just like that… Feel good?"

You nodded, biting down on your lip.

He moved carefully, giving you time to adjust, his thumb still working soft, teasing circles over your clit. The mix of sensations already had your toes curling, your back arching off the bed.

"Ohh good girl," he praised, his voice dropping into something lower, something almost possessive, you never thought you’d ever have the chance to see this side of your best friend. "You’re taking me so well."

A whimper slipped from your lips, and Noah groaned softly.

"Fuck, baby, you’re already squeezing me so tight…"

He added another finger, stretching you just a little more, and your whole body tensed.

"You okay?"

You nodded quickly.

"Y-yeah, just-"

"Different?" He finished for you.

"Yeah."

"Mmm. You’re doing so good for me." He pressed another soft kiss to your stomach, his fingers never stopping. "Just let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you."

And then, if it couldn’t get any better, he curled his fingers just right, hitting a spot that had you gasping, gripping his other wrist like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Oh my…” Your head was spinning, you felt like you were just going to float away if you let go of his hand.

"That’s it,"* he murmured, his voice rougher now. "Fuck, you feel soo good…"

It was too much, too good, your stomach tightening, your breath coming in quick, desperate gasps.

"Noah, I-"

"I know, baby. Give in to it, let yourself go… Cum for me…"

His thumb pressed down just a little harder, his fingers curling at the same time, and that it was it.

You let out a loud, almost pornographic moan as the pleasure crashed over you, your whole body trembling.

Noah kept moving, slower now as he worked you through your first ever orgasm, his voice soft and soothing.

"Yeah… That’s my girl. So fucking pretty when you cum for me."

You barely registered when he pulled his fingers away, your body still trembling in the aftershocks.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was staring down at you, his pupils blown, his lips parted slightly.

"See?" he murmured, bringing his slick fingers to his lips and sucking them clean, moaning as his gaze locked onto yours. "Told you it'd feel good."

You couldn’t believe what had just happend, or how amazing that had just felt.

But you knew one thing for sure. You’d be chasing that feeling for the rest of your life.

“That was…” You attempted to speak, but you were still catching your breath.

“Good, huh? Still wanna go further?” He asked, and as he stood up from the bed your saw how tight his jeans had gotten.

You swallowed hard, nodding your head.

“Yes, Noah… Please…”

He let out a low breath, shaking his head with a smirk.

"Look at you," he murmured. "So needy now, huh?"

You felt your face heat up, but you didn’t look away. You were past the point of shyness now. You wanted this. You wanted him.

Noah reached down, fingers working to undo his belt, the clinking sound sending a fresh wave of anticipation through you.

"Still sure about this, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice softer now. "You know we don’t have to-"

"No! I want to." You interrupted, surprising even yourself with how sure you sounded.

He studied you for a second, then nodded, undoing his jeans and pushing them down along with his boxers.

Your breath hitched as he kicked them aside and climbed back onto the bed, settling between your legs.

Oh, the rumours were true.

Becuase fuck.

He was big.

Your reaction didn’t go unnoticed.

"We’ll go slow," he assured you, running a hand up your thigh. "I promise."

He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his bare skin warm against yours. You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

“Can I touch you first?” You asked against his lips, and you felt his smirk, his cock twitching against your leg.

"You wanna touch me, sweetheart?" His voice was lower now, rougher, as he pulled away a little.

You nodded your head

Noah let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly.

"Fuck.. yeah, of course you can."

He moved, the two of you swapping positions. He was now half sat half laying on the bed, with you now kneeling between his legs. As you moved, he took off his shirt, revealing all those tattoos you’d catch yourself staring at, and it never went unnoticed by him.

You brought yourself back to reality, noticing his hard cock standing thick and heavy between his legs. You swallowed hard, your heart hammering as you reached out, your fingers wrapping around him hesitantly as your other hand held his thigh.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his head tilting back slightly.

"Oh… Jesus..."

You felt the weight of him in your hand, the warmth, the way he twitched under your touch. You ran your fingers over the length of him, testing, exploring, before stroking him slowly.

"Fuck, that’s it," he groaned, his hips twitching. "Mmm yeah… You’re a natural, baby."*

The praise made heat pool between your legs again. Emboldened, you tightened your grip slightly, stroking him with more confidence, watching the way his muscles tensed.

His jaw clenched, his breath coming in heavier now.

"You keep that up, sweetheart, and I’m not gonna last long…"

You looked up at him, eyes wide and curious.

"Is that bad?"

He let out a strained laugh, his hand moving to cup your face.

"Not bad, just… fuck, I wanna be inside you so bad."

Your stomach flipped at his words, and you swallowed hard before releasing him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I want that too…”

"Yeah?" His dark eyes locked onto yours.

You nodded.

"Yeah."

A muscle in his jaw twitched as he exhaled slowly, like he was holding onto the last thread of his control.

"Alright…"

He guided you back against the pillows, his lips brushing yours, his voice a soft murmur against your mouth.

"Just relax for me, baby. Let me make you feel good."

He reached down between you, running the tip of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you as it nudged your still sensitive clit.

“Is it gonna hurt?” You asked, your eyes meeting his again.

He hesitated for a moment, he wanted so badly to say no, but he knew there may be some discomfort on your end.

“It’s your first time, so there’ll be a little stretch… It might be uncomfortable, but if it does hurt and you want to stop, tell me. Okay?”

You swallowed, nodding.

"Yeah…"

Noah took his time, his gaze locked onto yours as he slowly began pushing inside. The stretch was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, it had you gasping, fingers tightening in his hair.

"Fuck," he groaned, voice strained. "You’re so fucking tight…"

He paused, giving you time to adjust, his lips trailing soft kisses along your jaw.

"Talk to me, baby. You okay?"

You took a shaky breath, nodding.

"Y-yeah… just feels… different."

He chuckled against your skin.

"I know. Just breathe, sweetheart, I don’t want to hurt you..."

Slowly, he pushed in deeper, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, fully inside you. A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he stilled, letting you adjust to his size.

"So fucking perfect," he muttered, pressing his forehead against yours as he cupped your cheek in his hand. "You feel so, so good, baby…"

You whimpered, shifting slightly, making your walls squeeze around him, and the movement made him suck in a sharp breath.

"Fuck, don’t do that unless you want me to lose it." He warned.

You giggled breathlessly, but the sound melted into a soft moan as he rocked his hips, just barely, just enough to send sparks of pleasure through you.

It felt good. So fucking good.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice like honey. "I’ve got you, sweetheart…"

He kept his pace slow at first, his movements deep and unhurried, like he wanted to savour every second, like he wanted you to feel just how much he wanted you. His hands roamed your body, fingers tracing delicate patterns over your skin, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with something deeper than lust. "Feel so fucking good…"

His touch was reverent, every movement careful, every thrust making your breath hitch, making your body arch into his. He held you close, your bodies pressed together so tightly it was impossible to tell where you ended and he began.

You sighed his name, your fingers sliding into his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, making him groan softly against your skin. The way he moved, the way he filled you so completely, it was overwhelming in the best way, and it felt so right.

"Noah…"

He lifted his head, his hair falling over his face, his dark eyes locking onto yours, and the look he gave you nearly stole your breath away. Pure adoration, mixed with hunger.

"Yeah?"

"More…" Your voice was barely above a whisper, but he heard you.

Something in him snapped. He reached forward, grabbing a spare pillow and placing it beneath your hips before his grip on your waist tightened, his slow, measured thrusts turning rougher, deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you that had your whole body trembling, all whilst his hand pushed down, applying pressure on your lower tummy.

"Oh… fuck…" You gasped, clinging to him, your legs wrapping around his waist, feeling yourself unravel beneth him.

"That’s it," he groaned, his jaw clenched, his breath ragged. "You feel that? You’re taking me so fucking well, baby…"

You were a mess beneath him now, your body writhing, desperate for more, needing to cum, needing him to push you over the edge.

"I know, baby, I know…" His voice was strained, his pace faltering as he felt you tightening around him, a sign you were close. "I’m right there with you…"

His thumb found your clit again, circling it just right, and that was it. The coil in your stomach snapped, pleasure crashing over you so hard it had you sobbing his name.

Noah groaned deeply, burying his face against your neck as he followed right after you, his whole body tensing, his grip on you tightening as he spilled inside you. He knew it was safe, he knew you were on the pill, and he always used protection with everyone else, but he knew he wanted to feel you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your heavy breathing the only sound in the room. Then, slowly, he pulled out, making you whimper at the loss of contact. He pressed a lingering kiss to your temple before rolling onto his side and pulling you into his arms.

You curled into him, still catching your breath, your face tucked against his chest as his fingers traced lazy circles over your bare back.

"You okay? That wasn’t too much, was it?" He murmured, his voice softer now, still laced with the remnants of pleasure.

You shook your head sleepily, a small, blissful smile tugging at your lips.

"Mmm it was amazing… never felt better…"

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Good… Y’know, I could stay like this forever."

And as you lay there in the quiet, tangled up in each other, you thought… maybe, just maybe, you could too.

Noah let you rest for a few moments, his arms wrapped securely around you, fingers still tracing slow, lazy circles over your back. But then, he shifted, pressing another kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly.

"C’mon, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice soft but insistent. "We gotta get you up."

You groaned in protest, burrowing deeper against his chest.

"Nooo, too comfy…"

He chuckled, giving your hip a gentle squeeze.

"I know, baby, but we need to clean you up, and you need to pee."

Your brows furrowed as you tilted your head back to look at him.

"Pee?"

"Mhm," he nodded, sitting up and tugging you with him. "It’s important, don’t want you getting a uti."

You blinked at him sleepily, still too blissed out to fully process what he was saying, but you let him pull you to your feet anyway. Your legs wobbled slightly, and Noah steadied you with a smirk.

"Shit, you good?"

"Mmm…" You hummed, leaning against him. "Just… a little sore."

"Yeah? Guess I did a good job then." He smirked.

You swatted weakly at his chest, and he laughed, guiding you toward the bathroom.

Once inside, he sat you down on the toilet, crouching in front of you as he brushed some hair from your face.

"Go ahead, baby. We’ll get you cleaned up after."

You felt your face heat up, but when you hesitated, he gave you a reassuring look.

"It’s just me, sweetheart. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

Taking a deep breath, you did as he said. He gave you your privacy, stepping back to run the water for your bath.

Once you were done, you let him guide you into the warm water, sighing as the heat soothed your sore muscles. Noah slid in behind you, pulling you back against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you.

For a while, you just sat there, basking in the warmth, in the feel of him holding you. He washed your body, before pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder, his hands idly running over your arms, your stomach, your thighs. This wasn’t the first time you bathed together, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. Sometimes the two of you just craved closeness, the warmth of another body.

You could stay here with him forever.

But then…

"Yo, Noah! You home?"

Matt’s voice echoed through the house, and you tensed slightly, eyes widening. Noah let out a small groan.

"Should we go down?" You asked, turning to look at him.

He shrugged.

"Might as well. He’s gonna come looking for me anyway."

Reluctantly, you let him help you out of the bath, your legs still a little shaky. He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around you before drying himself off.

Once you were both dressed, Noah in a pair of sweats and you in his oversized shirt, you made your way downstairs, your body still sore but pleasantly so.

Matt was in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge when he spotted you both. His eyes flicked between you and Noah, then to the shirt you were wearing, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Tell me this is not what it looks like.”

"No, it's not." Noah chuckled, reaching around Matt and into the fridge for a couple water bottles, handing one over to you with a slight smirk.

#i'm going to hell #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian #bad omens fanfic #best friend noah #bestfriend noah #noah sebastian imagine #noahsebastian #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian fanfiction #untitled bestfriend!noah series

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waitimcomingtoo · 1 year ago

Text

Just to Learn That You Never Cared

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Synopsis: always leaving class together to go fight crime leads people to think you’re dating when in reality you’re barely even friends. That is, until you agree to fake a relationship to keep your secret life a secret

requested/idea by @usoppsstar

Masterlist

“Oh, hey. Your girlfriend left this in class.” One of Peter’s classmates said as he tossed Peter a hoodie.

“Oh. Thanks.” Peter said before realizing what the person had said. He turned the hoodie over in his hands and recognized it as yours. His face warmed up in a blush when he realized you had just been mistaken for his girlfriend. He shoved the hoodie into his bag and wondered if he should tell you or not.

Peter saw you later that night on a rooftop you frequented often. You were in your suit, as was he, but had your mask sitting beside you. You were munching on a bag of chips and wordlessly extended them to him when he landed on the rooftop beside you. He smiled graciously and took a few before sitting down next to you. Your knees were touching but neither of you moved away.

“You left this in physics, dingus.” Peter said and handed you your hoodie.

“Oh, thanks. We had to run out of there so fast to save that lady. I must’ve left it behind.” You smiled gratefully and pulled it over your head. Peter felt bad that his high tech suit had built in heaters and your homemade suit was probably leaving you freezing every night. He wanted to suggest sharing his warmth, but he didn’t want to overstep.

“I know. Thank God she called the police on those kids for selling lemonade without a permit. I’m really glad we left a test to go witness that heinous crime.”

“It’s not all bad. We did get to see the cops arrest her for wasting their time by making a fake police report, which is always satisfying. And the kids gave us free lemonade. But I think calling it “homemade” was bullshit. I know Minute Maid when I taste it.” You replied, making Peter chuckle.

“You’re right. Both those things were enjoyable.” Peter agreed. “But I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I feel like we have to leave class every other day.”

“I know. Why did we have to pick a college in such a Karen ridden neighborhood?” You sighed.

“Because we wanted to go to the good school with the good science program. We should’ve known the neighborhood would be full of bored housewives who call the police whenever they have a minor complaint. It was our own hubris.”

“It was.” You chuckled and said looked over at him. You exchanged soft smiles before you looked over at the city horizon. Peters eyes never left you and he cleared his throat to get your attention.

“So, uh, my aunt and I were gonna get Chinese food later. At the place that got shut down for being a front for money laundering but that was really just a front for a second Chinese food chain.”

“Oh, I love that place.”

“Yeah. It’s great.” He nodded. “Anyways, you should totally come-“

Peter was cut off by the police radio he wired to his phone going off. He rolled his eyes and checked what the alert was.

“Damn it. Robbery at the bakery on 9th.” He told you.

“Lowkey, I’d do the same. Their cream puffs made me cream.” You said as you put your mask back on.

“Haha, yeah.” Peter chuckled. “Wait, what?”

“You should get some sleep. I’ll handle the robbery. But I’ll catch you tomorrow, Parker. Get home safe.” You saluted him before falling backwards off the building.

“I love you too.” Peter sighed.

“Did you say something?” You asked and popped back up.

“No.” Peter quickly lied.

“Okay. Well, see you tomorrow.” You waved to him and disappeared again. Peter let out another sigh before swinging home.

The next day, you ran after one of your classmates once class was let out.

“Hey, Carly. I emailed you my notes from the class you missed.” You told her.

“Thank you so much. You’re a life saver.” She replied. “Oh, and could you tell your boyfriend that band practice is in the gym today?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.” You agreed. She was about to walk away when you realized what she had said.

“Wait, what am I saying?” You wondered. “Who’s my boyfriend?”

“You know. That guy with the prescription shoes.” Carly answered. You tilted your head in confusion until you realized you knew exactly who she was talking about.

“Wait, Peter?” You laughed in surprise. You expected her to laugh too and reveal she was just kidding but she looked completely serious.

“Oh, right. Peter. Why do I always think his name is Timmy?” Carly wondered.

“Because he looks like a Timmy. He gets it all the time.” You waved your hand. “And his shoes are not prescription. He just bought women’s platform shoes because he wanted to be taller and didn’t think anyone could tell.”

“We can.” Carly mumbled.

“I know.” You agreed. “But, I’m getting off topic. Timmy is not my boyfriend. I mean, Peter is not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever label you guys use, can you tell him that wind ensemble is meeting in the gym instead of the choir room? The sopranos kicked us out again to practice or do drugs or something.” Carly explained. You furrowed your eyebrows at her and tried to figure out if she was joking or not.

“The label? I’m so lost. Who told you that Peter’s my boyfriend?”

“Nobody told me.” She shrugged. “Everyone just knows that you guys are a couple.”

“Well how would they know something that isn’t true?” You asked and folded your arms.

“I mean, it’s not like you guys try to keep it a secret. Between all the whispering and staying close by each other. Plus you’re always sneaking out of class together or showing up late. And if one of you is absent, the other always is too. It’s been like that since high school. People just put two and two together I guess. Why, did you want to to be secret?”

“I didn’t want it to be anything. We’re not even dating.” You insisted and felt like you were going crazy.

“You don’t have to deny it.” Carly laughed. “I know feelings are weird and gross and stuff and you’ve never been the relationship type, but I think this guy is good for you. He brings something out in you. I don’t know. But you guys are cute. I love seeing the nice loser and assertive pretty girl troupe in real life.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.” You calmed down momentarily and smiled a little. Carly walked away and your smile quickly faded when you remembered what she had said. You looked around the hallway and saw another student holding an instrument.

“Hey. Band nerd.” You called out to him.

“Me?” He asked and pointed to himself.

“Yes, you. You had to let go of your saxophone case to point to yourself. Have you seen my boyfriend today?” You asked him.

“Peter? I haven’t seen him since yesterday in-“

“That sentence better not end with “wind ensemble” or I’m gonna lose it.”

“It was wind ensemble.” He said quickly.

“I’m leaving.” You shook your head and walked away from him. You pulled out your phone and went straight to your schools “campus sweethearts” page on instagram. Sure enough, there was a picture of you and Peter sitting next to each other right at the top of the page. You had your head thrown back laughing at something he was saying and he was looking at you fondly. You let out a shocked gasp and before walking out into the courtyard to look for Peter. You spotted him on a bench and smiled.

“Yes. Thank you, small campus”. You pumped your fist and went to sit next to him.

“Oh, hi. I was just thinking about you-“

“Someone is spreading a horrible rumor about you.” You cut him off.

“Oh no.” Peter frowned. “What is it? Is it bad?”

“Horrible.” You shook your head. “Peter, they’re saying you’re in wind ensemble.”

“Oh, I am.” Peter shrugged.

“Huh?”

“I play the clarinet . See. Clarinet.” Peter said and lifted up his little black clarinet case.

“Huh?” You said louder.

“I used to play in high school, pre-bite but post 9/11. I saw a flyer for orchestra on campus so I joined.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” You practically shouted. Peter knew you weren’t happy but felt strangely honored that you were so upset over him not telling you something about her personal life.

“Because I know how you feel about band nerds.” He replied. “And you and I don’t really talk about non-work related things. I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I care.” You insisted. “My rumored boyfriend has been in wind ensemble this whole time and I didn’t even know?”

“Wait, rumored boyfriend? Who, me?” Peter asked in surprised.

“So you didn’t know about this either?”

“No. I mean, someone did refer to you as my girlfriend the other day but I thought it was just an accident. People think you and me are dating?” Peter asked and tried not to look as pleased as he felt.

“Apparently. I’ve had multiple people refer to you as my boyfriend today. And look. We’re on the campus couples Instagram page.” You said and held up your phone.

“Ew. We have one of those?” Peter grimaced and took your phone to see the picture better.

“Yeah. I honestly think the principle runs it.” You replied. Peter was quiet as he stared at the picture for a while.

“What?” You wondered.

“Nothing. This just a cute picture of us. And I think the only picture of us.” He said with a shy smile. You frowned and looked at the picture again before realizing he was right.

“Carly said people think we’re dating since we’re always sneaking off together.” You told him. Peter thought out this for a minute and then made another connection.

“Ohhhh.” He said and nodded his head.

“What?”

“This explains why the boys congratulated me on the bus back to New York after the Washington monument trip for losing my virginity at a historic landmark.”

“You lost your virginity on that trip? To who?” You whispered harshly and felt jealousy burning through your veins.

“You, apparently.” He laughed. “You and I disappeared to get the glowy alien egg bomb thing back and I guess everyone assumed we were off desecrating a national monument.”

“Oh my God. That was like 3 years ago.” You realized. “People have thought we were dating this whole time? We need to put a stop to this.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Or…” Peter trailed off and gave you a look.

“Or?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Or, we lean into it.” He suggested. “We let people think it. We encourage it, even.”

“Why would we do that?”

“People have been suspicious about where we go and what we’re doing since high school. We can only fake so many illnesses and I ran out of grandparents to lie about the death of by junior year. So if people already made up a reason, maybe we should let them think that. We don’t have to go out of our way to confirm it but we can keep the assumption going to keep them from finding out what we’re really doing.”

“So you think we should let people think we’re dating so they stop wondering about what we’re always off doing?”

“That’s exactly what I just said, yes.” Peter nodded.

“Hey. Be nicer to your fake girlfriend.” You said and smacked his arm.

“I’m sorry. I will.” Peter blushed and rubbed his arm. You felt bad for hitting him and wrapped both arms around him to rub them up and down. He smiled softly at you and you sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

“You play the clarinet?” You asked after a minute.

“Squidward made it look so cool.” Peter shrugged.

“Did he?” You asked, making Peter laugh.

“No.” He admitted.

The next day, you and Peter walked to school together with the understanding that from then on out, you were going to play the part of a happy couple. You weren’t going to go around announcing it to everyone or anything. You just needed to convince the few that didn’t already believe the rumor and confirm things for the ones who did believe it.

“You ready for this?” You asked Peter as you stepped into campus.

“I think so. Maybe we should hold hands or something. You know, since people think we’re dating.” Peter suggested and tried to make it sound like it didn’t matter to him.

“I guess so.” You shrugged and held out your hand. Peter eagerly took your hand and took note of the way it fit in his like it was made for him.

“This is weird.” You whispered to him, popping his bubble.

“Why? Are my hands sweaty?” He panicked.

“No. Just really, really hot.” You told him. “It’s just weird that nobody seems to care that we’re holding hands right now.”

“I mean, we are just two random people with almost no social presence.”

“That’s true. I guess I just thought people would care more.” You admitted as you looked around the campus. No one was phased by you and Peter, but he was too busy enjoying the moment to realize it.

“Are you disappointed?” He asked you.

“Yeah. I wore my best bra because I thought I’d be getting more attention today.” You frowned and adjusted the strap of your bra.

“It’s okay. I’ll take one for the team and stare at your boobs.” Peter assured you.

“Aw. Thank you.” You gushed and gave his hand a squeeze.

You got to your physics class and sat together at your usual lab table. Peter looked around the classroom while you carried on as usual.

“Maybe I should put my arm around you. You know, to really convince people.” Peter suggested with a shy blush on his face.

“Is that really something people do?” You genuinely wondered. “I feel like I never see couples with their arms around each other.”

“Actually, I don’t think I have either. But let’s try it anyway.” He said and wrapped an arm around you. You scooted closer to him so that you could comfortably lean into him. You quickly realized you didn’t hate it and let out a content sigh.

“Hm.” Peter made a little noise at the back of his throat.

“What?” You asked him.

“Our height difference makes this hurt my shoulder.” He leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“Then move your arm.” You whispered back.

“I can’t. I just wrapped it around you. It’ll look weird if I immediately take it off.” Peter said as he covered behind him to see who was looking.

“Or, consider this. Nobody in this entire city, and dare I say world, cares where your arm is right now.” You whispered harshly.

“Fine. I’ll remove it. But I have to give a reason.” He told you before loudly clearing his throat.

“Ah. Sorry, babe. I can’t cuddle you right now. My arm is sore from band practice.” Peter said loud enough for everyone in the classroom to hear him. You hung your head in shame and heard people murmuring about his strange comment.

“Oh God.” Peter gulped. “People are looking. They’re gonna know something is up. I have to put it back.”

He went to put his arm back around you but you stopped him before he could draw any more attention to the two of you.

“Just do this.” You whispered to him and pulled his stool closer to you and turned towards him a little. Your knees and were touching and you were now facing each other.

“That’s it? No one can even see this.” Peter said in disappointment. He thought being your fake boyfriend would bring you guys closer but you were sitting the way you always sat in class.

“It’s not about what people can see. It’s about proximity.” You explained. “We’re sitting closer together than anyone else is without being egregious about it. It’s a simple touch. If we’ve been together as long as people think we have, we don’t need to be wrapped around each other all the time. A simple touch to let the other know we’re there is all we need.”

Peter was silent as he stared at you following your explanation. He stared for so long that you felt yourself blush under the eye contact.

“What?” You asked him.

“I like the way you explain things.” Peter said simply. You quickly looked down so he wouldn’t see the effect that comment had on you and took a moment to collect yourself.

“It’s just something I thought of.” You shrugged.

“I know. But I never would have thought of that. Especially not as naturally as it did for you. You’re so quick.”

“Thank you.” You laughed shyly and found yourself unable to look away from him. Peter opened his mouth to say something to keep the momentum rolling but his phone interrupted him.

“Shoot. Sus-tivity on the b bridge.” He whispered.

“What the hell does that mean?” You asked at full volume.

“It means there’s suspicious activity on the Brooklyn bridge.” He rolled his eyes. “We have to act fast so I didn’t have time to say the whole thing.”

“But you just said the whole thing. And the abridged version. So it took twice as long.”

“Shh.” He waved his hand. “We gotta go.”

You reluctantly collected your things and took Peter’s hand to pull him out of his seat. Peter followed you out the classroom but the teacher cleared her throat when you walked by.

“And where are you two going?” She asked. You and Peter exchanged looks as the class snickered and murmured their theories about what exactly you were heading off to do.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Pepper. My girlfriend and I have to leave class unexpectedly. Please excuse us. It’s urgent.” Peter’s said politely.

“I bet it’s urgent, Parker.” A boy snickered, making serval classmates laugh.

“Gross.” You wrinkled your noses and looked at the boys in disdain.

“Fine.” The teacher sighed. “The only reason I don’t write you two up for skipping so often is because you somehow have the best grades in the class. Go on. Just get the homework done.”

“We will.” You assured her before leaving the room with Peter. Peter noticed that you didn’t drop his hand even when you were alone in the hallway.

“Hey, you know that teachers name is Dr. Zhang and not Dr. Pepper, right?” You asked him.

“Oh my God.” Peter gasped. “Is it really? I’ve emailed her so many times and said “Dear Dr. Pepper”. We have to drop out.”

You laughed and held his hand the rest of the way out of the building.

That night, Peter laid in his bed with his phone held close to his face. He had been trying to figure out what to text you to let you know he had been thinking of you.

“I had fun fighting crime with you today” He wrote out. He read it over before scrunching his nose.

“No. Too cringe. She is not gonna fall in love with someone that says “fighting crime”. I’m not Paw Patrol.” He said like it was obvious. He deleted his text and thought of another one.

“I had a good time today, we make a good team” He wrote out instead. He read it a few times until he found issue with it.

“Oh, you had a good time stopping those break dancers that were obstructing that Sbarro? That’ll catch her attention.” Peter said sarcastically and deleted the text.

“have a goodnight :)” He typed out and then shook his head.

“No. Wayyyy too horny.” He sighed and deleted it again.

“night” He wrote out and read it a few times.

“This is good. I can work with this.” He nodded. He was about to workshop it when a text from you popped up.

“pick a color” It said. Peters heart skipped a beat at the vague message and replied with the first color that popped into his head.

“blue”

“thank u” You wrote back within seconds. Peters heart stopped pounded and the disappointment that the conversation was over settled in. After all these years of fighting crime together, you two never really managed to make it past the coworkers stage. He was desperate for more but never knew how to get there.

“no homo but I had fun fighting crime with you today” You suddenly texted again. A smile tugged at Peter’s lips and he touched his as if it were your face.

“ok paw patrol” He wrote back. Back in your room, you were laughing at his text and trying to think of a witty reply.

“ur mad bc you know I’m the chase 🐶” You texted him.

“if ur the Chase then who am I?”

“plssss ur such a marshall” You wrote back.

“but that’s the third most important dog :(“ Peter replied.

“well yes but he’s cute and wears red so the little paw patrol shoe fits” You answered. A blush painted Peters cheeks over you calling him cute but he didn’t want to read too much into it.

“Im wearing red right now😳” He texted back.

“oh I bet you are” You answered, making him laugh. He kept the conversation going for about an hour before duty called once again. Peter groaned and put his suit on before swinging to the scene of the crime. He met you there and stopped the crime before stopping on a nearby rooftop to rest.

“These burglars aren’t very considerate of our sleep schedules. Who robs a Jersey Mikes after midnight? Or, like, ever?” Peter huffed as he tugged his mask off.

“I know. They’re always at inconvenient times. I was in the middle of painting my nails.”

“Can I see?” He asked in a soft voice. You pulled your gloves off and held out your hand for him to see.

“Look. Blue. But I only got half way through before Mike’s was targeted.”

“It’s okay. They still look pretty.” Peter complimented you with a soft smile.

“Thanks. You picked a good color.” You replied.

“What do you mean?” He frowned.

“I told you to pick a color. This is why.” You explained and held out your hand again. His eyes lit up at this new information and he took your hand to see your nails closer.

“You let me chose your nail color?” He smiled fondly.

“Well I didn’t know what to chose so I thought I’d ask the audience.” You shrugged and felt shy all of the sudden.

“Oh. And I’m the target audience, huh?” Peter smirked and turned towards you.

“I never said target.” You teased him and shoved him shoulder.

“I must be hearing things, then.” He shrugged as you both smiled.

“Yeah. Must be.” You said in a soft voice as you stared into his eyes. Peter gulped before making a bold move and taking your hand again under the guise of looking at your nails.

“Look at you. You even got my favorite shade.” He noted.

“You like “Eating For Blue”?” You pretended to gasp.

“Is that really the name of the color?” He laughed.

“Uh huh. It was apart of Essie’s baby fever collection. I almost chose “All In Blue Time” but that’s one tends to get little air bubbles and they give me agida. And I used to have “A Dream Come Blue” but it rolled under the sink so it belongs to the dust bunnies now.” You shrugged as you checked out your nails.

“Wow. This is all new information to me. So, are all nail polish colors named after puns and wordplay?” He asked as he stared into your eyes. He didn’t really care, but he was finally getting somewhere with you and didn’t want it to end.

“In my experience, yes. Not always color related wordplay but always something that makes you go yeah, I guess this shade of beige is what the word “ladylike” would be as a color.”

“This is blowing my mind right now.” Peter chuckled.

“You mean blue-ing your mind.” You corrected and tapped the side of your head.

“I think you inhaled too many of those fumes. Because that was not funny.” Peter said through a laugh.

“What?” You pretended to be offended. “You’re literally laughing right now. I’m so funny.”

“You are.” Peter admitted when his laughter died down. You stared into eyes for a minute before smiling.

“Is that what you rumored saw in me?” You asked him.

“Probably.” He chuckled. “I also heard a rumor that I think you’re really pretty. Like, the prettiest girl I was ever rumored to have allegedly seen.”

“Now you’re the one who’s looney from the fumes because that’s a straight up lie. I know you’ve seen prettier girls because I was standing right next to you when Anne Hathaway left that diner.” You said without making eye contact with him. Things were moving a little too fast and you needed it hit the brakes for a second.

“Oh, yeah. You’re right.” Peter forced a laugh and awkwardly looked over at the cityscape when he realized you were politely telling him to pull back.

“But I appreciate it.” You said after a beat of silence.

“Of course. Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking saying that.” He laughed nervously. “I was just getting caught up in the fake dating. We’ve been doing it for so long that it felt real.”

“We only started this morning.” You reminded him.

“Right. Well, it’s late. I’m gonna go home.” He said quickly and stood up. He had just blown that and needed to leave as quickly as possible.

“Okay. Goodnight. See you at school.” You called after him. Peter swung home with tears in his eyes and went straight to bed, missing your text about having fun fighting another crime.

The next day at school, Peter decided to start over and push last night from his mind. He played the part of your boyfriend to the best of his abilities and opened every door, pulled out every seat, and carried ever book for you all day long. Then he did it the next day, and the day after that. He kept his mouth shut about his feelings day in and day out no matter how painful it was getting. You and Peter had finally moved past the coworker stage and become real friends so he didn’t want to sabotage it all by telling you that he spent his days wishing for more.

“What are your plans tonight?” You asked him one day as you walked out of class together.

“My aunt is going out with her friends so I was probably gonna watch a movie on my couch. But on my laptop with my earbuds in. Likely in my boxers. Likely with an entire package of Twizzlers. Why?”

“Well I was gonna suggest that we hang out but you sound booked.”

“Really? You want to hang out?” Peter asked with much more enthusiasm than he intended.

“If you want. I’m not doing anything as exciting as boxers and Twizzlers.”

“I would love to. I’ll put on pants for you. I promise.”

“Sounds good.” You laughed. “Text me your address, okay?”

“Sure. Or you could walk with me now. Unless you’re tired of me and need a break before we hang out.” Peter suggested as you left campus together.

“It’s funny you say that. I was just telling my mom the other day that I never get tired of you.” You said casually.

“You..you don’t?” Peter’s face heated up as he followed you down the sidewalk.

“I don’t. I usually need a break from other people if we’ve been together awhile but it’s different with you. It doesn’t feel like I’m using my social battery if that makes sense.“

“It makes sense.” He smiled shyly as your hands bumped against each others. He was about to make a bold move and take your hand despite no one being around but you suddenly moved it to hit the crosswalk button.

Back at Peter’s apartment, he awkwardly gave you a tour and wished he had picked up his clothes before leaving the house that morning. You didn’t seem to mind the socks and boxers strewn across his room because you were too focused on all the little things he kept on his shelves. You picked up a picture frame of your freshman year high school class that had you and Peter seated right next to each other. Your friendship had only just begun so you often forgot how long you knew him for.

“So this is your room.” You smiled and put the picture back.

“Yup. This is where the magic happens.” Peter said and immediately cringed at himself.

“Oh really?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. This is where I practice magic. Wanna see?” He asked and picked up a deck of cards. You laughed and went over to take one.

“Is your card the ace of spades?” He asked.

“Queen of hearts.” You snorted and turned the card around.

“You’re the queen of my heart.” He whispered.

“Did you say something?” You asked as you looked at all his Legos.

“I asked what you wanted to do tonight.” He lied.

“I don’t know. We have the place to ourselves. We could do something rated R.” You said with a coy smile.

“Like what?” Peter gulped.

“Watch an R rated movie, you perv. Your aunt isn’t here to stop you.”

“You remember me telling you that I’m not allowed to watch R rated movies in the living room anymore?” Peter blushed at you remembering something he had randomly told you long ago.

“Are you referring to the time you watched Tusk at full volume while she had her friends from work over for the first time? How could I forget?”

“In my defense, I didn’t know what the movie was about. And I didn’t think her friends were gonna come into the living room and see that guy getting turned into a walrus.”

“Yeah, the title and cover art gave no indication that the movie would end that way. But that’s not a bad idea actually. Let’s watch something scary.”

“Okay.” Peter agreed and followed you out into the living room. He turned off the lights and got some snacks while you picked a movie. He hated scary movies but he was not about to tell you that. Instead, he sat on the couch beside you as a respectful distance and handed you a bag of chips. As the movie went on, you got closer and closer to each other. Peter had never really seen you scared before but you were practically in his lap just 40 minutes into the movie. You reached into the bag of chips at the same time as Peter and your fingers touched. You both froze and looked at each other as your faces heated up.

“Shit. I’m not wearing a condom.” Peter sighed, making you yank your hand out and laugh.

“You’re stupid.” You laughed and turned back to the movie just as a jump-scare happened. You screamed and jumped closer to Peter.

“This is so scary. Why did I pick this movie?” You asked as you drew your knees up and leaned into his side.

“Yeah, same.” He replied, not even listening. He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. You were cuddled into his side with your head on his shoulder and knees in his lap with a blanket drawn up to your nose. He knew you were only cuddling him because you were scared but it didn’t even matter at that point. The movie went quiet for a minute and then made a loud sound, sending you to burry your face into Peter’s neck.

“Tell me when it’s safe to come out.” You whispered into his ear. Peter gulped and wrapped an arm around you to fully protect you from the movie.

“I will.” He said in a soft voice. You peaked your head out a few minutes later but stayed nestled into Peter’s side. You realized his arm was around you and smiled a little.

“Oh, this isn’t so bad.” You shrugged as the main character got eaten alive.

“I don’t understand you.” Peter chuckled and looked down at you. You laughed as well as you looked into his eyes. He was about to say something when another sharp sound from the movie caused you to jump.

“Hold my hand.” You blurted and grabbed his hand. Peter happily accepted and clasped your hand before holding it under his chin. You stayed in that position for a long time and watched the movie. You were both so focused on the screen that you didn’t hear May opening the front door and coming in.

“Hey. I’m home.” She said, making you both scream.

“Oh, hi May.” Peter greeted while he realized it was just her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker. I’m-“

“I know.” She smirked. “I’ll just be in my room. But, Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“No going in your room with the door closed, okay? I’m home. And we have thin walls. Just keep that in mind.” She said, making Peter turn bright red.

“Got it, May.” He mumbled. She winked at you and disappeared into her bedroom.

“You told your aunt we were dating?” You whispered to Peter in confusion.

“No.” Peter answered honestly. “I guess she just assumed we were.”

“Wow. She’s just like the kids at school.” You shook your head. “I don’t get it. Why does everyone think we’re dating?”

“I mean…” Peter trailed off and looked down at your clasped hands. You hadn’t realized you were still cuddling and quickly jumped off of him. Peters heart sank and the longer he sat in the absence of your body heat, the more upset he felt.

“You just jumped off of me like I was sharp.” He said without looking at you.

“I didn’t want your aunt to see us cuddling and think-“

“And think what?” He snapped, cutting you off. You gutted your head back in surprise and let out a nervous laugh.

“Woah. What’s going on with you? She already knows about your secret life. We don’t have any reason to pretend we’re dating in front of her.”

Peter stared at you for a long time as the word “pretend” cut into him like a knife. Every time he thought you were going somewhere, he was reminded that it didn’t actually mean anything to you.

“Yeah. You’re right.” He mumbled and looked at the movie again. You kept your eyes on him and felt guilty. You had so much to say to him but you felt unable to speak.

“Peter-“

“I don’t think we should pretend to date anymore.” He blurted, cutting you off once again. Your eyebrows went up in surprise and you got a sick feeling in your tummy that you had just ruined something really important.

“What? Why not?”

“It’s stupid. No one even cares anymore.” He shrugged. “We don’t have to fake a breakup or anything but I don’t want to hold hands or play along anymore. I’m done.”

“What changed?” You asked in a soft voice. He was still looking at the movie while you were fully turned to face him.

“Nothing changed. That’s the problem.” He said and angrily got off the couch. You quickly caught his hand and he stopped. He looked down at the ground and let out a sigh. He knew it wasn’t fair to be mad at you if he hadn’t told you what was wrong. He slowly turned around and looked at you.

“Five years ago, you showed up to the same robbery at an all night CVS that I was at and I realized we knew each other from AP Spanish class because I had asked you earlier that day how to conjugate “poner” and you said “pusiste” and I laughed because I thought you were joking but you weren’t and then that night you heard me tell the burglar that he better“pusiste” the money back into the register.“ Peter began.

“Okay. Wow. That was a really long sentence.” You laughed softly. “But I remember that. I laughed and told you that you better remember that for the test.”

“You did. That’s how I knew it was you.” He smiled at the memory. “I failed that test, by the way. I still can’t conjugate “poner.” And I still think it means “boner” even though I know it’s a verb. But anyway, that night, I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited to have met you. Even though we technically already knew each other, that night put us in each others radars. I could not believe that I had met my match. You’re into science like me and sarcastic like me and you understand this side of my life because you have the same side. But despite running into each other on patrol almost nightly and seeing each other around school, I barely got you to notice me. I don’t think you even knew my name until we ended up going the same college. You called me “Timmy” all throughout high school.”

“You seriously look like one. It’s uncanny. I don’t know what it is.”

“I thought things would change when I found out we were going to the same college. The campus is so small I figured there’s no way we wouldn’t become friends. But even then, we hardly ever talked and when we did it was always about work. I didn’t even know where you lived until last semester.”

“I remember that too. The first night we really bonded was when you fell off that roof because you were trying to show me how to do a backflip.”

“Yeah, I’ve never been able to do a backflip.” He admitted. “I only said I could because you said you always wanted to learn how to do one and I assumed given my abilities I’d be able to do one if I just followed my body. But I busted my ass and you were kind enough to sneak me through your window and patch me up with some Scooby Doo bandaids.”

“It was all I had.” You shrugged.

“And you gave it to me anyway. Because you’re kind and compassionate and I’m just…I’m crazy about you.” Peter finally admitted. “I was so excited when we started hanging out more this semester but it always ended up crushing me when I remembered that we just doing it to keep people from finding out the truth. I really, really love our friendship and if I’m ruining it all by saying all this then at least I can die with it off my chest.”

“Wait, now I’m confused. Are you dying?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “It feels like I am every time you and I start to get close and then I remember this is all pretend for you.”

“So it’s not pretend for you?” You asked quietly. Peter stared into your heads for a minute and then shook his head.

“No. I was never pretending. I like you.” He told you. Your facial expression didn’t change as you stared back at him. Peter was really starting to panic until a smile tugged at your lips.

“Sit back down.” You told him.

“I’m sat.” He said and rushed it sit down. You nestled back into his side and laid your head down on his shoulder. Peter smiled and rested his head on top of yours, finally pleased with the way a conversation with you went. You both turned your attention back to the movie just in time for it to end.

“Hm.” You huffed. “That was supposed to be us symbolically finishing the movie as a real couple but it appears we’ve already arrived at the credits. Now what?”

“We could watch Tusk.” Peter suggested at the same time you said “We could make out.”

“I never actually saw Tusk but I always wanted to.” You gasped and hit his arm with excitement.

“Or we could do your thing.” Peter forced a laugh and tried not to sound as desperate as he felt.

“Let me see if I can find it.” You said as you scrolled through the streaming services on his TV.

“Or we could do your thing.”

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hoonieyun · 4 months ago

Text

paint them for me?

pairing: park jongseong x reader genre: romance and fluff warnings: nothing besides a kiss! 18+ not proofread lol synopsis: jay watches you fondly do your nails and once you've finished, he asks you to also do his.

hoonieyun notes: some more fluff before the angst begins... hehe!

wc: 1126

one of jay’s favorite things about you was your pure love and enjoyment of getting your nails done. you often got them done by an independent artist but she had moved away and you never found anyone who was just as good and would do your nails the way you liked them.

in comes jay, who convinced you to learn how to do your own nails so that you could not only save money but also do your nails how you want them done. you were hesitant at first because you knew how much skill and patience it took but that was 3 years ago and now you’re practically a professional.

you’ve been doing your own nails ever since thanks to the encouragement of you boyfriend who surprised you with a nail kit that had everything you needed to do your nails at home and more. he even built you a station in the corner of your bedroom so you could comfortably do your nails. he loved watching you sit down and do your nails because he thought you were so cute as your brows would furrow and how you’d bite your bottom lip as you focused on doing your nails.

today, you had found a design on pinterest of some abtract lines and shapes but it was in red and since you had just done a set of red nails, you wanted a different color. you had asked jay what color you should do and after thinking about it briefly, he suggested blue, even going as far as to pick out the specific shade of blue from the various colors of nail polish he bought you.

“this one!” he says, grabbing it from the shelf with a cute smile. you thanked him with a kiss before letting him go back to his own thing. he would often just play his guitar, nap, or scroll on his phone while you did your nails. he liked accompanying you while you did your nails because you were always one to ask him for his advice, “does this look good?” or “is this cute, babe?” you’d ask him as if he knew anything about nails but everything you did was cute and so were all of the nails that you did.

it takes you about three hours to finish your nails and jay would bring you water or feed you snacks every so often to make sure you weren’t getting too tired. you showed them off to him after you had finished and he gently grabbed your hand and observed them, complimenting your nails and placing a kiss on your knuckles.

when you begin to put your things away, he clears his throat, gaining your attention. “are you tired?” he asks and you shake your head no. “why?” you ask while continuing to clean up your area.

“well.. i was kinda thinking.. can you do my nails? like yours! but not as long haha” he says shyly, scratching the back of his neck and placing a hand in his pocket.

“really?” you say ethusiastically. you’ve always wanted to match nail designs with your boyfriend but never knew if jay would be interested. you guessed that since you never asked you never would’ve known so you were ecstatic to see that he was not only down to get matching nails with you but he also asked on his own accord.

“yeah, honestly i chose this color because i liked it and wanted us to match the same colors.” he explains as you extend your hand out to him. jay grabs onto it gently as he sits across from you on the other side of your table. “aww, babe you’re so cute.” you say with a chuckle as he smiles at you endearingly. you begin to take out the items you had put away so you could also do jay’s nails.

he was very patient with you and was the best client you’ve ever had, although he was also the first and probably only client you’ll ever have. his nails took less time than your because they were short and didn’t need much work, so you were completed in no time. he watched you with hearts in his eyes as you focused on painting his nails. a smile on his lips the whole time. he loved seeing you do things you loved so if it meant getting his nails done too, why not?

“wow, they look sick baby.” he says, looking at his nails up close. “we match!” he says while flipping his hand over so the back of his hand was directedf towards you, a wide and bready smile on his face. “can i take a picture?” you ask.

“of course, baby.” he says and you take his hand once more and bring him over to the window near your bed for better lighting. you instruct him on how to place his hands after sliding on some of his rings for extra effect. you position your hand next to his as you take the photo, showing him for approval before you post it on your instagram.

“they’re amazing, baby. thank you, you’re so talented.” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“it’s nothing, babe. i wouldn’t be half the nail artist i am now if you didn’t encourage me and buy all this stuff for me.” you say with a slight pout and jay chuckles as he recalls the day he surprised you with all of this. you were beyond shocked and even shed some tears because he had gone the extra mile to do something for you that he definitely didn’t need to but because he loved you so much, it wasn’t something you ever needed to ask for.

“next time, you should choose the design too!” you say and jay nods. pulling out his phone so he could start looking for matching nails designs the two of you could do. he even adds new items and polishes into an online store so you could have more options and although you tell him what you have now is fine; you were sure that he was going to secretly put in that order anyways.

you often spent time learning of jay’s hobbies and interests, getting to know his hometown baseball team and the ways of baseball, the seattle mariner’s, learning basics on the guitar, and his neverending need to try and make new recipes; to which you’d either be his soux chef or taste tester.

it was only fair that jay also participated in one of your hobbies. another thing that the two of you could do together and bond over. even if it’s something as simple as getting your nails done.

ᡣ•.•𐭩♡ @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @17ericas @manaah02 @heeseung64 @zorange13 @firstclassjaylee @leipforggy

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

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neil-gaiman · 1 year ago

Note

Hello, Neil Gaiman. I am writing this letter of gratitude because I am in despair, but I am obliged to you. I am Russian, I live in a small town in the south of Russia, in the Caucasus. a month ago I turned 16, so now I am fully responsible for all my actions. I'm bisexual, which is now illegal. you understand what I mean, but I’m simply scared to write about such things. absolutely no one knows about this, and I have to hide every day. this is an unbearable burden, but I must say thank you. because your projects are what gives me life. you have no idea how much pleasure it was for me, at eight years old, to fearfully admire Mr. Bobinsky. when, at 14, I finally saved up money for the Russian edition of Good Omens, which I had to order via the Internet not directly, but through my friends, I was quietly delighted. it is worth paying tribute to: this edition is really good and very warms the soul, its design may not be filled with elegance with a golden border, but it is very homely, cozy and imbued with love for the work, this can be felt, even if the translation is not the best. and on the very first pages I felt something that I had never experienced, having problems with the nervous system and anxiety: I felt protected and happy. I felt complete. each line was a sip of life-giving water for me. let me be so bold but this book is perfect for me and it's hard to believe it wasn't written for me personally haha. like two pieces of a puzzle. I hold the book of Good Omens, and I cry almost every time because it feels good just to hold it in my hands. you shouldn’t put this next to fanaticism, it’s just personal happiness. sometimes I felt so safe with this book that I hugged it as I fell asleep. then I saved up to the translation of script book for the first season, and I must say that I am confused, because there are no deleted scenes in it with Crowley shopping or the opening of Aziraphale's bookstore and others, and this was not clear to me. and a month ago, on October 30, my cousin, who is like my own sister, gave me the original Good Omens for my birthday. can you imagine? in all of Russia she was able to find only one person who carried out such foreign orders (please forgive me, I have little understanding of this). so, in some ineffable way, a copy was delivered to me via America from Corgi Books, I think, 2014. soft cover and thin pages, of course, but I'm so happy. and I’m also grateful to myself, because I’ve been learning English since I was seven, and therefore I’m glad that I can read the original. oh, you should have seen with what rapture I waited for the release of the second season at three in the morning! and with what delight I watched it in English without subtitles, understanding what was happening. this is happiness. what I want to say is that you bring…indescribable happiness to my life. you give me strength, and I don’t give up. I cry every time I allow myself to dream that I am escaping from here. that I can meet you and say thank you in person with my stupid accent, not so much because of my native language, but because of the braces, hahaha. but I never stop dreaming about it, although even this is hard. thank you for everything. I wish only peace and love. with devotion, love and gratitude, A.

I'm sending thoughts of love and concern. Stay safe.

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saerins · 2 years ago

Text

─── 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄

+ gojo x f!reader | wc 2.3k | content: modern au, fluff, slight angst, rich!gojo, rich!reader, arranged marriage but reversed(?), slightly suggestive

notes: haha i was exploring tropes and this just came to me :’) fairly nervous so feedbacks and reblogs appreciated muwah <3

summary: sometimes you think that you and gojo are not meant to be. and sometimes, he itches to prove you wrong.

there are many things you would call gojo satoru. partner in crime, friendship on fire, a twisted manifestation of the kind of romance that would consume you whole if you didn’t take precaution.

“ready to do this, baby?”

he’s as sweet-lipped as ever, the honeyed words overflowing from his tongue. how you’d miss it, those words you hear at night, the saccharine praises that send you into overdrive.

“only if you are, sweetie.”

you’re equally good at it, having learned from one of the best—gojo satoru himself. you smirk at him, straightening his suit and tie. he looks devilishly handsome in that tailored suit, the one you had made for him. if you recall correctly, he only saves it for a special occasion.

and it qualifies—today is definitely a special occasion.

“so happy to be getting rid of me?” satoru asks you, pouting and putting on his best puppy eyes. his white lashes house a sea of crystalline blue, the kind you’ve gotten addicted to, the same pair you’d gotten lost in many times over.

you’ll never forget it.

the way satoru’s lips ghost over your own. the way his index finger trails up the side of your arm. he likes the goosebumps that sear across your skin. satoru loves knowing the effect he has on you.

this marriage of convenience has taken its toll on both your families. in hindsight, they should’ve known that they can’t control either of you. the gojo family, for all they’re worth, thought that gojo satoru would never betray their money, their status. and your family—they’d always known you’d objected to these notions; convenience, business, romance—the way these three intertwine intentionally, a manufactured relationship borne out of familial ties.

it’s bullshit.

how lucky for you, that gojo satoru felt the same. he still feels the same, which is why he’s in front of you right now, getting ready to drop the bomb in the investors’ meeting.

his father is sure to kill him, but that’s provided he can get through you first.

sure, getting married to gojo satoru was not in your life plans. your mother had chosen a very apt timing to tempt you, quoting half a million dollars as the condition for getting and staying married to that gojo boy. and sure, she can do her best to try and haggle that money back from you once the both of you are done with today, but you’re guessing she’ll be facing much more important and pressing matters than simply getting money back from her defiant daughter.

“this is what we discussed, satoru,” you sigh, avoiding his question like he knew you would. “one year, that’s all we needed. and look where we are now.”

satoru smiles, pearly whites and bad boy charm. “i’d miss you in my bed at night though.”

you smack him playfully across his chest. he only chuckles lowly, fondly, his right hand on your head, brushing your hair. it almost makes you want to stay. but that wasn’t part of the deal, and you’re not sure that either you or satoru are ready for commitments.

“must’ve been some pretty good sex to make the gojo satoru miss me, huh?” you play along, pushing yourself away gently, your hand on his chest.

satoru tips your chin up with his finger, looking you in the eyes as he tells you, “babe, you’re the best pussy i’ve ever had.”

complete romantic, as you can tell. (you can’t stop his vulgar tongue even if you tried.)

“okay okay, stop stalling, satoru,” you chide him, holding your palm out, smiling as he takes it. “got the evidence?”

satoru holds a thick envelope out, grinning. “all here.”

the two of you stand outside the conference room for a minute, staring at each other. in another world, maybe you’d be in this hotel with gojo satoru where you’re actually married—for feelings rather than a transaction. in that other world, maybe you and gojo satoru were childhood sweethearts, the kind where you grew old without all the fucked up relationships that branded both of you too overwhelmed to be in a real one right now. hey, maybe in that world, maybe just maybe, that vow that gojo satoru had uttered on your wedding day (the same that you had uttered as well)—maybe he would’ve meant it.

you didn’t think you would come to like gojo satoru. it’s been a long time since you’d first met him. when you’d seen him stomping into the meeting room of your company’s office like he owned the place, like everyone there was beneath him. he’d gotten right under your skin then and there.

getting along was no easy feat. it took three months for the both of you to agree to live together. strangely it took just one night for you both to give in to temptation once you did start living together.

both of you are menaces—that’s what your mother would say.

somehow, somewhere, those feelings you thought you’d never feel before blossomed again. the kind of trust you didn’t think you’d ever give was given to satoru and you wonder if he even knows it. but satoru has never changed his stance on relationships since the first time you met him; they’re a waste of time.

“you know, if you wanna keep me, all you gotta do is say so.” satoru’s looking at you, that jester smile plastered on his face. you can’t see his beautiful eyes when it’s all crinkled up like that, but you thank god for that. you don’t know how you’d resist him if you could see them.

“dream on, satoru,” you deflect, and expertly. you’re great at hiding your real feelings like that. “our deal ends today.”

yeah, the deal the two of you made with each other, right when both families thought their children had made peace with their decision, or their fate, as they liked to call it. neither you nor gojo felt any affection for the family you grew up in, not when they’d never took interest in either of you as anything other than an heir. when both your childhoods were filled with extra readings and learning proper manners. when satoru grew up learning from his father that women were just a means to a child and you’d grown up learning from your mother that if a girl is not beautiful then she is not desirable. you remember how she almost disowned you for getting a scar on your face, even though it was only temporary.

she has a penchant for the overdramatics. you think today might be no different. you hope not. the entire aim of today is to bring about the crumble of two empires—gojo’s and your family’s.

to hell with their money and their dirty syndicates. it’s filthy money they have their hands full with, and frankly, you and satoru are done playing their pawns.

as satoru leads the way, you loop your arm around his elbow, watching as his father is taken completely off-guard when he watches his own son expose his schemes, watching as your own parents try to salvage the situation by saying how children these days would do anything to get out of their responsibilities.

they’re all walking ironies.

you both watch as the investors walk out one by one, outraged and disappointed. you watch as satoru’s own father vows to kill him, and you scoff as your own mother seconds his notion.

“not if the law gets you first,” you tell them, effectively shutting them up as they hear the police sirens in the air.

they spew about how the both of you are pieces of shit as they’re taken away, and you find you couldn’t care less. maybe it’s a little inhuman of you not to feel a thing when you watch your parents getting taken away in handcuffs. but then again, they’d never really treated you like a human either.

“here you go,” satoru chirps as the sirens drown into the background. he holds out another envelope, this one solely for you.

you smile, a melancholy washing over you as you take it from his hands and take the documents out, flipping to the last page where satoru has already signed.

“our divorce papers,” you coo, “how romantic.”

because gojo satoru is always a romantic.

he remembers your birthday and remembers your favourite cake. he remembers what you need when you’re upset, never makes you feel alone. he remembers how you like your eggs and purposely cooks them wrong all the time. he remembers how you take your coffee and always gives you tea. he remembers how you always nag at him for annoying you and then annoy you some more because for some reason you look very attractive when you’re angry.

it takes you a minute to sign your own name. it kind of feels lonely now, thinking how you’ll never go back to the same apartment as satoru. how you won’t see him sprawled out on the couch, pouting because you’re a little late for movie night. how you won’t catch him staring at your body as you get changed. how you won’t get to throw your pillows at him in the morning for tickling you in bed just to get you to wake up.

after all—you’d agreed; these affections were temporary like they were always meant to be.

you can’t help but find yourself wishing for more. but you were raised to be ruthless, not stupid. you won’t let satoru know of your feelings, because all your deductions say that nothing good will come of it.

“hmm,” satoru hums as he eyes your signature. “wouldn’t be opposed to a special arrange—”

“not gonna be your fuckbuddy, satoru,” you deadpan at him, flicking his forehead.

“why not?” he whines, and you nearly cave.

because you can’t risk falling further than you already have when there’s absolutely zero chance of satoru catching you.

“because there’s a long line of guys i wanna date and you should get in line first,” you lie, and satoru smirks like he’s caught on to something.

but if he has, he doesn’t say a thing, and that tells you everything you need to know.

“guess this is it then, l/n y/n?”

you don’t want it to be, but it has to.

“you made a great fake real husband, gojo satoru,” you tell him, shaking his hand.

kind of a lame goodbye for two people who had shared everyday together for the past year. but you think maybe this brief goodbye should suffice. you don’t want the flames to burn either of you blue.

gojo satoru doesn’t say another word when you turn to leave.

and you don’t turn to look back at him as you walk away.

some chapters of your life should come to a close. your chapter with gojo satoru should remain here, kept close in your heart, kept warm as memories should.

six months later.

“i just think you and i would be suited for other people.”

it’s funny, how everything never works out between you and other guys. you don’t recall it being so hard with satoru. perhaps he was truly made for you, like the heavens designed. but both of you were too similar, too afraid of commitment. nothing was going to come out of it anyway.

and maybe that’s why you miss it.

his fleeting glances, soft lips on tender skin and a pair of calm blue that never fails to mesmerise you.

satoru is the fleeting kind of romance that burns so bright in its prime and the kind you can never keep close. not when he isn’t willing to tone it down and when you don’t have the tolerance to match.

strangely, maybe that’s also why you’re still drawn to him. you’re still hoping that there will be a flaw in the design, that your seemingly parallel lines will intersect somehow. that maybe you won’t have to try and replace him with someone else.

“yeah, kento, i get it,” you tell nanami, sipping on your tea as you watch him get up and go.

you and nanami would not have worked out anyway. not when you’re way too fucked up and he’s comparibly normal. it would be too much for him. you would be too much for him. you stare at the tea in front of you. you kind of miss those dates satoru took you on; trespassing on private property and reliving youth in arcades.

satoru is everything—love, heartache, gambles, sins. both of you are spun from the same thread, and maybe you believe that if soulmates exist, you and him have the same red thread twirled around your pinkies.

though, the fact that he isn’t here simply proves you to be wrong.

last you’d heard, satoru was travelling the world, carefree and spreading his wings like you always knew he would.

you find yourself wishing that perhaps, somehow, you’d meet him again. but you sigh and get up, knowing you are far too old for this wishful thinking.

but where you’d thought that satoru was roaming, you forget that he’s much like a swallow. because now, when you turn around, you catch that same shade of ocean blue staring straight at you, the same white locks that obstructed your vision in the mornings.

the same satoru who’d learned of love through you and you alone. the same satoru who, even if he leaves, will always find his way back to you, no matter how much you try to deny and push him away.

satoru takes two steps forward before he pulls you towards him, his long arms coming around you and holding you tight.

this time, he’s not going to let you go.

“y/n,” he calls your name softly, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “wanna give this another shot?”

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk x you #satoru x reader #satoru x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo fluff #satoru fluff #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x y/n #satoru x y/n #૪ aeri’s fics !

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diminuel · 3 months ago

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Is Garp chasing Roger for childsupport money? Or to tell Roger the amazing news?

I saw a managa panel where garp was running to Roger while saying his name really dramatically and though of you lol.

(Personally both imo lol a "hey I am pregnant now give me money for your baby ")

Haha!! I think there are two ways it could go!

Roger and Garp meet up, Garp with the intention of telling Roger about the baby and figuring out how to go about this because Garp has just recently joined the Marines and last she heard of Roger he was going out to sail. But when she learns that Roger's idea of sailing and adventure wasn't joining a regular commercial vessel or even a research expedition since he wanted to see the world, but instead means becoming a pirate??? Ooooh, oh...!!! She's gonna throw canon balls after him and Rayleigh on their stupid little boat. And in the excitement she forgot to tell him about the baby.

Well, screw him. Garp is going to train extra hard so she can bring this scoundrel back on the righteous path!!

Or of course she can use the baby as pressure for Roger - he's going to be a dad, he's got to help take care of the baby too! And Garp isn't going to raise the kid on dirty pirate money!! Roger might even take this seriously and intersperse a season at sea with "honest work" which might explain why it takes until he's 25 (when Dragon's 3) for him to be recognized as a rookie pirate.

Maybe he either has saved enough to make sure that his family will be doing well for the next couple of years or Garp (imagining that they actually have a solid relationship) relented when she saw just how passionate Roger was about chasing his idea of freedom.

(And Roger's not in such a rush to complete his adventure as Luffy is. It took Roger 13 years from when he was recognized as a rookie to reach Lodestar Island. He's taking his time, he's having fun. There might be periods where he doesn't see his family, though it's most likely that with Garp on the Grandline he's gonna see at least his wife more than the other Roger Pirates would wish to see her *lol* She's insane... But at least their kid is very cute and a pleasure to have on the ship, haha!)

#Anon #Diminuel replies #Roger/Garp #girl!Garp #genderbending

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acoraxia · 11 months ago

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I may have just found your art (is so freaking pretttttyyyyy) and your cotl AU but I now desperately need to know everything about the AU because it looks so. cool.

THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME INDULGE IN TALKING ABOUT MY LITTLE AU AHEM AHEM

I’m going to ramble now if that’s ok-

WARNING:: long and messy ramblings about AU ideas, headcanons and body horror/gore mentions up ahead

My Lamb’s story is actually pretty simple: they were born as Aluhé (ahl-weh) to a family filled with traveling performers. They traveled throughout the land of the Old Faith, worshipping the gods (especially Shamura) and performed to earn money to maintain themselves. Life was good up until rumors of the prophecy foretold by the Bishops spread towards the little hers; when Aluhé came of age they learned of said prophecy and that that was the reason why their family “settled down” in a (supposedly) hidden village.

Eventually, heretics arrive and they kill the herd safe for Aluhé and they escape, meet a flock of goats and Jahel (goat co-op character) and then run away due to guilt only to be captured by heretics and be introduced to the bishops.

After meeting Narinder and obtaining the crown, Aluhé refused to do anything in his name — refused to start a cult or touch the crown or anything… for months

they met Koi when they were planning to simply kill the Bishops bare handed and instead save her from being sacrificed (haha me too!). They don’t run the cult per say — mostly due to the fact they don’t want to get attached to anyone but they feel a strong sense of… protectiveness when it comes to the flock, going as far as appointing disciples to ensure the cult is safe and beating the life out of heretics that get a little too close for comfort to the cult grounds.

THE CROWN TAKES SUCH A MASSIVE TOLL ON ALUHÉ HOWEVER — apart from the fact that Aluhé is “easily corrupted” being fueled by a blind sense of justice towards the culling of their species over a family’s spat and a selfish fucker’s decisions, the crown latches on to their body and often does so when Aluhé has their guard down. This allows for certain changes to occur — the lack of hunger, exhaustion and ability to “morph” their body being a few of them.

It doesn’t help that Aluhé refuses to use the crown to fight unless absolutely necessary (because they hate dying because it means hearing Narinder talk and because they’ll end up angry all over again—) and often wears the crown around their neck.

This causes certain personality changes as well: Aluhé is typically quiet and docile when engaging with the flock if only a bit intimidating. They don’t talk to the followers unless necessary and only exchange actual conversation with their disciples. Since no follower is allowed to go on crusades with Aluhé they’re omitted from the fact their benevolent leader is in fact very, very, very, violent

They’d often consume heretics during their final moments or force feed their remains to the few that tried to get away (and failed) so they’d choke and die — a brutality that spread towards the bishops and their own disciples (Narinder still remembers how vile it was to see a meek little lamb get up and tear Barbatos to shreds, only to then use one of the worms’ teeth to sink it into Leshy’s flesh. Charming, really). This only strengthens when they kill Narinder and are eventually crowned the new god of death… among other things… and their body eventually adapts to the changes but it takes a toll on their mental health (

Their behavior, however, can be traced back to Shamura…

Since the two had a very interesting conversation before Aluhé was sent to be sacrificed:

Smh Aluhé you should be grateful to be blessed with the presence of the War Bishop tssk tsk

When the Bishops are killed and, eventually, brought back to life per the Mystic Seller’s request, Aluhé refuses to heal them or allow for their bodies to heal until they repent or make a pact with them to ensure obedience as they join their flock. Goes about as well as you can imagine

A big little change I made was that I made the Bishops Embodiments of their titles rather than just gods worshipped for it.

So Narinder is the Embodiment of Death, Leshy is the Embodiment of Chaos, etc. despite having somewhat mortal bodies they are still connected to their godhood and this will not change due to the fact that the world still needs gods in order to maintain balance — it also means that Aluhé is not just the god of death but the god of other things; it also means they have.. a union with Narinder, so to speak

The Gods have vessels for the sole purpose of their finding their replacements (because the gods will exist, even if they are not the same person they once were years ago) or to gain more worship and strengthen their power. When the Old Faith started getting greedy (coughs, Narinder) it was harder to find willing vessels or the right type of vessels to take on the task of bringing the Siblings more worship. It took years to find the proper candidates for Leshy or Kallamar (because the fucker was so PICKY /j) and it also caused a bit of horror to the siblings to see Aluhé reject the Red Crown as though it were simple

Aside from the Siblings being somewhat “dormant” and Narinder not being within the cult and Shamura traveling with Jahel… there’s a lot of silly little lore I managed to put into the four of them because I thought it’d be fun to explore the capability of Vessels and Gods and “War/Death Incarnate” as a whole — there’s a lot of story lore I don’t want to spoil but you can have these as a treat:

And thats it for now

#ask #cult of the lamb #cotl au #gods calamity au #art stuff #woop ok im goign to bed

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autisticfaun420 · 4 months ago

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I opened up to my mom about age regression

(if you are reading this and are new to my blog I am high support needs autistic and I already have childish interests please don’t say I’m infantilizing autism)

So first of all she kind of knew something was up with me, I brought my plushie with me to my disability day program. I showed her my blog, she said she hadn’t logged into my account to check yet so it was a surprise to her. First of all she was very proud and said I was brave for opening about some of my struggles and being so candid about it, I don’t know if it’s bravery or just autism making it so I don’t know what’s appropriate to share haha. Then I showed her my posts about age regression and how I learned about it here and was like, instant hyper fixation for me. I told her about how I never felt negatively infantilized by her and my dad almost never compared to people at school or strangers and I enjoy the connection we have when my parents kind of “baby” me the right way when they take care of my support needs. Like I need to have physical touch to calm me down and being cradled and my diaper changes are met with nick names, hugs and tickles, yeah very embarrassing I’m sure but whatever. I told her about “little space” and how I already enter it when she takes care of me sometimes and she said she always knew something like was going on but never pushed me or into it and made sure I was enjoying myself in those moments. She said if it would make me happy she and my dad would for sure be willing to help me out with little space. I told her that I want to take the power back from people who infantilized me negatively and assume I can’t think for myself by doing this and that surprised her but she said it made sense. I mentioned that I want to keep what independences and adult privileges I do have and I don’t want them to think I want this 24/7 and they said of coarse they will and I trust them. She had a talk with my dad real fast and they agreed to let me spend some of the money I saved up doing internet surveys, like a hundred dollars for an age regression starting pack essentially, my dad asked if this is really what I want and I guess the way I looked at him after and nodded made him believe me. My dad talked to me about how it’s important to keep my regression inside so others don’t get the wrong idea and I said of coarse and I shouldn’t do more then take my plushie with me in public and I agree. However I’m getting an adult sized bottle and pacifier, a mobile for my special needs cubby bed and a few fisher price toys. I am over the moon ecstatic and my mom said she’ll throw in the money for overnight shipping cause I earned it for using coping mechanisms when meltdowns could of gone worse lately.

I told them about pet regression too and they were still supportive of me being interested in it, they said they would feel uncomfortable with treating their disabled child like a pet personally and I can see where they’re coming from on that. They told me that one day I can find someone special to do that stuff with. As you can imagine dating is really hard with my level of needs but I’m not completely discouraged I’ll find somebody but that’s a post for another day. We did have a talk about how much I enjoyed being on an anti elopement harness and how I would pretend play as a puppy when out on walks with her, she said she knew had a feeling that’s what I was doing. Also I had my pacifier till 4 or 5 years and she said me giving it up was one of the hardest things she saw me go through and joked about it like I’m a drug addict about to relapse on it. I still have so many oral stims and use chewerly throughout the day so I think she has a point. Imagining what a paci would feel like in my mouth makes me feel so happy. I am just excited all around and can’t wait till tomorrow. For now my mom asked if I wanted some “little time” tonight and of course she said yes. We watched In the Night Garden on the big TV while she stroked my hair and cuddled when I normally only watch shows like that on my tablet as a form of stimming I guess. It was nice watching it where I could relax. I felt extra giggly at all the dumb stuff in the show, my friends describe it as an “acid trip” if that gives you an idea about what it’s like. My mom after the episode tickles me down and played games with me like I did when I was a little kid and I loved it. I started crying tears of happiness because I felt so loved I guess you could say. She teared a little bit too and told me every mother secretly wishes they could still baby their grown children so she said she had fun, I don’t know if it’s true or not but it’s a funny thought.

I feel so happy I wanted to write this out and share with you guys. I don’t know what else to say I think I wrote out enough. Now my mom wants me to get into my pajamas early I think she’s having too much fun with this but so am I and my dad is gonna run to get some of my favorite ice cream when I was a kid. I feel so lucky to have parents who can support my physical and emotional and disability support needs.

#Age regression #autism #high support needs #sfw agere #sfw littlespace

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jaylleoo14 · 2 years ago

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"Can I kiss you?"

Octavinelle x gn!reader

A/N: Simple. The sea trio has corrupted my mind and so here I am writing this at 1:03 AM and finishing this up two days later LOL. I actually took forever because I kept squealing and getting off track during the writing process. "I NEED TO DRAW THIS" I would say to myself haha. I wrote them without much consideration on how long each might be so one of them may be shorter compare to the others or it may be longer, but please do enjoy^^ (May or may not do the other dorms, unless...)

[Disclaimer] TOO MUCH FLUFF

[characters] Floyd, Azul, Jade

Azul

3:24 PM - The Mostro Lounge sits under blue and silver burnished lighting as the sound of music fills the air. Accompanied by voices and the clinks of dishes, there you sat in the more private area of what adds to Octavinelle - Azuls office.

Something you both have learned to get accustomed to was to just do work alongside each other without the need of having to talk. It was just work. Nothing more. Of course some small talk here and there, asking opinions or maybe asking for help- though it was usually you who asked for it and less of Azul- but regardless it was back off to work. It's quite simple really, Azul is a busy and hard working person so he'd naturally have a lot to manage with. You had to keep up with your studies and try to manage how to handle your money and savings accordingly, along with planning events into your calendar for upcoming school occasions.

You and Azul have been dating for about half a year now, and although not all the time, most of the time you spend your free time here doing your work accompanying Azul as he does his. You both simply enjoy each other's presence, the silence between you two which is filled with the scritches and scratches of his fish-bone felt tip pen and your pencil against the many pages of papers were not at all awkward. It showed a sense of comfortability and familiarity, a tranquil silence in the room. Though of course, like almost any couple you begin to crave some attention from your dearly beloved.

3:27 PM - Placing your pencil down, it now rolling off to the side a little due to the momentum, you lean back onto the back cushions of Azuls couch placed in the middle of his office. Working for about 15 minutes now you decided you needed a break, stretching your arms back as you release your breath through your nostrils.

"Going to take a break Angelfish?" Without even having to look up, the sound of you leaning into his leather cushion and your stretched out groan already tells him enough information that you're ready to just try and relax and rejuvenate yourself.

"Mmmh yea, I think 15 minutes of work is good enough for now. I'll go back to it once I rest up," is all you say in response as you lean your body over to lay on the couch. He only lets out a hum to let you acknowledge that he was listening. Now that you weren't focused on your own work, you can hear him writing with a rich shink-like noise and papers constantly flipped and turned every 30 seconds.

I wonder what he's working on, you think to yourself as you stare up at the dark blue arched ceiling. You prop yourself up with your elbows, pushing yourself up as you move your legs off the couch. Springing off, you head on over to where Azul was working around behind the desk and peered over towards him. "Whatcha working on?" Voice soft and curious, an undertone of boredom.

"Just some useful material intended to aid students," he says in a gentle manner, his eyes still glued onto the papers. "Oh yea? How much longer till you finish up with those study guides?" You lean over a bit closer as you stand next to him, his handwriting as intricate and beautifully cursive as ever; yet still eligible for those who have a harder time understanding.

He lets out a little inquisitive hum as if trying to accurately calculate when he'd be finished by. "About in an hour or so," he says finally after seconds worth of time. "I'd say make that an hour-thirty to two from now" you say with a little soft laugh escaping your lips.

3:30 - Standing next to Azul as he preps material, you slowly come to look at Azul himself instead of what Azul was working on. Being able to see the sight of his silver crowned locks of hair that curls into beautiful waves. Only after making your comment does he stop his hand and turn to look up at you from where he sat.

After finally not being able to properly see Azul's face the entire time you were working, seeing his face was a sort of refreshment to your heart and the soft smile on your face shows that. "And what prompts you to assume such a thing my dear?" He can only be met with a giggly response, his serious and quizzical face only prompting you to let out more chains of giggles.

"Tell me what you are suddenly finding so funny? I certainly am positive that I haven't done anything humorous." You tilt your head a little to the side, your grin getting slowly bigger as you clasped your hands behind your back. Azul can already pick up that you're trying to whip something up.

"You know Azul, when was the last time you kissed me?"

And there he goes, short circuiting as the sudden change of mood drifts him like the ocean currents. "I-Is this what you're on about?" He certainly has picked up by what you meant with your earlier comment now that you've voiced your question. "Oh dear, do you perhaps feel neglected since i've been working so much Angelfish?"

"Don't try to act smug. Answer my question, when was the last time you kissed me?" You immediately shoot down his question as you direct it back to yours and it sends his cheeks a pigmented red while he tries to keep his cool. He understands that you wont stop asking him this question and so he answers away.

"I recall it to be a few weeks back."

"And where did you kiss me?"

"I-I don't see how that- hah, on the cheek. Seriously (y/n) what is the relevancy in asking such- "

"Ah! Hold it! So you're telling me you've been giving me kisses and I've been giving you kisses but we've never actually kissed at the same time?"

3:33 - Here you are facing Azul as you look at his tinted red face, picking up where your suggestion leads. What awaits is permission to boldly take your relationship to the next level.

"Can I kiss you Azul? And not on the hands or on the cheek like we usually do." You give him a soft pleading look, your cheeks also decorated in a lovely shade of red as you wait for his response patiently. Clearing his throat and having the need to suddenly fix his not crooked glasses, he gives you a very shy yet still doing his best to be serious look. Before answering, he quickly resolves himself and a more confident smirk is plastered on his face. As he pushes himself up from his chair he closes in the distance and comes in close towards you, wrapping an arm around your back.

"Ask and you shall receive, a small kiss is worth the price of my time for you my Angelfish," he says it ever so calmly and confidently. Though the redness of his cheeks give away that he was otherwise and it makes your heart squeeze and beat crazy because of how cute he was being right now.

"You're being so cute right now you know that? You don't have to force yourself, you know." Your voice is gentle and smooth as if it were raw honey. Bringing a hand to tuck the longer piece of hair that made up his hairstyle, you give him the most adored stricken smile ever and he can only feel his heart beating out of his chest.

"No no, it's about time we started to get more intimate considering how long we've been together now. Thank you for going at my preferred pace, I'd like to give you an honorarium payment." You let out an amused chuckle and let him prepare himself, closing your eyes as you wait for him to go in at his own pace. Though you least expect it when he suddenly goes in very quickly. His lips are stiffly pressed against yours for a couple of seconds and it has you opening your eyes in surprise. You're met with a red faced Azul -which can be compared to a steamed and cooked octopus- looking flustered and a little awkward as he seemed to have a little dissatisfactory expression on his face. "That... Did not go as well as I had hoped it to be."

A jovial and convivial laughter fills up the room in your sound and it only makes Azul shrivel in embarrassment. You can practically see the steam coming from his head as well. "Well that was a little anticlimactic don't you think?" Wrapping your arms around his neck he can only let out an embarrassed groan at your little comment. "What do you expect from someone who's inexperienced with committing such an act? I'm positive however that with enough practice I can redeem myself and satisfy you." He tries to sound all the more reasoning, which only prompts you to laugh even more.

"You want to kiss more?" Saying through slips of giggles. You feel his hold on your back tighten a bit more, still applying gentle and reaffirming pressure as he presses you both together. "How else do you suggest I be better then?" You turn and motion your body over to the desk, leaning your lower back against it as Azul follows along. "Hmm, I'm absolutely positive that it'll take you two hours to finish those study guides now." You pull a little amused laugh out of him as he slowly goes in once again, tilting his head to the side and his eyes looking to align with yours. "Mmm perhaps. I guess we'll have to see just how long it'll take for me to get better then." And in he goes, the kiss feeling much more natural and a mark of showing a deeper significance in your ongoing relationship.

Jade

The nights on campus here were unusually less disturbed and a lot colder now, which makes sense considering that it is now winter break. The students here at Night Raven College had all gone home to reunite with their families after departing to pursue and complete their highschool education. However a certain group of individuals tend to stay during this time period, and that being the dorm leader of Octavinelle, the vice dorm leader, and the vice dorm leader's twin brother.

Like a lot of teenagers, its normal to come across at least 10 students at night since many are nocturnal people and they share the hobby of walking around. Especially when the sky is dark. You are one of those people. Someone who indulges themselves into the canvas of black paint littered with shining splatter of stars. Regardless of what the weather is like, you willingly go out of your way to enjoy the peacefulness of the night, watching it as it goes through the different seasons. Walking around in the winter's night air you can see your breath whenever you huff out, a shiver going through your shoulders. A little reminder that its the cold season now.

The chilly weather seems to be getting to you so you turn back from where you presently are and walk back to your good ol' home, Ramshackle dorm. As you make your way back from the main road you can make out a tall dark figure up ahead, prompting you to slow down and start to get wary. Upon getting closer and squinting your eyes a little, you can see teal hair shining a bit under the orange light which was radiating off a nearby light pole. Oh, it's Jade! You remember Jade mentioning that he liked to also go out late at night, though this is your first time ever encountering him on your usual walks. Perhaps he too is taking advantage of the quieter nights.

You and Jade have been a little on and off. You cant quite describe it, its complicated really. Sometimes you feel like you cant understand Jade because he's always making things open-ended, leaving them up to your interpretations. You like him, that much is obvious. But there are plenty of times where he's shown interest in you, and other times where it may not feel as so and it throws you off. Its frustrating not knowing how he feels about you, as if its some sort of game you two play. Regardless of his little plays though, you continue to enjoy yourself in the game.

A slight breeze hits your figure and it causes you to shiver, rubbing your arms to enforce friction in hopes of warming you up. You figured it may be best to leave Jade alone so he can enjoy himself in peace doing whatever he was doing. And off you go, turning on your heel and continuing your venture.

The sky is so pretty, you think to yourself. It has you arching your neck up and leaning your head back as you stare at the night sky, continuing your walk. You cant help but look at how pretty the stars are knitted together in a beautiful cluster, zoning out a bit as you continue forward.

Suddenly a hand is placed on your shoulder and it causes you to jolt up like a scared cat, making you break out of your trance. A yell is ushered out of you as you quickly turn around to see who this person could be, and you're only met facing Jade.

"Oh dear, I do apologize for my sudden notice. But your voice sounds lovely even when out of fear fufu"

Your heart is still pounding and your eyes are opened widely, staring at him with disbelief and shock. "J-Jade! What are you doing?! God you freaking scared me oh my gosh." Your little scared moment certainly has him entertained as he lets out another chuckle.

"You seem to be so infatuated with the sky that you failed to notice your surroundings. I was only doing my part in trying to help you realize that."

"What do you me-?" As you turn around your quickly met with a lamp pole right in front of your face and it causes you to flinch back a bit. "Oh." Turning around to face him again you feel yourself feeling a bit embarrassed that he caught you about to do something embarrassing. "Thanks Jade... What are you doing out so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing. I was just taking advantage of the quiet night and looking at the nature of the trees." He looks over you, a genuine smile on his face plastered as what you can assume to be looking at the area around us. "However I stayed aware of my surroundings despite having my own infatuations." His little snarky yet calm remark causes you to let out a groan, a pout slightly forming on your lips.

"I was also taking advantage of tonight as well thank you very much." Straightening your back, you cross your arms and give him a slight frown as if trying to regain back your little pride. Then quite suddenly a gust of wind howls a bit in your direction, causing you to shiver and quiver a bit. "Tonight is quite cold I must say." His slight remark makes you shiver even more as you are reminded of the cold.

"Yea, no kidding. I didn't prepare well enough so I'm going to head back." Your face is cold to the touch and your nose and cheeks can be seen slightly red under the pale moonlight. "Oh I see, perhaps I can accompany you then." He offers yet you turn him down in a polite manner. Your reasons? It's obvious you like Jade. You really like him, though because of all these mixed signals you can't help but feel like you need to stop. It already frustrates you enough and so you need to let these feelings die down even though sometimes you really do get a kick from the things he does.

"You seem to be quite cold indeed (y/n), if I can't accompany you back then please allow me to warm you up for your trip."

His words seem to catch you off guard and you look up at him quizzically. He doesn't seem to be wearing any sort of jacket, how can he offer you warmth? He chuckles a bit, amused to see your confused scrunched face. Gently bringing a hand to your cheeks your eyes can't seem to help but widen in shock a little from the sudden gentle advancement, your brain going blank.

"Can I kiss you, Prefect?" He says it ever so softly, his voice wrapping you up like a soft blanket. Did Jade really just ask to kiss you? What's going on, is this even real right now? Are you dreaming? Is this another one of his games? You feel your face starting to heat up and your heart is starting to race.

"W-Wait, what? Did I hear that right?" You say in disbelief, but he knows you heard it correctly because of your red face. His hands cupping your face causes you to freeze in the moment and all you can hear is the loud drums of your heart. Leaning down a bit more you can see his eyes perfectly now, his heterochromia jewel like eyes shimmering. "I must admit i'm a little hurt to see you trying to avoid me recently Prefect. I apologize for beating around the bush for so long, I hope you can take this kiss as a form of acceptance for my feelings and my apology."

This eel.... THIS EEL! He knows what he's doing, he knows! You're left stammering a bit before you could answer, the feeling of your head spinning. "I...accept your apology." And with that he goes down in one smooth motion, his lips in contact with yours with a perfect fit. Once he leans back, your eyes are met and he lets out a content hum. "I'm glad to see you're quite warmed up now. And if I must add, happier too." A big goofy smile is placed on your face as if you just won the lottery, your face all red and heated. "You know, I actually wouldn't mind if you were to accompany me back now. Who knows what might be out here."

You seem to be in a giddy mood, no longer holding back. Finally, you can understand Jade's true feelings for you now. It makes you overjoyed, a feeling of happiness now that you understand. And with a smile on his face he agrees, playing along with your little game of words. The feeling of warmth and fluffy happiness fills you up, and the cold cant compare with that as you make your way back with Jade, his little darling Pearl.

Floyd

"WHAT THE HELL FLOYD?!"

Crash!

Ah yes, just another regular day. You, Floyd, your phone in his hand, breathless, a cheeky and amused grin on his face, and just constantly trying to snag your phone back in the spacious long hallway. Call this a regular day occurrence considering how many times he's come to bother and mess with you now.

"Floyd, give me back my pho- STOP SCROLLING THROUGH MY CAMERA ROLL!" Running up and trying to snatch it away by jumping, only to fail because he's now outstretching his arms away and tip-toeing to refrain from you reclaiming back your item.

"Haaah? Your camera roll is so boring, just full of pictures of the sky. We see that everyday, you should take more pictures of other interesting things!" You really were running out of breath here and he seems to take great amusement with it since he's still here messing with you.

The sun shined brightly against the two of you, the open wall of the hall letting the air roam freely.

"Ahaha! What a funny picture of Crabby-chan! Oh, and you got one of little Mackerel too." Floyds not listening to your words, enjoying himself as he indulges in your camera roll. You let out a tired and heavy sigh, heaving a bit as you try to catch your breath. "F-Floyd, why are you doing this? Argh, I swear you've been bothering me so much lately." He only give you a little "hm?" in response as his smile now fades, turning to something more neutral and casual as he continues to indulge himself in your selective memories.

"Ya have soooo many pictures of other people lil' shrimpy. Ah! You even have a picture of Jade and Azul! No fairrrr!" Letting out a whine, you can see his prominent pout as he pinches his fingers on your screen to zoom in on you which was in between Azul and Jade. His eyes stick to the screen as he stares at the picture of your sweet smile looking as if you just finished some heavy and tiring labor just before.

"That was when we went camping during Vargas's stupid camping trip. Of course you weren't there!" You huffed out as you wipe a sweat off your neck, placing your free arm on your hip while you just watch him on your phone. At this point you just gave up and let him do what he wanted on there, of course as long as he's in the camera roll and nowhere else.

"But i'm here now aren't I? And you were even there when I went camping, jus excuses." His slightly upset voice makes you feel a bit guilty yourself, but you try to find a way to dispute his words anyways.

"Not true! If you keep scrolling more you'll see yourself in one of the pictures I took with Ace!" A huff escapes your mouth as you try to stay strong on your claim and he only lets out a disappointed groan. "I'm in the background Shrimpy, and you cant even see my face properly. Ya dont wanna have people mixin' me with my brother now dontcha?" His eyes look over towards you now as he drapes his arm down, just very offended with the lack of pictures you have available of him.

"It's not like i'm gonna show anyone Floyd. No one's gonna know its you except for me." You try to reassure him but he still isn't satisfied at all with your response. The sun shines in as its rays changes its direction and hits Floyd in the eyes, causing his already sour mood to worsen and he lets out an annoyed huff. The shadow of the pillars drapes over you like a veil and the sun hits him like a beam, so he then places his hand over his forehead to block the sun out while walking closer to you in venture for refuge. The light reflects into the phone causing a gleam hitting your own eyes and so you step back, squinting your eyes away. For a moment you actually forgot he had your phone if not for the reminder the gleam gave you.

"Floyd, could you please hand me back my phone now?" You say in a more gentle voice in consideration to his sour mood. His droopy eyes meet yours as a slight pout forms on his face which then looks over at your phone in his hand. Suddenly, his pouty face lifts up into a gleeful smile, his toothy lop-sided smirk giving you unease as if he's planning something not so great.

"Ya know, why not jus' take some pics right now? Say cheese~!" Suddenly, with his longer legs he quickly makes his way over next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling close.

"Wha-? Hey-!" Before you could even ready yourself though, he brings the phone above you two, angling the camera as he tilts his head against yours and maneuvers his thumb over the camera shutter button, pulling your bodies together.

Click! Click! Click!

"Hey stop taking so much! You're going to take up my storage!" Quickly swiping up your phone you press on the little square in the corner to open up the pictures. His arm continues to drape on your shoulder as he looks over at the pictures with a happy hum. Floyd looked as photogenic as ever when he wants to be, his silky skin reflecting in the pictures as his smile radiates and shine while his cheeks being a dusty pink. You on the other hand....Not so much. You were even blinking in one of them, most of the pictures of you looking off and funny.

"I wasn't ready Floyd." A stern look is scrunched on your face as you swipe and look at the pictures with a judgmental stare. A giggle can be heard right next to you as Floyd also looks over you in the pictures, a tinted pink running on his cheeks and a soft look in his eyes; his heart speeding up just slightly as he continues the close and intimate proximity.

"I think you look cute anyways." He says it ever so casually and in a gentle voice, causing you to look over at him. Upon turning your head to face him, its only then did you realize just how close he was. How intimate you two were being right now. His side profile looking perfect as ever, his olive colored eye locked on the screen staring only at you, his arm draped over your shoulders, your bodies practically meshing together right now as his pecks touch your back. You feel your cheeks starting to heat up, your heart begins to speed up as if you are starting a morning run the more you begin to get conscious. His eyes suddenly dart to look at you and you flinch back, jumping a little due to being startled; however his arm keeps you in place from moving any further.

"Seriously, you've been messing with me too much..." You grumbled out as you turn your face back to look at the now black screen. It shut off due to the lack of inactivity, and in the reflection you can see your furrowed brows and tightlipped frown. Though from the side Floyd can only give a bigger grin upon seeing your velvet cheeks.

"Cus' I like ya, aint it obvious?" The speed to which you flip your head can be compared to one of a bullet train and your jaw drops, mouth wide open and agape as you're left with no words. "HUH?!" Your whole face is now a full on red, your eyes filled with shock as if he just dropped the most jaw dropping information ever. Well, technically he did.

Tilting his head to the side a little, his face also grows a darker shade of red, though he lets out a giddy chain of giggles to your reaction. "Eh? You're quite bold Shrimpy, movin' kinda fast there huh?"

"W-What?" He can practically see question marks floating around your red beet face, his toothy smug face still apparent as he wraps another arm in front of you. He's basically giving you a side hug right now -a sweet and tender one.

"Hehe, nothin,'" smiling as if its something only he knows makes you a bit bothered and curious, but then he suddenly swings himself in front of you now. The sun hits the back of Floyd, making him radiate ever so brightly. "How bout' we start off a bit slower hmm? Whats it to ya Shrimpy, do ya like me back?" His soft and droopy slanted eyes adoringly stare into yours and you cant help but feel your heart turn into a big wet sopping pillow. Adverting your eyes down, you can only give a little nod. "Well i mean, I don't hate you. So yea, I.... I do in fact, Like you too."

Honestly, Floyds been nothing but smiles now and its as if he found the most pretty set of flowers ever on a grassy field. "Is that so? Ya really like me huh?"

My hearts beating so fast right now.

"Yea, I really like you."

"Shall I give you a kiss then Shrimpy?"

Tilting your head back up at him you can only give him a shy and flustered face. But with the silly state you're in right now, you let out a slip of a tongue response.

"C-Can I kiss you?" Totally unexpected to Floyd, his eyes widen for only a moment till he's flinging his head back with laughter and squeezing you into his chest.

"Hahaha! Will you kiss me?" Calming himself down a bit he looks back at you with you in his arms now, the suns rays slowly shifting over.

"Will I kiss you?" saying almost in a smug manner now, feeling yourself succumbing into his giggly state of self as you yourself now start to get giddy with your red cheeks.

"You will" He says it with a reciprocal teasing tone as he leans forward, the comfort in his lean arms making you feel as if you've been lovers forever.

"I will?"

"I will" And with that he softly goes in to press a kiss on your lips, the sun shining and hitting the both of you and its as if you two were getting the spotlight of a movie.

Click!

Huh? As you turn to slowly pull back from the kiss, slowly opening your closed eyes you see Floyds phone out. His arm is outstretched and propped in the middle of you two from the side to capture the kiss perfectly and you can only let out a gasp.

"A picture for me hehe~"

"FLOYD-"

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celestie0 · 6 months ago

Text

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

in holy matriphony ch.5 child's play

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

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

ᰔ chapter. 5/x

ᰔ words. 4.8k

a/n. helloo my ihm friends! long time no see. hope you're all doing well and thank you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages about the whole ihm gojo ex wife thing haha. i really appreciate it :) i feel more confident about my writing decisions now, and that's all thanks to you guys! anyways, i will be posting shorter chapters for ihm going forward, so sorry if some chapters have slightly abrupt endings or stuff like that. i guess my goal is to post shorter chapters but more frequently! we'll see how it works out. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and see you at the bottom!!

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Ever since admitting your mother into hospice, things have been calmer inside your mind. After passing the initial wave of agony that came with no longer hearing her voice down the hall or seeing her silhouette in her bedroom as you walked past it, you realized that…a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. No longer setting alarms at the height of every other hour to remind your mother to take her medication, no longer viewing every interaction you had with her as some form of study you needed to jot down in a binder for her neurologist’s records, and no longer driving her to all of her chemotherapy appointments, only to leave them feeling like you purposefully just took your mother to a place where they sucked all the life out of her in exchange for the slim promise of giving it all back to her someday.

Maybe it was evident in the way your shoulders felt less tense as you rolled them back, tilting your neck to the side and no longer feeling the painful strain that tugs a wince onto your face. The other day, you caught yourself humming a song as you drove to work. Your skin, usually feeling cracked and dry from stress and exhaustion, now has a slight plumpness to it like before. A more youthful glow, like the version of yourself you were before your mother became sick. The version of you that so quickly deteriorated, and one you didn’t even know still existed somewhere within you.

There has also been time for hobbies. Rarest of occasions, you find yourself sauteing some yellow and white peaches in a saucepan over medium heat in Gojo’s kitchen, humming that song once again that’s been stuck in your head. The sundress you’re wearing matches the pink of the syrup that pools at the bottom of the pan, and you feel like you’re living your cottage core dreams in this brief moment of reprieve you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.

The sound of slippers tapping down onto the hardwood floor startles you out of your gleeful trance, and you turn your neck to the right to see a pajama-clad messy-haired Gojo shuffling his feet across the open area into the kitchen with a dark black mug in his hand.

“Why aren’t you dressed??” you ask him in a panic.

“I’ll get dressed later,” he tells you dismissively as he grabs the glass pitcher of coffee from where the coffee machine was nestled up against one of the counter corners.

“You’re stressing me out. Your mom told us to be there in two hours,” you say, putting your hands on your hips in disapproval as you hear the sizzle of the peaches in the saucepan.

He entirely ignores you, choosing to instead drag his gaze down the form of your body. “Woooow, twice this month I get to see you in a cute dress,” he comments, pouring coffee into his mug but his eyes are still on you, “lucky me.”

“Oh Shut. Up,” you sneer at him with a harsh roll of your eyes, “your fake flattery might work on the lonely middle-aged women you seduce to make a living, but it won’t work on me.”

His shoulders push back before he slumps them slightly, his brow lifting with confusion. “It’s not fake though? I mean it. You look really nice right now.”

You point an accusatory sugar-syrup coated wooden spatula at him. “You’ve just been conditioned by the patriarchy to get a boner at the sight of a woman in a kitchen.”

“What–...no–...why do you always have to say stuff like that whenever I compliment you? Can’t you just accept it?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be flattered by an insolent man like you.”

He sighs, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, and you watch the way the fringe of his hair hangs over his forehead as he gazes into the contents, swirling it around with a loose grip on the handle. “Is this how it’s going to be everyday? I try to be nice, and you–...well, you know, are you.”

“Well who else should I be?”

His eyes lift up to meet yours, the slightest of a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes wander down the form of you again. “I don’t know. Someone a little…softer? Like, you’ve got this really pretty dress on, and then you’re telling me off about patriarchy-induced boners. It’s a little, uh, contradictory?”

You gasp. “You’re trying to control me. I knew it. You are poisoned by the patriarchy.”

“What?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “You have this image of a perfect and cute little wife, who’s gonna wear pretty dresses all the time, and bake stuff in the kitchen, and get all blushy when you tell her she looks beautiful, and you expect her to have this soft little personality that never argues with you or disagrees with you…ALL BECAUSE OF THE PATRIARCHY!!!”

“...I–...Okay, you’ve lost me.”

You let out a hmph! noise. “Can’t even discern his own brainwashing. Sad.”

“All of this just because I tried to tell you that you look nice?”

“I know what your ulterior motives are, you creep.”

His eyes spark a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cheeky grin as he sets the coffee mug down onto the marble counter and he straightens his spine. You blink, watching with confusion as he crosses the distance between the two of you, to where you’re taking a small few steps backwards until your lower back presses against the edge of the island countertop. He cages you into the surface with his frame, followed by the palms of his hands sliding over the marble on both sides of you, and you feel his forearms press against the curve of your waist as he traps you in with no way out.

“S-Satoru,” you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice deeper with a nonchalance that has you shiver, his gaze dropping to your lips when you part them slightly.

“T-The patriar–” you squeak out, but he suddenly dips his head down to kiss you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes immediately closing when he moves his lips against yours, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him and your hesitation is something that only lasts a brief second before you find yourself kissing him back. Some noise leaves his throat, deep and raw and sounding pleasantly surprised as he captures your lips more fervidly now, his hands smoothing down to hold your hips and his teeth slightly nip at your bottom lip.

You grab a fistful of his shirt, unsure of whether you want to pull him closer to you or push him away, but the moan that you mumble against his lips only makes his grip on your hips even stronger, fingers digging into the softness through the thin fabric of your dress.

The oven suddenly starts beeping, startling you and you pull away from the kiss with a gasp, eyes rounded as you look up at him, but his are lidded and dilated as his gaze remains glued to your lips.

With a heaving chest, you try to push him away by a weak fist to his sternum but he’s unrelenting.

“You taste sweet,” he says, like some comment he noted in his head but accidentally voiced out loud.

“I–...” you inhale sharply, “I just ate three macerated peaches.”

“Uh-huh,” he barely acknowledges before leaning in to get another taste, but you push him away harsher this time.

His hands let go of your hips entirely, finally breaking out of that kiss-induced trance he was in, but he still remains close to you in proximity, so much so to where you can feel the heat from his body. It’s comforting almost, radiating through the soft cotton of his long sleeve shirt, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him before you snap out of it too, and rock your weight back against the island countertop.

You cross your arms over your chest, hoping the flush to your cheeks isn’t showing. “Oh okay so we just casually kiss now?”

He shoves his hands into his plaid pajama pant pockets, leaning away from you slightly. “For as long as I can get away with it, yeah.”

“You are breaking the rules.”

“You never said no kissing.”

“I said no touching.”

“Ehhh kissing isn’t really touching, though, is it?”

“You sound stupid.”

“I always sound stupid to you.”

The oven starts beeping again, and you realize it’s long been preheated to the setting you had placed earlier. You slip away from him with haste, feeling his gaze on you as you press a button on the oven to turn the alarm off, and you stare at the handle for a moment or two to calm the beating of your heart down.

Your eyes catch sight of something on the side of the fridge. A little magnet made of rubber that has the word London on it as well as the design of the Westminster Cathedral with golden accents. You recall that Gojo went on a trip to London recently, and that he didn’t bring you back any souvenirs from there like he did for your other neighbors. And you want to pretend, you want to shove it down, that incessantly childish feeling that wonders why he didn’t bring you anything back. You want to continue to pretend like it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Something so miniscule and small. But you–...well, you can’t.

You spin around to face him. “Do you hate me?” you bluntly ask.

He blinks at you. “Huh?”

“Do you, what, I don’t know, think I’m annoying or something?”

He shrugs with his hands still in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, I do think you’re annoying sometimes. But in a silly way. Like we’re just pals horsin’ around, y’know?”

You snarl at him, putting your hands on your hips and narrowing your gaze until he’s hardly even visible anymore. “No. I actually find you annoying. Like, wanna-run-you-over-with-a-bus annoying. You just have horrendous social awareness and think that everyone loves you.”

“You actually don’t like me?” he asks, like he can’t even believe that someone wouldn’t.

“Yes,” you say, “now get out of my way.” You make an attempt to push past him, purposefully knocking your shoulder into him to assert dominance but he is unfortunately much bigger than you and so all it does is make you stumble ungracefully from the recoil.

He quickly grabs your arm to steady you, and you glare up at him before yanking yourself away and then step backwards until your back hits the fridge.

He studies your demeanor for a second before taking a deep inhale, and then lets it all go in a heaving sigh. “What do I have to do to get you to lighten up a bit?” he asks.

“You really want to know?” you sneer at him.

“Yes,” he says with a slight hint of frustration in his tone.

You cross your arms. “Pay for the fucking fence.”

He blinks at you, confusion replacing whatever frustration was previously decorating his tone. “What?”

“The fence,” you reiterate with a step forwards towards him, “the one I built six months ago. The one where you laughed in my face when I told you to help pay for it.”

He leans forward. “Yeah. Because I never wanted that fence built. Like I said, it fucked up the roots on my avocado tree. You should’ve asked me before building it. In fact, it’s illegal to build a fence without joint consent of both neighboring property owne–”

“Oh my god, okay, see? This is why I can’t stand you,” you snarl at him and make another move to get past him but he easily steps in front of you to keep you from going anywhere.

With a sigh, he relents. “Fine, I’ll pay for the fence.”

You try to keep the twitching muscles of your face still as you resolutely stare up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Through a strained tone, you say, “No. I don’t want you to pay for it anymore.”

He lifts a brow, utterly bewildered at this point. “Huh?”

“Now it just feels like pity. And I don’t want your pity money.”

“Two seconds ago, you did.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. That was two seconds ago.”

“So…let me get this straight, you don’t want me to pitch in?”

“No. I want you to have wanted to pitch in SIX MONTHS AGO.”

“Okay but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that now?”

“NOTHING!!!” you finally snap at him, the shrill to your voice startling him slightly to where you see his shoulders jump, and his eyes are now rounded blue as he looks at you. “There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing you can do to get me to ‘lighten up’ or ‘act softer’ or whatever the fuck kind of damage control you aim to achieve with me due to your pestering incessant need to be liked by every fucking person you come across. So just deal with the fact that I hate you and let me do it in peace.”

He’s silent for what feels like a long time as he blinks at you, his bottom lip pushing up slightly in a way that suggests he’s almost impressed by your little outburst, then he takes a step forward, and in that one large stride, he’s closed any distance between the two of you. Your back is up against the frigid steel of the fridge, your heels tucked under the warm rubber at the foot of it, and you’re looking up at Gojo as he towers over you, his hands still annoyingly and relaxedly shoved into his pockets.

“Do you think it’s gonna be a problem that I think you’re kinda hot when you’re mad?” he asks you.

A small puff of air leaves your lips, like you just can’t believe the audacity, but also having him this close to you suddenly made it a little harder to breathe. “C–...Can you just be fucking serious for one second?”

His head dips down, the fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, tip of his nose slightly brushing against yours, but his gaze never falls to your lips. “You think I’m not being stupid fuckin’ serious when I say that you’re hot?”

“S–” your breath hitches in your throat, and his gaze finally falls to the lick you pass over your lips, “Satoru–”

Like God himself answered to your (cognitively dissonant) prayers, the bell rings, and Gojo leans himself away from you, straightening his spine so he can glance over his shoulder towards the door, a slight look of irritation on his face through the furrow of his brow.

You blink up at him. “A–...Are you expecting someone?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Don’t think so.” He sighs before shuffling around the kitchen island and across the dining hall towards the entryway of the house, and you peer at the sight from across the hall.

When he opens the door, you see Sana standing outside, dressed in mom jeans and a t-shirt with her black Coach purse slung around her shoulder, arms crossed, and you barely register the fact that she looks pissed.

“Sana?” Gojo says, “what’s up.”

She entirely ignores him when she catches sight of you, pushing right past him and into the family room that you were currently finding solace in.

“You,” she points at you, storming right up to your personal space, “what the hell did you say to Juno when you were babysitting her?!”

“H-Huh??” you squeak out, taking a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”

“You told her to fight kids at school?!” she snarls at you, and your eyes widen.

“What?” you say, your face twisting with confusion, “I–...I never said that. I just said that she should stand up for herself if she needs to.”

Sana inhales deeply with rage, leaning back and jutting her hip out as she crosses her arms again. “Yeah, well, I had to pick her up early from school today because the principal called and told me she shoved a little girl on the playground during recess, and now she’s facing suspension.”

Gojo approaches suddenly from your periphery, standing in front of you as he faces Sana. You stand on your tiptoes to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why would Juno do something like that?

You hear Sana start to tap her foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, and then she turns her head away from Gojo as a slight hmph! noise leaves her throat. “The why is irrelevant.”

You poke your head out from behind Gojo and glare at her, but then Gojo turns around suddenly to look at you.

“y/n,” he says, “what’s going on?”

“I–” you start, glancing at Sana again who now has a solemn look on her face with pursed lips. You glance back at Gojo, who’s looking at you with confusion and anticipation. A heat spreads down your neck from the attention of the both of them on you, and you’re not sure what the smart thing to say is, so you figure you’ll just tell the truth as it is. “...I just didn’t want her getting bullied and thinking she can’t stick up for herself.”

At that, you see Gojo’s shoulders stiffen. “Bullied?” he repeats after you, then quickly turns towards Sana, “what does she mean, bullied? Juno’s getting bullied at school?”

Sana faces him full-on, raising a stern pointed finger between the two of them “No. Satoru. Stop. You always do this. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t even start. It’s not a big deal, let’s not make it one.”

“The fuck do you mean it’s not a big deal? She’s getting bullied at school, and you want her to just suck it up?” he asks, venom dripping from his tone.

“It’s for her benefit!” Sana exclaims. “Jun and I have spent months trying to get her into this school! We don’t want her getting kicked out.”

“Y’know, I’m–” you stutter, “I’m gonna–...I’m just gonna go upstairs,” you say, “this seems like a family matter. I think you guys should probably just settle this on your ow–”

“No,” Gojo says, pointing to the couch that you were standing in front of, “sit down.”

You sit.

Gojo turns to face Sana again, and although you can’t see his face, you imagine he’s pissed off from the way Sana’s shoulders drop slightly and her sharp expression is cut into a more sheepish one.

“Who cares if Juno is suspended for sticking up for herself? It’s the teachers’ fault for not making sure she’s safe,” he says.

“Shoving other kids is not the solution.”

“Well if you fuck around, then you find out. Kids are too soft these days.”

“This is not the 90s, Satoru.”

You watch the back and forth between the two of them for the better part of an entire minute, feeling uneasy in the hostile environment of the room, but there’s a sense of underlying familiarity between the two, one that is recognizable amongst family. And you feel rather foreign, but then remember that, technically speaking, now that you’re married to Gojo, this is your family too.

Amongst the arguing of the adults, none of you noticed that Juno had gotten out of the car in the driveway and was now standing in the doorframe of the front entrance. She looks scared and guilty, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, and you notice her scrapes and bruises that you tended to last week were now mostly healed.

Gojo catches sight of her, and you see his shoulders relax. “Juno, c’mere.”

With the permission, she instantly runs towards him and into his arms from where he was crouched down to the floor in order to welcome her, and then she starts sobbing.

“I’m–hic,” she cries, “I’m so–hic–I’m so sowwyyy Uncle Toru…I’m–hic–I’m sorry mommyyyy.”

You see Sana sigh and she makes a move to brush Juno’s tear-dampened hair out of her face when Gojo pulls her away from his shoulder by a delicate hold of her bony little shoulders.

“Juno. Listen. If people are being mean to you, then you do exactly as your auntie y/n said. You stand up for yourself. And if that doesn’t work, then you cuss at them and threaten to shove their faces into the dirt until they run away with their tails between their legs. Do you understand me?” Gojo tells her.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“Oh, I–” you put your hands up in front of you, “I didn’t say any of that last part.”

“Do you understand me?” Gojo repeats again, and Juno nods her head slowly before she falls back into him and soaks his shirt with tears. “I’m soowwwwwyyyyyy.”

Gojo pats her back a few times to comfort her, and your heart breaks for the little girl. It’s bad enough to be bullied at school, but then to be reprimanded by your mother the one time you stand up for yourself…you can imagine how emotionally exhausting that would be for a five-year-old.

Juno sniffles, rubbing her snot all over the cotton of Gojo’s shirt, and then pulls her face away to rub at her eye with a weakly closed fist. “I–hic–I just…I just wanted him to feel–hic–the same hurt.”

“Huh? Who?” Gojo asks.

“The boy,” Juno says, “the one that shoved me today.”

“It was a boy?!?!?!” Gojo yells. “Alright. That’s it. I’m grabbing my bat.”

“Satoru.” Sana deadpans.

Sana and Gojo continue to bicker about the ethics of threatening five-year-old boys with baseball bats, going back and forth about how Gojo wasn’t actually going to do anything but just wanted to instill fear (he’s lying), while Sana isn’t exactly sold on a single pacifist thing that he says, and you sigh, because you realize you’ve become invested in one of, what you feel like will become many, of their family quarrels.

Juno sneaks around Gojo’s legs and comes up to you while the arguing is taking place in the background, and she gently taps your knee as you’re seated on the couch. “Auntie y/n,” she whispers.

You rub an eye crustie from her face and then hold her hand in yours. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Mm? For what?”

She smiles at you, her cheeks pink and flush from crying but rounded now in glee. “My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Why wouldn’t Sana and Jun be on normal talking terms? What does Juno mean that it’s been a long time? What exactly was going on at home?

“Juno,” Sana’s voice interrupts your thoughts, her arms crossed across her chest, “c’mon. Let’s go.” She points a stern finger at Gojo. “Seriously. I mean it. No baseball bats or rodent traps involved. I’ll talk to the teachers and sort something out.” She glances at you, that strict look on her face now dissolving into one of pure exhaustion. One you can imagine only a mother can face. “See you later at dinner, you two.”

Juno runs up to her mom and grabs onto her outreached hand, and you see Gojo ruffle her hair as she walks past him, her giggles ringing in the air, and then he sees them out the door.

The air is awkward, at least to you, the second he closes the door, and when he turns around to face you, your body stiffens up.

He leans back onto the front door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks,” he says, “for telling Juno to stick up for herself.”

You blink at him. “Well. I don’t feel too great about it at the moment, to be honest.”

He sighs. “I just think that Jun and Sana are raising her to be…kinda meek. I wish they’d teach her to be more confident and take up space.”

“Mhm,” you nod. Because you agree. Little girls need to learn how to be that way at a young age, because the world is seldom very kind to them.

“Well, what you said to her is what I would’ve said to her anyways,” he says.

You roll your eyes, standing up from the couch and heading back into the kitchen to presume your work on your peach cobbler. “I never told her to shove kids’ faces into the dirt. But, uh, sure, I guess so.”

You see Gojo enter the kitchen too in your periphery, but you don’t give him any glance or look or attention. From what you can see as you stir around your macerated peaches in a Pyrex bowl, he’s leaning against the island counter about three feet away from you, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching you. A slight warmth radiates in your cheeks, but you attempt to ignore the nerves by being hypnotized by the pink syrup that pools at the bottom of the bowl.

My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.

An unsettling feeling takes over your senses. It could be the past few years you’ve spent walking on eggshells around your mother, or the way you’ve become so keen to her energy as a way of staying on top of any shift in her symptoms, any single sign of disease progression, any clue that she wasn’t getting better. Any clue that she wasn’t doing okay. And you feel a sense of dread, because that skill, you realize, has now made you aware of similar circumstances in the people around you.

Not to mention, you are a child of divorce. You know what that fear feels like.

You just want to know if Juno feels safe at home.

“Hey, um…” you start, turning slightly to finally face Gojo, your eyes hesitantly flickering up to meet his gaze, “when was the last time you saw your brother-in-law? And with Sana?”

He raises a brow at you. “I just saw them last weekend for one of Juno’s dance recitals.”

“Ah…I see,” you say. You purse your lips together.

Right. Kids say things all the time. They believe in Santa Claus and think that blueberry pancakes are called blubbery pancakes. And they sometimes read too into things, and they sometimes read too little. Surely, things must be okay. Maybe Sana and Jun had had a little argument with some stubbornly thawing cold shoulders, a demeanor that was noticed by their child, and now things have resumed to normal. That was normal. Part of every family. “That’s good to know…”

You turn away from Gojo to stare back down into the bowl of macerated peaches again. With a furrowed brow, you close your eyes tightly to try to shake the chilly feeling in your bones, and you feel better when you open them again. The slightly numb sensation in your hand dissipates and you have enough dexterity to mix the peaches around in the bowl.

“I wonder what news they want to share with us over dinner,” you say, to quell the awkward silence.

“Hm?” Gojo hums, and you see him turn around face the counter now, hovering over the bowl of raw crumble topping you had mixed together, prodding at it with the wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re moving.”

Your head snaps to look at him. “W-What?”

“Yeah,” he nonchalantly affirms, scooping up a spoonful of the crumble. “They wanted to up-size, and move a little closer to the school that Juno’s at. I found them a nice place about an hour from here on the outskirts of the city. They just signed the papers a couple weeks ago.” And then he shoves the spoon into his mouth.

“Oh…wow,” you say. “Okay…”

“Damn,” Gojo says with surprise laced in his tone, "this is really good.” He’s staring into the bowl in awe and then scoops up some more crumble with a spoon.

You blink at him, irritated that he’s eating all your ingredients without even asking, and before you’ve even finished your dessert. It’s like he was born to piss you off.

You walk up to him and yank the bowl away, “Gimme that.” Then you pull it into the divot of your waist possessively and glare at him.

He sighs, and then says something out loud that you’re sure he meant to keep in his head:

“I’ll get used to it.”

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. it feels so strange to post such a short chapter bahaha hopefully the ending isn't too abrupt. but hope you enjoyed! i'm so sorry ab the slow burn in this series aaa but i can try to assure you that it'll all be worth it hopefully lol i'm really excited for what i have planned for this series!! alsooo sorry if there are errors or anything, i'm trying to spend less time editing since it really stalls me n leads to writer's block lol. hope to see you in the next one :) much love! - ellie

➸ take me to chapter six!

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