#main enemy has always been anxiety

[celestie0]

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

in holy matriphony ch4. in a mother’s eyes

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

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

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

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

ᰔ chapter. 4/x

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

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

nav. masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who are you married to?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Card.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you say.

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

“Aw,” you comment, “I see, I see.”

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

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

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—” you stutter.

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

“y/n,” he says, “let go.”

“No,” you say stubbornly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh. I see,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup. That’s exactly what I did.”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

Another awkward silence.

“Can I ask you a question?” you say.

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

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

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

“Just answer me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink up at him with no commentary to add. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go fuck yourself.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sign right here for me, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

“Y-You wanna go see her??”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, no, she’s my–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at the sight, a little flabbergasted from the interaction, and then flit your faze up to Gojo. You see him awkwardly scratching at the back of his head with a grimace on his stupidly handsome face. 

“That’s what you get for being a manwhore,” you tell him.

“I’m not a manwhor–”

“You went on a date with another woman while you were maaaaarrrieeeddd?!” you coo as you let out a fake gasp and slap your cheeks with your hands, “despicable, really.”

He lets out some disgruntled noise, the source coming from deep within his throat. “No. We weren’t fake-married yet,” he vindicates himself, “and it wasn’t a date. I just bought her dinner as a congrats for buying a house. Not a big deal. I do it for all my clients.”

“Satoru. You do realize you’re leading these women on, right? I mean, I’ve seen the way you talk to them. Even if you think you’re just being friendly, please know that your definition of friendly is most people’s definition of flirting.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s true.”

He raises an eyebrow as he glances down at you. “Alright, how come this flirting in disguise of friendliness hasn’t worked on you then?”

You scoff in disbelief before crossing your arms. Maybe you did deserve a better fake husband. “You’re never friendly with me. You’re always rude to me.”

“What? I’m not always rude to you.”

“Well, you’re certainly much more rude to me than you are to other women,” you say, tapping the tip of your shoe with irritation.

“Can we not do this right now? We’re in the middle of a hospice.” 

“God, you’re such a cop-out,” you mumble as you forcefully push past him towards the hallway that’ll lead you to your mother. You can hear that Gojo’s on your tail, following you down one of the more dimly lit hallways, and you can tell he needs to stall the strides of his Daddy Longlegs to not overtake your pace.

“What the fuck is a cop-out?” he asks you from behind.

“Look it up on urban dictionary, Grandpa. Unless you don’t know what the Internet is, either,” you spat. 

You waltz right up to your mother’s room just in time to see a nurse making her way out with a clipboard in her hands. She glances over to you when she sees you approaching in her periphery.

“Hi! How can I help you?” she asks.

“Is it alright if we visit my mother?” you ask her.

“Oh! Sure, let me just clean her bed pan really quick.”

Your brow furrows. “B-Bedpan?? Why is she using a bedpan??”

The nurse stops in her movements. “Well, yesterday and today, that’s just what she has decided to use.”

You immediately become hostile. “That’s not right. She never needed to use one at home. Why is she suddenly using one here? Is that not a clear sign of deterioration? The restrooms must not be kept well enough here if she doesn’t want to use them.”

The nurse becomes something meek, her eyes widening as her mouth gapes slightly. “Ma’am,” she squeaks out, “we see this commonly with patients as they begin to adjust to hospice life. We’ll urge her to use the restroom, but as of right now, we need to prioritize what she finds most comfortable.”

Your expression softens, your shoulders relaxing from their tense position, and you duck your head a little with guilt. “Right…I’m sorry.”

The nurse presses her lips together with a well-meaning smile before shuffling into the room and closing the door behind her. You sigh and lean your back against the wall next to the number plate, cheeks flushing slightly from the confrontation. You have no idea how loud your voice was or who heard you. But you try to convince yourself that you’re just stressed and trying to look out for your mother, although the guilt still sits.

You glance up to see Gojo staring at you with slightly wide eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets, and he tilts his head to study your expression.

“What?” you snap at him.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Satoru,” you cut his questioning off by raising a palm into the air, “just—…just stop.”

His brow furrows together slightly, but before he can show any further concern, the nurse exits the room and holds the door open for the two of you. 

“All set!” she chirps, and Gojo moves to hold the door open in her stead, and then the nurse bolts down to disappear somewhere down the hallway.

You hear Gojo let out a small huff of a scoff as he stares down in the direction the nurse ran off in. “Glad to know I’m not the only one that’s scared of you.”

You roll your eyes and walk into the room through the open door.

Your mother lays in her bed, looking out the window with her hands resting on top of layers of white linen sheets, her skin looking slightly paler than usual. You approach her bedside slowly and she finally turns her head to look at you.

“Hi mom,” you gently greet her, sitting down on the stool beside her bed, “how are you doing?”

Her eyes dart across the features of your face, and you briefly glance towards the wall to the right where you see Gojo standing from a slight distance.

“Oh, hi dear,” she says with a smile, and relief washes over you.

You match her smile with your own. “Mom, I brought someone here to see you.” You glance over at Gojo, who starts to close distance now as he approaches the foot of the bed, “this is Satoru, my husband.”

Your mother’s eyes widen, “Oh! I know him,” she scoldingly swats a hand at you, like you’ve embarrassed her somehow by assuming that she doesn’t know who he is, “he’s my neighbor!”

You sigh, “yes mom, the one that fixed the A/C?” You attempt to finish her sentence for her.

She looks confused for a moment, but slightly nods as if to avoid any further confusion for herself. “But—…but, why…” she trails off and then looks at you, “I’m sorry, are you my nurse?”

Your shoulders drop slightly. “No, mom, it’s me. Your daughter. Do you remember?”

Her face scrunches before it entirely relaxes to keep some image of composure despite the haze you know she feels in her head. “Oh…yes, yes…my little girl. I remember you, of course!”

Your eyes become layered with a slight sheen of tears, “I’m glad.”

“Where’s your father?” she asks, “he said he’d bring me some…oh dear, what—…he said he’d bring me tea. I’ve been waiting.”

“Mom, dad is—” you pause for a moment to think on your feet. You could either tell the truth, or a little white lie. You never know what to do. And either one comes with either guilt or sorrow. “Well, he’ll be here soon, I just wanted to come see you.”

“Oh okay…” she trails off, her eyes squinting at you once more with that same look of confusion on it, but then they drift towards Gojo. “Oh you’re a very handsome young man! You look just like my neighbor.”

Your eyes flicker up to Gojo, and he walks up to your side by your mom’s bed. “Yes, Mrs. l/n, I am your neighbor.”

“With the lemon tree!”

“The avocado tree,” you correct her with a small sigh. “And he’s my husband mom. And also our neighbor.”

“Oh I see I see…” she says, looking up at him, and in a moment that shocks you, she holds her hand up for him to take.

There’s a slight moment of surprise on his face too, but he accepts her frail hand in his, and you glance over to your mom to see her look at him with some look of peace on her face.

“Oh, sit down here, won’t you?” she tells him, and you both blink at her in a moment of hesitation.

He pulls a stool up to the side of the bed right next to you and takes a seat down onto it. Your mother holds his hand with both of hers now, soothing her palm over the back of it before she taps on it lightly.

“Oh, my little girl is very sweet. She would bring me flowers from the garden when she was,” she glances at you, confused once more, “well I remember her when she was so little but she looks…a little older now. Ah, but she would bring me such pretty flowers.”

Your heart aches in your chest. You never knew what version of you your mother would remember. Some days, you’re still supposed to be an angsty teenager that shuts doors in her face, some days you were just as you are right now, and other days, you were just her little girl. And it confused her, the image of not seeing you in the way that she remembers. In the only way she knew how.

“You’ll take good care of my sweet girl, won’t you?” she asks him.

And it knocks the wind out of you.

It drops your heart to the center of the earth.

The thought that, after so many moments where she doesn’t remember you, she still knows that you’re someone she wants to keep safe.

Your mouth gapes slightly, tears welling in your eyes and you try your best to blink them away, but you see Gojo’s hand slip out from being held by your mother’s hands, to instead use both of his to hold hers. Your eyes snap to his face, and you see that same earnest expression you’ve been growing used to seeing these days. 

“Yes,” he responds, eye contact level with hers, “I will.”

A small puff of air leaves your lips, a single tear streaming down your cheek and you quickly swipe your trembling fingers to remove any evidence of it before you huff out a shaky, “excuse me.” And then you’re standing up off the stool, and in a few hurried steps across the room as more tears continue to stream down your face, you make it to the door to push out into the suffocating air of the hallway.

It’s hard to breathe, huffs and puffs barely leaving your lips as you struggle to pull air into your lungs while you storm down the hallway at a fast pace, your heels clicking underneath you in a way that only sets you off further. Suddenly, all the sounds around you make you sick to your stomach, a wave of nausea washing over you, and your nose burns with the intensity of the tears that continue to stream down your face. A few hospice staff look at you with concerned expressions, and you eventually reach a heavy-duty door that leads you out into a secluded staircase hallway where the dim lighting serves to relax at least some of your senses, but you still feel like you’re about to pass out.

Even in the haze of your emotions, there’s this glimmer of a memory that comes to mind. One from when you were younger and you were pushed on the playground at school. You cried and cried and cried in your mother’s arms, but even then, you didn’t want her to baby you. You would say to her, I’m a big girl now! in that same way a child knows nothing of what it truly means to brave the world. 

That little girl had no idea that one day, there would be moments where she wouldn’t be remembered as her mother’s little girl anymore. 

No matter how old you grow, you will always be my little girl, your mother’s voice echoes to you, the feeling of her squeezing you in her arms as she holds your sobbing little form in hers casting a ghost sensation across your skin.

In a mother’s eyes, you’ll always be her baby.

And that’s why it hurts.

Because it’s all fake.

It’s phony.

It’s not real.

This arrangement you have with Gojo.

And if your mother were to die tomorrow, there would be no one to take care of her little girl anymore.

Not in the way she believes there will be.

Of all the white lies, this one pierces you straight through your heart in a way that leaves you gasping for air.

Amidst your whirlwind of thoughts, you hear the door push open harshly, and when you glance over, you see Gojo standing in this dimly lit hallway as he turns his head quickly to the left and sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, catching his breath as he lightly jogs up to you, “hey, hey, hey,” he repeats with more concern now when he sees the state you’re in, and he seamlessly pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing against his chest that feels warm even through the fabric of his suit jacket and shirt, and that familiar scent of him completely engulfs you.

You sob quietly, wiping your snot on his tie and your tears on the felt fabric beside it, your hands balled into tiny fists at your chest, squeezed between the two of you. You feel him tuck your head under his chin and his arms wrap around you tighter. You don’t even realize it at first, but suddenly, it has become easier to breathe.

Then, you wail, and you cry, and you sob, because you don’t have the words to even explain how you feel, about not just this, but with everything, a buildup of everything that has been suffocating you in your life that just comes crashing down on you all at once.

“I know,” he says, his palm resting on the back of your head as he holds your face to his chest, his voice soothing in your ears while you sob until there’s nothing left to cry. “I know.”

You two stay like this for another minute or so as you come down from the cries, your remnant sniffling echoing in the hallway while you wipe more of your snot on his jacket. You make the first move to pull your face away from his chest, but he still keeps his arms wrapped around you when you look up at him.

With your gaze darting across his face, you take in the blue in his eyes. Eyes that are looking at you so softly it’s suddenly hard to breathe once more. And when those eyes flit to your lips, your mouth parts slightly as you two breathe in unison.

It’s possible that you could have dreamed the moment you saw him lean down slightly towards you, his eyes still set on your lips, but it didn’t matter because you’re pushing him away with strong fists before you can even register the thought in your head.

He lets go of you entirely, his eyes wide once more, and you glance down at your feet. 

A tender moment, just like on the roof, broken just because you can’t handle that—…that way, that intense way that he looks at you. New rule, no looking at me longingly like you want to kiss me. I won’t allow it.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, still examining your shoes. And you suddenly feel embarrassed that he had to see you this way. He’s supposed to be scared and intimidated by you, not holding you in his arms while you cry. 

He’s silent for a moment, but you can tell he’s searching for things to say. “You don’t want to say bye to your mom before we go?”

You swipe your palm against the wetness on your cheek. “No. I just want to go home.”

“y/n,” he tried to convince you.

You finally look up at him. “Please.”

He breathes in a few breaths as he studies the features of your face in a way that makes you feel so seen that it’s frightening. But he slowly nods, then says,

“Okay.”

.

.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 4]

a/n. hi friendsss i hope you enjoyed :'') yea like i said at the a/n in the beginning, this chapter is a slight off-tangent from last chapter, but ch5 will continue with a lot of the stuffs that were brought up in ch3. but yea i wanted to explore the whole process of emotions reader would go through putting her mom in hospice, since it kinda felt like a big thing, hence why it got its own chapter. aaa i hope to see you in the next one!! much love from me :''0

➸ take me to chapter five!

note: please do not ask me for updates or when i will next update (read rules)

🏷️ @tremendousbouquetflower @semra4 @noctuaism @gojonegs @reinam00n

@bloopsstuff @bbyxxm @yungbloode @elloredef @spriteshawtyy

@joemama-2 @luniunia @4y3sh4 @ironhottubstranger @lushafterglow

@hermizery @manyno @idiot-juice-enthusiast @fairyflorasworld @teramisuyhin

@mmeerraa @bnha-free-writing @xenop0p @spaghettinewt @pngjpn

@anniegojo @rirk-ke @chiyokoemilia @higurumapet @pickuptruck01

@electrckchild @vi-ola666 @arishaxml @lavender-hvze @starmapz

@sxnkuna @billiondollarworth @fallintothechasm @mavvsmm @satorubluu

@ricaliscious @satxoru @oyaoya-bungeegum @satowooo @samistars

@ifartmangos @andeverden @13-09-01 @lindyloomoo @tvdumarvelhpsimp

note: i’m starting to transition towards tagging interacts to make sure i’m tagging active readers! but as always let me know if/when your taglist preferences change :)

taglist is closed

[lost-and-ephemeral]

Could you please do LDS boys +

Caleb reacting to reader being injured/severely injured?<3

HCs: You're Injured (ft. main trio + Caleb)

Pairing: Xavier x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader, Caleb x reader (seperate)

Tags: hurt/comfort, reader is injured but won't die

A/N: Thanks for your request! First time writing for Caleb, yay. Sorry if it isn't good enough, I'm not feeling so good since morning.

-`♡´- MASTERLIST -`♡´- 

Caleb

"Hold on, pip-squeak, I'm right here."

Your exhausted body, covered in wounds from the battle with Wanderer, was ready to collapse to the ground if Caleb hadn't caught you in time.

He knew how dangerous your job was, but that didn't make him any less worried.

You protected him but got hurt in the process.

He's frustrated and angry because there's no way he could've protected you in that situation.

And Caleb just hates this feeling, but trying to stay calm for your sake. His emotions could only make everything worse.

"Sometimes even big girls need someone else's help. Right? And I'm here for you."

Concern was written all over his face, he couldn't hide it even if he really tried. The last thing he wanted was to see you hurt, especially like this.

He was supposed to be your main protector back then. But now things have changed.

You had really grown a lot, not just physically, but mentally too.

It was just hard to accept you're no longer a little girl.

Yes, you are strong and mature. But Caleb kept holding you like you were the most fragile being in the world.

He will give you first aid as quickly as he can, while calling an ambulance. Caleb is not the kind of person who would risk your life trying to handle this situation on his own.

Definitely going to the hospital with you while holding your hand and talking to you. He'll be around as long as it takes.

Probably will fall asleep on the chair near your hospital bed.

No doubt he'll continue to look after you like he did when you both were younger.

Rafayel

"No, no, no. Don't even think about leaving me like this!"

Maybe sometimes Rafayel was overly dramatic, but he's actually afraid of losing you again.

When he saw that you were injured after not-so-pleasant encounter with Wanderers, his facade of self-confidence instantly cracked.

Rafayel started panicking and it was clear from the look on his face as he crouched beside you, seeing how you trying to cover the wound by your bloody hands.

Not again. No.

All these years he had to watch you die over and over again, losing all memories of him.

Rafayel instantly began to examine your wounds, holding you close. He didn't care if his perfectly white shirt will be covered in blood as well.

He needed to be sure you won't die this time.

And his playful attitude is gone completely.

"Don't you dare to die on me, you hear? I won't forgive you. Ever. Promise me. Promise me you won't die."

He tried to remain calm and ignore the suffocating feeling of anxiety that has been slowly rising in his chest. But he couldn't.

Will do everything to stop the bleeding while help is on it's way. You can feel his hands trembling.

He'd better die for you himself, not vice versa.

I swear, this man is gonna get the whole hospital on alert. Nurses and doctors can be mad at him as much as they want. It doesn't matter to him.

Rafayel won't rest and eat properly until you get better. He just physically can't.

"Don't scare me like this ever again, please."

Xavier

"I failed you."

You accidentaly got injured during your mission. And poor Xavier decided it was totally his fault.

You both found yourself surrounded by enemies and before he could even react, one of them attacked you, leaving a deep wound on your side.

Needless to say, in the next couple of seconds all Wanderers were completely destroyed, and Xavier was fully focused on you.

This isn't the first time you've been injured during a mission. But each time Xavier is as worried as always.

Especially when your injuries are so severe.

Will administer first aid on the spot, even the bare minimum, before carrying you to safety.

With Wanderers around, it's not going to be easy to get you out of this dangerous zone. So Xavier needs to stabilize you a little at first.

"I won't let you get hurt again. I promise."

He is already experienced in these situations, so he's able to keep his emotions under control. But that doesn't mean that deep inside he isn't worried sick about you.

Will be looking for anything to treat your wound and avoid infection.

Guilt will slowly eat him up from the inside no matter what. He had to protect you, but he failed to do so.

Even if you assure him it's just an accident, Xavier just shakes his head in response.

As soon as you can get out, he'll take you to the hospital. It is unlikely that his skills will be enough to make your wound heal properly.

Better safe than sorry.

He still has a lot of work to do, but he'll come to you whenever he has a spare minute.

Will probably act like a guilty puppy for a long time.

Zayne

"You're constantly putting yourself in danger."

Zayne has a hard time showing his feelings openly, especially when it comes to you, so it's no surprise that his display of concern felt like he was scolding you.

But in reality he's really, really worried about you every time.

He knew right away that you were in the hospital after another accident.

And as soon as Zayne had some time off between surgeries, he came to you.

Looking at you in the hospital bed, he felt his heart ache.

While he was desperately searching for a cure for your heart, you kept getting hurt again and again.

Even when you smiled, like if trying to reassure him everything's fine, Zayne only sighed and shook his head. You have no idea how hard it was to see you hurt and vulnerable like this.

He's already been informed of the severity of your wounds and how much blood you've lost.

And he could've lost you.

But Zayne can't let his emotions take over. There are still a few more difficult surgeries ahead where he cannot afford to make a mistake.

And if he starts panicking right in front of you, it's not going to speed up the healing process.

"I'd be happy if you took a more responsible approach to your health. Then I wouldn't have to be so worried."

He moved his chair closer to your bed and sat in silence for a while, squeezing your hand.

Zayne will stay around as long as his job lets him.

Don't be surprised to find candies or plushies you wanted on your nightstand.

You can ask him about these little gifts.

And watch carefully as a faint smile appears on his lips.

"Usually only children get so excited about toys. So it turns out you're not that far from being a child?"

[narcjsistx]

"𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀, 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓... 𝐀 𝐎𝐒!" | bllk os event ⛄

christmas is near, and why not spend the week before the big day reading oneshots about the characters from the blue lock animanga?

EVENT FROM 18 TO 25 DECEMBER!! every day, a new os with a different romantic trope

I asked chatgpt this question for all the characters in the list: if you think of the character (name), what song comes to mind? with what trope?

I chose the characters I write about the most, plus some I've never written anything about, but who interest me. I hope to satisfy you!

— 18/12: rin itoshi

— 19/12: sae itoshi

— 20/12: isagi yoichi

— 21/12: shidou ryusei

— 22/12: karasu tabito

— 23/12: nagi seishiro

— 24/12: bachira meguru

— 25/12: kaiser micheal

— rin itoshi 18/12 — RIGHT CHOICE OS

song: "Homewrecker" by Marina

trope: Forbidden Love. the song explores themes of attraction that may be complicated, reflecting the idea of falling for someone who is already involved with someone else

plot: falling in love with Rin Itoshi, the captain of the national team, was not in your plans, it never had been. you hadn't done it, or at least you had hidden it well, when you were a child, but doing it now that he was about to get married? damn

——— 🎄

— sae itoshi 19/12 — ANNIVERSARY GIFT OS

song: "Numb" by Linkin Park

trope: The Weight of Expectations. the pressure to meet societal or familial expectations can create tension in a romantic relationship, leading to misunderstandings and emotional distance

plot: that your boyfriend was sometimes distant was not a new thing. he often needed his space, both physical and mental, and you accepted this. but you did not expect him to put a match in the first place of the list on the day of your wedding anniversary

——— 🎄

— isagi yoichi 20/12 — OCCUPY EVERYTHING OS

song: "Hall of Fame" by The Script featuring will.i.am

trope: Supportive Partner. the idea of having a partner who encourages and believes in you can be a central theme. this trope highlights how love can motivate individuals to pursue their dreams and overcome obstacles

plot: today is an important day, very important, maybe the most important of your boyfriend's life, the dream of a lifetime finally realized: the soccer world cup. last minutes, the ball ends up in the net thanks to him. the crowd tries to win the heart of the japanese boy, but he already has your heart that has always supported him

——— 🎄

— shidou ryusei 21/12 — BEAST AND ANGEL OS

song: "Bad Guy" by Billie Eilish

trope: Opposites Attract. the song's edgy vibe can represent a relationship where two very different personalities are drawn to each other. one partner may be more wild and carefree, while the other is more grounded, creating a dynamic tension that can lead to romance

plot: during the christmas period it was normal for the association to invite the players, and their girlfriends, to organized dinners. shidou loves to show up at these dinners with you, where everyone asks you how you can be together even though you are so different

——— 🎄

— karasu tabito 22/12 — THE FEAR OF BEING OS

song: "Crawling" by Linkin Park

trope: Rescue Romance. in this trope, one character is drawn to another who is struggling with their inner demons. the relationship becomes a journey of support and healing, where one partner helps the other confront their issues, leading to a deep emotional bond

plot: the pact had been clear from the beginning: only needy kisses when the situation called for it, but no relationships. everything had been going smoothly up until that point, but the main problem was that now you were falling for your enemy's best friend. does tabito not want relationships because he doesn't want to set up seriously or just because he's afraid of ruining everything by being mediocre?

——— 🎄

— nagi seishiro 23/12 — GET USED TO OS

song: "Young and Beatiful" by Lana del Rey

trope: The Fear of Losing Love. this trope revolves around the anxiety of whether love will endure as time passes. the song's lyrics express a longing for reassurance that love will remain, even as youth and beauty fade

plot: nagi thinks everything is a hassle, but you're the last thing he thinks is. the only drag here is how he's starting to think the chemistry between you is running out

——— 🎄

— bachira meguru 24/12 — RUN AWAY OS

song: "Feel Good Inc" by Gorillaz

trope: The Escape from Reality. the song's themes of breaking free and seeking happiness can align with a romance where the couple finds solace in each other, escaping the pressures of the outside world. this trope emphasizes the idea of love as a refuge

plot: running away from the cameras was the favorite thing you and meguru did every chance you got. your love was yours alone, why give the world just a small slice of everything you felt for each other? it would be a waste

——— 🎄

— micheal kaiser 25/12 — LAST CHANCE OS

song: "Stronger" by Kanye West

trope: The Second Chance Romance. the idea of coming back stronger after a setback can represent a relationship that has faced challenges but is given a second chance. this trope explores themes of forgiveness, growth, and the rekindling of love

plot: why kaiser was at your door the night between christmas eve and christmas day? why did he have a red package, even though you had broken up last month?

——— 🎄

if you want to be tagged say it! I will add you to the list without problems 💗

[tfp-is-my-lifeblood-lol]

Reasons Why I Think TFP Jack is Underrated:

Welcome to my organized bullet list of why I think Jack is cool. I used to think he was boring too, but now I think he's the goat and here's why:

-He has Main Character Energy, but he's more snarky than most cliche main characters

In fact, he is a petty king:

-He doesn't wanna be on Team Prime at first, but eventually accepts it...

...He then proceeds to BURN Airachnid's ship to the GROUND with a stupid survival kit for babies

-HE DEFEATED THE ALIEN SPIDER QUEEN WITH NOTHING BUT A LIGHTER AND A POCKET KNIFE, BRO

-HE WAS DONE WITH HER BULLSHIT LOL

-Plus he tricked Silas by pretending to beg for mercy, when really, he was stealing his walkie talkie.

-Jack is boring, BUT the fact that Jack has nothing special about him IS his superpower; Miko has the Apex Armor and her brave personality, Raf has genius level computer smarts, and Jack has PURE SPITE. It's beautiful.

-He has zero skills, but he'll figure out how to defeat his enemies anyway, SOLEY because he's tired and doesn't get paid enough for this shit.

-For example, in one of the Titan Magazine comics, Jack literally kicks Silus in the balls

Evidence:

Iconic✨

Apex armor? Cybertronian technology?

Screw that. How about I KICK you in the balls?l

-A true legend

-He's also a mess though, and I relate so hard

-He's so petty he talked two aliens into helping him cheat at street racing to piss off his classmate

-His romantic subplot is treated like a complete joke, and I love that. Normally, the Main Character✨ is awkward, but gets the girl in the end. Not Jack, though. Nope. He just constantly looks stupid in front of Sierra, nothing ever happens between them, and Arcee is just watching with popcorn as his life falls apart. It's hilarious.

Also, if I'm correct, isn't the last time we see Sierra when she sees Arcee's homoform, and thinks Jack has a girlfriend, and then Jack is like "She's my mom😅." And Sierra's all like: "Your mom looks good in leather😐...on your bike😐😐😐😐..." Maybe I'm wrong, but if that's the case, it's funny. Jack is a simp and it gets him nowhere.

-His sarcasm works perfectly with Arcee's sarcastic attitude.

-Also Tailgate is voiced by Josh Keaton (Jack's voice actor) in the flashbacks, so I headcanon that Jack reminds Arcee of Tailgate, and that's why she has such a soft spot for him.

Tailgate and Arcee's dialogue had the same vibe as her and Jack's

Also, it gives more context to why she was so scared to lose him when Airachnid showed up. It would've literally been like losing Tailgate all over again.

-Jack is Team Prime's designated Good Ideas Guy

It was Jack's idea to hijack the spacebridge to send him to Cybertron

It was also his idea to drain the dark energon out of The Nemesis when it came alive and froze everyone

-I'm probably just projecting, he has generalized anxiety disorder vibes

-I feel like he prefers a comfortable, predictable life because he gets nervous easily

-He's always the first to freak out, and overthink, and Arcee always has to calm him down

-And she's so patient with him it's so sweet😱

-I agree the writing behind his existence is meh, and a lot of the cool stuff about him is probably unintentional, but I don't care, so take that!

Anyway, the moral of the story is:

Jack is just an angry little harmonica boy. Leave him alone. He's trying his best😭

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

[wannab-urs]

Scandal

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Prompt: Forced Proximity + “You’re going to get us arrested” / “I always wanted to see you in handcuffs.”

Summary: You get locked in a closet with Dieter at the Oscars

Warnings: semi public smut; forced proximity; reader has hair that can have bobby pins in it, is able bodied, is wearing a dress, and is an actress; the barest hint of enemies to lovers, but not really. WC: 1.6k

A/N: Written for a Dieter Bravo Brainrot Server event. Thanks to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, @atinylittlepain, and @pr0ximamidnight for reading it for me <3

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You just need to take a breather, that’s all. The Oscars can be a lot for an actress with social anxiety – there’s a million directors, former costars, and producers all vying for a conversation with you, not to mention the cameras catching you from every angle. And to make matters worse, they’ve allowed paparazzi into the lobby this year. 

There’s a coat closet just down this hallway, if you can just remember which door it is. You walk down the ornate hallway and find a door cracked open just slightly, the smell of weed emanating from the gap. You push the door open and step in, closing it tightly behind you. And you should have known from the smell alone who you’d find on the other side. 

None other than Dieter Bravo. 

“Shouldn’t have closed the door.” 

“And you shouldn’t be smoking in here. You’re stinking up everyone’s coats.”

“No, you really shouldn’t have closed the door. We’re locked in now.” 

“What?” Your voice hits a high frequency. You do not want to be locked in a closet with this particular former costar. You try the door anyway and find that he’s telling the truth. 

“I told you.” 

“Fuck, Dieter. You could have warned me!”

He chooses not to respond, taking another hit of his joint instead. He holds his hand out in offering, but you shake your head. Being high and trapped sounds like a recipe for paranoid disaster. 

You slump to the floor, pouting, but grateful they gave you a dress you can actually move around in this year. Dieter sits cross legged across the closet from you. There are coats lining either side of the walls. 

His usually fluffy curls are slicked back and styled to perfection. His nasty green bathrobe and pajama pants have been replaced by a billowing white shirt and fitted black pants. He’s even wearing real shoes. He looks… good. And he’s surprisingly clear eyed for someone smoking an entire joint. 

“You look nice,” Dieter comments. You look down at your dress – the color was chosen specifically to contrast well with your skin tone. The cut shows just enough bust and highlights your body shape. It’s a good dress. 

“Thanks, Dee. I was just thinking the same about you.”

“Oh were you now?” 

You roll your eyes. “Not like that, Dieter. You just clean up nice, is all.”

“I’m not um…” he trails off. 

“Not on coke anymore? I can tell.”

You and Dieter had worked on a project together a couple years ago. It was in the height of his coke addiction and working with him had been an absolute nightmare. He’d show up for work absolutely out of his mind, having screaming matches with the director, the producers, you. And that was if he showed up at all. The project had never even made it to production, leaving you worried your career was ruined. You fucking hated Dieter Bravo. 

But you could never deny how adorable he is. 

“Yeah. Cleaned up. Went to rehab. The whole shebang.”

“That’s good, Dee. Really.” 

You let your head fall back against the door, exposing the line of your throat to possibly the world's horniest man.

“You look really good in that dress.”

“I’m not going to have sex with you.”

You peek an eye open and see Dieter is already halfway across the floor, crawling to you on his hands and knees. He’s pouting at you. 

“What else do we have to do right now?”

You sigh and try the door one more time for good measure, reaching up behind you and tugging on the door handle. Still locked tight. Dieter grins and crawls even closer, settling between your thighs. He reaches out and strokes his thumb across your cheek. You can’t help but lean into it. 

“Always thought you were so beautiful.”

“Sure, Dee,” you scoff 

“I did. I do. Can I kiss you?” 

“Sure, Dee,” you whisper breathlessly. 

He presses his lips to yours gently at first. His lips are soft and plush against yours and you can’t help but deepen the kiss. You open your mouth and his tongue meets yours, hot and wet. Arousal sweeps through you and you bury your hands in his gorgeous curls, holding him against you. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his lap. You gasp, causing the kiss to break as your core comes into contact with the hard line of his cock in his trousers. 

“So fucking beautiful,” Dieter mutters into your throat, pressing kisses down into your cleavage. 

He lays you flat on the floor and scoots back, settling on his belly in between your thighs and rucking your dress up to your hips. 

“Dieter, you’re going to get us arrested for public indecency.”

“First of all, I’ve always wanted to see you in handcuffs,” he presses a kiss to your left thigh. “And secondly, I don’t see anyone here to catch us,” he kisses your right thigh, higher up this time. 

He hooks his thumb in the gusset of your panties, stroking your already soaked folds. You moan as quietly as you can. 

“So wet for me, already.” 

You groan as he pulls your panties to the side and buries his face in your cunt. There’s no build up, he eats you like he’s ravenous, like he hasn’t eaten in days. His curved nose grinds into your clit as he laps at your hole. His tongue plunges inside you over and over and you can already feel your core tightening. He slips two fingers in to replace his tongue, drawing circles on your clit with the point of it now. You cry out, much louder than you mean to be, than you need to be. His left hand comes up to cover your mouth, his face now hovering above yours as he curls his fingers perfectly inside you. 

“Quiet now, love. Wouldn’t want to get arrested for public indecency.”

The bastard. He thrusts his fingers into you a few more times and you’re coming all over his hand. You bite down on his palm to keep from screaming. He draws his fingers out of you slowly and rights your panties for you. He sucks your come off his fingers like it’s cake batter, letting out a little moan of his own at the taste. 

The door handle jiggles and you both freeze. Just as the lock turns, Dieter grabs you and rolls you both under the lowest level of coats on the side of the closet. You’re on top of him, breathing heavily into his neck. Someone comes in, grabs their coat, and leaves the room, pulling the door closed behind them. 

Dieter goes to roll you both back out but you stop him. You press a kiss to his very exposed throat. 

“I love this shirt. Very Mr. Darcy.”

“It is romantic isn’t it?” 

You drag your lips down his throat to his chest, pressing a kiss to the lowest bit of exposed skin. Your hands find the clasp on his fancy black pants, but you can’t quite get them open.

“The one time you don’t wear easy access pants…” 

“Here, let me.”

You both fumble for a moment before the clasp finally comes open and his cock springs out. 

“No underwear?”

“The lines were showing too bad.”

“Mmhmm,” you quirk an eyebrow at him. 

You wrap his cock in your hand. It’s long, curved a little, and not terribly thick. 

“Pretty,” you mutter before taking the tip in your mouth. He gasps as you suck him down. You swirl your tongue around his head, then flatten it out and let him fill your mouth. He hits the back of your throat and you suppress a cough, pushing him further down. His hands flutter into your hair as you start bobbing your head, sucking him down over and over again. He doesn’t push or pull you, simply rests his hands on the back of your head. 

You pull off him and lick a stripe up the seam of his balls as you stroke his cock. You suck one into your mouth, rolling it gently on your tongue, then switch to the other. 

“I’m gonna–”

You take his cock down your throat again, wanting to swallow his cum. You suck hard on the tip and then drop your lips down to the base as he comes in your mouth. His hips stutter beneath you and he groans. 

You let his softening cock fall out of your mouth and press a kiss to his hip bone. He strokes the back of your head reverently. 

“We should get cleaned up,” you whisper, your voice rough. 

Dieter sighs, but helps you get back to your feet. You take in his rumpled appearance and know you can’t look much better. His chest is covered in lipstick, as is his face. His hair is an absolute mess. His outfit is askew and wrinkled to hell. 

You help him fix his outfit, rub the lipstick off his skin, and finger comb his hair back into some semblance of a style. He pulls bobby pins out of your hair and stows them in his pockets, letting your hair down from the hours of work the stylist did. He smooths out your dress as best as he can. 

“We look…”

“Like we just fucked on the floor of a closet?”

“Yeah.”

He takes a bobby pin from his pocket and picks the lock on the door. 

“You could have done that the whole time?” 

Dieter doesn’t answer. He stands and takes your hand in his and pulls the door open. You’re immediately inundated with camera flashes. The paparazzi have found you. Your agent is going to kill you. 

“I fucking hate you,” you halfheartedly fuss at Dieter. This scandal will be fun to deal with... 

[grapejuicebrat]

“Was it real or just for show?” TEASER

PAIRING: famous!harry x famous!y/n

SYNOPSIS: baby i just gotta know how long has this been going on?

NOTES: be nice english isn’t my first language and this is my first work! I personally recommend listening to this song while reading “How long” by Charlie Puth. If you have any thoughts or ideas, I'm waiting for you in the inbox. or just to talk because I'm bored. feel free to do whatever you want x

WARNINGS: smut but not really (maybe some hints, but nothing like that will happen cause i’m not in the right mood), swearing, flirting, kinda friends to enemies to lovers, kissing, harry and reader being stubborn. i think that’s all if you found something else comment please.

“Harry, how do you feel about miss Y/n?”

Harry already knew how to answer. In fact, it had been the first question asked at almost every interview Harry had attended for the past few months. Jeff always said it's good for PR because all the fans are sure you're dating. I mean, isn't it? You flirt with each other on social media, write comments to each other on Instagram and hint at some kind of relationship on Twitter. Sometimes it seemed to him that it was so. You're just playing the game, waiting for the other person to give in and confess their feelings. Harry remembers the first time he mentioned you in an interview talking about celebrity crushes. Fans literally went crazy when they heard your name. For another week, the Internet was buzzing with rumors that the famous singer was dating an actress Y/N.

Of course, he didn't mention your name for nothing. By this point, you've been talking for a few months, almost immediately starting flirting via text. Surprisingly, it never devolved into anything more than just sex jokes.

“I mean she’s an incredible actress, you know? Have you seen her new movie? It’s amazing. I already told her that I wouldn't mind playing with her in the remake of "The Notebook". Personally, I think that we would be perfect for the main roles.” he laughs.

“So we should wait to see your chemistry on screen, am I right?” asks the interviewer and Harry shrugs.

“We’ll see”

“Y/n, please tell us more about Mr. Styles”.

You laugh and playfully roll your eyes. It seems to you that you will never get tired of playing this game. You flirt with each other in public and in private when no one is looking. At the same time, you have never been caught by the paparazzi together somewhere in a restaurant or on vacation. In fact, it's because you never went anywhere together. Harry never asked you out and you didn't have the guts to even ask him out for coffee. You didn't have any contact that required you to play couple in public. Personally, you did it because it was fun. It's fun to read some news about yourself, where you are married or pregnant. It's fun to watch fan speculation that isn't true. It's fun to pretend you don't understand anything at an interview and talk in riddles.

“I have no idea who are you talking about”

“Oh come on! You do know who is Harry Styles. In his last interview he told us that he wants to do a movie with you”

“Ok, I'm just kidding. Harry is a cool actor and singer. He is very talented. Have you seen his latest movies? To be honest, I watched "My Policeman" three times. It's not every day you see Harry shirtless, you know. Therefore, I would also not mind playing in the same movie with Mr. Styles. If anyone is looking for actors for the main roles, give us a call!” you smiled, looking at the people in the hall. Apparently, many of them are fans of your couple, because when they heard the name Harry, they literally went crazy.

What you didn't know was that this innocent game of flirting would turn into a race of hate and love. Both of you will have to come face to face with your fears and anxieties. You will have to learn to live with mistakes and without people with whom you planned your old age. You will have to meet again someone who was once everything to you. And will you be able to say "Goodbye" again?

Patiently waiting for your thoughts

[myfictionaldreams]

Everyone Is Breakable // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: Steve and Bucky were invincible in your eyes. They'd never been injured or in a situation where you thought they weren't the ones in control. That is until one day Bucky doesn't return from meeting with a client.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, polyamory, threesome (F/M/M), angst, fluff, anxiety, death scare, Bucky goes missing, feelings realised, kissing, oral (F & M receiving), handjob, gay sex, vagina sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, size difference, sir kink, creampie, begging, edging, everyone has sex together (finally), not beta read

Words: 7.2k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link 

Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes were invincible.

Well, they were in your opinion anyway.

For the years that you’d been dating the two of them, they had done feats that were seen to be impossible to the normal person. But then again, they weren’t exactly normal.

There were secrets and rumours throughout Brooklyn that helped to create notorious reputations for the Rogers Mafia’s boss and Deputy that left people scared and yet curious at the same time. The main rumour that was derived from the truth was that Steve and Bucky had been involved in barbaric and ruthless experiments that altered their DNA’s to become the ultimate weapons. Stronger, faster, agility and stamina were all affected and had the enemies running in fear with the inhuman feats that could be achieved. Whenever the two of them were confronted and questioned, the men simply shrug their broad shoulders and smirked arrogantly at the opposer.

The rumours and intimidation only increased with the looming fear of Bucky’s unique metal arm that was made from the world’s strongest metal and liked to be his first weapon used where threats were involved. The enemies were quick to retreat when his leather glove was removed and his fingers clenched into a fist.

Their reputation was not the only reason why you believed them to be invincible but also because as of yet, there had never been a reason to be remotely frightened for their safety. Aside from the swaggering confidence they lived and breathed on a daily basis, other than the busted knuckles from the punishments delivered to the people who deserved it, they had never been injured, not even a black eye or busted nose. Nothing.

They were both so highly trained from their time in the military that they were able to hold their own more significantly than the other people in the same line of work as them.

In the past, there had been injuries and near-death experiences by both Steve and Bucky, before, during and after the military and enough to leave daunting silver scars from stab wounds, gunshots or injuries from other weapons. Especially Bucky and losing his arm during his capture within Hydra, the thick scars that encompassed the area between his shoulder and metal joining, he could hardly even discuss the brutal events that led to his arm injury, not without falling into a headspace that left him worried for everyone's wellbeing but again, that was because of Hydra and the fucked up experiments they performed on him.

Regardless of this, the rest of the events of near-death experiences would have left any normal person to lose their life, but not Steve and Bucky. They always bounced back, leaving you and your relationship feeling secure, safe and never-ending. 

One day, one of them was not safe, and life was threatened so you didn’t know if they were alive or dead.

It was supposed to be a simple visit for Bucky, so simple in fact that he had decided to go by himself, leaving his bodyguard Natasha behind to look after Steve as he remained behind at the office. This was where you also remained with your guard Sam, sitting at the oak table, large enough to sit 10 people and usually reserved for important meetings but today had papers and laptops lazily scattered across as orders were processed. Unphased and unbothered, Bucky left with a quick wave and kiss on the cheek for you as he visited a client unaffectionately nicknamed Ross the Coward, for some undelivered money.

From your right, Steve watched Bucky closely as he left, fingers drumming on the surface of the table as he contemplated letting Bucky go by himself but the second in command was all smiles and confidence as he left to the meeting point. As soon as the office door closed, you were swift with unlocking your phone and clicking on the ‘find my friends’ app, watching the blue dot that represented Bucky’s location closely, a habit that everyone within the gang seemed to do to follow each other's locations and last whereabouts if anything were to go wrong.

From the corner of your eye, Steve also monitored the screen as well whilst continuing with the monotonous choirs of running a mafia gang by responding to queries and emails. It had been a long day for all of you, the type of boring work that had your eyelids heavy and body drained without so much as lifting a finger. Bucky had been almost bouncing off of the walls with boredom and when the opportunity to meet with Ross was discussed, he almost ran from the room in eagerness.

“He’s arrived”, you audibly confirmed to the group as Bucky’s dot slowed to a halt in a back alley somewhere in Brooklyn. Steve physically shuffled closer, his chair creaking under his heavy muscles as his arm slide around your back and rested against your hip, so he could move closer and watch the phone for a couple of minutes over your shoulder but soon became preoccupied by the bare skin exposed in front of him. You knew he was trying to distract you from obsessively watching Bucky’s dot as his lips danced across your sensitive skin, the fine hairs on your arms standing on end as a shiver brushed over your body as he reached behind your ear.

Your eyes closed to concentrate on the delicate touches of his full lips and the light scratch of his stubble but the pleasured moan that was teasing to escape on the tip of your tongue was soon replaced by a frustrated groan as Steve’s phone began to vibrate. The blonde gave an apologetic peck on your shoulder before returning his body to the work he was doing and your eyes continued to momentarily glance at Bucky’s location.

Half an hour passed and Bucky’s location hadn’t shifted, even by a single step the entire time. An unsettled heaviness rested in your stomach, but you tried to shake it off, Bucky was fine, it was only 30 minutes. However, those minutes ticked by and turned into an hour, by which point you were anxiously chewing on the skin surrounding your thumbnail which caught the eye of Steve.

Hanging up the phone, he turned his chair back towards you, knees knocking into yours as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist to ease the thumb from your mouth, “what is it?”

Nodding your head towards your phone you explained, “Bucky’s dot hasn’t moved in over an hour”.

Steve’s crystal blue eyes snapped to the phone at a sickening speed, the grip on your hand tightening by the slightest amount of force, not enough to hurt but enough to show his worries. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice low as leaned closer to the phone, studying the location.

“Yes, I’m sure”, you confirmed, trying to ignore the way your throat felt as if it was closing as you noticed Sam and Natasha now taking note of the situation as well. “It’s not moved at all, not even to show him pacing, I’ve used the app enough to know that it moves as you’re walking”.

Steve’s jaw clenched beneath his beard as lines formed between his eyebrows as they furrowed trying to decide the next steps. Releasing your hands, he turned towards Natasha, opening his mouth to order her to go to the location and see what was happening but the red-haired woman was already standing from her chair, shrugging on his leather jacket and confidently strutting towards the door, “Already on it, Boss”.

Steve tried to remain calm, for your sake anyway but you could tell but the ever so slight twitch of his hand that now rested on your exposed thigh, that he was unnerved by the situation. Sam had also tried to help your nerve by distracting you by making you laugh which worked for a whole minute before you returned to wringing your fingers in your lap, a movement that you usually did when nervous. “It’ll be ok Boss Lady, Bucky’s a big boy, he’ll be ok”.

Even with the heavy weight of Steve’s hand, your leg couldn’t keep still as you had the overwhelming urge to bounce your knee up and down to try and release some pent-up energy. Watching the phone closely, the dot that represented Natasha approached Bucky’s location and only then did his dot begins to move before Steve’s phone rang with Natasha's face and name appearing on the screen.

“He’s not here, his phone was in a trash can”, Natasha informed as Steve placed the phone on speaker so you could all hear.

You were out of your seat before either Steve or Sam. However, just as swiftly as you’d made it to your feet, a rough hand was just as quick to grasp your wrist in a gentle but firm hold, halting your plan to rush to the door. Frowning with a glare, you turned to look at Steve as he stood, not releasing your wrist. The expression on his face had your glare faltering as he looked at you in the way that you liked to call ‘Work Steve’. Jaw clenched and set, lines etched around his eyes with sternness and lips thinned into a tight line.

“You’re staying here”, Steve demanded without leaving any time to argue. No laughter or love in his voice like he usually reserved for when he spoke to you. There was only a strict command that was not meant to be argued against but you were simply not in the mood to sit around waiting for news, feeling unhelpful.

“Absolutely not, I’m coming with you”, your tone attempted to sound as stern as his but your voice wavered with the increasingly nauseating sensation blooming in your stomach.

Steve finally dropped your wrist but that was only because he had forced his chair back and was walking over to his desk at the furthest away point in the room, shoulders broad and muscles straining beneath the tight white shirt as he began to strap his guns to multiple locations across his body. As you watched Steve dismiss you without a single word, your hands began to shake with the adrenaline pounding through your body, and taking lesson than a second to decide between dealing with his wrath or continuing with your plan to help find where Bucky had gone.

You were halfway across the room before Steve suddenly shouted, “Sam!”, without even looking over his shoulders, his enhanced hearing meaning that he heard your footsteps rushing across the room. Your friend and bodyguard stepped into your line of sight at Steve’s command, his hands raised, palms facing you in an apologetic stance.

“Come on Sweetheart, let’s go back to our seat, I’ll get you a coffee or something-”. Without waiting for him to finish the sentence, you efficiently ducked under his arm and continued on your journey.

“I’m not waiting here, neither of you can stop me”. This was very much untrue as Sam’s arm circled your waist and easily trapped your arms to your side in the process as he overpowered you easily. “Sam, get off me!”

“I’m sorry, but orders are orders”, Sam to his credit, did sound apologetic as he held you firmly to his chest. This didn’t stop you from trying to wiggle your way out of his arms, even when it began to hurt with the amount of force you were putting into it, especially as Steve walked in front of you, now wearing his jacket to hide the multiple weapons he had strapped to his shirt.

“Steve please don’t go without me, I want to help! I need to help find him, please let me come with you!”

Your boyfriend had the decency to at least soften his eyes as he gripped your jaw firmly to keep you from moving and hold your attention. His voice was low and steady as he addressed you, his head dipped to try and hold your eye contact. “You will stay here, safe with Sam. I will go and find Bucky and I’m taking everyone with me to search for him and if we find-”. Steve’s confidence faltered enough that he had to shake his head to try and compose himself, returning to the same stern expression. “We will find him, I promise”. With that, he lowered his lips down to gently kiss your temple, breathing in the comforting scents of shampoo, before turning away.

A thousand thoughts were spirling through your mind as Steve turned away from you. Bucky was missing and without his phone. He could be hurt… or worse than hurt and now you had to stand there and watch as Steve went to the same location, leaving you behind to do nothing.

You began to fight harder against Sam’s hold, not caring that it might bruise your arms as you thrashed and twisted your body in an attempt to get free, needing to be there, hating the thought of waiting around helplessly. “Steve!” you shouted enough that it echoed around the room, please don’t leave me here!”

Your boyfriend didn’t acknowledge your pleas as he continued towards the door, shoulders hunched and heavy with worry and the need for vengeance seething through his boiling blood. Lifting his hand to turn the door handle, he was shocked as it twisted before he could even touch it, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun clasped to the holster on his belt as the door opened with a burst.

A dishevelled Bucky rushed into the room having heard your shouts from the end of the corridor, his chest rising and falling with hurried breaths, his jacked was ripped revealing his crisp white shirt to be stained with deep red blood that also crusted over the knuckles on both of his hands. “What’s going on?” he demanded, eyes darting wide and vividly blue as he took in the scene before him of Sam holding you back as tears had begun to flow down your cheeks.

“Bucky!” you screamed in relief, heavily tugging yourself out of Sam’s hold which loosened enough that you fell forward, stumbling slightly before brushing past Steve and into the arms of Bucky who was still confused as to what was going on. Your trembling hands wrapped around your boyfriend's neck as you cried into his shoulders, heart thumping hard in your chest as you felt his arms hug you close.” You’re ok! Thank god you’re ok”.

“What’s wrong? What is it? What the fuck is happening in here?” Bucky frantically asked in confusion, attempting to pull back from the bone-crushing hug so that he could inspect your face but you continued to hold onto him tight, scared that if you let go, he might disappear. When you didn’t answer, his eyes wandered to Steve and then Sam before looking back to his boss and best friend who finally stepped closer.

The mafia boss's eyes were unblinking as he did his own visual assessment, searching Bucky from head to toe and back up again and lingering on the red patches of his shirt. “Are you ok? Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance? Where have you been?” Steve asked, one worst stumbling into another as placed a trembling hand on Bucky’s shoulder, just to touch him and make sure that he was here and real.

Bucky continued to look confused between Steve and the top of your head from where you still clung to his chest. “Ye-yeah, I’m fine, what’s happened?” Bucky answered more firmly this time.

Taking a deep breath and smelling Bucky to try and ground yourself, noting the way the iron scent overwhelmed his expensive cologne. Trying to compose yourself, you quickly stepped back, releasing your hold on his neck to wipe the wetness on your cheeks from the tears that slowly came to a stop as you truly realised he was ok. As you backed up, you bumped into Steve’s chest and instinctively reached behind for his other hand that was hanging at his side and squeezed it, a silent conversation that was needed between the two as his thumb brushed against the back of your hand.

His other hand remained on Bucky’s shoulder, you could see that he was gripping the man firmly, not wanting to let go as he explained what had happened. “We thought you were missing, I mean - you were missing. The location of your phone hadn’t moved for an hour and when Natasha went to investigate she found it in a trash can. We thought something had happened to you”.

Bucky nodded slowly, processing the information as his eyes flicked between you and Steve. “A trash can? Those assholes…” Bucky muttered under his breath before he clarified what had happened. “Ross the Coward lives up to his nickname as he hired a team of security. They thought they had me cornered at one point but it was easy work to dispose of them but one of the little pricks stole my phone. Probably to stop me from calling for back up but I don’t need backup”, he shrugged confidently. “It’s sorted, their bodies won’t be found it just took some time to clean up the mess before I drove straight here”.

Steve’s chest relaxed against your back as he released a sigh, the tension easing from his body as he needed to clarify one more thing. “So the blood… it’s not yours?” he asked, nodding to the specks of blood on his shirt.

Bucky gave an arrogant, deadpan look. “Come on, do you have such little faith in me?” he pinched the shirt to emphasise, “all their blood, no injuries except a couple of split knuckles but even they are mostly healed”. Lifting his warm hand he wiggled his fingers and proved that there were no lingering cuts, only pink lines left breath all of the dried blood.

When neither you nor Steve responded as you processed the news and that he was ok and not dead in some hidden alleyway, Bucky had his own questions. “So what was all the shouting about? Why did Doll look like she was about to beat up ol’ Sammy boy over there?”

“Steve tried to be heroic and make me stay behind whilst he searched for you, even though it would have been better to have more people searching for you. I wasn’t going to just sit here and wait for everyone to come back”, you explained whilst still squeezing Steve’s hand.

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly before he tried to compose himself by straightening his spine, shoulders rolling back as he addressed Steve. “Oh? So you were going to come and save me? My wonderful knight in shining armour”, Bucky teased with a smirk, taking a towering step closer as you moved gently out of the way, sensing that the two men needed a moment.

Steve’s face was stoic and serious as he simply whispered, “Yes, you know I would”.

Bucky hummed, head tilting to look at you, contemplating for a second, opening his mouth with the plan to continue the flirtatious teasing but the words were lost in thought as Steve’s hand that you’d been holding lifted to cup Bucky’s cheek. He forced Bucky to look at him, his thumb pad stroking across the stubble covering his cheek, in an intimate way that had a warm feeling spreading through your heart.

Steve’s eyes were darting between Bucky’s, then continued on their own journey across the rest of his face, lingering for a second too long on his friend's plump lips as he needed to clarify one more time, “Are you sure you’re ok Buck?”

“Yeah, I’m fine Stevie”, Bucky confirmed, his voice barely audible with how softly he responded, no longer teasing or sarcastic.

“Good”, Steve trailed off for a moment, eyes watching his thumbs exploration across Bucky’s cheek. Your heart was pounding as you watched the interaction, the sincerity on the mafia boss’ face as he struggled with his emotions. “I thought you were hurt, I thought-”, he wasn’t able to finish his sentence as he took the final step closer, using the hand on Bucky’s face to pull him closer so that he could kiss his forehead tenderly and wrapping his arm around his shoulders in a tight hug, releasing a deep breath.

Your cheeks ached with how widely you smiled, your hands grasping together as you rocked on your feet, finding the moment endearing and intimate and clearly needed between the two of them. Over Steve’s shoulder, you caught Sam’s eye as he gave you a little wave before making a swift and quiet exit through the door, giving the three of you some much-needed time alone and so that he could call Natasha and give her an update.

Returning your eyes to Steve and Bucky, they were just relaxing their holds on one another but only so that they could gaze into each other's eyes one more. Steve finally took closed those last inches, making a decision he’d wanted to do for a while but was frightened of the dynamics shifting between them but those minutes of thinking Bucky was hurt, he wouldn’t waste another minute again.

Both seemed to relax and feel whole all at once as Steve tilted his head and kiss Bucky’s lips. Gently, their lips caressed together, taking a second just to taste one another, feel another pair of lips that weren’t yours, both thinking it would feel strange to kiss their best friend but it felt right like they were meant to be.

Biting your lip to hold back the gleeful gasp, you watched in wonder as your boyfriends became more heated, heads tilting and hands grasping onto each other's shirts, crinkling the material as their desperation increased to try and feel more of one another. You watched with increasing fascination and a powerful wave of arousal in your core that had your cunt pulsing with need but this wasn’t about you, it was about Steve and Bucky. The two had been more intimate over the last couple of months but neither made any move to take that step, even with your meddling and interfering so it was a relief to finally see them snap and be together.

Steve pulled back first but only as he grasped Bucky’s bottom lip between his lip, tugging on it until it snapped back to place with a pop. The two men rested their foreheads together, still sharing breaths with how close their faces were. “Don’t ever do something to scare me like that again, Buck”, Steve demanded softly under his breath.

“Yes, Boss”, Bucky quipped before leaning in again for a calmer, softer kiss.

For a moment, you contemplated leaving them to explore one another and have the alone time they both desperately needed but Steve seemed to sense your step towards the door as he released his grip on Bucky’s jaw to point towards you and then crooking his index finger in a ‘come here’ gesture. When he couldn’t hear you make your approach, he pulled away from the brunette with glassy eyes and puffy lips from the kissing as he tilted his head in your direction. “Room for one more, Baby”.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, not making any effort to join the two, “are you sure? You two look like you need some alone time and having enough time without me-”.

“Oh get over here already”, Bucky joked, with his signature chirpy smile on his handsome face, his dimples deepening as he reached over to you, taking your hand and pulling you closer.

The smile on your own face only stretched as you were pulled flush again Bucky’s chest as Steve moved around the man to his back, looking at you over Bucky’s shoulder with a flirty eyebrow raised before he was continuing his exploration of Bucky by kissing along his neck.

Grasping onto Bucky’s ripped jacket, you reached up on your tip toes and your lips finally stroked against Bucky’s. The two of you moaned, you even more so at tasting the hints of Steve on your boyfriend's lips, your tongue instantly easing out to taste more of him which Bucky was more than happy to open his mouth and accept the invasion.

Your fingers shook slightly with how firmly you were holding onto Bucky, the relief hitting you all over again that he was ok and really safe between you and Steve. You wanted to taste all of Bucky, needed to feel all of his body and even though you were used to being the centre of attention concerning the intimate moments between the three of you, at that moment, you and Steve needed Bucky to be looked after and praised.

So as Steve continued to tease Bucky’s throat, nipping and sucking on the sensitive flesh just below his ear, your hands loosened their grip but only so that the material could be pushed over his shoulders and allowed to be dropped to the floor. Your nibble fingers rushed to start unbuttoning his bloodied shirts but due to the emotions and adrenaline, it was a difficult and slow job so Steve took a handful of either side of the shirt and pulled, ripping the buttons easily and the material opening so that it too could be pushed over his shoulders and onto the floor, the buttons dropping and scattering all over the floor.

Not a single word was said at the action, other than a deep groan from Bucky as your nails scratched down his torso, feeling the bare, hot flesh beneath, the muscles tensing under your touch. Pulling back from the kiss, you desperately sucked in the air but only for a second as you left open-mouth kisses down his chest, feeling the light sprinkling of dark brunette hair that covered his chest, covering the previously mentioned scars from past injuries.

With his lips now free, Bucky had the freedom to tip his head back and to the side, giving Steve more room to tease and suck purple marks between his throat and shoulder, earning more desperate moans from the man.

Reaching around Bucky, you grasped onto Steve’s hands and pulled them around his front, helping the man to know where to touch the other, knowing that even though they had seen you fuck both of them, it was different having to do it themselves. Steve pulled back from dominating Bucky’s neck to cast his lust-filled eyes on you, smirking as he followed your lead as you moved Steve’s hands over Bucky’s abs and lower still until they landed on top of his belt.

Just before undoing it, Steve moved his lips to Bucky’s ear lobe, nipping with his sharp teeth before asking, “What do you say Bucky? Do you want this?”

Steve needed to hear him say it, that he wanted both yours and his touch. He was thankfully answered with a deep, aroused groan as Bucky huskily grunted, “fuck yes, don’t you dare stop”.

You and Steve shared an equally relieved grin before you dropped to your knees as the mafia boss continued to skillfully undo Bucky’s belt, clasp and zipper. This was where you took over, pushing the material over his firm arse until his trousers rested midthigh and you were eye level with his boxers-covered cock that was straining beneath the material.

“My favourite sight”, Bucky complimented, looking down at you and resting his hand on the back of your head as you smiled deviously up at him with wide eyes. With your hands resting on his toned, hairy thighs, you left the next step to Steve who thankfully continued undressing Bucky as he pulled the waistband of his boxers down, letting them join his trousers.

Now you were staring at the beautiful sight of Bucky’s thick, red cock that was already leaking beads of precum causing the tip to glisten. Glancing back up at Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, you raised an eyebrow to notify them that he should have the first touch.

With one large hand resting on Bucky’s abs, Steve’s other hand lowered and wrapped around the middle of Bucky’s cock. Bucky’s hips instantly thrust forward at the touch, his mouth dropping open as he looked at where he was being touched by his best friend, feeling the difference between having your smaller, softer hand and Steve’s big rough hand, deciding then and there that both were perfect.

SteveBucky'sd Bucky's cock a few times, spreading the precum and just trying to get used to touching another man's cock, noting the pressure he enjoyed and areas to give every attention to. Then, Steve held the base of it so that he stayed still and proud standing for you to inch forward and lick the tip.

“Fuck, both of you feel so good”. Bucky praised as he watched you as took more of his cock into your mouth Steve continued to hold it for you to suck as he subtly thrust his own clothed cock into Bucky’s back.

You thoroughly worshipped Bucky, loving the feeling for that moment of being in control with Steve, having Bucky between the two of you, moaning and losing his cool as you both pleasured him. His cock was salty and perfect as it lay heavy against your tongue as you attempted to take more of it into your mouth until it stroked the back of your throat, causing your eyes to water slightly.

You were so thoroughly aroused by the sight of Bucky rosy-cheeked and looking at you in awe with Steve still teasing him over his shoulder. Your thighs clenched closed, needing to feel some relief but nothing was what you needed so pulling off the tip of the cock with an audible pop, you nuzzled into his thigh with wide, hopeful eyes as you asked, “Please may I touch myself, sir?”

Bucky’s hand cradled against your cheek, thumb playing with your bottom lip that was already puffy from the blowjob you were giving. “Oh darlin’, you can do whatever you want when you’re looking so pretty like that for me”.

You grinned in relief up at him, turning to kiss his palm before straightening your stance on your knees once more but spread your legs, giving yourself room to drop a hand from his thigh to beneath your dress, pulling up the material until it bunched at your waist. You sighed in relief as you began to pleasure Bucky with your mouth once more but now your fingers could circle your clit over your soaked underwear.

“Doesn’t our girl look good for us, on her knees like that”, Steve joined the praises for you as he began to tweak one of Bucky’s nipples, causing the man to thrust deeper into your throat.

Bucky turned his head to make out with Steve over his shoulder, the two of them groaning as their tongues brushed together, tasting one another as you tasted Bucky’s cock. However, eventually, as Bucky’s cock began to throb harder in your mouth, did he ease your face away from him with a curse under his breath. “Shit, if you keep that up I’m going to cum already and I think… I think I want more, need to feel more”, he stated with a sense of uncertainty in his eyes with what it was exactly that he was asking.

You tried to decipher what it was that Bucky was asking as you asked him, “What do you say, Buckaroo? Think you can take Steve’s fingers better than I can? Is that what you want?” The throaty groan that Bucky released as he closed his eyes and cock visibly throbbed with more precum dripping from the end was answer enough before he nodded his head.

“Why don’t you take off the rest of your clothes Buck and help baby girl onto the table”. Bucky’s eyes lit up as he caught onto Steve’s idea but you weren’t sure why you needed to be on the table for Bucky to be fingers but either way, you accepted Bucky's helping hand to stand.

Bucky kicked off his shoes and remaining clothes, leaving him beautiful and naked. Then he helped you over to the edge of the table, hands resting on your hips to lift you up and onto it, making sure your dress was still clumped around your waist. With a simple snap of his metal fingers, the flimsy material of your lace underwear was destroyed and floating to the floor as he bent over, licking his lips with hunger devouring his eyes as witnessed your soaked pussy.

Without wasting another second his tongue was stroking between your pussy lips, sucking and licking your juices before circling your throbbing clit in slow, calculated circles. All you could do was cry out, using one hand to hold the back of his hair and the other to rest against the table behind you to keep you upright. Bucky didn’t stop with his pleasure, even as he lifted one of your legs and eased it over his shoulder, giving him more room to ease two fingers into your desperately clenching hole.

As you succumbed to the pleasure, you half noticed Steve walking over to his main desk across the room, rifling through his draws before returning with the emergency bottle of lube that was usually saved for you. But now, as you watched over Bucky’s shoulder, you finally realised what their plan was.

With the height of the table, Bucky had to bend over to attach his mouth to your cunt, leaving his ass bare and ready for whatever Steve had planned. The blonde muscular man admired the view for a moment, grasping the globes of Bucky's firm cheeks and spreading them slightly and biting his lip as he saw his target.

Steve liberally coated his fingers in lube, thoroughly spreading the gel everywhere and then also squirting some onto the hole directly. During the experimental times during hundreds of sexual encounters between the three of you, you’d been able to see just what Steve and Bucky liked being done to them. Bucky, much to his surprise, absolutely loved to have his prostate milked as you sucked him off and even though the last few times and contemplated using something bigger as sometimes your fingers just weren’t big enough however never got to the point of something bigger as he’d usually cum by the time Steve had found a reasonable size dildo for him to use.

Steve had been just as reluctant but seeing the way Bucky responded to your fingers had wanted to try it as well had found that he liked a rimjob and a couple of fingers to stroke his prostate and had thought about asking Bucky to fuck him multiple times but once again, never made the move to do so with the fear of the relationships changing. Now however, there was no stopping him from asking but that would be for a later date, today was just about Bucky’s pleasure and giving him exactly what he wanted.

“We are still using the traffic light system, Buck, if you need to stop or pause it's yellow or red, understand?” Steve stated in as serious of a tone as he could muster as he watched Bucky continue to eat you out.

“Mmm, understood”, Bucky agreed, nodding his head which only stimulated your clit further as he mumbled around it.

Steve nodded and began to press his thick, rough and thoroughly lubed finger against Bucky’s hole, being careful to rock it in and stretch the muscle, not wanting to hurt him but Bucky wasn’t having any of the teasing today. With a throaty grunt, he pushed his hips back and took the entire length of Steve’s index finger, loving the hinting of the stretching burn.

He fully removed his face from your cunt to praise Steve, “fuck that feels so good, please Stevie, give me more, I need more”. Then he was right back on you again, fingers curling right against your spot and lips sealed around your clit, sucking it into his mouth. Your moans of pleasure were driving him insane and his cock was continuously leaking drips of precum, he didn’t have much longer before he came and wanted to still make it long enough to soak your pussy with his seed.

Steve gawked at the sight of his finger disappearing inside his best friend's asshole. His own cock was painfully hard and het to feel any relief but he didn’t care, needing to see just how far Bucky could go before even beginning to think about himself. Feeling the muscle beginning to relax and adjust to the side of his finger, he began to inch it in and out, ignoring Bucky’s pleas for more, and instead going deciding for himself when Bucky felt relaxed enough.

Steve finally added another finger, spending some time working the hole wide and teasing his prostate within, feeling Bucky shivering and gasping with how good it felt. Even having to stop on occasions as Bucky frantically tried to calm himself down and not cum yet.

You, on the other hand, had already came twice on Bucky’s mouth and fingers. You were so sensitive and so thoroughly aroused by Bucky's skilful body but hearing and seeing just how much Steve’s fingers were making him feel and especially knowing that Bucky was practically edging himself just sot hat he could cum in your pussy.

You were trying to catch your breath from the last orgasm, your back flush against the table as your arm couldn't hold your weight up anymore with your limbs now feeling like jelly. Bucky on the other hand was teasing and nipping your thighs, giving your sensitive pussy a moment to rest before he planned to fuck you.

Glancing over his shoulder, Bucky’s pupils were blown so wide that his eye colour looked black, your juices soaking his chin as he demanded, “Steve if you don’t fuck me right now, I can promise you right now that when we get home, I won’t suck your dick like I’ve been planning too since you ripped open my shirt”.

Steve’s eyes darkened just as much as Bucky's as he pulled his fingers out of Bucky’s slightly gaping hole and began to undo his belt and zipper, reaching into trousers and boxers and easing out his aching cock. He didn’t bother with removing any other article of clothing as he helped Bucky to stand up, the two of them shuffling forward so that Bucky could line himself up at your dripping cunt.

You lazily opened your eyes, grinning at the sight of Bucky preparing to fuck you with Steve over his shoulder. Both of their cheeks were flushed pink and their bodies trembling with the anticipation of the fucking that was about to take place.

Bucky rested a hand next to your head, leaning down for a second to delicately kiss your lips, “colour?” he asked, noting how cock drunk you already looked.

“Very, very green”, you responded, lifting your hands to cup his cheeks, pulling him into one more kiss before you felt the tip of his cock at your entrance, He slowly entered you, your pussy stretching and pulsing around him as you tried to take his full size, thighs trembling with the exertion until the two of you were full fitted together.

Bucky kissed your exposed shoulder as he spread his stance slightly, making it easier for Steve to slide behind him and rock his cock between his arse cheeks, smearing the excessive amounts of extra lube over his shaft.

“I need to hear your colour too, Buck”, Steve demanded, one hand on the base of his cock and the other wrapped around the form of Bucky to grip his jaw, tilting his head so that his mouth was next to his ear.

“Very, very green”, he repeated your words back with a content smirk and you could feel his cock throb inside of you as Steve kissed his jaw.

All three of you seemed to hold your breath as Steve carefully slid his thick cock into Bucky's hole. A wonderful chorus of moans and groans filled the air. Steve couldn’t believe how good it felt to be inside of Bucky, finally doing something he had wished to do for so long. You were almost close to your third orgasm just from watching your boys fit together, and you could also feel just how much it was affecting Bucky with how hard his member was inside of your cunt.

Then there was Bucky, who had next felt such overwhelming pleasure before in his life. For his hole to be the most stretched and full he’d ever experienced, his prostrate being heavily jabbed by Steve’s cock and for Bucky’s own cock to be in his favourite place in the world: your warm, tight, wet pussy. He was in heaven. You all were.

Steve did most of the thrusting for all three of you. With a heavy hand resting on Bucky’s shoulder blades, he pushed the man forward and began to rock his hips back and forth. The momentum shifted Bucky's hips to them move in and out of you until all three of you were moving together.

Bucky was trembling with how much he was trying to hold back his orgasm, a constant stream of filthy moans floating from his mouth as he tried to get you to your third orgasm. However, because you were already so sensitive and overwhelmed with emotions, all it took was a couple of heavy-handed circles of Bucky metal fingers against your clit and you were arching your back, pussy fluttering and tightening in bursts around your boyfriend's cock.

“Holy fucking shit, Doll, feel so good, I - I think I’m going to cum already, fuck Steve don’t stop”. Bucky's gasps and pleas were just as desperate as his expression as he tried not to cum, tried his best to hold back his orgasm but it was no use.

Especially as you cupped his cheek and begged for him to find his own relief, “Please Bucky, want your cum in me so bad, need to feel you filling me up, cum for me”.

“Shit- Ah!”, he grunted, eyes clenching closed as he purposefully still his hips against Steve’s fucking, his mouth gaping open in a deep moan that you would remember for the rest of your life as one of the most beautiful sights you’d ever seen.

You could feel him, the pulsing of his cock, the thick load soaking your walls. Steve could too as Bucky’s hole clenched so hard his cock was suffocated and Steve joined the two of you in your erotic orgasms, his hips stuttering to a stop as his hot seed pumped into Bucky until finally he collapsed against Bucky’s back.

Bucky was half laying over your body against the table so you could easily run your fingers over the back of his head and also through Steve’s as you all tried to process what had just occurred and the relationship that had changed, and all for the better.

“So… how does it feel to be railed by Steve?” you asked innocently to Bucky. The man chuckled deeply, his chest vibrating against yours.

“Probably as good as it felt to be railing you”, he joked, causing you and Steve to laugh. Life was going to be very interesting between the three of you.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I am so happy you're back and seem to be doing even a little bit better! We missed you!

I wanted to send a little message, so you can ignore it if it sours your mood or you don't feel like dealing with it, feel no pressure at all! It's just this blog has been a safe space and the community has been so welcoming that I figured I could vent really quick

You know when sometimes the brain just has a really shitty day, like when you draw something and it screams at you that it's trash even though there's nothing wrong with it? I've been having a rough time with it deciding to scream that comfort characters would cheat, probably as an 'You are so unlovable not even fictional characters would be loyal' bullshit. Now, logically, I know this makes -67 sense. But, I was wondering if you could just reassure that like, Sanji, Mihawk, Buggy, Shanks, Crocodile, Blablablablabla long list of One Piece characters you write for, would not cheat? I'm sorry, this sounds lame to even write out but I'm trying to get my brain to stop thinking that asking for help is 'pathetic' because it is not and it only applies that logic to me, never to anyone else.

I dunno man. Brains and bring human ate both though af.

I missed all of you as well. Really and sincerely. I have a tendency to go radio silent when I'm going through a difficult time and I hate it immensely, but hearing that I was missed to makes me all

And yes, oh gods, I know. My brain is frequently my worst enemy. Especially when I'm not writing. My anxiety starts working overtime and my creative drive becomes dedicated to coming up with problems that could potentially happen for me to worry about even more and it's an absolute bitch; or even when I am actively creating and a little voice insists that everything I make is stupid garbage.

This is still very much and always will be a safe space. It definitely is awful to feel that unworthy of love. Full disclosure, I've mentioned in passing before that I've been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder depressive type. My main issue is auditory hallucinations that like to insist that everyone I love and care about only tolerate me out of pity and secretly would rather I not be around, which leads to me isolating myself from people. Huge part of the reason I go silent when life decides to be a bitch. I know it's just as bad feeling that way about comfort characters, if not even worse, when we're supposed to have them to help us get through that kind of bullshit.

So let me provide a little drabble for the one comfort character I’m certain wouldn’t ever allow us to continue being so silly about our worthiness of love and affection, because we’re all worthy of such a basic human need. I may do more later, but one in particular jumped at the opportunity to provide this comfort, and I fear he may counter me with his dreaded puppy-dog-eyes should I even dare attempt to wait.

Good Enough

OPLA!Sanji x AFAB!Reader

Lil drabble thingy

SFW, Hurt/Comfort

Possible TRIGGER WARNINGS for depression, insecurity, self-worth

♫♬ Moonshine ♬♫ — The Fratellis (yes I’m STILL on my Fratellis BS leave me be)

"Never knowing is the most evil feeling, when every answer here is none too appealing"

Sanji had always been a flirt. You knew that from the moment you started working on the wait staff at Baratie. Your trust issues had made it a little difficult for you to open up around the young sous chef (and occasional waiter on the frequent occasion that Zeff kicked him out of the kitchen for insubordination), but it was his outgoing nature and perseverance that had ultimately won you over. He had a way of making you feel like you were the only girl in the world when you were together, doting upon you, all but worshipping the ground you walked on.

But when he was sent out to work the dining area, it always made you nervous. His innate charm, his handsome features—he was nearly always a hit with female customers. No matter how much you told yourself that he was only doing his job, there was always a nagging feeling that maybe there was more to it than that. Watching him interact with a table of pretty young women, who by their clothing and demeanor were obviously far more affluent and sophisticated than you, left you distracted in your own work.

Seeing how they giggled at everything he said, how they fluttered their eyelashes when he brought them their drinks.

How the pretty blonde at the table leaned so close to him while he pointed to something on the menu, close enough to brush her hand across his.

You managed to spill a tray of drinks all over yourself while you were watching, leading to a scolding from the front of house manager. You saw the table of girls from the corner of your eye, giggling at your clumsiness before you were sent off to clean yourself up and change your uniform.

No matter how much you told yourself you were being silly, there was nothing you could do to shake it. The doubts, the thoughts of how easily he could find someone better than you. You had your jaw clenched the entire time you were changing your shirt in the staff restroom, tossing the soiled one aside as you leaned against the sink in front of the mirror and forced yourself to take slow, level breaths.

You were still on the clock. You couldn’t break down. You had to get changed, had to get back to work, had to pretend everything was fine, if he found out you were being so stupid about this then he would definitely drop you like a bad habit, you had to compose yourself or—

Knock knock.

Your eyes darted to the bathroom door, your breath catching in your throat at the sound of the light knock.

“J—just a minute,” you forced out, flinching at the sound of your own voice breaking a little.

Stupid, you’re being stupid, stop it stop it stop it—

A brief silence followed your answer, a silence that seemed to stretch on for miles despite lasting only a few seconds. The familiar, gentle voice that answered after a moment made your hands clench around the porcelain of the sink.

“You alright, love?” You drew in a sharp breath, swallowing, clenching your eyes shut. Of course it was Sanji. You had almost hoped that the manager had come scold you for taking too long. That would have been easier to deal with right now. Your eyes darted to the locked doorknob as it rattled a little. “I heard—”

“I’m fine,” you said immediately, the strained quality of your own words as they met your ears making your hands tighten a little more on the edge of the sink. “I—I just tripped and spilled a few drinks, I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” You gritted your teeth, laying your head back to stare up at the ceiling. Of course he wouldn’t let it go that easily. The doorknob rattled a little again, and you glanced at it as if it were a viper poised to strike out at you at any second.

Stupid, you’re being stupid, don’t—

“You sound—”

You reached out and turned the lock on the doorknob, and turned away from the door, crossing your arms over your half-buttoned shirt and stared down at your feet. After a long moment, you heard the door open behind you.

Evidently you didn’t look any less distressed than you felt. His quiet sigh met your ear as the door shut lightly and the lock turned. “Oh, love, it’s fine,” he said gently, his footfalls echoing quietly in the small bathroom, closing the short distance across the tile floor between the two of you. Your whole body tensed as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his forehead over the crown of your hair with a quiet chuckle. “It’s only a few drinks, it could happen to anyone.”

You shook your head, your shoulders shaking a little. Stupid, it was so stupid, but the words were already leaving your mouth before you could stop them. “Oh, yeah, anyone.” You couldn’t stop. You couldn’t. He had a way of pulling all your insecurities to the surface that no one else did. You pulled your crossed arms tighter, staring down at the white floor tiles for a moment before shutting your eyes tightly, your voice shaking a little. “Especially a dumb screw-up like me—”

“Don’t do that.” His tone came out a little sharper with this, and your breath hitched audibly in your throat this time, your shoulders hunching as you clenched your eyes shut tighter, swallowing back the lump in your throat. As if to counter your stiff posture, he pulled his arms tighter around your waist, pulling you closer, his thumb rubbing lightly against your waist in a comforting manner. “Don’t, sweetheart. Please.”

The warmth of his embrace already had you relaxing a little. Your shoulders slumped, your body leaning back against him, but your eyes were still burning when you opened them to stare down at the toes of your shoes.

“Was it the manager?” he asked gently, shifting behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder. “If he was being an ass I’ll gladly kick his ass off the docks.” Your breath left your lungs in a slow, trembling sigh as you shook your head no, your gaze drifting down to his hand at your hip, still rubbing lightly against you, your lips curling into a fleeting smile at his offer. You knew you were being stupid, but… “Then what’s wrong, love?” he asked, his voice a soft, comforting murmur in your ear.

“I…” You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes as he tilted his head so his cheek lay against your shoulder. “Y—you—“

You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat, drawing in a deep breath, trying and failing to steady the whirlwind of thoughts swirling through your mind, thoughts of how maybe this was all a lie, of how you weren’t anything more than a silly little fling to him, how you weren’t good enough, how easily you could be replaced.

You bit your lip, glancing down as his hand found yours, watching his fingers lace between your own…and the breath left you in a slow, resigned sigh.

“It’s stupid,” you said quietly.

“If it’s got you this upset, then it’s anything but stupid,” he countered, and you had to purse your lips tightly to keep them from curving into a small smile as you felt his press briefly against your cheek in a soft kiss. “And if it’s something I’ve done—”

“N—no, you haven’t—” But how quickly you shook your head, how your shoulders tensed, betrayed your worries. “I…I just…” You slowly relaxed once more as he squeezed you against him, his cheek nuzzling against your shoulder, his soft blonde hair tickling against your neck. Still unable to turn your head to meet his eyes, you bit the bullet and forced yourself to voice your worries. “You have beautiful women making goo-goo eyes at you all day,” you said, keeping your voice low in an attempt to keep it steady. “I—I don’t—I’m not—” You bit your lip, your heart racing as you clenched your eyes shut, cursing yourself internally as you felt the tickle of a tear leaving your eye to trail down one of your cheeks. “Y-you could have any girl you wanted. L—like that blonde that was hanging all over you while you were showing her the menu, or—or—”

“Oh, sweetheart…” You weren’t quite able to mask the small sob that hitched in your chest as Sanji loosened his embrace—only to gently place a hand on your hip, guiding you to turn around and face him, to pull you against his chest as you tried and failed to fight back tears. He gently shushed your quiet sobs and stammered apologies as he wrapped his arms around you fully, combing his fingers through your hair as he laid his head over yours. Your eyes remained clenched shut as you fought to control your breathing , as he pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead.

Sanji lowered his head and nuzzled into your hair, holding you flush against him.

“I already have the girl I want. The perfect girl.” He pressed another tender kiss to your temple, murmuring against your skin, “I have her right here in my arms. And I hope,” he said, his tone turning a little playful as he shifted to rest his forehead against yours, “that I’ll still have her tonight after dinner shift is over.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, smiling as he tilted his head to meet your gaze, puling a small smile to your lips as your cheeks grew a little warmer. “So we can cuddle up together on the balcony…watch the stars…laugh at all the drunk idiots stumbling back to their boats…”

You could practically hear him smiling as a few soft giggles escaped you, as you finally leaned fully against him and returned his embrace, your arms wrapping around his torso as you buried your face against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, relaxing against him. “I…I’m just…”

“I know, love.” The way he called you ‘love’ all but melted your heart now that you were calmed down, pulling a faint smile to your lips. “I know. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. And if it’s any consolation, I was in the middle of telling that self-righteous blonde bimbo how my sweet, adorable, beautiful girlfriend would wring her neck if she kept putting her hands on me—“ He chuckled as you whined in protest of his praise, tugging you closer and grinning, meeting your eyes without hesitation.

He lifted his hand to your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek, the warmth of his gaze holding yours.

“I—“

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

You both jolted in alarm, your heads turning in unison toward the sound of the pounding on the bathroom door. Before you could so much as glance at each other, a gruff voice spoke up from behind the door.

“We’re in the weeds, Eggplant!” Zeff called . “Get your scrawny ass to the kitchen! And bring your damned girlfriend, we need all the help we can get.”

A long moment of silence stretched between the two of you as you both stared at the closed bathroom door, before your gazes drifted slowly toward each other.

Before you were both giggling under your breath, as you buried your forehead against his chest, a broad smile spreading across your lips as you clung to him.

“I suppose we’ve been summoned,” said Sanji, pulling back from you only enough to gaze down at you, still smiling. “Shall we, then?”

[asterias-record-shop]

Bingo Enemies to Lovers Ethan Landry prompt 3. 

Ethan and the reader have a bickering match every time the group is together. Mostly because he has a crush on her and in boy fashion he teases her instead of acting in his feeling but she’s not one to bite her tongue so they go back and forth. Anywho, he decides he’s going to do something more drastic and scare (or potentially kill. Wherever you want to take it honestly) her. But when he’s chasing her with the knife and he gets her he just can’t do it. She’s like pleading and he gets off on it. He doesn’t do anything at the moment. He leaves and the next couple of times they all hang out he’s more teasing than just arguing, trying to get her back to herself because she’s shaken up. He goes to her house to “check up” on her because she’s been less punchy lately. (In my head she can’t really tell her friends about the ghost face chase thing because they suspect her since she got away unharmed. So when he checks on her she just feels like he sees her and takes comfort in him.) she’s a bit vulnerable so she’s guarded at first. Prompt 3 around here I think. Ethan still either a virgin or has very little experience. I love his nerdy side in the movie. Wheew i nearly wrote it for you. I just want to see how you’d expand it. Love your work. Idk if this can fit in one part but I’d love to read how ever many this turns out to be ❤️

—𓆩[movie night]𓆪—

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[updated bingo card!]𓆪 𓆩[bingo masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[join the bingo taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Ethan Landry x Fem! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - smut, fluff, angst maybe?

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 3.7K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - Ethan had a school boy crush on you - it was the best way to explain how he felt about you. He loved the nights of bickering during movie nights, but when he gets told that he needs to kill you because you’re going to get in the way, he can’t. You get shaken up and aren’t your normal self so he goes to check on you, and one thing leads to something he truly didn’t expect to happen.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - cursing and foul language || fighting & teasing || attempted murder || slight dubcon(?) || Ethan pussies out || banter is his love language but it’s a bad love language || Dacryphilia || blood kink || blood eating || kind of mean/dom! reader || Ethan is a munch || unprotected sex || multiple orgasms || oral || face riding || creampie || definitely a breeding kink || size kink || SPIT ||

“It’s not me who’ll be dying a virgin.”

Those words wouldn’t have hurt him that much if they weren’t so true. He hated the fact that you had sex with men that weren’t him, good sex obviously from the way Tara always raved about how you and your nightly partner never let her sleep.

“Well… I think that’s it for movie night,” Chad had said as everyone stood up together. “Have a goodnight guys!”

You quickly stand, grabbing your bag and muttering things. “Tara, are you coming with me or are you staying?”

Tara nods, but then shakes her head. “I-I’m going to stay, if you don’t really mind?”

You smiled as you held up your bag. “No, I don’t mind. Got my buddy in here, I’ll see you later!”

You start to walk out, ignoring the buddy rule you and your friends had because at this point, you were truly going to snap and maybe murder one of them. Not in a Ghostface mask though.

You quickly went down the steps of the dorm, humming as you bounced on the sidewalk. As frustrated as you were with Ethan, you really needed to get back into your more happy mindset so your dog Cocoa would know you’re upset because dogs are basically superhuman.

You paused when you heard something clatter behind you, turning around in fear with a deep inhale. Almost on cue, a dark black cat jumped out from the alleyway making you sigh loudly, basically releasing a bit of the tension in your body before you turned back around and kept walking.

You didn’t feel it though, the release of fear, anxiety pooling at the pit of your flipping stomach. You inhaled shakily as you dug through your purse, gasping as you were pushed into an alleyway.

You screamed out, gasping as they forced you to turn around, the white mask making your heart stop. You could feel your knees go weak before they pushed a knee between your legs and pushed it upwards. “N-No, please don’t-”

You could hear him shush you, his gloved hand pressing to the lips of the mask as you looked away, whimpering when a knife pressed against your cheek. He pushed you to the side, forcing you to look at him as you tried to shake your head.

Ethan grinned under the mask, the sight of you whimpering and starting to sob from his blade, threatening to slice you up whenever he wanted. He inhaled deeply as you started to shake your head, his hand shaking against your jaw.

“Please… please don’t do this. Don’t do this, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Oh, whatever he wanted? The thought was appealing, the ability to just cut off all of your clothes, watch you crumble to your knees and force your mouth onto his cock to beg him not to kill you.

He inhaled deeply, attempting to press the blade harder into your skin but your tears made it slide. He flinched when it nipped at your skin, drawing the crimson liquid. He felt his eyes roll back as you sobbed loudly, his hand quickly going to your mouth, muffling your sounds.

You sobbed even louder, finally trying to fight against him before his knee pressed firmly into your pussy and a loud gasp falling from your lips.

“You better behave.” He growled out, his hand tightening around the hilt of the blade and pressing harder into your skin. “Behave!”

You sobbed loudly, shaky hands tugging on the black fabric of his robe. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything you want me to, I promise! Please, please just don’t hurt me.”

He pressed it deeper into your skin, hand tightening around your mouth as he leaned forward. He ducked under the mask, being careful that you didn’t see him as he licked along your cheek, collecting your tears before dragging the tip of his tongue down to the nip he made, sucking on it to collect all the blood from the small cut.

You sobbed even harder as the knife slowly pushed into your collar bone, leaning close to your ear before forcing his voice deeper. “You tell anyone about this, I’ll come back and fuck you with the hilt of my knife, then I’ll kill you with a slit to your throat. You understand me?”

“Yes! Yes, I understand, I understand! I’m sorry!” You sobbed even harder but Ethan could hear voices and footsteps, quickly shushing you. “Kiss me. Kiss me and I won’t kill you.”

Quickly, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his as his hands caught both of your wrists before you could continue slamming your fists to his chest. He groans loudly into your mouth, knee shaking unconsciously making moans leave your mouth as you dig your nails into your palms.

“Just some horny kids. Get a damn room!”

They walked away, Ethan still not pulling back before your teeth tug on his lip hard enough to draw blood. He hissed loudly as he pulled away, laughing as he quickly pulled down his mask. Pressing the blade against your cheek, he tilts his head. “You’re mine, you got that? You belong… to me. Do you understand that? Don’t make me give you a real scar for you to understand that.”

You whined, eyes watering as your head bobbing. No tears were coming from your eyes, there was none left as he started to back away. “Don’t tell anyone, or I’ll come back!”

You weren’t the same. You never left game nights alone, you never argued with Ethan, you just sat there. Your hands were shaking, eyes darting everywhere every moment in time.

Tonight’s movie was It, a horror film Ethan didn’t really care for. In fact, no one really was keen on scary movies, but they wanted a bit of a change. You sat down next to Ethan, hugging a pillow tightly against your chest as he smirks down at you.

“If you get scared, you can hold my hand.”

You don’t respond, your hand quickly pushing into his, shaky fingers and sweaty palms tightly wrapped around his own hand as you inhale shakily. He looked over, raising a brow, but it made sense that you were so scared. He liked it, the thought of the fact that he scared you this much that you’re falling right into his arms.

“Y/N? You alright?” He whispers as you look up at him, gasping when you see the cut on his lip.

“Wh-What is that? On your lip?”

He felt panic settle in as he self consciously licked his lips, humming with a shake of his head. “I was sealing a letter for class,” he laughs awkwardly, shaking his head. “It was… it was stupid, I started bleeding all over the place. But you… you don’t seem okay.”

He was the first to notice, and oh did it make your heart swell and skip a few beats. Your other hand finds his as you lean into his chest, shakily exhaling a breath as he pulls you closer. “I’m not.”

Ethan smiled into your hair before standing up, everyone else easily falling asleep during the movie after surviving through a real life horror film. “Do you want to come to my room? Or go to your house?”

In all honesty, nothing sounded better than going to his room and being fucked so hard that you couldn’t even remember that night. Except, maybe, going to your apartment where you could get railed so hard you wouldn’t remember anything either. Besides, not everyone had to hear you begging for another round when Ethan would surely pass out after seeing your pussy.

“Can we go to my house?”

Ethan nods quickly, hiding his smile as he pulls you out of the apartment after you grab your bag. You held his hand tightly, jumping at every small sound before you both got to the street of your apartment and a black figure made you stop in your tracks.

A whimper fell from your mouth as Ethan rolled his eyes, of fucking course his sister wanted to get rid of you tonight. But, it’ll work in his favor anyway. “Y/N, get to your apartment.”

“What?” It was like you were frozen, your hands gripping his as Quinn starts to make her way toward the both of you and he starts to push you up the stairs.

“Go!”

You do as he said, quickly running up the stairs while calling 911, Quinn quickly stopping in front of Ethan. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“I’m about to get fucking laid!”

Quinn pauses, taking off her mask. “So that’s why you couldn’t kill her? Because you’re pussy whipped?!”

“Would you shut up?!” Ethan groaned, straightening when he heard sirens coming. “You need to go, but do something so that it looks real.”

“I have no arguing with that, you pussy whipped mother fucker.”

It was just a small cut on his collarbone because Quinn would probably feel bad about it later, but after quick interviews with the police and your hands holding his tightly, it was almost done.

“Can we go now? Don’t you see that he’s injured?” You asked the barraging officers who sigh heavily.

“Is there really nothing else you can think of?”

“No, nothing,” Ethan says, inhaling sharply. “I don’t feel good, though, I want to leave.”

“The paramedics offered to take you to the hospital-”

“For a few stitches?” You scoffed. “I’m a med student, I can get that done here. We’re leaving.”

You were quick to pull him up the stairs and unlock your apartment door, pushing him down onto the couch. “Take off your shirt.”

He was quick to obey, taking off his shirt as you go to the restroom and bring out a large container of what seemed to be medical supplies. “Is it deep? Can you tell?” He looks down, attempting to stare at his collarbone making you giggle. “Not what I meant, honey.”

His cheeks get hot as you kneeled down in front of him between his legs, getting a good view of the cut before taking out a large wrapped gauze. “It’s not too deep, doesn’t need stitches. Let me just clean it up.”

“Y/N.”

“I mean, unless you want stitches I could probably-”

“Y/N.” You looked up, Ethan smiling down at you as he slowly pushed his hand through your hair, pushing it out of your hair. “Don’t worry about me. What’s wrong with you?”

You inhaled shakily as he smiled down at you, his perfect shining smile as you shook your head. “D-Don’t worry about it-”

“Y/N, I’m worried about you,” he says, shaking his head. “I want to know what is going on. You know that I’ll protect you.”

You stared up at him as you finished putting on the gauze, pushing your hands onto his bare shoulders and sitting in his lap. He swallowed as you hugged him tightly, inhaling shakily. “Promise?”

Ethan hugged you back tightly, nodding into your neck. “I won’t let anything happen to you, ever.”

It was a promise and he meant it. You pulled away with a smile, pushing back his hair. “Thank you, Ethan.”

He hummed, nodding as he leans into your touch with closed eyes, exhaling deeply. “I’ll do anything for you.”

“Oh yeah? We’ve gone from arguments to this, darling?” You teased him, curling your fingers in his hair as he nodded.

“Always wanted to be like this with you, just didn’t know how to.” He mumbles into your neck, Ethan’s hands pushing into your shirt as he tugged softly. “C-Can I take it off?”

You hummed, nodding before the words rang back in your head. You inhaled shakily, and it was as though Ethan knew what you were thinking. “Y/N, I promise, I’ll do anything… anything to protect you.”

You nodded, raising your arms so that he could pull off your shirt. His mouth pressed wet, open mouthed kisses to your skin, sucking and biting against your skin as you inhaled sharply, humming. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

He pauses, smiling up at you. “I’m doing good then?”

“Well, you’re kissing really nice.” He laughed as he stood, going down the hall and attempting to open the door. “One more down!”

He quickly moved down again, opening the door before setting you on the bed. He watched as you quickly repositioned yourself, legs wide as you started stripping easily. Ethan quickly followed, his dick slapping against his lower stomach as he starts to crawl onto the bed before you press your foot onto his chest.

“You need to behave, Landry.”

“Behave? Baby, you don’t like it when I behave.”

You laugh as you let your leg fall against the bed, legs spread widely with a brow raised. “Well then, don’t. But you better be good at misbehaving, Ethan.”

He swallowed as you pushed him down so that his face was hovering over your pussy, your clenching cunt that was basically dripping with arousal. “Y-Y/N, I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.”

You tilted your head down at him. “You’ve never eaten someone out before?” You knew he was a virgin, but this much of a virgin?

He shook his head, making you giggle. “I-I can… I can try.”

“You’ve never seen a porno where the guy eats the girl out? Come on baby, I know you have.” You stroke his cheek before pulling him closer, dragging your thumb along your lips. “Or do you want me to do the work and you just take it? You seem like someone who’d like doing that.”

He swallowed as you raised a brow.

“Well, are you going to answer me?”

“I’ll sit back and take it, Y/N,” he leaned forward to lick a firm line against your aching cunt. “I’ll take everything you give me.”

You giggle as you help him lay back against the pillows, humming as you hovered over his face. “You’re going to lull out your tongue for me,” you say, watching as he does as you say with the slight tilt back of his head. “And then…” you move your body so that you could kiss him, sloppy and wet to make his mouth filled with your spit before pulling away. You giggle, kissing his nose before hovering over his mouth.

“You can use your fingers too. I’ll tell you if you’re too rough.”

He nodded, moving his hands to slowly press and rub against your cunt and clit, humming. “Y-You’re not going to sit down?”

You paused, giggling. “Are you… are you sure? I don’t… I don’t-”

He inhaled, shaking his head. “Y/N, darling, I might be a virgin, but I’m not a pussy. Sit down before I do it myself.”

You hummed, raising a brow. “Do what yourself?”

His hands go to your hips, forcing you down into his mouth as he lulled out his tongue. You gasped as he forced you to roll your hips into his mouth, eyes rolling back as you slowly humped against his face. You groaned out as one of his thumbs rubbed circles against your clit as his pointer finger slowly rubbed against your entrance, his tongue flickering and lapping.

You groaned loudly as you held onto the top of the bed frame, whining as you tried to go faster. It almost reminded you of humping your pillow when the thought of a dildo repulsed you, even this time riding his face was definitely better than that. You whimpered above him, throwing your head back. It was mind blurring, pleasure filling your body and making sparks run up your spine and your stomach twist.

You whimpered as he slowly pushed a finger into you, his other hand steadying your hips from shaking as you continued to thrust into his mouth.

He pushed another finger into you, his tongue pushing inside of you with another finger. His tongue laps and sucks against your clit, spit and your slick rubbing against his chin and around his mouth as he forces you to press lower against his mouth before giving a firm slap to your ass.

You yelped, releasing your weight onto him, making him pull you down closer and his teeth graze your clit. Your eyes rolled back as he lifted his head, attempting to get as close as he could to your cunt making a loud whine leave your lips.

Ethan couldn’t stop, not when your pussy was so fucking addicting. That’s probably what made you cum going on four times on his tongue, hips shaking as he forced you to stay on his tongue. His fingers didn’t stop thrusting into you, tongue flicking against your swollen clit as your eyes rolled back, tears falling down your cheeks. Your stomach was burning as Ethan humped the air, the hand on your hip leaving bruises against your skin.

“Ethan, Ethan! Ethan, please!” You were whimpering above him, imprints from the wood in your skin as he pulled away, his nose brushing against your clit before he pulled away.

“What? Do I stop? Am I not doing good?” He asked immediately, almost worried before you laughed, thighs shaking as you started to lift yourself up.

“Ethan, you’ve made me cum almost four times, and you think you’re doing bad?” You quickly flop onto your back, humming as you spread your shaky thighs. “Let’s see if you know how to make your dick work like your tongue.”

He gulped, taking his hand across his mouth to gather the wetness before looking down at his cock, cum dripping out of the tip. You looked down, letting out a soft giggle. “You came from eating me out?”

He smiled. “How could I not when your pussy is that fucking good?”

His words make you blush as he kneeled down in front of you, humming as he pressed his tip slowly into your entrance. Your eyes rolled back, whimpering from overstimulation as he rubbed his head up and down your slit. “Hm, when you want to be, you can be good.”

You gasped as he pushed into you, whining loudly as your hands held his shoulders before he bottomed out with a quick thrust. You were basically knocked out of breath, gasping for air as he leaned down to press a firm kiss to your lips. “Behave, my love, and I’ll give you what you want.”

You nodded, immediately arching your back as he started to push into you, head thrown back. “F-Fuck, I’m going to cum just like this, fucking hell Y/N. Y-You’re still so hot and w-warm, holy fuck!”

Your eyes rolled back, legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him down. “Holy fuck, are you sure you’re a virgin?” You whimpered into his ear, letting out a soft giggle as he laughed breathlessly.

“Guess it’s good that you’re asking that, right? I’m fucking you good?” He grunted, groaning loudly as his hips snapped forward, thrusts sloppy and rough.

“E-Ethan, stop,” you whimper, shaking your head. “We got time, baby, don’t rush it.”

“W-Was that not good? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles before you shake your head, pushing back his hair.

“You don’t need to go rough right off the bat, ease into it,” you shakily roll your hips, moaning. “G-Go slow… then get faster.”

He whimpered, nodding. “B-But, what if it’s not enough? I-I want… I want more.”

You hummed, rolling your hips up into his own. “You can get faster, but don’t be sloppy, it hurts.”

He nodded, holding your hips, getting faster as he whined. The thrusts made your eyes roll back, mouth falling open as he kissed against your neck, whimpering. “Fuck, fuck! Fuck, it’s so good, your pussy is so perfect. A-Am I doing good, am I making you feel good? Fuck baby, I feel so fucking good, your pussy feels so good around me.”

You gasped, nails scratching down his back. “Yes, yes! Yes, I feel so good, fuck, I’m close! I’m close, Ethan!”

He grunted, his thrusts getting rougher in a way that wasn’t painful as he lifted up your hips to hit a whole new place inside of you that made your eyes roll back and a loud scream fall from your lips. Your mind blurred, vision going dark as he moaned loudly into your neck, gasping for air as his eyes rolled back.

You could feel his cum spurt inside of you, filling you up in the deepest spots inside of you before he pulled back a bit to watch your tummy start to bulge. He rubbed against your tummy, sitting back on his knees. “Can I go again?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yes, you can.”

He leaned down, pressing his lips against your neck before whispering, “I’m going to protect you with everything I have. No one will ever touch you, no one will ever take you from me baby.”

You whimpered, nodding against his neck. “Promise?”

“I promise.” And he will hold that until his death bed.

omg, I love fulfilling requests ♡ keep them coming for Bingo!!

Bingo tag 𓆩[@ennycutie]𓆪   𓆩[@yoongiwife23]𓆪

Regular taglist: 𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪   𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪   𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪   𓆩[@your-favorite-god]𓆪   𓆩[@xyzstar]𓆪  𓆩[@just-my-shit]𓆪   𓆩[@your-mom21]𓆪   𓆩[@c78r]𓆪   𓆩[@wenvierismycomfort]𓆪

© asterias-record-shop

[ange-writes-if]

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ LINKS: - DEMO - PINTEREST (TBA) -

[ this is a secondary wip! my main project is Unwilling Souls on @unwilling-souls-if ]

Spring Panic is an interactive story about a talented and affection-depraved spellcaster, with elements of slice-of-life. Navigate through ancestral feuds and familial pressure in a colourful magic world. You'll have to deal with extremely serious matters, such as choosing the meal of your talking cat or what flowers to grow in your garden.

Follow and shape the Main Character from birth to early adulthood, and become the best witch this world has ever seen (or don't. Maybe you'll crave something else 🌟)

TW: The game contains depictions of emotional neglect (of the MC and their brother), (optional teenage) alcohol and drug comsumption, references to bullying.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ CUSTOMIZABLE PARTS:

~their name

~ gender identity with separate pronouns, and the ability to transition between childhood and teenagehood, or during teenagehood

~ general physical appearance

~ most relationships

~ magical preferences

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ SET PARTS:

~ emotionnally stumped by anxiety and pressure

~ their love for their little brother and their best friend

~ sensory issues and overloads

~THE FAUNEUS FAMILY— yours. [ detailed post here ]

~GATSBY. Your familiar. He's a talking black cat. And a prick.

~SANEM. A tired spirit that haunts the woods of your middle and high school. They're bored and sardonic, but at least they're like that with everyone and not just you.

~THE COUNCIL. [ detailed post TBA ]

~THE VYPERLYN FAMILY— the one your family hates. [ detailed post TBA ]

note: the story follows the MC's life. Some ROs are met during their childhood, some later.

note pt2: detailed character sheets will be posted later for each RO.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ CERISE. (she/her, only romanceables by f!mc and nb!mc)

tropes: childhood friends to lovers, idiots in love

-Character sheet-

Cerise is the daughter of a witch and a fairy. The both of you had no friends. What started as a tentative first-try at friendship quickly became an unbreakable bond. Cerise wiped your tears more times than you could count, and you held her hand during hard times.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ BARTHELEMY "Please-don't-call-me-Barty" VYPERLYN (he/him)

tropes: academic rivals to lovers, possible one-sided ennemies to lovers, Romeo and Juliet/ stars-crossed lovers

Barthelemy has been made your rival by your families, your schoolmates, and the council. When they come back from a childhood abroad, they immeditaly snatch the first place that you occupied. Oddly enough, he's one of the few people that treat you with respect.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ DAPHNE (she/her)

tropes: enemies to lovers, ice queen, forbidden love

Daphne is a fairy. More than that, she's the fairy that everyone loves and fawns over. She smiles and backstabs like she breathes, and she has dug her nails in the metaphorical throne of Amaranth Institute. She wants you out of her way, but you recognize in her the familiar cracks caused by unbearable pressure.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ ASPEN (they/he)

tropes: golden child x troublemaker, secret relationship, player in love

Aspen is walking 'danger' sign. Toying with laws and rules, their sticky fingers always seem to 'borrow' the wallets of the wealthy. They are a hero to the kids of the city, a pest to the authorities, and a mystery to you. They keep theri cards close, and you sometimes closer.

[celestie0]

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!

nav. masterlist

“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. 2016

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 5]

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

➸ you're all caught up!

🏷️: @joemama-2 @sashisuslover @satorugirlie @slut-4-gojo @pickuptruck01

@gojodickbig @ayelindraws @ducky1232 @suguruslovedoll @bloopsstuff

@electrckchild @thegreatandlvable @anujah9 @lavender-hvze @cactisjuice

@crematedstar @yoongiboonhi @sxnkuna @allebazy @um-no-ok

@tofumiao @strawberrygirl0 @chiyokoemilia @xd3pr3ss3dx @ackermendick

@blueberry19000 @toffeebrat @mtsyik @sleepydumbassworld @4y3sh4

@crustykuki @celestialforce @mrswanggae @coolwitchtree @samistars

@imasexy-buffalo @erencvlt @satorubluu @fangirlingtod3ath @readerg77

@fiftyfeetstrawberryparfait @thegreatandlvable @ssetsuka @sexys-archives @astrokenny

@crustykuki @kristinering-actress @jaegersity @bbyxxm @zelzablues

note. i'd recommend subscribing to the fic on my ao3 so you can get email notifs :) tumblr taglist is based on interacts; please do not ask me/pressure me for updates or ask me when i am going to next update (read rules)

taglist is closed

[itstivan]

I gotta say it.. yell at me all you want but truth hurts…

If Aiden and Ashlyn didn’t have as much chemistry with each other.. yall would’ve shipped Ashler/Tylyn..

For some odd reason a lot of sbg fans absolutely hate taylyn and I have no clue why.. I think people are just afraid of sapphics /j

But anyways, if Aiden wasn’t in the equation yall would ship Tyler and Ashlyn because 1. they’re a mlw ship and most people prefer hetero ships and 2. enemies/rivals to lovers.

People eat this trope up. And anyone who says they don’t is a liar.

Tyler and Ashlyn have SO much tension that you can’t help but ship them. People are always saying “they fight all the time and hate each other! They’re so toxic!” Mf you ship bakudeku you cannot be talking. (for the record your honor, that’s a joke.)

But in all seriousness..

Have you SEEN the shift in their relationship from the start to present? They go from bickering and hesitant with each other, to being close friends that care for each other.

LIKE HELLO?? Do you see how worried Ashlyn is? (Granted anyone would be worried to see their friend bleeding) But Tyler replies to Ashlyn saying he would want some words of encouragement FROM HER. You know.. LIKE THE TIME SHE WAS SAVING HIM FROM THE TREE??

Ashler is a CLASSIC enemies/rivals to lovers. Plus who doesn’t bicker with their partner from time to time over silly things?

One of the sole reasons Tyler freaked out at Ashlyn is because of anxiety and their whole situation. Who wouldn’t go crazy in a situation like that? But instead of expressing it in a healthy way, he took it out on Ashlyn because he couldn’t think of anything else. And yeah that’s shitty, but he learns his lesson.

Tyler has made so much progress and his character redemption was BEAUTIFUL. You have to remember, he’s just a 14 year old kid in his freshman year of high school, who wouldn’t be scared shitless? He wanted to make sure his sister was safe and didn’t know what to do.

Ashlyn puts him in his place though, and I think that’s where he starts to change for the better.

But you can see the gradual changes in their relationship as the comic progresses, going from tense to comfortable being near each other. FP SPOILERS: i mean hello they literally cuddle with each other in ep 75.

And don’t get me wrong, I can see why some people would be a little iffy, but the same people who are iffy are the same people who ship the most WILD ships..

So if you’re gonna hate on me for shipping something other than your main ship.. PACK IT UP 🗣️

But fr though, if Red didn’t unintentionally write so much chemistry with Aiden and Ashlyn, and you didn’t prefer taylyn, you would 100% ship Ashler. There’s this one blog on here that gives perfect reasons as to why you should ship Ashler as well and they say it PERFECTLY.

It’s insanity it took some of yall this long to finally start shipping them, as a person who’s been shipping them since the beginning of 2023 😭😭

anyways i’m super happy people are shipping ashler and YOU SHOULD TOO!!! /nf

[hermit-house]

I got bored and asked ChatGPT to describe the possible plot of Season 5 and wrap up the character arcs as if the Duffers were doing it. And to pay special attention to Mike and Will's "friendship".

And, holy shit, you have to read this! I laughed and screamed 👏😎

ChatGPT 👇

Creating the fifth season of Stranger Things is a challenging task, given the rich characters and plot lines accumulated over four seasons. Here's a possible plan that could logically conclude the main character arcs, in the style of the Duffer Brothers.

Main Concept of the Season:

Theme: The consequences of growing up, accepting one's identity, saying goodbye to the past, and the final battle for Hawkins.

Storylines and Character Arcs:

Will’s Return and Revelation of His True Nature:

At the end of Season 4, we see that Will still feels a connection to the Upside Down and Vecna. In Season 5, this connection becomes more intense, and Will starts seeing events occurring in the Upside Down, leading to troubling visions of an impending cataclysm.

Will realizes that his connection to the Upside Down is the key to defeating Vecna, but to do so, he must fully embrace this connection. This leads to an inner conflict: he fears becoming a puppet of the monster again but understands that without his involvement, they cannot win.

In the process, Will also continues to struggle with the realization of his sexual orientation and his feelings for Mike. These feelings cause him anxiety, especially considering that Mike is still connected to Eleven.

Gradually, through conversations with other characters, like Robin, Will finds the courage to confess his feelings to Mike, though he fears it might ruin their friendship.

Mike and the Conflict of Growing Up:

Mike faces the conflict between his childhood and the need to grow up. He feels that they are all drifting apart and tries to keep the group together.

His relationship with Eleven goes through trials. Ultimately, Mike realizes that his love for Eleven was an important part of his life, but their relationship can no longer remain the same. While he deeply cares for her, he begins to understand that their bond is more sibling-like than romantic.

At the same time, through a series of conversations and shared experiences, Mike starts to notice that his feelings for Will are more complicated than he thought. He realizes that Will has always been more important to him than he admitted, and that their friendship was always based on a deep emotional connection.

Mike becomes a pillar for Will, realizing that his role in this story is to be the one who unites the team and supports those in need.

Eleven and the Final Showdown:

Eleven continues to develop her powers, realizing that the key to defeating Vecna lies in uniting all her memories and experiences. She finds a way to use her pain and trauma to strengthen her abilities.

Eleven also helps Will confront his fears, and together they find a way to use his connection to the Upside Down as a weapon against Vecna.

In the final episode, Eleven and Vecna face off in a decisive battle, in which all the main characters participate. At the moment when victory seems impossible, Will and Eleven combine their powers to deliver the final blow.

Max, Lucas, and Saving Hawkins:

Max remains in a coma after the events of Season 4, but her consciousness is trapped in the Upside Down. Lucas and the other friends search for a way to bring her back, seeking help from new allies and old enemies.

Eventually, they find a way to enter the Upside Down and free Max, which becomes an important step toward defeating Vecna.

The Final Battle and Aftermath:

The final battle takes place in Hawkins itself, where the worlds of reality and the Upside Down begin to merge, threatening to destroy the town.

Each of the heroes contributes to the victory: Dustin, Lucas, Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, and others find their own ways to help in the fight. Each character's role will highlight the importance of their individual qualities and their unity as a team.

The finale shows that they can defeat Vecna, but it requires sacrifices. Perhaps one of the key characters (like Hopper or Joyce) sacrifices themselves to save the others.

Epilogue and Closing of the Arcs:

After the victory, Hawkins returns to normal life, but the heroes realize that their childhood is definitively over.

Will and Mike begin to explore their new relationship. They decide to take it slow, understanding that their journey is just beginning and that they need time to sort out their feelings.

Eleven and the other heroes begin a new life, leaving the past behind but with the assurance that their friendship and shared experiences will always stay with them.

At the end of the season, the audience sees the heroes going their separate ways but remaining close friends despite all the changes.

Conclusion:

Season 5 will be the culmination of the entire story that began in a small town and turned into an epic battle for the world. The heroes will face the consequences of their actions, complete their internal arcs, and take on new roles in life, leaving behind their childhood and past fears.

[buckseb]

dating theo raeken includes

pairings — theo raeken x fem!reader

summary — how it would be to date theo raeken!

word count — i’ll do word count later (i’m so exhausted and drained but im posting this because i wanted to post SOMETHING since i haven’t been writing a lot on here for QUITE a while)

warnings — mentions of theo's past, both loads of angst and fluff (obviously), mentions of reader's grief / loss of losing allison and watching her die, mentions of stiles's trauma and past with the nogitune, love confessions, kisses, use of a pet-name [princess], mentions of anxiety and mental health, theo is very protective, mentions of the 'i hate everyone but you' trope, sort of enemies to lovers trope but it's really just hints at it, forehead kisses, cuddles.

notes — i hope this isn't rushed. i'm currently in the middle of TRYING to finish my eddie fic (which, i've decided is just going to be a short tooth-rotting fluff type instead of the complicated one i wanted to do, because i'm really struggling with both writer's block and my mental health and illnesses taking their tolls on me), so this is just me trying to get this done as soon as possible before work again tomorrow. so please bear with me! gif and divider creds to owner!

p.s., feedback is very much encouraged and appreciated </3.

main masterlist

-meeting this boy is certainly very confusing for [y/n], to say the least.

-not only because of the fact that she's like a little sister to both stiles and scott, but also because she doesn't know whether or not to listen to stiles when he says that his childhood friend is bad news.

-and especially, because of the fact that her best friend is simply just paranoid about literally everything, it's hard to believe him.

-though, this is why she takes his comment seriously when she first meets theo, because she knows that he has a right to be paranoid — after everything he went through with the nogitune and the torture and guilt of hurting innocent people when he was void and from his guilt over blaming himself for allison's death.

-also the fact that theo is so adamant to get her to believe that he's genuine to her just confuses her more.

-though, after finding out how theo's sister died — how he couldn't save her, much like how it felt with her losing allison — she began to second guess both herself and stiles.

-not only did she feel immensely guilty for not giving him a chance, but also for how stiles had treated him.

-though, did she really need to feel guilty when it ended up being true that stiles was telling the truth?

-nevermind this fact that it doesn't get revealed at this point in time yet. what does get revealed, is the fact that [y/n] begins to feel badly for not giving him the benefit of the doubt.

-also, the fact that she's the type of person to do exactly just that, made her feel even more guilty than before.

-because of the guilt and regret constantly affecting her, she eventually stopped listening to stiles' warnings and decided to give theo a chance.

-they bond over both of their own experiences of grief and loss.

-stiles doesn't like this so much — protective big brother mode activated!

-theo and [y/n] grow closer every day, despite how much stiles tries to get in the middle and ruin their semi-growing relationship.

-no matter how much he tries, stiles can't get in between the two traumatized teenagers.

-and despite her own very heavy trust issues, [y/n] is very quick to trust him.

-maybe it was just the fact that despite everything she's been through, she always believes in the best of people — theo himself being one of those people.

-though, stiles isn't too thrilled about this.

-but, despite how much everyone isn't too excited about them getting so close and connected, there's something about how much they've grown to care for each other that they're all grateful for — at least, until everyone finds out the truth.

-and let me tell you, the betrayal she feels when she finds out the truth? well, that's just a complete understatement.

-because the one time she finally decides to open up and let someone in, it not only happens to be theo, but he also ends up being a betraying, liar.

-but, let me tell you, when she finds out that he tried to kill scott and did all of the rest of the things that hurt the pack? well, that anger and heartbreak was something unlike anything she's ever experienced.

-sure, she went through many hurtful experiences — like losing her best friend, or being treated like she wasn't enough, and never would be. but, there was nothing like realizing the fact that she'd been tricked into falling in love with someone she'd been warned about in the first place.

-the second she found out about the betrayal, all she could think about and remember was the countless times stiles had kept telling her that theo was bad news, that there was something off about him.

-and all she could do was think about how wrong she was — how she couldn't have been more stupid for trusting him, especially over one of her best friends.

-needless to say, she spent most of her time avoiding him as much as possible.

-she didn't see him for most of the time he spent 'helping' their pack.

-though, when it came to where kira came to save the day and sent theo back to hell with his now tragically-dead sister, [y/n] had been quite literally right in the middle.

-although theo had kept [y/n] out of danger in his own discreet way, not even that could've made her change her mind about him and step in to protect him — or to at least try to save him.

-and trust me, in her head, she really wanted to. as mad as she was at him for using and betraying her, she knew couldn't do it.

-she'd already felt like she betrayed the pack when she found out that she had been hanging out with the actual enemy.

-how could she try to save him, especially after everything he put them all through?

-so, despite the clear connection between the both of them — even after the betrayal and heartbreak he just recently put her through — and the streaming tears on her face, she doesn't move.

-even when he begs her and scott for help, she still stays in her place — no matter how much it kills her to ignore his pleas for help.

-the months after he's gone, a new dark hole fills inside of her heart, and she quickly becomes distant and unwilling to ever let anyone else in.

-when everyone meets up for their normal meetings or when they're on one of their missions to save some people, [y/n] would obviously join.

-but, her heart would no longer be in it anymore. and the distance between all of their relationships with her is a total understatement.

-even the pack realizes how different she's become because of losing theo, no matter how many times she refuses to admit it to any of them.

-and when liam brings theo back, everything changes for her.

-theo tries to show her that he feels remorse for what he did to everyone, and especially to her.

-at first, she's not willing to listen to anything he wants to say or do for her.

-but, eventually when they have to work together against the ghost riders, [y/n] is forced to be civil with him. but, she does make it quite clear of how much she detests him in the beginning.

-and then, they're forced to work together and face the trauma and tension between them.

-with theo, he's both struggling with his trauma and ptsd and trying to prove to both the pack and [y/n] herself that he's really trying and trying to be better.

-the whole time, since he's gotten back, she's been hateful towards him, and rightfully so. but then, things change when she begins to notice the big change in him.

-seeing him try to constantly save liam, or trying to cover for the pack when they're supposed to be on the run from monroe and her hunters, she's forced to accept that he's changed.

-a part of her wishes that he could've changed for her. but, if only she knew that she's one of the reasons that he wanted to change.

-i mean, for sure, he definitely wanted to do it to be a part of the pack and for himself. but, also, it was for her too, because he wanted her to care about him.

one day, after things with monroe have settled — after scott and the pack have finally ended things with monroe and her hunters — theo and [y/n] finds themselves alone in her house, after a pack meeting and after everyone left.

“why haven't you kicked me out yet?” theo asks with a fake smirk and matter-of-fact tone of voice.

she gulps, turning to face him with nervous eyes.

he immediately notices the change in her behavior, but he can't call her out on it because she speaks before he can, “you've changed, theo.”

he's startled by her statement.

he opens his mouth to respond, but once again, she interrupts him, “ever since you got back — earlier this year — you've changed. you haven't been the same since.”

he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and like this conversation isn't a big deal.

she inhales, preparing herself for what she's about to do and say.

“when you first got back,” she gulps, raking her fingers through her hair anxiously. “i...i didn't want to think about the possibility — i didn't even want to admit — that you changed. even when you sacrificed your life and freedom to save me and liam from the ghost riders.”

theo's eyebrows knit together in confusion. “okay... what does that have to do with anything?”

her breath hitches in her throat, moving to sit down at the kitchen counter, avoiding his eyes. “it's because i'm finally seeing it — the change.”

“okay... ” he trails off, moving to sit on the opposite side of her.

she sighs in defeat. “i feel like... things have changed between us. like recently.”

“what are you saying?” he asks.

this time, she looks up at him now with tears in her eyes. “i know we've both been acting like i hate you. but... ” she trails off, gulping. “i think we both know — maybe this whole time — that i never really hated you.”

“what's changed?” he asks, leaning his arms against the counter.

“i think maybe... ” she says, looking down again as she fidgets with her hands on the counter. “when you first got back, all you wanted was to live. and then, i think you saw some of that family bond that everyone in the pack has and you wanted it too — i think you realized how important it was and you felt like you owed it to scott and the others to protect them.”

he nods. “you're right.”

she inhales, once more. “a part of me...wishes you wanted to change for me too.”

she lets those words sink in, but then she starts to overthink what she said. “i—i don't mean like actually change for me, but that you wanted to, to prove how much you cared. about me, i mean.”

theo's face is unreadable.

because of this, she looks away. “but... the truth is, it hurts.”

the tears blind her vision this time, before they fall and her breath becomes shaky as she speaks again, “and well, the whole truth is that... when we first met and we became close in the way that we did, i felt like — for the first time in a long time — i felt hope that... ”

“i felt hope that maybe you'd be different this time — different than every other person that ever hurt me. i hoped that we could be something — more than just friends.”

she's left theo speechless, at this point.

“are... are you saying what i think you're saying?" he asks, tears in his own eyes — surprisingly.

wordlessly, she looks up at him and nods.

a shaky breath leaves his lips. “and you're not messing with me?”

she laughs. “messing with you? why would i be joking around about this?”

he clears his throat as she starts to feel anxious and nervous that she's really just screwed everything up.

sensing that she's about to shut down, he reaches across the counter to hold her hands in his own. “you're one of the reasons i did all of that in the first place.”

she looks up in shock. “what?”

“it's the truth,” he confirms, squeezing her hands gently. “i swear i've loved you from the moment i met you.”

she lets out a shocked and shaky breath. “really?”

he nods, smiling over at her.

“i... ” she trails off, finding the courage to tell him what she's known from the start too, “theo, i love you too.”

he sighs in relief as he takes his hands away from hers.

her eyebrows furrow together in confusion, almost missing the feeling of his hands over hers, but that feeling goes away when he walks around the counter and over to her.

"i love you so much that being away from you and thinking you hated me was killing me, princess..." he murmurs as he walks over to her and bends down, before lifting her chin up and kisses her softly.

-everything after that day changes for them.

-and everyone sees it.

-they spend a lot of their time with each other.

-to be completely honest, they make each other happy — they're so cute that the pack has to accept it.

-stiles is still extremely protective over her — he and theo had a very intense conversation about how if he ever hurts her again he would absolutely kill him for it.

-forehead kisses.

-the cutest cuddles.

-she's the only one that sees his soft side — he's all tough and reserved around everyone else, but with her, he shows that side only to her.

-his protective instincts are an understatement.

-if anyone hurts her — both physically or emotionally, and mentally — it's over for them because he would let the world burn to protect her.

-he becomes an even better person for her and the whole pack sees it.

-she helps him through his trauma and helps him get into therapy to work through it all.

-they're relationship works.

[muzanswaifu]

A Step Ahead - II

Part I

Yandere! Tomioka x Fem! Reader

18+

Previous Choice: "Start Running"

This is the second round of the game. Census has determined that you shall run away from the man who is following you. You have temporarily escaped. This action will have consequences. Too many grave choices will result in g a m e o v e r. Tread carefully.

Warnings: Yandere, Arguing, Stalking, Smut later on

-

-

-

You briefly went through your options, fighting with yourself over the chances of both embarrassing yourself and putting yourself in danger. What if he was just a normal guy? Surely he would be offended at your assumption of his character. But what if he wasn’t normal? What if his intentions were less than pure? In that case, causing some hurt feelings would be the least of your worries.

Run. 

You hesitantly began to pick up your pace down the path, taking deep breaths and straining your ears to listen for any sound of chase. It was quiet. Too quiet. You began to run faster. And faster. A light jog turning into a sprint as your anxieties rose and rose. Your mind plagued you with images of the man nipping at your heels, nearly at your neck. Your breaths came hard and dry, lack of stamina becoming your second worst enemy in the moment. You still didn’t hear anything, but what if that was because he truly was right behind you? Your heart raced and threatened to escape your chest as you ran faster and faster, desperate to get out of the forest. 

After what seemed like an eternity of flight and fear, light pierced your vision, leading a holy trail to the entrance of town. Just a little farther and you were saved.

You gasped as you escaped the wood, stumbling through the main gate and leaning up against the pillar of a light post. You heaved for breath, bile rising in your throat from the acidity in your stomach from the sudden exercise. You shouldn’t have had so many snacks at the festival.

Gulping in air, you finally looked back toward the trail, limbs trembling as you prepared yourself for the fright of an emerging assailant.

But no one came.

Only a slight gust of wind passed through, scattering a few leaves across the grass and tickling your feet. You groaned and shook your head at your own gullibility. So dramatic.

You sulked back to your house embarrassed and angry at your own stupid paranoia. Why would some guy follow you home without even attempting to hide himself? You felt sorry for him, even, as you had judged him so quickly. You’d probably spooked him by running away like that as well. Hopefully you’d never see him again. It would just be too humiliating.

“And just where have you been all night young lady? You’re past curfew!” Mother scolded. Father sat at the table still eating dinner, shaking his head.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I just… forgot to watch the time.” It wasn’t a lie… technically.

Mother clicked her tongue at you and waddled away, her pregnant belly long past showing. “It’s bad enough that you didn’t spend New Year’s here with your family and now you have the audacity to come late. Where you get the gall for this is beyond me.”

Your father finally broke his silence with a sigh, “Dear, she’s here now. Let’s not sour the mood.”

She huffed and stomped off to the table to sit next to the rest of your siblings. Next to the food. Next to the (favorite flavor) pie.

“(Favorite flavor)!” you squealed, skipping over to the table to get yourself a slice. All that running already had you hungry again. But a cruel hand slapped yours away.

“Nope. Rule breaking means no dessert, (y/n),” Mother hissed.

“What? But Mo-”

“No.”

Your fists clenched, frustration building. She was always like this on holidays when your older siblings were home, chiding you over the smallest things to make some ridiculous point. It’d only gotten worse since her pregnancy started, her hormones all over the place and making her that much more unbearable. Father just sat there quietly, obviously too exhausted to stick up for you yet again. Your siblings all just snickered.

“Ugh, can’t you cut me a break?” you snapped. You’d already talked to her about this a million times already. You were an adult now. Shouldn’t that come with some leniency? Even though it was over some dessert, she started this fight and you wanted to finish it.

“I’ll cut you a break when you're done living under my roof. Or, better yet, when you pay some bills around here,” she hissed. Ouch.

You bit your lip and walked off toward your room, done with arguing. If you continued, you’d no doubt she’d start crying and then everyone would get mad at you even though she deserved it.

“And no more going outside tonight!” she called out, rubbing more salt in the wound. She knew you liked to take walks at night through the town and write. That or you would sneak off to the new cinema theater in town and watch movies, you knew the owner's daughter so you could go whenever you wanted. It was the only free time you would get since most of your day was occupied with chores and work.

You angrily slid your door shut, the wood slamming closed with a loud smack. It was childish, but it made you feel better. You leaped into your bed and groaned, exhausted from today. Everything was so exhausting. You wish you’d just stayed the night with someone and dealt with this all tomorrow. Hell, you wish that guy actually was following you. That would’ve been a nice excuse to make your mother feel bad for being so cruel to you. She’d always been so hard on you for no reason. Perhaps it was because she expected you to be out of the house already. She had been using that to berate you lately, especially when you failed to meet her expectations. If you could’ve you would, you just didn’t have the money yet. 

You rolled over to lay on your back and kick your feet in the air.

You could also find a boyfriend, you supposed. That way you could move in with him and leave everyone to wallow in your absence. You’d love to see them try to survive when you weren’t here to do the laundry, clean the kitchen, get the groceries, and take care of your younger siblings. In fact, they all took you for granted. You did almost everything around here. They were the ones who weren’t pulling their load.

You still had some fight left in you, but if you went out now, you would most definitely get yourself in a world of trouble. But if you stayed in your room, you felt like you were losing the war...

[domoz]

AU that’s been bouncing around in my head for a bit.

One day, at the end of fall, the Senju clan disappears.

Truth be told, they don't know long it's been before they realize. The Senju tend to go on the defensive when it's harvest season, and that usually extends into a quiet winter, at least for as long as Hashirama has been clan head. The lack of aggressive border patrols doesn't raise anyone's alarm.

No, the first word they get at something being wrong comes from a civilian woman, of all places. The kind that show up occasionally to beg the nearest shinobi clan for some charity.

Her village has been all but held hostage by bandits, she tells them, and she'd gone to the Senju who were closer, only --

Only no one had been there.

It seems like an obvious trap at first, and if not that, then perhaps the woman had just come across some abandoned place and mistaken it for the Senju village; Shinobi aren't so easy to find without a guide, after all, and the Senju especially keep themselves secreted away in the woods like animals.

Eventually they'd told her they'd look into it, just as soon as they'd figured out what had happened with the Senju.

Madara insisted on leading the scouting group himself, and he stopped in his tracks as soon as he stepped onto the other side of the river. Looked up and down the tree line with wild eyes, sharingan briefly spinning into a Mangekyo that set the rest of the squad on edge.

"There's…It's nothing. And that means something's wrong." Was all he explained before demanding they move onward.

Izuna didn't understand what he meant until they were much deeper into the forest. There is nothing wrong, no hairs on the back of his neck rising, no feeling of being watched -- and there always is, this deep in Senju territory. Related to the Mokuton, he thinks, so it was no wonder that Madara had noticed first.

So -- something happened to their clan head, Izuna reasons. Perhaps the Senju closed their compound in mourning and redirected the woman elsewhere. It's a reasonable enough explanation, but Madara won't settle until he knows for certain, so he stands by his brother's side and follows him deeper into the woods.

It wasn't as though he was wrong. Something had happened to Hashirama, and the rest of his clan with him.

The gates to the compound are closed, but there are no patrols on the walls, and no traps set on the perimeter to slow their approach. Izuna can't help the sick anxiety twisting up his throat. This has to be bait, something to lure them into a false sense of security and their eventual deaths. Nothing else makes sense.

But a glimpse over the wall show no signs of life inside. No people moving around, no laundry drying on the line, not even any noren fluttering in the wind -- for some reason they've all been taken down, leaving the compound dead and motionless.

The dread only mounts as they make their way over the wall and deeper inside. The houses are empty, stripped down to the floor mats. A few traps have been left behind, but not the dangerous ones Izuna had imagined. Just small scale things, meant to keep intruders out of the abandoned buildings. Easily disarmed, but that only adds to the unease.

They will go back and do a thorough search later, but the only clue, from out of every empty room, every cleared out cellar, every spot of turned dirt where it looked as though even some trees were taken, is in the main square. A circle of soot, smudged and stained deep into the stone. The remains of a seal that was used over and over again, already dissolved and unreadable.

The Senju must have used it. Or it must have done something to them. But what, no one has any idea. ---

The Uchiha never do quite manage to celebrate the disappearance of their enemy. Some do, and some are so clearly relived that the threat is gone, but as winter goes on the feeling that settles across the clan is one of dread. It is one part fear, not knowing what's happened to them, and one part worry about the future. Their entire lives and the lives of their ancestors are filled with memories of their war with the Senju. If they're gone, if it's over, what comes next?

Madara doesn't believe it is. Cannot accept that they are just -- gone. He gets more involved with their spy network than he ever has before hunting for a hint, and writes the daimyo informing him of the Senju's disappearance, hoping that he will get some answer when the thinly veiled request for dominion over those lands is inevitably rejected.

If your words and the rumors I have heard are true, the reply says, Then I see no reason not to accept the claim your clan has held on those lands.

Convenient, that he only acknowledges it now.

Izuna, for his part, settles on an anger that ebbs and flows between scalding rage and petty annoyance. How dare the Senju avoid the revenge that the Uchiha, that Izuna is owed.

He never lets himself slack off in training during the winter, and despite the circumstances this year is no exception. The Senju are tricky. If that mark was a seal, then Tobirama is no doubt responsible. They'll be back, probably at the most inopportune moment, but he'll be ready. ---

It hadn't been so bad, over the winter. There were normally less fights then, anyways, and they'd gotten by whole seasons without skirmishes before. But in the thaw of spring, somehow the anxiety only coils tighter.

Normally this was when they started finding Senju summons tracking their movements. When they'd inevitably get called into opposing sides under for some noble's border dispute and reignite conflict all over again.

Not this year. Somehow, the trees are quieter even on their side of the river. He shivers, when he realizes, but Izuna refuses to think about just how much of what he'd been used to had been the result of Hashirama's bloodline.

There are more missions than normal, true, but it hardly helps things. Their goal was the defeat the Senju, and denied that --

Some want to start picking new fights already, with old Senju allies. Izuna can't say he disagrees, though he knows it's unwise to do without good reason. Anyone who might have been easy to pick off has already scattered banded together with someone else.

Madara has started drinking more often. Izuna doesn't comment. He knows his brother is far from the only one.

(He's reviewed his memories, over and over, he tells Izuna, but the last time he'd seen them nothing had seemed different. It had been on a battlefield, and Hashirama had shouted for peace, had asked what he needed to do to convince him, and Madara had refused to answer, like always. If that had been an ultimatum, shouldn't there have been more?)

(Izuna has looked over his memories, too, but the only difference in Tobirama that day had been darker bags than usual under his eyes.)

Izuna can't stand the mood around the compound; half of his clan mates are acting more like their lover has died than their enemy. He takes those extra missions, and he goes. And keeps going, for days, for weeks,sometimes only staying home for hours at a time because as long as he's on a mission, he doesn't have to think about it. ---

It's a coastal town in Hot Water country, and Izuna spots a face that he attacks on instinct -- no care for the fact that they're in a public market -- his heart is busy singing not dead, not gone even as he lunges for the throat of the one who made him think it with a kunai.

It's a sloppy move, admittedly. One that Tobirama catches with an unimpressed glare.

"Must you?" He asks.

"Yes!" Izuna cries, dancing back from a returning blow that -- does not come. His breath is coming in heaves, though the fight is hardly started. He's too exited, and that means he'll get sloppy, but Tobirama isn't even in his armor right now, he's dressed down looking all the world like he's grocery shopping, so it might be even.

"You were fucking gone." Izuna accuses, "Don't think I'm about to let you get away without payback for all the lives you've taken."

Tobirama glances at the crowd that's started to form around them -- stupid move, but they haven't started pulling out flashy shinobi moves yet so they probably just think they're about to see a street fight.

"Figures." Tobirama mumbles. "It's been months already. Haven't you started to see the benefits of peace?"

Izuna sneers, draws his sword and lunges, but for some infuriating reason Tobirama is focused only on dodging, not fighting back. He seems -- disappointed, almost, which only makes it worse. How is he supposed to explain that he hasn't, that without the enemies they've all been born and raised to kill, his clan has started to stagnate into something hopeless and pathetic.

Tobirama catches sword against a sleeved kunai with a clang and holds it there.

"Consider that we've had to give up our vendettas against you, too, in doing this." He says, "Just… Move on. It'll be better for everyone."

An odd look passes over his face, one Izuna will replay in his memory over and over and still not understand.

"Goodbye, Izuna."

A crack of thunder breaks through the sunny afternoon air, and Tobirama Senju is gone, like the rest of his clan, without a trace.

As if Izuna intends on letting it stay that way.