#the fics that take place years or hundreds of years into their marriage where is a lot more self assured i love you mwah

[lazycranberrydoodles]

kinktober day 7: swapping clothes

yippee yay xie lian in red! follow 4 more hua cheng bait 🚩

[celestie0]

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

in holy matriphony ch2. you may now kiss the bride!!

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

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

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

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

ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 10)

ᰔ words. 16.8k (i be yappin)

a/n. AHHH thanks very much for 2k followers!! yippeee :”) i had a lot of fun writing this chapter of ihm i feel like there’s a lot of silly but a lot of angsty too and i got to set up a lot of secondary plot lines in this chapter which was fun. i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!

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

“Can you chop down that stupid avocado tree of yours already? It keeps dropping its devilish spawn all over my herb garden.”

“Wow. Good afternoon to you too.”

Gojo scratches the back of his head from where he’s opened the front door of his house, standing in his pajamas and you briefly glance down at his bunny slippers before looking back up at him with a ridiculing face before pushing past him into his house.

Gojo’s house is almost the exact mirror of yours, as are most houses in the neighborhood, but it’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it and so you take an indulgent look. A cozy family room to the side, which you see he’s decorated with a coffee table and a loveseat, and the staircase is visible from the entrance. A modest dining table sits where the carpet turns into wood, and you’ve noticed he’s made the effort to place real hardwood on his floors contrary to the laminate in yours. Ok, show off. Your eyes take in the paintings on the wall, and you remember how his house almost looks fake, like in the way he sets up props in open houses he’s showing for clients, as if someone lives here and yet somehow there’s no real living proof of it.

And because it’s pretty much the exact same layout as your house, you know exactly where the pantry room is, and you grab a bunch of Doritos and Pocky from his secret snack drawer.

“Oh yes, go right ahead. Please,” he says sarcastically as he leans against a support pillar near the dining room and watches you stuff your face with his snacks.

“So,” you say, muffled, “did you grab the paperwork?”

“No, I didn’t.” He glances at his watch. “My friend’s a family law lawyer, and he’s gonna be here soon to help us out with the prenup.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re being serious about the prenup? You really think I’m trying to gold dig at the cobwebs of your bank account? How little self respect do you think I have?”

“...do you really want me to answer that questi–”

The doorbell ringing startles you, and you quickly wipe at your face to clear any crumbs before setting the wrappers in your hands onto a bookshelf as you watch Gojo head to the door and open it.

You hear another distinct masculine voice ring in the air as Gojo exchanges pleasantries with him in the form of a handshake and a familiar hug with a few pats on the back, and then the angle Gojo twists his body reveals the man standing outside the door. He’s a bit shorter than Gojo with a lean build, clad in a fiercely formal black suit and tie with polished shoes. His hair is well-kept, short and raven black, and his eyes are sunken with what you can only imagine is fatigue. And it’s kinda hot to you, unfortunately, after years of working the night shift, you’re starting to find dark circles under people’s eyes to be extremely attractive.

“Uh, y/n, this is my friend, Higurama. Hiromi Higurama,” Gojo says, gesturing between the two of you,  “and Hiromi, this is y/n. My obnoxious neighbor. Careful though, if you get too close she’ll bite off your fingers.”

“I’ll bite off a different appendage of yours if you don’t shut the fuck up,” you snarl at him, and Higurama takes a step inside the house to greet you with an outstretched hand. 

“Hi, it’s lovely to meet you,” he says, and you’re a little startled by the politeness, but aptly shake his hand and nod before squawking out a likewise!!

You look past Higurama at Gojo who’s got an eyebrow raised at you, and then your eyes are on Higurama again as you watch him set his briefcase down on the dining table. “Are we ready to discuss?” he asks, brown eyes darting between the two of you. You nod and take a seat across from him, and Gojo first grabs everyone some glasses of water before he takes a seat at the head.

“So,” Higurama starts, “I take it you two are madly in love and would like to enter a marital agreement to declare your affections for one another in the court of law under just circumstances?”

You blink at him. “Y-Yes. Very just circumstances. Nothing shady going on here, we are indeed very madly in love and would like to get married.”

“Why the fuck would you say it like that?” Gojo chirps in but not before sighing. 

“T-The way he asked was really nerve wracking!!” you counter. And then your eyes widen when you look at Higurama again, who has a slightly amused tug to his lips. “...oh, you already know this marriage is a fraud.”

“I was just testing you,” he casually says, “in case they mention any suspicions in court. Seems you should just let Satoru do the talking.”

You pout a little and sink further into your seat, then bring the glass of water up to your lips. 

“Well, in any case,” Higurama says, and then he goes on into the details of what to expect in the courtroom. He pulls out paperwork for the marriage license application and starts to walk the two of you through the prenuptial agreement. 

“It’s my understanding you’re both desiring a prenup for this marriage?” Hugurama asks, brow furrowed slightly as he rustles through the endless papers in front of him that he was drowning in.

You briefly glance at Gojo, who’s also looking through all the papers with a concentrated look on his face, his features tense and he’s slightly worrying his bottom lip through his teeth. He’s thinking way harder about this whole prenup thing than you would, and you realize he’s genuinely taking this very seriously. 

“Um, yes,” you acquiesce, suddenly feeling a little guilty. And you remember who’s the one in need of the favor here. “I’m okay with the prenup.”

Higurama tells you two about the implications of the prenup, what can and cannot be included under state laws, and stresses the importance of full financial disclosure and fairness in the agreement to ensure its enforceability in the event of a divorce. Basically, don’t fucking lie about anything or else you two could sue each other to hell for it should divorce occur. You both agree, and you’re feeling sick to your stomach with anticipation. 

“Alright,” Higurama interjects your thoughts, “I will begin to draft the document then. Let’s start with assets.”

Gojo drones on about his tangibles, intangibles, cash equivalents, stocks, yada yada and you open up with yours too, but you can barely hear anything you’re saying and you can hardly hear what anyone else is saying either because you’re just dreadfully awaiting for Higurama to finally bring up—

“How about debts?” he asks, mindlessly as he types away on his laptop, as if the question doesn’t make you want to throw up. 

Your breathing picks up in speed, and you’re nervously fidgeting your hands over the surface of the table. You glance over at Gojo again, this time startled to find his eyes are on you too. His gaze briefly flickers to the shuffling of your fingers, then it meets yours again as he tilts his head slightly in a silent ask of you good?

“Uh–” you start, when you feel Higurama’s eyes on you too now that the silence has stretched on for too long, “I’m…well, I’m in a bit of…debt. From nursing school, a little bit from undergrad still, actually…”

“Okay,” Higurama says, “how much would you approximate? I’ll need the official loan statements soon, though.”

“Well, I’m paying off slowly…but last month I have around seventy-thousand still to pay off.”

“Alright,” Higurama accepts, “and you, Satoru? Student loans?”

“Oh, I don’t have any,” he says, “I paid them off a while ago.”

You feel like you’re being opened apart at the seams, and suddenly feel ashamed.

“Alright, what about other debts? Credit card debts? Any loans to know about?”

You figured you just needed to rip the bandaid off.

“Um,” you say, “I’m about three hundred thousand dollars in medical debt from my mother’s treatment loans.”

The room goes quiet, there’s no more rustling of papers or the mechanical jumping of keys on a keyboard, hell, even the birds outside stopped chirping to display their disbelief. 

“Wha–” Gojo starts, like he can’t help it, before he catches himself out of politeness, but he’s still looking at you with concern and shock. “y/n…what happened?”

You look over at Higurama too, and he’s completely turned away from the document he was drafting on his laptop, full attention on you, and his brow is creased with the same amount of concern. And you feel like you’re in therapy. You also feel like you’re about to cry.

“Well…it’s just,” you start, throat feeling raw, “my mom couldn’t qualify for medical loans because of years of poor credit, and insufficient income, and her cancer treatments became really costly, and so–” you suck a breath in, because your voice cracks slightly at the end. You were not about to cry in front of them right now. “And so I decided to cosign on her loans so she could receive treatment, and stuff kept coming up, and I had to work reduced hours for a couple of years when she was first diagnosed, and…some payments got away from me, and so then…there was interest, and…it’s…I guess over five years, things just…accumulated.”

They both sit there in stunned silence, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, like they understand your situation is so fucked in its entirety that they can barely even bear to put themselves through the trouble of even imagining themselves in your shoes, let alone fathom that you’re living in them.

Higurama clears his throat and redirects his attention to the computer. “That’s… no problem for the prenup. Thank you for being honest.”

“Hey,” Gojo interjects, and his hand reaches out to lay over your fidgeting hands over the table. His eyes are serious. “Why didn’t you–” he starts, and his face softens slightly when you can’t help the small sheen of tears that reaches your eyes, “...why didn’t you say anything about this? I mean, anytime we’ve talked.”

It’s your turn to look at him with a tense expression, and you slowly withdraw your hands from the hold of his palm to place them in your lap under the table. “Uh, why would I share about my financial woes to my neighbor? Don’t most people just act like shit’s normal with their neighbors?”

“I guess, but I didn’t know it was that ba–”

Higurama’s phone starts to ring, and he glances at the Caller ID before sighing slightly. “Sorry, I have another client I need to see soon. We’ll have to wrap this up, but I’ll continue drafting this document. Please send me your relevant statements for any loans and–” he glances at you, “...associated debts.” He starts to gather his things at the table, then neatly tucks his papers into his briefcase before placing his laptop in there too. He reaches to shake Gojo’s hand first, then shakes yours, and holds onto your hand a second longer to gather your attention. His eyes are almost solemn.

“I truly hope your mother gets better soon,” he says to you, tone contrite. 

You slowly nod and thank him, and then Gojo goes to see him out the door.

The house feels quiet when Gojo closes the front entrance, and he stays facing the door for a few seconds before slowly turning around to face you, back leaning against it as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off.

“I really–” you say, “...I really don’t want to talk about it.”

His face contorts into confusion, and it looks like he’s about to protest, but you allow yourself to show the slightest amount of the hurt and the worry on your face, and he realizes that means he shouldn’t try to push it.

“Okay,” he says, and quietly. 

Things are awkward in the air for a second, so you waltz over to the window and watch through it as Higurama gets into his car, some type of sleek old black Mercedes Benz but it’s polished to perfection, and you let out a content sigh.

“What?” Gojo asks you, tone a little short. 

“Ohhh, nothing,” you say, bringing your hands up to cup your cheeks to feel their warmth as you take in the image of Higurama’s slender legs in his business attire, “I just…” you sigh again, “I just loooove men in suits. I wish I knew more men that wore them often.”

A beat of silence. “Um. I wear them often?”

You turn on your heel to face him. “Yeah, but you wear them in, like, a slutty way. Higurama,” you say, pointing with your thumb facing the window, “wears them in the actually respectable workplace way. Hence why it’s hotter on him.”

He scoffs. “And yet you’re always staring at my ass from afar when I’m wearing my tailored trousers.” 

“I seriously wonder what it’s like to be so fucking delusional all the time,” you shake your head at him and he looks like he’s got a comeback on his tongue but you sshhhhhhhh him and walk back into the heart of the house. You look over your shoulder briefly, and see Gojo’s standing where you were standing at the window a few seconds ago, looking out onto the street, and he’s grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite hear. And then you hear the sound of Higurama’s car driving away. 

You circle around the dining table, and take a seat to look through the marriage paperwork Higurama left behind for the two of you to fill out.

“Bring the paperwork over to the kitchen island,” you hear Gojo say as he makes his way to the kitchen, “I’ll fix us some coffee.”

The island has a seated side to it with bar stools that raise high and turn in fully 360 degree fashion, so you swirl around in your seat to make yourself dizzy while Gojo brews some coffee with his espresso machine. 

“Mm…smells nice,” you comment, still swirling.

“Milk? Sugar?” he asks you, and you stop swirling to answer him.

It’s not the first time you’ve been to Gojo’s house. When he first moved in next door, you brought him a plate of cookies as a welcome to the neighborhood! gift and he had invited you inside and fixed you a cup of coffee then too. The house was mostly empty back then, he’s made a lot of good work in filling it with furniture in that sort of IKEA catalog fashion, and you can clown on him for it all you want, but it still looks nicer than most homes you’ve been in. Anyways, you only visited him in his house a couple times after that before you realized you hated him. Because he blasts loud music at the most random times, which you’re convinced he’s just trying to show off the sound system he probably spent an unnecessary amount of money on, not to mention an unnecessary amount of time installing. He also always forgets to mow his fucking lawn, and it drives you nuts because then the weeds spread over into your lawn, but it’s not like it matters because you hardly mow yours either, but still. And that fucking boat. That fucking boat he keeps right at the edge of your driveway that taunts you and your ability to pull into garages after every single one of your dreadful night shifts. One of these days, you might just steal it and drive it into the ocean so it drowns. Wait, boats don’t drown. That’s the point of boats. They’re buoyant. It’s okay, you’ll find another way to get rid of it. The boat, you mean. 

“Here you go,” he says, sliding a cup of coffee to you across the island. You peer inside at the brown liquid, and the scent alone awakens your senses.

“So, logistics,” you say.

“Logistics,” he repeats after you as he stirs a spoon in his mug. 

“We need to make this believable,” you say to him, “otherwise the marriage could be invalidated, and we could face criminal charges, and I could lose the insurance benefits for my mom, and potentially get sued by said insurance companies, and get thrown into jail for life, and—”

“And how much sleep have you lost thinking about this?” he asks you with a sigh as he brings his mug up to take a sip. 

“I’m being serious, Satoru,” you say to him, “I…would just rather err on the side of caution. It’s a small town, people talk. And sometimes those people know the law.” You shudder.

“Who the fuck is out there that would be so pissed about us getting married just so you can help out your sick mom?” he asks.

Your eyes flicker downwards slightly in consideration. You can think of one person, at least. And when you look up at him, you’re surprised to see there’s a similar look on his face, as if he could think of a particular one person too. But before you can dwell more on the expression on his face, he grabs the paperwork in front of you and looks through some of it. “You should get started on your paperwork. Higurama filled most of mine out for me already, so you’re the one he’s waiting on.”

You groan and stretch your arm out across the island counter, then lay your head on your upper arm. “Sigh, why couldn’t he have done that for meee tooooo.”

“Probably because he doesn’t know you?” Gojo snorts. He’s silent for a moment as he takes another sip. You can’t see his face. “So,” he starts, “I mean. If we’re going to make this believable, which, to be honest, I don’t think a single person in this neighborhood would find us getting married believable, but still, if we were to try making it believable, wouldn’t it make sense for us to, uh, I don’t know, live together? Like what regular married couples do.”

“I am appalled you would even suggest that.”

“It’s going to look like we’re just faking it if we don’t at least cohabitate together,” he tells you.

“We can’t do that,” you sigh, “I bet you’d try to touch me inappropriately.”

“What???” 

“Yeahhh, I don’t know, you just—...you just seem like a guy with very little self control.”

“...y’know what? This is over. I’m calling off this engagement,” he says, and he walks over to the dining table with his coffee cup in hand and you lift your head up off your arm in a panic.

“Wha–...no!! Wait!!” you say, grabbing all the paperwork off the island and bringing it to the dining table where he’s taken a seat. “Please marry me. I need it so bad.”

“Woah,” he says, looking up at you, and there’s a darker glint to his eyes. “You need it so bad? Can you say that again?”

You curl up the papers in your hands into a makeshift hollow pole and whack him across the head with it. “This is exactly why I think you would touch me inappropriately.”

He grumbles slightly as he nurses the spot you whacked him with two of his fingers rubbing the area, and then he fixes his hair with a comb of his hand through it. The sleeve of his shirt drops a little from the movement, and you can see the muscles of his arm flex, then your eyes are quickly darting away so he doesn’t catch the line of your gaze on him. What the fuck. That was weird. You blame ovulation. 

“Alright, fine,” he says, and he grabs the papers out of your hand, “also don’t bend these. It bothers me.” 

You circle back to the kitchen to grab your abandoned coffee cup, and then bring it to the dining table to sit down with him at it. He places your half of the papers in front of you. You glance down at the first few boxes to fill out, and you already feel like giving up.

You glance up at him for a distraction. “Aren’t you going to ask me how long I want you to be married to me for?” you ask him.

“Uh, how long do you want me to be married to you for?”

“Forever,” you say. To scare him.

“Yeah, right.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively. 

You sulk because it didn’t scare him. “Six months.”

“More plausible.”

“Really,” you say earnestly, “six months.”

He looks up at you now, a curious expression on his face. “Why specifically six months?”

Your eyes find the color of your coffee fascinating once again. “I don’t want to put my mother in hospice for too long. I’ll miss her,” you say, “it’s just…something I’m trying out for now. And to just get a bit of a caretaking break, and also so I can pick up more shifts at the hospital to work on paying off my debt. It’s just…temporary.”

His shoulders roll back once and he sits up a little straighter, holding up one of the pieces of paper to study it better while he clicks his pen. “Alright. Whatever works for you.”

You twiddle with your hands again, blinking a little in consideration as a few moments pass by. “Uh…about living together. That’s fine. I suppose.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah. But no touching,” you point at him with a strict finger.

He tilts his head back up to the ceiling in annoyance. There’s a roll in the muscles of his throat as his jaw goes slack. You squirm in your chair a little. Ovulation, you think. 

“I’m not going to touch you, y/n,” he assures you when his chin tips back down. You just stare at him for a few seconds as he seems to be in thought about something, and then his eyes meet yours. “Whose house are we going to live in?”

“Mine,” you say, “yours looks like a shitty catalog. It’s lame.”

“True,” he says, “yours feels homey. I like that.”

You’re a little taken aback by his words, and then purse your lips together. Your sort of go-to thanks expression reserved for him. “So, are you gonna sell your house then?”

“Huh? No way,” he shakes his head, “I’ll just see if I can rent it out for now.” He shakes his head even more. “I mean, god no, I wouldn’t be caught dead selling a house. Not with these market conditions. You know how much it’s already risen in equity within just the past few months alone? In five years from now—”

While Gojo continues to drone on about the lunacy of not holding onto property in this housing market, your eyes widen slightly at his words, like your body realizes a truth to what he’s saying before your mind does.

And then that’s when it hits you.

How you can help pull yourself out of debt.

You slam your coffee mug down on the table with a little more fierceness than you probably should’ve.

“Hey,” he scolds you, “can you be careful with that?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you say, ignoring him, “we’re gonna live in yours.”

“Huh?” he responds, “...but I thought you said mine looks like a catalog.”

“A shitty catalog.”

“Did you need to specify?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you tell him, with resolve, “because I’m gonna sell my house.”

He sits up a little straighter at your words. “Like, the house next door?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

He sighs. “Were you even listening to me? It’s so much more worth it to–”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, “I need the money now. Not five years from now.” Your eyes glance down at your hands, and your tone becomes quiet. “I…I don’t even know if my mom has five years left to live.”

A silence settles in the room, and you see in your periphery that Gojo’s stiff and still, like he’s barely allowing himself to breathe as if you’d find it abrasive, and when you look over at him, his expression is soft.

“I know,” he says. “It sounds like a plan.”

“Will you help me sell it?” you ask him. “I’d…need a realtor.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees.

“Okay…” you say, and take a sip of lukewarm coffee, as if you haven’t just decided on an extremely major life decision. “Um. I’ll go get the paperwork then. From my house.”

“Oh. Right now?” he asks you, and he leans forward in his seat a little to get a closer look at your face. “I mean, don’t you want some time to think about it before putting it on the market? We can wait for a little bit.”

“No. That’s okay,” you say, standing up from your chair, “I’ll…go get the paperwork.”

He nods at you slowly, but his eyes are observant, and you ignore it to keep up the momentum of this decision that was definitely the right decision by all means and one that you should not be hesitating on at all as it is such an epiphany that can help clear your debilitating financial burdens. 

“Drive safe,” he says to you when you grab your purse off the coffee table in the family room.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

The outside air is breezy, it’s a nice day with the sun shining down and sparkling off of sprinkler dew drops on overgrown grass, and you hop across with a pep in your step as you make it to your house next door. You’re always quiet when opening the door, because you never know when your mom is sleeping or not, and since her bedroom is downstairs, she’s privy to noises. Once you’re inside, you check to make sure she’s sleeping with a small creak open of her door, only to find that she’s sitting on her rocking chair and looking through a box of paintings.

Your heart twists at the sight, and you gently knock the door with your knuckles.

She glances up at you, and you can always tell from just the look in her eyes if she recognizes you or not. Because they’re warm and gentle when she does, but they see right past you to the wall when she doesn’t.

“Hello,” she says, “can I help you?”

You come up to her and kneel down beside her, placing a hand up on the rocking chair arm rest while she looks down at you.

“Hi, mom. It’s me. Your daughter,” you gentle reintroduce yourself. It’s what her neurologist suggested you do anytime she can’t remember you, but it rips away a piece of your soul each time.

Her eyes still see past you, abstract, empty with no feeling as she wraps her head around your words. “I am no one’s mother,” she tells you, tone sounding sharp and like she’s a moment away from terror.

“That’s okay,” you quickly remediate, feeling hollow inside from her words but you always had to be the sane one, so you direct her attention to the box in her lap. “What are you looking at?”

“Oh, I just found these paintings!” she exclaims. “I thought they were wonderful. Do you know who drew them?”

You smile up at her. “You did.”

“Me?” she blinks at you. The wrinkles in her forehead crumple with surprise, “oh, no, dear, I could not paint such things with detail. Look at me!” She holds her hand up. “My hand is trembling!”

She’s getting weaker. You make a mental note to bring it up to her doctor.

“You used to hold a paint brush like it was just an extension of your hand,” you tell her, picking up one of the paintings out of the box, “you were an art teacher, mom.”

“Don’t call me mom,” she says to you, that sharp tone from earlier cutting through to your soul. “I am no one’s mother.” Her eyes shimmer with a light sheen of tears.

You stare at her, brow pinching together with hurt, but you bite back the part of you that wants to beg her to remember you, to take one close look at you, and see you with warmth and not emptiness. But she sees past you all the same.

“Can you do something for me?” you whisper to her.

“Yes?” she asks.

“Could you please lay down? You need some rest.”

“Are you my nurse?” she asks.

You breathe in deep. “Yes.”

“Am I…” she glances briefly at her reflection in the vanity mirror, her eyes flitting up to the head scarf on her head that covers the absence of hair, “am I sick?”

You exhale. “Yes. You need rest.”

“Oh…” she acknowledges, “why, yes. I do feel…a little frail.”

“I know,” you comment, and you put the box down on the floor then help her up onto her feet slowly by holding onto her arm, and you guide her to sit on the bed and take her medications. She then lays down, and you nod at her reassuringly before you head out the door and close it behind you.

Your lip trembles with the threat of a sob as you stare straight forward at the wall in the dimness of the hallway. But a harsh bite to the plush of it ceases the quiver.

You make your way up the stairs to go grab that binder you had with the mortgage and house information, plus some of your recent utility bills. Except the binder is hard to locate, and you’re rummaging through the cabinets in your closet, the drawer of your nightstand, you’re even looking underneath the bed. But when you lift your head up from under it, still kneeling on the carpet, and glance at the wall, you notice something.

48’’ eight yrs. what a big girl! 

46’’ seven yrs. big jump

41’’ six yrs.

37’’ five yrs. my little princess

…

..

–all written in graphite pencil, scribbled up the wall where you would stand tall against as a kid, your mom marking your height at every birthday. And your eyes start to well with tears. 

This was your childhood home. With magical corners tucked away where you used to play hide and seek with your dad, with your old bedroom you used to play in with dolls and have tea parties with all your stuffed animals. There’s still a stain of fruit juice on the carpet underneath the rug that you never told your mom about because you knew she would be mad at you and would scrub it out, but it was in the shape of a heart and when you were a kid, you thought that meant you would find your prince charming some day. This house holds so many memories, like birthday parties and Christmas Eve and the sunflower patch in the backyard where you laid Sniffles to rest.

And it holds the familiarity of you that seems to be slipping through your mother’s fingers with each passing day, all those memories you created with her now solely yours to keep and no longer to share. But you realize at this moment that you’re not alone. This house still holds those memories with you.

Your eyes flicker to the graphite pencil marks on the wall again, and the tears flow freely.

In the moments where she cannot remember that you are her baby, this house remembers for her.

Your sleeve wipes at the dampness on your cheeks.

But it’s never enough, is it? And it’s never that easy, either. Life was never that easy, and you don’t always have the choices you might think you do.

You find the binder, and grab all the utility bills too, and head downstairs. You pass by your mother’s room with softness and sleuth, and guilt in your heart when you realize what you’ve chosen to do. There’s no pep to your step when you make it back to Gojo’s.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sooo,” Gojo says, after about twenty minutes of looking through all the house paperwork in the binder at the dining table, “your mom transferred ownership of the house to you as a gift deed when she was diagnosed?”

“Mhm,” you say.

“She paid off quite a bit of it,” he comments as he looks through banking statements, “but still not enough to pay off your medical debt, unfortunately.”

You sigh. “I know. It was never really a house she could afford anyways. She just received it from the divorce, and I remember we were supposed to downsize, but…she didn’t want to.”

“I see,” Gojo comments, “well, it’s alright, it would still help you a lot for sure. How many years are left for your solar panel lease?” He has a pen in hand and a custom realtor notepad in front of him with his messy handwriting all over it. 

“It’s new,” you say, “still got thirty years left.”

“Jeez, okay. How much per month?”

You scavenge through the bills on your table. “Ummm um um ummm…….”

“You should really…get more organized.”

“You should really mind your fucking business.” You find the bill. “$285 per month.”

“Okay,” he scribbles it down, “does it offset your electricity bill?”

Your shoulders sulk. “A little bit.”

“Yeah, it might scare some buyers away.”

You sigh. “Oh and then the HOA too.”

“HOA?” he looks up at you with a puzzled expression on his face. “We don’t have an HOA in this neighborhood.”

“We don’t?” you blink at him. “Then who have I been sending $195 dollars to every month?”

“…….....you’ve seriously gotta be some special kind of stupid.”

After panicking for five minutes while checking your credit cards for fraudulent activity, Gojo gets done cutting up an apple for you. 

“Here,” he says, sliding the plate to you, “since you look like you’re about to faint. Knowing you, it’s probably just low blood sugar.”

You dramatically sigh and sink in your chair. “I can’t believe I spent the last three years paying an HOA that doesn’t even exist…”

“Hey, on the bright side, there’s some dude out there on an exotic vacation that’s very thrilled by your idiocracy right now.”

You shoot him a look. And then you hang your head low to drink your extremely cold coffee that you were still nursing, before downing it all in one go. Your eyes catch the marriage paperwork that Gojo was reviewing earlier, and you see Higurama’s pre-filled in information that he typed onto the papers before printing them for him. 

“Hm,” you hum, “it says here that you’ve been married before. You might want to get that fixed before we submit these.”

He stands up from the table, two of his fingers hooking onto the handle of his coffee cup, and he glances into yours to make sure it’s empty, briefly flicking his eyes to you and you shake your head for no, no more coffee, thanks before he wraps his other two fingers around the handle of your mug as well. The clink of the two porcelain mugs in his hand startles you a little as he walks past you to the kitchen sink. “There’s nothing to fix about that,” he says, his tone level and easy, “it’s true. I’ve been married before.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, and you quickly twist your torso in your chair to stare at him. Or at least, the back of him as he turns the faucet on and begins to rinse out coffee mugs. 

Married? Before? There are so many questions swimming through your head right now, ones that you desperately want answers to, biggest of all perhaps being now who the fuck would actually want to marry him??? for real??? you’re telling me this self obsessed dork proposed to a real life woman with a pulse and she actually said ‘yes’ to him??? who was this woman, and which psych ward did he find her from??? 

But he’s so quiet from where he stands, broad shoulders less pushed back like they usually are, and something tells you he wouldn’t entertain any of those questions from you right now. A glance at the paperwork, though, tells you the divorce was recent. Less than a year ago. Around the time he moved in next door. 

He still has his back facing you, and you try to sneakily catch a glimpse at more info under the Wife section on the prior marriages form. You can see the paper says maiden name: Inoue and you’re just about to sneak a peak at the first name when—

“You want to stay for dinner?” he asks when he turns around, leaning back against the sink counter. “I’m ordering pizza tonight.”

You’re surprised by the sudden invitation, and shuffle the papers over one another again. “Oh–that’s…that’s okay.” You glance at the clock he has hanging on the wall. “I’ve got work in a couple of hours, so…I should really get going. Have a few errands to run before then.”

“Okay, so, we’ll…talk later?”

“Yeah, later,” you stand up from your chair, and for some reason, the air feels a little heavier to you now. “Uh…” you start, awkwardly scoffing a little, “wow. Bachelor life again, then, huh? Probably just–...probably just beer and pizza every night?”

He purses his lips together, humoring you with a small laugh that comes out as a scoff through his nostrils. “No. Not really. I only order pizza when I close a sale on a house. My way of celebrating.”

“Oh,” you respond, “I see.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.

“I live next door,” you remind him.

His eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Right.”

“H-Hope the traffic’s not too bad!” you joke.

His laugh comes more genuine now. “You’re stupid.”

You head towards the door, and when he opens it for you, there’s a chill of air outside and it’s darker now, hues of dark gray, purple and a slight orange still present on the horizon paint the sky and you step outside then turn on your heel to face him.

“Um. Congrats, by the way. On the sale,” you tell him, “enjoy your night. And I’ll see you this weekend?”

“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What’s happening this weekend?”

“We–” you scoff, “we’re getting married this weekend?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, tense, “right, yes, see you this weekend. For marriage. Of us.”

You roll your eyes and make your way down the concrete pavement that leads its way to his house, and leads its way away from it too. And when you walk back to your house, it’s not with a sulk, but it’s not with a pep in your step either. You just feel…neutral.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“So, tell me about this fake husband of yours,” Hana says, leaning against your work-on-wheels as you attempt to catch up on charting notes with 4 hours and 15 minutes and 53 seconds left on your shift (it’s not like you were counting though).

“Yeah, in a sec,” you mumble as you punch in keys.

6/2/2024 0344: patient placed on 5150 hold on 5/31 at 1745, continually monitored by ED tech. all objects have been removed from pt’s room to prevent any danger to self or others. however patient accessed hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall at roughly 0320 and ingested all the hand sanitizer. notified MD of toxic ingestion, follow up plan is to coordinate care with poison control. no further orders at this time

“Okay, what were you saying?” you look up at Hana again and rub the tired out of your eye with a balled up hand, along with all the mascara. 

“Your fake husband!! Tell me about him!!” she chirps, shaking your work-on-wheels in excitement and the blur of your computer screen makes you feel dizzy.

“Shhhhh,” you hiss at her, “keep your voice down when we discuss illegal activities.”

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you always so paranoid? I’m already sick and tired of you charting incessantly every five seconds to save yourself from medical lawsuits that you haven’t even been accused of.”

“In a medical lawsuit, the chart is the law, Hana,” you say eerily with a shiver, and her words remind you to continue your detailed charting. “Never forget that.”

She sighs. Her gaze travels across to the other end of the emergency department, and you assume she’s staring at the asses of the EMT boys again, so you glance over your shoulder too. 

Except instead, you see the worst person on the planet.

Well, second worst as of right now.

The worst person title was reserved for someone else.

Approaching from down the hall is Yuna, your ex-best friend, a bounce in her step as she walks with a sort of allure as her hips rock side to side, her mile-high ponytail swaying in beat with the rhythm as well, and the ashy blond highlights in her hair hypnotize anyone she waltzes by. 

She was the kind of nurse that all the other nurses are jealous of. Always has cute little accessories and stickers on their badge, is wearing the fancy FIGS scrub sets that hug her sporty curves in all the right places, paired with those little shoes with the ankle socks, and she most definitely gets her water goal in for the day because she’s always sucking on the straw of her periwinkle Stanley cup around the ED all night just like she sucked the cum out of your boyfriend of seven years just twenty-four hours after the two of you had broken up–

“y/n,” she casually calls your name, leaning her elbow up on the cubicle divider of the nursing station. “It’s time for you to take your break. I’ll watch your patients.”

“I’m not taking my break,” you say, trying to relax the grit to your teeth which makes your eye twitch out of frustration instead. “Now get the fuck away from me before I call a Code Black.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes and smacking loudly on her gum. “Yaga said you have to take your thirty tonight. Something about how you haven’t clocked out for a break in more than two months and the hospital could get sued for that.”

“The hospital has way bigger cases they should be biting their nails about getting sued over,” Hana snorts just to butt in on conversation.

“C’mon,” Yuna says, her fingers reaching out to touch the handle of your work-on-wheels, purposefully stretched so that you can eye the perfect sparkly manicure to her nails. You curl your fingers into the skin of your palms to hide your gel polish that’s long started to scrape off. “Go clock out.”

“I’d rather die than listen to a single fucking thing you tell me to do,” you tell her, plain and simple.

“y/n!” a loud masculine voice calls from the other end of the Emergency Department, and all three of you visibly shrink a little in your stances out of fear. Head nurse Yaga. “Take your break, or I’ll be damned to let you set another foot in this hospital!!” he’s yelling at you all the way from the entrance to the CT scanner.

“But–”

“Now!!!!!”

Your eyes flicker to Yuna, who has an amused look on her face and a tilt to her head, and then you’re grumbling before logging out of your computer then stepping away from it. “Draw a CBC & chem on Beds 24 and 28 at 4 AM sharp,” you grumble to her, and she just gives you one of those tight-skinned smiles. 

The break room is empty, with shades of beige on the walls and even more depressing shades of gray on the lockers. There are all sorts of things pasted on the walls, like photos from staff Halloween and Christmas parties, drawings that pediatric patients have made in appreciation of their nurses, and employee information that Yaga’s constantly shoving in everyone’s faces. 

Okay, the backstory with Yuna. Pretty simple. You two had been best friends since high school, like inseparable best friends. Y’know, sneaking out late at night to use fake IDs at the bar, cover for the other when you’re busy losing your virginity to your high school boyfriend in the most dishonorable way possible, rooming together in college, sobbing and crying through all of nursing school together, ride or die type of friendship that you think you’d only find once in a lifetime. Except turns out your best friend, who you’d considered a sister, had eyes for your boyfriend since you started dating him in college, and the second that dickwad dumped you, you catch her sucking him off in the back of his Toyota Camry when you go to pick your stuff up from his place. Yeah, ouch. You lost the two closest people in your life, all in the matter of twenty-four hours, so pardon yourself for being a bit bitter about it. 

But being bitter is the coping mechanism. The real way you feel comes in the form of tears prickling in your eyes and the pain in your throat as you try to swallow away the knot that’s suffocating you from the inside out. A type of loneliness that leaves you stranded even in a room full of people. But at the very least, this room is empty, so no one has to see the crack in your resolve.

There’s no time on a thirty-minute lunch break to have a full mental breakdown, so you sparsely wipe at your tears and head back to your shift.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

If you want to know who actually holds the worst person on the planet title right now, well, you run into him on a Tuesday afternoon while on a grocery run after you just woke up from barely sufficient post night shift sleep. Bitter and drugged by Melatonin was not a state of being you needed to be in right now, but you’re out of orange juice and you’re having Vitamin C withdrawals which warrants a trip to the store. Unfortunately, the town only has one grocery store, which means you were bound to run into pestering ex-boyfriends at least once every full moon. 

“Get the fuck out of my way, Choso,” you snarl at the man who’s walking backwards ahead of your grocery cart, trying to stop you in your tracks so you’d just chill out and listen to him for a second.

“Can you just chill out and listen to me for a second?” he asks you, irritation evident in his voice like you’re being the difficult one here.

“I already told you that I quite literally never want to see your stupid ugly face ever again for as long as I live,” you say, and you ram your grocery cart forward with so much force the metal hits his knees and he doubles over the basket indignantly with a groan.

He seems like he’s had enough of you evading him, so he jams his foot under the wheel to keep you from moving forward, and you’re scowling at him and struggling against his foot-stop but to no avail. 

You briefly consider abandoning your cart all together and just bee-lining for the exit, but he’s a cop, so he’d easily be able to tackle you to the ground if you tried.

“What do you want?” you snarl, impatiently tapping your foot with every miserable passing second spent in his presence. 

“I just–” He sighs, “I just want to talk. And to know how you’re doing. You won’t pick up any of my calls.”

“Huh?” You blink at him. “I’ve had you blocked for the past two weeks. You shouldn’t even be able to call me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Really?...who have I been dialing then?” 

“Fuck if I know,” you shrug, and you use his moment of confusion to swerve your cart off to the side and make your way down the refrigerator aisle. Ohhh, dulce de leche gelato sounds nice, and it’s on sale. You grab a jar. 

Choso’s trailing behind you as you eye price tags and sale signs in the open chill of the yogurt section. “Babe–”

“Don’t–” you immediately cut him off, spinning fast on your heel and he stops himself just in time from crashing right into you. You hold your index finger up in the air between the two of you with a clench to your jaw so tight it feels sore, and through gritted teeth you say, “don’t call me babe.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s habit.”

Indeed, habit. Seven years of him calling you babe, or baby, or boobie (idk don’t ask). Your favorite though? Babydoll. He’d always call you that when he’d make sweet, sweet love to you while you were wearing his favorite flimsy little piece of lingerie–babydolls. Even now, the memories have your cheeks feeling hot. But he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore, and he doesn’t get to fuck you anymore, or talk to you anymore, or breathe in your general direction anymore, because he betrayed you. He wasted your time, and then he betrayed you.

Seven years of your sexual prime, where you could’ve been fucking hunky firefighters and bisexual Europeans, wasted on a man you weren’t even going to marry in the end anyways. Now you’re pushing thirty, and the idea of having to date again makes your skin crawl with anxiety that turns into fury because your doom is all caused by the man in front of you.

Whatever, forget about the sex and the impending loss of a woman’s novelty within society for a second. You loved him. A part of you still loves him. You wanted to marry this man. You thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with this man. Little sheriff deputy’s wife, Mrs. Kamo, the perfect number of letters to get on a bejeweled license plate. You had envisioned all the cute little quotes of adoration that would be imprinted on your wedding reception’s custom-made doily napkins with everyone that’s ever meant anything to you sitting at the table, ready to celebrate the love that you thought was real and true and brave and strong and one that would last forever.

But he abandoned you when you were at your lowest. And he fell into the arms of the one person you thought you could turn to crying when the relationship crashed and burned in the first place. And the problem with living in a small town is that everyone knows everybody’s business, so now you’re just the woman that wasted her youth on a man that played her like a broken fiddle. Utterly heartbroken, and humiliated. 

So, yeah, he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore.

“Listen here, asshole,” you say, stabbing him in the chest with your finger, so he can feel even a fraction of the pain you’ve felt in the past three weeks, “I couldn't care less if you live today, or die tomorrow. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me alone. Or I’ll file for a restraining order.”

“Really?” he says, brows pulled tight together in disbelief, like he just can’t understand what he’s done to make you act this way, and quite frankly, that only makes it sting even worse, “after everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to throw away the past seven years?”

“What the fuck are you saying?!” you all but snap at him, and an elderly couple that’s passing by flinches a little from the noise and you wince in apology before glaring at Choso again. Your voice is hushed this time. “You’re the one that broke up with me, but I’m the one that’s throwing it all away??”

He purses his lips together, and you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are. He shuts them tightly and leans back away from you, which makes you realize how much he was leaning into your space just a second ago. “I know that we…aren’t dating anymore. But, I mean, c’mon, y/n, it’s me. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean that I don’t still…care. I want to know how your mom’s doing, and how treatment has been for her, and–” he glances up at the ceiling briefly, as if to mislead you into thinking that the next thing he says is just as nonchalantly desired as the other things he listed, “and I want to know how you’re doing, too.”

“You don’t deserve to know how I’m doing. Continue to wallow in your pathetic self righteousness, or go run with your tail between your legs to that two-faced rat I used to call a best friend. Either way, I don’t give a damn,” you say, in a way that very much sounds like you give a damn unfortunately, and spin on your heel to continue pushing your cart down to the juice section.

“Yuna and I–” you hear him say behind you, and just the mention of her name on his tongue makes your heart ache in your chest, to the point you need to place a flat palm over it just to alleviate the pain, “I–...I broke things off with her yesterday.”

Fuck. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info.

“Okay? Whatever,” you barely manage to say.

He’s silent for a moment behind you. The wheels of your cart squeak as they roll. 

“I mean, we’re not together anymore. I’m not seeing her anymore,” he clarifies, as if he didn’t believe you heard him right the first time.

“Cool,” you comment, tone colder this time, since you had the practice round. 

“You don’t–” Choso starts, a rattle of hurt and confusion in his voice, “you don’t care about that?”

“Nope.” 

He reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact burns through your skin, like something so familiar yet so foreign. You turn your head to look at him. 

“I…” he starts, and you can see his chest rising and falling with more intensity. Oh god. Please. Please don’t say it. You’re not sure you can handle hearing it. “I really miss you.”

Damn it, he said it.

Your posture relaxes slightly when you take a long look at him. You finally notice his hair has gotten longer in just the three weeks you’ve been apart, layered locks curling at the end of his neck, and it’s the first time you’ve noticed such a small detail because you were so used to spending everyday with him. He spent most of the week at your house, since the two of you could never formally move in with one another after your mother was diagnosed and it was easier for him to come by to yours so you could continue to keep an eye on her. There’s no option to live on your own and start your own life when you’re taking care of someone sick. They become your priority, not yourself, but you’d still make every single sacrifice you’ve made for your mother over and over again in a heartbeat if you had to relive the past five years. 

But that meant that you never had a real and true chance to live the life that you wanted with Choso. A place just for the two of you, lived in intimate solitude and not with the cries of your mother down the hall when she feels too sick to get up out of bed or when she cannot remember her own name. But you had never been this far apart from him to where you notice his hair is an inch longer than it was the last time you saw him. He was never that far away, as he is now. And you’ve just now realized it.  

“I don’t,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat and your voice quivers ever so slightly when you speak, “I don’t care that you miss me.” You take a deep breath. “I’m getting married this weekend.”

His face entirely relaxes, like a calm before the storm, before it twists with so much confusion and incredulity and shock and–was that horror on his face?

“What?” he practically spats out, “it’s only been three weeks since we broke up!”

“Uhh,” you glance up at the ceiling of the store, just in time for an employee to make an announcement on the overhead for a manager at checkout lane 2 please, and then you glance back down at him, “I was having an affair while we were dating.” An easy lie. 

He scowls. “Yeah fucking right. There’s no way you’d cheat on me.”

His words burn bitter. The fact that he couldn’t even fathom you hurting him the same way he hurt you makes you clench your teeth. Because he knew you were better than he was, and that you were too good for him, and yet he still wasted your honor.

His friends, who used to be yours too, have probably fed him lies since the breakup. Like it’s okay, man. You broke up with her before you got involved with someone else. You didn’t do anything wrong.

But you say bullshit to all of that. Because after seven years of being together, you can’t just cold turkey a relationship like that to sleep with someone else, and then claim it’s not cheating. Technicalities like that were no vindication if the betrayal hurt all the same in the end. Because it still felt like you got cheated on regardless.

“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself to you,” you tell him, “I’m getting married this weekend, so I really don’t give a damn about anything between us anymore. It’s over.”

“Who are you marrying?” he asks, suddenly breaking a sweat over the news like he’s starting to suspect you’re actually being serious.

“My neighbor.”

His face twists with disgust. “Old man Jenkins? He’s eighty-four years old.”

You roll your eyes. “Not the one on my left, you idiot. My neighbor to my right.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up in a ridiculing smirk, and the sight of it makes your skin crawl. He scoffs. “There’s no way. You hate that guy.”

“It’s true. I’m marrying him.”

“Seriously??” He guffaws at you, leaning in closer to you and you lean away until your back is resting on the handle of your shopping cart. “The obnoxious realtor I once heard you talking in your sleep about how much you want to murder him and then dump him in a lake?”

“What?! I talk in my sleep?!” you gasp.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. You have for years.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?!”

He looks annoyed. “Because you’re such a hypochondriac. You would’ve thought you had a brain tumor or something, and I’d have to deal with the paranoia that follows suit.”

“Choso,” you say to him with a strict tone, jutting your hip out to the side in preparation to scold, “my mother has Alzheimer’s, which is genetic, and I was having an abnormal neurological symptom for years which has studies to show is an early indication of dementia and you just chose not to tell me because you didn’t want to be annoyed?!”

“See?” he gestures to you, “you’re doing it right now. How did we go from just sleep talking to ‘I might have dementia’?” 

“We,” you point between you and him, “are never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever getting back together. If there’s one thing you can pull through that stupid skull of yours, make it that.”

“Excuse me,” you hear a tiny voice squeak out, and you turn to your right to see a little kid trying to push past the two of you to grab a box of GoGurt in the Yogurt section. You move your cart forward by bumping it with your butt to get out of the kid’s way, and Choso circles around to the front of your cart before you start moving forward again. Like he’s literally stopping you from moving on from him. 

“You’re lying about marrying this guy,” Choso says like it’s a fact. In typical cop gaslighting fashion. “You’re just saying that to make me jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m just that hot and gorgeous that I made a man fall in love with me in three weeks.”

“He’s in love with you?” he asks.

“Duh, he wants to marry me. When you dumped me, I found comforting solace in my next-door-neighbor, and we fell into bed with one another, and now he feels the obligation to provide for me for the rest of my life. What’s so hard to believe about that? You didn’t find abrupt matrimony odd when we binged all three seasons of Bridgerton two months ago.”

“That show is set in the fuckin’ regency era,” he hisses at you, “look around. There’s plastic bags of Hot Cheetos with Red 40 in them everywhere. Does this look like the 1800s to you?”

You have to be careful with him. He’s a cop, who could arrest you for medical insurance fraud, and would also have a personal vendetta against your marriage because boo hoo he misses you. But yes, he was right, you did want to make him jealous, and you just can’t help it.

“Well, me and him have a love that no one else can understand, so suck it. I’m marrying him, and he’s super into me, and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me, and he desperately wants to put babies in me, and–”

“And where’s the ring he gave you, then?”

Fuck. You briefly flick your gaze down to your left hand and note the daunting absence of a shiny diamond on your ring finger. Note to self, Gojo needs to buy you a ring.

“I left it at home,” you mumble.

“Uh-huh, as all newly engaged women who have been waiting for a ring all their life would do.”

That pisses you off. Because you were waiting your whole life for him to put a ring on your finger, and he never did. 

“Go fuck a fleshlight,” you snarl at him, unfortunately in earshot of the GoGurt kid and his mom shoots you a nasty look, but you’re a jaded woman after everything you’ve been through and you ram your cart into Choso so hard you swear you could’ve cracked his knee caps, and he doubles over in enough pain for you to have the time to leave him stranded there as you push your cart all the way to the end of the store. 

You finally make it to the orange juice section, the one thing you needed, although your cart is filled with things you didn’t need, because that’s always how these grocery runs go. You try to take a few breaths to calm down the fast beating in your heart after that confrontation with Choso. You’re not good with confrontation, even though it might seem like you are, but you’re just putting on a face. Acting strong, when really all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. But there are bills to pay, and images to upkeep, and orange juice to replenish. 

Your hand reaches out for the handle on the refrigerator door, but just before you curl your fingers around it, another hand beats you to it. It’s a large and masculine hand, with veins disappearing into the cuffed felted fabric of a suit jacket, and the knuckles turn a shade lighter than the olive skin around them when the fingers flex around the handle. 

You glance up at the person standing next to you, who you register towers over you in height. He has long, sleek black hair that shimmers under fluorescent lighting, some of which is tied up and out of his face, while the rest cascades over his back. But there’s tendrils of hair falling over the left side of his face, barely distracting you through the intensity of purple in his eyes when he glances at you.

“Ah, apologies,” he says, and the way he speaks is so calm and gentle, different from the intimidating aura he holds himself with. He retreats his hand from the handle.

“Oh, that’s–” you find yourself stuttering, “...that’s okay.” You grab the handle and open it, the chill rush of the fridge hitting you as your eyes peruse the selection of orange juice cartons while his eyes remain on you. You awkwardly glance at him again. “Sorry, d-did you also need to get orange juice?”

He nods. “Yes, I did.”

Not a man of many words, you think to yourself. Or maybe just around people he’s just met.

Your eyes catch the familiar labeling of your go-to orange juice, the one with no pulp and has added Vitamins D and E (basically the one for children), but you realize there’s only one left. You grab it anyway and put it in your cart. When you glance up at the handsome stranger beside you, there’s a slight look of amusement on his face.

“Seems we both have the same taste in orange juice,” he comments. 

“Oh no,” you say with a small laugh, “I’m sorry. It’s the last one.” Your eyes widen. “You–…you can have it, if you want–”

“Oh, no, no,” he shakes his head, long hair swaying with the motion as he holds his hands up in front of himself, “please. I will just find a nearby store.”

You tilt your head. “Oh there’s no other stores nearby…unless you get on the highway for at least twenty minutes. It’s a…small town.”

His lax expression finally cracks into one of subtle surprise. “That’s interesting.”

“Are you…new to town?” you ask.

He nods with a small smile on his face. “Indeed. Well, just visiting. I’m from New York.”

“Oh! Wow, that’s a long way from here.” You briefly register that he does look like a city man. Upscale restaurants, skyline views, premium outlets. The subtle fragrance of his cologne smells expensive too. “What are you up to while visiting?” You mentally facepalm yourself for asking personal questions, but he seems mysterious and you like peeling the layers back on people like him.

His expression drops, turning almost solemn and his eye contact that was previously very direct is suddenly averted elsewhere, “Just…visiting some old friends.” There is no elaboration.

“Ahh…I see,” you say, picking up on the hint that he has no more words to give you. “Well…I’ll be taking the orange juice…maybe try one with pulp?” you suggest a little cheekily. 

His lips tug upwards in a lopsided smile, one you’d call a smirk if you weren’t so mesmerized to define it as one, “I’ll think about it.”

You hum slightly in polite acknowledgement of him, then push your cart back towards the heart of the store without a word of goodbye.

Odd stranger, who’s good at giving misleading answers. You wonder what life he’s come here to escape. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

It’s a bright, picturesque Sunday morning, with children laughing and squealing out on the streets in front of your house as they ride their scooters up hot pavement while their parents catch up on PTA drama on the lawns. You’re standing in front of your full length mirror, trying on dress #3 for your little meeting with the courthouse today. And by little meeting, you mean your wedding. You’re getting married today.

The dress you have on falls to below your knees and has buttons all the way from the hem right up to the base of your neck, where the collared neckline wraps around you like a noose. Suffocating, way too prim and proper, although it’d make your grandma very happy and adored to see you should you show up to church service in it. 

Your bed is cluttered with clothes you’ve thrown across it as you try to find a good dress. Your hands move with impatience as you skim through the rack of your closet for another dress to try on, since you’re starting to push the time a little too much. You’ve only got ten minutes before you need to leave. 

A dress tucked in the corner of your closet catches your eye and you pull it out. It’s a cream-colored milk maid dress with an underskirt to puff out the A-line silhouette, length down to your shins that would be oh-so-flattering with a cute pair of heels. There are small red flowers adorning the pattern, with tiny green leaf details as well. It was cute and sweet and feminine, something you haven’t worn in a long time unlike your usual monotonous hospital scrubs, stained sweatpants and adult onesies.

It was the dress your friend Sana convinced you to buy when you thought you were going to get engaged. In the first two years of your relationship with Choso, you two talked about marriage non-stop. You both had just graduated college when you first started dating, and it felt like your lives were finally starting. At the end of the second year you two had been together for, after Christmas dinner with your family, he pulled you into his arms and you squealed with glee as he spinned you around in your childhood bedroom upstairs and told you how much he wanted to marry you, and that he was going to propose in the new year.

Your mother was diagnosed with cancer in January, and he never brought up marriage ever again. 

He still stayed with you for five years after that though, and swiftly dodged every single question you ever asked him about his impending proposal. For five years, you were fed every excuse in the book. And in hindsight, you feel like an idiot for staying, and for still holding out hope, when what you were really holding onto was heartbreak. The feeling of not being enough, like someone was just tolerating you, and not loving you. It was easy to ignore at times, given how occupied you were with driving your mother to chemotherapy appointments and reading up on books about which diet works best to slow down the development of Alzheimer’s because your mother started showing signs of dementia just two months after the cancer diagnosis. But in those moments of freedom, where you had a moment to breathe, all you could breathe was a suffocating smoke. Because you stopped feeling wanted or loved in between all of it.

But there was a trip he planned for the two of you to Greece. It was after your mother had first successfully gotten into remission. A gasp of fresh air amongst all the pain and suffering, and you could only assume that he wanted to celebrate by taking you on a trip. Sana was convinced he was going to propose to you on this trip, and you wondered if maybe he was just waiting until your mother felt better before he proposed so that the two of you could enjoy being newly engaged without the pressure or worry. Sana took you shopping, and you bought this dress, one that clings to your form in a way that made you feel beautiful. Made you feel wanted. Made you feel worthy of being loved. Because all other parts of yourself had been overlooked and paid no attention, but you thought a dress could save you. 

He never proposed. You left Greece with an extra suitcase of souvenirs, but without a ring on your finger or even a compliment on how beautiful you should’ve looked to him standing there on that beach with this cream-colored dress on, arm wrapped around his. And it was at that point you became numb, and you existed in limbo for the remaining four years of your relationship. Until he finally did what you silently begged him to do, with every sullen look in your eyes when you glanced at him. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, what he did to you. Something you willed him into because you didn’t have the strength to leave, and so he had to.

You hold the dress up to your form in the mirror. It’d still fit you, and it’s far too pretty to have only worn once. But you’ve been numb for so long now, you don’t even remember what it’s like to feel pretty in a dress. You unbutton yourself out of dress #3 and step into failed proposal dress #4, and as you slowly zip up the back of the dress, you’re met with resistance. 

Fuck.

The last thing you need right now is a weight-related meltdown.

You tug up on the zipper even more, harshly, to the point you hear a stitch rip and you gasp and try to do it slowly so as not to completely tear the dress apart. But it’s not fitting. It should fit. You just assume the zip is stuck, or it’s too rigid after years of no wear.

You’re about to do another colossal yank upwards that could potentially dislocate your shoulder when you jump at the sound of your phone chiming with a notification. And then multiple.

“What...the hell…do you want…” you sigh to nobody, swiping your hands across the pile of dress fabric on your bed to find your phone, and when you do, you quickly tap on the screen to see the messages.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Hey, are we still getting married today?

First of all, wild fucking thing to nonchalantly ask.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Your car’s still parked out front, so I wasn’t sure if you’ve left yet. I was just about to leave, and then the thought occurred to me that we should probably carpool?

|| 11:35AM neighbor (avocado tree): But just wanted to verify, are you sure you want to go through with this? You’re not having cold feet? Won’t be a runaway bride? I’m not gonna be left at the altar, wondering where I went wrong?

You roll your eyes, breathing heavily still from the struggle of zipping up your dress.

|| 11:36AM You: yes, we are still getting married. I just can’t zip up my dress for the life of me 

It takes him a whole minute to respond.

|| 11:38AM neighbor (avocado tree): Do you need help?

You blink at your phone screen. Help? What kind of help? Helping you zip up your dress?

You look over your shoulder to the full length mirror, eyeing your back. The dress was zipped up to just above the small of your back, with the rest of it flayed open to reveal the expanse of your skin. Setting your phone down, you roll your shoulders back once and flex your fingers to try again in securing this dress, but to no avail. You curse yourself for not having the flexibility, and to be honest, you’re not even sure if you can take the dress off anymore to get into something else with the way the zipper won’t budge neither up nor down. Well. You’re just going to have to wear this dress for the rest of your life now. A scary predicament.

You pick your phone up again.

|| 11:41AM You: yes

It only takes about two minutes for him to text you that he’s at your front door, a surprisingly considerate gesture considering your mother is sleeping downstairs so it’s good he didn’t ring the doorbell, and you tiptoe your way down and over the creaky floorboards of the stairs to the front entrance. 

You slowly crack the door open only a couple inches, hiding yourself from him behind it as you peek at him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, and he glances at his watch. “We’ve got to hurry.”

You nod, and take note of his appearance. He’s wearing a dark fitted navy suit over a white dress shirt, which to your surprise, doesn’t have the top two buttons sluttily undone for once. His suit pants are perfectly tailored to his ankles and you can barely see the exposed fabric of black socks before they disappear into his polished Oxfords. He looks like he’s going to a wedding. Oh wait, he is. 

He raises an eyebrow at you when you refuse to reveal yourself by stepping away from behind the door. Even his hair is particularly kept and proper, swept off to the side slightly in a way that makes him look younger and you feel nervous from the intensity of those eyes, which are usually somewhat hidden by the fringe of his snowy hair, now look at you unwaveringly with no obstruction. You feel like you’re seeing him in a completely new light, and for some reason, it makes you cower behind the door even more. 

“Uh, are you going to let me in?” he asks you, his foot tapping lightly on the welcome! mat. 

“Yes,” you say, but you make no movement to prove your word. 

“y/n,” he says, “we need to get going.”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against the stained glass window of your front door to release some nerves before hesitantly stepping to the side and pulling the door open all the way, then you’re standing in front of him in full view. You catch a glimpse of the black tie hanging from his neck that’s secured all the way up to the collar of his shirt, before you finally look at his face.

Those striking eyes of his round slowly until he’s looking at you wide-eyed, blinking in some sort of dazed surprise as his gaze eventually sweeps down your entire form to take in the sight of you standing barefoot on wooden floor in your cream-colored dress, and you swear you see the muscles in his jaw jump. His brow furrows like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You–” he starts, that shocked blinking still taking place on his face, and you grasp the fabric of your dress in front of you from the anticipation of what he’ll say, “...you look beautiful.”

A silence settles between the two of you as he continues to roam his eyes all down you like there’s nothing that could stop him from doing it, and you feel heat in your cheeks from his compliment. It’s just a silly little cream-colored dress. One that didn’t look pretty on a beach in Greece, so why would it look beautiful on you  here right now? While you’re standing at the dusty front entrance of a decades old house? He’s bullshitting you.

“You know you don’t have to compliment me, you know that, right?” you squeak out, trying to keep your tone level and easy to fight back the raw feeling in your throat, “this isn’t a first look. There are no photographers around to capture your reaction. We’re not actually getting married.”

“But–” 

“Can you just help me with the dress?” you cut him off so he doesn’t say anything else that makes you feel pretty right now.

“...sure,” he agrees, and he steps inside your house. You start to walk upstairs, and he follows suit, and you suddenly feel his eyes on your back so you turn around and walk up the stairs backwards while facing him.

“I don’t understand the concept of first looks anyway,” he says out of nowhere to cut the silence, “isn’t it a bad omen to see your partner before getting married?”

“That’s such an outdated superstition,” you tell him as your feet finally press firmly flat at the top of the stairs. 

One of his feet is placed next to where you’re standing up straight at the top, while the other is still on the third step down. And it’s like he’s kneeling on one knee in front of you as he looks up at you. After a moment of deep breathing on your part, you finally step away from the top of the stairs so he can finish walking up them too.

“I don’t know what happened,” you say to him as you make it to the front of your full length mirror, “I was just trying to zip it up but it got stuck. And it’s not unzipping either.”

He comes up behind you, and you can see in the mirror that he’s put a decent amount of space between the two of you from the way his arms are reached out in front of him just to access the zipper. He tugs up on it.

“Hm. It…” he struggles with it, “it seems…” he yanks again, “jammed?”

“Fudge,” you mutter under your breath (more ladylike perhaps, as opposed to fuck) and you sulk your shoulders. “But will it close at all, do you think?”

He takes a step closer to you, and his cologne has the fragrance of woody oak with undertones of citrus, like something expensive and sophisticated. His hand sweeps your hair off to the side and over your shoulder to the front so he has a better view, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck from the motion and you try to fight the shiver. A glance to the mirror, and you see his eyes are set on the exposed skin. He tugs to pull your dress together, and is able to cross the fabrics. “Yeah, it should. I think just hold your breath for a second? I’m going to try to see if zipping it down helps unjam it.” 

“Okay,” you say softly, and he eyes you in the mirror at the sudden subservience. 

You try to hold your breath as he tugs down on the zipper, and you hear the metallic click when he succeeds in unjamming it before he zips it down just an inch. You can feel the small of your back exposed to cool air from the motion. 

He’s suddenly frozen entirely behind you, the knuckle of his index finger brushing against your skin as he continues to pinch the zipper between it and his thumb. You feel his slow exhale on the back of your neck. You’re too scared to look at his expression in the mirror.

“Sa–” you stutter through a gasp, “Satoru.”

“Sorry,” he says quietly, and then he’s shifting on his feet once before slowly attempting to zip the dress up. 

He’s met with a slight resistance just underneath your shoulder blades. “Hey. Just hold your breath.”

“I’m trying to,” you tell him, almost whining, because it’s hard to stop breathing when your heart is beating fast and it needs the oxygen supply.

“Do you want to try on a different dress?” he asks you.

“No,” you immediately answer him. You’re not sure why, but the idea of wearing this dress for the rest of your life doesn’t scare you anymore. In fact, you never want to take it off.

Your hands twiddle with the flimsy string at your collarbone that you tied to connect the fabric across your chest, and then you realize. “Oh…maybe I need to–” you tug at the end of the string, “undo this? That might make it looser?” You finally glance at the mirror to seek his approval of your suggestion.

His eyes meet yours, and when he sees what you’re referring to, his eyes widen. “But that would–”

“Just don’t look,” you say simply.

You two remain looking at one another in the mirror, and you see his chest heaving slightly through the tightening of his dress shirt against the expansion of his breathing. Like you’re asking the impossible of him.

“Or I’ll kill you,” you say.

He sighs, and his eyes flit down to your zipper again. You swear you feel his hand tremble slightly. “Alright.”

You pull on the end of the string, watching him in the mirror to make sure his eyes don’t wander, and the fabric covering your breasts falls open, but you use a hand to still sparsely cover your skin with the cloth where you can. In the reflection, you see his jaw clench but his eyes remain on the zipper, and only briefly flicker to the bed once. Then he’s zipping up your dress with ease. 

You quickly tie the string above your chest once more to cover yourself up, and then spin to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress and throwing your hair back over your shoulder. It was a snug fit, but at least it still fit. 

He’s a step behind you with his hands shoved in his suit pockets, looking at your face with a slight tilt to his head like he’s studying you in the mirror just as much as you’re studying yourself. And then he pulls his hand out of his pocket to glance at his watch again. “It’s almost noon,” he says. 

“What?!” you bark at him. “We’re fucking late!!! Why didn’t you say anything?!?!”

“Huh??” he baffles. “I’ve been trying to tell you we need to rush this entire time.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you say, pacing your room to find your things in a scurry, picking your purse up and then grabbing your Manila folder of paperwork from your desk, and you try to walk past him to the door when you trip over the five pairs of shoes that you had been trying on earlier, almost twisting your ankle, and you gasp then grab onto his suit jacket for purchase before his arm attempts to reach out to hold you upright but to no avail since you tug on him as you fall straight backwards onto your bed and bring him down with you. 

His hands sink into the soft mattress on both sides of your head, wrists tickled by your hair, as he hovers over you, and your fingers quickly curl into little balls at your chest as you shrink underneath him, looking up at his surprised expression, likely from having to suddenly brace himself from falling right on top of you.

You both look at each other, blinking as you come down from the sudden chaos, and his tie that’s hanging from his neck brushes against your knuckle and falls over your hand to graze the skin above your breasts. His eyes briefly flicker to the sight, and he catches himself only to stare at your lips instead.

Even through thick layers of fabric, you can see the thick curves of the muscles in his arms, pulled taut from how he’s holding himself up over you. And for once, you wish the buttons of his shirt were undone, so you can see what he’s hiding underneath. The hair he had swept up above his eyes now falls freely with gravity, soft tufts that dangle above you and shadow over the blue of his eyes as he looks at you with a furrowed brow that–...that makes him look handsome. 

You must be ovulating.

No, wait, you finished ovulating a couple days ago.

Oh god.

Was your next door neighbor hot this entire time?

There was simply no way. 

You refuse to believe it.

You’re laying still like a deer in highlights, motionless underneath him, before he curls his arm around your waist to bring you up with him as he stands up straight, and you only spend a moment pressed up against him before you get yourself out of his grasp by pushing flat palms against his chest, and then the two of you are in proper distance from one another once again.

“D-Don’t ever do something like that ever again,” you stutter, shimmying your hips slightly to pull the snug fabric down your waist from where it had risen up.

“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbles, and he runs a hand through his hair. Now it looks like it always does, no longer prim in style.

“Whatever, let’s just go.” You slip your feet into one of the pairs of heels sprawled across on the floor, and then you head straight for the door. “You drive.”

You hear him sigh behind you. “Yes ma’am.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

The courthouse is bustling with people when you two arrive but Gojo’s pleasantly able to pull into an open curbside parking spot right in front of the entrance. You’re surprised when he comes around to the passenger side to open the door for you, and you swat his hand away when he offers it to you too, but you probably should’ve taken it, since you almost twist your ankle for the second time today as you step out onto the curb and get used to walking in heels again like a newborn fawn.

“Should’ve taken my hand,” he says to you, smile turned upwards into a smirk as he watches you struggle while he’s a few steps ahead of you.

“Give it to me then,” you grit through your teeth as you wobble, giving up your pride to avoid adding yet another medical bill to the list of debts in your name.

“Nah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “too late. Lost your chance.” You curse his entire lineage in your head.

You two make it inside the courtroom, and the first person you look for is Hana, whose head you catch at the front row much to your pleasant surprise since she is your sole witness to sign on the marriage certificate today. But in your study of the room to find her, you notice that there are a lot of other people in here as well.

“Don’t tell me…Did you invite people??” you ask Gojo, grabbing onto his sleeve to get his attention and also for balance, but he doesn’t need to know that latter part.

He glances down at you. “No? Why would I invite people to my fake wedding?”

Your eyes peruse the room once again, and you realize that most of them are just old retired people with nothing better to do on a Sunday than visit the courtroom. Some are elderly couples, eyeing you and Gojo as you two make your way down the aisle with sweetness in their eyes like awwwwwww to be a young couple in love once more <3 while they wait for the judge to call on their hundreds of unpaid parking tickets because they don’t know how to access an internet portal.

“D-Do you have the marriage license?” you squeak out to Gojo, who has now adjusted his walking speed to match yours.

“No, I left it at home,” he tells you in a flat tone. “Of course I brought the marriage license.”

“I was just checking, jeez…” you grumble.

Gojo hands the clerk the folder he was holding in his hand, and you hand in yours too.

Oh god. Your peripheral vision already recognizes him before your brain can, but you see an extremely familiar silhouette standing guard off to the side of the Judge’s bench, and your gaze immediately snaps in that direction.

Choso stands there, in his Sheriff Deputy’s uniform, his thumbs tucked into his vest as he puffs his chest out in assertion of his oh so important duty securing the courthouse on a Summer Sunday from any devastating danger, such as an elderly man not wanting to pay a parking ticket and then proceeding to charge towards the judge at 2 MPH, and you can’t help but roll your eyes from his attitude and scowl at him. Of course he pulled some strings and saw when you were getting allegedly married and decided to show up on that exact day. Whatever. You’ll pay him no mind. As long as he doesn’t speak now.

You and Gojo walk back to the lower desk in front of the Judge’s Bench.

“Ah! y/n, hello my dear, how are you?” the judge calls out to you.

“Hi Judge Jin,” you say meekly with a small wave, your voice echoing in the room, “good, and yourself?”

6/4/2024 1232: Judge Jin is a 72 y/o man with a past medical history of hypertension, hypercholesterolemia, hyperglycemia, GERD, liver cirrhosis and COPD, who endorses a social history of frequent tobacco usage and occasional alcohol consumption. Patient presents to the ED with chief complaint of chest pain, onset two hours ago after he drank three bottles of beer, and—

“Much better since you took care of me last week!” he humphs, patting his stomach.

You snap out of your automatic charting that was droning on in your head on reflex from how many times Judge Jin has shown up to the ED for acute chest pain which almost always ends up just being beer-induced GERD.

“At the hospital!” you clarify, “for taking care of you at the hospital!”

The man laughs heartily from where he sits up at the raised platform bench. “Yes! And Mr. Gojo! Nice to see you as well.”

You flit your eyes to Gojo, like you know him too? He only briefly spares you a sidewards glance before looking back at Judge Jin. “Likewise, sir.”

You postulate he scammed the fuck out of the man into signing a forty-year lease on a condo in the shady part of town, and you’ll leave it at that.

“I have to say, I am a little shocked by this matrimonial partnership!” Judge Jin chimes in. “But do you both swear to enter this marriage under just circumstances? I will need verbal affirmation from you both.”

Gojo raises his hand up in the air to swear on it, and you remember that he’s possibly done this before. Y’know how people have a courtroom wedding before a real wedding, something like that. And maybe that’s why he knows to raise his hand, because you didn’t even know you were supposed to raise your hand until now.

A real wedding. Something you’ve pictured a lot in your head, and so much more different than the arrangement you find yourself in right now. And because the pain of imagining yourself tying the knot with someone is too much right now, especially when the man you thought you were going to marry stands in uniform five feet away from you and probably doesn’t even recognize the dress you’re wearing right now, you glance over to Gojo and you try to imagine what a real wedding would’ve been like for him. Since he’s done it before.

He probably had a tacky wedding, like in a barn with barrels of beer used as tables with barely flickering string lights hung across wooden planks high on a triangular ceiling. The reception and the ceremony likely happened under the same roof, because he seems like the minimalist type, more focused on the feelings behind it and all, and not the grandeur.

Or maybe he was into the grandeur. Maybe he had a wedding on a skyline penthouse in the city, wearing expensive cologne like the one he’s wearing now, and a Dior suit he got custom made because it was a once in a lifetime occasion so why not? The image becomes a little too vivid in your head now, where you can picture this woman he’s marrying too. Pretty, tall just like him, wearing a ball gown white dress. He would’ve told her she looked beautiful, too. He would’ve told her he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. Vows uttered shakingly into the microphone at an altar while the sun is setting far into the sky, shimmering off of high building windows until the air is golden and it reflects off of his and his soon-to-be wife’s face. And when they’ve professed their love for one another, he grabs her by the waist and dips her in a kiss, for the perfect picture against the perfect backdrop in front of all the perfect little people because there probably was a photographer at that event, wanting to capture the moment.

You snap out of the dazed moment when a loud voice calls out your name, and in a shock, you glance back up at Judge Jin who’s looking at you with slight irritation.

“Huh?” you squeak out, and then turn to look at Gojo, who’s got a look of mild concern on his face as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Please swear that this marriage is under just circumstances,” Judge Jin states with a cadence that indicates he’s commanded this of you multiple times already.

“Oh!” you stand up straight, “I—…I’m sorry.” You hold your hand up. “Yes, I swear this marriage is under just circumstances.” Just like Higurama had you practice. He’d be proud. Phew, the hard part was over.

The rest of the ceremony goes by in a rather fast blur, and it’s a little awkward when you both have to tell Judge Jin that you don’t have any vows to exchange at the moment when he offers the time for them, but Gojo comes up with some lie about how the real vows will be at our formal ceremony, and Judge Jun seems entirely satisfied and a little too ecstatic by the answer before allowing you two and Hana to sign the marriage certificate.

“And rings?” Judge Jin asks as he peers down through his glasses to the paper he was holding at his desk. “We can now make time for the exchange of rings.”

You’re prepared for Gojo to come up with another lie about how the real rings will be at our formal ceremony, but you see him shuffling with something in his pocket in your periphery. Hm? You glance down at his hip, and you see him pull something shiny out.

He turns to face you, and he holds his hand out to you with an up-facing palm. You blink at him and then glance down at his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then glance down his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then gl—

“Give me your hand,” he says to you, a little hushed and rushed.

“Why???” you ask, baffled.

“So I can put a ring on your finger?” he says, like it’s the most casual thing. Like getting a ring slipped onto your fourth finger is the most casual Sunday for you, when it’s something you’ve dreamt of your whole entire life.

You finally take a long hard look at the ring he’s holding in his right hand. It shimmers with every glint of light in the courtroom off of every angle, no doubtedly precisely cut diamond from a jeweler who really cares about their craft, and you swear you’ve saved a similar looking ring to one of your Pinterest wedding boards before.

You hesitantly bring your hand up and hover it over his.

“Your left hand, silly,” he tells you.

“Oh, right,” you say, and hand him your left one instead.

He holds it in his hand that is much warmer than yours, and it’s so tender, the way he gently slips the ring onto your finger. It fits with ease, perfection actually, and you can’t help raising your hand up in the air, spreading your fingers weakly as you admire the stone now sitting above your knuckle. It’s pretty.

You feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as he’s halted in frame, and you glance past your hand to look at his face. You dislike him. You do. You should. He’s your annoying as fuck next-door-neighbor. So then why does your heart feel like it could burst right now?

A glimmer of silver catches your eye, and you look down at his hands as he slips a silver ring onto his left hand while facing you before he turns to face the front again, signaling the end of the ring exchange, except you didn’t get to put it on his hand. He didn’t give you the chance.

“Alright! Wonderful!” Judge Jin exclaims, whose eyesight is probably too poor to have seen that it wasn’t even a proper ring exchange. “With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

There is scattered applause across the courtroom, a few cheers as well, as you two stand in front of the court of law in holy matrimony.

Judge Jin glances at Gojo. “Well, young man, you may now kiss the bride!”

“Oh—…that—” you stutter, “that’s not necessa—”

“Okay,” Gojo says, more to affirm Judge Jin than in acknowledgement of your protest, and in a series of what feels like just one motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you two him and then he—

He kisses you.

He kisses you like it’s real, like there’s history, like it’s a pure thing meant to last and not something you quite literally put a time stamp on. The kiss muffles the small sound that comes from your throat, your hands held up in the air in some slight surrender before they slowly settle on his shoulders as he bends you backwards over his forearm to deepen the kiss and the cheers surrounding you grow with a fervor that has your cheeks burning red but for some reason you don’t want it to end—

And then he pulls away from you, eyes darting across the features of your face in close proximity as he exhales slowly, like a release, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in this room before he glances at your lips one last time and then he releases his hold on you. You stand shocked, and briefly glance at Choso, who looks like he’s about to burst a fuse off the top of his head.

What.

What.

What?

And just like that, you were married to your insufferable next-door neighbor.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 2]

a/n. thank youuu soooo so much for reading this chapter of ihm!! i’m kinda liking the writing style i’ve adopted for this series, it’s kinda lax n lenient sort of like a stream of consciousness and i hope it doesn’t come of too crass of informal lol i’m just playing around w some writing styles rn. ANYWHO i hope you enjoyed!! btw i picture choso as long-hair choso in any modern au (and not pigtails choso) so if you see me describing his hair in the way that i do, that’s why lol. love you all so much, hope to see you in the next one <3

➸ take me to chapter three!

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

taglist:

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meme of the chapter:

[swanimagines]

ooh how about a fic where morpheus and his wife have been married for a really really long time (think like 4000 years) and he like stands her up on their 4000 year anniversary or something like that because he's helping calliope. ALL THE ANGST AND FLUFF PLS TY

Summary: When Morpheus doesn't show up to the banquet you had planned together for your 400th anniversary, you're concerned. But then you find out what he has been doing — or rather where he had been.

LOOSE ENDS

After four millenias of marriage, most would think that the love that was once there would have dimmed long ago — but that wasn’t the case between you and Morpheus.

It had been 4,000 years since Morpheus had told the stars to forge a ring that he’d place on your finger, 4,000 years since he vowed his pledge, his loyalty, his love to you in front of his Kingdom. 4,000 years since he made you his wife, the Queen of the Dreaming.

You had planned out your anniversary for some time now. You both being immortal didn’t really make yearly anniversaries meaningful, so you decided to spend it every century and the grander, bigger events, massive banquets, on every millenia to celebrate your love and how you thrived in the Dreaming.

Morpheus had left early in the morning, supposedly to take care of some urgent business, but you expected him to be back by the evening.

But he didn’t. It took days of him being gone, and you had no idea where he was. The whole week of your anniversary went by without a word from your husband.

So one day, you decided to risk it and went to the library to see Lucienne, who was working on her usual task with the ledger. She smiled upon seeing you, but her smile faltered as soon as she saw your expression.

“My lady, may I ask if there is something wrong?” she asked, and you sighed before nodding.

“I reckon you know where my husband is?”

The librarian lowered her quill on the table. “He did not inform me of his exact destination, my lady. Only that he had pressing matters in the Waking World.”

You laid your hand on her table before glancing around yourself. “He didn’t say when he’d return?”

Lucienne hesitated, and you could tell she was slightly uncomfortable. She was loyal to Dream above all else, but she was also loyal to you, his queen. But after a moment, she shook her head. “I am sorry, my lady. He gave no indication of how long he would be occupied.”

You sighed, rubbing your face, but then looked up to Lucienne again. “Thank you, Lucienne,” you murmured, withdrawing your hand from her desk. “If he sends word, please let me know immediately.”

She nodded, picking up her quill again. “Of course, my lady.”

—

Two days later, you finally felt his presence at the palace, and you hurried down the corridors, eager to see your husband, slightly concerned about what happened to him. He had already been imprisoned for a hundred years once, maybe it was something where he was trapped and had no way out. Surely he wouldn’t skip your anniversary by choice.

But then you heard two fairies talking around the corner, and you caught up a name.

Calliope.

“It must have been a relief to see Lord Morpheus,” the other fairy whispered. “He’s loyal to her after all this time.”

The other fairy sighed. “Well, she’s the mother of his child, of course he’s loyal. If she needs him, he will go.”

“Such a shame that it hit right on the Queen’s and his anniversary. Her Majesty worked so hard on that day, and then he just stood her up.”

You felt blood rushing up to your face as your heart started beating faster.

He had been with Calliope doing… you didn’t even want to know.

So in the next moment, you were storming towards the throne room, basically slamming the doors open to hear a surprised caw caw from Matthew, and he flew right past your face.

“Whoa, whoa, my lady! What’s the matter?”

You spinned around to face the crow after seeing the empty throne. “Where is he?” 

Matthew folded his wings and bowed his head. “I, uh, we haven’t–”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t lie, I know you know.”

“Oh, uh, he’s... well, uh... probably still in the Waking World, dealing with some loose ends from–"

“Calliope. I know he’s out there dancing around Calliope.”

"Oh boy. Look, it’s not my place to–"

“Matthew,” you warned, taking a step towards him, which sent him flying a little farther away.

"Okay, okay! Yes, he’s been helping Calliope. She’s, uh, been through a lot, you know? And he felt–”

You interrupted him again, your anger too strong to let the poor crow finish. “What can possibly be more important than our anniversary he absolutely must take care of for a week, without even reporting back?”

Matthew let out a squawk again. “Look, my lady, I get it, okay? You’re upset, and you’ve got every right to be. But Dream… he’s not great at juggling things, you know? He’s in the gallery. Please don’t tell him I told you.”

“The gallery?” you repeated, crossing your arms.

“Yes, the gallery,” Matthew repeated, glancing around him. “I swear, he’s been wrapped up in this Calliope thing, but… well, you’re his Queen. You should talk to him.”

So with a huff, you turned away and stormed down the stairs, towards the gallery. You heard Matthew mutter something, you guessed it was a prayer for Morpheus to survive from your fury, and frankly, you understood perfectly why it may be necessary.

Soon, you pushed the gallery doors open to find your husband standing in front one of the paintings, his head bowed down.

“Morpheus.”

His head lifted slightly before he turned to face you, and a small smile appeared on his face. “My love. I’ve missed you.” 

“Don’t ‘my love’ me,” you snapped, making his smile disappear. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you? A week, Morpheus. A whole week. On our 4,000th anniversary.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I understand that Calliope was in distress. I even understand you had to help her. What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t send a single word. Not to me, not to Lucienne. You could have sent Matthew. But you chose to be silent, I knew nothing. Do you have any idea how that felt, how I was scared for you?”

“You are not being fair,” Morpheus told you, and you scoffed, turning away from him.

“Not fair? And you were fair to me?”

He was quiet for a moment, and you saw his shadow nearing you, and knew he stood right behind you. “Calliope was imprisoned,” he said, his hands lowering themselves on your biceps. “For decades, she was held captive, forced to endure unspeakable cruelty. When I learned of it, I could not… I would not delay. It was not just a duty to her but an obligation to myself — to the part of me that still feels guilt for how our relationship ended. She deserved my help, my immediate intervention.”

You closed your eyes, but didn’t pull away. “If you sent a word, I would have understood. I would have been glad you chose to help her. I understand you share a bond forever with her because of… your son, even when he’s gone. But leaving me in the dark, I was terrified you’ve been captured again, and then I learned you were out there with your ex-wife.”

He was quiet again for a moment, before his hands slid down your arms. “You’re right. I should have sent a word. I should have thought about how you’d feel when you don’t know where I am on such an important date.”

You nodded, finally turning in his arms. “Swear to me you will never do anything like that again.”

He nodded. “I swear.”

You smirked. “Good. Because if you do, Morpheus, I might just take a vacation to the Waking World and see how you like being left in the dark.”

He chuckled. “I would not survive such a punishment,” he said, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “You are the Dreaming’s heart, and you are mine.”

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours in a kiss, his lips moving against yours slowly as his hands encircled you.

You pulled away from the kiss after a moment, but stayed close enough for your lips to still touch. “You’re going to make this up to me, Dream of the Endless. Our 4,000th anniversary only comes once, and you owe me a celebration worthy of it.”

“Then come,” he said, tugging on your hand. “Allow me to make amends properly. I have a few things in mind.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, and followed him upstairs. You might have a great late anniversary party after all.

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[jennelikejennay]

Why Star Trek: Strange New Worlds is a (very good) fanfic

I like SNW, for the most part. I enjoy the characters and it's nice to see largely episodic Trek again. But the idea that it fits into the existing canon is pretty easy to debunk.

Honestly, Paramount is promoting an illusion when it presents canon as a singular thing which runs from series to series as an unbroken continuity. It's not just a matter of minor glitches; those happen within episodes. It's that each show is written by different people with a different idea of how the universe even works.

Memory Alpha is partly to blame for this. Instead of actually recording what happens in the show, they construct timelines and smooth over inconsistencies to give the impression that the number of moons Vulcan does or doesn't have is a matter of simple canonical record, which it isn't. (This is an attitude that bugs me in Bible scholarship too. We can't just say "John says Jesus was crucified sometime after noon and the synoptics say nine am," oh no. They fiddle with it and explain it away and then tell us Jesus was on the cross from noon to three like that is an established historical fact.)

Anyway, if we approach Star Trek like atheist scripture scholars, we should be taking each series as a separate account with its own slightly different worldview. This was obvious by the time Enterprise came out. TOS takes place in a time not long after the invention of the warp drive, where the Enterprise is one of only twelve starships and sent on a long-range mission far beyond where humans had traveled before. Their technology is new and clunky and there's an obvious frontier feel. You really gonna tell me the NX-01 had virtually all the same tech and the warp drive a hundred years earlier?

No, and if we want to play it Watsonianly (as I prefer to) we should say that all the time travel monkeyed irreparably with the timeline, such that the Eugenics Wars happened in the 90s but then, after many different time travel events, it has been moved back to the 2040s or so. First Contact moved earlier, maybe WWIII won't happen at all. And so on.

Therefore, when you're dealing with TOS there shouldn't be this pressure to try to fit SNW events into it. You shouldn't feel the need to make Spock a guy with a long heterosexual history in a TOS fic—you can simply read him as the gay or ace guy he is clearly written as.

This is clear from the very first episode of SNW, where T'Pring proposes to Spock. In TOS they've been more than betrothed since the age of seven. There's never any sign that those two had an actual relationship. If they did, why is the only picture Spock has of her, of her as a child? That would be pretty weird!

"Charades" made this even more obvious as T'Pring's mother objects to their relationship. She set it up! In arranged marriage cultures, you don't have to impress your mother-in-law, you have to impress your betrothed!

The Chapel thing, too, is an issue. First off, her reason for being on the Enterprise in TOS is to search for her fiance, Roger Korby. If she'd been on the Enterprise before, under Pike, that would be a really odd thing to say.

But her relationship with Spock is of course the really odd part. The creators were trying to make a reason for why she pines after him in TOS. But she doesn't pine for him like an ex, she pines for him like she's curious. It's very apparent that she hasn't had sex with him before:

CHAPEL: Mister Spock.

SPOCK: What is it, Nurse?

CHAPEL: Mister Spock, (takes his hand) the men from Vulcan treat their women strangely. At least, people say that, but you're part human too. I know you don't, you couldn't, hurt me, would you? I'm in love with you, Mister Spock. You, the human Mister Spock, the Vulcan Mister Spock.

SPOCK: Nurse, you should—

CHAPEL: Christine, please. I see things, how honest you are. I know how you feel. You hide it, but you do have feeling. Oh, how we must hurt you, torture you.

SPOCK: I'm in control of my emotions.

CHAPEL: The others believe that. I don't. I love you. I don't know why, but I love you. I do love you just as you are. Oh, I love you.

SPOCK: I'm sorry.

These two straight up haven't dated before.

Taking points like this, it's clear that we don't really need to worry about the fact that Spock's character is a little bit off. They're not rewriting his character; they can't, his character is a finished project between Nimoy and the TOS writers. They are writing their version of his character, which is different from mine. I daresay mine is a little more consistent with the source material than theirs, but not all fics are trying to be exact, and they're riffing off the idea in their own way.

As a fanfic writer, my conclusion is this: when I write a TOS fic, it uses TOS canon. Anything I steal from SNW is simply because it's cool, the way I borrow from other fics or from the novels. I needn't feel obliged to put Michael in every single fic about his childhood. I can write him as a virgin before Kirk if I want to.

Meanwhile I can also write an SNW fic where he leans into his human side and experiments with women and waxes his chest if I want to. And if I push his characterization more toward what I think it should be rather than what is on the screen, well, that's my business!

I hope I do not see a trend in fic toward so much respect for paramount's official universe canon that everyone feels like they have to stay consistent with SNW all the time. TOS isn't so why should your TOS fic be?

[andrea-lyn]

Avatar the Last Airbender - Master Fic Rec Post

See under the cut for forty-two total recs, predominantly Zukka.

Wooing the Water Tribe by lenaballena (ALL TIME FAVE RIGHT HERE)

Zuko is courting Katara, and with every passing day finds new and insane ways of showing that he would quite literally move the spirit world and earth to make her happy.

In hindsight, it probably would've been better if Sokka had realised he was in love with Zuko at literally any time before this. Or preferably, never fallen for his best friend in the first place.

exothermic reaction by blueconsequences

When Sokka is temporarily blinded by Fire Nation soldiers, the members of the Gaang take turns to care for him.

One pair of hands is warmer than the others.

Love's Such an Old-Fashioned Word by drvcos

When invited to the 100th anniversary of his father’s company, after 15 years of radio silence, Zuko decides to show how happy he is to all the people from his past. There’s only one (fatal) problem.

Or,

Zuko is a frazzled single dad, Sokka is an absolute flirt, and the “fake” that comes before their relationship doesn’t feel all that fake.

like real people do by verdanthoney for bleekay

Sokka knew he would be dealing with a raging case of baby fever during their annual vacation on Ember Island. What he didn’t expect was to discover that he was also hopelessly in love with Zuko, and had been for years without realizing.

Spirits Help Us, There's Two of Them by hopepunk

Sokka and Zuko are both weird guys. Fortunately, they're the same kind of weird as each other.

(do you take this jerk to be) your one and only by jatersade

Under the leadership of Fire Lord Iroh, the Fire Nation has made every attempt to restore peace and make amends for the harm they inflicted during the Seventy-Year War. Their newest proposal is a literal proposal: a marriage to unite the Fire Nation and the Water Tribes.

The Fire Nation offers Prince Zuko’s hand.

The Water Tribes offer Princess Yue’s.

Sokka is apparently the only person in the world who has a problem with any of this.

isn't this the vision that you wanted by nebulastucky

Firelord Zuko - ender of the Hundred Year War, ruler of the Fire Nation, payer of respects and reparations - takes advice and counsel from representatives of every nation, division, and specialty.

But teenage boy Zuko - friend of turtleducks, wielder of fun looking swords, stumbler over words and feet in the presence of cute boys - only listens to two people, and they are conspiring together to ruin him.

or: Iroh just wants what's best for his nephew, and Katara just wants to know everyone's business.

we had a moment, we had a summertime by nebulastucky

Sokka shrugs. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You get captured and killed by the Fire Nation,” Toph provides.

“They won’t execute me in a tea shop,” Sokka says around a sudden lump in his throat. “That’d be bad for business.”

or: the one where sokka falls for a tea shop and a boy with too much charm for his own good.

Ignition Point by Yuu_chi

Most people know they're a bender since birth. Sokka just had to discover it at twenty when he accidentally burns his own house down.

Alchemy by mindbending

Sokka (a.k.a the Silent Knight, a.k.a. the sharpest detective in Caldera City) has three cases weighing on his mind.

1.) Zuko, son of the mob boss Ozai, has gone missing under sinister circumstances. 2.) Lee, a teahouse waiter with the face of an angel, wears a scar of mysterious origins. 3.) The Blue Spirit, a lithe and enigmatic cat burglar, keeps stealing into the Fire Nation’s storehouses (not to mention Sokka’s dreams).

Sokka sighs and takes a swig from his special bottle. It’s hard solving three completely unrelated mysteries at the same time...

i wanna be still with you by tristanyvaine

Handwritten letters sent back and forth do not a love story make. Or. Maybe they do, in the case of a certain Fire Lord and Water Tribe warrior who happen to fall in love over sending letters to each other at least.

keeps me up late at night by midnights

Fifteen years since the war had ended, and still Zuko remembered every step of the way as if it were yesterday. More than anything, he remembered Sokka. He'd been in love with him then, and he still was.

ft. ambassador sokka, fancy parties, pining zuko, and two oblivious fools

the brightest you've ever been by panthalassas

Azula folds herself into the lotus position and empties her mind. Then Yue places her hands on either side of Azula's face, and her mind fills back up again. Or: Yue notices Azula is lonely. Turns out, Azula's ready to feel some emotions.

real love baby by verdanthoney

Five times Zuko and Sokka pretend they aren't in love, and one time they don't.

OR,

Sokka initiates a friends with benefits relationship between them, and Zuko keeps coming back for more.

Seasons in the Sun by burkesl17

Ambassador Sokka's first year in the Fire Nation, a story for each of its seasons. With thunder, assassins, blossoms, poison, politics, volcanoes and a baby dragon. Also falling in love.

Or: four parties, four assassination attempts.

Please Return if Found by CSHfic, VSfic

When Sokka sees a “lost pet” poster near his apartment for an actual, literal dragon, he thinks it’s a joke.

Right up until he finds the dragon sitting on his couch.

Nobility by hikuni

Book 3. Sokka/Zuko. Set after The Boiling Rock Pt. 2, Sokka and Zuko explore the Western Air Temple, where Sokka tries to get Zuko to talk about girls, marriage, and maybe even a future for the two of them.

Worship the Ashes by meregalaxiesandgods, patentpending

All Azula wants is for things to go back to the way they were – her father on the precipice of conquering the world, her own position secure at his right hand. Now, the only secure thing is her, trapped in a gilded cage in her brother's new Fire Nation. Lonely and adrift, Azula would do anything to make it end, until an unexpected connection rekindles a light she long-thought had burned to ashes. But falling for Suki isn't something Azula can let herself do, especially with the world as they know it threatening to crumble around them.

Or: Azula goes to therapy, has an identity crisis, stops actively trying to kill her brother, makes a few friends, and falls in love along the way.

No Quiet Life by JustGettingBy

Zuko's not sure when it started. It would be easy to say it started with Boiling Rock, or with the Western Air Temple. But whenever it started, his crush isn’t about to go away anytime soon.

*

“It’s not too late, ‘Lee’. We could steal a boat. Sail across the high seas until we hit the horizon. Spend the rest of our days living off the land.” He brandishes his arm as if to show Zuko the untapped potential of their future as wild hunters.

“No, Sokka.”

Sokka shrugs. “Well, it was worth a shot. When you’re up to your eyeballs in expense reports, don’t say I didn’t ask.”

Zuko’s mouth feels very dry. “I won’t.”

virtues uncounted by bloobeary

fire lord zuko visits the southern water tribe eight years after the war ends

based on that text post

Will We Last the Night by CSHfic, VSfic (My absolute fave of the canon rewrites for its wildly IC enemies-to-lovers feel)!

Chief Arnook never assigns Sokka to protect Princess Yue, so he goes to fight the Fire Nation with the other men. When the moon dies, and the ocean spirit takes its revenge, Sokka is caught standing on the deck of a Fire Nation ship. Sokka should have drowned… and he would have drowned, if not for a certain Fire Nation raft fleeing the North Pole.

[An enemies-to-lovers season 2 rewrite, where Sokka is separated from the gaang during the Siege of the North, and travels the Earth Kingdom with Zuko instead].

Ashes Inside When You Finish Your Song by Muncaster

Sokka writes lyrics for his sister’s band. Zuko plays piano and is unnecessarily nice. Fellas, is it gay to write love songs about your friend and his golden eyes?

(AKA, a modern band AU featuring The Gaang, crappy software equipment, homoerotic lyrics, and the realization that maybe, if you think about a guy every night before you sleep, you just might be in love with him.)

Relief Next to Me by wilteddaisy (taotu)

Sokka thinks Ozai’s beach house is pretty awesome. Slightly less awesome is the couch he has to sleep on, as is accidentally getting into Zuko’s bed. At first, that is.

noble blood by lupus (khaleeseas)

The Southern Water Tribe was no place for a firebender...or even a Fire Prince for that matter. And yet here Zuko was, not only in the South Pole’s capital itself but in the Royal Palace, protecting the tribe’s Chief after a failed assassination attempt. Chief Sokka, his old friend and a man who was intelligent and witty, yet kind of a dumbass. A man who was brave and strong and kind. A man who Zuko was utterly failing not to develop...personal feelings for. __

aka: a kind of roleswap AU with Southern Water Tribe Chief Sokka and bodyguard/mercenary Zuko.

it's more about the things that you take with by winterfire22

it’s been a few years since zuko took the throne, and he's doing his best. but there are some things missing.

enter his new ambassador program, and an opportunity to reconnect with an old friend.

before we jump ship, let me teach you how to stay afloat by eurydicees

He doesn't remember when his feelings changed, just that, somewhere between the fires of his homeland and the ocean of Sokka's pirate ship, he fell in love.

In which Zuko learns to swim, Sokka falls in love, and the sun and ocean remain as steady as ever.

in silence; ripen, fall and cease by aiyah

Zuko reaches out with trembling hands and tucks it behind Sokka’s ear.

“A pretty flower for a pretty boy,” he whispers.

- - -

[or: this is the story of an ikebana artist and the man who visits him.]

zing by meteor-sword (vaenire)

“I’ll just put away the rest of the treats for them. Toph, hold this will you?” He hefts Zuko’s bag over to her before Toph can protest, and she has a mind to drop the bag at her feet before she feels something interesting inside the bag. As her seismic sense ran passively through the bag, she sensed something small; it was heavier than the parchment but lighter than the bag of coins-- giving a feedback of vibration somewhere between glass and limestone.

//

Like usual, Toph sees this coming when no one else does.

gold in the air of summer by leopardfringe

Sometimes, Toph likes to ask about colors. Not often—people generally aren't great at explaining them to her, but her newfound metalbending abilities have left her curious.

(This, of course, has nothing at all to do with how she doesn’t even need her feet to know who's crushing on who in this group. Nope, this is just purely for research, and definitely not because she's sick of them dragging their feet.)

the stars go waltzing out in blue and red by tristanyvaine

Zuko falls in love with Sokka in the Southern Water Tribe. Sokka falls in love with Zuko in the Fire Nation. It spirals from there.

or: (Zuko thinks a lot about blue, words, love, and Sokka // Sokka thinks a lot about red, touch, love, and Zuko)

To Be Named, To Be Known (To Be Loved) by Erisenyo

Zuko needs tomorrow to be perfect, but when one person is so many things to so many people--My Lord, Fire Lord, Nephew, Zuzu, Sifu Hotman--how is he going to find the time to make sure everything goes exactly right?

Or,

Five titles Zuko has earned himself + One more to add to the list. If he can just get through this Very Important International Celebration first...

this ultraviolet morning light by GallifreyanFairytale

“Sokka?” Zuko’s voice is quiet and raspy as he shifts just enough that Sokka lifts his head up from Zuko’s shoulder. The confession Sokka had ready to go dies on his lips at Zuko’s expression - at the red he can just barely make out in Zuko’s eyes. “Sokka, I… need to tell you something.”

Sokka swallows and nods silently, not trusting his own admission to not slip out if he dares to open his mouth. Zuko must be confessing the same thing Sokka wants to. Which, admittedly, Sokka hadn’t actually planned for, but it’s fine. He can adapt to this. He just needs to shift a few words around in his brain, and--

“You’re my best friend, you know that right?”

And why does Zuko’s tone make this sound like a break up?

OR

sokka and zuko break up, make up, go undercover, thwart a rebellion, watch the sunrise, and change the course of fire nation history. not necessarily in that order.

the stars sighed in unison by spellboundrose

For some reason, Zuko can't stop looking at Sokka out of the corner of his eye. It must be something about the way the moonlight reflects off his skin—or maybe how his eyes, such a vibrant shade of blue, glimmer like the stars above them—

Oh.

Oh, no.

(Or, five moments under the night sky and one beneath the sun.)

everything and nothing at once by tristanyvaine

See, everything would be fine if Sokka was here, because if Sokka was here then Zuko wouldn't be thinking about him over and over and over again while he misses him from the stupid ponytail to his weird Water Tribe shoes.

signs of light by beachytablecloth

And now, out of breath from running, Sokka can feel the anxiety beginning to overwhelm him, stitching his sides and pounding in his ears.

“It’s Zuko,” he finally gets out, panting. “He’s missing.”

or,

Zuko gets kidnapped; Sokka falls apart.

A Predictable Story by mindbending

"On this night, you shall share a kiss with a great love of your life!”

That lying, scummy Aunt Wu predicts a grand romance for Sokka. To disprove her "fortunetelling" once and for all, Sokka decides to spend the night with least romantic person he knows.

Zuko.

Boomerangs and Rainbows by mindbending

At Sokka’s behest, the Gaang skips rescuing Zuko during the Siege at the North Pole. Instead they leave him, unconscious, buried in the snow.

In completely unrelated news, Sokka’s haunted by a ghost now.

little taste of heaven by loserlesbian

"His mom had given him a diary.

No, not a diary–– a journal, she had specified. He knows it’s a diary. Zuko thinks she only called it a journal because she thought that Zuko wouldn’t use it if she said otherwise. A diary is for feelings and angst, but a journal was for working through your problems without all that mushy, gushy stuff. It was for writing out simply what was in your head, nothing more, nothing less."

or, zuko through the years, struggling with himself and his sexuality.

i'll tell you the truth (but never goodbye) by lesmiserablol

“I was ready to fight for us. I was ready to find a way, any way for us to work. And you were the one who ran away when it got too hard!” “That’s not what happened and you know it!” Sokka snaps. “It was never going to work, and it was stupid to keep pretending otherwise! I’m sorry Zuko, I am, but just because you are the Fire Lord, just because we– we were in love, everything wasn’t going to magically fall into place.” Zuko still has a stubborn expression on his face. There are angry tears in his eyes when he says, “We could’ve figured it out. We could’ve…been us. We could’ve had a good life together.” “Yeah, well, I guess we won’t ever know.” (or, the twenty years between Zuko and Sokka breaking up and finally getting together again, shown in 5 times they don’t say goodbye, +1 time they don’t have to)

boy problems by burnt_oranges

“I accidentally signed off on an arranged marriage to Sokka,” Zuko says faintly. He sits up so fast he almost falls out of his chair. “I signed off on an arranged marriage to Sokka, and he agreed." In which Zuko suffers in a variety of ways, including but not limited to: close and constant proximity to the object of his affections, assassination attempts, and irreparable injuries to his dignity.

Yesterday is Ashes by alivingfire

Sokka takes a strategic step back, but he also smiles: triumphant, like he baited Zuko into exactly what he wanted. Like it’s a challenge. It’s the same way he looked when they sized each other up at the prison, with Sokka in chains that left red marks around his wrist, in tattered prison garb, malnourished and angry. Back then, that was Sokka saying: I see your power. I see you. Now, see me. Zuko saw him then. And he sees him now; different, but the same. I see you. Zuko lights his daos in flame. Sokka grins, back to gravel and heat. “Come on, Fire Lord. Impress me.”Zuko burns. His vision flickers with fire. His heart races. His blood sings. His body is like a magnet, pulling ever onward to meet Sokka’s. He advances.He pins Sokka to the wall, blades against his throat. Or, Zuko found Aang first, Sokka and Katara were imprisoned in Boiling Rock for trying to rescue their dad, and all Sokka knows is he's pretty sure he's not supposed to think the Fire Lord is attractive but he's never let things like rules stop him before.

in flammam flammas【火上澆火】 by ranilla_bean

Zuko scoffed. “As always, I am the author of my own unhappiness.”Sokka hummed. “Years ago, when it was just us travelling together, we came across this fortune teller. I didn’t believe any of that mumbo-jumbo. But then she said that my life would be full of struggle and anguish, most of it self-inflicted.”It suited Zuko’s life extraordinarily well, he felt. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m the only person in the Fire Nation who has a vision of what it takes for this country to get better.”Sokka turned to face him, but Zuko looked resolutely forwards. “That can’t be true.”

Zuko turns twenty-five. In spite of his best efforts, the Fire Nation seems to lurch from crisis to crisis. The firebenders have lost their flame, and the situation with the former colonies is only worsening. All the while, he's ill, lonely, and consumed by work. And on the other side of the country, Sokka has just moved in with one Master Piandao.

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

This post is just some of my current favourites because I don’t think I have the energy to make a master list right now. Personally, I like to read aus so if you're looking for canon stuff this isn't the post for you.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

in pursuit of the study of magic by @thequibblah

An immortal magician au or, "we had a really bad breakup three hundred years ago, but neither of us realised the other is immortal until we met today"

I recommend you listen to About You while reading this

Growing (in love) by casablancas21 (on ao3)

Uni au where "James Potter has a lot going on for him. His uni years have been the best he's ever had and his friendliness, popularity and charm go a long way to place him as the go-to bloke if one's looking for a good time. Nevertheless, his final year of school finds him struggling to keep up with the social energy that once enthralled him. He's having a hard time figuring out how to set his own boundaries and what to do about his future. He's also having a really hard time figuring out Lily Evans."

I must admit that Lily's comebacks are so good I've used some during class debates in sociology this year. Truly, the dialogue and dynamics between characters in this fic are so good. Pretty sure this is the one with the kebab

Golden Waltz by evanspotter (on ao3)

Lily Evans wants to be the best ice dancer in the world, which means she needs to find a dance partner ASAP. After two failed partnerships, her coach gives her one last option: James Potter.

This fic is the reason I neglected revising for midterms. It also caused me to go into a deep dive into watching tapes of Olympic ice dance programs specifically Virtue and Moir.

on the way home by keep_driving (on ao3)

Lily was living abroad and pinning from afar. After an abundance of "phone calls, mixtapes, and long waits," Lily is finally coming home. I believe this fic is inspired by the song You Are In Love.

When I say jily is friends first, and lovers second this is what I mean

Dancing With Our Hands Tied by @athenasparrow

But despite his best efforts, he couldn’t take his eyes off her figure as she moved effortlessly in rhythm with whatever song she had playing. He learned she was wearing more than a t-shirt when she slid across the kitchen on her socks, throwing her head back to sing words James wished he could hear.

OR: In a world where social distancing reigns supreme, two strangers find themselves confined to their apartments with love only a window away.

The way I binged this fic at school between classes. love love love

The Season by @missgryffin

This is a regency (Brighton) au where "James Potter, Duke of Peverell, has returned to London just in time for the season, where Miss Lily Evans is about to make her debut. Only, he’s not looking for a wife, and she’s not particularly interested in a husband."

I love the dialogue between Lily & James as well as Sirius & Lily's relationship (for those who know Brigerton, it reminds me of Ben and El's relationship).

A Misstep Of Fate by hogwartslivy (on ao3)

A muggle historical au where "he waited for her on the edge of ballrooms and in the shadows of parties. He waited to dance with her, to spin her in his arms, to be the one she laughed and smiled with. He thought he was doing the right thing, allowing time to pass them until they were ready, so he had waited. But it seems, he made a misstep. He's waited too long now she's slipping through his fingers."

My boy is stupid and in love but it's okay because she is too. Their idiots, but they’re my idiots

Let Me Love You by @thejilyship

A Princess Diaries au in which "with only a month until she's set to take the throne of Gryffindor, Lily is informed that she'll have to get married or choose to give up her throne. She never thought she'd have to even entertain the idea of an arranged marriage. Enter, James Potter."

chaos ensues and Emma deserves long service leave (the place would fall apart)

foreigner's god by clarewithnoi (on ao3)

answer to a Tumblr prompt: "we were lovers in a past life" but the current incarnations are enemies-to-lovers, and they don't remember anything from their past selves.

The back and forth between them is so good. low-key I teared up a bit but it has a HEA

An October of Unconventional Courtships by @ghostofbambifanfiction

Two phones. Thirty-one days. Eighteen tuxedos. A Jilytober texting fic.

A classic that everyone should read

Shelf Awareness also by @/ghostofbambifanfiction

Modern bookstore au where "It's too far out of her way and she's wasting so much money, but Lily can't help but return to the bookstore every weekend, where her passion for good literature has, perhaps, been unexpectedly reignited by the messy-haired, pun-making, rather handsome bloke who works there."

One of the first ever jily fics that I read and I fell in love with their dynamic straight away

Careless Texter also by @/ghostofbambifanfiction

Answer to the prompt, “I left my phone number on the bathroom stall wall and you text me about your day and your frustrations for a month & it’s really nice and cute but I still don’t know who you are,” with some twists and differences.

Trackside by @hogwartslivy

James Potter is Formula One’s most impressive young talent, making up one half of the championship winning team at Gryffindor Racing. He’s got a reputation for playing dirty on, and seemingly off, the track but when an article quoting a particularly vulgar comment made by him at last years final Grand Prix is released, it seems he may have pushed it too far. Potter faces two options; fix his public image or give up his seat.

When my two obsessions meet

it's (always) you by @kay-elle-cee

A multiverse of 31 meet-cutes for Jilytober 2023.

Honorable mentions to chapter 3 for high!Lily and chapter 7 for fulling my love for jily regency aus

Key Limes by cgner (on ao3)

Fame au "in which Academy Award winner Lily Evans discovers the periphery of internet fandom and the mysteries of Prince James’s gold star system."

Because James is actually just a giant build a bear and lily is an icon as always.

See You At the Next Stop by kayrma (on ao3)

Lily Evans meets a posh-looking bloke with messy hair on the way back to London, and for once in her life she actually enjoys a train ride. Maybe having a spontaneous seat partner isn't that bad after all.

Shoutout to the notes on this fic because whoever wrote it is a mood

Nom De Plume by @annabtg

James Potter, renowned potioneer, has a secret side career as an erotica writer under the pen name of Scarlett Goldwing. When his latest book starts to take off, and Scarlett is asked to promote it at a public event, he has no other option but to recruit his colleague Lily Evans to pretend to be Scarlett. The only problem is, Lily Evans hates his guts… or does she?

(Rated E for later chapters)

Like did you read that summery because personally I was waiting for the author to complete the story so I could binge it

victorem (requires an ao3 account ) by gryffindormischief (on ao3)

(Olympic) Ice dancing au. "When God closes a door, sometimes you have to jump out a window."

Lily and James (and Sirius) aka the dynamic duo

Phone Service by @confuded-gryffindor

Moddern muggel au "in which James and Lily meet twice, both through their phones."

some with arrows, some with traps by @isahorcrux

Fame au. "Then: James Potter was a beloved child star and the lead of a popular YA franchise. Lily Evans was just getting her big break as his romantic lead in the third installment. While their chemistry got rave reviews, if the rumors are to be believed the two actors can barely stand to be in the same room together.

Now: Lily’s paid her dues and ten years later she’s the most in-demand actress in Hollywood. And James...after back-to-back flops at the box office, he’s just looking for a break and a chance to prove he is the amazing actor everyone thought he was going to be."

Much Ado About Nothing, but make it Jily

The group chat is the level of chaos me and my friends extrude every free line we spend together

Charred Pineaple Margarita's and a Bagel by @chiechie97

The guy at the coffee shop was hot. Hot and he knew her order. But that didn’t mean ANYTHING. Especially when he seemed to know everyone’s order. And besides, Lily is far too busy to be thinking about the hot guy that always has her breakfast waiting for her. Right?

Lily and Remus are me

and i know you too well to say you're perfect by @ofmermaidsandmarauders

“Yeah, you were a pretty big moron.” “Hey, I said idiot!”

Lily's not really sure when James Potter, soccer extraordinaire, took over her life with Harry.

What the summery said

The next few fics are all by @wearingaberetinparis or ritaskeetered (on ao3) who is the reason I joined the jily fandom. Single handedly enabled my obsession and I've never been more thankfull.

The Very Regency (Un)Ladylike Guide To Fortune-Hunting

Regency au. "Without thinking highly either of men or matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it was the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want." (Jane Austen)

Lily Evans finds herself wanting, or: so her sister seems to believe. While out on the hunt for a fortune - again: that would be Mrs Dursley mostly - the affection of a number of suitors is most welcome. Especially when a young Viscount's heart is set aflame.

Screaming, crying, punch me in the face (Lily's version)

Jump (For My Love)

Royalty au "When you are the Prince of England, the last thing one might expect is to be jumped from behind by the most beautiful woman one has ever seen, who - in turn - seems to have no clue at all and mistakes one for someone else. Surely, Prince James has the right to be disproportionately upset about this. The question is; does he need to?"

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Olympic au. James, being half Greek, had always dreamed of one day going to the Olympics. Now, at his second Winter Olympics – having won a surprising bronze medal at his first one – James has been dubbed Team GB’s hero before the games have even started.

Lily, being the daughter of a waste collector, had always dreamed of one day making her parents proud by exceeding their expectations. Now, she finds herself on a plane to China together with her boss, Minerva McGonagall, and a crowd of winter athletes representing Team GB at the Winter Olympics of 2022.

The paths of James Potter – overenthusiastic snowboarding hero – and Lily Evans – passionate overachiever – cross at the 2022 Winter Olympics when James Potter is asked to be Team GB’s flagbearer at the Opening Ceremony (and quite a few times after that as well).

The repetition of "James, being half Greek..." worked so well for the flow. I don't know how to describe it

A Game Of Thrones

Modern royalty au. Lily Evans had never imagined she would meet Prince James, but when she does at St Andrews' annual Christmas Pub Crawl, her whole world is turned upside down. For who thought that a girl like her - with a sister that reads "Hello" magazine like it's the Bible - would end up with a prince like him?

Euphemia Potter you will always be famous

flowers

A musician au that hilights sexisim in the music industry. "Singer-songwriter Lily Evans has played gig after gig, has been the opening act to many a headliner, but her big break seems a million miles away. When one night – after playing in her friend Marlene McKinnon’s bar – she receives messily scrawled lyrics on a napkin by a certain Monty Python, her life and career are turned upside down, leading her all the way to the Grammy's."

Lily my love, you deserve everything you've worked for

If You Knew Who Was Talking

hopelessly_devoted and genuinely-conflicted form each other’s support system online, cheering one another on as they battle their way through an unrequited (and most definitely unwanted) crush on the person their parents are trying to set them up with.

In the real world, James Potter and Lily Evans find themselves hopelessly devoted and genuinely conflicted when battling their persistent infatuation with the last person they would have ever liked to fall for, stubbornly fighting their family’s and friends’ convictions that they were born to be together.

If only they knew who was talking.

FOOLS the both of them.

glitter in the sky, i’m spinning out waiting for ya

For her thirtieth birthday, Marlene McKinnon and Mary McDonald gift Lily Evans the thrill of a lifetime: a tandem skydive. What no one expected? For Lily to end up in the hospital as a result with her ankle covered in soul marks.

everybody is a sexy baby, and i'm a monster on a hill

Ficwriter au. "James Potter and Lily Evans are fandom famous. Both are prolific and popular writers within the Marauders fandom, but they have completely ignored the other's existence for two years after a Tumblr misunderstanding. Now, they are paired up for the Valentine's Marauders Challenge and - forced to interact - they find out that they may be more compatible than they ever could have imagined."

Is this not the dream?

fastening myself to you with a stitch

Fame au. "Anyone who has never heard the names Lily Evans and James Potter before must be a boomer. The two actors have dominated the box office with their films in the past nine years, more often than not starring opposite one another. Whether tasked to portray mutual pining, passionate hatred or fiery love, Potter and Evans make the screen positively buzz with the taste of opportunity."

it's all happening without me

Normal People (Sally Roony) au. "At school, James and Lily pretend not to know each other. James is wealthy, popular and the star of his school’s football team, while Lily wears second-hand school uniforms, is the school pariah and resented for her smarts. At James’ house, however – meeting there due to Lily’s mother’s housekeeping job – they form an intense connection they desperately try to conceal to the outside world.

A year later, James and Lily both attend Hogwarts University where James has found his feet and made friends he had longed for his entire life, while Lily remains uncertain and haunted by her problematic past.

Throughout their years at university, James and Lily circle each other, trying to resist the magnetic pull between them, whilst coming to the realisation that the both of them may be more religious than they ever thought they were."

Mother knows best. Mary, never question your writing skills because this fic proved that you are a phenomenal writer. The emotions you evoked coverered the entire range of human emotions

It's Coming Down, It's Coming Down Series -

Weird, But Fuckin' Beautiful

When Lily Evans is invited to spend Christmas with the Potters, she finds that she can simply not refuse. It’s an offer she cannot resist for several reasons, the most important one being that she would much rather spend the holidays with Fleamont and Euphemia than she would with Vernon and Petunia.

So what if she had conveniently forgotten (or has she?) about the fact that the Potters have a son - a Formula 1 driver at that - who she can’t seem to get off her mind? (Mightily annoying that, seeing as he has made clear exactly how he feels about her and it’s not exactly giving her any hope.) It’s not as if she can’t control herself.

Or so she very dearly hopes…

Tonight Feels Impossible

But after a night spent together in a hotel's honeymoon suite, she doubts she ever will and fears it might be her downfall.

To All The Kudos I've Left Before

Ficwriter au set in university. "Fanfiction is the guiltiest of pleasures that Lily - twenty years old and studying at Hogwarts University - freely and happily indulges in. She reads fanfiction whenever she has a moment to herself and goes crazy whenever her favourite author - Artemis - updates or uploads another one of his works to Archive Of Our Own. Leaving them comments and the ensuing banter between them back and forth - however fleeting - makes her heart race and preoccupies a fair amount of her thoughts, which - in turn - angers her best friend.

James Potter has never had to suffer from an inferiority complex. His parents and friends are supportive of his every endeavour and this includes his habit to write fanfiction and put his written work out there in the void for his readers to enjoy. His readers are highly supportive too - Lilium being his absolute favourite - that is, until he starts to receive the vilest of comments from a number of guest accounts and starts to question his entire online existence.

What Artemis and Lilium don’t know? That they might know each other a little better than either of them ever bargained for."

The title says it all ❤ ❤❤

[maxislvt]

Hi, I love your work!

Could I request a fic where Dark!Wanda asks reader to marry her and reader says no?

Thank you!

warnings: kidnapping, implied smut at the end

this is defo inspired by @natsarrownecklace and @mywitchy-assassin and their princess Wanda fics in a way so if you like this stuff please go check out what they have !!

When you were growing up, your parents made it very clear to you there was a target in your back.

You were the sole heir to one of the most powerful and richest kingdoms in the world. Anyone from your lady in waiting to other royals you danced and shared meals with could've been out for you. Even as a child, there were attempts on your life and king trying to trap you in loveless marriages to their children barely half a year old. Where your mother decided to coddle and protect you from your royal duties and, your father insisted you'd only be truly safe if you learned at an early age. The hot and cold mix made you rather good at keeping yourself safe. Your mother taught you to listen to your heart and saved you from numerous empty marriages and your father taught you to sniff out the liars and criminals trying to take advantage of you.

All that training seemed to have been for nothing considering the situation you found yourself in one busy Friday morning. Your schedule was packed full and you were needed in nearly a hundred different places by nightfall. During the carriage ride to a fitting appointment, your coachman took a rather long detour. You noticed almost immediately but the doors had magically closed shut and he wouldn't respond to a word you'd said. Though you had built up enough anger to behead the man driving with the dagger in your pocket alone — you suddenly fell asleep during the ride.

You awoke hours later in what you originally mistook for your own bedroom. However, the blanket of snow clinging to the ground outside told you otherwise. The door was locked and you were much too high to jump. You spent hours searching for some sign of where you were. Thankfully, someone came to your recuse — or so you thought.

The door opened to reveal a woman you'd never seen before. Her crown was strange. What seemed to be two parts. One traditional and gold decorated with local jewels but the other made of a material you couldn't quite identify. If you weren't trapped, you would've asked what it was.

"I believe you have mistaken me for someone else, I am not supposed to be here." You tried to remain calm. There was no telling what happened while you were passed out. Maybe this woman saved you. Maybe she was your capture.

For a moment, the woman just stared at you. Her expression was soft and curious as she took in your presence. "There was no mistake. I am Wanda Django Maximoff, queen of Sokovia , and you're going to be my consort." The smile on her face was cat-like. Cute, but not easy to decipher. "I know this isn't like what you're used to back home but-"

"My father and mother handle my suitors, I am in no place to accept a proposal without their permission," You said boldy cutting her off. You had lost count of how many times you said that. It technically wasn't a lie. The agreement between your parents was that they had to vet your suitors. Then, it was your choice to continue the relationship. "I don't want to speak on his behalf, but I assure you my father will not take too kindly to you kidnapping his only child." The words left your mouth filled with venom. "Where is my coach driver? If I return home unharmed, the consequences will be fair."

Wanda's smile fell. "I'm well aware. It was your mother who insisted that I was too old for you and didn't even bother giving me a chance." She signaled for the guards behind her to leave the room. She stepped closer to you. The corners of her mouth twitched when you stepped away from her. "Sokovia is the richest and strongest of your allies, isn't it only fair you give me a chance? Even if not for love, for your people?"

Wanda's proposal fell on deaf ears. All you could think about was escaping. Sokovia wasn't that far from your home country. The land in between was under the rule of King Anthony. Though you'd never hear the end of it, he was your safest bet as far as getting home.

"The stables are at the very back of the castle grounds. There's no way you'd reach them and even if you did my men would shoot down your horse in minutes. Then, you'd be right back here."

Your eyes widen. You'd heard gossip of the queen of Sokovia being a witch, but brushed it off as metaphorical. "For a woman that can read minds, you sure have a hard time telling when you're unwanted." You almost immediately regretted those words. Hot magical ropes wrapped around your body and forced you to the ground. A deep breath escaped through your nostrils. You weren't going to give her the satisfaction of getting under your skin.

Wanda cupped your chin and forced you to look up at her. "You have your father's sense of humor. I quite like it, but I'm sure we can find much better uses for your mouth than mocking your future wife." A sinister smirk took over her face as her thumb traced your lips. "We'll see how well you talk back with my cock shoved in you."

[schoenht]

Omg sol I just used my braincell hear me out

I'm thinking of Riddle, Azul, and Vil in a royalty au... Do with that information what you will (I am begging on my knees for hcs or anything plsplspls)

characters: vil schoenheit, azul ashengrotto, riddle rosehearts.

genre: royal au, enemies to lovers/belief of unrequited love (vil), childhood friends to lovers/arranged marriage (riddle), masquerade (azul)

a/n: CRACKS KNUCKLES LOUDLY YOU CAME TO THE RIGHT PERSON i say as i desperately hide the tons of royal aus in my drafts in every blog ever (do not mind how long these are, they're like. actual fics almost.) different format bc each one will have its own name and title

warning: fem!reader (main use of "princess", "bride" and she/her for azul's part), banter for vil (its enemies to lovers ofc there's banter)

♡ ━ 𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄

In every fairytale, there was always a magical ball where everyone's dreams came true and everyone lived happily ever after, with their true love. But as you stared at the waltzing figures before you, you could only mutter curses under your breath.

As the princess in line for the throne, you had a multitude of royal duties to attend to, none of which should have included you attending the Winter Ball. The duchess was supposed to take your place, yet she decided to mess around and was unable to make it. You stepped in--because you had no other choice. The king had told you that it was either the Ball or going through a few hundred files on the exports of wheat.

At the sight of him, you mentally punched yourself for not choosing the files. He was beautiful, like sunlight reflecting on freshly fallen snow. He was elegant, carrying himself with a grace unmatched by anyone. The air around him seemed to freeze, causing him to glow. It was said that a single teardrop from his eye could make even the most wilted flowers bloom to life. There were myths about how if you looked into his eyes, you would melt from his amethyst-colored eyes, more radiant than the sun itself.

More like be paralyzed, Medusa could never, you told yourself as you stared at Vil Schoenheit, next in line to be king. He had been your enemy since you were toddlers. He had pushed you out of the way so he could ride a tricycle before you and you kicked sand at him. Granted, you were the one that got in major trouble for that but the moment of satisfaction was worth it. But that wasn't the last time you two crashed heads.

It became worse over the years. You thought he was pretentious, he thought you were overconfident. You always hated how he would constantly look down on you and he loathed how you would act like the complete opposite of a princess. In classes, you were always the one that defeated him in tons of tests, until it came to hands-on projects. Whether your professors loved to see the two of you fight, you'd never know. But they always put you two together for projects and the class had always been on edge, waiting for something to explode, maybe even one of you. Luckily, that never happened but you were close to dropping a potion on his hair and he was close to purposefully throwing his grade if it meant you'd fall too.

It had been years since that era. You were too busy completing all the duties necessary for a princess. Your hatred for him was simmering back up, a trained instinct. With your arms crossed, you watched as he walked through the room, graciously dodging the massive fanclub he got. His head lifted and his eyes locked with yours. That was the first time you had ever seen him genuinely off guard. You waited for a glare or something to let you know he hated you.

Nothing.

That was worse. You stood there, dumbfounded. You shook it off, thinking that it was better like that. He would leave you alone and you'd leave him alone. That was exactly how you liked it. Or so you thought. However, when you looked back at all those years without him, you always felt a pang in your chest, inexplicable. It didn't matter. You were nothing compared to him, and he made that clear. You didn't care.

Meanwhile, Vil was being escorted to the opposite side of the ballroom. He was curious to find out why you were here but then he remembered that his feelings towards you were not altogether positive. His eyes narrowed faintly before he gracefully accepted the dance invitations from several of his fans. He waltzed through the room with them and it seemed as though they were floating through the crowd from how smoothly they went. Vil was an expert at ballroom dancing, your complete opposite. Last time he remembered seeing you try to ballroom dance, you stepped on your partner's feet. He could recall going home and bursting out into manic laughter. The look on your face had been...quite endearing. He shook his head again, pushing away those thoughts. Why did they exist in the first place? He shouldn't have been thinking about you at all.

You took a glass of apple cider from one of the waiters passing by, sipping it. The taste was sweet but just enough to be pleasant. You tried to appear bored, but your eyes followed Vil as he danced with everyone who pleaded to have the honor of his presence bestowed on them. With a scoff coming out of you, you sat down, toying with the shiny utensils.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Perhaps I'll do you a favor and keep you company, maybe my radiance can help you go from...a disaster to something slightly decent."

You groaned at hearing his voice. He was too flawless as you stared up at him. He matured from the last time you saw him. His blond hair was longer, purple tips at the end. His eyelids were intricately painted and his clothes were nothing less than expensive. He looked the part of the prince, especially how he held himself. In comparison to you, you knew that he had practiced beforehand, aware of the event. You snorted, rolling your eyes at him. "I think that the pigs' company is much better than yours. At least they are self aware."

"Are they? I'm quite sure they do not care, as long as they get scraps."

"What do you want, Vil?"

Vil wasn't sure. He stared down at you, believing that he came over just to tease you. However the sight of you was a comfort to him, so much so that he could not help but be drawn to you. You were his sole constant, the one to bring him to reality. Everyone else wanted desperately to be seen with him, yet you did everything in your power to not be seen with him. He should have hated that fact, he should have.

Then why did his heart pound whenever you glared at him? Why did the anger in your eyes make him weak at the knees? Why in the world did he find himself dizzy at the sight of you?

He shook his head. He was acting like an idiot. "Come. Let us dance."

"Hell no."

"Oh? Then perhaps I'll just claim that I'm the victor of the ballroom--" He was cut off by you taking his hand unceremoniously and leading him to the center of the ballroom. His hand was on your hip delicately, the other one holding yours. It was such a small detail, but you noticed that his nails were painted the exact shade as yours. That idea was preposterous since the nail polish was extraordinarily rare to find and a hassle to obtain.

Vil was looking at you with an expression you couldn't place. You gritted your teeth, hating the way he looked at you and mostly, hating the way your heart was racing. You knew everyone was watching, you knew that his fanclub was seething since they all knew how much you loathed the man. Making eye contact was your worst mistake. You could feel your breath stop short. Then, with agony, you realized that you didn't harbor hatred for him. No, quite the opposite really. You had had feelings for him for the longest time. You didn't know how it happened, but you knew when it did.

There was no way you'd tell him.

You let go of him, your eyes wide, matching his in shock. "I...I need to go."

Vil watched as you left, the sounds of your footsteps becoming fainter. He felt you physically and mentally withdrawing from him. He now knew what feeling helpless was like. He knew what it felt like to not be loved in the same way. His fist was clenched and he murmured pardons as he moved to the balcony, staring at the moon as if it would give him answers.

Instead, he was faced with a fact: the only person he had ever loved had never loved him and it would remain that way. He could never be loved.

♡ ━ 𝐒𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

A knight, descendant of a noble family and serving as the most prestigious graduated scholar of the royal academy, you were a force to be reckoned with. You had been the master strategist from a young age and the people fully looked up to you. Even when you were little, you were taught how to do several difficult subjects. But you didn't want to be a scholar. You had been taught by the general (who was your babysitter at the time) how to spar. He would constantly have you spar with him.

Little Azul could remember these moments with clarity. At the sound of murmurs of another sparring session, his little chubby legs would lead him straight to you to watch what was going to happen. He would cry out when you were tossed to the floor like a ragdoll but you sprang up, a new determination on your face. He recalled how he would carry a first aid kit around with him constantly, pressing bandaids to your knees when you scraped them.

There was one time where you were the one that took care of him instead. He had fallen off of your horse and he was holding back tears. You carefully wiped his injury and placed a bandaid over it. Then you pressed a kiss to his knee. "My mom says that can help speed up the healing process!"

Azul knew that was a lie, but he didn't say anything. He was too flustered.

The years passed by and he became smarter, more knowledgeable in several fields. You became stronger and more graceful in your fights. During the annual tournaments amongst the knights, you had risen to the top quickly. His eyes were focused on you as you skillfully wielded your sword against your opponents. At the end of your final battle, every year without fail, you would look at him and wink, a secret message between the two of you. As you grew older though, he came to anticipate it and each time, he would feel his face get red.

It was worse when his own bodyguards noticed. He was working on the exports of wheat when Floyd Leech came in, a smug smile on his face as he put down an invitation. "Boss, you've got an invitation! Well, this is a first draft but the palace is going to have a masquerade ball!"

Azul raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't have time for such ordeals, I have too much work to do." In truth, he hated those events because it meant mingling with other royals who were stuffy and stuck up. They all talked about the same things or drama going on amongst them. Granted, when he met up with you, he always heard gossip from you but it was different. It was you.

Jade Leech came up right next to his twin brother. "But, Your Highness, this is the event that everyone is invited to. Including the knights." His voice was subtly suggestive, a smile on his face.

Azul's glasses almost fell off from how flustered he was. His face was red as he looked up at the twins. "What are you insinuating?"

"Oh, nothing, unless you count how down bad horrendous you are for the captain!" Floyd was cackling. "Boss, everyone sees it. She could be walking across the gardens and your eyes are on her like a moth to light. It's so cute, awwww, you're in love!"

"H-How dare you imply such a ridiculous notion?" He stood up suddenly, his papers all flying to the floor in a scrambled mess.

Jade snickered. "It's not ridiculous, Your Highness. You have known each other since you were little. But, oh dear, there have been talks going around of other knights wanting to ask her to the ball. Dear me, what would happen if you didn't ask her beforehand?"

"Ooh, maybe I'll ask her! I can show her my fresh moves!" Floyd chimed in.

Azul sighed, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Your job now is to ensure no one asks her before me. It's been a while since I've seen her. Hopefully, she will say yes."

But it seemed like each time he saw you, his nerves got to him. Had you always been this beautiful? He knew the answer to that already. Just the sight of you rough-housing with the other knights made his heart flutter, knowing full well that you were the one protecting him and never vice versa. You were the one with a strong will. It was his turn. He took a deep breath and went up to you. "Y/N, may I speak with you? In private?"

The other knights nudged you and you shoved them before following Azul. "What's up?"

His face was a vibrant red. "W-Will you go to the ball with me? It's okay if you don't want to, but I trust you and there's no one else I'd want to go with and--" This was a common thing that you learned about Azul through your years of friendship: when he was nervous, he would keep rambling unless stopped.

"Of course!" You were smiling. "I'd love to. What color are you wearing?"

"Um...purple."

"Okay, I'll wear that. I'll see you then!"

Even the day of, he was still surprised that he managed to ask you and much less have you at his side. You looked simply divine. In his mind, he was only thinking of how neither the moon nor the stars could hold a candle to your beauty. He wasn't aware that he had said all of that out loud and your face was burning. He, on the other hand, was more embarrassed than anything until you told him that it was cute. He was thankful that the mask over his eyes partly covered how his eyes shifted everywhere but at you.

One of the things that Azul had not learned was ballroom dancing. He never thought that he'd need it. He was sitting at the table, watching as Floyd danced with you. Jade sat next to him, an amused expression on his face. "Your Highness, if you keep avoiding the dances, someone might steal her away. Floyd is very close to doing that."

"Jade, I can't dance. What was I thinking?!" Azul buried his face in his hands. "If I can't dance, how am I supposed to spend my time with them?"

"Just go for it. Maybe your confidence will take over. Besides, she's your best friend. She will not judge you."

Azul took a deep breath, standing up and going over to you. A slow song had come on and you were laughing at a joke Floyd had made. Azul asked, "Floyd, may I steal her from you?" It wasn't a question and Floyd knew it. He was grinning as he skipped away, allowing you to fall into Azul's arms. He cleared his throat. "My lady, may I have this dance?"

You bowed slightly. "It would be my pleasure."

His hand was on your hip and the other clasping yours gently. It should have been an incredibly romantic moment if it wasn't for the fact that he was constantly stepping on your feet and looking anywhere but at you. You raised an eyebrow at him. "Didn't you say you would have this dance? So then why am I leading?"

"Human legs are stupid and built stupid."

"Okay, why can Floyd do it?"

"Because he is abnormal."

You laughed before twirling him. "You act like a prince who is untouchable, but let's be honest, when it comes to things like this, you cannot handle it, can you? So then, why did you ask me to this dance if you can't dance?"

He took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Do you remember the times we used to dance together when we were little? Well, I thought that...now that we're older, we could have a more romantic version of that, one where I was able to twirl you around and have you fall in love with me. Maybe I could be cool and dip you, take your breath away. But it seems that you are the one that has easily taken my breath away. If you do not feel the same way--"

You kissed the corner of his lips, effectively causing his brain to malfunction as he turned to you. "For someone as smart as you, you are so stupid sometimes, Azul. I said yes because I like you too."

"So...if you return my feelings, we can come to an equal agreement."

You rolled your eyes and dipped him instead. "Stop being so logical for once, Your Highness. Enjoy the moment instead."

And he did. He knew that he was stumbling several times, but he did not care. He heard your light laughter each time and it made his heart swell. As he twirled you under his hand, he found himself falling further for you. Perhaps you were his protector, but you were the one to easily tear down his walls and make him feel vulnerable. But he trusted you. His heart was in your hands and as he tugged you in for a gentle kiss, he told himself that he would never hesitate when it came to you. As long as it meant that he could have you in his arms, he would do absolutely anything for you. He would sacrifice it all if it meant that you stayed at his side.

Perhaps you were not a princess or even a royal. You were only a knight but at the sight of you leaning against the balcony under the night sky, he could not help but think that you were more beautiful than every queen and princess in history. And now you were all his.

BONUS:

Floyd collapsed next to Jade, groaning. "Damn it, Jade, why did you give him that speech?! If you gave me five more minutes--"

"You lost the bet fair and square, my dear brother."

"I didn't think Shrimpy had it in her!"

"She's a knight and the master strategist. He is a flustered, rambling mess of a prince who turns red at the thought of her. Did you seriously think that he would be the suave one and dip her? Or even kiss her?"

Floyd grumbled as he handed the money over. "Look at them now. He's staring at her with this stupid look on his face, ew."

"That's called love, Floyd. Someday you'll find it, as long as you can tie your shoes properly."

♡ ━ 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒

Riddle's childhood memories served of only you. He eradicated all other negative thoughts of his childhood, only thinking about you. As the Crown Prince, he was trained to be the cream of the crop, only the best to impress his mother, the Queen. There was no other way to describe his past than torture. However, you served as a beacon of light and hope for him.

He could recall how often you would sneak him out. You were the Crown Princess but discarded that title in your mannerisms. He had heard from his mother that you were nothing but an "insolent buffoon who had nothing better to do than make everyone's lives miserable". At first, he believed that you were a demon, horns, tails, and all. But once he met you, the image fell apart.

You introduced him to multiple new activities that he had never tried. Outside of books, ink, and the endless pursuit of mind-numbing knowledge, he had no hobbies and much less, any friends. He was a quiet child, yet he went along with your schemes without thinking twice. Without you, he never would have discovered the magical world of sweets. His cheeks turned pink at the sugary delight, taking in all the flavors that he never got to savor before. He notably loved the strawberry tart that the baker would make for you and you would share with Riddle.

You were a reckless child, one that wasn't afraid to be roughed up. He was your complete opposite. He worried for you more often than not. After you had taken a particularly nasty fall, little Riddle started carrying around a tiny first aid kit with him. He was always prepared when you got hurt, carefully wiping away the dirt and putting on a cute pink bandaid on it.

It came as no surprise to either of you that Riddle got caught sneaking out to play with you. He was forbidden from seeing you, his mother, the queen, looking down at you in disgust. You merely frowned at her and looked at Riddle, whose head was hung in disappointment at losing his only friend. That didn't stop you. One night, you had snuck out of your own palace, your guards right behind you. You found a footing on the side of his palace, knocking at the window. When he opened his window, there was no end of shock on his face. He could not believe that you snuck in just to see him. And so, that is how you two would continue playing together, behind closed doors and hushed voices.

For years, this continued. You had found a way to interact with him, albeit having more royal duties placed on both of you. The royal birds were trained to send letters and as you grew, so did the amount of letters sent. His handwriting brought you a source of happiness that you could not retain from anything else. He constantly looked forward to your letters, the curve of every letter reminding him of your smile.

He didn't know when he started falling. Had your laugh always been this bright? Had your smile always been this kind? Had your eyes always sparkled? Most of all, why did his heart beat faster and louder in his ears? He couldn't understand and although he told you everything, this was the one thing he refused to tell you about. He did not want to know if you did not like him back, else he'd risk ruining your friendship.

But to his joy, you were the one that expressed your feelings first. You were afraid, yet he was ecstatic, accepting your feelings. From that moment on, you were almost inseparable. His thoughts would wander towards you. It did not matter what his mother had him do, his mind gave into the lovesick notions of the date you'd go on later that day. His music classes saw an increase of improvement and even his mother was astonished. He was not surprised, knowing full well that he saw your soft smile every time he played the piano.

On a night when he had snuck out to meet you under a blue moon with the sky full of stars, he realized that he was completely in love with you. He knew of many subjects, an expert in many of them. But it was at your touch that he turned into a flustered mess, not knowing what to do next. It was that very night too that you had shared your first kiss. He was taken aback, and the next thing he knew, his eyes were closed, holding you closer. The night was cold, yet he had never felt warmer that in your arms. Afterwards, he had been nervous, thinking that he was too eager at the moment. You had laughed and pressed a kiss to his head. "You keep overthinking, my pretty boy. It was nice."

"Are you sure? Or are you saying that to make me feel better? I just--I don't want to--" His face was cherry red, ready to go into a ramble out of fear that he was doing something wrong in the relationship, that he wasn't what you wanted. You merely kissed him once more and his mind slowed down to the point where he couldn't think of anyone else, only you. From that moment on, Riddle knew that you were the only one who could make his heart weak and make him ignore all the rules, if it meant having one more second with you.

The life of ecstasy came crashing down around him when a month later, his mother had revealed that he was going to be in an arranged marriage. Riddle's heart sank, knowing that his mother put him with someone he didn't love and wouldn't love like he loved you. "Who is it, Mother?"

"You shall see. The wedding will be in a week."

"A week?!"

"Do not worry, son, for this will help our queendom." His mother gently patted his cheek as she walked away. "My son will be married, this is the happiest day of my life!"

Riddle felt anything but happy. He had run out, switching the tables and snuck into your room to see you. His eyes were full of tears and you rushed to see him. You didn't even ask any questions, you were only worried about him crying. He buried his face in your shoulder, crying harder as he realized that he would not be able to feel your warmth anymore. Whoever he'd be married to, he didn't want them. He only wanted you. "I'm in an arranged marriage. I-I don't know who it is, I don't want to get married to a stranger!"

You had to swallow your own sobs. You were in his same situation, sold off to a stranger who you would never love. "Shh, Riddle...breathe...it'll be okay..."

"Run away with me." His voice was hushed. "Please. We can run away somewhere else, together."

"Riddle...I can't. I'm next in line for the throne. If I leave now, a tyrant will take over." You moved back and cupped his face, wiping away his tears with your thumbs. "I have a plan. You just have to go through with it, okay? Do you trust me?"

His eyes may have been full of sadness but there was a clear glint that stated how much he trusted you. He nodded. "I trust you. More than anyone."

With a kiss to his forehead, you told him the plan. A week later, both of you were suffering, on different sides of the venue. You still didn't know who you were getting married to and you were angry that you couldn't at least be at Riddle's wedding. Somehow your own wedding landed on his. But you had sent a warning to your future husband, stating that you would make his life a living hell the second the ring was on your finger.

Riddle was standing at the altar, his head facing his shoes. He knew you wouldn't be able to make it and he wouldn't be able to go to your wedding. How unfortunate that you would both be separated--he heard the song chosen for his future wife to walk down the aisle. When he looked up, he saw the most beautiful white dress he had ever seen in his life. But above all, even he couldn't hide how stunned he was at seeing you in the dress.

You were looking at Riddle like he was a mirage. No matter how many times you practiced your walk, you could not stop yourself from practically almost flying down the aisle. You needed answers. You were at the altar with him, both of you having matching surprised expressions. The minister put a cloth over the both of you so you would be able to share your vows in secret. Instead, Riddle asked, "You're my bride?"

"I-I guess? What is going on?"

Riddle closed his eyes, trying to stifle a giggle. "You're the only eligible princess of the most powerful empires. Since you were available..."

"Oh, that makes so much sense. Hmm, I know this might be too fast but we might as well go along with it, don't you think?" Your smile was bright and he could feel a glow inside of him.

The cloth was taken off of both of you and the minister continued, asking you if you took him as your husband. You did not hesitate in responding yes. Then he turned to Riddle. "Do you take Y/N L/N to be your wedded wife, to live together in marriage?"

Riddle turned to you, his hands holding yours tightly. "I do."

"Then I now pronounce you to be husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride--"

But you hadn't hesitated. The minister didn't finish his words before you literally dipped Riddle and kissed him. The crowd was cheering, roaring in joy. None of them could compare to the happiness that the two of you had felt. Even in the carriage, you two felt as though you were on top of the world. His head was on your shoulder and he could not stop smiling. "We are now married. I didn't think I'd get married this early."

"I think they really pushed it on us. Maybe...in the future when we decide on our own, we can do it all over again. We can get married again."

He looked up at you with an adoration that was unmatched. "Of course." The bouquet of roses in your hands caught his eye. "Are those the roses I gave you twelve years ago?"

"Mhm, I put a preservation spell on them. A rose for each year we've known each other."

He couldn't begin to say how happy he was. All he could do was hold your hand, squeezing it and hoping his declaration of love would get to you, albeit silently.

[catlady5001]

end of year fic recs

somehow it's almost 2024. where did the year go. where.

here // part two

i want to share some fics i really enjoyed this year, organized by fandom! each fic will have a short summary, the word count, and a + symbol if it's a work in progress!

fandoms:

Fear Street

Stranger Things

Percy Jackson

under a read more for people who just want to keep scrolling :)

Fear Street

break the chain by cassiopeia721 (@cassiopeia721). when Sam is forced to move to Sunnyvale due to her parent’s divorce, she’s shocked by how weird it is there. 5k, crack and angst

Stranger Things

always surprised by what i do for love by birthdaycandles (@steveharrington). dustin, lucas and mike are at a halloween party when they find someone dressed up as an injured steve harrington, and take it upon themselves to defend his honor. 6k, oneshot, hurt/comfort

the end is here (and we do it a hundred times over) by placebythering. set during season 4, steve keeps reliving the day of the apocalypse. 126k, angst with a happy ending

strange (but not a stranger) by heartofwinterfell (@nancywheeeler). mike wheeler character study - he struggles with feeling replaced by eddie. 10k, slice of life

this must be the place by palmviolet (@palmviolet). set after starcourt, robin stays at the byer's for one night - one night that quickly turns into two, then three, then many many more. 25k+, slice of life with fluff and angst

view from a bridge by palmviolet (@palmviolet). a retelling of season four that imagines a completely different type of monster - a cosmic horror. this is one of my favorite stranger things fics of all time. 173k, horror

In A Strange Land by MrsEvadneCake (@mrs-evadne-cake). set after season 2, it focuses on the eldritch monster that has invaded hawkins. another incredible fic. 180k, horror

you are young and life is long (and there is time to kill today) by heartofwinterfell (@nancywheeeler). series with two fics, one from eddie's perspective and one from steve's, about the timeloop they went through. eddie remembers. steve doesn't. 70k, angst with a happy ending

I've seen your face before, my friend, but I don't know if you know who I am by HMSLusitania (@hmslusitania). after S4, the stranger things gang has to time travel back to 1983 to fix everything. they get the chance to lead normal lives from that point onward, but everything has changed - making things very weird for eddie munson, who has no idea what's happened that makes Steve Harrington of all people try to befriend him. 27k, fix-it (this fic is ao3 locked)

a boy, a tender age by Kostas. in the aftermath of season 4, joyce byers adopts steve harrington. 11k, hurt/comfort

good for my boy by MacksDramaticShenanigans (@stevethehairington). the first time wayne munson met steve harrington (completely by accident). 7k, domestic fluff

HEARING DAMAGE by yes_bella_no. steve learns to live with his hearing damage, post S4. 35k, hurt/comfort

light my way by lesbianrobin (@lesbianrobin). in which Wayne doesn't meet Steve until quite a while after he and Eddie start dating. 10k, domestic fluff

Love and Honor but Not Obey by crow_of_crimes (Theyna_Shipper). a story about steve and robin's marriage of convenience and their (failed) attempt to keep it a secret. 11k, angst and fluff

the lathe by palmviolet (@palmviolet). my favorite steve timeloop fic. set during the season four apocalypse.

sub-culture by palmviolet (@palmviolet). steve is pretty convinced eddie now hates him. turns out eddie has the opposite problem. 61k, hurt/comfort

eating in the underworld by greatunironic (@greatunironic). 8-fic series in an au where steve goes with hopper, joyce and murray to the underground russian base and doesn't return. 103k, angst with a happy ending

an eye for an by pukner (@pukner). six times that the boy who calls himself Steve Harrington feels real, and one time he realizes that he isn't. 18k, angst with an unhappy ending. tw violence

i can give you a heartbeat by soupbitchin. ghost eddie tries to get someone to notice him. 114k, fix-it

STEVE’S FIRST BRUISE by cairparavels. spider-man steve au. 47k, hurt/comfort

hellfire (save my soul) by philomendron (tetrapteryx). steve asks eddie for help planning robin a birthday party set in the Cabaret of Hell . everything spirals from there. 49k+, slice of life / hurt/comfort

always burning, world keeps turning by pukner (@pukner). eddie survives season four, and is around to deal with the massive post-apocalyptic fallout. between all of the 'post-earthquake' mess, he and steve figure out what they mean to each other. 2-fic series, 61k+, hurt/comfort

i'll kiss your mouth, and you'll be better for it by cpressmn. somehow, steve and eddie are the last ones to realize they are dating. 8k, minor hurt/comfort

The Very Best People by scioscribe. something is very wrong in a seemingly normal suburb. steve and robin go undercover to investigate. 18k, mystery

this demo will save your life by oh_simone (@aiyahsimone). The summer after Vecna, Steve ends up managing Eddie’s band. 13k, fluff

I Like to See You in the Morning Light by BonitaBreezy (@bonitabreezy). eddie survived the apocalypse. now everyone has to deal with the fallout. 27k, hurt/comfort

you're beautiful (every little piece, love) by strawberryspence (@strawberryspence). for eleven, steve shaves his hair. 7k, hurt/comfort

Of Kings and Cult-Leaders by ladyofthenorthernlights. dustin convinces steve to host eddie's latest d&d campaign. 12k, hurt/comfort

It's Not a Big Deal by AidaRonan (@aidaronan). after S4, eddie survives, but his entire life is locked away in the Upside Down forever (his books, his DnD stuff, his guitar.). steve takes it upon himself to replace them. 12k, hurt/comfort

Percy Jackson

here comes the sun by seaweedbraens (@seaweedbraens). au where percy and annabeth are soulmates, and percy is a roman. 23k, hurt/comfort

if i were to pluck on your heartstrings and if i were to pluck on your heartstrings.by seaweedbraens (@seaweedbraens). a percabeth soulmate au told from two perspectives. annabeth knows who her soulmate is before percy knows his, and misunderstandings ensue. 45k, hurt/comfort

kiss me once 'cause you know i had a long night by herecomesthepun. no powers au where the PJO gang work together. "Annabeth is married, Percy is new and Jason is really trying to be a good friend here." 12k, comedy

Everything, And Then Some by palestinianpercy (@sar-soor). no powers au. percy is a wildlife photographer who ends up coming on his best friend's band tour to help them out while he looks for a new job and gets his life back on track. 127k, hurt/comfort

ends and beginnings series by palestinianpercy (@sar-soor). no powers au where percy and annabeth meet by chance, and while they know that what they have can't last forever, they can't resist each other. 146k, hurt/comfort

we made a lot of music dancing (you and i) by vll8586 (@percyheartsannabeth). au where percy and annabeth are dancers in a ballet company, and grow closer after being cast to perform a pas de deux together. 11k, fluff and romance

Not By Design by inkncoffee. Paul's journey from that guy dating Sally to being Percy's father. 11k, hurt/comfort

constellations by liketolaugh (@liketolaugh-writes). a series fic detailing the immense therapy percy goes through post PJO and post HoO. it's incredibly therapeutic to read. 310k+, hurt/comfort

Laying Waste To Halloween by pinspec (@pinspec). follows percy and annabeth through their childhood and teenage years. 127k, hurt/comfort

Not So Shore by bananannabeth (@bananannabeth). mortals meet percabeth au. 10k, slice of life

bring me home by pjoseries (divineauthor). percy jackson is twenty-six when hera takes his memories. alternate HoO AU. 4k, canon-divergent

is this the way to exit my youth? by afromaniiac (@afromaniiac). Percy gets a bottle of vodka for his birthday. He isn’t a fan. He and Annabeth talk about it. 1k, hurt/comfort

[ren-rambles-often]

"Love, or Something Ignites" might just be the best goyuu fic ever!!! let me explain!!! (Thoughts and Review)

Some quick context but cuz this review was already going to be pretty long without my flashback sequence so pls scroll down to the red text if you don't want to hear my history of opinions with JJK and its ships.

I've been deep in the goyuu tag since the beginning of the year, which I found kind of strange at first since I watched S1 way back in 2022 and did not give much of af about the whole show.

I kicked my feet a bit at SukuFushi,  tried to like it more, and even searched out a couple of fics but they just weren't giving AT ALL.

At the start of 2023 I watched jjk 0 and I was kinda hyped to get back into the show, but my shipping heart still ached for something to latch onto so I went on AO3 and picked up the first fic I found. Surprise, surprise, it was a goyuu fic featuring role reversal. I wouldn't say I liked it but it did tickle something in my brain I would have explored if I wasn't neck deep in my bakudeku era at the time.

Then S2 happened and it all just sorta clicked for me. Before then I'd mainly been a SukuIta believer, I didn't frequent their fics but I DID gobble up their twincest doujins like I was starved when I had the time. 2nd cour of S2 coming out practically sealed Goyuu for me, I'd always felt there was a bit of something I saw between them but Yuuji screaming out for Gojo in that last frame...just...*chef's kiss*

I didn't go back to rewatch S1 where a majority of their reactions were like some diehard fans would but the clips and screencaps I've come across now and again are enough to solidify for me that yes! They are made for each other!! (Hope the wrong stsg fans don't find this ◉‿◉)

I'd really love to go on and on about their dynamic but this was supposed to be about my February fic of the month, "Love, or Something Ignites" by lainebee.

Like I said, I've been deep in the tags and the only others I think that come close to this one are "No Sanctuary" by eddie01 and both world's sequels.

Now I'm not saying there aren't other good ones, like I'm just halfway through the hundred and something AO3 pages of their ship tag, so there's a lot I've yet to see. Still, this is a sorta subjective review and I just hope to spread the word of this masterpiece and maybe meet others who've read it so we can fan together in the comments.

(Now that's all out of the way, there will be mild spoilers and also warnings for; omegaverse, mpreg, and voyeurism so let's hop to it (✿^‿^)

The fic is set in a historical Japan au where Yuuji and Sukuna are brothers, with Sukuna being much older and ruling over a kingdom in the south. Thing is, he's constantly at war with the Gojo clan cuz these two mfs are just built like that in every verse. Shit happens and they come to a truce and as a sign of goodwill Sukuna offers Yuuji, his recently presented omega brother, as a gift (I honestly thought Yuuji was like 16 or 17 but he's 19 so like whatever idc (╥﹏╥)

"So what's the problem?" you might ask, well aside from the obvious marriage of convenience plot, Gojo doesn't give a fuck, he's still hung up on Geto (kinda tho, it's complicated but they aren't in love) and he's pretty much intended to go through it for show.

But that's not the end; not only do our boys have no feelings for each other and have never even met, but THING IS... Sukuna has demanded a public consummation cuz he's a bastard like that and we love him for it. Worry not there's no fucking on a stage for everyone to watch...just fucking in a 'room' for a handful of witnesses to watch from behind those dresser screen things (vocab not working lol).

The fic is definitely kinda long and tho there are some slow-burn vibes a lot of it essentially takes place in ONE FUCKING DAY. My first assumptions going into this were, "pacing issues???" and "oh the author is going to either insta love them, make them fuck and spend the rest of the fic doing fluff, or they will fuck with some angst then spend the rest falling in love."

Color me surprised when yeah, they did fuck but that was one or two chapters from the last of about nine.

You expect this kind of shit to feel rushed as fuck but the writing is so fucking divine that you never feel like putting it down. There's always so much going on but time is never wasted dwelling on one subject for too long, it's fast, it's funny, and the characters and setting are constantly giving the energy you know and love from the original show but probably two times better.

One of the things I noticed a few GoYuu writers struggle with is accurately reflecting Gojo cuz he's actually an enigma and arguably one of the most complex characters in the show with a broad range of emotions. He doesn't particularly fit one kind of vibe whereas for everyone else you can pick one or something close to it. Gojo on the other hand goes from one end of the spectrum to the other pretty quickly and that's super hard to capture and explore, especially when it comes to the shorter smutty fics (Not complaining too much tho, I live for the E rating.)

I love the direction the author chose to go with him, and it feels so true to his character, his immature but his teasing doesn't feel over the top or come off as exaggerated. His status as the strongest is just told but shown to us with the way he behaves and I like that we get instances of him getting work done despite knowing he's a rebel. It reminds us that yeah, he's working to make the clan the way he wants but he's just going along with what he has to in true Gojo fashion.

Yuuji, is totally something else, it's implied that he actually killed people...and I don't think we got a paragraph of him feeling guilt over it but that's somewhere toward the end so forget it. Yuuji is the absolute sweetest here and I adore every scene he's in along with how bratty he tends to be with Gojo. It's not frequent and most of the time he's pretty respectful but when he's not...Yeah. His inner thoughts and his conversations with most of the other characters really bring life to the story and you literally feel you're right there with him through it all.

Then there's the smut...oh. my. fucking. GOD. It's absolutely delicious. If you were iffy about it being omegaverse, I beg you to actually consider it cuz all probably more than four thousand words of it are fucking precious.

I had no idea I'd be into sex with some commentary when I began reading but the conversation from the characters picked was spot on and even added to the spicyness.

My favorite part is when Yuuji moans like a fucking pornstar and the zenin guy (forgot his disgusting ass name) goes "The boy is a whore."

Like boohoo bitch just say you wish you were getting all that, I wish I was (╥﹏╥)

If you're still iffy about the Omegaverse trust me it's not that big of a deal, the focus is mainly on Gojo and Yuuji trying to find some mutual ground to get on so the consummation isn't fucking awkward but by talking, joking, and getting to know each other something even more starts to blossom.

There are definitely traces of insta love but I personally see it as a weird mixture of attraction and possessiveness but this book is just like the prelude to the main course which is the second part in the series which I'm not done with yet but fucking hell...all the intrigue and tension that you will find in Love, or Something Ignites, gets doubled with more angst and mystery in the second fic, along with goyuu being stupid as well as stupidly in love.

So give it a try, and if you have, let me know what you think. I'd usually say where the tiny flaws are but for this book there are none...unless you count Yuta being Maki's mate instead of Rika's but that's my personal hill to die on. Let me know if there's a fic you want me to write about and I'll maybe get to it

Well, that's all from me today, it's 3 am and I'm fucking exhausted.

[conundrumoftime]

Collecting up my Celeborn fics!

People were being weird to me about Celeborn elsewhere once again (why, whyyyyyyyyy), and this reminded me I wanted to collect up all the stories I'd written about him, so! These are a collection of Silmarillion/LOTR and Rings of Power canon (but since we don't know much about him in that yet, my headcanon TROP Celeborn is the Doriathrin prince version of his many canon backgrounds).

Softest of Tongues (Silm-LOTR) - Galadriel/Celeborn, from the First Age to the Third, canon-compliant, tagged ‘Sapir-Whorf hypothesis as metaphor for pain at the heart of your marriage’. Silmarillion and LOTR.

Fair as the Sea and the Sun (LOTR) - Galadriel/Celeborn, Galadriel takes the Ring from Frodo.

All the kinds of alive you can be (TROP) - Sauron/Galadriel/Celeborn and all component ships thereof. What if Sauron shapechanged to look like Galadriel, wouldn’t that be fun :)

Say it like the sunrise when it’s talking to the fog (LOTR) - Celeborn/Glorfindel, Celeborn/Galadriel. Glorfindel has come back from the dead a little too bright.

Civil Twilight (TROP), Galadriel/Celeborn, Galadriel/Sauron - Galadriel and Celeborn reunion that goes somewhat poorly but gets better. Also Haladriel.

All that Glitters (TROP) - a story about where on earth he is in Rings of Power.

Rarer gifts than gold (Silm) - Celeborn/Annatar. Because I like the idea of one of Annatar’s gifts being to whisper the names of all the dead of Doriath when nobody else in Eregion dares mention it.

A Green Thought in a Green Shade (TROP) - Galadriel/Celeborn, another TROP reunion fic, playing around with the good old amnesia trope.

When all the leaves are gold (Silm) - Galadriel/Celeborn, Doriath is creepy and so are the Noldor.

So Wide a Sea (TROP and LOTR) - Galadriel/Sauron and Galadriel/Celeborn; Galadriel before her final ship departs.

To hold all the promise of blue-velvet dark (TROP) - Celeborn/Sauron and Celeborn/Galadriel, more Sauron shapechanging into Galadriel featuring half-Maia Amroth.

And a collection of TROP ficlets of Celeborn raising half-Maia Celebrían in the best Tolkien tradition of Dad Who Stepped Up, Celeborn/Galadriel and Galadriel/Sauron:

Suo Gân - Arda Sahta - As little might be thought.

Updating with more recent additions:

Brighten my northern sky (Silm) - Celeborn/Glorfindel, background Celeborn/Galadriel, customs in Doriath are different :)

I do not hope to bind the wind (LOTR) - Galadriel/Celeborn, a couple of moments in Third Age Lothlorien.

As certain dark things are loved (Silm) - Galadriel/Annatar/Celeborn, one summer in Ost-in-Edhil when Celebrimbor is away.

And there will come soft rains (TROP, but 4th Age) - Celeborn/Sauron, background Celeborn/Galadriel and Galadriel/Sauron. At some point during the 24352th Twitter ship war discourse I joked that if we're talking about endgame pairings it's Celeborn and Sauron who remain on Middle-earth at the end of LOTR - and then I thought "oh, hmmm, I bet I could write that..."

Lands far away (TROP) - Celeborn & Gandalf, background Celeborn/Galadriel - written during S2, using the idea that he is one of the Gaudrim and that's how he meets Gandalf.

Five places Celeborn hasn't spent the past eight hundred years (TROP) - Galadriel/Celeborn, Celeborn/Sauron - again written during s2, five different ficlets on five different fan theories about where he might be: 1) actually dead and sent back from Valinor, 2) he's Adar, 3) lost with amnesia (featuring single-dad-of-Amroth Celeborn as per one scribbled JRRT note), 4) Gaudrim, 5) just hanging out in a forest.

Always coming home the same castaway (TROP), Galadriel/Sauron/Celeborn, one-shot for a canon divergent post-s1 storyline in which Galadriel doesn't learn who Halbrand is.

The names of our wounds (TROP), post-s2 WIP - Galadriel/Sauron/Celeborn and all ship combinations therein.

[demiboydemon]

Link makes vanilla cinnamon scented sushi

Link Makes Vanilla Cinnamon Scented Sushi (California Rolls!) (and it's not bad tbh) is a smutty, comedic Miphzelink fic! It takes place post-Calamity in an au where Mipha lives. The title is honestly a little misleading, since it’s just a temporary title, but it’s a funny fic nonetheless. Here’s a clip:

Zelda sat down. “What did you make? It smells divine.”

“Sushi,” Link replied.

Mipha sat across from him, a puzzled look on her face. Zelda imagined she herself wore the same look. This smell was not sushi. It was vanilla-ey and cinnamon-ey, with a dash of some sort of citrus under it. “How?”

“Hmm?”

“How does sushi smell like this? Like a pastry.”

“Oh,” he pointed to a pot on the stove. “Read that if you boil different dyes, it smells like the dye’s ingredients.”

“Why not just boil the ingredients?”

“Didn’t think about it too hard. California roll?”

Zelda took a California roll, which was named after King California of Hyrule IV, from hundreds of years ago. The tale goes that he loved the dish so much, he demanded it be named after him. Before then, it was called a crab-cucumber-rice-seaweed-avocado roll. The name was a bit wordy, so not many people minded that it had been changed. Some of the older Zora still used the pre-King California IV name, but he wasn’t their king to begin with, and he was dead now, so he couldn’t do much about it.

He died doing what he loved; chasing his wife with a booger on his hand. He fell down the stairs and broke his neck, dying instantly, booger still in hand. He was not a very mature king, and not many people missed him. California rolls were served at the funeral.

His last will and testament stated that he wished to serve the California rolls from a plate in his corpse’s hands, but that was vetoed by the queen. She also ignored his wish to keep the booger in his hand during his burial. She had fallen out of love with him during their marriage for obvious reasons, and did not mind that he was dead. She remarried three months later to a man who never chased her with anything.

Zelda thought of how King California IV was such an awful king. It reminded her of all her duties as queen. She ran through her to do list in her head.

[celestie0]

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

in holy matriphony ch5. child's play

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. 5/x

ᰔ words. 4.8k

a/n. helloo my ihm friends! long time no see. hope you're all doing well and thank you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages about the whole ihm gojo ex wife thing haha. i really appreciate it :) i feel more confident about my writing decisions now, and that's all thanks to you guys! anyways, i will be posting shorter chapters for ihm going forward, so sorry if some chapters have slightly abrupt endings or stuff like that. i guess my goal is to post shorter chapters but more frequently! we'll see how it works out. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and see you at the bottom!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 (pending)

Ever since admitting your mother into hospice, things have been calmer inside your mind. After passing the initial wave of agony that came with no longer hearing her voice down the hall or seeing her silhouette in her bedroom as you walked past it, you realized that…a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. No longer setting alarms at the height of every other hour to remind your mother to take her medication, no longer viewing every interaction you had with her as some form of study you needed to jot down in a binder for her neurologist’s records, and no longer driving her to all of her chemotherapy appointments, only to leave them feeling like you purposefully just took your mother to a place where they sucked all the life out of her in exchange for the slim promise of giving it all back to her someday.

Maybe it was evident in the way your shoulders felt less tense as you rolled them back, tilting your neck to the side and no longer feeling the painful strain that tugs a wince onto your face. The other day, you caught yourself humming a song as you drove to work. Your skin, usually feeling cracked and dry from stress and exhaustion, now has a slight plumpness to it like before. A more youthful glow, like the version of yourself you were before your mother became sick. The version of you that so quickly deteriorated, and one you didn’t even know still existed somewhere within you. 

There has also been time for hobbies. Rarest of occasions, you find yourself sauteing some yellow and white peaches in a saucepan over medium heat in Gojo’s kitchen, humming that song once again that’s been stuck in your head. The sundress you’re wearing matches the pink of the syrup that pools at the bottom of the pan, and you feel like you’re living your cottage core dreams in this brief moment of reprieve you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.

The sound of slippers tapping down onto the hardwood floor startles you out of your gleeful trance, and you turn your neck to the right to see a pajama-clad messy-haired Gojo shuffling his feet across the open area into the kitchen with a dark black mug in his hand.

“Why aren’t you dressed??” you ask him in a panic.

“I’ll get dressed later,” he tells you dismissively as he grabs the glass pitcher of coffee from where the coffee machine was nestled up against one of the counter corners.

“You’re stressing me out. Your mom told us to be there in two hours,” you say, putting your hands on your hips in disapproval as you hear the sizzle of the peaches in the saucepan. 

He entirely ignores you, choosing to instead drag his gaze down the form of your body. “Woooow, twice this month I get to see you in a cute dress,” he comments, pouring coffee into his mug but his eyes are still on you, “lucky me.”

“Oh Shut. Up,” you sneer at him with a harsh roll of your eyes, “your fake flattery might work on the lonely middle-aged women you seduce to make a living, but it won’t work on me.”

His shoulders push back before he slumps them slightly, his brow lifting with confusion. “It’s not fake though? I mean it. You look really nice right now.”

You point an accusatory sugar-syrup coated wooden spatula at him. “You’ve just been conditioned by the patriarchy to get a boner at the sight of a woman in a kitchen.”

“What–...no–...why do you always have to say stuff like that whenever I compliment you? Can’t you just accept it?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be flattered by an insolent man like you.”

He sighs, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, and you watch the way the fringe of his hair hangs over his forehead as he gazes into the contents, swirling it around with a loose grip on the handle. “Is this how it’s going to be everyday? I try to be nice, and you–...well, you know, are you.”

“Well who else should I be?”

His eyes lift up to meet yours, the slightest of a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes wander down the form of you again. “I don’t know. Someone a little…softer? Like, you’ve got this really pretty dress on, and then you’re telling me off about patriarchy-induced boners. It’s a little, uh, contradictory?”

You gasp. “You’re trying to control me. I knew it. You are poisoned by the patriarchy.”

“What?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “You have this image of a perfect and cute little wife, who’s gonna wear pretty dresses all the time, and bake stuff in the kitchen, and get all blushy when you tell her she looks beautiful, and you expect her to have this soft little personality that never argues with you or disagrees with you…ALL BECAUSE OF THE PATRIARCHY!!!”

“...I–...Okay, you’ve lost me.”

You let out a hmph! noise. “Can’t even discern his own brainwashing. Sad.”

“All of this just because I tried to tell you that you look nice?”

“I know what your ulterior motives are, you creep.”

His eyes spark a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cheeky grin as he sets the coffee mug down onto the marble counter and he straightens his spine. You blink, watching with confusion as he crosses the distance between the two of you, to where you’re taking a small few steps backwards until your lower back presses against the edge of the island countertop. He cages you into the surface with his frame, followed by the palms of his hands sliding over the marble on both sides of you, and you feel his forearms press against the curve of your waist as he traps you in with no way out.

“S-Satoru,” you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice deeper with a nonchalance that has you shiver, his gaze dropping to your lips when you part them slightly.

“T-The patriar–” you squeak out, but he suddenly dips his head down to kiss you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes immediately closing when he moves his lips against yours, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him and your hesitation is something that only lasts a brief second before you find yourself kissing him back. Some noise leaves his throat, deep and raw and sounding pleasantly surprised as he captures your lips more fervidly now, his hands smoothing down to hold your hips and his teeth slightly nip at your bottom lip. 

You grab a fistful of his shirt, unsure of whether you want to pull him closer to you or push him away, but the moan that you mumble against his lips only makes his grip on your hips even stronger, fingers digging into the softness through the thin fabric of your dress. 

The oven suddenly starts beeping, startling you and you pull away from the kiss with a gasp, eyes rounded as you look up at him, but his are lidded and dilated as his gaze remains glued to your lips. 

With a heaving chest, you try to push him away by a weak fist to his sternum but he’s unrelenting.

“You taste sweet,” he says, like some comment he noted in his head but accidentally voiced out loud.

“I–...” you inhale sharply, “I just ate three macerated peaches.”

“Uh-huh,” he barely acknowledges before leaning in to get another taste, but you push him away harsher this time.

His hands let go of your hips entirely, finally breaking out of that kiss-induced trance he was in, but he still remains close to you in proximity, so much so to where you can feel the heat from his body. It’s comforting almost, radiating through the soft cotton of his long sleeve shirt, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him before you snap out of it too, and rock your weight back against the island countertop.

You cross your arms over your chest, hoping the flush to your cheeks isn’t showing. “Oh okay so we just casually kiss now?”

He shoves his hands into his plaid pajama pant pockets, leaning away from you slightly. “For as long as I can get away with it, yeah.”

“You are breaking the rules.”

“You never said no kissing.”

“I said no touching.”

“Ehhh kissing isn’t really touching, though, is it?”

“You sound stupid.”

“I always sound stupid to you.”

The oven starts beeping again, and you realize it’s long been preheated to the setting you had placed earlier. You slip away from him with haste, feeling his gaze on you as you press a button on the oven to turn the alarm off, and you stare at the handle for a moment or two to calm the beating of your heart down. 

Your eyes catch sight of something on the side of the fridge. A little magnet made of rubber that has the word London on it as well as the design of the Westminster Cathedral with golden accents. You recall that Gojo went on a trip to London recently, and that he didn’t bring you back any souvenirs from there like he did for your other neighbors. And you want to pretend, you want to shove it down, that incessantly childish feeling that wonders why he didn’t bring you anything back. You want to continue to pretend like it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Something so miniscule and small. But you–...well, you can’t.

You spin around to face him. “Do you hate me?” you bluntly ask.

He blinks at you. “Huh?”

“Do you, what, I don’t know, think I’m annoying or something?”

He shrugs with his hands still in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, I do think you’re annoying sometimes. But in a silly way. Like we’re just pals horsin’ around, y’know?”

You snarl at him, putting your hands on your hips and narrowing your gaze until he’s hardly even visible anymore. “No. I actually find you annoying. Like, wanna-run-you-over-with-a-bus annoying. You just have horrendous social awareness and think that everyone loves you.”

“You actually don’t like me?” he asks, like he can’t even believe that someone wouldn’t.

“Yes,” you say, “now get out of my way.” You make an attempt to push past him, purposefully knocking your shoulder into him to assert dominance but he is unfortunately much bigger than you and so all it does is make you stumble ungracefully from the recoil.

He quickly grabs your arm to steady you, and you glare up at him before yanking yourself away and then step backwards until your back hits the fridge.

He studies your demeanor for a second before taking a deep inhale, and then lets it all go in a heaving sigh. “What do I have to do to get you to lighten up a bit?” he asks.

“You really want to know?” you sneer at him.

“Yes,” he says with a slight hint of frustration in his tone.

You cross your arms. “Pay for the fucking fence.”

He blinks at you, confusion replacing whatever frustration was previously decorating his tone. “What?”

“The fence,” you reiterate with a step forwards towards him, “the one I built six months ago. The one where you laughed in my face when I told you to help pay for it.”

He leans forward. “Yeah. Because I never wanted that fence built. Like I said, it fucked up the roots on my avocado tree. You should’ve asked me before building it. In fact, it’s illegal to build a fence without joint consent of both neighboring property owne–”

“Oh my god, okay, see? This is why I can’t stand you,” you snarl at him and make another move to get past him but he easily steps in front of you to keep you from going anywhere.

With a sigh, he relents. “Fine, I’ll pay for the fence.”

You try to keep the twitching muscles of your face still as you resolutely stare up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Through a strained tone, you say, “No. I don’t want you to pay for it anymore.”

He lifts a brow, utterly bewildered at this point. “Huh?”

“Now it just feels like pity. And I don’t want your pity money.”

“Two seconds ago, you did.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. That was two seconds ago.”

“So…let me get this straight, you don’t want me to pitch in?”

“No. I want you to have wanted to pitch in SIX MONTHS AGO.”

“Okay but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that now?”

“NOTHING!!!” you finally snap at him, the shrill to your voice startling him slightly to where you see his shoulders jump, and his eyes are now rounded blue as he looks at you. “There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing you can do to get me to ‘lighten up’ or ‘act softer’ or whatever the fuck kind of damage control you aim to achieve with me due to your pestering incessant need to be liked by every fucking person you come across. So just deal with the fact that I hate you and let me do it in peace.”

He’s silent for what feels like a long time as he blinks at you, his bottom lip pushing up slightly in a way that suggests he’s almost impressed by your little outburst, then he takes a step forward, and in that one large stride, he’s closed any distance between the two of you. Your back is up against the frigid steel of the fridge, your heels tucked under the warm rubber at the foot of it, and you’re looking up at Gojo as he towers over you, his hands still annoyingly and relaxedly shoved into his pockets.

“Do you think it’s gonna be a problem that I think you’re kinda hot when you’re mad?” he asks you.

A small puff of air leaves your lips, like you just can’t believe the audacity, but also having him this close to you suddenly made it a little harder to breathe. “C–...Can you just be fucking serious for one second?”

His head dips down, the fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, tip of his nose slightly brushing against yours, but his gaze never falls to your lips. “You think I’m not being stupid fuckin’ serious when I say that you’re hot?”

“S–” your breath hitches in your throat, and his gaze finally falls to the lick you pass over your lips, “Satoru–”

Like God himself answered to your (cognitively dissonant) prayers, the bell rings, and Gojo leans himself away from you, straightening his spine so he can glance over his shoulder towards the door, a slight look of irritation on his face through the furrow of his brow.

You blink up at him. “A–...Are you expecting someone?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Don’t think so.” He sighs before shuffling around the kitchen island and across the dining hall towards the entryway of the house, and you peer at the sight from across the hall.

When he opens the door, you see Sana standing outside, dressed in mom jeans and a t-shirt with her black Coach purse slung around her shoulder, arms crossed, and you barely register the fact that she looks pissed.

“Sana?” Gojo says, “what’s up.”

She entirely ignores him when she catches sight of you, pushing right past him and into the family room that you were currently finding solace in.

“You,” she points at you, storming right up to your personal space, “what the hell did you say to Juno when you were babysitting her?!”

“H-Huh??” you squeak out, taking a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”

“You told her to fight kids at school?!” she snarls at you, and your eyes widen.

“What?” you say, your face twisting with confusion, “I–...I never said that. I just said that she should stand up for herself if she needs to.”

Sana inhales deeply with rage, leaning back and jutting her hip out as she crosses her arms again. “Yeah, well, I had to pick her up early from school today because the principal called and told me she shoved a little girl on the playground during recess, and now she’s facing suspension.”

Gojo approaches suddenly from your periphery, standing in front of you as he faces Sana. You stand on your tiptoes to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why would Juno do something like that?

You hear Sana start to tap her foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, and then she turns her head away from Gojo as a slight hmph! noise leaves her throat. “The why is irrelevant.”

You poke your head out from behind Gojo and glare at her, but then Gojo turns around suddenly to look at you.

“y/n,” he says, “what’s going on?”

“I–” you start, glancing at Sana again who now has a solemn look on her face with pursed lips. You glance back at Gojo, who’s looking at you with confusion and anticipation. A heat spreads down your neck from the attention of the both of them on you, and you’re not sure what the smart thing to say is, so you figure you’ll just tell the truth as it is. “...I just didn’t want her getting bullied and thinking she can’t stick up for herself.”

At that, you see Gojo’s shoulders stiffen. “Bullied?” he repeats after you, then quickly turns towards Sana, “what does she mean, bullied? Juno’s getting bullied at school?”

Sana faces him full-on, raising a stern pointed finger between the two of them “No. Satoru. Stop. You always do this. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t even start. It’s not a big deal, let’s not make it one.”

“The fuck do you mean it’s not a big deal? She’s getting bullied at school, and you want her to just suck it up?” he asks, venom dripping from his tone. 

“It’s for her benefit!” Sana exclaims. “Jun and I have spent months trying to get her into this school! We don’t want her getting kicked out.”

“Y’know, I’m–” you stutter, “I’m gonna–...I’m just gonna go upstairs,” you say, “this seems like a family matter. I think you guys should probably just settle this on your ow–”

“No,” Gojo says, pointing to the couch that you were standing in front of, “sit down.”

You sit.

Gojo turns to face Sana again, and although you can’t see his face, you imagine he’s pissed off from the way Sana’s shoulders drop slightly and her sharp expression is cut into a more sheepish one.

“Who cares if Juno is suspended for sticking up for herself? It’s the teachers’ fault for not making sure she’s safe,” he says.

“Shoving other kids is not the solution.”

“Well if you fuck around, then you find out. Kids are too soft these days.”

“This is not the 90s, Satoru.”

You watch the back and forth between the two of them for the better part of an entire minute, feeling uneasy in the hostile environment of the room, but there’s a sense of underlying familiarity between the two, one that is recognizable amongst family. And you feel rather foreign, but then remember that, technically speaking, now that you’re married to Gojo, this is your family too.

Amongst the arguing of the adults, none of you noticed that Juno had gotten out of the car in the driveway and was now standing in the doorframe of the front entrance. She looks scared and guilty, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, and you notice her scrapes and bruises that you tended to last week were now mostly healed. 

Gojo catches sight of her, and you see his shoulders relax. “Juno, c’mere.”

With the permission, she instantly runs towards him and into his arms from where he was crouched down to the floor in order to welcome her, and then she starts sobbing.

“I’m–hic,” she cries, “I’m so–hic–I’m so sowwyyy Uncle Toru…I’m–hic–I’m sorry mommyyyy.” 

You see Sana sigh and she makes a move to brush Juno’s tear-dampened hair out of her face when Gojo pulls her away from his shoulder by a delicate hold of her bony little shoulders.

“Juno. Listen. If people are being mean to you, then you do exactly as your auntie y/n said. You stand up for yourself. And if that doesn’t work, then you cuss at them and threaten to shove their faces into the dirt until they run away with their tails between their legs. Do you understand me?” Gojo tells her.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“Oh, I–” you put your hands up in front of you, “I didn’t say any of that last part.”

“Do you understand me?” Gojo repeats again, and Juno nods her head slowly before she falls back into him and soaks his shirt with tears. “I’m soowwwwwyyyyyy.”

Gojo pats her back a few times to comfort her, and your heart breaks for the little girl. It’s bad enough to be bullied at school, but then to be reprimanded by your mother the one time you stand up for yourself…you can imagine how emotionally exhausting that would be for a five-year-old. 

Juno sniffles, rubbing her snot all over the cotton of Gojo’s shirt, and then pulls her face away to rub at her eye with a weakly closed fist. “I–hic–I just…I just wanted him to feel–hic–the same hurt.”

“Huh? Who?” Gojo asks.

“The boy,” Juno says, “the one that shoved me today.”

“It was a boy?!?!?!” Gojo yells. “Alright. That’s it. I’m grabbing my bat.”

“Satoru.” Sana deadpans.

Sana and Gojo continue to bicker about the ethics of threatening five-year-old boys with baseball bats, going back and forth about how Gojo wasn’t actually going to do anything but just wanted to instill fear (he’s lying), while Sana isn’t exactly sold on a single pacifist thing that he says, and you sigh, because you realize you’ve become invested in one of, what you feel like will become many, of their family quarrels.

Juno sneaks around Gojo’s legs and comes up to you while the arguing is taking place in the background, and she gently taps your knee as you’re seated on the couch. “Auntie y/n,” she whispers.

You rub an eye crustie from her face and then hold her hand in yours. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Mm? For what?”

She smiles at you, her cheeks pink and flush from crying but rounded now in glee. “My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Why wouldn’t Sana and Jun be on normal talking terms? What does Juno mean that it’s been a long time? What exactly was going on at home?

“Juno,” Sana’s voice interrupts your thoughts, her arms crossed across her chest, “c’mon. Let’s go.” She points a stern finger at Gojo. “Seriously. I mean it. No baseball bats or rodent traps involved. I’ll talk to the teachers and sort something out.” She glances at you, that strict look on her face now dissolving into one of pure exhaustion. One you can imagine only a mother can face. “See you later at dinner, you two.”

Juno runs up to her mom and grabs onto her outreached hand, and you see Gojo ruffle her hair as she walks past him, her giggles ringing in the air, and then he sees them out the door. 

The air is awkward, at least to you, the second he closes the door, and when he turns around to face you, your body stiffens up.

He leans back onto the front door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks,” he says, “for telling Juno to stick up for herself.”

You blink at him. “Well. I don’t feel too great about it at the moment, to be honest.”

He sighs. “I just think that Jun and Sana are raising her to be…kinda meek. I wish they’d teach her to be more confident and take up space.”

“Mhm,” you nod. Because you agree. Little girls need to learn how to be that way at a young age, because the world is seldom very kind to them.

“Well, what you said to her is what I would’ve said to her anyways,” he says.

You roll your eyes, standing up from the couch and heading back into the kitchen to presume your work on your peach cobbler. “I never told her to shove kids’ faces into the dirt. But, uh, sure, I guess so.”

You see Gojo enter the kitchen too in your periphery, but you don’t give him any glance or look or attention. From what you can see as you stir around your macerated peaches in a Pyrex bowl, he’s leaning against the island counter about three feet away from you, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching you. A slight warmth radiates in your cheeks, but you attempt to ignore the nerves by being hypnotized by the pink syrup that pools at the bottom of the bowl.

My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.

An unsettling feeling takes over your senses. It could be the past few years you’ve spent walking on eggshells around your mother, or the way you’ve become so keen to her energy as a way of staying on top of any shift in her symptoms, any single sign of disease progression, any clue that she wasn’t getting better. Any clue that she wasn’t doing okay. And you feel a sense of dread, because that skill, you realize, has now made you aware of similar circumstances in the people around you.

Not to mention, you are a child of divorce. You know what that fear feels like.

You just want to know if Juno feels safe at home.

“Hey, um…” you start, turning slightly to finally face Gojo, your eyes hesitantly flickering up to meet his gaze, “when was the last time you saw your brother-in-law? And with Sana?”

He raises a brow at you. “I just saw them last weekend for one of Juno’s dance recitals.”

“Ah…I see,” you say. You purse your lips together. 

Right. Kids say things all the time. They believe in Santa Claus and think that blueberry pancakes are called blubbery pancakes. And they sometimes read too into things, and they sometimes read too little. Surely, things must be okay. Maybe Sana and Jun had had a little argument with some stubbornly thawing cold shoulders, a demeanor that was noticed by their child, and now things have resumed to normal. That was normal. Part of every family. “That’s good to know…” 

You turn away from Gojo to stare back down into the bowl of macerated peaches again. With a furrowed brow, you close your eyes tightly to try to shake the chilly feeling in your bones, and you feel better when you open them again. The slightly numb sensation in your hand dissipates and you have enough dexterity to mix the peaches around in the bowl.

“I wonder what news they want to share with us over dinner,” you say, to quell the awkward silence.

“Hm?” Gojo hums, and you see him turn around face the counter now, hovering over the bowl of raw crumble topping you had mixed together, prodding at it with the wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re moving.”

Your head snaps to look at him. “W-What?”

“Yeah,” he nonchalantly affirms, scooping up a spoonful of the crumble. “They wanted to up-size, and move a little closer to the school that Juno’s at. I found them a nice place about an hour from here on the outskirts of the city. They just signed the papers a couple weeks ago.” And then he shoves the spoon into his mouth.

“Oh…wow,” you say. “Okay…”

“Damn,” Gojo says with surprise laced in his tone, "this is really good.” He’s staring into the bowl in awe and then scoops up some more crumble with a spoon.

You blink at him, irritated that he’s eating all your ingredients without even asking, and before you’ve even finished your dessert. It’s like he was born to piss you off.

You walk up to him and yank the bowl away, “Gimme that.” Then you pull it into the divot of your waist possessively and glare at him. 

He sighs, and then says something out loud that you’re sure he meant to keep in his head:

“I’ll get used to it.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. it feels so strange to post such a short chapter bahaha hopefully the ending isn't too abrupt. but hope you enjoyed! i'm so sorry ab the slow burn in this series aaa but i can try to assure you that it'll all be worth it hopefully lol i'm really excited for what i have planned for this series!! alsooo sorry if there are errors or anything, i'm trying to spend less time editing since it really stalls me n leads to writer's block lol. hope to see you in the next one :) much love! - ellie

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[agonycrossbow]

Ok about multi shipping, not the same anon but here's the thing (not really about Leon but more any characters in general)

say you had a character in the story that overlaps with two significant relationships that don't go away or fall apart like luis or krauser, just these two characters one was longer in the A characters life while the other is relatively newer but the bond still forms yet neither makes it less insignificant

would you still be able to ship them? even if either one comes to be fruitless at the end? cuz I've seen this be an issue for people in various spaces

Yeah. I don't see why not. When I was in The Evil Within fandom, I shipped Joseph with both Sebastian and Kidman. I ship Chris with both Jill and Leon.

And what it really comes down to is that shipping is just a "what if" scenario anyway. "What if Character X was put in a position where their relationship with Character Y turned romantic and/or sexual?" That's all shipping is.

It doesn't make the relationship with the other character less significant. It just makes it not romantic or sexual. And to see it any other way sort of implies a mindset that romantic relationships are the only ones that really matter -- or are somehow more significant than friendships -- and that's a load of fucking bullshit. You gotta purge yourself of that mentality, if that's how you're looking at things.

When I was focusing on Joseph and Kidman as a romantic ship, Sebastian was still the single most important person in Joseph's life. Whatever romance he was having with Kidman didn't negate the fact that Sebastian is his best friend, and Joseph would kill and die for him. That relationship and that love doesn't go away just because Joseph's fucking Kidman and she makes his kokoro go dokidoki. You don't give up your friends when you get a girlfriend. You just... have a girlfriend.

it's the same with Chreon vs Valenfield vs Jilleon. If Chris and Leon end up fucking, that doesn't take away from the fact that Jill is Chris's best friend, and he would run into a burning building and punch god in the face for her if he had to. (No, I don't know why god would be in a burning building -- just go with it ok.) If Jill and Leon end up fucking, Chris is still the single most important person in either of their lives. If Chris and Jill end up together, Chris's enormous impact on Leon's life isn't lessened, and their friendship doesn't go away.

But what I will say is that I don't ship characters that are in established, monogamous relationships. I don't ship Goku with anyone other than ChiChi. I don't ship Vegeta with anyone other than Bulma. It doesn't make sense in my head for me to do that, because the canon is establishing that "THIS THING IS HAPPENING ALREADY" and to ship those two with anyone other than their wives feels out of character to me.

But in the case of Joseph and Sebastian -- Sebastian's wife had been missing for two years already by the start of the game. Sure, he's still married, technically, but he's basically a widower at that point. It's not consistent and ongoing like, say, Goku's marriage with ChiChi.

To use another example, in FF13, Snow and Serah are engaged to be married. They're in love. And then she dies. And she's dead for five hundred years. And Snow never stops loving her. But she's fucking dead. And canon establishes that, in his grief, he's hosting fucking sex parties at his giant palace that take place every single night -- and has been doing that for at least 200 years. And so I wrote a fic set during that time period where he fucks Serah's sister -- because, even though he's still in love with Serah, it's still in character for him to do something like that.

And that's just sort of how I approach ships. "Would this still reasonably be in character for this to happen?"

[mister-tom-a-dildo-lover]

What are your thoughts on the Harrymort/Tomarry fics where either Voldemort raises Harry or Harry goes back in time and raises Tom?

I like them because the intent is never what we all know is gonna happen, but it's interesting to watch happen anyway. And the flavor Tomarry/Harrymort give it is nice. Like, I got into Scum Villain Self-Saving System last year, and have contemplated doing a Tomarry AU of it btw, and the whole idea makes me cackle.

Millennial transmigrates into this crappy novel he loves to hate(yet paid to read every single chapter upon release) where he awakens to find himself as the villain who tortured the protagonist(his student of several years) out of jealousy due to his natural aptitude in Cultivation, and was horribly racist to him later on when it's revealed he's a demon, and was potentially a pedophile to his students(could be a mistranslation, who knows?). And our guy hates this dude and loves the MC(gay crush he refuses to acknowledge btw) and dreads having to be the villain. He plans to be nice to the MC, but there is a game system in his head forcing him to follow the plot of the original story, which will end in his graphic murder if he does as he's told and treats the MC badly.

So he's fighting to remain In-Character until he gets enough points to unlock OOC Mode, but he still doesn't want to be the villain, so when he gets to that point, he starts being a lot nicer to the MC. And the MC... then 14, becomes obsessed.

Dude is able to skirt around the actions of the real villain by making people think it was just training and lessons he was attempting to teach them. And things improve. His reputation improves. The MC's life gradually improves until the guy who used to insult him takes what could have been a fatal blow for him, and now he's practically in love.

The readers can tell the MC has a big crush on his teacher and does everything he can to be with him at all times. But our Millennial who knows the original story, just thinks the MC is being his usual protag self and everything is as it should be. He'll get his hundreds of wives and concubines some day and be the emperor of the three realms and life will be as it should. And if his plans go well, he'll actually be alive at the end and off minding his own business.

Meanwhile, having no clue his student is planning their marriage in secret. And you can't help but support this poor kid's bad attempts as wooing.

The story gets really fucked up from there and there are many, many lows compared to the highs. But it's all resolved in the end, with our dude being shooketh to find out his student doesn't want to kill him. Actually loves him. Wants to do very naughty things to his body. Potentially already did some when his original borrowed body was dead for a time(might be a mistranslation, who knows?).

And I realized that I like the story despite the very obvious power imbalance for each half of it. Once the MC comes into his own, the power drastically shifts the other way as he is, by canon terms, the most powerful being in the story-universe and the biggest threat around. So yeah, Reluctant-Villain having the power as the teacher is a bit off-putting, but he's so dense to his own feelings about the MC that it's just funny and you end up rooting for the MC to woo his teacher and make him stop unconsciously playing gay chicken.

Personally, I prefer the fics where the relationship happens unintentionally on behalf of the adult character cuz it feels less predatory that way. But I also just really don't care about people's preferred kinks in general. So any iteration of this type of story is just fine cuz it's fiction and isn't real and I got better things to spend my time on.

The idea is always interesting tho, cuz I want to know how they get to that point in the first place.

[jadevalentine-writes]

WIP Wednesday - LoZ Pre-BOTW Fic

Welp. RIP me. I lost the battle to the LoZ/Zelink blupees.

Zelda remembered the day that Link returned from the Great Hyrule Forest with the legendary sword clearly. It was difficult to forget a day that altered the trajectory of your life forever, though she did try. Now, she wished she could recall how Link felt as he knelt before her and her father and presented them with the blade to banish evil. She wished she would have asked. 

Then, all she felt was her own unbridled rage. 

Rage at the circumstances, rage at her own inadequacy which was thrown into stark relief with Link’s triumphant return. She remembered clenching her hands tightly in the folds of her dress to keep them from shaking. She remembered biting her tongue to keep from screaming as she watched the greatest swordsman in Hyrule, her bodyguard, of all people, unsheath the majestic blade with a flourish and then offer it on his palms to her father. 

She remembered wishing he would have died in the woods like the dozen others that tried to find it. 

It was all so unfair. 

Three days prior, Zelda thought nothing of Link joining the search. 

King Rhoam had sent out a rally cry across Hyrule, asking the best and bravest adventurers to gather at the castle for a quest unparalleled in their lifetime: the search for the legendary Master Sword. It was all a precaution, he explained, against an impending doom they would likely never encounter. If anything, he saw it was a way to unify the people. A bonding quest to unite the kingdom. He never anticipated the large turnout, but then again, King Rhoam did not know his people, not the way Zelda did. 

They were not clinging to hope and rumor like the King. They were taking a chance for potential riches untold. She heard rumors from stablehands and maids that some contestants even surmised they could win Zelda’s hand in marriage if they returned with the sword, paying no heed to her only seventeen years of age or the blatant fact that she had better things to do than get married, especially to a chicken farmer from the central plains. 

Regardless of the reason, hundreds poured through the gates and set up camp, literally, in Castle Town. Inns were overbooked and tents were pitched along the castle walls. It was utter chaos, but King Rhoam smiled with delight at the sight from one of the castle balconies. 

“More eyes means a higher chance of finding the sword we need,” he had commented when Zelda joined him on the balcony a day before the search was to begin. He gestured to the tents bordering the walls of the town. “There will be many eyes.”

“And how many eyes have a chance of surviving?” Zelda asked as she gazed down to the crowded town far below. “The lore is vague, at best, and mythical items are seldom within easy reach.” 

King Rhoam sighed. “There will be loss, of course, but nothing compared to the loss this kingdom will endure should Calamity strike when we are unarmed.” 

Zelda squeezed her hands together as she glanced at one of the inner courtyards where a partially functional Guardian sat. They would not be unarmed, regardless of having a single special sword, if she could dedicate the time to more technological research. She did not speak, however, as she knew her words would not be heard. They had the argument too many times before. Research and experimentation were no place for a princess who was meant to save the kingdom. 

Yet each day that slipped by was one day more without her unlocking her supposed powers and every hour she “wasted” was noted by the king’s steel gaze. Zelda hoped her lack of success was because the foretold Calamity would skip her generation, and that her unfortunate offspring would have to bear the burden. 

Wisdom told her otherwise, of course. The issue was not with lineage or timing, it was with her. She was the failure, the weak link in her family’s history. She would be the cause of Hyrule’s downfall, the cause of death and plague and strife. And there was nothing she could do as it hurtled towards her. 

It was selfish to pray to the Goddess for the Master Sword to never be found, but she did anyway that night. She begged and pleaded for it to stay lost, because then at least she could be at peace with her supposed insufficiency. 

Zelda learned, however, that the Goddess could be cruel.

***

On the day of the start of the hunt, Zelda was surprised to not find Link outside her bedroom door as usual. She eyed the unfamiliar guard with barely concealed hostility. 

“Where is my guard?” she asked firmly. 

The man swallowed, and his armor rattled as he shifted his grip on his halberd. 

“I am your guard today, your highness.”

Zelda rolled her eyes and made a mental note to add a mental aptitude test to the royal guard entry exam in the future. 

“I can see that, but you are not my bodyguard. Where is Link?”

The man swallowed again, and the halberd swayed nervously. 

“Link is participating in the quest for the Master Sword, your highness. He and many of the knights are participating.” 

Zelda was moving before he had taken a step, her full ceremonial dress be damned. 

She found King Rhoam alone in their private dining hall and did not spare him her fury.

“Link is participating in the quest?!” Zelda cried as she stomped towards him.

King Rhoam sighed and gently set his teacup down on its saucer. “Yes. Why shouldn’t he? He’s the most competent weaponsman in the entire royal guard, let alone the best knight I’ve seen in my lifetime. All factors which played a large role in choosing him to be your bodyguard, mind you.”

Zelda almost let out a growl of frustration, but a subtle clank in the corner drew her attention. She stopped, at once feeling childish at her outburst as she realized who else was in attendance. 

Of course the king would not be anywhere without his bodyguard. And of course his bodyguard was Micah, captain of the guard, and father to the very subject of her rage. 

“Micah…” she breathed. “I am sorry.”

Micah waved a gloved hand and shook his head. 

“No need, princess. I am quite proud of the boy. He would also be proud that his absence at your side is so fiercely missed.”

Micah smiled, but instead of calming her as it usually did, Zelda felt her face heat unexpectedly. 

“Worry not,” Micah continued as the guard from outside Zelda’s room finally entered, nearly doubled over with shortness of breath, “I’ll be sure to assign the best runner-up to be your guard in the meantime.”

Zelda stood straighter and smoothed her skirts gently while avoiding her father’s glare. 

“Please see that you do.” 

She then turned on her heel and left without breakfast, an already weary guard and her father’s disapproval at her back. 

***

Then, she stood in stony silence as her father delivered a speech she could not recall to bolster the spirits of the brave men and few women who were embarking on the perilous quest. 

Now, she remembered how she desperately searched the crowd, trying to find his face. 

***

The first participants gave up in a matter of hours. They returned to Castle Town, defeated, to retrieve their bedrolls and head home. They made comments of a steep climb and a winding path into a wood that felt unwelcoming. 

***

The next day found a large swath of contestants returning, also unsuccessful, but more rattled. They spoke of an oppressive fog, of wandering for hours only to wind up back where they started, of whispers from spirits that could not be seen, but were felt, like warm breath on your cheek. Some were examined psychologically, and after being given a sedative and resting, seemed normal enough to be released by the royal infirmary. 

***

That night there were screams as the first dead were found.

They were ferried on stretchers, or what was left of them was. 

Some claimed it was wolves, having come down from the mountains. Others said they had turned on each other in madness. 

Those that believed in more than prophecy knew the marks for what they were: the tooth and claw of monsters, monsters that the world had not seen in hundreds of years. 

***

The second day was filled with silence. 

The silence of defeat. The silence of funeral.