#windows in Ft Worth
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
https://statewideenergysolutions.com/windows/
vinyl windows Ft. Worth TX
Statewide Energy Solutions sets the standard for unmatched quality in vinyl windows for Ft. Worth, TX. Our windows combine style, durability, and energy efficiency, providing a lasting and impactful addition to your home. Elevate your Ft. Worth residence with Statewide Energy Solutions.
0 notes
Text
NA JAEMIN FIC REC LIST
s, smut | f, fluff | a, angst
This list is a compilation of some of my fave jaemin ff <3
after you [ fuckboy!jaemin x fem!reader ] s,f,a
cat & mouse [ na jaemin x jaehyun's sister!reader ] s,f
cherry girl! [ twitch streamer!jaemin x fem!reader ] s,f
talk to my skin [ friends with benefits au ] s
unforgettable [ bassist!jaemin x fem!reader ] s,a
by the window [ voyeurism, neighbor au ] s
strawberry cough , (pt.2) sour tangie [ plug!jaemin x fem!reader] s,f,a
on the rebound [ shooting guard!jaemin x fem!reader, college au] s,f,a
subtle [ established relationship, summer vacation au ] s,f
besties (gone sexual) [ best friends to lovers ] s,f,a
upon your invitation [friend!jaemin x fem!reader, ft. nct dream, vacation au ] s,f
rock me [ fuckboy!jaemin x hairstylist!reader ] s,f,a
backseat chronicles [ streetracer!jaemin x fem!reader ] s,f,a
persimmon problems [ fratboy!jaemin x fem!reader ] f,a
veni, vidi, vici [ popular!jaemin x mark's sister!reader ] s,f
blur. [ exboyfriend's bestfriend!jaemin x fem!reader ] s
two nights, one you [fuckboy!jaemin, one night stand au] s,f
the walls are thin [ roommate!jaemin x fem!reader x roommate!jeno ] s
hush. [jaemin,haechan, jeno x fem!reader ] s
that '90's show [actor!jaemin x pa fem!reader ] s,f,a
pretty girl. [ alpha!jaemin x fem!reader ] s,f
thin walls. [ roommate!jaemin x fem!reader ] s
cookie jar [ stepbrother!jaemin x fem!reader x stepbrother!jeno ] s
one of a kind [strangers to lovers au ] s,f,a
go there with you [ roommate!jaemin x fem!reader ] s
34+35 [ established relationship ] s
parents are home [ secret freak!jaemin ? ] s
memories bring back you [ ex!jaemin x fem!reader ] s
into you [ friends to lovers au ] s,f
what she doesn't know [ mom's boyfriend!jaemin x fem!reader] s
worth it. [ first sleepover au ] s,f
quiet down [ established relationship, semi-exhibitionism ] s
#nct dream#nct smut#nct#nct u#nct x reader#nct hard thoughts#na jaemin#jaemin#nct jaemin#nct na jaemin#nct dream jaemin#nct dream smut#nct jaemin smut#jaemin na#jaemin smut#jaemin x reader#jaemin fluff#jaemin imagines#jaemin angst#na jaemin x reader#na jaemin smut#na jaemin imagines#na jaemin scenarios#na jaemin fluff#nct hard hours#nct scenarios#jaemin x you#jaemin x y/n#nct fic#nct fic recs
8K notes
·
View notes
Text
I'M SO STUPID IN LOVE!
·˚ ༘ ꒱ summary lovey-dovey things they'd do for you!
·˚ ༘ ꒱ characters isagi yoichi , bachira meguru , itoshi rin , nagi seishiro , mikage reo , chigiri hyoma , hiori yo , shidou ryusei , itoshi sae , michael kaiser , alexis ness .
·˚ ༘ ꒱ warning lowercase intended
·˚ ༘ ꒱ song inspo stupid in love - max ( ft. huh yunjin of lsrfm )
·˚ ༘ ꒱ isagi yoichi
you know how isagi’s brain is basically soccer, soccer, soccer? well, this man rewires his ENTIRE system for you. suddenly, every time he scores a goal, he dedicates it to you. like, mid-celebration he’s shouting your name in front of thousands of people. embarrassing? a lil. cute? definitely.
he’s also the type to leave you notes everywhere. you’ll open your locker, and boom: "i hope your day is as perfect as your smile. also, pls drink water. - yoichi 🩵"
or you’ll find random sticky notes around the house with stuff like: "you're cuter than my dog. and that’s saying a lot." ( i hc he's a dog person, fight me 🫠 )
"yoichi, did you seriously compare me to your dog again?"
"is that bad?? you’re both my top priorities!"
·˚ ༘ ꒱ bachira meguru
bachira is a walking ball of chaos, and it only gets worse when he’s in love. he makes you weird handmade crafts—like a necklace with your initials carved into a random rock he found because “the vibes were immaculate.”
he’s also the king of grand gestures. once, he showed up outside your window in the middle of the night blasting your favorite song from a boombox. and no, he didn’t think it through—he got yelled at by your neighbors, but he swears it was worth it.
"meguru, why is there a rock with my name on it?"
"because i love you. duh."
"…you couldn’t just buy a necklace??"
"where’s the FUN in that?? D:< "
·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi rin
soft tsundere energy incoming. rin doesn’t say much, but when he’s in love, he SHOWS it. like, he’ll memorize your coffee order, your favorite book, and the exact way you like your hoodie sleeves rolled up. you swear he’s psychic, but he’s just that attentive.
he also sends you texts at random times:
"don’t forget your umbrella. it’s going to rain."
"i noticed you like this song. added it to my playlist."
you’re 99% sure his search history is “how to take care of someone without being obvious.”
"rin, did you... did you learn how to make my favorite food?"
"shut up and eat it."
"you’re so sweet it’s disgusting."
"i said shut up."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ nagi seishiro
nagi’s love language? pure, lazy dedication. he may not seem like the romantic type, but trust me—he will move mountains for you... as long as it doesn’t require getting up too much.
once, he spent HOURS figuring out how to build you a playlist of all your favorite songs, complete with a cover photo of you two. he even labeled it: "for my player 2 🕹️"
"sei, this playlist is amazing!"
"mm, yeah, it was exhausting. now can we nap?"
"you literally just sat there and clicked buttons."
"exactly. so tiring.."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ mikage reo
reo goes all out for you—no budget, no limits, no second thoughts. one time, you mentioned how pretty cherry blossoms are, and the next thing you know, he’s flying you to a festival in japan. casually might i add.
but the sweetest part? he remembers the little things. your favorite snack? stocked in his pantry. your favorite flower? delivered to your doorstep every friday. he spoils you rotten but somehow makes it feel like the most natural thing in the world.
"reo, this is too much—"
"no, it’s not. nothing’s too much for you."
"you’re literally insane."
"only for you, babe."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ chigiri hyoma
chigiri is the definition of 💌romantic aesthetic💌. he writes you poetry and leaves it in random places, like your bag or your coat pocket. sometimes, you don’t even notice until hours later.
he also takes you on dreamy dates—picnics in scenic fields, long bike rides at sunset, and slow dances in your living room when it’s raining outside. everything he does feels like it’s straight out of a romance movie.
"hyoma, did you just quote a shakespeare sonnet to me?"
"maybe."
"oh my god, you’re so dramatic."
"and yet you’re still here."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ hiori yo
hiori is the sweetest, softest boy in love. he keeps a journal where he writes down all the little things you do that make him happy. once, you caught him scribbling, and he turned BRIGHT red.
he’s also the king of quiet acts of service. your phone’s always fully charged, your favorite snacks magically appear in your bag, and you never have to ask for help because he’s already two steps ahead.
"yo, were you writing about me again?"
"no... maybe. okay, yes."
"you’re adorable."
"please don’t look."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ shidou ryusei
oh boy. shidou is CHAOTIC in love. this man would probably fight a wild animal to impress you. he’s all about making you laugh, even if it means doing the dumbest stunts imaginable.
one time, he literally climbed a tree to get you a flower. it wasn’t even a nice flower. but hey, it’s the thought that counts.
"ryu, you’re bleeding. what did you do??"
"got you this flower. cool, huh?"
"you FELL OUT OF A TREE FOR THIS??"
"worth it."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi sae
sae is the definition of quiet but deadly romantic. he doesn’t show his feelings often, but when he does? damn. like, he’ll casually fly in from another country just to spend the weekend with you because “it’s no big deal.”
he also sends you fancy gifts out of nowhere. but if you call him out, he’ll play it cool like it’s nothing.
"sae, did you just buy me an entire designer collection?"
"it’s just clothes."
"just clothes?? this cost more than my rent!"
"and you look better than rent."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ michael kaiser
kaiser loves showing off, especially when it comes to you. he’ll buy out a billboard just to plaster your picture on it with the words "the love of my life 🩵."
but he’s also surprisingly sweet. like, he’ll carry your bag, fix your hair when it’s windy, or randomly pull you into a dance in the middle of the street just because he can.
"michael, did you seriously put my face on a billboard??"
"obviously. everyone needs to know you’re mine."
"you’re ridiculous."
"ridiculously in love with you, yes."
·˚ ༘ ꒱ alexis ness
ness is a total softie. he writes you little love letters and leaves them in your mailbox, signed with his initials like he’s a secret admirer. you obviously know it’s him, but you let him think he’s being sneaky.
he’s also BIG on cuddles. whenever he sees you, it’s like he can’t function until he gets a hug.
"ness, you know i know it’s you, right?"
"…you’re supposed to pretend you don’t!"
"why?"
"because it’s romantic!"
© txrully
do not copy/translate/plagiarize/repost my works in any way. ( i will find you 😶🌫️ )
likes + reblogs appreciated ‹𝟹
#isagi x reader#isagi yoichi#bachira x reader#bachira meguru#rin itoshi x reader#itoshi rin x reader#rin itoshi#seishiro nagi x reader#nagi x reader#nagi seishiro x reader#reo x reader#reo mikage x reader#chigiri x reader#hyoma chigiri#hiori x reader#hiori yo#shidou x reader#shidou ryusei#itoshi sae#sae x reader#michael kaiser#kaiser x reader#alexis ness#ness x reader#🩷⸝⸝ ʙʟʟᴋ ᴛʀᴇᴇ
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]
in holy matriphony ch6. the in-laws
ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)
ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.
ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s
ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!
ᰔ chapter. 6/x
ᰔ words. 12.6k
a/n. hiii my ihm lovelies!! hope you all had a great holiday season. i wanted to get this chapter out as a christmas gift but i failed and then i wanted to get it out as a new years post but failed and then i got food poisoning yesterday and while i was rotting in bed i ended up finishing the chapter LOL. it seems i can only write when i'm under duress? but anywho. hope you enjoy haha and see you at the bottom!
nav. masterlist
“Alright, let’s head out,” you hear Gojo say from the bottom of the staircase, followed by the sound of dress shoes on the hardwood floor, and you glance over to see him clad in a navy suit with a white button up shirt that had one singular button undone. He’s messing with the cuffs of his suit jacket as he makes his way over to you. You catch the scent of his cologne, and it’s alarming how familiar it’s become to you.
Days go by shorter lately, mainly because it’s winter, and so the sun has almost fully set by 6pm. The sky outside is a dark hue of purple, seen past the windows of Gojo’s house, and the warm, dim lighting inside makes you feel strangely nostalgic. Like in a way that feels like home.
You tirelessly tousle with your hair at the mirror hanging above the foyer table that was snug up against the wall at the front entrance. Your hair wasn’t cooperating. You attempted to curl it, for the first time in forever given you can’t remember the last time you had enough time to do your hair, so you were out of practice. It was obvious, given the way some strands were curled outwards from your face, some inwards, some straighter than others, some curlier than others, and you were about to have a full blown mental breakdown before you remember your grounding exercises– 1, 2, 3, 4.
You turn to face Gojo, who you saw in the mirror was standing behind you and watching you with amusement, and you breathe in deep. “How do I look?” you ask, petting down the fabric of your dress as you face him. The thought occurs to you–why do you give so much of a fuck how you look right now? It’s just Gojo’s family. It’s not like they’re actually your in-laws. And from what Gojo’s mother had told you, it was just an intimate little get-together with Sana’s family. It’s really not a big deal. Yet the necessity to impress still consumes you.
Gojo threads his hands into the pockets of his pants and tilts his head to assess your appearance, and you watch his gaze trace the frame of you. “Nice,” he says, “you look nice.”
“That’s it? Just nice?”
“Well, I tried to call you hot earlier, but it got me yelled at.”
You roll your eyes and grab your purse off the foyer table, “okay, whatever, I’ll take it.” And then you head towards the front door. You hear the jingle of car keys from behind you as they’re shoved into a pocket.
The outside air is chilly in a way that’s almost sobering. Gojo opens the door for you to get inside his car and the warmth of your peach cobbler in your lap comforts some of the nerves you felt. By the time Gojo clicks his seatbelt into place in the driver seat, you realize you’ve never been in his car before, or driven anywhere by him before.
The interior smells of pine and something more familiar too, with sleek leather seats that are so comfortable they make you feel like you’re floating. You know it’s a Benz, you’re just not sure what year or model, and you’d usually ask most people out of a friendly curiosity, but for some reason your pride always got the best of you when it came to him.
“I seriously can’t wait to eat that thing you made,” Gojo comments after he’s backed out of the driveway, “it looks really nice.”
“Do you have a sweet tooth?” you ask him, glancing over at him, and you try not to stare at the strong one-handed grip he has on the steering wheel as he corrects it.
“Oh yeah,” he answers, “big time.”
“You don’t seem like it,” you mindlessly say, turning your head to glance out into the dim street, passing by houses that idly sit in this neighborhood.
“Why’s that?” he asks.
“You seem to maintain a steady weight,” you politely comment.
You can hear the smile in his voice. “Is that the closest I’ll ever get to a compliment from you?”
You roll your eyes. “It’s just science. Hard to maintain a build if you eat a lot of sugar.”
He turns onto the mainroad, and you keep your gaze plastered to the outside. “I seem to manage.”
“It’s because you're tall. Tall people get to eat whatever they want.”
You see him nod his head once in your periphery, and you take it as some form of dismissal. “Sure.”
It doesn’t take terribly long to get to Gojo’s parents’ house, just a thirty-five minute drive without traffic. He kept surprisingly silent throughout most of it, and the few moments you did glance at his face, you could even say he looked like he was deep in thought. With a creased brow, a grip on the steering wheel that sometimes faltered, sometimes strengthened, but rarely fully eased. It was all so different from his usual impulse to talk. You know that you often wish for Gojo to shut the fuck up sometimes, but the silence seemed unsettling today.
His parents’ house is large, maybe twice the size of the homes in your neighborhood, but it’s tucked away in a slightly remote area, where the next closest house is about a quarter of a mile down the road. The driveway is long and runs downhill, so you stumble a little on the high heel of your shoe when you step down onto the pebbled pavement, but Gojo holds your elbow so you don’t fall onto your face. And also so you don’t drop the peach cobbler he so desperately wants to try. You’re not sure which of the two was the bigger priority for him.
As you two walk up the driveway towards the front entrance, you hear him sigh behind you. “Just so you know, my mom doesn’t really have any sense of boundaries.”
“Ah,” you comment, “nice to know where you get it from.”
He gives you an irritated look, seen in the corner of your eye, and it’s hard to fight the small amused smile that makes its way onto your face.
He sighs again as you two make it to the top of the steps. “Seriously, though. Chances of you wanting to leave me after this dinner are high.”
“Why? You’ve got a hot older brother I don’t know about or something?”
“I am the hot older brother,” he tells you.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, and then face him fully. “You’re not the first guy that’s warned me about his parents, okay? I’ll handle my own. What good is life if your in-laws–er, fake in-laws–aren’t at least a little strange?”
He lifts his finger to the doorbell, and just before pressing it, he says, “alright, then.”
It only takes twelve seconds for the door to swing open, the aroma of fresh herbs and something more sultry like vetiver arouse your senses, along with a warmth beckoning you from the inside of the home.
Gojo’s mother stands at the doorway, surrounded by a halo of warm lighting, and her face instantly morphs into one of delightful glee.
“Oh! My dear, you’ve made it!” she exclaims happily, and just when you think she’s about to pull Gojo in for a hug, she pulls you in for one first instead, which startles you. “How lovely!”
“Oh—” you stutter, stumbling slightly as your nose becomes buried in the fluff of her silk pressed hair, but the delicate fragrance of lilac is somehow comforting.
She pulls you away to hold you by your shoulders. “You poor thing, you’re shivering! Come inside.” She hastily ushers you inside and you can feel the heat from Gojo’s body as he follows closely on your tail.
When his mother closes the door behind you, you find yourself surrounded by the kind of warmth only a house could provide.
You take a small look around the foyer, noticing that it’s large with tones of deep wood and a bright white and golden chandelier that hangs daintily above in the cavity of the high ceilings. Leather, wood, velvet, silk, these are the textures that you see as you look around. It’s an old-fashioned taste, with a polished grand piano off to the right in the hall and display cases of vintage dolls and porcelain plates. So very different from modern, but it’s comforting. Like a wave of nostalgia, but from something you’ve never experienced before.
“What’s this?” Mrs. Gojo asks with curiosity lilting her voice as she walks up to you and points at the casserole dish you were holding.
“Oh, it’s peach cobbler,” you say, holding it up slightly with a small smile adorning your face, “for dessert.”
“How sweet! You’re an angel,” she coos, then twists her torso towards the kitchen, “honey! Come here, will you?”
Shuffling down the hallway from the heart of the house is, who you presume to be, Mr. Gojo. He’s tall, with his shoulders slightly curved forward as he approaches you all, and you note that he looks more aged than his missus.
“Ah, this must be my new daughter-in-law,” he says, his voice gruff and crackly from years of use. You smell the faintest hint of smoke from his clothing.
You glance at Gojo, who is watching you interact with his parents, an unreadable expression on his face as his hands remain shoved into the pocket of his suit pants.
Mr. Gojo takes the peach cobbler from you and gives you a curt smile before taking it back towards the kitchen.
“Darling, I must say, you have a lovely figure—” Gojo’s mother begins to say, reaching her hand out to hover it over the curve of your waist, but just at that moment, Gojo comes up to stand in between the two of you.
“Alright, what time’s dinner?” he asks.
Mrs. Gojo glances up at him, her face immediately twisting into a frown. “Nevermind that. I want to take y/n with me back to the kitchen to help braise the chicken,” she says, grabbing a hold of your wrist and tugging you towards her.
“Oh—” you stumble slightly.
“Nope,” you hear Gojo say from beside you, and suddenly there’s a strong arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you back to his side, “she stays with me for the night.” You’d remember to blush at the feeling of being pressed flush up against him, but the shock overshadowed.
“Satoru!” Mrs. Gojo exclaims, rather loudly, and she lets out a hmph noise before placing her hands on her hips. “You’re no fun!”
“I’m not gonna let you indoctrinate her into whatever multi-level marketing scheme you’ve fallen victim to this month,” he says, his hold on your waist tightening.
“How petulant!” she says, trying to manage a stern look but Gojo doesn’t seem fazed by it, “quit acting like I’m going to corrupt her! I’m not some witch.”
“Your track record would prove otherwise,” he comments.
“Oh please, the only other time was when you brought—”
She suddenly stops speaking, her eyes going wide, and she glances at you. You cluelessly tilt your head at her.
Ah. The other woman. This mysterious ex-wife. Would you be the other woman in this case? Seeing as to how his entire family seems to walk on eggshells about the subject around you. And they all seem to think that any mention of her would devastate you, when really, you and Gojo aren’t even actually lovers.
But there’s a small part of you,
A teeny tiny part,
Revealed from the way your heart sank at the realization of who his mother was referring to,
That actually does feel some type of way about it.
You want to know who this woman was to him. Does he still think of her? Does he still love her? What happened between them? Was she the one that got away? And how does he feel about the fact that he’s now here with you?
You shake your head vigorously to get those thoughts out of your head.
It was like method acting. You stepped into the role of wife this evening, and now you feel the way that they expect you to feel at the mention of your husband’s ex-lover.
That must be the reason, right?
You slowly push yourself out of Gojo’s hold, and you try not to become hyper aware of his eyes on you as you smooth out the fabric of your dress, then you glance at his mother.
“I’d love to help you braise the chicken,” you say.
There’s a brief silence as you find your voice in this house, and then Mrs. Gojo flashes you a grin.
“Come with me, honey,” she says before wrapping a delicate hand around your wrist and pulling you towards the heart of the house.
There are pictures hung up on the walls as you brush past every hallway, along with peeling wallpaper that is peppered with florals and striped prints, sanded off from years of shoulders brushing against their surfaces in a way that creates an old, dated charm. You learn quickly that Gojo has always been pretty tall, judging from the photo of him standing with, whom you assume are his middle school friends, out on a boat, holding a bass the size of a small child.
There’s photos of the four of them together, like one professionally taken photo where Gojo and Sana are knelt in front of their parents, and your gaze fixates on the strong grip Mr. Gojo has on his son’s shoulder, digging deep in the bone, creasing the fabric, almost desperately. Gojo looks young in the photo, maybe a recent high school graduate, and his smile is bright but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
And, God, the trophies. The trophies that adorned the surfaces of aged cedar wood dressers, seemingly random in the order they are sprawled across the display yet you know there was intention behind it too. Ballet, soccer, tennis, spelling bee, FRC, even dragon boat racing.
“Feel free to take any of those home,” Mrs. Gojo says with a teasing tone, “you eventually get tired of staring at them.”
You wouldn’t know. Your mother never had much extra cash hanging around to take you to tennis lessons, or ballet lessons, or SAT prep, or whatever. You were lucky enough that you got into college with the cards you were dealt, but you sometimes wonder what your potential could’ve been if you had parents like Gojo did. Maybe the house you live in would be your own, and not something that your mother has spent the past forty years of her life trying to pay off. Maybe you’d have a freshly renovated kitchen and a pretty boat out on the street. But throwing a pity party for yourself right now wasn’t exactly going to get you through the evening.
Mrs. Gojo finally leads you into the kitchen, and the aroma of fresh herbs overwhelms your senses.
“Smells wonderful,” you comment.
“I know,” she cheekily comments, “will you turn the meat please?”
You grab a pair of tongs and attempt to sear the cuts that were sizzling on the stove.
“Sooooo,” she coos, wasting no time to playfully bump her hip to yours, “how is married life?”
“Nice,” you respond, your cheeks warming slightly, “it’s nice.”
“It won’t always be that way, you know,” she muses with some underlying sense of sincerity that isn’t lost on you.
When you remain quiet, concentrating on the searing sizzling noises coming from the pan, she decides to keep speaking.
“Eventually, you two will settle in a little too much…start to care less about your bodies…and then, oh gosh, when kids come into the picture, forget about having any time for yourselves,” she continues, “some days you’ll resent him, others you’ll feel like it’s the first time all over again.” She sighs. “Marriage is a funny thing—”
“Mrs. Gojo,” you interrupt her, turning to face her, “I—…I really appreciate you, I do, but, um, I’ve already learned a lot already about marriage from my own parents. Things are fine between Satoru and me.” You look into her widened eyes. “And…if something does happen down the line, and we choose not to be together anymore, then that’s okay too.”
After all, you had to prepare her.
“But that’s the thing!” she chirps, “your generation is too—…too impatient. Unwilling to work anything out! A marriage is supposed to be hard, but also it’s something you aren’t supposed to give up on so easily.”
It’s your turn to meet her with widened eyes in response to her preaching, and her posture immediately deflates before she holds you gently by your arm.
“I’m sorry, honey…I know it’s too early to be saying all these things to you,” she says, managing a small smile, “I always forget that I’m too old to be doting on my children like this anymore.”
Your expression softens and you wrap your palm over her bony knuckles, feeling the thinness of the skin that stretches over them. In a brief glimpse, you see your own mother in Mrs. Gojo’s eyes, something familiar, a universal expression of the love a parent has for their child.
“Well…” you say after clearing your throat, “for what it’s worth, you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Gojo.” You try to manage a small smile. “I’m—…I’m really happy with your son.”
It was hard to lie to someone like this, especially from the way there’s relief that floods her irises, a genuine feeling that is so hard to come by in these days of false niceties. You often wonder how far a single white lie can stretch before it shatters against its own resistance.
“That’s a relief,” she says, managing her own prim smile, “I’m so glad.”
The two of you finish up in the kitchen, and when you circle around back into the hall, you see Sana standing in the warmly lit family room with Gojo and their dad.
Sana catches your eye, and you purse your lips together hesitantly before walking up to her.
“Hey,” you say softly and she returns the small smile you give her.
“Hi,” she says back to you.
“Um, where’s Juno?” you ask, looking around.
“Oh, she has a sleepover at her friend’s house tonight,” Sana says, “Jun’s dropping her off, and then he’ll come by here later.”
“Ah, I see,” you comment, itching at your elbow from the awkwardness.
“Well,” Mr. Gojo says, gesturing towards the dining room, “let’s eat, shall we?”
The three of you nod at him.
It’s fascinating to watch how the family falls naturally into their chairs, an assigned seating pattern that stays consistent among all dining halls and rooms and tables in the world, one that every family has. Mr. Gojo sits at the head of the table, his wife to his left, his son to his right. Sana sits quaintly to her mother’s left, and you sit across from her to Gojo’s left. The one empty seat is left for the presence of Jun.
“Food looks wonderful, darling,” Mr. Gojo says before leaning over to place a kiss on her bashful cheek.
Your heart does something weird at the sight. A simultaneous twinge paired with a warmer feeling that follows. You hardly witnessed any affection within your household growing up, not between your parents at least, probably because you were young when they got divorced and so the turmoils and tribulations started long before you had any higher order of cognitive discernment beyond the childish interest in Disney princesses and The Backyardigans. For you, the only memories that last of your parents’ marriage are those that feel like nothing more than the frigidity of a business arrangement. Ironically similar to the one you were currently in with Gojo. Except at least yours hadn’t been initially built on a foundation of love and a promise to be there for one another until death did you two apart.
Death was knocking on your mother’s doorstep now. But your father was nowhere to be found. So much for a vow.
Mr. Gojo pours his son a glass of whiskey, single malt as read on the label. Mrs. Gojo pours you and Sana a glass of red wine, and you try to hide the grimace, because you would’ve much rather had the whiskey.
“To y/n,” Mr. Gojo says, raising his glass up into the air, “for being our newest addition to the family.”
You all clink your glasses together, then in a variety of pairings, the last one being the tap of Gojo’s glass against yours, before you all take a drink.
“So…” Mrs. Gojo speaks up, “exactly how long have the two of you been married?”
You glance at Gojo for help, which isn’t exactly an unsuspecting thing to do.
“Four weeks,” he says.
You watch Mrs. Gojo’s eyes twitch. You can understand. Her own son gets married and doesn’t tell her anything about it for four weeks after the wedding. Well, in your case, a courthouse arrangement.
“Where did you two go for your honeymoon?” she asks, and Mr. Gojo clears his throat.
You look at Gojo for help again, and mentally pinch yourself for not being more discreet about how fake this whole thing is.
But Gojo surprisingly looks at ease. “Greece,” he says, and leaves it at that.
Mrs. Gojo’s body language turns to you, clearly irritated by her son’s short and curt answers. “Did you have a fun time, dear?”
“Oh! Yes, it was a very fun time. Definitely did all the newly wed stuff. Just as normal newlyweds do, you know. Because we are newlyweds,” you say through an awkward cough.
“Like…?” Mrs. Gojo pushes, and you can tell that she’s asking out of a genuine curiosity over the itinerary you two had allegedly carried out, but you crack under the pressure.
“W—…We made love,” you say, “we made lots and lots of love.”
The sound of silverware clanking onto ceramic plates startles you out of the blissful ignorance you had to the words that you had just said. Like you were so caught up in your mind about wanting to seem like an actual real life couple to his parents that you almost forgot about the number one social rule when meeting your (fake) significant other’s parents: no references to copulation.
You glance up to find Mrs. Gojo’s eyes are wide, a slight tinge of pink to her cheeks. The width of Mr. Gojo’s eyes match his wife’s except his expression is also duly accompanied by a furrowed, perplexed brow. Sana looks visibly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat and trying hard to put on a poker face as she pretends like she didn’t just hear what you said.
You finally glance at Gojo, who’s looking at you with the most what the fuck? face you’ve ever seen someone make, and there’s concern on there somewhere too, like he’s not even fully convinced that you’re mentally sane at the moment because why on God’s green Earth would you say something like that at a family dinner table.
Trying your best to laugh it off, you say, “ah…ahaha, d-did I say make love? I meant–I meant that we–”
“Just–” Gojo interrupts you. “Just stop.”
Everyone are still stunned silent and the flush to your cheeks grows warmer. While clearing your throat, you set your lap napkin up on the table and clumsily scootch yourself out of your chair.
“Ex…cuse…me...” you mumble under your breath, knocking the table with your knee on accident, your wine glass almost toppling all over the pretty linen tablecloth but your reflexes catch the stem to steady it. “I need to…use the restroom.” And then you head straight down the hallway without sparing them another glance.
“Use the upstairs one!” Mrs. Gojo calls out to you, “the guest bathroom is under renovation.”
“Of fucking course it is,” you mutter under your breath, but flash them a polite smile before rounding the staircase pillar and then briskly walking up the stairs.
You quickly realize there’s more personality to the house upstairs, with some clutter in the theater loft and mismatching decorations that don’t reveal the careful deliberation of an indoor designer. The master bedroom is directly to the right of the top of the staircase and you glance across the loft at a narrow hallway that leads into the three bedrooms tucked away into the heart of the house.
One foot after the other, you float in that direction as if some force were compelling you towards it. Some trance of curiosity that no human being could ever resist. It’s fine. You didn’t actually need to piss anyways.
The first bedroom you walk past is rather boring, with beige tones all around. Beige bed sheets, beige wall paint, beige lamp shade, beige curtains. But the air smells crisp, and you notice there’s a shelf that has about half a dozen plants lined up in a variety of artistic pots. Similar to the set-up Gojo has in his house at home. You walk inside and brush your fingers across the dresser surface, rubbing fine dust over the pads of your fingers, and with your next inhale, you sneeze.
A guest bedroom, you think to yourself.
The next bedroom you walk past is sweeter, kinder, warmer. There’s pink hues scattered across, the most obvious one being the pillow covers, and there are some shades of a baby blue as well. But the furniture looks modern, sleek, and new. There were two identities at war in the room, like that of a little girl and a grown woman. Neither able to find its voice among the chaos of friendship bracelets sprawled across the desk and the Louis Vuitton purse resting at the foot of the bed.
Sana’s room, you think to yourself.
Childhood bedrooms are like time capsules if left untouched for very long. You’ve lived in your room at home for as long as you can remember, only recently having shifted to the master bedroom. The room grew up with you. It had no chance to become some entity of its own.
The next bedroom you walk by feels familiar, even before you walk inside. There’s a comforting feeling that envelopes just from the lighting alone. You push the door open with a gentle palm.
The culprit of any young man’s room–navy blue sheets. Stretched taut against a made-up bed that has some sort of feminine flair to it, like it wasn’t set by Gojo, but rather his mother passing by his room one day to sit in his absence, only to needlessly mess with the sheets because it gave her a sense of purpose. You go eighteen years pouring blood, sweat, and tears into raising a child, protecting them, nurturing them, being the one they lean on for all of life’s woes, only for them to pack up and leave one day. You suppose that if you were a parent, you would find melancholy in that loss of responsibility too.
His desk is a large expanse of cedar wood with a desktop monitor and some bookshelf speakers set up on it. The PC itself has collected dust over the years but there’s a small mechanical whirring noise you hear somewhere within. The rest of the desk is mostly empty except for some unopened mail tucked away with some books, the spines creased at the last few hundred pages, but never to the end.
You pick one of the books up, flipping the pages open, and see sticky notes on some of them. Like English literature notes one would take in class, with studious words that over exaggerate the significance of the prose just to make a teacher happy. Who cares if the curtains were blue? Maybe the author just wanted them to be blue. Why does everything in life have to have meaning?
Setting the book back down with a sigh, you walk over to the bookshelf. There are some more trophies, some sets of comic books, some strange robotic-looking figurines. Small picture frames of foreign scenery are set up in different corners wherever there is empty space, like an afterthought.
“Hmm…” you hum to yourself, tilting your head to the side to read the vertical spine of a thick black book that was tucked flush up against the shelf's side.
West Valley High School. Class of 2007.
With your index finger hooking the spine, you slowly pull the book out from its comfy corner. It’s heavy in your hands and you notice that there are ink smudges across the tips of your fingers.
When you open the cover, you’re met with a page filled with a variety of colors and handwriting, and you realize they’re signatures. And to no one’s surprise, most of them are feminine. With hearts, some merely outlines, some shaded in with ink, scattered across the page. Bubbly handwriting, neat handwriting, cursive handwriting, a lot of it in pinks and purples and reds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was like those Valentine’s Day cards all the girls would sign in grade school to pass onto their crush, except imagine if all of them were intended for just one guy.
You roll your eyes as you flip the pages, seeing no end in sight to the signed ink. I mean, come on, how many signature pages does a yearbook even need? This was excessive. And, no, you aren’t bitter simply because your high school yearbook has maybe a max of fifteen signatures (four of which were from your teachers). It’s just frustrating. And confusing. Why does everyone on this planet adore Gojo except you? Is there something wrong with you? Are you the problem?
There are some signatures from boys too, most likely his friends. Otherwise, you’re not sure what random fleeting classmate you’ve only spoken to a couple times would be brazen enough to draw pictures of penises squirting in whatever empty space they could find in your yearbook, if not for his high school friends. These boys are probably in their mid thirties now, just as Gojo is, maybe with wives and kids they’re now responsible for. You wonder if they’d still find the drawings funny all the same today.
You flip the pages more, taking in image after image after image of smiling portraits. ABC…DE…F…ah, G. Hmm, there. There it was.
Gojo Satoru.
Seems like his high school didn’t allow yearbook quotes, but you try to imagine what his would be. Probably something corny and lame, like See kids? I told you I was sexy in high school.
He looks cute though. With his hair fluffy, boyishly ruffled to pair with a charming smile that’s at ease. He just looks a little younger, that’s all. Not that much different. Perhaps a bit more scrawny, a bit more mischievous-looking. As opposed to his adult self, who appears sturdy. More serious. But you realize that cheeky part of him that comes out every now and then when he’s teasing you or pissing you off is that boy within him that looks exactly like the portrait in this yearbook that you trace with the pad of your finger.
You close the book, suddenly a little out of breath, and then slip it back into place. Your eyes catch the shimmer of the trophy at the top of the shelf. It was shaped like a baseball glove mitt, and in the palm cup, there is an actual baseball in there with a black ink signature. You gently pick it up and turn it in your palm to try and read the ink.
Ichiro.
Your dad used to watch baseball. You’re familiar. Seattle Mariners, Ichiro Suzuki. The first Japanese player to ever make it to the Major Leagues. Ten time all-star, and tenth member of the Mariners hall of fame. He retired when you were just a little girl, but you still remember the look of awe in your father’s eyes as he stared at the box TV in the living room of your house when Ichiro took his last stand at the plate.
Gojo was also a boy at that time. Living in this house. Maybe his old man was watching that game at the same time. And maybe Gojo was watching the look on his father’s face, too. It’s the romance of life–you look up at the moon in the sky, and you know that there is someone else out there, someone that you’ll meet some day, maybe even someone that will mean the world to you someday, who’s looking at it too. But you just don’t know it yet.
Lost in endless, rather fruitless thought, you continue to turn the baseball in your hand to pointlessly assess the seams, but it slips out of your hand and onto the carpeted floor with a loud hollow thud that startles you, and when you attempt to bend down and pick it up, you accidentally push it with your toe and it rolls underneath the bed.
“Shit,” you mumble, getting down onto your hands and knees to look underneath the bed.
You see the ball rolled a few feet away, and when you reach for it, it becomes clear that you don’t have the arm span to grab it. You struggle and you struggle, the tips of your fingers barely tickling its seam, and the frustration makes you sweat a little.
“Come…here…you…stupid…thing,” you mutter. You’re sure your hair is a static mess now, too.
You finally manage to roll it towards you a couple inches and then your palm wraps around it before pulling it to your shoulder, but not without something collateral that’s dragged along with it.
A photograph. Printed out, vintage. You pinch the corner between your two fingers and stand back up onto your two feet in order to better assess the image under the light of the floor lamp.
The first person you notice in the photo is Gojo. He looks younger than in the yearbook, but he’s wearing a suit and a tie. It’s a little big on him, ill-fitting as most teenage boys should look in a suit, like a rite of passage. His smile is less warm than the one in the yearbook too, more prim and stretched into a thin line that’s only slightly curved upwards. It’s only then when you notice the slender fingers sprawled across his chest near the collar of his undershirt, black nail polish blending in with the fabric of the suit. Your eyes trail the dainty hand, and your heart skips a beat when you see a girl standing next to him, pressed up against him, her smile much brighter than his. Pink braces line her teeth and her hair is that classic mid-2000s side-swept bang mess, but she’s pretty. Dressed in a pink-ish purple gown that almost looks like a bridesmaids dress, and you finally see the banner stretched across behind the both of them in the picture that reads Homecoming 2005.
It’s hard to explain it, but you can just feel it somehow. That this person is important to him. Not just some last-minute date to Homecoming, or an old high school girlfriend he’s long since lost touch with. It seems larger than that, somehow. Unlike penises drawn on yearbook paper, this feels like something a person never outgrows.
Of course, people have lived fully-fledged lives before you’ve met them. Just as you have as well. But you’re overtaken by the insane curiosity to want to learn every single detail about this past life that Gojo has lived. Where did he and his friends hang out after school? When did he learn how to drive? When was the first time he got shit-faced drunk? When was the first time he snuck out of the house? And who was this girl in the picture?
“Find what you’re lookin’ for yet?” a voice calls out, entirely startling you to where you almost jolt out of your skin, and you swiftly turn on your heel towards the entrance of the room.
You see Gojo standing in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed as he levels his gaze at you. He has a blank expression on his face, although you would say it’s more serious than playful.
“What–...I–” you stutter, shuffling the picture you were holding behind your back so he doesn’t see.
His eyes don’t flit to the movement. “You don’t have to tear the room apart to find my illicit drugs. You could’ve just asked.”
You roll your eyes. “As if you would do drugs.”
“You say that like it’s an insult.”
“It is.”
“So, then, if you’re not looking for drugs, what are you looking for?”
Your cheeks are warm. “I don’t know. Petty cash? Human body parts? Playboy?”
He snorts. “Playboy? Who still has a subscription to Playboy?”
“Maybe your teenage self did.”
“I’m not that old,” he says, “I was watching porn like the rest of my peers.”
“Ew, you freak,” you say, and you grab one of his pillows and throw it at him.
He lets out a laugh before catching the pillow with ease, and then walks up to you, placing the pillow on top of your head. You half-glare, half-pout at him.
“C’mon,” he probes, “tell me why you’re hiding away up here.”
“I embarrassed myself,” you confide in him with a sulk of your shoulders. “I mean. Seriously. What the fuck was that? What a humiliating thing to say in front of your parents. I just feel so weird pretending like this.”
His expression softens. “Sorry,” he says, “for dragging you into this dinner.”
“No,” you sigh, “I’m the one that did. I forgot you can’t necessarily fake a marriage without…doing the typical couple things.”
“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he hums as his gaze flits towards the bed, “doing the typical couple things, you say?”
You roll your eyes. “In your dreams.”
“Oh, in my dreams alright,” he says with a grin.
“And if I strangled you? What then?”
“I like that. It’s kinky.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t have magazines lying around?”
“Brown box underneath the bed. You didn’t look hard enough.”
You give him a disgusted look. He laughs.
“I’m joking,” he says, pushing his hands into his pockets.
“I’m not convinced,” you say, turning your body away from him slightly to keep the photo hidden behind your back.
He tilts his head at you, gaze flickering down to your other hand. Your heart skips a beat. “I could’ve guessed that.”
His hand reaches out and you flinch ever so slightly, something he thankfully doesn’t notice, and then he’s grabbing the baseball out of your palm.
“I always thought I could sell this thing for major money,” he muses, throwing the ball up into the air to catch it. And then doing so again a couple times.
“It’s authentic?” you ask with genuine curiosity.
“Oh yeah. I caught it. First ball game my old man ever took me to, and it happened to be Ichiro’s last.”
Your eyes widen. Gojo was at that game. He wasn’t just watching it from home on some TV like you did with your dad. He was living in it.
“Wow,” you say, “must’ve been quite the game.”
“Don’t really remember too much about it to be honest, other than how stoked I was to just be there with my dad.”
“Mm,” you hum, “I’ll have to ask Mr. Gojo more about it when we get downstairs.”
His expression falters slightly, his smile dropping in the most subtle way that you wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t been intently staring at his face.
“Yeah,” he says, “maybe.”
Gojo continues to stare at the ball in his palm as he rotates it in inspection. There’s an awkward silence that settles between the two of you, and you feel the burden of conversation has suddenly fallen on you.
“My, um. My dad was a fan too,” you say.
His eyes glance up to meet yours. “How come I’ve never met him?”
The question catches you off guard. “Wh–...I’m sorry, what?”
“Your dad,” he says, as if it was something so casual.
“That–...well, he’s–...I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in years,” you admit, “not since…not since my mother was diagnosed with cancer.”
He stares at you earnestly, studying your expression, before he decides on saying nothing else except, “I’m sorry about that.”
You sigh. “Satoru, I–” you start, keen on the way his body stiffens slightly when you say his name, “I really don’t have the capacity for much else tonight. I mean, the questions. And the lies. And walking on eggshells around your mom.”
“Well. I was sent up here to get you,” he says, “and I can’t exactly go downstairs empty handed.”
“Fine. Let’s just get this dinner over with as fast as possible.”
“Sure,” he easily agrees, “I’m with you on that one.”
You take a step forward to head towards the door, but then suck in a sharp gasp when you remember what was being held behind your back.
“Wait,” you say, “look away.”
“...huh?” he huffs, a puzzled look on his face.
“Just look away for a second.”
His eyebrows furrow before he lifts one in a questioning manner. But he acquiesces and turns on his heel to face away from you. “Have I ever told you how strange you are?”
“No,” you say while discretely crouching down, playing along in an attempt to distract him, “you haven’t.” You flinch a little from the sound of your hip popping, but he doesn’t seem to notice and so you bend your wrist in preparation of flinging the photo back to the abyss underneath his bed.
But you stop.
And you take one more glance at the photo.
And your stomach flips the same way it did the first time you saw it.
If you asked, would he tell you?
But the more pressing question is,
Why are you so scared to find out?
You shake your head vigorously to get rid of all your pestering intrusive thoughts. It was the stress, you played it off. A hyperactive mind leads to hyperactive ruminations. And besides, it’s just silly. Sure, there’s your gut feeling that suggests otherwise. But this girl in the photo could really just be an old friend or girlfriend that had no significant impact on the trajectory of his life. Why be the crazy one and lose sleep over this? You’ve lost sleep over plenty of other things in your life, but not stuff like this. It’s just not like you.
You fling the photo across underneath the bed and then stand up just in time for when Gojo turns around to look at you out of curiosity.
“Alright,” you say, dusting your hands off, “let’s go.”
You walk over to where he stands by the doorframe, a slight warmth to your cheeks when he doesn’t move out of your way like he usually does, but instead he leans towards you slightly as you brush past him, and your heart jumps a beat in your chest when you feel his hand gently fall to the small of your back, softly urging you forward ahead of him. A feather of a touch, yet intentional, almost naturally so, like a curious test of the boundary between you two that he’s been dying to understand a bit better. And the fact you don’t turn on your heel to face him with that same undeserved and petty rage that you always do, and instead slightly shudder at the feel of his touch, means that somewhere along the way, you’ve moved the line a little closer.
He’s hot on your trail as you walk down the stairs slowly and when you turn around the post at the bottom then make your way back to the dining room, you see his family staring at you with wide eyes.
His mother stands up. “y/n! Come sit back down, dear.”
You nod meekly, and Gojo pulls your chair out for you to take a seat before he resumes his seat next to you.
The food is slightly cold by the time you finally get to pick at it. It’s not very seasoned, either. Not enough salt for your taste. But somehow Mrs. Gojo having a phobia of sodium is a study of character that makes perfect sense in your head.
Eventually, the awkward silence is too much for you to bear, and you set your fork and knife down on your napkin with a slight bit more force than you probably should’ve.
Everyone looks at you.
You sigh. “I’m sorry for earlier,” you say, “I’m…uh, I’m just not really used to these sorts of dinners…I don’t have much family here in this town, and it’s always just sort of been my mom and me. And I—…I guess I’m just a little nervous.”
Wide eyes blink at you. Mr. Gojo shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat while Mrs. Gojo blinks her long lashes at you. Sana tilts her head, and you have no interest in seeing what Gojo’s expression looks like. You fear it’s the one you’d remember the most.
You were just being honest with how you felt. And it doesn’t take you long to realize something you probably should’ve realized earlier walking into a home like this where everything was perfect and on display with no evidence of the way a true family can crumble on the inside—a house like this does not value honesty. Your mother couldn’t afford you many luxuries in life, but you never felt like you couldn’t be honest in front of her.
You glimpse up at Sana, and there is some knowing expression on her face. It’s almost sympathetic. As if you two were on the same page about something right now. When you glance at Gojo, you see him staring down at his plate with his brow slightly furrowed.
“It…it’s quite alright, dear,” his mother says through a prim voice, and in an attempt to change the subject, she says, “I do hope you are enjoying the chicken.”
“Ah,” you exhale, “yes. I am.”
“So!” Mrs. Gojo chimes in again as she dabs her mouth to a linen napkin. “Tell me about what you do for fun.”
You blink at her. “Oh, umm…binge watch TV? Occasionally I’ll go for a walk.”
“Ahh interesting! What about reading? Do you enjoy reading?”
“Well, the last book I purchased was a picture book about North Korean missiles…so.”
She lets out a laugh. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”
You hear Gojo sigh beside you before he reluctantly sets down his silverware and then he turns to Mrs. Gojo. “Mom. C’mon. This isn’t a job interview. Just let her eat.”
There’s a slight tinge of pink to the tips of her ears from the interrogation interruption as she glances between the two of you. She looks over at Sana for help but finds nothing other than a gaze tipped down towards a plate full of picked-at food. Mr. Gojo folds a hand over her frail knuckles as if to silently communicate, but Mrs. Gojo retreats her hands to fold in her lap underneath the table.
Feeling somewhat bad for the two of them, you turn the face Gojo’s dad. “Um…Mr. Gojo, Satoru was telling me about how you were a big baseball fan and a big Ichiro fan…do you still keep up with the Mariners?”
The man’s eyes grow wide with a visible confusion and you swear you hear Gojo clear his throat beside you.
“Ah…that’s–” he starts before the sound of the doorbell ringing startles you.
Sana immediately stands up without a word of excusal or a glance in anyone’s direction and she heads straight for the door.
You all look around at one another before Mrs. Gojo says, “must be Jun.”
You were at least glad to find you would not be the only “in-law” at the table full of a tension-laced family dinner, especially given the fact that in most of the cases where you’ve met Jun, his penchant to talk overshadows any other energy.
“What’s up, y/n!” Jun shouts when he waltzes into the dining hall, a few steps ahead of Sana. He throws his jacket over the first surface he finds, body language matching that of someone twenty years younger than he actually is. You can’t tell if it’s overcompensation for something, or if he just genuinely believes he’s still in his twenties.
To your surprise, he opens his arms out for you to greet him with a hug, and you hesitate before standing up slightly to give him a well-meaning wrap of your arms around him, but it lacks any warmth of familiarity.
“Welcome to the fam!” he jovially exclaims before patting your arm. He then hugs Mr. Gojo, then Mrs. Gojo (paired with those cheek kisses that the French do in greeting), then daps up Gojo (to which you notice Gojo is less than enthusiastic about) before he finally kisses Sana on the cheek and then takes his seat at the other end of the table. Your eyes are keen on Sana now, watching her intently, but she remains staring at the food on her plate. You had a feeling there was someone in this room that didn’t want to be at this dinner even more than you did.
“How was traffic, Jun?” Mr. Gojo asks.
“Oh it was nothing. Took a shortcut. Backroute off of Lake City Way. Full of pot holes though.”
Sana turns to him and scowls. “While you were taking Juno to her sleepover?!”
He lifts an eyebrow at her. “Yeah? We were running late.”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to take that route to get into the city! Those pot holes are so dangerous.”
“Honey. Chill. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Just last week I saw news of three plot holes on the Mercer Street intersection opened up. Three people were injured, including a young boy.”
“Okay well if I also believed everything I saw on the news was going to personally happen to me too then we’d have never gotten this far in life.”
“Jun,” Sana deadpans.
“W-Why don’t I fix you a plate, Jun? You must be tired.” Mrs. Gojo chimes in.
Sana breathes in deep and exhales slowly before slumping down into her chair.
“Thanks,” Jun says, easing his brow as he sits back in his chair nonchalantly, before he turns to Gojo and starts to talk about mundane things like the stock market, the recent election, something about a new bowling record, and this one Thai restaurant he really wants to try on the other end of town, all within the span of time it takes Mrs. Gojo to set a plate down in front of him.
Mr. Gojo jumps in on conversation from time to time. Mrs. Gojo listens idly, sometimes placing a laugh where she feels appropriate. Jun gets particularly animated about this incident he ran into earlier last week when he was dropping Juno off at school, a story that you notice everyone at the table is for some reason entirely intrigued by, but you suppose it’s the most interesting topic of conversation you’ve all had tonight thus far. At certain critical points of the story, Sana jumps in with a that’s not what happened, Jun and you find yourself finally settling in somewhat to the evening.
Just as Jun’s story is ending, you glance up to Mrs. Gojo and find that she’s staring at you with a smile on her face. It makes you jump in your seat a little, luckily unnoticed by the rest of the table because of Jun’s engaging theatrical hand gestures as he attempts to keep his wife, his brother-in-law and his father-in-law engaged. You would’ve expected Mrs. Gojo to avert her gaze the second yours locked with hers, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look at you with a soft smile on her face and a slight tilt to her head, like she’s getting used to the sight of seeing you at this table.
Her gaze flits downwards slightly and you follow her line of gaze, tracing it to the ring that was adorning your left hand.
Your eyes widen slightly.
“Oh–” you stutter, the words already getting caught in your throat, “I–...I forgot to say, it’s an honor to wear your ring, Mrs. Gojo.” The table suddenly goes quiet, and you can’t tell if it’s because of you, or if it’s because there was no more story left to tell. “It’s beautiful.”
It truly felt like for every two steps you took forward, it was ten steps backwards. Because you watch the way that soft smile of hers entirely drops, her expression replaced with one of confusion, brows knitted together as she looks at you like you’ve just spoken in a language no one on Earth can speak.
She glances at Gojo, and you don’t have to look at him to tell that he’s stiff in his seat. You could’ve felt the tension from a mile away.
Mrs. Gojo looks at you again. “Oh honey, that–” She glances between you and Gojo. “That’s not my ring…”
Your eyes widen, cheeks already flush from whatever’s to come.
But suddenly, and to your surprise, Sana speaks up. “It was our mother’s ring.”
You look at her with confusion. And then you glance at Gojo. And then you glance back at Sana. And then at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo.
“But…” you trail off.
“Sumiko and Daichi are our aunt and uncle,” Sana says with a strained voice, “our real parents died in a house fire when we were younger.”
You blink at her in shock.
“He didn’t tell you?” Mr. Gojo asks.
“I–” You glance at Gojo and see that he’s poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the glass of scotch he was twirling around in his hand.
“Of course he didn’t,” Sana interrupts, the bitterness in her voice matching the attitude she’s since displayed this entire evening. Her gaze is locked onto her brother’s face, and when his gaze flickers up to meet her eye contact, his expression is set with a tense jaw. “He never wants to mention them. He never wants to acknowledge their life. He never wants to honor them. He just wants to pretend like they never existed.”
“Sana,” he cuts her off, and a chill gets sent down your spine from the seriousness and rigidity in his voice. “Now’s not the time for this.”
“When is the fucking time?!” she spats at him, the simmering tension brewing over. Ah. Yes. The moment you had been expecting. After all, what family does not have its baggage? Sana abruptly stands up from the table, startling everyone with the clanking of silverware and ceramic from the motion. “When is the fucking time for you to admit that you never gave a shit about mom and dad dying? When is the fucking time for you to admit that we moved on to live with these people so fast? When is the fucking time for you to admit how wrong it was for you to force me to call the people here my mom and dad my whole life when they aren’t?” Her voice cracks near the end.
You glance at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo, who both look shocked, hurt, even embarrassed as they gaze down at their food. Your heart stalls in your chest for them.
When you glance back at Gojo, you see that his gaze is hardened even further now. “You’re being rude,” he says, in as steady of a voice as he can manage from the way his brow is creased with disappointment.
“Yeah, whatever,” Sana says as she wipes at the tears with her sleeves, and you notice that she looks young like this. Younger than the usual prim and proper self that she portrays. Too young to be a mom, too young to be a wife, too young to be an adult. Like someone propelled into a life that she never wanted. “That’s always what you say, isn’t it? No answers, you just claim that I’m being childish and rude.” Jun tries to reach out to hold her hand but she snatches it away from him. Under her breath she says, “I didn’t want to come here. I should’ve just stayed home.” And with a rough swipe of her sleeve across both of her cheeks, she suddenly storms off somewhere deep into the house. Jun immediately stands up to follow her, leaving the four of you here with stale, cold food.
The timer in the oven goes off, the sound heard in the distance like a lifeline, and Mrs. Gojo immediately stands up. “Ah, must be…the roasted potatoes. I’ll be right back,” she fusses, and you avert your gaze from her face so she doesn’t feel embarrassed over the streak of a tear you saw streaming down her face.
“Let me help you,” Mr. Gojo says in a small sheepish mumble before following his wife into the kitchen.
And then there were two.
You only have a moment to process the dramatic outburst and subsequent fall-through before you turn in your chair to face Gojo, your face narrowing in contempt. You see him running a hand through his hair, entirely ruffling out any sort of neatness he had combed it into earlier, and he undoes the top button of his shirt with an impatient thumb like he was letting go of whatever image he had been trying to keep up for tonight, because after what just happened, there was no use.
“So when were you going to tell me that they aren’t actually your real parents???” you hiss at him.
He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “They’ve raised us since Sana was just three years old. I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Okay well if I had known then I wouldn’t have mentioned the ring??? Now everyone’s left the table because of me.”
“It’s not because of you,” he quickly corrects you, “it’s because of years of unnecessary drama of which I’ve still got no fucking clue why it still gets brough up at every. family. dinner. If you didn’t bring it up, then they would’ve figured out a way to bring it up somehow anyways.”
You blink at him, a little taken aback by how dejected he was by this entire conversation.
“Are you going to go check on Sana?” you ask him.
“No,” he says without hesitation, “she’ll calm down soon enough.”
You press your lips into a thin line, contemplating his dismissal, before you let out a huff of disappointment and disapproval. You pull your napkin off of your lap, setting it up on the table, and slip out of your chair to head into the house in the direction you saw Sana storm off into, leaving Gojo to himself at the table.
As you walk down the hallway, all those pictures you saw hung up on the walls, those photos of illusion that painted this pretty picture of a nuclear family fall apart in the narrow space, those firm smiles and hesitant postures making much more sense to you now. They aren’t even his real parents. Baseball and wedding rings. Those details belonged to a life he never intended on sharing with you.
You walk past the kitchen, stopping briefly just beyond the entrance before backtracking and you find Sana standing near the sink with her arm across her chest as her other hand wipes at her cheeks. The soft sound of a sniffle echoes in the room and you’re surprised to see that Jun left her alone.
Tentatively, you shuffle your feet across the wooden floor. She seems to make note of you in her periphery but refuses to glance up.
“Hey…” you start when you finally make it to the space in front of her, your hip leaning against the edge of the sink counter in parallel with hers as you face her.
“I—” she starts, shuffling her palms across her cheeks again. “I am so severely embarrassed.”
Your eyes widen slightly at the honesty. “Don’t be. It’s just family.”
“No but that’s the point,” she says through a crack in her voice, “I’m thirty-one, I’m married, I’m a mom, but they’ll always just see me as some immature little brat because I always behave like this.”
You don’t know what to say. You suppose if you were a therapist, or a priest, or a mentor, or a mom yourself, or any other person with an emotional IQ higher than yourself, you would know the right thing to say to her right now. But you don’t. So silence is all that you can offer her, and you hope that it’s enough.
It seems to work in it’s own magical way, as she slowly opens herself up to you within the next passing sixty seconds. A fleeting glance up to your face. The halt of pointless fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve. The way she stands up straighter, her hip no longer leaning against the kitchen counter, and you find that you mirror the same movement.
She clears her throat, rubbing her nose with the knuckle of her index finger, her eyes no longer glistening with tears but the corners of them look puffy.
You glance down at your feet for a moment before inhaling deep and making eye contact with her. “Hey, listen…” you say, “I’m—…I’m really sorry…about earlier today. For overstepping about the bullying. Juno’s your daughter, and I really shouldn’t have given her advice before at least running it by you beforehand. Especially for something so sensitive.”
The delicate muscles of her brow lift in surprise at your words, lids fluttering slowly as she processes your words, and the wave of melancholy is contagious as it washes through you as well.
“I’m sorry too,” she says, “for how angry I got with you. It’s just—” she hesitates, and you see that semblance of her that you’re more familiar with. Strict, stern, rough around the edges but for a noble reason. “Y’know, with kids…we tend to get overprotective over them.” Her gaze drops to somewhere beneath yourselves as if she suddenly lost confidence in her train of thought. “I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.”
A silence settles between the two of you before you realize you ought to respond to her.
“I get it,” you finally say. “I mean—…I don’t. Because I’m not a mom. But…I’m sure that when I am one some day, I’d understand.”
She finally offers you a smile in return to your words, polite but genuine nonetheless. And a soft remnant sniffle makes her ruffle her nose.
Her expression softens, and she stares straight ahead to your collarbone rather than your eyes. “She really likes you, you know?” Sana glances up at you now. “Hasn’t stopped talking about your ‘blubbery’ pancakes since last week.”
“Aww.”
There’s a sad glint in her eyes when she turns her torso away from you slightly in resignation before some hint of optimism flashes by in her face and she turns to you again.
“Do you…think you could give me the recipe?”
You want to ask her if everything is okay. But instead, you say, “sure.”
The sound of footsteps approaching is heard near the kitchen entrance and the two of you glance in that direction to see Jun walking in. He offers you a fleeting glance before taking his place beside Sana, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling him towards her before placing a kiss on her temple and saying, “hey honey.”
You watch as she averts her gaze down to the tips of her toes.
“Feeling better?” he asks her but there’s this lack of warmth you cannot quite discern.
“Yes,” she responds, scratching at her cheek as a discreet way of getting rid of the last remaining wetness that had streamed down her face earlier.
He rubs her arm soothingly and then looks at you with a smile pressed into a firm line. “Doing alright?”
You blink at him. “Wh—…yes.”
“Say, y/n, how’s your mom doing by the way?” he asks.
“She’s…better. She’s in hospice now.”
“Palliative?”
“Well—” you say, “I guess. It’s just temporary.”
He shuffles inside the pocket of his coat and takes out something. A small card with finely printed black ink on it. He hands it to you.
“I can’t imagine how expensive that all must be,” he says, and you glance down at the card.
Carevest Capital est. 2016
Invest in a healthier you!
You glance up at Jun. Sana’s gaze has now shifted to the inside of the sink.
“I started this business,” he says, “where we’re revolutionizing the way healthcare costs are managed. In our platform, we basically invest our clients’ money into the stock market, leveraging our high-reward algorithm to maximize returns. But here’s the unique part: we partner with leading healthcare CEOs who match a portion of the profits as an incentive for stock purchases. Together, these funds go directly toward paying off hospital bills and easing related financial burdens.”
Your eyes widen at his words. The speech was practiced, one you can only assume he has pitched to many potential clientele. But there’s a hint of personable grace to it as well.
“I’m telling you, y/n, we’ve had clients who have overcome six figures of medical debt in just six months,” he says, “and you’ll only need a couple thousand dollars to start yourself up.”
You purse your lips together, your finger pinching the corner of the card. “That’s amazing, Jun.”
He smiles at you, releasing Sana’s waist. “Sorry if this kinda came out of nowhere, but I heard through the grapevine that things have been rough.”
Oh, like how your card has declined publicly at the grocery store multiple times, or how you haven’t been able to afford your insurance deductible to get that chipped off part of your bumper fixed, or the fact you haven’t paid your landscapers in over three months so your lawn now looks like a swamp? It was a small town. And people’s finances were always a topic of interest for most.
“I just wanted to offer any help I can,” Jun says.
“Thanks,” you say, returning his smile, “I’ll, um, I’ll look into it.” You push the card into your pocket.
He offers you that same firm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he pulls Sana to him again, placing another kiss along her hairline and the PDA seems like overcompensation on some front from the way Sana is entirely frigid to his touch.
Maybe it was a woman’s intuition,
But you felt like something was wrong.
“Kids,” you hear Mr. Gojo’s crackly voice say as he stands leaning against the doorframe near the kitchen entrance, “let’s finish dinner?”
The three of you exchange glances before nodding and heading back towards the hall.
Your peach cobbler was apparently very good, the only thing that seemed to cut through the tension of the night. But that was the thing with family, right? You can yell and scream and cry and lecture and mope and roll your eyes at each other all you want but at the end of the day, they’re still family. Sana still seems slightly dejected though, and you can see Gojo in the corner of your eye at the table glancing up at her every other minute or so. His own way of making sure she’s doing okay, you think to yourself. Sana refuses to meet anyone’s line of sight except yours, however, which makes you feel some slight burdensome responsibility of sisterhood you had never signed up for. Nonetheless, you try to offer her a soothing smile whenever she looks up at you, and it seems to put her at ease.
The news of Sana and Jun moving seemed slightly anticlimactic, as Mrs. Gojo mentioned that they had already had an inkling that Jun and Sana would be moving closer to the city. You briefly wonder if Mrs. Gojo knew all along, but decided to make the announcement into some big affair just so that she could see her niece and nephew over a meal.
You make no more embarrassing comments. Conversation dulls into anything and everything unpersonal to you all, such as the news and weather and gossip of other people. And somewhere along the night, you relax your knee, the ball of it pressing into Gojo’s thigh underneath the table. It was wordless, innocent contact that occurs when two people become more comfortable with one another. Only excusable due to the slight buzz you felt in your veins from the wine. He’s kissed you before, yet somehow the press of his thigh against yours feels even more searing. There’s a point along the night where you tip your head to the right slightly, daringly close to resting your head on his shoulder due to the tipsy dizziness weighing in your head, and it would certainly put on a convincing show of newlywed affection for his aunt and uncle, but you manage to catch yourself. And subsequently refuse any more glasses of wine.
“Thanks for having me,” you say to Mrs. Gojo at the front entrance before she pulls you in for a hug.
“Oh, anytime dear,” she says as she gently pats your back, “please.”
When she pulls away from the hug, she holds you by your shoulders before her eyes glance down towards your left hand and the shimmering diamond that sat on the ring finger. She holds your hand in hers and lifts it to examine the twinkle underneath the lights of the chandelier.
“It really is a pretty ring,” she says, her eyes glossing over. “It looked beautiful on my sister, and it looks beautiful on you too.”
Your breath hitches slightly in your throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Gojo.”
“Please,” she says in response to the title, “Sumiko is fine.” But in less of a way in which she’s relaxing formalities, but rather in a way that acknowledges she never had the sovereignty to be called that in the first place.
You hear masculine voices approaching down the hallway as the three men make their way towards the front entrance as well. Gojo glances at you in the midst of their conversation, and he leaves the two of them to make his way over to you.
“Alright,” Gojo says, turning to face the rest of them as he stands beside you. “We’ll head out now.”
Sumiko pulls him in for a hug, then his uncle, and then obnoxiously by Jun as well. Sana fidgets with her fingers as she remains at the end of the line, and you catch a glimpse of surprise on her face when Gojo pulls her in for a hug too. You see him whisper something to her, and it’s only after she hears what he said that she returns the hug and wraps her arms around him as well.
You’re jolted out of your people-watching trance when Gojo walks up to you and takes your hand in his, shoving his other in his pocket. You glance down at the sight, the way his large hand engulfs your own. It’s warm in a firm hold, delicately squeezing your hand once right before you feel the cold air behind you when his uncle opens the door.
Well, you survived. That’s what you think to yourself as you sit in the passenger seat of Gojo’s car, watching the city lights twinkle as you two drive by. You don’t know what you were expecting. Drama? Ease? Tension? For a piece of the sky to fall and land on the roof? There was a part of you that wanted to impress. You want to be one of those daughter-in-laws that the in-laws just adore. You know, where they’re like, god am I so happy that she’s a part of the family now! The one that the mother-in-law is just so ecstatic to know that her son managed to hold down such a catch.
But any expectations and pressure dissolve with the reminder that this is all fake. Fake, fake, fake. And you’d do really well to remind yourself of that reality whenever you spent time with Gojo. Whenever you find yourself acclimating into his life for even a moment, just remember that it’s fake. Can you have a little fun here and there? Sure. Will you probably find yourself in even stranger situations going forward? Yes, because, well, that’s how life is. But it’s just fake. No obligations, no responsibility, nothing. Nada. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
But as you walk through the front door, staring straight ahead into the dark house at Gojo’s back as he sets down the keys by the foyer table, and even as you follow him further into the house towards the kitchen, that feeling inside you surges.
A woman's intuition.
That something between Jun and Sana was wrong.
Not just routine marital issues,
Or the occasional argument,
Something worse. Something dangerous.
And it’s not something you would ever expect a man to pick up on, even Gojo.
Because it was from the way Sana’s eyes silently communicated with you from across the table,
Something so subtle, a silent plea across a shared dimension,
That she needed help.
“Hey…” you speak up softly, standing in front of the fridge.
Gojo glances over his shoulder at you from the other side of the kitchen island, barely illuminated by the moonlight through the windows. He turns to face you. “What’s up?”
You blink at him.
“Um, I really don’t want to overstep again, but—”
There’s a sobering thought that flashes through your mind when you recall that you have never seen yourself as the hero in anyone’s story.
Simply because you could never, ever, ever trust yourself.
You could never trust your feelings or your decisions.
Because you cosigned on hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical loans. Because you stuck around for five years with a man that didn’t love you anymore. Because you still feel naive enough to believe that your best friend who betrayed you still misses you somehow. Because you still foolishly believe your mother will be around to hold her grandchildren someday.
Because you thought that your best bet in order to pull yourself out of hell was to fake marry a man,
And then act as if it’s all real when his aunt looks you in the eye with bittersweet tears as you now wear her bereaved sister’s ring in honor, entirely unaware it was actually being worn in vain.
How could you ever trust your judgement when you behave this way?
Never the hero. If anything, the villain.
“What is it?” Gojo repeats when he sees that you’ve been silent for too long. He tilts his head at you, his hair falling over his forehead haphazardly and he runs a hand through it to try to get it out of his face. Even in the dim light, his eyes shine a breathtaking blue.
You swallow hard.
“Um,” you say, and then glance down at the wetness you find at your heel. “The, um, the fridge is leaking again.”
He blinks at you for a solid ten seconds, and then the tension in his shoulders drops when he sulks and closes his eyes with exhaustion and defeat.
“Fuck. Okay.”
.
.
.
[end of chapter 5]
a/n. looool i really keep thinking i can post shorter chapters and them bam they be 10k+ words. but i swearrr it's just cuz i be yapping :(( anywho hope you enjoyed this chapter!! a lot of characters were kinda introduced and mm given a bit more depth in this chapter. sorry there wasn't as much romance or anything in this one though haha there will be more in the next one :0 big big thank you to my lovely ihm beta readers ayelin, jules, leni & mirl for helping me out w this chapter!! i believe i may have mentioned this before but i STRUGGLLEEEE with multi-character scenes (i'm much more comfy writing scenes that just have back n forth between two characters) so this chapter was challenginggg esp the whole dinner sequences and there were also a lot of complicated feelings at play, descriptions, stuff i wasn't sure if it was coming off the right way (and tbh am still not sure haha) but they really helped me work my thoughts out n gave wonderful suggestions too so tysm :'') much loveee!! hope to see you all in the next one <3 - ellie
➸ you're all caught up!
🏷️: @joemama-2 @sashisuslover @satorugirlie @slut-4-gojo @pickuptruck01
@gojodickbig @ayelindraws @ducky1232 @suguruslovedoll @bloopsstuff
@electrckchild @thegreatandlvable @anujah9 @lavender-hvze @cactisjuice
@crematedstar @yoongiboonhi @sxnkuna @allebazy @um-no-ok
@tofumiao @strawberrygirl0 @chiyokoemilia @xd3pr3ss3dx @ackermendick
@blueberry19000 @toffeebrat @mtsyik @sleepydumbassworld @4y3sh4
@crustykuki @celestialforce @mrswanggae @coolwitchtree @samistars
@imasexy-buffalo @erencvlt @satorubluu @fangirlingtod3ath @readerg77
@fiftyfeetstrawberryparfait @thegreatandlvable @ssetsuka @sexys-archives @astrokenny
@crustykuki @kristinering-actress @jaegersity @bbyxxm @zelzablues
note. i'd recommend subscribing to the fic on my ao3 so you can get email notifs :) tumblr taglist is based on interacts; please do not ask me/pressure me for updates or ask me when i am going to next update (read rules)
taglist is closed
#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x reader smut#gojo x reader fluff#gojo x reader angst#jjk gojo#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru angst#gojo satoru fluff#smut#fluff#angst#gojo satoru fanfiction#gojo x you#long fic#jjk fanfiction#jjk series#romance#fake dating#fake marriage#neighbors au#ongoing series#humor#slow burn#mutual pining#enemies to lovers#gojo x reader series
823 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hiii congrats on 2k! Can you please do no. 22 for this event. Love you💗
hello, nonnie! thank you so much for the greetings <3 and yes, of course! this was so fun to write lol it practically wrote itself. hope this one makes y'all laugh! and love you too 😚
(this is lightseoul’s 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i’ll whip something up!)
22. "ARE YOU SINGLE?" (1.3k)
none of this would’ve happened if shitty hair—the hulking brute of a gentleman he begrudgingly calls his best friend—didn’t notice.
they were just taking a short albeit much-needed water break at the tail end of the day-shift patrol, the unforgiving sun having pushed them to near dehydration (as it always does) as they guarded this rather quiet part of the city.
and to be fair, it’s not like he did it on purpose.
he was just briefly but thoroughly scanning the area, like a responsible pro-hero on duty would, when his eyes laid on you.
“what was that?” kirishima, who just downed an entire 500 mL liter of cold water they got from the convenience store a block away, suddenly pipes up from right beside him.
“what.”
when the redhead doesn’t say anything for a beat, bakugou chances a glance at him, only to find the man sporting a shit-eating grin.
bakugou feels himself bristle.
kirishima’s grin only widens. “you just did a double take at that girl.”
“what girl?” bakugou grits out, feigning ignorance.
but any plans he had to keep that charade up practically fly out the proverbial window when the damned hardening hero moves to unabashedly point in your direction, and before his mind can catch up, his body lunges forward to restrain the man’s arm.
the man in question laughs. “i knew it.”
bakugou only scowls at him before shoving him away, as if he wasn’t the one who threw himself onto the guy in panic. kirishima takes it in stride, though, used to years of his friend’s rough treatment, taking the opportunity to look at you instead.
“ooh, she is cute.”
“shut up.”
bakugou fights the urge to follow his friend’s line of vision, knowing all too well what’ll greet him at the end of it.
he admits his gaze might’ve lingered a beat too long, not that he’ll ever admit that to his patrol buddy.
no, he’s taking that secret with him to the grave.
“let’s go say hi.”
bakugou instantly looks up in alarm, but before he can lunge forward again and hold the stupid fucking man back, kirishima is already up and crossing the street, the traffic lights having conveniently turned green for pedestrians just a moment ago.
he pauses for a second, the urge to flee and hide from you before his best friend does something to embarrass him and the curious need to go do say hi raging a tug of war inside of him.
but if there’s one thing he knows for certain as a pro-hero, it’s that a second’s worth of hesitation can cause irrevocable damage.
and so with gritted teeth, he follows suit and crosses the street, and in just a few strides, he finds himself trailing slightly behind the redhead, who’s now merely several feet from where you’re standing, holding to your chest what seems to be a clipboard.
you notice kirishima first, probably having heard the heavy booted footsteps of the two men, turning on your heel at the sound. your eyes widen at the sight, before your face morphs into a look of recognition and… pleasant surprise?
“oh gosh—” you start, eyes annoyingly fixed on his best friend, “—red riot, hello!”
“heya, …” kirishima trails off, and you promptly supply him with your name.
his pr prince of a best friend beams at you. “nice to meet ya!”
and only then does his presence seem to register to you, because your gaze finally drifts to him, and your smile falters for just a millisecond before you school your features into a polite expression.
“hello, mr. dynamight, sir.”
he feels his eye twitch at the salutation, and he doesn’t have to look at the pro-hero beside him to know that the guy is watching the scene before him in mild amusement. he doesn’t know how else to respond if not to ask you why the fuck he’s being treated so formally while you regard shitty hair with subtle familiarity, so he settles with a grunt.
that seems enough to satisfy you, though, because you swiftly turn back to kirishima. “my best friend is a huge fan of yours, by the way.”
and as kirishima readily accepts the compliment and thanks you, bakugou finds his mind singlehandedly honing on what you just said.
your best friend is a huge fan of kirishima, not you.
also, that means your best friend is a fan of his best friend.
and if the four of you were to pair up, perhaps on a double date…
bakugou shakes his head at the thought, and perhaps too aggressively, because he catches both of your attention, the two of you glancing at him with worry.
“you okay, bakubro?”
he steals a glance in your direction, which he instantaneously regrets, because he makes eye contact with you. he immediately averts his gaze, choosing to face the guy instead.
“‘m fine.”
kirishima hesitates. “you sure?”
bakugou only tosses him a glare.
“i’m gonna take that as a yes,” kirishima shoots back, before returning the smile on his face and shifting to regard you. “anyway, we were just taking a short break from patrol and wanted to check in. everything alright here?”
that apparently is enough to make you light up. bakugou’s gut churns in what is absolutely not jealousy.
“yeah, thanks!” you reply, gratitude bleeding into your tone. “i was just—” you trail off, eyes shifting down to that clipboard you’ve been clutching this entire time, before: “you know what, do you guys have a minute?”
“sure!”
“no.”
kirishima whips to look at him. “come on, bakubro! let’s help the citizens out, yeah?”
and bakugou doesn’t know why or how, but his mouth runs off before his brain or heart can dictate to him what to say.
“yeah,” he mutters, “for all i know, this is just a fucking pyramid scheme.”
instantly, the air around the three of you goes quiet.
that is, until kirishima pipes up. “he’s just joki—”
“thanks, red riot—” you cut him off, much to bakugou’s surprise, his eyes shooting up to look at you whose lips are now pulled into a tight line.
“—but i think only dynamight here fits my research’s inclusion criteria.”
your what?
and before he could even comprehend the last three words you just uttered, you bring up your clipboard and pen like you’re about to jot something down, and hit him with it.
“are you single?”
bakugou only gawks at you, too stunned to speak. although he apparently doesn’t have to, because you continue.
“are you?” you repeat, before laughing dryly. “of course you are, what with that fucking attitude…”
at that, kirishima instantly barks out a genuine laugh, his booming voice reverberating throughout the street, even startling the cat perched on top of those large garbage disposals.
bakugou, on the other hand, only gapes at you in horror, because who would’ve thought the pretty girl from across the street was a fucking rude ass potty mouth?
a fucking rude ass potty mouth who could clock him like that?
“does he tend to go speechless like this?” you ask kirishima a few moments later, who’s still shaking in suppressed laughter.
“no,” the pro-hero finally replies after catching his breath. “you’re the first one i’ve ever seen make him this way.”
“really?” you reply, voice low and laced with sarcastic disbelief.
“he is actually single, though,” kirishima quickly adds, much to his chagrin. “…if you’re interested.”
as if on cue, you finally turn to look at bakugou, and he—swear to god—feels his heart stop when you glance at him, something akin to curiosity hidden amidst your features.
but he doesn’t get to bask in it, though, or in its implications, because his dipshit of a best friend drawls on.
“if you are, though, that’s great—”
oh, don’t make him do it.
“—because he finds you very much attra—”
BAM!
#we love kirishima in this household#best wingman fr fr#bakugou x reader#bakugou x y/n#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou imagines#mha imagines#mha scenarios#bnha imagines#bnha scenarios#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bakugou x you#bakugou imagine#bakugou drabble#bakugo x reader#bakugo x y/n#bkg#2k milestone drabble
846 notes
·
View notes
Text
Window Replacement Company Ft. Worth TX: Make Your Home More Appealing & Secure
This is likely one of the fundamental reasons that so many adjustments have been made to the vinyl windows Ft. Worth TX. The homeowner can now purchase home windows that are completely different colors on the inside and exterior of the home. And even higher, the window won’t rot or deteriorate. With time at premium, the homeowner will be capable to get pleasure from more quality time, extra household time, and fewer maintaining home time.
0 notes
Text
What a bargain! This huge 1930 Tudor in Clearfield, PA needs some exterior paint, but the interior is livable, though dated. It has 5bds, 4ba, 2,256 sq ft, just reduced $15k to $274,900.
The front door has a stained glass window and opens to a narrow hall.
There's a very large living room with a stone fireplace, beamed ceilings and built-in shelving. The flooring looks fairly new.
I'm guessing that this could be the dining room.
The kitchen is dated, but in good condition, has a nice floor, and kind of a weird shape.
Big pantry section.
Large family room has a built-in entertainment center. The carpet looks new.
Love the built-in drop down desk in this room.
Small half bath.
This long hall leads to the laundry room.
Down the hall there are lovely Tudor style stairs with leaded glass window on the landing.
The primary bedroom has a wonderful built-in dresser, closet, and vanity table.
Original vintage 3 pc. bath.
This smaller bedroom has lovely built-ins also. What a cute desk.
Then, this is bedroom #3. Look at the curve in the upper part of the room.
There's also a 3rd level with a finished attic.
Interesting room up here- look at the white beams.
A vintage bath with a shower is up here, too.
Wow, look at the size of that chimney.
There's a large patio on the garage roof.
This stone patio needs some work.
1.19 acre lot. Worth it or not?
https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/5203-Bigler-Rd-Clearfield-PA-16830/78592748_zpid/?
270 notes
·
View notes
Text
✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩
It's accidentally been 3 months since I posted my last fic round up, so this post contains months worth of reading and so is much longer than normal. If you're curious, this round up includes the following fandoms (in this order):
ATLA
DC (Batman) & Danny Phantom Crossover
DC (Batman)
Star Wars (Prequels)
The Goblin Emperor
The Sunshine Court (AFTG series)
James Bond
Marvel (Spider-Man)
Red, White & Blue
Stranger Things
King Falls AM (Podcast)
ATLA
Academic Excerpts and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Studied by Scholars Who Make It Their Full Time Job by Vinces
Zuko and Aang conspired early to keep the Firelord’s identity as the Blue Spirit a secret. Zuko unmasked would only make his spot on the Dragon Throne more tenuous during a time of upheaval in the post-war Fire Nation.
Nevertheless, the post-war academics are on it. Who was the Blue Spirit?
Aang and Zuko try their best to play it cool.
Aang’s pretty successful…
Zuko? Well, he’s trying his best. -- Or where two-thirds of the story is historical “articles” set in and referencing the world of Avatar and one third is Zuko (and Aang) navigating a world where there are academic papers speculating about the prison breakout they did together.
In Utter Hones-tea by agooseinhiding
The Jasmine Dragon has been formally invited to join the Earth King's retinue as he takes the monumental first step onto Fire Nation soil since the start of the Hundred-Year War! Truly, an honor.
Unfortunately, "The Jasmine Dragon" includes Li, the owner's grumpy nephew with an outrageously bad haircut and a wardrobe that's solely green, who knows way too much about the Avatar and his teachers, and who swears on his honor that he's totally, definitely not the Fire Lord.
Somehow, the other tea servers don't believe him. But they've never gotten a chance to prove it (or disprove it, in some cases) until now.
The Jasmine Dragon is going to the Fire Nation, and Hua Ming is going to show once and for all that shop-famous enigma Li is Lord Zuko himself, or she's going to die trying.
(She is going to die on this trip.)
Ft.: General Iroh playing the biggest prank in Fire Nation history, a five thousand yuan bet, and the Jasmine Dragon tea servers.
Taking a Break (In) by Duckduck_Scribblerswan (Caellie_E_and_Vaye_R)
Part 1 of a little bit of monicker in my life (Zuko has too many secret identi-teas)
After a few agonizingly slow seconds of exhausted, confused pondering, Zuko decided there was only one logical conclusion. “You’re right," he told the assassins, "I’m here to help you kill the Fire Lord.” Like a genius.
Caldera City is holding a festival to celebrate finally having enough funds to hold a festival! Although Zuko originally deemed himself too busy to go, Sokka managed to cajol him into attending his own party, in a knock-off Blue Spirit disguise for security purposes. Zuko sneaks back into the palace right in time to catch a group of assassins sneaking out. They failed to find the Fire Lord and assume he's reinforcements.
Zuko needs to find who ordered a strike on him before they do something stupid, like order a second one. Obviously, the most reasonable thing to do is join the assassins and hope they don’t figure out who he actually is. Obviously. There’s literally no other option.
Feat. Zuko's only two coping mechanisms (mortal peril and improv theater), the world's most incompetent hit team, and another knock-off Blue Spirit who's determined to prove this "Li" isn't who he says he is.
Kindred Spirits (sent from my iphone) by Duckduck_Scribblerswan (Caellie_E_and_Vaye_R)
Part 2 of a little bit of monicker in my life (Zuko has too many secret identi-teas)
Zuko just wanted to take a breather after a stressful political summit in the Earth Kingdom. Unfortunately, some passerby with good eyesight spotted him entering an apartment through the door as Li and leaving through the window as the Blue Spirit, right before he left for the Fire Nation. The Earth Kingdom puts two and two together and, appropriately, gets four: the Blue Spirit has kidnapped Li, and presumably the other Fire Nation refugees who have been disappearing across Ba Sing Se. They must save Li and bring the Blue Spirit to justice!
Unwilling to reveal himself as either the Blue Spirit, wanted in both the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom for treason and petty larceny, or Li, who'll draw attention to his uncle's teahouse, Zuko does the next most reasonable thing: he panics.
Meanwhile, Mai, Suki, and Toph are busy investigating who's really at fault for the disappearances of these refugees, King Kuei has realized he can get away with some truly ridiculous antics as king, and the newspapers are getting suspicious of how protective Fire Lord Zuko is of these two random people he apparently picked up in Ba Sing Se. What's up with that, anyway?
Relieved, with honors by redrobin1989
A Fire Lord’s duty is to his people; Zuko seeks out the last Fire Nation soldiers of the Hundred Year War to send them home.
ASYLUM by asfearlessasamango
If Zuko was Azula, trapped in a golden palace with no family but Fire Lord Ozai for years. If Zuko was Azula, now trapped in a marble asylum with no way out that he can see. If Sokka visited. And the complications of a whole world followed.
DC/ Danny Phantom Crossover
Wanted: Dead and Alive by Astereae
“Hey, I do I... Do I know you?” Danny asks, a hand coming up to brush something off Tim’s cheek. “No,” Tim says. “We haven’t met.” “Oh, no, I do.” Danny says, and he smiles, teeth white and sharp. “You’re that guy who rearranged my guts!” Rearranged his- Tim glances at the knotted scars on the boy’s abdomen. He can see the shine and shadow of haphazard stitches that weren’t meant to hold forever, that tore and healed over. His- This- “WHAT!?” Nightwing shouts, equal parts confused and delighted. Tim’s fucked.
OR: Danny Fenton's been in GIW captivity for 4 months.
Tim Drake gets kidnapped by the GIW one Tuesday evening in May.
Considering how many of the Bats and the Birds have died and come back to life, it was only a matter of time for some people interested in the afterlife to come poking around. The detectives can't seem to uncover any information about the mysterious white vans, however.
And they keep losing the mysterious boy who seems to be the one person in Gotham to know anything at all.
DC
it's a long climb up the dusty mountain by whitegeraniums (puertoricansuperman)
"The mission went," Dick echoes, a faint smile on his face. He's still in Bruce's arms, though he could easily escape if he wanted to. Something warm kindles deep, deep in Bruce's chest. Then he thinks of the other Dick, tense as a wire in his arms, shuddering at his touch.
"He had children." He says it without thinking. Dick's expression darkens. He knows where Bruce went tonight, and Bruce watches him piece together the implications of alternate dimension and evil Batman and children.
Or: When you've hit rock bottom, the only place left to go is up.
Star Wars
Misunderstanding Master by bgyeetusthefetus
“A beer please,” Obi-Wan said, his voice barely rising above the din. He placed the credits on the bar, his fingers shaking slightly as he did so./
The bartender looked down at him with a frown, his brows furrowing as he took in Obi-Wan's thin frame. “How old are you, kid?”
Obi-Wan shifted uneasily, suddenly aware of the attention he was drawing from the patrons around him. “It’s not for me,” he replied quickly, his voice steady despite the tremor in his fingers. “I’m just fetching it for my Master.”
Master is a bit of a loaded word in the wider galaxy.
The Goblin Emperor
Date With The Night by DontStopHerNow
Csethiro and Csevet conspire to give Maia a night outside the Alcethmeret.
Unfortunately, when Beshelar finds out, they have a lot of explaining to do.
queen of peace by astardanced
Csethiro broke abruptly free of the pack and came sweeping towards him with hands outstretched, probably hoping to do damage control.
“Serenity,” she said, ignoring her father, who seemed to be wanting to prompt her like a conductor. “We are honoured to have you here.”
Maia had very little experience with the specific social mortifications of an embarrassing family— his own having simply chosen to forget he existed— and it wouldn’t have been fair to make a judgement, but there was already an undeniable tinge of the ridiculous to the entire affair.
(Awkward dinners are part and parcel of the Emperor's role... but the Ceredada really are spectacularly embarrassing.)
The Sunshine Court (AFTG series)
i'm not the same as i was by perchancetosleep
The imminent return to Evermore has him jumping at shadows, and he is already at the end of his rope. Every ounce of energy every single day goes to pretending to be what is required of him—he has to override years of training (away, not towards) to perform adequately on the court, to uphold the Trojan standard, and he has to pretend that while he does it he is a functioning human and not simply a discarded toy too broken to be played with anymore.
It’s why he spent his time in Palmetto when he could walk watching every single Trojans interview and game he could, so he could memorize their speeches and their strategies and their game play so that he would not be a burden. Jean knows what he owes his new masters. And he will not fail.
(Or, Jean tries to fake it until he makes it at USC)
oh i was raised on little light by perchancetosleep
On the third Thursday of every month, Jean walks seven miles across town to visit his sister.
This is the deal that he’s struck with his sister’s foster—no, adoptive now—family. They used to claim that he could visit whenever he wanted, and it used to be Jean’s ability to sneak out of the Moriyama’s home that limited the frequency, but of course the Master had figured out where he was going, and now for years they’ve had him in their ear, telling them how Jean is unstable and disruptive and getting into fights and doing drugs, and of course they don’t want Elodie around that. She’s had a hard enough life as it is, and her good-for-nothing brother is just going to bring trouble and pain. But that won’t stop Jean from showing up, and so this is the deal that he had to make.
Jean will take whatever time he can get.
please i've been on my knees, change the prophecy by perchancetosleep
He can almost pretend, sitting in a warm house at the tiny kitchen table listening to Elodie talk about her dance lessons, that everything is normal. He can pretend that he can stay, that Elodie and him were never separated, and that everything is normal and he is good and he will get to keep this. But Jean had died in that fucking basement years ago, and he’s getting tired of forcing his body to keep going. Sure, Kevin had found a way out and made it to college and made a life, but he had a father waiting for him on the outside.
All Jean has waiting for him at home is a set of guardians that are going to be pissed off that he’s failing chemistry and that he didn’t do his chores and that he’s alive.
James Bond
Begin Again by Snoweylily
M held out the file in her hand and Q automatically took it. “It needs the new Quartermaster’s signature”. The reminder of the Major’s death, the kindly old beta who saw him for him, brought tears to his eyes, and he desperately hoped that the smoke would hide it. “... Okay. Who do I give it to?” “It’s quite a few years ahead of schedule, and quite frankly I’m not even sure if it’s going to work, but Boothroyd always spoke highly of you and you are one of the very few TSS workers still remaining. I’ve spoken to R, the only survivor with seniority over you, and she is quite adamant to remain in her current position with your approval... Which leaves you”. M held out a pen. “Quartermaster”.
Or, “I don’t just have one alpha”. Q grinned, bloody and feral. “I have nine. They’re called the double-0 program; perhaps you’ve heard of them?”
Red, White & Blue
darling, be gentle by SkyGem
In the time that he’s been dating Henry, Alex has been on the receiving end of no less than four shovel talks.
Or.
Okay.
That number may vary, depending on what exactly counts as a shovel talk.
Marvel
Intentions by MellarkandArt
“You’re just- you’re a really great kid and-“
“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered, suddenly feeling very, very sick.
“Mhm?” Mr. Stark hummed, patting his knee.
“I- I don’t think I can do this. I’ve tried really hard to m-make myself want it, b-but I just don’t. I know you- but I can’t. I just can’t.”
Mr. Stark removed his hand and looked at Peter questioningly. “What are you talking about?”
Peter drew in a shaky breath, feeling the burn as tears fell down his cheeks. “I know you want me to be your- your- I don’t know, but I just can’t be that for someone again, it’s so- so much, and you’re married, you have a daughter, and it’s- I’m sorry. It’s just, it’s too- and I don’t even like you like that, I- I’m sorry.”
Now he’d done it, now Mr. Stark would be looking at him with a heartbroken expression, hurt and betrayed and…
Peter looked up at the man only to see nothing but shock and confusion on his features.
“Peter… Do you think that I have… romantic feelings for you?”
OR: Sometimes people’s intentions aren’t always clear, and Peter has been burnt often enough to know not to play with fire. Irondad, NOT ST*RKER, I promise!!
Stranger Things
Shovel Talks by unkreativstermensch (+ podfic)
“Oh,” Steve says. Then again, “oh,” a little quieter. His expression changes; from confusion to something pained almost. “Mr Munson, I don’t…” he takes a deep breath, his voice a little shaky as he continues. “I don’t think he…I don’t think he likes me like that.”
He doesn’t say “it’s not like that.” Neither does he say “I’m not like that.”
That’s the first thing Wayne notices.
or: Wayne decides to give Steve the shovel talk, only to realize he might not be the one needing one
King Falls AM
i can tell that we are gonna be friends by ace8013, flashsideways
Part 1 of when the radio lights came on (This entire series would be on this round up if it wasn't so damn long)
“I’m graduating this week and I know this is weird and that I met you like a few days ago but… They like, give you tickets? And I don’t know who to invite.” Sammy blinks. “Oh,” he says. “Is this- are you inviting me to your high-school graduation?”
or, Ben graduates from college on May 13, 2015.
to a given standard of normal by neversaydie
Part 5 of cock it and pull it (This series too!!)
The first couple of weeks are… difficult.
Some things are the same. The Jack Sammy remembers sitting across the desk from him in their dingy college radio studio, rambling about the possibility that the math building was haunted; the guy who pushed him into any risky broom closet or empty office he could find to make out, because he was always an adrenaline junkie even if it gave Sammy a heart attack; the Jack who roasted Sammy for his dad jokes even though his were quantifiably worse - he's still there. Mostly intact.
Other things… other things have changed.
[Jack and Sammy start building a life after the void]
the only hoax i believe in by taizi
“Sammy,” Ben says. “You gotta eat.”
Sammy opens his eyes. He isn’t hungry, but he pushes himself upright anyway.
“You better not have tried cooking again,” he says, aiming for light-hearted, angling for a smile.
He nails it. Ben’s eyes go bright and he scoots off the bed with a grin. Not so much fooled as willing to play along, grateful for the semblance of normalcy.
Fake it till you break it, Sammy thinks with the same grim determination that got him through all of high school, and all of college, and every second of every miserable day without Jack and before Ben.
He gets out of bed.
Wish You All The Best by FoxGlade
“This is gonna sound like a stupid question,” Ben says suddenly, “but what year is it?”
Well, Ben has said stupider things. “2018,” Sammy answers. Ben looks to Jack, who looks to Emily, who narrows her mouth into a thin line.
“That’s… maybe a problem,” she says.
(The Christmas magic of King Falls strikes again, giving Sammy a firsthand account of his own future.)
for a higher love by helloearthlings (everything this author writes would also be in this round up if I could)
“Supreme Court legalized same sex marriage this morning, 5-4.”
Ron could tell in an instant that Sammy already knew; something about him crumpled when Ron said it out loud.
God, the guy was – sad about this? Ron’s quiet suspicion about which way Sammy swung was absolutely confirmed – the straight and narrow of King Falls might be all woe is me over the fact that they didn’t have a monopoly on marriage anymore, but no one looked this wrecked if the decision didn’t affect them personally. The question was why this had put Sammy in some sort of drunken stupor.
[Ron, Sammy, and Pride in King Falls.]
#i am in too fandoms someone please help me#i'm considering switching to monthly fic round ups but idk is that something people would be interested in??#or does everyone prefer weekly round ups??#my posts#weekly fic round up#fic recs#atla recs#dc recs#dp recs#sw recs#tge recs#aftg recs#tsc recs#marvel recs#stranger things recs#kfam recs#misc recs#also happy new year everyone !!
300 notes
·
View notes
Text
i greet thee with a kiss (skully hcs)
pre-relationship headcanons about skully's feelings towards you where you and him are in night raven college together
ft. skully j. graves
╰┈➤ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: uploading these now before the halloween update drops 🙈 episode 3 is where shit hits the fan, and i want to stay in the lighthearted lore drops that episode 2 brings, so here we are. tbh i had been falling a little bit out of twst due to irl and generally just being less into it as time passes by. but then twst drops skully and unfortunately, he's my type 😟 so here i am now, pilled enough to write the brainworms in my head. i hope u enjoy, and i hope episode 3 does not ruin what i'm uploading
𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 Skully is the kind of person who always approaches everyone in the room and greets them with a kiss on the hand. He gives everyone his attention and starts small talk with them (regardless of whether they want to or not). If anyone says they need to go and run a small errand or even just to get water or food from the cafeteria, he offers to accompany them in case they don't want to feel alone. In other words, if you're in love with Skully and prevent your delusions from coloring your eyes with rose colors (or attempt to deny your feelings), you may be thinking dejectedly he probably treats you the same way as he treats anyone else.
𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 However, when he's in love with you, his gentlemanly act falters, as he gets flustered. When he kisses your hand in greeting, he's slightly shakier and redder in the face. And whereas his speech is more polite with others, with you, he drops to more casual speech that's littered with occasional bursts of excitement. Usually, he's a generally good conversationalist, able to connect with people on a number of topic, and while that remains the same with you, his hands are on his cheeks more often than usual, especially when he finds that you like something he likes.
𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 When you're not in the room, he's going to keep talking about you. Skully is the type to remember in vivid detail about the conversations he has with you, so when he's rambling about you to the first year gang, he mentions everything, from your compliments to the little lilts in your voice that attract his ear to the smallest movement in your hand as it inches closer to his hand. If any hugs occurred, Skully can easily take up 15 minutes describing the sensations and the warm goopy feelings he experienced during the hug. Skully is the type to let his delusions carry him, so Ace and Sebek have to bring him down with their bluntness.
𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 Though he may be flustered, Skully does not fail to act chivalrous towards you. In fact, he's much more gentlemanly to you. He observes the sidewalk rule, he tends to have a hand on your back or shoulder while you're walking in a busy area, and he offers you his jacket when it's cold. If it's raining, he'd share an umbrella with you, and he'd adjust the umbrella so that you're completely covered, even if one side of him gets drenched. In fact, he'd willingly give you his umbrella if you say you don't have one, and he'll tell you that he doesn't need it (he'll end up a wet sopping mess after running in the downpour finding shelter, but it would be worth it if it meant you were safe and dry).
𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 Skully's poetry slowly incorporates you as the subject. Usually, he heaps poetic praises in the scenery he witnesses, in conversations that struck him, and in the season of Halloween and his idol Jack Skellington. But he could be having class, and while looking out the window, would mutter about the clearness of the sky paling in comparison to your honest eyes. Or he could be walking along the botanical gardens with the Science club, and Skully would compare the flowering plants to the vividness of your face (and Rook would probably enable him further). Or if you compliment him, he'd squish his own cheeks and squeal about how your words are like evergreen to him, refreshing to listen to after the insults that he endured throughout his life. Without realizing, he's talking about you more than even Halloween.
𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 In spite of the delusions, Skully often finds himself having moments of doubt, telling himself that it might be better off if you don't have to deal with someone like him. You're very kind and strong, with friends who would be there for you, and he's a loser whose idea of Halloween has been shunned and rejected by everyone. You deserve someone better, someone who can love you better. Yet, he can't dampen his feelings for you: He wishes to be the one whom you can depend on, he wants to give you the treatment you deserve, and he yearns to hold you for as long as he can.
𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 Skully's confession to you is done through a poem that he wrote on parchment for at least 3 days, with revisions from the first year gang. He's trembling as he grips the paper and nervously reads from it. Countless stars shine in the night, but the sparkle of your eyes hold a brighter light. I've heard of smiles that can disarm a man, but I never understood it until I watched your lips curl up and your eyes squint at me in joy... He's cringing at himself with some lines, stopping at some points to complain about what he wrote. But when you hug him, telling him how sweet he is and present your own poem about how much you like him, Skully ends up crying endlessly, thanking you for accepting somebody like him. And you take him in your arms, repeating to him that yes, you'd accept someone like him who's made you happy.
318 notes
·
View notes
Text
https://statewideenergysolutions.com/windows/
windows in Ft. Worth TX
Statewide Energy Solutions leads the way in providing energy-efficient windows in Ft. Worth, TX. Our windows are designed to optimize energy usage, offering you a comfortable and sustainable living environment. Trust us to enhance your Ft. Worth home with energy-efficient solutions.
0 notes
Text
Toman boys and winter activities!
• ft : mikey, draken, mitsuya, baji, chifuyu, hakkai, kazutora, takemichi, smiley, angry
• part 2 - tenjiku boys
part 3 - koko, inui, taiju, sanzu, hanma & kisaki, in the making!
• requests are open!!
๑ I definitely may or may not have favourites, is it noticeable?
Christmas market
Oh my god, eveything is so cute— Chifuyu absolutely loves the Christmas maker, but his wallet would say otherwise. The decor, the clothes, the knick-knacks - they're all calling to him. He touches everything, its all so cute, but he buys only a few things. He's not a big christmas person really, but the holiday vibe itself is more than enough for him. He just wants an excuse to be a bit more giving than he usually lets himself be. The christmas market is window shopping and he can guess what you'd like for a gift - it's a win-win! His favourite is when it gets dark and the christmas decorations around the street light up. The sky is dark and the weather is cold, but the warm glow of the lights and the warmth of thick scarves and hot chocolate make it one of his favourite times of the year. And to top it all off, you look breathtaking. All wrapped in your winter clothes like a present, his fluffy scarf bundled up to your face, cheeks and nose rosy from the cold, your breath cloudy around you, the colorful christmas light glimmering and bathing you in a warm light, and you're smiling and laughing— he's absolutely smitten. Be careful not to say too many things from the market are cute though, that would make his wallet wail.
Oh i know that the christmas market games hate to see Kazutora coming - this man is an absolute menace when it comes to that. If there are games to guess, he's gonna take his time thinking what would be the right answer. Be it how many candies are in this jar or what is the decoration in the box — best believe not only is he guessing correctly but he's taking the prize home with him and you. Never let him near a diy stations. Ever. Not because he won't have fun, but because he will make a mess. There's not a single time he hasn't caused absolute chaos upon a diy project, and the christmas market no different. The knick-knack he's made will be pretty and would match the rest of your decor, and the cookies he's embellished will only look even tastier, but the havoc he leaves behind is something you'd never wish on anyone else. As much as he cleans up after himself, it's still not little to deal with. To him it's worth it though. Seeing you giggling over him having elements of the decorations over him and cleaning him up is something he wouldn't trade for the world. He just might make a bit more effort into being messy if it would mean you're there to laugh and take care of him.
The christmas maker is calling Baji's name, but not for the decororations— its the food. He will make a point to look around and spy observe what the people are eating and drinking. By that he will guess what's the best you can try. That is to say it doesn't mean he'll exclude certain things just because not many people are buying it. He wants to and will take a bite or a sip from everything. He's going to check it out during the day and when it gets dark and cold and there aren't as many people, he'll take you there and have you try everything along with him. That just makes the food and the drinks better. Hot dogs, pies, baked goods, candied almonds and ginger, chimney cakes, gingerbread cookies, mulled wine, hot chocolate— there's a lot to try and everything is to be shared. There's no such thing as my piece of this or your piece of that. If you don't like something he's gonna eat it himself and vise versa. If you don't like something and make a face he wont let you live it down. He's gonna eat it himself yes, but each time he takes a bite he will make grimace just to annoy you. He won't tell you if he doesn't like the thing either, he'll eat it regardless even if its just to make tou giggle a bit. If you like something a bit more he's gonna let you have the most of it, not that he won't pretend he doesnt like it just as much. He's there to enjoy the goods, sure, but he's there mainly to enjoy being with you.
Ice Skating
Who would've thought Mitsuya was such a good ice skater? It's almost as unexpected as it is expected. He's skilled at so many things - cooking, sewing, fighting, riding a motorcycle- if you're to write down everything, it would take up half the day. But still, skating? He's full of surprises. He's taken you with him on the skating rink, just the two of you for once. Hakkai is looking after his sisters so you two can be on your date. You think yea, he knows how to skate, but not that he's so good at it. You're still struggling around the entering point, sorry if u can skate i cant holding onto the fence, and he's gliding around the rink like he's one of these fantasy movie elves. He makes it seem like it's as easy as walking. Moving smoothly in a slow rythm, just because he's a little rusty. He's twirling around elegantly, you can see just how ethereal he looks and- oh— you're still struggling to do it?? He's going to help you, but that doesn't mean he won't show off. It's his time to shine. On his way to you he's a bit faster, a bit more fluid, almost like he's dancing. He takes you by the hand to show you how it's done. He's chatting with you during that too- sure, you're focused on trying not to fall onto the ice, but he's holding you and he's having so much fun like that. Showing off doesn't hurt every once in a while, no?
You definitely wont be bored if you're skating woth Hakkai. He's good at it, he said. He can do it, he said. Thing is he can do it, but its about just as much as chicken can fly - not for more than 13 seconds. As you're putting on the skating shoes he seems to be a bit nervous, but then again it's Hakkai. As soon as you get in the rink you understand why he's so nervous. He's holding onto the fence, trying to move his feet the right way. He finally catches onto what hes supposed to do and he's drifting around you slowly in a fluid motion. He looks so graceful, peacefully skating along and— WHAM! The second you stop to admire him it's over. He was trying his best to impress you, he really was, but when he felt you genuinely looking at him his nervousness ruined it. He embarrassed himself so bad and you think he's lame now and— you're giggling. Not mocking at him, but giggling at him. "Ohmygod Hakkai- I'm sorry you just-- that was so silly— god, you're cute!" It's over for him now, it's sealed. If an ice skating injury doesnt end him, his heart will. He can feel it every time you look at him, every time you smile, every time you laugh - he feels it going into overdrive. It feels like its soaring, closing up his throat and stolping his brain from working. Please have mercy on him, he can only take so much!
See what i did on the Wham! part hihi
Snow activitities
You've got my condolences if you're out in the snow with Nahoya. You're out in a field, it's freezing and the snow is so deep it's like a snowy desert. You'd think he'd have some mercy on you when it's so cold but you're mistaken. He's pouncing on you with eveything he has - snowball after snowball is coming your way. He's throwing them at you anyplace he can hit too. It's like he's hunting you - hiding behind trees and snow piles, stalking you quietly, waiting for justtt the right moment— HEADSHOT! By the time he's finished with you you're basically a snowman inside and out. You've got snow in your hair, in and on your jacket, between your scarf and your neck, in your hair, your back— and it's so, so cold!! You have Nahoya laughing in your face, rolling around on the snowy ground. And now it's time to head back in. You're both pretty much soaking from the melted snow when you're finally at his place. Best to have a hot bath, you don't wanna get sick. I hope you're good at sharing because he's getting with you in the bath. He's washing your hair for you and you're gonna be soaking in that bath until your fingers prune and the water cools down. He's been so mean to you, now is his moment to make it up to you, no?
Who'd think that Takemichi was the outdoorsy type in winter? The snow is still fresh and its glistening in the sun, its so early still nobody else has went to wherever he's taking you. It's close enough, he says, you'll love it. And finally you're there - the biggest, cleanest, fattest snow slope you've seen. How did he even find that?? Near the city especially??? And it's untouched??? That doesnt matter right now though, you're both too busy running up the snowy monstrosity. He's pulling the small sleight, slowing him down a bit. That doesn't stop you from going ahead of him to the top, he's trailing right behind you. When you're finally ready and set on the sleigh he explains what to do - just hold onto him and don't let go. After you're hugging him around the waist securely he pushes the sleigh. It feels like you're flying down the slope. The icy air is brushing over your face. Your hair is like a whip waving behind you. The ride is so smooth. It feels like you're floating— and your on your side in an instant. The sleigh is sideways. You and Takemichi are laying in the snow. And you both start laughing. By the time you're up on your feet you're both teary and wheezing. The view up the slope was gorgeous for sure, but for Takemichi the better view is right in front of him.
As lazy as Mikey is, he'd never refuse a walk when it's snowing. His favourite time for that is during the late afternoon, right before nightfall. The city falls quiet, the cobalt sky contrasting with the warm streetlamps, the quiet people-chatter filling the streets. The atmosphere is so peaceful, especially when you're right next to him. Your breath creating a glittery mist around you, the twilight making your eyes look shinier. You're on your way to a cafe, passing trough a foresty park. Down the path you can see the marks people have left behind. It seems like the quiet little park would be so lively during the day. And finally you're at the cafe. Its a small cozy place, snuggled between the tall surrounding buildings. In front of it two tiny, perfectly shaped snowmen holding hands. "That's us" and he is right, they do look like you two - with their small scarfs, happy little smiles and intertwined hands. Mikey's hand feel warm agaist your in his pocket. You forgot your gloves and your hands were freezing before he gave you one of his gloves and took your other hand in his. You have moment to admire him, the dim light from the cafe making his gentle face look even more delicate. From the cafe you take a few sweets and a hot chocolate each. This time he takes you to a different way and you're at his home in just a few minutes. When you question him he says he wanted to take a walk but got lazy on the way back. In truth, though, he wanted to have you all to himself for a bit — he didnt need you to talk or to entertain him, he just wanted to you to be there with him. And he wanted an excuse to hold your hand.
Staying in
When it's freezing outside and there's not much to do it's best to stay home and chill, in Drakens opinion. What would you be doing out and about in weather like that anyways? It's best to stay in - its warm, cozy, and most importantly you both can relax. That is, until you dedice you want to make gingerbread cookies so bad. As much as he wants to he knows he cant refuse you, he's too weak to do that. And he only has himself to blame for his predicament. He's dolled up in a frilly apron, he some of the batter still sticks to his hands and there's flour everywhere. You're laughing at his pout, unbothered by the mess. Swatting at him, bending over in laughter— and he smacks you right back. Of course he doesn't do it hard, but he won't go down without a fight! And chaos ensuses. By the time the cookies are ready for decorating the whole kitchen is in dissaray - bowls are upside down and over, theres spoons everywhere, everything and you two are covered in flour. You're both barely breathing and wheezing from laughter, stomach hurting and eyes teary. Holding onto him for support, almsot falling laughing. He has flour all over his face, hair and clothes, and you're no better. You'd have a huge cleanup to doz but that can wait for a little bit. As stoic as he is, he's still smiling like an idiot at the whole situation. To him it only serves his preference to stay in, with you.
The best part of winter is when its the dead of the ice-cold night and you're home, warm and toasty for Souya. The wind is whispering quitely like a dove, a few scattered constellations twinkling across the midnight sky, only a few of the windows on the opposite apartments still glowing across the sleeping neighborhood. All that is tangible trough his window. Hes on his bed, snuggled up with you. Warm, cozy and safe. He can hear music still playing from his phone somewhere, but he doesnt care enough to turn it off. You've been on his big, fluffy blankets for so long that they seems to smell a bit like you. Even his pajamas feel infused with the heat of you, him and the blankets. You look peacefully asleep, resting next to him. He's caressing you. Normally he'd be too flustered to, but you're asleep and you feel so soft— surely you wouldn't mind. It feels like he's itching, burning to have you close to him. He feels like he could melt right into you. For once he finds his words to talk. "You're so beautiful." He's muttering the words so quietly, his voice is soft like that of a dove."i wish i could look you in the eyes to tell you that, you know?" He's caressing the side of your head. "Are you an angel? I think you are. To me, you are." He presses a kiss on your forehead. On your temple. On your cheekbone. On your cheek. Right at the corner of your lips. His lips feel so tender, he's so careful not to wake you up. He wouldn't ever live that down."I love you. I'm gonna tell you that when you're awake too, yeah? Good night." Of course, he didnt have to know you were awake. He needed his quiet moments too.
•
•
•
•
I'm gonna die from the cold here i despise the school heating system e s p e c i a l l y in the basement
I have 8 classes a week in the basement save me
#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers#mikey x reader#sano manjiro x reader#draken x reader#ken ryuuguji x reader#mitsuya x reader#mitsuya takashi x reader#baji x reader#baji keisuke x reader#chifuyu x reader#chifuyu matsuno x reader#kazutora x reader#kazutora hanemiya x reader#hakkai x reader#hakkai shiba x reader#takemichi x reader#takemichi hanagaki x reader#smiley x reader#nahoya x reader#nahoya kawata x reader#angry x reader#souya x reader#souya kawata x reader
292 notes
·
View notes
Text
codependency ft. raphael
cw: minor spoiler~
Being Raphael’s older sister meant having a chokehold over everyone in the organization.
Fully-armed men visibly shuddered when you walked by. They answered your questions with hushed voices, twitching eyes, and shaky limbs that belied their large statures and decades of fighting tooth and nail for survival in this brutal place.
Father Gabriel was long dead. But years ago, he was warm, he was gentle. He held your hand and walked you into the Cathedral, all smiles and comforting reassurance while a seven-year-old Raphael clung to the back of your shirt, staggering with each step. Violence had left its lasting impression; where they made you a husk, his twisted psyche soon came to adore death and destruction. Raphael didn’t just bathe in Glory Club’s sanguinary nature, he coveted it.
If only Father listened.
The two were on bad terms for days, maybe weeks. A losing battle between Raphael—desperate for the organization to tip toward the crime syndicate it was meant to be, and Gabriel—ever considerate of his set of disciples and not wanting their worth to be reduced to mindless killing machines.
You weren’t blind; Raphael was quite literally losing it after each failed attempt to talk the old man into doing what he wanted. He hadn’t eaten and slept properly. He had the motivation, the reason. You just knew he had thought about it too.
You made one push.
Then Raphael stumbled down the stairs, deep into the abyss of his greed.
And thus, Glory Club was reborn.
Yet the bond between you two remained the same.
The little boy you loved and cared for deeply. After war, after corruption, after the tainted pieces of this world got to him, Raphael was still the sweetest. He grew bigger, stronger, perhaps a little tempestuous in the process. He shouted at his subordinates, raking his fingers through his hair in a show of frustration. He choked and killed without mercy when something didn’t go his way. That was just how he was. They were terrified of him, and even more terrified of you.
But here, behind closed door of your chamber, Raphael rested his head on your lap, facing down. Your fingers carded through his hair and massaged his scalp that brought him immense comfort like nothing else. In the dim moonlight that shined through the window, Raphael looked soft, kind, harmless. When your movement halted, he whimpered. Begging for more, and you happily complied, a giggle bubbling in your chest.
He was your baby brother, after all.
♡dividers credit: @sister-lucifer♡ ♡masterlist♡
#killer peter#killer peter manhwa#manhwa x reader#reader insert#manhwa#female reader#killer peter x reader#webtoon x reader#killer pietro#killer peter raphael#raphael#raphael x reader#killer peter raphael x reader#x reader#webtoon fanfic
334 notes
·
View notes
Text
【Idol! reader ft. Stalker!Genshin male 】
Idol reader who's popular all over the world, your a soloist who just debuted from training but already began to explode with popularity, your songs would always be the most streamed online along with many advertisements, websites, TV shows, revolving around you.
Everything was going well except for one thing... You have a stalker.
It's not at all surprising that celebrities would often get followed by people and invade their privacy, so you did what you could for now and reported the situation to your manager for them to handle.
With a breath of relief you thought it was the end of the stalking, that was until a mountain of gifts piled up on your front door early in the morning again, either containing love letters, with the contents declaring his love for you or some items that you enjoyed.
You felt incredibly concerned by this, every interview or show you appeared in you made sure to be extra careful and not reveal too much of about yourself, only very little people knew about what you liked and disliked, how could he possibly gather this information on you!?
Creeped out by this, you wasted no time and threw away the gifts in the trash incase there was some kind of hidden camera inside to watch you.
The police weren't even a single ounce worth of help, when you addressed the situation to them. They just shrugged it off saying that they couldn't do much with the lack of leads on the stalker.
You felt frustrated but knew it wasn't worth to argue over, and so, with slumped shoulders and a frown on your face you went back home feeling defeated.
As the days passed paranoia engulfed your mind and body, the stalker was becoming bolder by the second as he began coming to your own house directly with no shame.
Every morning you would wake up to the sound of someone throwing pebbles at your window, and whenever you checked the noise out, it was always the same person with his devilish smile which sent shivers down your spine.
It wasn't the end, Pieces of your clothing began to dissapere abruptly inside your wardrobe, although it didn't take a genius to know why.
You covered your mouth looking petrified, he was able to break inside your home so easily. Yet after all the effort to install a security alarm, it was no match for a monster like him
Worst of all, you were getting blackmailed by him! The stalker managed to dig up some past and old information about your family's back story, once these were leaked to the public media, everyone would absolutely crash out.
Your family meant everything for you, so you aren't really given much of a choice here..
'Mark my words I'll be sure to get justice.'
Unbeknownst to you, the stalker enjoyed every single moment of this. Seeing your anxious expression and being forced to quiet down for the sake of your life and family felt like bliss to him.
He then took the opportunity to snap a photo of you from the hidden camera he had installed inside your home after he broke in yesterday, it was so that he could watch your every movement of course.
The security alarm was a pain in the butt, but once he saw your sleeping figure on the bed looking so.. Beautiful, he felt even more excited than he already was.
Maybe he should pay a second visit, but this time take you home with him.
#genshin#genshin impact#genshin fanfic#genshin impact x reader#reader insert#x reader#gender neutral reader#genshin au#genshin x reader#x gn reader#genshin x gn reader#yandere genshin impact#yandere x you#male yandere#stalker yandere#genshin impact x you#genshin imagines#genshin fic#yandere genshin#male x reader#idol#idol reader#stalker x reader#gn reader#genshin impact x gender neutral reader#gender neutral y/n#reader#male yandere x reader#yandere x reader#genshin headcanons
181 notes
·
View notes
Text
𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ in the mornings ⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚
ft: rin.
notes: just pure sunshine fluff ✧˖°.
part/series: 1.0 2.0 3.0
wc: 1328
he's doesn't wake you up, and prefers to let you sleep the night away to your heart's content (sleeping makes you happy), and he notices and cares about that.
it's the little things....
rin wakes up early before you. he's always been an early bird, up as soon as the sun rises, and a sleepy saturday is no exception. so you're left to be woken up by the birds chirping and the sun shining and the smell of your favorite food wafting through the open doorway. and you'll get up, slowly walk your way downstairs.
the moment's surprisingly domestic, rin's shirtless and clad in an apron (even though it's a little drafty downstairs), you're in his shirt, and for a second there's nothing but the sound of sizzling bacon reverberating on the walls and making you feel completely at home.
"did you sleep well?" you smile, because you suddenly feel refreshly rejuvenated.
"yeah, i really, really did."
rin is SUCH a sweetheart dasifjsdiofjjjsfdi LMAOO like...
you cannot prove me wrong once he gets to know you he's literally warm and allasdfjdfoi
and his cooking's mad scrumptious i am telling u
breakfast, as usual is warm and lifts you up. down to your veins, the utter core and heart of your being, because you can tell that he made it with love, and that's most important. and once you're done, you make a move to go do the dishes, but he won't let you. (the man's serious, what can i say?)
"i can do it-"
"don't worry," rin pulls you into a swift hug and you're suddenly surrounded by a cocoon of strong, comforting arms, "i got it."
"but you already cooked? we should split-"
rin looks at you fondly, amusement glimmering in teal eyes. it's a look that can stop time, shatter you, and pick you up anew. it's the look of the sunsets you saw together last september, and it's that look of pure adoration and love.
"you should rest," he whispers as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek that leaves your stomach whirling and your nerves dancing alight. "you're worth it."
oh if you only knew HOW BAD i need a rin in my life
we all need a rin tbh because he's sooo sweet and so caring when he's comfy around you
+ a little jelly bcs !!!!
this next scene is utter beauty... you'll see...
waking up is hard when you're utterly entangled in the strong arms of the one you love.
the sun hums softly through the windows, blanketing everything in golden radiance. a clear, blue expanse of sky gazes down at you from above. the clock blinks at you in soft red letters the time (11 P.M.), but neither of you seem to make a move to get up.
it’s the power of a sleepy saturday.
a soft murmur (the doorbell) cuts through your haze of thoughts. “i’ll get it-” rin starts but you push the covers back onto him, pressing him back down onto the soft mattress.
“don’t worry, i got it,” you smile, and he wraps you in a warm hug.
“if you’re gone too long, i’ll miss you!” he calls over your shoulder. you smile back at him. it’s so easy to fall back into that comforting, perfect rhythm, where it’s just the two of you. indelible touches and soft warmth, broken down to sand, it’s just the two of you. against the world, fighting together, the two of you.
your heart blossoms with a warmth that swells from your head down to the very core of your being, and sits happily there, a pleasant, steady heat that makes the silence feel so full.
at your door’s a cute, smiling pizza man.
“delivery for y/n?” he smiles down at you, while holding that cardboard box.
“thanks so much!” you turn to grab your wallet from the counter, and come back right after. the air’s crackling with some unspoken tension, and you feel and hear movement behind you, but you disregard it.
inhaling the aroma of cheesy goodness, you feel oddly refreshed.
the man looks you up and down, and you suddenly realize you’re in a ratty set of pajamas and cross your arms over yourself a little self-consciously.
“the weather’s gorgeous today, isn’t it?” the man smiles and you find it in yourself to smile back. he’s just being nice, you chide yourself.
“yeah-” you start, “it really, really is.”
as you move to swipe your credit card across the gleaming screen of the touchless payment scanner, your feet get caught on the rug and you fall down, down, down…
right into the pizza guy’s arms. as your cheeks color and flame, and you murmur a hasty apology and scramble away, the man smirks.
“fell for me already, didn’t you?”
you wince. he’s cute, with warm eyes and dimples, but he’s no rin itoshi. “actually,” you start, “i’m flattered, but i’m not interested.”
the guy looks at you in surprise. “what, do you have a boyfriend or someth-”
immediately, rin’s presence materializes by you as if summoned. it’s a little uncanny, you think to yourself. and you have to admit, seeing rin stare down his opposition is a sight to see.
it doesn’t help the other guy’s case that rin’s fit as anything, either. just the glare he gives his opponents is enough to make them recoil. he crosses his arms over his broad chest and gives the delivery guy a penetrating stare. (you feel a little bad for this poor pizza man). but also, it fills you with molten heat and just love that rin would even care about these little things.
“yeah,” rin drawls underneath the summer sun, “she does have a boyfriend.” he wraps his bicep around your waist and tugs you close.
“so if i were you,” rin leans in towards the guy and whispers, “i’d probably leave now.”
somehow, the pressured worker manages to keep his wits intact. “you haven’t paid-”
“i’ll handle it, y/n,” rin whispers in your ear and waves you off. as you sit down on your sofa and calm your racing heart, you’re hit with such a wave of emotion that your heart weeps. because you’re rin itoshi’s, and he doesn’t care if the whole world knows it.
rin’s by your side minutes later and he sees your tears. “why’re you crying? is it me- don’t cry because of me-” he hugs you close, and wipes away your tears with gentle fingers.
“i’m not sad, rin,” you smile up at him, “happy tears. happy because you love me, and you don’t care if the whole world knows it-”
“even if you are a jealous-”
he pulls you in close and whispers fiercely. “damn right i’m jealous, because i got the best person in the world right beside me. and i’ll never let you go, and i’ll always love you. let the world say what they want to say, because you’re mine.”
“i love you too, rin-”
and then he pulls you into a searing kiss, embedding himself into your very soul and your entire mind is consumed with just rin itoshi. featherlight touches leave trails of heat down your face, and you breathe a soft sigh.
because rin in the mornings (and any other time) is truly just a sight to behold.
“say it,” rin murmurs and pulls away. you’re both breathing a little heavy and he looks at you with such love and emotion in his eyes that you know what he needs.
“i’m yours.”
the next kiss sends off fireworks in your heart and ignites your world in a blaze of life because you’re rin’s, he’s yours, and the two of you together are unstoppable.
there will be ups and downs. highs of unimaginable greatness and lows and worlds of hurt. but you’ll get through it.
together.
OH MY GOD MWA MWA MWA AHHHHHH
rin is truly the best lover when he's with you, i refuse to believe othwerise.... well i know he''ll prob be AWKWARD and cold at first.. (i'll totally do an arranged marriage sitch on my ao3 oh i love the idea already)
stay tuned for part two (guess which character in comments!!! or request which one im open) i'll link it under the series column when it's rdy ;)
thank u sm for reading, and thank you to @enchanthings for these lovely page dividers. grateful foreva 🫶
(rin pics bcs i love him sm, look at that penetrating stare and bro has hella eyelashes..)
ASJFDSOIF ok THANKS FOR REEADING AGAIN!!
part two is up and linked!!! happy reading :)
#blue lock#bllk#bllk x reader#bllk fluff#rin itoshi#rin itoshi x y/n#rin itoshi x reader#bllk imagines#blue lock x reader#blue lock fluff#itoshi rin
503 notes
·
View notes
Text
› › › we’ll find a way.
⋆ ⌒ inspired by Red Swan from AOT season 3.
̽ ⋆ main warnings › › angst/comfort, pregnant reader in Katsuki’s part, dealing with the grief of losing a sibling in Shouto’s part. ̽ ⋆
⋆ ft. katsuki & shoto ⋆
master list link
Katsuki works himself down to the bone. Then he whittles away at said bone until he’s nothing more than a pile of dust waiting to be swept off by the wind. Not surprising, seeing as how he’s had this iron clad determination since way before you met him.
And yet…. the past few weeks you’ve watched helplessly as your husband slips through your fingers like sand. Honestly, you knew what you signed up for. So you shouldn’t be so hurt when Katsuki starts missing more dinners than usual. You shouldn’t be so hurt when his patrols run even longer through the night. You shouldn’t be so hurt when he starts working on the weekends.
But you are. You’re so so hurt, and it aches in the hollow of your chest in a way no medication could ever hope to relieve. Recreational or otherwise.
Even so, you’re a goddamn sucker for Katsuki. No matter how much the bitterness swells inside you, no matter how hard you have to bite the inside of your lip so it doesn’t spill out as distasteful vitriol.
That’s why you give him the benefit of the doubt when he tells you for, what seems like the hundredth time, that he’ll be home for the day on Saturday. After all, you promised long ago you’d keep at least one day the of the week for each other, even if he hasn’t been keeping up his side of the deal.
That afternoon comes and you find yourself on the couch waiting for the blonde, clutching eagerly at the gift you’re going to give him. It’s something you’d both wanted for some time and finally, finally it seems luck is on your side. It’ll be worth all the pain you’ve dealt with recently.
An hour passes and you try to call him, fidgeting in your seat. He assures you he’ll be home in thirty minutes. Another hour and a half goes by and this time he doesn’t answer your call.
The evening is rapidly approaching and cicadas sing outside your window when a fury so powerful you can fucking taste it wells up on the back of your tongue and rushes through your veins. Blood flushes your face so hotly it burns your eyes and your heart pulses in your ears.
Looking down at the fabric in your shaky hands, tears bite your waterline and suddenly the rage flips on its head and melts into sorrow. Shoulders drooping, you sigh in defeat and carefully lay out the piece of clothing on your coffee table in plain view. You smooth out any wrinkles carefully.
You move like a tornado throughout the living room, gathering your phone, your purse, slipping on your shoes. Glancing back at the orange and black onesie on the table that reads “daddy’s number one hero,” turns your stomach to knots and you make haste to Kirishima’s house.
You were going to tell Katsuki that you were pregnant tonight, but now you’re sobbing into Kirishima’s shoulder at his house and ignoring your husband’s frantic calls and messages.
Not even a few hours later Katsuki’s calling his agency and telling them shove their extra work up their goddamn asses because you’re his entire fucking world and it makes him sick to see what he’s been doing to you.
He’ll be damned if he didn’t find a way to make it all work. It takes time to return normal, but now you’ll get to spend the weekends waking up to the sound of tiny feet belonging to the miniature spitfire version of Katsuki.
Maybe you will find a way.
Shouto doesn’t think. At least, not very often. To give him some credit, as he’s aged, he’s gotten better at determining the consequences of his actions before he makes important decisions, but that went out the window this time.
It’s why you choke on your sip of water, head jerking in surprise when Shouto chimes in next to you that he’ll take the underground mission his agency is offering to him without consulting you at all. You had a nasty gut feeling when they mentioned something about the remnants of the league of villains but you trusted Shouto to be smart about it.
It’s been years since the war, Touya is gone, but Shouto still is unable to shake off hunting down even a hint of evidence related to the league. It haunts him, and you’re certain it’s because he can’t bear to lose the last piece of something tangible related to his brother, and your agency knows that. Manipulative motherfuckers.
You decidedly keep your mouth shut until you’re alone before turning to your husband with one singular arched eyebrow.
Shouto sighs, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I know what you’re going to say.”
You exhale sharply through your nose. “Just promise me you’ll be back in time.” You cross your arms over your chest, staring at him with a pinched expression. He tilts his head to study your apprehensive features, the corners of his mouth tilting slightly downwards.
“Of course. I wouldn’t leave you alone, you know that.”
You stare at him for a beat longer before averting your gaze. You very much want to believe him, but these kinds of missions are chaotic on their best days.
Turns out you were right to be on edge about it. Shouto does in fact, not, make it home in time to be there with you on the anniversary of your brother’s death. You’re aware it’s not, technically, it’s not his fault. But he is partially to blame. It was cutting it close with the timeline of the anniversary and the mission. Shouto knew that, and still went.
If anyone would understand the grief and sorrow of losing a brother, it’s Shouto. It’s one of the things that brought you together in the first place.
When you wake up alone the morning of the anniversary there’s a tidal wave of heartache so violent sitting on your chest that you can’t stomach leaving your bed. Watching a movie doesn’t help, reading doesn’t help, taking a shower doesn’t. fucking. help. Your mind wonders a one track pathway to memories of your beloved brother. You can’t get him out of your head. Always, always, always his ghost haunts you.
Usually it’s not so hard to shoulder the grief when Shouto is there. He helps you reminisce and shed a warm light onto the otherwise cloudy day. Now you’re alone. It gets to a point that you have to lay any photo involving your brother face down because you may go crazy if you keep staring at them.
When you check your phone it’s empty. No messages, not even a phone call from your husband. Shouto really did abandon you, and you try desperately not to be upset but your heart cracks in half anyways.
You spend the remainder of the day curled up under your blanket, knees tucked to your chest. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes and soak your pillow until you’re sure you’ve cried out the entirety of the water in your body.
You must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next time you peel open your swollen eyes it’s to a significantly warm arm snaking around your waist and pulling you in so tightly to a solid chest that you struggle to breathe.
“Forgive me, I’m so fucking sorry. I love you.” Shouto’s voice is soft and cracks slightly when he speaks, the sensation of his warm breath tickles the back of your neck. You’re too drained to care about being angry with him right now, flipping over to bury your face in his chest and squeeze him back as the lump in your throat becomes too large to swallow around.
The throbbing ache in your chest dulls considerably now that Shouto is home. You stay like that for what seems like hours, and when something like Shouto’s silent tears trickle onto your head, you say nothing and hug him once more.
He may have missed part of the day, but he’ll be there for you in the end. He’ll always find a way.
#bakugou x reader#todoroki x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#todoroki shouto x reader#mha x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#todoroki angst#shouto todoroki x reader#bakugou angst#bakugou katsuki#todoroki shouto#hurt/comfort#angst#dividers by enchanthings#dividers by saradika
234 notes
·
View notes
Text
I cannot believe that no one bought this elegant little gem of an 1877 2nd Empire townhouse in Minneapolis, MN. It's decorated in grand Baroque style, has 1bd, 2ba, 1,799 sq ft, $989k + $1,029mo. HOA. Maybe it's priced too high? Zillow says it's worth about $935k. The high HOA fee could also be a factor.
Come on, now. NOBODY expects the Baroque Townhouse! Look at the entrance- got some gothic doors, architectural salvage light fixture from a church, and what could be better than a wine rack where you can grab a bottle as soon as you walk thru the door? It also looks like a mini bar. What a way to greet guests.
They really did a lot of work on this place. That's why I think it's priced at almost $1m. The woodwork, alone, is incredible. Look at the delightful dining room that looks like it's under an arbor.
Stone wall with niches. Antique chandelier.
This is a sitting room fit for a queen.
Different areas of the home are done in different styles. The ornate sitting room is Baroque with a massive fireplace and chandeliers.
The custom kitchen has a Frenchy flair and it also has an Aga stove (big bucks) with a mosaic backsplash. Look at the flowers painted on the counters.
You can see the pantry on the left, plus plenty storage in the cabinetry, and another mosaic backsplash behind the sink.
There's a copper ceiling over the dining area. This is an eat-kitchen so you can enjoy it every day. View from the windows looks out toward the city.
Beautiful, cozy den has a door to the garden. Gorgeous wainscoting, wood ceiling, brick wall w/shelves, and stained glass windows.
Your guests get to use this fabulous powder room with an intricately carved sink topped by a marble counter, gold swan faucet, and a cut crystal bowl for a sink.
Down the hall is an Asian-inspired full bath with a carved black marble tub and a huge dragon head faucet.
Look at that thing. Then, right across, behind folding doors, they've got a convenient laundry room.
Check out the pattern of the marble in the shower.
Large bath has a beautifully painted chest-turned-sink, and a private water closet.
The magnificent entrance to the bath is guarded by foo dogs.
The bedroom decor ties in with the theme of the bath.
The doorway to the bath is in the bedroom. The walls look like a teahouse.
The stairs have murals and carved doors. The home has 3 levels and I can't discern what floors the rooms are on, b/c as usual, the real estate photos are completely mixed up.
Impeccably maintained garages.
I wish they would've shown the sunrooms and rooftop terraces. Look at the glass structures on the roof.
That's the Mississippi River going by. The home is actually on a little island called Nicollet Island.
https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/8-Grove-St-8B-Minneapolis-MN-55401/1913645_zpid/?
172 notes
·
View notes