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satorusugurugurl · 9 months ago

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My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one my, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 5,818

Warning: dirty talk, language, making out, wedding duties (lol), oral sex, smutty smut

A/N: Our final part 🥹💚 wow what a journey! There will be an epilogue for our sweet beans next week! Along with the start of the Best Friend!Suguru series.I'm so sorry for the late post, I was so sick yesterday and sleepy from my medication! But better late than never! ! If you want to be included in the tag list, YOU MUST HAVE AGE LISTED! Thank you!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Eight

For two days, two days, you and Satoru spent most of the time in your room. Wrapped up in your sheets, him on top of you, you on top of him. You only separated for the rehearsal dinner and getting your nails done. But the second you were back in his arms, he made up for the lost time like you had been gone for years. His lips were on yours in slow, gentle kisses that became passionate.

Those same kisses would end on the futon, which probably had seen more action in the last forty-eight hours than since the inn opened. Satoru bent you in all different positions, twisting you like a pretzel, stretching you in ways you didn't even know was possible. He made it his goal to make up for the year and a half that you didn’t sleep with anyone. Gojo Satoru turned you into a mess- a withering mess.

“Oooh holy shit.” you cried out, gripping the blanket, “fuuuuck oooh fuck Satoru.”

“Yeah~? Does that feel good~?”

“S-So good~!”

“Mhmm~ good.”

Fingers moved gently, expertly making your back arch, jaw opening in a soft cry of pleasure. Satoru bit his lip, his fingers increasing the pressure against you. Cerulean eyes narrowed, focusing on your face, watching how your eyes rolled back and your face flushed.

“T-Toru~Toru.” Toes curled as you cried softly, eyes watering.

“Oooh yeah~ you gonna cum~?”

Blinking, you lift an eyebrow, watching Satoru wiggle his at you. His fingers are massaging into your sore feet, kneading away knots and easing the aching muscles. Both of you were fully clothed, sitting on the back porch overlooking the gardens. Anyone around would have assumed you both were doing the deed from how loud you were being.

“Oh my god, was I being that loud?”

“What~? No!” You relaxed a little, your feet still in his lap. Thumbs worked at a particularly sore spot, making you whine again. “I’m pretty sure Suguru heard that whine, and he's in Tokyo.”

“Ya’ know what—”

You try pulling your feet away, only to have Satoru yank them back into his lap, inadvertently pulling you closer to him. “Stop, I'm just teasing. Let me do this.” his fingers continue working, moving gently over your feet. “You were in the kitchen all morning, making a three-tier wedding cake. Then those ‘friends’ of yours make you wear heels to take pictures. And you have to wear heels for the wedding tomorrow?” Satoru shook his head, white tufts of hair swaying.

“I offered to bake the cake, the benefit of having a baker as a friend.” His thumbs hit a sore spot, making you jolt. “But the heels are torture.”

“They seem like it.”

A soft, comfortable silence filled with chirping crickets and a distant wind chime grew between you. You just sat there while Satoru rubbed at your sore feet under the blanket of glittering stars. You had one more day together here in Kyoto, then a train ride back home, and you would be back to reality. A reality that had changed drastically over the last week.

When you both retired to your room, you lay in bed staring at the ceiling in thought. You had gone from a woman who was quiet, shy, and hell-bent on not needing anyone to this giggly, joyful woman who couldn’t be any happier. Satoru had peeled away at the layers of scar tissue you had hidden yourself in. He brought a certain confidence out in you. Being with him was as easy as breathing; even when you returned home to your mundane lives, you had faith you both would continue to strive forward. To keep your relationship going strong.

Strong as the urge to stay in bed with him all day despite your fellow bridesmaids pounding on your door the next morning. Satoru grumbled in horny frustration; his cock was pressed firmly over your barely clothed core. You pulled your lips away from his neck, pushing your hair back, groaning at the sudden interruption.

“I have to go, Toru.” You pulled off of him, giggling as he threw his head back. “Hey~ don’t be like that; we’ll pick up where we left off tonight.”

“Wedding sex is the best kind of sex. Especially when you’re on a sugar rush.”

You looked over your shoulder at him, grinning ear to ear. “That sounds enticing.” Satoru sat up on his elbows, licking his lips.

“Oh, it’s gonna happen tonight,” Satoru promised with a shake of his head. “I promise you that.”

Another knock at the door, “If you don’t come out! We’re coming in! Regardless of how indecent you two are!” A series of knocks sounded from the other side of the door by several different hands from the sound of it.

”I better go before they knock down the door.” With a pout, you leaned down, kissing Satoru goodbye before heading out. “I’ll see you later!” just before you shut the door to the room, you pouted as Satoru watched, sticking his bottom lip out. “It’s just three hours, babe!”

Three hours flew by before you knew it. The excitement of getting ready for the wedding and seeing your best friend practically buzzing in anticipation fueled everyone's energy. While you were bouncing up and down eagerly waiting to see Satoru in a tailored suit. Just imagining him had you grinning as you stared out the bridal suite window, looking towards the garden decorated for the joyous event.

“So, when are you and Satoru getting married?”

”Eh!?” All of your friends surrounded you, devilish smiles gracing their faces. “I-I—we are not getting married!” At least not yet. “We’ve barely started going out.” Literally. “There’s no indication that we're even considering that!”

“Oh, please!”

“Says the girl that’s been locked in her room with said boyfriend for the last two days!”

Your face burned like a fresh sunburn. “S-So! That does not mean that we’re getting married anytime soon!” All of your friends booed in protest. “Will the whole lot of you stop? Seriously, I don’t want you guys scaring off Satoru!” The bride stepped forward in her gown and all of her glory. “Finally, Mina, will you please talk some sense into them!?” Your best friend looked amongst the other girls, all dressed in a beautiful sky blue. For a moment, you thought she might take your side. But the second a smirk at the corner of her mouth, you knew she didn’t have your back.

“I was going to ask you the same question! The man would’ve fucked you against the wall at the bar no one stopped him!”

“Oh my God!”

“I’m serious! I think I’ll hand you the bouquet when I toss it!”

“Please don’t.”

“Oh, I think I will!”

“We are not getting married—not yet!”

Satoru sat off to the side, right next to your parents, as the wedding started. He watched with wide and sparkling eyes as you walked down the aisle with a groomsman. Your hair was styled beautifully, and the flowing sky-blue dress looked stunning on your figure and complimented your skin tone. His mouth felt suddenly dry as you looked at him, giving him a gentle, sweet smile. Cupid himself must have shot him through the heart at that moment because fuck, he was falling so hard for you.

“Ma’am—“ he learned next to your mother's ear, “just so you know, the next wedding we host here will be ours.”

“Huh?!”

Her reaction didn’t even seem to faze him. All he cared about was standing near the front of an outdoor arch decor with flowers of different colors—a gentle breeze brushed by you, making your hair and the dress flow. Even when the bride made her grand entrance, everyone turned to see her walking down the aisle towards her future husband. Satoru had his eyes locked on you.

You could feel his eyes, and that burning sensation had your focus transfixed on him. Was it wrong to be looking at your wedding date instead of the bride-to-be? The chances of that were very likely. But how could you not stare back? When his eyes burned holes into your very soul and left your heart racing like you had just run a marathon. It was impossible to pay attention to anyone else.

He was so handsome. Satoru was wearing a white button-down shirt with a blue tie that matched your dress. His navy blue jacket and pants were tailored to his body perfectly. You could tell by its appearance that it was expensive. It was probably more expensive than your best friend's wedding dress. You wanted to rip it off of him and let him take you right there in the garden.

Yes, he was extremely good-looking. But it wasn’t his clothes or his appearance or the fact that he had money that made you so attracted to him at that moment. The way he looked at you, eyes trailing over your body, with a soft grin, told you everything you needed to know. Satoru truly cared for you. This wasn’t just about sex, and it wasn’t the magic of the wedding to be. Chemistry, connection, and attraction were one hundred percent genuine.

After exchanging vows and rings, hundreds of pictures were taken with everyone. You were finally free from your wedding duties. The first thing you did as soon as you broke away from the rest of the group was run to Satoru’s side. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight to his chest. Lips pressed against the temple of your head, and you could’ve sworn he let out a little sigh of happiness to have you back in his arms.

“You look so fucking beautiful.” He cupped a strand of hair behind your ear before gently reaching down, gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Is it wrong for me to say you’re even more beautiful than the bride?”

“Satoru!” you playfully punched at his shoulder, “I am not.”

“Oh, you are; that’s a god-given fact, sweetheart.” His thumbs brushed ever so lovingly over your cheek. “But there’s just one thing I would change about the outfit.”

“You and me both.” You winced, moving your arm away from the scratchy sequins top. “This material is an absolute nightmare for my underarms. I’m serious. You’ll probably have to put lotion on them for me later.”

“Oh.” Satoru deadpans. “ I wasn’t talking about the material.”

You hum in thought, looking over the dress for any flaws he may have noticed. “Oh?” When you didn’t find anything else wrong with the dress in your eyes, you tilted your head, looking up at Satoru. “Well, what would you change about it then?” His hand gently pulled your face closer to his own; he leaned down, the fresh smell of minty lemonade coaxing your nostrils.

“I’d change the color.”

“Wait, what?”

Your date says nothing for a beat of silence. “So anyways! Let’s grab our seats; I’ll get you one of the cocktails!”

He rambles on while you’re still stuck on how he would change the color of your dress. Surely, he meant he would do a different shade or maybe red instead of blue; there’s no possible way that he was talking about it to white. Yeah, he didn’t mean that at all! Your friends just put the stupid notion in your head that you guys are going to get married next. You didn’t even know what the two of you were yet. You hadn’t put a label on your relationship.

What you did know was that Satoru wanted to make your relationship work. So you knew for sure that you weren’t just another fuck buddy or client. This went deeper than that. What you both had was real, which was a lot more than other couples had. So who knew, maybe your friends were right? Perhaps Satoru had thought that white would make your dress look one million times better.

These were questions and answers for another day. You weren’t going to rush into things. Both of you wanted to take your time and get to know one another.

And you learned a lot of things about him as the party began. Like how he despised the taste of alcohol, he had mentioned it in passing when he walked you to the bachelorette party. But when he accidentally took a sip of a cocktail unintentionally, not knowing it had alcohol in it, the man sputtered and choked. His hands grabbed a cola from the bartender, chugging it like water. You learned that he was a pretty good dancer. He bumped and ground with you on the dance floor while the music blared. You learned how gentle his hands were as he slowly danced with you to one of the many love songs the DJ played.

He was so tentative to you. He’d always make sure you had a drink of some kind. He insisted that you drink plenty of water to avoid getting drunk. He even went to the room and grabbed your sandals when your high heels bothered you. God, he was everything and then some. If you hadn’t called for each other, he truly would have made this wedding a lot of fun for you. There was no doubt that he was worth every penny you were willing to spend to have a good time.

The party has toned down almost entirely, a few stragglers drunkenly laughing and drinking while others chat while eating the vanilla and raspberry compote cake you had made. Your best friend and her husband are one of two couples on the floor dancing to a slow song. The other was Satoru and the flower girl who had been smitten with his white hair and blue eyes. She was convinced he was Prince charming and begged him to dance with her. Satoru jumped at the opportunity. Gently placing her little feet on top of his shoes as he danced with her to the slow beat of the music.

Your gaze was locked on him as you nursed a cup of coffee between your hands. He was so perfect in every way, shape, and form. Satoru had made this one of the best nights of your entire life. God, you don’t think you’ve ever had so much fun at a wedding before. It was all thanks to him that you were having one of the most memorable nights of your life.

Those deep, happy thoughts are cut short when a tiny, chubby hand gently smacks your cheek. The sudden contact has you jumping, nearly spilling the hot coffee over your hands as you turn to see who has smacked you. You’re met with beautiful, big navy-colored eyes—dark tufts of hair spill over the head as the baby gently smacks your cheek again.

“Please don’t hit me, I have my kid.” a familiar voice speaks, “and don’t yell, please.”

You scoff, cocking an eyebrow up at Toji as he sits down in the chair next to you. “Are you seriously using your kid as a human shield?” Your ex shakes his head before looking over his shoulder, searching for someone.

“I cannot confirm nor deny that.” He cradles the babbling baby in his lap. “But if my wife is around, I will deny every word.”

“So you are using your child as a human shield.”

“Well, it’s working, isn’t it?”

“What do you want, Toji?”

He cradles his son in one arm, reaching into his suit jacket with his free hand. Toji pulls out a manila envelope and places it in front of you. Gingerly, taking it off the table, you open it and find the money you had left in the kitchen the other day. The money he almost ruined your relationship with Satoru over and the money you’d spent on him

He exhales deeply through his nose before clearing his throat. “What I did was wrong.” His son babbles, chubby little hands pulling the sleeve of his jacket. “I just wanted to apologize for everything that happened. I broke your heart, not once but twice. You, of all people, don’t deserve to be treated like that.” You cock an eyebrow. “And no, I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I just wanted to say that I was sorry. For breaking off our engagement the way that I did. For almost sabotaging your relationship with that brat over there.” His head jerks in Satoru’s direction.

“Yeah, you almost fucked that up for me.”

“Well, luckily, you guys worked it out.”

“Yeah, we did.” For the first time all week, you don’t feel the slightest bit of dread being near Toji. Maybe it was because you slapped the shit out of him, or perhaps it was because you felt as though your last confrontation was able to heal your wounds. “He’s a great guy.”

“Great for an escort.”

“Former escort.” You correct him with a smug smile. “Satoru sent in his resignation letter on Thursday after we talked.”

Toji’s eyes went wide before they softened with a gentle gaze that you hadn’t seen since high school. “Well shit, I guess I had him pegged wrong.” Taking another sip of your coffee, you giggle before resting your chin on your fist.

“I thought you said you were the greatest PI.”

“Nah, I’m one of the best.” Toni leans back, and in this light, you can see the slight discoloration on his face from both you and Satoru’s hits the other day. “I’m far from being the greatest. I wasn’t for you, but—“ he pressed his lips against his son’s head. “I’m trying to be a better person for this brat and my wife.”

“You always were an asshole.” Your point-blank statement had him wincing. “But if you hadn’t been an asshole, I wouldn’t have become the person I am today. So thanks for being a dick.”

Toji tilts his head, chuckling. “You’re welcome, I guess.” A squealing babble has both you and Toji glancing down at his son. He gently gums at his father’s jacket, drooling over the fabric. Toji sighs and gently lifts the baby to stare at him. When he does, those navy blue eyes glance towards his chest that's straining against the fabric. His son smacks his lips in hunger. “Fuck, I gotta find my wife; the little shits hungry again. And I’d rather not have him gnawing at my pecs.” He stands and pauses before turning his child to face you.

The tiny human gurgles at you, tilting his head. “Uhm, Toji, I can’t feed him.” Your ex rolls his eyes so hard you can almost hear it.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ know, I just—“ he sighs, “this is my son, Fushiguro Megumi.” You can’t help but smile at his name; a blessing.

“Well, hello there, Megumi.” You gently pet his hair back. “It’s nice to meet you; whatever you do, don’t turn out to be like your father.”

Toji barks out a sharp laugh, nodding his head. “Yeah, that’s for sure.” Megumi laughs loudly, smacking his hands against your face.

“Toji!” Both of you turn to see a woman with dark hair waving at him.

“That’s the wife, we’re leaving.” He cradles Megumi into his side ever so gently. “I’m sorry again for all the shit I put you through in the past and well in the last week.”

“Well, all that shit led me to someone pretty great.” Your eyes drift back to Satoru, who's walking the little girl back to her parents. “All those years of putting up with you gave me some good karma.”

“For putting up with me, you deserve the world.” He scoffs hurriedly to join his wife. “Later.”

You wave goodbye to him, returning to your cup just as Satoru joins you. Two plates with cake in his hands. “Was that Toji!?” His ocean eyes meet yours, searching for any sign or tears of frustration. “The hell did he want?” He shoves the sweet cake into his mouth before offering you a bite, which you eagerly take.

“Mhm, he just wanted to give me the money he owed me.”

“What you should have given him was a knuckle sandwich.” Your soft giggle has butterflies swarming inside his stomach.

“I already gave him one, so I’ll gladly take the money this time.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He takes another bite of cake. “It would be a shame for you to bruise those knuckles again.”

You press your body against him, relishing in the warmth. “You know I don’t even care anymore. I got hurt in the past. I wallowed in my self-pity for over a year. But things are starting to look up for me now.” He hummed, turning to press a kiss against your forehead. “All thanks to my—“You hesitate, not sure if you want to be the one to put a label on your relationship.

“Boyfriend.” Satoru finishes for you, making your hearts swell with joy.

“Yes, my boyfriend.”

Satoru takes one last bite of his cake before wiping the mixture of whipped cream and buttercream off with his thumb. “Mmm, I love hearing you say that. It sounds so damn pretty rolling off your tongue.” You grinned, gently gripping his hand on your own, squeezing it as you stood.

“Wanna see what else I can do with my tongue~?”

Without hesitation, your boyfriend stands up from the table, following you down the hall. “Oooh? Is the sugar kicking in?” Satoru quickly takes the lead from you, dragging you down the hall and towards the guest rooms.

“It’s not just the sugar.” You correct him. “It’s you.”

The second you step into the room, and the door is slammed shut, Satoru’s on you, cupping your face, kissing you deeply with a guttural moan. You return the kiss, tasting the sweet, tangy remains of the cake on his tongue that worked its way into your mouth. You’re moaning, pushing his jacket off, letting it fall to the ground as you start working on the buttons of his shirt.

While you do that, Satoru runs his hands down your back, searching for a zipper or buttons, only to discover an intricate series of strings. He breaks the kiss, looking down at the saliva connecting your lips before he forces you to turn around so he can start working on the corset holding you hostage. His fingers struggle with the silky strings; he’s far too excited to sit down and take the necessary time to care for this.

“Hey, sweetheart, this isn’t a rental, is it?”

”No, I wish it was; I seriously haye the sequins, Toru.” You huff out, feeling his hands gently grip both sides of the back of the dress.

”So you wouldn’t be heartbroken if anything were to happen to it?”

”No, I guess I woul—“ RIIIP!! “Oh fuck!” You tumble as Satoru uses all of his strength to rip down the back of the dress—the thin fabric pools around your feet before Satoru turns you back to face him. The second you do, he drops to his knees in front of you and kisses down your bare chest, all the way to your lace panties. “S-Satoru~”

“Mmm, I wanna show you what I can do with my tongue.” He states flatly before tugging your panties down. “I get to eat two sweet treats tonight. Your amazing cake and your delicious pussy.”

His tongue instantly slides over your clit, making you grip his hair for support in fear that you are going to buckle over. Your hand grips the soft strands of hair, winning the softest of groans from him. While your fingers run through his hair, only make him move his tongue faster, with the sole purpose of making you cum.

Unfortunately for you, even if you were willing to hold off, Satoru is just too good at what he does. He teases your clit, going between gentle flicks, suckling on it, and writing his name against it with the tip of his tongue. His antics and techniques leave you nearly falling over, wishing you were on the futon. There was something about towering over him, though, bucking your pussy against his willing mouth that gave you a certain sense of empowerment.

You could see why men would like a woman on their knees. It was fun holding all of the power to make Satoru do what you wanted, to keep his face in place with you humping his tongue. You could have cum from just thinking of riding his face like this. Doing it though, fuck, it was so hot.

Satoru thought so, too; his jaw opened wide as he flattened his tongue, allowing you to use his mouth as you saw fit. His hand gently reached around, grabbing the fat of your ass, encouraging you to move and grind faster against him, wanting for you to cum. His squeezing you had your head falling forward, strands of your kiss-messy hair falling as you came hard, rolling your hips in time with the waves crashing over you. Satoru hummed happily, lapping up the juices you kindly offered him.

“Fuck, oooh fuck Satoru.” Your knees were buckling as he gently peppered hisses down your inner thighs. “I don’t think I can walk after that.”

”Hm? Oh, don’t worry about that.” He lifted you gently, placing you down on the futon. “I have a perfect place for you to sit.” You watched in awe as your boyfriend stripped out of his clothes and slipped on a condom before standing completely naked in front of you. “Now, what do you say,” Satoru laid down, grabbing your hips and pulling you to straddle him. “We pick up where we left off this morning before your friends rudely interrupted us.”

”Mmm, I love the sound of that.” Sitting back ever so slightly, you gently grabbed his cock, easing the thick throbbing tip inside of you. “Ah~ fuck I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how thick you are.” You cry out as you slowly begin to slide yourself down his shaft with a whimper.

”And I’ll never get over how tight and warm you are.” Large hands gently grip your hip, holding you as you sit down on him, his cock fully buried inside of you. “God, I can��t wait to feel how wet you are one of these days.” He hisses through his teeth as you slowly begin to rock back and forth on him. “Y-You fuck, sweetie, you feel so fucking good!”

“Yeah, so do you, Toru; I feel you getting bigger inside me.”

“And I can feel you clamping down.”

Knowing that he could feel just how good you were feeling was the only entice you needed to pick up your pace, your gentle rocks becoming a bit faster and harder as you gently began bouncing up and down on him. Your sudden increase in speed had Satoru choking on a raspy whine, his head tilting back as you placed your hands on his chest, steadying yourself. This position was one of your favorites. You were able to watch Satoru’s face contort with pleasure while his cock hit all the right places deep inside of you.

Satoru also loved this position because he got to see how relaxed you were, how he was able to grope your perfect tits, his thumbs brushing gently over your sensitive nipples. But his favorite thing about this position was being able to touch you. Not just your breasts, as great as those were. Running his large palms down your hips and over the top of your thighs, feeling your muscles twitch made happy, satisfied grunts leave his mouth. But it was when you interlace your fingers with his that got his heart pounding.

Your hips were moving faster, harder against him. Your smaller fingers held on to his for support, squeezing them gently as your tiny whines turned into desperate moans as your fucked yourself on him.

”Toru, oooh fuck~”

”Yeah, you close?” His fingers gave yours a gentle squeeze. “You gonna cum? Make me cum with you? I feel it coming back, god, I feel it; you’re going to make me cum so fucking hard.”

”Y-Yeah wanna make you cum, cum with me, Satoru, please I need it, need it so fucking bad.”

Satoru groaned, nodding his head as you slammed yourself up and down on him, his hips bucking up to meet you, fucking the tip of his cock directly into your cervix. You both are moaning so loud you know people will be calling the front desk to file a complaint, but you could care less about all of that. All that mattered right now was you and Satoru.

“Ooooh fuck me.” You cry out, releasing your boa constrictor grip on his hands, digging them into the bedding as you fall forward onto his chest. Your hips bounce up and down faster and harder, skin slapping against skin as your ass slams down. “Satoru, I’m gonna—“

”M-Me too, baby, holy fuck me too!” Satoru’s hands grip the sides of your hips, forcing you to move faster, which seems almost impossible. “Fuck, oooh fuck, fuck shit!” He’s gritting his teeth as you cry out into the side of his neck. “Oh, holy fuckin shit, baby! I’m cumming! Cumming inside you!”

With one final slam, both of your bodies go rigid as the orgasms hit you at the same time. Your pulsating walls have Satoru’s cock throbbing eagerly deep inside of you, filling the condom. Leaving both of you shaking, sweaty messes. Satoru recovers first, his hands gently caressing your sides as you lay all your weight on top of him. While you gently press open-mouthed kisses over his collarbone.

It isn’t until your muscles are protesting the position that you’re in that you finally move. Satoru helps you push off of him gently, laying you down next to his side. His fingers brush some of your hair back before he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. You kiss him back burying yourself into his chest as his hands gently move up and down your back.

“So, how was our first date?” The gentle tone of Satoru’s voice has you happily humming.

“One of the best dates I ever had in my entire life.”

“Yeah, I have to agree with you on that one.” His hand continued to rub up and down your back gently. “I can’t wait to go on another and another, and god, I just want to go on countless dates with you.” He waits for you to respond, to say anything. When you don’t say a word, he peers down, finding you sleepily snuggled against him. Your hard work from the last few days has finally caught up to you. “Get some sleep.” He whispered, disposing of the condom before pulling the sheet over your body as he shut his eyes, too, following you into a deep sleep.

The next day was a blur at the inn. From packing your bags, checking out, and bidding farewell to your parents before you at Satoru took the train back to Tokyo. Where you both leaned against each other, still tired from the last week and the wedding from the night before. You only fully regain consciousness when the train pulls up to your stop. You grab your bags in silence as you slowly leave the train.

It didn’t feel real that the week was finally over. That tonight would be the first night you would be alone in a week. Part of you dreaded the night you were about to spend alone in your apartment. But you didn’t want to be clingy and ask Satoru to stay the night.

While your relationship had been entirely out of order, you didn’t want to ruin it right when it began. There would be another time for Satoru to spend the night with you. You are almost certain he would love to go home to his apartment and unwind.

So you stopped in front of the coffee shop where you met each other for the first time. Turning around, you adjusted the backpack on your shoulder, winning a slightly confused look from your new boyfriend. Swallowing hard, you hugged him tight before pulling back.

“Thank you again for everything.” You wet your bottom lip with your tongue. “I can’t thank you enough. Text me later. Maybe we could meet up for coffee or dinner sometime this week. Go on our second date.”

Satoru said nothing for a moment as you fiddled with the handle of your suitcase. “Hey.” He finally broke the silence, his hand gently grabbing yours. “Would now be too soon to take you on our second date?” Light shimmered in your eyes as Satoru put his sunglasses on. “I know this great spot for brunch.” You felt your heart swell as he rubbed at his slightly slushed neck. “I just—I don’t want to say goodbye yet.” Round sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, revealing his breathtaking eyes. “But if you’re too tired or busy, later this week would be fine, I gue—” You reach up, pressing your index finger gently over his lips, silencing him.

“Brunch sounds great.”

“Great!” Satoru beams gently, interlocking your hands as you make your way up to the surface. “You’re going to love it.” You gently squeezed his hand as you stepped into the bustling streets of Tokyo. A week ago, you never would have thought the man you had hired to be your wedding date would be taking you out on your second date, hopefully leading to many more.

Tag List! (AGE MUST BE IN BIO!!)

@arminloverlol @jamzywiththejam28 @gojoful @maskedpacific @ahseyy @kash77 @sadmonke @ari-maccha @sugurubabe @hyori2 @bluechocolatemint @itsinherited @dellappatca @therealestpussyeater @dead-at-tokyo @nvrgojover @drakenswifeyy @nealeart @yunho-leeknow @fire-child-kira @faeryminnyx @tqd4455 @harmonyflora @volkins181-blog @noukstmblr @lovley212 @stinkinstuffie @desihopelessromantic @witchbybirth @sonicsolos @lilbiguy @supsiii @rentheannihilator @bloopsstuff @pepepepepopopopo @pandoness @sw33cadav3r @rixo-19 19 @meguvmii @sxnkuna @mmeerraa @lemonintrovert01 @bunny-lily @kibananya @kamastar39 @rjreins @lzaj19 @tiredflame132 @manyno @oliiper @rengokushair @simp-plague @matchalatte06 @haesify @majanggeum @solarrexplosion @tbzzluvr @username23345 @demonboyssss @sakui1 @strychnynegirl

Forever Tag:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart

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amyoffline · 4 months ago

Text

It's done! The outline for—

—is below the cut. The goal of this project is to explore the following phenomena with as much context and nuance as I can manage, tracing our history over the past 15 years:

What about us, and what about Dan and Phil, drew in and continues to draw in a very specific audience. If they are a ranch metaphor, we are a pizza metaphor 🥗🍕🫶🏻

Why we were Like That™, by which I mean so parasocially invested in them that we became, at times, the most annoying people on the internet. Much of that reputation is undeserved, and the videos on the phandom to date have been strongly negative. So, uh, I guess I'm going to put my face on camera and (mostly) defend us.

Reblog, share in your Discord servers, reply, or send me messages/anon asks with feedback or resources if you have any! Especially if your experience being in this fandom community has been dramatically different from mine. There are TIT spoilers near the end of the outline, but I'm not tagging because certain individuals seem to be lurking over there. Thank you!

Chapters:

Full outline:

introduction

cold open

felt personally attacked by jonathan haidt's last press tour

showed up to the phrenaissance 11 months late

had an unexpectedly strong response to their new content, needed to find out why

what the hell are we doing here?

- phenomenology (academics are professionally insufferable) - research question 1: what drew the audience in? - research question 2: why were we Like That™?

what we're NOT doing here

- a strict content analysis or "wow we sucked" video - providing sources for things best left uncirculated, thank you

reflexivity (personal biases)

- american zillennial in public health - in the youtube audience by spring 2010 - lurking in the phandom on tumblr 2013-2015, back* since 2019 - fan behavior i did and did not engage in

(----): truly necessary background information, i swear

(pop) cultural trends, tech, and their intersection

- nerd/geek identity and the first online weirdos - broadcast tv & the music industry vs the internet - defining "emo" - blogging & vlogging - early internet comedy

broader social/economic trends

- so the U.S. economy collapsed in 2007 - a decade that sucked except for rom-coms and square enix games - the flip/slide phone + digital camera + mp3 player loadout

(05-8): early youtube and early phil

youtube: a great video uploader without a clear purpose

the content on the website

- crossposts, corporations, and creative/social outlets - omg guys it's amazing phil - contemporary youtube-to-legacy success: justin bieber

the audience of "early adopters"

contemporary social media sites and forums

(2009): origin story

a wild dan appears… in the comments

the global constant that is teenagers being messy online

daring my old school district to sue me

- "one town's war on gay teens" (literal rolling stone headline!) - epidemiology 101: rates of… ugh… "unaliving" oneself - ways kids cope when it seems no adults will help them

the earliest days of dan & phil

- hello internet + pinof - a chronically overexamined timeline - file deleted ---* so how big WAS the audience at the time? ---* acceptable funny/edgy language was just different

contemporary youtube-to-legacy success: lucas cruikshank

omg it's meeeeeee

- how amy & friends were using youtube - ways i was just destined to end up here - being in social environments with peers 3-6 years older

(2010): is it "twenty-ten" or "two thousand ten?"

youtube is a platform about to explode in popularity

- the algorithm before it was The Algorithm™, lost site features - let's take a trip through the wayback machine :3c - actual dan & phil content in 2010 - the green brothers found vidcon - contemporary youtube-to-legacy success: darren criss

social media: also about to explode in popularity

- facebook was cool at the time, believe it or not - law of equivalent exchange: 2010 amy cringe compilation - the birth of instagram and pinterest - youtube slash livejournal (the first phanfics… sort of) - shockfic and its place in the overton window

the beginning of "the great rewiring" as haidt calls it

- ways social media is about to dramatically change - third spaces become online spaces - confounding variable: changing expectations of teens

(2011): the end of an era, the start of an age

a very long tangent on fandom and pop culture

cultural exchange

counterculture and teenagers as concepts

the first british invasion: the 1960s

- beatlemania and its descendents - moral panic about the virtue of tween/teen girls - tv/film/fashion trends being imported from the uk - in parallel, star trek births the modern fandom

the second british invasion: the 1980s

- synth/new pop that came out of the punk movement (hi, emo?) - confined mainly to music and fashion - cool britannia

it's harry freakin' potter

- absolute titan of pop culture influence - the rise of online fandom: examining the horrors ---* what is "wank" ---* flaming, sockpuppeting, and general cyberbullying ---* censorship: ffnet purges, boldthrough, & strikethrough ---* other fandom shenanigans of the time (yaoi paddles, anyone?)

harry potter's over. now what?

- for those who needed coming-of-age hero's journeys ---* twilight and YA dystopia waiting in the wings ---* some pretty iconic tv shows start or hit their stride ---* the mcu's phase one ---* takeaway: the rise of "geek culture" generally - for those who just wanted to go to hogwarts ---* doctor who & the wider world of bbc programming ---* british vloggers, you say? where? on youtube? brb--

end tangent, back to your regularly scheduled programming

dan & phil in the first half of 2011

- a continuation of 2010… for now - the videos - british pancakes as a case study of bad fan behavior

streaming and social media

- the birth of snapchat, twitch, and younow - netflix starts developing original programming - multi-channel networks (mcns) - digitour

dan & phil in the second half of 2011

- and they were roommates (omg they were roommates) - fantastic foursome - youtube glitches out - the super amazing project - the first proper baking video + wait, is that the bbc?

~ baking interlude 1: christmas cookies ~

the family sugar cookie (sorry, delia)

amy's 2011

(2012): why is anyone nostalgic for this

the transition from desktop to mobile

- massive growth in smartphone ownership 2011-2015 - things one might do on mobile one might not do on desktop - non-online ways smartphones changed being a youth™

what is tumblr and why is my child using it

- how the site is meant to work - fandom, memes, aesthetics, and SOME public figures - want to be anxious and depressed in peace? come to tumblr - this site seems a little……… gay ---* tumblr's very queer, very neurodiverse userbase ---* legacy media representation in 2012: bad! ---* actual academic research on tumblr users (yes, it exists) - the tumblr experience for non-native english speakers

amy becomes a vibrating mass of panic and paranoia

- in context of the above - additional rant about the american public school system

the growing dan & phil audience

- investigating the origin of the term "phannie" - more collaborations = more viewers - more video uploads = more /invested/ viewers - younow and interacting with fans - watch time replaces clicks in the algorithm

online etiquette, or lack thereof

- mid-transition from the 2000s to the 2010s - "professional internet celebrity" is still basically brand-new - lack of boundaries - various ways to be an asshole online - unsupervised kids simply do not engage in best practices

the end of 2012

- dan and phil move to london - wikipedia vandalism - tiptoeing around a top contender for the phandom's greatest sin - super amazing project DONE, now it's BBC RADIO TIME

(2013): arguably the most important year

- wait. what's that six-second video platform over there--

[amy's curated vine compilation]

- a new wave of internet comedians (read: future youtubers) - the zillennial lexicon - other platforms start emphasizing short-form video content - magcon

emo is BACK - well, sort of

- fob hiatus ends, mcr breaks up. my god. you had to be there - more open ties to nerd/geek culture than in the 2000s - these things once again intersect at dan and phil

dan and phil in the first half of 2013

- siri, what's a "sex symbol?" why are you booing me i'm right-- - d&p are everywhere - radio shows, interviewing, hosting - youtube uploads on their individual channels

rapidly changing cultural attitudes towards queerness

- gay marriage will be legal in places other than canada soon - a lot of assimilationist rhetoric though tbh - parallels to the pop feminism of the decade

hey kids, let's talk about compulsory heterosexuality!!

- what is it and why do people do it - academic, tumblr-level, and anecdotal research - the dannies, the phillies, and the phannies

amy

- the closet™ - mental health stigma - 2013 dnp posts from my main blog

dan and phil in the second half of 2013

- subscriber milestones, vidcon - joint content before the gaming channel - phandom starts having a major presence outside tumblr

(2014): achievement unlocked!

it's time to talk about rpf

- definitions (a chance to be annoyingly pedantic) - academic perspectives and fan discourse on the ethics - when the subjects clearly aren't fine with it - so… we can acknowledge "shipping phan" was different, right? ---* sometimes the subjects are fine* with it, actually ---* how dan and phil started to handle the shipping ---* obvious differences between phan and other rpf ships ---* sharing my favorite passages as a first-time phanfic reader

dan and phil in 2014

- wikipedia vandalism 2: electric boogaloo - bbc request show → internet takeover - the 7 second challenge - youtube content, subscriber milestones, rewind - cons and award shows

tumblr reaches the peak of its influence

- yahoo's attempts to monetize the userbase - buzzfeed and aggregators steal our jokes and bait our clicks - legacy media dangles carrots and uses us for free marketing - the legend of korra breaks TV precedent, almost out of nowhere - the tumblr user experience ---* on mobile, without xkit ---* on desktop, with xkit ---* 2014 dnp posts from my main blog

gamergate and its long shadow

- trolling, renewed and revamped - algorithms push increasingly extreme content - the broad conservative backlash conglomerate - increased normalization of conspiracism in general

my greatest sin [not clickbait] [very funny]

- so, circling back to comphet… - the actual story

anyway, let's talk about danandphilgames

- a star is born: dil howlter - different types of gaming content on youtube at the time - why did 17yo amy not subscribe? well…

~ baking interlude 2: chocolate cupcakes ~

make your own frosting. it freezes well

roasting myself further

(2015): it's not queerbaiting when it's real people

facebook "pivots to video"

- mark zuckerberg lied. water is wet - causes other platforms to REALLY double down on video - the birth of musical.ly - corporate-branded creators (read: future youtubers)

queerbaiting enters mainstream public consciousness

- academic origins - early fannish and acafan writing - johnlock, destiel, and sterek - statistics 101: type i error, type ii error, and queerbait

dan, phil, and the phandom

- bbc, cons, & the brits - danandphilcrafts - phan conspiracies ---* japhan ---* body language experts ---* timeline truthers ---* floor plan investigators ---* no but seriously imagine it - regular youtube uploads ---* solo content ---* joint content ---* subscriber milestones, rewind - tatinof uk and tabinof ---* on "selling out" ---* revisiting the statistics 101 lesson: now with real people! ---* never meet your heroes (unless they're dan and phil)

amy's (temporary) exit from the phandom

- it's legal adulthood with a steel chair!! - growing discomfort with some fans' behavior - 2015 dnp posts from my main blog - the closer: final fantasy vii

(2016): season finale

vine's imminent demise

- content platforms behaving badly - content creators behaving badly

youtube after "the great rewiring" (as haidt calls it)

- version 1.0 of the modern youtube algorithm ---* deep neural networks for dummies ---* what's holding creators accountable, or not - advertising and sponsorships ---* basically every child and youth™ is watching now ---* the battle for our attention ---* regulators start to crack down on undisclosed ads - the rise of drama/tea content (and later, channels) ---* youtubers are now seen as regular celebrities ---* dan and phil as the butt of other youtubers' jokes ---* baiting the phandom for engagement

tatinof us and aus

- a proven new model for live show tours - show & documentary released to youtube red (now premium) - [sigh] the tour bus

sea change in online fandom

- the newer, sometimes queerer media in korra's wake ---* better and more representation in live-action tv shows ---* voltron (i'm sorry!!!) ---* the mystic messenger craze ---* alice oseman & heartstopper - the new dynamics of #discourse ---* proship is to anti as phannie is to phanti ---* the bad behaviors of the 00s get a new coat of paint ---* new, though: fans harassing creators ---* a personal note on ace discourse

dan and phil presence off-tour

- the internet takeover ends - regular content, subscriber milestones

so. uh. current events.

- brexit - sorry the united states is a font of chaos - ripple effects

closing out the year

- amy finally gets an anxiety diagnosis and treatment! hurray! - dapgo, rewind - bbc radio awards & the boncas - gamingmas

(2017): time for a rebrand

tangent - sit down!!! buckle up!!! today's lecture is on PSIs & PSRs!!!

"parasocial" as defined by the current zeitgeist

- summing up youtubers' and laypeople's opinions (not dan's) - an unfairly negative stance overall, imo

older academic literature

- the 1956 paper (yes, 1956) - with traditional celebrities - with fictional characters

current academic literature

- with youtubers and other content creators - positive effects on the audience - negative effects on the audience - broader societal implications

fandom spaces as a parasocial experience

- parasocial and truly social interactions with each other - phandom as a supportive, welcoming space for oddballs - what research i can find about neurospicy folks, + anecdotes - me and everyone else on planet earth move to discord

inherent transactionality

- the nature of celebrity - positive effects on creators - negative effects on creators

reexamining early phandom through a parasocial lens

- the good, the bad, and the ugly - the role audience demographics played in all of this - entering, exiting, and remaining in the phandom

end tangent, back to your regularly scheduled programming

vine is well and truly dead

- some had prepared to become primarily youtubers (smart) - some move to musical.ly, insta, facebook, or snap (less so)

the sun sets on danisnotonfire

- i am very normal about dan's hobbit hair, i swear. - the last dnp content before the rebrand - new apartment, new floor plan investigations

adpocalypse now

- youtube has become the village elder of platforms ---* increased scrutiny, increased responsibility ---* some youtubers had been getting away with !#$!#@% - the scandals ---* pewdiepie + logan paul ---* elsagate and being "family- friendly" (read: ad-friendly) - censorship and monetization ---* adsense revenue goes down as advertisers pull out ---* the glory days of posting whatever and making bank are over

amazingphil and ~daniel howell~

- youtube & younow content - that week in march - vacations and conventions - conjoined baking and the concept of a "soft launch" - daniel & depression → dan as a mental health advocate - truth bombs, ii announcement, rewind

(2018): the phandom vs the hiatus they told us not to worry about

interactive introverts

- "giving the people what they want" - in hindsight… - let's talk about dnp fans from the global south

youtuber burnout

- it wasn't just dan: (more examples than header fits) - the old model was simply not sustainable - newer contributing factors - research on burnout, plus personal anecdotal experience

other dan and phil videos

- phil's solo videos - gay and not proud - hometown showdown - other joint videos - phil's #shorts (sounds normal in american english)

panini updates

- vaccines soon, uwu??? + entrenched misinformation - pros and cons of remote work - pros and cons of remote school - pros and cons of remote socializing

you will get through this night

- younger me really could have used this book too, dan - thoughts as a professional in a related field - reflecting on some of my more unique circumstances

daring my old school district to sue me (again!!)

- updates: racism and transphobia - updates: right-wing freaks take over the school board again - residents vote against improving mental health resources

(2022): dan returns (still not on fire)

hey so politics are um getting worse

- americans lose the right to reproductive freedom ---* the quickest of histories on where these freaks came from ---* this shit kills people. - trans kids become the punching bag of culture war discourse ---* fuck off! (gently) ---* fuck off! (i have a knife) ---* checking in on terf island

we're all doooooooooooooooomed

- dystopia daily my beloved - the style, the substance, the metatextual analysis-- - not everyone loved it, though. why? - the promo - dan on tour + sister daniel

amy's 2022

- i got covid - then i got long covid: brain fog, pots-like symptoms

some more news (i will work on my warmbo impression)

- dan joins tiktok + danisnotinteresting uploads - phil: uploading less, busy doing remote crisis management - twitter is acquired by an idiot jackass - heartstopper on netflix! ---* the show and what it means to people ---* drama (revisiting "real people can't queerbait") ---* why this has anything to do with the phandom

~ baking interlude 4: cinnamon rolls ~

- lovingly, recipe changes and corrections :) - if i have an opinion about anything, it's sweet yeasted breads

(2023): the phrenaissance

phil

- joins tiktok! - youtube uploads through september - what even is phannie tiktok. i've never used this app. help.

dystopia daily b-sides

- dan memes of 2022 - the 2023 dystopia daily episodes

amy: the doctoral candidacy process

- purgatory, privilege, poverty, and free pizza - checking in on what this is like outside the united states

pretending the panini is over

- complaining about post-adpocalypse censorship standards - honest take about "giving up" on covid - who gets the short end of the stick

the youtube algorithm is BAD and UNINTELLIGENT, actually,

- unhinged rant about not hearing about the gaming rephrival - because i was offline from other platforms. like, @amyoffline.

pov: you are a phannie (not me) on october 15th

- what i was doing on october 15th - saying goodbye forever, spooky week, and november - gamingmas - phil uploads through december

(2024): fifteen years of terrible, terrible influence

hey what the fuck is going on

- dan and phil ---* joint and phil videos ---* jokes they never would've made ten years ago ---* a collection of emotional posts about how far they've come ---* people want fun and silly content again. we'll get to why ---* nostalgia, hope, and other warm and fuzzy feelings - the phandom ---* ancient parasocial attachments, reactivated instantly ---* people are way more normal now. let's discuss why ---* tumblr vs twitter vs tiktok phandom

we're all doomed, youtube version

- my thoughts - thoughts on "dan should/shouldn't" do video essays - i can't objectively evaluate anything he makes bc [gunshots]

terrible influence tour

- legally phlonde - the concept: healing one's inner child / taking it back - we gotta talk about phannies in the global south again - no but seriously imagine it? ---*ogres are like onions, they have LAYERS ---* [placeholder for whatever does(n't) happen]

anglosphere current events once again

- the likely us tiktok ban - the tories get fired - [placeholder for whichever hell americans manifest] - witnessing genocide and feeling powerless

ffx full-circle moment to the intro of this video essay

- the night i found out they came back - why i am doing this, now with context - reflections on a nearly 15-year (parasocial) relationship

whatever youtube uploads we get during fall/december

AMY SEES TIT (nov 14)

- the vibes at the phamily reunion - buying merch to apologize for eternal ublock origin use - how much should i document?? (not during the show) - phanspiracies confirmed - atlanta confessions - favorite bits - the alternate universe where i went to tatinof and/or ii

(2025): the horrors persist, but so do we

whatever 2025 content is out while i'm still working on this

our parasocial social club

- let me be philosophytube for a second ---* every interaction has a parasocial element ---* what are we obligated to do as a phandom, actually? ---* as people who parasocially care about these two dorks? ---* what else should we be doing socially to be at our happiest? - "they're my gay uncles" vs "i'm a little in love, even now" ---* riffing about the boundary/overlap between these camps ---* sibling reads me for filth in a single text (sister daniel...) ---* at least we're all in this together

what's going to continue to draw people in

- grown adults drawing our cat whiskers back on - updates on queer/nd kids - updates on anxiety/depression rates - updates on tech and the broader environment of content - world still feels doomed

tangent - the "hard launch" and why people want it

what are people referring to, exactly

- general definition and other examples - when it comes to dan and phil - maybe they hard launched already and we just missed the memo

the ludonarrative of phandom

- if you got here early on - if you got here in the mid-2010s - if you got here after they came out - if you got here post-hiatus - final fantasy comparison: ffvii's chokehold over first-timers

a rom-com for the ages

- the tropes in play - brief tangent on the evolution of the genre - queer romantic comedies - final fantasy comparison: ffviii's plot and squall/rinoa

phriends… or…

- wholesome influence, slice-of-life - projection - final fantasy comparison: ffxv's gameplay loop, the chocobros

humans don't like ambiguity

- from a media perspective (narrative tension) - research from the hard sciences - final fantasy comparison: fanille ---* the first gay final fantasy characters, actually ---* ffxiii's character development process ---* fang and vanille in the text. brb, clawing at the walls ---* so, if anyone is looking for a phyuri au prompt…

tl;dr: reality is not fiction. make peace with not "knowing"

end tangent, back to your regularly scheduled programming

the phuture

- phil's big solo project when??? - dapg is just the joint channel now - youtube has changed since when dan last "regularly" uploaded - nothing lasts forever, and that's okay

~ baking interlude 5: ranch + pizza ~

- ranch propaganda and ranch metaphors - showing off my dough and sauce skills

conclusions

- a lot has happened in 15 years - [placeholders: don't write your conclusions before you do your research]

Proof this project can only be done in consultation with Tumblr: no other platform we're on could accommodate a post of this length and formatting detail lol

#dan and phil #phan #dnp #daniel howell #amazingphil #this took so long to format oh my god please read it and talk to me #except it's 1am in my time zone so i'm going honk mimimimi soon enough #amy writes

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silantryoo · 2 years ago

Text

midnight rain — huh yunjin x non-idol!reader

yunjin can't help but reminisce about what she left to achieve her dreams.

WARNINGS ; self-depreciation, cyber-bullying

TAGS ; the huh sisters are the best, y/n is the most supportive gf ever, yunjin sacrificed sm, someone check on y/n, idek if this is a happy ending or not, yunjin using y/n as a coping mechanism tbh

GENRE ; fluff, angst (4.2k)

huh yunjin had the whole world in the palm of her hands.

there were thousands of people out there, longing for the idol's attention. she could win anyone's heart over, just with a couple words and her goofy smile, but none of them could ever compare to you.

huh yunjin might rule the world, but you still and will always rule hers.

yunjin met you right after she had finished produce 48.

she had left korea feeling like a shell of her former self. yunjin had gotten the taste of a dream that she so badly longed for, and one she most likely would never be able to achieve again. she had missed her only chance, and there was no getting it back.

it didn't help that mainland korea had turned its back on the then-aspiring idol.

she had read through the produce forums almost daily since then. yunjin spent hours scrolling, letting every horrible thing said build inside her like a sickly virus.

glad huh yunjin didn't make it. she's a backstabbing bitch. (+193, -21)

did huh yunjin die? i hope so (+86, -7)

i hope huh yunjin never debuts!!!!!!!!! (+273, -11)

huh yunjin knew she was done for.

she went back to new york mid-september a year later, back to the high school that she dreaded going to, another reminder that she will never, ever be who she wanted.

"um," yunjin felt a tap on her shoulder. "you know the school library isn't open twenty-four hours, right?"

"huh?" yunjin wiped her eyes. she glanced at the clock behind the strange girl. 7:12. "shit, sorry. i didn't realize."

"it's fine. i'm closing this place up soon." yunjin watched as the girl's eyes locked onto hers. she could feel her heart in her throat. "you can stay, if you want."

"i want to, uh..." yunjin cleared her throat. "i'll stay."

"okay."

yunjin forgot about everything for a moment.

"okay."

yunjin was never a studious person.

the girl had decent grades, but she never actually put effort into studying, not like her sister or her friends around her. it came to her naturally, and yunjin had other priorities such as working on her musical skills (something that she had abandoned as soon as she stepped foot on american soil once more).

but a week later, yunjin found herself sitting in front of her younger sister, watching as she did her homework.

"unnie?" her sister, rachel, eyed the brunette weirdly. "why are you here?"

"why?" yunjin stared at the empty desk in front of her, looking around the library to find the others full of papers. "can't i study?"

"no. you can't." rachel tapped her pencil. "you're literally incapable of studying."

"wow, okay." the former trainee scoffed. "i've had a change of heart."

rachel shook her head.

"i get losing in produce sucks, but i don't think you could do a 180 that fast." yunjin winced, rachel opening up fresh wounds. the older huh knew that the girl was just trying to make light of the situation, but it still hurt like hell. "it's been like... three weeks."

yunjin knew it had been three weeks. three weeks, two days, and five hours since she landed back in america. she didn't need rachel to remind her, not when the entire world already had.

"can you shut up?" yunjin snapped, gripping the backpack she was holding on her lap.

the younger huh flinched, the silence of the library amplifying yunjin's aggression.

rachel looked at her sister, yunjin's eyes shut tight as she tried to calm herself down. the young girl had never been good with emotions, but she wanted nothing more than to tell her sister that it was okay to feel upset.

(even if rachel knew yunjin wouldn't listen.)

"oh hey, rach." yunjin's eyes opened, her head turning to the sound of a familiar voice, soothing the former trainee. "what are you doing?"

rachel hummed, setting her pencil down. "working on the assignment from our econ class."

you made your way between the huh sisters, looking at the diligent note-taking of the younger girl to your left.

"why?" you muttered. you were sure that the due date didn't change. "that's due next week."

"no?" you felt your heart drop. "it's due tomorrow."

"oh shit." your eyes widened, covering your mouth. you were screwed. "i need to find nadine."

rachel looked at you with a smile. it was hard to believe that you were only a month younger than yunjin. though yunjin never cared for schoolwork, she was always hardworking when necessary. you on the other hand...

"who was that?"

rachel looked at her sister, yunjin's eyes trained at your retreating figure. "y/n?"

yunjin couldn't help but smile. the name fit you perfectly. "yeah."

"she's my classmate from my AP econ class." rachel squinted. yunjin was a bit too interested in you for it to just be curious. "she's a junior this year... why?"

yunjin's eyes widened, the former trainee's face unable to hide her surprise.

"why are you taking AP?" she tried to change the subject. "aren't you 14?"

"i wanna get into NYU." rachel sighed, picking up the pencil as she bit back multiple remarks that would leave her sister cursing at her. "leave me alone."

yunjin felt a pang in her chest.

it had slipped her mind that she had to think about university now. where she was going to commit, scholarships and loans...

yunjin tried her best to not seem fazed. dreams were meant to be dreamt, not fufilled. the sooner she knew that, the better it was for her.

"you're such a nerd."

"you're literally a theater kid, unnie." rachel bit back, too immersed in her work to notice the mood drop. "you can't talk."

yunjin stared at her sister, hoping that she would never feel that way.

(but in the back of her mind, through all the guilt and anger, she couldn't help but linger at the thought of you).

yunjin was starting to like the library.

it was quiet, and peaceful (minus the many kids who were scrambling to study for a test in the corner of the library). it let her think about everything, letting her sit in her feelings. plus, the library had the ambiance of the produce practice rooms early in the morning, something that the former trainee greatly missed.

"are you here to read through your phone again?"

yunjin could feel the hairs on her neck stand up. "huh?"

yunjin, eyes trained on your figure, watched as you took a seat across from her.

"you and rach look a lot alike." you said, humming as you set your chin on your hand. "i should've known that you were her sister."

yunjin pushed back a smile.

(she'd never tell anyone, but part of her was worried that rachel no longer looked up to her.)

"she told you about me?"

"she brags about you all the time." you smiled at yunjin's grin. "something about being a kpop idol, i dunno. i'm not good with that stuff."

the former trainee pursed her lips.

"oh, well," yunjin chuckled awkwardly, the awkwardness in her chest starting to change into pain. "i don't think that's gonna happen."

you looked her up and down. "why not?"

yunjin could think of multiple reasons, ones that she had internalized so much that she had changed the way she carried herself, but she wasn't going to say that to a random stanger (much less a hot random stranger).

"it didn't work out." yunjin said.

"oh." you scratched your cheek, yunjin nodding shallowly. "well, it's too soon to tell, y'know? you could be like, the next bts or something."

"how can i be the next bts when i'm one person?" yunjin squinted. kpop was so much more than just bts. "plus, bts isn't the only kpop group out there."

"i know that." you scoffed, rolling your eyes at the girl. "you just seem like someone who likes bts."

yunjin could feel herself blushing.

"...yeah."

"see, i already know you." yunjin looked away, afraid that she'd implode if she looked at your smile. "i just need to know your name."

"my name?" yunjin's mind went blank, nearly spitting out a random name. "jennifer."

"jennifer." you smiled harder. "nice to meet you, jennifer. i'm y/n."

and for a moment, right when yunjin's name rolled off of your tongue, yunjin felt seen.

yunjin considered herself a lot of things. as of late, most of them had turned overwhelmingly negative, but regardless, she at least knew that she was in tune with her emotions. she, unlike her sister, was able to identify them, and 'fix' them to the best of her abilities.

however, being around you the past couple of weeks you have told her differently.

yunjin knew she liked you. she liked the way you smiled at her, your gums showing through your crooked smile. she liked the way your hands felt, the way your hand would accidentally bump into hers, making yunjin long for more.

you were everything yunjin had ever dreamt of in a person, but she was sure she was just going to mess it up again.

yunjin sighed, forcing herself to stop thinking about you, a common occurrence that had been recently happening lately.

"unnie." rachel tapped her should, causing the older girl to jump.

she turned to the younger girl and her friends, her locker mirror shaking as she slammed it closed. "what?"

rachel's friend, nadine (if yunjin remembered correctly), said, "you're close with y/n right?"

yunjin clenched her jaw, a burst of anxiety running up her spine. had you gotten hurt? was something wrong? yunjin couldn't help but overthink.

"why?" she hummed.

"you guys aren't dating?" rachel asked, yunjin's eyes widening as big as saucers.

"no," yunjin scoffed, a blush covering her face. if only she could. "what?"

rachel looked at the girl beside her as yunjin avoided the younger students' gazes. her older sister was anything but subtle.

"okay." rachel said slowly, watching as yunjin perked up, waiting to hear any information about you. "derek's planning to ask her out, so i just wanted to make sure you don't go all... you on him."

"okay, i don't go all 'me' on anyone." yunjin crossed her arms. perhaps there had been one incident a year ago that almost got her suspended, but that was only because someone had hit on rachel. yunjin took no fault. "wait... derek mcavoy?"

"yeah?"

yunjin felt her stomach sink.

she considered herself many things, passionate being one of them. sometimes, yunjin passion could get in the way of her rational thinking.

"hey, do you guys know who sent me these flowers?" yunjin could hear your voice behind her, getting closer to her. "i think they're trying to kill me."

yunjin clenched her fist.

"aren't you allergic to those?" rachel blinked at you, staring at daisies that were in your hand.

how you weren't dead? she had no clue.

"severely." you sighed, looking at the bouquet in front of you. "i had to take my inhaler."

rachel shook her head, looking at her sister who was staring into the distance, face stoic and eyes glazed over. the younger girl sighed. it was happening.

"jen," you called out to her, bringing her out of her head. yunjin turned to you. "do you think one of your fans reached me?"

yunjin's eyes met yours, hardened and swirling with an emotion that you could only identify as anger and regret. looking over to rachel, she shrugged as yunjin continued to stare into your soul.

yunjin didn't want to live in regret anymore, not when her daily life was already filled with it.

"go out with me."

yunjin had never heard silence in a crowded hallway until that very moment.

"what?"

("unnie?")

"go out with me, y/n." yunjin stated, pushing down the embarrassment threatening to take over her entire body.

("should we be here?")

"uh..." you took a breath, your gummy smile making yunjin overflow with happiness. "okay."

yunjin had never felt happiness like that in her life.

"okay."

yunjin would be lying if she said she was satisfied with how her life was right now.

she had everything that anyone could want at her age. her grades, although not to ivy league standard, could get her in a good college if she kept her current pace. she had no family problems, and yunjin had always gotten along with rachel.

most of all, she was in a great relationship, celebrating her first valentine's with the girl she had slowly fallen in love with over the past four months.

but it wasn't enough, because this life will never be enough for yunjin.

"oh my god," yunjin smiled, turning her phone off as you entered her room. "is that huh yunjin from produce 48 where iz*one was created?"

although not as strong, yunjin felt a dull ache in her chest.

"you're so annoying." yunjin rolled her eyes, sitting up to greet you with a kiss.

"hey, i got into kpop for you so we could bond as a couple." you teased, humming against her lips. the taller girl smiled. "how am i annoying?"

"i didn't say i hated it." she whispered, moving over to give you a seat. "i missed you."

truthfully, yunjin did miss you, especially the way you made her forget her failures, even if it was just for a moment.

"i saw you yesterday." you teased. you grabbed her hand, smiling at her. "but i missed you too."

you leaned in once more, capturing the girl's mouth against yours. you always felt an overwhelming sense of love whenever you kissed the taller girl, but yunjin always felt a sense of fear. the fear of becoming content with a life like this, a life without doing what she loved.

you pulled away. "me or bts?"

yunjin groaned, guilt simmering in her stomach. "you're the worst."

"i know." you giggled, kissing her cheek.

yunjin sighed, leaning back as she slammed her back onto her bed.

you followed her suit, the short haired girl wrapping her arm around you as you snuggled close into her body.

"tired?" you asked, stroking her hair out of her face.

"this week has been kicking my ass." yunjin knew she had done it to herself, tuning into the japanese tabloids that week to keep tabs on iz*one's debut. "but it is our very first valentines together. plus, i think you're my gift from cupid."

you scoffed playfully, trying to pull away from the ex-trainee. "am i just an object to you, jennifer?"

"hey, no!" yunjin whined, shoving her face into your neck. you giggled, feeling the strands of her hair against your neck. "and don't use my full government name."

"sorry, sorry." you smiled, watching as her eyes looked into yours. "what do you want me to call you instead?"

yunjin thought for a moment, her eyes darting to your mouth. "mine."

your smile dropped, and you pulled away from her, the korean whining at the loss of contact.

"ugh." you sat up, shaking your head. "jesus, jen... that was disgusting."

she gasped, sitting up beside you. "you dated me knowing that i'm like this."

"no." yunjin frowned, and you couldn't help but smile at her adorable face. "i dated you because you're hot."

"wow." yunjin's mouth hung open, trying hard not to smile as you attacked her cheek with kisses as an apology. "so you only love me for my face."

you pulled back, raising your eyebrow. "who said i loved you?"

yunjin stared at you, hearing her heart break slowly.

she knew it wasn't your fault, but yunjin couldn't help but find herself feeling the same way she had at the beginning of the school year.

"i'm sorry, i--"

"i do, though. love you, i mean." you cleared your throat, awkwardly scratching your cheek as you looked at the ground. "i'm just trying to figure out how you know when i literally never told anyone until now."

yunjin smiled at you, taking your features in as if to memorize you.

"i love you too."

yunjin watched as your eyes swarmed with adoration, and nothing had ever scared her so much than the feeling of fulfillment that spread through her chest.

"you do?" you whispered, looking into her eyes, finding nothing but sincerity in them.

but something was off, you could feel it in the air. the way the weight of the room had gotten heavier, almost as if the burden of your girlfriend filled the entire thing.

yunjin looked away, and that was enough to know that deep down, she never wanted to fall in love with you, not like this.

"yeah." yunjin muttered, smiling through her smile. "i do."

you smiled through your pain, wanting nothing more than to feel love instead of regret.

"the famous huh yunjin is in love with me?" you joked, watching as her face morphed into a more playful tone.

"shut up."

"okay." you nodded, wondering how long you had left with her. "only because i love you."

"i love you too."

yunjin had meant every word she said, even if it came with layers of regret.

yunjin had heard from koeun a month ago that source music had opened back up, this time under new management, a much more competent one.

when the former trainee heard the news, she refused to get her hopes up. she had come to terms with how her life was now. yunjin still felt the what-ifs from time to time, but she couldn't do anything about it, even if she so badly wanted to.

she hid it well from her family, the longing for the spotlight, to perform. they didn't ask her questions about why she would skip dinner, sitting in front of her computer as she waited for a stupid email to pop up.

(you knew, however. and it pained you to know that your girlfriend would never truly be happy with you.)

you pushed it down, waiting for the right time to bring it up to her. you just wished it didn't have to happen today.

"hey, jen. sorry i kept you waiting. your mom tried to force-feed me once i stepped through the door. she thinks you aren't feeding me enough." you laughed as you set your sweater to the side of her room, making your way over to kiss her forehead. "happy six months, baby."

yunjin wiped her face, looking at the monitor of her laptop. "happy six months."

yunjin didn't look at you, afraid that she'd lose everything as soon as her eyes locked onto your eyes.

"what's up?" you wiped her tears. she hung her head low, the light of the monitor illuminating her tear streaks. "you don't look as happy as i do."

yunjin was silent, waiting for you to look at the screen in front of her.

you turned your head, skimming over the english text found in the email. it was bound to happen, and you had tried your hardest to prepare yourself for it. you hoped it was enough to keep the facade up long enough.

"oh, jen." you rubbed yunjin's back, watching as her tears fell harder. "are you going back?"

yunjin shook her head, not wanting to think about it. "i don't know."

"do you want to?"

you already knew your answer a long time ago.

"i don't know." yunjin didn't mean to lie, but she loved you. "i don't want to leave you."

"it's fine." you whispered in her ear, swallowing your tears back. "i'll be fine."

yunjin wrapped her arms around you, her head buried in your neck as sobs wracked her body. she couldn't do it again. she couldn't lose everything she's worked for again.

yunjin couldn't lose you for nothing.

"what if it doesn't go well, and i just ended us for nothing?" yunjin asked in between sobs, gripping the back of your shirt.

"so you want to go?"

yunjin's face fell, pulling back from you as you smiled at her with teary eyes.

yunjin loved your smile.

"baby..."

"it's okay, i promise." you nodded, trying to push through the pain. "you'll be fine. i believe in you."

yunjin shook her head. she didn't deserve it. she didn't deserve your support, not if she's leaving you like this.

"i finally accepted it." yunjin blubbered, too emotional to realize what she said. "i can't go through this again."

you bit your upper lip, looking away briefly. hearing yunjin say it was different from knowing that you were just the second choice.

"i know." yunjin's face was wet with tears, a never-ending flow of remorse. "but you won't, because you'll debut this time."

yunjin shook her head. "how do you know that?"

"because you're jennifer huh. you're the girl who came back here, fighting to be okay again even though deep down you knew that it wasn't what you wanted." you kissed her nose, watching as her nose crinkled at the contact. you smiled. "you're the girl i'm in love with."

yunjin felt a weight lift off of her shoulders.

"i'm in love with you too." yunjin sniffed. "i don't want to leave you."

you looked into yunjin's eyes, and you saw nothing but passion, passion for you.

if there was one thing that you loved yunjin, it was her overwhelming sense of passion. but at times like these, you hated it.

you watched her for a moment.

"then i'll leave you."

"what?" yunjin's eyes widened, moving her hands onto your arm. "no."

"you want us to make it work?" you asked her, almost challenging her at the ridiculous thought.

you two were high school kids, two girls who fell in love because of a missed opportunity, an opportunity that yunjin was willing to jeopardize for you.

yunjin could feel her fears coming true.

"i..."

"baby, what are they gonna think once they find out about us if we even manage to make it through until your debut?" you told her, furrowing your eyebrows.

"i don't know."

yunjin looked at you through the thick silence, almost as if she was trying to memorize you one more time.

"it's a good thing we're both private people, huh?" you chuckled, the knot in your throat becoming bigger. "imagine all the people you'd have to pay off. i mean, you guys are rich but st--"

"can you not?" yunjin whispered. "please?"

"sorry." you cleared your throat, looking away as tears were starting to form in your eyes (not yet. please.). "do you want me to go?"

"no." yunjin said with sincerity. "i just want to spend one more day with you."

yunjin stared at you desperately pleading for you to agree. she just needed to hold you one more time, to listen to your voice. she just needed one more day to memorize you before she lost you.

"okay."

one day was enough for you, even if you'd love her for the rest of your life.

"okay."

you untangled yourself from her at three in the morning the next day, eyes bloodshot and arms tired from holding her as if she was going to disappear.

you wiped your eyes, and placed your forgotten sweater on her desk, tucking a piece of paper in the pocket.

you were going to break soon, and you didn't want yunjin to see the broken pieces she'd leave in new york.

looking at the girl once more, you gave her one more kiss on the forehead, hoping that she'd remember you with only happiness and love.

you left yunjin's room, clenching your mouth as you tried your best not to sob.

"y/n?"

"night, rach." you tried to walk away, the younger girl following you to the door.

rachel looked at you with a frown, watching as you struggled to put your shoes on. "are you okay?"

you looked up at her, your eyes red as you smiled. you haven't heard someone ask that in a while.

"no." you grinned, the tears streaming down your face betraying you.

"thank you for doing this for unnie." rachel said, watching as you stiffened up. she wished she could do something more, but this wasn't her expertise. "it's probably killing you."

"i'll be fine." you whispered, standing up to face the girl.

"come study with me later?" she asked, a small smile on her face.

you hated how much rachel looked like her sister.

"okay." you patted her shoulder, rachel opening the door as you fished for your keys. "thanks rachel. you would've made a good sister-in-law."

rachel winced. not at the comment, but at the way your face morphed into an emotion she had yet to feel.

"you too."

"yunjin-ah!"

yunjin groaned as chaewon yelled at her from across the dorm. no matter how hard she tried to rest, there was someone who always needed something from her.

"you know that hoodie i was gonna borrow?" yunjin grunted, earning a smack on the head from chaewon. the taller girl looked up, staring face to face with an old piece of paper. "this fell out of it."

"huh?" yunjin didn't remember leaving anything in her pockets.

chaewon hopped on the couch, sitting beside her roommate.

"it's a letter." yunjin knew your writing anywhere.

"oh?"

dear jen,

i'm rooting for you, jen. just like i always have and just like i always will be.

i love you, jen l/n y/n.

"who's y/n?"

"someone." yunjin whispered, memories suddenly flooding her brain. "you can't wear that hoodie though, that one's special."

chaewon whined. "why?"

"you can't." yunjin stated, chaewon watching closely as she hummed, the taller girl having a small smile on her face. "now, let's go get food."

"you're so weird."

i love you too, y/n.

silan says " pls pray for me... i cannot fail my final ;-; "

#huh yunjin x reader #le sserafim x reader #lesserafim x reader #kpop x reader #idol x reader #wlw #silantryo

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miryum · 2 years ago

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Foundling Villa- Chapter 11

Royal!Charles Leclerc x Reader. Princess Y/n is arranged to marry Prince Charles. There will be many ups and downs that the author hasn’t planned out yet, but read along to find out more! (Yes, I know that sounds super cheesy) Warnings per chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!

Tag list: @notleclerc @sunsumonner @saturnsrinqs @livster @chonkybonky @eau-rougee @champomiel @justyouraverageeverydaysimp (wow, there’s a lot of you)

Warnings: argument? short chapter... so sorry you guys!!!

ao3 link next chapter>>

“Charles, I know what I’m asking is a lot, but this needs to be done. Right now, I’m not asking as your brother, but as your king.” Lorenzo looked tired, and Charles felt sorry for him, but what he was telling him to do was crossing a line.

“Lorenzo, I am not spending weeks in a potentially hostile environment with my wife,” Charles insisted. They had been arguing for over an hour now, ever since Lorenzo proposed his idea. Since the coronation, Lorenzo had been doing everything in his power to gain support for his reign. He had used Charles and Arthur as placeholders in meetings while he went to villages and markets around Enza, drumming up supporters and fondness. But as of now, Lorenzo was worried about foreign affairs.

You had relayed to Charles what Prince Verstappen had hinted at during Lorenzo’s coronation. Charles had, in turn, told Lorenzo, who spiralled into worrying that a war would break out during his first year as King. Once Queen Pascale calmed her eldest down, the brothers and their advisors had convened a meeting to discuss what the next steps should be. Charles had gently suggested that you avoid the meeting. He didn’t want you to overhear his shouts.

“You don’t even have to go to Redull,” Lorenzo compromised. “Just to their allies or neighbours. If you can coax information out of them, it would be incredibly helpful and necessary for the future of Enza.”

“Lorenzo, must I repeat myself? I am not travelling across the continent with my newlywed wife to adversarial kingdoms!” Charles found the title of ‘husband and wife’ sliding much more easily on this tongue.

“I am your King, ordering you on this assignment, and don’t think I won’t exile you for disrespecting your superiors!” Lorenzo’s roars reverberated through the room, and surely out into the hallway. Charles flinched back. Lorenzo slumped down into his chair.

“I’ll do it,” Charles agreed quietly. “Lorenzo, I-”

“Don’t you dare,” Lorenzo held up a hand to silence him. “Just… go.”

Meanwhile, you sat in your and Charles’ shared room, penning a letter.

Prince Verstappen,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. It’ll be unusual for you to hear from me, but I hope you’re not too surprised. I've lost sleep over your words at Lorenzo’s coronation and I’m writing so you could wipe away the worries.

I’m unable to do anything to protect the ones I love if I don’t know what I’m protecting them from. I’m sure you can see my predicament. I’m aware you won’t divulge your kingdom’s secrets, nor am I asking you to, but a little more information would be beneficial.

This may seem like a ploy to compromise your plans, but rest assured, it’s not. I want to avoid conflict and altercation in any way possible, and if writing a simple letter is enough to do so, then I will gladly write a thousand.

I beg that you come to your senses to help a friend in need. You won’t simply be helping me, but thousands of innocents. I’m sure you don’t want that bloody smear on Redull history.

I eagerly await your response,

Princess Y/n Leclerc of Enza

You slowly set your quill down and stared at the words you had composed. Would it be enough? What could Redull be concocting? Your unstable alliance with Prince Verstappen could prove to be essential, and you needed to play it well. You felt as if you were playing chess against an opponent, but you couldn’t see how they were moving their pieces. You were playing in the dark.

In a state of convoluted amusement, you added a postscript to your letter: By any chance, do you play chess? If so, Queen’s pawn to d4.

Feeling much more weary than you should have, you flagged down a servant in the hallway and gave them the letter.

“What’s that?” You quickly turned around to see Charles smiling sheepishly at you. He still felt bad about his argument with Lorenzo. “Are you writing to your parents?”

You let out a laugh. “God, no. Actually… it’s to Prince Verstappen. I thought that because he reached out to me in the beginning, he would be more prone to talking to me again.”

Charles let out a sign. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, but thank you for trying. How would you feel about going behind Prince Verstappen’s back to deduce what they’re planning?”

“Charles, what do you mean? If we misuse their limited trust, then it could make things so much worse.”

“Y/n, I’m aware of the possible repercussions. It’s the reason why I’m against it.” No other reason. None at all that had to do with you. “But I would rather sacrifice our alliance with Redull than the people of Enza. I’m getting orders from Lorenzo. I can’t disobey him. But I need you to come with me. Please.” He took a step towards you.

“You didn’t need to ask,” you said. “I would follow you anywhere.”

“And I you.”

“Be safe, dear.” Queen Pascale kissed you on both cheeks. “It’s a cruel world out there. My mother always said, be nicer than the cruel world, or be crueller. I trust you to make the right decision. She was quite the woman.”

“Of course, my Queen.” You curtsied quickly, smiling at the Queen mother’s words. You and Queen Pascale had created a quiet bond during your time in Enza. “And you as well.”

Charles was busy talking with his brothers, but once you stepped towards the waiting carriage, he quickly left them to help you.

“Good luck,” Arthur called. You waved in return. You shifted over so Charles could squeeze in next to you, even though the seat opposite was wide open. Your hand immediately gripped his, intertwining your fingers. You justified it by wanting some solace.

Queen Pascale, having seen this, leaned over to her youngest and whispered, “See? And he said he didn’t care about this girl.”

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ghostiiess · 1 year ago

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[NSB HEADCANONS] - buying halloween stuff with seb

pov: title says it all

warnings: lot of flirty, dad jokes, mention of skeleton and fake blood? i think that’s all? Let me know if there’s more!

type: fluff!

member: sebastian moy from nsb

Taglist! (Open! Send an ask if you’d like to be in it!) : @nsb-rkive @kentisbaby @firebenderwolf @hyuneee0 @yawnzzznnn @ghostyycat7

Bold can’t be tagged.

REBLOGS AND LIKES ARE VERY APPRECIATED!

So you guys decided to go to target to buy more halloween stuff for your apartment

“C’mon baby, our apartment NEEDS to look spooky! Otherwise, how the city will know we love halloween?!”

So you guys decided to go buy more (uneessary) decorations to make the Halloween spookier

I say uncessary bc u guys really didn't need all of that 😭

(More under the cut!)

I am sure that seb’s moto was once “yolo”

even though its not his favorite holiday, he still love it!

No bc he is spending his money like there’s no tomorrow

He said it’s to make you happy but ngl i think it’s more to make HIM happy...

Even more if he can pass it with you <3 how cute

ANYWAYS!!

So you guys went to target and right as you guys both entered, seb saw pumpkins

Which mean!! More pumpkins, more cooking with him (wait at Christmas when I’ll drop a cooking headcanon with him), more cutie stuff with him!

“OMG Y/N!! DID YOU SEE ALL THE PUMPKINS?!”

Yes, we did seb, thank you

He is becoming a kid all over again lmao

And it’s not even Christmas! 🤣

He would buy every little themed-fall candles he see

“WDYM???? It’s for ambience!!”

Seb would be the type to say ‘i won’t buy that much, i don’t need a shopping basket’ then ends up saying after 5 minutes ‘ok i need a shopping basket’

Lol, you now have 20 ambience for your apartment 💀

Also, he would buy halloween snacks

“YOU NEVER TASTED THESE HALLOWEEN COOKIES?!! Y/n, are you sure you are living in the same world as me, bc these cookies has been really popular since 2020”

He would hold your hands 🫶🏻 and this is amazing

“What? I can’t hold my girl’s pretty hand while shopping?”

Also, he would talk about random stuff while checking the prices

Ngl, he would put a lot of stuff in his shopping basket, then says “wait, this is kinda ugly” after like 5 minutes, then put the stuff he took on random places in the store

“Baby, do you think we should make pumpkin pie this week? DAMNNNN why is this decoration cost $40?!”

“We could be smashing the pumpkins while listening to the smashing pumpkins!! (the music group)”

He think he’s funny (he is)

“Do you think the group like to smash pumpkins while listening to their songs?”

Ngl, idek if Seb know this group since all he listen is the weeknd (no hate to him, i like his songs alright, the weeknd's a great artist)

He would be the type to say “wow, that is so cute!”, check the price and says “wow, this is so ugly!”

Boy act like he doesnt have a thousand of dollars in his bank account 🙄

Btw, Seb would make dad jokes

« Hey babe, guess where the ghost went for his vacation? »

Then you’re like « idk… » and he’s like : 😮😏

« To Mali-boo! (Malibu) »

Now, this is the moment where you either laugh or cry

You decide

« baby, do you know what's a ghost's favorite play? It’s Romeo and Ghoul-iet!! »

😐😐😐

Thank you Seb, we really appreciate it

Thanks for making us laugh ig

« wait, baby, do you know how cute we would be if we were Romeo and Juliet this year? »

« I’d be your Romeo and you’d be my Juliet »

« And I’d even give you the flower like in the movie with the weird frog »

He is talking about Nanette and this is not okay bc Nanette is like the coolest characters, why is this character so funny like-

Also, Seb would buy spooky stuff

AND THIS MAN WOULD LAUGH

And also jumpscares you

« omg, you should have seen your face!! You were shocked as hell, omg wow! Should have take a picture »

He would try to make you laugh by talking to the decoration

Also, he would see fake blood and he would literally be 😐 « i remember when you wanted to do a prank with fake blood and accidentally cut yourself so your hands had both fake and real blood… aaah funny times.. »

Like, he would see a skeleton and says « hey man, i don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but… you forgot to put your clothes on »

WDYM FUNNY TIMES LMAO, WE ALMOST CUT OUR HANDS AND HE’S SAYING ITS FUNNY LMAOO

Also, Seb would dance to the Halloween music in the store

« eeehh it’s our song, my love! »

« Why are you not dancing with me? »

When it was time to pay… oh god 🤦🏻‍♀️

apparently his card is acc working, but just know that his card used to declined every single time when he was going shopping with the boys

I am not even kidding, like Seb had like 4 cards a day just to make sure one was working

The total was $300 and 17 cents HELP

So guess who paid for all the Halloween decoration that your man bought? It’s you...

i am sorry, babe.

« I promise, my love!! I will buy the dinner and others things to compense the amount of money I’ve spent »

No bc this man agreeded to do that with you on if he was the one paying it (he convinced you with that and also said « you’ll never have to buy things when you’re with me »)

When he came back home and started installing the things, he accidentally broke your Halloween mug

« Oops…. »

RIP the $30 mug… ☕️

He just want the best for you, that’s all

He quickly went back to target and bought another one (he stole kane's money)

he didn’t even told you that he broke one, don’t tell him i am the one who snitched him 🫣

And he also bought more Halloween candies because there is never enough Halloween candies for him

And he also bought ramen bc yummy 😋

This headcanon is already super long, but shopping with Seb is either super relaxing, super cute and fun, or super dangerous and you guys are this close to be kicked out of the store 🥰 it cannot be another choice, it’s either one or two

Happy Halloween with your boyyyy, Sebastian moyyyy (if u have the ref i love u)

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des-no9 · 10 months ago

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Hello! I just wanted to say I am SO happy I found your blog. I stumbled on it while looking through the Voss tag on tumblr and your work is a goldmine, from your visual art to your writing. I adore Vanquish, she's a delightful character and I wish I could read even more about her. I adore how you write Voss, I have extremely similar ideas (assumptions and HCs) surrounding him, and it deeply resonated with me to see someone who sees him in the same light I do. I adore your take on Orpheus, I feel for such a major character that so many people actually free, he gets barely any attention at all, even from Larian (his tatts...). Just the way you write Githyankis, the lore, the language... wow you get it, you get the appeal. I am obsessed with how you make use of negative space/bodies merging in so much of your art, it says a thousand words while guiding my eyes through this lovely dance. Your writing has me head over heels. It's thorough, it's deep, it burns, it hurts, it sings, it's exquisite. I had to go bite something while reading Godless Grace. Just thank you for your contribution to this fandom. I hope you keep having fun writing, because it is some of the most meaningful toe curling hypomania inducing stuff I got to read in years.

I have been speechless over this every since I read it yesterday. I just. I want you to know I have read this so many times I think I can recite it by heart.

I want you to know how much this means to me. Truly, honestly, with everything I have, thank you so much, love. It means everything to me when I connect with someone like this with my art and writing. It's all I want in life, really.

And the descriptions you wrote for my writing I just...I'm honestly going to frame this lol. Thank you so much.

As for us sharing the same HCs and how we see and feel Voss - I am absolutely thrilled!!! Especially that how I write him etc resonates with you. Exploring the githyanki, their language and worldbuilding is just some of the best fun and creativity I've had in a long time. I honestly hope I keep going for a long, long time too. The possibilities for them, their world are huge and god, Voss. Voss just means so much to me and he's just clicked with me y'know. I might write him, but he's the one who speaks.

Thank you again, lovely. My messages and ask box are always open to you <333 (also I'm so touched you like Vanquish too and want to know more about her. Keep your eyes peeled :3 )

xxx

#des replies #ask des #happy tag #kith'rak voss tag #i have no words for the joy this brought me thank you love thank you so much #this is what it's all about

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mattstrahm · 3 months ago

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since this is how i blog now apparently i'm writing down more thoughts.

in all honesty i hate the change my blog has seen in the past year, especially ~five months. it's not like i'm on tumblr any less but there's just less stuff. sometimes this blog will go a week without a new post even though i'm here every day. it was easier last year, yeah because the gang was more active but, and i hate to say this, because the phillies were more fun. there were more gifs to make, more articles to talk about, more little clips to lose our minds over. this year they were just good and it wasn't even worth it in the end. we've been trading having fun for being good and it keeps betraying us when it matters. it keeps not being worth it. and i think that's what pisses me off the most about it.

so to try to fill that void i'm trying to follow more blogs, and i didn't think i had very strict requirements to follow a blog, and people can blog however they want obviously, but wow have i found it hard. at this point all i'm asking for is a tagging system that at least somewhat holds water. my blacklist is so long, i've been on this website for nearly 15 years, curating an experience is vital to survival. what i'm learning is that the vast majority of people on this website don't have any kind of system at all, and i can't live like that.

i'm heading back into the gdocs ellipsus files (i've been really liking ellipsus, my main beef with it being that it doesn't do curly apostrophes or quotation marks, but if i write on my phone my phone does them automatically... so then i have to go back and fix them) to work on the 52 weeks sequel. i keep wishing i had more time to sit on the original but i wanted it out as soon as possible. there's so many scenes that would've made more sense from the original bryson pov. however that's not the world we live in and some things are going to have to get addressed from a pov less suitable for them. working on things taking place in the first year feels good though, because i know at least the first 52 weeks (ha ha.) will be in the sequel. i know this isn't effort wasted. not that i'm a stranger to writing thousands of words of stuff that will never see the light of day.

still also keeping an eye on the time begins prompts. maybe something will click in my brain and i'll write something else. shorter. quicker. less research intensive. we'll see.

#i think i'm trying to get something specific off my chest with these but i don't know what it is #so i'm just throwing shit at the wall (tumblr post) hoping it'll work and i'll feel lighter #nyaps

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daughter-of-sapph0 · 6 months ago

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Hello! Congratulations on nine thousand followers... wow. Now that it's been... gosh... nearly an entire year since its conclusion, how do you feel about the best-evangelion-girl poll, in distant retrospect? I'm still a bit salty that Lilith didn't win, but hey, ridiculous gimmick polls are a democracy and I've only got one vote. Have you ever felt like you might host some other similarly complex poll again? I would really like to hear your final thoughts on the whole running-a-gimmick-poll-blog experience, now that that one is over. It's the reason why I found your main blog in the first place lol. I also really like your OCs, I ended up looking through your 'my art' tag one day and your pixel art, both old and new, is amazing. I hope you are having a wonderful ninethousandfollowersday. #lilithsweep

hi bestie! thanks for the ask

here's a quick explanation for everyone who doesn't know. I have a sideblog @best-evangelion-girl. now, it's mainly a queue blog for the anime stuff I like. but original it was a poll gimmick blog, to find which character in Evangelion was definitively the best girl and end the dumb debate once and for all. the only catch, none of the participants where any of the human characters from eva. they were all either angels or evas or mechs or whatever from the manga, anime, rebuilds, and other spinoffs. in the end, Ramiel ended up winning. but fan favorites Lilith, Unit-02, and Misato's Car all came in close behind.

I would say that in retrospect, if I would do that whole thing again, I would have planned it out better. firstly I would only do half as many entries. a lot of them were just filler. there were a ton of repeat entries because of the differences between the anime and rebuilds, and a bunch of nothing entries like the eva 4444C or whatever that cannon fodder from the fourth rebuild movie was called. I also would have scheduled the posts out ahead of time, instead of making them the day the results came in. also, I literally made all the posts on my phone during work, which probably isn't the best use of my fifteen minutes. I probably should have just waited until I got home lol.

my advice to anyone making a gimmick poll blog as someone who's done it twice now (I also had one for fictional transgender characters), start small. you don't need 64 or even 32 unique entries. you can just keep it simple. also, if you feel like it, try seeding your results based on what either you think is the most popular or by having a mini poll of a bunch of entries and ranking those by popularity.

as for if I'll host another competition like that, I'm not sure if I will. I don't have anything planned at the moment, but I'll keep you posted.

also, thanks for checking out my OCs! I love my little blorbos, and I'm super happy other people like them too! I'm still trying to figure out my style, but I feel like I've finally nailed it. pixel art is amazing, and after being almost entirely self taught for about two years, I feel like I've improved dramatically.

#dostxt #asks #q&a #long post

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darsynia · 2 years ago

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Trust Fall | Ch8a

ARC by Eury Escodero on Unsplash | image by 'neverfeltbetter’ on wordpress

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Emory and Tony deal with the early symptoms of the injection.

Length: 3,476

I’m shy as hell about saying this but if anyone wants to be tagged or ask me to write something please do! Tags: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon, @starksbf

Excerpt:

“Busy,” he grunts.

“Wow, I think hell just froze over. Tony Stark saying no to fooling around with a woman? Mark this date down in history,” she says, deliberately lowering her tone, pushing it into the sultry register that the recording execs tried to get Rory to speak like in interviews early on.

The torch shuts off.

Tony doesn’t turn around. “I thought I bathed in the blood of innocents?”

“All evidence to the contrary, I know, but I kind of would like to stay alive, and kissing you is a perk to that end,” Emory says flippantly.

“A perk?” he asks, turning his head and lifting the ridiculous welding glasses he’s wearing up onto his forehead. With the leather jacket protecting his arms and his damned glasses lifted up, Tony looks like a steampunk engineer and it is working on her right now, even though she’s pissed at him.

“Like you don’t know your power over women?”

“Power? Over you?” He sets down the welding torch and makes sure to disconnect the power. His hands are filthy. Wherever he might (will) touch her will show the evidence of it. “Prove it. Come here.”

“So demanding,” Emory says, but she’s already walking over.

Chapter Eight: نور خورشید

By the time twenty-four hours have passed, Emory wonders if it’s possible for a simple injection to raise her body temperature permanently. She doesn’t think she has a fever, as much as she can tell that she’s just overly warm, and that the feeling is not going away.

It would be too much irony to be desperate enough to take a strange doctor’s injection and discover that the powers she develops from them are fire-based, something that will do basically nothing if the goal is to use them to escape. By the time she could burn her way through the metal doors that keep them imprisoned, the cave temperature would be so high they’d probably be baked alive.

She has kept to herself, away from both Yinsen and Tony, since the big screaming fight that she’d had with Stark. Emory hadn’t really meant to accuse him of making callous decisions to kill civilians, but his sanctimonious comment about making life or death decisions had infuriated her. Ever since then, he’s been silently welding, no backgammon with Yinsen, no easygoing conversations, no smiling.

It’s only been a day, and Emory really misses his smile. The kind of missing that makes a bit of an ache.

She doesn’t even really miss Rory’s smile like that, and they’ve been friends for over ten years. Then again, she doesn’t have any feelings for Rory, and Emory’s got to admit, she’s starting to feel something for Tony. She feels like there are a thousand complimentary attributes about Tony painted on her insides, and just thinking his name calls them forth to flutter around, begging to be spoken and acknowledged. Handsome, witty, strong, vulnerable, heroic, sexy, gentle. Does he have any idea she has such a high opinion of him? Probably not after yesterday.

It is almost evening, and they haven’t come physically near each other. That risks her survival, given the expectations the terrorists have about his wants and needs, but she’d known Tony was a stubborn asshole before she ever knew what it was like to touch him. It will be up to her to go over there and initiate something. It will be up to her to bend.

It is always up to her, Emory knows. Even when she is being lectured on bending too far and too often.

Emory gets up and stretches her arms high above her head. Last night she’d taken one of the white shirts from the rag pile in a desperate attempt to cool off. It’s almost a crop top on her because the sleeves and everything ten inches from the neckline had been cut off to make a bandage for Tony’s chest during the surgery. In a bid for some kind of decency, she tied two little knots, one under each arm, so it didn’t gap so much that her bra could be seen if it shifted too far back. Stark’s dress pants are rolled up as far as they will go, which is about four inches above her knees. That measurement reminds her of having to measure her shorts and skirts in high school for ‘indecency.’

Incongruously, she laughs. She’d be kicked out of high school faster than you could say ‘in-school suspension’ if she’d ever tried to wear something like this to class.

When he sees her coming over, Tony turns his body and thus the spray of his welding torch. Getting anywhere within six feet of him would risk burns on any exposed skin-- and she’s basically all exposed skin, right now.

“Tony?”

“Busy,” he grunts.

The torch shuts off.

Tony doesn’t turn around. “I thought I bathed in the blood of innocents?”

“All evidence to the contrary, I know, but I kind of would like to stay alive, and kissing you is a perk to that end,” Emory says flippantly.

“Like you don’t know your power over women?”

“So demanding,” Emory says, but she’s already walking over.

Ordinarily, the two of them would be smiling, teasing, laughing at the ridiculousness of this back and forth, but thanks to the gravity of what happened the day before, they’re both straight-faced and serious. The flirting that Tony does as easy as breathing seems so much more impactful when he’s not softening it with smiles and humor. Emory feels like the constant heat she’s dealt with over the past day is nothing compared to the flames of anticipation in her bloodstream now.

When she’s about six feet away, he shoves both the section of armor he was working on and the disconnected welding torch across the table so they’re out of the way, his expression still serious, brown eyes dark and intent as he looks at her.

“Sit.”

Emory would have preferred he help her up, but instead, she has to half jump onto the table, which makes her breasts bounce.

“You made me do that on purpose,” she says, crossing her arms against her chest, accentuating the way they strain against the material.

“Mm hmm,” he says. “I bet you wouldn’t even be wearing that if you knew how easily I can see that you’re wearing a red bra. Which, let me tell you, I heartily approve of. Black outfit with a hidden red bra? You sure you weren’t trying to show off a little for Rory’s friend?”

Emory is immediately furious, all anticipation and excitement spiraling away to be replaced by genuine hurt feelings. “I don’t have to take that kind of shit from you, you’re not my boss.” She hops down.

“Yes! There, see?” he says, clapping. “Not a doormat.”

“You don’t have to imply I’m maybe trying to steal Rory’s boyfriend in order to ‘bolster my confidence,’ jerk!” Emory can’t believe he’s looking at her with any kind of surprise on his face.

“What’s supposed to happen is, you refute the thing that isn’t true, you get mad because you’re better than that, and then you’re glad because you stood up for yourself.”

She glares up at him. “You really think you were trying to do me a favor there?”

“Yes! I was just going for authenticity, with the red bra thing.” He pushes the goggles farther up into his messy hair.

“Because women only wear colored bras for men, not for their own edification?”

“It’s possible that my experience on the matter is… skewed by confirmation bias?” he says, clearly choosing his words very, very carefully.

“I like this bra. It makes me feel beau-- Pretty. It makes me feel pretty.” Emory flushes, hating that her insecurities are on display in front of this man in particular. “You can really see the bra through this shirt?” she asks in an embarrassed whisper.

“Just the edges, where the fabric is… particularly stressed. Here,” Tony reaches out and traces a line unerringly across the edge of the cup, which because of the cut of the bra and the way it’s designed to highlight cleavage, dips down in the front. Emory feels her nipples immediately harden, and remembers her thought about his hands being dirty.

“You might as well draw a blueprint on the fabric, Stark,” she says sarcastically, gesturing to the dirty line he’d traced across her white shirt.

“Well, if that’s the case--”

Tony’s lip curls up into a predatory smile as he brazenly cups her breast with one hand, stroking across her nipple through the fabric with his thumb, spreading the dust and dirt just as she’d suggested. The undeniably sensual act jumps the line from parking in the ballpark lot straight to first base, but Emory feels like it’s a triumph for her home team, it feels so good, even if it does make her catch her breath with how shocking it is.

“You should be slapping me by now,” Tony says, leaning over to whisper the words into her hair.

Emory’s smile has a vicious edge. “I figured the knee to the groin would be much more--”

He’s backing away before she even finishes the sentence. Tony shakes his head at her, his hand positioned not unlike it had been on her body, but clearly in surrender and placation, now. Then he straightens, tipping his head to the side and frowning.

“You really should have slapped me. That wasn’t the first time you were in that position, was it?” he asks, all teasing gone. In place of the sexual tension is a different kind of tension, one where he’s upset on her behalf.

“I think I’m going to have to wash this if I ever want to wear it again, it’s kind of suggestive right now,” Emory says, looking down. She’s trying to ignore what he said. He’s right, but she doesn’t feel like thinking about that right now.

“Emory.”

“Yes. Big boobed consolation prize. Kind of a downer when she says no all the time. Moving on?”

“I’m sorry. I should have gotten more of an indication from you that I could touch you like that,” Tony says, his face pale, jaw rigid.

“The part where I’ll get taken out and shot if you don’t seem taken with me seems like consent to me?” she says, gathering up her hair and lifting it off of her neck. The heat of embarrassment so soon after being sexually keyed up is adding to the pre-existing heat from whatever the serum is doing to her, and she’s roasting, now.

“It isn’t.”

“Tony--”

“I’m not like that. That’s not how I behave at parties, with strange women, with familiar women. I want you to know that,” he says, stepping forward, letting his hand drop. He looks like he really cares whether she would make that assumption about him, and it’s touching in a really strange way.

“Don’t worry, I assumed you would never have to. I figured that women were usually all over you to the point where consent was never an issue,” she says.

Tony frowns and comes over, reaching out to touch the back of his hand to her forehead. “You’re too warm.” He takes off the leather jacket he is wearing, revealing the black shirt with the circular glow at his chest, and then tries again. His frown deepens.

“Yeah,” she admits. “Starting to be a bit scared.”

“Well, we can at least try to keep you from doing a Joan of Arc from the inside out. Come with me.”

He takes her over to the water barrel, scooping out some water with one of the metal cups. Then, with two fingers dipped into the cool water, refreshing their wetness often, he paints wide swipes onto the back of her neck, behind her ears, at her wrists, behind her knees, and at her ankles, all while Emory stands there in utter amazement and watches him. This man is one of the most wealthy in the world, and he’s crouched down to help mitigate the side effects of her stupid choices?

“Wow, that really helps,” she admits after he backs up and they stand looking at each other for a full minute.

“It would probably be even more effective if you were naked, and I could draw little wet hieroglyphs all over you, but then again, I shouldn’t have said that out loud, not after the conversation we just had,” Tony says, seamlessly transitioning from suggestive to apologetic.

“How about I give you permission to touch me and kiss me without worrying that you’re sexually harassing me, within reason?” Emory blurts out, fighting the image he’s just conjured up in her already overwrought brain.

Instead of answering right away, Tony slips his hands into his pockets and walks slowly over to her, his gaze fixed on the floor. When he stops just a few inches away and looks at her, his expression is nearly glowing, and Emory bites her lip. He’s pleased. She’s pretty sure he’s trying to repress it or hide it from her. It’s arresting, complimentary, exciting.

“I’d like that,” he finally says, and his studied indifference is transparently false. “With reciprocal permissions, of course,” he adds, an impish expression of challenge in his eyes.

Emory’s stressed out, and the roller coaster of the past day has completely fucked up her priorities and her restraint. If she’d just slapped him, ten minutes ago, would they be sharing this moment? How does a person change away from being a spoiled, somewhat sexist jerk, if not like this?

“Well,” she says, reaching out to trace the edges of the device at his chest with a light fingertip. “You did call me Joan of Arc.” Then Emory tangles her fingers into his neckline and tugs, pulling him down so she can lift up on her toes to kiss him.

He evades her just long enough to say, “That was atrocious. I’m going to draw up an NDA that says you’re completely disallowed from ever saying that again.” Then he captures her lips, scraping his teeth against her lower lip to soothe the sting with his tongue. Emory holds herself up after that with sheer stubbornness and a death grip on his shirt. When the kiss ends, she has to compose herself with much the same pretence of indifference as he’d shown earlier.

“Contracts require consideration, Mr. big-shot businessman,” she tells him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to change my shirt, my friend with benefits got it all dirty.”

Walking away from him after saying that feels like it requires summoning the sum total of all the confidence she’d ever exhibited.

Emory spent the whole week after the shot overly warm and uncomfortable, and nothing Tony could think of to do really helped more than putting water on her pulse points. Yinsen remained over by his cot and ate the food that Tony made when Emory brought it over to him, staying silent and keeping to himself until the fourth day. That was the first day the interpreter could dress fully in his characteristic suit, and Tony could understand that there was something symbolic in that, something the man considered protective. The previous day, Tony had seen him attempt to pull the undershirt over his injured nose, and stop when it seemed to be too painful.

It hadn’t occurred to Tony that maybe Yinsen was always on guard, that his suit was his own kind of armor. It was something familiar, yes, but also defensive, in a way. They had all settled into a kind of routine in the cave over the three or so weeks they’d been imprisoned. Tony’s routine is, of course, nothing like how he behaves at home, but he at least has things that make him feel like himself-- something to build, the tools to do so, or the raw materials to create a reasonable facsimile. Emory sings and does vocal exercises, and the amount of time she spends just sitting and thinking is somewhat impressive to Tony. Recently, she’d found a notebook among the supplies he’d been given to build the Jerico, and she’s been writing in it.

But Yinsen has never settled, and Tony just… hadn’t noticed until now. Ordinarily, someone else’s uncomfortability wouldn’t feel like his responsibility, and it galls him to feel culpable now, but for some reason, he does. It’s probably because, despite how furious Tony is about the serum, Yinsen is clearly more ally than enemy, and not just because he’d saved Tony’s life. Yinsen knows that no Jerico missile is being built, and hasn’t revealed that to their captors. Yinsen knows that Tony and Emory aren’t actually sexually involved, despite what the terrorists believe. Yinsen hasn’t once complained, for fuck’s sake (though, his passive-aggressive comments are biting if you catch them, and Tony totally respects that).

It’s with this understanding that Tony watches the older man sit Emory down on his cot for the second injection. The time to stop this from happening was a week ago, he knows. He doesn’t like it, but Tony doesn’t do anything to prevent it.

He does stop welding to watch, though.

“The warmth you report feeling is good. Shows it has been working,” Yinsen says to her as he sets up to inject the second shot in her right arm.

“It certainly made me worry I would develop some sort of weird flame powers!” Emory laughs nervously. “God, I don’t know what I was thinking,” she whispers, suddenly serious.

“I understand. I spent most of this week regretting my choices. Not for safety reasons, I did much research into the scientist I purchased this from, since it was for my son,” Yinsen says. “The man was not particularly ethical, but a genius, yes.” He injects the needle mid-conversation, which startles Emory, but it’s better than last time, at least. “I do not enjoy uncertainty. It did not occur to me that it would be so difficult to watch your body cope with what it must now go through. It would have been a thousand times worse, to watch Hamid-- Well. It is done.”

“You miss your family,” Emory says. She’d initially meant to ask, but then felt the stupidity of such a question, and altered it into a statement.

“I do. But I will see them, when I leave here,” Yinsen says confidently. “You should go lay in your cot, I think.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about what is meant to happen? What you hoped would happen, for Hamid?” she asks, standing and turning to look at him.

“Here,” Yinsen says, pulling a square of ripped paper from his vest pocket. “My address. When you leave here, perhaps you can visit. There was a whole folder, orange, filled with pictures and descriptions from the scientist I bought this from. It was just the vagaries of fate that led me to set it in the file cabinet before I was taken.”

On the paper is an address, the notation foreign, though she does recognize what it’s meant to be. With nowhere else to put it, knowing the terrorists have plans to replace her clothing, Emory nods, holds it to her chest, and heads to her cot. Once there, she tucks the paper in her bra.

“You doing okay there, Pincushion?” Tony calls out.

His flippant reference to something that he’d punched Yinsen over and yelled at her about just seven days before seems like such an obvious coping mechanism that Emory laughs. She’d never thought of Tony Stark as someone she’d enjoy having around until she was trapped in a terrorist cave with him, but the idea that that was hardly the strangest thing she was going through in the last ten minutes was what had her reeling.

“I’ll just be happy if my arm doesn’t turn gangrenous and fall off,” Emory tells Tony.

“It won’t, if you spend every waking moment focusing on developing healing powers! Get to it!” he says, pretending to be exasperated.

“That wouldn’t actually work, would it?” she asks Yinsen, across the cave.

“No, I do not believe so,” is the reply. “The evidence provided was that of a young man who became incredibly strong, and an elderly woman who was attempting to develop the ability to self heal. She instead became capable of influencing the life cycles of plants, accelerating them. Before her death a few years later she revitalized the agriculture of her village.”

“So she could turn out to be able to control mineral deposits on the moon, and we’d never find out? Great serum,” Tony snarks.

“You should be nicer to me. Seems like mind control isn’t completely off the table, and I’m just mean enough to do it in a way you’d never figure out,” Emory tells him. She yawns. “Okay, if I don’t make it, Scarecrow, you’ll take care of Tin Man, won’t you?”

The exhaustion she’s experiencing is actually a lot stronger than she’d expected. Even though she isn’t in the ideal comfortable position, Emory feels sleep overtaking her as soon as she lays her head down on her pillow, the sounds of Tony’s laughter acting like a strangely comforting lullabye.

Next chapter, Emory wakes up after days of being out cold, and Tony suggests a theory on what powers she may have developed

#tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x oc #tony stark x original character #iron man fanfiction #iron man #iron man x oc #iron man x original character #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #tony stark imagine #series: autonomy #ocfairygodmother #fyeahsuperverseocs

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saihyou · 1 year ago

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i did a top 10 sidem songs tag that i saw going around on twitter~ cant believe we're finally in our tenth anniversary year!!

meet the world

this song is really significant to me for a lot of reasons. as a kaigai P, world tre@sure was a super important time in sidem history where the gap was really bridged between the japanese fans and the rest of us. 4th live tre@sure gate was a must-attend for me because of this and it was my first time attending a imas live locally ever! i'll never forget the feeling of the lights dimming and meet the world beginning to play with every seiyuu's voice together in a huge powerful harmony. it was the first time id ever heard my 4 tantous voices in real life without a screen and thousands of miles between us and it was one of the most important moments of my life. i knew in that moment i could never miss another live again no matter how hard it is and how many hurdles i have to jump over to get to japan for the events. every time i travel again for imas, i listen to meet the world on repeat and think about how my passion for the idols can 空を海を夜を越えて <3

2. reason

reason is THE sidem song. every time i listen to it, the memories from the anime and lives and games all flood back to me. i've been a P since 2011 and AS has always been my home, and the reason i got into sidem at all is because i love AS and i've always felt that sidem and AS are the most connected and spiritually similar branches of imas. i always felt this way, so when sideani was released and we heard the full version of reason for the first time and realized that it was a love song to all of imas and everything that came before sidem... wow. im still so grateful to this day. and not only that, but AS themselves performing reason at moiw last year.... 😭 ill never be the same....

3. platinum mask

platinum mask!!! PLATINUM MASK!!! beits long awaited growing signal song. the memories attached to this song are so incredible. being in tokyo when the platinum mask event was announced, getting to experience platinum mask in full for the first time by hearing it performed live by all of beit at yokoari in that same week, platinum mask's cd releasing the week of moiw, platinum mask having the honor of being performed at moiw, and platinum mask being the song we got to finally see animated by sublimation for beits 3d mv. this song has given beit so many opportunities and been used to promote beit in ways id never even dreamed of before as their producer. not to mention the beautiful grand, royal aesthetic is something ive been waiting for my tantous to get forever, along with the lyrics perfectly fitting beits themes of secrecy and gaining/losing power.... this is truly the perfect song in every way.

4. hyper believer

i have so much to say about this song its unreal but ill try and keep it condensed. hyper believer was part of the first cd in the huuugely important and long awaited 49 elements series. there were 5 years in between shikis first solo and second solo, and much like the rest of the songs in 49ele, the jump in quality and huge level up for the idol is super tangible. hyper believer is shikis love song to highxjoker, to his friends his family producer the rest of 315pro, to life itself. it's about being self aware that hes in the awkward, incomplete period of his teenage years but going through every day knowing its temporary and fleeting so enjoying it anyway. every lyric is perfect and i still cant believe shiki got a song like this that takes him as a character so seriously. i havent felt so emotionally impacted by a song since chihaya's saihyou.

i love shiki more than anything in the entire world and i want to spend the rest of my life producing him. thats why when april 4th 2023 happened, it became impossible to listen to this song. theres a line in hyper believer that goes "millions of failures, successes, and brilliance are waiting for me" and i became unable to even face shiki when, in the real world, it seemed like there was no future waiting for him at all. all i could feel was my regret, my shock, my failure as a producer, my anger towards the situation sidem was put in. i carried these heavy feelings with me for months and didnt listen to the song for almost a year. until 8th live.

i attended sidem's 8th live at k-arena with nervous apprehension, careful excitement. very guarded. 2023 was the worst year of my life because of sidem, but also the best because of sidem. the idea of this being the final live and the end of the roadmap made me sick to my stomach and i sat in my seat on level-5 on day 2 with the idea that it could be the last time, ever. however, after a perfect baton touch from chibasho, nogamin came out on stage and performed hyper believer. "with tears in my eyes, i know i cant let this end". i was blown away. every single line hit me like a truck, only amplified by how long itd been since i heard them. after it was over, i was so stunned i didnt even register different songs had begun to play until 2-3 songs later. with that one song, every worry that clouded my life since april was blown away and my love for imas that had dropped to a 10% raised back up to 100%. along with platinum mask's b-side being performed, go for it, the surprise appearance of rairai meishi, and all the announcements afterwards that proved that sidem not only wasnt stopping any time soon, but revving up more than ever for the 10th anniversary made hachisu my favorite live of all time. i felt like everything id worked up to actually meant something and now i can face shiki with more love than ever because of this song.

thank you shiki, thank you nogami-san.

5. go for it

everything about go for it is very quintessentially "sidem" to me. being able to see minori as the center for such a fun shuffle unit is so precious. the unit originating in moba and then getting a song together through saisuta feels like staff very carefully considered how to bridge the gaps between both worlds and im very grateful for how much care was put into creating this project for them. not only that, but the lyrics are so fun and positive in a very sidem way and im so happy our oldest idols could sing this together since the age range of the idols being so wide is another charm point of sidem.

i also really love how sidem-like the music itself is too. sidem music is inherently instantly recognizable among other imas music because its men singing, but i think its really commendable that even if the vocals were muted, most people could still probably tell this was a sidem song. i also love love love how the music is ... tastefully dated? it matches the silly goofy aesthetic of over30 so much. its so playful. i love this song so much

i really hope i can own a proper go for it cd one day..... :(

6. summertime graffiti

not only do i think this is just a really really fun, catchy song that everybody should listen to, but this is the song that all 4 of my tantou sing together... <3 having tantou in different units means i dont get to see them together that often, and although theres 全体曲 and other songs like 315 steelo and welcome to japan that feature a mix of my 4 tantou, but this is the only song with kyoji pierre minori AND shiki singing together. beit and highxjoker combined with the energy and cuteness that yusuke and kyosuke add makes this the perfect song that i cant help but smile while listening to! hearing it performed at masters of idol world last year was so incredible i still cant believe it actually happened.... :'D

7. sunset colors

sideani 315. thats all i can really say. highxjokers songs are usually more idol-like in line distrubition and style than band-like, but for the anime they went full in on highxjoker being a band and it was so beautiful. shikis lead vocals throughout the entire song with everyone else backing him up feels like the most true to form highxjoker song ever. an entire episode of sideani being dedicated to this story and the build up to jun yelling out shikis name during the role call.... ;---; not to mention highxjokers seiyuu learning their characters instruments to perform it at 3/4 legs of the 3rd live tour... its such a huge honor to have my idol be the center of such an important song.

8. red hot beat

another song i just simply love to listen to and makes me really happy. super upbeat and high energy, perfect for all the physical members ❤️ i really really really adore the line distrubition in this song. seeing all of the combinations is so fun and i really like how most of them pair the idols up with more unexpected duos, which makes it really fun. shiki and minori are my physical tantous, so getting to hear asselin and minoris duet followed by shiki and suzakus duet is just so fun!! those combinations could only happen in this song so i tresure them deeply. the lyrics are so adorable too... theyre filled with such a deep love/affection that only idols ive produced for 10 years now could sing, yknow? if that makes sense. this song and its lyrics can only work because the sidem idols have been active for such a long time. cries.

also, minori was the event sr for the red hot beat event in saisuta which i had a lot of fun running. i think i hit 500,000 points? it really was fun....

9. secret ornament

theres not really a super deep reason for choosing this, but i just really love this song. theres something so endlessly magical about getting to hear kyoji pierre and minoris voices harmonizing together. a more orchestral song like this that relies on their vocals more shows that off perfectly. the violin solo after minoris solo gives me goosebumps no matter how many times i listen to this song on repeat. i love them so much. i cant wait to hear this song live one day ;-;

10. voy@ger

this might be cheating but theres no way i couldnt include voy@ger. voy@ger is my favorite thing the idolmaster franchise has ever done. ever. i cant say it enough. every single part of it is perfect. absolutely perfect. ive talked about it so much and gone over every possible detail and frame and milisecond of the song so many times that i wont repeat it all here but i just want to mention specifically that...

obviously i love the choice of sidem idols that got to participate because kyoji got to take part in this project but because... well... for a long time the reason othermas Ps would give that they didnt want to hear our sidem idols perform with their girls is because their voices are too deep and they would sound weird or bad or disruptive to the girls. i really hate this. not only is this super disrespectful to the song writers and sound producers, but also for more importantly the idols and seiyuu, both male and female. for nanwara and poplinks tune and even cryst@loud later on, only the main trio idols were used, but they were the "obvious choices" and only drastars members sang with the girls. but voy@ger didnt go that route and used idols outside the main trios. and for sidem in my opinion it wouldve been really easy for them to just choose. like. idk. kanon saki pierre ie the idols with the highest pitched voices and thrown them in the group so they could sing on the same octave as the girls but they didnt do that at all. and thats my favorite thing about voy@ger. kyoji genbu chris are probably the 3 idols with the LOWEST voices in all of idolmaster and im so happy they were given that opportunity to prove the weirdos who hate sidem wrong. they killed it so hard. im so in love with every decision made about voy@ger i could literally talk about this forever but this is probably my time to wrap this post up....!!

thank you 酒カス☆ボンバイエ and 黒川 for organizing this project! its been so fun to read other Ps thoughts on so many different songs. i had a lot of fun filling out my own version ^^

#imas #txt #SideM

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atlantis-just-drowned · 8 months ago

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Woooo weird questions let's go!!

The Daycare Attendants atm but also Pluto from Nevermore and probably a thousand others!!

Lighters because they're cool and you can light them up more easily. Which means. You can play with them more easily.

I did when I was younger. And then stopped after a giant ass spider entered my room.

Same as Sunny above, I don't really take it seriously but yk maybe it's true so whatever they're funny to think about

Brown. They haven't changed since the last time I answered

For character development. And also the angst.

None!! Short wild hair mfers!!

Only one because I'm a normal person /t

HOT!! CHOCOLATE!!

I would bask in their blood. And draw war face-paints with it

Climbing!! Writing!! Talking to friends!!

Calm and bittersweet

2 hours ago I think??

Favourite smell. Ever. I love it.

I'm the happy father of a hundred of OCs and self-inserts

Technically? Yes. Legally? No.

Both at the same time. Yes. I'm 100% serious.

Coloured hairs shampoo???

I would!! But if you want it neat and clean, don't let me do it!!

Soda

A burning rage and a desire for revenge. And trinkets. Lots of trinkets.

Not a bad one, but not always a good one either. I'm a human being: flawed, beautiful, changing, alive.

They're great!! I can put cool outfits!! And they reinforce my Vampire reputation

Comforting each other, cuddling, talking about the world and our lives, having some deep conversations, star gazing

Probably perfume if I want to feel extra-attractive?? But honestly I never use any perfume and don't have any

Any character I like falling in love with me because I'm a sucker. And does imagining my future life with my crush counts??

Probably 8 hours. It's always around 8 anyway, I healthy 👍

No because I can't fucking stand the feeling + they're always too big for my smol face + I have the glasses curse

Around 35°C + very pressured

Nope!! I don't have the right to bring any sort of food in my room and don't like when it gets dirty!!

To work, I listen to music in a language I can't understand. Usually any eastern-European song does it

There's a blue/green one that I peculiarly like :]

Going to the city I'll study in and visiting apartments and my future college!!

Wow there's so many actually!! I love to sing and listen to music haha

Same as Sunny so I guess CEST???

Not once!! I like this one hehe

My parents lol

Who... Cares about that?????

Yes I do!! But mine is running out rn :(

Yup!! I had plenty of those hehe

Empty. Just hot chocolate.

Instagram, Discord, Pixel Art. And that's it. I literally never use anything else.

I can't stand spice. Even just a little bit. I'm a pussy.

Oh damn, the list goes on.

Yup!! It was a very existing day!!

Rise of the Guardians!! I re-watch it every year

Uuuuh probably something in the DCA server??

My parents made us taste drops of their drinks since we've been teenagers, I never liked any. Alcohol just tastes bad.

Instructions unclear, I'm now jumping over tiny rocks on the pathway

Yes!! You can tag me in everything and anything!! Actually if you want me to see something, it's the best way to get me to see it!!

As always, no pressure for the tags!! @welcometothevoidmychild @sleepy-pile-of-ashe @mikey-way-enthusiast @minos-bubbleworld @astropote + anyone who wants to join!!

here’s weirder asks

who is/are your comfort character(s)?

lighter or matches?

do you leave the window open at night?

which cryptyd being do you believe in?

what color are your eyes?

why did you do that?

hair-ties or scrunchies?

how many water bottles are in your room right now?

which do you prefer, hot coffee or cold coffee?

would you slaughter the rich?

favorite extracurricular activity?

what kind of day is it?

when was the last time you ate?

do you love the smell of earth after it rains?

are you a parent? (all answers qualify)

can you drive?

are you farsighted or nearsighted?

what hair products do you use?

imagine we’re at a sleepover, would you paint my nails?

do you say soda or pop?

something you’ve kept since childhood?

what type of person are you?

how do you feel about chilly weather?

if we were together on a rooftop, what would we be doing?

perfume/body spray or lotion?

a scenario that you’ve replayed multiple times?

about how many hours of sleep did you get?

do you wear a mask?

how do you like your shower water?

is there dishes in your room?

what type of music keeps you grounded?

do you have a favorite towel?

the last adventure you’ve been on?

is there a song you know every word to by heart?

what’s your timezone?

how many times have you changed your url?

someone in your life, other than a relative, you’ve known for 10+ years?

a soap bar that smells good?

do you use lip balm?

did you have any snacks today?

how do you take your coffee?

an app you frequently use besides this godforsaken site?

what’s your take on spicy foods?

you get a free pass to kill anyone, who is it?

can you remember what happened yesterday?

favorite holiday film?

what was the last message you sent?

when did you first try an alcohol beverage?

can you skip rocks?

can i tag you in random stuff?

#tag game

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xtreme-cringe · 12 days ago

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Hey so uh… I kinda scrolled through your morrismore tag and. You mentioned an au a while ago and I kinda wanna ask what the au is? Also have you ever written fic

OOH

OH DEAR

You've found me.

HI no I have not, unfortunately. I'm assuming you mean the au I was microwaving....

If so I'll give you a quick run down because omg I've GENUINELY never seen or met anyone anywhere interested in Morrismore. But big warning it's extra cringe because I either wrote this in 8th grade or freshman year.

It's set in a some what fantasy town, by that I mean it's just made up. It takes place during the forties after the war. It's a small town with a population of a thousand people or so.

It's a very traditional and conservative place. Now that you know the town I'll quickly give you the meat and taters.

Jim is a high ranking officer who's revered in the town for being the prime example of a man. Little does everyone know he's likes a 'flower' boy names John [in the AU flower boys are men/boys that provide flowers for funerals. That's it]

They have a secret relationship but somehow, the truth comes out. The town is outraged and in this town PUBLIC EXECUTIONS ARE STILL A THING don't ask why I even thought about that. So yeah the plan is to John since they think he tricked Jim or whatever homophobic bitches say. But Jim intervenes and begs to take the fault for John. Eventually, everyone's convinced but John has to watch [wow i-]

The town gather to witness the execution of Jim, who secretly replaced the executioner with his best friend Ray. They use sheeps brain to make it look real. After that and everyone forgets the ordeal, Jim comes out of hiding to sneak away with John, Ray, and Robby. They do escape after going through the dense forest surrounding the place.

And that's it? From what I know and remember. Not my best idea but I loved it! Hope this answered your question.

Also how long have you been around my acc to remember I posted that??/Gen

#morrismore #the doors #hmm what to call thus segment

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celestie0 · 8 months ago

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

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

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

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, 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, mild love triangle(s), gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

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

ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 10)

ᰔ words. 16.8k (i be yappin)

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

nav. masterlist

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

“Wow. Good afternoon to you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You figured you just needed to rip the bandaid off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” he says, and quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, logistics,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am appalled you would even suggest that.”

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

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

“What???”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Forever,” you say. To scare him.

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

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

“More plausible.”

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes widen slightly. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then that’s when it hits you.

How you can help pull yourself out of debt.

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

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

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

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

“A shitty catalog.”

“Did you need to specify?”

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

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

“Mhm,” you nod.

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure,” he easily agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

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

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

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

“Hello,” she says, “can I help you?”

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

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

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

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

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

You smile up at her. “You did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?” she asks.

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

“Are you my nurse?” she asks.

You breathe in deep. “Yes.”

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

You exhale. “Yes. You need rest.”

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

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

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

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

48’’ eight yrs. what a big girl!

46’’ seven yrs. big jump

41’’ six yrs.

37’’ five yrs. my little princess

…

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

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

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

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

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

Your sleeve wipes at the dampness on your cheeks.

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

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

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

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

“Mhm,” you say.

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

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

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

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

“Jeez, okay. How much per month?”

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

“You should really…get more organized.”

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

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

Your shoulders sulk. “A little bit.”

“Yeah, it might scare some buyers away.”

You sigh. “Oh and then the HOA too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, so, we’ll…talk later?”

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

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

“Oh,” you respond, “I see.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.

“I live next door,” you remind him.

His eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, second worst as of right now.

The worst person title was reserved for someone else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But–”

“Now!!!!!”

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

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

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

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

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

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope.”

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

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

Damn it, he said it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My neighbor.”

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

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

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

“It’s true. I’m marrying him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s in love with you?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I left it at home,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “Yes, I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you…new to town?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

First of all, wild fucking thing to nonchalantly ask.

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

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

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

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

It takes him a whole minute to respond.

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

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

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

You pick your phone up again.

|| 11:41AM You: yes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just don’t look,” you say simply.

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

“Or I’ll kill you,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You must be ovulating.

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

Oh god.

Was your next door neighbor hot this entire time?

There was simply no way.

You refuse to believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why???” you ask, baffled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He kisses you.

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

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

What.

What?

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

[end of chapter 2]

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

➸ take me to chapter three!

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

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