#this gonna be a lot of tags I can feel it
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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, n have been taking care of your sick mom ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.
ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, mild love triangle(s), gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his early 30s n reader is in her late 20s
ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!
ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 10)
ᰔ words. 16.8k (i be yappin)
a/n. AHHH thanks very much for 2k followers!! yippeee :”) i had a lot of fun writing this chapter of ihm i feel like there’s a lot of silly but a lot of angsty too and i got to set up a lot of secondary plot lines in this chapter which was fun. i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!
nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 (pending)
“Can you chop down that stupid avocado tree of yours already? It keeps dropping its devilish spawn all over my herb garden.”
“Wow. Good afternoon to you too.”
Gojo scratches the back of his head from where he’s opened the front door of his house, standing in his pajamas and you briefly glance down at his bunny slippers before looking back up at him with a ridiculing face before pushing past him into his house.
Gojo’s house is almost the exact mirror of yours, as are most houses in the neighborhood, but it’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it and so you take an indulgent look. A cozy family room to the side, which you see he’s decorated with a coffee table and a loveseat, and the staircase is visible from the entrance. A modest dining table sits where the carpet turns into wood, and you’ve noticed he’s made the effort to place real hardwood on his floors contrary to the laminate in yours. Ok, show off. Your eyes take in the paintings on the wall, and you remember how his house almost looks fake, like in the way he sets up props in open houses he’s showing for clients, as if someone lives here and yet somehow there’s no real living proof of it.
And because it’s pretty much the exact same layout as your house, you know exactly where the pantry room is, and you grab a bunch of Doritos and Pocky from his secret snack drawer.
“Oh yes, go right ahead. Please,” he says sarcastically as he leans against a support pillar near the dining room and watches you stuff your face with his snacks.
“So,” you say, muffled, “did you grab the paperwork?”
“No, I didn’t.” He glances at his watch. “My friend’s a family law lawyer, and he’s gonna be here soon to help us out with the prenup.”
You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re being serious about the prenup? You really think I’m trying to gold dig at the cobwebs of your bank account? How little self respect do you think I have?”
“...do you really want me to answer that questi–”
The doorbell ringing startles you, and you quickly wipe at your face to clear any crumbs before setting the wrappers in your hands onto a bookshelf as you watch Gojo head to the door and open it.
You hear another distinct masculine voice ring in the air as Gojo exchanges pleasantries with him in the form of a handshake and a familiar hug with a few pats on the back, and then the angle Gojo twists his body reveals the man standing outside the door. He’s a bit shorter than Gojo with a lean build, clad in a fiercely formal black suit and tie with polished shoes. His hair is well-kept, short and raven black, and his eyes are sunken with what you can only imagine is fatigue. And it’s kinda hot to you, unfortunately, after years of working the night shift, you’re starting to find dark circles under people’s eyes to be extremely attractive.
“Uh, y/n, this is my friend, Higurama. Hiromi Higurama,” Gojo says, gesturing between the two of you, “and Hiromi, this is y/n. My obnoxious neighbor. Careful though, if you get too close she’ll bite off your fingers.”
“I’ll bite off a different appendage of yours if you don’t shut the fuck up,” you snarl at him, and Higurama takes a step inside the house to greet you with an outstretched hand.
“Hi, it’s lovely to meet you,” he says, and you’re a little startled by the politeness, but aptly shake his hand and nod before squawking out a likewise!!
You look past Higurama at Gojo who’s got an eyebrow raised at you, and then your eyes are on Higurama again as you watch him set his briefcase down on the dining table. “Are we ready to discuss?” he asks, brown eyes darting between the two of you. You nod and take a seat across from him, and Gojo first grabs everyone some glasses of water before he takes a seat at the head.
“So,” Higurama starts, “I take it you two are madly in love and would like to enter a marital agreement to declare your affections for one another in the court of law under just circumstances?”
You blink at him. “Y-Yes. Very just circumstances. Nothing shady going on here, we are indeed very madly in love and would like to get married.”
“Why the fuck would you say it like that?” Gojo chirps in but not before sighing.
“T-The way he asked was really nerve wracking!!” you counter. And then your eyes widen when you look at Higurama again, who has a slightly amused tug to his lips. “...oh, you already know this marriage is a fraud.”
“I was just testing you,” he casually says, “in case they mention any suspicions in court. Seems you should just let Satoru do the talking.”
You pout a little and sink further into your seat, then bring the glass of water up to your lips.
“Well, in any case,” Higurama says, and then he goes on into the details of what to expect in the courtroom. He pulls out paperwork for the marriage license application and starts to walk the two of you through the prenuptial agreement.
“It’s my understanding you’re both desiring a prenup for this marriage?” Hugurama asks, brow furrowed slightly as he rustles through the endless papers in front of him that he was drowning in.
You briefly glance at Gojo, who’s also looking through all the papers with a concentrated look on his face, his features tense and he’s slightly worrying his bottom lip through his teeth. He’s thinking way harder about this whole prenup thing than you would, and you realize he’s genuinely taking this very seriously.
“Um, yes,” you acquiesce, suddenly feeling a little guilty. And you remember who’s the one in need of the favor here. “I’m okay with the prenup.”
Higurama tells you two about the implications of the prenup, what can and cannot be included under state laws, and stresses the importance of full financial disclosure and fairness in the agreement to ensure its enforceability in the event of a divorce. Basically, don’t fucking lie about anything or else you two could sue each other to hell for it should divorce occur. You both agree, and you’re feeling sick to your stomach with anticipation.
“Alright,” Higurama interjects your thoughts, “I will begin to draft the document then. Let’s start with assets.”
Gojo drones on about his tangibles, intangibles, cash equivalents, stocks, yada yada and you open up with yours too, but you can barely hear anything you’re saying and you can hardly hear what anyone else is saying either because you’re just dreadfully awaiting for Higurama to finally bring up—
“How about debts?” he asks, mindlessly as he types away on his laptop, as if the question doesn’t make you want to throw up.
Your breathing picks up in speed, and you’re nervously fidgeting your hands over the surface of the table. You glance over at Gojo again, this time startled to find his eyes are on you too. His gaze briefly flickers to the shuffling of your fingers, then it meets yours again as he tilts his head slightly in a silent ask of you good?
“Uh–” you start, when you feel Higurama’s eyes on you too now that the silence has stretched on for too long, “I’m…well, I’m in a bit of…debt. From nursing school, a little bit from undergrad still, actually…”
“Okay,” Higurama says, “how much would you approximate? I’ll need the official loan statements soon, though.”
“Well, I’m paying off slowly…but last month I have around seventy-thousand still to pay off.”
“Alright,” Higurama accepts, “and you, Satoru? Student loans?”
“Oh, I don’t have any,” he says, “I paid them off a while ago.”
You feel like you’re being opened apart at the seams, and suddenly feel ashamed.
“Alright, what about other debts? Credit card debts? Any loans to know about?”
You figured you just needed to rip the bandaid off.
“Um,” you say, “I’m about three hundred thousand dollars in medical debt from my mother’s treatment loans.”
The room goes quiet, there’s no more rustling of papers or the mechanical jumping of keys on a keyboard, hell, even the birds outside stopped chirping to display their disbelief.
“Wha–” Gojo starts, like he can’t help it, before he catches himself out of politeness, but he’s still looking at you with concern and shock. “y/n…what happened?”
You look over at Higurama too, and he’s completely turned away from the document he was drafting on his laptop, full attention on you, and his brow is creased with the same amount of concern. And you feel like you’re in therapy. You also feel like you’re about to cry.
“Well…it’s just,” you start, throat feeling raw, “my mom couldn’t qualify for medical loans because of years of poor credit, and insufficient income, and her cancer treatments became really costly, and so–” you suck a breath in, because your voice cracks slightly at the end. You were not about to cry in front of them right now. “And so I decided to cosign on her loans so she could receive treatment, and stuff kept coming up, and I had to work reduced hours for a couple of years when she was first diagnosed, and…some payments got away from me, and so then…there was interest, and…it’s…I guess over five years, things just…accumulated.”
They both sit there in stunned silence, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, like they understand your situation is so fucked in its entirety that they can barely even bear to put themselves through the trouble of even imagining themselves in your shoes, let alone fathom that you’re living in them.
Higurama clears his throat and redirects his attention to the computer. “That’s… no problem for the prenup. Thank you for being honest.”
“Hey,” Gojo interjects, and his hand reaches out to lay over your fidgeting hands over the table. His eyes are serious. “Why didn’t you–” he starts, and his face softens slightly when you can’t help the small sheen of tears that reaches your eyes, “...why didn’t you say anything about this? I mean, anytime we’ve talked.”
It’s your turn to look at him with a tense expression, and you slowly withdraw your hands from the hold of his palm to place them in your lap under the table. “Uh, why would I share about my financial woes to my neighbor? Don’t most people just act like shit’s normal with their neighbors?”
“I guess, but I didn’t know it was that ba–”
Higurama’s phone starts to ring, and he glances at the Caller ID before sighing slightly. “Sorry, I have another client I need to see soon. We’ll have to wrap this up, but I’ll continue drafting this document. Please send me your relevant statements for any loans and–” he glances at you, “...associated debts.” He starts to gather his things at the table, then neatly tucks his papers into his briefcase before placing his laptop in there too. He reaches to shake Gojo’s hand first, then shakes yours, and holds onto your hand a second longer to gather your attention. His eyes are almost solemn.
“I truly hope your mother gets better soon,” he says to you, tone contrite.
You slowly nod and thank him, and then Gojo goes to see him out the door.
The house feels quiet when Gojo closes the front entrance, and he stays facing the door for a few seconds before slowly turning around to face you, back leaning against it as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off.
“I really–” you say, “...I really don’t want to talk about it.”
His face contorts into confusion, and it looks like he’s about to protest, but you allow yourself to show the slightest amount of the hurt and the worry on your face, and he realizes that means he shouldn’t try to push it.
“Okay,” he says, and quietly.
Things are awkward in the air for a second, so you waltz over to the window and watch through it as Higurama gets into his car, some type of sleek old black Mercedes Benz but it’s polished to perfection, and you let out a content sigh.
“What?” Gojo asks you, tone a little short.
“Ohhh, nothing,” you say, bringing your hands up to cup your cheeks to feel their warmth as you take in the image of Higurama’s slender legs in his business attire, “I just…” you sigh again, “I just loooove men in suits. I wish I knew more men that wore them often.”
A beat of silence. “Um. I wear them often?”
You turn on your heel to face him. “Yeah, but you wear them in, like, a slutty way. Higurama,” you say, pointing with your thumb facing the window, “wears them in the actually respectable workplace way. Hence why it’s hotter on him.”
He scoffs. “And yet you’re always staring at my ass from afar when I’m wearing my tailored trousers.”
“I seriously wonder what it’s like to be so fucking delusional all the time,” you shake your head at him and he looks like he’s got a comeback on his tongue but you sshhhhhhhh him and walk back into the heart of the house. You look over your shoulder briefly, and see Gojo’s standing where you were standing at the window a few seconds ago, looking out onto the street, and he’s grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite hear. And then you hear the sound of Higurama’s car driving away.
You circle around the dining table, and take a seat to look through the marriage paperwork Higurama left behind for the two of you to fill out.
“Bring the paperwork over to the kitchen island,” you hear Gojo say as he makes his way to the kitchen, “I’ll fix us some coffee.”
The island has a seated side to it with bar stools that raise high and turn in fully 360 degree fashion, so you swirl around in your seat to make yourself dizzy while Gojo brews some coffee with his espresso machine.
“Mm…smells nice,” you comment, still swirling.
“Milk? Sugar?” he asks you, and you stop swirling to answer him.
It’s not the first time you’ve been to Gojo’s house. When he first moved in next door, you brought him a plate of cookies as a welcome to the neighborhood! gift and he had invited you inside and fixed you a cup of coffee then too. The house was mostly empty back then, he’s made a lot of good work in filling it with furniture in that sort of IKEA catalog fashion, and you can clown on him for it all you want, but it still looks nicer than most homes you’ve been in. Anyways, you only visited him in his house a couple times after that before you realized you hated him. Because he blasts loud music at the most random times, which you’re convinced he’s just trying to show off the sound system he probably spent an unnecessary amount of money on, not to mention an unnecessary amount of time installing. He also always forgets to mow his fucking lawn, and it drives you nuts because then the weeds spread over into your lawn, but it’s not like it matters because you hardly mow yours either, but still. And that fucking boat. That fucking boat he keeps right at the edge of your driveway that taunts you and your ability to pull into garages after every single one of your dreadful night shifts. One of these days, you might just steal it and drive it into the ocean so it drowns. Wait, boats don’t drown. That’s the point of boats. They’re buoyant. It’s okay, you’ll find another way to get rid of it. The boat, you mean.
“Here you go,” he says, sliding a cup of coffee to you across the island. You peer inside at the brown liquid, and the scent alone awakens your senses.
“So, logistics,” you say.
“Logistics,” he repeats after you as he stirs a spoon in his mug.
“We need to make this believable,” you say to him, “otherwise the marriage could be invalidated, and we could face criminal charges, and I could lose the insurance benefits for my mom, and potentially get sued by said insurance companies, and get thrown into jail for life, and—”
“And how much sleep have you lost thinking about this?” he asks you with a sigh as he brings his mug up to take a sip.
“I’m being serious, Satoru,” you say to him, “I…would just rather err on the side of caution. It’s a small town, people talk. And sometimes those people know the law.” You shudder.
“Who the fuck is out there that would be so pissed about us getting married just so you can help out your sick mom?” he asks.
Your eyes flicker downwards slightly in consideration. You can think of one person, at least. And when you look up at him, you’re surprised to see there’s a similar look on his face, as if he could think of a particular one person too. But before you can dwell more on the expression on his face, he grabs the paperwork in front of you and looks through some of it. “You should get started on your paperwork. Higurama filled most of mine out for me already, so you’re the one he’s waiting on.”
You groan and stretch your arm out across the island counter, then lay your head on your upper arm. “Sigh, why couldn’t he have done that for meee tooooo.”
“Probably because he doesn’t know you?” Gojo snorts. He’s silent for a moment as he takes another sip. You can’t see his face. “So,” he starts, “I mean. If we’re going to make this believable, which, to be honest, I don’t think a single person in this neighborhood would find us getting married believable, but still, if we were to try making it believable, wouldn’t it make sense for us to, uh, I don’t know, live together? Like what regular married couples do.”
“I am appalled you would even suggest that.”
“It’s going to look like we’re just faking it if we don’t at least cohabitate together,” he tells you.
“We can’t do that,” you sigh, “I bet you’d try to touch me inappropriately.”
“What???”
“Yeahhh, I don’t know, you just—...you just seem like a guy with very little self control.”
“...y’know what? This is over. I’m calling off this engagement,” he says, and he walks over to the dining table with his coffee cup in hand and you lift your head up off your arm in a panic.
“Wha–...no!! Wait!!” you say, grabbing all the paperwork off the island and bringing it to the dining table where he’s taken a seat. “Please marry me. I need it so bad.”
“Woah,” he says, looking up at you, and there’s a darker glint to his eyes. “You need it so bad? Can you say that again?”
You curl up the papers in your hands into a makeshift hollow pole and whack him across the head with it. “This is exactly why I think you would touch me inappropriately.”
He grumbles slightly as he nurses the spot you whacked him with two of his fingers rubbing the area, and then he fixes his hair with a comb of his hand through it. The sleeve of his shirt drops a little from the movement, and you can see the muscles of his arm flex, then your eyes are quickly darting away so he doesn’t catch the line of your gaze on him. What the fuck. That was weird. You blame ovulation.
“Alright, fine,” he says, and he grabs the papers out of your hand, “also don’t bend these. It bothers me.”
You circle back to the kitchen to grab your abandoned coffee cup, and then bring it to the dining table to sit down with him at it. He places your half of the papers in front of you. You glance down at the first few boxes to fill out, and you already feel like giving up.
You glance up at him for a distraction. “Aren’t you going to ask me how long I want you to be married to me for?” you ask him.
“Uh, how long do you want me to be married to you for?”
“Forever,” you say. To scare him.
“Yeah, right.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively.
You sulk because it didn’t scare him. “Six months.”
“More plausible.”
“Really,” you say earnestly, “six months.”
He looks up at you now, a curious expression on his face. “Why specifically six months?”
Your eyes find the color of your coffee fascinating once again. “I don’t want to put my mother in hospice for too long. I’ll miss her,” you say, “it’s just…something I’m trying out for now. And to just get a bit of a caretaking break, and also so I can pick up more shifts at the hospital to work on paying off my debt. It’s just…temporary.”
His shoulders roll back once and he sits up a little straighter, holding up one of the pieces of paper to study it better while he clicks his pen. “Alright. Whatever works for you.”
You twiddle with your hands again, blinking a little in consideration as a few moments pass by. “Uh…about living together. That’s fine. I suppose.”
His eyes widen slightly. “Really?”
“Yeah. But no touching,” you point at him with a strict finger.
He tilts his head back up to the ceiling in annoyance. There’s a roll in the muscles of his throat as his jaw goes slack. You squirm in your chair a little. Ovulation, you think.
“I’m not going to touch you, y/n,” he assures you when his chin tips back down. You just stare at him for a few seconds as he seems to be in thought about something, and then his eyes meet yours. “Whose house are we going to live in?”
“Mine,” you say, “yours looks like a shitty catalog. It’s lame.”
“True,” he says, “yours feels homey. I like that.”
You’re a little taken aback by his words, and then purse your lips together. Your sort of go-to thanks expression reserved for him. “So, are you gonna sell your house then?”
“Huh? No way,” he shakes his head, “I’ll just see if I can rent it out for now.” He shakes his head even more. “I mean, god no, I wouldn’t be caught dead selling a house. Not with these market conditions. You know how much it’s already risen in equity within just the past few months alone? In five years from now—”
While Gojo continues to drone on about the lunacy of not holding onto property in this housing market, your eyes widen slightly at his words, like your body realizes a truth to what he’s saying before your mind does.
And then that’s when it hits you.
How you can help pull yourself out of debt.
You slam your coffee mug down on the table with a little more fierceness than you probably should’ve.
“Hey,” he scolds you, “can you be careful with that?”
“We’re not going to live in my house,” you say, ignoring him, “we’re gonna live in yours.”
“Huh?” he responds, “...but I thought you said mine looks like a catalog.”
“A shitty catalog.”
“Did you need to specify?”
“We’re not going to live in my house,” you tell him, with resolve, “because I’m gonna sell my house.”
He sits up a little straighter at your words. “Like, the house next door?”
“Mhm,” you nod.
He sighs. “Were you even listening to me? It’s so much more worth it to–”
“I don’t care,” you cut him off, “I need the money now. Not five years from now.” Your eyes glance down at your hands, and your tone becomes quiet. “I…I don’t even know if my mom has five years left to live.”
A silence settles in the room, and you see in your periphery that Gojo’s stiff and still, like he’s barely allowing himself to breathe as if you’d find it abrasive, and when you look over at him, his expression is soft.
“I know,” he says. “It sounds like a plan.”
“Will you help me sell it?” you ask him. “I’d…need a realtor.”
“Sure,” he easily agrees.
“Okay…” you say, and take a sip of lukewarm coffee, as if you haven’t just decided on an extremely major life decision. “Um. I’ll go get the paperwork then. From my house.”
“Oh. Right now?” he asks you, and he leans forward in his seat a little to get a closer look at your face. “I mean, don’t you want some time to think about it before putting it on the market? We can wait for a little bit.”
“No. That’s okay,” you say, standing up from your chair, “I’ll…go get the paperwork.”
He nods at you slowly, but his eyes are observant, and you ignore it to keep up the momentum of this decision that was definitely the right decision by all means and one that you should not be hesitating on at all as it is such an epiphany that can help clear your debilitating financial burdens.
“Drive safe,” he says to you when you grab your purse off the coffee table in the family room.
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
The outside air is breezy, it’s a nice day with the sun shining down and sparkling off of sprinkler dew drops on overgrown grass, and you hop across with a pep in your step as you make it to your house next door. You’re always quiet when opening the door, because you never know when your mom is sleeping or not, and since her bedroom is downstairs, she’s privy to noises. Once you’re inside, you check to make sure she’s sleeping with a small creak open of her door, only to find that she’s sitting on her rocking chair and looking through a box of paintings.
Your heart twists at the sight, and you gently knock the door with your knuckles.
She glances up at you, and you can always tell from just the look in her eyes if she recognizes you or not. Because they’re warm and gentle when she does, but they see right past you to the wall when she doesn’t.
“Hello,” she says, “can I help you?”
You come up to her and kneel down beside her, placing a hand up on the rocking chair arm rest while she looks down at you.
“Hi, mom. It’s me. Your daughter,” you gentle reintroduce yourself. It’s what her neurologist suggested you do anytime she can’t remember you, but it rips away a piece of your soul each time.
Her eyes still see past you, abstract, empty with no feeling as she wraps her head around your words. “I am no one’s mother,” she tells you, tone sounding sharp and like she’s a moment away from terror.
“That’s okay,” you quickly remediate, feeling hollow inside from her words but you always had to be the sane one, so you direct her attention to the box in her lap. “What are you looking at?”
“Oh, I just found these paintings!” she exclaims. “I thought they were wonderful. Do you know who drew them?”
You smile up at her. “You did.”
“Me?” she blinks at you. The wrinkles in her forehead crumple with surprise, “oh, no, dear, I could not paint such things with detail. Look at me!” She holds her hand up. “My hand is trembling!”
She’s getting weaker. You make a mental note to bring it up to her doctor.
“You used to hold a paint brush like it was just an extension of your hand,” you tell her, picking up one of the paintings out of the box, “you were an art teacher, mom.”
“Don’t call me mom,” she says to you, that sharp tone from earlier cutting through to your soul. “I am no one’s mother.” Her eyes shimmer with a light sheen of tears.
You stare at her, brow pinching together with hurt, but you bite back the part of you that wants to beg her to remember you, to take one close look at you, and see you with warmth and not emptiness. But she sees past you all the same.
“Can you do something for me?” you whisper to her.
“Yes?” she asks.
“Could you please lay down? You need some rest.”
“Are you my nurse?” she asks.
You breathe in deep. “Yes.”
“Am I…” she glances briefly at her reflection in the vanity mirror, her eyes flitting up to the head scarf on her head that covers the absence of hair, “am I sick?”
You exhale. “Yes. You need rest.”
“Oh…” she acknowledges, “why, yes. I do feel…a little frail.”
“I know,” you comment, and you put the box down on the floor then help her up onto her feet slowly by holding onto her arm, and you guide her to sit on the bed and take her medications. She then lays down, and you nod at her reassuringly before you head out the door and close it behind you.
Your lip trembles with the threat of a sob as you stare straight forward at the wall in the dimness of the hallway. But a harsh bite to the plush of it ceases the quiver.
You make your way up the stairs to go grab that binder you had with the mortgage and house information, plus some of your recent utility bills. Except the binder is hard to locate, and you’re rummaging through the cabinets in your closet, the drawer of your nightstand, you’re even looking underneath the bed. But when you lift your head up from under it, still kneeling on the carpet, and glance at the wall, you notice something.
48’’ eight yrs. what a big girl!
46’’ seven yrs. big jump
41’’ six yrs.
37’’ five yrs. my little princess
…
..
–all written in graphite pencil, scribbled up the wall where you would stand tall against as a kid, your mom marking your height at every birthday. And your eyes start to well with tears.
This was your childhood home. With magical corners tucked away where you used to play hide and seek with your dad, with your old bedroom you used to play in with dolls and have tea parties with all your stuffed animals. There’s still a stain of fruit juice on the carpet underneath the rug that you never told your mom about because you knew she would be mad at you and would scrub it out, but it was in the shape of a heart and when you were a kid, you thought that meant you would find your prince charming some day. This house holds so many memories, like birthday parties and Christmas Eve and the sunflower patch in the backyard where you laid Sniffles to rest.
And it holds the familiarity of you that seems to be slipping through your mother’s fingers with each passing day, all those memories you created with her now solely yours to keep and no longer to share. But you realize at this moment that you’re not alone. This house still holds those memories with you.
Your eyes flicker to the graphite pencil marks on the wall again, and the tears flow freely.
In the moments where she cannot remember that you are her baby, this house remembers for her.
Your sleeve wipes at the dampness on your cheeks.
But it’s never enough, is it? And it’s never that easy, either. Life was never that easy, and you don’t always have the choices you might think you do.
You find the binder, and grab all the utility bills too, and head downstairs. You pass by your mother’s room with softness and sleuth, and guilt in your heart when you realize what you’ve chosen to do. There’s no pep to your step when you make it back to Gojo’s.
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
“Sooo,” Gojo says, after about twenty minutes of looking through all the house paperwork in the binder at the dining table, “your mom transferred ownership of the house to you as a gift deed when she was diagnosed?��
“Mhm,” you say.
“She paid off quite a bit of it,” he comments as he looks through banking statements, “but still not enough to pay off your medical debt, unfortunately.”
You sigh. “I know. It was never really a house she could afford anyways. She just received it from the divorce, and I remember we were supposed to downsize, but…she didn’t want to.”
“I see,” Gojo comments, “well, it’s alright, it would still help you a lot for sure. How many years are left for your solar panel lease?” He has a pen in hand and a custom realtor notepad in front of him with his messy handwriting all over it.
“It’s new,” you say, “still got thirty years left.”
“Jeez, okay. How much per month?”
You scavenge through the bills on your table. “Ummm um um ummm…….”
“You should really…get more organized.”
“You should really mind your fucking business.” You find the bill. “$285 per month.”
“Okay,” he scribbles it down, “does it offset your electricity bill?”
Your shoulders sulk. “A little bit.”
“Yeah, it might scare some buyers away.”
You sigh. “Oh and then the HOA too.”
“HOA?” he looks up at you with a puzzled expression on his face. “We don’t have an HOA in this neighborhood.”
“We don’t?” you blink at him. “Then who have I been sending $195 dollars to every month?”
“…….....you’ve seriously gotta be some special kind of stupid.”
After panicking for five minutes while checking your credit cards for fraudulent activity, Gojo gets done cutting up an apple for you.
“Here,” he says, sliding the plate to you, “since you look like you’re about to faint. Knowing you, it’s probably just low blood sugar.”
You dramatically sigh and sink in your chair. “I can’t believe I spent the last three years paying an HOA that doesn’t even exist…”
“Hey, on the bright side, there’s some dude out there on an exotic vacation that’s very thrilled by your idiocracy right now.”
You shoot him a look. And then you hang your head low to drink your extremely cold coffee that you were still nursing, before downing it all in one go. Your eyes catch the marriage paperwork that Gojo was reviewing earlier, and you see Higurama’s pre-filled in information that he typed onto the papers before printing them for him.
“Hm,” you hum, “it says here that you’ve been married before. You might want to get that fixed before we submit these.”
He stands up from the table, two of his fingers hooking onto the handle of his coffee cup, and he glances into yours to make sure it’s empty, briefly flicking his eyes to you and you shake your head for no, no more coffee, thanks before he wraps his other two fingers around the handle of your mug as well. The clink of the two porcelain mugs in his hand startles you a little as he walks past you to the kitchen sink. “There’s nothing to fix about that,” he says, his tone level and easy, “it’s true. I’ve been married before.”
Your eyes widen at his confession, and you quickly twist your torso in your chair to stare at him. Or at least, the back of him as he turns the faucet on and begins to rinse out coffee mugs.
Married? Before? There are so many questions swimming through your head right now, ones that you desperately want answers to, biggest of all perhaps being now who the fuck would actually want to marry him??? for real??? you’re telling me this self obsessed dork proposed to a real life woman with a pulse and she actually said ‘yes’ to him??? who was this woman, and which psych ward did he find her from???
But he’s so quiet from where he stands, broad shoulders less pushed back like they usually are, and something tells you he wouldn’t entertain any of those questions from you right now. A glance at the paperwork, though, tells you the divorce was recent. Less than a year ago. Around the time he moved in next door.
He still has his back facing you, and you try to sneakily catch a glimpse at more info under the Wife section on the prior marriages form. You can see the paper says maiden name: Inoue and you’re just about to sneak a peak at the first name when—
“You want to stay for dinner?” he asks when he turns around, leaning back against the sink counter. “I’m ordering pizza tonight.”
You’re surprised by the sudden invitation, and shuffle the papers over one another again. “Oh–that’s…that’s okay.” You glance at the clock he has hanging on the wall. “I’ve got work in a couple of hours, so…I should really get going. Have a few errands to run before then.”
“Okay, so, we’ll…talk later?”
“Yeah, later,” you stand up from your chair, and for some reason, the air feels a little heavier to you now. “Uh…” you start, awkwardly scoffing a little, “wow. Bachelor life again, then, huh? Probably just–...probably just beer and pizza every night?”
He purses his lips together, humoring you with a small laugh that comes out as a scoff through his nostrils. “No. Not really. I only order pizza when I close a sale on a house. My way of celebrating.”
“Oh,” you respond, “I see.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.
“I live next door,” you remind him.
His eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Right.”
“H-Hope the traffic’s not too bad!” you joke.
His laugh comes more genuine now. “You’re stupid.”
You head towards the door, and when he opens it for you, there’s a chill of air outside and it’s darker now, hues of dark gray, purple and a slight orange still present on the horizon paint the sky and you step outside then turn on your heel to face him.
“Um. Congrats, by the way. On the sale,” you tell him, “enjoy your night. And I’ll see you this weekend?”
“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What’s happening this weekend?”
“We–” you scoff, “we’re getting married this weekend?”
“Oh!” he exclaims, tense, “right, yes, see you this weekend. For marriage. Of us.”
You roll your eyes and make your way down the concrete pavement that leads its way to his house, and leads its way away from it too. And when you walk back to your house, it’s not with a sulk, but it’s not with a pep in your step either. You just feel…neutral.
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
“So, tell me about this fake husband of yours,” Hana says, leaning against your work-on-wheels as you attempt to catch up on charting notes with 4 hours and 15 minutes and 53 seconds left on your shift (it’s not like you were counting though).
“Yeah, in a sec,” you mumble as you punch in keys.
6/2/2024 0344: patient placed on 5150 hold on 5/31 at 1745, continually monitored by ED tech. all objects have been removed from pt’s room to prevent any danger to self or others. however patient accessed hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall at roughly 0320 and ingested all the hand sanitizer. notified MD of toxic ingestion, follow up plan is to coordinate care with poison control. no further orders at this time
“Okay, what were you saying?” you look up at Hana again and rub the tired out of your eye with a balled up hand, along with all the mascara.
“Your fake husband!! Tell me about him!!” she chirps, shaking your work-on-wheels in excitement and the blur of your computer screen makes you feel dizzy.
“Shhhhh,” you hiss at her, “keep your voice down when we discuss illegal activities.”
She rolls her eyes. “Why are you always so paranoid? I’m already sick and tired of you charting incessantly every five seconds to save yourself from medical lawsuits that you haven’t even been accused of.”
“In a medical lawsuit, the chart is the law, Hana,” you say eerily with a shiver, and her words remind you to continue your detailed charting. “Never forget that.”
She sighs. Her gaze travels across to the other end of the emergency department, and you assume she’s staring at the asses of the EMT boys again, so you glance over your shoulder too.
Except instead, you see the worst person on the planet.
Well, second worst as of right now.
The worst person title was reserved for someone else.
Approaching from down the hall is Yuna, your ex-best friend, a bounce in her step as she walks with a sort of allure as her hips rock side to side, her mile-high ponytail swaying in beat with the rhythm as well, and the ashy blond highlights in her hair hypnotize anyone she waltzes by.
She was the kind of nurse that all the other nurses are jealous of. Always has cute little accessories and stickers on their badge, is wearing the fancy FIGS scrub sets that hug her sporty curves in all the right places, paired with those little shoes with the ankle socks, and she most definitely gets her water goal in for the day because she’s always sucking on the straw of her periwinkle Stanley cup around the ED all night just like she sucked the cum out of your boyfriend of seven years just twenty-four hours after the two of you had broken up–
“y/n,” she casually calls your name, leaning her elbow up on the cubicle divider of the nursing station. “It’s time for you to take your break. I’ll watch your patients.”
“I’m not taking my break,” you say, trying to relax the grit to your teeth which makes your eye twitch out of frustration instead. “Now get the fuck away from me before I call a Code Black.”
She sighs, rolling her eyes and smacking loudly on her gum. “Yaga said you have to take your thirty tonight. Something about how you haven’t clocked out for a break in more than two months and the hospital could get sued for that.”
“The hospital has way bigger cases they should be biting their nails about getting sued over,” Hana snorts just to butt in on conversation.
“C’mon,” Yuna says, her fingers reaching out to touch the handle of your work-on-wheels, purposefully stretched so that you can eye the perfect sparkly manicure to her nails. You curl your fingers into the skin of your palms to hide your gel polish that’s long started to scrape off. “Go clock out.”
“I’d rather die than listen to a single fucking thing you tell me to do,” you tell her, plain and simple.
“y/n!” a loud masculine voice calls from the other end of the Emergency Department, and all three of you visibly shrink a little in your stances out of fear. Head nurse Yaga. “Take your break, or I’ll be damned to let you set another foot in this hospital!!” he’s yelling at you all the way from the entrance to the CT scanner.
“But–”
“Now!!!!!”
Your eyes flicker to Yuna, who has an amused look on her face and a tilt to her head, and then you’re grumbling before logging out of your computer then stepping away from it. “Draw a CBC & chem on Beds 24 and 28 at 4 AM sharp,” you grumble to her, and she just gives you one of those tight-skinned smiles.
The break room is empty, with shades of beige on the walls and even more depressing shades of gray on the lockers. There are all sorts of things pasted on the walls, like photos from staff Halloween and Christmas parties, drawings that pediatric patients have made in appreciation of their nurses, and employee information that Yaga’s constantly shoving in everyone’s faces.
Okay, the backstory with Yuna. Pretty simple. You two had been best friends since high school, like inseparable best friends. Y’know, sneaking out late at night to use fake IDs at the bar, cover for the other when you’re busy losing your virginity to your high school boyfriend in the most dishonorable way possible, rooming together in college, sobbing and crying through all of nursing school together, ride or die type of friendship that you think you’d only find once in a lifetime. Except turns out your best friend, who you’d considered a sister, had eyes for your boyfriend since you started dating him in college, and the second that dickwad dumped you, you catch her sucking him off in the back of his Toyota Camry when you go to pick your stuff up from his place. Yeah, ouch. You lost the two closest people in your life, all in the matter of twenty-four hours, so pardon yourself for being a bit bitter about it.
But being bitter is the coping mechanism. The real way you feel comes in the form of tears prickling in your eyes and the pain in your throat as you try to swallow away the knot that’s suffocating you from the inside out. A type of loneliness that leaves you stranded even in a room full of people. But at the very least, this room is empty, so no one has to see the crack in your resolve.
There’s no time on a thirty-minute lunch break to have a full mental breakdown, so you sparsely wipe at your tears and head back to your shift.
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
If you want to know who actually holds the worst person on the planet title right now, well, you run into him on a Tuesday afternoon while on a grocery run after you just woke up from barely sufficient post night shift sleep. Bitter and drugged by Melatonin was not a state of being you needed to be in right now, but you’re out of orange juice and you’re having Vitamin C withdrawals which warrants a trip to the store. Unfortunately, the town only has one grocery store, which means you were bound to run into pestering ex-boyfriends at least once every full moon.
“Get the fuck out of my way, Choso,” you snarl at the man who’s walking backwards ahead of your grocery cart, trying to stop you in your tracks so you’d just chill out and listen to him for a second.
“Can you just chill out and listen to me for a second?” he asks you, irritation evident in his voice like you’re being the difficult one here.
“I already told you that I quite literally never want to see your stupid ugly face ever again for as long as I live,” you say, and you ram your grocery cart forward with so much force the metal hits his knees and he doubles over the basket indignantly with a groan.
He seems like he’s had enough of you evading him, so he jams his foot under the wheel to keep you from moving forward, and you’re scowling at him and struggling against his foot-stop but to no avail.
You briefly consider abandoning your cart all together and just bee-lining for the exit, but he’s a cop, so he’d easily be able to tackle you to the ground if you tried.
“What do you want?” you snarl, impatiently tapping your foot with every miserable passing second spent in his presence.
“I just–” He sighs, “I just want to talk. And to know how you’re doing. You won’t pick up any of my calls.”
“Huh?” You blink at him. “I’ve had you blocked for the past two weeks. You shouldn’t even be able to call me.”
His eyebrows raise. “Really?...who have I been dialing then?”
“Fuck if I know,” you shrug, and you use his moment of confusion to swerve your cart off to the side and make your way down the refrigerator aisle. Ohhh, dulce de leche gelato sounds nice, and it’s on sale. You grab a jar.
Choso’s trailing behind you as you eye price tags and sale signs in the open chill of the yogurt section. “Babe–”
“Don’t–” you immediately cut him off, spinning fast on your heel and he stops himself just in time from crashing right into you. You hold your index finger up in the air between the two of you with a clench to your jaw so tight it feels sore, and through gritted teeth you say, “don’t call me babe.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s habit.”
Indeed, habit. Seven years of him calling you babe, or baby, or boobie (idk don’t ask). Your favorite though? Babydoll. He’d always call you that when he’d make sweet, sweet love to you while you were wearing his favorite flimsy little piece of lingerie–babydolls. Even now, the memories have your cheeks feeling hot. But he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore, and he doesn’t get to fuck you anymore, or talk to you anymore, or breathe in your general direction anymore, because he betrayed you. He wasted your time, and then he betrayed you.
Seven years of your sexual prime, where you could’ve been fucking hunky firefighters and bisexual Europeans, wasted on a man you weren’t even going to marry in the end anyways. Now you’re pushing thirty, and the idea of having to date again makes your skin crawl with anxiety that turns into fury because your doom is all caused by the man in front of you.
Whatever, forget about the sex and the impending loss of a woman’s novelty within society for a second. You loved him. A part of you still loves him. You wanted to marry this man. You thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with this man. Little sheriff deputy’s wife, Mrs. Kamo, the perfect number of letters to get on a bejeweled license plate. You had envisioned all the cute little quotes of adoration that would be imprinted on your wedding reception’s custom-made doily napkins with everyone that’s ever meant anything to you sitting at the table, ready to celebrate the love that you thought was real and true and brave and strong and one that would last forever.
But he abandoned you when you were at your lowest. And he fell into the arms of the one person you thought you could turn to crying when the relationship crashed and burned in the first place. And the problem with living in a small town is that everyone knows everybody’s business, so now you’re just the woman that wasted her youth on a man that played her like a broken fiddle. Utterly heartbroken, and humiliated.
So, yeah, he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore.
“Listen here, asshole,” you say, stabbing him in the chest with your finger, so he can feel even a fraction of the pain you’ve felt in the past three weeks, “I couldn't care less if you live today, or die tomorrow. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me alone. Or I’ll file for a restraining order.”
“Really?” he says, brows pulled tight together in disbelief, like he just can’t understand what he’s done to make you act this way, and quite frankly, that only makes it sting even worse, “after everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to throw away the past seven years?”
“What the fuck are you saying?!” you all but snap at him, and an elderly couple that’s passing by flinches a little from the noise and you wince in apology before glaring at Choso again. Your voice is hushed this time. “You’re the one that broke up with me, but I’m the one that’s throwing it all away??”
He purses his lips together, and you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are. He shuts them tightly and leans back away from you, which makes you realize how much he was leaning into your space just a second ago. “I know that we…aren’t dating anymore. But, I mean, c’mon, y/n, it’s me. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean that I don’t still…care. I want to know how your mom’s doing, and how treatment has been for her, and–” he glances up at the ceiling briefly, as if to mislead you into thinking that the next thing he says is just as nonchalantly desired as the other things he listed, “and I want to know how you’re doing, too.”
“You don’t deserve to know how I’m doing. Continue to wallow in your pathetic self righteousness, or go run with your tail between your legs to that two-faced rat I used to call a best friend. Either way, I don’t give a damn,” you say, in a way that very much sounds like you give a damn unfortunately, and spin on your heel to continue pushing your cart down to the juice section.
“Yuna and I–” you hear him say behind you, and just the mention of her name on his tongue makes your heart ache in your chest, to the point you need to place a flat palm over it just to alleviate the pain, “I–...I broke things off with her yesterday.”
Fuck. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info.
“Okay? Whatever,” you barely manage to say.
He’s silent for a moment behind you. The wheels of your cart squeak as they roll.
“I mean, we’re not together anymore. I’m not seeing her anymore,” he clarifies, as if he didn’t believe you heard him right the first time.
“Cool,” you comment, tone colder this time, since you had the practice round.
“You don’t–” Choso starts, a rattle of hurt and confusion in his voice, “you don’t care about that?”
“Nope.”
He reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact burns through your skin, like something so familiar yet so foreign. You turn your head to look at him.
“I…” he starts, and you can see his chest rising and falling with more intensity. Oh god. Please. Please don’t say it. You’re not sure you can handle hearing it. “I really miss you.”
Damn it, he said it.
Your posture relaxes slightly when you take a long look at him. You finally notice his hair has gotten longer in just the three weeks you’ve been apart, layered locks curling at the end of his neck, and it’s the first time you’ve noticed such a small detail because you were so used to spending everyday with him. He spent most of the week at your house, since the two of you could never formally move in with one another after your mother was diagnosed and it was easier for him to come by to yours so you could continue to keep an eye on her. There’s no option to live on your own and start your own life when you’re taking care of someone sick. They become your priority, not yourself, but you’d still make every single sacrifice you’ve made for your mother over and over again in a heartbeat if you had to relive the past five years.
But that meant that you never had a real and true chance to live the life that you wanted with Choso. A place just for the two of you, lived in intimate solitude and not with the cries of your mother down the hall when she feels too sick to get up out of bed or when she cannot remember her own name. But you had never been this far apart from him to where you notice his hair is an inch longer than it was the last time you saw him. He was never that far away, as he is now. And you’ve just now realized it.
“I don’t,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat and your voice quivers ever so slightly when you speak, “I don’t care that you miss me.” You take a deep breath. “I’m getting married this weekend.”
His face entirely relaxes, like a calm before the storm, before it twists with so much confusion and incredulity and shock and–was that horror on his face?
“What?” he practically spats out, “it’s only been three weeks since we broke up!”
“Uhh,” you glance up at the ceiling of the store, just in time for an employee to make an announcement on the overhead for a manager at checkout lane 2 please, and then you glance back down at him, “I was having an affair while we were dating.” An easy lie.
He scowls. “Yeah fucking right. There’s no way you’d cheat on me.”
His words burn bitter. The fact that he couldn’t even fathom you hurting him the same way he hurt you makes you clench your teeth. Because he knew you were better than he was, and that you were too good for him, and yet he still wasted your honor.
His friends, who used to be yours too, have probably fed him lies since the breakup. Like it’s okay, man. You broke up with her before you got involved with someone else. You didn’t do anything wrong.
But you say bullshit to all of that. Because after seven years of being together, you can’t just cold turkey a relationship like that to sleep with someone else, and then claim it’s not cheating. Technicalities like that were no vindication if the betrayal hurt all the same in the end. Because it still felt like you got cheated on regardless.
“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself to you,” you tell him, “I’m getting married this weekend, so I really don’t give a damn about anything between us anymore. It’s over.”
“Who are you marrying?” he asks, suddenly breaking a sweat over the news like he’s starting to suspect you’re actually being serious.
“My neighbor.”
His face twists with disgust. “Old man Jenkins? He’s eighty-four years old.”
You roll your eyes. “Not the one on my left, you idiot. My neighbor to my right.”
The corner of his mouth tugs up in a ridiculing smirk, and the sight of it makes your skin crawl. He scoffs. “There’s no way. You hate that guy.”
“It’s true. I’m marrying him.”
“Seriously??” He guffaws at you, leaning in closer to you and you lean away until your back is resting on the handle of your shopping cart. “The obnoxious realtor I once heard you talking in your sleep about how much you want to murder him and then dump him in a lake?”
“What?! I talk in my sleep?!” you gasp.
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. You have for years.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?!”
He looks annoyed. “Because you’re such a hypochondriac. You would’ve thought you had a brain tumor or something, and I’d have to deal with the paranoia that follows suit.”
“Choso,” you say to him with a strict tone, jutting your hip out to the side in preparation to scold, “my mother has Alzheimer’s, which is genetic, and I was having an abnormal neurological symptom for years which has studies to show is an early indication of dementia and you just chose not to tell me because you didn’t want to be annoyed?!”
“See?” he gestures to you, “you’re doing it right now. How did we go from just sleep talking to ‘I might have dementia’?”
“We,” you point between you and him, “are never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever getting back together. If there’s one thing you can pull through that stupid skull of yours, make it that.”
“Excuse me,” you hear a tiny voice squeak out, and you turn to your right to see a little kid trying to push past the two of you to grab a box of GoGurt in the Yogurt section. You move your cart forward by bumping it with your butt to get out of the kid’s way, and Choso circles around to the front of your cart before you start moving forward again. Like he’s literally stopping you from moving on from him.
“You’re lying about marrying this guy,” Choso says like it’s a fact. In typical cop gaslighting fashion. “You’re just saying that to make me jealous.”
You roll your eyes. “No. I’m just that hot and gorgeous that I made a man fall in love with me in three weeks.”
“He’s in love with you?” he asks.
“Duh, he wants to marry me. When you dumped me, I found comforting solace in my next-door-neighbor, and we fell into bed with one another, and now he feels the obligation to provide for me for the rest of my life. What’s so hard to believe about that? You didn’t find abrupt matrimony odd when we binged all three seasons of Bridgerton two months ago.”
“That show is set in the fuckin’ regency era,” he hisses at you, “look around. There’s plastic bags of Hot Cheetos with Red 40 in them everywhere. Does this look like the 1800s to you?”
You have to be careful with him. He’s a cop, who could arrest you for medical insurance fraud, and would also have a personal vendetta against your marriage because boo hoo he misses you. But yes, he was right, you did want to make him jealous, and you just can’t help it.
“Well, me and him have a love that no one else can understand, so suck it. I’m marrying him, and he’s super into me, and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me, and he desperately wants to put babies in me, and–”
“And where’s the ring he gave you, then?”
Fuck. You briefly flick your gaze down to your left hand and note the daunting absence of a shiny diamond on your ring finger. Note to self, Gojo needs to buy you a ring.
“I left it at home,” you mumble.
“Uh-huh, as all newly engaged women who have been waiting for a ring all their life would do.”
That pisses you off. Because you were waiting your whole life for him to put a ring on your finger, and he never did.
“Go fuck a fleshlight,” you snarl at him, unfortunately in earshot of the GoGurt kid and his mom shoots you a nasty look, but you’re a jaded woman after everything you’ve been through and you ram your cart into Choso so hard you swear you could’ve cracked his knee caps, and he doubles over in enough pain for you to have the time to leave him stranded there as you push your cart all the way to the end of the store.
You finally make it to the orange juice section, the one thing you needed, although your cart is filled with things you didn’t need, because that’s always how these grocery runs go. You try to take a few breaths to calm down the fast beating in your heart after that confrontation with Choso. You’re not good with confrontation, even though it might seem like you are, but you’re just putting on a face. Acting strong, when really all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. But there are bills to pay, and images to upkeep, and orange juice to replenish.
Your hand reaches out for the handle on the refrigerator door, but just before you curl your fingers around it, another hand beats you to it. It’s a large and masculine hand, with veins disappearing into the cuffed felted fabric of a suit jacket, and the knuckles turn a shade lighter than the olive skin around them when the fingers flex around the handle.
You glance up at the person standing next to you, who you register towers over you in height. He has long, sleek black hair that shimmers under fluorescent lighting, some of which is tied up and out of his face, while the rest cascades over his back. But there’s tendrils of hair falling over the left side of his face, barely distracting you through the intensity of purple in his eyes when he glances at you.
“Ah, apologies,” he says, and the way he speaks is so calm and gentle, different from the intimidating aura he holds himself with. He retreats his hand from the handle.
“Oh, that’s–” you find yourself stuttering, “...that’s okay.” You grab the handle and open it, the chill rush of the fridge hitting you as your eyes peruse the selection of orange juice cartons while his eyes remain on you. You awkwardly glance at him again. “Sorry, d-did you also need to get orange juice?”
He nods. “Yes, I did.”
Not a man of many words, you think to yourself. Or maybe just around people he’s just met.
Your eyes catch the familiar labeling of your go-to orange juice, the one with no pulp and has added Vitamins D and E (basically the one for children), but you realize there’s only one left. You grab it anyway and put it in your cart. When you glance up at the handsome stranger beside you, there’s a slight look of amusement on his face.
“Seems we both have the same taste in orange juice,” he comments.
“Oh no,” you say with a small laugh, “I’m sorry. It’s the last one.” Your eyes widen. “You–…you can have it, if you want–”
“Oh, no, no,” he shakes his head, long hair swaying with the motion as he holds his hands up in front of himself, “please. I will just find a nearby store.”
You tilt your head. “Oh there’s no other stores nearby…unless you get on the highway for at least twenty minutes. It’s a…small town.”
His lax expression finally cracks into one of subtle surprise. “That’s interesting.”
“Are you…new to town?” you ask.
He nods with a small smile on his face. “Indeed. Well, just visiting. I’m from New York.”
“Oh! Wow, that’s a long way from here.” You briefly register that he does look like a city man. Upscale restaurants, skyline views, premium outlets. The subtle fragrance of his cologne smells expensive too. “What are you up to while visiting?” You mentally facepalm yourself for asking personal questions, but he seems mysterious and you like peeling the layers back on people like him.
His expression drops, turning almost solemn and his eye contact that was previously very direct is suddenly averted elsewhere, “Just…visiting some old friends.” There is no elaboration.
“Ahh…I see,” you say, picking up on the hint that he has no more words to give you. “Well…I’ll be taking the orange juice…maybe try one with pulp?” you suggest a little cheekily.
His lips tug upwards in a lopsided smile, one you’d call a smirk if you weren’t so mesmerized to define it as one, “I’ll think about it.”
You hum slightly in polite acknowledgement of him, then push your cart back towards the heart of the store without a word of goodbye.
Odd stranger, who’s good at giving misleading answers. You wonder what life he’s come here to escape.
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
It’s a bright, picturesque Sunday morning, with children laughing and squealing out on the streets in front of your house as they ride their scooters up hot pavement while their parents catch up on PTA drama on the lawns. You’re standing in front of your full length mirror, trying on dress #3 for your little meeting with the courthouse today. And by little meeting, you mean your wedding. You’re getting married today.
The dress you have on falls to below your knees and has buttons all the way from the hem right up to the base of your neck, where the collared neckline wraps around you like a noose. Suffocating, way too prim and proper, although it’d make your grandma very happy and adored to see you should you show up to church service in it.
Your bed is cluttered with clothes you’ve thrown across it as you try to find a good dress. Your hands move with impatience as you skim through the rack of your closet for another dress to try on, since you’re starting to push the time a little too much. You’ve only got ten minutes before you need to leave.
A dress tucked in the corner of your closet catches your eye and you pull it out. It’s a cream-colored milk maid dress with an underskirt to puff out the A-line silhouette, length down to your shins that would be oh-so-flattering with a cute pair of heels. There are small red flowers adorning the pattern, with tiny green leaf details as well. It was cute and sweet and feminine, something you haven’t worn in a long time unlike your usual monotonous hospital scrubs, stained sweatpants and adult onesies.
It was the dress your friend Sana convinced you to buy when you thought you were going to get engaged. In the first two years of your relationship with Choso, you two talked about marriage non-stop. You both had just graduated college when you first started dating, and it felt like your lives were finally starting. At the end of the second year you two had been together for, after Christmas dinner with your family, he pulled you into his arms and you squealed with glee as he spinned you around in your childhood bedroom upstairs and told you how much he wanted to marry you, and that he was going to propose in the new year.
Your mother was diagnosed with cancer in January, and he never brought up marriage ever again.
He still stayed with you for five years after that though, and swiftly dodged every single question you ever asked him about his impending proposal. For five years, you were fed every excuse in the book. And in hindsight, you feel like an idiot for staying, and for still holding out hope, when what you were really holding onto was heartbreak. The feeling of not being enough, like someone was just tolerating you, and not loving you. It was easy to ignore at times, given how occupied you were with driving your mother to chemotherapy appointments and reading up on books about which diet works best to slow down the development of Alzheimer’s because your mother started showing signs of dementia just two months after the cancer diagnosis. But in those moments of freedom, where you had a moment to breathe, all you could breathe was a suffocating smoke. Because you stopped feeling wanted or loved in between all of it.
But there was a trip he planned for the two of you to Greece. It was after your mother had first successfully gotten into remission. A gasp of fresh air amongst all the pain and suffering, and you could only assume that he wanted to celebrate by taking you on a trip. Sana was convinced he was going to propose to you on this trip, and you wondered if maybe he was just waiting until your mother felt better before he proposed so that the two of you could enjoy being newly engaged without the pressure or worry. Sana took you shopping, and you bought this dress, one that clings to your form in a way that made you feel beautiful. Made you feel wanted. Made you feel worthy of being loved. Because all other parts of yourself had been overlooked and paid no attention, but you thought a dress could save you.
He never proposed. You left Greece with an extra suitcase of souvenirs, but without a ring on your finger or even a compliment on how beautiful you should’ve looked to him standing there on that beach with this cream-colored dress on, arm wrapped around his. And it was at that point you became numb, and you existed in limbo for the remaining four years of your relationship. Until he finally did what you silently begged him to do, with every sullen look in your eyes when you glanced at him. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, what he did to you. Something you willed him into because you didn’t have the strength to leave, and so he had to.
You hold the dress up to your form in the mirror. It’d still fit you, and it’s far too pretty to have only worn once. But you’ve been numb for so long now, you don’t even remember what it’s like to feel pretty in a dress. You unbutton yourself out of dress #3 and step into failed proposal dress #4, and as you slowly zip up the back of the dress, you’re met with resistance.
Fuck.
The last thing you need right now is a weight-related meltdown.
You tug up on the zipper even more, harshly, to the point you hear a stitch rip and you gasp and try to do it slowly so as not to completely tear the dress apart. But it’s not fitting. It should fit. You just assume the zip is stuck, or it’s too rigid after years of no wear.
You’re about to do another colossal yank upwards that could potentially dislocate your shoulder when you jump at the sound of your phone chiming with a notification. And then multiple.
“What...the hell…do you want…” you sigh to nobody, swiping your hands across the pile of dress fabric on your bed to find your phone, and when you do, you quickly tap on the screen to see the messages.
|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Hey, are we still getting married today?
First of all, wild fucking thing to nonchalantly ask.
|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Your car’s still parked out front, so I wasn’t sure if you’ve left yet. I was just about to leave, and then the thought occurred to me that we should probably carpool?
|| 11:35AM neighbor (avocado tree): But just wanted to verify, are you sure you want to go through with this? You’re not having cold feet? Won’t be a runaway bride? I’m not gonna be left at the altar, wondering where I went wrong?
You roll your eyes, breathing heavily still from the struggle of zipping up your dress.
|| 11:36AM You: yes, we are still getting married. I just can’t zip up my dress for the life of me
It takes him a whole minute to respond.
|| 11:38AM neighbor (avocado tree): Do you need help?
You blink at your phone screen. Help? What kind of help? Helping you zip up your dress?
You look over your shoulder to the full length mirror, eyeing your back. The dress was zipped up to just above the small of your back, with the rest of it flayed open to reveal the expanse of your skin. Setting your phone down, you roll your shoulders back once and flex your fingers to try again in securing this dress, but to no avail. You curse yourself for not having the flexibility, and to be honest, you’re not even sure if you can take the dress off anymore to get into something else with the way the zipper won’t budge neither up nor down. Well. You’re just going to have to wear this dress for the rest of your life now. A scary predicament.
You pick your phone up again.
|| 11:41AM You: yes
It only takes about two minutes for him to text you that he’s at your front door, a surprisingly considerate gesture considering your mother is sleeping downstairs so it’s good he didn’t ring the doorbell, and you tiptoe your way down and over the creaky floorboards of the stairs to the front entrance.
You slowly crack the door open only a couple inches, hiding yourself from him behind it as you peek at him. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he says, and he glances at his watch. “We’ve got to hurry.”
You nod, and take note of his appearance. He’s wearing a dark fitted navy suit over a white dress shirt, which to your surprise, doesn’t have the top two buttons sluttily undone for once. His suit pants are perfectly tailored to his ankles and you can barely see the exposed fabric of black socks before they disappear into his polished Oxfords. He looks like he’s going to a wedding. Oh wait, he is.
He raises an eyebrow at you when you refuse to reveal yourself by stepping away from behind the door. Even his hair is particularly kept and proper, swept off to the side slightly in a way that makes him look younger and you feel nervous from the intensity of those eyes, which are usually somewhat hidden by the fringe of his snowy hair, now look at you unwaveringly with no obstruction. You feel like you’re seeing him in a completely new light, and for some reason, it makes you cower behind the door even more.
“Uh, are you going to let me in?” he asks you, his foot tapping lightly on the welcome! mat.
“Yes,” you say, but you make no movement to prove your word.
“y/n,” he says, “we need to get going.”
You sigh, tapping your fingers against the stained glass window of your front door to release some nerves before hesitantly stepping to the side and pulling the door open all the way, then you’re standing in front of him in full view. You catch a glimpse of the black tie hanging from his neck that’s secured all the way up to the collar of his shirt, before you finally look at his face.
Those striking eyes of his round slowly until he’s looking at you wide-eyed, blinking in some sort of dazed surprise as his gaze eventually sweeps down your entire form to take in the sight of you standing barefoot on wooden floor in your cream-colored dress, and you swear you see the muscles in his jaw jump. His brow furrows like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
“You–” he starts, that shocked blinking still taking place on his face, and you grasp the fabric of your dress in front of you from the anticipation of what he’ll say, “...you look beautiful.”
A silence settles between the two of you as he continues to roam his eyes all down you like there’s nothing that could stop him from doing it, and you feel heat in your cheeks from his compliment. It’s just a silly little cream-colored dress. One that didn’t look pretty on a beach in Greece, so why would it look beautiful on you here right now? While you’re standing at the dusty front entrance of a decades old house? He’s bullshitting you.
“You know you don’t have to compliment me, you know that, right?” you squeak out, trying to keep your tone level and easy to fight back the raw feeling in your throat, “this isn’t a first look. There are no photographers around to capture your reaction. We’re not actually getting married.”
“But–”
“Can you just help me with the dress?” you cut him off so he doesn’t say anything else that makes you feel pretty right now.
“...sure,” he agrees, and he steps inside your house. You start to walk upstairs, and he follows suit, and you suddenly feel his eyes on your back so you turn around and walk up the stairs backwards while facing him.
“I don’t understand the concept of first looks anyway,” he says out of nowhere to cut the silence, “isn’t it a bad omen to see your partner before getting married?”
“That’s such an outdated superstition,” you tell him as your feet finally press firmly flat at the top of the stairs.
One of his feet is placed next to where you’re standing up straight at the top, while the other is still on the third step down. And it’s like he’s kneeling on one knee in front of you as he looks up at you. After a moment of deep breathing on your part, you finally step away from the top of the stairs so he can finish walking up them too.
“I don’t know what happened,” you say to him as you make it to the front of your full length mirror, “I was just trying to zip it up but it got stuck. And it’s not unzipping either.”
He comes up behind you, and you can see in the mirror that he’s put a decent amount of space between the two of you from the way his arms are reached out in front of him just to access the zipper. He tugs up on it.
“Hm. It…” he struggles with it, “it seems…” he yanks again, “jammed?”
“Fudge,” you mutter under your breath (more ladylike perhaps, as opposed to fuck) and you sulk your shoulders. “But will it close at all, do you think?”
He takes a step closer to you, and his cologne has the fragrance of woody oak with undertones of citrus, like something expensive and sophisticated. His hand sweeps your hair off to the side and over your shoulder to the front so he has a better view, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck from the motion and you try to fight the shiver. A glance to the mirror, and you see his eyes are set on the exposed skin. He tugs to pull your dress together, and is able to cross the fabrics. “Yeah, it should. I think just hold your breath for a second? I’m going to try to see if zipping it down helps unjam it.”
“Okay,” you say softly, and he eyes you in the mirror at the sudden subservience.
You try to hold your breath as he tugs down on the zipper, and you hear the metallic click when he succeeds in unjamming it before he zips it down just an inch. You can feel the small of your back exposed to cool air from the motion.
He’s suddenly frozen entirely behind you, the knuckle of his index finger brushing against your skin as he continues to pinch the zipper between it and his thumb. You feel his slow exhale on the back of your neck. You’re too scared to look at his expression in the mirror.
“Sa–” you stutter through a gasp, “Satoru.”
“Sorry,” he says quietly, and then he’s shifting on his feet once before slowly attempting to zip the dress up.
He’s met with a slight resistance just underneath your shoulder blades. “Hey. Just hold your breath.”
“I’m trying to,” you tell him, almost whining, because it’s hard to stop breathing when your heart is beating fast and it needs the oxygen supply.
“Do you want to try on a different dress?” he asks you.
“No,” you immediately answer him. You’re not sure why, but the idea of wearing this dress for the rest of your life doesn’t scare you anymore. In fact, you never want to take it off.
Your hands twiddle with the flimsy string at your collarbone that you tied to connect the fabric across your chest, and then you realize. “Oh…maybe I need to–” you tug at the end of the string, “undo this? That might make it looser?” You finally glance at the mirror to seek his approval of your suggestion.
His eyes meet yours, and when he sees what you’re referring to, his eyes widen. “But that would–”
“Just don’t look,” you say simply.
You two remain looking at one another in the mirror, and you see his chest heaving slightly through the tightening of his dress shirt against the expansion of his breathing. Like you’re asking the impossible of him.
“Or I’ll kill you,” you say.
He sighs, and his eyes flit down to your zipper again. You swear you feel his hand tremble slightly. “Alright.”
You pull on the end of the string, watching him in the mirror to make sure his eyes don’t wander, and the fabric covering your breasts falls open, but you use a hand to still sparsely cover your skin with the cloth where you can. In the reflection, you see his jaw clench but his eyes remain on the zipper, and only briefly flicker to the bed once. Then he’s zipping up your dress with ease.
You quickly tie the string above your chest once more to cover yourself up, and then spin to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress and throwing your hair back over your shoulder. It was a snug fit, but at least it still fit.
He’s a step behind you with his hands shoved in his suit pockets, looking at your face with a slight tilt to his head like he’s studying you in the mirror just as much as you’re studying yourself. And then he pulls his hand out of his pocket to glance at his watch again. “It’s almost noon,” he says.
“What?!” you bark at him. “We’re fucking late!!! Why didn’t you say anything?!?!”
“Huh??” he baffles. “I’ve been trying to tell you we need to rush this entire time.”
“Oh my god, oh my god,” you say, pacing your room to find your things in a scurry, picking your purse up and then grabbing your Manila folder of paperwork from your desk, and you try to walk past him to the door when you trip over the five pairs of shoes that you had been trying on earlier, almost twisting your ankle, and you gasp then grab onto his suit jacket for purchase before his arm attempts to reach out to hold you upright but to no avail since you tug on him as you fall straight backwards onto your bed and bring him down with you.
His hands sink into the soft mattress on both sides of your head, wrists tickled by your hair, as he hovers over you, and your fingers quickly curl into little balls at your chest as you shrink underneath him, looking up at his surprised expression, likely from having to suddenly brace himself from falling right on top of you.
You both look at each other, blinking as you come down from the sudden chaos, and his tie that’s hanging from his neck brushes against your knuckle and falls over your hand to graze the skin above your breasts. His eyes briefly flicker to the sight, and he catches himself only to stare at your lips instead.
Even through thick layers of fabric, you can see the thick curves of the muscles in his arms, pulled taut from how he’s holding himself up over you. And for once, you wish the buttons of his shirt were undone, so you can see what he’s hiding underneath. The hair he had swept up above his eyes now falls freely with gravity, soft tufts that dangle above you and shadow over the blue of his eyes as he looks at you with a furrowed brow that–...that makes him look handsome.
You must be ovulating.
No, wait, you finished ovulating a couple days ago.
Oh god.
Was your next door neighbor hot this entire time?
There was simply no way.
You refuse to believe it.
You’re laying still like a deer in highlights, motionless underneath him, before he curls his arm around your waist to bring you up with him as he stands up straight, and you only spend a moment pressed up against him before you get yourself out of his grasp by pushing flat palms against his chest, and then the two of you are in proper distance from one another once again.
“D-Don’t ever do something like that ever again,” you stutter, shimmying your hips slightly to pull the snug fabric down your waist from where it had risen up.
“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbles, and he runs a hand through his hair. Now it looks like it always does, no longer prim in style.
“Whatever, let’s just go.” You slip your feet into one of the pairs of heels sprawled across on the floor, and then you head straight for the door. “You drive.”
You hear him sigh behind you. “Yes ma’am.”
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
The courthouse is bustling with people when you two arrive but Gojo’s pleasantly able to pull into an open curbside parking spot right in front of the entrance. You’re surprised when he comes around to the passenger side to open the door for you, and you swat his hand away when he offers it to you too, but you probably should’ve taken it, since you almost twist your ankle for the second time today as you step out onto the curb and get used to walking in heels again like a newborn fawn.
“Should’ve taken my hand,” he says to you, smile turned upwards into a smirk as he watches you struggle while he’s a few steps ahead of you.
“Give it to me then,” you grit through your teeth as you wobble, giving up your pride to avoid adding yet another medical bill to the list of debts in your name.
“Nah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “too late. Lost your chance.” You curse his entire lineage in your head.
You two make it inside the courtroom, and the first person you look for is Hana, whose head you catch at the front row much to your pleasant surprise since she is your sole witness to sign on the marriage certificate today. But in your study of the room to find her, you notice that there are a lot of other people in here as well.
“Don’t tell me…Did you invite people??” you ask Gojo, grabbing onto his sleeve to get his attention and also for balance, but he doesn’t need to know that latter part.
He glances down at you. “No? Why would I invite people to my fake wedding?”
Your eyes peruse the room once again, and you realize that most of them are just old retired people with nothing better to do on a Sunday than visit the courtroom. Some are elderly couples, eyeing you and Gojo as you two make your way down the aisle with sweetness in their eyes like awwwwwww to be a young couple in love once more <3 while they wait for the judge to call on their hundreds of unpaid parking tickets because they don’t know how to access an internet portal.
“D-Do you have the marriage license?” you squeak out to Gojo, who has now adjusted his walking speed to match yours.
“No, I left it at home,” he tells you in a flat tone. “Of course I brought the marriage license.”
“I was just checking, jeez…” you grumble.
Gojo hands the clerk the folder he was holding in his hand, and you hand in yours too.
Oh god. Your peripheral vision already recognizes him before your brain can, but you see an extremely familiar silhouette standing guard off to the side of the Judge’s bench, and your gaze immediately snaps in that direction.
Choso stands there, in his Sheriff Deputy’s uniform, his thumbs tucked into his vest as he puffs his chest out in assertion of his oh so important duty securing the courthouse on a Summer Sunday from any devastating danger, such as an elderly man not wanting to pay a parking ticket and then proceeding to charge towards the judge at 2 MPH, and you can’t help but roll your eyes from his attitude and scowl at him. Of course he pulled some strings and saw when you were getting allegedly married and decided to show up on that exact day. Whatever. You’ll pay him no mind. As long as he doesn’t speak now.
You and Gojo walk back to the lower desk in front of the Judge’s Bench.
“Ah! y/n, hello my dear, how are you?” the judge calls out to you.
“Hi Judge Jun,” you say meekly with a small wave, your voice echoing in the room, “good, and yourself?”
6/4/2024 1232: Judge Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun. “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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun than in acknowledgement of your protest, and in a series of what feels like just one motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you two him and then he—
He kisses you.
He kisses you like it’s real, like there’s history, like it’s a pure thing meant to last and not something you quite literally put a time stamp on. The kiss muffles the small sound that comes from your throat, your hands held up in the air in some slight surrender before they slowly settle on his shoulders as he bends you backwards over his forearm to deepen the kiss and the cheers surrounding you grow with a fervor that has your cheeks burning red but for some reason you don’t want it to end—
And then he pulls away from you, eyes darting across the features of your face in close proximity as he exhales slowly, like a release, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in this room before he glances at your lips one last time and then he releases his hold on you. You stand shocked, and briefly glance at Choso, who looks like he’s about to burst a fuse off the top of his head.
What.
What.
What?
And just like that, you were married to your insufferable next-door neighbor.
.
.
.
[end of chapter 2]
a/n. thank youuu soooo so much for reading this chapter of ihm!! i’m kinda liking the writing style i’ve adopted for this series, it’s kinda lax n lenient sort of like a stream of consciousness and i hope it doesn’t come of too crass of informal lol i’m just playing around w some writing styles rn. ANYWHO i hope you enjoyed!! btw i picture choso as long-hair choso in any modern au (and not pigtails choso) so if you see me describing his hair in the way that i do, that’s why lol. love you all so much, hope to see you in the next one <3
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#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x reader smut#gojo x reader fluff#gojo x reader angst#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru angst#gojo satoru fluff#smut#fluff#angst#gojo satoru fanfiction#suguru x reader#choso x reader#long fic#jjk fanfiction#jjk series#romance#fake dating#fake marriage#neighbors au#ongoing series#humor#slow burn#mutual pining#enemies to lovers#gojo x reader series
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DAY 75: onehat
#codacheetah#isat#loop isat#siffrin isat#isat act 6 spoilers#twohat spoilers#isat spoilers#yea im tagging the onehat post twohat spoilers. watch me#..do we know what time of day it is when siffrin goes to the favor tree?#i always imagined the evening for some reason.#um so anyways. hey do you guys ever think about onehat. do you think about it#do you ever think about how siffrin never learning about loop and never getting closure with them#is just as valid of an ending as twohats. you dont have to get twohats. loop getting some catharsis isnt necessary to siffrin's narrative.#they asked to be here. they were here to help siffrin. and they did. and it ended#that's it.#i've always wondered if loop saw siffrin perform the ritual for them#i wonder if it would comfort them or not. if you ask them if they're a ghost they say yes (and no) after all#the tree is their grave.#something something from main character to stage director to sponsor to corpse#and with how arcane the prereqs for twohats are. yes you can get them naturally on a first playthrough but it's definitely not the majority#experience especially playing blind.#to give loop an ending you have to reach back in with both hands and grasp at that connection#i dont rlly know how to articulate it but it makes me feel a kind of way tbh. you only learn the prereqs (w/o guidance) by talking to loop#very frequently and paying attention to the hints they drop to you about the coin. labor of love situation#self love. siffrin reaching back for loop. We Are Getting Out Together Bitch#Is this anything i dont know that it is#idk onehat fascinates me a lot and im not even gonna touch on the onehats playthroughs where u actually do get the prereqs#i think there is a slight tendency among some fans tocharacterize loop as. more vindictive than they are? i guess?#it's easy to stare down loop's big twohats breakdown and see them bare their fangs and look into their anger#but loop's willingness to fade into nothing and leave siffrin alone shouldnt be forgotten i dont think
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End Game 1
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn't go exactly as planned.
Characters: Andy Barber
Note: get ready for the hate.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
The tunnel lights up ahead of you, revealing the cubic rock walls as you plant torches in your stead. The eerie soundtrack of night time and the ominous groan of zombies looming somewhere in the cave have you uptight. Silently, you press on, digging and mining mindlessly, fingers mashing the buttons on your controller.
“Hey, where are you?” Jacob’s voice startles you.
You nearly forgot you’re playing co-op. You sniff and shake your head, cursing aloud as your shock has you succumbing to the arrow of a sneaky skeleton. You sigh as your possessions scatter and you spawn back in your bed.
“Back home,” you say glumly, “just ate it.”
“Ah, damn,” his deep voice rolls in your noise-cancelling headset, “sorry, hope that wasn’t me.”
“No, I wasn’t paying attention,” you hum and sigh.
“Ah,” he accepts and lets silence linger before he clicks his tongue, “what’s going on? Everything alright?”
“Yeah, yeah,” you put the controller down, your avatar sitting on the geometric bed, “I just...” you stretch your neck and massage your scalp around the thick band of the headset, “got a lot on my mind.”
“Right. I thought you were all done exams,” he says.
“I am, but... packing. Going home. I called my old boss and turns out I’m not gonna have a job this summer. Gotta start over,” you yawn and rub your eyes, “what about you? Final exam tomorrow?”
“Uh... yeah,” he hesitates as if he forgot. You do wonder why he isn’t cramming right now. You could never play minecraft all night the day before a final. “Easy stuff. I’m not worried.”
You scoff. You wish you could say the same. All you’ve done is worry those last two weeks. Exams, getting home, getting a job. Your grandmother won’t very happy to find out you’ll be slumming it for a while. At least you tucked away some money through the semester.
“Hey, if you need a few bucks...” Jacob offers.
“What? Are you crazy? No way,” you exclaim, “really, no, I couldn’t. I’ll be fine. I just... I hate looking for jobs. You know how it is. Friggin awkward.”
“It’s not a big deal. My dad sent me my birthday money so...”
“Uh uh,” you deny him again, “that’s way too much. I couldn’t-- we haven’t even met.”
“Mm, yeah, about that,” he exhales into his microphone, “I, uh, got an extra ticket to this Con. I figured out that’s it like the midway point between us so...”
“A con? Oh, wow--”
“Yeah, but I get that it would be expensive so maybe I could pay for your trip?”
“Jacob,” you wiggle the controller restlessly, “I can't accept that. It’s so nice but... it’s a lot.”
“I wouldn’t offer it was too much,” his voice is soft, meek, and defeated. You feel bad but you would feel worse taking advantage of his kindness. “We’ve been talking all year. I just figured it would be a good chance to meet up. It would be in public and something we both like so...”
You scratch your neck as it speckles with heat. You don’t know what’s more insulting; yes or no.
“Can I think about it?” You ask thinly.
The line is quiet. You look at the screen and it goes dim from your idling. You hit the analog stick and fix your headphones.
“Jacob?” You murmur.
“Sure, think about it,” he says, his voice raspy and rocky. It’s strange. You’ve seen him in pictures and his voice doesn’t really match his appearance. He sounds a lot older than he looks. “It’s next month so lots of time.”
“I’m sorry,” you cringe. “I just wouldn’t want to waste your money.”
“Trust me, it wouldn’t be a waste,” he insists, “this last year has sucked. So much. You got me through it all.” His microphone scuffs, “studying, exams, all that stuff. It’s tough making new friends. Seems like everyone here knows each other from high school.”
“Yeah, totally,” you agree.
You’re not exactly the most popular person. You have people you know in each class but not too many friends you hang out with outside the lecture hall or library. So far, not too many people want to spend hours mining digital gold or racing cartoon characters around a rainbow track.
“Well, you should probably get some sleep,” you yawn, “you got your big exam and... I gotta keep packing. Gotta catch the greyhound tomorrow night.”
“Sure, uh, yeah, right,” his disappointment is potent, “hey, will you text me when you get home? Just so I know you made it.” He snorts, “god, I sound like my dad right now.”
“Oh, of course,” you chirp back, “I’ll try to remember. Might be late.”
“That’s fine. Just as long as you let me know.”
“Don’t worry about me,” you assure him, “not ‘til I have to face my grandma. Ha.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” he says, “well... er...”
“Good night,” you finish for him, “let me know how the exam goes too.”
“Will do,” his timbre gets even lower, “night.”
You sign off and shut down the console. Another yawn flows through you and waters in your eyes. You should sleep, you got a long day waiting for you, but you know it won’t be easy. Not with so much on your mind, not least of all, Jacob’s invitation.
🎮
You text Jacob as you get on the bus, to make sure he doesn’t worry. It’s so sweet that he does, even some of your girlfriends don’t bother that much. Not that you mind the ‘hey, bitch’ Janet sends you every now and again to make sure you’re still alive.
You fall asleep on the bus. You’ve never been one to sleep while travelling but you’re exhausted from a night of anxious tossing and turning. After spending all day packing up the last of your things and scouring your dorm room, you’re beat to hell.
It’s midnight as you get to your grandmother’s house. She’s up reading another Stephen King classic in her rocking chair. She’s always been a night owl and a voracious book hound. She grumbles at you but doesn’t bother to ask how your trip was.
“Hey, grandma,” you hike up your bag and smile.
She growls again, eyes not leaving the page. You should know better by now not to interrupt her. You shoulder on and head down to the spare room where you spent most of your high-school career. You shut the door gently as the old hardwood floors creak with your weight and you drop your bag on the squeaky bed.
You fish out your phone and plug it in as the battery flashes red with only two percent left. You leave it on the night table and stretch out, not bothering to change out of your hoodie and jeans. It’s not long before you descend back into the same dreams that marked your journey home.
You wake up to buzzing. Your phone shakes the nightstand, rattling it against the bed frame. You groan and roll onto your side, reaching blindly for offending object. You hit the side button to dismiss the call.
You blink away the bleariness and focus on the screen. Along with the missed call are several text messages. You squint as you expand the notifications. Jacob! You forgot to message.
‘Hey, you home?’
‘Checking in. Must be busy getting settled in. Just let me know when you’re safe.’
‘Not meaning to be weird but everything okay?’
‘Please answer me. I’m worried.’
You drag your thumb around the keyboard, letting it predict your words; ‘sorry! I was so tired. Home now and safe 😊'
Three dots pop up then swoop away. You frown as the same thing happens several times before a response appears.
‘Was really worried. Thanks for finally answering. Been up all night.’
You’re stunned by the terse response. Yeah, you forgot to answer but he doesn’t need to worry that much. You frown and shift onto your side.
‘Srry again. Tired. Talk in morning. Night.’
You turn your phone on silent and plug it back into the cord. You do feel bad but you’re too exhausted to let it keep you up. Besides, you need your sleep. You have lots of job hunting to do in the morning. Not to mention, your grandmother to face.
🎮
You let Jacob cool down after your return home. Rather, he doesn’t text and you’re too distracted to do the same. As much as you’d like to sit around and game, your grandmother was as disappointed as you expected with your employment status, even when you gave her the money you had left in your emergency fund.
After a week, you finally get a bite. It’s nothing special. There’s a seasonal ice cream shop in a booth shaped like a vanilla cone that needs a cashier on weeknights. It’s less than full time hours but it’s better than nothing. It will be strange working with high school juniors but you can’t afford to be picky.
‘Game tonight?’ The text interrupts your first shift. You don’t have a chance to answer as a family approaches the window to order.
You get them the soft serve and take their payment, bidding them a good evening with their vanilla points already drooping in the summer heat. You glance around at the mostly empty picnic tables. Soccer practice will end soon and you’ll be overloaded with eight-year-olds.
‘Srry. New job. 1st shift. Maybe tmrw.’
‘New job? Congrats. Why didn’t you tell me?’
You sigh.
‘Time got ahead of me.’
‘Same. Catch up tomorrow then. Minecraft?’
‘Sure. Tmrw.’
You slip your phone away. A mother and daughter approach and ask for a sundae and a banana split. As much as you love ice cream, working with it hasn’t tested your cravings very much. In fact, you might be falling out of love with it. The smell of vanilla and overly sweetened strawberries is kind of gross when it’s all you breathe.
As you watch the happy customers walk away, you smile. Maybe it will be good to get some mining done. It will take your mind off of everything else. Hell, it might even make you feel like you’re doing something useful.
🎮
“Shit, oh, sorry,” Jacob corrects himself. You always think it's kind of funny how he doesn’t like to swear. “My diamond armor.”
“Oh no,” you utter, “where are you? I’ll grab your stuff.”
He gives his coordinates and you turn around, leaping over the green blocks to make your way there. Despite your reticence at the beginning, you’re feeling better about the session. He wasn’t as tense as he seemed in his texts.
“So, uh, did you think about the con?” Jacob asks.
“The con? I almost forgot. When is it?”
He gives the dates and you hum. Your chest flutters at the thought still. You’re not stupid. Meeting people IRL is not like online, no matter how many hours you’ve mined together. As much as you enjoy chatting with Jacob, you don’t know about meeting up.
“I get it if you can’t get the time off but my offer still stands to cover the trip. If you wanna stay the night, I’ll even get an airBnB.”
“Oh, wow, that’s a lot. I’m working now. I could put in,” you offer.
“Is that a yes?” He asks hopefully.
“I don’t know... I mean, I’ll have to look into it,” you say evasively. “Talk to my boss and grandma and all that.”
“Right, right,” he tries to sound unbothered, “makes sense. Of course, no pressure. How about I send you the ticket either way? Haven’t got anyone else to bite.”
“Oh, well, hold off, I wouldn’t want to take it and not use it,” you collect his weapons and armor from the ground in the game.
It’s silent as you focus on getting every little thing.
“Sorry, did I freak you out?” He asks, “I’m really not trying to pressure you, just got excited thinking about it.”
“I know, Jacob, it’s not that, it’s just... a lot.”
“Totally get it,” he intones, “let me know whenever you got an answer. Uh, where are you? I’m tryna find you.”
“Just stay there, I'll come back to the house,” you assure him, happy to focus on the game instead.
Still, you can’t entirely lose yourself in it. You’re sure he’s a nice guy. From pictures, he’s less than scary, and he’s never been anything but friendly. It’s not like the other dudes you meet online who jump to asking about your bra size and all that. It just isn’t smart.
Well, maybe if you don’t show up alone. You know what con he’s talking about and Kara from Econ lives near there. You could probably convince her to meet up. Hm, that might work.
Just like you told him, you’ll have to think about it.
#andy barber#dark andy barber#dark!andy barber#andy barber x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#end game#series#defending jacob
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may u do the gang with a significant other who is in a popular band or actor? up to four preference of course. lots of love!
୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫ darling, can i be your favourite? ⋄ 𓍯
REQUESTED: reader’s the coolest person ever and the gang’s their biggest fan!
tags/warnings: headcanons, gn!reader, reader is a singer/popstar!reader, gang is obsessed, reader is big time famous, near the end they got shorter because my tumblr started lagging.
ೃauthor notes⁀➷ hey my love !!! seen this after i posted and knew i had to get to work 🙂↕️ also while i was working on this, i got a req for actor!reader..ur in luck🤭
—
johnny cade
╰┈➤ now playing. — espresso, y/n l/n
how he bagged you, the world may never know. like seriously.
YOU’RE ON THE BIG SCREEN AND YOU’RE IN THE RADIO AND YOU GO AFTER JOHNNY CADE??? everyone was shocked. lives were CHANGED.
“you’re dating who?”
“..y/n l/n?”
“in your dreams maybe???”
“fuck you?”
nobody believed him because you confessed to him over the phone when you were touring 😔! you realized you really liked johnny when you had to be away from him for so long.
so for like that period of time, it was just call after call of you two giggling back and forth.
the gang, swear to fucking god, knew he was talking to someone but they thought he was lying about who he was talking to
UNTIL YOU CAME BACK!!!!
Then they were all,
“what the fuck….”
“can i like—borrow a 20?”
“DAMN”
spoil him. take him with you. protect johnny cade with ur money or else. i find you.
but seriously, pleaseeee make sure johnny lives the life he deserves ☹️ since you’re a singer, you make a FUCK ton of money
put it to good use (spending it on johnny cade)
hey! you’re all he talks about!! HE DOESN’T STFU THAT HE’S DATING SOMEONE THAT’S FAMOUS.
“what ‘bout you, lil’ boy? you got someone?”
“hell yeah. y/n l/n.😇💯”
“..the singer?”
“damn right, ‘the singer’!”
listens to your music when he misses you!!
OH MU GOD WRITE A SONG ABOUT JOHNNY CADE PLEASEEEE AND WEAR HIS JEAN JACKRT ON STAGE PLEASEEEEEEE
i can’t stress how much he loves you
he has photos of you everywhere. and anywhere.
steals magazines you model for to promote your albums<3
dallas winston
╰┈➤ now playing — nonsense, y/n l/n.
why would you pick him.
shame on you. you have celebrities flocking to you and you pick some guy in tulsa who’s in jail every friday.
tsk tsk. whatever makes you happy!
ANYWAYS
also, never shuts the fuck up about you. like seriously, somehow, you’re always the topic of conversation.
“yeah, that’s crazy that she slashed your tires. my LOVELY Y/N would never tho. did you know they sing? you’ve probably heard of ‘em-“
MAKES YOU WEAR HIS RINGS WHEN YOU PERFORM!!! AND SOMETIMES HIS LEATHER JACKET!!! DALLAS DGAF IF IT’S DIRTY OR NOT
He needs those freaks in the crowd to know you’re HIS—not theirs just because you’re famous.
if you ever collab with a dude he’s gonna fucking lose his mind i’m not kidding
“YOU’RE GOING TO THE STUDIO WITH WHO???”
“i told you-“
“yeah, i know. lets go.”
dallas invited himself btw.
dedicate a song to him and he’s literally gonna make EVERYONE listen to it. when it comes on the radio, he’s IMMEDIATELY turning up the volume.
“looking at you got me thinkin’ nonsense.”
“that’s about me, by the way.”
“WE KNOW.”
“YOU TELL US THIS EVERY DAMN DAY”
“yeah. where’s your partner that write songs about you? huh? take that shit up with someone else.”
IN HIS ROOM HE HAS SOOO MANY POSTERS OF YOUUUUUU
cannot believe he got so lucky and bagged you
he used to pray for days like these😭😭🙏
ponyboy curtis
╰┈➤ now playing — work song, y/n l/n.
yes, i did make your song more poetic than the rest. that’s just what ponyboy is into and gets him crying.
did he get lucky? yeah. does he acknowledge that every waking moment of his life and devotes himself to making sure you never feel the burden of having to perform daily?
yeah
helps you write songs sometimes. ponyboy naturally has a poets soul so USE IT TO YOUR ADVANTAGE
GUVE HIM A FUCKING OEN AND PAPER AND HE’S WRITING A HIT SINGLE
omgomg if you credit him while at your concerts he might faint<3333
spoil him and his brothers.
his brothers are included because you see how much they’re struggling and it literally pains you to see the love of ur life get so frustrated over money
sneakily put money into darry’s wallet when he isn’t looking and ponyboy might just kiss u right then and there
it’ll take awhile for him to accept the help, but when he does—he’s so grateful to have an angel like u in his life😭😭💔💔💔
“i love you. did you know that?”
“of course i do, pony.”
“i should tell you that more often.”
uses a photo of you as a bookmark btw. it’s you in his favourite outfit you ever wore, performing the song you made for him.
ponyboy’s obsessed.
shoves ANYONE off the tv to watch you perform. he doesn’t care. and the gang lets him<3 cuz they know how much you mean to their little pony!!
not without teasing. never without teasing. ponyboy is never fucking free
“soda, it’s my turn on the tv.”
“what? you tryna watch your girlfriend?”
“…shut up.”
“look at you! what a loverboy, huh? you loveeeee her, don’t you?”
“man, just get off the tv!”
watches & listens to everything you’re in. wether it be interviews, music videos, etc—he can probably quote it. every part.
he’s so obsessed with you it’s not fucking funny
sodapop curtis
╰┈➤ now playing — that boy is mine, y/n l/n.
it couple. genuinely.
you got soda more publicity and modeling agencies have definitely hit him up LMFAO
he most definitely has modelled with you for covers :3c
BUT OTHER THAN THAT
oh u better fucking believe that the DX is always playing your music
SODA DOESNT CARE IF HE’S NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH THE RADIO
he will. and he will be playing the song you made about him to remind the girls that go to flirt with him that he’s yours.
HE HAS A NECKLACE WITH YOUR INITAL ON IT AND YOU HAVE A NECKLACE WITH HIS INITAL!!1!1!1!1!1
flash it when paparazzi takes photos and he WILL put that photo in his wallet to show people when they ask about his partner.
CANT STFU EVEN IF HE FUCKING TRIED
soda makes u his whole personality
“sigh😔 y/n would’ve loved this beat..”
“SHUT UP ABOUT Y/N😒”
“NO?? I LOVE THEM!!!???”
LOVES PRACTICING UR CHOREOGRAPHY WITH YOU LMFAOOO
it’s so cute☹️☹️😔😔 soda might trip over his feet every once and awhile but he’s always laughing so hard with you when he does<3
darry curtis
╰┈➤ now playing — say yes to heaven, y/n l/n.
tries SOOOO hard to act like he doesn’t gaf that you’re singer but it’s so tough to not brag about it
the boys at work could be talking about their partners but when they go ask darry, he hides his grin and blush by looking down, running his hands through his hair.
“what ‘boutchu, kid? how’s the lover?”
“ah, y’know. they’re busy touring or in the studio.”
“eh?”
“oh—y/n l/n. they’re-“
darry cannot be stopped now. he won’t shut up about how great of a person you are, never letting the fame get to you.
ERAHHH HE STAYS UP LATE AT NIGHT TO WATCH YOUR PERFORMANCES WHEN YOU’RE AWAY!!!!!!! HE LOVES WATCHING YOU SWAY ACROSS THE STAGE!!
hehehehehe slow dance with him in the kitchen to ur unreleased songs you made about him…. 😈😈
PLEAEE HELP HIM FINANCIALLY PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
im begging you to just sit darry curtis down and try to convince him that, you giving him money to help around, isn’t an issue.
i don’t see darry moving out of the curtis house unfortunately, i think he will always view it as his parents house and it’s too sentimental.
so, don’t even bother asking him to move. but—do give him money. or sneakily pay the bills. whatever you have to do to help darry relax, please do it!!!
loves it when you sing slower/more relaxing songs
darry thinks it’s so attractive to hear your like soothing, breathy, and smooth voice.
he has a photo framed of you bowing toward the crowd below you, tightly holding the microphone that you had his name engraved in.
it’s currently beside his bed on his nightstand.
he looks at it every night before bed and every morning before work. <3
steve randle
╰┈➤ now playing — art deco, y/n l/n.
he’s feral. he’s fucking crazy about you.
“PUT ON THAT NEW Y/N SHIT‼️”
“why??”
“CAUSE I SAID SO?!1”
number one supporter. nobody comes close to him
AHHHH HE HAS A TATTOO DEDICATED TO YOU!!!! IT’S DEFINITELY A SONG LYRIC YOU WROTE ABOUT HIM IN UR HAND WRITING
when steve’s nervous he traces over it :3c
steve always finds himself, unconsciously, humming your songs while he works on cars!
i like to think his favourite colour is blue, so plsplsplspls wear blue (even if it’s a small accessory) to your concerts just so steve knows you’re always thinking about him.
he keeps little gifts, or rather the accessories you leave at his house, in a little box. he thinks they’re so cute and he will burn a building down before he lets anyone find out
two-bit mathews
╰┈➤ now playing — melting, y/n l/n.
“DID YOU KNOW I’M DATING Y/N? THE FAMOUS SINGER? YEAH, BET YOU WISH THAT WAS YOU😭😂!”
that’s every other sentence from his stupid lips!!
KNOWS EVERY LYRIC TO YOUR SONGS AND WILL SCREAM HIS FUCKING LUNGS OUT TO THEM!!!
attach a mickey charm to ur mic while you sing on stage and he’ll start foaming at the mouth..
two-bit’s all, “that’s for me.:mickey….me….me…mickey….”
he literally begs you to sing him to sleep
STEALS YOUR RECORDS/VINYLS???!!! HE HANGS THEM UP ON HIS WALL WITH SUCH CARE IT’S SO ADORABLE ☹️☹️
teach his little sister some of your dance moves and he might marry you tbh.
two-bit dreams of you and i’m so fucking serious
#2knightt#spotify links for songs you’ve written about them under their names btw#click them#or don’t#whatever#the outsiders#the outsiders x reader#dallas winston x reader#johnny cade x reader#ponyboy x reader#ponyboy curtis x reader#sodapop x reader#sodapop curtis x reader#darry curtis x reader#steve randle x reader#two-bit x reader#two-bit mathews x reader
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Since I just hit 2k and there were people who dm about how can they start their own blog I was thinking how about I give you guys some tips?
Let's begin then:
1. Beauty
First of all find beautiful a aesthetic and color for yourself that match your writing. Aesthetic and colors that give readers the feeling that you want to show. Like I'm someone who mostly write poetry and people mostly tell me that my aesthetic calm them down and they love the colors that I use. Better use two or three colors.
2. Best time
Find the best time to post your writing. I had another blog before and I post something on there and the best it got was 200 notes, I posted the exact same thing in this blog but in another time and it already got 1k notes. So find the best time to post. And remember different fandoms have different times.
3. Editing
Your posts should always look the same. Like this:
And why I'm saying this? Because when all your posts look the same people gonna know you by it. And the second they see your post they know it's yours.
4. Memorable name
Pick a good name that match your writing/style. Like no one gonna remember "user6253626". Pick something beautiful and interesting that attract people.
5. Be nice
Oh lord I remember that I was a kid back then and I wasn't nice to people. People start hating on me and I kinda lost my followers. I was depressed and had a lot of issues back then but I'm fine now. Anyway just be yourself and be nice. Honestly I hate people who think they are better than others just because they have two more followers. Don't be like them.
6. Full your tags
Full your tags but not with things that aren't related because it's make people block you and it's not a good thing. Like I'm looking for gojo fic but I found sukuna fic, I just block them. But try to find as much related tags as you can.
7. Don't post everyday
Post once a week or two time in a week. Remember there are other writers and they post too so when you post everyday, your post probably gonna get lost and it won't get as much love as it deserve. Also you need your ideas so don't waste them.
8. Remember
Have fun: Writing fanfic should be enjoyable!
Be patient: Building a blog takes time and effort.
Be yourself: Let your personality shine through in your writing and interactions.
#ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤ 𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏#blog tips#tips#writing tips#jjk x reader#hsr x reader#genshin impact x reader#blue lock x reader#fanfic#yandere x reader#honkai star rail x reader#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#bnha x reader#tokyo rev x reader#aot x reader#attack on titan x reader
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ditto — e. williams
!! PLEASE READ BEFORE INTERACTING !! - Its still imperative that you do anything you can to support Palestine. You can help by doing your daily click, or reviewing this masterlist. You can also help by not buying TLOU, and here’s why.
aestras notes: WOOOOO GUESS WHO FINALLY DROPPED??? THIS GUY!!!!!! 😝😝😝 tried something new for the banner this time, i think it looks okay. 🙂↕️ anyways!!! everyone thank @softlysunrays for encouraging me yawp yawp!!!!
tags: loser!ellie, theatre kid!dina agenda, modern au sorta?, i suck at tagging a year later, ellie is a nervous wreck, italics indicate internal monologue (most of the time), fluff(?), one small use of y/n, okay that’s it i think
Ellie might’ve had a little thing for you — probably more than just a little thing, because you’d occupy most of the space in her brain 99% of the time. And she was, unceremoniously, an incredibly big loser. She never speaks to you directly, instead stealing glances at you during passing periods or watching you from afar whenever you’d been hanging out with your other friends.
The hallways always seemed to be cramped and crowded, but not crowded enough that she couldn’t see you. Something about you made her always recognize it was you.
Standing at her locker, she’d been joined by Dina as she’d been grabbing some things from her backpack. The hallways were bustling with chatter and bodies, but it seemed to only be them right now.
Dina looks at Ellie as her locker shuts with a small smirk. “I saw you staring at her again.” She teases. “You’ve got it bad!” Dina pokes her softly. She sings a cheesy love song, to which Ellie groans and puts a hand on her forehead. “You’re gonna make me die of embarrassment.” She mumbles.
Dina laughs at her, putting an arm over her shoulders. “Look at you, all grown up and having a little crush.” She says theatrically, wiping fake tears. Ellie chuckles to herself as she looks down at her canvas sneakers.
“Yknow, I could introduce you to her.” Dina mentions without much thought. If Ellie had water in her mouth, she would’ve spit it out dramatically. She stands as stiff as a board as she turns to look at Dina. “Really? I mean — you’re serious? Like 100%?” Ellie seemed excited, but god was she nervous at the thought.
“Yeah, totally! You can sprinkle your little loser dust on her in hopes that you absolutely woo her.” Dina throws her head back dramatically with the back of her hand on her forehead. The pair chuckle slightly at Dina’s antics.
Ellie still couldn’t believe that Dina knew her. Like, a majorly pretty girl? “Pinch me.” Ellie says, clearly in some state of disbelief. “I think I’m dreaming.” Dina pinches her on the cheek and she smiles. “You’re awake, Ellie! It’s me — Dina in the flesh!” Dina smiles at her.
“Dina, I’ve been like, dreaming of this since school started. I will come to your house later. Just please don’t be lying about this.” Ellie did dream about you a lot, and she always wished she didn’t wake up before the good parts. But she always did, so she woke up sulking all morning.
Even when the passing period had ended, she couldn’t stop creating scenarios about the two of you in her head. Well, the two of you and Dina. Cause she’d be there too. Ellie would feel bad to leave her out.
She knew that this was super cliche but she liked how cliche it was in some odd way.
She was staring out of a window with her earphone in, tapping her gnawed up pencil against a wooden desk as she listened to songs that reminded her of you.
Which was, obviously, most of the music she’d ever listen to now because she was just that in love with you. She had it bad. Super bad. Actually, no word could describe it.
Once she started dreaming about you, she knew she was doomed. Even more so now that she’ll actually talk to you.
The anxiety of meeting a pretty girl like you sets in. What if she thinks I’m too weird? But she’s friends with Dina.. maybe it’ll be okay. This is so stupid. God, just focus on her! Her internal monologue was a flurry of ‘you got this’ and ‘don’t be a total loser’.
All of that literally goes out the window the second she makes it to Dina’s house.
As usual, Dina’s home was cluttered but homey, and the walls were covered with Dina in various grades performing in school musicals. Ride The Cyclone, Heathers, all that kinda stuff that she has little to no knowledge of.
“She’s waiting in my room — and stand up straight or something. Body language is important.” Dina says, leading her up the creaky stairs. Ellie almost didn’t hear what Dina was saying as they got closer to her room.
She’s in there! Right there! She thought, a smile creeping onto her face. The door of Dina’s room swings open and there you were, sitting on the edge of her bed.
“This is who I was telling you about! Y/N, this is Ellie. Ellie, Y/N.” Dina smiles at both of you brightly. “Hi!” Ellie blurts out, her voice cracking slightly. She instantly feels embarrassed and clears her throat. “Hello. How are you?” She attempts to reapproach the conversation, but when she saw that you’d been already chuckling and smiling, all her affirmations were lost to her.
“I’m fine. And you?” You asked, smiling at her. “I’m.. I’m good. Totally chilling right now, yeah.” Ellie rambles nervously.
She kinda just stands there awkwardly until she thinks about another question. “How’d you uh, meet Dina?” She asks, rocking back and forth awkwardly on her heels. “We’re in the same theater class. And you,”
You point at her. “You’ve known her since like, forever, right?” She says to Dina, eliciting a soft hum from the girl. You smile at Dina. “I’ll leave you two alone for a while.”
Upon hearing that, Ellie snaps her head around to look at Dina. Her eyes scream “don’t leave me here”. Dina smiles remorsefully before leaving the room.
So now it was just Ellie and you. Staring at eachother while birds chirped softly in the distance. Ellie smiles awkwardly. You chuckle at her. “Are you usually this nervous?” You ask, tilting your head to the side slightly.
“..Yes, but not really?” Ellie would never in a million years admit the big fat crush she had on you, not now that you were sitting infront of her. “Well, I’m not gonna like, eat you or anything. You don’t have to be so nervous.”
“That’s easier said than done when you’re that pretty.” Ellie mumbled to herself. “What was that you said? You think I’m pretty?” You ask, smiling brightly. When she realizes you’d heard that part, she becomes incredibly flustered. She smashes her face into the palms of her hands as her cheeks become flushed.
“I’m truly flattered! It means a lot coming from another pretty girl.” Ellie stood breathing for a moment. She thinks I’m pretty? She thinks I’m pretty?! She truly wants to jump for joy but she doesn’t. Instead she just stares at you.
Once you stand up and start walking towards her, she gets even more nervous because you smell like heaven. “I think we should get to know eachother more.” You suggest as you look at her. “I’ll give you my number.”
“Your number?” She blurts, excitement underlying her tone. “Yeah! It’s no biggie.” You say as you reach for your phone that was previously on the charger.
When you both eventually exchanged numbers, Ellie was staring at your contact in awe. Maybe you were talking to her but she was in her own little world.
She’d finally done it — talked to the girl she’d had a crush on literally all year. And somehow pulled it off enough to get her number.
Has Ellie wooed you? She didn’t know. Were you definitely looking forward to talking to her? Hell yeah you were.
“So I guess I’ll talk to you very soon then?” You raise an eyebrow at her with a smile on your face. Very soon? That could mean tonight! “Yeah, yeah totally. Call me whenever. I’m always free, yknow, never busy.” Ellie said, forming an awkward smile.
I basically just told her I have no hobbies or many friends! How charming is that? Way to go, Ellie. She internally cringes at herself. “Good to know. Bye Ellie.” You wave at her before leaving Dina’s room.
The door shuts and Dina runs up the stairs. “Oh she’s definitely into you.” She exclaims, holding Ellie’s hands. “I’m proud of you for putting your big girl pants on.” Ellie looks at Dina with a stupid smile. “She’s into me.” She mumbled with a starstruck expression. “She’s into me!” She repeats, smiling. I really hope that’s true. She thinks excitedly, squeezing Dina’s hands while looking at her.
#picturingchappell#aestras archive#tlou#the last of us#the last of us two#the last of us part two#tlou2#ellie williams#ellie tlou#ellie x reader#ellie x you#ellie williams imagine#ellie williams x reader smut#ellie williams tlou
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how do you become so successful on tumblr with followers and likes and reblogs? i make so much blogs and the most followers i could get is max 10 ":( i feel like people here hate me even tho i don't speak to anyone and never send any aks to anyone not even nice ones :(
nooo angel! 😥💛 Lack of followers doesn’t equate to hate! Just as having lots of followers doesn’t equate to love.
As for gaining “success”/followers on tumblr, find a niche/community (cottagecore for example) and start making your own posts, tag them, preferably with some tags that show your personality a little, as well as the “cottagecore, nature, naturecore” etc (as is my case), and spread out your posts, don’t post your own all at once, that way more ppl can see it in the tag(s) you use, and reblog things you like. Make your blog a place you enjoy yourself and ppl will most likely do the same. It takes time. So don’t expect it to grow ‘huge’ overnight
- also, I’d be more than happy to share your blog so hopefully you’ll get some followers of it? Reblog your posts etc. just dm me 💛 I bet a lot of ppl will want to follow but if they don’t, it’s not the end of the world and it’s certainly not hate towards you. I can promise you that! 💝
you know what u need? You need a pic of my dog Moffe looking baked in front of my new currant bush (gonna post about it soon!) 🐕🍃
I’m here if you need more advice or just wanna talk. Looking forward to check out your blog 💚
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Janet from HR's Banter/Dialogue
Thank you for the asks around Janet's party banter! There were a few crossovers, so instead of doing separate responses i'll put them all here and tag the people who asked about it!
There were a few, so i'll put them under the cut!
Thanks @mumms-the-word @lanafofana @residentdormouse and @briwhosaysni ! <3
If you'd like to do this for your Tav, the link is here!
2. Spam clicking on them too many times
Stop it! Before I make an official complaint.
3. Directing them to attack/move in combat
Fine, but after this I want a glass of wine and a lie down.
4. Hiding/sneaking/hidden movement
Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious…
5. Taking a short rest
Time for a nap and a cry. Then back to it.
6. Low health/asking for healing
Just leave me to die actually, i’m so sick of this.
13. Picking a lock
Good job I've got a messy bun full of bobby pins.
12. Encountering a locked door
No way through, can we go home now?
14. Looking at a Globe
I’m taking a fucking holiday when this is all over. I need a tan, a mojito, and a dirty book.
17. Looking in a mirror
Fucking hell. Has anyone got any concealer?
19. Noticing a trap
Don’t you lot have fucking magic elf vision or something? How come i’m the only one to spot that very obvious trap.
20. Can’t fit into a small hole
Nah, sorry love. Not without a whole lot of lube.
26. Party banter with Gale
Gale: It is in the aftermath of battle, when the haze of the Weave lingers from the sparks of magic, that the memory of Mystra’s embrace feels most vivid. It's as if she’s still guiding my hands, her presence intertwined with every thread of magic I spin.
Janet: I’m not gonna lie man, she sounds like a real bitch.
28. Party banter with Karlach
Janet: You know, my ex didn’t have a heart either
Karlach: What?! That’s awful! Gods, soldier - i’m so sorry. That must have been really tough for you. Did he get sent to the blood war too?
Janet: Oh.. no.. I meant… Never mind. Thanks Karlach.
32. Party banter with Jaheira
Janet: Hey babe, my friend Shannon does my botox and she’d work wonders on you.
Jaheira: *glares* She would approach me with a needle? Does this Shannon value her life?
Janet: Not really, she’s a pisces.
34. Party banter with Minsc
Janet: I got my kids a hamster once
Minsc: Ah! Then you must know what tough and wise companions they make!
Janet: I accidentally sucked it up in the hoover after a week. They’re not that tough
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Editblr is a breeding ground for idolatry, ableism, racism and so much more all for a community about putting images together.
I've been here for only a year but I feel like I've seen it all, and the excuses oh my god the excuses. You are all 15-19, you should not have the mental capacity of a 8 year old. Your common sense is non existent and almost all of you guys are so fucking stupid it's pissing me off more than any god can understand. You are old enough to have logical thinking skills, you may have a disorder and it may be a reason but not an excuse.
Alot of you have forgotten the saying "Think Before You Talk" and I've sure as hell done alot of thinking. This is my deep dive into editblr. I think if you consider yourself a good person you should read under cut.
Ableism
Typing quirks are a way of personal expression but why do so much of you hate to add plain text. I can understand to extent because plain text hates my head because of how long it can be but I'm not gonna act like a little bitch about it. I'm gonna add my typing quirk or even fonts itself to it.
I'm gonna ask someone to help me, or to do it for me. Stopping making excuses for ableism. Alongside with the typing quirks, your psds are ugly and eyestrainy. Psds also fall under racism because I have no idea why you guys are ignoring the fact some make dark skin characters lighter but in the case of ableism most of them are really bright and makes it hard to see.
Orange and brown? Green and yellow? Blue and brown? Why are you putting colours that can be so much eyesore together? And won't even tag as eyestrain and when someone does ask you only do it for one post.
Romanticization
This one is weird as fuck and I see no one mentioning it. Editblr highkey has a ddlg problem, this "little girl" aesthetic you guys have going on borderlines ddlg alot and its icky. The baby talk typing quirk is disgusting, stop it.
I'm not one to judge how someone copes with their trauma but what I DO judge is how you act when majority says its uncomfortable. Now this section I'm a bit unsure how to phrase it, gotta love dyslexia, but that isn't going to stop me.
There's alot of very uncomfortable romanticization of stalking which I've seen so much of alongside abusive relationships and the justification of these things.
Racism
Really can't escape this one unfortunately. Many of you are like kpop idols, you're too dyslexic towards the difference between appropriation and appreciation. Incase you forgot let me remind you.
You can not gift japanese names. Gifting names is a native practice therefore you can only gift native names. Also I've noticed you weirdos befriending people just to use their cultural names. I can't even say it east asian fetishization because its only Japanese.
Also for the love of God can you guys stop saying nonmem and non women especially when referring to sexualities. It's not hard to simply say "queer attraction to women" and "queer attraction to men".
Coming back to the "gifting" names thing, I think it's interesting how all of you conveniently have a Japanese friend who "gifted" you the name of a cute pink anime girl. Maybe I'll do a post later on how much of a bad liar you guys are.
Closed symbols is also another big problem you all have. No matter how much times you're told you can't use something you always cry "but my friend from xyz culture said it was ok!" One person can't speak for a whole culture. You're nothing but a coloinzer in disguise hiding behind the idea of aesthetic. If you want to know if a symbol is closed just use this site.
Goddess Personas
Yea this one is getting a whole section of its own. Like any people I am uncomfortable with goddess personas, especially being someone with biblical sources. Now the idea that a teenager on the internet is making people call them a goddess is strange isn't it?
In my opinion, they're all annoying, copy and paste, and I think not a lot of people talk about how the really bad ones get. You all love to indulge them, make them think they have power over them. You put them on a pedestal and praise them and get surprised when it all goes to their head?
Stop giving 14 years old power, stop indulging in their habits and letting it go their head. Forcing people to refer to you as their goddess? Their Lord and saviour? Their idol? Someone they must listen to? It creates a power inbalance which always leads to the weirdest of manipulation. Also all the engagekiss copiers are so obvious why would you want to copy the identity of a groomer? It says alot of about yourself if that's what you think is ideal.
Callout Posts
Now, personally, I believe that the only reason a callout post happens is because someone was affected, does it not? Very rarely would a callout post would be a fake one, especially if someone has more then one. If you defend someone who has more than one call out post that's on you and you're gonna end up making one some day I can genuine you that. People don't make them for no reason.
This is all I have to say for now. I hope you guys really consider what I have written here, or not, considering the fact you guys have shown multiple times you lack reading comprehension
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for Knowles related asks:
Wexford Lou showdown!! (Don't even know that guy but your art's making me curious)
And you don't have to do this one but it's just in my head because of this Brinker/Finny Finny/Gene Gene/Brinker ship game show competition I was thinking about the other day: the main characters of the books competing for best Knowles mc (a prestigious award)
^which I guess is just another showdown so maybe I'm in a trash tv mood XD
Now I am curious though, Wexford's newspaper reacting to and printing rumors about Finny's fall🤔
Ok that's about everything I can think of😅Hope you have a good day
^Oh and mandatory Paragon genderbents because that's a requirement for any media that is consumed
I didn't do all of these cause I'm lazy 😭🦥
We have Lou and Wexford
And then GB Lou AKA Louise
And not a showdown but rather a little profile of the first three Knowles books I read.
I just finished A Stolen Past and it was pretty good btw. Some reservations that I won't put in this post.
#this gonna be a lot of tags I can feel it#a separate peace#asp#gene forrester#peace breaks out#pbo#pete hallam#the paragon#lou colfax#genderbent#genderbent the paragon#wexford#ask
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Pac: Take care of Ramon, take care of Richas, ok? See you on the other side, big boy.
Fit: [Laughs] Take it easy, big boy. Take it easy, big boy. Actually, nononono– You can't just say "big boy" and then just expect me to not drag you outta here. [Fit tries to lasso Pac] You're coming with me.
Pac: No, I need to leave!
Fit: You're coming with me. You are not dying today! You are not dying today!
Pac: I need to leave, Fit! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!
Ironmouse: Are you guys like, having sexy time?
Fit: There's homosexual activity going on Mouse, don't worry about us, ok?
Ironmouse: You guys, we don't have time to be gay right now.
[ Full Transcript ↓ ]
-
Pac: I'm just here to say goodbye to you, Fit.
Fit: Goodbye? We're not– we're gonna be fine, we're going to get out of here, don't worry.
Aypierre: Yeah, don't worry!
Pac: I know, but like– I will sleep until the end, you know? I will pass through this moment sleeping, man. I won't be able to be awake for the moment.
Fit: [Laughs] You know, it's– I mean, if that's how you wanna go, but– I mean, that- I mean, isn't that bed kind of like.... I don't know, it's–
Pac: No no, I will be staying on the sofa, you know, I will be staying on the sofa.
Fit: Oh the sofa. Ok, that's a nice sofa! Yeah, that is a pretty nice sofa.
Pac: Yeah, it's a nice sofa right? No, yeah– I'm going to stay on the sofa, you know? So, since I will be going Fit... [Pac starts tossing Fit all his items]
Aypierre: [Not paying attention to their conversation] Is that bigger cell? I don't think it's a bigger- biggest one.
Fit: Oh... Thank you Pac, thank you.
Pac: Everything you need to survive, ok?
Fit: Wow.
Aypierre: Wow.
Pac: And if you need this one also, maybe, who knows? [Throws him more items]
Fit: Ohhh, well hey– just take this to remember me by, ok? [Tosses him a photo of himself – the same one Aypierre was carrying all day yesterday]
Pac: [Laughs] Ok, I will sleep holding the picture you know, like this. You know, I will dream about you, Fit. And I hope this is gonna be good dreams. I see you in the other side. Good luck, my friend.
Fit: The other side... Yeah, you know, yeah, we– we– you know? It's been an honor, Pac. It's been an honor, you know?
Pac: Yeah, for me too, you know? Take care of Ramon, take care of Richas, ok?
Fit: Ok.
Pac: See you on the other side, big boy.
Fit: I will sing your praise– Oh yeah, hey– [Laughs] Take it easy, big boy. Take it easy, big boy. Actually, nononono– You can't just say "big boy" and then just expect me to not drag you outta here. You're coming with me.
Pac: No, I need to leave!
Fit: You're coming with me. You are not dying today! You are not dying today!
Pac: I need to leave, Fit! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!
Fit: Sorry, there's–
Pac: I'm sorry!
Ironmouse: Are you guys like, having sexy time?
Fit: There's homosexual activity going on Mouse, don't worry about us, ok?
Ironmouse: You guys, you guys– we don't have time to be gay right now, come on. There's no time.
Pac: No, there's no time! Oh, goodbye Fit...
Fit: Ok, c'mon, no no no, come on, we got this we got this!
Pac: Goodbye Fit, I'm sorry!
Fit: [Laughs] Oh no...
#Pactw#FitMC#Hideduo#FitPac#QSMP#QSMP Prison#January 22 2024#So canonically how do you guys view this moment?#Did Pac just canonically conk out from stress?#Did he take sleeping pills on purpose to sleep through whatever awful thing was inevitably going to happen?#Curious to hear what other people think#I like to imagine the stress finally got to him#He spent the entire time trying to mirror things he saw Cell doing#and finally cried about it to Bagi#I can't blame him if he wants to sleep through the rest of it. Man's living in a place that's actively making him relive past trauma#Fit says he's carrying Pac in his backpack but I like to imagine that he just gave Pac a piggy back ride the entire way home :D#I imagined that for Purgatory too#it's cute#idk the whole idea of very traumatized characters being so comfortable around certain people#Idk the idea Pac feeling so safe around Fit#(despite being in a place that is actively stressing him out)#that he feels alright falling asleep and trusting him / Mike to protect him is sweet to me#Idk man I'm a big fan of the ''literal sleeping together'' trope#I love when characters take naps together it's so cute#esp when it's two traumatized characters with a lot of baggage / trust issues#It's nice#anyways I got way off topic with these tags LMAO sorry#I was gonna edit this down but I like the entire conversation so I'm leaving it as is#The YouTube editor living in my brain: Not great for viewer retension#Me: Shhhhhhhh I'm an Archivist. I can do whatever I want.
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First and Last appearances of Poorly-Drawn-MDZS Season 1!
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#not tagging them all here cause these are just comic excerpts#left out a quite a few characters cause they either didn't show up enough OR their first/last is a poor representation#the 'omg its Hanguang Jun' call back was intentional B*)#Surprised that no one pointed it out but now *I* can! Bursting into the scene fabulously is how LWJ starts and ends season 1!#Jin Ling has the least dramatic glow up (honestly I have been finding him harder and harder to draw) but he *does* have a moral glow up#I think *this* comparison is the one I feel best emphasizes my journey on this blog.#thank you to everyone who started following and cheering me on. Especially those who've been here since the very start#That said - no matter when you found this blog; It means a lot to me B*)#that's it for the reflective meta posting: season 2 starts back in July. I've gonna take this week to catch up on asks!
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I love this event already, all their goodbyes are so silly. Good luck pulling for the cards guys!!!
Bonus: my favorite goodbye scene
He's just so silly. You're not leaving your wife and going to war Rook (...unless?)
#im so happy i managed to get two out of the three SSRs already#and im f2p!#something is bound to go wrong i can feel it#twisted wonderland#twst#twst wonderland#my art#lily doodles#twst masquerade#twst meme#twst shitpost#hoo boy these are a lot of characters to tag okay#im just gonna put the dorms i featured how about that#heartslabyul#savannaclaw#diasomnia#pomefiore#ignihyde#shoutout to scarabia and octavinelle for also having funny goodbyes#i just didnt have the time to add them or anything else to spin on them#they're perfect the way they are
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Fuck it, here's all my favorite Mikey-centric fanfics!!
There's A LOT + personal blurbs, so they're going under the cut (Mostly AO3, but there are some FFN links, too. Also, besides like the first two, there's no favoritism in the order)
2k3:
Pretend That I Never Left by redstringraven(sirimiri) - Complete/Plans for an Epilogue & Sequel!!
Fic that changed my BRAIN?! If my fanart [1 | 2 | 3] for it is any indicator, lol. I'll say for the umpteenth time that if you're looking for an Excellent Mikey fic with Perfect Characterization, this is IT (and you don't need to know ANYTHING about HZD trust me TRUST ME this fic deserves WAY more love) His swift ride-or-die friendship with Aloy will melt your damn heart!
Dragon of the Sun by ForestWhisper3 - Ongoing
My Other TOP favorite Mikey fic!! Again, fanart [1 | 2 | 3] indicator! Slow Burn(ish) Canon Divergence of Mikey unlocking his Mystic Powers as his family looks on in dismay as they struggle to protect him. The Good Shit!!!
Of Darkness And Light by Bayluff - Complete
OOOOOOO THIS ONE! Very good (also drew fanart for it)! Evil creature literally trying to consume Mikey's lifeforce from within as his family scrambles to help
A Chat With The Titan by secreterces5 - Complete
Mikey has a fun one-on-one talk with the supposedly reformed Bishop in Fast Forward. Mikey vaguely threatening Bishop, HEEHEE
A Simple Act Of Kindness by UlisaBarbic - Complete
That feel when you put your worth in what you can DO and the wish to be Acknowledged and the ONE thing you thought you did right was taken away OOGH AGH OOOOGH
Difficulty Breathing by RealityBreakGirl - Complete
Mikey did not come out of Grudge Match unscathed *smile* Truly one of my favorite 03 Mikey prompts to read about (honestly just check the entirety of the Grudge Match tag on AO3 for a fun time)
"A delivery boy! Uh, or turtle." by LollyHolly99 - Complete
Fic that has the distinction of being the first one I ever did fanart for! Gender Feels for Mikey cuz they're just like me FR!!
What Darkness Most Fears by UlisaBarbic - Complete
OOOGH AGH I LOVE THIS ONE!! Mikey has to save his bros from the clutches of an evil spirit while surviving horrifying monsters and battling a wicked fever!
Michelangelo by ForestWhisper3 - Complete
Mikey through the eyes of his family and how much they respect him and know him UwU
Mikey's Jigsaw by SailorSaysAhoy - Complete
Another awesome gender Mikey fic HOOHAA
Train-Wreck of Thought by halogalopaghost - Complete
When you're so talented you learn how to astral project but you start using it for pranks instead of understanding the drawbacks of said power and that bites you majorly in the ass big time (very good my stomach turned while reading this /pos)
A Brother's Bond by SuperKat - Complete
Mikey gets Real Sick and the fam can't help but remember last time one of them got so ill. OH MAN heartstrings WILL be pulled in this one!!
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year by moogsthewriter - Complete
Why can't Mikey ever catch a break during Christmas! A short fic that I enjoy Immensely for Mikey being stubbornly heroic and his family desperately trying to play catch up to help him
Questioning Choices by Mystic Medjai - Complete
Fun day at the beach goes catastrophically bad and the fam has to make difficult decisions to keep Mikey alive. THIS THIS THIS!! If I could pour this into my veins for the perfectly paced plot and characterization...
When It Counts by Kallasilya - Complete
Short fic of Mikey stubbornly and bitterly proving his brothers wrong (+ Don being a good brother)
Favourite Disease by devirnis - Complete
Mikey is forced to save his brothers as his body gradually falls apart from the inside. SO GOOD UGH Mikey being forced to deal with situations on his own always show how far he can Shine!
Nowhere Boy by taizi - Complete
OOOH I dunno how I can summarize this without giving the plot away but just know Mikey pulls through by thinking of his family
To Fit the Crime by T33la - Complete
AHHH AHHHH AHHHHH AHHHHHHHH!! Mikey is accused of Murder and receives his sentence before his brothers can even jump to his defense! Oh the twists and turns of this murder mystery!!
you want to know why i sit and sigh (the night is so young it hurts) by love_killed_the_superstar - Complete
Angel and Mikey bonding over comics and unsupportive brothers So Cute)
imma be real with you (cause i started being real with me) by love_killed_the_superstar - Complete
Leo and Usagi being supportive of Mikey as he struggles to train for the upcoming Battle Nexus fight (and also maybe they flirt with each other a teensy bit)
just a hop, skip, and a jump away by baba_buoy - Complete
Mikey sick fic. Heart melting amounts of comfort UwU
Weak Link by yellowhollyhock - Complete
Sweet fic of Mikey feeling insecure about his place on the team, and Leo going through great lengths to prove him wrong like a good older brother :')
'Cause you are the sun, he is your moon/And though he can't speak, he will thank you soon by naivesilver - Complete
Post-Grudge Match Mikey waking up in the middle of the night bitter and sore and gods damn why's Raph awake, too?
Hunted by DysfunctionalRequest - Complete
Mikey wandering the woods alone in the middle of the night and having a VERY unfortunate encounter with hunters
Flipbook by T33la - Complete
Heartfelt moment between Mikey and Don concerning SAINW that makes me want to smash a cinder block against my head /pos
Dramaturgy by Completely_Unaware - Ongoing
Mind the tags! Mikey deals with a Battle Nexus loss in an unhealthy way (UmU)
The Red Means I Love You (Work) by AnonymousCritter - Ongoing
MIND THE TAGS! AU of Fast Forward. Mikey isn't saved from the traffickers in time and things spiral from there
The So-Called "Champion of the Battle Nexus" by 0ozero0 - Ongoing
Grudge Match canon divergence where Mikey gets hurt a little more seriously than in canon (but still wins)
2012:
Devil took your hand by moogsthewriter & taizi - Complete
Mikey mind controlled by the Shredder moment!! *laughs through my pain and tears and screaming*
walk with open hands by taizi - Complete
Mikey gets his hands on one of Renet's watches and things go topsy turvy from there (and it HURTS ME)
(un)reality by SpectrumWriting - Complete
Mind the Tags! Dimension X AU where Mikey is captured by the Kraang and is put through the wringer in more ways than one (OWIE)
evermore (Dimension X AU) series by coffeejellyenthusiast - Complete?
Mind the Tags! Mikey was in Dimension X for over a year and he's NOT OKAY
Gravitational Collapse series by Writing_In_Denial - Ongoing
MIND THE TAGS!! An Incredible it gets worse before it gets better series of Mikey being unintentionally abandoned by his brothers post-series and dealing with some Major Isolation and OOOGH IT HURTS ME SO MUCH BUT I WILL KEEP READING FOR THE EVENTUAL COMFORT
traveling so far to get there by taizi - Complete
Mikey and Raph getting stuck in an empty, post-apocalyptic world and struggling to survive (their BOND IN THIS IS SO SWEET WEH)
Rise:
nice, nice by postergirlsprank - Complete
Short fic of Casey Sr and Mikey bonding after an unfortunate encounter while on a snack run (Hey if you want more context for how this author writes Casey, go read his fic Imperfect Animals too heehoo)
either way, we're not alone by sinaesthesis - Complete
Mikey throughout the years of the Kraang Apocalypse (Lots of Loss and Hurt and Badassery)
going under by redhairedmuses - Complete
Mikey almost drowns during a fight with a mutant
Hyperactive Hypothermia by VeryAngryGremlin - Complete
After Mikey's winter wear accidentally goes in flames and a villain-enduced avalanche, Donnie struggles to keep his baby brother warm
that’s where the blood’s supposed to be! by Dragon_Scales_and_Fairy_Tales - Complete
With Raph and Leo constantly bickering, Mikey ignores a very serious injury after a fight with Meat Sweats
Clever Little Dino! by VeryAngryGremlin - Complete
Mikey trying to keep a robot pet a secret and suffering the consequences
Vs The World by DysfunctionalRequest - Complete
The aftermath of the Kraang strains the family's bonds, and Mikey feels hopelessly alone (and definitely isn't dealing with his trauma properly)
Empathy Amplified by Filsamek - Complete
When you accidentally use your powers to connect with your brothers' emotions then purposefully use them to ease their pain
Sunshine in the Rain by Carnati0n_bl00m - Complete
Probably the first fic I read after watching the Rise movie cuz I wanted to find something Mikey-centric involving Bishop and BOY does it deliver with the additional bonus of Leatherhead!! (also hey look fanart)
A Mystic Connection by rytheoneandonly - Complete
Mikey's mystic powers manifesting and evolving in ways he could never predict (aka Long Fic of Mikey stumbling to figure out why he wakes up exhausted and hurt every night)
The whole world in your corner series by GibbousLunation - Complete
Two fics of Mikey being Mikey and his bros being protective
Better Check Twice by Marz_Zero - Ongoing
Bishop captures a turtle with a bear trap (OW) and is an absolute bastard about it
Come Home Soon by Sherlock_Brolmes - Ongoing
With his brothers unavailable, Mikey (with the help of a former enemy) uncovers a massive conspiracy involving New York and the Hidden City. I LOVE THIS I LOVE SOLO DUO TEAM-UPS!!!! *PUNCHES THE AIR 13 TIMES*
Mikey's Artistic Guide to Dealing with Trauma and Fame by Origami_Nami - Ongoing
Mikey using graffiti as an outlet and accidentally becoming famous
Rook by unorthodoxx - Ongoing
Another Bishop fic of him outwitting the turtles to abduct one of them (Mikey)
Multi/Other:
Mystic Malfunction by VanillaVengeance - Ongoing
Rise Mikey accidentally portals himself to the 2012 Universe and struggles to survive and avoid this other version of his family (with mixed success). The progression of familial bonds in this is just *Chef's Kiss*
The Gauntlet by T33la - Complete
A mix of IDW & 03, a wonderful showcase of how Donnie and Mikey support each other (also, a cool invention and a big rocket and a terrifying near-death experience are involved)
I Get Knocked Down (But I Get Up Again) by Justalittleobsessed - Ongoing
MIND THE TAGS!!! Set in its own original iteration, Mikey has been immortal for as long as he can remember, and he's used to his occasional deaths (and revivals). But then his brothers find out... (AGH AGH THIS ALSO HURTS MEEEEE BUT OOGH the comfort and hope of the later chapters is so Worth It)
Whumptober 2023 series by Justalittleobsessed - Ongoing?
Collection of Mikey-centric one-shots from different iterations and feeling the HURT (Personal favorites are If Only the World Could Stop Spinning..., Just a Flesh Wound, and Not the Best of Days)
To Know Peace (You Gotta Let Go) by Deadpool1763492 - Ongoing (technically)
The Last Ronin Spoilers!! Mikey survives and whisks the new turtle tots away to live on a farm instead of being raised as soldiers. (AUUUUUU THE FEELS!! THE TOTS! MIKEYYYY!!!)
How to accidentally kidnap yourself several times over by Camildeni - Ongoing
Rise Mikey gets captured and accidentally summons other iterations (03, 12, and Bay) of himself trying to get out! They do NOT have a good time!! (but at least they have each other)
the dad diaries by angelmichelangelo - Ongoing
More TLR Mikey being a Dad (and dealing with his trauma sorta kinda)
The neighboring cell by SaltyYagi - Ongoing
2012 Mikey and Rise Leo trying to escape Dimension X together (and bonding)
Bonus Non-Mikey-centric:
Weathered Strings, Tethered Wings by Deadpool1763492 - Ongoing
(2003) SAINW AU!!! With the possibility of Don being alive dangled in front of them, the remaining turtles begrudgingly reunite to save him. Drew a cover for this with more art to come! LOVING the slow burn of reconciliation between these bitter old turtles UwU (Bitter Old Mikey my poor Bestie)
Mutant Nightmare by HamsterMasterSamster - Complete
(2003) The immediate aftermath of Worlds Collide
Hanging By A Turtle by CamsthiSky - Complete
(Rise) Literally the turtles struggling to get out of a deep pit they're hanging over
Shell Game by T33la - Complete
(2003) OKAY OKAY SO!!! OOGH Don encounters something Impossible while prepping a tracking device (for himself) and it snowballs into another Renet-involved time adventure (AND UMMM lots of existential contemplation and a surprise historical guest who's Very Cool)
Turtle Power by halogalopaghost - Complete
(2003) Immediate aftermath of the star ship reactor explosion in Exodus
Disposable by orphan_account (kudos to you wherever you are, author) - Complete
(2003) Bishop captures Don and Mikey and gives them a terrible choice
Dissection by AmevelloBlue - Complete
(2003) So much Comfort after the trauma of Worlds Collide (ie Don's interrogation and Mikey almost getting sliced open)
Find the Road by SillySocks - Complete
(2003) Perfect encapsulation of the family as they cope with Leo's absence while he trains with the Ancient One
Handle with Care by HamsterMasterSamster - Complete
(2003) April is seriously injured during a mission and has to deal with the turtles distancing themselves from her as she recovers
mind-body problem by hiraethseok - Complete
(2003) April and the Turtles Being Siblings the Fic
Healing in Tandem by Eggstasy - Complete
(2003) Canon divergence of Worlds Collide where Splinter is just a little too late to intervene before Bishop starts sawing into Mikey's shell
Let's Take Ibuprofen Together by GreenGoddessSmoothie - Ongoing
(2003) The turtles swap body and have learn to cope with each other's chronic pain
Not the Face I Know by GreenGoddessSmoothie - Ongoing
(2003) Mikey accidentally makes a wish that changes his family's lives forever (THEY'RE HUMAN THEY BECOME HUMAN AND THE PLOT IS COOL AND ALSO QUEER THEMES MY BELOVED)
The Great Skittle Heist of 2105 by AmevelloBlue - Ongoing
(2003) AU of Fast Forward where the Dark Turtles are babies instead and are very swiftly adopted by the Fam
The Labyrinth by HALFnHALF1 - Ongoing
(Mix of IDW/03) The Turtles wake up separated in a labyrinth with only a mysterious voice in their heads to guide them (and manipulate them)
“You didn’t tell me your extended family was in town!” by BoStaffsAreCool - Ongoing
Post-Turtles Forever. The 03 fam is Just beginning to wind down after the events of the movie and look who's knocking at April's door (the 87 turtles)
#tmnt#tmnt 2003#tmnt 2k3#tmnt 2012#rottmnt#tmnt Mikey#fic recs#bamf mikey#all day every day#hurt/comfort#angst#whump#no hurt/no comfort though!!! I don't really like fics where it's doom and gloom with no comfort catharsis at the end#let me know if I should add Mind the Tags to other fics my gauge for hurt is a little wonky#lots of gender feels for 2k3 Mikey because that's just who he is#I added the bonus fics cuz I wasn't gonna make a separate post for them so cope and enjoy if you wanna#sorry there's not that many 12 or even Rise ones I don't look for those as much as 03 (I am biased lol)#wow can y'all believe I started drafting this in like May of Last Year???#anyways anyways I'll update this whenever I find another good Mikey fic#feel free to drop Mikey fic recs in my askbox and I'll let you know if I've tried reading them or not (I probably have)#lokibeann if you're reading this sorry it took longer than I said it would to post this I underestimated how long it would take and-#overestimated my ability to remember the plots of the ones I haven't read in a while lol
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Current design ideas for the main bethroned characters for when I make it into its own original story :3
#personal#my art#ocs#arche#elio#ehehe im pretty happy with them!!#I feel like you can see the inspo (obvi) but theyre different enough that it isnt straight ripping off :3#theyll probably change a lot but for now im VERY proud of em ehehhehe#project#gonna just tag it as that
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I’m bored and thought of another scenario to put in tension and angst for obey me characters to go through. I like this one by the way.
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Sorcerers’ society find out the causes of earthquakes happening faster than usual was MC due to their magic potential (MC being the cause of all the natural ‘phenomenon’ in S2) and now want to investigate MC and call them in.
Drama has already started baby.
Solomon who’s against this but goes with MC to make sure they’re ok because it’s not a good idea to ignore a seemingly threat invitation I mean.
It’s explained the Ring of light was used to console MC’s magic and everything is fine now but they’re doubting it and want to investigate the Ring of light for themselves, if it’s actually successfuly tamed their magic or just a temporary device to tone it down- simply meaning if MC’s overflow of magic would still be leaking and not fully restrained.
[Also add overprotective Solomon drama who’s against this because that’s hot and more dramatic]
It’s found out the ring of light isn’t powerful enough to completely prevent MC’s magic from overflowing and now…
The sorcerers’ society have deemed MC a threat. A large threat to the human world.
Who would be better off dead. No. SHOULD be dead.
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「If only the story actually did have good drama like this~
Anyways I’m just describing the scenario since I can’t write at all lol if I had enough confidence I probs would haha」
#This idea sprouted from me just wanting to know more about lore the devs have trashed to the side#Like SPILL THE TEA what happened between Solomon and those lot#I feel like we’ll never get to expand on it other than the vague description we got#anyways back to this there’s so many more ideas that’s filling my brain I might write part two#also I only thought of this yesterday out of nowhere#actually while thinking back on S3#now I can stop ranting in the tags#obey me#obey me swd#obey me shall we date#obey me scenarios#obey me headcanons#obey me headcanon#obey me mc#obey me solomon#If I am going to write a part two it’s gonna include the other characters
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