#AND I STILL HAVE MY HANDS ON THE WHEEL!!!!!

[cod-indulgences]

TF141 x female!reader, poly tf141, oral, nipple and breast abuse, overstimulation, vibrators, squirting, Dom/sub, subspace, free use dynamics

under the cut for length

part 2 of this

Soap makes it to the car first by virtue of being a dirty cheater, yanking Gaz back by the shirt collar with a whoop. He barely waits for the door to slide closed before he's on you, yanking your skirt up and panties down. Gaz picks up the discarded bit of cloth and fucking smells it, holding your gaze as he licks the soaked cotton.

Your pussy clenches and Johnny moans, settled right at eye level with your clit, thumbing your folds apart to lick up your come with a flat, hot tongue. You squeal and reach for Gaz as Price and Simon climb into the front, needing someone to hold onto as Soap shoves his tongue into you with no warning.

He's enthusiastic with your pussy, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue before sucking it hard enough to make you shout, Gaz groping your breasts as you squirm. Soap can't move, he's wedged into the footwell between Price's seat and yours, which means his broad shoulders have your thighs splayed and your body wedged back into your seat, no escape from his mouth. The vibrator is still in you as well, curved up against your g-spot, and you keep clamping down on it when Soap drags you close to coming. He won't let you get there though, the fucker, and you gasp for Price to have mercy on your poor swollen clit, just let you come, you behaved at the bar-

Price laughs and shakes his head. "Still not my decision love," he says, and you look at Simon who waves the remote at you cheekily.

"Not sure I like you looking to him first, you know I've got the control tonight," he says, and "Gaz, go ahead and get rough with her tits if she's having a hard time not coming."

You moan in despair as Soap wiggles his tongue along your hole where the vibrator sits, and Gaz drags your shirt up and off, bra coming with it in a tangle of elastic. Your skirt is just a belt around your waist now and you whine as Gaz kisses your neck, soft and sweet, before he gets your nipple in his hand and pinches. You yelp and then shout louder as he squeezes, your nipple crushed between his thumb and finger, unable to push him away enough for relief. When he finally lets go you gasp and shudder, sobbing as Soap pops his mouth off your clit.

"You act like you hate it, bonnie, but I'm fucking near drowning in your cunt," he says, and rubs his jaw through your pussy to prove it, letting the other men hear the wet sloppy sounds. Gaz groans, and you flinch as he pinches your other nipple, but he lets go before he can bruise it like the other- instead, oh fuck, he's slapping your tits instead, hard smacks of his hand that make you yelp, pinned down between both men. Each suck and lick at your cunt drags you closer to orgasm, each smack on your breasts startles you out of it, Gaz pinching ruthlessly when he thinks you're getting too close. Your breasts are soon marked with little red bruises, your nipples swollen and sore where he's twisted them and tugged until you sobbed at him to let go, and your clit is a solid hot throb between your legs.

Then Simon turns the vibrator on.

You scream loud enough Price's hands jerk at the wheel. "Fuck, fuck, Simon please I need to come I need it please- please, god, oh fuck oh god, Simon, Simon please please please!!" Soap's on your clit, sucking it so hard he's got nearly your whole pussy pulled into his mouth; Gaz has twisted himself around to get both hands on your tits and is pulling your nipples so tight you think they're going to come off, and through it all the vibrator buzzes, unstoppable, stronger and stronger until you don't have anything left in you but the hair-thin control of not allowed to come yet.

Under your screaming and Soap's moaning and Gaz's swearing you hear a command you'd die for right now.

"You can come, love."

You know you scream again, back arching as much as it can, and your eyes roll back as you come and come and come, a full body spasm that doesn't stop, because Simon hasn't turned the vibrator back off.

You sob and beg, weeping, Gaz releasing your nipples with a rush of blood back to the abused flesh that stings and burns, and when finally the damned thing falls quiet you collapse against Gaz, limp.

Soap lays his head against your thigh, panting, and through the come-drunk haze you hear him gasp "Fuck Si, I wasn't joking about drowning, she just squirted down my fucking throat," and you hear him groan and shudder between your legs- oh, he was jerking off to you coming, and there's a wet splatter on your pussy as his come streaks over you.

Gaz moans and thumbs your nipples, and you whine, too fucked to protest, as he drags you to lay across the seat. Your mouth falls open as he gets his cock out and works it between your lips, holding your head in both hands and fucking up into your mouth like a sex toy- you can't move, and just let him take you, drooling down his cock. You can't even muster up the energy to choke when his cock bumps into your throat, then deeper. Everything is too soft, too blissed out and fucked out, your body thrumming with phantom sensations as Gaz uses your throat. He comes fast, pushing you down all the way, and you manage to swallow some of his come before he lifts you up and the rest drools out down your chin.

The door opens- oh, you're home. Simon looks at you upside down from where your head hangs over Gaz's lap.

"sweet thing, you look rode hard and put away wet," he comments, and you giggle at him.

"Not rode an'thin yet Siiii," and he lifts you up and carries you in where Price has turned the lamps on in the bedroom. Soap and Gaz trail behind you, the two men stumbling up the steps, come drunk on their own.

Simon spills you out onto the bed, and you smile giddily up at Price as he strips the belt from his pants, and snaps the leather.

[solxamber]

hello here for the valentine event!!

Jade, Romantic, Suffering by Jorge Rivera-Herrans

first epic song of the event let's gooo

"Jump in the water" || Jade Leech

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Suffering by Jorge Rivera-Herrans

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 940

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Siren!Jade x Sailor!Reader

You are lost at sea.

The wind has betrayed you, the stars offer no guidance, and the waves push you further from home. It’s been days—weeks?—adrift on endless waters, and all you know is that if you don’t find land soon, the ocean will claim you for itself.

Then, you see them.

Ships. Empty ships.

Abandoned vessels dot the horizon, their sails limp, their decks silent. A graveyard of those who have sailed these waters before you, of those who heard it and did not resist.

Sirens.

You do not hesitate.

With swift, practiced hands, you rip strips of cloth from your shirt and stuff them into your ears. The world dulls instantly. The ocean is quieter, your own heartbeat louder. You grip the wheel and steel yourself as you push forward.

And just as you expected—

He is waiting.

A siren, perched upon jagged rocks, half-shrouded in mist. He is beautiful—unearthly and elegant, with scales that shimmer like pearls. His long, webbed fingers trace idly over the stone as he watches you, his expression calm, patient.

His lips move. You can’t hear him, but you already know the words.

"Come to me."

You shake your head, firm.

The siren tilts his head, undeterred. He speaks again.

You pretend to consider it, then say, “I can’t swim.”

The siren blinks. His lips curl, amused. “I will teach you.”

You shake your head again. “I’m scared of the water.”

His laughter is silent, but you can see it in the way his shoulders shake.

Then, he leans forward, fingers grazing the surface of the waves. “Then I will hold you.”

Your lips twitch, just a little. Persistent. You’ll give him that.

Then, just to see his reaction, you grin and say, “I don’t want my feet wet. Why don’t you come up here instead?”

It’s meant to be a joke. A final attempt to frustrate him, to force him to give up on you.

But to your utter shock—

The siren reaches out to you.

His webbed hand extends, open and waiting, his mismatched eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t.

And yet—

Before you can think, your fingers are wrapping around his, and you’re pulling him aboard.

He lands on the deck, water cascading off his tail, hands braced against the wood. He blinks up at you, utterly unreadable, before slowly shifting, his body morphing—legs, now, instead of a tail, seawater dripping from his skin, but still otherworldly, still not quite human.

You take a step back, breath heavy.

“You’re a siren.” It isn’t a question.

The siren smiles, slow and knowing. “And yet,” he hums, tilting his head, “you still pulled me in.”

You have no answer for that.

Maybe you did fall for his song, after all.

Jade—he says his name is Jade—does not devour you.

In fact, he does something even stranger.

He helps you.

He moves like he’s been aboard a ship before, like he knows the ocean better than any human sailor ever could. He studies the maps, adjusts the sails, tells you which direction to follow.

“Why?” you ask him, cautious.

Jade only smiles, pressing a finger to his lips.

You should be more wary. You should be scared.

But you aren’t.

Not when you catch him watching you, gaze unreadable. Not when he tilts his head, just slightly, as if trying to understand you.

Not when, after long days at sea together, you finally see land on the horizon.

Your homeland.

You exhale, relief flooding through you. “We made it,” you breathe, turning to him. “Jade—”

But when you look at him, he is not celebrating.

He is watching you.

Like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s already preparing to disappear beneath the waves before the ship reaches the shore.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

Before you can stop yourself, you reach for him. “Come with me.”

Jade stills.

His lips part, caught off guard, the first time you’ve truly seen him surprised.

Then, slowly—slowly—he leans in.

His breath is cool against your skin, the scent of saltwater clinging to him. His eyes sharp, flicker to your lips, then back to your gaze.

His voice is softer this time, curious.

“…What makes you think I won’t drown you now?”

You meet his gaze, steady and sure. "You won't," you say, voice unwavering.

Jade’s expression flickers—something fragile, something hesitant, something almost human beneath the inhuman beauty of his mismatched eyes. He has spent his life luring sailors into the depths, pulling them under, watching them sink.

But you—you pulled him up instead.

His fingers brush against yours, tentative at first, before they lace together, webbed skin cool against your warmth. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the dampness of his borrowed clothes, the scent of the ocean clinging to him.

Then, finally—finally—he closes the distance.

His lips meet yours, soft and searching, like the tide pulling against the shore. His hand cups the back of your neck, tilting you to him, holding you as if afraid you’ll slip away like seawater through his fingers. But you don’t. You stay, leaning into him, letting yourself fall into the moment.

For the first time in his life, Jade Leech is not the one luring someone in

For the first time, he is the one being caught.

When he pulls away, his lips are curved in something softer than his usual smirk. "Well," he murmurs, tilting his head, "perhaps I will join you on land, just for a little while."

You laugh, tugging him in for another kiss, already knowing—he’s never going to leave.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[ckngel]

SHOTGUN !

pairing. bf!jungkook x afab!reader

contains. smut, sexual themes, language, praise, pet names, blowjob, dirty talk, jk refers to himself as daddy, car sex, semi-public sex(?), dangerous driving LMAO, oral (m. receiving), hand job, cumming in hand. .

“Couldn't wait til’ we got home, huh?”

Jungkook chuckles, his previously relaxed fingers tightening around the smooth leather of the steering wheel as you undid the button on his black jeans and dragged down the zip.

He was — unsurprisingly — already hard, the angry bulge protruding through his jeans, the white waistband of his black CK boxers visible.

You promptly pull them down to get to where you wanted to be.

His cock sprang up, thick, veiny, angry.

His tip glossy with pre-cum, glistening in the passing streetlights from outside.

You salivate, ogling at it as he smiles at your expression.

“Like what you see baby?” You look at him, grinning and he returns the same expression.

“Gonna suck it?”

You don't respond since you give him his answer by leaning down to connect your starved mouth onto him.

His sturdy breathing stops as his breath hitches, feeling your plump lips placing tender kisses to his swollen head, swirling your smooth tongue around it before sloppily lapping up his pre-cum.

You glance up at him through your pretty lashes, gradually removing your mouth and initiating a displeased groan from him.

He exhales hard, fingers loosening on the wheel.

“You gonna fuckin’ hurry up or am I gonna have to make you?” he raises his eyebrow at you, before looking up again.

You grin at him, letting out a small scoff before swiftly taking the whole of him in your mouth, catching him by complete surprise.

“M'fuck—” his eyes momentarily slam shut, fingers instantaneously clutching onto the steering wheel.

His lips part and he emits a silent moan, his head dropping back against the headrest, strands of hair falling in front of his closed eyes. "ah shit,”

Your wet tongue slides flat along with your mouth, tip already knocking against the back of your tight throat, despite being only halfway down him.

Jungkook smirks when you gag, his eyes still fixated on the road, his left hands hold stiffens on the wheel as he takes his right hand to gently stroke your hair.

“Too big?” he asks, voice cocky.

His comment only fuels you to take him further, his hand aiding your head as he pushes you down further, little by little, inching you down to his base.

You gag for the second time, feeling the tears beginning brim in your waterline.

“Ahh careful. .” he murmurs, “don't wanna ruin your makeup now, do we baby?”

He sees you roll your eyes, and lets a small laugh escape his lips.

His head begins to press your head down and you breath out through your nose, mouth sinking further down until you get to the base.

“Ohhh yeah,” he groans, “that's it baby. feels s’good. .” he mutters, eyes heavy as you take your head back up the length of him, relaxing as he leaves your throat momentarily before he pushes you down again.

He feels your muffled moan vibrate against him, cock twitching as he lets out a low hum.

“You like it baby?” His hand pulls your hair,

“You like sucking my cock whilst i'm tryna fuckin’ drive?”

He voice is laced with slight irritation but you know he absolutely loves it. . despite how unsafe it is.

Your tongue brushes against the underside of his dick as you slide back up.

You return to his tip, kissing it, circling your tongue around him and making him release a choked moan.

“Mmh. .” he strokes your hair, tongue toying with his lip ring as your mouth continues to plant wet, sloppy kisses on him.

“Fuck baby,” he groans, fingers tangling in your hair again ready to push you back down.

Down, up, down, up, again and again and again.

The pace of his pulls and pushes become increasingly faster, his grip on your hair becomes more tenacious with every move, the low moans leaving his throat slowly fade into whinier ones.

You notice, and so you suck. hard.

Cheeks hollowing and teeth subtly grazing against him he releases a strained moan, hips thrusting into your mouth.

“Takin’ daddy so well, fuck—”

His voice is hoarse, strangled.

Tears stain your cheeks as they flow down your face, eyes shutting as he fucks your throat with raw, guttural moans.

“Baby. . hand.” He mutters and you glance up at him, asking a muffled “hm?” as your head comes to a stop so that you can hear him better.

“Use your fuckin’ hand baby. Please?”

His voice is low, impatient, desperate.

You understand now, mouth retracting from him with a ‘pop' and his hand goes back to the steering wheel in front of him.

His eyes briefly close, and he lets out a relieved moan.

You take your hand and wrap it gently around his aching dick.

He suppresses a whimper when you give him a squeeze and then start pumping him, his thick cock throbbing in your palm.

“Shit,” he hisses, your wrist flicking up and down around him.

“Fuck, babe?” he whispers to you, sleepy eyes briefly flick from the road to connect with yours.

“Gonna cum. .”

He bites down on his bottom lip, stifling a moan, eyebrows knitting together and you feel his cock jump and he finally lets go.

He chokes back a moan as warm, milky, viscous cum shoots out into your hand, coating your fingers with his sticky release.

A long, shaky exhale falls from his open mouth.

His head snaps to watch you when he feels you take your hand away and put it to your mouth, licking it clean.

He watches you through half-lidded eyes, a needy moan escaping his lips.

“I can't believe you've just done that.” he scoffs, once he's able to formulate a sentence.

You grin at him, head resting back against the seat.

“What?” you giggle, watching one hand let go of the steering wheel to pull up his now stained boxers and zip up his jeans.

“Sweetheart.” he says flatly, “you sucked me off and then gave me a handjob.” he says before adding, “all whilst I was driving.”

You smile at him,

“Yeahhh. . safe right?” you mumble and he snorts,

“Mm, you think?”

His hand finishes fastening his jeans and settles on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Lucky the windows are tinted, huh baby?”

© 𝑐𝑘𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙 2025, all rights reserved.

[kedreeva]

Well, I've had a bit of a rough week. A deer totaled my (new-to-me I've-only-had-it-a-year) car when it rammed headlong into to side of it on a dark back road, and set off the passenger side side airbags (on the doors, not the dashboard ones). Thankfully I was completely unharmed aside from ringing ears and it did not do a whole ton of damage running into the side of the car (as opposed to the damage that would have been done the other way around, if I had hit it), but unthankfully it hit the airbag sensors and the airbags going off made it unable to be repaired for less than the cost of the car. The deer did not even have the decency to drop dead on the spot so I could eat it, it took off running back into the woods (at least according to the guy behind me that saw it hit me, because personally I thought someone had fuckin' shot my car, because the airbags are apparently explosively powered and smell like gunpowder and smoke).

So, I've been away dealing with that and looking for another car. I was not in love with the Patriot, even though I stuck cool jurassic park stickers on it (rather, I stuck cool jurassic park stickers on it because I was not in love with it), and I was still badly missing my Liberty. So imagine my surprise when I found a new listing for a 2010 jeep liberty with nearly the exact same number of miles on it (70,139) as the patriot I just lost (70,106). It looked practically pristine, came with a clean bill of health from Carfax, and was within a few hours drive to go get. On top of that, it was listed as marked down because it was at non-same dealership that wanted space back, so it was less than the insurance payout. I still called, and I still asked them to do me better than what they had it up for, and the guy was SO busy explaining how much trouble it would be to give it to me for the price I asked with all the taxes and fees and stuff included but that he would valiantly go talk to his manager that I didn't get a chance to say I MEANT just the car price not including those things. So he came back with a price, I asked again for lower again if I could bring cash today (offering the price I wanted to pay total in the first place, had he stopped to listen) and they accepted it.

So, I drove down in my mom's car with her, and took him out for a spin. He drives like a new car. Whisper quiet compared to the lawnmower of car the Patriot was. Tight steering, gas, break pressures, good wheels, great pickup and go, rides high like my old Liberty did, huge backseat/trunk space for caging and hay and stuff. They had detailed the inside so it was pristine and even smelled like new car. Stunning little beast.

When I climbed in to drive home, I found a heads-up penny sitting on each front seat. I think probably the dealership guy put them there in reality, but I choose to believe that it was a peace offering from the universe. Or perhaps the car trying to tell me his new name: Lucky.

I managed not to cry about having a car so much like my good boy Colt back under my hands, but it was a close thing. Anyway, here's to the next 200k miles! Let's see if we can beat Colt's record :)

[seitmai]

So many thoughts

He was gripping the steering wheel of the blue Bronco, and you waited silently for the engine to start. But it didn't. He barely moved. And you barely moved. But you couldn't step away from the window even as the light inside the Bronco faded into the night. Everything was silent. Your pounding heartbeat was all you could hear as the baby squirmed around in your belly like she knew her father was too far away from her now. Minutes passed, and you sank down onto the couch, but Bradley never started the engine.

I can't 😭

Your emotions were a mess as you eventually left the couch to get ready for bed. After you checked on Rose, finding her sound asleep in her crib without a care in the world, you peeked outside one more time. Bradley was still in the driveway, watching over the Craftsman and everything inside. You took your broken heart to bed, trying your best to fall asleep through your tears.

And I am trying to read through my tears 🥲

It was cold outside this late in October, but Bradley sucked it up. He was certain you knew he was still sitting in the driveway, and he didn't want to start the engine at three in the morning and startle you. Or make you think he was leaving. He wasn't going anywhere. So he let the cold surround him. Maybe you didn't want him in the house with you and Rose at the moment, but it was his responsibility to protect his family.

I respect that

Between small spurts of sleep, his mind drifted to the idea of you and Rose packing up everything in the house and moving across the country to live with your parents. It left him on the verge of panic each time. He bought the house for you. He had a family because of you. He was living beyond his wildest dreams married to you.

I just wanna give him a hug 🫂

There was no way to convince you he wasn't lying. There was nothing he could say at this point that wouldn't sound like he was trying to cover his own ass. You could talk to Mav or Nat or Jake until they were blue in the face, but if you didn't trust him, it would sound like everyone was covering for him. Because truthfully, only he and Lieutenant Jeffries knew for sure that Bradley had never touched her.

Unfortunately this is very true..

I'm leaving for work. If you want to talk, come find me, and I'll clear my schedule. We'll figure this out. We have to, because I can't live without you. I love you.

🥺🥺🥺

His stomach growled as he drove, reminding him he didn't get to enjoy what you cooked for dinner last night. He'd been missing dinner too often. It was almost Halloween, and the two of you should have been planning a costume for Rose to wear. He should have been working on an anniversary getaway for November. He'd been fucking up a lot for someone who wasn't aware he was doing it, but he certainly wasn't an adulterer. 

I'm glad though that this serves as a reminder that he hast to get his husband and dad duties back in order☝🏻

Once again, he thought about you throwing all your fancy kitchen gadgets in a box and leaving without a backward glance in his direction. Bradley's hands shook, and he didn't know how he'd make it through the day at this rate.

I really hope for everyone's safety he is not going in the air today 🥴

The walk to his office was long, but not long enough for inspiration to strike. Maybe Nat could give him some advice. She'd been harping on about girl code the other day. As much as he hated to admit it, Jake might be a helpful ally right now. He was a big fan of yours, and always quick to remind Bradley he'd married way out of his league.

Yeah let's round the troops, because he won't get out of this alone when he didn't even realize his fuck up on his own 🫣

This was all exhausting. Nausea and fatigue waged war in his body as Bradley stumbled to his feet once again.

Not to be petty, but I'm glad he gets a taste of his own medicine with BG and her pregnancy symptoms 🤷🏻‍♀️

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, fingers wrapping around the bottle so aggressively, he was afraid it would explode in his hand. He'd been told to keep his distance for now, but clearly Indigo was none the wiser as she followed him right inside his office.

This bitch 😤

Indigo froze before bursting into delighted laughter that set his teeth on edge. "Ruin your life? I can assure you, Sir, I would like nothing more than to have a very good time with you." Any warmth remaining in Bradley's body vanished, leaving him sweaty and shivering. "That's not appropriate," he gasped. "You're reporting to me through Top Gun, and I'm married."

STAND 👏🏻 YOUR 👏🏻GROUND👏🏻ROOSTER👏🏻

She rolled her eyes and muttered, "This was a lot easier last time." "You've done this before?" Bradley asked, eyes darting to the door and empty hallway beyond, wishing he'd just gone to your office instead. 

No fucking way!! But I mean with her behavior this should not surprise me 🤦🏻‍♀️🥴

"I like older men," Indigo replied sweetly. "Ones with lots of pins on their uniforms. And they've always been agreeable before."

Dont get me wrong, I think this is absolutely vile behavior, especially directly to BG, but she is just using the rules that always held women especially in male dominated field back and plays it with her own rules, so I kinda get it were she's coming from.. it's like the "women in male field" trend in a way, in a very morally fucked up way 😅🙈

"Are you out of your mind?" Bradley's voice shook, but it was loud enough that she froze again. "You think I would jeopardize my marriage for you? My family? The thought never crossed my mind!" Indigo licked her lips. "I've seen your wife. She's pregnant again. And she's -" "She's perfect," Bradley barked, eyes blazing as he glanced at the wedding photo. "Do not talk about her. Ever." He squeezed his eyes closed and squared his shoulders before glaring at Indigo. "Get the fuck out of my office."

Halleluja 👏🏻🙏🏻

Why were you in his office? You were crying, working your hands in front of your pregnant belly as you whispered, "I'm sorry, Bradley!"

Omg this is perfect!

When he held his arms open, you rushed into them, burying your face in his chest as you wailed. He had no idea why you were in his office, but if the end result was getting to hold you tight, he didn't need a reason. As soon as you touched him, he immediately felt better. 

🥹🥹🥹

"No. It's not okay," came your immediate, muffled response, arms tightening around him. "I made you sleep outside. I told you I'd leave with the girls." You looked up at him, tears brimming from your eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you." Bradley shook his head, bringing his hand up to rest on your cheek. "I'm sorry I put you through this shit. This is so fucked up."

Ahh finally, I feel like I can breathe again😅

Bradley kissed your quivering lips as you started to calm down. "Please never leave me. I'm not going to stop being in love with you. Okay? I just want my girls." With one more kiss, he whispered, "And there's nothing wrong with the way you look. You're perfect." The smallest smile found your lips. "That's what you told Indigo."

Yes he did 👏🏻😌

"I hate her." "Me, too," he sighed, exhausted from thinking about Indigo.

Me, three

He let his breathing match yours, falling into a comfortable rhythm that he didn't want to let go of yet. "I have an idea. Let's go home." "Home?" "Yeah. Let's go get Rose from the nursery and ditch the rest of the day. I just want to go home." Now you were the one running your hand along his scarred cheek. "You must be exhausted." When he nodded, you said, "Okay. Let's go home, and I'll take care of you." When you tried to pull away, Bradley kept you close. "No. I'm going to take care of you. I clearly haven't been doing enough of that since I started this position. So that's going to change immediately." "We can take care of each other," you replied easily, but you were smiling.

🥰🥰🥰

You laced your fingers with his and started to tug him toward the door. "To get the ball rolling on Indigo's spectacular downfall." "What?" Bradley's eyebrows shot up. "I just inadvertently managed to clear my name, and you already formulated a plan?" You waved your free hand in the air. "It's like half a plan at best, but it's coming together."

Iconic 👏🏻 😂

Bradley made sure the door locked behind him. "I am in awe of you," he murmured, letting you lead him down the hallway. "Nobody messes with my husband."

And BG takes that promise seriously ☝🏻

You smiled to yourself. "I want to start doing it sooner." "Sooner?" she asked, confused. "How much sooner?" "Tomorrow."

Aim for the Sky Part 35 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You're conflicted by your own words, unsure if you can stay away from your husband. There's only one person who can tell you the truth about Bradley, but she's the same one who seems to be on a quest to ruin your life.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, pregnancy, jealousy, mentions of cheating

Length: 3000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Tramp whimpered at your feet. The muffled sound of the Bronco's door closing sent you to the front window to look out onto the driveway. It was dark, but you could see Bradley's tear-streaked face lit up by the dome light as you choked on a sob. It took everything you had to stand there instead of running to him. 

He was gripping the steering wheel of the blue Bronco, and you waited silently for the engine to start. But it didn't. He barely moved. And you barely moved. But you couldn't step away from the window even as the light inside the Bronco faded into the night. Everything was silent. Your pounding heartbeat was all you could hear as the baby squirmed around in your belly like she knew her father was too far away from her now. Minutes passed, and you sank down onto the couch, but Bradley never started the engine.

You wanted him to come back inside, but you just told him you wouldn't hesitate to take the kids and move back to Maryland with your parents. "What did you do?" you gasped as fresh tears filled your eyes. You couldn't tell if you were being strong or stupid or some combination of the two, but the longer you stared out the window, the more you realized Bradley wasn't leaving you even though you told him to.

Relief washed over you knowing he wasn't running off to Indigo. Maybe there was a way to salvage things. You couldn't take back what you said, and he couldn't take back anything he'd already done with her, but you didn't think you could stop loving him. You didn't think you could separate him from his daughters.

Your emotions were a mess as you eventually left the couch to get ready for bed. After you checked on Rose, finding her sound asleep in her crib without a care in the world, you peeked outside one more time. Bradley was still in the driveway, watching over the Craftsman and everything inside.

You took your broken heart to bed, trying your best to fall asleep through your tears.

-------------------------------

It was cold outside this late in October, but Bradley sucked it up. He was certain you knew he was still sitting in the driveway, and he didn't want to start the engine at three in the morning and startle you. Or make you think he was leaving. He wasn't going anywhere. So he let the cold surround him. 

Maybe you didn't want him in the house with you and Rose at the moment, but it was his responsibility to protect his family. And he wanted to be as close as you'd let him. Between small spurts of sleep, his mind drifted to the idea of you and Rose packing up everything in the house and moving across the country to live with your parents. It left him on the verge of panic each time. He bought the house for you. He had a family because of you. He was living beyond his wildest dreams married to you.

There was no way to convince you he wasn't lying. There was nothing he could say at this point that wouldn't sound like he was trying to cover his own ass. You could talk to Mav or Nat or Jake until they were blue in the face, but if you didn't trust him, it would sound like everyone was covering for him. Because truthfully, only he and Lieutenant Jeffries knew for sure that Bradley had never touched her.

Everything with the Navy took time. Mav was a big help, but a report would need to be written up for formal action. And now Bradley would need to notify someone about the new message Indigo sent with the world's worst timing, but meanwhile he was supposed to carry on like everything was completely normal.

As soon as daylight broke, he rubbed his exhaustion away from his eyes. He wanted to get to base to shower and change into the clean flight suit he kept in his locker, but he had to make sure you knew he spent the whole night in the Bronco first. So Bradley waited until he saw movement inside. Just a quick flick of the living room curtain, but he was sure you saw him. Nevertheless, he sent a text.

I'm leaving for work. If you want to talk, come find me, and I'll clear my schedule. We'll figure this out. We have to, because I can't live without you. I love you.

He didn't expect you to respond right away. He stretched, his body positively aching from sitting in one spot for so long before he started the engine. His stomach growled as he drove, reminding him he didn't get to enjoy what you cooked for dinner last night. He'd been missing dinner too often. It was almost Halloween, and the two of you should have been planning a costume for Rose to wear. He should have been working on an anniversary getaway for November. He'd been fucking up a lot for someone who wasn't aware he was doing it, but he certainly wasn't an adulterer. 

The locker room was empty as he changed out of his wrinkly uniform and slipped under the hot shower stream. Nothing was going to make him feel better if you didn't trust him. Once again, he thought about you throwing all your fancy kitchen gadgets in a box and leaving without a backward glance in his direction. Bradley's hands shook, and he didn't know how he'd make it through the day at this rate.

As he pulled on his flight suit, he thought about going up to your office to wait for you to arrive. But he'd end up on his knees again, begging you to stay with him, and that wasn't what you needed to hear right now. He was exhausted, but he tried to clear his mind and think of some way to convince you he would never do anything to hurt you. But if Indigo already made comments directly to you, it felt like all hope was lost.

The walk to his office was long, but not long enough for inspiration to strike. Maybe Nat could give him some advice. She'd been harping on about girl code the other day. As much as he hated to admit it, Jake might be a helpful ally right now. He was a big fan of yours, and always quick to remind Bradley he'd married way out of his league.

He settled in behind his desk, unable to look away from the wedding photo for a few minutes. You looked perfect that day. You were perfect every day. There was no doubt you'd be perfect without him, but he didn't want you going anywhere unless you took him, too.

"Fuck," Bradley gasped, lungs burning with the effort to hold back his tears. His students would be sitting down to take a practicum exam shortly. He didn't necessarily need to be there, but it would look good if he was. But he'd also have to face Indigo in the classroom. Maverick was still up in Lemoore, and he was the only one who knew Bradley filed a formal complaint.

This was all exhausting. Nausea and fatigue waged war in his body as Bradley stumbled to his feet once again. He needed something to drink. Some cold water. He threw his office door open wide and walked back up the hallway to the small lounge where he grabbed a water bottle and downed it in one go. Panting, he took a second one before slowly heading back the way he came.

He didn't even feel better as he started sweating profusely. He wanted you. He wanted you to let him hold you. He wanted to kiss Rose. 

His office door was just a few feet away when he heard her voice.

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw."

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, fingers wrapping around the bottle so aggressively, he was afraid it would explode in his hand. He'd been told to keep his distance for now, but clearly Indigo was none the wiser as she followed him right inside his office.

"Sir," she said, voice bold and unbothered. "I thought we could walk to the classroom together."

Bradley spun and looked at her. He really shouldn't be surprised at this point. He also shouldn't be talking to her alone in his office, but she was standing there expectantly, blinking those eyes up at him.

"Unless you're not ready to head over yet...."

Her words trailed off as she casually reached for the door, fingers grazing the wood.

"Do not close that door," Bradley barked, surprising himself with his angry tone. Indigo's hand dropped to her side, eyes wide, but she took a step closer as he backed up until he hit his desk. He managed to set the water bottle down, chest rising and falling rapidly. He shouldn't be talking to her, but he couldn't help himself as he shook his head. "What is your problem?"

She cocked her head slightly, a hesitant smile on her lips. "Sir?"

Bradley skirted along past his desk as she tracked him. "I don't understand why you're trying to ruin my life," he hissed.

Indigo froze before bursting into delighted laughter that set his teeth on edge. "Ruin your life? I can assure you, Sir, I would like nothing more than to have a very good time with you."

Any warmth remaining in Bradley's body vanished, leaving him sweaty and shivering. "That's not appropriate," he gasped. "You're reporting to me through Top Gun, and I'm married."

She rolled her eyes and muttered, "This was a lot easier last time."

"You've done this before?" Bradley asked, eyes darting to the door and empty hallway beyond, wishing he'd just gone to your office instead. 

"I like older men," Indigo replied sweetly. "Ones with lots of pins on their uniforms. And they've always been agreeable before."

"Unbelievable," Bradley groaned, ready to throw away all of his insignia pins and run away. "Lieutenant Jeffries, I have never laid a finger on you. We've never been alone in here with the door closed, ever."

"But you wanted to. You can admit it," she whispered, reaching once more for the door.

"Are you out of your mind?" Bradley's voice shook, but it was loud enough that she froze again. "You think I would jeopardize my marriage for you? My family? The thought never crossed my mind!"

Indigo licked her lips. "I've seen your wife. She's pregnant again. And she's -"

"She's perfect," Bradley barked, eyes blazing as he glanced at the wedding photo. "Do not talk about her. Ever." He squeezed his eyes closed and squared his shoulders before glaring at Indigo. "Get the fuck out of my office."

He was afraid she wasn't going to listen, the way she stood there and stared at him in surprise. But Bradley had nothing left. His fingers were shaking, and he was sure he was going to vomit. She finally turned and marched from the room with her chin in the air, and Bradley turned to face his desk.

Panic like he never felt before filled his veins. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now as he gripped the edge of his desk and stared down at his boots. His body shook with silent sobs as he tried to catch his breath, but his brain couldn't seem to get past the fact that his life was in absolute ruins.

"Oh, God," he gasped, lifting his head in time to see his office door move a few inches. Before he could fully register what was happening, you popped out from behind it and carefully pushed it closed.

"Sweetheart?" he croaked, examining your tear-streaked cheeks before you stumbled closer to him.

Why were you in his office? You were crying, working your hands in front of your pregnant belly as you whispered, "I'm sorry, Bradley!"

When he held his arms open, you rushed into them, burying your face in his chest as you wailed. He had no idea why you were in his office, but if the end result was getting to hold you tight, he didn't need a reason. As soon as you touched him, he immediately felt better. 

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," you sobbed over and over, body shaking against him. "I was so scared, and I look so awful right now. And I'm just so sorry!"

"Shhh," he coaxed softly, kissing the top of your head before letting his chin rest there. "It's okay."

"No. It's not okay," came your immediate, muffled response, arms tightening around him. "I made you sleep outside. I told you I'd leave with the girls." You looked up at him, tears brimming from your eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

Bradley shook his head, bringing his hand up to rest on your cheek. "I'm sorry I put you through this shit. This is so fucked up."

He let you cry, wiping your tears with his thumb as they fell for the longest time. He already felt like he could figure out a way to fix everything as long as you still wanted him. 

Bradley kissed your quivering lips as you started to calm down. "Please never leave me. I'm not going to stop being in love with you. Okay? I just want my girls." With one more kiss, he whispered, "And there's nothing wrong with the way you look. You're perfect."

The smallest smile found your lips. "That's what you told Indigo."

"Baby Girl, that's what I tell everybody," he promised, relieved beyond belief that you witness that miserable exchange. "What are you doing here anyway?" he whispered, keeping you snug against him as you looked up at his face. "Not that I'm complaining, but I wasn't expecting you to want to see me."

"I came to talk to you as soon as I dropped Rose off." You wiped your tears on his flight suit as you added, "When I got here, the door was wide open, so I came inside. Then I heard her voice in the hallway. I panicked and hid behind the door."

"And I couldn't be happier that you did," he whispered.

"She really wanted to close the door."

"She really did."

"I hate her."

"Me, too," he sighed, exhausted from thinking about Indigo. He let his breathing match yours, falling into a comfortable rhythm that he didn't want to let go of yet. "I have an idea. Let's go home."

"Home?"

"Yeah. Let's go get Rose from the nursery and ditch the rest of the day. I just want to go home."

Now you were the one running your hand along his scarred cheek. "You must be exhausted." When he nodded, you said, "Okay. Let's go home, and I'll take care of you."

When you tried to pull away, Bradley kept you close. "No. I'm going to take care of you. I clearly haven't been doing enough of that since I started this position. So that's going to change immediately."

"We can take care of each other," you replied easily, but you were smiling. "I just need to talk to Cat first."

Bradley groaned softly. He was already imagining the three of you at home. He would make lunch while you fed Rose, and then everyone could take a long nap. He just wanted everything to feel normal again. 

"Why do you need Cat first?"

You laced your fingers with his and started to tug him toward the door. "To get the ball rolling on Indigo's spectacular downfall."

"What?" Bradley's eyebrows shot up. "I just inadvertently managed to clear my name, and you already formulated a plan?"

You waved your free hand in the air. "It's like half a plan at best, but it's coming together." You paused. "You know what? I'll just call Cat when we get home. I'm sure we can handle it from there. I really want to snuggle with you, and I'm starving."

Bradley made sure the door locked behind him. "I am in awe of you," he murmured, letting you lead him down the hallway.

"Nobody messes with my husband."

--------------------------------

You felt alive again for the first time in weeks. You were thriving. Bradley never let you out of his sight as he made lunch and burped Rose. He put her down in her crib, wrapped you in his arms, and led you toward the promise of an afternoon nap.

"Wait, Cat's calling me back," you whispered, watching his face fall as he tried to get you to the bedroom. "It'll just take a minute."

"I can barely keep my eyes open," he murmured, kissing your cheek before you backed away. "Just come in when you're done."

You watched him turn to the bedroom, pulling his undershirt over his head as he went. The temptation of his warm body wrapped around yours was almost too much to fight, but when you thought about Indigo, you wanted to punch a hole in the wall. Or her face.

"Hi."

"Where are you?" Cat asked. "I thought I saw you in the parking lot this morning, and now you're magically nowhere to be found."

"I'm at home," you told her quickly. "Hey, how close are you to finishing the new code for the Super Hornet updates?"

There was a beat of silence. "Not that close. We aren't rolling out the updates until the end of the year. It'll ground some of the pilots."

You smiled to yourself. "I want to start doing it sooner."

"Sooner?" she asked, confused. "How much sooner?"

"Tomorrow."

---------------------------------

Hearing that straight from Indigo had to make BG feel so much better! Is this me being nicer? Beginning to mend things? Stay tuned.

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[hhughes]

Quinn Hughes would love making out in his car after a big win.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ this man could literally ruin my life and i’d say thank you 😫

quinn practically sprints to the car after the game. eager to get home. one hand holding his phone and car keys and the other holding your hand, gently leading you along.

“have a good night mr. hughes. ma’am” a parking lot security guard greets you and you send him a friendly smile

quinn opens the passenger door, making sure you’re settled before he presses a kiss to your cheek and closes the door.

you begin to get a little restless when a few minutes pass and he still hasn’t gotten into the car. “what took you so long?” you ask when he finally gets behind the wheel.

“had to slip phil a few bucks to look the other way while I kiss my girl” quinn says with a grin, referring to the security guard as he slips a hand onto your hip and pulls you towards him

he carefully maneuvers you over the console and onto his lap, one hand cupping your jaw and the other pulling your body close to his with a firm grip on your waist

“you’re beautiful” he says casually, admiring you as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

your cheeks heat at the compliment, lowering your head to press your lips to his, his hands sneak beneath the ‘hughes’ jersey you were wearing, running up your spine

“it never gets old” he mumbles against your lips, casually gathering all your hair in one hand as he twists it around his fist and adjusts your head like he wants it

“what?” you question breathlessly, craning your neck back more as he trails his kisses down to your collarbone

“seeing you in my jersey. my last name on your back. fuck, it does things to me” he groans, pressing more kisses to your neck

you let out a breathy laugh, the sound quickly turning into a soft sigh as quinn's lips find that one spot on your neck that always makes you melt. his grip on your waist tightens, holding you against him like he's afraid you'll slip away.

"quinn," you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair as he hums against your skin, clearly in no rush to stop.

"yeah baby?" his voice is low, rough with want, but there's something tender in it too-like he's savoring this moment just as much as you are.

"you gonna take me home, or are we staying in the parking lot all night?" you tease, brushing your nose against his.

quinn grins, his hands slipping from beneath your jersey to settle firmly on your hips. "tempting," he admits, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips. "but if we don't leave now, phil's gonna start charging me every time l touch you."

you laugh, giving his chest a playful shove as you move back to your seat. "would serve you right."

quinn shakes his head with a smirk, reaching over to buckle your seatbelt for you before finally starting the car.

as he pulls out of the parking lot, his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together effortlessly. he lifts your joined hands to his lips issing a soft kiss to vour knuckles.

[ghostlyshellofapuppet]

Blowing Jason Todd in the Batmobile

It's been a while since I wrote. For @dollscircus , hope you have a better day and hope you like it. I'm not used to writing dominant anyone.

Contains praise, lots of praise for Jason and him coming down your throat.

---------------------------------------------------------🪡

A mission gone wrong led to Jason currently clutching the steering wheel of the Batmobile after he stole it from Bruce from a petty feud. Irritable and prone to snapping he drives reckless through the backstreets of Gotham, just trying to blow off steam from an accident that wasn't his fault nor yours. Everything has been building up on his shoulders for a while now, so when he hisses a snarky reply back it's no surprise.

"pull over", you demand and the glare he shoots towards you shows it's been too long since he's been fucked because when he's your good boy he wouldn't look at you with such challenge in his eyes.

"come on baby boy, don't act up so bad now. I know you're moody tonight but that doesn't mean you can act so poorly towards me", spoken caring but firm and he hesitates before his eyes soften slightly and he pulls over. A "good boy" said with a hand cupping his cheek and eventually he climbs into the backseat at your request.

"can I remove these pants, pretty boy?", you ask as you kneel in front of him with a hand on his thigh rubbing softly and he nods with the slightest blush as he avoids eye contact, turned from mean dog to shy puppy too quick for his comfort.

"nuh uh, look at me and say it verbally. You know good boys answer out loud", you correct with a hand under his chin guiding his head back to your gaze to meet. "...yeah....please, take them off", Jason whispers as he meets your eyes with a vulnerable and slightly pleading look.

"there's my good boy, always doing so well", said with a smile and a kiss before unzipping and pulling down his pants just enough to take his cock out. "Can I please you, baby?" you ask and he replied with a yes almost instantly as his hand falls to your non-dominant hand to hold.

Pulling out his semi-hard cock to hold and lick to get wet as his head falls back with a breathy moan and twitch of his hand. Slowly pumping the base and sucking on his pretty tip just to rile him up just to see his head tilt to the side with his eyes closed, he can be shy tonight you decide, your poor good boy has had a hard time lately.

"how do you want this tonight?", you ask with a lick to the prominent vein, looking up at him to see Jason's blush. ".....slow...but squeeze me harder please", he answers as he does his best to make eye contact with those desperate eyes. "Good boy...my good boy, all for me. Knew you were still being so good, just needed a little reminder how to act"

As you work his hand finds your hair and he tries so hard not to pull but he needs to find something to ground himself on as his thighs tense and his breath hitches. Kissing down his dick to his balls to give a slow lick and suck just to get the prettiest whine out of him as he grips your shoulder.

"yeah, feel good?" you coo and he nods with a moan, as his head tips down to look at you. His eyes going a little hazy as he pants and a little bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. "Feels good", Jason confirms as his hands relaxing before tightens again. Moving his hand down to grip yours as he says, "thank you... thank you, I'm..I'm sorry for snapping.... snapping at you on the mission."

"Don't think about the mission, think about me. Doesn't it feel better to think about how good it feels when I suck your tip, I know how sensitive it is", you say and he nods. "Yeah, yeah.. I love it whe-... when you... fuck...", Jason sighs as his head falls back once again. The backseat not leaving much room for him and you both but he doesn't want you far away anyway.

"come on pretty boy, I know you're getting close. Cum when you need to, cum down my throat. I know you love to do it, I want you to", you encourage when you suck on his tip again and in no time he's arching his back and holding your hand as he whines and tenses up.

When he slumps back down and pants you take the opportunity to lean up and kiss his forehead as you rub your thumb over his cheek. "Good boy, I knew you'd be so good for me.....now, do you want me to drive you home or do you want something to eat first"

"...I want tacos...", he says catching his breath. With a smile and another kiss you agree and help him zip up his pants and climb into the driver's seat as you hand him a water bottle. "Taco's it is", is all that's said before a comfortable silence is felt as you drive to take care of the wants of your pretty boy.

---------------------------------------------------------🪡

This is longer than i meant it to be but oh well, hope you enjoy.

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 9 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇brace for a STORMMM

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The ship rocked violently, throwing men off balance as waves crashed against the wooden hull with deafening force. The storm had come out of nowhere, a monstrous beast of wind and water, determined to swallow them whole. “PULL TO STARBOARD!” Acrisios bellowed, gripping the mast for dear life. His hair, usually perfectly styled, now plastered to his face in the rain.

“I AM PULLING TO STARBOARD!” Telemachus yelled back from the helm, his hands straining against the wheel as he fought to keep the ship from capsizing. “But it’s like Poseidon himself is playing a joke on us!”

Pisistratus, usually the calmest among them, was sprawled on the deck, soaked to the bone and clinging to a rope. “I’m starting to regret agreeing to this little adventure,” he muttered, coughing as saltwater splashed into his face.

Eurymachus, meanwhile, was running in circles, shrieking like a banshee. “WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE! THIS IS IT! I KNEW WE SHOULD’VE STAYED ON LAND! I DON’T EVEN LIKE WATER!”

“Oh, for the love of the gods, SHUT UP!” Cassander snapped, gripping an oar with one hand while clinging to the side of the ship with the other. He shot Eurymachus a glare. “You’re acting like a girl who just saw a spider!”

Eurymachus stopped mid-scream, his eyes wide. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH GIRLS? GIRLS ARE PERFECTLY VALID!”

Cassander groaned. “Not the point, Eurymachus! Just grab an oar or something!”

Another wave slammed into the side of the ship, and Acrisios slipped, nearly falling into the water before grabbing onto a dangling rope. “TELEMACHUS! If we survive this, remind me to punch you for dragging us into this mess!”

“You’ll have to get in line!” Pisistratus hollered, scrambling to secure a barrel that was rolling dangerously close to the edge.

“YOU CAN ALL PUNCH ME LATER, JUST HELP ME KEEP US ALIVE!” Telemachus barked, his face a mix of determination and panic.

Another shriek came from Eurymachus as the ship tilted dramatically to one side. “WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME? WHY CAN’T THE GODS PICK ON SOMEONE ELSE?”

“Maybe because you scream like a dying goat!” Cassander shot back, though he was clearly struggling to maintain his grip as the storm raged on.

A sudden lightning bolt lit up the sky, and Acrisios shouted, “EVERYONE HOLD ONTO SOMETHING! THIS NEXT WAVE IS A BIG ONE!”

Telemachus gritted his teeth, steering the ship with all his might. “If we survive this, I’m sacrificing something big to the gods!”

“What are you sacrificing? Eurymachus?” Cassander quipped.

“HEY!” Eurymachus protested, clutching a barrel as though it were his last lifeline.

The ship lurched upward on a massive wave, then came crashing down, throwing everyone off balance once again. Acrisios managed to pull himself up, rain pouring down his face as he looked at Telemachus. “Remind me, brother—why exactly are we doing this again?”

Telemachus glared at him. “Because Raphael took my wife and son!”

Acrisios nodded, panting. “Right, just checking. Feels worth it.”

“DOES IT?!” Eurymachus shouted, still clinging to his barrel.

“Less screaming, more rowing!” Pisistratus yelled, finally managing to secure the loose barrel before picking up an oar.

As the storm continued to batter the ship, the men fought valiantly, their bickering and panic providing a sliver of humor in an otherwise dire situation. And despite the chaos, they managed, barely to keep the ship afloat, their sheer determination (and a bit of luck wink wink) carrying them through the storm.

The storm howled outside, rattling the very bones of the ship as it creaked and groaned against the monstrous waves. Florus sat at the edge of the sleeping quarters, drenched and wide eyed, his bow clutched tightly as though it might somehow save him from the wrath of the sea. He could hear the chaos above deck, Telemachus shouting commands, Acrisios barking back, and Eurymachus’s high pitched screams echoing through the wooden walls.

Despite the noise, the panic, and the violent rocking of the ship, Antinous was stretched out on a makeshift cot, snoring softly, utterly unbothered by the apocalypse raging outside. Druses wasn’t much better. He was curled up in the corner, his long black hair perfectly draped over his shoulder like he was posing for a painting. His serene face looked almost angelic, and he didn’t so much as flinch when the ship tilted sharply to one side, nearly throwing Florus off his stool.

Florus stared at them, his mouth agape. “How in Hades��� name…?” he muttered to himself, gripping the wall for balance.

The ship rocked violently again, and from above, Eurymachus’s voice pierced the air. “WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE! THIS IS IT! I DON’T DESERVE THIS!”

Florus winced, expecting the screams to wake his comrades, but Antinous simply rolled over, muttering something incoherent in his sleep before continuing his snoring. Druses shifted slightly, mumbling, “Quiet down, Eurymachus…” in his sleep, before letting out a contented sigh and nestling deeper into his corner.

Florus blinked in disbelief, his face a mix of awe and frustration. Another loud crash came from above, followed by the unmistakable sound of Cassander yelling at Eurymachus to “man up.” The noise was deafening, and yet these two men slept through it as though they were lounging in a meadow on a calm spring day.

“How are you sleeping?!” Florus hissed at them, his voice barely audible over the storm. “The gods themselves are trying to kill us, and you’re… napping?!” Neither of them stirred.

Florus groaned, running a hand down his face. “I’m surrounded by lunatics.”

As if to punctuate his statement, the ship lurched violently again, and Florus clutched at the wall to keep from falling. From above, Eurymachus’s voice wailed, “WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING TO ME?!”

Druses sighed in his sleep and muttered, “Just let him fall overboard…”

Florus shook his head, staring at the two as though they were some kind of bizarre spectacle. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, finally giving up on understanding them and turning his attention back to the chaos above.

——

Cassander leaned casually against the ship’s mast, his arms crossed as the salty breeze ruffled his hair. He had a faraway look in his eyes, clearly lost in his own world. Beside him, Eurymachus was lying on a barrel, lazily tossing a small pebble into the air and catching it, a crooked grin plastered across his face.

“You know,” Cassander began, his voice taking on a wistful tone, “after this war, I’ll probably have to build a separate house just for my war prizes.” He sighed dramatically. “A long hall lined with couches, all filled with beautiful women, each one vying for my attention. Of course, I’ll have to treat them equally to avoid jealousy.”

Eurymachus snorted, flicking the pebble away. “Why stop at a hall? Go for a full villa. You could have each one in her own little room. That way, you could visit one each night without anyone knowing who’s your favorite.”

Cassander’s eyes lit up. “That’s genius. Imagine it, Eurymachus, long nights of wine, music, and—”

“Women feeding us grapes while fanning us with those big palm leaves,” Eurymachus added, grinning.

“Exactly!” Cassander said, slapping him on the back. “Maybe we’ll even get lucky and find a princess among the spoils.”

Telemachus, who had been seated nearby with his head in his hands, slowly looked up and fixed the two with a flat, tired gaze. “Are you two serious right now?”

Eurymachus shrugged. “What? It’s not like this war is all bad. There are perks, you know.”

“Perks?” Telemachus repeated, his voice dripping with disbelief. “We’re risking our lives to save my wife and son from a madman, and this is what you’re thinking about?”

Cassander held up his hands defensively. “We’re just… lightening the mood. You know, keeping spirits high.”

“By fantasizing about enslaving women?” Telemachus asked, his voice sharp.

Cassander opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly unsure how to respond. Eurymachus, however, leaned forward with a grin. “You’re just mad because you already have a wife. Don’t act like you didn’t think about this kind of thing before you got tied down.”

Telemachus stared at him, his expression deadpan. “Eurymachus, the only reason you’re here is because I blackmailed you into joining. You’re not exactly in a position to judge my moral compass.”

Eurymachus leaned back, looking mildly offended but choosing to remain quiet. Cassander cleared his throat awkwardly. “Okay, okay, we get it. No fantasizing about war prizes. Message received, Your Majesty.”

Telemachus pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. “I’m surrounded by idiots,” he muttered under his breath before standing up and walking away.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Eurymachus leaned toward Cassander. “So, about that villa…”

Cassander smirked. “Palm leaves, my friend. Palm leaves.”

Telemachus groaned from across the deck. “I can still hear you!”

——

The sun was setting over the choppy waves, casting a golden glow across the deck. Druses and Antinous were leaning against the rail, watching as Cassander and Eurymachus stumbled over themselves in yet another failed attempt to spar.

“I swear,” Druses said with a smirk, brushing a lock of his black hair behind his ear, “those two are like a comedy act that never ends. If they weren’t so incompetent, I might almost feel bad for them.”

Antinous chuckled, his arms crossed. “No, it’s perfect. The more they mess up, the more I get to remind them of how worthless they are. It’s practically my favorite pastime.”

Druses grinned. “You know, for someone who’s been chained up in a dungeon for years, you’re surprisingly fun to be around. You’re sharp.”

Antinous raised a brow, amused. “Surprisingly?”

“Hey, don’t take it the wrong way,” Druses said, waving a hand. “I just assumed you’d be all brooding and bitter. Turns out you’re just bitter with a sense of humor. Makes you tolerable.”

Antinous snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re not half as charming as you think, Druses.”

“Charming enough to keep you entertained,” Druses shot back, his violet eyes gleaming with mischief. The two continued trading barbs, united in their mutual love of poking fun at the rest of the crew. Druses was surprisingly good at keeping pace with Antinous’s wit, something not many could do. For a moment, it seemed like they might actually be getting along.

But then Druses, always pushing his luck, leaned casually against the rail and said, “Although I have to wonder, if your sister’s as stubborn and sharp-tongued as you are, maybe she’s better off with that Skiaphosian prince. A woman like that might drive a lesser man insane.”

The air shifted immediately. Antinous’s smile dropped, his entire demeanor darkening in an instant. His hands tightened on the rail until his knuckles turned white, and his sharp blue eyes fixed on Druses with a look that could freeze blood. “What did you just say?” Antinous’s voice was low, quiet, and deadly calm, the kind of calm that promised violence.

Druses, to his credit, didn’t back down, though he raised a brow. “I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying that my sister—my sister—is better off with that monster? That she’s somehow to blame for her situation?” Antinous stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over Druses. “Say that again, Druses. Go on. I dare you.”

Druses straightened, realizing he’d struck a nerve far deeper than he intended. “Calm down, Antinous. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Didn’t mean anything by it?” Antinous’s voice was rising now, his fury barely contained. “You insult y/n again, and I’ll make sure the last thing you see is Thanatos’s shadow dragging you to the Underworld. Do you understand me?”

Druses held up his hands defensively. “All right, all right! I was out of line. I didn’t mean to offend her. Or you.” Antinous glared at him for a long moment, his chest heaving with barely restrained rage. Then, with a final, scathing look, he turned away and stalked off, muttering curses under his breath.

Druses exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he watched Antinous disappear below deck. Eurymachus, who had been eavesdropping nearby, walked over and clapped a hand on Druses’s shoulder. “Just a word of advice,” Eurymachus said, grinning. “Don’t mess with Antinous’s temper. That man is a whole other breed when it comes to his sister.”

Druses scowled. “Yeah, I gathered that. Thanks.”

Eurymachus laughed, strolling off as Druses leaned back against the rail, shaking his head. “Note to self,” he muttered. “Y/n’s a touchy subject.”

——

Antinous paced along the deck like a caged lion, his sharp eyes darting to the horizon, scanning for any sign of land, or trouble. His jaw was tight, his hands flexing into fists and back out again as if he were barely holding himself together. The rest of the crew had long since learned to stay out of his way. “Hey, Antinous, maybe relax a little. You’re wearing a hole into the deck,” Eurymachus tried, his usual smirk in place.

Antinous whirled on him. “Why don’t you focus on something useful for once in your life, Eurymachus, instead of running your mouth like the fool you are?”

Eurymachus blinked, caught off guard. “Whoa. Someone’s in a mood.”

“Leave me alone.” Antinous stormed past him, shoving a barrel out of his way with enough force to send it rolling.

Florus, leaning against the mast with his bow across his lap, raised a brow at Druses. “What’s his problem now?”

Druses sighed dramatically, tossing his long black hair over his shoulder. “What isn’t his problem? He’s like a storm cloud personified.”

Antinous shot Druses a glare so sharp it could’ve cut steel. “Say that again, and I’ll throw you overboard myself.”

“See?” Druses gestured with a smirk, unbothered. “Exhibit A.” Telemachus, standing near the helm, watched the scene with a furrowed brow. He sighed heavily, then made his way down to where Antinous had perched himself on a crate, glowering at the sea.

“Antinous,” Telemachus started carefully, his voice calm but firm. “You’re not helping anyone by acting like this.”

Antinous looked up at him, his expression cold. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not being the perfect little soldier you need right now?”

Telemachus crossed his arms. “I understand you’re worried about y/n—”

“Do you?” Antinous stood abruptly, towering over him. “Do you really understand, Telemachus? Because this is your fault.”

Telemachus’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, Antinous.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Antinous snapped, his voice rising. “You’re the one who let this happen. You’re the one who was supposed to protect her, and now she’s…she’s out there, with him! And gods know what’s happening to her right now!”

Telemachus clenched his fists, keeping his temper in check. “I’m doing everything I can to bring her back.”

“Not fast enough,” Antinous growled. “You should’ve stopped this before it even started. You should’ve been there for her.”

Telemachus stared at him, his jaw tight. “And what would you have done, Antinous? You were in a dungeon. Don’t act like you could’ve prevented this.”

Antinous’s eyes flashed with fury, but there was something else there too, something raw and vulnerable. “Don’t you dare use that against me,” he hissed. “If I’d been free, this never would’ve happened. She wouldn’t be suffering because of you.”

Telemachus took a deep breath, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. “I know you’re angry. I know you’re scared. But taking it out on me or the crew won’t bring her back any faster.”

Antinous turned away, his shoulders tense. “Just…piss off.” For a moment, Telemachus hesitated, as if he wanted to say more. But he could see that Antinous wasn’t ready to hear it. With a quiet sigh, he turned and walked away, leaving Antinous alone with his anger and guilt.

Antinous sat back down, his head in his hands, the weight of his sister’s absence crushing down on him. The crew gave him a wide berth, their usual banter subdued. Even Eurymachus, for once, kept his comments to himself.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan

@holywizardprincess @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk

@h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[dissolvedprincess]

Talk me through it

✷ CW : 18+, smut, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, car sex, a bit of fluff if you squint, first date

꒷��꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶

Your heart was beating out of your chest. Rattling inside your ribcage, threatening to burst out; pleading to be surrendered to his hands.

“I had fun.” You smiled, mentally patting yourself on the back for even daring to say yes to this in the first place. Both of you have been tiptoeing around each other for months. Always in fear of ruining this. A bond that has been tested many times before and it always comes out tighter than ever, yet it never turns into anything beyond a friendship.

He lets his hand off the steering wheel, his car parked neatly on your driveway. He turns his head, eyes too shy to meet yours but eventually; he relented. It’s so funny how easy it always used to be to look at each other.

“Me too.” He reached over to squeeze your hand.

“Can i-“

“Can i-“

You both laughed at the same time, hand pulled away to cover the blush that appeared on your cheeks.

“Oh my god hah! i’m so sorry Josh, you go first. What were you gonna ask me?”, You tilt your head to the side; knowing the fact that it makes him flustered whenever you do that.

“No no no, it’s okay. I- I just wanted to know if- um- can i walk you to your door?”

“What! Of course you can, why are you so nervous about walking me to my door?”

He looked down while shaking his head, smiling. “You don’t know the effect you have on me.”

“Mmhm okay.”, you playfully roll your eyes.

“What were you gonna ask?”, his tone curious and…expectant?

A tingle went down your spine, there’s no more fear or doubt anymore; just excitement. You lean forward, not too close but close enough to tease him with the idea of something thrilling.

“Can i kiss you?”

You surprise yourself with how steady you sounded, expertly masking how all over the place you feel inside.

His eyes widen, mouth agape.

“Yeah..Yeah of course you can.”

The music playing in the background faded as you met in the middle, it all came down to this. The two of you were finally properly communicating with each other, teeth clashing and tongues meeting. A moan escaped you, further egging him on. You felt his hand tangling itself into your hair, your own moving to cup his jaw affectionately.

Then he reluctantly pulled away despite your protests. A string of saliva stretched and broke.

“Oh josh-“, you moaned. He was kissing and sucking on your neck. Leaving marks of ownership that you will look at tomorrow with pride. It felt so good, you rub your legs together to ease the tension. You feel so wet, desperate to have him inside you.

He trailed up to whisper into your ear, “Does it feel good? Do you like it?”, sneaking a little nibble.

You were lightheaded, you didn’t even remember if you answered properly or not. One thing led to another, then you were sitting on the backseat; panties off. Somehow it felt much dirtier to get fingered by your high school best friend/crush while being fully clothed. You even still had your sneakers on.

Josh had his arm around your neck, pillowing you; occasionally stroking the side of your face with his thumb. You found it hot to see him with his sleeves rolled half way, so he could finger you properly.

“You’re so beautiful. I could never get tired of you”, he said while he had three fingers inside your cunt. His thumb expertly stroked your clit, just as affectionate as the thumb on your cheek.

The moans you let out were embarrassing to say the least, but they don’t compare to how embarrassing your cunt sounded. Wet and sticky, drowning out the radio.

“I can’t believe how wet i’m making you feel. You’re making a mess in my car.”

“Ohh baby, i can’t ah shit- help it. Fuck right there fuckkk.” you whimper.

You feel dizzy and overwhelmed, his blue eyes pierced through you. He sometimes leans close to tease you. Promising a sweet kiss, only to keep you at a distance. You shamelessly stuck out your tongue, too horny to feel any ounce of shame.

“Fuck look at you. You’re so fucking sexy.”, he whispered breathlessly. His eyes trailed down your body, stopping at your warm middle.

He fully pulled his fingers out slowly, you let out a soft whimper.

“Patience baby. I just wanted you to look at how much you’re soaking my fingers.”, he showed you his fingers, soaked and webbed with cum. This was turning you on so much.

“My.good.fucking.girl.” he punctuated the words with deep and rough thrusts back inside your cunt.

“Ah baby! Fuck, i wanna cum so bad Josh. Your fingers feel so fucking good.”, you look at him with low lids and furrowed brows. “Please..make me cum.”

“Fuck. I wanna feel you around my dick so bad, you’re sucking me in so much.”

“Please!”, the image of you riding him flashed through your head, further pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm.

“Next time i’m gonna eat you out till your fucking legs shake. Then I’m gonna fuck you and cum inside this sweet pussy.”, his breath hot in your ear.

“You want that?”

You answered with a high pitched yes. Your hand wrapped around his wrist to ground you.

“Then cum for me.”, tone demanding, his fingers jack hammering inside you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears rolled down your face. You weren’t even sure how loud you screamed. His fingers stilled inside you, feeling your cunt tighten and spasm. Your body instantly felt spent. Little did you know, Josh had his eyes fixed on you the whole time, never wanting to miss anything.

Your eyes slowly opened, “Josh…” you cried. You never want him to stop looking at you this way.

“Yeah?”, he responded with a sweet and loving smile.

You took a few deep breaths to regain control of your body again. The heat running through your body felt different now. Instead of consuming you whole; in a heartbeat, it spread slowly. Warming up your chest.

You were close to crying, the emotions rising up to your throat.

“I love you so much”, you whispered.

“I love you too, you’re everything to me.”, he finished with a kiss to your forehead.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶

Thank you so much to @slapthosewilliessilly for requesting ��Josh talking you through it’. I had to expand it a little more to stretch out my writing muscles. Hope you like it! 🥹

Also ahh i’m so nervous about sharing my first kind of long-form fic…😖

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

A/N: Welcome to my descent into brain rot! What started as a simple “What if?” has spiraled into something much deeper. If you love dark romance, eldritch horror, and toxic men struggling with redemption, you’re in the right place. And if you’ve ever thought, “Wow, Haibara would be terrifying if he came back wrong,” get ready to see that idea come to life. This chapter is not soft; it’s filled with horror, angst, and moral ambiguity. Most importantly, it’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of ignoring your wife for months while the world turns against her. While this is a Gojo/Nanami redemption story, be prepared to suffer first. And yes, Megumi and Haibara are moving in—not because you asked, but because they insisted. If you were on the fence about loving Haibara before, congratulations—you now have brain rot. Enjoy the chaos!

Previous Chapter 13(alt ending 2.4) - Burn the Mother of Three (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 14 (alt ending 2.5) - He's Eldritch

The hands came again, grabbing at your arms, your legs, your coat—until suddenly, they stopped.

A deafening crack split the air, sharp and unnatural, like a whip snapping against the fabric of reality itself.

The ground trembled beneath you.

Then came the light.

It wasn’t blinding—it was cold and clinical, casting long, jagged shadows as a faint shimmer rippled outward from where you lay.

The hands recoiled as if burned, the mob stumbling back in confusion.

Blood sprayed into the air, deep cuts appearing on the skin of those closest to you. Cries of pain and fear erupted as they clutched their wounds, their bravado dissolving into confusion.

And then he appeared.

Nanami stood between you and the crowd, ratio blades shimmering aggressively around him like a celestial executioner’s halo. They hovered, impossibly precise, cutting the air around him with a quiet hum that promised suffering. His face was carved from stone, his expression colder than the grave.

He didn’t look human. He looked like death.

The mob froze. Their rage faltered under the weight of his presence.

Someone opened their mouth to speak, but their words withered and died when Gojo’s sharp, cerulean eyes locked onto them.

He stepped through the stunned onlookers like a storm personified, his hoodie sleeves rolled up, his knuckles already bloodied. The air around him crackled with raw power.

“Touch her again,” Gojo said, his voice a challenge. “I dare you.”

The crowd shifted uneasily, their earlier confidence unraveling into fear.

Nanami didn’t speak.

He raised a hand.

Gojo crouched beside you, his presence both terrifying and tender. With careful grace, he slid his arms beneath you, lifting you effortlessly as if you were a precious enigma he couldn’t bear to lose. You clung to his hoodie, seeking refuge in his warmth, your breath still shaky. The raccoon kit nestled in your coat let out a tiny squeak, burrowing deeper into the folds of fabric, but all you could focus on was the way Gojo’s intense gaze locked onto yours, six eyes checking your wounds, his jaw tight.

The air around Nanami crackled violently as he released his technique that was already dying to end the existence of the critines who'd dared to touch you. The ground beneath him began to tremble, a low rumble that quickly escalated into a violent quake.

As the earth shook, cracks spiderwebbed across the pavement, sending debris flying and causing people to stumble back in shock. The once-stable ground transformed into a breaking landscape, a physical manifestation of his rage—to protect you. Dust swirled around him, and the air was thick with the scent of fear and adrenaline.

Then, with a thunderous roar that echoed through the night, the ground split apart, creating a massive crater the size of a building where the mob had once stood. The earth convulsed violently, sending shockwaves rippling outward as dust and debris filled the air, obscuring. Screams pierced the darkness, a cacophony of terror as some were swallowed whole by the gaping chasm, while others scrambled for safety, desperately clinging to pipes and broken pavement like cockroaches scurrying from a light.

Nanami stood resolute above the scattered remnants of the mob. His technique had transformed the ground into a treacherous pit, a potent warning to anyone who dared to threaten what was his. The ratio blades hovered around him, shimmering with a deadly promise like silent sentinels ready to assail.

His gaze swept over the cowering figures with a wave of disgust. They were nothing but a pack of wolves, emboldened by their numbers, but now they were reduced to trembling shadows of rats. The fear in their eyes only fueled his resolve.

Every breath he took was heavy with the weight of his emotions—anger, protectiveness, and an unwavering determination to shield you from harm. He could feel your presence behind him in Gojo’s arms—the love he fought for—and it kept him from snapping amidst the turmoil. In that moment, he was not just a man; he was a guardian willing to hollow the earth to keep you safe.

“Will you go after them?” Gojo asked, his tone light but laced with menace. “Or should we make a hunt out of it?”

“Later,” Nanami said, his voice low and deadly. “Once she’s safe.”

You barely registered their words. The world around you felt distant and surreal. Your mind was a tangle of fear, humiliation, and disbelief. You weren’t crying. You weren’t even breathing properly.

“You’re safe now,” Gojo said softly, his voice grounding.

Nanami walked to you, his hand hovering uncertainly before settling on your shoulder. His touch was firm but gentle, an anchor in the storm. “No one will hurt you again,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

But his words didn’t penetrate the haze.

“I… told… you,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “They won’t… let me live…. They… won’t let… me…the babies… live, Ken.” You kept repeating it like a broken mantra, lost in the haze.

Your body trembled violently, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Breathe,” Gojo said, his tone calm but insistent. “Baby, you need to breathe.”

“I told... you,” you repeated, your voice rising into a choked, hysterical sob, but no tears came. “They’ll… kill us.”

Nanami rubbed your shoulders comfortingly. “You’re safe,” he murmured, his voice a steady hum against your panic. “We’re here. You’re safe.”

But you couldn’t hear him. The fear, the disgrace, the raw disgust—it all came crashing down, suffocating you.

You were shaking so hard it felt like your body might tear itself apart, your mind unraveling under the weight of what had just happened.

The raccoon kit nestled closer against your chest, its tiny warm purring the only thing tethering you to reality. You could feel its heart beating.

The remaining mob had scattered, their courage shattered by the sheer force of the destruction left in Nanami and Gojo’s wake. But their hateful words still echoed in your mind, corrosive and relentless.

The sound of Maserati M20 filled the air, and moments later, Megumi and Haibara rushed onto the area, flanked by armed guards in gear.

Megumi’s lightning eyes swept over the scene—the crater, the bloodied pavement, the faint scorch marks on the ground. His gaze landed on you, cradled in Gojo’s arms.

“What the hell were you thinking? Leaving without security? Do you have any idea—” Megumi snapped, striding toward you. His voice was curt, laced with anger, but his steps faltered as he took in your state—your coat torn and stained, face colorless, tear-streaked, hollow, and a canvas of bruises.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Your defenses crumbled. Without thinking, you got down from Gojo’s arms and reached for him, clinging to his sweater.

“They’ll… wanted kill m..e,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling. “The..y hate… me so… much... Maybe… they’re ri…ght. Maybe I’m unnatural... Maybe…I..  I shoul…dn’t exist.”

Megumi stiffened, his arms tightening around you. “No,” he said firmly.

“I thought… I was doing the…. right thing, b..ut I wasn’t… I froze… I just… wanted KitKats… the twins… are they alive…?” Your voice cracked, and then the dam broke. Tears streamed down your face, each one carrying the weight of fear, humiliation, and self-loathing.

A sudden kick from within your belly startled you.

They were alive.

But it was so strong against your ribs that your knees buckled, though Megumi didn’t let you fall, and neither did Gojo who you just realized was still holding you. The sensation was visceral; it felt wrong—unnatural.

You could almost hear the whispers of something lurking beneath the surface—dark energies that pulsed in time with the kicks. It was as if the very essence of what you carried was fighting to break free, clawing at your insides, demanding to be acknowledged.

You could sense the weight of everyone’s gaze, as if the walls themselves were watching, waiting for the moment when you would no longer be able to contain what was within.

“Are you okay?” Megumi’s voice broke through the haze, but it felt distant, muffled by the pounding in your chest.

You nodded, though uncertainty gnawed at you. The lives inside were a paradox—both a miracle and a horror, a symbol of the fragility of existence. 

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and electric, as if something was about to unravel.

Gojo’s grip tightened, grounding you, but the unease lingered. You were not just carrying twins; you were harboring something that felt alive in a way that transcended any ordinary pregnancy, something that could change everything.

And as another kick reverberated through you, a chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was growing inside was not just a part of you or their fathers—whichever one it was, though you guessed probably Gojo because of all the sweets you craved. No, this was something entirely else. It was a force of its own, pulsating with a dark energy.

It was hungry.

The sensation was unsettling, a primal instinct clawing at your insides as if it were reaching out, yearning for something beyond mere sustenance. Each kick felt like a warning, not just a blessing but a harbinger of something more sinister. You could almost hear its whispers, echoing in the recesses of your mind, promising power and chaos.

Sensing their cursed energy still strong, although rattled, Megumi spoke. “They’re okay,” his voice more softer now, almost a whisper. “You’re okay.”

Haibara stood nearby, his hands clenched into fists. He didn’t look up at Gojo and Nanami but spoke to them, his expression unreadable. “We’ll handle the fallout,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with steel. “No one’s touching her again.”

“I just… want…ed some… KitK..ats,” you mumbled, your voice cracking.

“And you got them?” Haibara said softly.

You looked at the crater where your bag of chocolates had probably disappeared too, forever lost.

Haibara’s voice was uncharacteristically serious when he spoke, “Next time, tell us. We’ll clear the store for you.”

“I’ll get more delivered at home. As many as you want.” Gojo breathed.

You nodded to them both, too exhausted to keep up pretenses when your ribs felt like they’d tear themselves apart from either the punishing baby kicks or the panic attack that didn’t seem to let you breathe anytime soon.

The raccoon kit stirred, poking its tiny head out from the folds of your coat. Haibara’s eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity mingling with concern. He reached out, brushing a finger over its soft fur. “Who’s this little guy?” he asked lightly, his voice a gentle balm against the rising tension.

Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. “I… I found… it. I couldn’t leave it.” The weight of your words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears. The innocent baby could have died with you moments ago.

Haibara’s gaze softened, understanding flickering in his eyes. “Of course you couldn’t.”

Another kick shot up inside you, and you slumped against Gojo’s chest, one hand clutching his arm while the other instinctively rubbed soothing circles over your stomach.

Nanami’s voice cut through the moment, clipped but urgent. “We need to get her to Shoko,” he insisted.

“That generic medic NPC?” Haibara replied, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words. He wasn’t trying to undermine the gravity of the situation; he just wanted to keep you grounded enough to prevent the shock from overwhelming you.

Nanami hesitated, his brow furrowing as he weighed his words. “She’s… specialized. A sorcerer doctor. She’s not a gynecologist, but she’s the closest we have right now who can handle something like this.”

Haibara smirked faintly, though the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course, you have a witch doctor on speed dial. Where is she?”

Nanami gestured toward Gojo, whose expression darkened as he stared at the redness blooming on your cheek. The sting of the slap had grown angrier, a harsh contrast to your normal complexion.

“I’ll teleport us there. Nanami, hold her,” Gojo said—an instruction wrapped in urgency.

Nanami shifted, pulling you against him. His arms, solid and unmoving, encased you like a shield. The sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed against your back—his rage was a living thing, barely leashed.

“Don’t pick me up.” Your voice barely rose above a whisper as you gripped his arm, your other hand pressing against the dull throb in your stomach. “Just hold me.”

He obeyed, pressing you closer, his warmth seeping into your bones. His thumb traced slow circles against your spine, grounding you.

“I’ll come, too,” Haibara announced, forcing lightness into the thick, oppressive air. “Megumi, you in? In case the doctor needs moral support?”

Megumi didn’t glance up. “Hmm.” His voice held no inflection, but his eyes, flat and cold, followed the guards as they disappeared into the dark. The lynch mob had minutes left of freedom. Maybe less.

Gojo nodded, crouching as he carved sigils into the bloodstained earth, his movements methodical. The air around him buzzed with restrained power.

Haibara leaned next to you, his hands careful as he wiped the sweat from your brow. “So.” His voice was too casual, the humor a flimsy barrier against something rawer. “Tell me about the raccoon.”

You blinked, thrown. “I… I found it. In that alley. It was alone. Scared. Its mom was dead. It had… plastic stuck to its neck, couldn’t breathe… I couldn’t leave it.”

Haibara studied you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly nodded. “Brave little guy. Must’ve been terrifying, not knowing if you’d give it rabies.”

You frowned at Haibara in annoyance, then looked down at the kit, its tiny form curled against your chest.

You felt a flicker of something other than fear.

Care.

“Don’t talk much, just breathe,” Gojo said softly, standing up and glancing back at you. “You’re safe now. We’ll take you to the doctor.”

Nanami’s hands gripped you tighter, his knuckles white. “She’s nice; you’ll like her.”

Well, beggers couldn't be choosers anyway, and your body hurt really bad.

The moment Gojo clapped his hands, you turned into Nanami’s chest, squeezing your eyes shut. You’d either throw up or pass out if you watched. Maybe both.

Then, disorientation.

The world twisted, and when you opened your eyes, you were inside a dimly lit infirmary.

A woman in a lab coat slept in the corner on a chair, slumped against a stretcher.

Next to her—a whole-ass dead body.

You jerked back into Nanami, your breath hitching. Haibara and Megumi clutched their stomachs, nearly buckling—not from the corpse, but from Gojo’s warped teleportation.

Gojo rubbed the back of his neck, offering a sheepish grin. “Nanamin, do your thing.”

Nanami glared. “What?”

“I got us here fast. Now you wake her up.”

“And why won’t you?” Nanami’s arms tightened around you.

Gojo scoffed. “Did you forget she tried to prescribe me cyanide two days ago?”

Nanami exhaled sharply, patience thinning. “Be brave for your wife.”

“Oh, now she’s MY wife?!” Gojo replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I killed people to keep her safe,” Nanami muttered, like this was a contest.

Gojo smirked. “Then why are you scared?”

Nanami didn’t want to wake her up. But for you, he would. Just as he was about to speak, Haibara—who’d recovered by now—loudly cleared his throat.

No reaction.

Megumi, also recovered, poked her with a newspaper.

She merely snorted and adjusted herself in her sleep.

Gojo sidled up beside her, mouthing amateurs at Haibara and Megumi, who looked ready to exterminate him. Then, without hesitation, he bent down and blew a loud raspberry into Shoko’s ear.

She woke up slowly, then turned even slower. Expression flat.

Gojo barely had time to put up Infinity before she lunged, scalpel in hand, aiming straight for his six eyes.

You cleared your throat, trying not to look at the body, before she had the chance to make you half a widow today. “Um. Excuse me?”

She froze and blinked like she was just realizing you were there. Then, rubbing her eyes, she took you in—messy, bruised, barely standing.

“The hell happened?” She asked, already moving toward you.

Nanami answered. “There was a physical altercation with a lynch mob. Could’ve been worse, Shoko.”

Shoko nodded, gesturing for you to follow her into the next room. Disinfecting, she put on gloves. “Take off your coat and sit on that stretcher.”

She had wanted to kick everyone out, but remembering the last time, she didn’t.

You obeyed, and Megumi stepped forward, taking the raccoon kit from your arms. Shoko finally noticed him and Haibara—then stopped cold. 

Haibara wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at your stomach.

Not like a healer. Not like a friend. Like he wasn’t even in the room anymore. Like he was miles away, hands clenched, jaw locked, contemplating something.

Shoko opened her mouth to say something to him—then caught Nanami’s warning look. A slow, deliberate slicing motion against his palm, unseen by Haibara.

She said nothing. For now, you were the priority.

She exhaled as she peeled back the layers of fabric, exposing the deep blue and purple bruises blotting your skin like ink spreading through water. Some were already darkening, blood pooling beneath the surface, tissue crushed by blunt force trauma. Others were fresh—raw red, still swelling, still screaming.

“How long ago?” she asked.

“Ten minutes,” the room echoed, all voices perfectly in sync. Almost rehearsed.

You ignored it.

Your gaze flickered over Shoko, guarded. You didn’t trust her, not fully, but she didn’t flinch at your husbands. That was worth something, and you didn’t have the luxury of choosing who helped you right now.

Shoko ran her fingers near your ribs—not touching, just observing the way your body tensed, the sharp catch in your breath. "I need to run some tests. Can I sedate you?"

You froze. The word made your pulse stutter. You looked between Nanami and Gojo, then Megumi and Haibara. Your throat felt tight.

Nanami moved to pat your shoulder, firm but reassuring. "It's fine. She won't hurt you. Or them." He added the last bit uncomfortably.

Megumi met your eyes, something breaking in his expression. His nod was almost imperceptible. Haibara, standing just behind him, had that same unreadable stare. They won’t let anything happen to you.

You exhaled shakily. “Okay.”

"You'll wake up in about thirty minutes if everything's fine." Shoko's voice was steady, clinical.

"I'm thirsty," you murmured. "Can I have water before?"

"Not before the test," she replied. "Messes with the results. I’ll give you something after."

Her expression didn’t change, but there was something close to amusement in her eyes. You didn’t know why. You didn’t have the energy to care.

She helped you lay down. The cold prick of the anesthetic needle slid into your vein, sharp for only a second before the numbness spread. The world tilted. You barely made it to count three before everything went black.

//

Then, the air snapped.

A pressure crushed the room, oppressive. The walls groaned. Instruments rattled.

Shoko sighed. “Not again.”

Too many massive Ratio blades hovered an inch from Nanami’s face and neck, vibrating in place, waiting to carve. Gojo’s Infinity wasn’t holding—it was folding, pressing in on itself so tightly that his breath came sharp and uneven, like his own technique was suffocating him.

“What?” Megumi barked, stepping forward instinctively as the raccoon kit let out tiny squeels.

Shoko barely glanced at Gojo. “Do you have chocolate? Something sweet?”

Gojo fumbled in his hoodie, smearing more blood from his knuckles over it, his fingers searching through the depths. He finally pulled out a random toffee and handed it to her without hesitation, still trying to not suffocate.

Shoko snatched the candy from his hand and frowned when she read the label. “Chocolate, you idiot.”

She began rummaging through his hoodie pockets herself and found one that was chocolate.

Then unwrapping it, pried your lips apart, and slid it to the side of your mouth, careful not to choke you. The sugar would dissolve on your tongue and hit your bloodstream in minutes.

“The hell is going on?” Megumi yelled again, more demanding.

Shoko popped her neck. “The fetuses. They’re very murderous.”

Haibara finally spoke. “Is she okay?”

Shoko stilled.

The voice that was supposed to be dead. The voice she had stopped expecting to hear years ago.

Then she inhaled. “Look at her wounds.”

The bruises, the abrasions—the places where your skin had been battered and broken—they were healing. Rapidly. Veins shifted beneath the surface, knitting themselves back together.

Gojo breathed, his blued face returning to its normal color as infinity stopped suffocating him. Nanami exhaled slowly, staring down at the blades dissolving near his skin. "They protected her before. Why not today?"

Shoko observed you, thinking aloud. “I think it’s her mind. As long as she’s conscious, they don’t have control. But when she’s passed the fuck out—” She gestured vaguely at the disaster unfolding around them.

Megumi’s fists clenched. His nails dug into his palms, but he barely felt it.

Haibara wasn’t looking at you anymore. His stare was fixed on Nanami and Gojo.

The silence was suffocating.

Shoko broke it first. “I should get a fetal monitor.”

No one stopped her.

“So that means they only hate you two!” Haibara laughed out of nowhere.

Realization dawned, and Megumi smirked.

Nanami sighed, and Gojo scowled.

Shoko prepped the monitor in silence, her movements careful. She worked quickly, careful not to expose too much of your bruised body under the harsh fluorescent light or not to accidentally flash your body. The four men in the room, dangerous and desperate in their own ways, hovered too close. Overbearing. Watchful.

The moment the heartbeat filled the silence—fast, strong, unnatural.

No one spoke.

It was steady. No, they were steady. The rhythm was almost too perfect, like something engineered, something other.

Shoko adjusted the probe, eyes scanning the screen, her lips pressing into a thin line as she made her observations. “They’re doing well. It seems we don’t need to have that abortion we talked about.”

Silence.

Then, realization hit her for what she’d just said out loud.

Shoko’s mouth parted slightly, breath-catching as the weight of her words sank in. She turned too late.

Haibara moved first. He tackled Nanami in a throat lock so fast and vicious it sent them both crashing into the cabinets. Instruments clattered to the ground, glass shattering.

Megumi wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand—his own, or Gojo’s, it didn’t matter—before lunging again. Gojo barely dodged the hit, then Megumi’s fist grazed his jaw. Luckily, he’d placed the raccoon kit on a table nearby before.

“How dare you?” Megumi snarled, circling Gojo.

“This is your last day,” Haibara growled, his eyes alight with something close to murder as Nanami wrenched free and drove a fist into his ribs, loosening his grip.

“We don’t want to hurt you.” Nanami slammed Haibara down, pinning him to the ground with his full weight. “Listen to me.”

Megumi didn’t stop. “Did she know? Did she agree?”

Gojo wiped his chin, spitting blood to the side. “She didn’t know,” he admitted. “We didn’t get a chance because you both kept dragging her away—”

“You didn’t get a chance?” Haibara barked out a laugh, something unhinged. His voice dipped—darker, lethal. “Or you didn’t want her to know?” He shifted his weight, trying to break free. “Because if she knew, she would’ve despised you two more than she already does.”

Gojo’s expression flickered. He knew it was true.

Megumi wasn’t done. “And you wonder why they hate you.”

Shoko had enough.

“Stop fucking fighting,” she snapped.

No one listened.

Until the air shifted.

Five Ratio blades hovered right beside her head, sharp, waiting. They weren’t hers. They weren’t Nanami’s.

Shoko exhaled. “I will personally let the murder spawn handle this if you four don’t get your shit together.”

All four men turned at once, barely suppressing a shudder.

The blades didn’t move. They waited.

Megumi let go first.

Nanami, still straddling Haibara, exhaled sharply before shoving off.

Gojo rolled his shoulders back, wiping his split lip, but he didn’t say a word.

Then Shoko sighed. “They’re fine now. Whatever it was, it fixed itself.” She hesitated. “Only the tentacles remain.”

That got a reaction.

Gojo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Shit.”

Nanami didn’t curse, but the way his fingers pressed into his temples spoke volumes. He was barely holding it together.

Megumi ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowing. “What?” His voice was tight, but he wasn’t looking at Gojo or Nanami—he was looking at the monitor, at them.

Haibara just stared.

Shoko crossed her arms. “Yeah, they’re supernatural anomalies. Nothing in medical science accounts for this kind of regeneration, let alone the... extras.” She exhaled through her nose. “We’ll monitor it. If things stay stable, it should be fine. But she needs to stay completely stress-free in the meantime.”

No one responded.

She rolled her eyes. “That means no media, no public spaces, no unnecessary outside contact. Not after what happened today.”

They nodded in agreement, grim-faced.

“And,” she continued, more pointedly this time, “there is zero reason to tell her about the... other discussion.”

Gojo and Nanami both stiffened, then Gojo responded. “We weren’t going to.”

Haibara scoffed. “Of course you weren’t.”

Shoko ignored them. “I’ll still track down that midwife, just in case.”

Silence stretched for a moment.

Then—behind her—you stirred.

Your breath hitched as consciousness settled back into your bones. Your body should have been aching, bruised, screaming in pain. But when you blinked blearily, everything felt… fine. You looked down.

No bruises. No pain.

You swallowed, voice hoarse. “Is it done?”

Shoko studied you for a beat before tapping your forehead lightly. “Yeah. But we need to talk.”

Before you could respond, the steady thump-thump of the fetal monitor filled the room. Your head turned instinctively toward the screen, heartbeats pounding in sync—too fast, too strong.

You stared, captivated.

Megumi’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen, then slid it away. He exchanged a look with Haibara.

Your gaze flickered between them. “You both can go. I feel a lot better.” You gestured vaguely to yourself, still half-dazed. Maybe this was Shoko’s technique, you thought to yourself.

“No.” Megumi’s voice came, flat.

You frowned. “I’m fine. Go. You can check on me tomorrow.”

Haibara smirked. “I’ll stay.”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, you won’t.”

Haibara sighed, exasperated, but before he could argue, Megumi stepped in. “I’ll take the raccoon kit. Get it vaccinated. You need to rest tonight.”

You blinked. That… was actually helpful.

Then, without another word, he grabbed Haibara by the collar and dragged him out.

Shoko barely waited for the door to shut before she turned to the remaining men. “Out.”

Nanami sighed but didn’t argue. Gojo muttered something under his breath but followed him out.

Finally, Shoko turned back to you.

“You’re under a lot of stress.” Shoko handed you a glass of water and helped you sit up.

You gulped it down, sighing as the cool liquid soothed your dry throat.

“I’d have never come back if I were you,” she said bluntly, watching you. “But I get it. You didn’t have a say, did you.”

You sighed again, heavier this time.

“They’ve always been too stubborn,” Shoko continued, stretching her neck like the mere thought of Gojo and Nanami exhausted her. “Gojo? Expected. Man’s got a single brain cell, and it just says bonk first, ask questions later. But Nanami?” She shook her head. “Extreamly weird.”

You blinked. “You work together, I presume?”

“Yeah. We were even students here at Jujutsu High together.”

Realization dawned on you. “Ah.”

You opened your mouth to introduce yourself properly, but Shoko waved you off. “I already know. I was the one who ran your tests before. Also beat their asses a little on your behalf.”

Your lips twitched. “Are you stronger than them?”

“Nah.” She smirked. “I just don’t tolerate their bullshit.”

You didn’t quite understand what she meant, but you smiled anyway.

Shoko tilted her head at you. “But back to the main question—why the hell aren’t you on maternity leave yet?”

“Too much shit has happened,” you admitted. “If I leave now, I might lose my position.”

She hummed in thought. “And those two?” She gestured vaguely. “Your friends. I presume they can’t handle it?”

“Megumi could if I guided him, but he has his own company to look after, and besides, this isn’t his industry. But Haibara?” You exhaled sharply. “He’s never worked for corporate. And he’s also... a menace.”

Shoko snorted. “Then cut back your days. Let Megumi and your fellow C-suites handle things for a few months. The stress is not good for the babies.”

You nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can delegate and what I can fix fast so I can take time off.”

“Glad you understand.” She stretched her arms over her head. “Oh, and before I forget—what happened to Haibara?”

You froze, confused.

Shoko caught it immediately. “He used to go here. He was in Nanami’s class—mine and Gojo’s junior. Nanami only tolerated him out of all of us. Then he left Jujutsu sorcery for a long while when Haibara died.”

Your stomach twisted. “...What?”

Shoko frowned. “He was dead. At least, that’s what we were told.”

Your mouth was dry again, despite the water. “He just... showed up one day. Injured. No memory.” You exhaled, shaking your head. “And as far as we know, he doesn’t care to remember.”

Shoko went quiet, unreadable. Then, finally—

“Alright.” She continued to stretch her arms behind her back, rolling her shoulders. “If he doesn’t want to know, I won’t bring it up. Thanks for the heads up.”

Relief sagged in your posture.

Shoko grabbed her prescription from the table. “I’ll bring a spare hoodie. Your coat’s trashed.”

You smiled genuinely. “Thanks.”

She waved it off. “Don’t get soft on me now.” Then she left.

//

Shoko barely waited for the door to shut before she spun on her heel and gestured sharply for Gojo and Nanami to follow her.

They obeyed, trailing after her.

The moment they were out of earshot, she turned and spoke so fast they almost missed it.

“Listen. I’m doing you both a final favor. Again. I just told her to take maternity leave early because this stress is destroying her.”

Gojo opened his mouth to question—

She raised a single finger.

He shut up.

“How do you idiots not realize it? Those two—her friends—are in love with her. And if you don’t fix this, Haibara will replace you.”

Nanami flinched. Gojo actually stopped breathing for a second.

“No shame,” Shoko added, stone-faced. “He’ll do it happily. He's not the Haibara who roamed around us like a dumb little sunflower. He fits the profile of a sociopath now.”

The color drained from Nanami’s face.

Gojo exhaled slowly. “She wouldn’t—”

Shoko cut him off with a deadpan stare. “She can. She will. And if you don’t get your shit together, she might not even let you see the kids legally.”

Gojo paled. “She can’t do that.”

“System favors the mother, and she wouldn’t even need to try. With her financial resources, getting custody would be a breeze for her. You can’t win this, particularly not after the whole terrorist fiasco,” Shoko pointed out.

Both men looked at each other, the same thought hitting them at the same time.

Shoko grinned. “Oh, now you’re worried?”

Gojo turned to Nanami. “We should—”

“No,” Nanami muttered.

Gojo frowned. “What do you mean, no? We should do something.”

Nanami exhaled sharply. “I mean, no, we should not let her know that we’re panicking.”

Shoko crossed her arms. “Great strategy. Just keep gaslighting yourselves.”

Gojo grabbed Nanami’s shoulders. “I will not be replaced by an MI6 dropout with amnesia.”

Nanami stared at him. “That is your takeaway from this?”

Shoko handed them the new prescription. “I’ll send you the divorce papers template soon. Just in case.” Then she walked off, leaving them to bicker.

//

Shoko returned with a sweatshirt and handed it to you.

You pulled it on, feeling the warmth settle over your skin, then hopped off the infirmary table with her help.

She steadied you, then opened the door and yelled down the hall. “Come pick her up, you lazy bastards.”

Nanami and Gojo appeared within seconds, moving in sync.

Shoko helped you outside, slipping a small note into your hoodie pocket as she did.

“For when they inevitably piss you off again,” she murmured.

Before you could reply, Gojo grabbed your wrist.

The next thing you knew, you were home with your husbands.

You sighed, making your way to your room. You quickly shed your clothes and stepped into the shower.

The water was scalding, but you didn’t turn it down. The steam curled around you as you braced your hands against the tiled wall, your breath coming out in slow, controlled exhales.

Three months. Three months of silence. Three months since you had walked out of this house and never looked back. And now you were here—not because you forgave them, not because you wanted to be, but because they had saved you today from a problem they caused.

Your fingers brushed over your stomach, feeling the reassuring presence of your babies. They were still here. Still breathing. Unlike the people who had tried to kill you. The thought didn’t bring relief or satisfaction; it just sat there, heavy and made you feel nothing.

You shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around yourself. When you emerged, the room was quiet, except for a small box sitting on the nightstand. You recognized the packaging instantly—KitKats. You stared at it for a moment before picking it up.

There was a note tucked underneath, written in Gojo’s familiar, messy scrawl: "Took a while to track down. (The store owner was mean, but I am stronger.)"

You scoffed, tossing the note aside. There was no outright apology, but you knew what it meant. You weren’t stupid.

You left the chocolates unopened, put on some soft clothes, and walked out. The smell of food hit you before you even reached the kitchen. Nanami was there, wearing a clean sweater with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked up the moment he heard your footsteps. “Come sit,” he said, his voice calm and hopeful.

You hesitated, not because you weren’t hungry, but because this was what they should have been doing all along. Now, when it was too late and the damage had already been done, they were finally doing everything right.

Your stomach growled, loud enough for him to hear. Great.

Nanami took that as agreement and set a bowl down in front of you—warm, familiar, and easy to eat.

You sat, ate, and didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Then, Gojo showed up, freshly showered and wearing a clean Digimon hoodie—the one you’d gifted him a long time ago. He began drying your hair, and you let him do it because the sound of the dryer against your damp strands helped distract you from your thoughts.

Once he was finished, he took his time brushing your hair, being more careful than you’d ever seen him. Normally, he would unintentionally tug at it, but this time, his movements were gentle and deliberate.

When you finished eating, you stood without a word and left, the guest bedroom door clicking shut behind you.

You took some pregnancy-safe sleeping medication and got under the covers. It wasn’t what you would have done, but it was necessary to escape the nightmares. And before you knew it, you had fallen asleep.

You found yourself alone in a narrow street that stretched on forever under a sickly, jaundiced light. The pavement was slick with something dark and viscous—blood, you realized with dawning horror—as if the ground itself had absorbed the remnants of violence. Every step you took echoed in your ears like a countdown, and behind you, a ragged chorus of angry voices grew louder, closer.

A man’s distorted call broke through the clamor, his voice dripping with vitriol. You turned, but the faces were shrouded in shadow—only the glint of hatred in their eyes was visible.

Their words slurred, vicious accusations that twisted in your mind: you were tainted, a harbinger of chaos, unworthy of the lives you tried so desperately to protect. They hurled insults that felt like physical blows, each syllable striking your already raw flesh.

Before you could move, a rough hand clamped down on your scarf, wrenching it away. The sudden chill of exposed skin and air sent a jolt of terror through you. In that frozen moment, you saw flashes—snatches of faces contorted in fury, phones raised to capture every moment, and a tide of jeers rising like a dark wave. The sound of cracking glass and the shattering of a phone mingled with the screams, forming a discordant symphony of cruelty.

You tried to retreat, your legs uncoordinated under the weight of panic. But the crowd surged forward with the relentless force of a tide. Their shouting transformed into a cacophony of blame and disgust. One voice, feral and unhinged, ordered you to “burn,��� while another mocked you for daring to exist. The swarm’s words merged with the sound of fists colliding with flesh. You felt a searing slap across your cheek, a blow that left your vision swimming with hot, red pain.

In the midst of this terror, you clutched your belly, desperate to shield the two tiny hearts pounding in time with your own erratic rhythm. The sensation was both a comfort and a cruel reminder of what was at stake.

Somewhere in the melee, you heard the sickening crunch of bones and the squelching sound of flesh tearing, as if your body was betraying you in slow motion. You tried to scream, but the sound was lost beneath the roar of the mob.

Shadows twisted at the edges of your vision, morphing into monstrous shapes that seemed to leer at your vulnerability. A jagged piece of broken glass skittered across the pavement, slicing through a stray lock of hair and landing like a shard of reality in your dream. You tried to run, but your limbs felt leaden, paralyzed by an unseen force. Every time you lifted a foot, the ground seemed to pull you back, a magnetic grip of despair.

A chilling whisper echoed in your ear, a voice not entirely human, promising pain and isolation. The surrounding figures, their faces a blur of rage and malice, closed in on you. One rough hand grabbed your arm, its grip burning as if ignited by acid, while another ripped at your coat, exposing your bare skin to the elements—and to their relentless abuse. You felt the sting of every lash as if it were etched into your memory, each blow an indelible mark of their collective hatred.

In the climax of this horrific vision, your world collapsed into a maelstrom of sound and fury: a blend of anguished cries, the heavy thud of falling bodies, and the unsettling, almost ritualistic chant of those who had lost their humanity. As you teetered on the brink of collapse, the final image seared itself into your mind—a monstrous silhouette looming over you, its eyes hollow and seemed to assault you, as if to remind you that in this nightmare, mercy was a forgotten word.

And then, as abruptly as it began, the nightmare receded into a void of darkness, leaving you gasping for breath, heart pounding in your ears. The terror lingered—a visceral reminder of the night.

You woke up to warmth—not the comforting kind, but the kind that meant someone was too close. Your eyes cracked open to find Gojo and Nanami on the bed sleeping near you, not touching you, but there—too close. You exhaled through your nose, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you.

Slowly, carefully, you slipped out of bed, dragging the blanket with you as you padded to the long couch. The second you lay down, exhaustion took over again, and the nightmare came fast—the hate, the shouting, the hands.

You woke up sometime later again, with a deep gasp and realized you weren’t alone. Gojo’s arm was around your stomach, and Nanami’s hand rested against your back, holding you. They had moved to you again. Your body sagged before your mind caught up. For a brief moment, you leaned in, feeling the familiar warmth.

But then you remembered. You stiffened and shoved them off. They woke up startled as you turned your back to them, pulling the blanket over yourself. Silence filled the room, and then Gojo’s voice, still rough with sleep, broke the quiet. “...Yeah. Okay. That’s fair.”

You said nothing. Nanami exhaled quietly, the weight of their presence still heavy in the air. But neither of them tried to touch you again. You closed your eyes, and it took a long time to fall back asleep.

---

On the other side of the city, a dilapidated warehouse loomed over the docks.

Inside, the last of the lynch mob huddled together—along with a handful of online trolls who had thought they were untouchable and a few stubborn business investors who had already been scheduled for execution.

The rusted steel doors creaked open.

Haibara walked in first, flanked by Megumi and their men. “This reminds me of that time,” he mused, stepping over a broken pallet.

Megumi rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck with a slow crack. “The time we wiped out her family?”

Haibara smirked, “Of course, that was the best hunt. How they begged. I still dream of their cries and smile to myself in sleep.”

“It was hard tracking you down back then,” Megumi said, eyes scanning the room. “But I wasn’t about to break our little promise.”

Haibara laughed. “I love how you’re a sentimental murderer.”

Megumi ignored him.

“Although,” Haibara went on, “how’d you get the list? She never used to tell anyone.”

“Dad figured it out long ago.” Megumi’s voice was casual, almost bored. “It was delivered to me when I turned twenty. He had contingencies in case something happened to him. After that, I started my company. And the first thing I did—or more accurately, we did—was eliminate them all.”

Haibara whistled. “Ahh. Ol’ Fushiguro had some sense after all.” He grinned. “Good. Good. I had a lot of fun making that promise with your fourteen-year-old self.”

Megumi tensed.

Haibara mused, unbothered. “You had seen her crying over some bruises to your mom, ran to me, and asked if I’d help you kill them. Not to be mean, but I’m glad Toji was already dead. Otherwise, you would’ve gone to him instead, and that would’ve been boring.” He shrugged off his coat. “You were scary back then, though. Real serial killer child vibes.”

Megumi cracked his knuckles. “Shut up and tell me how we’re doing this.”

“Same as last time.”

Their men nodded and slammed the warehouse doors shut behind them as they walked out, leaving Megumi and Haibara alone with the people. The lock clicked, final. No one was getting out.

Someone whimpered.

"Please... save us,” a man begged, voice raw.

Megumi tilted his head. His smile wasn’t kind. “They want us to save them.” He looked at Haibara. “Should we?”

“PlEAsE sAVe Us!” Haibara mimicked the man’s voice, distorting it with an airy, unnatural lilt. He let out a sharp, delighted laugh, his teeth bared.

A shiver passed through the warehouse.

Megumi sighed, pulling on his gloves. “Keep the exits sealed.”

The emerging shadows obeyed.

The room darkened.

Ink spilled across the concrete floor, creeping up the walls, stretching like living veins. Mahoraga flickered behind Megumi, its eight eyes unblinking. In the distance, something wet and heavy moved. Agito's maw opened with a hollow snap.

Megumi lifted a hand. “Give them a head start.”

Haibara smiled. “How generous.”

Then he twitched.

And the world changed.

It wasn’t an explosion; it wasn’t a shift in gravity. It was subtle—something just slightly… off. A nauseating wrongness slithered under the skin. The air became thick, syrupy, too still. The walls breathed. The shadows didn’t stretch like normal—they lagged, following movement like broken reflections.

Someone gagged, clutching their stomach.

Another let out a choked scream.

Haibara exhaled sharply. His voice echoed even though he hadn't moved closer.

“Run.”

The mob scattered.

A woman sprinted, high heels clacking against the concrete—

She took three steps before her knees folded backward with a sickening crunch. She hit the ground, twitching like a broken marionette.

A man reached for the exit, but the moment his hands touched the door, his fingers spread. Not his palm—his fingers. They stretched too long, bones splitting at unnatural angles, flesh webbing together like something not meant for this world.

He screamed.

Another tried to run—

His skin turned translucent. The veins underneath shifted, moving in a way veins shouldn’t. They didn’t pulse; they writhed. Words formed in the blood beneath his skin. A message not meant to be read by human eyes.

He looked down at his arms and understood.

He tore at his own flesh, screaming.

Haibara’s technique wasn’t like Megumi’s. It wasn’t like Sukuna’s raw brutality.

It was eldritch.

It didn’t just kill. It changed.

The kind of curse that burrowed into the body and made itself home. That twisted people into shapes they weren’t meant to take. That let them see things they were never meant to understand, forced to experience things they weren’t meant to see.

A man fell to his knees, clawing at his throat. His own voice was escaping his mouth, curling into the air like black smoke. The words whispered back to him in reverse, echoing secrets even he hadn’t known he was keeping.

One woman was still standing. She wasn’t screaming. She wasn’t running.

She was staring.

At something.

Her pupils had dilated so wide her irises were gone. Her mouth hung open, jaw slack. Silent. Unblinking.

Whatever she was seeing—

She wasn’t coming back.

Haibara stepped toward her, tilting his head and smirked. “Interesting.”

Megumi’s shadows shifted, impatient. Mahoraga’s tail flicked, and Agito’s massive jaw unhinged.

Megumi glanced at Haibara. “Done playing?”

Haibara grinned, eyes bright. “Yeah.”

The screaming didn’t stop.

Some of them were still alive.

Not for long.

Megumi didn’t waste time. He moved like a specter—silent, meticulous. Shadows coiled around his arms, slithering toward the last few stragglers. They twisted through rib cages, laced around throats, and tightened.

A man gasped, his breath cut off mid-sound. Another gurgled, twitching as something inside him folded wrong.

Haibara, meanwhile, laughed. He wasn’t even touching them.

The ones in front of him convulsed on the ground, writhing. Their bodies contorted like broken marionettes, pulled by strings no one else could see. Their mouths opened, but no screams came out—only wet, rattling exhales, their vocal cords stolen.

The man who had tried to run—one of the investors, judging by his expensive watch—was now on his knees, his shinbone jutting through his skin.

Mahoraga’s massive form loomed behind him, its eight eyes burning with cold patience.

Megumi didn’t react, only flicked his wrist. The shadows obeyed.

A blur of silver and shadow shot forward, its skeletal jaws snapping down—tearing through flesh, through ribs, through the core of a man who didn’t even get to finish gasping.

Agito’s claws burst from the floorboards, wrapping around another man's throat, dragging him under like a fish hooked beneath the surface. The gurgling stopped before he fully vanished.

Mahoraga moved and the ceiling buckled under its presence, the air warping like space itself was rejecting the creature’s existence.

Someone launched a rusty metal rod.

The rod never made it.

Mahoraga’s wheel spun.

The rod froze mid-air, vibrating violently before reversing its trajectory. It buried itself into the shooter’s own forehead, and he dropped, his blood spattering backward.

Megumi sighed, rolling his shoulders. Toji’s raw physicality in a body with his own technique—fully mastered and awakened—made everything so easy.

“Want me to finish them off, or should I let them keep running?” He cracked his knuckles.

Haibara hummed, twirling a knife between his fingers. “Let’s give them hope. It’s funnier that way.”

So they let them run.

For a little while.

Megumi moved first.

One blink, he was in the center of the warehouse. The next, he was in front of a man who had almost reached a window.

If he’d made it out, there were snipers outside. Megumi was always prepared.

The man stopped—no, he was stopped.

Megumi’s fingers were inside his stomach, gripping his liver like it was a plaything.

The man’s eyes were wide and his mouth opening and closing in silent, animal panic.

Megumi yanked his hand back, and blood splattered across the concrete.

The liver landed with a wet thud.

Megumi didn’t even watch him fall. He turned, piercing eyes already locked onto the next one.

Agito, meanwhile, moved with too many teeth, mouth stretching far beyond what anything in nature should allow.

A woman tripped.

But she never hit the ground.

One second, she was there. The next, Agito’s jaw clamped shut, and there was nothing left.

No bones. No blood. Just absence.

Megumi barely paid attention. He flicked his eyes, watching Mahoraga advance.

It stepped through the wreckage, shadows twisting at its feet. Towards a man, sobbing, scrambling backward against the wall. “No—no, please, I’ll give you whatever you want, I can pay, I—”

Mahoraga raised its massive clawed hand—and crushed him.

Bone and blood splattered around.

The rest tried to run faster, but Haibara’s technique didn’t let them.

One by one, they collapsed, their bodies warping, twisting, and breaking in ways the human form wasn’t meant to withstand.

A woman clawed at her own face, nails digging into flesh like she was trying to rip something out.

Her mouth moved. No sound came.

Her lips shaped a word.

Please.

Haibara leaned down, watching her with bright, fascinated eyes. “You’re still thinking?” He clicked his tongue. “That must be exhausting.”

He tapped her forehead.

She stopped.

Not dead. Not unconscious.

Just gone.

Her eyes were still open, still wide, still locked on something none of them could see. Her chest rose and fell mechanically, as if she was only breathing out of habit.

Then the last breath left the warehouse.

The air was still, thick with the scent of iron and rot.

All around them, bodies lay in unnatural shapes—bent backwards, sprawled, hollowed out. Some had collapsed mid-movement, faces frozen in unreadable expressions.

Others were missing things. Voices. Thoughts. Pieces of their minds scooped clean out.

No one was left to beg. No one was left to run.

Megumi exhaled, flicking his hands clean of the mess. His gloves were ruined. He pulled them off, tossing them onto a corpse.

Agito’s eyes gleamed through the darkness.

Mahoraga’s wheel slowed, the eight eyes blinking once before fading.

Haibara knocked on the door. Twice.

Megumi stepped over a mangled hand, heading for the exit.

The warehouse door creaked open.

Outside, the night air was cool. The moon was high. All unbothered.

As Megumi stepped into the dockyard, one of his employees—a specialist in discreetly gathering people—approached him, holding something small and dark in her hands. It wriggled, extending its tiny paws toward him. The raccoon kit, its fur now softer after a recent visit to the vet and groomer, sniffed curiously at his hands.

He gently scratched the creature between its ears, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Then he took it over and put it in his pocket and started walking.

Haibara fell into step beside him.

Neither of them spoke as they got in the backseat of the car.

The streetlights buzzed overhead as they made their way to the only place that mattered.

Home.

Which would be a few floors below in your building from today.

---

“How the hell have you not been able to decrypt a single phone yet, Choso?” Sukuna growled, frustration evident in his voice.

“It’s not a skill issue, you dumbass; it’s encrypted!” Choso shot back, then abruptly cut himself off. “Bingo!”

Sukuna leaped off the couch and strode over to him, curiosity piqued.

Choso opened the gallery on the phone, revealing a series of images.

“Hey, isn’t that the guy from that terrorist attack? Nanami Kento, I think? It’s all over social media from many days,” Yuji muttered as he strolled by, chewing on sour candy.

“And you’re telling me this now?!” Sukuna barked, his irritation boiling over.

“How the hell was I supposed to know you were looking for their wife? We thought you made her up!” Yuji retorted unfazed by Sukuna’s anger.

Choso stepped in to intervene before Sukuna could strangle Yuji, but Yuji simply walked over to the fridge for some soda. “You really should check social media from time to time,” he added nonchalantly.

“Where does she live?” Sukuna asked Choso, giving up on the unwinnable battle against Yuji.

A/N: So, how does it feel to know that Haibara isn’t dead, but he also has the moral alignment of an eldritch horror? Did you have fun? Do you feel unsafe? Good. And how much did we miss Sukuna? Also, I wrote another fic of this version of Haibara since y’all seem to love him so much, except this time, he’s a soft (but still terrifying) yandere with Nanago: 🤓 The Symphony of Spite 🤓 [Tumblr/Ao3] Ryomen Sukuna x GN!Therapist Reader x Nanami Kento Crybaby!Gojo Satoru x ..... (he's after one of your manz) And for no one but my shower thoughts: 🦴 Ooga Booga Battle Royale 🐯 [Tumblr/Ao3] F!Reader x Pre-Historic Neanderthal JJK daddies (Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, Zenin Toji & Ryomen Sukuna) Like. Comment. Give me your first borns or just send me asks about your mental state. I’ll be waiting.

Next chapter will be out on idk :P

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz @thebumbqueen @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni

Taglist Open.

[brittle-doughie]

Do you accept gifts? That's great, here

Introducing; Rice wine cookie!!

Bear with my under developed, dogwater, artistic skills I'm trying-

I think she'll be the perfect candidate for Y/n cookie's girl best friend and every cookies' arch nemesis as the third wheel.

Her design isn't complete yet, but I feel like she'd have the chill, carefree and casanova personality while still being extremely protective of Y/n, ain't no beasts nor any psychos going to lay their hands on them under her watch, not even the ancients are spared.

The rest I leave it up to you bro

Rice Wine is a rather carefree and relaxed cookie that likes to spend her time with Y/N whenever she comes about them in the kingdom, if not a little flirty here and there but it’s all in good fun.

Is considered by others to be Y/N’s girl best friend, the best in between the three words is to be of note for the rest of the Cookies who may view Rice Wine as a third wheel to their own time with Y/N.

The basket she carries contains fruits and alike that she picked out to be the best, occasionally handing Y/N one if they’re ever feeling parched.

Her being laid back and chill doesn’t mean she won’t spring to Y/N Cookie’s defense whenever any of those “regular psychos” comes to them. From regular Cookies to even Beast Cookies, nothing makes her waver of being extremely protective of Y/N, not even the Ancients are safe from her being in guard, she’s watchful of White Lily and Eternal Sugar in particular.

[bennyboyfics]

Unexpected || Ben Shelton x fem!reader

Summary: you finding out you’re pregnant just as Ben has started his professional career in Tennis and being scared to tell him.

Wc: 1,301

Warnings: mention of pregnancy

A/n: if you have any requests feel free to send them thru!

MASTERLIST

-

Your hands trembled as you sat in the stands, your fingers curled tightly around the fabric of your dress. The match was nearly over, Ben battling it out in the final set, sweat dripping from his forehead as he let out a sharp grunt with each shot. The crowd roared when he hit an ace, his signature power serve sending the ball flying past his opponent. You should have been cheering, should have been celebrating every point he won.

But all you could feel was the crushing weight of the secret sitting in your chest. Pregnant. You were pregnant. The two pink lines had stared back at you this morning, and you’d felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. You and Ben were still so young. He was only just getting started on the ATP tour, making a name for himself, proving to the world that he belonged at the top.

A baby was never part of the plan—not yet, not now. Your stomach churned as you imagined telling him. Would he be upset? Would he panic? Would he see this as something that could ruin his career? The thought alone made you sick. Ben let out a victorious yell as he won the match, his fist pumping in the air as the crowd erupted. He ran to the net for a handshake before glancing up into the stands, his eyes immediately finding you.

His face lit up, that boyish grin of his breaking through the exhaustion as he pointed at you, like he always did after a win. But you couldn’t even force a smile. By the time you made it down to the player’s lounge, your legs felt unsteady. Ben was mid-interview, his damp curls sticking to his forehead, his voice animated as he spoke about the match. His energy was infectious, and usually, you loved seeing him like this—so happy, so in his element.

Tonight, though, you felt like you were on the verge of crumbling. The second he spotted you, he grinned and excused himself from the interview, striding over and wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you into him. His skin was hot from the match, his body still buzzing with adrenaline. “Did you see that tiebreak?” he asked, still slightly breathless. “I thought I was gonna lose my damn mind out there.” You nodded weakly. “Yeah, I saw.”

Ben frowned, pulling back just enough to study your face. “What’s wrong?” His voice softened, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. “You look… off. You feel okay?” Your throat closed up. You wanted to tell him. You needed to. But the words felt stuck. Ben tilted his head. “Baby?” “I—I need to talk to you,” you finally managed to say. “Can we go somewhere private?” That had him looking at you more seriously.

“Of course. Let me grab my bag, and we’ll head back to the hotel.” The car ride was silent. Ben kept glancing at you, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel, but he didn’t push. He could tell something was weighing on you, but he was patient, waiting for you to be ready. By the time you got back to the hotel room, your nerves were shot. You stood by the window, staring out at the city lights, your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

You felt Ben’s presence before he even touched you, his warmth radiating as he stepped behind you, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “Alright, baby,” he murmured. “Talk to me.” Your heart pounded as you turned around. His eyes—warm, brown, so full of love—searched yours, his brows furrowed in concern. You took a shaky breath. “I—I’m pregnant.” The words felt foreign coming out of your mouth, like they belonged to someone else.

Ben just stared at you. The silence stretched so long it made your stomach twist, and panic bubbled up inside you. You rushed to fill the space, your words tumbling out in a nervous ramble. “I know this wasn’t supposed to happen right now. I know you have your whole career ahead of you, and we’re still so young, and I—” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to feel trapped or like this was going to mess up everything you’ve worked for.”

Ben blinked, like he was trying to process everything, and your chest tightened at his lack of reaction. Then, suddenly, he exhaled a sharp breath and ran a hand through his curls. “Holy shit.” Your stomach dropped. “Ben—” “Holy shit,” he said again, before shaking his head as if trying to clear it. Then, without warning, he laughed—a short, incredulous sound—and looked at you with something unreadable in his expression.

“You’re pregnant,” he repeated, like he needed to say it out loud to believe it. Tears burned in your eyes as you nodded. Ben’s face softened, and before you could react, he reached out and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it almost knocked the air out of you. “Baby,” he murmured against your hair. “Why the hell were you so scared to tell me?” Tears slipped down your cheeks. “Because… I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.

Ben pulled back, cupping your face in his hands. “I mean, yeah, it’s a shock. And it’s scary as hell. But we’re in this together.” His thumb brushed away your tears. “I love you. That’s not changing just because this happened sooner than we expected.” Your lip trembled. “You’re not… mad?”Ben huffed a soft laugh. “Nah, baby. I mean, damn, I didn’t think I’d be a dad this soon, but…” He pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you. And if we’re having a baby, then that just means I’ve got even more to fight for.” A sob escaped you, but this time, it wasn’t out of fear. It was relief. Ben kissed you deeply, his lips lingering against yours. “We’ll figure this out. Together.” And for the first time all day, you actually believed it.

[sequinsmile-x]

Alone Together

“My name is Emily Prentiss. I…live with Jack.”  

The nurse furrows her brows, “Are you his mother?” 

She clenches her jaw, cursing herself for correcting the other woman in the first place, for letting her worry fluster her to the point where she didn’t even think about letting the half-lie slip by her. She can see where this is going already, and it makes her tense, her shoulders so tight she thinks she might snap in half.

AKA - the one where Jack is in the hospital, but Emily isn't allowed to see him.

-x-

Hi besties,

Hope you are all okay <3

We are finally out of the longest January on record and at the end of another week! Here is some family hurt/comfort with our two idiots and Jack for you <3 I know a lot of you love Jack/Emily content so this is for you - you know who you are <3

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Words: 3,6k

Warnings: none!

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily doesn’t remember a single moment of the drive from the office to the hospital. She’d been on autopilot the entire time, her hands so tight around the steering wheel her knuckles were stark white, her skin so taut over bone she was surprised it didn’t split open as she desperately tried to think back to first thing that morning, to go over her interactions with Jack again and again to see if there was anything she could have missed. 

It had been a busy morning, like most mornings were in their house, and Jack had seemed fine. He’d been a little slower than he usually was in the morning, more tired, but when she and Aaron had both asked if he was okay he’d nodded. She wished she’d pushed, that she’d asked again, but her phone had rung, and so had Aaron’s and the day started in a hurry as work pulled them in different directions. She’d left the FBI shortly after she and Aaron got together, had grabbed the opportunity that Clyde offered her of going back to Interpol with both hands, any doubt she had about it gone as soon as he told her she didn’t need to leave DC for the offer to stand. She hadn’t regretted it for a moment, had always known it was the right thing for her and her relationships with the people she loved, but right now she wished she still worked with her fiance so she knew where the hell he was. 

The school had called her because they couldn’t get hold of Aaron. It was only after she was in her car and had got hold of Dave after leaving Aaron two voicemails, that she remembered he said he was going to a prison to conduct some interviews. He wouldn’t have his phone for hours, which meant she was all Jack had for now. Dave had promised her that he’d do his best to get hold of Aaron, even if it meant going to the prison and dragging him out of the interview room himself, and it had helped calm her down a little. 

She just about remembers to lock her car behind her as she marches into the hospital, still every part of the Interpol agent that she had been when she left the office, her gun and badge still on her hip, but with an undeniable air of a concerned parent too. She walks up to the nurse's desk and clears her throat, barely waiting for the nurse to look at her before she starts speaking. 

“I got a call about Jack Hotchner,” she says, sounding less anxious than she feels, “The school nurse called to say that he has suspected appendicitis. He was fine this morning, I don’t-”

“Mrs Hotchner,” the nurse replies, her smile annoyingly kind as she cuts over her, “These things can come on very quickly in children. Your son is currently being looked over by the doctor.”

“I’m not…” she clears her throat, stopping herself before she says too much that might get her nowhere fast, “My name is Emily Prentiss. I…live with Jack.”  

The nurse furrows her brows, “Are you his mother?” 

She clenches her jaw, cursing herself for correcting the other woman in the first place, for letting her worry fluster her to the point where she didn’t even think about letting the half-lie slip by her. She can see where this is going already, and it makes her tense, her shoulders so tight she thinks she might snap in half.

“I’m engaged to his father,” she says, digging out her wallet from her purse, slamming her driving license on the counter with more force than necessary, “Look, we have the same address.”

“Be that as it may, Miss Prentiss-”

“Agent Prentiss,” she corrects, again with more force than she means to, her desire to see Jack, to see the little boy she knows she couldn’t love more if he was hers, overriding her need to be polite. She sighs and looks at the nurse's name badge, “Look, Sophie, I poured his cereal this morning. It’s me he wants when he’s sick. Can you please just let me through?” 

Sophie smiles politely, clearly sorry that her hands are tied, “I’m sorry Agent Prentiss, but we can only let a parent or a legal guardian see him.”

She thinks of the paperwork they’d filled out, the paperwork to make her his legal guardian that was currently with the courts, and she curses herself for not doing it sooner. They’d waited until the purchase of the house had been finalised, until both her and Aaron’s names were on the deeds, to organise it. Their lawyers had told them it was better if their lives were more obviously intertwined, that family court would look on the addition to her in Jack’s life in a legal aspect more favourably if they were living together permanently. 

“His dad is at work,” she says, “I’ve tried to get hold of him.” 

“And his mother?” 

“His mother is dead,” Emily replies, half shouting it, and she sighs at herself, pinching the bridge of her nose when she realises she’s drawn the attention of more people around her. “Sorry,” she chokes out, blowing out a slow breath, “Is there really no way? He’s back there by himself.” 

Sophie shakes her head, “Not until his father gets here. But a nurse is with him, he isn’t alone I promise.” 

Emily considers pulling her badge from her belt, the weight of it almost pulling her down, and waving it around until someone lets her through. She considers doing what her family had always done - throwing money around, offering to buy the hospital a new wing until she was told she could see her little boy, but she knows it won’t help her. That it won’t help Jack. So she nods and heads towards the waiting area, swallowing back the emotions she won’t set free here, letting them sink into the lowest parts of her chest as she settles into an uncomfortable plastic chair. She twists her engagement ring around her finger and sucks in a breath. It’s bitter when she blows it back out, makes her feel nauseous as she thinks of Jack in a room just out of her reach with only strangers for company. 

“Damn it,” she says, wiping away a single stray tear from her cheek, determined it will be the only one she lets slip free before she goes home. She pulls her phone from her purse and groans when she has no missed calls from Aaron, “Where the hell are you?” 

___

Sophie takes pity on her about 30 minutes after she arrives and comes to tell her that Jack needs surgery. She still can’t let her see him, something is even harder to swallow now she knows the little boy needs an operation, but Sophie says she’ll tell Jack that Emily loves him and that she’ll see him later. 

Emily watches the clock, each minute a lifetime until she gets a call from Aaron. She has to be the calm one, has to tell him everything is okay, that Jack needs his appendix taken out but that he will be fine. He says he’ll meet her at the hospital and she makes him promise that he’ll drive safely, wryly jokes that she can’t deal with both of her Hotchner boys in hospital at the same time if he gets himself into an accident. 

At least, she thinks sadly to herself, if Aaron was in hospital she’d be able to see him. 

Almost two hours after she arrived, two hours of sitting in a hard, uncomfortable chair, the ache in her back nothing in comparison to the ache in her chest, Aaron finally arrives. She hears him before she sees him, his voice calling out for her the second he spots her. 

“Emily?” 

She stands up, her purse slipping from her lap to the ground, but she doesn’t pay it any attention. Instead, she lets Aaron pull her into a fierce hug, and she hugs him back just as tightly, her hand running soothing circles on his back. 

“He’s in surgery,” she says, cupping the back of his head as she pulls back, hoping that her smile is comforting, “He should be done soon.” 

He nods, and he looks older than he usually does. Anguish and fear pressed into the lines on his face, making them and the bags under his eyes deeper, “Why are you out here? Is something wrong-”

“No, honey,” she says, cupping his cheek, making him look at her as his eyes dart around the room, “They…” she clears her throat, tries to make sure her voice is even and doesn’t give way to her sadness and stress. He was the one she had to focus on for now, him and Jack. She could fall apart later when they were both okay, “I’m not his mom. Or his legal guardian yet,” she says, pressing her lips together to stop them from shaking, “They wouldn’t let me see him.” 

His eyebrows furrow, the line between them so deep she can’t stop herself from pressing her thumb into it, trying to soothe the anger she can see building there, “What?” He says, his voice low and stern as he looks around as if trying to find someone, anyone, to tell them exactly what he thought of that, “They wouldn’t let you see him? He was alone-”

“Aaron, baby, look at me,” she says, grasping his chin, “It’s okay,” she says, even though they both know it isn’t, even though she knows he can see how much it’s upset her too, “Jack is the most important thing right now, okay?” 

He nods sharply, his breath stuttering across her face as he presses his forehead against hers, desperately trying to seek out her strength and comfort. It’s enough to let her know just how stressed he is. Their displays of affection, their need for each other, were usually kept just for the safety of their home. The walls that surrounded them were the sanctuary neither one of them had had in years, or, in her case, ever. They sought each other out constantly, always pressed up against each other in one way or another whilst they were at home, as if they were storing up the love they had for each other for when they were apart. It felt like theirs, so it was rare for them to seek it from each other in public, to let other people - especially strangers - in on what felt so precious. 

She cups the back of his head to keep him close, gives him what he needs with her forehead pressed against his. She’d let him take all her strength if he needed it, would let it leech from her skin into his, because she knew when it was her turn, when she needed his strength, he’d give it to her in return. It was a give and take that they’d had since they simply friends, a cornerstone of their relationship that she knew made them as strong, that she knew allowed them to weather whatever storm life threw at them. 

“Come on,” she says, stamping her lips against his and smiling softly as she pulls back just enough to grab her purse from the floor before she sinks into his side again, her hand tight around his, “Now you’re here, they’ll tell us more.” 

They are shown through to the pediatric ward so quickly it feels absurd. Jack is already back from surgery and in a room, and the doctor tells them that he’ll be awake soon. It’s a relief, a weight off of both of their shoulders, when they see him. He looks smaller than usual, drowning in the starched sheets in a bed made for an adult, but other than that he looks like he’s sleeping. Aaron sits in the chair closest to the bed, and Emily sits next to him, their hands still linked together as they look at the little boy.  

“We’re going to have to fill the freezer with ice cream,” Emily says, resting her cheek against Aaron’s shoulder, “We both know he’ll ask.” 

Aaron chuckles dryly and turns his head to kiss her temple, “We both know you’ll give him anything he asks for.”

She gasps in fake outrage and pulls back to look at him, “Like you’re any better at saying no.” 

He hums and leans forward to kiss her, “We’ve got to get better at it before we have any more kids,” he quips, “Otherwise they’ll run rings around us.” 

The thought of it makes her smile, just like it always did. A baby that was half her and half him, physical proof of their love for each other out in the world for everyone else to see. The happiness doesn’t linger like usual, it fades as she looks at a sleeping Jack, as she rests her hand on his leg, because she wonders if, even when she is legally his guardian, the wider world would view him any less her son than any other children they may have. 

Jack groans, pulling her out of her thoughts, and she and Aaron both turn to look at him. 

“Jack, buddy,” Aaron says, standing up so he can sit on the edge of his bed. Emily stands up too, her hands on Aaron’s shoulders as she smiles down at the little boy, “How do you feel?” 

“My tummy hurts.” 

“You had to have an operation,” Emily says, breaking away from Aaron to sit on the edge of the other side of Jack’s bed, her hand reaching out for his, smiling when he holds her hand as tightly as he can, “Your tummy will feel sore for a few days but then you’ll feel better.”

He nods, “The nurse told me that you were here but you didn’t come to see me.” 

It’s like a knife to the heart, his innocence, the lack of understanding shining in his eyes, each a fresh wound that makes her want to take back her decision to sit peacefully in the waiting room. 

“I know, sweet boy,” she says, leaning in to kiss his forehead, “I’m sorry. I would have been here if I could. But she told me that she’d let you know that I love you.” 

He leans into her hand as she strokes his cheek, “I always know you love me,” he says, and he looks between her and Aaron, “Can we go home now?” 

“You have to stay here tonight,” Aaron says, running his fingers through Jack’s hair, “But if you’re feeling better tomorrow, the doctor said you might be able to go home. I’ll stay here with you tonight so you’re not by yourself.” 

Jack looks at Emily, “Are you staying too?” 

She shakes her head, and feels Aaron’s gaze burning into her cheek, “I can’t, honey. Only one of us has to stay and it has to be Daddy.” 

It was something else the doctor told them, that one parent or guardian could stay overnight, and it had been another kick in the gut. 

Jack furrows his brows, “But then you’ll be alone at home.” 

She sucks in a breath, covering it with a smile as she looks up at Aaron for a moment before she looks back at Jack, “I’ll be okay,” she says, not sure which one of them needs to hear it the most, “And I’ll come back tomorrow with some clothes for you and Daddy.” 

“And you’ll bring Rupert?”

“And of course, I’ll bring Rupert.” She smiles as she thinks of his favourite toy, a stuffed rabbit that Aaron told her had once been bigger than Jack, and she nods, Aaron reaches over Jack for her, seeking out the hand that wasn’t in Jack’s, and she takes it, squeezing his palm against hers in an attempt to comfort them both. “I’ll be okay.” 

This time, when she says it, she thinks she might be trying to convince herself. 

___

She gets takeout on the way home. 

She eats it in the kitchen, the house unbearably quiet around her, and as soon as she puts food down for Sergio, she heads upstairs. She showers quickly, the rush of the water a welcome distraction from the emptiness of her home, and then changes into a pair of Aaron’s sweatpants and one of his swearers - cuffing the pant legs so she can walk without tripping over - settling for trying to seek comfort in the clothes of the man she loves since she can’t be in his arms. 

Before she gets into bed, she goes into Jack’s room. She picks up Rupert from his bed, buries her face in his worn fur and breathes in. She takes him with her to the master bedroom, and she sneaks under the covers, the vastness of their bed bigger than ever without Aaron next to her. She was used to sleeping without him when he was on cases, but having to do it when he was just across town felt different - especially because Jack wasn’t here to sneak into bed with her. She sighs as she pulls the covers around her, smiling sadly when Sergio jumps onto the bed with a muted thump, his meow loud in the otherwise quiet room, she reaches out to scratch between his ears.

“It’s just the two of us tonight, Serg,” she says, sighing sadly, “Just like it used to be,” he meows again, “I know, buddy. I don’t like it anymore either.” 

She jumps when her phone rings, and she sits up, scrambling for her phone, panic she’d pushed down earlier making a quick return the second she sees Aaron’s name on the screen. She answers quickly, her hold on Rupert against her chest tight. 

“Aaron? Is everything okay? Did something-”

“Em, he’s okay,” he assures her, his voice low and quiet as he cuts her off before she can spiral any further, “He’s asleep. I thought I’d call to check on you.”

She chokes on a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and she shakes her head at herself as the tears she’d been suppressing all afternoon spill down her cheeks, “I’m okay.” 

“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’m not okay. Today was a lot. It’s okay if you’re not okay too.” 

She hums, almost mad at him for how well he knew her, and she wipes her cheek before she rests it against the top of Rupert’s head, her tears dampening his fur, “I just…I forget sometimes.” 

“You forget what, baby?” 

“That I’m not his mom,” she says, unable to stop the sob that tears from her throat, the sound turning into a wet laugh as Sergio nudges at her hand, his head tilted to the side as if he’s trying to work out what’s wrong, “God, I’m sorry,” she says, sniffing, “Your son’s in the hospital and I’m the one crying.” 

“He’s our son, Emily,” he says, his voice firm and loving, “He’s yours just as much as he is mine and Haleys,” he laughs wryly, “I think we both know if given a choice, he would have wanted you to stay with him.” 

“That’s not true,” she replies automatically, “You’re the centre of his world and you know it.” 

“And you’re the sun,” he says, and she scoffs, shaking her head even though he can’t see her, “It’s true. We Hotchner men are unable to stop being drawn to you.” 

She chuckles and wipes her cheek, “If Reid were listening in, he’d remind you that the planets orbit the sun because its mass is bigger, and therefore it creates a gravitational pull,” she scrunches her nose up, “If I didn’t know better, or if you were my mother, I’d think this was a very creative way of telling me I’ve put on weight.” 

“Never, Em. You know that.” He laughs at her joke, the sound music to her ears, a far cry from the strain in his voice earlier when he’d shown up at the hospital, “Sometimes I forget I’m marrying a nerd.” 

“You love it, and you know it.” 

“I love you,” he says, and he sighs, “We’ll get the paperwork fast-tracked, Em. I know a guy who can help. This won’t happen again.” 

She hums, “Well, his appendix can’t get inflamed for a second time anyway.” 

“You know what I mean, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah,” she says, swallowing thickly as she wipes a tear from her cheek, “I know. I love you too, by the way,” she looks over at his empty side of the bed, “Our bed is cold without you.” 

“We’ll be home tomorrow night, Jack seems to be doing well.” 

“And until then, I have Sergio and Rupert for company.” She says, and she can practically hear his smile down the phone and it’s a comfort she hadn’t known she’d needed. She sinks into the bed, pulling the covers around herself again, and she sighs contentedly. 

“Want me to stay on the line until you fall asleep?” He asks, and she almost tells him no, almost shakes off the offer and tells him she’ll be fine, but she wants this. Wants him. And until she can have him and Jack back with her, she’ll make do with what little bits of him she can have. 

“Yeah,” she says, tucking Rupert against her chest, “I’d like that.” 

She falls asleep as he tells her about his day at work, about the interview she never got to ask him about, and she knows that whilst tonight she might be alone, she certainly wasn’t lonely. 

[ceslatoil]

Ghost Filbrick AU

So a few weeks ago I was in the group chat and I pitched an idea for a fic (not writing it anytime soon, I have enough projects on my plate for now!) and it’s about the Pines family visiting Ma Pines before she moves to an assisted care facility. Main idea is that Dipper and Mabel meet Filbrick’s ghost who is trying to hinder the move, and the family trying to get him to move on. Lots of family drama ensues.

I wrote like, a scrap of a script draft for it if y’all wanna read it below:

(Scene: The grown ups, including CARYN, STAN, FORD and COOPER, MABEL & DIPPER’s dad, are all up playing cards. CARYN pulls out the Tarot Deck)

Caryn: I call this one “Last Man Standing!” You put down a card and the other player has to put down either the same suit or card number. If someone plays a major arcana card like wheel of fortune or the star, they can switch up the minor arcana suit. If you play death or the tower, the other players draw four. Whoever has zero cards wins!

Dad Pines: Grandma I think you just reverse engineered Uno

Stan: Dad wouldn’t buy us more than one card deck, so we made due with Ma’s tarot.

Ford: I thought it was to keep you from cheating the deck

Caryn: Both things could be true! Now hush.

Stan: … Coop is everything all right with Dipper? It’s not my business but… he seemed pretty cagey with ya earlier.

Caryn: Cagey? The kid stormed out of the room in the middle of dinner! Granted it was *my* cooking, so I can’t really hold a grudge on that front. (*plays a card*) That’s The Fool, so we’re reversing direction.

Ford: … It just doesn’t seem like him.

Coop: … that’s been the norm lately, I’m afraid. I don’t think he’s handling the divorce well, with me moving out and I just haven’t been around as much since then.

Ford: Mabel told us in one of her letters you were in family therapy together?

Coop: We’ve had a few sessions, yes. She loved it, got along great with our counselor. I think she asked a few times about becoming a therapist someday! But Dipper doesn’t really participate much during the sessions. He just sulks in the corner, like he doesn’t want to be there at all.

Stan: He’ll get over it. He’s stubborn, but not the type to hold a grudge.

Ford: I can’t imagine any of this is easy for any of you.

Coop: Weirdly enough, me and Annie— uh, Annie and *I*— have gotten on better than ever. Divorce was the best thing to happen to our relationship, it’s like we’re finally friends again?

Stan: Divorce ain’t so bad, I’ve done it at least six times now!

Caryn: I thought about divorcing your father, but he died before I got around to it. Suit change.

Ford: when did Dad pass?

Stan: … ‘97.

Ford: … I see. (*silence*)

Caryn: … Let’s not talk about funerals right now. God knows I’ve been to enough of ‘em. I’m just glad one of ‘em didn’t count. (*pinches Stan’s cheek.*)

Stan: … me too, Ma.

Ford: … Last Man Standing

Stan: Like hell you are, you shit, draw four!

Ford: … that’s not the tower, that’s a Stan Buck!

Caryn: Don’t tell me you’re still making Stan Bucks! You know damn well that’s not how money works!

(This next part is self indulgent and idk if I’ll include it in the fic proper)

Caryn: Now Stanford… let me ask you a question. Why the hell have you been hiding your left hand in your pocket all night?

Ford:…. I don’t know what you mean— HEY!

(Caryn pulls his hand out of his pocket, examines his second ring finger)

Caryn: Stanford Filbrick why does it look like you have a wedding band on your finger?

Ford: …. (*sighs*) because I have a wedding band on my finger.

Caryn: AHA! Here we are moping about death and divorce and you sit on good news like that! Who is she? Who’s your wife? Where’d you meet her, what’s her family like, what does she do?

Ford:… I don’t have a wife. I have a husband.

Stan: The guy used to live in the dump and now he’s a millionaire inventor running for president.

Caryn: You married McGucket?! Me and the girls canvassed for him this year! Wait till I tell that Janine, that’ll get her to pipe down about her Chiropractor Son-In-Law for once!

Coop: I really like his policies on infrastructure, very forward thinking!

Stan: Eh, I’m voting third party. Nothing personal, I just don’t want a brother in law who’s commander in chief. It would make thanksgiving a nightmare.

Ford: You’re a felon, you can’t vote at all.

Stan: That hasn’t stopped me in thirty years!

Ford: So Ma, you’re… fine with—

Caryn: Sweetie, until this morning I thought two of my sons were dead and one cut all ties. I figured I deserved it. Sitting back while your Father gave you all grief for nothin. I told myself if I ever saw you again I’d take you as is, and I meant it.

[madthetruemad]

stubborn heart ch. 12

yan!capitano x wife!reader

summary | or in which capitano is told he needs a wife. and he begrudgingly agrees.

Capitano held you close as he entered your shared home, his arms were tight around you as many of the maids and servants bowed. None of them daring to look up or even ask what happened to the others as the bloodstains on Capitano’s coat.

“Lord-“

With a single look, the servant had zipped his mouth shut. His form bowing impossibly lower as he didn’t dare to lift his gaze again. With that settled, Capitano went up the marbled steps.

“Do you wish for a bath?”

“Later,” you said quietly, “mmm just cold.”

“Then you should take one now.”

He didn’t have to look at you to know that you were close to pouting, but you didn’t argue as he finally brought you to your shared room. Then he walked to the joined bathroom and easily kicked the door open before walking you over to the sink and settling you upon it.

“Are you able to undress yourself?”

You nodded as he turned towards the bath to turn it on and get it ready for you. Taking that as a cue to get undressed, you got off the sink and shrugged your coat off first, and with careful practice you managed to unlace your dress and drop each article of clothing to the floor one by one before you were completely nude. Truthfully, you could still feel the embarrassment course through you, however, he has seen you naked before…

When he had turned to look at you, you saw how his head immediately snapped to the side.

“Husband?”

“You… need to give a man some warning next time.”

Wait- was he expecting you to undress when he left the bathroom?!

You wanted to hide your face, but before you could you felt his hands gently cradle your face. So you swallowed the embarrassment now as the bath behind him started to get hotter.

“Why did you… come save me?”

“Because you are my wife.”

“But I caused you trouble.”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.”

He was firm as he got out of the way for you and dropped his hands from your face so one of his hands could grab your arm and help you into the tub. You tried not to splash any water, but some still got on the edges of his coat when you sunk into the tub.

You had more questions for him, but you doubted he would tell you. So instead, before he could leave, you called out to him.

“I know you told me not to expect anything but… you could join me… if you want.”

You could hear his footsteps stop in the doorway, and when you looked over your shoulder you could almost see how the wheels turned in his head, but…

“Maybe next time.”

You watched as he closed the bathroom door behind him which caused you to sigh. You don’t know if it was relief or something else, but you were glad either way. Truthfully, you didn’t know how you would react if he got in the tub with you. However, you do know how you feel since he didn’t… you raised a hand and pressed it against your chest. It hurt. He did say not to expect anything after all.

That same night, Capitano didn’t come to bed. Nor was he present in the morning or afternoon.

His absence would be a constant for the next two weeks which would leave you wondering… maybe you were too much trouble after all.

Atri was folding your laundry when she noticed your troubled expression. No matter how many books you tried to nose into, nothing would cure your sadness and she noticed.

“Did he not tell you where he was going?”

“No. Did he tell you?”

When you looked over at Atri, her face was everything you needed to know so you turned to her expectantly.

“He’s just on a mission, he’ll be back soon.”

You sighed and turned back to your book until you heard a bustle downstairs. Servants all running around as you turned to Atri and she smiled at you and motioned towards your bedroom door.

Almost excitedly you had tossed your book to your side of the bed and hurried to the front entrance as fast as you could. Capitano left so unexpectantly, so seeing him again was surely to put you in a better mood, right?

Though, the moment you got to the front door you had skidded to a stop. Your eyes were trying to figure out exactly what you were seeing.

Why was some random woman hanging off of Capitano’s arm?!

@littlekohai77 @lvtuss @kreishin @floffytofu @nastylilcvnt @nas-ha @simp-simp-no-mi @emmathecouchpotato4583 @sendria @riotakire @mikoslightnovels @feral-childs-word @barbatoss-bitch @venicecherryblossom @squirrelboxer @temperamentupgrade @avalordream @immahuman @xavlyzn @greensunflowerjuna @sarah22447 @naviabestgiirl @nevermoresworld @depressedbearblogs @ppancakesforu @0vendettaself @lilyalone @mochiivqi @pbjts @chewwyaaa @c4xcocoa @ren-ren23 @tazuduck @atrebiusr @simpingbigtime @aryuunachigiri @judithregulus @crowleysthings @yns-sister @satori-runa @meowmeow999999 @beeskn3es @tamikahoshiko @shoyosdoll @ngadasblog @sugacor3 @xiana21 @melancholyae @jjkysnk @s1mppp @that1weirdshipper @himikoquack @sugaryesplease12 @gallantys @wiltedpoison @vamqyx @butratherbutrather @squishameow @reivelmin @eirly-morning-tea @vortexbloom

[fayes-fics]

The Wonderful Unexpected: Chapter 1

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU (future chapters)

Chapter Summary: it’s Christmas, but it’s beginning to look a lot like a shitshow…

artwork by me

Warnings: None really... swearing and non-graphic character attack and injury.

Word Count: 1.9k

Author's Note: Welcome to Chapter 1 of my next multi-chapter! A modern rom-com based on While You Were Sleeping. This is really just getting the wheels in motion, where she encounters Anthony. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis. Thank you to @colettebronte for beta reading. Please enjoy! <3

The first time you see him, your heart almost stops.

It is a Monday morning, your first shift in your new job at a coffee shop on a dreary day in late October, when he sweeps in, a blur of athletic movement in a sharply tailored suit. 

Your boss, the store manager, Gen, starts to make his drink, double espresso, without him even having to say a word. And seemingly, just like that, he is gone again, you standing there, stupefied, awkwardly clutching the milk-frothing pitcher.

And thus, it begins. 

Every weekday between 8:01 and 8:15, Prince Charming glides in, grabs his cup and is gone—a beautiful mirage with amazing cheekbones and a watch that costs more than your annual rent. It's like your world goes into slow motion, and, to steal a phrase from your dearly departed Dad’s favourite song, birds suddenly appear every time he is near. 

Anyway, one random, soggy Thursday, the fates intervene, and it's your turn to serve him. As soon as you see him striding purposely towards the shop, you start his drink, butterflies in your stomach. The smile he bestows upon you is dazzling… even if his attention is slightly diverted by the call he is on. 

Sparks shoot up your arm and into your chest as your fingers brush his briefly as you hand over the small cup.

Surely, this is meant to be? 

He is perfect. Your husband (he just doesn't realise it yet).

All you need is a way to introduce yourself…

—

It's the end of your shift three days before Christmas when Gen sidles up to you, an odd expression on her face.

“I’d like to recommend you for Employee of the Month.” 

“Didn't know there was one,” you shrug, having no idea what that could mean. You suspect not a great deal. Barista is no one’s chosen career. This is very much what you hope is a pit stop on your way to better things. A way to pay the rent until you get your big break. Or get to go travelling.

“Oh yes, well, it's been a few weeks now, and really, you’re my best employee. You are never late, always reliable, never get an order wrong, and are friendly to all the customers…” She trails off, looking very sheepish. “And if you are willing to work Christmas Day… ”

“Christmas Day!? Why are we even open on Christmas Day anyway? It’ll be dead, even around here,” you frown, putting down the cloth you were wiping the counter with.

“Owner policy,” she shrugs. “It's only for four hours in the morning - 7 til 11. If you do, it’s quadruple pay...” she lilts, attempting to make it sound appealing.

You squirm uncomfortably, not wanting to let her down but also really not wanting to work on that day. You were looking forward to a duvet and Netflix day with the second most handsome creature in the world (and definitely the most loyal), Chairman Meow.

“Look,” Gen petitions softly. “Prue still has bronchitis. Edie can't switch because she's got some big trip to see her cousins, and l promised my kiddos that I'd be there for them this year… l know it isn't fair, and I can't force you to do it... but you mentioned you are single and your parents are gone. You're the only one…” she trails off, looking awkward.

“...Without family…” you supply glumly, already knowing you will capitulate. At least quadruple pay will come in handy.

—

You are struggling to haul your Aunt Hilda’s Christmas ‘gift’ - a frighteningly enormous box you can tell is choked full of ugly breakables - up the stairs after a long shift when he materialises as he always seems to, just when it is most inconvenient.

Not your prince. No. Sadly not.

Albion “Alby” Finch. 

Yep, quite the name. Not one anyone could live up to. But perhaps particularly not him. The well-meaning owner of the building who lives in the ground floor flat. Still adjusting to his status as a landlord since his father passed last year, he is boundlessly friendly in that untrained puppy way. Always wanting to help but always somehow ending up more of a hindrance than anything. 

“Oh y/n, that looks tricky; allow me!”

He pushes his glasses up his nose with a pointer finger, then immediately lunges forward and grabs the other side of the heavy box without asking first.

“No, wait….!” 

But it's too late.

You had the box precariously balanced, holding it strategically over the poorly taped seams. But his sudden interference has disturbed the contents. You watch as he realises he was wholly unprepared for its weight; his face fleetingly takes on a look of respect that you were handling such a burden.

Time slows like molasses as it slips from his grip, a horrible crunching sound as it hits the step, losing much of its structural integrity in the impact. Then, a calamitous symphony as it tumbles almost poetically down the whole flight, picking up speed as it goes. Yet again, the world is in slo-mo, but not in a good way this time, watching its barrelling path with increasing dread. Both of you wince as the inevitable happens: the spindly legs of the Alby’s heirloom table in the hallway snapping under the duress of poorly packaged terminal velocity porcelain. 

“I'm so, so sorry!” he starts, flustering like a bird. “It’s all my fault; I’ll pay for it,” he assures.

“Alby…” you sigh, head slumping back in resignation, staring at the ceiling. You can't be too mad; he has sort of done you a favour, saving you the inevitable trip to the charity shop.

“What can I do to make amends?” He presses on. “May I take you to dinner?”

You are almost shocked that he has finally summoned the courage to ask you out after two years. When you tilt your chin back down, you see the panic rising on his face as he belatedly realises what he did.

“You are my landlord. Probably not a good idea,” you return diplomatically, trying to let him down easily. He is a nice man, and his admiration for cheese is to be respected, but you know you could never see him as anything but a sweet, slightly clueless friend.

“Right-e-o,” he nods, cheeks reddened. “Of course. So rude. Please forgive me.”

You wave a dismissive hand, staring down at the pile of destruction below, dreading the thought of cleaning up.

“I’ll deal with all that up,” Alby gestures, tracking your line of sight.

And for once, rather than help as you inevitably always do, you agree, your feet throbbing after a long day where it seemed every teenager in zone 1 needed a matcha oat latte.

So, as you tumble into your flat, you sigh in relief, flinging off your shoes and pouring a glass of water for yourself and a saucer of cat milk. You may not have your Prince Charming (yet…?), but you have Chairman Meow, who always makes a genuinely excellent fluffy pillow for your favourite brainless binge-watch. 

—

It’s as if there is lead in your socks as you shuffle down the pavement and roll up the shutters. 

Christmas Day. 6:54am.

Still an hour until sunrise, it's misty and rainy, but then that's typical London, really.

What isn't typical London is the deserted streets. Hardly a soul to be seen, only the very occasional car. Most people are tucked up in bed or, if they are parents, blearily watching their kids tear wrapping paper asunder in pursuit of loud plastic.

When an hour has already passed without a single customer, you are entering a new level of boredom. Inventing new lyrics for the Christmas music playing, balancing stirring sticks into a pagoda-like structure of impressive resilience (it can hold a cup!), cursing the owner who even thought it was a good idea to be open today. It's all a recipe for a sort of irksome ennui.

So when you hear a commotion outside, you almost fall off the stool you have been idly twirling on. Springing from your perch, you run to the glass window, keen for any distraction.

But the sight that greets you has your heart in your throat.

There, in the street, surrounded by a gang of kids in oversized hoodies, is your man. Prince Charming. They are tussling with him, and you realise they are likely trying to mug him of his expensive watch. 

You observe helplessly, too scared to confront them, worried that doing so might exacerbate the situation. As you fumble in your apron pocket for your phone, the kids disperse, and to your horror, you see your man lying in the road, worryingly still. 

Before you are even conscious of it, instead of dialling 999, you are flinging open the shop door and sprinting towards him. 

“Sir! Sir!” 

Skidding to a halt and hovering over him, you can see an ugly bruise forming on his left temple already. They must have knocked him out.

“Sir! Please wake up!!”

But there is no response. 

You fall to your knees next to him, tapping his cheek lightly with the back of your hand, a sense of dread filling you with every passing millisecond.

Cmon universe! You can't do this! Why can't you take out the ugly ones?! Kidding... Sort of. 

As your completely inappropriate internal monologue rages, you grab his shoulders and shake him gently, needing him to get up. Get out of the road, at least.

“Sir! Please! You are lying in the road! Please get up!”

You know it's Christmas Day, so traffic is thankfully light. However, if a bus comes around this blind corner, it will hit you both before it sees you.

Again, nothing from him.

You bend down to place your ear next to his nose and mouth, heart pounding, to see if you can hear breathing, at least. 

“Fuck, you smell so good!”

It's out of your mouth before you can censor it, not that anyone is within earshot, this unconscious beauty aside. Your nostrils are filled with expensive, no doubt custom-blended aftershave, which literally makes your mouth water. You have to tamp the sudden urge to bury your face into his neck and inhale deeply.

But then you hear the hiss of air brakes and know a large vehicle is approaching—it could be a bus, could be a lorry. Either way, you are not exactly going to stay here to find out.

Without knowing quite what possesses you, you limpet yourself around his prone body and literally log-roll him out of the road. A blur of frantic tumbling movement that only ceases when your knees encounter the rough stipples of the pedestrian crossing section of the pavement. Shocking even yourself with the strength you are able to muster.

It's incredible what reserves of power you can summon when Prince Charming’s life is on the line, apparently.

As you lay straddled awkwardly on top of him, a street-sweeping lorry barrels around the corner, right over where he was lying. Sweeping up what you suspect was his mobile phone in the process before you could even grab it for him.

Heart racing at the closeness of the call, you collapse on top of him, breathing hard. Trying desperately to ignore the stirring of your traitorous libido at the sensation of muscular thighs clenched between your own. 

His eyes flutter open, and you murmur a breathless “hi,” almost losing yourself in their depthless, warm beauty. That is before they roll backwards, and his head slumps to the left.

Just great.

As Michael Buble might sing at this particular moment…  ♫ It's beginning to look a lot like a shitshow. ♫

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