#Cold is good you just have to take things slow

[comatosebunny09]

hurts so good | sylus

— summary: “be honest,” he husks, drawing you from the inner mechanisms of your mind. he takes some of your hair between his slender fingers, tender as he tugs it in a way that feels good, luring a barely-there sound from your throat, eyes hooded. “it’s not him you wanted to be with tonight, is it?”  — cw: reader is not mc, female reader, p-in-v, bodily fluids, other woman vibes, toxic relationship, praise kink, angst, jealousy, possessive behavior, oocness, language, mentions of blood, minor character death, alcohol, mdni — wc: 2.4k — notes: hey, man. if this isn’t your jam, don’t interact with it. i’m here for a fun time, not a long time. — tracklist: the killa - tomorrow x together loco - 3ye jade - monsune

You just wanted to dance. Have some fun. Let your hair down. Forget.

—which is why the three of you find yourselves at a swanky little outdoor tiki bar, laughter, music, and the clink of glasses staining the inky night.

You finished your mission earlier that day. Retrieved a rare artifact intercepted on its way into Onychinus’ possession. You survived—you all did. Not like you doubted you wouldn’t. Not with the big baddie himself accompanying you, ensuring his two diamonds left without a hair out of place. 

You aren’t leaving until tomorrow afternoon. So, you want to take full advantage of your surroundings. Celebrate another successful mission. Enjoy this pretty, balmy, hidden island before returning to the cold embrace of the N109. 

The music’s good. You’re a little tipsy. Smiling and laughing like your knuckles weren’t stained red hours ago. Gyrating your hips, throwing your hands skyward, your hair falling into your face just right, and your outfit baring enough skin to tease. You turn a few heads, earn a few whispers of how sexy you are. You’re used to this. You’re good at this. 

Sylus and Emcee sit catercorner to the dance floor in rattan chairs, nursing their cocktails. Talk like two friends—or two lovers—leaning in every so often to murmur things into each other’s ears. You don’t miss her hand on his thigh, or his lips brushing the outskirts of her ear. 

You don’t want to impede, which is why you’re on the dance floor, warm bodies crowding around you, desperate to feel something. You wanted to shake off the nerves—those green-eyed thoughts threatening to bear themselves, seeing your boss and partner so close. 

You barely register when someone grabs your waist until you’re lured back into a rigid pane of muscle. A glance over your shoulder reveals a fine, tall thing with ink spread over his skin. Nice smile. Handsome face. Fuck it. 

You want to enjoy yourself. Maybe have a little fun when the party’s over, sate the desire spooling in your gut. So, you let him guide you into a slow, sultry wind against him, driven by the music and less-than-pure thoughts spilling like ink into the folds of your mind. 

He smells good. Feels even better. Expensive, like cured leather and oud. Your fingers clasp around the back of his neck, drawing him close until he slots his chin in the hollow of your shoulder. 

Maybe you’re playing too much, swiveling your hips against his girth like you’re trying to fuck. But the song calls for it. The soft croon of afrobeats, something to salt the air with lust. The kind of music that calls for you to dance close, to tangle your limbs together, your bodies moving as one unit. 

Your dance partner releases a soft grunt into your ear of how beautiful you are, how good you feel, hands molding to your waist to keep you fastened to him.

Maybe you’re laying it on a little too thick because maybe you’re trying to get a rise out of someone you’re pretending not to notice eyeing you. Someone who’s gripping his glass a little too tight, jaw set in a rigid line. Red eyes gleaming with murder, nose slightly scrunched up. Good. 

You want him to watch. Want him to burn much like you’ve suffered throughout your stay in this quiet paradise, watching him and Emcee cozy up like you didn’t exist. 

The song ends much too soon. Slides into something with a slightly faster tempo, and your dance partner slips away, leaving you remiss of his body heat. He reluctantly releases your hand, gracing you with a flirtatious, dimpled smile. You catalog his face into your mind—a potential lay for later on to sate the dull throb awakening between your legs.

You’ve barely time to catch your breath, a bewitching laugh in your throat, a demure hand held to your chest before another set of hands slip around your waist. This time, they draw you forward into a more petite body. Her familiar, delicate scent floods your senses. Her smile is wide. Tipsy like yours as she pulls you close until your bodies smoosh together, guiding your hips into a wind to match hers.

“Goofball,” you chuckle at Emcee, snaking your arms about her small shoulders. 

“You love it,” she says, so close, you smell the cocktails on her breath. 

She takes your hand and spins you. You laugh, the world shifting on its axis when she tugs you back in to dip you. The string lights overhead blur against the night sky, the Earth rotating in slow motion like one of those scenes of clarity in a film. You forget that she’s your competition. That you’re living in her shadow where she once struggled to stand in yours.

And for a moment, you forget about the scarlet eyes drilling into your soul, and the vexation rolling off him in currents from behind the rim of his glass.

—

You’re past the point of caring, past the point of regrets. 

Your dance partner from earlier—Mr. Tats and Dimples—trails behind you from a safe distance. You coyly peer at him from your shoulder, drunkenly leading him over the winding boardwalk, far from the rock of the music and the scent of roasted meat.

You duck behind thick pillars, playing a childish game of hide-and-seek. He entertains you. Thinks you’re his prey. Little does he know, he’s yours.

You dip into the shadows, shrouded beneath a shoddy awning, the moonlight casting long stripes along the ground and walls. The corner you’re in is hidden away from prying eyes, from drunk partygoers stumbling about. It’ll do for now, you think, propping yourself against the concrete wall, your cheeks sore from smiling so much.

Boats rock in the calm waters of the pier, framing you on either side. You lost him on the way. Strain your ears for his footsteps and his chuckling echoing off the walls. For a moment, silence embraces you, giving you too much time to think.

It’s short-lived, however, when footfalls near you. Your body forms a salacious line against the wall. The straps of your top fall down your shoulders just right. Honey thigh shines something tempting, peering through the devastating slit of your wrap skirt. 

A silhouette stalks through the shadows, soundless as a panther lurking through the jungle. Hulking. Recognizable. You squint, figuring you’re more drunk than you thought. Seeing things, until the darkness slowly recedes from a warm ivory face. Scarlet eyes shine like gems held to the moonlight, followed by a thatch of white. 

“Sylus?” you caution, your throat scratchy from the drinks. 

It is him, pacing towards you like a calm beast cornering a wounded animal. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, bleeding smugness and sin. There’s a streak of red dappling his cheek—blood—the moonlight lighting up the sharp edges of his features. 

You straighten when he stops, so close, heat radiates off his skin, and you strain your neck to scrutinize him. That familiar scent and unbearable pressure swaddle you like a blanket, scattering your wits until gravity seeps in.

“What the fuck did you do to him?” you interrogate with a scowl, crossing your arms like you’re scolding a child. 

You know very well what he could’ve done. A part of you selfishly hopes he didn’t snuff out your potential lay like a candle’s flame. But he’s a jealous man beneath those layers of bravado, and you have no one to blame but yourself for stoking the flames of his ire. 

Sylus is wordless for a moment. Considerate, dragging the backs of two fingers down your arm like you’re made of glass. You shiver, hating how goosebumps flare in their aftermath. How warmth puddles between your legs, and how your mind threatens to disconnect itself from your body. 

“He won’t be joining you tonight,” he says. His voice is thick with something unmistakable. Lips pull upwards in one corner. “He got a little…hung up on the way here.”

You scoff, shrugging away from his touch. “What is your problem? Do you really have to kill everyone who gets close to me?” Your voice peters at the end of your sentence, dipping into something forlorn and exasperated as you cast your gaze to the side.

You don’t understand how he can be so selfish. So possessive of you when you’re not allowed to feel the same. 

He isn’t yours, and maybe he never can be. And every attempt you make to cope with that fact, to carry on with your life as if your heart doesn’t fracture every time you’re forced to watch him fall into the arms of another woman, he squashes them. Flexes his power over you, reminding you that you are very much his no matter how hard you try to fight it. 

It’ll always be like this—you’ll always fall prey to him. Always limp back to him like something wounded for him to kiss the pain away. It isn’t right. And you hate yourself more and more each day for sneaking around like this. Holding his hand in the shadows, surrendering his name to the darkness like a sweet supplication offered to a god.

“Be honest,” he husks, drawing you from the inner mechanisms of your mind. He takes some of your hair between his fingers, tender as he tugs it in a way that feels good, luring a barely-there sound from your throat, eyes hooded. “It’s not him you wanted to be with tonight, is it?” 

You turn a haughty look at him. He ingests you with deceptively soft eyes, though you don’t miss the arrogance swimming below the surface. He coyly cocks his head to one side, lips twitching up. You despise him—how he reads you like a book. 

He crowds you against the wall, so infuriatingly rigid and hot and too far away despite only a sliver of space keeping your bodies apart. You hate the hold he has on you. Hate how he makes you dizzy, how everything in you screams for you to push him away, yet that little voice inside beseeches you. Begs you to draw him closer, to pour all your frustrations into him via your mouth.

So, you snatch him to you with a snarl, and he stumbles forward, catching himself on his hands splayed on either side of your head. You kiss the surprised sound from his throat, and your fingers are greedy. So greedy as they gather his cheeks in your palms, tear through his hair, pull at his shirt, scramble for anything to hold onto.

He twines your tongues together, pressing up all hot and needy and possessive against you as if to selfishly shield your body from the moonlight. His hands are equally as fervent, raking up and down your sides, your hips, bunching up the soft silk of your skirt to your waist. He groans something anguished as his fingers curl around the backs of your thighs, and he pries them apart, rucking you up without any effort, your heels digging into the divots at the small of his back, arms snaking about his shoulders.

Your teeth knock, a sigh tearing past your lips between the fusion of your mouths as he tugs your panties to one side, stroking the seam of your cunt with his fingers. You’re so incredibly wet and swollen. So pliable and good for him as he unzips his slacks, relieved when his intimidating girth springs free to knock against your swollen cunt.

Your mouths part with a gasp when he eases into you, and you throw your head back until it collides painfully with the wall behind. But you don’t care about the pain, too focused on the delicious pressure pushing into you. Splitting you in two, the slick sounds of your union, of your bodies sliding together, coloring the atmosphere.

He takes you hard and deep and slow, pushing you further up the wall with each snap of his hips. Sinks his teeth into your neck, breathing hot and ragged things of filth into your skin. He’s lost in the feel of you—how the gummy webbing of your cunt swallows him up, how your lips part with his name, and how you mewl so beautifully for him, taking him so well.

He’s spilling a litany of praise into your shoulder. Thrusts growing choppy, breaths shaky. 

“Pretty girl. Feel so good. So sweet for me. Take me so deep. Taking me like a big girl.”

His voice is your undoing, his praise, his tenderness. And you hate how easily he robs you of an orgasm, how your voice corks in your throat, eyes rolling back, thighs quaking, a crazed smile twisting up your lips. Your walls hiccup around him, dragging his own release from him, a strained, guttural sound growled into the hollow of your shoulder. 

You hate how full he makes you feel. How molten spurts of cum paint the warm channel of your sex a sticky white. How it scorches down the inner cut of your thigh, intermingled with your own slick, to stain the ground below in a steady drip. 

He doesn’t pull out of you right away. Content with holding you in his hands like this, kissing you with teeth and tongue and passion as if he’ll never see you again. Only when he stops twitching inside you—when he’s fully satisfied he’s stuffed you full of cum—does he let your feet fall back to the ground, and he draws out of you with a sharp hiss. 

You’re a love-drunk fool as he fixes your dress, smooths over your hair, your cheeks. There’s a softness to his eyes, a reverence that makes your stomach twist as he peppers your lips with kisses, ensuring you’re good to stand on your own before drawing away.

He bends to replace your sandal on your foot, so fucking gentle, it hurts. Makes you feel sick. He takes your hand once you’ve both smoothed your clothes into some semblance of neat, tugging you away from the wall to lead you back to the bar.

And when you confront Emcee with a wide, knowing smile, throwing your arms around her to draw her into a hug, you try to ignore how you clench down, selfishly trying to keep as much of Sylus’ cum inside you as possible. 

[cyberphuck]

He was your friend.

He'd turned and gone back because he couldn't keep following you, couldn't stand to see people he cared about dying anymore. He wanted to go back to his home and his family and more than that he wanted to stop the war any way he could, even if it meant crushing the revolutionaries before they could really establish themselves. He wanted it all to *stop.*

But he couldn't just stop at that, could he? Not just at stopping Luca, because he had a chance to jump every rung in the ladder and take the reins of the Empire too. He was smart enough; determined enough. You watch cutscenes of him dragging power to himself through any means necessary, throwing down his moral compass and stomping on it because he needed to focus on the endgame. It meant more bloodshed but he kept going and soon you were seeing him committing awful atrocities, resulting in the deaths of hundreds and thousands of people, all with this steely cold expression that made you wonder if he wasn't who he used to be, or if you'd ever known him at all.

In the final battle of the game you face him again, ready to kick his traitorous ass-- or at least beg some answers from him. But instead of fighting you, he collapses.

He was trying to help you.

He was *trying to help you.*

He could see the revolution was going to fail before it even got off the ground if somebody didn't do something. The Highland Empire was too powerful to go up against in an honest fight, but he knew You were too good of a man to choose a dishonest one. (Also, when the two of you were chosen to get the Magics That Make You Good or Bad, You got the healing one and he got the one that kills people.) He was smart enough and determined enough to wriggle between the chinks of Highland's armor and be the slow poison that brought it down, and he was brave enough to do it knowing that it meant he'd lose You forever. He'd take the black pieces on the chessboard and throw the match and die the villain, knowing that You could go on without him.

And he holds out alone for *so long.* No one can know his plans-- one wrong move and the whole thing will come crashing down, taking both him and You with it. So he keeps going, sicker and weaker, strength wavering, until at the last he stumbles.

He can't beg your forgiveness. He *does* beg you to kill him. Even if you refuse, he dies in your arms. Your magic had lifted you up. His had wrung him dry. But he'd made sure every single drop counted.

Suikoden 2 is why I'm like this

(Pretty much all of the suikodens-- at least the ones I played which were 1 2 and 3-- have some gut-wrenching major character death in them that make you want to scream and beg the true runes for forgiveness. And since the rest of the game is run of the mill goofy late 90s jrpg nonsense, it hits that much harder. I WANT GREMIO BACK. )

fuck it, i'm curious. reblog and tag with the first fictional death to ever rewrite your brain chemistry and/or make you cry like a baby. mine was ares from the underland chronicles (who, for context, was a giant bat.) to this day i will weep if i think too hard about it. okay, go.

[lvnleah]

tough trainings | awfc x young!pregnant!reader.

find the masterlist to the no more secrets universe here!

December 12th 2024 | 8 weeks pregnant. 

You barely made it to the bathroom in time.

One second, you were curled up under your duvet, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach, and the next, you were on your knees in front of the toilet, retching.

The nausea had been lingering for weeks now, but this morning felt worse. Maybe it was exhaustion catching up with you, or maybe your body just wanted to remind you that you were well and truly pregnant. Either way, it was miserable.

You groaned, resting your forehead against your arm as you tried to catch your breath. The floor was cold against your knees, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move just yet.

A soft knock on the door made you wince. “You okay in there?” Beth’s voice, gentle but concerned.

You reached up weakly, unlocking the door. A second later, she was kneeling beside you, rubbing slow circles on your back.

“Rough morning?” she murmured.

You huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. “That obvious? This child’s trying to kill me.”

Beth smiled sympathetically. “They’re just reminding you they’re there, H. Come on, let’s get you up.”

She helped you to your feet, steadying you when you swayed slightly. You felt drained already, and the day had barely started.

By the time you made it to the living room, Beth had forced a glass of water into your hands and a piece of dry toast onto a plate in front of you. 

“Try to eat,” she encouraged. “Even if it’s just a little.”

Food wasn’t appealing at the moment. The only thing you could sometimes manage was dry toast, the thought of anything else made your stomach churn even more. 

You nibbled at the corner of the toast, your stomach still unsettled but slightly more manageable now. Beth sat across from you, watching carefully but not pushing, letting you sit in the quiet.

Eventually, you sighed. “I’ve got the gym today.”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I can’t just stop,” you muttered. “I need to at least try.”

“Don’t push yourself, yeah?” Beth said, “You’re exhausted, we don’t need to pick up an injury.”

Before you could argue, the front door opened, “We’re back!” Steph called as her and Viv stepped inside. 

Steph and Viv had taken Myle and Calvin out for a walk a little while ago. Viv was back visiting from Manchester and Steph had just moved out and into a flat across the hallway. 

“Morning, sicko,” Steph teased lightly, toeing off her shoes as she walked into the living room. “How we feeling?”

You shot her a glare but didn’t have the energy to back it up. “Like death.”

Viv gave you a sympathetic smile, setting Myle’s leash on the hook by the door. “Beth said it’s been rough.”

“That’s an understatement,” you muttered, pushing your toast around your plate. “This baby’s trying to ruin me, I swear. I ain’t ever felt this ill before.”

Calvin trotted over, resting his head on your knee with big, pleading eyes. You scratched behind his ears absentmindedly, grateful for the comfort.

Steph plopped down onto the couch beside you, stretching her legs out. “Well, you still look better than you did last night. That’s something, right?”

You huffed. “The bars set very low, Catley.”

Viv sat on the arm of the sofa, arms crossed. “You going into the gym today?”

You nodded. “Just some light work. No contact or anything.”

Beth shot Viv a look over your head, and Viv hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Take it easy, yeah? No one’s expecting you to be at full fitness right now.”

You sighed. “I know. It’s just—” You trailed off. “I don’t want to feel like I’m falling behind.”

“You won’t be. You’re still training, just in a different way.” Beth said, “You’re growing a human, H. That’s a whole job on its own.”

Steph nudged your shoulder. “Yeah, and you’ve got us to keep you in check. No overdoing it, alright?”

You rolled your eyes but nodded, knowing you weren’t going to win against them.

The gym was quiet when you arrived, which you were grateful for. You’d been sticking to light work since finding out you were pregnant like strength training, mobility exercises, light cardio but today, even that felt like too much.

Your body was heavy with exhaustion, muscles aching from nothing in particular. Even simple movements felt sluggish, like you were fighting against yourself.

You gritted your teeth, pushing through the set, but frustration built with every rep. You hated feeling weak. Hated how much your body was changing in ways you couldn’t control.

“Take a break,” Kim’s voice cut through your frustration, firm but calm.

You exhaled sharply, setting the weight down. “I’m fine.”

Kim gave you a knowing look. “No you’re stubborn, that’s what you are. Sit for a bit before you collapse.”

Before you could argue, a new voice interrupted. “She won’t sit. She’s incapable of listening to reason,” Kyra announced, dropping her bag onto the floor dramatically. “It’s like talking to a brick wall.”

You shot her a glare. “No one asked for your input, Cooney-Cross.”

Kyra smirked. “Aww the gremlin making your grump?” She plopped down on the bench next to you, nudging you with her knee. “So, how’s the little gremlin? Still trying to destroy you from the inside?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yep, and they’re winning.”

“Dang you’re letting a baby beat you?” Kyra winced, “Not even born and already losing to a baby.”

Steph, who had just walked over, sighed. “Kyra, stop being a pest.”

“Impossible,” Kyra said, grinning. “It’s in my nature.”

Kim shook her head, clearly done with the conversation, and walked off with a small smirk.

You leaned your head back against the wall. “Why are you here?”

“Entertainment,” Kyra said. “And I knew you’d need moral support. Or someone to annoy you so much you forget you feel like crap.”

“Mission accomplished,” you muttered.

Kyra threw an arm around your shoulders dramatically. “Aw, you love me really.” She said, placing a playful kiss on your temple quickly. 

Before you could shove her away, Lotte and Katie walked in, spotting you immediately.

“How’s the little nugget?” Lotte asked, sitting on your other side.

“Winning,” Kyra answered for you. “H is getting battered.”

Katie snorted. “Sounds about right. You look knackered, kid.” She winced. 

“Wow thanks, Katie,” you said dryly. “I totally didn’t notice.”

“Just saying,” she shrugged. “You don’t need to be pushing yourself so much. No one expects it.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “I just hate feeling useless.”

“You’re not useless. You’re literally growing a whole human.”

Kyra grinned. “Yeah, and once they’re out, you can force them to be your personal assistant for eighteen years as payback!”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s a long game plan.”

Kyra shrugged. “Worth it.”

“If one more person says ‘you’re growing a human,’ I’m throwing hands.” You mumbled, sighing as you threw your head back.”

Kyra gasped, “Violence? From you? The baby really is ruining you!”

“Kyra, leave the poor girl alone.” Steph sighed as you yawned beside Kyra. “She’s wrecked, look at her!”

“I need to get back to training.” You sighed, standing up as you lost your balance a little bit. 

“Woahhh,” Kyra said, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you back down. “Just sit for a little bit, okay?”

“Since when did you become serious?” You groaned as you let her pull you down. “Are you feeling alright?” You said, placing your hand on your forehead before Kyra squatted it away. 

“I’m not serious, I’m just concerned.” Kyra said, “Just sit for a bit.”

You did, begrudgingly, and at some point, exhaustion took over, and you must have dozed off.

Beth woke you up a few hours later, her voice gentle as she shook your shoulder. “Hey, H. C’mon, let’s go home.”

You said up confused, a few baby hairs laying messily over your face, “Huh? What—I need to train, shit.”

Beth rolled her eyes, brushing the stray hairs off your forehead. “No, you don’t. It's time to go home and sleep in an actual bed. You fell asleep on the bench.”

You blinked, still groggy, as you realized everyone was leaving the gym. Kyra stood beside Beth, talking a sip of her water. 

“Aww, it’s all too much for little baby Hayden Daniels.” Kyra teased you. 

You shoved her lightly, mumbling, “Shut up,” as Beth helped you to your feet. Your legs felt heavy, exhaustion still clinging to you like a weight, but at least the nausea had settled for now.

Steph had appeared by then, grabbing both yours and Kyra’s bags. “C’mon, let’s get you fed and to bed before you fall asleep again.”

You were too tired to argue, letting them herd you out of the gym and back to Beth’s house. All four of you, Kyra included, climbed into Beth’s car and headed home. 

Kyra was coming for dinner tonight, a usual occurrence, but tonight you weren’t feeling like staying up. You had your dinner before retreating to your bedroom where you soon fell asleep. 

A few hours later you found yourself unable to sleep. You tried everything to fall back to sleep but nothing was working no matter what you tried. You glanced at your phone that read 2:38am. Your body ached with exhaustion, but your mind wouldn’t settle.

You sighed as you rolled out of bed, throwing your hoodie on as you padded downstairs. The house was quiet, only the faint hum of the fridge breaking the silence. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” A voice suddenly said. 

“Fuck!” You screamed, jumping out of your own skin. “Kyra! What the fuck!”

Kyra burst into laughter, “You're too easy to scare.” she wheezed, barely able to get the words out. “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

You clutched your chest, heart pounding as you glared at her. “What the fuck are you even doing here? Are you trying to kill a pregnant woman?”

Kyra smiled, still giggling. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes and made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. “I live here, Kyra.” you muttered, filling it with water. “Didn’t know you were staying the night.”

Kyra shrugged. “Didn’t plan to. But I stayed for dinner, and then your couch was comfy, so here we are.” She patted the empty spot next to where she was laying down. “Come on, might as well suffer together.”

You hesitated for half a second before giving in, flopping down beside her. Kyra immediately threw a blanket over both of you, her arm resting lazily behind you as you laid down beside her. 

The warmth was comforting, and surprisingly, so was Kyra’s presence.

“What’s keeping you up?” she asked after a moment.

You sighed, turning your head slightly to look at her. “Dunno. Just restless.”

“Probably the gremlin’s fault.” Kyra nudged your knee with hers. “Little troublemaker, already messing up your sleep schedule.”

You huffed out a tired laugh. “Probably.”

For a while, you just layed there, the quiet feeling oddly peaceful. Then, out of nowhere, Kyra whispered, “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

You stiffened slightly, but Kyra didn’t push. She just waited.

And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was just her, but you found yourself nodding. “Yeah, I am.”

Kyra sighed, shaking her head. “You’re too hard on yourself, you know that?”

You gave her a look. “You’re one to talk.”

She smirked. “Yeah, well, I never said I was a good example.” She nudged you gently. “But seriously, Hayds. You’re not slacking. You’re growing a tiny gremlin. That’s more than enough.”

You sighed, “I just miss feeling like myself. It's weird.”

Kyra was quiet for a second before she spoke again, softer this time. “You will feel like yourself again. It’s just a shit phase right now. But you’ll get through it.”

You glanced at her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice. “That almost sounded wise.”

Kyra grinned. “Don’t get used to it. I have a reputation to uphold.”

You shook your head, smiling slightly despite yourself.

Something in your chest loosened at that, and for the first time all night, you felt like you might actually sleep.

“…You’re still an annoying little shit, though,” you muttered, nudging her side.

Kyra chuckled, not letting go of your hand. “Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep.”

And somehow, finally, you did.

[wailingclown]

“Good job invincible”

Gently you rubbed the top of the boy's head, a gentle and warm smile spreading across your face hidden behind the helmet the display screen you added seemed less intimidating displaying a smiling emoticon cat.

Your voice was deep with a bit of a robotic touch your figure is hidden thanks to the robot suit you had it looked a bit muscular and the black suit you wore certainly didn't help with people thinking you were a male but honestly you preferred it this way,

Invincible seemed a bit red in the face at your affection.

“Thank you mister Clockwork”

The both of you had worked together more and more often, slowing down the movement of any enemy while speeding up his and yours while peeking into the future directing the boy like a conductor.

“Here”

He took the golden card you handed him his thumb gently tracing over the smooth cold metal and a paper one with a number and a red button

“What's this for?”

“It's an entrance card for my base of operations. You are strong but need to work on your technical skills in combat. And this is my number if you ever need help call me even if it is something simple like talking”

With that, you ruffled his hair, your laugh coming out slightly distorted thanks to the modulator.

“It's important to me that I help out promising new heroes”

“Thank you”

With a nod, you activated your jet boosters flying up into the sky

disappearing into the clouds.

Once you were out of sight he saved your number to his phone clutching the items to his chest as if he held a treasure you had been his favorite hero besides his father the moment he saw you on the news and with you gently taking him under your wing and looking after h every step of the way he couldn't help the way his heart pounded in his chest with joy each time he saw you though he never saw your face nor heard your real voice he didn't care.

With a wistful sigh, he quickly began his flight home hoping to make it before dinner.

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Mark ate dinner phone in hand just looking at the most recent contact he added not knowing how to start the conversation.

[Yo this is Mark]

Seems a bit cringy

[This is Mark]

It was obvious that the man would know who he was he didn't

Seems like the type to just give out his number not wanting to mess it up he simply turned off his phone

Eventually, Debbie got his attention.

“I saw you on the news today with clockwork how was it”

He put his phone down to focus on the conversation, unable to help the smile blooming across his face.

“It was great he's as amazing as I thought he was said he'd help with my training”

Nolan looked up fork clacking against the plate as he set it down brow twitching as he glared before sighing expression softening.

“Listen Mark you'd learn a lot more learning from me instead I'll teach you all that you need to know and your fight today you acted like a sidekick diligently following orders without question when you could streets do better and bigger things don't lower yourself”

Debbie gave him a warning kick under the table.

“But I won't deny that Clockwork is a great hero but how about instead of patrolling with him tomorrow you come with me”

“I have plans with Clockwork tomorrow but how about you join us you'll like him a lot once you meet him”

(might be ooc if you have any constructive criticism or feedback please comment I would appreciate any comment]

[cmdrfupa]

Hiromi is tired. Not just in the way that settles into his bones after a long day, but in the way that lingers, stretching across years and threading through every cigarette-lit evening he’s spent alone.

His law office is closed, the last case files left in haphazardly neat stacks on his desk, but the weight of them still sits between his shoulders as he walks down the quiet street.

Friday nights in the city buzz with an energy he no longer understands.

The always familiar path brings him comfort as he lays the foot work on his way home.

He passes by bars pulsing with music, couples pressed close, laughter spilling onto the pavement. He keeps his hands in his coat pockets, his breath curling in the cold, and tells himself he prefers it this way.

Then he sees them.

You.

It’s in the reflection of a bar window first—familiar posture, the tilt of their head, something in the way they stand that sends a current through him before he can name it. He turns, slow and hesitant, and there they are.

Your smile as tantalizing as it was on your first date many moons ago.

The last, maybe only person he ever allowed himself to love.

The world has suck a cruel way of doing things. It doesn’t slow down, doesn’t soften around the edges to give him time to collect himself. No, the lights of the city still shine too bright, the people still push past without care, and all he has is the sound of his own pulse roaring in his ears.

Your gaze met his gaze, and there’s recognition, there’s hesitation, but there’s something else. Something softer, like a page turned back to a story left unfinished.

“Hi Hiro,” you greeted him, his name on your tongue like a secret.

He exhaled through his nose, steadying himself. “It’s been a while.”

And it has. Long enough that you should be strangers, but you aren’t. Not really.

“Late night in the office?”

“Yes. Just trying to stay on track.. helps avoid an early morning.”

You talk. The smallest of words, nothing heavy.

How have you been? Are keeping with your resolutions? What brings you out here so late?

Questions that brush against something deeper but never quite press. He doesn’t tell you that he dreams, sometimes, of a life where he stayed. Where he tried to make you feel how you should.

To stay beside him when he had perfected pushing you away.

That when he sees glimpses of warmth between strangers, he thinks of you. The warmth you created that even in the coldest caverns, you’d make it feel like summer. That he’s spent too many nights in half-lit rooms convincing himself he made the right choice.

You smile at the subtle shake of his cigarette holder. The gold box being clutched in his hand as he brought it to his mouth and it cuts through him sharper than any verdict. “You look good, Hiro.”

“So do you.. I love the jacket.”

There was a time when he thought love was something he could build a life around. Something he could hold onto with both hands and not have it slip away. But life demanded sacrifices, and he was always so good at making them. Too good.

A part of him wants to ask if you were happy. If you found the life he couldn’t give you but came perilously close to asking for another chance.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he nods at the time, at the way the night grows later, and offers a quiet, “It was great seeing you. Take care.”

And when you walk away, he doesn’t stop you.

Just watches until you’re out of sight, until the city folds back into itself, until he is, once again, alone with his choices until he musters up the courage to ask for your forgiveness.

[theseusmcalt]

hi scwhip enjoyers. here's a fic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64150348

Scott used to love the winter. 

He’s being fully honest, too. He loved the snow and the chill and the holidays- But, now, as he sits with frosted hands and a trembling body, he can’t think of anything he hates more.

He curls further in on himself, clinging to the red scarf stolen from his friend- (who would hurt him, who would hate him-) for dear life. It’s the only bright thing in this dreary, horrible land, where everything is snow and ice and sadness like a weight on his chest.

He’s hidden inside his ice palace, barely awake. He wants to go home.

Despite that, despite what he knows is likely frostbite creeping up his hands and legs, he doesn’t move. He could be back in two days, maybe less. He could. But he could also hurt them, and he doesn’t want to. The idea of seeing Gem again makes his already fragile health fray, and he leans over, shaking a bit. He feels so out of it, bleary and exhausted and just wanting to sleep.

His eyes are closing when he hears the ice doors slam and then shatter.

A voice from downstairs screams- “Scott?! Scott, you fucking bastard, I’m going to kill you- Where are you?!”

He can’t recognize the voice- can’t place who the sharp tone and anger belongs too, but he curls up in fear regardless. Half frozen feathers poof out, shielding him. This is bad- but he can’t think of why, the cold making his brain slow and overwhelmed. He pulls his hair, a bad attempt at grounding himself, and makes a horrified sound when he realizes can’t feel his hands- it’s all pins and needles. Everything hurts, and he makes a horrible, pathetic whimper at the fear and horror growing in his ribcage.

The voice continues to scream as it climbs up the stairs, and Scott finds himself curling up more, in the corner of this room. Ice-cold water has melted through his clothes, but he doesn’t notice the ache of frostbite as his heart pounds against his ribcage. The doors of the hall his room is on are being opened, shattered from the impact over and over as the angry voice continues to search. He curls up tighter, desperately trying to hide himself in an empty room. He’s so scared.

His room’s door slams, shatters, little specks of ice hitting his face from the entrance of the room. A man- red, and oh-so familiar that Scott’s sure he could place him if he could think past the snowstorm in his mind, stands where a door used to. He immediately strides over to where Scott is- and oh, Aeor, he’s getting closer, he’s going to hurt him-

“Scott, you motherfucker- What the fuck are you doing? Cowering in the corner?”

Scott, against his own will, makes a scared, soft sound, pushing himself back against the wall. 

The redhead scoffs. “What the- why are you so blue?”

He falls silent, staring at Scott for a few moments. Scott stares back at him with wide, hazy eyes. He’s familiar, but Scott can’t place it. He shies away as the redhead kneels next to him, and reaches a hand out to grab his shirt. 

“Shit- your clothes are soaked, have you just been sitting in the ice water? What is wrong with y-” He cuts himself off with a sigh, and looks up for a second, clearly weighing his options. Scott, frozen still, takes the second to stare at him.

His angry, dark blue eyes are narrowed, some odd swirl of emotions hidden in them. Scott’s too tired to decode that, so he focuses on the rest of him. 

He’s strong- lithe muscle like an athlete, and he has a bit of soot smeared on his face. He’s panicked, sure, but his face is pretty even under stress. He’s really pretty, Scott thinks. Like the fires in the homes of every Rivdendellian- simple, yes, but warm and good.

“..you’re, uhm.. Pretty.” Scott mumbles with a loopy smile. The fear has faded, his half functioning mind interpreting the silence as a non-threat.

The red sighs, putting a hand to his face. “For Salmon’s sake, Scott- wait a damned minute, is that my scarf?”

Scott hums tiredly, eyes closing of their own accord. “M’ybe, I dunno..” The cold is a weight on his eyelids, and he can feel himself getting further and further away from the ground, drawn into the deep cold dark of sleep.

He is rudely interrupted from his nap by a panicked shout, and the redhead shaking him awake. He blinks his eyes open, staring at the redhead balefully. “‘M tired.” He mutters, not fighting back as the man pulls him into his arms. He’s warm- and Scott’s prior assumption about him being strong is correct as he lifts Scott off the ground.

The sheer ease in which he’s scooped up is enough to rattle his fraying mind, and he giggles quietly. “Take a guy out for dinner first, will ‘ya? Wow, how rude..” 

He’s pink faced, not just from the cold, and sees no reason to not hide his face in the man's neck, slinging an arm around his shoulders for balance. The man sighs. 

“You are so out of it- you wouldn’t let this happen over your dead body, huh?” He asks in a half teasing tone. His voice grows more concerned as he continues. “Which- holy shit, I’m still pissed, but- Scott, you’re freezing. Why did you- you should’ve come to me, or Katherine, I’m sure we could’ve-”

Scott jolts at his words, an irrational pit of fear opening in his stomach. He can’t go home, he’ll hurt them and they’ll hurt him- 

Images of a fire scorched and bombed Rivendell appear in his mind, his friends encased in ice, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Everything still hurts, and he whimpers as the man brings a hand to his cheek. His palm rests softly, calluses pressed against Scott’s petal-soft skin. It’s grounding, the warmth waking him up better than the cold did, and he blinks his eyes open again.

The man above him still looks conflicted, but there’s an inexperienced softness there, too.

“Hey… how about this, okay? You just take a breath, and I’ll get us home.” 

Scott makes a soft, exhausted warbling sound, curling up tighter in the man’s arms. “..you can’t lemme get hurt, ‘kay?”

He can feel the ground shift as they leave, elytra flaring out into the air. “Okay. Just- don’t fucking die before we get there, okay?” 

Despite the man’s best efforts, Scott’s asleep before he can reply.

-

Scott wakes up slowly.

He’s not sure he’d say he’s fully awake- time passes like syrup, a hazy mixture of warmth and pain. He grumbles slightly at the ache in his bones- some unidentifiable coldness that’s sunken deep into his body. It’s soothed in part by the warmth beside him- wait, what?

He shifts in place- he’s lying down, half trapped by a warm weight. He sighs, and allows himself to relax while he attempts to figure out what in Aeor’s name is going on. His wings are pinned awkwardly around the warmth- one trapped under, one slung over.  Everything hurts- his whole body is pins and needles, each slight movement sending shockwaves of pain throughout his body. The warmth is pleasant, though. 

The warmth beside him moves a bit, stubble poking his skin, and Scott can feel breath ghosting the side of his neck. 

He goes entirely still. Joints lock up,  frozen in ice-cold shock and confusion. The feeling of his heart stuttering wakes him up quickly, and he desperately tries to recall how he got here, now recognizing the warmth for what it is- someone sleeping pressed against his back, effectively big spooning him.

(For all his flirtations, Scott doesn’t know what to do when people are close.)

The person holding him sighs, and mumbles something to themself as they wake. Their arms, wrapped around Scott’s midsection, tug him closer. Against his own will, he relaxes into the hold with a quiet and content hum. It’s dumb, but- well, they’re strong, and warm, and when was the last time Scott was held? He’d be a fool to not take the opportunity. Scott still can’t place who it is though, and the thought bothers him as he settles.

His eyes widen when he catches a thin strand of soft, orange hair draped over his shoulder.

Fuck.

Scott closes his eyes and forces himself to pretend to sleep- evening his breath out, letting his tensed shoulders fall, and trying his best to steady his trembling heart. What the hell- was fWhip the man who had rescued him from the tundra? And why? 

It’s obvious, now- Scott can smell the gunpowder and coffee that always seems to follow the Count, can place the slight stubble poking the sliver of his neck exposed from his shirt. 

fWhip sighs, and Scott shivers imperceptibly at the breath against his neck. It’s all so painfully domestic it makes his head spin. He does not understand fWhip’s angle, and he doesn’t understand what he has to gain from this. If he wanted Scott dead, he would be.

So what, exactly, does he want from him?

Scott’s shoulders tense as he mulls his situation over, and a faint grumble sounds out from behind him.

“Go to sleep.” fWhip untangles himself from Scott, cold washing back over him in a wave. The man, wearing the same scarf Scott had dragged out to the icy wastelands, looks unbothered by the proximity, dressed in a thin black binder and dark grey sweatpants. Scott ignores the warmth pooling in his stomach at the casual intimacy- something Scott, alone for so long, never got to have.

fWhip sighs at Scott’s silent staring, and reaches a hand out. Scott presses his eyes shut tight, and doesn’t respond when fWhip pokes his face. “Scott. I know you’re awake.” Scott opens one eye, glaring at him. “Count fWhip.” He greets, voice cold. Any vulnerability he may have felt is gone as he lets the mask he’s so used to slip back on.

He sits up, noting his clothes have changed- soft silk pants and button up cover his still-healing skin. His hands are wrapped in thin, dry cloth bandages- if he moves them, he can feel the beginnings of blisters forming. He’s beginning to realize, now, in fWhip’s bed, wearing presumably his clothes, that his taxing facade of coldness may be doing more damage than good. Stubborn as always, Scott doubles down and ignores his sudden revelation. 

Cruelty has kept him safe for this long- he’s not giving it up now. 

“I don’t suppose you have a good reason to have me here?” Scott asks, pulling himself up and folding his hands into his lap. His wings, ruffled and hurt, send shivers of pain down his spine as he pulls them into a more presentable shape, pinned high against his back.

fWhip, perhaps sensing Scott’s defeat, grins. Scott politely chooses to ignore the way his face heats up at the slight fangs poking out and pressing against fWhip’s anxiety-bitten lips. 

“Oh, other than keeping you alive?” fWhip teases, hints of something crueler under his tone. “And it’s not like you’re out of the woods, either- put your damn blanket back on.” 

His voice is commanding, narrowed eyes staring Scott down until he acquiesces and tugs the discarded blanket back over himself. He lets his wings lay flat against the bed and tuck them below the cotton fabric of the blanket, and lets out an involuntary sigh of relief when damaged feathers are allowed to rest.

Scott’s relief is cut short when fWhip hums and analyzes Scott with careful eyes. Scott shies away under fWhips gaze, suddenly very aware of how vulnerable he is. He’s known that the whole time, of course he has, but it finally seems to click for him as fWhip evaluates him. He’s clearly analyzing his worth, and likely what would happen if he killed him right here.

“So. I saved you,” fWhip begins, and Scott nods reluctantly. Without the haze of what was likely frostbite numbing his mind, he knows how bad his situation was- he likely would have died if not for fWhip’s help. 

He’s… not sure if he wishes he didn’t, considering the glint in fWhip’s eye.

“And I was even so kind to hold you when you clearly wanted me to-” fWhip continues with no small amount of joy in Scott’s shame. Fuck. He’d been so out of it he’d given up on trying to pretend he wasn’t so lonely- he’d let fWhip carry him, and told him he was pretty, and- 

Fuck. Aeor, Scott was such an idiot.

fWhip sighs, and rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna ask too much of you, dude-” Absolute bullshit, but Scott will hear him out.

“But you hurt my sister.” fWhip says, tone darkening. He leans forward, and Scott curls into himself. “And you need to fix it. Or, I’ll go through with my original plan- Which is to say, killing you.”

Scott nods, and manages to mutter a response. “..Of course, Count. I-I didn’t mean to hurt her in the first place, I was going to help her anyway-”

fWhip scoffs. “-Oh, sure. You hurt her and then ran away-” His voice is bitter enough that Scott cringes. It’s not that he disagrees with fWhip- he’s a coward and a fool, and he knows it. How else could he have gotten himself into such a messy situation?

“-And then I had to save you.” fWhip finishes. “Honestly, you should consider it a mercy that I let you recover. Maybe if you’d died from frostbite, she’d have been healed.”

Scott bows his head in silent acknowledgment. He wants to fight- he really, really does, but his head hurts, and fWhip’s not even wrong. Scott had been naive to even entertain the idea this was anything but cold, calculated cost and effect on fWhip’s end.

“Ah. I’ll be out of your hair then, I suppose.” Scott announces, attempting to stand. His legs immediately feel weak, pins and needles waking up cold skin. fWhip’s eyes widen, momentarily, and he reaches out to grab Scott's arm. 

‘Okay- hold on, wait-” fWhip curses as Scott attempts to wrestle himself out of the Count’s grip, strength already fading. He really doesn’t have the energy to fight right now- his vision is already swimming and he’s oddly lightheaded, so he settles for quietly seething as fWhip guides him back to bed. He sits on soft downy comforters, and glares at the Count. 

fWhip sighs, and presses his face into his hands. “Scott. You had frostbite less than a day ago. Please, for the love of everything sacred, do not make me take you as a hostage because you’re trying to run away. While injured.” He asks exhaustedly. Scott pities him for a second, but it’s washed away when he remembers the Count was planning on killing him.

Scott huffs. “Well, maybe it’d be better if I did, you clearly don’t care about my well-being-” He snaps. “I can heal your sister just as well as I can in Rivendell as I can here, and honestly, I don’t appreciate how you’ve been handling this. Do you care or not, fWhip, make up your mind.”

fWhip makes a confused sound, and fires back at him. “What?! Scott, I cannot be more clear, I don’t care about you, I would have killed you, this is only for my sister-”

Scott laughs, “Oh, really, fWhip? You held me while I slept for your sister? I think we both know that everything you’ve done so far doesn’t matter for Gem at all, so let’s be honest here-” 

“Scott, shut up.” fWhip shouts, raising his voice to drown Scott out. Scott grins exhaustedly, tired, but proud of himself for finally getting one over on the Count.

fWhip glares at him, red-faced. "We- you- we’re not doing this,” He says.

“What?” Scott asks innocently, tilting his head and fluttering his eyelashes at fWhip.

fWhip wrinkles his nose at him, faint brown freckles highlighted by a red blush. Scott grins at the sight, leaning forward and biting back a grimace at the swimming feeling it leaves in his mind.

“You like what you see?” He jokes, tilting his head coyly. fWhip sighs deeply again, looking away from him.

“For Salmon’s sake, Scott, you’re horrible.” 

The conversation settles from there. fWhip leaves Scott with promises of food and water when he returns, and Scott, in a show of good faith, decides to believe him. 

“Be back soon!” He calls, waving theatrically. fWhip sighs, irritation and amusement lining his face in equal measures.

“Don’t die while I’m gone, Smajor,” The red.head answers before stepping out of the bedroom door. Scott smiles to himself, curling the soft blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Things will probably not be okay. He knows this. fWhip’s kindness will likely not last, and the ache in his bones will likely not fade. 

But- for now, he’s content to rest in the fantasy of care- a world where someone helps him, because they want to.

[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: This chapter is 24k words & Tumblr won't let me upload it all in one post so cutting it off in four smaller parts.

Previous Chapter 18 (alt ending 2.9) - Inheritance of Hunger (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 19 (alt ending 2.10) - The Anatomical Weight of Neglect in Infinite Drops - Part 1

1 Monday - Evening

The problem with killing your mother was that she just wouldn’t die.

"Is she still breathing?"

"Barely."

"Gross."

Earlier - Avoidant Attachment vs. Unhinged Therapist

Dr. Maya leaned back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Across from her, the subject—heavily pregnant, expression blank, a trillionaire CEO who had survived hostile takeovers, media smear campaigns, and now, the psychological hellscape of being ignored by two husbands—stared back, unmoved.

Maya sighed. "Alright, let's get into it—why'd you run?"

The woman in question arched a brow. "Do I look like I can run?"

Maya exhaled through her nose, unimpressed. "Cute. Answer the question."

"You already know why."

"Oh, I know. But I want you to say it."

Silence.

Maya smiled. A slow, knowing thing. "Isn't it funny? They ignored you for months, and you stayed. But then, suddenly—poof—gone, like a bad Tinder date. So, what changed? What finally broke you?"

A slow inhale. A steady exhale.

Then, finally—

"That night."

Maya tilted her head. "Elaborate."

A humorless smile twitched at her lips. "You ever been in a room full of people and still felt alone?"

"Of course. I went to medical school."

"Then you already get it."

"Indulge me."

The woman exhaled sharply. "I could handle the silence. The neglect. The unanswered texts. The ‘we lost track of time.’ But that night—" her fingers curled over the fabric of her dress "—they did it right next to me, like I wasn’t even there."

Maya’s eyes gleamed. "And Gojo said?"

A humorless laugh. "‘See? Nothing.’"

"Ouch." Maya twirled her pen. "That’s when you knew, huh? That you weren’t part of it anymore."

Silence again.

Maya smirked. "Alright, fine, let’s get to the fun part—who hurt more? Gojo or Nanami?"

"Excuse me?"

"C’mon, logically one must have hurt more."

A slow inhale. Then—

"Nanami."

Maya’s brows lifted. "Fascinating. I expected you to say Gojo."

"Everyone does."

"Why?"

The woman leaned back slightly, shifting to accommodate the weight of her stomach. "Because Gojo is… untouchable. There’s always been a distance. He lives in a world above everyone else—above me. Orbits the world like a comet, all light and chaos, but never close enough to truly warm you. I still loved him, even when it burned. Let myself believe that my hands could anchor him, that my voice could call him down from that endless sky when it was taking a toll on him. But I was naive. You can’t chain a god to mortal soil. Not even with love. And I loved him despite it. I gave him comfort when he needed it. But I always knew, deep down, that I’d never be able to truly reach him."

Maya hummed, intrigued. "And Nanami?"

Her lips parted, then closed.

Maya grinned. "Ah, so this one actually hurts. Good. Continue."

A long, slow exhale. "Nanami was supposed to be the one who saw me. Who understood me. We’re the same—rational, grounded, obsessive over details. Two pragmatists building something real, brick by brick. He was my equal, my mirror. The one who noticed when my coffee went cold, who memorized the way I organize spreadsheets, who saw me—not just the wife, the caretaker, the shadow trailing behind a star. He’s the one who I’d say would be my friend, not just my husband; with Gojo, I never even felt like even Nanami wa close enough with him to truly call them friends.”

Maya clicked her pen. "But he did."

"Yeah, he chose the star instead. He looked at Gojo—at that blinding, reckless force—and decided that was worth burning our world for. And I… I became the ghost in our marriage. The one they step around, the one they whisper about when they thought I was asleep. The rational one. The grounded one. How ironic, isn’t it? That the man who worshipped order would destroy everything we had for a single undivided taste of chaos?”

"And that hurt more than Gojo?"

"Her voice fractured then, the weight of her stomach suddenly unbearable, as if the twins inside her could feel the ache too. “I could handle Gojo’s distance. I signed up for that. But Nanami? He wasn’t just my husband. He was my friend. And friends don’t… they don’t erase you.” A slow exhale. “Gojo was always a god. I just didn’t expect Nanami to be one too."

Maya whistled lowly. "That’s poetic. Hope you’re writing that down for your future memoir."

The woman gave her a flat look. "I’ll title it How to Be a Third Wheel in Your Own Marriage. "

Maya barked out a laugh. "Now that’s funny."

"Glad my suffering is entertaining."

"Oh, don’t be dramatic. You’ll forgive them."

A scoff. "What makes you so sure?"

Maya leaned in, grin sharp. "Because if you really wanted them out of your life, you wouldn’t be here talking about them."

Silence.

Then—

"You’re evil."

"I prefer effective."

Meanwhile, in the Observation Room

Nanami’s grip on the armrest was white-knuckle tight.

Gojo looked like he’d been punched in the chest.

Kashimo, standing by the door, took a sip of his coffee. "Damn. That was brutal."

He’d been hired by Maya to electrocute them if they tried to escape listening to this.

Gojo let out a slow, shaky breath. "She—" His voice wavered. "She thinks I was always unreachable?"

Nanami said nothing.

Kashimo stretched lazily. "Well, yeah. You’re Gojo Satoru. You float above humanity like an untouchable deity. You’re a brand, not a man. You can’t even go to a convenience store without being recognized. That kind of isolation doesn’t just disappear in marriage."

Gojo swallowed hard. "I thought—" His voice cracked. "I thought she understood me."

"She did." Nanami’s voice was quiet, hoarse. "She just didn’t think she could reach you."

Gojo’s jaw clenched.

Silence.

Then—

Nanami exhaled. "She didn’t expect me to betray her."

Kashimo raised a brow. "That’s worse than what she said about Gojo, to be honest."

More silence.

Kashimo sighed. "You two are lucky she’s still talking about you at all."

Neither man spoke.

Gojo exhaled, shakily. "She doesn’t know we’re listening."

"Nope."

"If she finds out—"

"Oh, she’ll kill you." Kashimo grinned. "So, what’s the plan, Romeo?"

Gojo’s fingers curled into fists. “Fix it.”

Kashimo grinned. "Good luck with that. She’s got abandonment issues and a murder-level grudge. You’re gonna need it."

Back in Therapy Room

Dr. Maya tapped her nails, watching the woman in front of her like a scientist observing a particularly interesting specimen.

"So," she mused, legs crossed, voice lilting with that signature I-know-exactly-how-to-ruin-your-day tone. "How long did it take them to notice you were gone?"

Silence.

Maya’s lips twitched. "C’mon, girl. Don’t make me work for it."

A slow inhale. Then—

"Six weeks."

Maya whistled low, the sound sharp and cutting. "That’s a long fucking time."

The woman—your body heavy, the weight of unwanted life pressing deep into your spine—gave a slow, humorless smile.

"It is, isn’t it?"

"Oh, it’s poetic." Maya leaned forward, chin resting on her palm. "Tell me—what did they say when they finally realized?"

You exhaled, tilting your head slightly. "‘We messed up. Where are you?’"

Maya snorted. "That’s it?"

"They sounded… confused."

"Confused?"

"Like they had just lost track of time."

Maya let out a surprised snort; it was humorless. "God, that’s almost worse than if they’d just admitted they didn’t care."

"Mm."

"But they did care, didn’t they?"

Silence.

Maya’s smile widened. She had her.

Meanwhile, in the Observation Room

Gojo felt sick.

Not the kind of sick that could be ignored or laughed off. The deep, rotting kind. The kind that settled in the bones and made itself at home.

Beside him, Nanami was completely still—jaw clenched, hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles were stark white.

Kashimo took another sip of his coffee. "So, question—how the fuck do you lose track of your pregnant wife for six weeks?"

Neither man answered.

Kashimo smirked. "Oh, right. You were too busy dicking each other down."

Gojo’s stomach lurched.

Nanami inhaled sharply, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "Shut up."

"No, no—let’s sit with that for a second." Kashimo leaned back against the wall, amused. "Not only did you ignore her for months, not only did you brush her off when she begged for an answer, but you also—what? Thought she’d just stay? Thought she’d just wait around while you two did your own thing for god knows how long?"

Gojo’s fingers curled into fists. "We didn’t—"

"Didn’t what?" Kashimo cut in sharply. "Didn’t think about her? Didn’t notice when she was disgusted by the way you treated her? Didn’t even bother looking at her belly long enough to realize she was fucking pregnant?"

Silence.

Gojo exhaled shakily, fingers pressing against his temples.

God. They had been so… thoughtless.

So fucking selfish.

Back in the Therapy Room

Maya tapped her pen. "Let’s talk about that night."

You didn’t move.

"You know the one."

Your stomach twisted.

"You were still there. Still trying to make it work."

Your breath was shallow.

"And then they came home."

Silence.

Maya’s voice was soft. Dangerous. "Tell me what happened."

Your hands curled into fists over your stomach. Don’t say it.

"They didn’t look at me."

Maya hummed. "And then?"

"They smelled like alcohol."

"And then?"

You swallowed.

"And then they fucked each other."

The room was so silent it felt like even the walls were listening.

"Right next to me."

Maya leaned in, eyes gleaming. "And you?"

You stared at your lap, voice distant.

"I just… stayed very very still."

Maya tilted her head. "Why?"

"Because I didn’t want them to know I was awake."

Maya’s breath hitched slightly. That was new.

"You were disgusted?"

Silence like she’d dissociated herself to some safe space.

"Heartbroken?" Maya pressed.

A long, slow breath.

Observation Room

Gojo was shaking.

Nanami had gone still.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them could.

"Jesus Christ," Kashimo muttered. Even he looked disturbed. "That’s fucking grim."

Gojo swallowed hard. "She—" His voice cracked. "She was awake?"

"Obviously," Kashimo said flatly.

Nanami’s hands trembled. "I fucking knew it." He wanted to crawl out of his own skin and baptize himself with acid.

Gojo was still reeling. “Why didn’t she say anything?”

"Because she knew you wouldn’t listen." Kashimo answered.

Gojo winced.

Kashimo let out a low whistle. "I mean, that’s bad, but you know what’s worse?"

Neither man answered.

Kashimo smirked, leaning against the wall. "She still doesn’t know you’re here."

Therapy Room

Maya tapped her pen against her chin. "You’re mad at them."

No response.

"You’re hurt."

Nothing.

"You still love them."

Your nails dug into your palm.

Maya smirked. "And that’s the worst part, isn’t it?"

Your breath hitched.

"Because after everything, after the neglect, after the betrayal, after they made you feel like a ghost in your own home…"

Maya leaned in, eyes sharp.

"You still want them to fix it."

Your eyes burned.

"You still want them to fight for you."

Silence.

"You still—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, MAYA."

Maya grinned. "Oh? Hit a nerve?"

Observation Room

Gojo inhaled shakily.

Nanami was silent.

---

Later, outside the crime scene in Megumi and Haibara’s penthouse.

You could hear Gojo breathing steadily beside you, his arms slung around you as you lounged on the patio chair by the pool, half-buried under a blanket and surrounded by his long limbs. The shirt you wore would have been big on Gojo, but on you, it was practically drowning you—probably because it was Nanami’s. Your Switch sat heavy in your hands, the soft plink-plink of Animal Crossing’s background music filling the quiet air.

You were halfway through building a bridge when Gojo nuzzled his face against the crook of your neck.

"You’re ignoring me," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

"I’m not ignoring you," you said without looking up.

"Mmm." He sounded skeptical. "Then why haven’t you reacted to the fact that I just bought you that designer villager you’ve been trying to get for weeks?"

You paused. The words "Raymond has moved in!" flashed across the screen.

"Oh my god," you gasped. "You actually did it!"

"I have my ways." Gojo smirked, smug as hell, his arm tightening around you. "Love me more now?"

"That depends. How much did it cost you?"

"That’s not important."

"You spent real money on this, didn’t you?"

"…Define real."

"Satoru."

"It was worth it." He pressed a kiss to your temple, fingers tracing soft patterns along your waist where the oversized dress-shirt had bunched up. A small, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as he added, “I’ll buy you an entire island next.”

You rolled your eyes at him, still playing.

"Your mom called earlier," Gojo murmured.

Your fingers tightened slightly on the Switch.

Gojo caught it. "Didn’t answer."

"Good."

His arm tightened around you again.

There was a noise—faint, distant—something metallic scraping against concrete.

Gojo’s hand cupped the back of your head, steering you closer until your back was practically curled into his chest.

"Focus on your game, babe."

You frowned, about to protest when—

"Motherfucker, is she humming?"

"Sounds like it."

"And she’s smiling."

"Even with the acid?"

"Gross."

Haibara’s voice hummed faintly from the next room—light, cheerful, amused. You couldn’t hear Megumi’s response, but judging by the sharp metallic clang that followed, it wasn’t pleasant.

"You left Megumi and Haibara alone?" you asked Gojo suspiciously.

"Normally you and Nanami ask that question about me,” he chuckled.

Your fingers froze.

Gojo immediately backtracked, although vaguely. “They're... working through some things."

"You mean they’re torturing someone."

"It’s fine," Gojo said, brushing your hair back from the nape of your neck. His lips ghosted over your ear, the weight of his hand on your stomach deliberate. "It’s nothing you need to worry about."

Inside

"This is disgusting."

Megumi’s gloved hands were curled tightly around the edge of a steel table, his mouth twisting into a sneer as he stared at the writhing body strapped infront of him.

"Do you think it’s the acid or just her personality?" Haibara mused, sitting cross-legged on the counter with a half-eaten sub in hand.

"You’re eating? Next to a rotting body?" Megumi’s disgust deepened.

"Hey, a body in distress shouldn’t ruin my appetite."

"You’re sick."

"I was MI6." Haibara shrugged.

“Why does everything with you end with MI6?”

“Because I was MI6.”

“I have a lot of ex-MI6 agents working for me, and yet none of them are as insane as you.”

“That is because I come from a long line of people with something wrong with them.”

Your mother’s mouth curled—a jagged smile, teeth bared even through the dark sheen of blood coating her lips.

Her eyes glinted. "You’re just like your father."

Megumi’s expression darkened. "Shut up."

"Twisted. Cold. Unfeeling… Fucked Up."

"You should stop talking."

"You’ll never be enough for her," she hissed. "You both, or that pathetic blonde thing playing house with her. Satoru is the only one she really loves—"

Megumi slammed his fist down beside her head. The steel table cracked beneath his punch.

Her head snapped to the side, blood spraying from her mouth in a jagged arc.

"You don’t get to talk about her."

"Aw, you made him mad~," Haibara sing-songed, licking BBQ sauce off his fingers.

"Why isn’t she dead yet?" Megumi hissed.

"She’s resilient." Haibara tilted his head thoughtfully. "Kinda impressive. Do you think she’d last longer if we—"

"Don’t."

"Spoilsport."

"I mean it, Yu."

"You’re no fun, baby Fushiguro."

Your mother coughed—wet and sharp. Blood dribbled down her chin, staining her teeth as her mouth curled into a grotesque smile.

"Do you really think killing me will make her love you?"

In an instant, Megumi’s gloved fist struck her jaw, the impact echoing through the air with a sickening crack. Her head snapped to the side, her jaw dislocating as her body crumpled under the force. Megumi’s expression was cold, unyielding, his dark, midnight-blue eyes glinting with a madness she couldn’t comprehend.

“I know it’s hard for your selfish, narcissistic ass to comprehend,” he said, his voice low and venomous, each word cutting sharper than the last. “But I expect nothing from her. Hell, I don’t even care if she never looks at me again.” He leaned in closer, his shadow looming over her broken form, his presence suffocating. “This was never about me. It’s always been about ensuring you never lay a finger on her again. Never look at her again. Never even breathe in her direction again.”

His grin was feral, unhinged, and it sent a shiver down her spine. Megumi Fushiguro never grinned—not like this. Not unless he was living his destiny. If you could see him right now, you’d think his father had possessed him.

“And if I have to melt you into infinite drops to make that happen,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I will.”

The air around them grew heavy, the shadows deepening as Haibara’s cursed technique surged. The ground beneath her seemed to shift, the darkness itself reaching out to claim her. She tried to scream, but no sound came out—only a choked gurgle as the shadows wrapped around her, pulling her into an abyss that promised nothing but endless suffering.

Megumi stood there, his breathing steady, his expression unreadable. He didn’t revel in it. He didn’t need to. This wasn’t vengeance. This wasn’t even justice. This was necessity. A brutal, unflinching act of protection.

Megumi turned away, his hands moving to pick up the acid bucket. The grin was gone, replaced by the usual stoic mask. But the darkness in his eyes lingered, a quiet reminder of the lengths he would go to for her.

For you.

Because some loves were not meant to be soft. Some loves were forged in shadows, in blood, in the unyielding resolve to destroy anything—or anyone—that dared to threaten what was yours.

And Megumi Fushiguro had never been one to hesitate.

Outside

Now, you had moved on to absolutely decimating Gojo in Mario Kart.

"No, no, no—Babe, wait—Babe—Use the shell," Gojo pleaded, gripping your thigh. "Please. Mercy."

"Nope," you said sweetly, drifting around the final corner with expertise only a gaming industry insider could have. "Red shell, baby."

"I’m your husband!"

"That’s why I’m not holding back."

Gojo groaned as his kart spun out.

You crossed the finish line, first place sparkling across the screen.

"You’re cruel," Gojo mumbled, dropping his chin onto your head. His arm slid around you again, fingers tracing absent-mindedly over the swell of your stomach.

"Yeah, but you like a challenge."

"Unfortunately." He sighed. His breath warmed the side of your temple. "I’d be less into you if you were nicer."

"I’ll keep that in mind," you murmured, leaning into him, head on his chest, watching the victory music play out on the screen. Gojo’s hands continued to rub gently over the bump of your stomach. His thumb tracing soft circles.

"They’re getting stronger," he murmured.

"Mmm."

"Maybe they’ll come out normal."

"I’ll beat you with a frying pan."

"Okay, okay—maybe they’ll come out slightly cursed."

"You’re setting the bar pretty low."

"Better to be realistic."

Inside

"Okay, hear me out—" Haibara wiped his bloody hands on his pants, crouched over the half-dissolved corpse in the industrial sink. His other hand casually still held the half-eaten sub. "—what if we just leave her in the bathtub for a few days? Let nature do its thing."

Megumi’s eye twitched. "No."

"Why not?" Haibara asked, taking another bite. His other hand was drenched in blood, and there was something almost alluring—like a serial killer—in the way his tongue darted out to lick the sauce from the corner of his mouth. "The acids will break her down eventually."

"We’re not leaving a body in the sink," Megumi hissed. He stood back, arms crossed, his long frame darkening the room. "That’s disgusting."

"You sound like such a prude," Haibara said, eyes glittering. "Is it the bathtub part or the dissolving part?"

Megumi’s nostrils flared. “Both."

Haibara shrugged. "Well, we could always—"

"We are not cutting her into pieces."

"You’re no fun." Haibara tossed his sub wrapper into the sink—where it floated ominously in the rising pink sludge—and wiped his hands on his pants again.

"Stop doing that," Megumi said through gritted teeth.

"What? Blood’s biodegradable." Haibara leaned against the sink, examining the half-dissolved mess like he was eyeing a bad paint job. "Honestly, I’m impressed. Woman’s stubborn."

"Evil has a longer shelf life than most," Megumi muttered darkly. His eyes narrowed at the body, or what was left of it.

"Should we check for a pulse?" Haibara suggested.

Megumi glared at him. "She’s in three pieces."

"Could be playing dead."

"I’m not checking."

"Coward." Haibara nudged one of the limbs with his foot.

It twitched.

Megumi’s entire face twisted in disgust.

"What the hell—"

The limb twitched again. The mother’s head—her half-melted face—rolled toward them, lips curling back in what was almost a smile.

Haibara crouched down, eyes gleaming dangerously. "Aw, look at that. She still has a sense of humor."

"You’re enjoying this too much," Megumi muttered.

"It's called finding joy in your work." Haibara smiled, white and smug. "You should try it sometime."

"Finish it," Megumi said, stepping back. "Before she grows another limb."

"Party pooper." Haibara sighed, grabbing a heavy iron rod from the floor. "Alright, Mother Gothel—say goodnight."

Group Chat: Dad Crimes 💀

Daddy: She sat in my lap today. Out of nowhere.

Father Time: Mm.

Daddy: And then she leaned back and sighed. Like this tiny, breathy sound. And then she said, "You’re warm."

Father Time: Mm.

Daddy: I think I died. I ascended. I reached enlightenment.

Father Time: And yet you’re still here.

Daddy: In body only. My soul is gone.

Outside

Your mother had died—but the problem was, she was annoying enough to turn into a curse. Not the powerful kind, just a stubborn one. The kind of curse that refused to be exorcised easily, clinging to the world with a petty, spiteful determination. And now, she was hellbent on sucking the life out of you.

Gojo, your ever-clownish husband, had been appointed to keep you distracted. Of course, he totally did not reverse-psychologize Nanami into letting him babysit you. It wasn’t just because pregnancy had made your body fuller, softer, and utterly irresistible now that you were officially in your third trimester. And it definitely wasn’t just because the way your boobs had grown was doing things to him—things that made it nearly impossible for him to keep his hands off you. No, no, it was more than that.

Okay, maybe that was, like, 10% of it.

The truth was, Nanami had agreed because he knew if he hovered around you, you’d get suspicious. And they couldn’t risk that. They weren’t about to tell your pregnant ass that your mother had turned into a curse with a vendetta against you. Gojo was worried—maybe more than he’d ever admit. Nanami had been sending him articles lately about fathers becoming obsessed with their pregnant partners, and Gojo was starting to think there might be some truth to it. The thought of anything happening to you made his chest tighten in a way he wasn’t used to. He’d always been the strongest, the untouchable, but this? This was different. This was you.

So maybe this was his way of being overprotective without drawing attention. He’d heard stories of sorcerers going insane over lost pregnant partners. In another universe he might have understood what Toji would have become if he wasn’t already insane and lost Megumi’s mom.

“Eat, sweetheart,” Gojo murmured, placing a bag of snacks infront of you. “I brought your favorite—spicy chips, pickles, and that weird drink you’ve been obsessed with. Oh, and chocolate. Lots of chocolate.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back against his chest with a hand resting on your swollen belly. “What’s the occasion? You’re being extra… Satoru today.”

He flashed that infuriatingly confident smirk of his, one that made it almost impossible to focus on what he was saying. “Can’t a guy just want to spoil his gorgeous, glowing wife? Look at you. You’re like a fertility goddess or something. It’s unfair, really. How am I supposed to focus on anything when you’re out here looking like that?”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re such a dork.”

“Can’t help it when it’s my wife’s type,” he mused, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of your head. His lips lingered for a moment, and you could feel the tension in him, the way his usual playful energy was tinged with something darker, something more protective.

“Satoru,” you said slowly, while he opened the bottle of drink for you. “What’s going on? You’re being… weird. Even for you.”

He pulled back, his grin never faltering, but his eyes—those piercing blue eyes—were unreadable. “Me? Weird? Never. I’m just enjoying the view.” His hand slid back to your belly, his touch gentle but possessive. “And these two little troublemakers. They’re gonna be just as stubborn as their mom, aren’t they?”

You swatted his hand away, but he caught your wrist, his grip firm but tender. For a moment, the mask slipped, and you saw it—the worry, the fear, the raw intensity in his gaze. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a smirk.

“Relax, sweetheart. I’m just here to make sure you’re comfortable. And maybe steal a few cuddles while I’m at it.” He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping tighter around you in a way that felt both protective and possessive.

You sighed, leaning into him despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me,” he teased, his voice soft, almost tender.

You didn’t respond, but the way your hand found his, fingers intertwining, said enough. Gojo’s grin softened, and for a moment, the world felt quiet, safe. But beneath the surface, the tension lingered. He knew what was out there, what was waiting. And he’d be damned if he let anything—or anyone—hurt you.

“Satoru,” you murmured after a while, your voice drowsy. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

He stiffened for a fraction of a second before forcing himself to relax. “Of course, sweetheart. Always.”

“Your hand is like a giant against mine. Like Bigfoot’s,” you laughed, holding up your palm to his, the size difference comically exaggerated.

“Ohh…” Gojo caught your laugh like it was a contagious disease, his grin widening as he completely derailed from his brooding thoughts. “Are you saying I have big hands? Because I’ve been told by my wife they’re very skilled.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile didn’t leave your face. “Yeah, but Nanami’s hands are somehow just a tiny bit rougher than yours. Come to think of it, how are your hands still ageless-looking?”

Gojo froze for a split second, his mind racing. He was not going to tell you he’d been sneaking your expensive retinol serums for years. “Ahh, Infinity, baby,” he said with a small nibbling bite to your cheeks, as if that explained everything. “Keeps the wrinkles away. And the haters.”

You laughed, leaning back against him. “Nanami’s hands are warmer, though. No, wait—actually, I can’t pick one. I like both.”

Gojo gasped, clutching your chest like you’d just stabbed him. “Betrayal! Right to my face! After all I’ve done for you! I bring you snacks, I massage your feet, I let you steal the blankets—and this is how you repay me? By comparing me to Nanami? It’s unfair; Nanami’s perfect.”

You swatted his hand away from your chest. “Don’t be jealous. You know you’re my favorite clown.”

“Clown?!” he exclaimed, feigning outrage. “I’m the honored one, babe, thank you very much. The strongest sorcerer, the most handsome man alive, and the only person who can put up with your weird pickle-and-chocolate cravings.”

“Mhm, sure,” you said, patting his hand condescendingly. “Keep telling yourself that.”

He leaned in, his face next to yours, his grin turning mischievous. “I love you.”

“I tolerate you,” you shot back, but the way your lips twitched gave you away.

Inside

Haibara’s laugh cut through the room, light and cheerful as ever—which only made it worse. He was still licking sauce off his fingers like they hadn’t just spent the last two hours failing to kill your mother while all Haibara had done was continuously munch.

Megumi, standing across from him, looked considerably less composed. His shirt sleeves were now rolled up, and there was blood—a lot of it—drying against his black leather gloves. The acid had done its work, but still...

"She just wouldn’t die," Megumi muttered, disgust curling his lip. "It’s unnatural."

"Honestly," Haibara said, chewing, "I respect the stamina."

"You would."

The sharp clink of ice against glass made both men turn.

Nanami Kento sat by the bar, the city lights casting a golden glow on his sharp features. His hair was swept back with precision, the faint sheen of product catching the light as if even his hair strands obeyed his command. The crisp lines of his shirt hugged his frame like water over marble; his sleeves were still neatly pressed, and the way he adjusted his cufflinks—slow, deliberate, almost predatory—was the very picture of composure. He was calmly stirring whiskey into a crystal tumbler, like he wasn’t in the same room where a body was just being melted.

“Thanks for the intel on her mother, Nanami, but you can fuck off to your perfect little life now. We’ll handle it, just like we always handle everything in her life,” Haibara said, his tone mocking, yet laced with an undercurrent of threat and hatred.

"I appreciate your efforts," Nanami said evenly, swirling his drink. "But I came to collect."

Haibara’s smile twitched. "What could we possibly have that you want?"

Nanami took a slow sip of his drink and set the glass down. His gaze slid to Megumi, sharp as a scalpel.

"Your cooperation."

Megumi’s brow twitched. "I’m not helping you."

"Yes, you are," Nanami said flatly. "Because if you don't... well..." he took another sip, voice smooth as glass. "I’ll have to tell her exactly how many people you’ve killed for her over the years."

The silence was instant.

“In detail.” He finished.

"You wouldn’t," Megumi said, his leather gloves making a soft sound as he clenched his fists around the heavy rod he had picked up.

"I would," Nanami countered. "Because you both have been in love with her since you were kids, and as much as I admire the dedication, she’s my wife. And Gojo’s. And you know as well as I do that neither of us is going anywhere. Gojo’s practically immortal."

“My father killed him once,” Megumi hissed, his voice low and venomous.

“And yet,” Nanami replied, his tone calm but cutting, “he came back from the dead and immediately returned the favor. But funny, I don’t see your father standing here with us.”

Haibara’s smile stretched, sharp and ugly. "You really think threatening us is the way to go?"

"You think I won’t?" Nanami’s voice remained calm, but his eyes were cold. "She’s six months pregnant with twins that are special-grade before they’re even born. She’s a living target, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe—including making sure the two of you don’t poison her head with whatever fantasy you’ve been clinging to."

"She hates you right now," Megumi spoke like he was stating a fact as real as breathing.

"Hate’s irrelevant." Nanami’s mouth twisted slightly. "She’s still mine."

Megumi’s fists clenched harder. "So what’s your demand? You just want Gojo living here half the week?"

"That’s the deal." Nanami continued sipping. "Half the week I stay with her. Half the week, Gojo does. On Sunday, I and Gojo will both stay with you. And in exchange…" His gaze flicked back to Haibara. "I keep my mouth shut."

"And what happens when she finds out you were the reason her mother is dead?" Haibara asked lazily. "She’s smart, Kento. Too smart for you to keep this buried."

Nanami smiled—thin and amused.

"I never made any promises to not kill her mother. Only Gojo did. She knows better than to ask me such things."

Haibara’s smile broadened just slightly; this was it. This was what Haibara wanted to know about this Nanami—how far he’d go.

"You’d hurt her just to keep her?" Megumi’s voice carried a low undercurrent of danger.

"I’ll eliminate anyone or anything to keep her and Satoru safe," Nanami said quietly.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Megumi’s gaze darkened. Haibara went back to eating his sub.

"Fine," Megumi said, his voice low. "But if you slip up… if she cries because of you again... I’ll kill you both."

Nanami’s smirk didn’t waver.

"Get in line."

Outside

"Don’t shake the tree! The cherries are about to fall!"

"I know, Satoru." You swatted Gojo’s arm as he tried—and failed—to give you instructions for a game he didn’t understand.

Gojo’s chin was resting on your head. He had one arm looped lazily around your waist, his other hand fidgeting with the hem of your shirt under the blanket.

"I’m just saying," Gojo muttered. "You’re playing too aggressively. Animal Crossing’s about vibes."

"I’ve been playing this game longer than you’ve been paying attention to it," you shot back.

"Rude." He nuzzled against your neck like an oversized cat.

"You’re clingy tonight," you murmured, not unkindly.

"Mmm." His fingers slid across your stomach, thumb-tracing slow circles. The twins shifted beneath his palm, a soft ripple beneath your skin.

Gojo's breath hitched. "Their kicks are strong.”

"They’re strong," you said softly.

"Of course they are." Gojo’s voice dropped to a whisper as he kissed your cheek. "They’re yours."

“Ours,” you said, absentmindedly while smiling faintly, gaze still fixed on the game.

Gojo’s hand stilled against your belly. His grip tightened slightly, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on harder.

"You still love me, right?"

Your fingers stilled on your Switch.

"I mean… after everything," Gojo said, his voice softer now. "After Nanami. After…" His voice broke. "I just—I need to know I haven’t lost you."

"Satoru…"

"I know you and Kento are closer. I know I’m not as… grounded or human. But I need you too." His voice cracked. "You know that, right?"

You turned, setting the Switch down on your legs. Gojo’s face was bare—no blindfold, no sunglasses—just wide blue eyes, tired and flickering with something fragile. Something desperate.

You reached up, fingers brushing through his hair. "I never stopped loving you."

Gojo exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.

"Good," he whispered, leaning in to press a kiss against your forehead.

His lips lingered there, trembling. "Because I’m not letting you go. I know I can’t undo the things you felt, but I will never let it happen again."

Your breath hitched, but before you had to say anything more—

Nanami dropped into the patio chair next to you. His shirt was immaculate—no blood, no sweat, not a wrinkle in sight.

"Finished?" Gojo asked, not looking up.

"Not yet." Nanami adjusted the blanket over your legs. "Deciding on the cleanup."

"And?"

"It’s taking longer than expected."

"You’re losing your touch."

"Or she’s simply custom built to be extra pain in the ass."

Nanami’s gaze flicked toward you—calm, assessing. His mouth softened the slightest bit.

"Comfortable?"

"Mostly," you yawned. "Winning helps."

"She cheats," Gojo said.

"She’s better than you," Nanami replied smoothly.

Gojo grunted because with Gojo, there was no hope of winning fair and square, so you almost always had to cheat—and Nanami encouraged it. He’d been gaslighting Gojo ever since the day the three of you met at the gaming convention, weaving lies so seamlessly that even Gojo’s Six Eyes couldn’t always untangle them.

Gojo knew, of course.

He always knew.

But he let you two keep pretending you were sly, playing your little games.

Nanami’s gaze lingered on you, longer than necessary. "If I leave you alone with her for a full week, you’ll find a way to screw it up." He said to Gojo.

"He’s got you there," you murmured.

"You’re ganging up on me," Gojo whined.

"Welcome to marriage," Nanami said dryly.

Gojo sighed.

And then, in the distance—

"OH, COME ON—"

Haibara’s voice echoed from inside.

"How’s she’s still not dead?" Megumi’s voice followed, dark.

"I think she just opened her eyes."

"Put her in the furnace," Megumi said coldly.

"Megumi—"

"Or I’m leaving."

You sighed, tilting your head toward Nanami. "I'm gonna have nightmares again, aren’t I?"

"I’ll be with you tonight," Nanami reassured.

"That’s not reassuring." You said lowly, going back to playing Animal Crossing. Even if they killed to keep you and the babies safe, the guilt still festered and strangled you in dreams.

Gojo’s mouth tightened as he glanced at you, still curled against him, oblivious to your mother being dissolved alive in acid in the next room, fingers tapping lazily at the Switch.

"Fine, I’ll stay here," he said.

Nanami smirked. "Good boy."

From the hallway, Megumi’s voice drifted faintly—flat and disgusted.

"Stop flirting, it’s gross."

"Says the guy who just dissolved a body," Haibara sabotaged him cheerfully.

---

1 Monday Evening - Your Penthouse

Your home office’s lighting was too bright. Artificial. Harsh.

You squinted against it, the glow of the massive TV screen blurring the sharp edges of the charts and financial projections flashing across it.

"Q3 revenue targets are off by seven percent—"

"Our Asia-Pacific branch needs—"

Your head pounded. The sound of overlapping voices blurred into static.

It was too hot.

You curled your fingers over the edge of the glass table. You had to get through this meeting because it was important and both Megumi and Haibara were still busy. But your breath caught as the twins pressed heavily against your spine. They were restless. Or maybe you were restless.

"Ma’am—?"

You pressed your palm against your mouth and exhaled slowly. Your heart was thudding too hard against your ribs.

"Are you ok?"

"I’m fine," you murmured.

Lying, obviously.

"We’ll need your input on the new licensing strategy—"

"I said I’m fine."

Your vision flickered. The edges of the screen swam. Heat pooled beneath your skin, ice-cold and sharp. Your knees locked.

"Miss—?"

The static roared.

And then the ground rushed up to meet you.

You didn’t remember falling.

You didn’t remember hitting the floor.

But you remembered the arms that caught you.

Firm. Steady. Clean soap and linen.

"I’ve got you," Nanami said, low and calm, as if your body wasn’t limp in his arms. His sleeves were rolled up. His grip was sure.

The boardroom was silent on screen.

Nanami adjusted you more securely in his arms. "Meeting adjourned."

No one moved.

"Now."

The scrape of chairs. The shuffle of shoes. Murmurs of "We’ll circle back to this in the next sprint. Until then, let’s give this a re-read." The door opened and closed.

Nanami didn’t wait for them to disconnect the call before setting you down on the couch.

"Kento—"

"Quiet."

You slumped against him, your head tucked beneath his chin. Your heart hammered painfully in your chest.

"Stock market’s been volatile," Nanami said, almost conversationally. His voice low and steady, cutting through the fog behind your eyes. "U.S. index dropped six points overnight. Nikkei is following suit."

Your fingers curled weakly into the back of his dress shirt.

"The yuan is still stable, though. Interesting, considering the ECB’s latest adjustments."

You made a faint, broken sound.

Nanami’s arms tightened around you. His lips brushed against your temple.

"Rest," he murmured. "I've got you."

A lump rose in your throat.

"I missed this version of you."

Nanami stilled.

You forced your eyes open, the haze thinning just enough to see the tension in his brow. His mouth was set in a thin line.

"I know," he said quietly.

"Then why—"

"I know."

You didn’t want to cry. But you were tired. And there was too much weight pressing against your chest.

"You didn’t even know I was pregnant."

His arms tightened almost imperceptibly.

"I know." His voice was thin. Raw.

You closed your eyes.

Nanami exhaled slowly. He lowered you carefully onto the couch, kneeling beside you as his thumb brushed over your wrist.

"Stay there," he murmured.

You barely registered him leaving the room. Your pulse was still too fast, your head still too heavy.

But when he came back, he was carrying a tray.

Silver cutlery. Crisp linen napkins. A porcelain plate—

And food.

Perfectly seared fish, sliced thinly over a bed of seasoned risotto. Grilled vegetables, drizzled with balsamic reduction. Every piece precisely arranged.

Nanami slid the tray in front of you.

"You didn’t have to—"

"I made it."

You stared at him. "You… cooked all of this?"

"I had time." He rolled up his sleeves further, sitting down beside you. "You need to eat."

You hesitated.

Nanami’s gaze sharpened. His hand settled on your thigh. "Eat."

You picked up the fork. Took a bite.

The flavor melted on your tongue. Warm and rich and… precise.

You swallowed, throat tight. "You made this for me?”

Nanami’s gaze softened.

"Of course."

Your chest ached.

"What changed?" you whispered.

Nanami’s gaze flicked away.

"Nothing." His hand tightened on your knee. "Everything."

Your breath hitched.

"It’s not like I didn’t care," he said, low and even. "I just… didn’t realize."

Your gaze sharpened. "Didn’t realize?"

Nanami’s mouth twisted. His hand slid to the drawer on the end table—

And pulled out a photo.

Creased at the edges.

An ultrasound photo.

"Nanami—"

"Don’t forget us."

The words were scrawled in your handwriting on the back. Ink slightly smudged.

Nanami’s thumb dragged across the paper, slow and deliberate.

"You left this on my desk," he said quietly.

"Months ago."

Your throat closed. "And?"

"I thought you were tired." Nanami’s gaze lifted, sharp and cold beneath the weight of his own guilt. "I thought you were stressed."

Your eyes burned.

"Kento—"

"And now," his voice dropped lower, "I’m realizing I’m an idiot because I didn’t find it in time."

Your chest tightened.

Nanami’s hand slid over your belly, his palm settling just beneath the curve of your ribcage.

"I should have noticed." His thumb brushed over the curve of your stomach. "I should have seen it."

"You were busy."

"No excuse."

Tears burned your throat.

"I didn’t think you wanted this," you whispered.

Nanami’s gaze sharpened. "That’s not true."

"You didn’t act like you wanted it."

Nanami’s hand curled over your stomach. His lips parted—

Then his phone buzzed.

He pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen.

"What?"

Nanami turned the screen toward you.

A message from Gojo.

“Did you know that babies can pee in the womb?”

Another message followed.

“Also, they can hear us right now. Say hi to my unborn heirs.”

You laughed weakly, grimicing. "God, he’s so stupid."

Nanami’s mouth twitched.

"He’s trying."

"He’s still an idiot."

"Yes, that he is."

Nanami’s thumb brushed beneath your jaw.

"But so am I."

Your gaze softened.

"We’ll figure it out," he murmured. "I promise."

You stared at him.

"Do you?"

Nanami’s mouth curved faintly.

"I wouldn’t dare lie to you."

Your chest ached.

"Good," you whispered.

Nanami’s hand settled beneath your chin.

"Eat," he said.

Your heart stuttered.

And you did.

But soon your gaze flicked to his laptop.

"Nanami."

He didn’t look up. "Hm?"

"What is this?"

Nanami adjusted his glasses. "An analysis."

"An analysis of…?"

He turned the laptop toward you.

The screen displayed a neatly formatted PowerPoint slide:

"SUBJECT'S HEADPHONES STOCKPILE SUGGESTS UNRESOLVED TRUST ISSUES."

Below it: a bullet-point list.

Number of headphones purchased in the last 3 months: 12.

Headphones hidden in strategic locations: kitchen drawer, bathroom cabinet, under bed, handbag, car, home office, behind TVs.

Preferred brand: Razer (surround sound, strong bass, noise-canceling).

At the bottom: "Conclusion: Avoidance tactic?"

You stared at it.

"Nanami."

Nanami rubbed the bridge of his forehead. "You keep replacing them."

"Because you and Satoru keep borrowing them."

"We wouldn’t need to borrow them if you’d just talk to us."

Your mouth flattened. "You think hoarding headphones is some subconscious avoidance tactic?"

"It fits a pattern."

"A pattern?"

Nanami sighed, closing the laptop. "Your emotional distress is manifesting through material substitution."

"Are you serious?"

Nanami looked at you. Calm. Serious.

"Yes."

Your jaw tightened.

"Do you even hear yourself?" you snapped.

"Of course."

"God—" You stood up, hands shaking. "This is so—"

"What?"

"Clinical."

Nanami’s gaze sharpened. "I’m trying to understand."

"No." You whirled on him. "You’re trying to diagnose me."

Nanami’s brow furrowed.

"I’m not a puzzle for you to solve," you hissed.

"I know that."

"Do you?"

Nanami’s mouth flattened.

"Because it doesn’t feel like it," you bit out. "It feels like you’re treating me like some ‘finance bro’ mess you can manage and file away."

Nanami exhaled slowly.

"I’m trying to help."

"By making a fucking PowerPoint?"

Nanami’s jaw flexed.

"You shut me out," he said quietly.

"Because you didn’t notice me!" you snapped.

Nanami’s gaze sharpened.

"You didn’t notice when I stopped eating. You didn’t notice when I stopped sleeping. You didn’t notice when I started throwing up in the morning, Kento." Your breath hitched painfully. "And I was so scared."

Nanami’s mouth parted.

"I thought something was wrong with me," you whispered. "I thought maybe I was sick. And you—" Your chest heaved. "You were too busy."

Nanami’s face tightened.

"You could have said something."

"I did, Nanami. I did that day in this very living room." Your voice cracked. "You didn’t care."

The tension between you was unbearable.

"And Gojo—" Your breath hitched. "He didn’t notice either."

"I didn’t know." His voice was low. Rough. "If I had known—"

"But you didn’t."

"No."

Your chest ached.

Nanami’s mouth tightened. His eyes flicked to the floor.

Your phone buzzed.

You pulled it from the pocket of your hoodie, swiping the screen.

A message from Megumi.

"Don’t make me come over. You’ll raise your blood pressure."

You exhaled shakily, fingers curling over the phone.

Another message followed.

"But seriously. You okay?"

Your chest tightened.

Nanami’s gaze sharpened. "Who is that?"

"No one."

Nanami’s eyes narrowed. "Fushiguro."

"Don’t." You snapped. "He actually notices when I’m upset."

Nanami’s jaw flexed. "Do you think I don’t care?"

"No, not right now, not from months. Somehow Gojo’s stupid-ass is caring about me more than you right now."

Nanami’s gaze darkened. "Not enough."

"No."

Nanami’s hand curled over his knee. "Tell me how to fix it."

"You can’t."

"Then tell me how to make it better."

“I didn’t have to create a PPT to tell you how to ruin it, so why should I have to tell you how to fix the relationship you sabotaged in the first place with me?” Your throat closed.

Nanami’s gaze softened.

"Alright."

"You say that now."

"I mean it."

You stared at him.

Your phone buzzed again.

Nanami’s gaze flicked to it. "Answer it."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because he’ll come over."

Nanami’s eyes darkened. "And you don’t want him to?"

You sighed.

"He needs to sleep; he hasn’t slept in two days."

Nanami’s mouth twitched. His hand slid to your wrist. His thumb brushed slowly across your pulse point.

"Okay."

You inhaled shakily.

"Next time?" Nanami said quietly.

"Next time?"

"Tell me before you collapse in a board meeting."

You exhaled.

"And if I don’t?"

Nanami’s thumb traced your pulse again.

"I’ll notice."

Your heart twisted painfully.

"Alright."

Nanami’s gaze softened.

"Now eat."

You scoffed.

"Is that a direct order?"

"Yes."

"Asshole."

Nanami’s mouth twitched. "Eat."

---

Sometime later, Nanami stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, the familiar line between his brows already deepening.

Because your body, in the beginning of its third trimester, had decided that your only purpose in life was to eat, sleep and now cry all the tears you never cried before.

So currently, you were sitting on the couch, legs curled beneath you, clutching a gaming controller like your life depended on it. Your pregnant belly made it awkward to sit like that, but you didn’t seem to care.

"Are you… crying?" Nanami asked, carefully.

You sniffed, eyes glued to the enormous TV screen mounted on the wall. A low, menacing soundtrack pulsed through the surround sound system.

"No," you said. Your voice wobbled.

On the screen, your character was getting absolutely bodied.

Blood splatter.

Game over.

A taunting You Are Dead flashing across the screen in bold, red letters.

Your bottom lip trembled.

Nanami took a step toward you. "Maybe you should take a break."

"DON’T TALK TO ME."

Nanami froze.

You threw the controller onto the couch, arms crossing tightly over your chest. Your eyes were glassy. Your cheeks were flushed.

Nanami stepped forward slowly, palms open. "What happened?"

"WHAT HAPPENED?!" Your eyes flashed. "WHAT HAPPENED, NANAMI?"

Nanami’s jaw flexed. "Yes?"

He genuinely hated that you still didn’t call him by his first name. Like he was some distant colleague instead of the man who shared your bed, your life, and—technically—your last name.

“You do realize,” he said, deviating the topic, his tone as dry as the paperwork, “that you’re a Nanami too. Legally. Socially. In every way that matters.”

You blinked at him, feigning innocence. “And?”

“And,” he continued, pinching the bridge of his nose, “it’s a little ridiculous that you still call me by my family name. We’re married. You could at least call me Kento.”

You sobbed harder. “But ‘Nanami’ sounds so professional. Like I’m talking to my accountant.” Hiccup. “Or my lawyer.” Another Hiccup. “Or my—”

“Why are you crying?” He asked instead because, deep down, he knew why you refused to call his name these days.

You made a frustrated noise, leaning back into the couch. "I died!"

"I gathered that," he said slowly.

"And it wasn’t my fault!"

"I see."

"It was the stupid camera angle!"

"Mm."

"And the input lag!"

"Right."

"And the STUPID NPC WHO DIDN’T HELP ME."

Nanami took another cautious step forward. "You could try again?"

You shot him a murderous look.

Nanami wisely stayed quiet.

On the screen, the game restarted.

You didn’t pick up the controller.

You were still glaring at Nanami like he’d committed a war crime.

Nanami’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out and sighed.

---

Chili Rating Poll: Rate each husband's progress in couples therapy (1-5 🌶️): 1 🌶️ = Still setting fires in Sims 4 3 🌶️ = Gojo bought apology watermelons 5 🌶️ = Nanami admitted he’s a simp Bonus: How many times did you scream ‘JUST COMMUNICATE’? So how many parallels did you catch???🤔🌚 Or what was your fav line??? 👀

Next part of this chapter - (Tumblr/Ao3)

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

[amirawrah]

♥︎ 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲

...𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐦☁︎

⭐︎𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐡: 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐉𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛, 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐢 𝐝𝐨, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬!!! 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Madrid had always felt like a temporary place for you—a city you visited, a destination tied to Jude’s career. But today, it felt different. Today, Madrid was becoming home.

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting golden streaks across the quiet neighbourhood as you stepped out of the car, taking in the sight of your new house. Our house. The words still felt foreign but exciting, like trying on something brand new and realising it fit perfectly.

Jude was already at the trunk, pulling out a couple of your suitcases. He caught your gaze, his lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. “Getting cold feet already?” he teased, nodding toward the front door.

You rolled your eyes, walking toward him. “If I was, would you let me leave?”

Jude smirked, setting the bags down before wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Not a chance, love.” His voice was low, warm, and completely sure. The certainty in his words made your chest tighten in the best way.

The front door was already unlocked, a sign of how eager he was for you to finally move in. The moment you stepped inside, you were hit with a mix of new paint, fresh furniture, and something entirely Jude. The house was modern yet inviting—high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the Madrid sun, and sleek furnishings balanced with personal touches. A few of his jerseys framed on the walls, a signed football sitting on a bookshelf, and now, scattered boxes filled with your things, ready to be unpacked.

Jude walked in behind you, watching as you slowly took it all in. “So?” he asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “What do you think?”

You turned to him, a slow smile spreading across your face. “I think… this is home.”

His expression softened, and in a second, he was in front of you, hands cupping your face before pressing a kiss to your lips. It was slow, deep, filled with the weight of everything this move meant. He pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

A soft laugh escaped you. “You mean you were tired of me leaving all the time?”

“Yes,” he admitted shamelessly. “I hated seeing you pack up and go. Now? You’re here. With me. No more goodbyes.”

You exhaled, feeling the truth in his words settle deep in your bones. No more nights spent in different time zones. No more rushed airport goodbyes. Just this.

Jude pulled away, clapping his hands together. “Alright, let’s get you properly settled in.” He grabbed one of your suitcases and nodded toward the hallway. “Your closet—sorry, our closet—is this way.”

You followed him upstairs, still getting used to the fact that this was now just as much your space as it was his. The bedroom was just as breathtaking as the rest of the house—massive windows overlooking the city, a king-sized bed that looked too comfortable for its own good, and more of Jude’s personal touches scattered around.

As you unzipped one of your bags, Jude leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with a lazy smile. “It’s kinda surreal, isn’t it?” he mused.

You glanced up, tilting your head. “What is?”

“This. Us. Actually living together.” He stepped forward, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Feels like we’ve been talking about it forever.”

You nodded, fingers tracing the edge of the suitcase. “It always felt like something in the future, like we were waiting for the perfect time.”

Jude let out a soft chuckle. “And now we’re here.”

You smiled, reaching for one of your sweaters, but Jude plucked it from your hands and tossed it onto the bed. “You know… we don’t have to unpack everything today.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Jude.”

“What?” He stepped closer, fingers playing at the hem of your shirt. “I just think there are better ways to break in the new house.”

You bit your lip, trying—and failing—to fight back a smile. “Oh, really?”

Jude leaned in, lips brushing over your jaw as his hands found your waist, pulling you against him. “Mm-hmm,” he murmured. “Starting with that ridiculously big bed.”

You laughed, tilting your head back as he peppered kisses down your neck. “So, no unpacking?”

He grinned against your skin. “Later.”

And just like that, the idea of organising your closet was completely forgotten.

Because right now, in this house, in his arms, in Madrid—this was home.

Hours later, after tangled limbs and laughter, after whispered promises between sheets, you found yourself curled up against Jude on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs, the faint sounds of Madrid filtering through the open window.

Jude’s fingers traced absent patterns on your arm as he exhaled contentedly. “This is it, isn’t it?”

You tilted your head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

He smiled, soft and genuine. “This. Just us. At home. No flights, no rushing, no counting down the days until we see each other again.”

You felt a warmth spread through you, deeper than the Madrid sun. “Yeah,” you whispered. “This is it.”

Jude pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling you closer. “I like it.”

And as you closed your eyes, listening to his steady heartbeat, you realised—so did you.

[narcicious]

Oh, that's so cool! I wonder if this similarity in environments, and thus similarity in types and distributions of native species, has to do with their similar tectonics histories as well as their similar latitudes!

The west coast of South America is largely an active convergent plate boundary, where the Nazca plate is subducting under the South American plate and forming the Andes mountain range as a volcanic arc right along the coast [1].

Similarly, a good stretch of the northern part of the west cost of North American is an active subduction zone where the Juan de Fuca plate is subducting under the North American plate and forming the Cascades mountain range [2], extending from northern California to southern British Columbia. Until fairly recently in geological time, all (or almost all) of the western North American plate boundary was an active subduction zone (responsible in large part for much of the mountain building which occurred in western North America since the breakup of Pangea). This was when the Juan de Fuca, Explorer, Gorda, Cocos, and Nazca plates were apparently part of one large plate, referred to as the Farallon plate, which has since largely subducted and left only small fragments [3]. Much of the North American western plate boundary is now a transform boundary with the Pacific plate, so much less mountain building is occurring today, but we still have topography that reflects this history quite dramatically as the moutains weather away.

So we see narrow corridors bounded by deep seas on one side, tall young, volcanically active mountains on the other, and similar climates as a function of latitude, perfect conditions for forming geographically isolated regions with lots of precipitation on the coastal sides of the ranges at appropriate latitudes and (geologically) fresh nutrients from weathering of rocks in said ranges. Pretty good environment for speciation, I'd reckon!

I honestly hadn't thought much about the way the similarity between the regions tectonically might interact with their biological and ecological similarity, but it's really cool to think about!

[1]: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andes

[2]: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cascadia_subduction_zone

[3]: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Farallon_Plate

About the unique ecosystems in narrow corridors along the Pacific coast, and the mirroring of California and Chile:

Really cool how the (arbitrary political) borders of Chile host a total of about 60 amphibian species, but 37 of them are endemic species, all living only within about 100 kilometers of the Pacific coast. “Chile” hosts about 130 reptile species, of which an incredible 81 are endemic, living nowhere else.

Both temperate rainforest and Mediterranean chaparral are rare ecosystems on Earth, and both biomes have relatively mild winter climates comfortable for cold-blooded amphibians and reptiles.

Here you can see amphibian biodiversity is highest in the Valdivian temperate rainforest, while reptile diversity is highest in the Mediterranean chaparral zone.

Here’s the Valdivian temperate rainforest and Mediterranean chaparral zones, just for comparison to the amphibian and reptile zones of biodiversity.

Compare to the distribution of rainforest and chaparral in coastal North America:

Not coincidentally, California has a similarly high rate of reptile and amphibian endemism and biodiversity.

Even when limited to narrow corridors, temperate rainforest and Mediterranean chaparral still host a surprising amount of unique lifeforms.

Check out California:

Here’s a look at the distribution range of slender salamanders (Batrachoseps) in California. In the Mediterranean-climate zone of California, there are 23 species of slender salamander, of which about 22 are endemic.

Chile and California are essentially mirrored images of each other at similar latitudes; both center on climatically-mild west-coast temperate rainforest and Mediterranean chaparral biomes.

Temperate rainforest biome and Mediterranean-climate chaparral biome are both rare on the planet:

Here’s both the California coast and the Chilean coast recognized as global biodiversity hotspots.

[katkitpaddywick]

(trying out a tumblr vent, don't mind me)

[demarogue]

Gettin' Through the Holidays Mental Health Tricks

If y'all are anything like me, this time of year is triggering AF. Here are some small, very easy grounding exercises that I was taught by my therapist, basically in order of how much I like them for this rage-inducing season. You make like them in a different order, depending on your rage-to-despair ratio.

Push a wall: literally go up to a wall and try to push it over. Really try. I promise you won't push it over, but give it your best shot. Try to hold it as long as you can, and then take a breather and assess whether you need to repeat. Why it works: This is a quick, physical expulsion of the fight-or-flight feeling. It's a bit like punching a wall, but without the potential to hurt yourself/look scary/damage things. You can even do it in front of people and say you're stretching, they'll never know (unless the wall actually falls down, but this will not happen, I assure you).

Shake like a dog: Animals shake to release stress, and you are also an animal. Setting aside time to just shake it out, as vigorously as you can, arms and legs, face, stick your tongue out, pretend you're shaking like a wet dog. You can dance instead, if that feels better, and you can do this to music, but basically the more unhinged you can be, the better. If you are in a place you can scream, scream too! Why it works: like the above, this is a release of pent-up stress and anxiety. Especially if your rage-to-woe ratio is high, some kind of physical exertion is often the best way to burn through the cortisol and adrenaline you're building up.

Bilateral Tapping: Cross your arms over your chest so that your fingertips are at your shoulders, and slowly tap, one hand at a time, back and forth, for about a minute. Breathe slowly. Why it works: This is weird as hell, but because this engages both sides of your brain, it helps override the activity of the amygdala, which is the part of your brain that Makes The Fear. If you're being literally triggered in a situation, i.e. you're having a trauma response, or reliving some family trauma, this is a good one.

Box Breathing: From a comfortable position (can really be seated, laying down or standing), inhale slowly for a count of 4, hold for a count of 4, exhale for a count of 4, hold for a count of 4, then repeat. You can do it for shorter counts or longer counts, but if you vary the counts make sure the exhale is longer than the inhale. You can close your eyes or leave them open. Why it works: This exercise helps you move from a sympathetic (activated) nervous system response to a parasympathetic (balanced) response. I do this one every day, and it's a good gateway to meditation. Especially helpful in anxious or tense situations, but I find if I'm very triggered I need one of the other ones first, or it can make anxiety worse. Breathwork is amazing but not usually as a first exercise if you're very activated, or have been activated a long time.

Ice: Lots of ways to do this one – hands in cold water for 30 seconds, ice pack on the back of your neck, dip your entire face into a bowl of ice water (this one's the most effective). Why it works: I kinda think this is hilarious, but this activates your mammalian dive reflex. It immediately slows your heart-rate, so if you are feeling your blood pressure and heart rate rising, this one is very good. The only reason this one's at the bottom of my list is because I hate being cold.

I wish you all a very get-through-the-holidays-without-hurting-yourself. Take time alone if you need it.

[adventremnant]

tips that aren't the same list from 2006

you know exactly what dumbass list I mean, and none of that shit is practical, it's giving uwu ana butterfly and we all know it

hi, I'm angel, I'm a nutrition major, and here are tips to keep yourself safe and hide your eating habits that actually make sense. this will not be in any particular order, but

avoid ketosis. i know, i know, you heard it burns fat faster! it also makes you smell like a dog rolled in sharpies and makes you stupid. i'm not kidding, you will be slow as fuck. avoid keto at all costs, carbs are better and healthier than being caught and dumb

take electrolytes and pay close attention to your potassium intake. if you neglect this, you will damage your heart and muscles and run the risk of having a heart attack. i use liquid IV because I have POTS and need the extra sodium, but that brand is also good for ED-havers because it has extra b vitamins

take ultra strength prenatal vitamins. they contain extra folate, fish oil, and dha, all of which are necessary to protect your heart and brain when you're not intaking much food.

For other supplements, I recommend Metamucil to keep your bowels going, iron, vitamin c packets (will make the iron absorb better, I personally use the +immunity ones), b-complex, calcium-magnesium-zinc, and vitamin d. Make sure the b-complex contains b-12. Feel free to send me an ask or dm me for dosages because some of these will depend on where you live geographically or what food you are eating.

find a protein shake you like. I'm a muscle milk bitch personally, but fairlife, premier, etc, are all good. make sure it isn't a meal replacement shake, and make sure it contains at least 20g of protein. these contain vitamins beyond protein that will help you stay healthy. the protein will also keep you full. i recommend using it as milk in coffee because the coffee will also suppress hunger and act as a mild laxative without harming the bowels. don't take your iron along with this, as dairy will hinder the absorption of iron.

don't take laxatives. you're going to give yourself IBD. maybe once a month as an extra cleanout you can do a little miralax, but the natural route is always better. regularly drink coffee and drink specifically senna green tea, they're both natural laxatives. the metamucil i recommend will also keep you going. if you need a bigger laxative effect, blend a whole peeled and seeded orange, a few inches of peeled fresh ginger, juice from a whole lemon, add a tsp each of cracked black pepper and turmeric, blend with coconut water until it's a thin smoothie consistency. drink that, you'll be good.

the best thing you can do for yourself is hide your behaviors behind health food gym girlie orthorexic behaviors. nobody takes orthorexia seriously and they encourage those behaviors. you can cut out whatever the hell you want if you're crunchy and healthy about it.

don't go too crazy about it. old tips would tell you to act like you loved food and it's really obvious. being obsessed with food and cooking is weird and obvious. don't talk about food constantly and make it your whole personality to try to hide, it's bizarre and one of the signs they tell parents to look out for. you have to be nonchalant. food is whatever. you like it, you have favorite meals, but you get tired of tastes quickly, you're picky about textures, you don't like it once it gets cold, etc. it's just fuel and it's meaningless to you. you eat for your health, not for pleasure.

high impact workouts like HIIT and running may not be the best idea. some studies show that high impact exercise stimulates hunger hormones in some individuals. pilates, ballet, and yoga are low impact, high results, and give a very desirable aesthetic. they're also quiet and can be done with a yoga mat and maybe a theraband.

get a job. get a hobby. join a sport. being out of your house as much as possible gives you the largest opportunity for excuses. oh my job catered lunch, oh there were snacks at practice, oh so and so brought something to the knitting circle. this can also be an opportunity to earn or save money (or swindle your mom out of cash by obtaining money for concessions at games and then only getting a diet coke)

if you control your own food, maximize your nutrition. salmon, tuna, sardines. kale, chard, spinach. beans, lentils. berries. protein pasta. pasture raised eggs. the fancy filtered fairlife milk. your body will hold out so much longer if you're keeping it fueled with proper vitamins and minerals.

track your food using cronometer - if someone sees it on your phone and asks, you have a perfect built-in excuse. oh, you don't care about the calories, but it tracks vitamin and mineral intake, and you're trying to make sure you're getting enough of those because you have, say, an iron deficiency or you're worried you're not getting enough omega-3s.

anorexic hair is really obvious. it's from malnutrition and stress. absolutely ensure you're getting enough omega-3s and other fats in your diet (avocados, eggs, oily fish, nuts like walnuts) to avoid the anorexia hair and the sallow, dry skin. this is also why i insist you take vitamin d, iron, vitamin c, a b-complex, and a pre-natal with folate and dha, those will also protect your hair and skin health. also make sure you're trimming dead ends, get a deep conditioner and/or bond repair treatment, do scalp massages, and if it does fall out, start using a mousse for volume and get a cut to maximize volume to hide it.

keep up your oral, skin, and nail health, too. these can also be obvious indicators. if you're taking the vitamins and keeping to the foods i'm recommending, it'll help, but make sure you're brushing and flossing, use the nasty brown listerine, a good dry skin lotion like curel, and a nail oil. keep your nails short if they start peeling, but if they're peeling, you need to take more vitamin d and iron, or you could have celiac disease.

there's no such thing as a broken metabolism, and you can't boost or slow down your metabolism. those are myths. the only way to make your bmr higher is to have more muscle.

extra tip: if you start fainting, tell people you have or think you have POTS. work smarter not harder.

[screampied]

❝ IF I WAS A RICH GIRL . . ! ❞

ᡴꪫ sum. not only do you get your panties back but you get a handsome, suave sugar daddy as a gift. gojo takes you out on a date but the lavish, exquisite food isn’t what he’s exactly hungry for. hint: it’s between your legs. oh, and you.

wc. 6.6k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy!gojo au, age gap (early twenties/early thirties), semi public themes, toy usage, gojo is a nasty menace, cunnilıngus, implied multiple ōrgasms, praise kink, mentions of brēeding, impact play, size kink, degradation, edging, manhandling.

➤ sd!gojo masterlist

“s- ssssatoru,” you hiss. clenching onto your fork, you squeeze your thighs together underneath a velvet red table. it was as if every area of your nerves could barely hold themselves together as they’re continuously being interrupted. interrupted by the sheer vibrations juddering your legs apart. he’s sitting beside you, humming to himself as his eyes skim through the pricey menu. acting as if he doesn’t hear your sweet faint whines, he heard them alright. loud and clear. it’s been a while—ever since that day, you’d have been a fool to not call him from the business card he gave you. accepting his precious offer to be a sugar baby. his sugar baby. and now, you were on a date with him. not just any date though, a date where he brings along a cute new bluetooth vibrator he bought for you. it’s happy new home was located right between your pretty thighs. the setting was powered on level four and you were so so close.

this was bad . . this was really really bad, the immense pressure steadily continues to arise. the bzzzing of the toy rings through your ears to where it gets stuck in your head. everything felt slow, real real slow. the entire five-star restaurant alone was quite loud. blaring with a multitude of conversations from talkative fellow guests. the vibrator makes you whine out a tiny, shrilling squeak, and you squeeze onto his pants leg. “you’re smiling. i know you can hear m- me.”

“huhhh, oh no sweet thing. ‘s just my natural face,” and he’s got a coy grin. he was definitely smiling. “let’s try one more level,” and your legs were just about to give out the moment the buzzing intensifies. so embarrassing, you keep trying to look around, in utter hopes that no one was looking your way. it felt so good, orgasmic even. you’re on your last final hinges of pleasure before he tugs against your ripped fishnets. “hold it, girl,” he directs, planting a kiss against your neck. “don’t finish, at least wait until our food comes. let’s try usin' those manners tonight, yeahh?”

“satoru jus’ let me cum,” you whine, grabbing his wrist. you feel against his g-shock. the cold, metal material making your cute fingertips shiver a bit.

out of amusement— he hums, watching as you try to drag his hand down between your heated thighs.

seeing how desperate you were for more of his beloved touch was adorable. your expanding heat only grows and that’s when you then slouch back against the fat padded restaurant booth. the fabric of your panties felt sticky—almost adhesive like with how it sticks against your mess between your lacey undergarments. just voluntarily glued against your plushed thighs. the toy’s been wavering against your pretty clit for about a good ten minutes. the waiter took you and gojo’s order quite a while ago since then—and those long ten minutes since then felt like long ten hours. “fuck, ‘toru. can’t hold it, pleasepleaseplease.”

“hmmmm,” gojo kneads a thumb against your wrist. his touch alone made you throb more. his touch, you just wanted more of it each time. it was addictive, like a drug, like candy even.

you’re so close to your release that it’s right there. at the very tip of your tongue, you could almost taste it. saliva pours into your mouth as the the inevitable pressure gradually emerges.

as people in the restaurant continue to walk by, you have to try to not be so obvious. you were failing miserably though—anyone could peer a look at you and spot the lewd expressions stretched across your face.

by now, you weren’t really trying to hide it. you were about to make a mess at a public restaurant, and maybe the simple thought of that alone made you pulse with no shame. “aw, y’r squeezin’ my wrist so tight, baby. really wanna make a mess, do ya?” and he leans right up against your neck, giving you a soft kiss. hot breath collides against your collarbone as he gives you a kiss, one simple kiss and you’re just so feral. not a single thought embedded into your mind except you were about to make the biggest nest imaginable. right underneath this table— all thanks to the stupid toy, and stupid satoru gojo, your beloved new sugar daddy. you’re nodding, tiny babbles of whimpers spewing out from your lips before he strums his fingertips against the rotating vibrator. gojo feels against the outer part of it sticking out of you, and he just wants to pull it out, making you cum himself with his tongue. he’s dirty but at least he has some kind of decorum. kind of. “so fuckin’ hot. gettin’ off at a five star restaurant like this, was supposed to be a special night but you just had to be a messy girl today, huh.”

“y- yes, ‘toru, please,” and your breathing hitches the second his frigid cold lips make contact against your skin yet again. if it was anything that could make you so weak, it was gojo’s obscene, sloppy kisses. you craved them like you craved air. “hafta cum, let me finish please. wan’ it so bad.”

with a little teasing sigh he murmurs, “okay fine,” and once he gives you the go ahead, you finally let go. the deafening music reverberating throughout the diner harmonizes over your orgasm— it was a tiny squeal but still. it silenced your own release, but you were still quite loud. you’re slump backward, feeling him turn off the toy from his phone with a simple button and he chuckles. “baby you’re so fuckin’ dramatic,” and he drags a thumb against your now soaked entrance. you’re panting, tummy heaving and heaving as your quaking legs were all sprawled open underneath the table. pried open just for him. “such a wet girl. kinda just wanna get a little taste. my own appetizer before the mea—”

“chilled alaskan king crab legs, two complementary cups of ice and herb roasted chicken—?” a waiter cuts off gojo as he’s flirting with you. with a whip of a head turn, he glances up, a bit annoyed at being interrupted. the waiter with the ordered food in hand stares at the two of you, a short petite male with a eye twitching expression. he gulped, seeing the gojo satoru and decided not to question just why his hand was literally between your thighs. “um, sorry for the delay. here you go.”

“thank you,” gojo cheeses a fake smile—yet as he watches intently as the waiter hands you both the steaming hot plates of lavish cuisine. he pops the same finger that was toying with you right into his mouth. you gaze at gojo, so filthy..

again, no shame at all—a shameless man at best. briefly, he sucks against his finger, savoring the after honeyed taste before smirking. it was as if he preferred your taste rather than the food sitting right in front of him. curling his tongue against his finger, he gives the server a coy nod. “keep the change, man.”

the waiter was stunned to see gojo reaching in his suit, grabbing out a whopping tip amount of four hundred dollars in cash—he stammers, accepting it with a grateful sheepish smile. “ah, t- thank you. please do come again.”

as the server leaves, you’re left with your own body still panting from your most recent teeth shattering release. the food was sizzling, piping hot. with hooded, partly open eyes, you dig your nails into his slacks. “you’re s- so nasty, ‘toru,” and picturing the image of him licking his finger like that . . just a few seconds ago as if it was nothing, you’d lie a bit if you said it didn’t turn you on. at least a little bit anyway. he snickers, planting a kiss against your jawline as you struggle to catch your incoming irregular breaths. “my panties are all soaked now.”

“and. let’s be real—when are you not wet, princess,” he teases, grabbing a napkin to wipe the remnants of drool seeping from the outer corners of your mouth.

gojo’s eyes were so pretty, the more you stare into his elegant, ethereal pupils— the more you wanted him. wanted more of him. swallowing, he grabs the front of your hand before kissing it. the moment his lips press against your hand, you feel your tummy swarm up with butterflies. “and don’t pout. ‘m gonna take them right off ya anyways, c’mon. let’s finish eating. got a surprise for ya back at home.”

at gojo’s mansion, secluded from other buildings to disturb his peace—his surprise for you was nothing more than his tongue.

“i need you so bad, you don’t fuckin’ understand,” he groans, and he’s making sure to take his time with you. his sweet precious time,

you’re in the master bedroom— his bedroom where it was known for having your sweet moans reverberating and bouncing off the walls. as you’re laid on your back, you let off a soft whine once he’s trailing his tongue everywhere down your body. he starts slow, making his way back up to kiss you. strands of delicate snowy strands tickle against your forehead as his lips harshly crash onto yours. you moan, sliding your tongue against his and tasting the leftover taste of what tasted like sweet, sweet tequila. he was still in his suit and tie and you wanted nothing more than to have it off. your hands roam to yank on his tie and he gradually grinds his body against you. “yeah, that’s right. ouch my body, girl. all yours.”

he’s speaking between lewd wet kisses. his voice was deep—his rhythm against your body was so passionate that it was almost carnal. you taste a bit of mint on his tongue also, separate tongues continue to dance and fight against each other all the while he’s left you speechless.

breathless even,

every few seconds he’d have to come up for air, nibbling against your bottom lip coltishly. “don’t be shy,” he whispers, watching as you hesitate to feel against his body. he finds that characteristic about you cute, how you were still shy yet slowly warming up to him. “touch me,” he repeats, his voice a bit more raspy— a bit more needy. so you do, raising your hand and you slip it underneath his dress shirt. as the cottony piece of clothing glides against your skin, he’s still compressing his lips against yours before your fingers start to roam further . . .

as they wander down the older man’s body, you feel his exact build. he was absolutely ripped, even in his early thirties—he could have easily been mistaken as a frat boy. it was no surprise, gojo practically spent his life in the gym. his personal gym anyway. you couldn’t help but take a peak at his buff biceps—only imagining what’d it be like for him to put you in a teasing chokehold.

those arms, that jacked build . .

the more you ponder about him manhandling you, the more you’re so close to making yourself more drenched. as everything progresses, you moan again. his sensual grinding against you gets more quicker and quicker over time. his hardened bulging boner rubs off on you and an arm of yours slings around his broad neck. “mhm,” he groans, feeling the soft centers of your fingertips stroke its way down toward his forbidden happy trail.

it trails and trails,

so pretty, just a beloved white trail of curled hair running down just above the horizontal border of the rest of his pubic hair. it starts near his navel and slides its way further down. a vertical strip of hair that you could never get your hands off of. as you’re still kissing him deeply, teeth gnashing amongst each other before gojo ultimately ulls away.

“fuck, ‘m gonna cum jus’ from kissing you,” he lets off a throaty laugh, trying to hide his flustered state. you had him so weak. so weak but he’d never admit that. gojo brings his swollen, dripping lips towards your neck, then your collarbone, all until he goes just a bit lower. “look at this body,” he coos, pausing to take in your beauty right underneath him. “yeah, ‘m gonna take such good care of you, sweets. jus’ lie back ‘n let me love you.”

his words were as smooth as silk— the deep, resonating pitch in it bellows all around the thin walls of his bedroom. the seductively sly baritone of his voice alone makes you pulse. if it was anything gojo had, he had a way with his fucking words. gojo purses his lips, coating your tummy with a plethora of kisses. you struggle to stay still, your expensive dress he bought you a few days ago for this exact occasion now all wrinkled and creases.

but truthfully,

he didn’t care—besides, he’d always buy you another one. his favorite motto. 

as you’re lounged back, he makes you spread your legs. “mwah,” he purrs against your skin, lolling out his tongue just a bit to create a slime wet trail. it goes all the way down until he reaches near your cute navel . . then up to your half ripped panties. they weren’t ripped before the date, but they certainly were now. “you’re so sensitive today. barely did anythin' ‘n you’re squirmin’ from my touch.”

“s- satoru, please,” you whine out a pathetic breath. a hand then grips onto his tangled strands like velcro. tightly, you didn’t let go— at least not yet anyway. his hair was were messy, and that simple detail alone made him ten times more attractive. gojo’s hair as usual was a bit slicked back but still unkempt, especially now due to your gluing grip. fingers of yours massage its way through his scalp and he almost moans. with a pouty expression, you continue to speak. “you’ve been edging me all day. ‘s no fair.”

“thaaaat’s kind of rude,” he chaffs with his white brows contorting into a furrow. “was the toy not enough?” and with a shushed tone, he whistles against your clit— giving it a soft kiss, a thumb peeling down the center. “oh, right.. probably wasn’t, forgot how greedy this pussy is. ‘s my bad.”

your back arches, and you moan once he prods two long fingers inside of you—your warmth envelops around his digits easily before he pulls it out to give it a good three second whiff. “sweet,” gojo slyly says, licking against his fingers. “would have rather ate this instead,” and you moan, watching how his mouth was practically watering from your alluring taste. such a nasty man, the nastiest. gojo leans up to you, tapping against your chin. “ah ah, open that mouth baby, before i eat. don’t wanna hog, wanna make sure ya get a taste too.”

whimpering, you part your lips— sticking out your tongue before his lengthy slender fingers tug its way into your mouth.

immediately, you suck around them, lashes of yours fluttering from your blissful arousal. “m-mhm,” you slip out an inaudible gasp, feeling his free hand grab against your twitching cunt. gojo’s staring at you with the most smug expression before he pulls his digits out, sneaking a wet kiss right on your mouth. as you taste yourself, a messy cobweb string of spit departs from each mouth before he lies you back down. “fuck, hurry ‘toru.”

“now . . baby, don’t rush me,” he teases, and with your back laid against the squishy cushioned mattress, he finally digs in. your knees poke and extend outward and a sweet whine rips out rawly out of your throat. it’s almost guttural, he’s yanking out noises from you that you didn’t even know you could even produce.

once gojo starts— it’s never ending. 

he could eat you out for hours, despite how his jaw would tense and tighten. you’re moaning at the way he starts off with sloppy kisses before just straight up digging in. nose deep within seconds. it swipes against your folds in various circular motions. the rotation of his tongue was brutal— you’re whimpering, maintaining a rough grip against his hair and he chuckles. sucking deeply against your puffy slit. you throb in his mouth, and you’re already squelching. gojo groans, reaching a hand inside of his executive pants to stroke himself off.

your pleasure was his pleasure after all. he wanted to always make that clear.

gojo wasn’t lying about pointing out how hard you made him. a thumb of his runs down the vein that remains on his dick. with his eyes closed, he allows his tongue to wander through every part of your pussy. he knew just where to go. he knew the exact spots to make you scream and whine out for more.

with ease, he locates every orifice— he doesn’t miss anywhere, more so because he can’t afford to. 

gojo loves more than anything to make out with your cunt. his most favorite thing to do was to french kiss against it.

after each obscene mwah after mwah, he even allows his own saliva to help him out— despite how you were already a practical dripping faucet. careless, saturated kisses of his had you throbbing time and time again in his mouth. his head vigorously shakes back and forth, side to side as you’re practically shoving him forward. “eh—easy on the hair, pretty,” he jibes, concisely parting his lips away. gojo stares at his thumb that’s trying to insert its way in. he grows quiet, watching the scene in front of him. within long extended seconds, your pussy’s swallowing the single digit whole and you swear under your breath at how lengthy his fingers were . . even a simple thumb. gojo’s thumb stretched you out so good that you couldn’t even comprehend the feeling in words. not like you could comprehend anything anyway, you were already stupid. all from his tongue, his touch, everything. “god, such a wet girl. the nerve to be walkin’ around this soaked, ‘n she’s quite the talker today too..”

as he’s rambling with a thumb entering in and out of your cunt, he takes a moment to spit on it. it’s shimmery, he blows against it before letting off a flirty whistle. “yeah she fuckin’ is,” he praises your folds. “oooh, bet she’s gonna give me a nice squirt or two later,” and you moan once he brings his chatty lips back towards it. your pool of heat continues to grow before he lays his tongue flat. he was always a man to make a bit of a mess. your heartbeat starts to get so rapid that you heard it’s pulse right through your ears. the firm grip you have on his hair was tight. tangled crumped up fingers combing right through his hair— it makes him a bit hard. the feeling of you dragging him back and forth against his face. you could barely keep your legs open but you didn’t want him to stop. he’s practically slobbering over your pussy before he breaks away, giving you a smug grin. “like when i make out with her more than you?”

“f-fuck, ‘toru,” was all you could mutter out in shaky lips. as he’s relishing his meal between your thighs, gojo spanks your cunt twice. you’re so soaked that a few sloshing droplets hit against his skin. “ngh, you’re teasin’ me. ‘m gonna cum if you k-keep doin’ that.”

sucking passionately against your clit, his tongue flicks against the sensitive nub. that spots has you short circuiting. “nuh uh, good girls cum when they deserve it,” and the tempo of his suckling gets quicker by the mile. you’re about to break, unceremoniously grinding your hips against his mouth so much to where he chortles. as he laughs, hot breath of his fans against your pussy and it only makes you throb ten times more. 

straight convulsions, 

you’re feeling so many sensations languidly twitch against your body all at once that you could barely keep up. everything’s fuzzy so you felt like you were on cloud eight. cloud nine or whatever people call it— honestly, your mind was far too fried to even figure it out. gojo grunts, snapping you back to reality with a soft swat against your folds. “be honest with me, sweets,” gojo slicks his tongue out of your clingy walls, peppering a playful kiss against your soddened, moist folds. “do ya deserve to cum? do ya deserve to be my messy baby? tell me the truth.”

with a cute, exasperated sigh, you sob out a needy cry. “y- yesss, i’ve been good, ‘toru. been good all day,” and his sucking against your clit grows within speed. the very cartilage of his nose against his nose prods against your entrance and you feel like you’re floating. the tip of his nose was all soaked, all because of your cunt continuously scooting up against it. as he’s propped right up between your legs, a hand of his squeezes down on your right thigh before giving it a little bite. your legs, one of his favorite things to gently press his teeth into. as well as your neck, but your legs—they were just a force to be reckoned with. you were a force to be reckoned with. “satoruuuu.”

“sweetheaaaaart,” he mocks your cute dragging of your words, slurping every lewd amount of your primal arousal. you’re so cute, barely bring able to stay still so much to where he’s got to hold you in place. “but you were bein’ a bit of a brat earlier,” he hoarsely utters, rubbing his hard on against the edge of the bed. “teasin’ me, even tried ‘ta stroke me off while we were in the diner,” and with coy eyes, he gives you a cunning smirk. as you pout, he simpers. “aww yeahhh, remember that dontcha?”

continuing to rut your sloppy cunt against his face, he playfully nibbles against your clit — you whine, biting down on your lip before spreading a plump thumb against your folds like jelly.

“dunno if she should be messy just yet,” and he’s such a tease. as he speaks, his eyes avert towards your pussy, clearly wanting you to understand he was talking to her and not you. at least not right now. you could hear the playfulness underneath his tone. your heart’s racing— it’s so intense, your legs were quavering within his hold. struggling to maintain decent breaths, you end up finishing anyway. it hits you so abruptly that it’s rude, all kinds of nerves surge through you and your mouth pries itself open. the only thing escaping out of your sweet dry throat was a desperate, wailing whimper. gojo pauses, bringing a final kiss against your pussy before smearing a thumb against his lips. “the fuck.”

“s- sorry,” you pant, but truth be told—you weren’t. in fact, if he squinted just enough, he could see the little smile trying to stretch itself against your guilty, sheeny lips. you’d only last a few minutes with his tongue, featuring his long fingers, but still. 

first and foremost, your powerful orgasm had you feral, a cooling air suddenly sets down against your skin as your legs tremble before your pussy gets slapped with a mean smack. one turns into two, then three, then four . . 

“f- fuuuck, ‘toru,” you gasp, hearing the wet swats against your cunt. you’re still sensitive, your swollen folds all dampened with nothing but your slick, soaking arousal. so wet, so sloppily wet and only wet just for him.

“we talked ‘bout this, sweets,” gojo grumbles, giving your folds an almost disappointed kiss. “but ‘s like ya never listen, guess y’r pussy needs more training,” and as you’re trying to collect as much gasps of air as you can through your full lungs, he squeezes your cunt with his entire wrist. unzipping his slacks, he leans into you before pulling you into a kiss. the entire spacey room was dim lit, velvety shaded rose petals scattered everywhere onto the crinkled sheets. gojo knew how to set the mood. as he shoves a tongue down your throat, still getting a good grip of your cunt with his palm, he then makes you flop right onto your back. “mch,” he hastily pulls away, a tongue savoring your sweetened lip gloss that smothers itself against your twitching mouth. “can’t look at ya right now. face that way, yeah. face down ‘n ass up. jus’ like i taught ya, pretty.”

with unsteady hands sinking into the bed, you do as he says. a soft whine ferociously snatches out of you once a big hand of his caresses your left ass cheek. his touch, you were always so weak for it. ever since you first met the man, your first encounter which was about approximately almost two weeks ago. you started to get deeply attached, well, at least your body was . . 

as you arch forward, you feel a soft scratchy material plop against your back. gojo doesn’t waste time, tugging down his own brand of boxers with his last name stripped in bold letters near the stretchy hem. grunting, he springs his aroused dick out, aligning himself against your achy, drooling entrance. the feeling of material was just gojo throwing a few wads of cash near your back. “bratty but gorgeous,” he scoffs, feeling you wriggle your ass against him. oh, you were gonna be the death of him. the fifty dollar bills trail and slide down your spine— the view of it was so sexy, he wanted to savor this moment. you’re his favorite girl, he already knew it. a hand of his grips near your hip. “needy ‘lil thing. just gotta move that ass against me,” and as he’s speaking, he gifts your ass with another impolite spank. “ugh, pussy’s to die for.”

“s- satoru, fuck me,” your plea came out of your mouth in such a small tone. it was cute, your knees that dug into the mattress remain to grow shaky and wobbly before nearly giving out. the size difference amused him.

the delicious size of his fat cock was pure bliss. you don’t think you could ever get used to it. every time with him always felt like the first. with two clingy big hands glued to your waist, he’s easing his way in slowly. his fat tip ploddingly opens up the outer sloppy walls of your entrance and you’re so slick for him that you’re already coating gojo from the very base down. growing a bit frustrated that it seems like he’s taking forever, you creep a hand down between your thighs to touch yourself but he only spanks your wrist away.

“girl—please, let’s not touch my pussy today,” he warns slyly, catching your hand with quick reflexes.

you moan, feeling his girth expand throughout your walls. he’s just so fucking big, your mouth stretches itself open and a tiny squeak escapes. “so wet, mhm, listen to how sloppy you get for me,” and you end up falling face forward into the bed. with your ass still up in the air, he’s easily emitting such filthy moans from your throat. your pussy doesn’t take long to constrict around his hefty length. gojo always fits nice and snug inside, you wholeheartedly take him inside, drooling from how your cunt grips around him in such a secure way. just one thrust, a single thrust from gojo and you were already limp. “thereee we go, take it, pretty.”

“i-i’m gonna cum,” you whine, speaking in an almost breathy way. fat callused fingertips of his run down your spine, sending you various shivers before he spanks your bass again. the dollar bills that lay against your back start to fall right off of you from the quick paced movements. “s- sirrrr,” and with another smack, he corrects your sweet tone so you can rephrase and address him the right way. “i— i mean satoru, fuck you’re s’big. ‘m gonna cum again.”

“oh, don’t be dramatic sweetheart,” he purrs in a rich tone, feeling you already start to gape around him. your pussy flutters from his thick entrance, and once he starts up a pace you’re frantic for more. a hand of his wraps around the back of your throat like a necklace before the ruthless drilling eventually starts. the sticking cacophonous pap pap paps against each jerking limb paps was so loud. skin against skin, body against body, you felt your jaw tighten. he’s so precise and rigorous with his sharp hips that it gives you whiplash. you’re never prepared—even if you try to be. gojo knows how to hit every part of your cunt in such a way to make you squeal out in pleasure, in ecstasy. he’s got an upward curve that wanders all inside of your caved love areas. just a few thrusts and you were already salivating. “mhm,” he huffs, hearing the stickiness your cunt sings against his base. already, it’s a wet trail coating around his dick with each time he pulls out before back in. “don’t get lazy on me, pretty. i need to see a better arch. even i can do better than that.”

with a pout at his maddening cockiness, he spanks you again. you arch your back forward a bit more and he coos, “good fuckin’ girl,” and he grabs a nice chunk of your ass. burying your head into the crook of your elbow, it takes him barely any time at all to locate your forbidden g-spot.

once he hits it exactly, the sound that escapes from your lips was adorable—it was a little shriek, it sounded so beatific and harmonious it was as if he was listening to a song. a song he never wanted to end, your sweet voice. “goddamn,” he groans, feeling your ass thwack its way back against him in salacious rapture. oh, but despite that all, he knows you’re nothing but a tease. especially with your movements against him, happily moving your hips in sync with his. you’re fucking back against him and it makes him kiss his teeth. “maybe this ‘s what ya needed all along, wanted ‘ta spoil you today but all you wanted was dick, ‘s that right, sweet thing?”

“n- no,” you lie through your teeth, your own voice muffled with how you’re speaking inside of your elbow. your voice was shaky, trembling on every dragging syllable before the bed starts to get rickety. it creates sound with you both— making its own types of lewd harmonies. gojo’s weight pressing against you makes you throb, you were feeling all kinds of pleasure at once. whimpering once more at how he’s stuffing you full of thickset inches, you try to reach down to touch yourself. 

“don’t play with me,” he catches your wrist again, an almost snicker departing from his lips.

damn, so close.

holding onto your wrist, he notices you squeeze his hand, rubbing a thumb against his fingers. “aw, does the baby wanna hold my hand?” and as you struggle to nod, he gently pins your arm back.“you’re somethin’ e-else.”

his words start to cut off a bit as he’s keeping up a decent tempo—the frame of the king sized bed starts to get jittery. all from the weight and his sloppy hips rigorously pounding into you. the bed’s creaking, it’s almost deafening with how it screeches aloud from the massing pounds of hefty pressure crushing against it. “d-don’t stop, please,” and he’s just fucking you into his pillow. even the satiny rich sheets of his pillows smell like him. his signature musky scent of his gojo satoru cologne.

. . speaking of,

his pillows even have his last name bedazzled on them. literal cursive letters of ‘gojo’ written in blue. if you weren’t so fucked out, you’d roll your eyes. he’s so deep, a hand of his explores the entire curvature of your hips. your curves were one of his favorite parts of your body, he could touch you all day long if he really wanted. the loving warmth that body provided him had him wanting more—yearning for more, more of you. gojo always relishes in how you respond to just a few of his fingers of his dancing against your skin. you were so sensitive and it was a real sight to witness. one of his favorite sights. “fuck, ‘toru. right there, riiight there, fuck.”

as his hips become more sharper, he hits against that same spot that causes a short circuit in your brain. you’re gasping—holding your breath before whining, he’s so thorough. hands of yours slide underneath your barely unclamped bra, fondling against your jerking tits. “good girl, play with y’r nipples for me like that,” and he swats another discourteous spank against your ass. this time it’s harder, it stings for a second and you whimper out from the sudden contact. after he spanks it, he always caresses it, rubbing the soft palm of his hand to make the sudden sting subside. “y’r so fuckin’ hot, pussy’s gonna make me fall for y—”

and he stops his words right at that last bit. your heart flutters— or maybe that was just your pussy, but you were no idiot. you knew what he was gonna say. or maybe you were delusional and misheard what he was saying. 

gojo satoru was a filthy man, he steals out orgasm after orgasm out of you like it’s nothing. he was a little older, which meant that he was a bit more experienced.

quite a lot more than you by a long shot, he made you feel ways in where other men never could. couldn’t even come close. maybe that’s why you were so attracted, why you wanted more . . 

a well known businessman, but downright nasty in the sheets. he couldn’t help it, nor did he even really care. gojo had you wrapped around his rich finger, just like how you had him wrapped around yours. 

with him,

the passionate intimacy lasts for many many hours. timeless, numerous until your legs were sore, until you’re just being a cum dump for him. you’re pumped full until it’s leaking out of your cunt. so stuffed, with your panties still lazily pulled to the size, some remnants of his cum coats against it. he’s lost count of how many rounds it was— maybe four, five, or was it eight. 

all you knew was that your legs had been gave out. you were now flat on your back and he’s fucking you in missionary.

beloved, iconic missionary,

the perfect position to stare you right into your eyes. he grows a liking to grab your chin right when you’re about to cum, peeling your bottom lip down, only to then shove a tongue down your throat. speaking between breathy sentences, he groans—rocking his fit body against yours. “kiss me, baby, suck my tongue,” and as he’s swaying back and forth, washboard abs poking through his shirt, your legs lock around his slim waist. a hand of yours slides its way through his dress shirt and tux, feeling against his faint chest hair and washboard abs before you part your lips. you only then start to gradually suck against the tip of his tongue. his heart beats speedily, synchronizing with yours entirely. he’s dizzy, the static that your body produces against him makes his head throw back as he pulls away. glancing up at the ceiling, still presenting your cunt deep solid strokes—he knew you were gonna be a problem. 

his prettiest problem,

perhaps he wasn’t starting to think of you as just his sugar baby, maybe even something more . . but he buried that thought into the very back of his mind. all he really cared about was your pleasure. 

pulling away for a moment, still buried into your sopping wet cunt, he grips your chin. whispering in a weary tone, smiling at you, he sighs. “. . tell me,” and he gifts your wet lips a chaste kiss. “you wanna finish with me, pretty?”

“p- please,” you moan, your legs tightly locking around his waist, never letting go. everything was a mess— the entire room had a balmy aroma of love and passion. the both of you were sweating, beads of sweat coating each body. more so gojo, this was a mere work out for him. although, he was actually used to using his body on a daily, so physical activity never bothered him in the slightest. your stomach continues to seize from his fat length and he inches his mouth toward your neck again. his lips were so soft, gently sucking against your tender skin throughout each intimate moment.

viscous amounts of cum race down your thighs as if it’s some kind of lewd competition. as it’s slowly trickling down between your legs slowly, a hand of his slithers down your shaky limbs to feel it. to make sure it doesn’t go to waste, to make sure it doesn’t spill.

gojo satoru’s cum was priceless—quite literally probably. plugging it back in before you whine. “wanna cum with you, ‘toru.”

“can never say no to you, baby,” he hums, bringing another kiss to your lips. despite his raspy worn out tone—he’s still so gentle with your body in his hands. gojo’s zealous hips slow down a bit before his lips capture against yours again. a hand swiftly wraps around your throat, briskly oscillating back against your body before another hand grabs the headboard. you glance up, spitting the veins poke out through his sleeves that were peeling down. he’s giving you slow, sensual thrusts. “fuuuck . . me,” and his words were delayed by a few seconds. he’s mercilessly grinding against your heat so good to where it becomes sloppy. he’s so close again—he knows that feeling all too well. you didn’t know what to focus on. gojo’s length, the girth that keeps your walls sweetly captive, or his voice but it was all so appetizing. so . . flavorsome.

he couldn’t help but slow down his hips a bit. with a single hand, he reaches down to pull his leaky dick out right before he came. he shot into you already—dozens of times actually, but he felt like being a tease again.

“ugh,” he groans, feeling his base swollen itself up. as you finish on your own, your body transmitting into a shockwave of a wave of rapturing rhapsody he mimics you before a stringy amount of ropes splat right onto your folds. it’s so much, so viscous and goopy that paints the entrance of your cunt to where it’s as if your pussy was a mere canvas for him. “look at thaaaat,” and as he licks his lips, you’re shaking right underneath him. gojo leans in to kiss you and that’s when the bed suddenly jitters. it’s rumbling but he ignores it— bringing you into the nth kiss for the night. “atta girl.” he whispers between kisses.

as you’re leaning into his touch, your anklet erotically rubs down the muscles of his back in such a sensual way. with tongues tangling together in corresponding harmony, the expensive wood on the headboard suddenly breaks. it’s a ear-splitting noise, an almost creak. noticing the noise, you break away from his lips before sheepishly muttering. 

“did the bed just . . break?”

“perhaps,” gojo whispers, but he was totally unfazed. you had him pussy whipped, he didn’t even look tired.

pretty cerulean irises gaze into your all—so pretty that it almost could be mistaken for a solid pigment of green. a jade loving kind of green that you only see in jewels. his intense, needy stare longs into you for a few more seconds before he makes you flip over. you gasp, still feeling his cum ooze out of you from the inside. it was so feverishly warm, sweltering hot with bulks of his sticky seed. all that and you just wanted more, you didn’t care how greedy or needy you came across.

snickering, gojo picks up the money that’s scattered everywhere on the bed only to put them right back on your back where it belongs—

he then sticks a single fifty dollar bill between your lazily stuck-to-the-side panties before letting off a dry laugh.

“let’s not worry about that though. let’s worry ‘bout how ‘m gonna try ‘ta get you pregnant, tonight sweetheart. nowww, let’s practice that arch again one more time, my love. bend over just for me, yeah. atta fuckin’ girl.”

[yanderedrabbles]

I'm thinking about a huge ex-warrior of a yandere. Big and bulky and all too familiar with bloodshed. You'd think years in the king's army would have hardened him, made him callous and cruel. But that's not true at all.

An ex-warrior yandere who cares so much about preserving life because he knows exactly how fragile and easy it is to take. A huge, scarred, mountain of a man who gets soaked to the waist in the dead of winter to save a drowning kitten. Who holds the shivering, mewling, runt of the litter in his hands with a gentleness you've seldom seen.

An ex-warrior yandere who doesn't even eat meat anymore. Who doesn't accept work slaughtering and butchering pigs when the holiday season comes around, even though folk offer him good money for his strength.

A good man, despite it all. Too good for you.

War is a terrible thing and you end up a prisoner almost entirely on accident. Said to be a spy though you're nothing more than an unlucky commoner who angered the wrong people.

He ends up a prisoner too, hauled off the battlefield when he's too injured to put up a fight. Just another prisoner of war, a dime a dozen. He's thrown into the duke's lockup and forgotten.

Whatever fate had in mind, you end up in the same dungeon. Cells next to each other, with nothing to do but tell stories and shiver.

It's miserable there. The gaolers are cruel for the sake of it. The meals are scant, the drinking water not much better. It's the sort of place where dying is considered the lucky option. And maybe you'd have given in, the both of you. Just closed your eyes and let your bodies waste away.

But unlike so many others, you have each other.

You can't see him and he can't see you. All either of you have is a voice in the dark. And somehow, that's enough.

Maybe you manage to escape together or maybe the Duke is defeated and his prisoners liberated. Whatever the case, he's right by your side when you step into the sun again.

How many years has it been? When was the last time you saw the sky?

You were sweet once. Kind, gentle. But years in the lord's prison have changed you. You're sharp and prickly now, slow to trust and even slower to forgive.

An ex-warrior yandere who sees the hurt under all your layers of indifference. Who decides right then and there, that first moment in the sun, that his one goal in life is to keep you safe.

An ex-warrior yandere who says he'll be your guard until you reach your destination, wherever it may be. You're weak, you're unfamiliar with the changes in the world. Anyone can come along and take advantage of you.

An ex-warrior yandere who follows you with a sort of quiet, implacable devotion. It doesn't matter if you're prickly or sharp tongued or so ruined that you fear your heart is forever frozen over. He'll always be there - two steps behind you to guard your back.

You try to send him away. Try to tell him you didn't need a guard dog. He just looks at you and says he's not going anywhere. Not forceful, but gentle and firm. He isn't leaving you, not when you're so scarred from the war that most days you don't speak more than five words to anyone.

It's baffling. Why does he care about forgotten detritus like you? What good will it do? He's still strong, still handsome despite the scars. He can still have a normal life.

But no. He chooses you.

Chooses to walk with you from one village to the next. Chooses to sleep rough even though folk offer him work. Chooses to endure the rain and the cold and the long nights spent sleeping on hard ground. 

"Why?" you ask him time and again. "Why follow me? Why make me your purpose?"

He looks at you over the fire, a small, slanted smile on his face.

"Why do you think?"

You can't quite manage to puzzle it out, though anyone who sees him at your side can almost immediately tell.

Eventually, you settle down. A broken down old cottage at the edge of the woods. A place the villagers are all too glad to hand over. Better you than the vines, even if your eyes do frighten them.

An ex-warrior yandere who fixes the cottage for you, brick by brick. Who cleans out the overgrown garden and trades his labour to buy you seeds. Violets and lilacs and daffodils. Mint and thyme. All the plants you told him you missed the most when you were locked away.

An ex-warrior yandere who spends his evenings sitting next to you at the hearth, not speaking much, just resting his head on your knees and carving wood. Thinking how lucky he is to have this bit of quiet. That all the years of war and captivity were well worth the price if it means having you.

An ex-warrior yandere who slowly heals the broken parts inside you. Who teaches you to watch the sky and the path of the birds. Who teaches you to breathe deep when the nightmares come. Who sits awake with you when you're too afraid of your past to sleep.

An ex-warrior yandere who tells people in the village that you're his wife, even though you've never even kissed. When you ask him about it, he just shrugs his massive shoulders and says it's safer that way. And it's only the trees that know the truth - he calls you his wife because he likes the way it sounds.

For a while, things are good. You tend your herbs and make your tinctures. For a while, he believes he's put his sword behind him for good.

But your past follows you. The angry lover who called you a spy, maybe. Or a lord who isn't satisfied that his secrets are safe with you still around. Whatever the case, they come at night. Watch you, wait for their chance.

You don't notice them, too focused on your brews and potions.

But he does.

When evening comes, he picks up his wood ax and tells you he wants to bring back a few more branches for the night.

"But we've got plenty. And it's dark."

He smiles then, warmed by your concern.

"I won't be gone long, dove. Just a short walk. Keep the food warm for me."

And it is indeed a short walk. He catches them by surprise, awfully quiet for such a big man. They don't even have time to scream or grab their swords before he's cut them all down.

An ex-warrior yandere who wipes the blood off his face and inspects the blade of his ax.

"Ruined," he sighs. "She'll give me hell for it, I hope you know that."

The cooling corpses have no reply.

An ex-warrior yandere who returns home with a stack of firewood and a bunch of wildflowers.

You take them from him and breathe in their perfume.

"Lovely. Thank you."

That makes him smile again. Look at you, saying thank you. Accepting his gifts. It's been a long road to get here. If he closes his eyes he can still see you on that first day, too bitter and angry to even say please.

The flowers fill your whole cottage with their wild mountain smell, and you don't notice the faint trace of blood underneath the perfume. And if he has his way, you never will.

An ex-warrior yandere who swears off his old life. Who swears off violence and death and blood. Unless it comes to you.

He'll burn villages to ash for you. Cut so many throats he can drink the blood like water. He's a good man, but for you he'll throw it all away.

And those who are stupid enough to try it? To hurt the only good thing he's ever had?

Well, they find out awfully quickly exactly what happened to the Butcher of Brostick. They learn awfully fast that a man can change his name, but it's a much harder thing to change his nature.

An ex-warrior yandere who is the kindest, sweetest man you've ever met. Who doesn't raise his voice or pick fights. Who's always at your side when you need a place to lay your head. Who loves you with the deep, immovable devotion of an oak reaching for the sun.

An ex-warrior yandere who always washes the blood off before he comes home.

[premiumbitch]

۶ৎ THINGS TO SCRIPT: RANDOM EDITION ˙⋆.˚

PHYSICAL ENHANCEMENT & INVULNERABILITY:

Your hair never gets greasy, tangled, or frizzy unless desired.

You never feel cold or hot unless you want to.

Your nails grow at the perfect speed and never break unless you want them to.

You always smell good, no matter what.

You never get sick, no matter what virus or disease is going around.

Your teeth are always perfect—never crooked, never get cavities, and always white.

You never feel pain unless you want to.

Your stamina is infinite—you never get tired from running, training, or physical activity.

Your reflexes are insanely fast, letting you dodge anything easily.

You never get headaches, stomachaches, or any random body pains.

Your hair and eyebrows always grow in perfectly, so you never have to shave/pluck unless you want to.

You never get acne, redness, or skin irritation.

You can breathe perfectly in any environment (underwater, high altitudes, space, etc.).

Your makeup (if you wear it) is always flawless and never smudges unless you want it to.

Your hair is always the perfect length and never grows too fast or too slow.

Your eyelashes are naturally long, full, and never fall out.

You never get sunburned, no matter how long you stay in the sun.

You don’t need to shower or use hygiene products to stay clean unless you want to.

Your posture is always perfect, and you never get sore from sitting or standing for too long. You never sweat unless you want to.

You never get cramps of any kind.

You can hold your breath for as long as you want without discomfort.

Your body is immune to alcohol and drugs unless you choose otherwise.

Your joints and muscles never ache, even after intense physical activity.

You never have allergic reactions to anything unless you want to. Your metabolism is perfectly balanced—you never gain or lose weight unless you want to.

You never get cold sores, chapped lips, or dry skin.

You never get out of breath from running or exerting yourself.

You can instantly adjust your body temperature to feel comfortable in any environment.

Your voice never cracks or sounds shaky, even if you’re nervous.

SOCIAL AND MENTAL PERKS:

You are a naturally fast reader and can absorb information instantly.

You always know when someone is lying to you.

You can understand and read any handwriting, no matter how messy it is.

You can make anyone laugh effortlessly.

You always have the perfect music playing in your environment when you need it.

You can make your voice sound like any singer’s and sing perfectly in tune.

You can inspire or motivate anyone effortlessly.

You always know how to solve problems quickly and effectively.

You never get nervous or anxious in social situations.

You can understand any subject instantly, even the most complex ones.

Your instincts are always right, and you can trust them without hesitation.

You can access any memory in perfect detail whenever you want.

You can pick up any accent and speak fluently without practice. People always take your advice seriously and follow it.

You always win games of chance if you want to.

You always know the perfect thing to say in every situation.

You can learn any skill instantly and master it in no time.

You can read and understand any language just by looking at it once.

You always have the best comebacks in arguments.

You naturally give off a presence that makes people respect you.

You are effortlessly charismatic and likable.

Your handwriting is always neat and beautiful, no matter how fast you write.

You never forget anything important—you have perfect memory recall.

Your voice is always smooth, clear, and exactly how you want it to sound.

You always wake up feeling refreshed and energized, no matter how much sleep you got.

You always find lost items easily.

You can sense people’s true intentions instantly.

EVERYDAY LIFE PERKS:

Your clothes are always the perfect temperature—never too hot or too cold.

Your shoelaces never come untied unless you want them to.

You never misplace important items like your phone, wallet, or keys.

You never spill drinks or drop food accidentally.

Your alarm clock always wakes you up at the perfect time, so you never feel groggy.

You never have to deal with traffic or slow drivers.

You always get good grades or evaluations without struggling.

You never experience awkward moments unless you want to.

You never feel rushed or overwhelmed, even when you have a lot to do.

You can always find the perfect gifts for people effortlessly.

You always get the best deals when shopping.

Your favorite products never get discontinued.

Elevators, buses, and trains always arrive exactly when you need them.

Your luggage or packages never get lost or delayed.

You never run out of things at inconvenient times (like toilet paper, soap, or toothpaste).

Your clothes always fit perfectly and never get dirty or wrinkled.

Any food you eat is always the perfect temperature and tastes amazing.

You never stub your toe or accidentally bite your cheek/tongue.

Bugs never bother you (no mosquito bites, no flies buzzing around, etc.).

You never lose things like keys, phones, or wallets.

You can perfectly parallel park or drive any vehicle with ease.

Technology never glitches or lags for you.

Your phone battery never dies unless you want it to.

You always find money on the ground or in random places.

You can always get front-row seats or the best spots at events.

Your favorite songs always play when you want them to.

You can summon any object you need at any time.

Time slows down when you’re having fun, so you never feel like good moments pass too quickly.

SUPERNATURAL & FUN ABILITIES:

You can rewind time for yourself without affecting others.

You can manifest any outfit or accessory instantly.

You can walk through crowds without ever bumping into anyone.

You can change your eye color or hair color at will.

You can see perfectly in the dark like a cat.

You can phase through solid objects whenever you want.

You can snap your fingers to instantly organize and clean your space.

You can control gravity to float or walk on walls.

You can summon food and drinks out of thin air.

You can pause conversations and think for as long as you want before responding.

You can instantly locate anyone you need to find.

You can enter and control your own dreams whenever you sleep.

You can absorb knowledge from books just by touching them.

You can create illusions that only specific people can see.

You can slow down time during important or fun moments so they last longer.

You can heal other people just by touching them.

You can change the weather instantly to match your mood or needs.

You can make yourself completely silent—no footsteps, no breathing sounds, no movement noise.

You can teleport to your favorite fictional world and return whenever you want.

You can teleport anywhere instantly.

You can stop, rewind, or fast-forward time.

You can turn invisible at will.

You can shapeshift into any form, including animals.

You can fly effortlessly.

You can control the elements (fire, water, air, earth).

You can understand and talk to animals.

You can create portals to other dimensions or realities.

You can walk through walls or solid objects.

You can summon any fictional character into your reality.

You can communicate through telepathy with anyone you choose.

You can bring objects from dreams or imagination into real life.

You can erase awkward or embarrassing moments from people’s memories.

[urmum-lovesme]

Toxic!Rafe when he gets jealous. . .

The night had been a blur of music and laughter, a house party filled with people she didn't really know. Y/N was just being polite, talking to the new guy in town- someone whose family her parents had mentioned working with- and she felt like she had to. Her parents had spoken about how nice the guy’s parents were, so Y/N did her part, listening to him babble about things that didn’t matter, keeping the conversation going.

She wasn’t flirting, just being nice.

“So, have you lived here your whole life?” Logan asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Yeah,” Y/N said with a small smile. “Not much changes around here, but I guess you’ll find that out soon enough.”

Logan chuckled, “Good to know. So, what do people even do for fun?”

Y/N opened her mouth to answer, but something in the air shifted- like the atmosphere had thickened, weighed down by a force she couldn’t ignore. She knew before even turning her head.

Rafe.

Her eyes flickered across the room, and there he was- leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring at her. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was tight, his fingers flexing at his sides.

He was pissed.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably, and she quickly looked away, refocusing on Logan. “Uh, well, the beach is a big deal here,” she said, trying to push past the way her pulse had suddenly started to race.

“Boating, parties, stuff like that.”

But even as she spoke, she felt Rafe’s eyes burning into her. She glanced back and he was still staring, but now his expression had darkened- his jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle twitch. She knew that look. Her breath hitched as he suddenly turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

Shit.

She excused herself quickly, barely even hearing Logan’s response as she pushed through the crowd, her heart hammering. She knew better than to let him leave like that.

She called out to him, but he was already halfway to his car. Her heart started to pound, a cold knot of dread forming in her stomach.

“Rafe!”

She called, jogging after him. He didn’t look back. By the time she reached the car, he was slamming the door shut with a force that echoed through the quiet street. Without thinking, Y/N grabbed the handle and yanked the door open just as he was starting the engine. She could hear the engine rev, and the headlights cut into the darkness as his hands gripped the wheel. “Rafe, please wait,” she said, her voice shaky,

“I- I was just being polite.”

“Get in the fucking car.”

He didn’t even look at her, his voice flat and laced with venom. Her heart pounded harder, her hands trembling as she slid into the seat, buckling her seatbelt as quickly as she could. She could feel his anger radiating off of him, thick and suffocating. He wasn’t going to let this go easily. As he slammed his foot on the gas, the car jolted forward, tires screeching against the pavement. Y/N’s grip tightened on the handle of the door, the fear mounting inside her. The street passed in a blur as they drove down the road, and Y/n couldn't stop herself from gazing over at the speedometer,

“Rafe… slow down,”

She said, her voice shaky but firm. She could hear his heavy breathing beside her, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel. “You think that shit was funny?” His voice was low, seething.

“You think you're funny, huh? Talking to him like that?”

Her stomach twisted as she realized what was happening- he was high. She could see the haze in his eyes, the way his pupils were dilated. The anger was consuming him, and she was at the center of it. “Rafe, please,” she said softly, trying to calm him down.

“I was just talking to him. I didn’t do anything wrong, you know I’d never-”

“-no,” he interrupted, his voice cold and sharp.

“You were being a cheating fucking whore.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, the sting of his words cutting deep, but she wasn’t surprised anymore. He’d said things like this before. He always did when he was angry or high. Still, hearing it from him again hurt like hell. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

“I wasn’t—”

“The way you smiled at him? The way you touched his arm?”

“I didn’t touch him, Rafe”

She responded, voice rising. She bit the inside of her lip, she’d never touched the boy, she knew she didn’t. She cautiously looked at him, he looked enraged, that almost psychotic look in his eye, she knew exactly why he was imagining her actions, exactly why his pupils were so blown.

“Bullshit,” he growled.

“I saw it.”

His laughter cut through the car like a blade, dark and humorless.

“I do everything for you, and this is what I get?”

His voice was shaking now, not with sadness, but rage. His knee bounced restlessly, fingers drumming against the wheel in a twitchy, coked-up rhythm. He was spiraling, completely lost in his own head.

“You’re so fucking ungrateful, Y/N. Do you even realize what I do for you? Huh? DO YOU!?”

Her throat was tight, hands trembling in her lap.

“I keep you safe, I give you everything I have.”

He let out another sharp laugh, shaking his head.

“And you just—what? Smile at some random guy like I don’t fucking exist?”

He sniffed sharply, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. His pupils were still blown wide, making his normally piercing blue eyes look dark and dangerous. He was wired, running too hot, unable to slow down.

“You like the attention, huh? That’s it, makes you feel good? You like making me look like a fucking idiot?”

Y/N opened her mouth, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak and he angrily spat out.

“Because that’s what you did, Y/N. You made me look fucking stupid.”

His voice was shaking now, but not from hurt. From rage. From pure, untamed fury.

The speedometer climbed and the road outside the window blurred. The car shot forward, and her heart slammed in her chest. She could see a deer in the distance, its eyes glowing in the headlights.

Her stomach dropped.

“Rafe, slow down, you're gonna hit it,” she pleaded, voice rising in panic.

“Yeah? So what?”

He didn’t slow down. She could feel the terror creeping into her chest as she began to beg.

“Stop, Rafe, please- what are you doing?”

But instead of slowing down, he pushed the pedal harder. The car sped towards the deer, and Y/N’s heart raced, her breath catching in her throat.

“Stop! Please—”

At the last second, she reached out and grabbed the wheel, swerving the car to avoid the deer. The tires screeched in protest, the car veering off course. She could feel the panic and adrenaline coursing through her veins as Rafe’s hand jerked the wheel back into control; the range rover came back onto the road, but the air was thick with fear. She was crying now, her hands trembling, and her voice was barely a whisper.

“Please, Rafe. . . you're scaring me.”

He didn’t answer at first, the tension in the car suffocating, until he suddenly slammed on the brakes. The car jerked to a sudden stop, throwing Y/N forward so hard that her seatbelt snapped tight across her chest, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her hands flew to the dashboard, bracing herself against the impact. Her ears were ringing. Her heart was racing. The silence that followed was suffocating. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she turned, terrified, to look at Rafe.

He sat completely still, hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were bone white. His chest heaved, his nostrils flaring with every sharp inhale and his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might shatter. She could feel the rage rolling off him in waves. She whispered, voice barely there.

“You’re scaring me.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose.

And then- he moved the action so sudden it made her breath hitch. His hand shot out so fast she didn’t have time to react. Fingers wrapped around her jaw, hard. Y/N gasped, her head snapping toward him as he forced her to look at him. His grip was bruising, his fingers digging into her skin.

“Don’t ever- ever -fucking do that again, d’you understand me?”

He growled, his breath heavy and uneven. Her heart thudded in her chest, fear and adrenaline mixing with the sting of his touch. She couldn’t stop herself from trembling, the tears streaming down her face now. She nodded frantically, the words caught in her throat.

“I said” he repeated, his voice cold and booming in the silence of the car

“D’YOU FUCKING HEAR ME!?”

“Yes- yes! I hear you”

Y/N barely managed a nod, the words caught in her throat as she whimpered out. He let go of her face with a sharp shove, his anger still simmering beneath the surface, her head snapped back against the seat, leaving her gasping for air. Her hands trembled in her lap, fingers digging into the soft fabric of her dress as she tried to steady her breathing.

And then—

BANG

His fist slammed against the steering wheel.

Y/N flinched.The sound echoed through the car, raw and violent.

“You fucking embarrass me like that again, I swear to God—”

He cut himself off, breathing heavily, Y/N sat frozen, her heart hammering, her body still trembling. He exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair before a small sound rang out in the thick air of the car.

The click of his seatbelt.

He leaned over towards her causing her to stiffen and soon the slow creak of the glove compartment opening was heard. A rush of nausea hit Y/N’s stomach, her body locking up as the air turned suffocatingly thick around her. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She didn’t want to look- she knew she shouldn’t look but she did and that was when she saw it.

The gleam of cold metal in the dim light.

Her breath hitched so sharply it felt like a blade to her lungs. A noise- small, fragile- escaped the back of her throat, but it barely filled the silence. The fear was instant.

Crippling.

Her fingers dug into the seat, her nails pressing so hard into the leather she thought they might tear through. She knew she should move, open the door of the car and just get out, but her throat had closed up, her body locked in place by something deeper than terror- helplessness.

Rafe didn’t even look at her at first.

He sat there, fingers running over the handle of the gun like it was something precious, something sacred. The weight of it in his palm seemed to calm him, his chest rising and falling in an almost steady rhythm. His expression was unreadable and then- he turned his head, eyes met hers with that cold, calculated look. The kind that made her stomach drop, the kind that told her he wasn’t just trying to scare her. The gun was heavy in his grip, the black steel gleaming under the glow of the dashboard lights. It looked too big, too real, like something that shouldn’t belong in a moment like this.

Then- he clicked the safety off.

The sound sent a jolt through her body and a small, broken sob tore from her throat, her entire frame shaking as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. But Rafe? He barely blinked, his movements were slow.

Deliberate.

She hoped that he was just trying to intimidate her, scare her so she would shut up, but when he raised the gun her prayers stopped. Her stomach plummeted and a desperate, breathless noise pushed from her lips, her body tensing so hard it hurt, but she still couldn’t move.

The barrel of the gun was cold when it pressed against her forehead.

Her breath stopped. The pressure was light, almost teasing, but it was enough to make her entire world stop spinning.

Rafe studied her.

Watched the way her body locked up, how her chest barely rose, how her lips parted just slightly- like she was afraid even breathing too hard would set him off, it was as though he enjoyed it. Some sick and twisted part of him liked having control over her, having her so powerless.

His thumb brushed lazily over the trigger.

“I do everything for you”

He murmured, voice low. Soft. Almost gentle. It was like he wasn’t holding a loaded gun against her forehead, like he wasn’t watching her fall apart right in front of him.

“And this is what I get?”

Her bottom lip trembled, but she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare blink, she was so terrified.Tears slipped down her cheeks, her vision blurring, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. She wanted to beg him, to scream in his face, to move and run.

But she couldn’t.

Rafe tilted his head, still watching her, eyes following the tears that slid steadily down her cheeks, some dripping off of her chin, others rolling down her neck. Studying her, he pressed the cold metal against her skin slightly harder.

“Tell me who owns you.”

Her stomach twisted violently as he opened his mouth. The words sent a deep, horrible kind of dread crawling down her spine, settling in her bones like lead. She tried to breathe past it, but her lungs weren’t working. Her hands clawed at the seat, desperate for something- anything- to ground her, but there was nothing. Rafe’s thumb brushed over the trigger again and her breath hitched sharply.

“Say it”

He ordered, yet his voice was ironically calm. Cold. Y/N’s lip quivered, but her mouth wouldn’t move. Her throat was so tight she could barely choke out the words.

“You do”

She finally whispered her voice shaking. Rafe’s lips twitched. A slow, satisfied smirk curled at the corners as her wide pleasing eyes looked at him.

“That’s right.”

And just like that—

The gun disappeared.

Like it was never there in the first place.

is it bad I lowkey have a thing for psycho season 2 Rafe...

part 2