#I feel like I’m doing this life thing wrong. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

misaerabl · 2 days ago

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She Won't Go Away...

CONTENT: wc… 8.2k ✦ sub!ellie,dom!reader, ellie is readers ex, reader get’s off on ellie’s misery, u make her beg, dry humping, fingering e!receiving, oral sex e!receiving, overstimulation, cheating, lowkey pathetic ellie, no use of y/n, PLOT W SMUT/SMUT W PLOT (totally not proofread!) SUMMARY: Months after your messy breakup, Ellie pretends she’s moved on—but the cracks are showing. She’s got a new girlfriend, a doe-eyed freshman trailing after her like a puppy, but one rainy night, she shows up at your door, desperate and drenched. She’s begging for just one night—to feel what she’s been missing since you. Will you give in, or is this your chance to turn the tables?

It’s been six months since she kicked you out—six months since your relationship with Ellie imploded. She had always been a storm waiting to happen, volatile and unpredictable, and that night was no different. You should’ve seen it coming, the way she turned everything upside down and left you stranded in the wreckage of your own life.

You blocked her on everything. Deleted her number, unfollowed her accounts, erased every trace of her from your digital world. But the real world wasn’t as simple. Your drama-loving friends, always hungry for the latest gossip, couldn’t help themselves from slipping in updates about her spiral.

And honestly? You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little satisfying. Hearing about Ellie’s downfall—how she’d moved back in with her parents, how her rebound was barely old enough to vote, how she was making a spectacle of herself downtown—was a strange kind of vindication. She’d kicked you out of your own apartment, thrown your life into chaos, and now the universe seemed to be paying her back.

You tried not to dwell on it, but the memories lingered, sharp and bitter. That night had been the culmination of weeks of fighting over something Ellie refused to own up to. She was in the wrong—clearly, unmistakably in the wrong—but you’d let her steamroll you anyway. Maybe it was pity, or maybe you’d just been too exhausted to keep fighting her battles for her.

Your phone buzzes relentlessly, teetering on the edge of the table as notifications pile up from your group chat. You need to see this, one of them says, accompanied by a link to Ellie’s latest post. You hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen, before giving in to curiosity—or maybe morbid fascination.

The image loads, and there she is: Ellie, arm slung around some girl who looks like she’s trying way too hard to keep up. Your chest tightens involuntarily, but it’s not jealousy. It’s something darker, sharper. Disbelief.

The girl—doe-eyed, awkward, and dressed in that painfully calculated way that screams I swear I’m cool—looks like she stumbled out of a thrift store with no clue what she was doing. You almost laugh, but it’s not funny. If Ellie thought this would get to you, it hasn’t. The only thing you feel is pity.

The longer you stare, the clearer it becomes: she’s a downgrade. Massive. The kind that makes you wonder if Ellie’s doing this to punish herself or to prove some kind of misguided point. The girl’s charm feels forced, like she’s trying to mold herself into something Ellie’s already lost.

And then it hits you. The girl isn’t just a downgrade—she’s a replica. Or at least, an attempt at one. The shaggy hair, the oversized flannel, the too-big grin—it’s like looking at a ghost of Ellie herself, back when you first met. Back when she still had that spark, that reckless, magnetic energy that pulled you in before it burned you alive.

Figures. Ellie’s always been in love with herself, even if she never admitted it. Or maybe this isn’t love at all. Maybe she’s chasing a memory, a version of herself that felt invincible—before the mess, before the break, before she lost you.

It’s almost poetic, in a way. Ellie, so desperate to reclaim what she had, clinging to something that’s already gone. And you? You’re here, watching it all unfold, the bitterness in your chest laced with the faintest trace of satisfaction.

It would be cruel to admit it out loud, but deep down, you knew the truth—you got off on Ellie’s misery. It wasn’t healthy, it wasn’t kind, but there it was, simmering under your skin like a guilty thrill.

Exhibit A: A month after your breakup, she moved back in with her parents. Jesse and Dina told you, of course, slipping it into conversation with cautious glances, like they were testing if you’d even want to hear it. They were your closest friends once—back when Ellie still held her shit together, back when you thought the two of you were untouchable.

Exhibit B: Just a week later, she was spotted at some party, bruised and beaten. She’d gotten into a fight, according to Sydney, a mutual friend who loved to keep tabs on everyone’s business. You could almost picture it: Ellie, fists flying, fueled by some combination of alcohol and self-destruction, still trying to prove she was untouchable.

Exhibit C: Her social media was practically a highlight reel of “I’m fine.” Carefully curated posts of nights out, new hobbies, and a string of new faces, all plastered with that same cocky grin. But you knew her too well. The cracks in her facade were glaringly obvious. The oversharing, the desperate attempts to prove she was thriving—it screamed the opposite.

And the list went on. Every new piece of information was like another point scored in some unspoken game. By some sick, twisted reason, you loved it. Watching her stumble and fall, knowing that she was unraveling—it gave you a satisfaction that felt both intoxicating and shameful.

Ellie thought she was the one who broke you. Maybe she did, for a while. But the real truth? She was the one breaking, piece by piece, and you couldn’t help but savor the view.

You were mid-sip of your coffee, half-listening to Dina ramble about her latest project, when she suddenly gasped, her eyes widening as she stared out the cafe window. “Oh my god,” she whispered, leaning closer like she’d just spotted a celebrity or a crime scene.

“What?” you asked, setting your cup down, already bracing for whatever drama she was about to unload.

Dina didn’t say anything, just tilted her head toward the window. You followed her gaze, and there she was—her. The fucking freshman Ellie was supposedly dating.

Your chest tightened, but not in the way it used to. This wasn’t jealousy. It was something colder, sharper, tinged with disbelief and a twisted sense of amusement. The girl was standing across the street, balancing an oversized tote bag and looking all of eighteen years old, fresh-faced and clueless.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you watched. “That’s her?” you asked, tone flat.

Dina nodded, her expression unreadable, but you could see the gears turning in her head. “Yep. That’s the one.”

The girl was painfully… average. Awkward, even. She had this overly eager energy, the kind that screamed pick me, with her oversized hoodie and the way she kept glancing around like she was lost. If Ellie thought this was an upgrade—or even a distraction—she was delusional.

“She’s…” Dina trailed off, struggling for the right word.

“A kid,” you finished for her, your voice laced with disdain.

Dina winced. “I mean, yeah, kind of.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your coffee, trying to pretend you didn’t care, but the sight of the girl lingered in your mind. It wasn’t jealousy—Ellie’s life was her own mess now—but seeing the girl in real life made it all the more ridiculous.

“She’s trying too hard,” Dina muttered, almost to herself. “Like she’s auditioning for something.”

You smirked, swirling your coffee absently. “Figures. Ellie always did like a good project.”

And as much as you hated to admit it, there was a small, dark part of you that couldn’t wait to see how this one would end.

A few minutes later, the door to the café swung open, and in came Jesse, his laughter ringing out before he’d even reached your table. His grin was wide, his energy electric, and you knew before he even said a word that he was about to deliver something chaotic.

“Did you see her?” he asked, barely getting the words out between fits of cackling. He plopped into the chair next to Dina, grabbing one of her fries without so much as a greeting.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference even as your stomach tightened. “See who?”

“The kid,” Jesse said, smirking. “Ellie’s little… whatever she is.”

Dina groaned, rubbing her temples. “Jesse, come on.”

“What? I’m just saying,” Jesse said, leaning back in his chair. “She looks like she wandered out of a high school open house. Please tell me you saw her.”

You kept your expression neutral, though the corners of your lips threatened to curl into a smirk. “Yeah, we saw her,” you said, taking a casual sip of your coffee.

Jesse snorted, shaking his head. “Man, I don’t know what Ellie’s thinking. It’s like she’s doing everything in her power to scream, ‘I’m totally fine, guys!’”

“She’s not,” Dina said, her voice soft but firm.

You glanced at her, but she didn’t elaborate. Jesse, however, didn’t seem to care. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he looked at you.

“Tell me you’re at least enjoying the show,” he said, his grin sly.

You shrugged, playing it cool. “I’m just minding my business.”

“Bullshit,” Jesse said, laughing. “You love it.”

You didn’t respond, just leaned back in your chair and let the conversation flow around you. But deep down, you couldn’t deny the flicker of satisfaction Jesse’s words brought. Ellie’s mess was her own to deal with now, and you? You were just here for the coffee.

Finals week brought a brief, blissful silence. Everyone was too busy cramming and stressing over grades to care about the aftermath of your breakup or the whispers of Ellie’s spiraling life. For once, the campus drama machine took a breather, and you got to relish the peace.

But finals ended, and the parties began.

Celebrations cropped up everywhere, and your friends were relentless about dragging you out. At first, you resisted. Maybe you were still riding the exhaustion from finals, or maybe you just didn’t feel like pretending to enjoy yourself. But eventually, you caved. Blame it on the free drinks or the fact that Dina and Jesse had bailed to spend time together like the nauseating lovebirds they were.

The house buzzed with energy, bodies packed into every corner, and music so loud it felt like the floorboards might give out. Conversations competed with the bassline, creating a chaotic hum that filled the air. Laughter and shouts spilled out onto the front lawn, where clusters of people stood smoking or catching their breath. You hung near your group, drink in hand, soaking in the chaos without engaging too much. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either.

And then you saw her.

She was in the kitchen, beer in hand, laughing at something the guy next to her said. From a distance, she almost looked like her old self—confident, collected. But you knew better. The forced laugh, the way her eyes flickered around the room when she thought no one was watching, the tension in her shoulders—it all screamed try-hard.

And clinging to her arm, like some desperate groupie, was the freshman. You had to give her credit for persistence; not many people would still fawn over someone this obviously falling apart. Ellie threw her a smile, but it was hollow, like everything else about her these days.

You turned back to your drink, feigning disinterest, but one of your friends nudged you. “Isn’t that Ellie?”

“Yep,” you said flatly, not even glancing back.

You weren’t going to let her ruin your night. No, that privilege was yours alone now.

Still, Ellie had a way of making herself impossible to ignore. Everywhere you turned, there she was, laughing too loud or gesturing wildly like she was the life of the party. She wasn’t. She was flailing, and it was almost embarrassing to watch. Almost.

At one point, your group migrated to a quieter corner, gossiping over drinks. The conversation was mindless, but it passed the time. You were just starting to relax when one of your friends leaned in, smirking. “Yo, isn’t that your ex?”

You didn’t need to look to know who they meant.

“She looks like shit,” someone muttered, and you couldn’t help but agree.

Ellie was leaning against the wall now, beer bottle nearly empty, her grey hoodie rumpled like she’d pulled it from the bottom of a laundry basket. The jeans she wore hung loose, the way clothes did on someone who’d lost weight they couldn’t afford to lose. Her glasses sat perched on her nose, slightly askew, the way they used to always be—an effortless part of her polished appearance. Her hair, once perfectly messy, now just looked like she hadn’t bothered. She was a shadow of the person she used to be, and you loved it.

“She’s trying so hard,” another friend snickered, and you smiled into your drink.

It was true. Ellie was a disaster, and she didn’t even know it. Every movement, every laugh, was a performance meant to convince everyone—including herself—that she was okay. But the cracks were there, and you had a front-row seat to watch her crumble.

You caught her looking at you once, just for a second, before she quickly looked away. That single moment of eye contact was enough to tell you everything. She was spiraling, and she knew you knew.

You raised your glass in a mock toast, a smug grin tugging at your lips as her expression darkened.

God, it felt good to see her like this.

Every stumble, every fake smile, every awkward interaction was proof that she hadn’t moved on, and that knowledge was sweeter than any drink you could have had tonight. Ellie might’ve been the one to end things, but you were the one thriving now.

And as you watched her shrink further into herself, you couldn’t help but savor the irony. She’d thought she was better off without you, but now? She was the punchline to a joke only you truly understood.

Karma had never looked so good.

Eventually, you grew tired of your so-called friends and their endless gossip, their voices blending into a monotonous hum that felt more high school than college. Rolling your eyes, you muttered a half-hearted excuse and slipped away, heading outside for a smoke.

The night air hit you like a reset button, cool and sharp against your skin. Away from the suffocating noise of the party, you finally let yourself breathe.

You were halfway through your cigarette when the back door creaked open, the familiar sound of footsteps following immediately after. You didn't have to look to know who it was—Ellie’s presence was unmistakable, like a ripple in the air that made everything feel off-kilter.

She came into view, cigarette dangling between her fingers, the glow from the ember briefly lighting up her face in the dim backyard. She stood there, awkwardly shifting on her feet, her posture too stiff to be casual. The smoke from her cigarette curled into the air, but she didn’t take a drag immediately—she was eyeing you, as if deciding whether to approach.

You didn’t make any move, just took another slow drag from your own cigarette, watching her from the corner of your eye.

“Can I join?” Ellie’s voice was rough, a little too slow, but she made her way over, unceremoniously leaning against the brick wall beside you.

You exhaled, the smoke curling into the cold night. “It’s a free world,” you said flatly, not bothering to acknowledge her much beyond that.

She nodded, as if to herself, and then lit her cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating her face in a flickering moment of vulnerability. She dragged deeply, her eyes closing for a brief second as she exhaled, the cloud of smoke mixing with the night air.

You couldn’t help but glance at her—she was wearing the same loose grey hoodie, her glasses perched just so, like they had always been a part of her signature style. The jeans she wore hung too loosely on her frame, the sign of someone who had lost more than just weight. The way her hands shook slightly as she took another drag was a stark contrast to her usual confident facade.

The quiet stretched between you both as she smoked, and you weren’t sure if it was the booze or just the weight of everything, but Ellie spoke up again, her voice softer now, too soft.

“Sometimes I think I fucked up more than I thought,” she said, her gaze fixed on the ground.

You didn’t reply right away. Instead, you took another drag, letting the silence hang, thick and heavy. She had this way of saying things she didn’t really want to say—things she thought she could bury under the weight of her act, but here she was, practically inviting you to take the shot.

Ellie looked back at you, meeting your eyes briefly before quickly looking away, uncomfortable again. "I didn't mean for it to go this way," she muttered.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smirking. “No one ever means it,” you said coldly, flicking the ash from your cigarette into the grass.

Ellie’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond. She just took another drag, trying to keep it together, though it was clear her mind was somewhere else entirely.

You couldn’t help the satisfaction that crept through you as you watched her like this—so far from the confident, untouchable girl who used to walk around like she owned every room. Watching her crumble, piece by piece, had always been more satisfying than you'd ever care to admit.

“Well,” you said, voice almost light, “at least you’re consistent in how much of a mess you are.”

She flinched at that, but didn’t retaliate. Instead, she just stared at her cigarette, the smoke curling upward, her shoulders slumping a little more with each breath. You didn’t care to pretend you cared about her sadness. It was better this way. She’d made her choice.

You finished your cigarette first, tapping it out and flicking it into the yard. "Have fun with that," you said with a sneer, before turning on your heel and walking back toward the house, the sound of the door closing behind you louder than any of the bullshit you’d just walked away from.

You didn’t see her again at the party, at least not until later when you were waiting for a cab, conveniently she was too. You were standing near the curb, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, ready to call it a night. The air had cooled further, and the sounds of the party were slowly becoming a distant hum. That’s when you spotted her—Ellie, standing just a few feet away, looking like she was trying to make herself small despite being too tall and noticeable.

She didn’t see you at first, and you almost considered pretending you hadn’t noticed her. But then, as if the universe had other plans, she glanced in your direction. Her eyes flickered for a moment, just a brief flash of recognition before she looked away.

You started to turn your attention back to your phone when the cab you’d called pulled up, but then Ellie surprised you. She was already walking toward it, the same cab, as if fate had decided to throw one last curveball.

Her eyes met yours again as she reached the door, and she hesitated for just a moment before saying, “You waiting for a ride too?” Her voice had a touch of awkwardness, like she wasn’t quite sure if she should even ask.

You paused for a second, then shrugged, stepping closer to the cab. “Guess so,” you replied, your tone flat but not unkind. You didn’t really feel like arguing, and she clearly wasn’t going to back down.

It was too late to back out now, so you both climbed into the backseat, the door shutting behind you with a soft thud. The car started moving, and for a moment, the silence was just as thick as it had been when you were standing outside.

The ride was quiet, the kind of silence that felt thick with unspoken words. Ellie sat beside you, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face illuminated only by the dim glow of the streetlights passing by. You could feel her tension, the way she fidgeted with the hem of her hoodie sleeve, clearly trying to fight off whatever thoughts were eating at her. You didn’t bother to break the silence, letting the hum of the car’s engine fill the space between you both.

When the cab finally pulled up in front of your new apartment building, you were already reaching for the door handle, ready to escape the awkwardness. But before you could step out, Ellie surprised you again. She unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed the door open too, stepping out of the cab at the same time you did.

You blinked in confusion as she closed the door behind her and walked toward you, her pace slow but determined. “I’ll walk you to your apartment,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. It almost sounded like a statement rather than a suggestion, like it was something she had already decided in her head.

You stared at her for a moment, trying to process what she was saying. It wasn’t like Ellie to make such an offer, not after everything that had happened. You were about to ask her what she was doing when she tilted her head slightly, looking at you with a mix of resolve and something else—vulnerability, maybe.

She didn’t wait for your response, already starting to walk toward your building. You found yourself following her without thinking. There was something about the way she was acting tonight, something different than the reckless, unbothered Ellie you were used to. You couldn’t quite place it, but for some reason, you didn’t protest.

It felt almost like a routine, walking beside her in the quiet of the night. The distance between you wasn’t much, but it was enough for you to feel the strange tension in the air, the unspoken words hanging between the two of you.

The elevator ride up to your floor felt like an eternity, the space between you both growing with each passing second. Ellie was unusually quiet, her hands shoved deep in her hoodie pockets as she stared ahead, her lips pressed together in a line. You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or something else, but she seemed more... guarded, like she was holding herself together by a thread.

You were about to say something when she spoke, her voice low but pointed. “You know, you’re not as over this as you act.”

The words hit you like a slap in the face. You snapped your head toward her, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, but the edge in her voice was unmistakable. “Just saying. You act like you don’t care, but I’ve seen you watching me tonight. You don’t fool anyone.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, but neither of you moved immediately. You could feel your heart beating faster, your temper flaring. “I don’t care? You think you know me? You’re the one who left, Ellie. You don’t get to make assumptions about me now.”

She rolled her eyes, her usual sarcastic smirk creeping onto her face. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you didn’t move on. I saw you at that party, having the time of your life with your little friends.”

That did it. You stepped toward her, your voice rising. “You don’t get to act like I’m the one who moved on too quickly. You don’t know what it’s been like for me, and frankly, I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Ellie’s expression shifted, and for the first time that night, you saw something softer in her eyes. But before you could process it, her tone sharpened again. “I never said you owed me anything, but I didn’t expect you to throw it all away like I meant nothing.”

“Stop acting like this is all my fault,” you shot back, your voice barely controlled now. “You pushed me away. I had no choice but to move on, Ellie. You made sure of that.”

The argument hung in the air, thick and tense. But before you could say another word, Ellie closed the distance between you, her breath warm against your skin. In one swift motion, she cupped your face, pulling you in. You didn’t fight it. The anger, the hurt, all of it seemed to melt away in the heat of the kiss.

It was raw—desperate even. Her lips were hungry against yours, and you kissed her back, your hands coming up to tangle in her messy hair. It felt like everything you’d been holding back, every word you hadn’t said, was pouring into that kiss.

But as quickly as it started, reality crashed back in. You broke away, gasping for air, your heart pounding in your chest. Ellie stood there, her face flushed, eyes wide with the same shock as yours.

You stepped back, shaking your head. “This... this doesn’t change anything, Ellie. Just go home.”

Her gaze softened, and you could see the disappointment in her eyes. But she didn’t argue. She simply nodded, turned, and walked away.

You stood in the cold, the echo of her footsteps fading down the hallway as you finally unlocked your door. The kiss lingered on your lips, but it wasn’t enough to make you forget why you had to push her away. Not now. Not like this.

A few days had passed since that night, but it felt like everything from then had been a twisted joke you were still trying to figure out. You weren't sad about the breakup; no, that ship had sailed. You were pissed that you’d ended up making out with her—Ellie, of all people—after everything.

It wasn’t supposed to be like that. You weren’t supposed to let her back in. And yet, there you were, rolling around with her in the elevator like some lovesick idiot. You had to keep telling yourself it was a mistake—a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment. But you couldn’t deny the satisfaction that came with seeing Ellie in such a mess. The messy flannel, the loose jeans, the awkward way she was trying so hard to pretend she didn’t care. It was delicious.

You were in your room now, screaming into your pillow because, honestly, what the hell had you just done? Dina was on the bed, far too entertained by your complete frustration.

“So, you and Ellie kissed,” Dina said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Or should I say, ‘ate each other's face’?” She leaned forward, practically glowing with excitement. “How was it? Did she kiss like she still had a chance?”

You groaned into the pillow, the sound muffled. “I didn’t eat her face, Dina. It wasn’t anything like that.” You lifted your head just enough to glare at her. “She’s a disaster. She came on strong, and I was—ugh—I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

Dina was laughing so hard she almost fell off the bed. “Oh, come on. You’re so into her. I can tell. And you’re acting all annoyed, but I saw the way you kissed her. Don’t lie. It was intense.”

You sat up, scowling at her. “I’m not into her, Dina. I just... I don’t know, she pissed me off so much, and then bam—we're making out like idiots. But it’s not like it meant anything.”

Dina’s smirk didn’t fade. “Right, sure. Whatever you say, but I bet Ellie’s loving it right now, huh? She’s probably regretting her whole life choices while you’re sitting here getting off on her misery.”

That hit a little too close to home. You were enjoying the way she was falling apart. Seeing her so wrecked, so desperate to hold on to something that had already slipped through her fingers—it was delicious. Karma had never tasted so sweet.

You flopped back onto your bed, rolling onto your back with an exaggerated sigh. “She looked pathetic, Dina. But it’s like—ugh, I don’t know. Seeing her like that... It was so perfect, you know? She’s this whole mess, and I’m over here just... thriving.”

Dina raised an eyebrow at you, clearly enjoying the way you were reacting. “I get it. You love watching her self-destruct. It’s like everything she put you through is finally coming back around. But you’ve got to admit, kissing her like that—it’s got to mean something.”

You shot her a glare. “No. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m just enjoying the fact that she’s miserable now. She thought she could walk away, but now she’s the one suffering, and I’m just... here for it.”

Dina grinned, clearly not buying your act. “You can try to act all tough, but I see you, dude. You’re not as over her as you think.”

You groaned and buried your face back into the pillow. “Just drop it, okay? I don’t need to hear your analysis right now.”

Dina’s laugh rang through the room, making you just a little more annoyed. “Fine, fine. But you’re so into her. Don’t even try to deny it.”

The rain pounded relentlessly against the window as you stepped out of the shower, steam curling in the air around you. Dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and a matching top, you walked into your room, ready to collapse into bed and lose yourself in mindless scrolling or random videos.

But before you could settle in, a soft knock at your door froze you in place.

You sighed, already dreading who it could be. Opening the door, you found Ellie standing there, drenched from the rain. Her auburn hair stuck to her face, and her usual cocky confidence was replaced by an almost hesitant shuffle.

“Can I come in?” she asked, her voice low and thick with something unspoken.

You crossed your arms, glaring. “What do you want, Ellie?”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the floor before meeting yours. She looked out of place, like she didn’t belong here but couldn’t stay away. “Just... please.”

You stared her down, letting the silence linger until it became unbearable, then stepped aside reluctantly. Ellie walked in slowly, dripping water onto the floor as she fidgeted with her hands. She always did that when she was nervous.

Closing the door, you leaned against it and crossed your arms again. “Well? Spit it out.”

Ellie’s shoulders tensed. She avoided your gaze for a moment, exhaling sharply before finally looking at you. “I miss you,” she said, her voice quiet, almost trembling.

A laugh escaped you, sharp and cold. “Bullshit. You have a girlfriend, Ellie. Why the hell are you here?”

“I know,” she replied quickly, holding her hands up as if to defend herself. “I know, but… she’s not you. No one has ever made me feel like you do. I miss you. Please.”

Your heart clenched, but you buried it under your growing frustration. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, your voice cutting. “You’re with her now. What’s her name again? Oh, right, the freshman who follows you around like a puppy on a leash. Does she know you’re here, begging me for crumbs?”

Ellie winced, her cheeks flushing. “It’s not like that,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“Isn’t it?” you shot back. “You’ve got her wrapped around your finger, Ellie, and now you want to come crawling back to me because you’re bored or because she can’t give you whatever it is you’re looking for. Do you even hear yourself?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore!” Ellie snapped, her voice breaking. “She’s not you. She’ll never be you. I need—”

“You need to leave,” you interrupted, cutting her off. “Go back to your little puppy. Play house. Whatever it is you do with her.”

Ellie stepped closer, her hands trembling at her sides. “I don’t want her,” she said, her voice softening again. “I want you. Just… just one night. Please.”

You raised an eyebrow, a cruel smirk tugging at your lips. “You think one night is going to fix this? After everything? You’ve got some nerve, Ellie.”

“I don’t care,” she said, desperation lacing her words. “I don’t care how much you hate me right now. I just—please, I miss how we used to be. I miss you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, stepping closer to her. “If you want me that badly, prove it,” you said, your voice sharp and unrelenting. “Beg for it, Ellie. Get on your knees and show me how much you miss me.”

Ellie’s eyes widened, her lips parting in shock, but she didn’t hesitate for long. Slowly, she sank to her knees, her trembling hands resting on your thighs. “Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’ll do anything. Just… let me stay. Just for tonight.”

You tilted your head, looking down at her with mock pity. “Is this what you do when things don’t go your way? Crawl back to me while your girlfriend waits at home, none the wiser? Pathetic.”

Ellie flinched but didn’t move, her grip on your thighs tightening. “Say whatever you want. I don’t care,” she said, her voice shaking. “Just… please, let me stay.”

For a moment, you let the silence hang heavy between you, the sound of rain pounding against the window filling the room. You could feel her desperation, her raw need, and—god help you—it made you feel powerful.

Finally, you leaned down, tilting her chin up with your fingers so she had no choice but to meet your gaze. “You don’t deserve it,” you said, your voice low and cruel. “But I’ll give you what you want. Just this once.”

Ellie’s breath hitched as you leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was rough, desperate, and laced with all the frustration, hurt, and longing that had been simmering between you for months.

Her hands slid up your legs, pulling you closer as she kissed you back with equal fervor. It was a mess of emotions—anger, desire, and something neither of you dared to name—but for now, it was enough.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathing hard, you stared down at her, a smirk playing on your lips. “Get up,” you said, your tone sharp but teasing.

Ellie stood, her eyes never leaving yours. The night was far from over, and you both knew it.

A sly grin tugs at Ellie’s lips as she watches you sink into the couch, legs splayed wide. Her hesitation lasts only a heartbeat before she steps forward, closing the space between you. Without breaking eye contact, she lowers herself onto your thigh, her breath hitching as she settles in, the tension crackling between you like a live wire.

Her body sinks into yours as if she’s trying to melt away the distance between you. Her arms coil around your neck, fingers threading through the hair at your nape. She starts to move, a slow, deliberate grind, her breaths hot against your skin. Her voice, soft and raw, spills into the hollow of your neck like a confession wrapped in velvet. “God… I missed you so much,” she murmurs, the words trembling with a teasing ache, her desperation weaving itself into every shift of her hips, every flicker of heat that blooms.

She tries to press her knee against you, sliding between your legs with a boldness that only fuels your frustration. But you’re quicker, pushing her back with a firm hand. “No,” you bite out, your voice cold and unyielding. She doesn’t get to have this her way—not after everything. She doesn’t deserve to touch you, not until you decide she’s earned it.

When you shove her knee away, a soft whimper escapes her lips—fragile, pleading, yet laced with determination. She leans closer, her breath warm against your skin as she murmurs, “Let me touch you, baby.” Her voice trembles, a delicate mix of desperation and longing, as if she’s begging for permission to worship what she knows she doesn’t deserve.

You tilt your head, locking eyes with her, your expression cold and unyielding. Her desperation clings to the air between you like a suffocating fog. “You don’t deserve to touch me,” you say, your voice low but cutting, each word sharp enough to pierce through her resolve.

Her breath hitches, her hands faltering where they’ve dared to rest on your thighs. “Please,” she whispers, her voice breaking just slightly, the word hanging in the silence like an offering.

You lean forward, closing the distance just enough for her to feel the weight of your presence without granting her the satisfaction she craves. “You don’t get to beg for what you threw away,” you add, your tone cruel, though the flicker of heat in her gaze tells you she doesn’t hate it. If anything, she leans into it, her fingers curling tighter against your legs.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she says, almost breathless, her voice trembling with urgency. “I’ll do anything. Just—”

“Anything?” you interrupt, your lips curling into a slow, taunting smile. “You really think anything will erase the mess you made? You want to earn this? Then prove it. Show me how pathetic you can be.”

Her cheeks flush, her eyes dropping to the space between you as though she’s already considering how far she’ll go. And when she looks up again, there’s a spark of something reckless in her gaze—something that says she’s willing to sink lower if it means she can have even a fraction of you.

She knelt on the ground, her hands bound behind her like a captured bird, the belt tight against her wrists. You moved around her slowly, like a predator circling its prey, the tension in the air thick enough to taste. Her eyes flickered to you, but her body remained still, the soft rustling of fabric the only sound as you drew near.

Every bone in your body screamed at you to walk away, to resist the urge, but seeing her—especially earlier, drenched in rain, her eyes pleading for your touch—was a temptation you couldn't ignore.

You’d moved past her. Moved past everything. She was a lousy girlfriend then, and nothing had changed. Now, she had a new girlfriend—if you could even call that wide-eyed freshman a girlfriend. More like a puppy, really. But seeing her, broken and desperate, begging for what you used to give her? You couldn’t help yourself. You were going to make her feel everything she did before—and then some.

It was a striking thing, seeing her so completely at your mercy. She used to be the one in control, always dominant, always pushing you around—and you, you let her. But not anymore. Not now. Now, the tables have turned. She needed you, not the other way around, and you made sure she understood that. With a sharp tug on her hair, you forced her gaze to meet yours.

With a slow, deliberate motion, you used your foot to spread her legs wide on the cold ground, ensuring her gaze stayed locked on you.

Ellie's breath catches as you spread her legs, the motion bold, deliberate—sending a shudder through her that you can almost feel in your own chest. She glares up at you, but now there's something else in her eyes—something uncertain, a crack in the defiance. Ellie licks her lips nervously, her usual bravado slipping away like a mask, leaving her raw and exposed in a way that stirs something in you. This isn't the Ellie you once knew, and that makes everything so much more... thrilling.

Her heart races as she feels your foot firmly press against her center through her jeans. Her eyes widen in shock and humiliation, but she can't help the way her body responds. Her breath catches in her throat as you maintain eye contact, dominating her completely.

Her face burns with embarrassment and arousal, but even she can't deny the heat building between her legs. "Fuck-" she whispers harshly, trying to maintain some dignity despite her vulnerable position. Her legs want to close, but your foot presses harder, keeping them firmly apart.

"Please, let me touch you, baby... That’s all I need..." Her voice trembles, low and pleading.

You chuckle darkly, the sound low and dangerous, before replying, "I told you, Ellie... you don’t get to touch me."

Ellie's lips part in disbelief, a frustrated whimper escaping as she realizes the cruel game you're playing. Her body aches to touch you, but your cold words remind her of the power she's lost. She glare up at you, her eyes flashing with mingled fury and desperate need.

Ellie's teeth grind together as she fights back a groan, your cruel denial stoking the flames of her arousal higher.

“Stand up.” You commanded

Her legs tremble slightly as your foot leaves its intimate position, leaving her feeling empty and aching. She struggles to stand on shaky legs, her pride demanding she maintain some semblance of dignity, despite the obvious effect you're having on her.

She stumbles forward, her hands reaching out to steady herself on the couch. You push her down roughly, making her sit on the edge of the cushion. Before she can react, you grab the hem of her pants and yank them down her legs, leaving her in nothing but her boxers.

She gasps in surprise as you quickly remove her boxers, leaving her completely exposed. Before she can process what's happening, your face is between her legs, your tongue delving into her soaked pussy. Ellie's back arches off the couch, a loud moan escaping her lips as you devour her.

Her hands fist in your hair, pulling desperately as she tries to pull you closer. Her hips buck against your face, seeking more contact, more friction. "Dammit, dammit," she pants, her body tensing as she tries to hold back the release you're pushing her towards.

As you continue to eat her out, you suddenly push two fingers inside her, stretching her open further. The sensation is too much, and Ellie's back arches off the couch as she screams in ecstasy. Her pussy clenches around your fingers, gushing with juice as you finger fuck her alongside your tongue.

Your fingers push inside her, stretching her tight pussy as you continue to lick and suck her clit. Ellie's legs shake violently, her whole body trembling as the dual sensations overwhelm her. She screams in ecstasy, her pussy clenching around your fingers as she cums hard, her juices flooding your mouth.

As she rides out her orgasm, you don't let up, continuing to eat her out and fuck her with your fingers. When she finally starts to come down, you add a third finger, scissoring them inside her to stretch her pussy even further.

The combination of your fingers and tongue becomes too much, overstimulating her. Ellie's vision starts to blur, her mind going blank as she's hit with an intense wave of pleasure. She screams again, her body convulsing as she experiences what feels like an endless orgasm.

“Mmm... you asked for this,” you murmur, a smirk tugging at your lips as you slowly withdraw your fingers, taking a deliberate step back. “You said you wanted me to make you feel good.”

You knew, deep down, that this wasn’t what she had in mind when she came to you, desperate for a ‘blast from the fucking past’. But that’s exactly what you intended to give her—whether she was ready for it or not.

The next day, the news came—she and her little freshman had broken up. You didn’t need the details; you already knew how it went down. It was always going to end like this. She’d come crawling back to you, driven by some half-baked nostalgia, thinking she could reclaim something that was long gone.

But she was foolish if she thought you’d take her back. That door had closed, and she had no one to blame but herself.

After class, you glance at your phone. A single message from Ellie: "Can we talk?"

You pause, the weight of her words settling in. She thought this was some simple conversation—someway to undo what had been done.

You don't rush to reply. Instead, you let the silence stretch. When you do finally respond, it's deliberate, cold: "What’s there to talk about?"

Her reply comes quick, desperate: "I need to explain..."

You smile to yourself, a small, satisfied thing. She needed to explain? There was nothing left to explain, but you knew what she wanted. She always did, didn’t she?

You meet her at the old usual spot, a dimly lit corner outside the café where you used to sit and talk—before everything went to shit. The air feels thick, charged with the weight of what happened, and Ellie stands there, fidgeting, her eyes on the ground.

You take your time walking toward her, letting the silence hang between you before you speak.

“I’m listening,” you say, your voice steady, almost too calm for the storm brewing beneath it.

Ellie looks up, her face flushed, eyes wide with that familiar desperation. She takes a step forward, her voice shaky but insistent. “There has to be something, right? After what happened… after that night… You made me feel something again. You made me feel so good. That has to mean something.”

Her words hang in the air, and you almost feel sorry for her, but the truth is, you don’t. Not anymore.

Ellie swallows, her gaze softening as if she’s trying to pull you back into the past. “You still love me. You have to. I know you do.”

You stare at her for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch uncomfortably before your lips curl into a cold, empty smile. “Love you?” you say, your voice low, almost mocking. “No, Ellie. I don’t love you.”

She flinches at the words, her eyes searching yours for something—anything—that would contradict what you just said. But there’s nothing there.

“You think I did this because I love you?” You shake your head, the laughter that follows bitter. “No. I did it because it felt good. Seeing you beneath me, broken, desperate—it gave me something I didn’t know I was missing.”

Her breath catches, and for a second, you almost feel the weight of her confusion, her shock, but you push it aside.

“You want to get back together?” you ask, the words dripping with disdain. “You’re pathetic, Ellie. You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

She tries to reach for your hand, but you step back, coldly rejecting her touch.

“No. You’ve had your chance. You don’t get to come back and rewrite what’s already been done.”

Low and behold, like the asshat she was, you'd heard from Dina how Ellie had been talking shit about you—spinning stories about how cruel you were, how you had used her, how you made her feel worthless. Typical Ellie, always turning herself into the martyr. Always blaming someone else for her own mess.

You hadn’t been surprised when Dina had spilled the details. You knew Ellie. She was the type who would do anything to make herself feel like she hadn’t been the one left behind, the one who hadn’t been able to make things work. The truth was, Ellie wasn’t strong enough to face what she had done, to admit that she had come crawling back to you, begging for something that she could never have again.

She couldn’t stand the thought of losing control over you. It was always about that. But now, that power was gone. She didn’t get to walk away from this with her head held high. No, she had made her bed. And you weren’t going to lie in it with her anymore.

You’d already heard her excuses, the things she’d said to Dina, how she made herself out to be the victim. And as much as it pissed you off, you weren’t surprised. This was Ellie’s game. It was always her way or no way. But you knew better than to get dragged back into her toxic cycle.

You remembered that night—the way she had begged, the way she had been so desperate for something, anything. But what had she really wanted? To feel wanted again? To feel like she still had some hold on you? To make herself feel better about all the times she’d walked away from you, played you like a fool?

Well, now, she was just another piece of your past. She wouldn’t go away. But you were done.

Even after everything, she kept finding ways to crawl back into your life—whether it was through casual texts, uninvited visits, or her half-hearted attempts to rekindle what was lost. She couldn’t just accept it. Couldn’t just walk away like she had all the power in the world. But you were done.

She kept telling herself that you’d come back. That you’d always come back. She couldn’t fathom that there was no room for her in your life anymore, no place for her desperate pleas to fit in. It didn’t matter how many times she tried to make herself the center of your world.

And yet, she wouldn’t go away. Not entirely.

Even now, you could feel her presence lingering, like some shadow that just wouldn’t dissipate. You weren’t sure what she expected from you, or why she kept thinking this twisted version of “us” could work, but there was no denying it. Ellie wouldn’t just let you move on. She had to cling to the past because, for her, it was all she knew.

But you? You were done. You weren’t going to chase after her anymore. You wouldn’t keep playing her game.

You couldn’t make her disappear, but you could walk away.

#ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #lesbian #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou2 #tlou2 #the last of us #tlou #ellie fanfic #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams fluff #tlou ellie #the last of us part 2 #ellie x fem reader

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caitified · 18 hours ago

Note

Can you do something with Paige Bueckers where reader is on her period and Paige takes care of her😭

COMFORT

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER

comments: in need of more P requests

warnings: discomfort

the cramps had started earlier in the day, dull and achy at first, like a warning siren that only grew louder as the hours went on. by the time you made it back to the apartment you shared with paige, the pain had settled in deep, leaving you curled up on the couch with a heating pad pressed against your stomach and a blanket pulled over your shoulders.

you hadn’t even planned to tell her. paige was busy, always busy, with practice and film sessions and the endless demands that came with being the face of women’s basketball. she had enough to deal with without adding your discomfort to the mix, and you weren’t about to drag her into your misery.

but paige knew you too well to let it slide.

the moment she walked through the door, her blonde hair damp from the shower, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder, she stopped in her tracks. her blue eyes—god, those eyes, the bluest you’d ever seen—scanned you like she was reading a play, her expression softening when she saw the way you were curled up on the couch.

“babe,” she said gently, dropping her bag by the door and coming to kneel in front of you. her hands, big and warm, settled on your knees, her thumbs brushing over the fabric of your sweatpants. “what’s wrong?”

you hesitated, biting your lip. “it’s nothing, paige. i’m fine.”

her eyes narrowed, and you knew she wasn’t buying it for a second. “don’t give me that. you’ve been in the same spot since i left this morning, haven’t you?”

“i mean, yeah, but—”

“y/n.” her tone was firm, but her touch was impossibly gentle as she reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “tell me.”

you sighed, your shoulders slumping under the weight of her concern. “i’m on my period, okay? and it sucks. my cramps are killing me, and i feel like crap, and i didn’t want to bother you with it because you’ve got so much going on—”

“stop.” she cut you off, her voice soft but insistent. “you’re not bothering me. you could never bother me, okay?”

you nodded, your throat tight as she pressed a kiss to your forehead before standing up. “stay right there. i’m gonna take care of you.”

“paige, you don’t have to—”

“hush,” she said, shooting you a playful glare as she disappeared into the kitchen.

you could hear her rummaging around, the sound of cabinets opening and closing, the microwave humming to life. when she returned, she had a steaming mug of tea in one hand and a bag of your favorite snacks in the other. she set them down on the coffee table before disappearing again, this time returning with a fresh blanket and a pair of fuzzy socks.

“okay,” she said, dropping the blanket over your legs and sliding the socks onto your feet with the kind of care that made your heart ache. “tea, snacks, warm feet. anything else?”

you shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “this is more than enough, paige. thank you.”

she settled in beside you, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you close until your head was resting on her shoulder. her fingers found their way into your hair, tracing lazy patterns along your scalp as she pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“you don’t have to thank me,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing. “taking care of you is my favorite thing to do.”

you smiled, your body relaxing against hers as the pain began to fade, not completely, but enough. with paige by your side, it always did.

thanks for reading! requests open!

#wnba x reader #wnba imagine #wbb x reader #wbb imagine #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #uconn x reader #paige bueckers imagine #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers

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solbaby7 · 1 day ago

Text

Calypso

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, angst, possible typos, violence

[ part 1 ]

—

Your family was hovering.

Exchanging worried looks amongst eachother as they partook in a mental conversation that you weren’t invited to but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The power inside of you had seemed to be asleep; tucked within the warmth of your vessel as you shuffled closer to Azriel.

His shadows were everywhere, pressing against every inch of available skin not only as a comfort but to shield your state from wandering eyes. Azriel knew his brothers meant no harm but his spine stiffened just a bit more when he’d catch them searching for injuries—as if some sort of explaination would be branded into your flesh.

He understood—really, he did.

Everyone wanted to know how you’d survived.

How you’d been hiding such power away for so long undetected.

But he couldn’t find the courage to ask any questions; too afraid he’d have to come to the horrifying realization that he’d almost lost you.

No. Azriel had lost you and yet some divine intervention had taken place, gifting him a second chance. His stomach plummets at the thought, shadows tightening their grip on you; tugging you in as close as you could get and still it didn’t feel close enough. “I’m right here,” You mutter just loud enough for your voice to break through the noise beginning to grow inside Azriel’s mind. A hand covers his own, a gentle squeeze to reiterate the words spoken but he can’t help but notice how cold your skin is.

You hesitate before crossing Autumn’s border, sparing a glance behind you when the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, alerting you of a lingering presence. A brow raises, lids narrowing a fraction before the comforting darkness of Azriel’s shadows began to weave its web, calling you back home where you belonged. “I’ll find you,” A voice croons so whisper soft that you struggle to decipher if it was real or just a figment of your imagination. “You have my word.”

Protective instincts force you to answer the voice, nerves still raw from earlier and the rage refused to fully subside. “I’ll kill you. You have my word.”

—

The sterile stench of disinfectant burns. The walls are too white and everyone in it is entirely too quiet as they watch Madja work on you.

Sure hands run over the length of you, her powers searching for something wrong and yet after a thorough assessment—all she can offer the High Lord is, “Physically, she’s perfectly healthy.”

“You’re sure? Beron said that she—“ Rhys pauses briefly, painfully aware of Azriel’s eyes digging craters into the side of his face and he becomes more careful when he speaks. “You’re sure?”

“There’s not a scratch on her.” Madja shifts about the room, putting away equipment and removing sanitary gloves into the waste bin when she continues speaking. “I will say, her body is in a state of fight or flight. It appears as though her gifts are taking on new and unexpected manifestations—it’s morphed into some sort of defense mechanism that surpasses anything I’ve ever seen before. I couldn’t even get a needle to break through to draw her blood.”

You let out a humorless laugh, slouching further into the examination chair. “Seems a little late for that.”

Madja turns to face you, the picture of professionalism when she says your name gently. “How do you feel?”

“I feel…” Like you were still underwater. Like your body was still not your own, tainted by malice and such uncontainable anger. Shaky fingers curl into the fabric of Azriel’s cloak draped over your shoulders—the only anchor that seemed to keep the sensitive magic at bay. “Charged.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. You’ve been through a lot and that could just be a side affect of the adrenaline wearing off.” Madja shifts in place, intentionally ignoring the surveilling eye of your mate tracking her every move—monitoring her every word like his life depended on it. “Can you tell me about what happened? Do you remember anything?”

Azriel bristles when your spine goes ramrod straight, subconsciously tucking the cloak closer to your body. “Nothing’s wrong with my head if that’s what you’re getting at. My memories are intact.”

“That’s good to hear,” Madja nods placatingly, fingers interlocking before her to seem less threatening and more comforting. “I was worried about possible brain damage which is consistent with drowning,” Your jaw clenches, a thick swallow rolling down your throat. “Lung damage as well but your breathing sounded clear and equal and there’s no obvious signs of residual deficits. I’d like to run just a few more tests, if that’s okay?”

A sharp nod of your head is the only answer you provide but when the door opens and one of Madja’s assistants is beckoned to come inside, the entirety of your body language changes.

Azriel feels his own hackles raise as you surveil the newcomer with a hunters eye. “This is August,” Madja introduces swiftly, moving the lean male to the left and its second nature the way he flits about her; retrieving paperwork to neatly arrange back in its folder. “He’s here because I’d like to see if your magic is just blocking me out—or everyone.”

Rhysand shifts in place as he watches you and the way you refuse to answer, utterly fixated on August and the nervous tremble of his fingers when he stands a bit too close. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“It’ll be fine,” Madja assures, standing right before you with her hands hovering at both sides of your head. “I have theory, I just need to try something first.” Everything seems to be going just as planned, the familiar push of healing magic creating a gentle pressure at the edges of your consciousness as it seeks out an injury to fix.

It’s almost soothing, enough to have your eyes fluttering shut and the rigid line of your spine starts to relax when a foreign touch is detected.

The reaction is immediate and completely involuntary. Madja is shoved out of your way as a gust of power projects from your form like a wave; providing the room necessary to pounce on August like a leapord who’d been stalking their prey and finally found the right moment. It’s borderline feral the way you snap at him, pinning his arms under your knees to ensure he couldn’t touch.

“Just as I suspected,” Madja doesn’t appear the slightest bit phased, quietly thanking Rhysand for breaking her fall.

Azriel’s reaction is less tame, his features clouded in shadows when he retrieves you, all the fight dissipating the second a fair distance is established. “Are you out of your mind? She could’ve killed him.”

“But, she didn’t,” Madja murmurs, scribbling words on a page while August dusts himself off. There’s no real damage to either of them but the intensity of your retaliation is enough to have Cassian and Rhysand creeping closer cautiously. “I suspect that her magic has gone on the defensive, almost as if it’s its own sentient being protecting its host. She sustained a trauma which pushed it to the forefront of her mind—taking the reins in a sense.” Madja looks up from her notes, curiosity shining in her eye when she examines you from afar. “It’s protecting her from anything it doesn’t deem safe.”

“Anything it doesn’t deem safe?” Cassian repeats, the hairs from his bun falling free and teasing at the stubble of his jaw. “That’s vague.”

“That’s besides the point,” Rhysand quickly averts, only stepping as close to you as Azriel will allow. There’s a softness to his expression, one that appears almost shy when directed your way. “This doesn’t sound anything like the power you’ve showed before. So, I have to ask if something else happened there—in Autumn?”

The examination room reeks of antiseptic but the low hues of the faintly glowing faelight is comforting enough. Either way, you can’t help the way your eyes flick to Madja and August but they too are soon ushered away the moment Azriel notices.

You gulp audibly, fingers fiddling in your lap as the tense posture you previously wore fades altogether. “I wasn’t lying when I said my memory is intact. Completely intact.” A shaky breath is inhaled, toes wiggling in the compression socks Madja had all but forced Azriel to shove on your feet the moment you’d stepped an inch within the doors. “I remember dying. But, I also remember someone else being there, a female who felt me and brought me back.”

“Brought you back how?”

Your eyes lock on your mate; the physical embodiment of strength and that alone encourages you to scrounge up the courage to continue. “She heard me somehow—I was screaming for help and she heard me and right when I thought it was too late, I felt this…surge.”

Rhys’ lids lower into a squint. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it was just a feeling.” It’s difficult describing the exact sensation that had flowed through you, coating every limb in a caress that wasn’t quite caring. It edged the border of possessive when sealing up your broken pieces. “As if I’d been given more.”

Cassian’s head tilts to the side, arms crossed over his chest while he takes it upon himself to guard the door. “More power?” His brows scrunch in thought. “I guess that could explain what happened once we found you.”

“She did something to me out there,” You confess, staring at your hands as if the answers would somehow be deciphered within the lines of your palms. “My magic feels different inside me—like it’s changed.”

“Show me.” Rhysand demands without question, ignoring the low growl his brother releases, displeasure clear at the tone of his voice.

There’s a pause, slowly bringing your eyes to your High Lord. A shaky breath is released, hands wringing out stress as you lean into the warmth of Azriel behind you. “Respectfully, no.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’d never disobey a direct order so please don’t make me.” The struggle in your words is evident, limbs trembling as you strain to grab ahold of the leash within you. To wrap it around your fist and command the reigns but the leather fits differently than it did before, the aches and pains from such a growth spurt is thoroughly uncomfortable. “The answer is no. I’m not in control.”

Azriel’s gaze snaps down to you with an intensity you’re eager to avoid. “You’re sure?”

You shuffle under all the attention, desperate for a bath and a glass—no, pitcher of wine to drown out the buzzing beneath your skin. It felt too tight over your flesh; stretched thin and rubbed raw as the entity beneath acclimates to its new enclosure.

It makes it hard to breathe properly, each exhale just as sharp as your inhale. “Positive.”

—

The most fascinating thing about trauma, is the way it disperses throughout the body; it lingers in your tissues—saturates your bloodstream until your entire chemical makeup shifts.

It leaves a brand.

One that has your spine stiff with tension at something as normal as Cassian and Rhysand walking behind you. Before, it’d be comforting—their presence straying a few steps behind. But your ears keep fixating on the sound of Cassian’s sword shifting against its leather holster. Heavy boots crushing fallen branches and crispy leaves. Normal, mundane things that now have your heart smacking against your ribcage, palms sweating and instincts on overdrive with nowhere to release the accumulated adrenaline.

Suddenly, you’re grateful that there’s no way to directly winnow back home, greedily sucking up as much fresh air as possible in attempts to soothe the way your belly churns. The anxiety refuses to subside no matter how many calming breaths you take. Your chest begins to heave, the wind whistling white noise against sensitive eardrums and regardless of the steps you count, you remain uncomfortably aware of your stress.

“You okay?” Az prods, voice nothing more than a whisper.

Your grip on his bicep tightens, dread building in your gut with each passing moment until you’re physically unable to move another inch closer to the townhouse. “I can’t go home.” It’s said as more of a confession than anything else, drawing the attention of the two guarding your flank. “It’s not safe.”

Guilt riddles his features for a split second before it’s shadowed by something akin to determination. “I will never let anything happen to you ever again.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” You swallow thickly, sweat beading at your hairline with the effort it takes to shove that overwhelming power down into its box. Even then the lid refuses to close, the entity within banging against the walls and thrashing its fists for release. “I’m saying, you won’t be safe there with me.”

#acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #acotar azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #acotar angst

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uchispeach · 1 day ago

Text

Sycamore Tree (Ch. 6)

Dark! Rafe Cameron x Fem! Reader

Warnings: DUB-CON, rough sex, virginity loss, corruption kink, slight dacryphilia, manhandling, possessive & manipulative behavior, violence, addiction & mentions of drug consume…

A/N: Shit’s about to go DOWN. Also, sorry for the slow updates. I was just in a bad mental state.

This fic will contain dark content: such as dub-con/ non-con and violence. You have been warned.

“Do you really have to leave?” John B’s voice sounded like a saddened plea. You felt a strange wave of shame warming up your body as you finished digging for your keys inside the tote bag’s mess. “I’m sorry, I promise I’ll double my shift tomorrow” Your joke came out as lighthearted, the opposite of your current uncomfortable state. “You better, cause’ Pope is unbearably insufferable when you aren’t here.”

The dark haired boy snored softly from the old living room’s couch, his singular crutch resting next to him.

Seeing the still present bandage covering his one knee made your heart sting a little, either way, you waved your blond friend goodbye and followed the path to the front yard.

The crack of the rusty door wasn’t loud enough to disturb the couple sitting at the porch. Neither did your footsteps create any sort of distraction between them, it was not until you walked down the set of stairs and wrapped your fingers around your car’s handle when you dared to interrupt. “So, you’ll cover me today at The Wreck, right?” Your voice was made purposefully deeper to dominate above the sound of passionate kissing between Kiara and her boyfriend.

Your sister separated her lips from the rebel boy’s, only to grimace at you in an exasperated face. “Guess I’ll fucking have to.” Her annoyance grew clearer on her features, probably regretting owing you a favor. “Thank you…” You said softly, smiling sincerely at her while hopping on the driver’s seat.

The way your fingers wrapped around the steering wheel was unusual, too much strength applied to a rather simple action. A weird feeling installed itself on your chest, polluting the excitement of seeing the blond once again.

Rafe had leaked its way into you, maybe deeper than you wished for. Sneaking around with the Kook didn’t feel quite right at all times, primarily knowing it had to be kept a secret from your friends and sister. But he wrapped you in his life with such intensity you didn’t know how to tell him ‘no’.

These past few days had been unimaginably perfect with the blond boy. Hours spent tanning under the sun while resting on his toned chest, soft kisses on the lips by the edge of his Olympic pool and restless midnight calls, ones less innocent than others…Still, you hesitated before stepping on Cameron's vast land.

The noise in your brain made it harder to recognize the tumultuous chaos waiting around the corner. A pained groan was the first thing you got to decipher from the mix of aggressive shouting. Your movements failed to be cautious as you rushed to the scene.

Rafe’s motorbike laying uncaringly on the ground took you by surprise, such an expensive and imposing machine being treated with such anger. Then, there was a thud; like a sack of rocks crashing against pavement. But the most brutal part of it all, was seeing your lover holding his abdomen in prominent pain.

Your gasp was enough to catch his attention, and you ran to his side with desperation when a trail of blood went down his mouth. “What is wrong with you?” You were acting foolishly, screaming and whining at the well-known plug and delinquent standing right in front of you, acting all offended at the sight of a hurt loved one.

Barry had his chest puffed out, big tacky sunglasses combining with his uncared for hair and dirty tank top. His fists were tensed on a harsh squeeze, proving the pent up violence - shown in the form of blood accumulated on his knuckles.

Your palm rested carefully on Rafe’s forearm while your knees clashed against his side. A simple inspection to his form told you they had been fighting for a prolonged amount of time. Still, a raw batch of burned flesh twitching near his wrist made your eyes widen in worry. “Go away. Now!” The tone of your voice wasn’t intimidating to the black haired boy at all, not when it sounded more like a sob than an actual demand.

The Cameron boy coughed, rumbling chest causing even more pain to his bruised ribs. “Get out or I’ll call-” Barry stepped closer, and you considered shielding the blond with your own body as you saw the crazy look on the Pogue’s face. “You better get me my money or I’ll put a hole between those lame ass eyebrows of yours. Fucking junkie!” He pointed a shaky finger, trembling in clear fury.

He stomped closer, moving his limbs with aggressiveness. “Don’t!” You screamed at the thug when he kneeled beside. “Meanwhile…” he mockingly moved away, effortlessly standing up along the motorbike. “…I’ll take this lady with me.” His sandals clutched the pedals with force as he started the engine.

“You know your deadline, country club. Don’t make me come for your cocaine filled ass!” The last threat was thrown as he rode away. Your shocked state wasn’t enough to pull you away from the responsibility presented at your sight. “Rafe, stay still.” Your plea went silent to Cameron's ears as he supported his palms and knees on the rocky path. “Hey, take it slow.” You reached out for his tensed arm, trying to comfort the storm going on inside him.

You were quick to jump when your contact was received with a hiss. A clear complaint to the abrasive touch on one of his multiple wounds. “I’m sorry.” You felt pathetically lost at the situation, not sure on how to act or what to say to avoid adding any stress to his already stressful situation.

He completely ignored you while his clumsy limbs tried their best to lift him up. “Fuck!” He barked at the third failed attempt to walk off the scene. “Here…” You whispered shyly while offering your frail shoulders as support for the burly boy.

His face grimaced, knowing he had no other choice but to accept your support. Your panting was almost suffocated by Rafe’s curses as you struggled to take him inside the mansion.

Out of breath, you guided him to the all-white couch. A piece of furniture that could only be chosen by Rose’s expensive taste, its functionality as small as your skill to position Rafe on a swift move. “Shit…just drop me.” He demanded in his deep voice, warm breath caressing your sensitive ear. “Okay, just…be careful”

Even in his vulnerable state, you couldn’t help but notice the veins popping up over his flexed muscles, their presence intensified by the trauma all his body had just went through. The blond closed his eyes while facing the ceiling, fed up attitude convincing you not to make any instigation.

You stood frozen in the spacious living room, feeling useless at the lack of ideas running through your brain as the blond wriggled in despair. Then you remembered:

“Rafe, calm down.” Your little self begged the relentless kid to know some peace. Younger Rafe continued making a big mess with all the kitchen drawers. “It was right here, where did that stupid hag put it?” He shook the wood cupboards as if they were mere boxes.

“Rafe” You stepped closer to the frenetic being, your poor friend trembling in frustration as he dug deeper into the endless silverware. “What?!” He reacted late and enraged, closing his fingers on a vile grip as his teary eyes finally faced you. “You’re bleeding.” Your small fingertips brushed against the open cut angrily bleeding on his forehead.

“Who cares?!…” His breathing grew more intense as his sobs became closer. “…my dad is going to kill me when he finds out.” You saw his bloodied knuckles tensing while his palms went up and down his face, roughly rubbing his childish features. “We will explain to him…” Your tiny neck went sore when being tilted to the side for so long, but you were desperate to see those two blue orbs.

“Explain what?…that I disobeyed him once again and broke his shitty bike.” He took you by surprise when his stronger grip terrorized your shoulders with careless movements. “I’m such an idiot.” A tear fell sourly down his smooth skin, entering between his pink lips and giving him a salty taste of his own fear.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” Carefully, you removed his strong hands from obstructing your freedom. “Restroom” His voice came out fragile, throat tired from all the shouting and crying.

And as you made your way to the cabinet over the toilet, you couldn’t help but take some steps back and show your chubby face from the room’s inside: “It’ll be all okay…” You tried cheering him on with a juvenile smile on your tender lips, still, Rafe looked quite frozen in his stressful state.

Not much has changed since then, he still handled vulnerability with excessive rage and aggressiveness. “I’ll get you some bandages and something to disinfect those wounds.” You spoke quietly, tip-toeing your way to the rest room’s drawer to find the dusty metallic box.

Your eyes tried to stay glued to the Red Cross decorating the white cover, even though the blond’s burning stare was clearly calling so deeply for your attention. Your conviction didn’t last long, and you were quick to meet his deeply focused orbs.

His stare moved with you, millimeter by millimeter, almost as he was scared you would dissolve into thin air and leave him all alone. You would never do that though, and that was proved when you kneeled betwen his legs to reach that red and twitching skin on his long arm.

You could swear his pupils polluted his gaze, making it darker as he saw you skillfully wiping the dirt particles from his exposed pain. “I’m sorry…” The liquid started dripping down your wrist as you squeezed the cotton a little too hard. It was rare for an apology to leave that snarky mouth you had grown to admire so much. “I’ll take care of it. Yeah…I’m a proactive type of person, I-I” He clearly struggled with putting the right words in the right sentence.

You simply looked up at him in empathy, sweet lashes moving slowly in the air as your soft features did your best at consoling him. “I know.” You really didn’t, but you knew better than to contradict him. And it seemed to work your way, because he stayed calm for the rest of your tending.

(…)

Helping the heavy young man climb the endless stairs to his room wasn’t an easy task, not when his rigid muscles buried against your delicate figure.

You were an expert at putting others before yourself, that’s why your comfort and peace had become the last of your priorities as soon as you saw the blond suffering. He looked quite calm by now, as peacefully as he allowed himself to be while laying on your naked thighs.

His strong and rough fingertips gripping your leg’s flesh with a securing force. While his other palm circled his way around your waist, making sure you wouldn’t move a single centimeter away from his warmth.

You didn’t know what possessed you to interrupt his therapeutic-like session, maybe it was his nose burying selfishly against your flesh, the forming redness around your hips or the careless squeezes he gave your stomach in hopes of calming his own demons down; but either way, you took the unjustified decision of altering him with an abrasive question: “Are you consuming again?”

Your naivety had limits. You had heard the rumours, the whispers, the jokes, you had seen the photos with the white lines in the background and the crazed look on his beautiful eyes in certain wild parties; he had himself given you a hint or two of his unhealthy habits. Still, you were dumb enough to believe he had stopped recurring to those self-destructive tendencies as soon as you moved by his side. You had thought the company you provided, alongside the words of encouragement and love were enough to pull him away from that evil source of entertainment. Perhaps the disappointment had clouded your mind.

A pained moan escaped your throat when his cold rings stung your exposed skin. He wasn’t joyful at all with your newfound curiosity. “You have no idea what it’s like.” His voice was monotone, almost like an automatic response being played on a haunted recorder.

“You cannot do this to yourself…it’s-“ You flinched at his sudden strength. Hard rock chest invading your personal space as his overpowering form stood imposingly. “I said you don’t have a fucking idea what it’s like!” Spit flew to your face, forcing you to squeeze your eyelids together in hopes of disappearing.

Your jaw was squished tightly by a set of calloused hands. “Listen to me!” The angle he took had his face looking scary, shadows sharpening his already intimidating features. “The pressure, the lack of respect, the loneliness…it’s too fucking much!” The angry vein reappeared on his front with the aggressive display.

You stood frozen for a moment, feeling nauseous at the distress in your lover’s voice. But something revolutionary happened deep inside, causing you to peel your eyes at him while wiggling in the forceful hold. “Hurting yourself won’t help!” Now, your hands were the ones surrounding his mandibule.

“You have to stop doing this to yourself…” Salty water started accumulating in his inferior eyelashes. His pink lips lightly wobbled, showing his deep rooted sadness. “Please, Rafe.” The smooth skin of your thumbs caressed his cheeks with so much empathy, it had him closing his teary eyes.

“Please…” you muttered from the depths of your heart. Your rosy lips received him with tenderness, stealing his words away as you moved your mouth against his in a quicker pace.

The Cameron boy was quick to react, affectionate tongue craving a taste of your own wet muscle. The kiss was consuming and passionate, showing a deep connection coming from both ends. You were receiving everything he had to give, almost as he had the power to discharge all his problems on you.

A trail of saliva kept you attached when he finally pushed away. A hungry spark was present in his deep stare, pushing you to the king size bed with a rough impulse.

The soft sheets contrasted the harsh palms who tugged brutishly at your top, desperate for the bare skin waiting under the thin fabric. The ripped bra didn’t cause any new sounds for you, you were practically used to his mean ways.

The teeth on your sensitive mounds were still startling for your mushy brain. He bit into your nipples as if they were made of candy. His expert licks and twists had you arching your back and gripping the blanket with an inhumane strength.

Rafe seemed to enjoy cupping your wet breasts with his huge hand, smirking at the perfection in which they covered the whole area. The massages were short but they still managed to provoke some sweet mewls from your part.

Shyly, you decided to peek at the suddenly arrogant blond, catching a glimpse of his predatory features as he started going down your belly, trying to reach a fairly unexplored place. Nervousness leaked through your pleasure as his expert digits unbuttoned your shorts. “I need to be inside of you.” He said with frenzy, swift moves ensuring your bottoms ended up on the bedroom’s floor.

“Rafe, wait.” Your whimpering took the seriousness away from your weak demand. The boy’s tongue wetted your underwear further by sucking right above your favorite spot. Light spasms were sent all over your spine as the wet patch on your cotton panties grew bigger with his relentless thirst. “I’m gonna’ stretch your pussy so good.” He groaned while sliding the small piece of clothing down your legs.

You always knew he was a big guy, but having him on top of you had your lungs feeling like they were about to give up. “You’re entirely mine…” Your heartbeat accelerated to an abnormal velocity as soon as the sound of his belt hitting the floor reached your ears. “…I’mma show you real’ soon.” Curiosity took the best from you as your eyes immediately searched for him.

His cock was already leaking pre cum from its huge head, the blond took advantage of it by rubbing the liquid up and down his own length. The veins on it glistened, making his member look all more intimidating.

The size of it had you growing nervous, its pink tip looking desperate to be let in. “I…” your instinct kicked in, forcing your nails to make contact with his toned pelvis. “Open those pretty legs for me.” The order was followed by a harsh tug on your neck, long digits keeping you still against a pillow.

Rafe desire was shown to be primal as the friction with your own sex had him grunting in pleasure. “Fuck, it’s perfect.” One of your legs had been pinned against your chest, letting you completely helpless at his attack.

Swallowing was hard to do when his excitement provoked his hand to wrap harsher around your throat, still, the scream that ripped from your larynx wasn’t completely choked. “Oh, shit!” His curses were raw, just as the intrusive member that had been pushed inside your tight walls.

At first his pace was slow, drawing languid wails from you. Then, he got cocky, too overwhelmed by your warm and soaked hole.

“It hurts.” You managed to express as your body was rocked up and down by Rafe’s beast-like thrusts. “Take it, fucking take it…all of it.” The man above you was possessed, possessed by the way your pussy sucked him in.

Big fat tears ran down your puffy cheeks, and even though they were a beautiful sight, the blond’s attention was captured by your unruling breasts - mounds of plump flesh jumping at the attack-.

The wealthy Kook’s stamina wasn’t something to play with, you had seen him playing sports, riding his motorbike and lifting heavy weights but you had never imagined he could be so brutal and mean when it came to sex, not when your experience had been nonexistent before him. In contrast, he seemed to be in his element, lifting your knee higher to pump harder onto that one spot he found to make you scream.

“Oh, fuck…I’m breaking you in half!” His lips stretched in mockery as he saw the red streaks of blood decorating his pulsing dick, proof of the innocence he had just ripped you from. “Rafe!” Your vocabulary was shortened to whining and moaning out his name, accompanied by short pleas of mercy.

Either way, mercy wasn’t in his vocabulary, not when his tip bruised against your cervix in such delirious ways. “Not one single man apart from me will ever get to touch you.” You were sure your neck was turning all types of purple as he applied more pressure. “You understand?” He did a particularly harsh trust, making you tremble with the promise of a nearby orgasm.

“Yes! I’m yours…I’m yours.” Rafe chuckled when your own hips crashed against his, desperate for a bigger friction. “That 's right…you’re my little slut.” The blond looked for your warmth, nearing his chest with yours to bury his nose in your clavicle. “Can you feel me?” The question was non verbally answer by the high pitched cry that escaped your throat as he pressed on your belly bulge -the protuberance caused by his monstrous length-. “I’m all up in your stomach.” His canines brushed harshly against your jaw, and you didn’t need to see his face to know he had a wolfish grin decorating it.

His name sounded like a prayer coming from your honeyed vocal cords. “That 's right. Come all over me.” And you did, his sentence releasing the knot that had been building up your belly for the longest time.

And as your climax washed all over your senses, Rafe continued to push your limits by grinding deeper against you, causing a deeply embarrassing wet noise. Your fluids received him with squelches. He rejoiced on the overstimulation coming from your tight sex, squeezing him in delicious spasms.

You became putty in his hands, not even worrying when his thrusts became slower and his breathing faster. Too thrilled by the lust and attentiveness in the wet kisses he gave your chest, and the romantic promises of possession he mumbled into your brain.

You were still riding your high when a prolonged grunt left from the depths of his throat, the sticky feeling of a foreign liquid filling you from the inside had you cringing. The sensation was warm and overwhelming, not like anything you had experienced before, alongside the soft drilling of his cock in your now cum-filled cunt.

“You’re not getting rid of me, ever.” He muttered against your stammering heart, choking you with calloused digits for the last time.

(…)

Rafe’s black truck shone under the moonlight, causing you to catch a glimpse of your reflection on the spotless paint. Your strapless white dress had a nice flowy skirt to it, well accompanied by your also white kitten heels.

The outfit was fully orchestrated by the blond, as he seemed to enjoy styling your whole look. He undressed you and dressed you like a life size doll, caressing every curve and dip with his skilled palms. He enjoyed sniffing your hair while carefully passing the comb between your silky strands and perfuming you with his own personal scent; it was all too personal and intimate.

Your hands were in front of you, both gripping your cute purse while waiting for your attractive date. “Let’s go, doll” You jumped at the sudden voice, only relaxed at the familiarity of it. “I’m more than ready…” You gave him a small smile, turning your head around to receive his gaze. He hummed in response, nearing his chest to your back while reaching out for your dress.

His digits slipped under your top, holding the fabric before gliding it up, causing your cleavage to stay well hidden. “Now, you’re ready.” His lips were shortly on yours before he helped you climb up the vehicle.

The leather seats of Rafe’s Range Rover felt like heaven, the soft lighting and his intoxicating cologne only making him more irresistible. You couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in that moment—effortlessly charming, like he owned everything around him. Rafe crossed his arms, taking his time before starting the engine. “What?” You asked in a funny tone, finding him cute as he smiled with one side of his face.

His half smirk grew bigger, and you couldn’t help but giggle a little. “Just tell me.” You patted him softly on the bicep, feeling playful. “Open the glove compartment.” He blinked at you.

A spark of excitement could be seen in your big eyes, growing bigger as you saw two white boxes shining brightly at you. “Can I?” Your politeness pulled you back from opening them. “Of course, pretty…they’re all yours.”

You squealed in happinesses, deciding to uncover the smaller one first; a gold open cuff bracelet was revealed to your sight, looking delicate and ethereal in its cushioned place.

Your fingers brushed against the smooth material, soon surprised by the small crevices on it; a combination of four perfectly symmetrical letters read: ‘Rafe’.

The Kook took the piece of jewelry from your hold, as well as your arm. He leaned over, kissing your wrist with delicacy before making you wear his gift. “Everyone should know…that you’re my girl.” Heat travelled fast to your face.

“It’s so beautiful.” Rafe seemed satisfied with your reaction, a cocky grin on his handsome face. “There’s more…” He signaled to the other box. “All right…no!” Your eyes focused on the big image showcased on the front: A brand new phone.

“No, Rafe! I-” His sigh made you go quiet. “Yours was all broken,” the device kept on your purse had a simple scratch, but it just seemed to be no longer useful to the blond. “Come on, it’s pink…I know you love pink.” The wink he sent your way had you growing even more flustered.

“Okay…” You prolonged the word, not fully convinced with his ways of spending but still grateful. “Thanks!” You jumped to his side on a cozy hug.

(…)

Each step you took made your legs feel heavier, you didn’t know if it was the heavy weight of Rafe’s shredded arm around you, or the physiological effect of the loud voices and rap music coming from Kelce’s house, either way, your hands started sweating when the multiple voices of drunk teenagers came to your ears.

The party was already in full blast when you both arrived, making your anxiety rise even more. And it didn’t help that everyone seemed to recognize your blond companion: “Yo, Rafe” you could hear from multiple guys, all with similar looks to the last mentioned -polo shirt, surfer shorts and an expensive watch on wrist-. Still, that didn’t destabilize you as much as the sour looks some girls sent your way or the creepy faces a couple of boys made when staring at your silhouette.

One thing was clear: being with the Cameron boy was signing a contract with unrequited attention. “Stay by my side, all right?” You awkwardly nodded, not too sure on what to do with yourself.

Rafe slightly drifted away from you, catching the attention of a random brunette. She seemed friendly enough around him, showcasing a flirty smile while he whispered in his ear: “Hey, if you guys got any cash. Downstairs, okay?” The girl agreed with a bite to her lower lip, scanning your boyfriend from head to toe before leaving the room.

The next target was the party’s owner, who approached the blond with a big smile on his face. “Yo, Rafe. Where you been at?” They were both unashamedly loud, doing a handshake before smirking at each other. The taller one didn’t lose his time, patting Kelce on the back while making his proposal: “I got some yayo. Spread the word.” The voice of a leader he had, because the dark haired boy was quick to run around the house looking for contendants.

Rafe looked you straight in the eye, ringed digits combing through his hair with slight stress. You nervously smiled at him, trying to downplay the bizarre situation. “C’mon” He signaled for you to come, and you did, allowing him to guide you by the waist.

(…)

You didn’t exactly remember how you ended up there, or how long it took for the couches surrounding you to fill up with energized Kooks, all you knew was that your current position wasn’t comfortable at all. Fancy glass table filled with rolled dollar bills, dusty credit cards and mountains of white powder.

The metallic smell of money made you feel even dizzier and it didn’t help that the blond was counting every single buck right next to you. His heirloom ring shining mockingly at you while your ass sat prettily on his lap.

You had complained when he forced you to throw your naked legs over his meaty thigh, feeling embarrassed at the nosy eyes pointing at your exposed figure. It didn’t feel any better when Rafe decided to occasionally pinch your hips or squeeze your ass with his whole palm.

His sudden touchiness could be blamed on the lighted blunt resting on someone’s hand. He had blown the smoke on your face before saying how much he liked having you all to himself, clearly being freed from all decency.

The rest had even laughed when an intended sexy bite on your lower lip ended up being too harsh and making you flinch.

Either way, Rafe had managed to pull some of your worries away with the sudden presence of weed in your system. Nevertheless, a new arrival had you connecting back with your five senses. “You know, 60 dollars isn’t enough for the amount of coke you’ve being doing tonight, but-” Heavy footsteps echoed through the spacious room, coming from a stomping Topper. “Top! Hey! Top” Effusive shouts left Rafe’s snarky lips, gaining the attention from the grumpy guy.

The shorter Kook was in a bad mood, seemingly aggravated as soon as his eyes found you. An annoyed look was all he showed you before completely focusing on your companion. “What’s up?” His answer was as nonchalant as his attitude. “Sit down, man!” The order was clear, leaving Top no other choice but to take a seat right next to you. “You want a bump?” An unknown blonde girl patted the Kook’s shoulder, hoping her seductive eyes would convince him of snorting a line.

You saw your boyfriend’s friend hesitate in the midst of the pressure coming from all the other participants, and for a second you thought of intervening. That was before he completely leaned over the sofa to consume the biggest line of coke you had ever seen in your entire life.

“Woo!” He stood up in frenzy, causing a deep chuckle from the blond under you. “Hey. Take it easy, man…This is your first rodeo.” Rafe commented to the coughing boy whose movements were nothing but coordinated. “Hell no, it ain’t!” He flexed his toned chest at the adrenaline, sitting right back down and rolling a new dollar bill with his trembling hands.

“Rafe, don’t you think-” Your brows furrowed together at Topper’s abruptness. A few recreational drugs in your lungs wouldn’t make you dumb enough to believe this was entirely right.

“Tch. Just focus on me, nobody else…” The Cameron boy said while gripping your chin with force, pulling your sight away from the chaos.

His slightly red eyes made him seem cuter, as well as his tensed jaw.

Even with his brother’s handsome face above yours, you couldn’t help but notice a familiar girl standing on the corner. Sarah had her arms crossed over her chest, and the look on her face was more shocked than angry.

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revelboo · 21 hours ago

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Oh, almighty and powerful Revelboo! I humbly request more of Clumsy Heart! (Bows to your greatness) I will do anything to serve you, master!! ☆.☆ Thank you for your generosity! We love you!

You guys crack me up sometimes 🤣

Sorry! Should be fixed now. I tend to work on these just idly when I’m bored and I sometimes get distracted doing other things and forget to add the link

Clumsy Heart Pt 7

IDW Soundwave x Reader, Shockwave x Reader

• “The human,” Soundwave says and Shockwave looks down at you. “Why stop me from calming it?” Antennae flicking, Shockwave looks down at where you’re sitting flexing your tiny fingers. And you look up at him as if sensing his stare before you frown up at Soundwave. Knows stopping Soundwave had been illogical, but can’t pin down why it had bothered him. It’s like something right there, just out of reach. Another memory he can’t claim as his own. Of being helpless.

• Venting in frustration when Shockwave’s antenna go back and the scientist doesn’t answer him, Soundwave turns his attention back to you. Something about you had triggered… something. Knows not to get his hopes up, but he needs a distraction from his own turmoil. Hurting and needing to salvage something. Knows he can’t get back his lost cassette, but maybe Shockwave, the real Shockwave, is still in there somewhere. Needs to believe the Shadowplay hadn’t erased all of him. Because if he gets his hopes up and he’s wrong, he’s not sure he can stand it.

• And they’re both staring at you again. Shoulders hunching, you can’t help but feel like a spider trapped under a cup. Waiting to be either freed or flushed down a drain. And you’re pretty sure your life means very little to either of them. “I’m not an it,” you manage, trying to not wilt under the suffocating weight of their attention. “I have a name. A family. A job.” Even if you don’t matter to them, there are people that do care what happens to you. Not sure why you need them to understand that, only that you do. To understand that you do matter.

• Can’t do this- going to notice I’m- look for- stop. Servos on his arms. Peds sliding on the floor as he’s dragged. He’d been yelling. Threatening. Then begging. Screaming? Except the memory is a jagged, disjointed thing. A misstep in his mind. Not his. “Against my will,” he murmurs, the details slipping through his servos. “Afraid?” Shockwave asks and you just blink at him, face scrunching.

• Is Shockwave talking to him or you? His single optic dim and unfocused as the end of his cannon nervously taps on the table and begins sliding toward you to send you scrambling to your feet and retreating. Your fear prickling at him. “You remember something.” Can’t get a hold of the memory in Shockwave’s mind, the sharp, broken edges cutting him when he tries. “Say it.” Give him a clue. If he can get Shockwave to focus, to talk to him, maybe he can remember more. But the scientist is rocking again, the memory gone.

#transformers x reader #soundwave x reader #shockwave x reader #shockwave #soundwave

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artist-issues · 1 day ago

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You don't believe in love. You believe in people SUPRESSING a part of themselves, not caring how much it ACHES for them to do so. You are objectively wrong, and you do NOT belong on Tumblr. Any arguement you try to come up with against this is pointless.

You are NOT a real Christian.

People “suppress” parts of themselves all the time—for love. If by “suppress,” you mean, “I don’t choose to identify with everything I feel.” I feel like screaming at my mom when she hurts me. But I love her, so I’m not going to say, “gotta be true to myself, gotta live what I feel.” Many people feel like alcohol is what they need and without it, who are they? Many people even feel like depression is “a part of who they are,” so they don’t give it up.

Don’t you understand? What makes something I feel fall under the category of “who I am?” Because not all feelings are good, and most of them aren’t even rooted in reality.

Your feelings lie to you all the time. Right before death after years of dementia or a terminal illness, a person can suddenly become more alert and energized than they’ve been since the start of their illness. They get up, talk, and their feelings tell them that they’re better. And the reality is they’ve never been closer to death, and they’re dead moments later. It’s called “terminal lucidity,” and it’s been happening since humanity’s earliest history. And it’s just one example of your feelings lying about what’s real.

So how can you tell if the things you feel are a part of who you are, or a cancer you need to cut out of yourself because it’s hurting the “real” you? That’s what you’re calling “suppression,” and yeah, it aches, but letting it grow and calling it “part of yourself” is worse.

Figure out what standard you measure “who I am” by.

A Christian measures it by Christ. Who He says you are, not what you feel you are. After all, He calls us to die to ourselves. What did you think that meant?

And a Christian measures everything by what Christ says. That’s how I know “the heart is deceitful and desperately wicked.” It’s how I know you’re right; I don’t belong on tumblr. I don’t belong on this corrupt planet anymore: “If you were of the world, the world would love its own; but you are not of the world, for I have chosen you out of the world; this is why the world hates you.” And it’s how I know what real love is, and it’s Him. He invented it, He gets to define it.

And that’s the point of this argument. To get it out in front of people that Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and nobody has a restored relationship with God, nobody can be their “true-selves” unless they die to their old-corrupt self and come to God through Jesus Christ.

So thanks for giving me the opportunity to answer and get that out in front of people again.

#Christianity #LGBTQ+#christ #asked #answered #inclusivity #love #real self #Jesus

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pepstarvanmoon · 23 hours ago

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Someone please get El out of there

Is it not obvious what this is? Do you really not know what you should be doing? SAY THE DAMN WORDS.

Why do you think she’s doubting you? Can you really not tell?

Mike, sweetheart, your relationship balancing skills are a terror to your friends, family, and romantic partners.

This is why people found Midleven cuter in S1/2, because the day you made it official marked the beginning of El’s doubts in your feelings for her.

You cannot seem to grasp that El is your friend AND your girlfriend, and somehow treating El like a girlfriend equates to treating her like shit.

You cannot make this up. El needs WORDS because Mike’s ACTIONS actively make her feel unloved. She does not feel it, so she wants some kind of verbal/written affirmation because of how emotionally distant Mike feels.

(someone talented please edit Elmike to Hamilton’s Burn or send an existing edit my way, thank you ♡)

His actions do not align to her expectations of love, not that it’s a good idea to let TV define romance for you, but you’re allowed to want/expect certain things in a relationship, and El isn’t getting that.

And let’s not act like Mike isn’t good at making people feel loved/cared for. Will is in love with him for a reason. El loves him for a reason.

(It was difficult to pick scenes for this because I’ve read arguments for how these aren’t really romantic at all, but from 12/13-year old, “fresh out the lab” Eleven, it’s as romantic as romance gets imo)

El has been trying to convince herself that their relationship is better than it is, because once she admits to herself that it’s not working, what does she do?

Her day-to-day life isn’t that great. Sure, she has her new family in the Byers, but her dad recently passed away and she’s being bullied at school. She has no friends outside of Will, and while I’m sure their relationship is great (wasn’t explored that much tbh), he can’t keep her from feeling isolated, and his own trauma with bullying keeps him from standing up for her.

One good, unchanging thing she has is her relationship with Mike. He’s the one who took her in and housed her, he taught her what it meant to be a friend, and… I’m having a bit of trouble here lol. I was going to say:

Never used her for her powers (not true lol)

When she was burnt out, he never expected more from her (not true LOL)

Never treated her differently for her powers (for this one, he found her awesome in an awestruck way rather than a Brenner “I’m gonna exploit this” way, but when he thought she lied about Will/hurt Lucas he was on her ass lmao)

My girl has those ‘first love’ blinders on. I keep having to ask myself what she sees in him besides ‘first person to accept me + we kissed’ like besides the latter, Dustin was right there. A lot of the parts of Mike I enjoy don’t reveal themselves around El outside S1 (barely S2). He’s shown as caring and protective, but he’s like that for all of his friends?? Especially when they’re in danger so idk what’s different. I’d have to peruse the milkvan tag to get a hint, but I’ll probably get a better idea watching Sleeping Beauty.

I’m a firm believer that Mike kept it ambiguous because he didn’t want to admit what the real problem was to Will.

“I couldn’t tell El that I love her.” - simple as that. Must be something about Will that has him holding his tongue because after S3 I doubt he’d have that much trouble telling Lucas.

Are you embarrassed? If you thought it wasn’t that serious you wouldn’t have told Will that it was something you “can’t come back from”. Is love serious to you, Mike? Because you can’t love El in the way she wants, do you think you’re incapable of it? Do you feel wrong? Do you not want Will to know?

Hit a little too close to home, huh.

(and let’s not get into the "team, friends, best friends" scene they had together like what was the point in having them make contact a SECOND time.

They already established a connection between them. Mike could’ve asked to be a team after the "guess it's gonna be up to us again," and Will could’ve taken the painting offscreen (the focus shot of Will grabbing the painting gets me so bad like WHY), but instead they wanted them to blush and giggle over each other AGAIN before they got to the van.

Make it make non-Byler sense I'm begging.)

You’d think that’d be good enough, but Mike still feels conflicted and has to make it Will’s problem (actually, Will kinda made it his problem. The way they shot the triple take makes it seem like Will dragged Mike away for another talk because of how spacey he was being. Who knows.)

Tf do you mean you didn’t know what to say? “Maybe if I said that thing” so you DO know? It’s painfully cut and dry if you take emotions out of it. El wants Mike to say that he loves her, so to fix this, to come back from that fight, Mike has to say he loves her.

Why is it such an internal battle for him? If I were to take it at face value, I’d chalk it up to what he said in the van scene.

So your solution is to push your relationship to a point that has El crying and throwing all the loveless letters you sent to the floor? To tell her that she’s incredible and a superhero and that she should know how you feel about her because, despite the tears streaming down her face and her DIRECTLY asking you if you still love her, she must know how amazing she is too?

NEWSFLASH, Queerler! She’s learning just how much she doesn’t need you right now, so I guess it’s time to face your fears!

This isn’t what I meant, but go off ig (don’t, actually, this is awful for everyone involved).

No way you expect El to buy this. You’ve expressed this fear of "losing El" to Will, I’ll give you that, but nothing you’ve done IN FRONT OF EL has conveyed this. Your letters weren’t helping, and you being there in person only made it worse.

Eagerly awaiting the day Michael Wheeler stops lying.

Well, I guess he doesn’t lie ALL the time.

#byler #byler s4 #mike wheeler analysis #anti-mileven #save her please #Mike is such a dumbass #I’ll love him forever #but El is my girl so I can’t stand for this #“Eleven expresses to Mike that he isn’t loving her the way she wants to be loved”#thank you MBB #you’re so real #liars always expose themselves when they get to yapping #it’s the way he expects her to forget what they fought about #that’s why she ignored your goofy ass afterward #I suddenly see the Henderhop vision #please don’t take my anger too seriously I’m just a girl having fun

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perfectsunlight · 2 days ago

Text

[34] DANDELION

warnings: LOTS of angst, crying, minor argument

FLASHBACK

ivory stared at the phone in her hands, the screen glowing brightly in the dim light of her room. her fingers hovered over the screen, tapping out her mother’s name for the fifth time in a row. but the call went straight to voicemail again.

her chest tightened. she dialed again.

beep. beep. beep.

the sound of the ringing tone mocked her, loud and persistent, but to her, it felt like the world was falling apart with each unanswered call. her thumb pressed down on the redial button like it was her only lifeline. come on, mom, she thought desperately, pick up. please pick up.

jennie had been about to leave for a schedule overseas. it wasn’t the first time, but this time, ivory couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. she’d tried to keep things light before her mom left, but the conversation had taken a sharp turn into something darker. something ugly.

“ivory, you have no idea what it’s like,” the idol had said, her voice heavy with exhaustion and frustration. “you don’t see it, you don’t understand. i can’t keep doing this, not with you acting like this every time i leave. i have a life, i have responsibilities.”

“i don’t want to hear that. i don’t want to hear about your ‘responsibilities’ or your life!” thirteen year old ivory had shouted, her voice cracking with frustration. “i’m the one left here, alone. i’m the one who’s always left behind!”

“i’m not abandoning you, ivory,” jennie had tried to reason, but ivory wasn’t listening. “i’m doing this for you! i—”

“i don’t need you to do anything for me!��

the words had come out before she even realized it. the raw emotion, the years of frustration, had poured out in that moment. ivory knew she really should’ve stopped.

but she didn’t.

“i just need you to be here! you’re always gone. always. and when you’re here, you’re never really here. just... gone. you don’t even see me anymore!” the young teen barked, cat-like eyes narrowing in accusation and pure rage.

jennie’s face twisted, hurt flashing through her features, but she didn’t say anything more. she’d grabbed her things, quickly, and with a cold, sharp glance, she’d left the house. she didn’t say goodbye. there was no hug, no comforting touch.

nothing. nothing at all.

ivory had stood there for hours after that, in the silence that followed, feeling the weight of her words, and realizing how much she hated how empty the house felt when her mother was gone. that emptiness was suffocating. but more than that, the silence between them—created by that fight—was more painful than she could bear. it was like she was waiting for something to break. something to crack open and release all the emotions they both hadn’t said. but none of it had come.

and now she couldn’t reach her.

she dialed again.

beep. beep. beep.

her vision blurred as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. panic was clawing at her chest. why isn’t she picking up? the flight from seoul to tokyo was only two and a half hours. so why wasn’t her mother answering her? she felt her heart race as her mind ran wild. is she okay? where is she? why is she doing this?or even worse—did her mother hate her now?

the silence in the house grew louder as the seconds dragged on. it was suffocating. her breathing grew shallow, fast. it was like the weight of the world was pressing down on her, and she couldn’t escape it.

“mom, please pick up. please, please pick up.” her voice cracked as she whispered into the phone, but there was no answer.

dial. redial. dial. redial.

her stomach twisted painfully as her mind began to spiral. was something wrong? had something happened to her? was jennie hurt? was she in trouble? the thoughts raced through her like a tidal wave, and no matter how much she told herself she was being paranoid, the fear gripped her harder and harder.

her mom had always been there for her. always been the strong one. but now, everything felt wrong. the fight, the silence; it was like the last thread of their bond had snapped.

she grabbed her jacket, ran out of the room, and down the hallway, the echo of her steps hollow in the silence of the house. there was a heavy sense of dread hanging in the air, thick like fog, and ivory knew she couldn’t just sit around waiting anymore. she needed answers.

she called again.

beep. beep. beep.

the voicemail again.

her breath hitched. she was losing control. this panic wasn’t like the ones she had before. this was different. this was the kind of panic that made someone physically ill.that sinking feeling in your stomach, like the world is shifting beneath your feet, and you can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

she dialed another number, her hands shaking so badly she almost couldn’t hold the phone steady. her fingers barely made contact with the keys.

“please pick up. mommy, please,” she panicked desperately into the phone. the phone kept ringing. over and over again. each unanswered call felt like another weight added to her chest, making it harder to breathe. her fingers trembled as she pressed the redial button, not even realizing how many times she had done it. her thoughts spiraled faster than she could catch them.

she paced back and forth in the hallway, the sound of her sneakers hitting the cold floor echoing in the otherwise silent house. every few seconds, she’d glance at the phone in her hand, her thumb hovering over the screen, desperate for some sign, some answer.

her throat felt tight, constricting with each passing moment. she could feel the panic building in her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. come on, come on...

the screen lit up again. another voicemail. another unanswered call.

her head began to spin. she could hear her own thoughts screaming in her ears.

it was the worst feeling. that helpless, sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. it wasn’t even about the fight anymore. it wasn’t about the harsh words or the things they said to each other before she left.

i need you, mom.

the phone rang again.

beep. beep. beep.

her eyes blurred with tears as she let the phone drop to her side, her body shaking with silent sobs. she couldn’t hold it in anymore. her face crumpled as she slid down the wall, her back resting against the cold surface. the tears streamed freely, the fear flooding every inch of her being. she tried to breathe, to calm down, but the more she thought about it, the worse it got.

the phone remained still on the floor next to her, the screen dimming and lighting up with each new call she tried to make, but there was still no answer. ivory’s breath was shallow, her body wracked with the kind of anxiety that felt unbearable. the silence in the house felt like it was closing in on her, and she was suffocating under the weight of her fear and her anger. her mind kept racing, the dread gnawing at her from the inside out.

but jennie didn’t call back.

she didn’t look at the phone.

hours passed. ivory stayed in the hallway, her mind a blur of irrational thoughts, spiraling down the darker paths of her imagination. she couldn’t sleep. every time she tried to close her eyes, the image of her mother’s unreturned calls haunted her, the phone screen flashing back into her vision with each failed attempt.

the clock ticked on, relentlessly.

by the time the house was draped in the thick quiet of night, ivory was numb. her heart ached. her mind was frazzled with exhaustion, but the sense of betrayal, of being abandoned, still twisted inside her chest.

it wasn’t until nearly midnight when jennie’s name finally flashed on the phone screen.

ivory’s hand shot out before she could stop herself, her heart leaping into her throat. her eyes were red from the tears she had cried. she had stopped counting the calls long ago. she thought it would be different this time.

but when she swiped to answer, all she could do was ramble. “i’m sorry!” ivory choked out immediately, cutting her mother off before she could say anything. "i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean it. i didn’t mean what i said earlier, mom, i swear, i didn’t mean it, i just...i was so scared, okay? i thought something happened to you. i thought...i thought you hated me, and you were never gonna come back and i—”

the words tumbled out in a rushed, disjointed mess. her throat burned with every sob that racked her body.

"i was calling, and calling, and calling, and you didn’t answer. you didn’t pick up, and i thought—i thought maybe you were gone," jane was shaking again now, the phone pressed to her ear but her entire body was trembling uncontrollably.

the tears came harder, choking her. she couldn’t stop herself. the fear was overwhelming. “i—i thought you weren’t coming back, and i don’t know what i would do without you, mom. please, don’t leave me. i don’t want to be alone.”

and then the young girl started sobbing. she couldn’t stop it, she didn’t care if jennie could hear her fall apart; she didn’t care about anything except for the voice on the other end of the line. the voice she needed to hear more than anything.

“i’m so sorry,” jane repeated between hiccuping sobs. “i didn’t mean it, i didn’t mean any of it. please don’t leave me, mom. i don’t know what i’d do without you. i can’t lose you... i just—i need you.”

for a moment, there was nothing but silence on the line, and for that second, ivory thought she was imagining it all—the fear, the isolation, the helplessness.

then jennie’s voice, raw and cracked, broke through the quiet. “valentine, i’m here. i’m here, okay?”

but ivory could barely hear it over the sound of her own crying. “no, you don’t understand, i was so scared. i thought you weren’t coming back. i thought you hated me because of what happened. i—”

“no,” jennie interrupted, her voice firm and honest. “no, no, baby. i don’t hate you. i could never hate you. i was just... i was so busy, and i didn’t look at my phone. i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to worry you.”

but ivory couldn’t stop crying. her hands were shaking as she tried to calm herself, but every breath felt like it was being ripped from her chest.

“i didn’t want to hurt you, mom,” ivory cried, pressing the phone to her ear tighter, desperate for reassurance. “i didn’t want you to leave, i swear i didn’t.”

her mother’s voice softened more, but it was still thick with emotion. “i wasn’t going anywhere. don’t cry, please.” the idol pleaded gently, trying her best to soothe the only child she had.

jane squeezed her eyes shut, trying to breathe through the overwhelming emotion. the flood of fear and guilt began to calm, but it was still so hard to let go of the feeling that jennie might leave her for real this time. that the fight they had would end everything.

“i’m not going anywhere, ivory. i promise. and you’re not going anywhere either, right?”

the young girl shook her head as she answered, even though her mother couldn’t see her. “no. i don’t wanna go anywhere away from you.”

jennie’s voice was a soft, calming presence in the darkness, keeping the panic at bay as her daughter’s sobs began to taper off. after a moment of quiet, jennie spoke again, this time with a gentle authority that only a mother could have.

"okay, go get changed, baby. you’ve gotta get ready for bed, alright?" she said, her tone tender but firm. "no more tears, promise?"

ivory sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand as she nodded, even though jennie couldn’t see.

“okay.” the young girl relented without any fight or argument. jennie could hear the small shuffle of ivory’s feet on the floor, and she felt a wave of comfort knowing her daughter was listening. she stayed on the line, her voice soft, keeping her close even through the distance.

"now, go brush your teeth, okay?" jennie added, a little smile on her face, even though ivory couldn’t see it. "we don’t want you waking up with a sore mouth from all those tears."

ivory didn’t say anything at first, but jennie could hear her humming a quiet, "mhm," followed by the sound of her footsteps retreating.

jennie listened as the soft rustle of her daughter getting changed filled the silence. she could hear the faint sound of the bathroom door opening and the tap running as ivory brushed her teeth. she waited for the sound of the toothpaste and toothbrush before speaking again, her voice soft, like a lullaby meant to soothe away the remnants of the day’s worry.

“you’re doing great, valentine,” jennie said, a soft but proud smile on her face. "now, go climb into bed. you know where to go."

there was a brief pause before jane’s quiet voice came through again, barely audible, but it made jennie’s heart swell.

"i’m gonna sleep in your old room tonight," she said, her voice small, as though the weight of the past had settled in, and she needed that familiar comfort.

the idol smiled at the thought. it had been years since she’d lived in that house, but she knew exactly what ivory meant. she knew how much the feeling of her old room still brought a sense of closeness, a piece of home that ivory still clung to.

“okay, baby. i know you miss me,” jennie said softly, her voice tender. "but you’re safe there. i’ll always be here, right here, even if you’re not in my room."

ivory was quiet for a moment, but then she whispered, “i know. i just like sleeping in here. it feels like you’re still here.”

jennie’s heart clenched at that, but she held it together. she could imagine her daughter lying in her old bed, surrounded by memories of when things were simpler, before the distance of jennie’s work had grown so wide.

“goodnight, valentine,” jennie whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "i’ll stay on the phone until you fall asleep, okay? i’m right here."

ivory’s voice came through again, small but comforting. “okay, mommy. i love you.”

jennie’s voice softened even further. “i love you more, jane.”

and with that, the room grew quiet except for the gentle hum of the phone line, the sound of ivory settling into her bed, the soft rustle of the sheets, and the steady rhythm of her breathing as she finally let the exhaustion of the day lull her to sleep. and jennie stayed on the line, her heart full of love, until she was sure her daughter had drifted off, feeling safe in the quiet night.

PRESENT DAY

the rain fell harder, hammering the windows of the car as jennie slammed her phone down onto the passenger seat. another dead end. another wasted attempt. she wiped a hand over her face, trying to hold back the wave of panic threatening to swallow her whole. her daughter—her baby girl—was somewhere out there, and jennie had no idea where.

“alright,” lisa said from the backseat, her voice taut with frustration against the backdrop of the ambiance outside. “that’s, what, the ninth hotel? no one’s seen her. we need to figure this out, fast.”

jennie nodded, her eyes never leaving the road as the car made its way through the wet streets. lisa and rosie in the back, with jisoo in the passenger seat. each of them just as invested, each of them just as desperate.

even though they hadn’t met their niece fully, not fully properly at least, they still wanted to help.

“try calling the one down by the docks,” jennie said, her voice hoarse, raw. “maybe she’s trying to blend in. get a different vibe.” she gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles white from the tension.

rosé nodded, grabbing her phone, already dialing the next hotel. she wasn’t sure how many more calls they could make before exhaustion hit them all like a truck.

“i can’t believe she would do this,” jisoo murmured, eyes flickering to the rearview mirror as she stared out the back window. “she’s so young. and in all the wrong places.”

“we’re gonna find her,” jennie’s voice cracked with determination, her dark irises narrowing as she spoke. “i don’t care if i have to pay either. she can’t hide forever.”

hours slipped by. call after call. hotel after hotel. they were hitting nothing but silence, confusion, or polite but firm refusals. jennie’s eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, the steady grind of desperation beginning to eat at her mind. she could hear the others starting to lose hope as well. the streets blurred together, the city sinking into a haze of neon lights and reflection.

“we can’t keep going in circles,” rosé muttered, her voice sharp, almost defeated. “there’s nothing. not now at least.”

jennie shot her a look, one of warning, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. they were all on edge.

she took a deep breath, her mind racing. she couldn’t think about the worst-case scenarios. not yet. not until she had her.

at this point, it didn’t matter what city they were in, what district they were calling. jennie was calling the hotels at random. one by one. they’d all lost their sense of direction, driven by nothing but the instinct to keep searching.

“look, it’s late. and we’ve got a lot of ground to cover again in the morning. she’s safe enough to make a statement so that means she’s okay, alright? let’s just call it a night and try again in the morning.” lisa reasoned gently.

jennie felt the weight of those words like a brick settling in her chest. she wasn’t sure what was worse—the idea of losing her daughter or the thought of giving up, even for just one night. but she knew she couldn’t keep going in circles. she had to rest. they all did.

“yeah,” jennie muttered, barely audible. she slowed the car, pulling up to the next intersection, her mind still buzzing with the need to find her. “okay. i’ll take you back to your places first.”

the others nodded in agreement, and soon they were driving through the quiet streets of seoul, heading toward their separate homes. the tension was thick in the air, no one speaking. no one needed to. they were all too exhausted to talk, too emotionally drained to force any kind of conversation. the silence felt like a void, a cavernous emptiness that consumed the car, but jennie couldn’t even find the strength to acknowledge it.

pulling up to rosé’s apartment first, jennie stared at the building for a long moment, parked just across the street. rosé gave her a small smile, tired and strained, before slipping out of the car. no words. just a wave, then she disappeared into the lobby.

next, she dropped lisa off. lisa hesitated, pausing before getting out of the car. her usual sharp energy had dimmed, replaced by the weight of the situation. her expression said it all—she was just as broken inside as jennie was. but she didn’t say anything. she just gave a small nod and slipped out of the car, vanishing into the night.

jisoo was last. she looked over at jennie, her face pale, eyes red from the stress of the search. “call me if you need anything,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

jennie gave a curt nod, but didn’t speak. she simply watched as jisoo made her way inside, all too familiar with the way this night had drained them. she needed to be alone. she needed to think.

alone at last, jennie pulled away from the curb and drove back to her own house. her body felt like it was moving on autopilot, her mind still spinning with what-ifs, with thoughts of her daughter. the drive felt longer than it ever had before. every street seemed to stretch endlessly, but jennie couldn’t bring herself to care.

when she finally pulled into her driveway, she parked the car and sat for a moment in the quiet of the garage. she didn’t want to go inside. the house felt empty without ivory’s laughter filling the air. it felt foreign to her, like the walls were closing in, reminding her of the distance between them.

but she had to. she had no choice.

jennie grabbed her bag, stepping out of the car and into the cold night air. she didn’t bother to lock the door. her mind was elsewhere. she just needed to shower. to feel some semblance of control, even if it was just for a few minutes.

the house was still too quiet as she made her way to the bathroom. she turned on the shower, the sound of the water pouring over her providing some kind of comfort. she didn’t care that her hair was damp by the time she was done. she barely even felt the towel around her waist as she rushed to get dressed.

there was no time for food. she didn’t feel hungry, only nauseous from the sickening worry that sat heavily in her stomach. she crawled into bed, curling up under the blankets, the cool sheets doing little to ease the anxiety thrumming through her.

the bed felt too big without ivory. too empty.

with a deep sigh, jennie pulled the covers up to her chin, half of her hair still damp from the shower, the other half tangled in messy strands around her face. her mind wouldn’t stop, the guilt, the fear, the anxiety eating at her. but she couldn’t sleep. not yet.

where was she? was she safe? jennie couldn't focus, couldn't think about anything other than the woman she hadn’t heard from in days. she had to find her.

jennie grabbed her phone from the nightstand, unlocking it with shaky hands. her fingers hovered over the screen, a thousand thoughts running through her mind as she tried to think of any hotel she hadn’t called yet. she couldn't waste any more time. she couldn’t afford to let it go. she had to make sure jane was okay.

her thumb hovered over the list of hotel names as her eyes scanned each one, searching for something that felt like it might be a lead. something, anything, that might give her an answer. it was late—too late—and she was tired, but she couldn’t give up. she couldn’t.

finally, her finger stopped on one that seemed as far out as possible—a small, run-down hotel on the outskirts of seoul. hotel dandelion. it was the last place she’d want to stay, but it might be the one she hadn't thought to call yet. she didn’t think twice. she clicked the number without hesitation, the urgency in her gut overwhelming.

the phone rang three times before someone finally picked up.

“hello, hotel dandelion, how can i assist you?” the voice was gruff, old. it sounded like the person on the other end had seen more than their fair share of strange calls.

jennie didn't waste time, her voice tight with a combination of fear and desperation. “hi. uh, i’m looking for a jane kim,” she said quickly. “do you have anyone with that name checked in recently?”

there was a long pause. too long. jennie’s heart pounded louder in her ears as she held her breath.

the man on the other end of the line let out a slow exhale, as if considering something carefully before responding. "i’m afraid i don’t have a jane kim," he said, his voice slow, methodical, almost too calm. "i’m sorry, ma’am."

jennie felt a sharp stab of disappointment. her grip on the phone tightened, but she tried not to let the frustration show in her voice. "are you sure? this is really important. i need to find her," jennie pressed, her tone a little more insistent, a little more urgent.

the man didn’t respond right away. jennie could hear him shuffling something in the background before he spoke again.

"i’m afraid there’s no jane kim here," he repeated, his voice firm, but not unkind. "maybe you’ve got the wrong place."

jennie’s mind raced. the tight knot of fear in her chest tightened further, the sense of helplessness growing by the second. she couldn’t afford to make mistakes. she had to be sure.

but just as soon as she went to hang up, his voice cut through again. “i do have a ruby jane here though. recent check in, too.”

jennie froze, her entire body going still as if she’d been struck by lightning. her heart skipped a beat. and a small sad smile pulled on the corners of her mouth.

it’s her.

“okay thank you. i’ll be there shortly.” jennie replied quickly. without another thought, jennie slammed the phone down, her breath quickening as she leapt out of bed. she had no time to waste. there was no more hesitation. she didn’t care about anything else.

she grabbed her slippers, threw on her jacket, and sprinted toward the door, the sound of her heartbeat thumping in her ears.

she had to get to that hotel. and she had to get there now.

i’m coming, valentine. i promise.

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CLOSED.

#jennie kim #blackpink #lesserafim #angst #kpop angst #original series #jisoo kim #roseanne park #lalisa manoban #kim chaewon #ivory #perfectsunlight

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ragingbookdragon · 2 days ago

Text

Note To Self, Can't Make Somebody Be Made For You

Tyler Owens x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: A teeny tiny filler for the series! Read the previous part here!

**********************************************************************

She sat in the back of her father’s workshop, attention focused on the piece of wood she was whittling away at. Her gaze barely lifted as her father walked in and set his cup of coffee on the workshop table, pulling up another chair beside her as he sat down and began reading the morning paper. The morning sun cast rays through the glass panes along the wooden floor, dust shimmering in the warm air, and she sat in a comfortable silence with the man, listening to the sound of pages flicking.

“That supposed to be a duck?” he asked, eyes not moving from the paper he read, and she huffed through her nose.

“Well, I was going for a pigeon,” she answered humoredly, and he smiled, sipping his coffee; she looked at him. “Mom send you out here?”

His nose scrunched. “You’re in my workshop. What if I came out here to do work things?” She simply looked at him with an arched brow and he huffed. “Your mom’s worried, sweetheart. You’ve been awfully…quiet since you came back from Oklahoma.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m just dealing with things.”

He looked at her. “Talk to me, pumpkin. What’s going on?” his hand found hers and he brushed his thumb over the back of hers. “You don’t leave during storm seasons unless something is really wrong.”

She looked away, gently pulling her hand back to continue whittling; she stayed silent for a moment, then murmured, “You remember Tyler?”

“Hillbilly from Arkansas you never shut up about?” he smiled when she glared at him. “Yes, I remember Tyler. He only comes to the house for every other summer.”

“I’m in love with him.” when he didn’t say anything, she glanced at him, seeing him staring back expectingly. “What?”

“I asked what’s wrong, not what’s obvious.”

“That’s what’s wrong!” she griped. “I’m in love with him and he’s in love with another woman.” She shoved his side. “You’re a man. Tell me why he didn’t notice sooner.”

“You really don’t want me to, pumpkin.”

“Hit me.”

“Men are idiots,” he deadpanned, and she made a noise in agreement; he took another sip of his coffee. “So, you left because he didn’t love you back.”

“No,” she growled. “I left because I couldn’t stand watching him fall in love with her.”

“Who’s her?”

“Kate,” she snapped. “All perfect and pretty and…and…” she deflated. “And smart, and funny, and kind…and all the things Tyler likes.”

“But not you,” he murmured, and she lowered her head.

“Dad, he called me and told me he missed me making his coffee.”

“Did he say it exactly like that?”

“What?”

“I mean did he literally say, ‘hey I missed how you made my coffee since I left’?”

She frowned. “I mean…not exactly. I…didn’t exactly give him a chance to explain how he felt.”

“Because you were mad?”

She looked down. “Hurt.” She sighed. “Dad, I did so much for Tyler and the group. I called and made motel reservations, I called weather agencies ahead of time. I made sure everyone had food and drinks, and gear ready, and so much more. And I did it all for him and he never noticed a single time that I did it because I loved him.”

He watched her for a moment before he murmured, “I loved a woman before I met your mother.” Her gaze lifted, but he looked far away. “Her name was Rosita. And…she was my everything. I loved that woman more than life itself.” He stared into his coffee cup. “And I did everything for her. Everything I could to make her feel loved, and happy, and comfortable.”

“But it wasn’t enough?” she asked softly.

He smiled sadly. “She never knew I loved her,” he said, and her eyes widened.

“You never…?”

“She was married to my best friend,” he answered. “And I had to watch as the woman I would’ve given everything for just a moment of her time, fall in love with the man I was supposed to support through anything.” He looked at her, and firmly, but lovingly said, “Pumpkin, you can’t make somebody be made for you. And you can’t make Tyler’s heart be yours just because you did everything for him.”

Tears swam in her vision, and she felt her chest tighten. “I just…I just wanted it to be him.”

“I know, pumpkin,” he murmured, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “But Tyler’s his own man just as you’re your own woman. And your hearts are your own to give to whoever you choose, not to who you’re indebted to. If Tyler loves another woman, you should be happy that he found someone he loves and who loves him too.” He looked her in her eyes. “Your other half is out there, even if it isn’t him, and you need to let him know that. It’s not his fault that he doesn’t feel the same. Just like it wasn’t Rosita’s fault she didn’t feel the same for me.”

She bit her lip to keep it from wobbling. “I don’t know if I can, dad,” she whispered.

“Why not, pumpkin?” he asked softly.

“I told him I didn’t want him to call or text me…or talk to me…”

He sighed wistfully. “Women, their emotions, and their broken hearts.” He laughed when she swatted at him. “Give him a call, pumpkin. He’ll answer.”

“What if he doesn’t?” she asked, and he shrugged.

“Men are idiots, I don’t know, send that pigeon-duck you’ve got there,” he said, nodding to the carving in her hand.

“If I send it, I’m throwing it at him.”

“Good deal, give him a real headache to deal with other than you. Now, get out of my workshop. I’ve got work to do,” he ushered her from the chair and up towards the door.

“What work?” she shot back. “You sit in here and do nothing the entire day.”

“Out,” he swatted with the newspaper, and she paused as she stopped by the door.

“Thanks, dad,” she said, and he smiled.

“Anytime, pumpkin.”

***

She kept thumping at the steering wheel of her truck, fingers twitching to call, but the worry in her chest kept her from it.

What if he didn’t answer?

What if he did and he was angry?

What if he did answer and he told her that he loved her?

She groaned and grabbed her phone, flicking through her contacts until she found his; with a sharp breath, she pressed “Call” and waited.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang, until,

Hey, you’ve reached Tyler Owens. I’m busy at the moment but if you leave me your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!

She felt her heart tighten, but then it beeped, and she exhaled.

“Hey…Tyler, it’s me. I know…I know I said I didn’t want you to call or text, and, well, I’m calling. I…look, I owe you…an apology.” She let out a breath as she saw the light turn green. “It wasn’t fair of me to put my feelings on you. And I’m sorry. My feelings are mine to deal with and I shouldn’t have left you and the team high and dry.” She stepped on the gas and began turning. “Look, I know you asked if we could still be friends…and I’d like that. I’d like to keep being friends. If you could give me a call when you get this message…I’d like to talk again.” She pulled out into the center of the intersection. “You mean a lot to me, Tyler. You…your friendship means a lot to me. And again, I just wanted to say—”

Metal tore against metal as 40 tons of steel t-boned the side of her Dodge, slamming her against the driver’s side door as the truck lurched and rolled across the asphalt, glass and shards of semi and truck scattered across the road. Her phone lay in the back seat somewhere, still recording as countless other drivers got out of their cars and began running over.

***

Tyler watched as Kate smiled at the cashier as she ordered, a warmth in his chest at the sight of her. They’d certainly grown closer since going into the storm chasing business together. Two meteorologists sticking their heads together worked better than one. He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, and he pulled it out, a frown crossing his lips as he saw her name flashing across the screen. He hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button, but something stopped him, and he waited, watching as it rang and went to voicemail. It went on for what seemed like forever until his screen went black and then he tapped it, looking down at the notification of her voicemail.

Something twisted uncomfortably in his gut as he unlocked his phone and went to his voice messages. His thumb hovered over the message, but he struggled with what he wanted to do. She wanted to be left alone. She didn't want him to call or text her, and here she was, calling and leaving him a message. Tyler stared at her name, feeling a mix of emotions, and he slid his thumb over it until the red bar covered it, and it disappeared.

"Tyler?" Kate called softly, holding the to-go boxes of their food. "You, okay?"

He looked up at her, feeling a calm settle over his chest and he nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. Here, lemme get that for you. Ladies shouldn't carry heavy things." He took the bags from her and looped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as he led her back to his truck. “Now, you have got to tell me more stories about you as a kid, ‘cause the ones your mom told back in Oklahoma were hilarious.”

Kate huffed. “I am not telling you anymore stories from my childhood.”

“Why not?” he teased. “Afraid I’ll laugh.”

She smiled. “No…”

“Yes…” he smiled back at her. “Tell me, I wanna hear them.”

Kate sighed. “Oh fine…but only because you sound so sincere.”

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x reader imagines #tyler owens x reader imagine #tyler owens imagines #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens #twisters imagines #twisters imagine #twisters

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ikeupied · 1 day ago

Text

breaking the silence ░⃘᰷᰷𝅘𝅥𝅮

᎐⠀಄〫 synopsis: y/n has always been content living in the background, keeping to herself and focusing on her studies. But when her grades start to slip, her life feels like it's spiraling out of control. Enter Lee Heeseung—the confident, kindhearted basketball captain whose sudden interest in her leaves her questioning everything she thought she knew about herself. As the two grow closer, Y/N learns that sometimes, letting others in is the first step to finding herself.

❀:.. pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

❀:.. genre: strangers to friends to ???, fluff ? (I'm not sure ab the genre of this).

❀:.. wc: 14,374.

❀:.. warnings: heeseung is 20yo!! one kiss, mention of other idols, mentions of anxiety/anxiety attack, this is fiction and doesn't reflect the idols in real life!

❀:.. note: I'm sorry if it's bad, I actually like it but maybe it's not the best, also sorry bc it's too long, I got carried away lol. I'm not sure if the title is fitting but when I was writing this I liked it. and lastly sorry bc I feel like it feels rushed (? when you read it, idk, feedback is always welcome!

"Y/N, are you listening to me?"

My eyes focused on the person standing in front of me—Minjeong, my best friend. I quickly shook my head. "Sorry, can you repeat what you were saying?" I furrowed my brows in concentration. Minjeong laughed at my expression and grabbed my arm, pulling me along as we walked.

"I was saying that Professor Kim has been asking about you all morning. She told me to let you know to go to her office when you have the chance."

A sigh escaped my lips as I nodded.

----

Minjeong accompanied me to Professor Kim's office, promising to wait outside. "Good luck," she whispered with her trademark little smile, which I returned. I closed the door behind me, greeted the professor with a small bow, and walked over to stand in front of her desk.

"Y/N." Her voice was firm, even a little intimidating if you overthought it. "I’m really disappointed in you. Your grades have dropped drastically lately."

My breath hitched at her words. I knew I wasn’t doing well this semester, but hearing Professor Kim say she was disappointed in me struck a painful chord in my chest.

"If you don’t improve your grades in the upcoming exams, I’ll have no choice but to report you to the administration. This could affect your academic future. You know the requirements for keeping your scholarship."

I simply nodded in response. Professor Kim dismissed me, and I quickly left, avoiding Minjeong as I headed to the courtyard. The tears welling up in my eyes threatened to spill at any moment. My legs trembled, and I had to sit down on a bench to avoid collapsing.

Just then, I heard a soft voice behind me. "Are you okay?" At first, I thought it was my imagination, but when I heard it again, I lifted my face and turned around to see the owner of that voice: Lee Heeseung, the captain of the basketball team.

"Are you okay?" he asked again, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and curiosity. My eyes locked onto his, unable to say a single word. It must have been embarrassing, but I couldn’t think about that. My mind was blank, and the only thing I could do was take in the sight of the boy standing in front of me.

He was tall, with a slim yet athletic build, a soft face, almond-shaped eyes, slightly messy black hair, and an aura of tranquility that seemed to radiate from him.

I blinked a few times, realizing I was staring too much. He chuckled lightly and spoke again. "Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. I just saw you crying and wondered if something was wrong..."

He sat down beside me, keeping a respectful distance. My shyness got the better of me, and I lowered my gaze, focusing on my hands resting on my lap.

"I’m Heeseung, by the way," he said.

I nodded and finally managed to speak. "I know."

He chuckled softly at my comment. "Your name?" he asked with genuine interest.

"Sorry, I’m Y/N," I replied.

"Y/N... That’s a lovely name."

I smiled faintly and whispered, "Thank you." Just then, I heard someone running up behind us. We both turned to see who it was.

"I’ve been looking for you everywhere!" Minjeong exclaimed as she approached. Heeseung got up from his seat and said goodbye before leaving.

Minjeong sat down next to me and pulled me into a hug. "I was so worried! Are you okay?"

We broke the hug, and she took my hands, concern evident on her face.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave like that. I just... needed a moment alone," I said. She nodded, listening carefully.

"Hey, but why were you talking to Lee Heeseung?" Minjeong raised her eyebrows curiously.

I shrugged. "Honestly... I don’t know. He just came up to me."

Minjeong smirked. "Mmm, and?"

My eyebrows rose at her question. "And what? I don’t even know him."

She burst out laughing and stood up, tugging at my arm to make me do the same. "Oh, Y/N, sometimes you’re just so innocent."

I looked at her in confusion as we started walking, her laughter still echoing around us.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The sun was beginning to set behind the library windows, painting the study tables with shades of orange. I was trying to focus on my notes, though the words seemed to dance in front of my eyes. My mind kept replaying everything that had happened with Professor Kim.

I sighed, letting my pencil fall onto the notebook. Minjeong had insisted I take the rest of the day easy, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that if I didn’t improve, my scholarship was at risk.

"Studying late?"

The voice startled me. I quickly looked up, and there he was—Lee Heeseung, standing in front of my table. He was wearing the basketball team jacket, unzipped over a plain white shirt, and his relaxed expression contrasted entirely with my nervousness.

“Heeseung?” My voice came out weaker than I intended.

He smiled, as if amused by my reaction. "So you remember my name. That’s a good start."

I felt my face heat up, and I lowered my gaze to my notebook, pretending to focus on the lines already written. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for a book for history class," he replied casually, dropping a couple of books onto the table. "But then I saw someone sighing like the world was ending, so I stopped by."

I stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. What do you even say when someone like him, who seems to live in a completely different world from yours, suddenly talks to you?

"Having trouble?" he pressed, gesturing toward my notebook.

"Uh… no, I’m fine." My voice was barely a whisper, and I turned my attention back to my notes, hoping that would end the conversation.

But he didn’t leave. Instead, he sat down across from me, propping one elbow on the table. "If you need help, I can give you a hand. I’m not a genius, but I manage pretty well with schoolwork."

"Why…?" I started to ask, but stopped myself, biting my lip. I didn’t want to sound rude, but I also couldn’t understand why he would want to help me.

"Why what?" he asked, his smile calm and patient.

"Never mind," I murmured quickly, staring hard at my notebook.

He let out a small laugh. "Look, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, but if you need help, just say so. There’s nothing wrong with asking."

I looked at him for a second, his words echoing in my mind. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to accept his offer—at least to dig myself out of the hole I was in.

"Alright," I whispered at last, pointing to the book in front of me. "If you can explain this… then maybe I’ll believe you."

"Deal," he said, leaning over my notes with a confident smile.

And though my chest still felt heavy from everything that had happened, I couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved.

----

It became a habit for us to meet in the library to study. I still felt a bit nervous every time I had to talk to him, but little by little, I started to loosen up.

Minjeong swore she’d never seen me this relaxed with anyone other than her and Jimin. “I’m telling you, Y/N, Heeseung likes you,” Jimin said one day in the cafeteria after I told them about how Heeseung had been helping me study.

“What are you talking about? He’s just being nice because he feels bad for me. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Professor Kim told him to help me,” I said with a small laugh, furrowing my brows as I looked at my friends.

Minjeong gave my arm a light smack. “Don’t be ridiculous. And even if Ms. Kim did ask him to help, that doesn’t mean he can’t like you.”

Jimin nodded in agreement. “Also, you know Sunghoon is my friend, right?” I nodded and waited for her to continue. “He told me Heeseung hasn’t stopped talking about some girl, but he won’t say who it is.”

I rolled my eyes, giving her a skeptical look. “Sure, he’s probably talking about Heejin or one of the cheerleaders. Honestly, who wouldn’t? Have you seen them? They’re gorgeous.”

Minjeong’s expression turned serious, and I swallowed hard. “Y/N, stop it. You know you’re pretty too. Anyone on campus could have a crush on you, and people have told you that before! You just refuse to believe it. Let yourself be loved, for God’s sake!”

She didn’t raise her voice or sound angry—Minjeong never did with me. But she was firm, and she always told me the truth to my face.

I stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

Jimin slid a piece of melon from her plate onto mine, smiling softly. “Minjeong’s right, but take your time, okay?” She looked at both of us and sighed, then quickly changed the topic.

At that moment, the basketball team entered the cafeteria, Heeseung included, of course.

He was talking to someone I recognized as Jaeyun when he looked in my direction. At first, I didn’t notice because I was chatting with my friends, but he started walking toward our table and stopped right in front of me.

“How’d your history exam go?” He smiled his usual confident smile.

I stared at him, frozen, unable to say a word until Minjeong gently tapped my hand. That’s when I realized I had been staring too long. “Oh… I did well,” I said, smiling faintly, feeling a bit awkward about the situation.

“I knew you could do it.” He ruffled my hair affectionately, leaving me completely frozen at the gesture. “See you later.”

And just like that, he left. I was still processing everything, staring blankly at my friends, who were both laughing.

“So? Do you still think he couldn’t possibly like you?” Minjeong asked, her mischievous smile growing wider.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Winter break had finally arrived, the moment we’d all been waiting for. I always spent the holidays on campus with Minjeong and Jimin, enjoying the quiet atmosphere while everyone else left for home.

Apparently, Heeseung was staying on campus for the break as well—information that Jimin had uncovered during one of her “investigations.”

“We should take a trip, just the three of us,” Minjeong suggested enthusiastically as we strolled through a park near the university.

“I heard some of the students staying on campus are planning a beach trip,” Jimin added, glancing at us. “We could join them if you’re interested.”

“That actually sounds great,” I said with a small smile. “Staying cooped up on campus is getting boring.”

Both of them nodded in agreement. Jimin quickly pulled out her phone. “Perfect. I’ll text Sunghoon and ask if he can give us a ride.”

Excitement buzzed in the air as we hurried back to campus. Each of us headed to our rooms to pack our bags, ready for an adventure to break the monotony of campus life.

----

The trip to the beach had taken longer than expected, but we finally arrived just as the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. The air was cold, much colder than I had imagined, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore echoed through the quiet surroundings.

Minjeong was the first to jump out of the car, wrapped in her thick coat, running toward the sand as if the cold didn’t exist. “Come on, girls! It’s beautiful!” she shouted, stretching her arms out as the wind tossed her hair.

Jimin, of course, was more focused on taking pictures. “This is perfect for Instagram,” she murmured, aiming her camera at the horizon. I lingered near the car for a moment, pulling my coat tighter around my neck as I watched my friends.

“Frozen in place?” A familiar voice startled me. I hadn’t noticed Heeseung until he appeared, carrying a small backpack over his shoulder and wearing a thick scarf wrapped around his neck.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, more surprised than annoyed.

He gave me that carefree smile that seemed to be his trademark. “Sunghoon told me you were all coming. I thought it might be fun to tag along.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded, feeling a bit nervous at the thought of spending the rest of the day with him around.

“Come on,” he said, motioning toward the beach where Minjeong was busy writing something in the sand. “You’ll be warmer moving around than standing here freezing.”

I sighed but followed his lead onto the sand, where Jimin had already set up a large blanket for us to sit on. Heeseung plopped down right beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his presence, which did nothing to calm my nerves.

“I thought the beach might be a little warmer,” he commented as he stared out at the water. “But it’s pretty in winter, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I murmured, looking at the waves sliding gently onto the shore. Despite the cold, there was something calming about the view, as if, for a moment, I could forget everything else.

“We could take a walk by the water,” Heeseung suggested, tilting his head slightly to look at me. “If you don’t mind freezing a bit more.”

I wasn’t sure if he was joking or serious, but before I could respond, Minjeong called out from a few meters away. “Y/N! Come look at this!”

Grateful for the distraction, I quickly got to my feet, but not before catching the smile forming on Heeseung’s lips. I didn’t know what it was about that smile, but it always made me feel things I didn’t know how to handle.

----

Later that evening, we all gathered in a cozy, albeit small, cabin that, according to Jimin, belonged to Sunghoon’s parents.

Minjeong and I were in the kitchen cooking while the rest prepared the table.

Despite being in a setting I wasn’t usually comfortable in—surrounded by people I didn’t know very well—I felt oddly at ease. Besides Minjeong, Jimin, Sunghoon, Heeseung, and me, Jaeyun, Minju, and Yeonjun had also joined us.

“Don’t forget to make ramen. Heeseung’s obsessed,” Sunghoon said as he pointed to a shelf packed with various ramen packages. Minjeong and I exchanged amused glances and nodded, laughing softly.

Once everything was ready, we brought the food to the table and finally sat down to eat. The air was filled with the aroma of warm dishes and the sound of lighthearted conversation. We talked about everything and nothing at the same time, the kind of chatter that made the evening feel even cozier.

For a moment, as I looked around at the smiling faces and felt the warmth of the cabin, I thought that maybe these winter holidays wouldn’t be so bad after all.

After dinner, we all agreed to share rooms for everyone’s comfort: the girls in one room, the boys in another. Once everyone settled in, we met outside again, gathering around a crackling bonfire.

The night passed with laughter, games, and stories. I mostly stayed quiet, simply observing and listening. I didn’t mind, though—it was comforting in its own way.

---

The other girls fell asleep almost instantly, but I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried, sleep wouldn’t come. So, I bundled up in my warmest coat and decided to take a walk along the beach.

The night was stunning. The sky was clear, stars shining brightly like tiny scattered diamonds. The cold wind nipped at my cheeks but wasn’t unbearable, and the sound of the waves created a soothing rhythm. I could have stayed there for hours.

I stopped at one point, gazing out at the sea, getting lost in the soft roar of the waves meeting the shore.

“It’s a beautiful night,” a familiar, soft voice said behind me. I couldn’t help but smile as I turned around to see him.

“It really is,” I replied, shifting my gaze back to the water, watching the way it danced gently under the moonlight.

“I noticed you didn’t talk much earlier. Are you okay?” Heeseung’s voice carried a surprising warmth, tinged with genuine concern. He always caught me off guard. For someone as naturally popular as he was, he also seemed so observant.

“I’m fine,” I answered softly, glancing at him. “I just like listening to others.”

He nodded at my response, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. It sounded... sweet.

“I like that about you,” he said, his voice quieter this time, almost shy. My heart skipped a beat at his words. I froze, staring at him.

“What?” I managed to ask, the surprise clear in my voice. He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I like how you observe, how you’re always so attentive. It’s... calming,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket like he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell.

I didn’t know how to respond. All I could do was stare at him.

“You know,” he continued, his gaze now fixed on the ocean, “you caught my attention the moment you stepped onto campus.”

My lips parted in shock, but no words came out.

“My friends thought I was staring at Minjeong or Jimin, and I couldn’t believe they didn’t notice you.” His tone was steady, sincere, and it sent my heart into a frenzy.

“That day I saw you crying…” His voice softened, and he paused, as if carefully choosing his words. “I don’t know how to explain it, but something hurt in my chest. I could feel your pain.”

He exhaled deeply, his breath visible in the chilly air. “I didn’t just want to make sure you were okay. I also saw it as my chance to finally learn your name.”

He turned to face me then, his gaze meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

“Heeseung…” I whispered, unsure of what to say or how to process the weight of his words.

"Can I kiss you?" he finally asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper, as if he was afraid to shatter the fragile balance of the moment.

Without thinking much, I nodded, my eyes locked on his, feeling as though the entire world had come to a halt.

Heeseung took a step closer, closing the space between us. I could feel the warmth of his presence despite the cold of the night, and my heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

Slowly, he raised a hand, his fingers lightly grazing my cheek. His touch was warm, and without saying a word, he leaned in closer.

The first touch was hesitant, like we were both exploring unfamiliar territory. But then, as our lips truly met, it was as if all the winter cold melted away.

His lips were soft, and the kiss, though brief, was filled with a tenderness that made me feel like I was floating. When he pulled back just a fraction, his eyes met mine, and a small smile formed on his lips.

"I’ve always wanted to do that," he confessed in a whisper, his fingers still caressing my face.

I could barely speak, my mind still reeling from what had just happened. "What took you so long then?" I managed to say, my voice trembling with a mix of nerves and the happiness I couldn’t contain.

His smile grew wider. "I guess I was waiting for the perfect moment."

Before I could reply, he leaned in again, his lips claiming mine in a kiss that was bolder, filled with everything words couldn’t express.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. "I really like you, Y/N," he murmured softly.

My heart seemed to stop for a moment at his words, my cheeks burning from the blush that had taken over, and nothing could have wiped the enormous smile from my face.

"I like you too, Heeseung," I replied quietly, placing my hand on his cheek and gently stroking it.

#ikeupied #enhypen #kpop #kpop x reader #heeseung #lee heesung x reader #heesung enhypen #lee heeseung #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enha x reader #enha fluff #enha imagines #sunghoon #aespa minjeong #aespa jimin #jake sim #kpop imagines

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nanamineedstherapy · 1 day ago

Text

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.

Trigger Warnings: Contains Spoilers: Toxic Husbands Trying Their Best (Poorly), Pregnancy cravings but make it a battle, Unhinged Humor & Serious Angst, Discussions of past trauma (non-explicit but emotional), Over-the-top jealousy, Dumbass husbands being dumbass husbands, Swearing & chaotic humour, Emotional whiplash, Heavy Angst Sprinkled with Crack Humor, Poly Relationship Drama with Terrorist Husbands, Unreliable Narrators and Moral Grey Zones.

A/N: To, Farhan, My IRL Haibara, who lived life to the fullest although chaotically, and I hope this chapter brings at least a little bit of that energy to you. Welcome to another chapter of pure chaos! Don’t forget to hydrate while reading about everyone’s emotional dehydration. Also, snacks are important. That’s all I’ll say for now—enjoy the mess, and don’t forget to drop a comment if this makes you want to lasso someone IRL.

Chapter 11 (alt ending 2.2) - Snakes & Mirrors (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 12 (alt ending 2.3) - Not Heroes

Haibara turned, throwing an arm over Megumi’s shoulder like they were at a frat party instead of a standoff. “Look, man. The only person I ever knew from your Jujutsu world was his mom. Whatever happened before? Don’t remember, don’t care. I’m good where I am. I was fucking MI6, bro. Do you know how cool that is? And now I’m semi-retired and work with my ‘only’ best friends. Life couldn’t be better. So maybe stop barking up the wrong tree and go, I don’t know, ‘synergize deliverables’ or whatever it is you corporate sellouts do.”

Megumi smirked at the men.

The courtyard, still buzzing with curious employees pretending not to eavesdrop, was momentarily stunned into pin-drop silence.

Nanami’s face fell.

Gojo, sensing Nanami’s sinking, saw red and stepped in. “How can you say that? Do you even know what happened after we thought you died?”

His voice lowered just enough for the men to hear. “After your death, my best friend—the guy you looked up to—sank deeper into his depression. And turned into a mass murderer, even removing his own parents. Nanami lost all hope after you because you were the only one of us he had actively considered his best friend at the time. He disappeared for years to work a mundane corporate job. None of us were ever the same. Not me. Not Shoko. No one. Then my best friend decided that genocide was his life's ambition. I had to stop him six months ago; put an end to it!” His voice cracked at the edges, exposing the weight he carried while carefully avoiding articulating ‘killed’ aloud. “That led us here where I have to go through you two—who, by the way, I have never seen be active in her life.”

Megumi’s teeth clenched audibly. “How is any of that his fault when he doesn’t even remember?”

“Yeah, what he said,” Haibara quipped, completely unbothered, like they were debating sports scores instead of a massacre.

Gojo’s hand twitched, but Nanami placed a steady grip on his shoulder. “Satoru, stop,” he said, his voice firm. “It’s not his fault.”

Haibara sighed like this was a lecture he’d heard one too many times. “Look, from what his mom—Toji’s wife, whom you deleted, by the way—told me, sorcerers die thankless deaths. The Jujutsu society? Already broken. What happened would’ve happened whether I was there or not. And honestly? I wasn’t exactly eager to die with my—back then, weak-ass—technique at sixteen.”

The crowd of employees, still loitering and pretending to check their phones, exchanged wide-eyed glances. The whispered commentary started.

“Wait, sorcerers? Is this, like, a D&D thing?”

“More like an anime plotline written on acid.”

“Also, Toji? Wasn’t he the dude from that Netflix documentary about buff street food chefs?”

“What does he mean by deleted?”

Before Gojo could retort, the conference room door swung open.

“Hai!” your voice rang out, snapping heads to you. “What’s taking so long? I’m hungry! If you don’t bring the food right now, I’ll eat you! And everyone else, please take your breaks in the cafeteria!”

All your employees scrambled away like they were in a fire drill. One brave soul muttered, “Damn! Mom’s big mad!” as he passed by Gojo, who shot him a glare that could freeze lava. The guy quickly backtracked, stammering, “We only call her ‘Mom’ behind her back because, you know, ‘she protek and attck’ not because of the pregnancy or to make fun of her!” Even made a poor attempt at a joke. “We didn’t even know she was pregananant before today.”

But it was too late; he bolted when Nanami joined in on the glaring, and the two of them looked like they were ready to form a task force against insubordination.

Haibara’s grin turned smug as he turned away from the men. “Sorry, boys. We’ll debate this another day. By ‘another day,’ I mean never—because I don’t care. Your girl’s calling me.” He winked, specifically at Nanami, like he had a personal vendetta. But it was just that, his eyes genuinely reflected, that he didn’t remember or cared to know anything.

“Don’t,” Gojo stopped Nanami before he could lunge at Haibara and get them arrested again; you’d be pissed.

Haibara whistled heartily as he walked away, posture oozing mockery.

Megumi stayed behind, his glare boring into the two men.

Nanami sighed, reaching into his pocket. “We’ll leave. But you need to see this.”

He showed Megumi your latest medical report on his phone—undernutrition flagged in bold red.

Megumi’s frown deepened as he read it without taking his hands out of his pocket.

“She needs to eat homemade food,” Nanami pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Her pregnancy isn’t uncomplicated. If she doesn’t start taking care of herself—if we don’t—she could die with them.”

The words landed like a bomb.

Megumi’s jaw was tight, his shoulders tense. “Go.”

Haibara returned to your office with an extra bag of food, setting it down on your desk. “Healthy and edible. Barely.”

Megumi followed shortly after, ensuring the men were escorted off the premises.

You reached for the bag, but Megumi snatched it away, replacing it with the one Nanami had brought, without telling you where it came from.

You blinked at him, confused. “What are you—”

“Eat,” he said simply, taking a deliberate bite of Nanami’s food before handing it back to you.

Your confusion deepened, but you didn’t press further. Instead, you began eating, your focus shifting back to the reports on your screen.

Haibara raised an eyebrow at Megumi, who responded with a slight nod. A silent agreement passed between them: We’ll talk later.

As you worked, your CHRO and CFO glanced up from their own meals.

“What happened out there?” Your CHRO asked, her curiosity barely concealed.

“Nothing worth remembering,” Haibara replied with a grin, leaning back in his chair as if he hadn’t just navigated a minefield.

The three of you ate in companionable silence, the hum of the office returning to its standard rhythm. Yet the tension in the air lingered like a quiet storm waiting to break.

---

Sometime later, Megumi walked to the break room under the pretence of “taking a work conference.” He sat down at the corner table, resting his elbows on the surface. The bold red text on the report Nanami had shown him burned into his memory: "Undernutrition: High-Risk Pregnancy."

Haibara was already leaning against the counter, his typical flippant demeanour replaced by an uncharacteristic seriousness. His arms were crossed, and his brows were knitted tightly together as he listened to Megumi.

“This is bad,” Megumi muttered after relaying the information. His fingers tapped the edge of the table rhythmically, a rare sign of his frustration. “She’s barely eating. She takes four bites and then gets distracted by work again. Why didn’t anyone notice this sooner?”

Haibara snorted softly, though there was no humour in it. “She’s good at hiding things. Always has been.”

Megumi’s glare flicked up to meet Haibara’s gaze. “Hiding it doesn’t mean it’s okay. You didn’t see the report. If she keeps this up…”

“I understand,” Haibara cut in, his tone sharper than normal. “You think I don’t know? I’ve been trying to get her to slow down and take care of herself, but you know how she is.”

Megumi’s jaw tightened. “Stubborn.”

“Relentless,” Haibara corrected. “It’s like she thinks if she stops moving, everything will fall apart.”

“It will,” Megumi shot back. “If she doesn’t start taking care of herself, she’s going to fall apart. And then what? What will we do? What will I tell Mom?”

Haibara sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, we’re on the same side here. I’ve been keeping an eye on her, trying to make sure she’s eating something—anything. But she’s slippery. You’ve seen her dodge Gojo and Nanami’s overbearing crap like it’s a sport.”

Megumi’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s not enough.”

Haibara tilted his head, studying Megumi. “So what do you want to do about it? Force-feed her? Chain her to a chair in the cafeteria?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Megumi said coldly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

Haibara’s eyebrows furrowed. “Okay, easy there, villain arc. We’re trying to help her, not make her hate us. You’re already on thin ice with all the crap you said to her at the airport. I swear, if I had been there, I would have beaten the crap out of you right then and there.”

Megumi’s expression didn’t soften. “I know it was pathetic of me, but if she knew what’s in this report, she’d hate us for keeping it from her.”

Haibara straightened, his posture tense. “You think she doesn’t know? She’s not stupid, Megumi. She knows something’s wrong. She just... doesn’t want to deal with it.”

Megumi’s fists clenched on the table. “That’s not good enough. She’s carrying twins, Haibara. Not just any twins—Special Grade Sorcerer twins. Her stomach glows like a fucking lighthouse for anyone who can sense cursed energy. I really don’t understand how those losers didn’t see it. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is for someone in her condition?”

Haibara’s gaze dropped, and for a moment, he looked almost defeated. “I see it. Believe me, I want to strangle them just as much as you do.”

The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the faint hum of the refrigerator. Finally, Haibara spoke, his voice quieter. “So, what’s the plan, genius? You want to tell her? Confront her with the report and hope she doesn’t blow up?”

Megumi’s eyes narrowed. “No. Not yet. She’s under enough stress already.”

“Then what?” Haibara pressed.

Megumi leaned back, his gaze distant but calculating. “We work around her. We make sure she eats without making it obvious. We take shifts if we have to.”

Haibara’s lips quirked into a faint, bitter smile. “So we’re babysitting her now?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Megumi said again, his voice resolute.

Haibara pushed off the counter, his customary swagger creeping back into his step. “Alright, boss. Let’s see if your plan works. But if she catches on and decides to kill us, I’m blaming you.”

Megumi sighed. “I’ll take the blame.”

---

On the other side of HQ, your employees were scattered—some perched on tables, others standing, dramatically reenacting what seemed to be the courtyard scene of an unwritten soap opera. The walls were plastered with hastily scribbled whiteboard notes, arrows connecting phrases like ‘pregnancy bombshell,’ ‘Nanami: protective husband arc,’ and ‘Haibara supremacy confirmed.’ Someone had added ‘K-drama-level tension’ in glittery pink marker.

“‘You’re trespassing.’ Like, bro, chill. They brought soup, not nukes.”

“But nooo, gotta keep the ‘I’m colder than a polar bear’s ass’ persona alive.”

“‘For our fucking wife,’ he says. Man’s out here declaring ownership like it’s the 1800s. Meanwhile, Megumi’s over here like, ‘Perish.’ This is a Shakespearean tragedy-level mess.”

“‘Our wife,’ but she’s out there about to eat Haibara like a feral cat. Priorities, Gojo!”

“But can we talk about how Gojo’s forehead got incinerated in real-time? Man didn’t deserve that, but also... he kinda did.”

“Gojo really thought he could charm his way through that? Bro, you’re not the main character here. Megumi said, ‘CEO of Don’t Try Me Solutions,’ and Haibara hit Nanami with, ‘MI6, bitch.’”

“‘She could die,’ I felt that in my soul. Like, are we not just employees anymore? Are we side characters in a live-action K-drama?”

“Guys, guys. The real question is: why are y’all simping for the most emotionally unavailable men in the building? Like, Gojo? Trauma core. Haibara? Certified menace. Nanami? Daddy issues on legs.”

“But why did she threaten to eat Haibara? Like, girl, we get it. You’re feral, but maybe chill?”

“And then Haibara was like, ‘Your girl’s calling me,’ and walked off like he didn’t just commit emotional manslaughter. Low-key? King behaviour.”

“Bro, Gojo’s whole soul left his body. He was standing there like a kicked puppy, holding soup like it was an olive branch in the Hunger Games.”

Someone playing Nanami, on his knees, clutched his chest like he was in a Bollywood tragedy. “‘She could die.’” He fake-sobbed, looking up at the stand-in for Megumi.

“Did Nanami really say, ‘die with them’? Like, bro, that’s not just a red flag—that’s the entire communist manifesto of toxic relationships.”

“Okay, but can we appreciate Megumi’s vibes? The smirk, the glare, the whole ‘don’t breathe in my direction’ energy? Sir, I’d like to subscribe to your newsletter.”

“Okay, but Haibara! Man walked in like he was carrying state secrets and left with a biryani bag. How does he do that? He’s not even trying, and he’s the main character.”

“That wink at Nanami? I felt that in my ovaries. And I don’t even like men.”

“If Haibara needs someone to help carry his biryani, I’m free.”

“You’d carry his biryani straight to HR, wouldn’t you?”

“And Megumi’s smirk? Man could power a nuclear reactor with that. Gojo’s charm didn’t stand a chance.”

“Bro, Gojo’s banned from everything. I heard he tried to bribe the janitor for Megumi’s lunch schedule.”

“Let’s not pretend we’re any better. Half of you would keel over if Gojo so much as breathed in your direction.” She shot a pointed look at one woman, who flipped her off.

“Let’s circle back to Megumi. That glare? Sir, therapy is three doors down.”

“Am I the only one worried about the undernutrition part? Like, yes, drama is fun, but maybe we should call a doctor? No? Cool, just me then.”

The employees all froze when the door creaked open.

It was Megumi, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “Don’t you all have jobs?”

“We are working on the ‘villain energy game.’”

Megumi sighed, closed the door, and walked back to your office.

---

The day was running smoothly—or as smoothly as it ever could—until Sam burst into your office, clutching his tablet as if it might explode. His face was pale, his expected unhinged confidence replaced by something unsettling: genuine concern.

“You need to see this,” he said, his voice subdued.

You took the tablet, your eyes scanning the screen.

#TwoHolesForAReason was back with a vengeance, accompanied by a fresh wave of vile doctored images. One particularly egregious post showed a manipulated photo of you, dishevelled and exhausted, with the caption:

"When being married to two terrorists ruins your beauty and career, but at least you're stuffed full of dicks."

You gritted your teeth as you scrolled through hundreds—no, thousands—of similar posts. Some were disgustingly graphic, while others hid their malice behind mock sympathy. All aimed to tear you down.

Sam hovered nervously. “It’s... everywhere. Even the investors are panicking.”

You stared at the screen for a long moment, fury building under your skin. Then a humourless laugh escaped your lips, so cold it made Sam flinch.

“Idiots,” you muttered, tossing the tablet onto your desk as if it had personally offended you.

Haibara walked in, unbothered. “What’s the hubbub?”

Sam pointed to the tablet. Haibara took one look and grunted. “Wow. Creative. Didn’t know middle schoolers were running smear campaigns these days.”

Megumi leaned against your desk, his expression darkening as he read over Sam’s shoulder. “I’ll find out who’s behind it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you said, rising to your feet. “We’re shutting it down.”

---

It didn’t take long for the vultures to circle.

The boardroom buzzed with tension as the executives filed in, their smugness as palpable as the overpriced cologne clinging to the air. Papers shuffled, pens clicked, and glances exchanged like unspoken conspiracies.

One of them, an older man with a shiny bald head that reflected the fluorescent lights like a spotlight, leaned forward with the faux gravity of someone who thought himself important. “Mrs.—”

“Allow me to clarify,” you interrupted smoothly, not bothering to mask your irritation. “I am nobody’s wife in this room. Here, I am your Founder and CEO. Let’s stick to relevant titles.”

His face reddened, but he cleared his throat and tried again. “Of course, my apologies. We’ve called this emergency meeting to discuss the company’s image under your leadership.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms over your belly in a deliberate show of calm control. “My leadership built this company. What’s the issue?”

A younger man chimed in, his tone overly conciliatory. “The issue is the... unfavourable attention your personal life has drawn recently. Investors are concerned about the long-term impact on the company’s reputation.”

Your eyebrow arched. “Unfavorable attention? You’re referring to the slander and misinformation I am currently addressing while you waste my time with redundant meetings?”

The younger man faltered, but a woman at the far end of the table, her poorly woven hair perched precariously on her head, jumped in. “With all due respect, this goes beyond a few rumours. Your personal matters have bled into the company’s operations. Your... husbands storming this very building caused injuries and property damage. The media frenzy hasn’t stopped since. And now, you’ve returned suddenly, pregnant and still tied to a highly publicized poly marriage.”

Her words hung in the air, each one a carefully aimed barb.

“Me being pregnant is an issue; why?” you asked, icy.

“We’re simply suggesting,” the bald man interjected, “that for the good of the company, you consider stepping down—temporarily, of course—until this all blows over.”

The room fell silent.

You tilted your head slightly and smiled predatorily—the kind that made grown men sweat. “Step down? Because of a trending hashtag?”

“It’s not just the hashtag,” another board member piped up, emboldened by the tension. “There’s the matter of your husbands’ actions, the disruption to our HQ, and the risk of further incidents. The optics alone—”

You silenced him, your voice low and measured. “The optics? Let me be clear: I built this company. Every game, every cross-platform integration, and every dollar in your quarterly bonuses exists because of me. I negotiated every deal, spearheaded every innovation, and solved every crisis. I even paid for the damages out of my own pocket. And now, because of a handful of manipulated images and an incident I had no part in—except actively fighting them off—you think you can compel me to step down?”

You limited your words to corporate lingo; otherwise, you’d outright sound like Toji.

The bald man tried to speak, but you held up a hand.

“Where were you when the building was being terrorized? Where were all of you? Because I did not receive a single call, nor did my teams. Neither did the injured.”

The room was frozen.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” you said, your tone steely. “You’re going to sit down, shut up, and let me clean up this mess. If anyone in this room so much as whispers the words ‘step down’ again, I will personally ensure they never work in any tech or gaming company on the planet. I still hold the majority of shares, which means I hold all the cards. Do not test me.”

“Understood?”

They nodded reluctantly, the smugness drained from their faces.

“Good.” Gripping the table, you stood, smoothing your coat and fixing them with a final, icy stare. “Meeting adjourned.”

As the boardroom emptied, whispers erupted among your employees, many of whom had been hovering nearby.

“She just ended their entire careers in one sentence.”

“Did you see the bald guy’s face? He looked like he was about to cry.”

One bolder employee muttered, “And they think she’s the problem? Meanwhile, her husbands are walking red flags with a combined body count.”

Another chimed in, “Yeah, but they’re hot red flags. That’s the worst kind.”

“Greg, please stop simping for terrorists!”

As you strode back to your office, your vision blurred. The edges of the hallway swam, and the coppery taste of blood filled your mouth. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay upright.

Inside your office, your employees were gathered, their faces filled with worry.

“Crisis averted,” you said. “Everyone, get back to work, please.”

They hesitated but scattered, murmuring among themselves.

Dove lingered, her expression uncertain. “Boss, maybe you should rest—”

“Dove,” you said, shooing her off. “Go.”

Once everyone left, Megumi was already opening an electrolyte drink and handing it to you, leaning casually against your desk.

“So... who’s first on the hit list? Baldy with the overcompensating cologne or Wigged Sharon?” Haibara inquired.

You smirked, taking a sip. “All of them.”

Megumi held up a tablet. “I pulled the IP addresses of the accounts spreading the worst posts. They’re mostly bot farms, but a few are traceable. Some even belong to your investors.”

“Perfect.” You set the glass down. “Dismantle them. Quietly.”

Megumi was already calling someone.

Haibara grinned, shaking his head. “You’re like Maggie, but without the illegal underground moonshine ring.”

“Keep flattering me,” you said dryly, “and I might even promote you to court jester.”

Haibara laughed. “Haven’t played it in years; wanna play sometime?”

“Me neither, so definitely.” You agreed easily.

Megumi hummed in agreement as well before you both had to ask.

“So, what’s the plan? Burn their careers to the ground, or are you playing the long game?” Haibara smirked.

“Both,” you replied, chugging the energy drink. “First, we stabilize the optics. Then we eliminate the dead weight.”

Megumi glanced up from his laptop. “I can draft the shareholder communication.”

"Yes, thank you, Megs,” you said. “Please make it clear that I’m still in control. Frame the board’s behaviour as a distraction from the company’s goals. If they want to play games, we’ll show them how it’s done.”

Haibara chuckled. “Terrifying.”

“One does not survive corporate life without eliciting fear. Which is what Ken should have...”

You grimaced and cut yourself off, feeling a wave of nausea wash over you. The sensation was becoming all too familiar, a reminder of the body horror that accompanied your pregnancy. You could almost feel the weight of it—the way it twisted and turned inside you—a constant reminder of their fathers.

Your friends changed the topic, sensing your discomfort, but the unease lingered in the back of your mind.

---

A few blocks down in a rooftop restaurant, Nanami and Gojo stood, watching your building. Gojo’s six eyes scanned the floors, his hands fidgeting as he tracked your movements.

“She’s not okay,” Gojo muttered, his voice tight.

Nanami’s jaw gritted.

“She’s going to collapse if she keeps this up,” Gojo continued.

“Have patience,” Nanami said calmly.

Gojo’s frustration bubbled over. “How can you just do nothing?”

Nanami folded his arm. “Leave it to Megumi. Haibara might not remember me, but I still know how to get him riled up to work in our favour. He was never a strategist.”

Gojo’s shoulders slumped, expectant. “You ready to betray him?”

“He doesn’t know us anymore; he said so himself.”

---

The glow of Megumi’s laptop screen painted faint, shifting shadows across the room. He sat on the couch, legs crossed, his posture tense despite the rhythmic click of his fingers against the keys. His focus, at least outwardly, was on your grand plan—the one he’d quietly poured himself into without needing to ask or complain.

You were on the adjacent couch, your gaming laptop’s vivid hues casting a surreal glow over your features. Your attention was divided, bouncing between emails, analytics, and some half-finished documents. But your fingers had slowed. Megumi glanced up just as your head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut.

In minutes, you were out.

He returned to his work—or tried to—until something moved beneath your shirt.

Megumi froze, his stomach twisting in an unfamiliar way. A tiny hand pressed against the fabric, followed by a foot, then the vague outline of a face. His chest tightened.

“What the…” The words barely escaped his lips.

The twins shifted again, their tiny movements both mesmerising and unsettling. He flinched when the door creaked open. Haibara strolled in, his smirk in place, a bag of snacks dangling from one hand.

Megumi raised a finger to his lips, shushing him sharply.

Haibara stopped mid-step, his brows knitting together as he followed Megumi’s gaze to you, sprawled out and oblivious, one hand draped protectively over your belly. His smirk faltered.

“What’s happening?” Haibara whispered, crouching beside Megumi.

“Look,” Megumi muttered, gesturing toward your midsection.

Haibara leaned in, his expression shifting from curiosity to outright disbelief as the twins moved again. “What the hell are they doing? Trying to dig their way out?”

Megumi’s glare was immediate. “Don’t touch her.”

“Relax.” Haibara held his hands up defensively, though the glint in his eyes suggested otherwise. “You’re acting like they’re going to burst out and take over your business. Just let me see... what it feels like?”

“It feels like you should leave it alone.”

Ignoring the warning, Haibara reached out, only to jerk back when the twins kicked again. “Nope. Nope. I’m good.” He pointed accusingly at your stomach, his characteristic bravado cracking. “That’s not normal.”

“You think hexes are normal?” Megumi shot back, though his tone lacked its regular edge. His attention drifted back to you, his gaze softening despite himself. “Although she’s not scared.”

Haibara let out a dry laugh, leaning against the armrest. “Because she’s her. Chaos incarnate. She’d stare down a volcano and bet it wouldn’t erupt just to prove a point.”

Megumi’s lips twitched, but he said nothing.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the faint hum of the heater and your steady breathing. Haibara shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting between you and Megumi.

“Think they’ll inherit her attitude?” He asked finally, his voice lighter than his expression.

Megumi didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quieter. “Probably. Not a bad thing.”

Haibara’s gaze lingered on you, a shadow of something unreadable crossing his face. “Not bad, huh?” His words were light, but his tone carried a weight that Megumi didn’t address.

Before the silence could stretch, you stirred, a soft groan slipping past your lips. Both men froze.

Your eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep. “What are you two doing?”

“Nothing,” they said in unison, too quickly, too high-pitched.

You frowned but were too tired to argue. With a small yawn, you shifted, your hand resting over your belly again. “Weirdos,” you muttered before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Haibara let out a quiet breath, his shoulders relaxing. He glanced at Megumi, who was staring at you with an expression he quickly masked.

“She called you a weirdo,” Haibara teased, his grin returning.

“She called us weirdos,” Megumi corrected, his tone clipped.

“Yeah, but she meant you more.” Haibara leaned back, smug.

Megumi ignored him, his attention returning to your belly. The twins moved again, and despite everything—despite the chaos you brought, the complications you were, and the way you never saw him the way he sometimes wished you would—he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Haibara leaned in slightly, his voice lower now. “You think she knows how lucky they are? How lucky we are?”

Megumi’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. Haibara didn’t press; his eyes stayed on you, his smirk replaced by something thoughtful.

“You ever think about how she does it?” he asked, his voice unusually quiet.

Megumi’s brow furrowed. “Does what?”

“Handles all this.” Haibara gestured vaguely toward your sleeping form. “The mess. The plans. The… future.” He hesitated before adding, “Them.”

“She doesn’t think about it like that,” Megumi replied, his tone clipped. “She just... does it.”

Haibara huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. That’s her, alright. Always diving in headfirst.”

Megumi didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed on your hand resting over your belly, the way your fingers twitched slightly in your sleep, as if even in unconsciousness, you were protecting them.

Haibara tilted his head, studying Megumi. “You ever wonder if she regrets it?”

Megumi’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “Why would she?”

Haibara shrugged, though his expression betrayed the casual gesture. “I don’t know. She’s got this whole... empire thing going on. Then there are the twins.” He nodded toward your belly.

Megumi’s jaw tightened. “She regrets the people but not the twins.”

“You sound sure,” Haibara said, leaning back. “But maybe you’re just saying that because you want to believe it.”

“Drop it,” Megumi muttered, his tone sharper than he intended.

Haibara raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just making conversation.”

The silence returned, heavier this time. Haibara’s gaze flickered back to you, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“She’s still the same, though,” he said after a moment, his voice softer now. “Same fire. Same recklessness. Same way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room when she looks at you. Like she actually sees you.”

Megumi’s hands clenched into fists. “What’s your point?”

Haibara hesitated, his eyes meeting Megumi’s. For a moment, there was something raw in his expression, something unguarded. But then he smirked, the mask slipping back into place.

“No point,” he said, his tone light again. “Just... nostalgia from before I left for London, I guess.”

Megumi didn’t respond. His gaze drifted back to you, his expression unreadable.

Haibara chuckled quietly, though there was no humor in it. “You know, it’s funny. Back then, I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter now.”

Megumi’s eyes narrowed. “Thought what?”

Haibara shrugged, popping a chip into his mouth. “Nothing important.”

“Haibara,” Megumi said warningly.

Haibara sighed, his smirk faltering again. “I thought maybe if things had been different, if I hadn’t left before…” He paused, his eyes flickering to your sleeping form. “But they weren’t. And they aren’t. So.”

Megumi’s chest tightened. He wanted to snap at Haibara, to tell him to shut up, to stop saying things that didn’t need to be said. But he didn’t, because part of him understood.

“Doesn’t matter,” Haibara repeated, more to himself than to Megumi. “She’s back. That’s what counts, right?”

Megumi looked at him, his expression hard. “Yeah. That’s what counts.”

Haibara nodded, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer. Then he stood, stretching exaggeratedly. “Well, I’ll bring the car around; it’s getting late. Enjoy your vigil, Fushiguro.”

Megumi watched him go, his footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.

He turned back to you, his gaze softening despite himself. The twins moved again, and this time, he didn’t flinch.

“You’re not scared,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “So I won’t be either.”

You shifted slightly in your sleep, your hand tightening over your belly. Megumi leaned back, resting his head against the couch, his eyes staring into space.

After a bit, he got up, packed your laptops and his, and called his secretary to arrange for a flat in your building by the end of the week. Then he gently woke you and walked you to Haibara’s car, where he was waiting.

---

Once delivering you to ‘home/hell,’ Haibara turned to you with an uncharacteristic seriousness. “You sure you don’t want me to stick around? I can sleep on the couch. Or the roof. I’m versatile.”

Megumi, still scrolling through his phone in the backseat, didn’t bother looking up. “He snores. It’s like sharing a house with a sentient chainsaw.”

“At least I don’t sleep with my eyes half open like some Silent Hill reject,” Haibara shot back.

“That was one time,” Megumi muttered, unamused.

Despite the weight in your chest, a faint chuckle escaped. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for today.”

Haibara gave you a look that screamed, I don’t believe you, but okay. “Call if you need anything. And I mean anything. You want a yacht? I’ll steal one.”

You chuckled faintly. “Thanks, but I can afford yachts.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Rich people and their yachts. Megumi, let’s buy a submarine instead. Classier.”

Megumi finally glanced up. “Or we could stay on land like sane people.”

They walked you to the door, bickering the entire way.

Before you stepped inside, Megumi reached out and ruffled your hair. “I’ve increased security around here and at the office. If you faint, I’m installing 24/7 surveillance in your home. Don’t test me. Eat properly.”

You swatted his hand away, but his words lingered.

Bidding them goodbye, you shut the door and stood in the silence.

Too much silence.

Again.

The penthouse was eerily still, as if the air itself had grown heavy with awkward tension.

You headed straight for the old bedroom, not sparing the men a glance. Gojo and Nanami sat in the living room, their postures stiff, like overgrown schoolboys waiting for detention.

Gojo broke the silence, his voice cracking. “Baby, please—”

You walked past him without acknowledgement, your steps echoing in the quiet.

Nanami stood and followed, his voice low. “Let me help you carry—”

The door clicked shut behind you before he could finish.

The bedroom smelled faintly of them, and the sight of the bed you used to share turned your stomach. Moving methodically, you grabbed clothes, toiletries, and anything else you needed, avoiding any unnecessary glances in the room.

Opening a drawer, your hand froze when your eyes fell on a small envelope with your name, tucked into the corner.

An ultrasound.

Your heart sank. They’d heard the sound of your babies’ heartbeats without you.

Your hands trembled as you picked it up, the weight of it heavier than it should have been. You shoved it into your pocket, ignoring the pang in your chest.

You opened the door and walked past them again, carrying your things to the guest room.

The scalding shower that followed did little to help. The water seared your skin, but it couldn’t burn away the weight pressing down on your chest. Fresh clothes felt like armour, and the guest bed—while foreign—was at least yours.

---

Sometime later, the knock came like a countdown to something catastrophic. You had been staring at the spare living room TV, wondering how you’d drag it to your room. Everything else around you was a blur through the fog of your thoughts. The robe you wore felt too heavy against your skin, every fibre brushing against you like sandpaper.

Behind you, Gojo and Nanami were arguing in hushed tones, their voices tense. It was always tense now. You didn’t bother listening; they rarely said anything worth hearing anymore. But when the knock came, they stopped mid-sentence.

“Don’t answer that,” Gojo said, his Infinity thrumming faintly, a nervous hum that matched the way his hands twitched at his sides. Nanami’s face was unreadable, but his stance had shifted, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet—ready.

You ignored them both, padding to the door like a sleepwalker. When you opened it, the officers standing there didn’t look surprised to see you, dishevelled and wan. The lead officer’s eyes softened for a moment, but only a moment.

“Ma’am, we’re here to take Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento into custody,” he said, his tone professional. “They’re being re-arrested on charges related to the incident at your company headquarters.”

You blinked, confused. "I... I don’t understand. At night?”

“We’ve received new orders,” he replied. His gaze shifted past you, landing on the two men who had moved to flank you, their postures screaming defiance. “Please step aside.”

Gojo’s laugh was sharp and humourless. “You’ve got to be kidding. She’s pregnant. High-risk, no less. You can’t just drag us off.”

Nanami’s voice was quieter but no less intense. “She needs us. Stress could harm her and the babies.”

Who the fuck told them it was high risk? Were they lying to get out of jail? On your account?

Just when you thought they couldn’t get worse!!!

You jerked involuntarily, your hand brushing over your stomach. The movement wasn’t lost on the officers, who exchanged uneasy glances. But the lead officer didn’t waver.

“We’re not here to debate,” he said firmly, gesturing for his team to move in.

The cuffs came out, and Gojo’s Infinity flared instinctively, a shimmering barrier that held them at bay, but they didn’t seem to notice yet.

“Gojo, stop,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with something that made him falter.

You used his last name. You had never even used it when you guys first met.

And then the cramp hit. Sharp, twisting pain that stole your breath and buckled your knees. You gasped, clutching your stomach, your legs giving out beneath you.

“Baby?” Gojo’s voice cracked as he caught you. “Shit, shit, shit. Breathe. Just breathe.”

Nanami was at your other side, his steady hands shaking as they pressed against your back. “What’s wrong?” he asked you, eyes broken and scared.

The cops hesitated, torn between duty and the scene unfolding in front of them.

“Cramp…. Hurts…” You breathed out clutching Nanami’s shirt while the pain brought tears to your eyes.

“Thank god, I’m not a woman and can’t get pregnant even if the people on the internet try every day.”

All eyes turned to the doorway, where Higuruma Hiromi stood, his briefcase in hand and his expression smug.

“Who the hell are you?” One of the officers demanded.

“Most desired lawyer in the country and your accused's legal counsel,” Higuruma replied coolly, stepping inside.

He handed over a stack of documents. “This is a court order preventing their arrest until after the completion of her pregnancy. Given her medical condition, their presence is deemed essential for her well-being. Any undue stress could endanger her and the unborn children. Do you really want that liability on your hands?” He declared, back to business.

Your husbands looked at each other, thinking that Ijichi must have tattled to Yaga, who would’ve created a backup plan.

The lead officer’s jaw tensed, but he took the documents and scanned them. After a long moment, he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Fine. But they can’t leave the country, and we’ll be monitoring them closely.”

“Of course,” Higuruma replied smoothly, his tone as dry as the Sahara.

Then the officer turned to you, his demeanour shifting from stern professionalism to something almost... reverent. “Ma’am,” he said, pulling out a card from his breast pocket with the air of someone bestowing a sacred relic. “Here’s my card. Please feel free to contact me directly if you need anything.”

You blinked, thrown by the sudden change in tone. The officer’s gaze flicked to your face, then to your stomach, then back to your face. His ears were a little too pink for someone allegedly unflappable.

Before you could react, Gojo snatched the card mid-air, his grin venomous. “Thank you, Officer Friendly, but I think we’ve got this handled. I’ll call if we need anything.”

The officer’s expression hardened, his jaw flexing as he snatched the card right back with the precision of someone who definitely practiced baton drills too much. He leaned slightly closer to you, his voice lowering into something almost conspiratorial. “I’d really rather not have terrorists calling me. But you, ma’am—please call anytime.”

Nanami’s grip on your arm tightened imperceptibly, his gaze icy, clipping the space between you and the officer like an invisible barrier. “I believe we’re done here,” he said evenly, his tone calm but carrying enough weight to make the officer hesitate.

The officer held his ground, though his resolve wavered slightly under Nanami’s unrelenting glare. Finally, he handed you the card with a small bow that was entirely unnecessary but also entirely intentional.

Gojo’s laugh was a sharp bark devoid of humour. “Wow. Bold move. Should I call HR on you for harassment, or do we settle this with a good old-fashioned duel?”

“HR?” the officer asked, his lips twitching upward. “What’s that like for someone suspended indefinitely?”

Higuruma, standing off to the side, pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “idiots.”

You sighed, pocketing the card without comment, your patience wearing thin. “Thank you, officer!” You smiled, your tone happier than you intended but justified given the circus playing out around you while your stomach tried to stab itself metaphorically.

The officer gave you one last lingering look before gesturing for his team to follow him out. As they filed out, Gojo muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Bet he practices handing out business cards in the mirror.”

The officer stopped in his tracks, turning back just enough to say, “And I bet you practice losing everything you’ve ever loved. Looks like it’s paying off.”

The door slammed shut before Gojo could respond, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

Nanami cleared his throat, his expression blank but his ears noticeably red. “Well. That was... unprofessional.”

Gojo turned to you and Nanami, his eyes wide with exaggerated indignation. “Are you seeing this? Are we seeing this? Did he just flirt with my wife in front of me while I’m literally being arrested?!”

You raised an eyebrow, deadpan and stared at Higuruma, refusing to make eye contact with your husbands.

Gojo internally threw his hands up, looking at Nanami for backup. “Say something!”

Nanami’s expression was neutral, but his tone was pointed. “Perhaps he just appreciates the way she carries herself. Unlike others who spend their time making scenes.”

“Scenes?!” Gojo gasped. “This isn’t a scene! This is self-defence! That guy was ready to propose on the spot!”

“Can’t blame him,” Higuruma added, smirking as he snapped his briefcase shut. “She is a trillionaire CEO. Meanwhile, you two are, what? Notorious ex-terrorists with zero tact?”

Nanami looked personally offended, while Gojo muttered, “I regret hiring you.”

Higuruma shrugged, clearly unbothered. “You didn’t. And you’re welcome.”

You moved a hand to rest on the back of your waist, pain searing through you.

Gojo’s arms tightened around you, his breath warm against your hair. “It’s okay, baby. We’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”

You let them fuss over you, their desperation palpable. But when Higuruma spoke again, his voice was low, serious.

“You really need to stop falling down so often,” he said in a dry voice, eyes flicking to you.

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing over your stomach in a gesture that could have been maternal if not for the glint in your eyes. “Why would I, when I always have such big, strong pairs of hands ready to catch me?” You straightened, shrugging off your husbands' hands as you stood.

The silence that followed was palpable. Gojo and Nanami stayed frozen, their gazes a mix of reverence and desperation.

Was that...teasing?

Hope flickered in their eyes—the kind of hope you hadn’t seen in a long while.

Hiromi scoffed, breaking the moment.

“What? It’s not their fault they’re attached to terrorists,” you smiled.

Hiromi chuckled, his low laugh carrying a hint of approval. “True. I don’t agree with it, but getting them arrested only to bail them out? Was hilarious. And the lack of your fingerprints, DNA, or blood in any systems made forging the documents way too easy. Thanks for doing half the work.”

Gojo and Nanami stood like statues, the gears in their heads grinding to comprehend what they’d just heard.

“If you really wanna thank me, carry that to my room.” You gestured at the spare TV in the corner of the giant living room, your tone as sweet as honey and just as sticky. The doe-eyed look you threw Hiromi would’ve melted a lesser man.

Hiromi faux-sighed, trying to hide a twitch of his lips. “You’re my most demanding client,” he said, but he complied, setting his briefcase and coat down, rolling up his sleeves, and lifting the 65-inch TV easily. He followed you to your room, then held the TV against the wall while you connected wires and fiddled with the settings.

Gojo and Nanami watched, stunned into silence. Their jaws were practically on the floor at your pornographic behaviour—you’d asked Hiromi for help, not them. The sting of rejection was sharp, but the sheer audacity of the scene left them too shocked to speak.

Gojo grabbed Nanami’s arm as the latter made a move toward the hallway. “Baby will kill us!”

“She can’t,” Nanami muttered, his jaw tight as he tried to shake Gojo off.

“But she’ll never forgive us and run away again,” Gojo hissed, tightening his grip. “And that’s worse.”

Hiromi walked out moments later, then slung his coat over his shoulder and took his briefcase. He winked at the two men before walking out, which sent Gojo’s cursed energy flaring.

This time Nanami held Gojo back. “He’s more than five years older than her. Remember? She’s not into older men.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed. “So what? She likes it when we’re jealous. A little bit of purple hasn’t killed anyone... yet—I’ll even make it micro.”

Before Gojo could finish his argument, you reappeared, dragging the long HDMI cable—from your home office PC—in one hand and your other hand resting on your belly. You walked past them without a word, towards your room to connect it to your TV with a focus that only further bruised their egos.

“Baby?” Gojo’s voice was barely a whisper, a mix of confusion and fear laced through the words.

Hiromi’s laughter echoed faintly from the elevator as the doors slid shut, leaving your husbands to stew in their own comedic misery.

“Thank you for playing your parts so well,” you said, stopping and turning to them, your tone so light it suspiciously sounded like a serial killer.

“What are you talking about?” Nanami questioned.

You laughed; a sound so cold it made the room feel like a tomb. “Oh, come on. Did you really think I was the victim here? That I didn’t know exactly what I was doing? That I wouldn’t save my reputation and my company? That I’d just sit there and let you humiliate me like some obedient little housewife? Aww, sweet Toru and Kenny, you really don’t know me at all.”

Their silence and wide eyes were enough.

You walked into the living room and switched the TV on to a news segment replaying your earlier interview. The headline scrolled across the bottom: CEO Calls for Justice Against Corruption.

“Watch closely,” you said, stepping back.

Your face appeared on screen, addressing a virtual conference. “I am here to address the wave of misinformation, targeted harassment, and societal hypocrisy that has overshadowed the recent events surrounding my personal life and professional endeavours.”

You paused, allowing the gravity of your words to sink in. The silence commanding attention.

“For weeks, I have been the subject of a relentless smear campaign. Doctored photos, slanderous hashtags, and vile comments have spread like wildfire. I am not here to defend myself against lies. The truth speaks for itself.”

Your gaze shifted slightly as if addressing each viewer individually. “What I am here to ask is this: Why is it that the victims—particularly women—are vilified while the perpetrators are exalted?”

The room seemed to be still as your voice sharpened. “My husbands stormed this very building, injuring employees, destroying property, and disrupting the livelihoods of countless individuals. They were released within hours. Hours. Meanwhile, I—almost six months pregnant—am subjected to public humiliation and professional sabotage, even though I was the one defending my employees. I ask you, what kind of justice system allows this?”

You leaned forward, your hands pressing against the table. “Why am I being hounded by reporters, deepfake pornographic videos, and accusations while the men responsible for this chaos roam free? Why do they continue to be idolised, their actions excused, and their faces plastered on social media as objects of desire? Why is my character, my competence, and my humanity questioned simply because I exist as a woman in a position of power?”

Your voice softened, but the tension in the air only grew. “This isn’t just about me. This is about every woman who has been blamed for the actions of others. This is about a society that continues to hold women to impossible standards while excusing men for behaviour that should be condemned. This is about a judicial system that protects the powerful and punishes the vulnerable.”

The chat feature on the News channel exploded with comments:

"She’s right. Why aren’t they being held accountable?”

"She’s pregnant and dealing with this? What the hell is wrong with you people?”

"Typical. Men screw up, women pay the price.”

"Oh, but if a man was in her place, y’all wouldn’t care. Hypocrites.”

"How about holding everyone accountable? This gender war is exhausting.”

You sat back slightly, exuding calm control even as your words pierced like a blade. “I built this company from scratch. I’ve led it to heights no one thought possible for a gaming company. And yet, here I am, fighting not just for my reputation but for my right to exist without being reduced to my relationships. To those perpetuating this harassment, I have one thing to say: You will be held accountable. Legally. Financially. Publicly.”

You placed a hand on your stomach, your voice softening yet still carrying a firm edge. “I am bringing two lives into this world, and my focus should be on their well-being, not defending myself against baseless attacks. To everyone who has contributed to this circus: consider what you are forcing me to endure and what you are creating for my children to encounter as they grow up. Reflect on the world you are shaping for the next generation.”

Another pause. The silence deliberate.

“To the judicial system, I ask: Where is the accountability for those who stormed this building and endangered innocent lives? Where is the justice for the employees injured, for the property destroyed, for the lives disrupted? And to those watching, I ask: Will you stand by and allow this hypocrisy to continue? Or will you demand better—from your media, your government, and yourselves?”

The chat continued to explode:

"She’s calling out the entire system. Respect.”

"She’s doing this while pregnant? Absolute legend.”

"Not all men, but somehow always a man.”

"She’s manipulating y’all. Open your eyes.”

"Even if she’s manipulating us, tell me this: why are we letting them off the hook?”

“If those men were ugly with would have been an episode of ‘True Detective.’”

Your gaze hardened as you delivered your final words. “This is not just my fight. This is a fight for justice and for accountability. And I will not stop until it is won.”

The stream ended, but the world did not remain silent.

News channels replayed the clip endlessly, social media platforms were flooded with debates, and public opinion was polarized.

“Going against the two terrorists, yakuza or whatever they are while being pregnant with their kids and living with them requires guts.”

"She’s a feminist icon we need but don’t deserve.”

"Accountability for everyone, not just her husbands.”

"The justice system is broken. She’s right.”

"Her poly marriage is still weird, though.”

Some called for the immediate re-arrest of Gojo and Nanami. Others accused you of deflecting blame. Gender dynamics became a flashpoint, with men and women clashing over who bore the brunt of societal judgment.

Meanwhile, government officials scrambled to address the public outcry. Arrest warrants for your husbands were quietly reissued.

You muted the broadcast, fixing them with a manic smile they’d never seen before—one that somehow felt more real than any expression they’d witnessed on you. “Now that the entire nation is watching your spiral, maybe you’ll begin to understand. Understand what it feels like to have your autonomy stripped and your every move scrutinized. When I met you two all those years ago, I was wandering alone in public. I valued privacy, anonymity, the freedom to roam without interference. But you—” your voice stabbed like a scalpel “—only cared about yourselves. You stormed my headquarters, hurt my people, and left me no choice but to retaliate by sending people aimed to kill you both.”

You picked up the house iPad. Gojo’s account was still logged in, a fitting reminder of his carefree ignorance staring back at you as if mocking the weight of what you were about to reveal.

Without a word, you typed in the hashtag that had been haunting your mentions and shoved the device toward Nanami.

His expression darkened as his eyes scanned the posts, a deep crease forming between his brows. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the iPad tightly. The feed was a grotesque mosaic of fabricated images and videos depicting you in compromising positions—some pornographic, others manipulated with strangers. The comments were even more disturbing: venomous calls for your death, demands for punishment for being “unnatural” for being married to two men, and horrific assertions that, because of your supposed sex addiction, you deserved to be violated—burned alive along with your babies—their babies.

Gojo’s hand shot out, snatching the iPad before Nanami could process it all. His lips pressed into a thin, furious line as his sharp blue eyes darted across the screen, scrolling through the filth.

Nanami seized the iPad and slammed it against the TV console, the crack of shattering glass reverberating through the penthouse.

“You couldn’t even watch it for five minutes,” you said, your voice low, the calmness more hurtful than any scream. Your gaze flicked between them, icy.

Nanami’s jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck taut. “This—this is beyond cruel. These people are monsters.”

“Monsters don’t come from nowhere,” you shot back, your voice like a whip. “They’re made. By families, by communities, by men who laugh while girls like me are turned into jokes, into targets.”

Gojo took a step toward you, hand half-raised, but you flinched instinctively, moving your hands to cover your belly. It was subtle—a fraction of a second—but enough to freeze him in place.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “I’m so glad I never told you two where I came from. Maybe you would’ve joined the same mob."

Silence.

They couldn’t meet your gaze.

You exhaled, your walls firmly back in place. “Megumi is taking care of it,” you said, your tone detached. “Because unlike you, he listens. And he doesn’t ask me to relive the worst parts of my life to prove himself, even when he hated me.”

You then sighed fondly. “You know Haibara even begged me to let him kill you that day, and honestly, I don’t know if he’d have succeeded. He’d just retired, finally at peace, but I had to plant him there anyway. Because I needed to know. I needed to see what you’d do. And you didn’t disappoint. I had to tell my best friend how to hurt my own husbands that day—who I would have given my remaining organs to, even if it meant dying. The people I thought would never betray me.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you steeled yourself. “Even after having two husbands, I still don’t have a single sane one.”

Gojo shrank back. Nanami stiffened, his fingers curling into fists.

“Here’s how this works,” you continued. “You’ll stay quiet. You’ll play along. Because if you so much as whisper about how I orchestrated this—caused civil disturbance for your arrest only to bail you out—or if you don’t go back to jail once the babies are born, I will ruin you. Completely. No money, no clan influence, no technique will save you. I will make you both the most hated beings on the planet.”

You didn’t wait for their reply. The broadcast continued as you walked to your room, the sound of your door closing serving as a final punctuation.

Gojo sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. Nanami remained standing, staring at the TV as the news anchor recapped what you’d set in motion.

“She planned this,” Nanami said. “Every step. Every goddamn step.”

Gojo exhaled sharply. “You have to admit I was right; she does hate us.”

Nanami’s eyes drifted around the room. “Do you remember her house when we first met her?”

Gojo’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, what about it?”

“There’s nothing like that here,” Nanami said, his voice low and filled with sorrow. “Nothing that’s hers. Nothing she’d choose for herself—just her wardrobe and work gadgets. All the decor suits our tastes, not hers.”

Gojo’s head snapped around, his six eyes scanning every detail—the decor, the glaring absence of her presence. His shoulders slumped, a sense of dread creeping in. “Do you think she… gave herself up? For us? Became a chameleon?”

“I think she did,” Nanami replied quietly, the weight of the realization heavy in the air. “She thought it was what we wanted, what would keep us close to her. She stopped taking pictures years ago. Remember her self-portraits? How breathtaking she used to look in those black and whites? She hasn’t taken any in ages. And I didn’t even notice.”

Gojo leaned back, his head thudding against the couch, a wave of regret washing over him. “I stopped asking her about her past. About where she came from. She used to dodge the questions, and we just let her.”

Nanami turned away, his shoulders tense. “Maybe she was never really here. Maybe we only saw what we wanted to see.”

Gojo leaned back, his head thudding against the couch. He stared at the ceiling, unblinking, as if he could burn the image of her pain into his memory as penance. His voice was barely audible. "She built walls so high we didn’t even try to climb them. We just admired them from the ground and called it love." His lips twisted into a grimace, self-loathing etched into every line of his face.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered. “I can’t keep pretending we’re the good guys.”

Nanami didn’t respond. Instead, he reached for the whiskey bottle on the table, pouring himself a glass with steady hands. He stared at the amber liquid for a long moment but didn’t drink. “We’re not the good guys,” he said finally, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. “We never were.”

Gojo’s laugh was broken, filled with self-loathing. “So what are we, then?”

Nanami set the glass down with a heavy thud, his gaze meeting Gojo’s. “We’re the villains in her story.”

Behind closed doors, you let the mask and your scratchy robe slip altogether. The twins stirred faintly, but their calm felt like an extension of your own. Maybe it was because, for the first time, you’d stopped being afraid.

You logged onto the game, slipping on your headset for the voice-only chat with the team. Haibara’s voice came through immediately, cheerful and loud. “Finally! Took you long enough. Act well? Did the popo buy it?”

“Unfortunately,” you answered. Laughing at Haibara calling the police ‘popo.’ He had a way of making you laugh at the silliest things even after heavy moments—sometimes he didn’t even know about, like now.

“Thought you got caught in your own web.” Haibara teased.

“Not yet,” you muttered, smirking.

Megumi sighed. “Did the morons bother you again?”

“They tried,” you replied, sighing. “But I don’t wanna talk about it; let’s play; it’s already too late.”

“Bro, stop looting everything!” Haibara, as username PanicButton, yelled, the sound of gunfire echoing faintly. “You’re supposed to share the treasure.”

“It’s not my fault you’re slow,” Megumi deadpanned, his character swiping yet another chest. “Git gud.”

You laughed softly. “Focus, idiots. I didn’t log in to babysit you.”

“Babysit?!” Haibara gasped dramatically. “Says the one who can’t land a helicopter. Some gaming CEO you are.”

"Hey!” you shot back, “forgive me for not living online like you two losers. But watch me carry this possy.”

“Yeah, carry us straight off a cliff,” Megumi muttered, his character hopping onto a horse and bolting toward the next mission marker.

The banter was chaotic—the kind that made your stomach hurt from laughing. Testing unreleased games with Haibara and Megumi felt like a bizarre throwback to simpler times—if you could call it that.

Haibara zoomed in on the screen with a grin. “Oh, just ignore the fact that I totally saved your ass from that bison. Not everyone gets to be a hero.”

You sighed. “Yeah, a hero who throws me off a moving wagon mid-missions. Very heroic, 10/10.”

“That’s a tactical manoeuvre,” Haibara shot back with mock innocence. “You’ll thank me later.”

Megumi sighed, adjusting his position like he was the only sane one here. “We’re supposed to be hunting, not starting a podcast.”

“Well, hunting’s boring,” Haibara quipped, shooting at a random bird that was already halfway to Canada. The bullet missed by miles. “Look at that! Pure skill.”

“Very MI6 of you,” you said dryly, earning a snort from Megumi.

Out of nowhere, your character charged directly toward a camp full of armed NPCs. “Let’s see who gets shot first.”

The NPCs instantly zeroed in on you. Gunfire, shouting, and horses trampling everything in their path. Your character was dodging bullets like she had a sixth sense, but then Megumi’s character just jumped off a cliff into the swamp for no reason at all only to be immediately mulled by an alligator. All the while Haibara’s was busy taunting NPCs on the other side of the camp.

“Looks like the good Lord got your ass and face mixed up!” Haibara emoted at an NPC.

You burst out laughing and ran to join him, whispering to the male NPC’s wife, “Ma’am, you’d be beautiful if both your eyes looked in the same direction.”

Haibara, encouraged by your level of chaos, added to his NPC victim, “Bet your Pa wished he’d have pulled out.”

Megumi suddenly appeared behind Haibara, delivering some karmic justice. “Promise me you won’t have children, mister.”

You turned on Megumi, smirking. “I’m sorry, miss; there must have been a terrible accident.” You emoted pointing at his face. Because apparently, in Megumi’s gamer brain, playing with female characters was supposed to give him an edge.

Haibara joined forces with you. “How come you only have one eyebrow?”

You tipped your hat at Haibara. “You make me glad to be a criminal.”

Megumi wasn’t done with you two. “I’m gonna install Windows in your skull,” he grumbled.

“Stay in the kitchen,” you teased, watching Haibara spin in a circle on his horse before nearly crashing into a tree.

Then, an NPC passed Megumi, calling him a “filthy bitch” as he along with his horse crashed into the mud. You and Haibara immediately went chasing the NPC down while laughing your asses off.

It didn’t stop there. As all three of you became wanted, a lawman chasing Megumi yelled, “I love it when it’s a woman... Feels romantic.”

Another one yelled at you, “Shoot her, men! She ain’t no lady.”

Haibara went to buy ammo in Rhodes, and the shopkeeper shot him a confused look. “I don’t get many ladies in my shop.” He was in a male character.

Then, the lawman chasing Megumi, who still hadn’t given up his female character, yelled, “We ain't no Sunday soldiers, girly!”

After you all dripped yourself from the cash you’d earned, you strutted out to show off, and an NPC walked by, taunted, “Did you mean to leave the house looking like that?”

“Oh hell nah.” Both Haibara and Megumi yelled in unison and chased the NPC down with Molotov cocktails, only for him to get away while flipping them off.

One NPC had the audacity to yell,

“You did well in your last mission.

For a woman!”

You didn’t hesitate as you pulled out an elephant rifle and shot him right in the dick. Haibara and Megumi groaned. “Ohh, I felt that!”

Finally, an NPC called Haibara “thicker than a rock.”

Haibara froze, staring at the screen. “Did that NPC just body-shame me?”

“You’re not the one getting shot in the balls,” you said, wiping away tears from laughing. “But I think you’re thicker than a rock, too.”

And with that, your spirits were lifted, for now, by absolute stupidity and the best-worst friends ever.

After an hour, your stomach growled.

Loudly.

Oh, no.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You forgot snacks.

“I’ll be back. Need food. Muting myself.”

They acknowledged you as their characters continued galloping through the map. Megumi tied you to his horse in-game, ensuring to carry you wherever they went, while Haibara gleefully chased him with a lasso.

You looked through the door’s keyhole, and lo and behold there he was—Gojo, sitting cross-legged on the floor directly in front of it, his head tilted slightly towards the floor as if he’d been waiting for you to notice.

God, no. Why?

Why now?

Where was all this devotion before?

Now you didn’t even care. You thought to yourself, mocking them.

You inhaled sharply, and that’s when you caught it—Nanami’s cologne, faint but unmistakable. He was somewhere close too, probably lingering just out of sight.

Your shoulders tensed as you sighed, clutching your stomach like a school bag to hoist it for maximum speed because ‘aerodynamics’ or whatever Gojo used to nerd about. Not that it would help much, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The door creaked open, and before you could fully process your decision, you darted toward the kitchen.

Gojo’s head snapped up instantly, his eyes widening as he scrambled to his feet. He moved faster than you expected, his long legs closing the distance in seconds, thinking you were actually going to make a run for it.

// Bold is their POV, Both sides are oblivious to the others thoughts

Once you stopped, Nanami was already in the kitchen, his back to you, doing... god knows what. The faint clink of utensils and deliberate movements felt oddly calculated, like he was waiting for you to arrive.

He had been standing there for hours. Waiting. The same hand that now held a spoon had been trembling earlier, and he hadn’t been able to calm it. Not since he heard the faint shuffle of your feet from your room.

You ignored the tension knotting your stomach and headed for the cabinets. Your expression remained a mask of indifference, even as you frantically searched for your snacks.

The first cabinet? Empty.

The second? Also empty.

Panic crept in as you opened cabinet after cabinet, each one devoid of the comfort you were looking for. You kept your poker face on and frantically searched the entire kitchen. Everything was where it was supposed to be except for your snacks.

Had Gojo swallowed them whole? Or did they throw them all out just to spite you?

Gojo winced as he watched you open cabinet after cabinet. He wasn’t sure if the dull ache in his chest was guilt or something worse. Probably worse. It always felt worse these days.

Finally, your gaze shifted upward to the top shelves.

You tiptoed, straining to reach the handle, when Nanami stepped in behind you.

Too close.

His presence loomed like a ghost, his breath disturbingly steady as he reached over your shoulder and handed you the basket.

Your fingers grasped it, but he didn’t let go.

You yanked harder; he didn’t let go.

Nanami’s hand didn’t move. It wasn’t stubbornness. He wanted to let go. God, he wanted to let go. But something in him screamed that if he let go of this basket, he’d lose more than snacks. He’d lose the last shred of a connection he had to you.

You aggressively tried to snatch it, but he wouldn’t let go. His face remained calm, almost serene, but the way he watched you made your skin crawl.

Nanami’s calmness was a mask, one he’d perfected over the years. Beneath it, his mind was spiralling. He wasn’t looking at you. Not really. He was looking at the faint bruise on your arm from yesterday, the hollowness in your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Your patience snapped, and you let go with an inaudible huff, glaring at the floor—refusing to make any kind of eye contact with them—before turning to leave.

You would order something or get Haibara or Megumi to drop off something.

But before you could take a step, Gojo was there, blocking your path. His long arms caged you in.

Gojo had moved instinctively, holding you hostage before he even realized what he’d done.

Your heart raced as you forced yourself to maintain your poker face mixed with ‘ready for aggressive retaliation.’ Inside, though, fear clawed at your chest. Sandwiched between the two of them immediately took you back to how only yesterday they’d dragged you out of your lower cabinet in Norway.

You were acutely aware of your vulnerability—the shorts and crop top you wore felt like they offered no protection, no barrier between you and their oppressive presence. But nothing else felt comfortable enough to sleep in right now, and you certainly hadn’t planned on coming out to face them tonight.

You had reached a point in your life when the fathers of your babies terrified you.

His heart sank when he saw the flicker of panic in your eyes—the way your shoulders stiffened, your gaze locked firmly on the floor. You were scared. Of him.

The thought sent a cold wave of nausea through him.

You’d carry a knife everywhere if only it would work on these two. Damn, why didn’t you marry someone your own size?!

Gojo’s gaze softened, his head tilting as if he could sense the panic you were trying to hide. You were certain you had kept your expressions in check, even as you stared at the floor.

Gojo wanted to say something, anything, to make you look at him. But the words stuck in his throat, replaced by the crushing weight of his own failure.

You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to flinch, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you crack.

Nanami finally broke the standoff, his voice quiet but unnervingly calm. “Here.”

He handed you another basket—this one filled with snacks labelled “Baby Bribes” in obnoxiously cheerful colours and comic sans as if a toddler had designed it after a sugar rush. There were granola bars that looked like they’d been around for the First World War, fruit cups that seemed to be having an identity crisis, and a suspiciously large bag of pickles that had a warning label: “Caution: May Cause Uncontrollable Cravings and Sudden Urges to Call Your Ex.” It also came with a note that read: “Congratulations! You’re now the proud owner of a snack collection that’s 90% fibre and 10% sanity! Enjoy your journey into the wild world of pregnancy snacking—where every bite is a gamble and every flavour is a surprise!”

The packaging didn’t match the suffocating tension of the moment, but your stomach growled loudly, and the twins made the decision for you.

You snatched it, muttering something under your breath that neither of them caught, and bolted toward your room, lifting your stomach for speed like a getaway bag.

Their eyes followed you until the door clicked shut behind you, but their presence lingered, heavy and inescapable.

Gojo’s hands fell limply to his sides. His eyes were burning, but he didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

Nanami exhaled shakily, his grip tightening on the edge of the counter. His knuckles were white. "If I were her, I’d never forgive us," he murmured, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

Gojo didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed on your direction, his expression blank but his thoughts anything but.

They stood there long after you left, two men drowning in despair, unable to reach the one person they’d promised to protect.

What would your employees think if they knew you were lifting your stomach to run around the house, like some cursed gargoyle?

They would immediately suggest a game based on it.

This felt like a new low for someone who is supposed to be an adult, even a mother soon, hopefully.

You logged back in, unmuting and muttering, “Husbands are so useless.”

Megumi and Haibara’s laughter echoed through your headset. “Tell us something we don’t know,” Haibara quipped.

Megumi added, “At least in-game, you can lasso them into silence.”

“Or shoot them in the dick,” Haibara added solemnly.

“Don’t tempt me,” you replied, smirking.

These are some funny chapter names I thought of :D The Tragic Elegance of Comic Sans Haibara’s MI6 Resume > Your Life Choices Kento’s Stoic Crisis (Now with Extra Trauma) Satoru Gojo’s Six Eyes and Zero Brain Cells Lawyer Hiromi with zero chill NPC banter: 10/10 The Only Therapy Here is the Comments Section Overprotective idiots in love Dumbass husbands being dumbass husbands Polyamorous dumpster fire Graphic Depictions of Emotional Damage™ Poly Relationship Drama with Terrorist Husbands Crack Cocaine Writing Energy Found Family, Lost Sanity Philosophical Angst in a Comedy Wrapper

A/N: Apologies in advance for the long ass note. Okay, let’s acknowledge the obvious: I have a personal vendetta against all these characters, apparently. The moments involving Haibara, Megumi, and the reader playing the game with sheer foolishness are inspired by real life and are dedicated to my close friend Farhan, who was like Haibara in many ways IRL—only more reckless and sassier. He was an exceptionally talented VFX and motion graphics artist and contributed to numerous projects, including a ton of Marvel and DC movies. Tragically, a few years ago he passed away after an accident that initially left him unscathed. He went home and didn’t inform his family, along with his wife, who was with his family at the time, thinking they’d worry. But three days later, he experienced severe pain due to internal bleeding. He sadly passed away just hours after arriving at the hospital, only two months after getting married. Farhan is still deeply missed, and I haven’t enjoyed playing with another team since his passing. But let his story serve as a cautionary tale: don’t take life too casually. And please, don’t feel sad for him—he wouldn’t want that. He was a true menace in the best way possible, so remember him like that. Bonus points if you can guess the game they’re playing! And, I know no one can alone carry a 65-inch TV because it's too fucking wide; trust me, I know. I have it. But in Daddy Hiromi, we thurst! More bonus points for more unhinged suggestions in the comments. And those who suggested ideas and voted on the last poll will get their reader service in the next chapter. Euh, why did that sound so gross.

Next chapter will be out on idk :P

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